Yes. Nero was, first and foremost, an actor. Vitas counted on that.
Without hesitation, Vitas marched forward and yanked the chain from Helius. “If the emperor knows you are involved in illegal torture, he will have you destroyed!”
For Vitas, it was an all-or-nothing bluff, pretending he did not know Nero was inside the costume. Trusting that Nero would be too ashamed to admit it. Now. Or later.
Vitas shoved Helius hard toward the doorway of the small hut. “Outside! Now!”
Without hesitation, Vitas grabbed the chain and jerked it hard, treating the man in the beast costume as lower than a slave. “Don’t move. I’ll be back to deal with you.”
Vitas forced himself to pretend outrage. But this was the moment. If Nero decided he would no longer play the role, Vitas was dead.
The beast snarled at him, an echo from inside the lion’s skull. But the beast did nothing else.
Vitas knew he was safe. Temporarily.
Vitas spun on his heels and marched outside to Helius.
“You feed his delusions,” Vitas said to Helius.
The two of them stood outside the hut in the shadows of an olive tree.
Helius shrugged, a smirk visible on his face in the moonlight.
Vitas had learned in battle in Britannia how to detach himself from the emotions of the moment. Yet it took immense willpower to restrain himself from withdrawing his short sword from his toga and charging at Helius. But it would not serve the empire for Helius to die, for Nero clung to the man with a neediness that barely kept Nero stable.
“Of course I feed his delusions.” Helius continued smirking, unaware of how closely the ghost of his own murder had passed by. “That is the whole point. His power. And how I survive.”
“How does this serve Nero?” Vitas demanded, pointing at the hut behind them.
Vitas was not particularly large, but he was tall and carried himself the way a man with solid compact muscles does. He was also cloaked in his family’s well-documented patrician background of generations of Roman purity, and by the stories, almost legendary, about his bravery in battles against the Iceni in Britannia. In daylight, his flat, almost black eyes made his thoughts unreadable to his opponents, and without a smile, his face was implacable, like unweathered stone. Here, his face hidden in the shadow cast by the moonlight, Vitas was that much more intimidating. Much as Nero needed Helius, Nero revered Vitas. Only Vitas could speak to Helius in this way and not fear later punishment in the stealthy form of poison or an assassin.
“His nightmares,” Helius said, finally sensing the deadly anger simmering beneath the calm demeanor of Vitas. “Nero wants to be rid of them.”
“By this travesty of justice?”
Helius shrugged. “No worse than anything else Nero has desired in recent years.”
Vitas could not argue with that. “He is Caesar, the representative of our great empire. To protect the empire, we must protect our emperor’s dignity.”
“The empire?” Helius sneered. “You truly believe in the empire?”
That was the question, Vitas thought. Could he continue to believe in the empire? It had once been his whole life. Until that final battle in Britannia. There, he had fought to defend the empire against barbarians. Now, as Nero became more of a megalomaniac every day, Vitas wondered who were the true barbarians and if he needed instead to fight the empire.
“I believe,” Vitas answered without betraying his thoughts, “that you enjoy Nero’s worst instincts.”
Helius smiled. “Nero gets what Nero wants. I do for him as he directs me.”
“To secretly torture and kill these Christians.”
“His nightmares have worsened.”
Vitas needed no explanation. Nero, who had once shared a bed with his mother, had later ordered her murdered. As he did with his first wife, whose head he demanded as proof of death. His second wife he’d kicked to death while she was pregnant. He’d poisoned his adoptive half brother. The list went on, until the most recent atrocities—the executions of myriad Christians. It was no wonder that demons haunted the man in the dark of each night.
Yet, monstrous as the man was, Vitas well knew that to end Nero’s life would likely result in civil war, as Nero had no successor. Civil war would destroy the empire. So Vitas served Nero and did his best as a trusted adviser to lessen the monstrosities.
“He expects this to quiet those nightmares?” Vitas said, gesturing at the hut.
“It’s that Greek graffiti,” Helius said. “That one senseless word that the Christians have begun to inscribe all across the city in defiance of him.”
Vitas was aware of it. Three Greek letters. With the snake in the middle.
Helius continued. “Until tonight, their resolution to worship their Christos despite Nero’s persecution had begun to shake Nero’s belief in his own divinity.”
“A man posing as beast is hardly divine.”
“I’ve convinced him that if he defeats them as the Beast that their own prophet Daniel foretold of, he will break this curse upon himself. He has taken some potions to delude himself further.”
The constriction around Vitas’s chest eased only a little. If Nero’s mind had been influenced by potions tonight, he would be all the more determined to remain in the role of the beast instead of giving orders to execute Vitas.
“I know about the Jewish rabbi you consulted,” Vitas said. “So I also know of these Scriptures.”
“How?” Helius demanded. “Who told you that I sent for—?”
“Secrets are difficult to keep in the palace,” Vitas said wearily. “How I know is of far less concern than what I know. The prophet Daniel also prophesied that the fourth beast would be destroyed. You’ve kept that from Nero?”
