The Last Disciple

by Hank Hanegraaff

  “Where shall I send my attendants?” she asked Florus. “And be kind to them. They may be waiting awhile for me.”

  “Send them back to your palace,” he said. There was a quickness to his words. “I’ll have my soldiers escort you home.” He paused and grinned, showing large stained teeth. “When you are ready.”

  The arrogance of men, she thought. Provided a slight opening, they were all too eager to throw the door wide open. Subtlety—and understanding how much a woman appreciated subtlety—was lost on them.

  Already Florus was puffing his chest slightly in his delight that she’d shown interest in him. As if he were the most desirable man in Judea.

  “And your soldiers?” Bernice asked. “You’ll have them stay?”

  “Dismissed, of course.” He raised his voice. “Immediately.” He did not have to repeat the command.

  During the time it took for the attendants and soldiers to file back out the entrance to the balcony, Florus studied Bernice.

  Unattractive as he was, she knew he was not a totally stupid man. He would notice the care that she’d taken to present herself. He would be aware of her reputation as a woman of few virtues.

  Bernice pretended not to notice his vulgar examination. She knew what she wanted to accomplish.

  In the dark Valeria could not guess at how much time had passed.

  Then came a voice they had loved.

  “Valeria!” It was Maglorius. “Quintus!”

  They heard his footsteps above.

  For a moment she wanted to rise and run to him.

  “He’ll kill me,” Quintus whispered. “He knows I saw him murder Father. He’ll kill me. Then he’ll kill you too to keep it secret.”

  Still, Valeria hesitated.

  “He knows we are here because he asked both of us to wait for him here. He planned it all. Sent us to a place where he could find us and kill us,” Quintus said.

  “No.” Valeria would not believe it. Yet had not Maglorius recently admitted to her that he had betrayed Lucius? And had not his ambiguous conversation suggested much more of a secret, one that Lucius knew? Was it enough of a terrible secret that Maglorius had taken the opportunity to kill Lucius when it appeared he would never be blamed for the murder?

  “I will be like the retiarius,” Quintus hissed. “I will run now, but when I am bigger and stronger or if I can catch him when he least expects it, I will kill him.”

  Maglorius? The man who had slept on the floor in front of her doorway every night for the last year to make sure she was safe?

  Valeria wanted to call for him, but Quintus made the decision for her.

  He hopped to his feet and moved downward.

  Into the black of the tunnels.

  The voice of Maglorius echoed behind them.

  But they were gone from him.

  Beneath the city.

  Alone.

  “I am a follower of the Christos,” Sophia said. “You are not. Can you live with that?”

  Images of the tribulation that Nero had inflicted upon the followers in Rome flashed through Vitas’s mind. The tar jackets on men and women hanging from lampposts. The lions in the arena. He realized the risk that marrying a Christian involved.

  Still, he knew his answer. “Sophia, I can live with it. But can you live with the fact that I do not believe?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “To be yoked with an unbeliever . . .”

  “What if I promise to listen to what you have to say about it? What if I encourage you to worship as you choose?”

  This was an easy promise for Vitas. It was the Roman way, tolerance of different religions.

  “And what will happen in Rome?” she asked. “My beliefs will be a threat to my life. To yours.”

  “Let me ask,” he said. “Are these beliefs something you intend to put on public display, regardless of whether or not you are my wife?”

  Sophia appeared to consider it. Then answered as he had hoped. “I would not deny my Lord if asked. In these times, followers of the Christos do not proclaim their beliefs publicly. Until the Tribulation ends, we are to persevere.”

  Vitas vowed to himself that he would renew his efforts to use his power with Nero to stop the tribulation in Rome. He would argue again the practicality of ending the persecution. That it was growing unpopular with the masses. That perhaps there could be a special tax placed upon the Christians. Somehow he would find a solution. But this was not the moment to tell Sophia.

  “So then,” he continued, “if you had the freedom to worship in our household, that would be enough. If you and Paulina could—”

  “Paulina!”

  “She’s remarried. To a good man. They don’t live far from where you would live in Rome. And the baby girl is fine.” Vitas grinned. “In Rome you would have a friend and freedom to worship in private. That should be enough of a promise.”

