The Last Disciple (17 page)

“Titus is on the ship too,” Vitas said. “Return to Rome. He and his father will vouch for you. Think of the political career ahead of you.”

“Respectability is boring,” Damian said. “Let me tell you about the swallows. My acquaintances in Ephesus also have a cage with swallows native to Smyrna. And we help each other.”

“Help?”

“As soon as I know which faction has won the day’s races,” Damian said, “I paint a swallow that color and release it. Long before the courier gets to Ephesus, the swallow has arrived at its nest there and alerted my acquaintances on the team to wager. They, of course, do the same for me. The only horses I’ve bet upon in the last week have been winners.” Damian grinned. “How else could I afford this villa?”

“Your scheme will eventually be discovered. No one bets correctly all the time.”

“I agree,” Damian said. “But by this time tomorrow I was either going to be dead or returned to Rome with the rest of the gladiators. In the meantime, I had Maglorius to protect me. So I spent everything as quickly as I could. Very enjoyably, I might add.”

“How long before you return to Rome?”

“Look how many swallows remain in the cage,” Damian answered.

Vitas sighed. He thought of the ship. Of Paulina and the baby whom he had made a vow to support. Of the Jewish slave who had beguiled him, whom he intended to court in the manner he would have courted a Roman woman of high social standing.

Vitas knew his brother would not be budged. And the others waited. “I’ve given your situation a lot of thought,” he said. “I know you almost as well as you know yourself.”

“You have my sympathy.” Damian grinned.

“A month ago,” Vitas said, “two slaves escaped Nero’s palace. It hasn’t been reported publicly, because they managed to leave with a substantial amount of jewelry. Apparently, Nero had been careless around those slaves.”

“Handsome young boys, I presume, if Nero had dangled baubles in front of them.”

“Hunt them down for me,” Vitas said. “I think you’ll find it as exciting as gambling, and it will give you an excuse to roam the slums that seem to draw you like a siren on a rock.”

“Not a bad idea,” Damian said. “Not bad at all. Ex-gladiator turned slave hunter.” Another crooked grin. “I can see how it would appeal to the sort of woman I find interesting.”

“You’ll do it then?”

Damian nodded. “I’ll join you in Rome in about a month.”

Vitas sighed. He walked to the birdcage. Lifted it. Moved it to a window. Ripped apart the bars of the cage. Held it at the window until all the birds had found their freedom.

He turned to see Damian calmly regarding him with arms crossed.

“I’ll find more swallows,” Damian said. “More for principle’s sake than anything. You know I hate to be told what to do.”

“You have two hours,” Vitas said. “The ship leaves then.”

As Vitas left the villa, he met three men walking toward him. Although they were not large, they were armed with pieces of wood and angry faces. They glanced at him but did nothing else as they passed.

Vitas turned and observed, without surprise, that they were entering the outer courtyard of the villa. What other business would they have at this hour of the morning?

Vitas shook his head and kept walking. Now that Damian owned half the family estate, he had enough money to pay them back. And a few bruises wouldn’t be a bad way to encourage him to follow the road to respectability.

Two minutes later, Vitas heard shouting from behind him.

“Vitas! Vitas!” It was Damian, at a full run. His toga flailed around him and his sandals were not laced. “Vitas! Wait! Tell me where I can find this ship of yours!”

“What?” Helius ordered the scribe to stop with the stylus.

“This is what has been declared by Jesus,” Zabad said. “‘Immediately after the distress of those days, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken. At that time the sign of the Son of Man will appear in the sky, and all the nations of the earth will mourn. They will see the Son of Man coming on clouds of the sky with power and great glory.’”

Helius cast questioning eyes at Caleb. “Coming on the clouds? You think this Jesus is about to return?”

“Zabad quotes from the scrolls of Matthew.” Caleb gave a weary sigh. “If you were a Jew, you would be familiar with the imagery.
Coming on the clouds
is a familiar Jewish expression used by our prophets to communicate the majesty and sovereign power of God. His coming on clouds translates to judgment for those who resist Him and blessing for those who bow the knee.”

“You are certain of this?” Helius said.

“This is common knowledge. Isaiah, for example, used this very expression to describe God’s retribution on Egypt. When he prophesied that God would come in wrath and fierce anger to make the land of Babylon desolate, he said that ‘the rising sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light.’ All these images are used frequently by our ancient prophets to describe God’s judgment and retribution.”

“Wrath and fierce anger?” Helius said to Zabad.

“From our prophet Daniel.” Zabad quoted: “‘In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence. He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all peoples, nations and men of every language worshiped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.’”

“Enough!” Helius shouted.

