The Last Disciple (57 page)

I choose Nero
, she thought.
Not lions or tunics of pitch that would burn me alive.

I choose Nero.

But she couldn’t say it.

Because there were other images in her mind. The images that had brought her to these meetings to seek answers.

Images of her brother singing hymns in the prison below the arena. Of him standing tall on the sand as the lions were loosed. Of the beauty of the songs that rose as the lions circled. Of the peace on his face as he knelt and prayed and waited for his death from those savage teeth and claws.

In that moment, Leah finally stopped asking questions about Jesus and opened her heart in a silent prayer, beseeching Him for the faith that had made her brother strong enough to face the lions with peace.

And in that moment an incredible peace filled her, too. An indescribable tranquility and joy as the holiness of an unseen Spirit filled her, like the sigh of an eternal wind.

She thought for an instant that she, too, had seen the Lamb on the throne as John had described it in his letter and heard the sweetest songs of angels that John had listened to in the heaven of his vision.

This is it.
Leah knew with certainty.
This is the faith that brings me to God, faith in the Jesus who is His Son and who died on the cross on my behalf, taking the punishment for all the selfishness and sins that made it impossible for me to ever cross the chasm between my imperfection and the utter holiness of God.

This is it.

Fear fell away from her.

“I believe,” Leah said to the soldier. “I believe that Jesus is the Son of God. I will gladly suffer for my Master.” She looked directly at Chayim. “And I will pray for those who do not yet have that strength.”

Ben-Aryeh sobbed beside the bath.

Sophia’s eyes were closed, of course, so she could not see the soldier standing in the doorway. She knew, however, what was happening.

This had been Ben-Aryeh’s plan.

Earlier in the day, when he’d discovered it was likely that soldiers would be sent with orders for Sophia to commit suicide, Ben-Aryeh had slit the throat of a goat and collected its blood in a large jug. The jug had been hidden beneath the towels beside the bath, and once in the hot water, Sophia had poured its contents into the bath and covered the jug again with the towels.

Then had come the difficult part. Cutting the wrist of her left arm—the side facing the doorway—deep enough so that a casual inspection would show sufficient damage but not so deeply that it would threaten her life. Beneath the water, she’d been clamping her wrist with a small cloth in her right hand to prevent most of the bleeding.

Ben-Aryeh had done as promised. Entered with the soldier and lifted her left arm to show the cut. Then he had carefully placed it back beneath the water and used his body to hide any movement as she resumed clamping her wrist with her other hand to minimize the blood flow.

Because they had planned this carefully, Sophia knew that Ben-Aryeh was using the contortion of his heaving sobs to keep his right hand tight against his belly, close to the handle of the knife he had hidden beneath his tunic.

If the soldier decided to closely inspect Sophia or to ensure she was dead by plunging a sword into her, Ben-Aryeh would kill him. And their escape would be rushed and uncertain. Horses were prepared in the stable, and they would hope for enough time after the discovery of the dead soldier to get to the stable and flee.

On the other hand, if the soldier was satisfied that Sophia was dead, Ben-Aryeh would spare the man’s life.

As she waited, Sophia took only tiny breaths through her nostrils, making sure the water around her did not show movement and betray that she was alive.

Moment stretched after moment.

She could not see that the soldier remained at a respectful distance, allowing Ben-Aryeh to grieve with dignity. That compassion saved the soldier’s life. He finally turned away and left Ben-Aryeh alone with Sophia.

There it was, Chayim thought. Leah had chosen torture. Humiliation. Death. All that beauty would be torn apart before he could taste it, before he could devour it himself.

Chayim nearly groaned.

Gavrus turned to Chayim. “There. Are you satisfied? The four of you have freedom.”

Gavrus waited for Chayim to answer as they had planned earlier. Some soldiers would take away the Christians for arrest. Then Chayim would take the scrolls already in the room. He would force Corbulo and the other two to tell him anything else he needed to know about the letter of the Revelation that Helius sought. Through all of this, Chayim would guarantee that he had given Nero no reason to believe him a traitor to the empire, and Chayim would probably earn some personal reward for his actions.

Yet against all that Chayim had believed he wanted until this evening was one inexorable fact: Speaking the words that Gavrus expected to hear would seal Leah’s fate and the fate of the other Christians with her. In that moment, the room seemed to shift for Chayim, as if an earthquake had struck.

“Well?” Gavrus demanded. “What say you?”

Chayim opened his mouth to croak out the words that would kill Leah. He felt as if another man were about to speak for him. He stopped and drew a breath. He made his decision. “Four?” Chayim asked. He pointed at Corbulo and the other two nearby. “I only see three.”

Gavrus blinked. This was not what they had discussed earlier. “I would assume,” Gavrus said, “that you are the fourth. That you also choose Nero.”

“Assume instead that I simply want to spare those who would choose Nero.”