  She did not answer as he hoped. “It is not enough,” she said. “I must share my faith with those I trust. And always, I would pray for you to believe too.”

  “It is that important?”

  “You tell me. How important is eternal life?”

  “I understand,” he said.

  “No,” she said simply, “you don’t. Because when you do, then you will believe that the Christos died for our sins in order to save us from the wrath of God, He was resurrected, and all who trust in Him have that hope of a resurrection after death.” Sophia clutched his arm. “That is my hope, my purpose, my peace. If you are the man that I will share my life with, I must also share that.”

  “I want you to be my wife. If I tell you I believe so you will be my wife, it is a belief forced upon me.”

  “I’m not saying believe and I will become your wife. I’m saying . . .” She hesitated, as if struggling with her decision. “I’m saying that I want you to promise to be open to that decision. You are right. A man cannot live alone. But there is more. A man cannot live without God.”

  He stroked her face, feeling the tears. “The answer is yes, then?”

  “I want it to be yes,” she said.

  Vitas knew he could not deny his conscience any longer.

  In all their hours of conversation on the ship from Smyrna to Rome, Vitas had never hinted at the degree of power that he held in Roman politics. He’d been frank about his family background, less than frank about the extent of his family’s wealth and his own inheritance. He had wanted her to be interested in him, not in his power or money. Indeed, many times after she’d left Rome, he had wondered if telling her about those assets might have kept her there.

  And now?

  If she knew that he was part of the closest circle of advisers to Nero, she might walk away because of what Nero had done to other believers. At the very least, she was right. Her beliefs would be a danger to her life—and to his.

  But she had to know the truth. Vitas took a deep breath. “There are two things I must tell you. Two things I have kept from you during all the times we spent in conversation on the ship.” He forced himself to continue before he changed his mind. “The first is this. In Britannia, there was a woman. Of the Iceni tribe. We were married. We had a child.”

  Because of the shock on her face, he knew this was the way it had to be done. If she found out later from someone else, she would never trust him again. “I have not spoken of this to you because I never speak of it. She is dead. As is my son.”

  It took Sophia a moment to speak. She was hesitant. “Did you love her?”

  “Yes.” The truth was the only way.

  “I’m glad,” she said.

  Her reply startled him. “Glad?”

  “Who you were before we met is nothing you or I can change. I would hate to think of you as a man capable of having a son with a woman you did not love.” She paused. “Why do you never speak of it?”

  Vitas closed his eyes and shook his head. “Let me tell you when I am ready.”

  Several moments passed before she finally nodded. “I trust
you.”

  “You should also know that I serve Nero directly as an adviser.”

  She recoiled. Almost in revulsion.

  “I’ve lost you,” he said softly. “Haven’t I?”

  “You’ve seen what he does to the Christians. You know of his evil. Yet you accept it.”

  “I don’t,” Vitas answered. “I do everything in my power to turn him away from it.” How could he explain the complicated dance between Nero and the Senate and his role as the stabilizer? “Listen. In Britannia, I saw . . .”

  Memories of the final battle there overwhelmed him, and he had to collect himself. “In Britannia,” he began again, “I vowed that I would do everything possible to ensure the empire treats all people with justice.”

  “You serve Nero,” she said simply. “I cannot live with that.”

  Yes, he thought, I have lost her.

  Then her eyes widened. “It was you!” She grabbed his arm. “It could only have been you!”

  “I . . . I . . . don’t understand.”

  “Tell me.” Her voice was low and urgent. “I was not in Rome long but long enough to hear a story among the Christians there. About a night when Nero dressed as a beast and God sent an earthquake to free the men and women held captive. Some say it is a falsehood. Some swear it is true.”

  Vitas remained silent.

  “Some tell about one man who defied Nero that night. A man who set the Christians free.” Her grip on his arm grew tighter. “I want to hear from you something that will let me believe it was you.”

  “You will not trust me unless I offer proof?”

  “You want me to commit my life to you.”

  “There were two men and two women,” Vitas said. “If I’m going to help the Christians, I need you.”

  She hugged him. Stroked his hair. Her face was close against his, and he felt her silent tears. “That is enough.”

  “I want you to be my wife. Come to Rome with me.”

