The Last Disciple

by Hank Hanegraaff

  Intellectually, she knew what choice she had to make. Because there was no choice. Her brother was going to die, whether it was in five minutes or thirty. If the children didn’t go into slavery, they too would face the lions.

  Yet her heart could barely take the strain, and her intellectual decision seemed meaningless against the emotions that overwhelmed her.

  How could she do what she needed to do?

  “Homer returns.” Damian spoke wryly as he looked up from reading a diptych.

  “You’re alone?” Vitas asked. Four slaves accompanied him. “What of your women—?”

  Damian gave a wave. “You certainly know how to spoil a party. Titus heard enough of what happened out there to stagger after you. And all the moaning from our fallen gladiator hero spoiled the mood even more. I sent everyone away.”

  “Too bad,” Vitas said, grinning. He gave instructions to the slaves to move Maglorius outside to the litter they had carried to the villa.

  “Where’s Titus?” Damian said, frowning at the activity. “Where are you taking Maglorius?”

  “Titus caught up with me just after I’d completed negotiations with the treasurer,” Vitas answered. “He’s waiting down at the ship for you and me to arrive with Maglorius.”

  At the movement of the four slaves, the swallows in their wicker cage fluttered with panic.

  “Easy now,” Damian said to the birds in a soothing voice. “Easy. This will be over soon enough.” He shot a frown at Vitas. “It will be over soon enough, correct?”

  “Certainly,” Vitas replied. “I doubt you have much to pack.”

  “I cannot leave Smyrna,” Damian said. “The gladiator’s vow . . .”

  “Such a sense of honor,” Vitas observed with an ironic smile. “I can tell you, brother, that I love you for it. You are nearly a perfect man, except for your weakness for gambling.”

  “Honor?” Damian rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Have you any idea how relentlessly a man is pursued if he forsakes the vow? And his fate is far, far worse than anything that might happen in the arena.” He tossed the diptych at Vitas. “Here, this belongs to Maglorius. He’ll want it if he lives.”

  Vitas weighed the diptych in his hand, curious about it for natural reasons.

  Ink on leaf tablets—thin sheets of wood with tie holes that allowed a cord to keep several sheets together—were used for most correspondence. But a diptych contained thicker pieces of wood filled with beeswax on which the writer used a stylus to scratch out the words. Much more expensive than leaf tablets, diptychs were normally used for important documents, legal documents. Why would a gladiator receive such a document?

  Vitas gave it a closer look. “The seal is broken.”

  “Of course.”

  “You broke it?” Vitas asked.

  “As soon as the messenger departed.”

  “Some might decide it was illegal and immoral and—”

  The slaves had taken Maglorius away. It was just Vitas and Damian and the cage filled with swallows.

  “Relax, my brother,” Damian said. “Maglorius gets me to read everything for him. He’s a savage tribal warrior, remember? And that—” Damian pointed at the diptych—“that is a heated love letter. Very amusing. Not only is the woman in love with him, but she’s married.”

  “Not interested,” Vitas said. “Spare me the details.”

  Damian flashed his rogue’s grin. “The woman begins by expressing her undying love for Maglorius that she’s had even before I took the gladiator’s vow.”

  “Enough,” Vitas said. “This is no business of mine.”

  “Given her husband, I think you’d want to know more.” Damian paused.

  “All right!” Vitas grinned back, knowing his brother had been toying with him. “Who?”

  “Lucius Bellator. His wife, Alypia, is in love with Maglorius. And has been for the last five years.”

  “Bellator! His family has been around since the founding of Rome! He’s just been given a plum political office. He’s to be transferred to Judea to oversee the collection of taxes there. As if he weren’t rich enough already.”

  “Am I right?” Damian asked. “Would you have not eavesdropped? and read this letter?”

  “I would have been tempted,” Vitas said. But not tempted enough. He had the diptych now and would ensure that no one else looked at it but Maglorius.

