The Last Disciple (42 page)

She knew she was about to die. And was at peace with it. At least Jerusalem was safe. She had saved the city.

“Guards!” he shouted. “Sword!”

“I’m hungry,” Quintus said in the pitch-black darkness.

Valeria had forced him to wait long hours in the depths of the tunnels beneath the city. If indeed Maglorius did want them dead, she needed to be sure he was gone.

“Soon,” she said, “we will have plenty of gold to buy whatever we need. Then we will pay for a journey to Caesarea and from there, a ship to Rome. We are citizens, after all. Lawyers will help us recover our father’s estate. And we will rebuild our lives from there.”

Quintus fought back another sob. He clutched her hand as they slowly navigated the uneven sewer floor. The stone was wet, slippery. Her only way of sensing direction was by keeping her free hand against the wall and making sure they moved upward.

“Soon,” she repeated to Quintus, as much for her own comfort as his.

The gold that she’d hidden . . . it was their lifeline. Money would ensure they had food and shelter and a way to get to Rome. Money would ensure they received the inheritance due to them. And until Quintus was old enough, she would look after him as if he were a son not a stepbrother.

It was the gold that gave her hope.

Yet when they finally reached the steps that had brought them down into the sewer, the pouch of gold coins that she’d hidden was gone. Disbelieving as she was, she searched frantically but could not find it.

“Valeria?” Quintus asked. “What is it?”

“Let me hold you,” she said, concealing her fear and panic. “We’ll make it through this night. That’s what’s important. We’ll face tomorrow when it comes.”

And somehow, she vowed, she’d find a way to get them to Rome.

Aware he was half drunk, Florus struggled to open the door. He kept roaring for the guards to bring him his sword. When it finally opened, he was savagely delighted to see three guards waiting for him.

But no sword.

Florus blinked, wondering if the alcohol had addled his mind so thoroughly that he was seeing a vision in the light of the oil torches of the hallway.

“I understand you’ve given orders to send the soldiers out of the city tomorrow morning,” the man behind his guards said.

“Gallus Sergius Vitas!”

“Sent by Nero,” Vitas replied calmly, arms crossed. “Caesar will be glad to hear of your restraint. It is difficult to tax a region when a representative of Rome is obviously guilty of forcing its people into war.”

Florus blinked again.
Gallus Sergius Vitas
. Despite the betrayal by Bernice, perhaps some good would come of this night. Like an insect in a spiderweb, Vitas had actually come to him.

“Guards!” Florus spluttered. “Seize him.”

Vitas would be dead by morning. No more threat to Florus.

The guards parted, and Vitas moved forward.

“Guards!” Florus, apoplectic with rage, was aware of his saliva splattering as he yelled.

“Imagine my relief,” Vitas said, “when I discovered that two of your centurions served in Britannia alongside me and Titus.”

“Guards!”

“Imagine their joy,” Vitas continued, “when they learned that I need merely speak the word, as I did, for them to be transferred to the city police of Rome. Easy living, higher wages.”

“Guards!”

“You’re wasting your breath,” Vitas said. “They’ve seen the orders from Nero, orders giving me safe passage through the empire.”

Florus fell backward and leaned against the door.

The worst had happened. Once Vitas returned to Rome, Nero would recall Florus as procurator. At the very least, there would be disgrace. More likely, execution.

Vitas pushed Florus aside, and Florus staggered to keep his balance.

“Queen Bernice,” Florus heard Vitas say, “I trust you are ready to return to the palace and to your people?”

Part IV

Twenty-two Months after the Beginning of the Tribulation

AD 66

Rome

Capital of the Empire

This calls for wisdom. If anyone has insight, let him calculate the number of the beast, for it is man’s number. His number is 666.

—
R
EVELATION 13:18

Venus

Hora Sexta

“Let’s talk about Vitas,” Helius said. “After all, he’s just arrived here in Rome from an extended vacation with his new wife.”

“The incorruptible Vitas?” Tigellinus sneered, cleared his throat noisily, then spat on the clean marble floor of the palace hall.

Helius averted his eyes from the result. “There are times,” he said archly, “that incorruptible is easier to bear than disgusting.”

“Just as there are times that incorruptible is easier to bear than unearned snobbery. Why do you want to talk about Vitas? He’s back to make our lives miserable as the conscience we never asked for, and the less I’m reminded of him, the better. You’ve read his reports about Florus and the Jews? When Nero hears of it, you and I will lose a substantial part of our income.”

