The Last Disciple (44 page)

“Such a beast, wouldn’t you say?” commented Helius to Chayim. “I find his unpredictability so attractive.”

Chayim hoped Helius had not decided he was attractive. They were very secluded out here in the vast garden.

“You’re not a follower of the Truth?”

“No.” Chayim kept his voice steady.

“That, of course, is a good thing. Tigellinus and I, well, you might have guessed we are efficient at dealing with matters that disturb Nero. It would disturb Nero if a member of his court were seditious in any manner at all.”

Yes, that was the reason they’d spoken so freely. To show him their deadliness and power.

“Have you a coin?” Helius asked.

The sudden changes in subjects bewildered Chayim, keeping him off balance. He guessed that, too, was deliberate.

Chayim fumbled to find one, noting the shakiness of his fingers. Yes, he was afraid.

“Look at Caesar’s portrait,” Helius directed Chayim. “What is he holding?”

Chayim examined the coin. Nero was engraved on the back of the coin. Holding seven stars.

Helius nodded when Chayim pointed this out. “And although you are a Jew, you understand the significance of those seven stars. Yes?”

Now Chayim nodded.

“Explain it to me,” Helius said.

“Rome has seven hills. Stars are bodies of the heavens. Nero . . .” Chayim faltered. All of the religious training of Chayim’s youth urged him to say that Nero
claimed
to be divine. Yet to dispute Nero’s claim to be a god meant death. Especially in the presence of Helius.

Chayim chose life. “Nero is divine. He holds those seven stars.”

Helius smiled. As if his question had been a test of sorts.

Chayim pushed aside his conscience for denying the one true God of his father and his people.

“You would agree then,” Helius said, “that for any other man in the world to claim those seven stars in his right hand, it would be an act of treason? That man would essentially be claiming what is Nero’s?”

“Certainly,” Chayim said, feeling on safer ground. He knew of no man who had done so.

“That leads to our little problem,” Helius said. “I’ve heard rumors of a new letter circulating among followers of the Truth. A revelation, they call it, with a leader described in the letter as holding seven stars in his right hand. Certainly a treasonous letter, wouldn’t you agree?”

Helius gave a catlike smile, as if he had actually licked his whiskers. “Had you been a follower, Tigellinus and I would have ordered your torture to learn more about those claims. It would have saved us some time. And, of course, offered amusement. Nero himself would have watched. Not everyone, you know, is privileged to provide Nero with entertainment.”

“I am not a follower,” Chayim said vehemently.

“So you’ve informed me.” Helius seemed to be enjoying himself. “And you can rest assured that neither am I. Nor Tigellinus. But that leads to another difficulty. We are Nero’s protectors. At his orders we must find out all we can about this matter. I have obtained a copy of the letter, and although I understand the language, as it is written in Greek, believe me, the letter is not always clear.”

Chayim felt his brow furrow in puzzlement, something Helius caught immediately.

“There are many parts of it,” Helius said, “that need interpretation. I believe, however, that a full understanding of the letter will provide Nero another legitimate reason for his persecutions of the Christians.”

“I see.”

“Afraid of our ruthlessness?” Helius asked.

“Yes.”

“Terrified?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Helius stood and began to pace slowly. “This is your opportunity, Chayim. I want —”

“My Greek is not strong,” Chayim said. “I’ll do my best to interpret but—”

“You should not speak until I am finished. Apologize. Kneel and apologize.”

Burning with humiliation, Chayim lowered himself. “I am sorry for offending you.”

“Think nothing of it. Remain on your knees and listen.” Helius continued as if the brief incident had not occurred. “Now is the opportunity to repay Nero for your life of ease in the palace.”

“How—” Chayim snapped his mouth shut, very conscious of his recent apology and the fact that he was still kneeling.

“You learn fast,” Helius said. “I will finish. You see, if I have followers of the Truth tortured and questioned about this letter instead of being merely tortured and killed, it will appear to Rome that we actually fear their treason. No, I want it done discreetly. And that is how you can serve Nero.” He paused. “Unless you aren’t interested.”

Chayim’s tongue felt like a chunk of wood. “I would be delighted to help.”

“Good, good. You are wise to what happens to those who reject Nero.” Helius extended his hand to Chayim to help him to his feet. “Now that you are Nero’s friend,” Helius said, “join us tonight at an intimate dinner party. I’m sure you will find it amusing to see the fate that awaits Vitas.”

Chayim bowed his acceptance of the invitation.

“Oh yes,” Helius said, “about this matter of the seven stars.”

Chayim lifted his head. Found the catlike eyes staring into his.

“We need a spy, an infiltrator, a Jew to move among other Jews to get us a full interpretation of the letter,” Helius said. “You, my friend, are going to pose as a follower of the Truth.”

“If the reward is great enough, I can tell you where to find the one you now hunt.”

At those words, Damian glanced up from the uninteresting view of sweat dripping onto his knees from his forehead. He sat on a bench in the public bath, dressed only in a towel wrapped around his waist. Standing behind him, Jerome, a large slave with a shaved head, kneaded Damian’s shoulders. And now, directly in front of him, the stranger who had approached moments earlier.

“The one I hunt,” Damian repeated to this stranger, affecting disinterest. It was midmorning, and the baths were quiet at this time. This was why Damian came, because he could be found easier in the steam now than later in the day when the bath was crowded.

“Yesterday,” the man began to answer, “you visited the master of my household and asked him about—”

“Move toward me,” Damian ordered. Through the wisps of steam, he had seen what might be a scar across the man’s forehead.

