The Last Sacrifice

by Hank Hanegraaff

  “You are marked by the Lamb?” Vitas asked. “Yet I see nothing.”

  “You’re a Roman. Of course you would look for a physical mark. But one’s beliefs and behavior mark whether one serves the Lamb or the Beast. The forehead symbolizes what you believe, and the hand symbolizes what you do. Yes, I have been marked, and my beliefs and actions are plain enough to the guild for them to bar me.”

  “Tell me,” Vitas said. “You endure this slavery. Your family suffers. To prosper, all you have to do is accept Caesar as do many other Jews.”

  “The Beast will not reign long,” Issachar said. “That is one of the hopes given us by the Revelation. And for those who suffer or perish in this battle against the Beast, eternal hope is given.”

  Vitas was again thinking of what John had explained about the vision and the man who had received it on the island of Patmos. “This Revelation is important then?”

  “Copies of it have spread all across the world. In every community, we face persecution from Rome and from Jerusalem. It encourages us to persevere in the midst of tribulation.”

  “Was it written in Hebrew?” Vitas asked, thinking of the reason he’d come to see Issachar.

  “Greek.”

  “Which you read.”

  “Of course.”

  “And what about this?” Vitas handed Issachar the scroll that Pavo’s crew member had brought for Jael.

  Issachar looked at the handwriting. “It’s Hebrew.”

  “I know,” Vitas answered. The pieces are scattered in such a way that only you will be able to put them together. There was a reason this had been delivered to Issachar and a reason Vitas had been sent here. Surely Issachar had the answer. “But can you read it?”

  “No,” Issachar said. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  Jupiter

  Hora Prima

  Vitas woke to the sensation of furtive rustling against his belly. He had been sleeping on his back, with his right forearm across his eyes. He wondered if it was a rat, but he didn’t open his eyes.

  Instead, he muttered as if still asleep and turned onto his side. As he turned, he clenched the knife he’d laid beside him on the bed before going to sleep and tucked it under his body. He was on a poorly stuffed mattress in a room crowded with snoring men and women.

  Vitas cracked open an eyelid. The dark of night had retreated to the gray of early dawn. He could see the outlines of the other customers of the inn on their mattresses, and now that he was fully awake, he became aware of the stench of unwashed bodies and the foul air thick with exhaled alcohol. His body itched, and he knew that bedbugs had engorged themselves on his blood while he slept.

  The light touch against his body resumed.

  Yes, it was a rat. But a human rat.

  In one quick movement, Vitas spun upward, knife in hand. With his other hand, he reached for and found the wrist that belonged to the hand that had been searching.

  He yanked hard, toppling the person above him. Vitas rolled with the body of the thief, landing on top and straddling the thief. He raised his knife hand high, ready to plunge.

  In the dim light, he saw that it was a young woman.

  “No!” the woman said. There was enough light to see the greasy long hair and the thin features and the startled openness of her face.

  Vitas relaxed. He was far bulkier than the woman, and she wasn’t armed. There was no physical danger.

  Wordlessly, he rose. He checked the belt around his body, making sure his pouch of coins was secure.

  The woman scrambled backward, bumping into an old man who woke and grumbled. When he saw it was a woman, he leered. She spat on the old man.

  Vitas ignored her. He still had his money, and it wasn’t his place to punish thieves.

  Vitas walked away. He wasn’t interested in returning to the mattress in an attempt to sleep any longer, especially as the stench and filth of the inn seemed to cling to his skin. He wanted to find a public bath immediately.

  “Wait,” the woman called after him.

  He kept walking.

  She caught up to him as he reached the street.

  Already it was brighter. He could not see the sun on the horizon. In this section of Alexandria, the buildings pressed too closely on the street for that.

  “Wait,” she said again. “I have something you want.”

  “I’m not interested.” He spoke without turning to her. He doubted he would ever have desire for another woman again. And if he did, it would be a betrayal of his love for Sophia.

  She ran in front of him and stepped into his path. Now he could see the pockmarks on her face. She was younger than he had first guessed and had a feral skinniness that spoke of hard times.

