The Last Disciple (49 page)

“It is a fever. I sleep poorly and I’m always thirsty.” The young woman spoke from beneath a protective arm over her head.

“You disagree with me?” Petillius thumped her again. He looked over at Chayim. “You’ll excuse me while I finish this task?”

“Please,” Chayim said. “Don’t.”

“Come, come,” Petillius said. “You’ve come this far. What can it matter how long I delay lunch?”

“I have plenty of time. But—” Chayim stepped forward and knelt beside the slave—“she appears seriously injured. As a friend, I would hate to see you face any legal difficulties.”

“Bah. The laws that protect slaves are theoretical. No one I know has faced a judge for punishing one.” Petillius prodded the slave with the end of his pole. “No blood. See?”

Chayim stood. “She is not an animal.”

Petillius was astounded. “Of course not. She’s a slave. Do you have any idea how cheap slaves are these days? Animals, on the other hand—”

“She’s human,” Chayim said quietly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“She’s human. I believe if you treat her with kindness you’ll see in time that—”

Petillius laughed so hard his jowls swayed. “It’s early in the day for drunkenness, my friend!”

“Let me buy her,” Chayim said. “You said slaves are cheap.”

Petillius stopped laughing as abruptly as he’d begun. “My slaves aren’t cheap, however. And this one has a child.” He named an outrageous sum.

“You just finished telling me that she’s lazy,” Chayim observed mildly.

Petillius cut the sum in half.

“Look at her,” Chayim said. “It will take days, perhaps weeks, for her to recover from the beating.”

Petillius cut the sum in half again.

“It seems,” Chayim said, “that we have come to an agreement. Now, if you don’t mind, would you be able to provide me with water and food for her?” Chayim paused as he touched the woman’s neck lightly with the backs of his fingers. “And a blanket. The poor woman is shivering.”

“Today?” Ruso said, trying to hide his anger but fairly certain it was obvious. “It’s enough of a danger to all of us that you brought someone up here at all. But you do it today?”

“I had no choice,” Cornelius said. “She threatened to turn me in to the authorities. I met with Damian today and made arrangements. Without me, what of our plans for tomorrow?”

The sun was beginning to set. They were on the hillside, just beneath the grove of olive trees that John used as a private retreat. Ruso had never asked John but guessed it reminded John of the Garden of Gethsemane outside Jerusalem, the garden that Jesus had often used as a similar retreat.

A young woman stood on the hillside, watching them.

“This is not good at all.” Ruso’s lips tightened as he looked past Cornelius at the woman, who was just out of earshot. “If she found you, obviously, someone from the meetings has been indiscreet.”

Cornelius offered the faintest of smiles. “That, at least, is not one of our worries.” He rubbed his forehead. “Her name is Leah. She is the sister to Nathan, son of Hezron. Nathan had instructed her to hold the copies of the letters of Matthew and Luke and of the one of John’s vision. I was the one you sent to retrieve them, remember?”

“That was months ago,” Ruso said, slowly and sadly. He continued to stare at Leah while speaking to Cornelius. She did not look away from his steady gaze. “But how did she ever find you in a city this large if someone did not tell her about you?”

Cornelius rubbed his forehead again. Closed his eyes. “I’ll never escape this mark. On the days she went to market, without her father knowing, she began to make inquiries about it until she learned which household branded slaves this distinctly. After that, it was only a matter of time . . .”

“But if she hasn’t turned you in to the authorities, what does she want? Money to keep her silence? If so, I have plenty. We’ll send her on her way. You know John will be gone before she can return and make further trouble.”

“No, not money,” Cornelius said. “In the days after Nathan died and before I arrived, she’d read those letters. She wants to know more about them.”

“She searches for our faith?” Ruso asked in astonishment. “Even after what happened to Nathan?”

“Especially because of what happened to him. She says she’s not able to stop wondering why he allowed himself to be killed in that manner.”

“But here,” Ruso said. “Why bring her here?”

“To meet John.” Before Ruso could protest, Cornelius rushed on. “After all, tonight will be his last night on this estate.”

“Only if you are successful with Damian,” Ruso answered.

“Either way, John will know we’ve betrayed him,” Cornelius said. “Do you think he’ll stay here on the estate after that?”

Ruso didn’t need to answer that question. “As you wish,” Ruso said to Cornelius after a short, grim silence. “Take her up to meet with him. But first let me know exactly what arrangements you made with the slave hunter for tomorrow. It is extremely important that John does not suspect anything.”

Chayim followed Petillius toward the mansion. They did not move quickly. Although it was less than a hundred yards to the gate, Petillius stopped to rest often.

