The Last Disciple (41 page)

“The war is upon us. I may be in prison a long time before you convene the Sanhedrin,” Ben-Aryeh said. “I wish to wipe away today’s sweat with a towel and washbasin and change my clothing before I leave my household.”

“As you wish.”

“Amaris?” Ben-Aryeh asked. “No matter what you think of me now, I ask you to visit me in prison.”

She did not answer.

Ben-Aryeh squared his shoulders. Marched past Annas the Younger, who grinned openly in delight at Ben-Aryeh’s trouble.

Ben-Aryeh crossed the tiles of the inner courtyard, walked the familiar walk through the mansion, guessing he would never be able to walk through it again.

He reached his laundered clothing.

Changed quickly.

He stopped in the bedchamber, where he kept hidden a small clay jug filled with gold coins. He filled a leather purse with the coins and hung it around his neck beneath his clothing. Then, without hesitation, he climbed out the window and slid down a vine on the outer wall.

When he reached the street, he landed softly.

And fled into the night. There was only one man who could help him now.

When Bernice and Florus were alone, Florus pointed at a table that held a jug of wine and various delicacies. “You are my guest,” he said. “What would you like?”

Someone with decent social graces,
she thought, but of course kept that to herself.

Bernice moved to the table and poured wine. It would give him a sense of power that the queen of the Jews had served him. More importantly, it gave her a chance to make sure his goblet held far more wine than hers.

“Your brother is in Egypt, I hear,” Florus said.

Did she imagine that his eyes glittered as the light began to fail? “Yes,” she replied. “Egypt.”

Was this man incapable of interesting conversation? He was essentially a king himself in this part of the world. No, more than king, because she and Agrippa held no power against what he might decide, except in the form of sending a formal complaint to the governor of Syria or to Nero himself. Florus held the power of life and death, had traveled the world, had dined with the famous and infamous. How could he be so unbearably dull and uncharismatic?

In a flash, she understood.

Because he was so focused on his own desires. She wasn’t a person to him. But a commodity. And since his position essentially allowed him to take what he wanted at will, he didn’t understand the give-and-take of pursuit.

“Agrippa gone then. And you in Jerusalem. Word reached me it is part of a holy vow. . . .”

“Yes,” she replied. “Holy vow.”

“You Jews confuse me. What is it you hope to gain by placing faith in what cannot be seen?”

A real conversational gambit,
Bernice thought. Was there a part of him that could prove interesting?

Before she could answer, however, he lifted his goblet. “Not a good wine,” he said. “I hope you’ll endure it.”

She smiled over her own goblet. “I shall.”

“So,” he said, “let’s not waste time. What payment do you expect?”

“I . . . don’t understand.”

“I find in these situations that it saves time to negotiate in a direct manner.”

“These situations—?”

He snorted. “You’re not the first prostitute I’ve enjoyed.”

Bernice could not help herself. She threw her wine in his face. She expected him to hit her.

He laughed instead. “You think I’m stupid? How many social occasions have brought us to the same banquets? Yet you completely ignored me. And now suddenly, when I bring my army to Jerusalem, you show up perfumed and oiled and want time with me in private. You want something from me, and it is obvious how you intend to secure it. So let me ask again, what payment do you expect?”

He held up a hand to stop her from speaking. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t expect you to be cheap. Nor do I intend to be cheap. I’m a man of wealth, and a night with you would be worth a great deal to me.”

Bernice blinked a few times.

“Remarkable,” he said. “You’ve lost composure. I believe it’s the first time, isn’t it?”

She should not have underestimated him. She turned to the wine jug and refilled her goblet.

He gulped back some wine and held out his goblet for more, then gulped more and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What shall it be?”

Your drunkenness,
she thought.
Then a stone against the skull, the same stone that a poor peasant struggled to hold aloft as he watched your bandits kill his family. And once you are unconscious, your death when I push you over this balcony. A death that I could claim was an accident.

“What shall it be?” he repeated.

She poured him more wine. “Florus, my dear man, perhaps you might actually find it enjoyable to be very slow and deliberate in your negotiations. After all, a man offered me a kingdom to be his bride when I was only thirteen. Do we really have to be so shortsighted as to think I might be here only for a night?”

He leered. Drank more wine. “What exactly are you saying?”

She pretended to drink her own wine. “Let me ask you this. Do you think Rome would really believe the reports of how badly you have stolen from the Jews if the queen herself became your wife?”

“Reports of how badly I have stolen from the Jews?” Florus stood quickly, a move so abrupt that it surprised her.

Bernice reminded herself that the Romans were, above all, warriors. No matter what this man seemed to be now, at one time he had been a physical specimen to be feared. She needed to be very, very careful around him. The drop from the balcony that she hoped would kill him was also a drop that could kill her.

“You are suggesting I’m afraid of Rome?” He half roared, and a spray of wine from his mouth touched her face.

“Of course not,” Bernice said.

He grinned and sat again, motioning for more wine. “I like a horse that can’t be intimidated. Something about controlling a beautiful beast that—”

“I’m not suggesting it,” she said. “I’m saying it directly. You are afraid of the governor of Syria, Cestius Gallus, because he doesn’t want problems in his jurisdiction. And you are afraid that if Rome looks too closely into your affairs here that you will face severe legal actions.”

He stood and roared again. “Insolence!”

“Shut your mouth,” she said with appropriate weariness, although her heart hammered with fear. All he had to do was reach out with one of those meaty fists. “There’s no audience for you to impress.” She pushed his chest and made him fall backward.

For a few heartbeats, it seemed he was going to rush forward and beat her. Then he grinned. “Prostitutes cower from me. You’re proving to be a lot more interesting.”

