The man backed away, glancing in all directions for the guards who had forced him forward.
They were gone.
The arena was empty.
Except for the bull and the bear and the man who had freed them.
Seconds later, the bull realized it was free. Its monstrous head swung in the direction of the man stepping backward.
The bear had recovered too and was rising to its feet.
Both animals had found a new focus for their rage.
The man fled but, like a mouse in a bowl, had no place to go. He reached the walls at the edge of the sand and tried to scrabble upward, but he could not get any grip. At the last second, he dodged sideways, and the charging bull hit the wall with a tremendous thud.
A spectator had been leaning over the wall to taunt the condemned man, and the force of the bull’s blow shook him off the wall and down onto the sand. At this, the crowd’s shouting grew even more enthusiastic.
A new victim! What an unexpected delight!
Now the bear was approaching.
Both men ran in different directions.
Leah could not watch any longer. Again, she bowed her head. Beer sloshed onto her back, but she ignored it.
The minutes seemed endless, but finally the crowd noise died again.
She looked up briefly and saw slaves dragging the bodies of both men away. Archers stepped onto the sand to kill the animals. Spectators around her began to open baskets of food.
Leah had told herself that she would be strong and brave, but the apathy of those around her to the life-and-death struggles before them broke past the barrier she’d tried to erect against her emotions.
She wept silently, very conscious of the red scarf that she had folded and hidden beneath her dress. Too soon, she would have to wave it at her brother down below on the same sand.
And too soon, it would cause a horror far worse than what she had just witnessed.
On the steps at the street below the villa, Sophia felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Vitas.
“Let me explain,” he said.
She felt instant anger at the handsomeness of his face. What a façade. He was like all other Roman men, only interested in physical pleasures. She’d been a fool to convince herself otherwise during the night, a fool to believe he was a noble man with pure intentions, a fool to think that a man of his wealth would be interested in a slave like her for any other reason than he might want a prostitute.
“I have no wish to talk to you,” she said. Whatever problems waited in the future she would deal with herself. She would no longer hope for rescue from a man such as this. All women probably swooned over him, and it was obvious he used them as playthings.
“Please,” Vitas said. He reached across and touched her shoulder.
She knew he was no hero, and her anger at deceiving herself earlier about him boiled over to an unthinking reaction. She’d spent the night dreaming about him, and he’d spent the night in the company of a prostitute. She slapped him hard across the face. “Good-bye.”
She marched forward toward the street, where four large slaves were holding the poles of a litter that was draped closed. She heard laughter behind her, and that startled her into turning around.
Vitas rubbed his smarting cheek. “Thank you,” he said, still laughing.
“Thank you?”
“I can see no other reason for your anger than jealousy.”
“Hardly.” She kept her voice icy.
“Wouldn’t you expect a Roman to be entertained as it appeared I was?”
“What you do is none of my business.” More ice.
“Then why your anger?”
“Because . . .” She paused. He was right. What business was it of hers that a Roman spent the night with a prostitute? Unless, as he was trying to imply, she did care about him. Which was nothing she would admit. She spoke more strongly. “Because of my concern for my friend’s baby. Who knows what activities were about to take place in there?”
“My friend and brother had just arrived. With those women. I was trying to get them to leave when you appeared. Please believe me.”
She shrugged. She refused to give this man the satisfaction of knowing she’d had any romantic intentions. What did it matter anyway? She was going to serve Paulina and help with the baby girl; he was going back to Rome.
“I thought you were a slave,” he blurted.
“If it makes you feel better to diminish me, go ahead. But that says more about you than it does about me.”
He pointed at the litter, almost stuttering as he tried to justify the statement. “You told me you were a servant slave in the household of Aristarchus. Is this how you normally travel?”
Sophia kept her voice cool. “Paulina is in there. She is not well. Aristarchus has already proclaimed a divorce and sent her away from the household, and she could only turn to me to find a place to stay. Until I saw you with your women, I had hoped that—”
“Not my women,” Vitas said. “And I’ll have them sent away.”
This man was trouble. She wanted to be away from him, yet wanted him to stay near. She challenged him, finding herself enjoying it. “Why would they listen if they aren’t your women?”
“Because . . . because . . .”
Yes, it was enjoyable watching this strong and confident man become uncertain. As if perhaps he, too, shared her feelings. Sophia reminded herself not to begin dreaming again.
“Please,” he said, “let me help you.”
“You have your life,” she said. “I have mine.”
“Have the servants bring your friend inside,” he said. “We’ll send for a doctor.”
Before she could find a good reason to disagree, a half dozen armed men came into sight from the crest of the hill.
City guards!
Before she could react, Vitas boldly stepped in front of the litter, waiting for the approach of the guards. He braced his legs and crossed his arms.
Sophia moved beside him. She was not a helpless woman.
Still, when the guards arrived, she was glad that Vitas addressed the lead man, a middle-aged soldier with a prominent mole below his left eye. “Good morning.”
“Stand aside,” the leader said without emotion. “We are here to take this litter back to the treasurer.”
“You make assumptions about the passenger in this litter,” Vitas said.
Sophia remained silent, knowing her status as a slave dictated this.
