The Last Disciple

by Hank Hanegraaff

  He held up a hand to stop her from speaking. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t expect you to be cheap. Nor do I intend to be cheap. I’m a man of wealth, and a night with you would be worth a great deal to me.”

  Bernice blinked a few times.

  “Remarkable,” he said. “You’ve lost composure. I believe it’s the first time, isn’t it?”

  She should not have underestimated him. She turned to the wine jug and refilled her goblet.

  He gulped back some wine and held out his goblet for more, then gulped more and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What shall it be?”

  Your drunkenness, she thought. Then a stone against the skull, the same stone that a poor peasant struggled to hold aloft as he watched your bandits kill his family. And once you are unconscious, your death when I push you over this balcony. A death that I could claim was an accident.

  “What shall it be?” he repeated.

  She poured him more wine. “Florus, my dear man, perhaps you might actually find it enjoyable to be very slow and deliberate in your negotiations. After all, a man offered me a kingdom to be his bride when I was only thirteen. Do we really have to be so shortsighted as to think I might be here only for a night?”

  He leered. Drank more wine. “What exactly are you saying?”

  She pretended to drink her own wine. “Let me ask you this. Do you think Rome would really believe the reports of how badly you have stolen from the Jews if the queen herself became your wife?”

  “Reports of how badly I have stolen from the Jews?” Florus stood quickly, a move so abrupt that it surprised her.

  Bernice reminded herself that the Romans were, above all, warriors. No matter what this man seemed to be now, at one time he had been a physical specimen to be feared. She needed to be very, very careful around him. The drop from the balcony that she hoped would kill him was also a drop that could kill her.

  “You are suggesting I’m afraid of Rome?” He half roared, and a spray of wine from his mouth touched her face.

  “Of course not,” Bernice said.

  He grinned and sat again, motioning for more wine. “I like a horse that can’t be intimidated. Something about controlling a beautiful beast that—”

  “I’m not suggesting it,” she said. “I’m saying it directly. You are afraid of the governor of Syria, Cestius Gallus, because he doesn’t want problems in his jurisdiction. And you are afraid that if Rome looks too closely into your affairs here that you will face severe legal actions.”

  He stood and roared again. “Insolence!”

  “Shut your mouth,” she said with appropriate weariness, although her heart hammered with fear. All he had to do was reach out with one of those meaty fists. “There’s no audience for you to impress.” She pushed his chest and made him fall backward.

  For a few heartbeats, it seemed he was going to rush forward and beat her. Then he grinned. “Prostitutes cower from me. You’re proving to be a lot more interesting.”

  Bernice relaxed but hid her relief. “You want war. That’s obvious. You make an outrageous theft from the temple, and when a few hotheaded youths unsurprisingly insult you as you ride to Jerusalem, you set your soldiers loose upon helpless citizens. When the people show too much control and refuse to riot, you spark it again with more slaughter. Even now, your soldiers are at the ready to attack at dawn.”

  Florus belched. “A war might be convenient. What of it?”

  “You forget that reports of the war and how it started will put you in a bad light. After all, as much as you might like to, you can’t kill every single resident of Jerusalem. Someone will survive to present to Caesar the injustices that caused this war.”

  Bernice sipped her wine. She noted with satisfaction that most of his was gone. She refilled her goblet and casually reached across to do the same for his. “War is not the answer,” Bernice continued.

  “No?”

  “Today, great as your force was, you still had to retreat. Jews may not be motivated enough to muster a good offense, but our defense of what is dear to us is so fierce as to be unbeatable. Even by Rome.”

  “The temple.”

  “Of course. Not the gold inside, but what it represents. Surely you know enough of recent history to understand how fanatical our people are about serving the one true God.”

  She walked around behind him. She began to massage his shoulders, glad that he could not read her contempt of him in her face. It also gave her an excuse to set down her goblet while he continued to drink.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, “you either attack or not. If you do, it will be the same as today. Every Jewish male in this city will fight to his death to protect the temple. You know you can’t defeat that. Your retreat then will cause you a tremendous loss of face.”

  He grunted with pleasure as her fingers worked muscles that had gone soft with easy living.

  “Leave the city in peace,” she said. “Go back to Caesarea.”

  “And then . . . ?”

  “What will be of more importance to Caesar? Reports from Jews and temple priests who complain on a regular basis? Or a letter from the queen of the Jews supporting all the actions you have taken so far?”

  “With the queen at my side as a wife.” The wine seemed to finally be having an effect. He snorted laughter. “Yes, what a prize that would be.” He sucked in air. “Tell me, my little seductress. It’s obvious all that you bring to a marriage. Wealth. Beauty. A title. Even respectability. But how do you benefit?”

  “You tell me,” Bernice said. She stopped massaging him.

  He reached up and pulled her hands onto his chest, forcing her chin to rest on his head.

  She found it extremely repulsive but did not pull back.

  “Roman citizenship,” he said. “Safety from military reprisals. And, of course, a luxurious lifestyle.”

  “With a powerful, fascinating man,” she finished for him.

  “Why now? We’ve been together at the same banquets before. You’ve never shown the faintest interest in me.”

