The Last Sacrifice

by Hank Hanegraaff

  Despite his thorough knowledge of something as common as gematria, Vitas could not agree with John, especially after several moments of calculation.

  “I know that I flee Nero,” Vitas said, his mental addition complete. “But his number is 1,005.”

  “Yes,” John said. “In Greek. You should know that what I’ve transcribed for you are indirect references from a letter circulating among the followers of the Christos. It describes a vision and is known as the Revelation.”

  “I presume you’re familiar with this Revelation.”

  “Very familiar. Given the chance, there is a lot I can tell you about it.”

  Vitas waved his hand, as if impatient to stay on subject. “I’m less interested in your reaction to it and more interested in the content. But just a summary.”

  “Of course.” John stared at the horizon briefly, then turned his eyes back to Vitas. “It contains further revelation from Jesus the Christos regarding the coming destruction of Jerusalem he prophesied on the Mount of Olives just days before his death. It describes how God’s eternal plan of redemption for the righteous and judgment for the wicked and unrepentant is being fulfilled in this generation. It foretells the ultimate destruction of the evil one and the vindication of the crucified and resurrected Lord, Jesus. It is a message of hope and a call to perseverance through persecution for those who have placed their faith for eternal salvation in Jesus, receiving his righteousness on their behalf. And it is a desperate call to repentance for those of the spirit of antichrist who continue to live in rebellion against God, denying that Jesus is the Christos.”

  Vitas snorted. “How accurate can this vision be if something as simple as the gematria of Nero’s name is miscalculated?”

  “It is helpful to think like a Hebrew. To us Jews, he is known as Neron Kesar. You’re aware that written Hebrew does not use vowels?”

  “No.”

  “That’s why,” John said, “you would not identify Nero as 666, when insightful Jewish readers familiar with the Hebrew spelling of his name would do so, especially given the other clues in the Revelation that identify Nero as the Beast.”

  Vitas read over the beginning of the scroll again. “‘You know the beast you must escape; the one with understanding will solve the number of this beast, for it is the number of a man. His number is 666.’”

  Vitas spoke his thoughts. “I know that I must escape Nero, and the writer of the message knows that I must escape Nero. Why go to the effort, then, of telling me the obvious?”

  “You called me the key to the lock,” John said. “Perhaps it’s the first test or confirmation that I can help you.”

  Vitas thought of something else. Eleven hundred and eighty-one.

  “It’s telling me something else,” Vitas said. “I’m to use gematria to solve something in the first part of the scroll.” He explained it to John, realizing that doing so was a further extension of trust.

  Eleven hundred and eighty-one.

  “Greek, Hebrew, or Latin?” John asked. “Which language should you use to add up the numbers of the name?”

  “That’s what makes it so difficult to solve the name from just knowing the numbers. But within the proper context, once I have the name, I can test it against the gematria and have near absolute certainty that I was correct.”

  Vitas paced a few steps, ignoring the growing shouts coming from the crew behind them.

  “There is also no doubt that I need you to understand the letter,” Vitas told John. A part of his mind was still astounded that his wounds gave no pain. “Without you, none of this made sense.”

  John was given no time to comment.

  One shout came clearly from the rear of the deck. “Call the captain!” It was the voice of Betto, the sailing master. “The steering oar has broken!”

  “Amazing how much you bleed for a man reported dead,” Damian told Kaeso. “You weren’t trying to escape gambling debts by spreading the story you had drowned, were you?”

  Jerome had lifted Kaeso off his feet and shoved him back into the cramped, filthy apartment. Kaeso was sitting on the floor, holding his nose, trying to stem the blood that flowed from it.

  Kaeso groaned.

  “Just so you know, I don’t like it when people get hurt,” Damian told Kaeso. “You may not believe me, because I’m sure your nose has had finer moments. But if I really wanted you hurt, my slave here could bring you so close to death you’d beg for him to make it happen.”