Without question, the man complied, the second indication that he might be a slave, accustomed to taking orders from a Roman.

Damian stood from the bench for a closer view of the man to confirm his guess about the stranger’s identity. “Are you here with the permission of Barbatus?” Damian said.

“I didn’t tell you that my master was—”

“Don’t take me for a fool,” Damian growled at the slave. “His mark is plain across your forehead.”

The slave was much shorter than Damian. He had a lean face, and if Damian had to guess further, he would have presumed the man was an administrator or physician, because he was not muscular. Aside from the scar of the hot-iron brand—a triangle with a circle in the center—that had once been pressed against his forehead to mark him, there were no apparent healed wounds that would indicate a life of hard physical labor.

If Damian was an expert on anything, it was on slaves. Offhand, he could probably identify hundreds of brands of different patrician Roman families. The pattern of a triangle with a circle in the center belonged to Secundus Nigilius Barbatus, who had once held the prestigious post of governor of Greece.

As the man hesitated, Damian spoke again. “Don’t lie to me. If Barbatus wanted to deliver a message, he would have sent a litter for me and given it to me himself.”

Jerome stopped massaging Damian’s back and placed another towel across his shoulders. Damian didn’t acknowledge this; slaves did not expect courtesy.

“Already you are at a disadvantage,” Damian said to the slave in front of him. “If I report to Barbatus that you left the household as you did, he will consider you an escaped slave.”

Unspoken, because it didn’t need to be said, was that Barbatus could have the fugitive slave immediately killed or, worse, sent to the arena.

“I’m a trusted administrator,” the slave answered, showing a flash of pride. “I come and go as I please.”

“So he knows you are approaching me for the reward I offered yesterday?”

“Of course not,” the slave said.

“I doubt Barbatus would appreciate this act of secrecy. And he is known for harshly punishing those who disobey him. Tell me what I need to know or face his wrath.”

“If you have me punished,” the slave answered, “would any other slave ever seek you out here again?”

Damian grinned. At the man’s unexpected show of resolve. And at the new deduction this allowed Damian. The slave obviously knew enough about Damian’s methods and reputation to have approached with such confidence.

“Well, then,” Damian said, “at least tell me your name.”

“Cornelius,” the slave answered.

“Obviously, you know about the reward. Do you know where I can find the fugitive from the island?”

Strictly speaking, the man whom Damian now hunted, a Jew named John, was not a fugitive from the barren island off the coast of Greece, where he had been exiled. The man had not escaped but had been released. He was only a fugitive now because Helius, Nero’s secretary, had hired Damian to find him. And rumors had placed the Jew here in Rome.

As for his captivity on Patmos, John had been released because a group of wealthy and influential men had approached Barbatus during his governorship of Asia. Within his jurisdiction were Greece and the islands off the coast. Damian had had no problem securing the names of those men from Barbatus, who knew Damian now owed him a political favor. After getting the names, Damian had made a point to delay his departure and stop in the gardens of the estate to talk at length with one of the slaves tending a hillside of olives. This, for Damian, was a customary tactic. Slaves formed the majority of the population and provided an incredible network of hidden information.

“That reward is not enough,” Cornelius said.

“The reward I offered yesterday is ample,” Damian said. In truth, he would have paid ten times the amount, but to offer that would have shown how important the fugitive was. And that had the potential to lead others to ask too many questions about the Jew. Helius had stressed that Damian must keep his quest secret; if word ever leaked out that Helius had hired Damian, not even Damian’s family status could protect him from imperial punishment.

“Without my help, it might take you months to find the Jew,” Cornelius said. “I know where he is and enough about him that I can help you place an ambush.”

“When?” Damian demanded abruptly.

“I can make the arrangements tomorrow and report back to you. John will be yours by sundown of the day after. That should be worth enough for you to buy my freedom from Barbatus.”

“Your freedom for another man’s death,” Damian said.

Cornelius shrugged. “Whatever he did to cause a man of your reputation to begin the hunt probably means he deserves whatever fate befalls him.”

“So you know of my reputation.”

“What slave doesn’t? And what slave doesn’t fear the day you might begin pursuit of him?”

“I will buy your freedom,” Damian said. “After I have this man captured.”

“Before his capture,” Cornelius said firmly. “John is a popular man among many slaves. I want to be away from the estate of Barbatus before word spreads that I betrayed him.”

“Today, then, you will be a free man. You know my reputation, but I warn you anyway. If you don’t return tomorrow with the promised information, I will hunt you as relentlessly as I have hunted all the others.”

Damian glanced back at the large bald man who had resumed massaging his shoulders. There was another reason that Damian let it be known that informers could find him here at the baths every morning at this time. In the baths, men could not conceal knives or short swords. And in unarmed combat, there wasn’t a man alive who could compete against Damian’s slave.

“Jerome,” Damian said, “show this man a sample of the consequences if he disappoints me.”

With phenomenal agility and speed, the large man sidestepped Damian and clamped Cornelius by the throat. With a single massive arm, he lifted the slave completely off the ground.

“If you are lying,” Damian said to Cornelius, “if you don’t make the arrangements for me to capture the fugitive, or if you try to run from Rome after I’ve purchased your freedom, Jerome will rip your head off your shoulders. That mark on your forehead would make it impossible for you to live openly ever again if you become a fugitive. Do you understand?”

Cornelius made a high-pitched squeal that sounded like agreement.

“Good,” Damian said. He motioned for Jerome to set Cornelius down, who instantly heaved and gagged for air.

“Leave now,” Damian told the slave. “Tomorrow, at the same time and place, I fully expect you to tell me how and where to find this John.”