  “You’ve never shown so boldly that you were willing to use all your power.”

  He lurched sideways. “You find that attractive?”

  “Most women do. At least women like me.”

  He pulled her down farther, twisting his head to try to kiss her mouth.

  She pulled away. “What is your hurry?” she asked in a teasing voice. She found another jug of wine and offered it to him.

  He nodded, blinking slowly. “Hurry? No hurry. But only a fool buys a horse without checking its teeth first. I’m not so sure I should agree to marriage without an adequate appraisal.”

  He reached for her waist.

  The rock! He must not discover it!

  She spun away, laughing. “Ah yes, but why would one buy a cow if one could get the milk for free?”

  He puzzled over that for a moment, addled by the wine. When he finally understood, he laughed until he began to cough. “Suddenly you’re a woman of virtue?”

  “Maybe I always was,” she said. “Rumors can be vicious, you know.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But I am a man unaccustomed to being refused. And if you find my power so attractive . . .”

  Bernice smiled, forcing herself to feel seductive. She lifted her hands to loosen her hair. Was he drunk enough?

  As she loosened her hair with one hand, she half turned and made it appear that she was about to disrobe. She took the stone that she would use to crush his skull.

  Then she turned and approached him with the murder weapon hidden behind her back, a seductive smile across her face.

  Florus leered. “Better,” he crooned. “Much better.”

  “You’ll call off your soldiers?” she asked. “You’ll leave the city in peace?”

  “Certainly. And you’ll give me a taste of what it will be like to have you as a wife?”

  “Of course.”

  “Come here then.”

  She backed away, keeping her smile
in place. “Call for your head centurion. Tell him that the soldiers are not to attack the temple tomorrow.”

  “Call him now?”

  “I like to know a man is serious about his desire for me.”

  “I could always call him again at dawn and tell him I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Not the great Florus. He wouldn’t want to seem indecisive.”

  He grunted. “Soldier!” he yelled.

  Almost instantly, two guards entered the doorway and stepped onto the balcony.

  “Take this message to the commanders,” Florus said. “Tomorrow all of our cohorts but one will return to Caesarea.”

  Each saluted him. He dismissed them immediately.

  “Satisfied?” Florus asked.

  Bernice gave him a leer of her own. “Not yet!” She walked to the door and barred it in place. “In a few minutes, however, that may change.” She thought of his broken and dead body on the ground far below. “Yes,” she said. “Give me a chance and I’ll be well satisfied.”

  He grinned. A very drunken grin. He stripped off his shirt, showing a wide chest of graying hairs. “Come here then, my queen.”

  Bernice glided to a nearby torch. She capped it and extinguished it. And the next. And the next.

  It was nearly dark on the balcony now.

  What she didn’t expect was how quietly the large man could move, even as drunk as he was.

  As she reached for the final torch, his hands suddenly wrapped around her waist. “I’m tired of waiting,” he said. “I—” He stopped. Turned her to face him. Held her shoulder with one large hand. Groped her hidden hand with the other.

  “What is this!” He pushed and pulled at the stone until his muddled mind made sense of it. “Is this a weapon? You came here to kill me?” He pushed her away. “Guards! Bring me my sword!”

  She knew she was about to die. And was at peace with it. At least Jerusalem was safe. She had saved the city.

  “Guards!” he shouted. “Sword!”

  “I’m hungry,” Quintus said in the pitch-black darkness.

  Valeria had forced him to wait long hours in the depths of the tunnels beneath the city. If indeed Maglorius did want them dead, she needed to be sure he was gone.

  “Soon,” she said, “we will have plenty of gold to buy whatever we need. Then we will pay for a journey to Caesarea and from there, a ship to Rome. We are citizens, after all. Lawyers will help us recover our father’s estate. And we will rebuild our lives from there.”

  Quintus fought back another sob. He clutched her hand as they slowly navigated the uneven sewer floor. The stone was wet, slippery. Her only way of sensing direction was by keeping her free hand against the wall and making sure they moved upward.

  “Soon,” she repeated to Quintus, as much for her own comfort as his.

  The gold that she’d hidden . . . it was their lifeline. Money would ensure they had food and shelter and a way to get to Rome. Money would ensure they received the inheritance due to them. And until Quintus was old enough, she would look after him as if he were a son not a stepbrother.

  It was the gold that gave her hope.

  Yet when they finally reached the steps that had brought them down into the sewer, the pouch of gold coins that she’d hidden was gone. Disbelieving as she was, she searched frantically but could not find it.

  “Valeria?” Quintus asked. “What is it?”

  “Let me hold you,” she said, concealing her fear and panic. “We’ll make it through this night. That’s what’s important. We’ll face tomorrow when it comes.”

  And somehow, she vowed, she’d find a way to get them to Rome.

  Aware he was half drunk, Florus struggled to open the door. He kept roaring for the guards to bring him his sword. When it finally opened, he was savagely delighted to see three guards waiting for him.

  But no sword.

  Florus blinked, wondering if the alcohol had addled his mind so thoroughly that he was seeing a vision in the light of the oil torches of the hallway.