Bernice relaxed but hid her relief. “You want war. That’s obvious. You make an outrageous theft from the temple, and when a few hotheaded youths unsurprisingly insult you as you ride to Jerusalem, you set your soldiers loose upon helpless citizens. When the people show too much control and refuse to riot, you spark it again with more slaughter. Even now, your soldiers are at the ready to attack at dawn.”

Florus belched. “A war might be convenient. What of it?”

“You forget that reports of the war and how it started will put you in a bad light. After all, as much as you might like to, you can’t kill every single resident of Jerusalem. Someone will survive to present to Caesar the injustices that caused this war.”

Bernice sipped her wine. She noted with satisfaction that most of his was gone. She refilled her goblet and casually reached across to do the same for his. “War is not the answer,” Bernice continued.

“No?”

“Today, great as your force was, you still had to retreat. Jews may not be motivated enough to muster a good offense, but our defense of what is dear to us is so fierce as to be unbeatable. Even by Rome.”

“The temple.”

“Of course. Not the gold inside, but what it represents. Surely you know enough of recent history to understand how fanatical our people are about serving the one true God.”

She walked around behind him. She began to massage his shoulders, glad that he could not read her contempt of him in her face. It also gave her an excuse to set down her goblet while he continued to drink.

“Tomorrow,” she said, “you either attack or not. If you do, it will be the same as today. Every Jewish male in this city will fight to his death to protect the temple. You know you can’t defeat that. Your retreat then will cause you a tremendous loss of face.”

He grunted with pleasure as her fingers worked muscles that had gone soft with easy living.

“Leave the city in peace,” she said. “Go back to Caesarea.”

“And then . . . ?”

“What will be of more importance to Caesar? Reports from Jews and temple priests who complain on a regular basis? Or a letter from the queen of the Jews supporting all the actions you have taken so far?”

“With the queen at my side as a wife.” The wine seemed to finally be having an effect. He snorted laughter. “Yes, what a prize that would be.” He sucked in air. “Tell me, my little seductress. It’s obvious all that you bring to a marriage. Wealth. Beauty. A title. Even respectability. But how do you benefit?”

“You tell me,” Bernice said. She stopped massaging him.

He reached up and pulled her hands onto his chest, forcing her chin to rest on his head.

She found it extremely repulsive but did not pull back.

“Roman citizenship,” he said. “Safety from military reprisals. And, of course, a luxurious lifestyle.”

“With a powerful, fascinating man,” she finished for him.

“Why now? We’ve been together at the same banquets before. You’ve never shown the faintest interest in me.”

“You’ve never shown so boldly that you were willing to use all your power.”

He lurched sideways. “You find that attractive?”

“Most women do. At least women like me.”

He pulled her down farther, twisting his head to try to kiss her mouth.

She pulled away. “What is your hurry?” she asked in a teasing voice. She found another jug of wine and offered it to him.

He nodded, blinking slowly. “Hurry? No hurry. But only a fool buys a horse without checking its teeth first. I’m not so sure I should agree to marriage without an adequate appraisal.”

He reached for her waist.

The rock! He must not discover it!

She spun away, laughing. “Ah yes, but why would one buy a cow if one could get the milk for free?”

He puzzled over that for a moment, addled by the wine. When he finally understood, he laughed until he began to cough. “Suddenly you’re a woman of virtue?”

“Maybe I always was,” she said. “Rumors can be vicious, you know.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But I am a man unaccustomed to being refused. And if you find my power so attractive . . .”

Bernice smiled, forcing herself to feel seductive. She lifted her hands to loosen her hair. Was he drunk enough?

As she loosened her hair with one hand, she half turned and made it appear that she was about to disrobe. She took the stone that she would use to crush his skull.

Then she turned and approached him with the murder weapon hidden behind her back, a seductive smile across her face.

Florus leered. “Better,” he crooned. “Much better.”

“You’ll call off your soldiers?” she asked. “You’ll leave the city in peace?”

“Certainly. And you’ll give me a taste of what it will be like to have you as a wife?”

“Of course.”

“Come here then.”

She backed away, keeping her smile in place. “Call for your head centurion. Tell him that the soldiers are not to attack the temple tomorrow.”

“Call him now?”

“I like to know a man is serious about his desire for me.”

“I could always call him again at dawn and tell him I’ve changed my mind.”

“Not the great Florus. He wouldn’t want to seem indecisive.”

He grunted. “Soldier!” he yelled.

Almost instantly, two guards entered the doorway and stepped onto the balcony.

“Take this message to the commanders,” Florus said. “Tomorrow all of our cohorts but one will return to Caesarea.”

Each saluted him. He dismissed them immediately.

“Satisfied?” Florus asked.

Bernice gave him a leer of her own. “Not yet!” She walked to the door and barred it in place. “In a few minutes, however, that may change.” She thought of his broken and dead body on the ground far below. “Yes,” she said. “Give me a chance and I’ll be well satisfied.”

He grinned. A very drunken grin. He stripped off his shirt, showing a wide chest of graying hairs. “Come here then, my queen.”

Bernice glided to a nearby torch. She capped it and extinguished it. And the next. And the next.

It was nearly dark on the balcony now.

What she didn’t expect was how quietly the large man could move, even as drunk as he was.

As she reached for the final torch, his hands suddenly wrapped around her waist. “I’m tired of waiting,” he said. “I—” He stopped. Turned her to face him. Held her shoulder with one large hand. Groped her hidden hand with the other.

“What is this!” He pushed and pulled at the stone until his muddled mind made sense of it. “Is this a weapon? You came here to kill me?” He pushed her away. “Guards! Bring me my sword!”