  “Let me tell you more then,” Damian said. “She tells of her love and begs him to return safely, for she declares that enough time has passed that she could move him into the household as a bodyguard without arousing the suspicion of her elderly husband. Furthermore, she is finally able to reveal to him something of great importance. . . .”

  “No,” Vitas said firmly. He felt some guilt already at indulging in the gossip thus far. “I have little time and important news of my own for you.”

  “But really, it’s too much! The fact that Maglorius has been unaware of—”

  “No!”

  Damian shrugged. “Have it your way.”

  “I’ll see he gets it,” Vitas said. “I expect someone as hardy as Maglorius to recover fully.”

  “Where’s some wine?” Damian asked. “I’ve done my best to forget that I’ve lost my protector in the arena today. All this talk about Maglorius reminds me what’s going to happen when I face the lions.”

  “Aren’t you curious why I would come to Smyrna?”

  “As the kind and decent older brother, I’m certain you are here to ensure the return of my mangled body to Rome, as unaware as the rest of the world that I had purchased the protection of Maglorius. Of course, with him nearly dead, the purpose of your visit will, ironically enough, be fulfilled. And once again, the world will see that you’ve acted wisely.”

  Damian grinned. “Won’t complain though. No one else but me was responsible for the gambling debts that forced me to take the gladiator vows.”

  Vitas knew his brother well enough to understand that this forced cavalier attitude was an outer protection. Yet Vitas was not ready to give his brother the news that had brought him to Smyrna.

  Vitas stepped past him. “Tell me about these birds.”

  Damian coughed and ignored the question. “Vitas, I’m sure it is for Father’s benefit that you are undertaking this chore. Be sure to tell him that I do not blame my bad choices on him or the way he raised me. After all, look at you. A son to be proud of under any circumstances.”

  “Damian.” Vitas spoke very, very softly. “Our father is dead.”

  “Proof that Jesus was a false messiah,” Caleb echoed Helius. “I will give you proof. In the words of Matthew, Jesus said this: ‘I assure you, this generation will not pass from the scene before all these things take place.’” Caleb pierced Zabad with a stare. “Is this not in the scroll?”

  “That, and more.” Zabad nodded and quoted from memory. “‘Don’t let anyone mislead you. For many will come in my name, saying, “I am the Messiah.” They will lead many astray.’”

  Zabad drew breath to continue quoting Jesus, but Caleb interrupted and spoke to Helius. “Before he makes his point, I will admit there is truth in these prophecies of Jesus. I’m sure you are aware of Theudas, who persuaded a great number to follow him to the Jordan and promised he would divide it for their passage. And of Dositheus, the Samaritan, who pretended he was the lawgiver promised by Moses. And of the many false messiahs under the procuratorship of Felix.”

  “Yes,” Helius snapped at Caleb. “I am keenly aware of the Jewish revolutionaries. Why is Zabad’s argument so strong and yours so weak?”

  “Patience,” Caleb said. “Jesus also foretold this on the Mount: ‘Wars will break out near and far, but don’t panic. Yes, these things must come, but the end won’t follow immediately. The nations and kingdoms will proclaim war against each other, and there will be famines and earthquakes in many parts of the world. But all this will be only the beginning of the horrors to come.’”

  Helius glared at Caleb. “Patience? I th
ought you were supposed to offer proof that Jesus was false. It seems the opposite. If Jesus did predict these things, it strengthens the case against you. During the long reign of Tiberius, we had peace. Now, suddenly, in the years after the death of Jesus, unrest again.”

  Caleb shrugged. “The world as we know it has been in constant battle as the Roman Empire expands and holds its frontiers. Wars against the warriors in Britannia. Against the Gauls. The Parthians. Rome has dealt with a great famine in the last decade. Earthquakes seem to occur daily across the world. On the surface, Jesus seems to have made remarkable predictions.”

  Helius could hardly stand it. “On the surface? Have you no idea how to debate this matter? Wars and earthquakes and famines. When won’t the world be faced with those? I would wager thousands of years from now it won’t be any different.”