  “I understand you’ve given orders to send the soldiers out of the city tomorrow morning,” the man behind his guards said.

  “Gallus Sergius Vitas!”

  “Sent by Nero,” Vitas replied calmly, arms crossed. “Caesar will be glad to hear of your restraint. It is difficult to tax a region when a representative of Rome is obviously guilty of forcing its people into war.”

  Florus blinked again. Gallus Sergius Vitas. Despite the betrayal by Bernice, perhaps some good would come of this night. Like an insect in a spiderweb, Vitas had actually come to him.

  “Guards!” Florus spluttered. “Seize him.”

  Vitas would be dead by morning. No more threat to Florus.

  The guards parted, and Vitas moved forward.

  “Guards!” Florus, apoplectic with rage, was aware of his saliva splattering as he yelled.

  “Imagine my relief,” Vitas said, “when I discovered that two of your centurions served in Britannia alongside me and Titus.”

  “Guards!”

  “Imagine their joy,” Vitas continued, “when they learned that I need merely speak the word, as I did, for them to be transferred to the city police of Rome. Easy living, higher wages.”

  “Guards!”

  “You’re wasting your breath,” Vitas said. “They’ve seen the orders from Nero, orders giving me safe passage through the empire.”

  Florus fell backward and leaned against the door.

  The worst had happened. Once Vitas returned to Rome, Nero would recall Florus as procurator. At the very least, there would be disgrace. More likely, execution.

  Vitas pushed Florus aside, and Florus staggered to keep his balance.

  “Queen Bernice,” Florus heard Vitas say, “I trust you are ready to return to the palace and to your people?”

  Part IV

  Twenty-two Months after the Beginning of the Tribulation

  AD 66

  Rome

  Capital of the Empire

  This calls for wisdom. If anyone has insight, let him calculate the number of the beast, for it is man’s number. His number is 666.

  —Revelation 13:18

  Venus

  Hora Sexta

  “Let’s talk about Vitas,” Helius said. “After all, he’s just arrived here in Rome from an extended vacation with his new wife.”

  “The incorruptible Vitas?” Tigellinus sneered, cleared his throat noisily, then spat on the clean marble floor of the palace hall.

  Helius averted his eyes from the result. “There are times,” he said archly, “that incorruptible is easier to bear than disgusting.”

  “Just as there are times that incorruptible is easier to bear than unearned snobbery. Why do you want to talk about Vitas? He’s back to make our lives miserable as the conscience we never asked for, and the less I’m reminded of him, the better. You’ve read his reports about Florus and the Jews? When Nero hears of it, you and I will lose a substantial part of our income.”

  Helius touched Tigellinus on the elbow and pointed him at an archway that led to a garden. “Let’s talk in a safe place.”

  Tigellinus shrugged. Followed.

  Outside, an unseasonably warm December morning made the garden pleasant.

  “What I find ironic,” Helius began, “is that we are plagued by an incorruptible man, when Nero would actually tolerate nearly every vice known to man.”

  “You should know,” Tigellinus said, grinning.

  “We should know.”

  Tigellinus shrugged again modestly. “I’m sure Nero gives Vitas the power he does because it keeps us off balance.”

  “Did,” Helius said.

  It took several moments for Tigellinus to comprehend. “Did? Did give Vitas power?”

  “Yes, my brutish friend.” Despite his fastidiousness, Helius did have real affection for Tigellinus and knew it was returned. “What’s the one thing that Nero won’t tolerate?”

  “Betrayal.”

  “You said tha
t without even a second thought.”

  “Because you know it’s true. But Vitas would never betray Nero.”

  Helius smiled.

  Tigellinus frowned. “You are not suggesting . . . ?”

  “That the incorruptible Vitas has finally made an error?”

  Tigellinus grinned. “You are suggesting that. I can see it on your face. If you were a cat, you would be licking your whiskers. What is it?”

  “A woman.”

  “For a moment,” Tigellinus said, showing disappointment, “I thought you actually had something. Nero doesn’t care if Vitas is unfaithful to that new wife of his. Nero would applaud.”

  “That new wife of his,” Helius said, “is a Christian.”

  Tigellinus had been turning away from Helius, but this brought him spinning back on his heel. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Helius.

  “Meow,” Helius said, pretending to lick his hands as if they were a cat’s paws.

  “The Jew he married is a Christian?” Tigellinus repeated.

  Helius nodded. “One of the slaves who serves their family brought Nero the news today.”

  “Is it too much to hope that Vitas himself has joined in her faith?”

  “Too much. But the fact that Vitas is hiding a Christian in his household is enough to make him a traitor in Nero’s eyes. Imagine what the mobs would say if it gets out that after all Nero has done to eradicate the Christians, one of his inner circle does the opposite.”

  “Imagine.” Tigellinus’s teeth gleamed as he gave a wolflike grin. “And imagine what that would do to the credibility of the reports about Florus that Vitas has brought us.”

  “Tigellinus,” Helius said, “those reports won’t even see the light of day. Once Vitas is dead, will there be any need to pass them on to Nero? And Florus will continue to fatten our purses for as long as we choose to support his cause with the emperor.”