“I’m not suicidal,” Helius said. “Of course I did. It’s what he believes that matters, not the nonsense of a Jewish prophet from six hundred years ago. Nero will never be destroyed and certainly never by a God of the Jews. Nero is convinced if they worship the beast or if the beast kills them, he is the victor. It’s superstition, of course, but you know full well how superstitious fear rules him.”
Vitas did know full well Nero’s dread of the gods and of omens. He also knew that Nero, with his absolute power, had performed far stranger acts than this with far less motivation. In a twisted way, this horrible parody made sense. But could Vitas allow himself to stand by yet one more time?
“You think this will remain a secret?” Vitas argued. “That Nero is so afraid of the Christians he must dress up as a beast and kill them himself?” Every day Vitas was more fully aware of how the Senate would view Nero’s actions. “Think of how the tongues of the mobs will wag further when they hear this.”
“What Nero wants, Nero gets.”
“If he continues like this, there will come a point when he will no longer be tolerated. The empire will revolt against him. And you will lose your own power.”
“We are here and it is too late to stop this,” Helius snapped. “Do you expect some sort of divine intervention to save those inside? to save you from the act of defiance you have just committed against Caesar?”
Images of the final battle in Britannia flashed through the mind of Vitas. Of the power of the empire unleashed on the innocent. He spoke quietly. “The persecution must stop.”
“That’s the real reason you’re here tonight, isn’t it?” Teeth gleamed in the moonlight as Helius smiled. “Your constant and tedious arguments to save the Christians. Perhaps you are one yourself?”
“Hardly. You and I both know they are innocent of treason. The empire cannot survive if it does not serve justice equally to all.”
Helius shrugged. “Give me power over principles any day. It’s a pity you won’t learn that lesson.”
“Take Nero back to the palace. With any luck, he won’t remember this.”
“It’s too late,” Helius said. “What’s begun must be finished.”
“No.”
“No?” Helius e
choed. “I doubt you’ll stop me. You’ve become too soft, Vitas. Nero might not know it. But I do. The great warrior Vitas is a toothless lion. But what should one expect of one who married a barbarian?”
His neck muscles tightened, but Vitas held himself back.
“Tell me,” Helius said, still taunting Vitas. “Is it true? Was it your sword that —?”
“Enough!”
“Enough or you’ll kill me?” Helius said.
Vitas froze.
“See?” Helius said. “The great warrior Vitas would never have meekly accepted such an insult.”
Helius turned his back on Vitas and hurried back into the hut.
“No!”
Helius had just taken the chain off the bars to the lion’s cage. The beast with the wings and head of a lion was pulling at the chain, reaching with bear claws to tear at the first of the four captives in shackles.
Vitas had made his decision. Over the last six months, he had allowed too much to happen already; his conscience could be pushed no further. He stepped back into the hut. Ready to defy Nero, even if it cost him his life.
“No!” Vitas repeated. He spoke to the beast. “This is enough.”
Nero, addled by lust and anger and the results of whatever potions he had consumed, continued to hiss and snarl beneath the costume of the beast. “Kill him!” he hissed from inside the lion’s head. “Tear his heart out! Vitas must die. I tire of his defense of the Christians!”
In that moment, Vitas knew he’d lost his gamble. Nero had stopped acting, spoken his name. No longer could Vitas pretend that he was unaware of who wore the costume. No longer was Vitas protected by his value as the only man of Nero’s inner court respected by the Senate.
“Kill him!” Nero’s voice became higher and unnatural. It goaded the real beasts in the cages into a frenzy of roars, a rumble.
“This must stop!” Vitas answered, resolute. If this was his final stand, he would not flee.
“Kill him!”
The noise of the beasts changed. Subtly at first. Then the low rumble became a distinct noise in itself, which slowly began to build and build.
The ground beneath them shook.
Helius swayed. Nero in his beast costume staggered. Vitas shifted his feet wider to keep his balance.
The cages rattled and shook back and forth.
As Vitas realized that the earth itself was quaking, lightning struck the thatched roof of the hut, and the rumbling was broken by a tremendous peal of thunder.
The roof burst into flames and again lightning struck, deafening them with instant thunder that followed.
Helius fell to his knees as the ground continued to shake.
Vitas saw that the cage doors had sprung open. That the animals were lurching out, dazed by their sudden freedom.
The huge lion advanced on Nero. He scrambled backward into the body of the first captive, then fell at that captive’s feet, moaning from inside his costume.
Vitas pulled his short sword from his toga and stepped between Nero and the lion. Nero was emperor. Even though the emperor had ordered him executed, Vitas had his duty.
The lion crouched. It weighed three times what a man did, with teeth longer and sharper than daggers, paws as large as a man’s head, and the power to take down an ox.
Vitas waited and watched, ready to fight, hopeless as it was.
Another boom of deafening thunder. The lion sank back, bewildered.
Lightning flashed again.
And the lion fled. The leopard and the bear followed.
Helius remained on his knees, cowering, tears streaming down his face.
In the calm that followed the next burst of lightning, the earthquake renewed itself.
Nero screamed, “The gods speak against me!”