“Hardly,” the soldier answered. “Aristarchus had it followed. And the woman and baby behind you are ample proof of what he seeks. Stand aside.”
“If I don’t?”
The older man sighed. “You are outnumbered. And Aristarchus would send two dozen more if needed.”
All of it was true. With the spears pointed at the belly of Vitas, any action he attempted would be useless.
Sophia could not help herself. She clutched Vitas by the elbow.
Vitas gritted his teeth and stepped aside, trying to move Sophia behind him.
She wrenched free and stood directly in front of the lead guard. “Please,” she said to the guard, “leave us in peace.”
He shook his head, implacable. “You may remain behind. But Aristarchus wants his divorced wife. And the baby.”
One of the younger guards, hardly more than a boy, could not resist the opportunity for added drama. “He’s going to kill the baby himself! There’s nothing you can do.”
“Shut your mouth,” the lead guard said in a weary voice. “Making a woman cry is not a sign of manhood.” He motioned at the others. “Take the woman with the baby.” Pointing at the slaves standing with the litter, he said, “Follow us if you value your lives.”
“You may remain behind,” the soldier had said. Aristarchus, then, did not care to keep Sophia as a slave. She could finally return to Jerusalem. She could search for her family. Her mother and sister. When her father had died three years earlier, he’d left debts that could only be
paid if one of them had been sold into slavery. Sophia had accepted it, had been taken to Asia. And now she was free to return?
For a moment, she considered this freedom. If she stayed, perhaps Vitas might help her return to Jerusalem. She banished the thought. Paulina, the woman she’d led to faith, needed her. The newborn baby needed her. Without saying good-bye, Sophia resolutely began to follow the litter and the guards.
She could not, however, resist one final look backward, just before the entire retinue disappeared over the crest of the hill.
Her heart soared.
Vitas had begun to sprint after them.
In front of Helius, Zabad began speaking directly to Caleb in a soft, compassionate voice. “Please, my friend, treat this as something more than a debate. What you choose to believe about Jesus has eternal consequences.”
Helius interrupted sharply. “This has far more immediate consequences. The one who pleases Nero will live.”
Zabad showed no fear. “There is much more to our existence than our lives on this earth. If you even considered it for a moment, you would—”
“Enough!” Helius pointed at Caleb. “Begin. Let us understand why this Jesus of Nazareth is a false god.”
Caleb nodded and addressed Zabad. “I would like to deal with the matter of the supposed resurrection of Jesus. After all, as your famous proselytizer Paul rightly says, if there is no Resurrection, everything you believe is false.”
“That is everything. To ignore the Resurrection or deny it is to deny Jesus Himself. I, too, would like us to deal with that matter. So tell me please. Why was Jesus killed?” Zabad asked.
“What does that matter?” Caleb asked. “It is not His death that concerns us but the claims that He came back to life and walked among His followers.”
“Are you afraid to answer the question?”
“Of course not.”
“Why was Jesus killed?” Zabad repeated.
Helius was impatient. “We are aware of the trial. Romans are scrupulous when it comes to the law, and Pilate knew this might have political ramifications. He was careful to have the trial recorded. In short, Christos was crucified because of sedition. Let us move past this issue.”
“Sedition,” Zabad responded. “It is true those were the charges put forth by the religious leaders. If you are aware of the trial, you will know that the charges were not proven, that Pilate was forced to do the will of the religious leaders or face riots.”
Zabad turned back to Caleb. “Why was the religious establishment so eager to have Jesus killed?”
Caleb shrugged. “He falsely claimed to be the Messiah. I stress falsely.”
“Was it a false claim?” Zabad countered. “After all, every couple of years a madman comes out of the desert heat to make that claim. Dozens did before Jesus. Dozens have since. Few take notice, except to enjoy the entertainment.”
Caleb held up a hand. “I can name a half dozen crucified for the claim.”
“By Rome. And only because they actually gathered armed followers with the intent to revolt against Rome. The Jewish religious establishment refused—and refuses—to dignify the claims of most of them by paying any heed to their rantings. Yet the full force of the temple authorities was used to arrange the death of Jesus. So you’ll agree that Jesus—unlike the others who claimed to be Messiah—was actually a threat to the Jewish leaders?”
Caleb’s face was expressionless. “I suppose.”
“We agree Jesus was a threat,” Zabad said. “Because He was a good teacher?”
“Certainly.”
“You know that is wrong. Good teachers are welcomed and applauded among our people. Did Jesus contradict any of the teachings?”
“He . . .”
“You know as well as I do that He did not contradict a single teaching. He knew our laws completely. He stated again and again that He was here to fulfill the laws, not destroy them. So why was He a threat?”
Caleb shifted position slightly but did not reply.
“I will answer it for you then,” Zabad said. “He was a threat because He performed miracles in validation of His claim. It is that simple. He healed the lame and the leprous. Raised a man from the dead. Asked if it was easier to forgive a man’s sins or tell him to get up and walk, a man who had been lame all his life.”
