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The Last Temple
Copyright © 2012 by Hank Hanegraaff. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of sky copyright © Masterfile Royalty Free. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of sky copyright © Yarik Mishin/SXC. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of man taken by Stephen Vosloo. Copyright © by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of glass copyright © Ivan Pernjakovic/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.
Photograph of gold shield copyright © Dusko Jovic/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.
Designed by Daniel Farrell
Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version,® NIV.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.TM Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.
This novel is a work of fiction. With the exception of historical persons and facts as mentioned in the notes, names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons in the present day is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the authors or the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hanegraaff, Hank.
The last temple / Hank Hanegraaff, Sigmund Brouwer.
p. cm. — (The last disciple ; 3)
ISBN 978-0-8423-8446-9 (sc)
1. Bible. N.T. Revelation XIII—History of Biblical events—Fiction. 2. Rome—History—Civil War, 68-69—Fiction. 3. Church history—Primitive and early church, ca. 30-600—Fiction. 4. Rome—History—Nero, 54-68—Fiction. 5. End of the world—Fiction. I. Brouwer, Sigmund, date. II. Title.
PS3608.A714L376 2012
813'.6—dc23 2012008612
Build: 2012-07-11 15:30:20
To my daughter Elise Hanegraaff.
Brilliant and beautiful, she relentlessly
explores the world through the power of story.
Contents
Calendar Notes
Dramatis Personae
February, AD 67 Sun Hora Quarta
Hora Quinta
Hora Nonana
Hora Decima
Moon Hora Prima
Hora Tertiana
Hora Septina
Mars Gallicinium
Intempesta
Mercury Hora Tertiana
Hora Quarta
Hora Quinta
Hora Sexta
Hora Septina
Hora Octava
Hora Nonana
Hora Decima
Hora Undecima
Hora Duodecima
Vespera
Prima Fax
Jupiter Hora Secunda
Hora Tertiana
June, AD 68 Jupiter Hora Tertiana
Hora Quarta
Hora Sexta
Hora Septina
Hora Nonana
Hora Decima
Hora Undecima
Vespera
Prima Fax
Concubia
Intempesta
Inclinatio
Saturn Hora Nonana
August 15, AD 70 Mercury Hora Duodecima
Vespera
Jupiter Hora Prima
Hora Secunda
Hora Octava
Hora Duodecima
Venus Hora Prima
Hora Secunda
Hora Tertiana
Hora Quarta
Hora Quinta
Hora Sexta
Hora Septina
August 30, AD 70 Jupiter Diluculum
Hora Quarta
Venus Hora Prima
Afterword
Historical Record of the Fall of Jerusalem
Historical Notes
Discussion Questions
Bibliography
Christian Research Institute
Notes
Calendar Notes
The Romans divided the day into twelve hours. The first hour, hora prima, began at sunrise, approximately 6 a.m. The twelfth hour, hora duodecima, ended at sunset, approximately 6 p.m.
hora prima: first hour: 6–7 a.m.
hora secunda: second hour: 7–8 a.m.
hora tertiana: third hour: 8–9 a.m.
hora quarta: fourth hour: 9–10 a.m.
hora quinta: fifth hour: 10–11 a.m.
hora sexta: sixth hour: 11 a.m.–12 p.m.
hora septina: seventh hour: 12–1 p.m.
hora octava: eighth hour: 1–2 p.m.
hora nonana: ninth hour: 2–3 p.m.
hora decima: tenth hour: 3–4 p.m.
hora undecima: eleventh hour: 4–5 p.m.
hora duodecima: twelfth hour: 5–6 p.m.
The New Testament refers to hours in a similar way. Thus, when we read in Luke 23:44, “It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour,” we understand that this period of time was from the hour before noon to approximately 3 p.m.
The Romans divided the night into eight watches.
Watches before midnight: Vespera, Prima fax, Concubia, Intempesta.
Watches after midnight: Inclinatio, Gallicinium, Conticinium, Diluculum.
The Romans’ days of the week were Sun, Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, and Saturn.
The months of the Hebrew calendar are Nisan, Iyar, Sivan, Tammuz, Av, Elul, Tishri, Heshvan, Kislev, Tevet, Shevat, Adar I, and Adar II.
