The Last Sacrifice (30 page)

Hora Octava

Normally Betto was one of the last to get off the ship at harbor. He’d spend at least an hour making notes on his charts, then another half hour making sure they were hidden so well that none of the crew could steal them and sell them to another navigator. Betto had learned to use this time to let his anticipation build after his time at sea—he knew every harbor as well as any navigator alive, and that included which brothels held the women that would please him most.

This journey, however, Betto wasted no time. He wrapped a narrow red cloth around his waist as a belt. He kept his navigational scrolls clutched tightly to his belly as he hurried off the ship.

The scene around him was the usual chaos, with the fish and urine smells mixed with salty air. Workers screamed at each other in assorted languages; slaves scurried along the wharves; rich men of high position, obvious by their togas, walked with heads high and self-important airs.

Betto hoped it wouldn’t take too long for the men to find him. He tugged at his belt repeatedly and walked slowly, afraid he would get too far from the ship to be identified.

Finally, three large men stepped out from behind a stack of amphorae. The first one, nose bent almost sideways from an old wound, growled at Betto. “Could you be any more obvious?”

Before Betto could answer, the second one pulled him out of sight of the ship that Betto had just disembarked from. “We’re the ones Kaeso found,” he said. He was larger than the first and smelled of cheap wine.

“Prove it,” Betto said.

“Find a turtle on a post and you’ll know it had help,” the third said. He glared at Betto. “Could your brother have come up with anything more stupid than that?”

“It can’t be that stupid,” Betto snapped. “You’re here.”

“And you’re barely here in time,” the first snapped back. “We expected you a couple of days after us. Not a week. Our ship leaves for Rome tomorrow to beat the storms.”

“What matters is I made sure our trip was delayed enough for you to get here before us.”

“And did you find out his name?”

“No,” Betto said. “Pavo said nothing. The man said nothing.”

“How do you know he’s the right one? Your brother said two men were put aboard the ship.”

Betto laughed. “I took a guess.”

“Guesses aren’t worth much to us,” the first one snarled. “We’ve come a long way for this.”

“I found a way to confirm my guess,” Betto said. “I had one put on a cross to be drowned at sea. When Pavo didn’t stop the crew, I knew the one on the cross was worthless. The other jumped overboard to save him, and Pavo made me turn the ship around to rescue him. That proved without a doubt the second one was the man we want.”

“You’re going to stay and point him out to us as he leaves the ship.”

“No,” Betto said. He shuddered. If Pavo ever guessed his betrayal, Betto was a dead man. He’d seen Pavo drown a Jew in pig’s blood. “I need to get back on the ship immediately. And I don’t want to be seen with you.”

“Then how will we know the right man?”

“He’ll be wearing an expensive cape. And I’ve marked the back of it with drops of pitch that form a small circle. If you’re close enough to attack him, you’ll be close enough to see the markings.”

“Good enough,” the second said.

“When you have him and get back to Rome,” Betto said, “my brother will make sure the ransom demand is delivered to the right people.”

“We don’t know his name,” the first thug said.

“No,” Betto answered, “but I’m sure three strong and capable men like you will be able to force it from him after enough time alone at sea with him.” Betto paused and grinned. “Am I right?”

“Just show us the man we want,” the first said. “We’ll do our job.”

“How long has she been like this?” Strabo whispered his question to Ben-Aryeh.

Both of them sat at the mouth of a cave. Deeper inside, Sophia had found a place to huddle, sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees and her head bowed.

“Almost since leaving Rome,” Ben-Aryeh answered. Because the hillside dropped sharply below the cave, the vista of the Aegean Sea filled their horizon, and the blue of the water blended with the blue of the sky. “Her husband was sent to the lions by Nero, forcing us to flee.”

“Obviously not far enough,” Strabo muttered.

“Not far enough?”

“Why are you here?” Strabo said. “Why are you quoting from a letter that could get us killed?”

“See,” Ben-Aryeh said, “you did expect us.”

“Not for a moment.”

“But you refer to our letter.”

“
Your
letter? The one they call the last disciple of the Nazarene wrote it. John.”

“Then that answers one question for me,” Ben-Aryeh said. “Obviously this John sent us here from Rome.”

“That doesn’t answer anything for me,” Strabo said crossly. “My wife and son are in hiding because of soldiers sent to find you. And I have no idea why you and the woman came upon us like a plague.”

“The letter gave us instructions on how to find you and said that you had another letter to give us. The soldiers can’t possibly know this.”

“Give me a bad-tempered goat,” Strabo said, imploring the sky. “Not an old man with no sense and a woman who weeps at the drop of a pebble.”

“Look here,” Ben-Aryeh said.

“‘These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb,’” Strabo said. “Of course I know it came from John’s letter. Everybody on the island has heard the details of John’s vision and how he dictated it to Prochoros. The letter was smuggled off the island and sent to the seven churches and—”

“No.” Ben-Aryeh didn’t bother to hide his own irritation. “
Our
letter tells us where to find you and that we needed to repeat that phrase for you to trust us.”

Strabo stared at the sky in contemplation. A hawk soared into view and soared out of view again. “This makes some sense then,” he finally said. “Yet it still makes no sense.”

“I’m listening.”

“You speak of one letter,” Strabo answered, “and I speak of another. The Revelation that has already caused too much trouble.”