If Nero heard that any god was about to deliver judgment on him, even as a rumor, the palace would be unbearable. Nero slept the uneasy sleep of a guilty man. He saw plots everywhere. “You’re saying this Jesus will return to judge this generation?”

Helius turned to Caleb. “I want an explanation.”

Caleb shook his head. “It does not mean a literal bodily return. It means God’s punishment would vindicate Jesus and His death.”

“Punishment?” Helius said. Nero was too paranoid as it was. This could not get out. “What kind of—?”

“If the temple does not fall—and it won’t for all the reasons I described— all the other prophecies have no credibility,” Caleb answered. “I’ve just established that.”

“Yes,” Zabad said, “if the temple doesn’t fall, Jesus is a failed prophet. But this generation is not yet over. The temple will fall as judgment at a day and an hour that only God knows. And someday Jesus Himself will truly return to judge the living and the dead.”

“I cannot bear this religious nonsense,” Helius said.

“You also have your warning,” Zabad told him. “A divine revelation as given by the last disciple.”

“The last disciple?” Helius turned to Caleb. “Who is this last disciple?”

Caleb shrugged.

“Nero began the Tribulation after the Great Fire, but his time will be cut short,” Zabad said. “He will be defeated by the Lamb. The Christ against the Antichrist.”

“The lamb?” Helius repeated. Any prediction of Nero’s defeat must not reach the emperor’s ears. His voice rose as his question to Caleb became more insistent. “Tell me who is this last disciple!”

“Nero is doomed,” Zabad said, as if Helius had not spoken. “And in his doom, so too will you find doom. Yet it is not too late to save your soul.”

There was a torch on the wall, unlit because it was daylight. Zabad took it. Using its sooty end like a brush, he wrote a single word in Greek in large letters on the wall.

Helius knew what the symbols would be before Zabad finished.

In Greek, it was the word that the Christians had been placing as graffiti all across the city. Unreasoning rage drove Helius to an act he would later regret again and again. Had he let Caleb live, he would have been able to find the Senate records that were such a threat. Had he let Zabad live, he would have been able to torture him to learn more about the revelation of the last disciple.

Instead, he yelled for the guards.

“Kill them!” Helius screamed as they rushed into the room. “Kill them all!”

As Caleb and the innocent scribe backed away in horrified incomprehension, Zabad smiled a strange smile of peace and waited for the swords.

He died moments later, beneath the very letters that he had inscribed on the palace wall. Letters that also served as numbers. Letters that added up to a single sum.

Six hundred and sixty-six.

Part III

Eighteen Months after the Beginning of the Tribulation

AD 66

Judea

Do not seal up the words of the prophecy of this book, because the time is near. Let him who does wrong continue to do wrong; let him who is vile continue to be vile; let him who does right continue to do right; and let him who is holy continue to be holy.

—
R
EVELATION 22:10-11

13 Av

The Third Hour

“Silence or death,” a voice whispered in her ear.

Queen Bernice woke in the Jerusalem palace to the voice and to the pressure of something sharp against her neck.

The flames of the lamps in her chamber had been snuffed. She was a restless sleeper and, because of her childlike fear of the night, made it a habit to burn several lamps filled with enough oil to last until dawn. Now, with the covering over the window as she always requested from her servants, it was nearly dark even though dawn had arrived hours earlier.

She could not see the intruder.

“As this knife proves,” the ragged whisper continued, “I am a desperate man. I care nothing for my own life. If you call for your guards, you die along with me.”

His breath tickled her ear, and the warmth of it washed over her face. The shock of this intimacy was as frightening as the knife. How had he made it through the labyrinth of corridors to one of the innermost chambers of the palace?

“On your side,” the voice commanded.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“I’ve never even struck a woman before,” he said. “But this morning I am prepared to kill. Do as I say.”

Slowly she rolled over. She slept in a silk gown, and it tangled against her legs.

Was this man an assassin? A
Sicarii
of the Zealots determined to punish one of the Herods for the family’s collaboration with Rome? Then why not kill her as she slept?

From where he knelt at the side of her bed, the intruder took her left arm and pulled it in front of her. His gentleness was alarming.

Queen Bernice felt something tighten against her wrist. The noose of a leather cord?

“Although my knife is no longer against your throat,” he whispered, “if you cry out I will kill you long before your guards arrive.”

He fumbled for her other arm, using just one hand. That told her his threat was not idle, that his knife was in his other hand.

Again, the tightness of a narrow band around her other wrist. He’d had the nooses prepared, planned this carefully, she realized. It was a realization that raised her fear, and a tremor shook her body.