  Jerome stood behind Damian, arms crossed. As always, no expression on his face.

  Damian squatted and grabbed at Kaeso’s tunic. He ripped off a large piece and pressed it against Kaeso’s face. “See how much I care for you?”

  Kaeso grunted. He appeared to be too stunned to think. Which was exactly what Damian wanted. It was far better to break resistance immediately than to give a man the chance to find some courage.

  “Tell me when we can expect money for the people who sent us,” Damian said. “That’s all. Then we’ll leave you alone and in no further pain.”

  “You’ll get the money soon,” Kaeso said, his voice muffled by the wad of cloth against his nose. “I promise.”

  Poor man, Damian thought. Damian knew too well a gambler’s desperation. “I want to believe you,” Damian said in a soothing voice. “But I’ve heard too many like you make up too many stories.”

  For that matter, there had been a time in Damian’s life when he’d become very skilled at making up those same kinds of stories for the same reason: to stall repayment of a gambling debt, convinced he would win big on the next race.

  “It’s not a story,” Kaeso mumbled. Tears from his eyes ran into the wadded cloth.

  “Convince me and perhaps we’ll leave you alone.”

  “My brother’s on a ship,” Kaeso said.

  “That’s very nice for your brother. Is he trying to escape gambling debts too?”

  “No! He’s the sailing master.”

  “He’s going to send you his wages?” Damian said. “I doubt that’s enough.”

  “Just listen to me,” Kaeso said, exasperated despite his obvious pain.

  Damian was proud of himself. If Kaeso actually knew how desperately Damian wanted to hear the story, all of this would be more difficult.

  “I’m listening,” Damian said. “It had better be good.”

  “There’s a man on the ship,” Kaeso said. “A wealthy Roman citizen. Fleeing Nero. Along with a Jew who’s probably his slave.”

  “That doesn’t make this man special. Any wealthy Roman citizen should be doing the same, given Nero’s habits of late.”

  “You don’t understand. This man had been sent to the arena to be executed.”

  “Of course, of course. And the soldiers released him and encouraged him to find a convenient ship for escape.” Damian hardened his voice as he spoke to Jerome. “Perhaps this man needs your attention again. He seems to be wandering from the truth.”

  “No!” Kaeso yelped. “My brother heard it all. Someone was speaking to the captain, and Betto—”

  “Who is Betto?” Damian sounded bored.

  “My brother. Just listen, will you?”

  “Time is short.”

  “Listen,” Kaeso pleaded. “The captain was paid a great deal of money to leave immediately with this man. At night. You can go to Ostia and ask anyone who knows about the ship. It left just a few nights ago. Stranding dozens of passengers who had expected voyage on it.”

  “Even if the story is true, it doesn’t explain how you expect money from it.”

  “My brother is the navigator. He’s going to make sure the ship has troubles.”

  “Not much money in that.”

  “Yes, there is.” Kaeso grimaced. “Once I tell you the rest of it, you’ll understand how I’ll have enough money never to be in debt again.”

  “Make it good and make sure I believe it,” Damian said. “Or you’ll find yourself tossed into the street below.”

  “Revelation?
” Chayim said to Helius. “This entire scroll from Hezron has a thorough—”

  “You did read it.” Helius was curt.

  “Yes.”

  “Then give me something I can understand immediately. Without spending an hour on laborious markings by an old Jew.”

  Chayim knew this was another challenge. He focused. And began. “It says that the Christos, a certain Jesus from Nazareth who claimed to be Messiah and the Son of God, is the true Lord, not Caesar.”

  Helius, who had been pacing casually, froze.

  “It is a story about a war between the Beast and the Lamb, and it claims that the Lamb will be triumphant. It says that the God of Israel is coming in judgment—very soon—on Israel and on Rome. On Israel because they rejected and crucified Jesus. And on Rome because of the persecution of the followers of this man they call the Christos.”

  “War?”

