The Last Disciple (9 page)

“I was part of the Iceni revolt, too,” Maglorius said. “The first one. I was part of a triumph that entered Rome as well. But not as a Roman soldier.”

Titus shrugged. “Any battle has winners and losers. The empire never loses. Besides, I’m sure you live well as a famous gladiator. You would have never enjoyed life in this way otherwise.”

“My wife died at the hand of a Roman general. As did my son, who was barely older than a baby. He would have been a man of your age today, had he lived.”

Titus did not shrug this time. It would have been impossible. For Maglorius had spun his shoulder and placed a brawny forearm against Titus’s neck, squeezing him in a deadly embrace.

“What should matter most to you,” Maglorius said, almost in a whisper, holding a knife to Titus’s ribs with his other hand, “is that my young wife was holding our son when that general executed them both with the same blow of a sword. As an example to my people. I was captive and could only watch and hate the man who did it. Vespasian. Your father.”

Maglorius jammed the knife hard enough for the tip to pierce Titus’s toga and draw blood. “It should not surprise you then,” Maglorius continued. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.”

“I am the
bestiarius
,” the thin man said to Leah. His mouth was a blackened hole, his front teeth long since crumbled by decay. He stared at Leah’s lack of comprehension, as if he expected her to be pleased he had bothered to speak to her.

“The beast master,” he explained, obviously irritated. “In charge of all the animals here. And I have a problem that you can help me solve.”

He had pulled Leah away from the prison cell to speak with her privately. The only thing that kept her from fleeing was that he had promised hope.

“This is the first day of the games,” he said. “The mobs are insane for excitement, and I had no choice but to send out my best man-eaters this afternoon. Now they are engorged and will have no desire to attack for days.”

“Man-eaters?”

“Lions,” he said impatiently. “Have you lived your life in a cave?”

Leah shuddered. At the sight and smell of this man in front of her. At the image of the man-eaters pouncing on helpless victims in the arena.

Her brother . . .

Again, she forced the thoughts away.

“All I have for tomorrow afternoon’s spectacle are untamed lions,” the beast master continued. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get them interested in attacking?” He thumbed in the direction of the prisoners behind him. “Wild lions don’t recognize them as food.”

Leah couldn’t help the tears that sprang to her eyes.
Them
. This man was talking about Nathan, separated from freedom by only a few iron bars. How could it be possible that tomorrow . . .

“These new lions have been in cages for weeks, so upset they’ve barely eaten,” the beast master continued. “Some of the lions are almost too weak to attack. Then to set them loose suddenly in bright sunshine with the screaming of the mobs . . . well, it frightens them so badly some just lay down.”

He grimaced. It formed an ugly mask across his face. “And if the lions are afraid of the Christians, that will be catastrophic. I have senators to entertain, you know.” He lowered his voice. “Who is that man in there, the one talking with you?”

“My brother,” Leah whispered.

“Well then, this is where you can help. Talk to those people. They won’t listen to me. All they do is speak of a resurrection and sing hymns, like tomorrow’s carnage is going to be a great celebration for them. Tell them what I have to propose, and I’ll make sure that your brother is spared along with the children.”

“Spared!”

“He’ll have to be sold as a slave, of course. But isn’t that much better than facing the lions?”

She nodded.

“Then listen to this,” he began. And he told her what he wanted.

Nearby in Rome, Helius faced Leah’s older brother Caleb in an opulent room in the center of the imperial palace, with an array of torches and expensive lamps giving ample light.

“My brother Nathan faces the lions tomorrow,” Caleb said.

“I’m sure he deserves it,” Helius said. “The empire dispenses justice without prejudice.”

Helius sat in a large chair. No guards. No slaves. This needed to be a private conversation. But it would have been nice to have slaves fanning the air nearby; although it was evening, the air had not yet cooled enough to be comfortable.

As Helius regarded the handsome, black-haired, young Jew in front of him, he thought with regretful tenderness that it was a pity such a fine specimen would have to die.

“Nathan was arrested because someone reported to the authorities that he is a Christian,” Caleb said. “A man named Vitas spent a great deal of time interrogating him.”

Helius made a waving motion as if impatient. In the last months, Vitas had interrogated more than a few Christians, trying to learn if they were the threat to the empire that Nero decreed. Helius had been part of the interrogation of Nathan, as Vitas tried to prove the Christian beliefs were not treasonous.

“As I said,” Helius answered, pretending not to be familiar with Nathan, “your brother deserves his fate. Nero has made it very clear that the Christians are a treasonous group. What does that have to do with this letter?”

Helius held up the scroll marked with the three-letter Greek word that Christians had been placing across the city in public places.

“It was the only way I could think of to get an audience with Nero.”

“I serve in Nero’s stead,” Helius said. “Why did you want this audience?”

“I love my brother,” Caleb said simply.

“How touching.”

