The Last Sacrifice (16 page)

During that walk Vitas had immediately made a mental translation:
I love her whose number is 545.

The man in love had found it necessary to conceal her name. He knew, however, that when she saw the graffiti, she would recognize her identity, for all she’d have to do is add up the numerical values of the letters in her name. Others, unaware of the relationship, would not be able to easily identify the beloved, for many names might have the same numerical value.

Vitas was aware too of a popular Greek graffiti that lampooned and infuriated Nero:

A new calculation: Nero murdered his own mother.
Every reader of this, from children up, understood the slyness of it. Count the numerical values of the letters in Nero’s name and in
murdered his own mother
, and you would find their sums to be the same.

Gematria. Every letter in the Greek alphabet corresponded to a specific number. In Greek, all the numbers in Nero’s name added up to the same numbers found in
murdered his own mother
. It was a clever verse and clever piece of gematria, showing the widespread knowledge that Nero had indeed murdered his mother, Agrippina.

Despite his thorough knowledge of something as common as gematria, Vitas could not agree with John, especially after several moments of calculation.

“I know that I flee Nero,” Vitas said, his mental addition complete. “But his number is 1,005.”

“Yes,” John said. “In Greek. You should know that what I’ve transcribed for you are indirect references from a letter circulating among the followers of the Christos. It describes a vision and is known as the Revelation.”

“I presume you’re familiar with this Revelation.”

“Very familiar. Given the chance, there is a lot I can tell you about it.”

Vitas waved his hand, as if impatient to stay on subject. “I’m less interested in your reaction to it and more interested in the content. But just a summary.”

“Of course.” John stared at the horizon briefly, then turned his eyes back to Vitas. “It contains further revelation from Jesus the Christos regarding the coming destruction of Jerusalem he prophesied on the Mount of Olives just days before his death. It describes how God’s eternal plan of redemption for the righteous and judgment for the wicked and unrepentant is being fulfilled in this generation. It foretells the ultimate destruction of the evil one and the vindication of the crucified and resurrected Lord, Jesus. It is a message of hope and a call to perseverance through persecution for those who have placed their faith for eternal salvation in Jesus, receiving his righteousness on their behalf. And it is a desperate call to repentance for those of the spirit of antichrist who continue to live in rebellion against God, denying that Jesus is the Christos.”

Vitas snorted. “How accurate can this vision be if something as simple as the gematria of Nero’s name is miscalculated?”

“It is helpful to think like a Hebrew. To us Jews, he is known as
Neron Kesar
. You’re aware that written Hebrew does not use vowels?”

“No.”

“That’s why,” John said, “you would not identify Nero as 666, when insightful Jewish readers familiar with the Hebrew spelling of his name would do so, especially given the other clues in the Revelation that identify Nero as the Beast.”

Vitas read over the beginning of the scroll again.
“‘You know the beast you must escape; the one with understanding will solve the number of this beast, for it is the number of a man. His number is 666.’”

Vitas spoke his thoughts. “I know that I must escape Nero, and the writer of the message knows that I must escape Nero. Why go to the effort, then, of telling me the obvious?”

“You called me the key to the lock,” John said. “Perhaps it’s the first test or confirmation that I can help you.”

Vitas thought of something else.
Eleven hundred and eighty-one.

“It’s telling me something else,” Vitas said. “I’m to use gematria to solve something in the first part of the scroll.” He explained it to John, realizing that doing so was a further extension of trust.

Eleven hundred and eighty-one.

“Greek, Hebrew, or Latin?” John asked. “Which language should you use to add up the numbers of the name?”

“That’s what makes it so difficult to solve the name from just knowing the numbers. But within the proper context, once I have the name, I can test it against the gematria and have near absolute certainty that I was correct.”

Vitas paced a few steps, ignoring the growing shouts coming from the crew behind them.

“There is also no doubt that I need you to understand the letter,” Vitas told John. A part of his mind was still astounded that his wounds gave no pain. “Without you, none of this made sense.”

John was given no time to comment.

One shout came clearly from the rear of the deck. “Call the captain!” It was the voice of Betto, the sailing master. “The steering oar has broken!”

“Amazing how much you bleed for a man reported dead,” Damian told Kaeso. “You weren’t trying to escape gambling debts by spreading the story you had drowned, were you?”

Jerome had lifted Kaeso off his feet and shoved him back into the cramped, filthy apartment. Kaeso was sitting on the floor, holding his nose, trying to stem the blood that flowed from it.

Kaeso groaned.

“Just so you know, I don’t like it when people get hurt,” Damian told Kaeso. “You may not believe me, because I’m sure your nose has had finer moments. But if I really wanted you hurt, my slave here could bring you so close to death you’d beg for him to make it happen.”

Jerome stood behind Damian, arms crossed. As always, no expression on his face.

Damian squatted and grabbed at Kaeso’s tunic. He ripped off a large piece and pressed it against Kaeso’s face. “See how much I care for you?”

