The Last Stoic (15 page)

The slaughtered brahma bull was
not the ultimate sacrifice. 

“Our final act of devotion. 
Bring in our final offering.”

A thin man with matted beard and
brown curly hair was led in by the acolytes.  A piece of cloth that wound
around his waist and between his legs was his only covering.  His arms were
tied behind his back.  They forced him to kneel next to the bull that still
twitched, bleeding to death.

“Please bring Victorius forward,”
called the Pater.

A young man stepped up.

“Victorius, you have been
nominated for promotion to the third degree:  Miles.  You have been through the
devotions, you have completed the rigours.  You have but one task left to
perform, to attain this most prestigious promotion.  We have here a
non-believer.”

The men grumbled.

“A Sarmatian.  A Christian!”

Their baying thundered through
the grotto.  Marcus could feel the familiar turmoil that accompanied any
witnessing of cruelty, usually as the recipient, rising up from his stomach. 
He looked for the exit.  The closeness and warm, thickness of the air made his
head heavy.  There didn’t seem to be enough air for everyone to breathe.

“A false prophet who disseminates
lies and wickedness throughout our community.  A common criminal, a stealer of
livestock and a defrauder of old women.  A masturbator!  An adulterer!  A sheep
fornicator!”

The Pater handed Victorius a
ceremonial dagger and brought him around to the Sarmatian, who knelt toward the
warm, shuddering body of the bull.  The Pater took the man’s hand, now holding
the dagger, and moved it until the blade of the dagger was at the man’s neck.

“Do the work of Mithras and
eradicate the evil from our midst, annihilate this wickedness in human form,
and cleanse us from sin.”

Victorius, grabbed the man by the
hair, paused, and pulled the knife quickly across his neck.  Marcus felt a pain
in his lip and realized that he had bitten through it.  He put a hand to his
mouth and saw blood.  His own blood.  He was backing out of the altar room. 

“There!” the Pater cried, pushing
the executed man to the floor, “you have done it!”  He rolled the victim over. 
Blood streaked down his neck and chest.

Marcus was stopped by a couple of
lictors who grabbed him by the arms.

“Where are you going?”

“What’s going on?” Gus stepped
up.

“This fellow was trying to leave.”

Gus laughed.  “You can’t leave
now.  You’ve seen too much.”

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked,
his breathing fragmented. 

“You need to be blindfolded
again,” Gus pulled the scarf from Marcus’ face and shoulders, “before you can
leave here, and you need to be escorted.”

Marcus turned to meet the many
eyes on him.  He saw Patricius amongst them, recognition on his face. 

“What’s the problem?”  Gus
asked.  “You don’t think that was a real execution.”

The answer was on Marcus’ face.

“It’s just part of the ceremony. 
Look!”

Gus pointed back from the
entrance of the main hall and Marcus saw the Sarmatian leave the altar room for
an adjoining room to change and wash.

“It was a blade-less knife. 
That’s bull’s blood.  You don’t think we actually perform human sacrifice do
you?”

Those nearby laughed.  Patricius
did not.

“That man,” he cried, “that man
is a criminal.  A traitor!”

The congregants turned to
Patricius.

“I’ve seen him.  A foreigner,
traveling alone, asking questions, causing trouble.  He asks about Sextus
Condianus.  About the emperor.  Hangs around cauponas.  He consorts with
Parthian low-lifes.  Rebels.  He incited a riot at the inauguration of the
Thermae Antoninianae!  He shouted anti-imperial slogans!”

The altar room buzzed.

“He is here to assassinate the
emperor, I’m sure of it,” Patricius said, coming to this conclusion as the
words formed in his mouth.

The crowd surged and the lictors
intensified their grip.  Marcus awaited the sharp point of a Praetorian’s
gladius.  It did not come. 

“Those are very serious charges
novice,” the Pater said.

“Yes Pater.  I can give you
proof.”

“Nonsense!”  Gus said, recovering
from his surprise.  “This fellow may be a lot of things.  A naïve whelp.  A
timid fool. A rube from the wilds of Britannia.  But he is no assassin. 
Indeed, for all that, he is a talented architect, he is a valued member of the
Frontinus firm, and we will not stand here and have him accused by a…, by a
simpleton!”