Dramatis Personae
Alypia: Widow of Lucius Bellator; former lover of Maglorius; stepmother of Valeria and Quintus
Amaris: Wife of Simeon Ben-Aryeh
Annas the Younger: Former high priest
Atronius Pavo: Captain of the ship that carried John and Vitas to Alexandria
Bernice: Queen of the Jews; sister of Agrippa II
Caius Sennius Ruso: Wealthy senator; friend of John
Chayim: Son of Simeon Ben-Aryeh
Dolabella: Wife of Gnaea Lartius Helva
Gaius Calpurnius Piso: Plotted to kill Nero
Gaius Cestius Gallus: Governor of Syria
Gaius Ofonius Tigellinus: Prefect of the Praetorian Guard; member of Nero’s inner circle
Gallus Sergius Damian: Slave hunter; brother of Vitas
Gallus Sergius Vitas: Famed general of the Roman army; former member of Nero’s inner circle; husband of Sophia; brother of Damian
Gessius Florus: Former Roman procurator of Judea
Gnaea Lartius Helva: Fiscal procurator of Judea
Helius: Nero’s secretary; member of Nero’s inner circle
Hezron: Famed rabbi in Rome; father of Leah
Jerome: Slave of Damian
John, son of Zebedee: Last disciple of Jesus of Nazareth
John of Gischala: Leader of the Jewish Zealots in Jerusalem
Joseph Ben-Matthias: Prominent citizen in upper city Jerusalem
Leah: Daughter of Hezron and a follower of the Christos
Maglorius: Former gladiator; former servant in the Bellator household
Marcus Antonius Julianus: Roman procurator of Judea
Marcus Cocceius Nerva: Roman senator opposed to Nero
Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus: Roman emperor; persecutor of the followers of the Christos
Quintus Valerius Messalina: Ten-year-old son of Lucius Bellator
Simeon Ben-Aryeh: Member of the Sanhedri
n; escaped Jerusalem; fugitive of Rome with Sophia
Simon Ben-Gioras: Leader of a Jewish faction in Jerusalem
Sophia: Wife of Vitas; fugitive of Rome with Ben-Aryeh; a follower of the Christos
Sporus: Nero’s young lover
Titus Flavius Vespasianus: Son of Vespasian; general of the Roman legions besieging Jerusalem
Valeria Messalina: Daughter of Lucius Bellator
February, AD 67
Caesarea
Province of Judea
The beast was given a mouth to utter proud words and blasphemies and to exercise his authority for forty-two months. He opened his mouth to blaspheme God, and to slander his name and his dwelling place and those who live in heaven. He was given power to make war against the saints and to conquer them. And he was given authority over every tribe, people, language and nation. All inhabitants of the earth will worship the beast—all whose names have not been written in the book of life belonging to the Lamb that was slain from the creation of the world.
REVELATION 13:5-8
From the Revelation, given to John on the island of Patmos in AD 63
Sun
Hora Quarta
The crowded market square of Caesarea, in a city that was solidly a Roman possession, should not have been a place of danger. But a good soldier should always remain watchful. So later, in the early hours of the following dawn—before the first hammer blows descended on his helpless body as a result of his carelessness—Gallus Sergius Vitas would look back on what had happened and realize he had made his first mistake when he allowed irritation to overcome his habitual watchfulness.
He could not excuse the lapse, even though there were plenty of reasons to justify his irritation. Not the least were the fresh tattoo marks on his forehead that identified him as a slave, a criminal punished with bondage—a possession of the Beast named Nero. With these markings came a copper band on Vitas’s wrist and the rough tunic of the new class of society to which he now belonged.
Since arriving in Caesarea months earlier, Vitas had posed as a slave to his brother, Damian, because that was his best protection as a fugitive from Nero. His tattoos were not from ink but from a paste made of the powdered leaves of the henna plant. They would not remain permanently. While the false markings were a symbol of hope, signifying Vitas’s expectation that someday he would no longer be a fugitive but a free man again, in his heart Vitas felt this hope was a mere pretense. Each morning was an event that dulled his soul, for waking brought with it the ache that never seemed to lessen—knowledge of his wife’s death.
Only recently, Damian had proposed that since Vitas was already perceived as a slave, there would be no harm in carrying the deception a step further. He had convinced Vitas to allow himself to be sold into servitude to the household of Gnaea Lartius Helva, the fiscal procurator of Judea. Damian, a slave hunter who had engaged Vitas to join Helva’s household and spy on a domestic situation, had promised him it was only a temporary situation.
Vitas should have known better. Once he had agreed—with reluctance—to assume an identity as a slave named Novellus, Damian had promptly left for Jerusalem to find an old friend—Maglorius, who had been a renowned gladiator in Rome. Vitas guessed that Damian now probably spent his evenings on silk in Jerusalem, while Vitas slept on a filthy straw mattress each night, sharing cramped quarters—and fleas—with two other men who had not bathed in weeks, if not months. Vitas itched in places he’d never itched before, and for every flea he caught on his body and pinched with grim delight between the nails of his thumb and forefinger, there were scores more to replace it.
These were minor irritations, however; after he had survived a campaign in Britannia, nothing seemed worth complaint.
Just before the disastrous events in the Caesarean market unfolded, Vitas’s major source of irritation was the woman his new master had assigned him to guard. Helva’s wife, Dolabella. The mistress of the house rotated her bodyguards and, it was rumored, occasionally subjected them to her lascivious whims. But because her retinue numbered a dozen, she had yet to turn her attentions fully to Vitas.