  Caleb put up a hand as if to silence Helius. This motion angered Helius more and he began to sputter.

  Caleb ignored Helius. “Zabad, are you willing to say then, that Jesus applied all these predictions specifically to this generation?”

  “Of course,” Zabad said. “It could not be any more clear. Jesus said it would apply to this generation, and, even now, with the world at its most wealthy and civilized, famines and wars are still taking place.”

  “Debate this man!” Helius said. “Don’t agree with him. By the gods, I’m half prepared to follow the Christos myself by the inept way you’ve handled this.”

  Caleb’s eyes gleamed with triumph, and he grinned at Helius. “I want it remembered that we have all agreed that the truth of the prophecies of Jesus on the Mount of Olives is meaningless unless all the events He predicted occur, not just some.”

  “You are a stupid man,” Helius told Caleb. “I think I shall order your immediate execution.”

  “I want Zabad to address this prophecy of Jesus on the Mount of Olives,” Caleb demanded, his voice rising as he addressed Zabad. “Remember this one? ‘I assure you, not one stone will be left on top of another.’”

  “Jesus did say that,” Zabad said.

  “In other words, the temple will be destroyed?” Caleb said.

  “Yes,” Zabad answered.

  Caleb turned to Helius and bowed. “There it is. Proof that Jesus was a false messiah.”

  “You call that proof?” Helius could hardly speak he was so angry.

  “If but one prophecy is wrong, He is not divine,” Caleb said. “And His most outrageous prophecy of all is clearly false.”

  Caleb turned back to Zabad. “Will you agree that the entire Jewish population in Jerusalem would fight to their deaths to prevent Gentiles from desecrating the Holy of Holies?”

  “Of course.”

  Caleb grinned widely, not bothering to hide his triumph. “And that is where your Jesus is plainly a false prophet. The generation that was alive when He spoke is nearly ended. Yet the temple is standing strong.”

  “This generation is not over yet,” Zabad countered. “Unlikely as it might be, I believe the prophecies of Jesus will be proven true before witnesses alive when He spoke them are all gone from this earth.”

  “How large are the stones of the temple?” Caleb asked.

  “Each stone is twice the height of a man. Ten paces long. Two paces wide.”

  “So large it would take dozens of men to move one.”

  “So large,” Zabad said, “that it has taken decades to build and finish the temple. That’s what makes the prophecy of Jesus all the more bold.”

  “Bold?” Caleb said. “I would say plainly ridiculous. The Mount of Zion has a water flow that would withstand any siege. Those walls with massive stones are perched on cliffs. There is food to last ten years in the city. And those within would fight so zealously that not even the mighty Roman Empire would find a way to defeat them. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Zabad said.

  “And you still believe that the prophecies of Jesus will be fulfilled within this generation?”

  “I believe it.”

  Caleb spoke directly to Helius. “You are a man of great political shrewdness. You know as well as anyone that the authorities who control Jerusalem and the rest of the nation work closely with the Romans. Can you foresee any reason for the Jews with political power to allow a rebellion by their own people?”

  “None,” Helius said. He relaxed somewhat, as if he could finally understand where Caleb was taking the argument.

  “You know Nero as well as any man alive,” Caleb said. “Do you think he intends to waste time and energy sending in legions to destroy a temple when the Jews have given him no reason to?”

  “Hardly.”

  “What I am saying,” Caleb pronounced, “is that the temple is one of the wonders of the world. Massive. Unassailable. So unassailable that even if the mightiest empire the world has known tried to destroy it, that empire would be defeated. I am saying that there is no foreseeable reason for the empire to even try this. And the generation that Jesus addressed has nearly passed.”

  “Excellent,” Helius said. “If the temple does not fall within this generation, then Jesus was plainly a false prophet. And a false prophet cannot claim to be inspired by God, far less have his followers believe he is the Son of God.”

  “This generation is not yet over,” Zabad said.

  Caleb ignored him and spoke to Helius. “Don’t you see? Nero has the power. Not this Jesus. If Nero decides not to destroy the temple, Nero proves Jesus to be a false prophet.”