The Pater, studying Marcus,
recognized him from the streets.  He remembered him standing with Sebastianus,
the Christian, the day of the purge.  He wondered if there might be something
to the accusation. 

Paulus Cornelius had pushed to
the front.

“I know his family, they are well
respected in Rome, my father and his grandfather are very good friends.  His
grandfather, Vincentius, is an eques.  These charges must be false.”

The assembly, including the
Pater, listened respectfully when Paulus spoke. 

“Brother Paulus do you vouch for
you colleague here?”

“Yes Pater, I do.”

“Then my assistant must be in
error.  He will be punished for his groundless accusations.  I apologize for
this unfortunate situation.  Please!  Let’s try to forget this unpleasantness! 
Begin the feast!”

The group roared and slaves
brought out the first course.  The Pater ushered Patricius from the assembly
hall.  Marcus forced a laugh, lampooned himself, and hoped that Gus, Paulus and
the others would not detect his fear.  There were six more ritual meals to
undergo.

Reverend Reid directed a pair of his lieutenants to beat
Patrick.
 
Lightly.  His new recruit had been loyal and useful these past months and he
wondered if there wasn’t some truth to his allegation.  They used baseballs in
socks, one restraining, the other slinging.  There was bruising, but Patrick
had endured worse.  After a week of latrine duty, loss of TV and games room
privileges, and curfew, he was back in the Reverend’s office.

“Lesson?”

“To keep my mouth shut.”

Patrick’s suspicions had not been
beaten from him.  “In public,” he added.

“The city’s elite all together. 
The world’s most powerful man.  A good time to speak of assassinations?”

“I wasn’t thinking Reverend. 
That was my mistake.”

“You’ve learned humility.  And
discretion.  But you had to be punished.  A mule cannot be trained with carrots
alone.”

“Yes Reverend.  I accept all that
I deserve.”

Reid smiled.

“Here at Super Shepherd
Ministries we are all about forgiveness.  Your penance will not last.  I have
high hopes for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Tell me all about the fellow who
was at our meeting last week.  What do you know about him?”

Patrick related all he knew.  The
pastor remained silent, thinking. 

“Delinquents were picked up from
the streets yesterday,” he said finally, “including Sebastian of Caritas, the
anarchist.  He’s been organizing the illegal aliens camped in the ghettos. 
There is evidence of a sleeper cell.  I shouldn’t be telling you this, I’ve
been told in strictest secrecy…”

Patrick suppressed the smile that
threatened.  Vindication.

“The next phase of
Operation
Sweep for Jesus
starts tomorrow.  We’ll be touring the east side.  You have
familiarity of those streets, yes?  Perhaps we could use your expertise?”

“Yes, Reverend.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across town, Gus poked his
compact head into Mark’s cubicle and grinned at him. 

“I didn’t see you yesterday
afternoon,” he said.

Mark was startled. 
“Yesterday?”   

“Tell me you were banging some
college girl all afternoon.  That’s the only excuse.  Not only tolerated, but
encouraged.”

Gus spoke quickly, with no
inflection, smiling mirthlessly.  His manner had changed since the secret
society meeting.

“Actually, I had a dentist
appointment yesterday afternoon,” Mark lied, “and then didn’t feel so well
afterwards, so I just went home for the day.” 

He’d shared lunch with Nasir and
Sura and had stayed later than usual.  They were very worried, not having seen
Sebastian in many days. 

“No kidding?  I’m sorry to hear
that.  Feeling better?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Good.  We’re going to need a
little extra out of everyone these next few weeks.  I don’t need to tell you
how important this contract is.  We need everyone pulling in the same
direction.  Alright?”

“Sure, I can work late tonight.” 

“You know we hate to ask for overtime,
but it’s a critical juncture for the firm.”

“Of course.”

“Can I help?  Do you need
anything?  Some amphetamines?  They work for me when I need to pull an
all-nighter.”

Mark declined. 