“Are you telling me that you do not choose allegiance to our emperor and his claim to divinity?”

Chayim drew another breath. “I do not,” he said. “I will stand in the arena with those who are unwilling to give up their faith.”

The room full of soldiers and condemned followers was quiet with tension and dread.

Until Chayim deliberately broke it.

“It was you!” Chayim lifted his shackled wrists and pointed across the small room at Corbulo. “You brought the soldiers here!”

“I did no such thing.” Corbulo took a step forward in anger.

Chayim shook the shackles and the clinking sound seemed to echo. “You are free,” he told Corbulo. “You chose Caesar. We are not.”

“Enough,” Gavrus growled.

Chayim knew he needed a diversion, anything to get outside with Gavrus, anything to let him speak to the Roman soldier in private.

“Betrayer!” Chayim shouted at Corbulo, ignoring the sword that Gavrus raised. “And you dared accuse me!”

“I did not bring the soldiers,” Corbulo said. He made an appealing gesture to the others in the room. “I did not!”

Gavrus repeated himself louder. “Enough!”

“You’ve betrayed our Master.” Chayim continued to ignore Gavrus, knowing that he was safe from the soldier, no matter how much Gavrus might be confused by the situation.

Still holding his hands high and pointing at Corbulo in accusation, Chayim searched his memory for the name he needed. During his time with Rikka, he had asked the slave for as many of the stories about the Christ as he dared, hoping she wouldn’t realize he was not a follower. “You’re no different than . . . than . . . Judas himself!”

“No,” Corbulo wailed.

“Enough!” Gavrus shouted.

“We die anyway.” Chayim spit at the feet of Gavrus. “I will not let you intimidate me.” He spit again, directly on the chest of Gavrus.

At last, a gleam of understanding seemed to come into Gavrus’s eyes. “You dare insult a soldier sent by Caesar!” he said.

“I do not serve Caesar! That much should be clear! What are you going to do? Take me outside right now and kill me?”

There it was, the order directed at Gavrus. Would he understand?

Gavrus laughed. “That will be a pleasure.” He turned to the other soldiers. “Guard them. This won’t take me long.”

Gavrus, a much bigger man than Chayim, grabbed Chayim by the shackles and dragged him through the doorway. “What game are you playing?” he hissed into Chayim’s ear as soon as they were in the alley. “I thought you were going to join those on Nero’s side and send the others to the arena.”

“You are one of them,” Chayim said. “A Christian.”

“What?”

“You took me in the alley to prevent a real fight. You are trying to protect me. That is what you will tell the others when you step inside. But tell them that only after you have released the three who chose Nero.”

“What!”

“Listen to me. You are one of them. You have a spy in Nero’s court who tells you when a group of Christians is discovered.”

Chayim was thinking it through as he spoke, and he found the rush of adrenaline exhilarating. “You learn of a location and arrive well before the soldiers who are truly sent by Nero to arrest them. You then test the Christians as you did to rid them of the ones who are false to their faith.”

“Winnowing the chaff from the wheat,” Gavrus said. “I’ll even apologize to that woman.”

Chayim grinned. “You are a quick study.”

“What about the ones who chose Nero?”

“Tell it this way. You always send them away before you inform the others that it was a test. Doing it in such a manner, Corbulo and the other two will never know about the fate of those left behind.”

“And those left behind?”

“Apologize for frightening them as you did. Tell them it was necessary to protect them and that they now know they can trust everyone in the room who chose to die for the Christ. And now that will include me.”

“Chayim . . .”

“Yes?”

“You are a devious snake.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

Chayim was proud of himself. Now his presence among them would not be questioned. He could learn more about the letter that Helius sought. Gavrus could always be called upon as a witness that Chayim wasn’t actually a Christian. And best of all, in Leah’s eyes, he would undoubtedly be a hero.

“I go then,” Gavrus said.

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Before you send him away,” Chayim said, “tell Corbulo that Caesar thanks him for leading you to the group. I want everyone inside to believe he truly was a traitor.”

As Gavrus walked back into the room, Chayim smiled, thinking of Leah. Yes, indeed, Chayim congratulated himself, he truly did know how to impress a woman.

“There are two small jars at the bottom of the bag,” Jonathan said in the cell with Vitas. “Take them please.”

Too curious to protest, Vitas reached into the bag and felt for them. One was larger than the other.

“You’ll have to apply the dye,” Jonathan said. “It can’t be found on my hands.”

“Dye? Who sent you? What is going on?”

“The larger jar. That dye goes in your hair.”

“It will not.”

“It must for you to live.”

“Live?”

“What color is my hair?” Jonathan’s words had lost their crispness.

“Light. Blond?”

“The dye will bleach your hair to look like mine. When you are finished, rub the darker dye into my hair.”

“And then what?” Vitas said. “I walk out and leave you here?”

“Yes,” Jonathan said simply.

The utter sincerity of his answer froze Vitas.