Kaeso grunted. He appeared to be too stunned to think. Which was exactly what Damian wanted. It was far better to break resistance immediately than to give a man the chance to find some courage.

“Tell me when we can expect money for the people who sent us,” Damian said. “That’s all. Then we’ll leave you alone and in no further pain.”

“You’ll get the money soon,” Kaeso said, his voice muffled by the wad of cloth against his nose. “I promise.”

Poor man,
Damian thought. Damian knew too well a gambler’s desperation. “I want to believe you,” Damian said in a soothing voice. “But I’ve heard too many like you make up too many stories.”

For that matter, there had been a time in Damian’s life when he’d become very skilled at making up those same kinds of stories for the same reason: to stall repayment of a gambling debt, convinced he would win big on the next race.

“It’s not a story,” Kaeso mumbled. Tears from his eyes ran into the wadded cloth.

“Convince me and perhaps we’ll leave you alone.”

“My brother’s on a ship,” Kaeso said.

“That’s very nice for your brother. Is he trying to escape gambling debts too?”

“No! He’s the sailing master.”

“He’s going to send you his wages?” Damian said. “I doubt that’s enough.”

“Just listen to me,” Kaeso said, exasperated despite his obvious pain.

Damian was proud of himself. If Kaeso actually knew how desperately Damian wanted to hear the story, all of this would be more difficult.

“I’m listening,” Damian said. “It had better be good.”

“There’s a man on the ship,” Kaeso said. “A wealthy Roman citizen. Fleeing Nero. Along with a Jew who’s probably his slave.”

“That doesn’t make this man special. Any wealthy Roman citizen should be doing the same, given Nero’s habits of late.”

“You don’t understand. This man had been sent to the arena to be executed.”

“Of course, of course. And the soldiers released him and encouraged him to find a convenient ship for escape.” Damian hardened his voice as he spoke to Jerome. “Perhaps this man needs your attention again. He seems to be wandering from the truth.”

“No!” Kaeso yelped. “My brother heard it all. Someone was speaking to the captain, and Betto—”

“Who is Betto?” Damian sounded bored.

“My brother. Just listen, will you?”

“Time is short.”

“Listen,” Kaeso pleaded. “The captain was paid a great deal of money to leave immediately with this man. At night. You can go to Ostia and ask anyone who knows about the ship. It left just a few nights ago. Stranding dozens of passengers who had expected voyage on it.”

“Even if the story is true, it doesn’t explain how you expect money from it.”

“My brother is the navigator. He’s going to make sure the ship has troubles.”

“Not much money in that.”

“Yes, there is.” Kaeso grimaced. “Once I tell you the rest of it, you’ll understand how I’ll have enough money never to be in debt again.”

“Make it good and make sure I believe it,” Damian said. “Or you’ll find yourself tossed into the street below.”

“Revelation?” Chayim said to Helius. “This entire scroll from Hezron has a thorough—”

“You did read it.” Helius was curt.

“Yes.”

“Then give me something I can understand immediately. Without spending an hour on laborious markings by an old Jew.”

Chayim knew this was another challenge. He focused. And began. “It says that the Christos, a certain Jesus from Nazareth who claimed to be Messiah and the Son of God, is the true Lord, not Caesar.”

Helius, who had been pacing casually, froze.

“It is a story about a war between the Beast and the Lamb, and it claims that the Lamb will be triumphant. It says that the God of Israel is coming in judgment—very soon—on Israel and on Rome. On Israel because they rejected and crucified Jesus. And on Rome because of the persecution of the followers of this man they call the Christos.”

“War?”

“It promises resurrection and eternal life to followers of the Christos, and says that at the end of time, there will be a new earth and a new heaven established, with a final judgment on those who reject the Lamb.”

“Leave me the scroll,” Helius said. He would definitely have to read more and understand exactly what the Revelation entailed. It was nonsense, of course. There was no power in this world capable of defeating Rome. But, given Nero’s superstitions, it was still dangerous.

Chayim reached to hand it across. “Leah and her father . . .”

“Under house arrest until you return. This is, I’m sure, a concept you find familiar.” Helius was referring to Chayim’s presence in the royal palace. Chayim himself was a hostage of sorts, sent to Rome from Jerusalem because it ensured that his father, a highly placed temple priest, would influence those around him to cooperate with the Roman authorities.

“House arrest. You said that—”

“Don’t make me weary,” Helius said. “Politics are about promises. Not promises kept. Certainly by now you’ve realized that about Rome. If you haven’t, then you should thank me for providing you with a valuable education.”

Chayim stared at Helius.

Helius coughed discreetly. “I believe I just made a suggestion.”

Chayim swallowed. “Thank you, Helius. It’s kind of you to teach me such a valuable lesson.”

“Think nothing of it.” No matter how often he exercised his power—in small ways or large—Helius never found that it lost any allure. “As for this travel, I am going to provide you with a letter from the emperor. And a substantial retinue of soldiers. Spare yourself no luxury. Just remember that the sooner you return, the sooner Leah and her father will be released.”