“Look, in future, please make
sure you let the team know if you’re going to be out during normal work hours. 
Sign the ‘Out’ sheet and let Brenda know.”

Gus disappeared.  His head thrust
back into the cubicle seconds later. 

“We’re getting together at my
place tonight at around 11PM, for margaritas and a tour of the rippers.”    

“Thanks, not tonight,” Mark
pointed at his computer, “pretty busy.”

Gus lingered, his eyes roving
Mark’s, one to the other.  Mark was first to flinch, turning back to his
monitor, and Gus departed.  

Mark was in the server room until
evening, re-configuring the database server for the oil refinery intranet
project.  He’d made little progress. 

“Nearly finished?”

Alex, the network administrator,
stood over his shoulder.  It was eight PM and the office was empty.  Mark shook
his head.

“Can it wait?  I’m seeing
double.  I need to get home.”  

“I’d really like to figure it out
tonight.  I was out yesterday afternoon and this piece is already behind
schedule.  Could I close up shop tonight?”

“Make sure you lock all the
workstations before you leave and make sure you lock the server room.  It will
be my ass if we get hacked.”

It was almost midnight before
Mark had the database communicating efficiently with the remote client machines
that would access it.  He looked around, straightening his back.  He was alone
in the buzzing, humming, vibrating server room, in the middle of a darkened,
empty office.  The space was somehow less sterile with the lights dimmed,
devoid of people.  Mark recalled something his colleagues said one night at the
bar.  They claimed that Gus had revealing photos of the boss’ wife Emily
archived on the Priapus server, the one that hosted an adult-only website. 
Mark remembered the effect of seeing her fully clothed at the Super Bowl
party.  Priapus was only twenty feet away. 

  He wheeled the portable
monitor, keyboard and mouse to Priapus, connected the peripherals, and logged
in using the credentials Alex had left him.  He searched the file system,
scanning through hundreds of folders and files, audio and video, images and text. 
It contained all manner of nakedness; of pretty poses, of seductive scenes, of
wild carnality.  Still he could not find a trace of the coveted Emily. 

Just before giving up he came
across a folder labeled “Juvenilia”. 

He clicked. 
It was revolting.

There wasn’t time to verify what
his bleary eyes reported.  Noise was coming from the hallway outside the server
room.  Mark scrambled to close the image viewer and disconnect the portable
monitor.  The door to the server room slammed open.

“Mark!  You in here?”

Mark shunted the monitor,
keyboard and mouse platform on its caster wheels down the aisle of server
racks, in front of another server. 

“Down here,” he said, voice
quavering, “just finishing up.”

Gus clambered into the aisle and
peered down, his hands clutching the frame of the racks on either side,
blocking the entrance.  He looked at Mark and then at the servers. 

“I thought you were working on
the intranet project tonight?”

“I was.  I did.  The database is
configured properly now.”

“Working on the…” Gus peered at
the servers, “Ride Market server now?”

Mark paused and stared at the
flashing bank.  “Alex asked me to check the performance logs before I left, he
noticed some sluggishness.”

The seconds of silence felt like
hours before Gus finally smiled.

“I see.  Good man.  We appreciate
your dedication.”

“No problem.”

“I thought we would swing back by
the office to see if you had finished and wanted to join us.  The guys are
waiting in the car downstairs.”

Mark stretched and forced a yawn. 

“I appreciate it, but I’m beat. 
I need to get home.”

“Go ahead,” Gus said, surveying
the racks again, “I’ll lock up.”

Mark stood from the portable
monitor and squeezed past into the main area of the server room.  It required
all the restraint he could muster not to break into a run.  He was almost out
the door when Gus called him back. 

“Have you given any more thought
to whether you would like apply for membership in our organization?”

“Still not sure.  I’m worried I
just may not have the time,” Mark said. “Can I think it over a bit longer?”

“Of course.”

Mark returned to his cubicle,
closed down his workstation and left the building through the front door. 

He berated himself. 
Did I
really see what I thought I saw?  Should I report it?  Should I resign?
 

He didn’t see Patrick standing
patiently in the shadows as he exited the office building following him step
for step all the way home.