“Were you impressed?” Petillius said, leaning against a tree. “Because I can tell you that I was. I’ve never been onstage, of course, but looking back, I think I have a natural talent. Don’t you agree?”

“The beating was severe enough,” Chayim said.

“That was not acting. I’ve never liked that slave. Do you think I’d sell you one that was special to me?”

“You are a wise man,” Chayim said.

“But my acting? Surely you saw ability in that.”

This was not a time to express dislike or disdain. “I agree. Not only ability, but ability with what seemed like years of practice.”

“Far from it. As you well know, it was only last night that you asked me for this favor. And I was certainly into my cups when you did. It was a miracle I remembered the time we arranged for you to appear, especially after all the excitement that followed the attack on Nero. And more of a miracle that I acted so consummately with so little time to prepare. Don’t you agree?”

“As we spoke in front of your slave,” Chayim agreed, hiding an ironic tone, “I was almost convinced myself that you truly meant to beat her. I had to keep reminding myself that we’d rehearsed it briefly last night.”

“We had?” Petillius sounded disappointed. “I must have really been in my cups.”

“That only makes your effort today more outstanding,” Chayim said. “Not less.”

“Quite,” Petillius said. He heaved himself forward, beaming with self-satisfaction. “Now let’s get you food and drink for the slave.” He stopped. “Did you tell me why we went through the charade of me beating her like that?”

Chayim shook his head. “I thought it would best protect both of us to keep it a secret.”

“Why is that?” the fat man asked.

“Two names.” Chayim dropped his voice to a whisper. “Helius and Tigellinus. I think I need not say more.”

Petillius’s eyes widened. “Enough said,” he whispered back. “I’ll never speak of this to anyone. Ever!”

The distant roar of lions first pulled Vitas back into consciousness. He lay in dirty straw, on his stomach and face. He rolled over, spitting to clear his mouth.

The roar of lions continued. Along with a strange thunder.

Vitas sat, slowly. It was dark. Smelled like a sewer.

His head was throbbing. He reached up and touched it gingerly. Discovered straw sticking to the most painful area. He pulled at the straw, and razor sharpness seemed to attack him. He dropped his hand and groaned.

He began to make sense of his surroundings. The enclosure was a small dark cell, with the only light coming from a torch on the other side of a small opening in the door.

Was it day? night?

How long had he been here?

Why was he . . . ?

The memories of his attack on Nero flooded him.

Sophia!
He groaned with spiritual anguish.

Sophia. Where was she? What had happened to her?

He tried to stand. He couldn’t find the strength.

He collapsed.

It finally occurred to Vitas to be surprised that he was still alive. An unsuccessful attack on Nero should have resulted in immediate death.

Vitas touched his skull again, thinking more clearly. He realized a piece of straw had dried into the blood of the gash above his ear. He gritted his teeth to pull it loose. Again the razor pain, but the straw came loose. He felt the warmth of blood trickle down onto his ear.

He heard the roar of lions again. Wondered why he knew with such certainty that it belonged to the great beasts.

Then he understood.

The roars came from above him.

As did the thunder.

Only it wasn’t thunder. But applause and the shouts of the crowd.

He was in the depths of the amphitheater.

That answered his question as to why he was not yet dead. Nero had obviously decided it would be more entertaining to save Vitas for a public display.

He groaned again, consumed by thirst. Consumed by anguish over the uncertainty of Sophia’s fate. Consumed by fear.

What would be worse?

His death?

Or trying to avoid the thoughts of what Nero might have done to Sophia?

How he wished for the faith that gave his wife peace in all circumstances.

Chayim returned to the depths of the olive grove, carrying a tray with water and food. He knelt beside the slave woman. “What is your name?” Chayim asked gently.

She was sitting, her back against the thick bark of an olive tree, protected from the hot sun directly above. The beating had not touched her face. She was pudgy, and her complexion, flushed from pain and fever, seemed naturally ruddy. Her short dark hair was greasy and hung in a straight line over her forehead.

“Rikka. I was taken with my parents from a village in the land of the Gauls.”

“Drink,” Chayim told her with artful sympathy. “You are safe now. And free.”

She took the water jug that Chayim offered.

“Thank you!” Rikka gasped after gulping down mouthful after mouthful. Hot as it was on the hillside, she continued to shiver. Then his words made their impact. “Free?”

Chayim nodded. “We are all equal before God. You and your child will serve no one as slaves. I will see to it that you have an apartment and gainful employment.” He took bread and cheese from the tray and handed them to her. “Eat. You need to gain strength.”