  Helius shared Caleb’s sense of triumph. Yes! These were the words that would delight Nero.

  “Well done,” Helius told Caleb. “It is settled then. Zabad and his family will die in the arena.”

  “And my brother,” Caleb said, “he will be released?”

  “Of course,” Helius lied. No sense in causing a scene here. He would leave the room and send in the soldiers to take away Caleb and the other rabbi for immediate execution. The scribe, too, for Helius wanted no witnesses alive.

  Helius, happy now that he had something to set Nero at ease, began to plan his evening. Wine first, as always, then—

  He realized that Zabad had risen too and was speaking directly to him.

  “Nero’s death is imminent. It has been decided by God,” Zabad said. “And prophesied by man. Prepare to face the Judge of heaven and earth—the King of kings and the Lord of lords.”

  Leah somehow found the strength to stand from her seat in the arena. And then somehow found the strength to lift her arm and wave a bright red scarf.

  Her brother, hundreds of feet away, lifted his hands skyward, as if imploring God for mercy.

  This movement told Leah that he had seen the scarf and understood the signal.

  The children had been taken away and sold as promised. This is what her brother had needed to know. That the bestiarius had honored the agreement.

  And now the men and women gathered on the sand would honor their part of it.

  Leah’s vision blurred with tears. She wished she could be spared the sight. But her brother had made her promise she would watch with the same bravery that he would show as the lions approached.

  She watched, then, as the men and women separated slowly so they would not startle the lions. Each began to sway slightly, lifting and dropping their hands to alert the wild lions to their presence.

  Instantly, the beasts stopped the frenzied circling and responded by crouching.

  The crowd became silent as the moment of horror approached. In this silence, a sound rose from the sand. It took several moments for Leah to realize that her brother had begun to sing a beautiful hymn. Others on the sand joined with him, and their voices rose like a choir.

  This serenity and peace were not the reaction that the mob had expected, and the silence of the audience continued, more from surprise than anything. The words of the hymn became more clear as the men and women poured joy into their singing.

  A few angry catcalls began. Then jeering and boos, and the momentary spell was broken.
/>   A few lions crept closer.

  Leah lost her breath as her brother stepped forward and dropped the zebra hide that covered him. He fell to his knees and clasped his hands in prayer.

  The boldest lion suddenly leaped forward.

  And Leah broke her promise.

  She turned her head and closed her eyes in that last moment as the lion closed in on her brother with outstretched claws.

  “No,” Damian said to his brother. Comprehension seemed to replace his denial. “Father? Dead?”

  “Yes. Only days after your departure for Smyrna. He died alone. In his sleep. I’m told it was painless.”

  They shared wordless grief for several moments, the silence broken only by the restless fluttering of the birds in the cage.

  “Well then,” Damian said. He let out a breath. “That probably simplifies my burial arrangements. I wouldn’t spend much, if I were you. Drink some wine in my honor and consider it done.”

  “I’ll drink some wine with you, my brother. On the ship that returns to Rome this afternoon.”

  “I told you: gladiator vows are taken very seriously. If I fled Smyrna, there would be a bounty on my head for the rest of my life.”

  “No. Yesterday afternoon, I purchased you. It was a provision in Father’s will.”

  “By the gods!” Damian’s face lit up. “Angry as he was with me, he still did that?”

  “He loved you. Greatly. You and I share the estate.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  Vitas nodded.

  “You’re the fool,” Damian said, grinning. “You should have arrived in Smyrna a couple of days late, expecting that I would have been dead and the estate then entirely yours.”

  “Would you have done the same to rescue me?”

  Damian nodded. “Without hesitation. Just don’t make me admit that kind of love for you again.”

  “You are free, my brother. Return to Rome. You have been trained as a lawyer. You can start life fresh there as a respected man.”

  Damian snorted. He gestured at the birds in the cage. “So I can live like them? Well fed, safe, but in prison?”

  “Your gladiator vows are shackles.”