He threw off his costume, dashed past Vitas, and fled the hut, leaving behind the leopard fur with its eagles’ wings. Helius, too, retreated, following Nero into the trees as lightning continued to flash upon the grounds of the palace.
Vitas kicked aside remnants of burning straw that fell from the roof of the hut.
All four captives shackled to the wall stared at him in silence.
Vitas advanced on the first one with his sword.
“Please spare the women,” the gray-haired captive said, the older one who had faced Helius with so little fear. “They have children.”
“What is your name?” Vitas asked him, pressing the flat of his sword up near the man’s chest.
“John.”
“John,” Vitas said, “you do not deserve to die for what you believe.”
Vitas leveraged his sword into John’s shackles until they separated. One by one, he released each of the other captives.
They made no move to flee.
Vitas turned to the first woman. Her bleeding had lessened. Vitas tore a strip from his toga and pressed it against her face. He lifted her hand until she held the cloth, then stepped away.
“Go to your children,” Vitas told her. “All of you. Go. Now is the time to make your escape. Before Nero again convinces himself he is god.”
Part II
Twelve Months after the Beginning of the Tribulation
AD 65
Rome
Capital of the Empire
Smyrna
Province of Asia
Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer. I tell you, the devil will put some of you in prison to test you, and you will suffer persecution for ten days. Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life.
—Revelation 2:10
Mercury
Hora Duodecima
At the end of the first day of the new games, the roars of animals and the howling of dying men and women inside the amphitheater were easily drowned out by the applause and cheering of tens of thousands of spectators.
Outside the amphitheater, these were the noises a young Jewish woman named Leah tried to block as she neared the main gates. Her brother was inside, but not one of the spectators.
She’d chosen nondescript clothing for this journey and tried not to look furtive. That was difficult for her. She’d lied to her beloved father to escape their apartment. It was the first time in her memory that she had deceived him. During every step toward the amphitheater, she’d felt as if every person along the way was aware of her vile crime against her father, as if the stain on her soul spread across her face like a disease.
Added to this discomfort was her fear that Gallus Sergius Vitas, a tall and quiet member of Nero’s inner circle, might be here. To sustain the courage to make this day’s journey, Leah had told herself again and again that even if Vitas was in the amphitheater, with the screaming thousands around him, it was unlikely he would notice her as she slipped past the main gates. Still, as much as she could convince herself of this on an intellectual level, she could not squelch her fear.
She remembered all too clearly the day Vitas had appeared at their home with soldiers to arrest her brother Nathan. Although weeks had passed since that horrible event, the vividness of Vitas’s alertness and the piercing quality of his total attention to the sights and sounds around him were still impressed in her memories. It had seemed when he looked at her, standing so relaxed and dignified as he reprimanded the soldiers for prodding Nathan with spears, that he was able to read her very thoughts.
Worse—as she allowed her mind to worry about the presence of Vitas—she realized that here, near the main gates, the street had long since emptied of spectators rushing for seats inside, and now Leah walked alone on the cobblestone street.
Yet hers was not a walk of solitude. Leah was acutely aware of the stares of nearby soldiers who guarded the men and women hanging above her, lining each side of the broad street that led to the entrance of the amphitheater. Alongside charred stumps of posts were new wooden lampposts spaced every ten paces. Men and women dangled from each post, their bound wrists hanging from spikes in the post above their heads, their entire body weight wrenchi
ng at their shoulder sockets. As Leah hurried past them, she realized they could only listen to the nearby thunderous cheering and contemplate their own fate.
The soldiers sweated profusely, even while sitting motionless in whatever shade they could find. When a soldier rose occasionally to splash water against his face from a nearby public fountain and groan at the relief, it was a sight and sound that most surely added to the agony of those hanging from the lampposts.
This heat was a form of torture, adding to the excruciating pain of arm sockets slowly pulling loose. But the prisoners could not cry out for water from those passing the fountain. Their lips had been sewn shut to prevent them from disturbing Roman citizens with pleas for help or with shrieks of agony.
Like Leah, who hated her inability to help these tortured men and women, the prisoners knew the purpose they would serve when darkness fell.
Each wore the tunica molesta—a tunic black and gleaming in the sunlight and saturated in tar. Leah could scarcely imagine the suffocating sensation of the thick, heavy garments, soaking up the heat of the sun and clinging to their bodies as the tar oozed against their skin.
Yet beyond the imagination of that agony was one worse.
The waiting.
At sundown, by the orders of Nero, the guards would ignite their tunics so these men and women—the Christians—would become human torches to light the street for the half-drunk Roman revelers returning home at the end of the games.
This was the Great Tribulation. Hell did exist on earth.
Leah’s worries about Gallus Vitas were groundless.
He was days and days of travel from Rome, roughly eight hundred miles away, across the mountains, across the Adriatic Sea, across Macedonia, and across the Aegean Sea in the center of an Asian port city called Smyrna. The afternoon had that late brightness that comes with the long rays of sun stretching across the aquamarine of the sea and bouncing up into the hills.
The Last Disciple Page 2