  “It promises resurrection and eternal life to followers of the Christos, and says that at the end of time, there will be a new earth and a new heaven established, with a final judgment on those who reject the Lamb.”

  “Leave me the scroll,” Helius said. He would definitely have to read more and understand exactly what the Revelation entailed. It was nonsense, of course. There was no power in this world capable of defeating Rome. But, given Nero’s superstitions, it was still dangerous.

  Chayim reached to hand it across. “Leah and her father . . .”

  “Under house arrest until you return. This is, I’m sure, a concept you find familiar.” Helius was referring to Chayim’s presence in the royal palace. Chayim himself was a hostage of sorts, sent to Rome from Jerusalem because it ensured that his father, a highly placed temple priest, would influence those around him to cooperate with the Roman authorities.

  “House arrest. You said that—”

  “Don’t make me weary,” Helius said. “Politics are about promises. Not promises kept. Certainly by now you’ve realized that about Rome. If you haven’t, then you should thank me for providing you with a valuable education.”

  Chayim stared at Helius.

  Helius coughed discreetly. “I believe I just made a suggestion.”

  Chayim swallowed. “Thank you, Helius. It’s kind of you to teach me such a valuable lesson.”

  “Think nothing of it.” No matter how often he exercised his power—in small ways or large—Helius never found that it lost any allure. “As for this travel, I am going to provide you with a letter from the emperor. And a substantial retinue of soldiers. Spare yourself no luxury. Just remember that the sooner you return, the sooner Leah and her father will be released.”

  Helius left unspoken what they both knew. If Chayim did not return, the only way Leah or Hezron would leave the palace was as a corpse.

  “I want you to find someone for me,” Helius said. “And no one must know about your task. If Nero finds out, I’ll have you tortured and executed.”

  This was why Helius had chosen Chayim. The young Jew’s obvious lust for power had ensured compliance and trustworthiness so far. And with Leah and Hezron prisoners at the palace, Chayim now had extra motivation to do as directed.

  “Certainly,” Chayim said after a pause so brief it might have been imagined.

  “You are to find a woman named Sophia,” Helius said. “She is Vitas’s wife. You might recall that certain episode a few evenings ago when Vitas attacked the emperor?”

  The dinner party. Chayim was sure he had been invited specifically to see how Helius and Tigellinus dealt with their enemies.

  “The man was arrested and killed a few days ago in the arena,” Chayim said. “His wife, I believe, was invited to commit suicide.”

  “She fled Rome,” Helius said. “With only an old man as companion. Their destination is Corinth. Find them both. Either on the way to Corinth or in Corinth. The sooner the better. Wherever you find them, your letter will give you authority to allow your soldiers to arrest Sophia.”

  “And the old man?” Chayim asked.

  “He’ll need to be killed, of course. That way there will be one less person able to talk about it.”

  Chayim nodded.

  “One last thing,” Helius said. “The soldiers will not know why you are looking for the woman and the old man. But they will know enough to let them decide if it looks like you are going to betray me. And if that happens, they have orders to supervise your crucifixion.”

  “I know the beast I must escape,” Vitas said to John. “I’ve fled the city of this beast—Rome. But ‘from the sea it came’?”

  The crew around them was working with urgency but not panic. Because Vitas could do nothing to help anyway, he remained focused on the questions that were compelling to him.

  “But ‘from the sea it came’?” John repeated the question Vitas had posed. “Answering that is impossible for any Roman who demands a literal interpretation of symbolic language.”

  “I’m trying to understand this Hebrew message, which is telling me either that Nero rose from the sea or Rome rose from the sea. Which is it?”

  “Does a province of Rome serve the emperor or the empire?” John asked.

  “Why does it seem that you enjoy tormenting me by answering questions with questions?”

  John laughed softly. “I’m a Jew. We don’t think of it as torment. We think of it as a learning method. You now understand how I was taught in my youth by rabbis in the synagogues.”

  “So I should suffer as you did.”

  “If you must consider it suffering. But answer me. Does a province serve the emperor or the empire?”