  Her silent tears became sobs. “I love you. But how can I abandon my people now when it looks like Jerusalem will be destroyed?”

  “I love you.”

  He knew what he had to do now. If this was going to be the last night of his life, he wanted to take the memory of those words to his death. Holding Sophia. In the moonlight. As she clung to him.

  If there is a God, Vitas thought, the God that Ben-Aryeh proclaims, a God who sent His Son as Sophia proclaims, I want to thank this God for love.

  And wanted from this God any help he could get.

  “Sophia,” Vitas said quietly, “I must leave you right now. Please pray for me.”

  “You knew he was there?” Ben-Aryeh ignored Annas and the temple police and the woman. He spoke to Amaris. “You gave me no warning?”

  “He showed me the necklace. The woman told me where and when and how she got it.” Amaris’s voice broke. “I asked him for a few minutes alone with you. I wanted to give you the chance—”

  “To confess?” His shock turned to anger, and his voice rose. “You believed them. You betrayed me by hiding his presence in my household.”

  “I . . .” Amaris swallowed hard and kept her composure. But did not speak.

  “A man who forces himself on a woman robbed by brigands has no moral high ground,” Annas the Younger said. He was obviously enjoying the scene. “I see the true Ben-Aryeh now. Blaming those around him.”

  The temple police surrounded Ben-Aryeh and looked to Annas for a signal. Annas shook them off, smiling in his triumph.

  Ben-Aryeh turned on Annas. “You set this up. That’s how she found me.”

  Annas laughed. “So you are admitting you know this woman.”

  “I admit nothing.”

  “I think otherwise. I am witness to your words. As are these temple police. ‘That’s how she found me.’ It certainly sounds like a guilty man who not only recognizes this woman but knows she is looking for him because he fled her earlier. Yes, the Sanhedrin will have no difficulty judging you worthy of death for adultery.”

  “You . . . set . . . this . . . up.” Ben-Aryeh strained to keep control. “How else would she know to come here?”

  “She saw you on the platform at the temple,” Annas said. “She came to me and described you. Told me her story. I am here to see that justice is done.”

  What had Annas hissed earlier in the day? “You shall pay for it, Ben-Aryeh. I lost my position. But you shall lose your life. And I will be the first one to cast a stone.”

  His neck bulging with rage, Ben-Aryeh spat out his words. “You are here to seek revenge for . . .” He choked back the rest of his thoughts.

  “For how you manipulated our leading citizens into sending letters to Agrippa to relieve me of my position after the execution of James the Just?” Annas smiled broadly. “Would this be a reason for revenge? Or have you plotted against me in other ways?”

  Ben-Aryeh gritted his teeth and breathed hard through his nostrils. That’s how she found me. You are here to seek revenge. Blurting out both statements would hurt him. Badly. And he considered himself one of the most controlled and politically astute men in the city.

  No, he was a fool. He had delivered himself into the hands of the man who hated him most. Worse, he’d lost any chance to convince Amaris of his innocence. If only he’d told her yesterday about the false accusation and the stolen necklace. If only he’d told her minutes earlier when they were alone in the outer courtyard.

  The city was doomed, but what did that matter against what he’d lost with Amaris? She would forever believe he was guilty, and he would die with the searing knowledge that she in turn had betrayed him.

  In front of Annas, Ben-Aryeh let out a slow breath, careful to hide the sigh from his enemy. “What will you do now?” he asked calmly.

  “Remain with you as the temple police escort you to a prison cell. Call for a meeting of the Sanhedrin as soon as it is convenient. Then fulfill my duty by throwing the first stone as your death sentence is carried out.” Annas chuckled. “All of it is simply following the letter of the law. As I’m sure you would do, were you truly a righteous man.”

  “I am a righteous man,” Ben-Aryeh said. “I welcome the chance to prove my innocence in front of the Sanhedrin.” He gestured at himself. “I’m sure you are not such a petty man that you will prevent me from removing this filthy clothing. I was fighting the Romans down at the temple while you were here waiting for me.”

  “Ah, the self-righteous Ben-Aryeh. A rapist, but one determined to show that he was serving God at the temple. Does it not occur to you that I served God better by ensuring justice for the woman you violated?”

  “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 g
races, 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?”