“Our letter was a short message that needed interpretation to bring us here.”

“As I just said. May I see it?”

Ben-Aryeh shook his head. “At a wayside inn, shortly after leaving Rome, it was stolen, along with our gold and all our other possessions. This theft, I believe, is another reason the woman walks in a cloud of darkness.”

“You had this letter memorized?”

“I did,” Ben-Aryeh said. “But I would not have known it referred to Patmos without the help of Sophia.”

“Recite it.”

“You doubt me?”

“Recite it.”

“‘Go to the island of exile where the last disciple received the vision. Find the household of the man who stands no taller than his goats. There you will be given the rest of the message.’”

Strabo gave that some thought, nodded, and then asked his next questions. “Robbed? How did you pay for the remainder of travel and your passage here?”

“You want to steal from us what remains?” Ben-Aryeh snapped.

“I want to know if you’re telling the truth. Remember, I’m at risk hiding you.”

“Without explaining why we need to be hidden.”

“If you were robbed shortly after leaving Rome, how did you have enough money to get here?”

Ben-Aryeh looked at the dwarf sourly. “Swallowed coins are in a much safer place than a purse,” he said.

“Ah, an experienced traveler.” Strabo grinned.

Ben-Aryeh did not respond, and Strabo’s grin faded. Both seemed to feel as if it would be much preferable to remain at odds.

“Do you have a message for us?” Ben-Aryeh said. “One from the person in Rome who sent us here?”

“A message from a person you don’t know on an island you’ve never been to. This is a long way to come.”

“She lost her husband and household to Rome. What else was there? Do you have a letter or message for us?”

“No.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

“If they sent anything of value on your behalf,” Strabo snapped, “and if I wanted to keep it from you, wouldn’t I have turned you over to the soldiers instead of hiding you in this cave?”

No answer from Ben-Aryeh.

“After all,” Strabo continued, “I did accept a bribe to tell the commander of the barracks as soon as you arrived.”

“What?” Ben-Aryeh lurched forward. “You said you didn’t expect us.”

“I have no message for you,” Strabo said. “Nor did I really expect you. But last week, when I delivered wine to the barracks, Lucullus forced me to endure a conversation with him.”

“The Roman commander.”

“The same. He asked if an older man and a woman from Rome had sought me out. When I told him no, he bribed me to turn you over when you arrived.”

“This is truth?” Ben-Aryeh said, with a tone that sounded like he didn’t want it to be the truth.

“If you asked at the harbor for directions to find me, word reached Lucullus almost immediately. The arrival of the soldiers obviously sent by him speaks clearly of the truth behind my story. That, along with the obvious fact that I am risking myself and my family to keep you away from the soldiers.”

“After you accepted the bribe from Lucullus.”

“It was such a ludicrous idea. I never expected visitors from Rome. I know no one there. So why not take the money?”

“Yet, despite the bribe, you protect us.”

“I have my reasons for hating the soldiers on this island.”

With a common enemy to contemplate, their silence became almost companionable.

Ben-Aryeh broke it first. “You speak the truth then.”

Strabo nodded.

“That means one thing,” Ben-Aryeh said. “Someone else knows of the letter that sent us here.”

Another nod from Strabo. “If it isn’t Lucullus, then someone with enough authority to command him. I doubt you’ll find a way to leave the island now that it is known you are here.”

“We came for a message, expecting it would have the answers.”

“What you’ve found is a pitiful future,” Strabo said. “Especially if you’ve been reduced to depending on me for refuge.”

Pavo rubbed his hands in satisfaction as he led Vitas to the tall wooden gate of a courtyard wall.

“Finally,” Pavo said. “I’ll be rid of my burden.”

An iron circle hung on the gate. Pavo lifted it and let it fall. He did this several times, then turned to Vitas. “You’ll tell your friends in Rome that I gave you the best treatment I could.”

“I’d almost forgotten the whipping at sea,” Vitas said. “Only because you’ve paraded me like a slave through Alexandria for the last hour.”

Vitas had his hands bound behind his back, still guarded by Pavo’s silent but ever-vigilant crew members. The guards stood just far enough away to be out of earshot but close enough to react instantly if anything unexpected was to happen.

“I couldn’t take the chance that you would run or fight,” Pavo said. “Tell them then that I gave you the best treatment under the circumstances. The whipping was necessary to your survival, and delivering you here as ordered is necessary to mine.”

“What if I don’t stay here?”

“Do what you want when I leave,” Pavo said cheerfully. “My instructions were to bring you to the household of the silversmith named Issachar, son of Benjamin. That’s all. Once I’ve done so, I’m going to get thoroughly drunk and forget you ever existed.”

Pavo lifted the iron circle and banged it down again.

The eyehole in the gate slid open. The nose and eyes of a man appeared. Even with so little of his face showing, his suspicion was obvious.

Pavo spoke with confidence. “‘These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.’”

“What is this?” The voice came from behind the gate. “A day for lunatics?”

“I’m here to see Issachar,” Pavo said. “I have a friend of his from Rome. I’ve just given you a password that Issachar will recognize. Deliver it to him and he’ll command you to let us in.”

“Go away.”

“How much of your back do you want shredded by the whip?” Pavo asked.

“Go away.”