  “Both.”

  “Then you have your answer. The Beast is both Nero and Rome. Even when Nero no longer rules, the Beast will exist.”

  “You dance around like a fox pouncing on mice in tall grass. I feel like one of the mice. All of this, and I still don’t understand how Nero and Rome rise from the sea.”

  “Rome is west of Judea. Across the Mediterranean. To us Jews, when you came to conquer, it was as if you rose from the sea and descended upon our land. But the language is even richer than that and speaks on a different level too, if you understand our culture. The sea is also sin, its dark depths an abode of evil and chaos.”

  “To understand this, then, I need to understand how you Jews think.”

  “You must understand our culture and history to understand many of the references in the message written for you and, of course, the vision of Revelation that the message draws from. This vision was written and passed on to others,” John continued. “It circulates now among the followers of the Christos. To understand its richly symbolic language, you need to have familiarity with the sacred writings of the Jews.”

  “Why?”

  “Our prophets often allude to earlier prophecies and symbolic language within those prophecies. To Jews, the blood of the lamb, for example, is not only the literal blood of animals slain in sacrifice, but is an allusion to the way that God allows redemption for—”

  “You understand the meaning of these symbols.”

  “I know the allusions, yes. And hope to have time to explain over the days of this voyage.”

  “Please,” Vitas said, “just explain the symbols in the letter that was delivered to me. Without taking days to educate me.”

  John shrugged. He had the scroll with his Greek translation of the letter to Vitas in front of him. “‘From the sea it came and on the sea you go. North and west of the city of the second beast—’” John paused—“you want me to identify the second beast for you.”

  “Yes!” Vitas said. “Then sentence by sentence, continue doing the same with the rest of this message.”

  “Jerusalem,” John said. “That is your second beast. Does that satisfy you?”

  Vitas was about to agree, but gave it some thought. He sighed. “It does not.”

  “Because even if you trust me,” John said, “this letter is so important to you that you must know you can trust the answers I give.”

  Vitas si
ghed again. “Yes. It makes no sense to me that the city of the second Beast is Jerusalem. If Rome is the first Beast that has devoured your people, how can it be that Jerusalem, the very center of Judea, would be considered a Beast of danger to your people?”

  “As I said, we have a long journey,” John said. “I look forward to speaking at length about all of this. I would guess whoever put us on the ship together knew that.”

  “How about satisfying me with shorter answers first.” Vitas stared at the writing on the scroll: North and west of the city of the second beast, find the first of five kings who have fallen. (The sixth now reigns, and the seventh is yet to come.)

  “I know where it is telling me to go next,” Vitas announced after some thought.

  “As a Roman,” John said, “you should.”

  “Julius Caesar, Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, and Nero,” Vitas said. “‘Find the first of the five kings who have fallen. The sixth now reigns and the seventh is yet to come.’ Nero now reigns, but the first . . .”

  Vitas grinned with satisfaction. “North and west of Jerusalem is the city of Caesarea, named for Julius Caesar.” Then he frowned. “Flee Rome; go to Caesarea. Those are vague instructions. Surely there is more.”

  “Not on the scroll you gave me,” John said.

  Comprehension came to Vitas. “‘The promise is simple,’” Vitas quoted aloud from the letter that had accompanied the scroll: “‘The pieces are scattered in such a way that only you will be able to put them together.’”

  “There are more parts to the scroll,” John said.

  “Where?” Vitas answered, thinking aloud.

  “I can’t answer that,” John said. “But at this moment, we face a more immediate concern.”

  Vitas looked where John was pointing.

  Ahead, at the approaching whirlpools of Messana.

  Hora Quinta

  In her private courtyard, Alypia sat in the sun, knees raised, face upward, eyes closed. She’d allowed her tunic to slide across her thighs in a way that showed far more than allowed by modesty. She also pretended not to be aware that Damian had arrived. That she was giving him a voyeur’s moment.