“My father is a famed Jew named Hezron,” Caleb continued. “A man considered to be the greatest rabbi among the Jews in Rome. An excellent scholar and a wise old man with years of experience in debate. I have followed closely in his footsteps, and many feel I am already close to an equal in learnedness.”

“Delightful.”

“I do not say this to boast but to let you know that I can deliver on my promise. And that my reputation will have credibility in circles that matter.”

“I haven’t heard your promise.”

“First,” Caleb said, “I want your word that if I am successful, you will release my brother from the arena.”

“Of course,” Helius lied smoothly. “But that’s assuming what you have to give in exchange is worthwhile.”

“You have the material from the archives,” Caleb answered, “and you know how damaging it could be to Nero.”

Helius shrugged.

Caleb smiled with confidence. “A wealthy merchant knows a simple fact. If there is no apparent need for a good, create that need. Then the sales of it will be easy. I found what I did in the archives to create that need. That in itself should show you I am an excellent scholar.”

“I fear nothing from the archives.”

“Then why am I still alive?” Caleb asked. “You must think I possess something of value.”

“You must love your brother a great deal to risk this.”

“If I give you proof that makes the archive matter meaningless,” Caleb said, “let him live.”

Helius stared at Caleb.

“Yes,” Caleb said, “I can prove for you that Jesus of Nazareth—whom the Christians call Christos—was not divine.”

The naked baby had been placed on the cold stone pavement directly beneath the statue of Nero at the temple in Smyrna. Vitas knelt in front of it and in the moonlight saw that it was a baby girl.

Vitas was filled with confusion.

What was he doing here? The father who had decided to leave the baby exposed was doing nothing wrong in the eyes of Roman law. Vitas had seen the bodies of dozens of exposed babies left in public places and had well been able to ignore their fading cries.

What was he doing here? It was against centuries of tradition to do anything but ignore the dying baby. And how could he save the tiny girl, even if he picked her up this very moment?

The baby’s cries ripped at his heart.

What was he doing here? In Rome, he’d managed to spend four years in a cocoon, wrapped in the luxuries of wealth, determined not to step outside into a world filled with these tragedies. As a member of Nero’s inner court, he’d taken great effort to remain a decision maker, to avoid involvement in implementing any of the plans that sent men or women to their deaths.

What was he doing here in front of this baby? Why did he care?

An image sprang to his mind: a young Jew named Nathan, taken by arresting soldiers from a small Jewish household and hauled in front of the defacto triumvirate of Helius and Tigellinus and Vitas, the three men who formed the power base that served Nero. This young Jew had been utterly unafraid of the prodding spears of the soldiers and the harsh questions from Helius and Tigellinus. But the intended interrogation of the boy had become almost like a conversation between peers, almost to the point where Vitas had felt like a student at a master’s feet, trying to understand where the young man could draw such strength and peace in front of the terrifying power of Rome. Strength and peace. Two things Vitas wanted to possess.

What was he doing here on the pavement, kneeling in front of the weakening baby?

Since the day of the arrest of that boy named Nathan, Vitas had been unable to escape the questions Nathan had posed. Questions about soul and purpose of life. Questions about a man named Jesus, crucified by Pontius Pilate during his clumsy attempts to govern Judea.

Vitas wanted his life in compartments, for compartments sealed away pain. Yet since arresting Nathan, Vitas had become too aware of the suffering of others. He was irritated at that growing weakness and irritated that the dreams he’d almost escaped since returning to Rome had recently begun to haunt him again.

What was he doing here?

If he took the baby, he breached law. And most certainly betrayed a long-standing tradition of the empire.

If he didn’t take the baby, she would surely die within the hour.

If he took the baby, what of all the other children in this world who suffered? Titus had been right. The task was overwhelming.

Yet if he stood and left the baby where she was still wailing, would her cries join the other wails of his dreams?

Vitas sighed. He had enough money. Perhaps . . .

Vitas took the baby into his arms, trying to warm the trembling little girl. He would wrestle with what to do as he held her. That was his decision for now. The baby quieted briefly.

Footsteps alerted him to the presence of someone approaching from behind. “What do you think you are doing?” The demand came from a woman’s voice.

Vitas rose awkwardly, still holding the baby. She began to wail again.

He turned.

“I . . . I . . .” Vitas could not answer, for that, of course, had been the same question he’d been struggling with since reaching the baby.

The moonlight shadows from the statue that fell across the woman prevented him from seeing her face clearly. She was tall, seemed young. And she was clearly indignant, for her arms were crossed.

This attitude startled Vitas. It was night. The woman was alone. She should have been frightened. Her courage, however, intrigued him.

“Did Aristarchus send you?” She strode forward and pulled the baby from his arms. Moonlight flashed across her face. He’d been right. She was young. Perhaps a couple of years younger than his brother Damian. A girl recently turned woman, with an air of something he could not define, but something that plucked at his heart.