Helius touched Tigellinus on the elbow and pointed him at an archway that led to a garden. “Let’s talk in a safe place.”

Tigellinus shrugged. Followed.

Outside, an unseasonably warm December morning made the garden pleasant.

“What I find ironic,” Helius began, “is that we are plagued by an incorruptible man, when Nero would actually tolerate nearly every vice known to man.”

“You should know,” Tigellinus said, grinning.

“
We
should know.”

Tigellinus shrugged again modestly. “I’m sure Nero gives Vitas the power he does because it keeps us off balance.”

“Did,” Helius said.

It took several moments for Tigellinus to comprehend. “Did?
Did
give Vitas power?”

“Yes, my brutish friend.” Despite his fastidiousness, Helius did have real affection for Tigellinus and knew it was returned. “What’s the one thing that Nero won’t tolerate?”

“Betrayal.”

“You said that without even a second thought.”

“Because you know it’s true. But Vitas would never betray Nero.”

Helius smiled.

Tigellinus frowned. “You are not suggesting . . . ?”

“That the incorruptible Vitas has finally made an error?”

Tigellinus grinned. “You
are
suggesting that. I can see it on your face. If you were a cat, you would be licking your whiskers. What is it?”

“A woman.”

“For a moment,” Tigellinus said, showing disappointment, “I thought you actually had something. Nero doesn’t care if Vitas is unfaithful to that new wife of his. Nero would applaud.”

“That new wife of his,” Helius said, “is a Christian.”

Tigellinus had been turning away from Helius, but this brought him spinning back on his heel. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Helius.

“Meow,” Helius said, pretending to lick his hands as if they were a cat’s paws.

“The Jew he married is a Christian?” Tigellinus repeated.

Helius nodded. “One of the slaves who serves their family brought Nero the news today.”

“Is it too much to hope that Vitas himself has joined in her faith?”

“Too much. But the fact that Vitas is hiding a Christian in his household is enough to make him a traitor in Nero’s eyes. Imagine what the mobs would say if it gets out that after all Nero has done to eradicate the Christians, one of his inner circle does the opposite.”

“Imagine.” Tigellinus’s teeth gleamed as he gave a wolflike grin. “And imagine what that would do to the credibility of the reports about Florus that Vitas has brought us.”

“Tigellinus,” Helius said, “those reports won’t even see the light of day. Once Vitas is dead, will there be any need to pass them on to Nero? And Florus will continue to fatten our purses for as long as we choose to support his cause with the emperor.”

“Wonderful,” Tigellinus said. “Shall we throw dice to decide who has the pleasure of telling Vitas that he has an invitation to the amphitheater prisons?”

“Not so fast.”

“Nero’s actually going to let him live?”

“Nero has a different fate intended for him. After all, wouldn’t it be nice to strip Vitas of his land and money and reputation before he’s executed?”

“And his wife?”

“That’s the genius of Nero’s plan,” Helius said. “It will nicely take care of her, too.” He explained.

“Yes, indeed.” Tigellinus pounded Helius on the back with delight when Helius finished.
“Lucunda macul est ex inimici sanguine.”

What a pleasant stain comes from an enemy’s blood.

“Welcome back, brother.” Vitas hurried through the garden to hug Damian.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” Damian returned the hug. “Isn’t this your first week back in Rome? And all I brought from my travels was a wretched slave for the arenas. You’ve returned with a wife.”

“Sophia,” Vitas said. That one word never failed to fill him with a heady mixture of emotions. Sophia. Romans were supposed to marry for convenience or politics. Vitas felt blessed that her presence in his life was so much more. And he found it ironic that he now thought of it as a blessing; much as he wanted to resist, her quiet demonstrations of faith in the one true God had moved him closer and closer to that faith himself.

Vitas blinked and realized that Damian was regarding him with a quizzical, humorous look.

“She does have your heart, doesn’t she?” Damian said. “And are the rumors true? She’s the Jew you rescued in Smyrna, right? Then followed to Jerusalem?”

“And the rumors about you are true? A slave hunter beyond compare?”

“Are you changing the subject?”

“Are you?”

They both laughed. Vitas pointed them to a bench under the shade of a tree.

When they were seated, Damian’s face lost some of its humor. “What of Maglorius? Is it true he murdered the elderly Bellator and is now a fugitive?”

Vitas sobered too. “It’s true he’s been accused of it. And it’s true that he disappeared in Jerusalem.”

“You know more than that, don’t you?”