Vitas had observed her closely and did not like what he saw. She was the sort of woman who relied heavily on her looks and was at an age where she had realized her looks would not remain eternal. For this day’s visit to the governor, she had dyed her hair a blonde that verged on orange, donned the most luxurious clothing possible, and draped herself with pounds of jewelry, then set out to enjoy a stroll through the market, grandly pretending she was just another Roman citizen.
In the marketplace, Vitas walked behind her with another slave, a monstrous mute named Jerome, at his right side, and two other slaves at his left. Like Vitas, Jerome had been assigned to this deception by Damian; unlike Vitas, Jerome truly was a slave and had belonged to Damian for years.
Dolabella’s husband, Helva, hurrying ahead because of an urgent summons from the governor, was accompanied by half a dozen soldiers. Caesarea was not an area of unrest like Jerusalem, and the soldiers were mainly a show of prestige. The group formed a wedge that shoved aside the people at the entrance to the market.
As they made progress through the market, a trumpet sounded three times. Vitas had his mind on the synagogue beyond the market, and the noise of the trumpet barely registered on his consciousness. The smells of the market, however, were difficult to ignore.
The morning was ripe. In all senses. Perhaps in the hills, where an aqueduct fed water to Caesarea from Mount Carmel across the fertile plains, the growing strength of the sun would be welcome, as a breeze moved among the green vines. Here, in the market, where the buildings trapped the heat and the smells, the mixture of camel dung and fish and fly-speckled goat carcasses was strong enough to overpower even Dolabella’s perfume.
She stopped abruptly, pushing aside a boy who was waving a branch above a skinned lamb to keep it clear of flies.
“I want that!” she shouted at her husband.
Helva stopped too. He had to raise his voice above the noise of the market. “The governor expects us. We can’t be late.”
“That porcelain dish!” She pointed past the boy at an old woman in a formless dark dress, rocking back and forth on her heels in front of a set of plates and cups arranged on an old blanket. “I want it.”
“We must keep moving,” her husband answered.
“Then you keep moving,” she said. “I want this, and I want it now. Continue without me, and I will catch up.”
She did not say “we will catch up,” although Vitas and Jerome and the two other slaves assigned to attend her made it a group of five. Slaves were objects; it would be ridiculous for their mistress to speak as if they were somehow with her.
Helva gave a wave of frustration, his face displaying a universal look of impatience and helpless exasperation. Then he walked away, flanked by his soldiers.
“How much?” Dolabella demanded of the old woman.
The old woman’s reply was barely audible as she named a price.
“What?” Hands on her hips, Dolabella projected outrage. “Robbery.”
Unlike most slaves, Vitas had a sense of the value of fine objects. In another lifetime, he’d accumulated more than his share, only to have his entire estate confiscated by Nero. He knew the old woman’s request was anything but robbery.
“It is the last of our household,” the woman said. “I need the money to—”
“Save your lies,” Dolabella snapped at the old woman, then cocked her head. “Your accent. You’re a Jew. Here, in the market. I should have you arrested.”
“My entire family was killed during the riots,” the old woman said. “My home taken. Please. This is all that I could rescue. I need to sell it to survive.”
The riots had taken place months ago, in the fall, just before Vitas had arrived in Caesarea with Damian and Jerome. Vitas well knew what had happened. A dispute between Greeks and Jews over a building project near the synagogue had festered, then erupted because of the former
governor’s incompetence and greed. Twenty thousand Jews had been slaughtered in the city, triggering rebellion all across Judea. Jerusalem had rebelled against Rome and was in the hands of the Jews. Then came the formal declaration of the empire’s war against Judea. Rome had two legions in Ptolemais. Vitas had heard that the Fifteenth Legion was on the way from Alexandria to add to the buildup of military power; the news reminded him of all he had lost through Nero’s persecution.
“I said, save your lies. This is my offer.” Dolabella named a sum that was one-tenth of what the old woman had requested. Then Dolabella noticed that Vitas was frowning. “Is this your business?” she demanded.
Vitas stared at the ground. He should not have given any indication that he’d been listening. But seeing the old woman had awakened what was never far from his thoughts. Memories of his wife. A Jew. Murdered by Nero. If only his estate were all that Nero had taken from Vitas.
A blow struck his face. Dolabella had slapped him. “I asked you a question!”
Vitas lifted his eyes again to Dolabella, whose cheeks were tightened with rage, exposing the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes that she was so desperate to hide with makeup.
“It is not my business,” Vitas said.
“Make sure it remains that way.” Dolabella leaned forward, grabbed the old woman’s hair, and yanked her to her feet. “Jew, perhaps you should just give me the dishes. I won’t tell the authorities about you.”
Vitas stepped forward and grasped Dolabella’s wrist. “Let go of this poor woman.”
“What? You defy me? I shall have you crucified.”
Vitas doubted that. The household had paid too much to acquire him and Jerome. Helva would not allow execution. Vitas did expect punishment for this, but he guessed it would be a token effort to satisfy Dolabella’s pride.
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