Zabad waited several moments before continuing. “You may try to deny the miracles, but you know the man did take up his mat and walk. You know there are ample witnesses still alive who will attest to that and to the rest of the miracles. Jesus had a power from beyond this world. It made Him so dangerous, the temple authorities had to kill Him. Will you agree with that assessment? Or should we make this a very legal trial and send for the witnesses?”
“We don’t have time for that!” Helius snapped. “Move on.”
Zabad smiled calmly. “You’ll concede the point then?”
“For the sake of argument, yes.” Caleb appeared calm and confident, waving away a protest that Helius was clearly about to make.
“Then let me emphasize this,” Zabad answered. “I will proceed as if we are in agreement that Jesus performed miracles as attested to by hundreds of witnesses, and because of it, His following grew to the point where He—unlike any other to make the messiah claim—was such a threat to the temple authorities that they were forced to find a way to kill Him. For the record, do you agree with me on this?”
The slave with the stylus looked up. The conversation had obviously become interesting to him.
“Yes,” Caleb said. Still calm, still confident.
“Now that we have established this point together,” Zabad said, “I am prepared to deal with the matter of His resurrection. Can you assure me He was truly dead before He was taken down from the cross?”
“That is my question to you. The Resurrection cannot be debated unless we are both certain He was dead. And I have my doubts.”
“Excellent,” Zabad said. “Let me address those doubts then. Roman soldiers are trained to ensure that no one survives a crucifixion. Ever. Would you expect that they make an exception in His case?”
“Perhaps they were bribed.”
“By a traveling teacher who depended on the generosity of those who listened to His teachings? Where would He and His immediate followers get enough money? And why would the soldiers risk their lives for a bribe of any amount? Crucifixions are public events—and this one more so. If you were one of the attending soldiers, would you risk anyone reporting that He hadn’t died on the cross?”
Zabad continued after sipping water from a clay cup. “That’s why if there is any doubt, the soldiers break the legs of the victim on the cross. Once the body weight cannot be supported, suffocation comes within minutes. Read the eyewitness accounts. The soldiers saw that Jesus was dead and didn’t bother to break His legs. They pierced His side with a spear. Water and blood gushed out. Would a man still alive survive this? Would a man alive—?”
Caleb waved a hand. “I am prepared to agree that He was dead when taken from the cross.”
“This is an important point. I want to make certain that you won’t argue that He revived in the tomb.”
Helius interrupted. “I will. Despite what you say, soldiers are not beyond taking bribes. A man with His following most certainly would have had supporters willing to pull together money to save His life. A man on the cross could easily pretend to be dead and act in complicity with the soldiers. While the witnesses say that blood and water poured from His side, a man can survive a substantial blood loss, and, as you pointed out, the legs were not broken to make certain suffocation had taken place. If the wound in His side was bound quickly enough . . .”
“Let’s consider for a moment that—unlikely as this might be—Jesus did survive His time on the cross and that His followers somehow managed to solicit enough money in the few hours they had on that Friday morning, and out of the dozens of people they would have had to approach, not a single person has revealed the secret of the bribe.”
Helius stared at Zabad. “Yes, let’s consider it.”
Zabad nodded. “This man’s body was beaten and whipped and shredded after an illegal trial that kept Him awake all through the night, then hung from a cross on spikes and violated by a spear. You are suggesting that if He had somehow survived, that a man this broken and torn, single-handedly rolled away the massive stone that sealed His tomb?”
“Friends, perhaps,” Helius said. He had not meant to get involved but could not help himself.
“Again, read the accounts. All His friends had fled, and would be committed to His deity only after His resurrection. Why would unarmed peasants face the well-trained soldiers guarding the tomb? And if they did, how would they manage to defeat them? And even if that had happened, how could they have kept this secret? Those same arguments can be used against those who claim Jesus was dead but His body was stolen from the tomb. No, all evidence and logic point out that He went in there a dead man and that some force beyond our understanding gave Him the life and power to leave that tomb without help.”
Caleb smiled. “As you have emphasized, we should read the accounts. I’ve studied them closely. The first witnesses to the supposed empty tomb were women. Surely you realize the significance of that?”
“Because a woman’s testimony is regarded to have such little value in our Jewish courts of law that if a man is seen committing a crime and there are only women to witness it, he cannot be convicted?”
“Exactly.”
“That only speaks more fully of the truth of the accounts. Any person with intelligence determined to fabricate a story would not choose to include women as witnesses.”
Caleb had no reply.
Helius was beginning to think the debate would turn out too disastrously to be of any use to Nero.
“Tell me,” Zabad said to Caleb, “as a Jew and a rabbi, you have most certainly heard of James, the brother of Jesus, who lived in Jerusalem and was stoned to death a few years ago?”
“I have.”
“This is the same James who, as the brother of Jesus, denied that Jesus was the Messiah, was embarrassed by Him. Then, later, this same James gave his life because of that belief, willingly died for the notion that one of his family members is God. You have to ask yourself what it would take for a man to change his mind like that. I’ll answer that for you. James saw his brother resurrected. What gave Jesus’ disciples the power to withstand jail and death threats and even death, when they acted like frightened rabbits the night of His trial? The same answer. They met Jesus after His resurrection,” Zabad concluded.
The Last Disciple Page 8