  Vitas moved around her without pushing her aside.

  She ran in front of him again. This time, she said, “Vitas.”

  That got his attention. How could she know his name? Or for that matter, where to find him? There was only one person who could have given her the information. The same person who knew he carried a pouch heavy with coins.

  “Issachar,” Vitas guessed.

  “He told me where to find you.”

  Vitas was vaguely disappointed. Like Issachar, Sophia and John were followers of the Christos. While Vitas did not share their faith, he admired their integrity and the character that seemed to silently set them apart. Issachar, too, had seemed to carry himself the same way, indeed had become a slave rather than give up his faith. Had Issachar lied about the reason for his debt? If so, what did it say about the faith he claimed?

  “Remarkable,” Vitas said.

  “I knew of the inn,” she said.

  “No. Remarkable that you found me among all the people in that room.”

  “Issachar told me I would be able to recognize you by your signet ring. He was right. No one else there had any jewelry.”

  “I’m sure you checked as many as you could. Did you find anything of value on the drunks too far gone to wake?”

  Her eyes darted away from him.

  “Be sure to share with Issachar,” he said. “At least that will make both your efforts worthwhile.”

  “The others I robbed,” she said. “You, I just wanted to make sure you had the coins that Issachar promised.”

  Vitas snorted. “Because you thought if you woke me up and asked nicely after you found them, that I’d be happy to give them to you.”

  Instead of answering, she reached into her dirty tunic and pulled out a scroll. “Issachar said you’d pay me for this. It belonged to a Jew. John.”

  Vitas reached for it. Another scroll. One of the scattered pieces he was meant to put together?

  She snatched it back. “Money first,” she said.

  “Tell me how you got it,” he said.

  “I’m a slave. John asked me to give it to Issachar. He told me Issachar was a wealthy silversmith and that I would be well paid for my efforts.” She made a disparaging gesture. “Only the silversmith did not live where John sent me. Let me tell you, it was a long bit of travel to finally find Issachar. You can’t imagine how his wife reacted when I showed up and asked for her husband. She—”

  “You’re a slave. You visited John.”

  “I told you that already. He had the scroll and—”

  “How did he get it?”

  “I’m supposed to know? Look, I just want money. John said I would get it from Issachar. Issachar’s a penniless slave. You’re the man I need to see, and if you want to see this scroll, I’ll need to see money. Understand?”

  “John’s cape,” Vitas said. “Describe it to me.”

  She did, then paused. “What was it he wanted me to say to you and Issachar to prove the scroll came from him? That’s it. ‘All of us marked by the Lamb are hated by those marked by the Beast.’”

  Vitas stared at her thoughtfully.

  “Hah,” she said. She smiled, trying to make it coy. But a toothless gap in her bottom teeth ruined the effect. “You know I’m telling the truth now.
”

  Finally, Vitas reached into his tunic. He fumbled with his coin pouch. “Don’t ask for more.”

  She looked at the coin. Bit it hard. Nodded. “Good enough.” She gave him the scroll and watched as Vitas unrolled it. “How much are they asking?” she said to Vitas.

  The first part was in Hebrew. The second half, however, was in Greek. Vitas recognized John’s writing style from the first translation John had done on the ship.

  This is the second piece, my friend. “There will be two witnesses, killed yet brought alive. Find them and rejoice with them, then take what is given.”

  “How much are they asking?” the slave girl repeated, breaking into Vitas’s reading of the scroll.

  “Asking?”

  “It’s a ransom note, right? It must be a lot if they were willing to send me in to look after him while he was on the ship.”

  “They?” Vitas asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Isn’t that a ransom note?” she said. “John’s on a ship bound for Rome. As a hostage.”

  Strabo was milking a nanny goat near the compound below his cottage when Lucullus arrived with five soldiers. He ignored them, squirting milk into a bucket, until Lucullus yanked the goat by the ears.

  The nanny bleated and kicked and pulled against the rope tied to a stake.

  Strabo calmly pulled the bucket clear. He moved away from the nanny so Lucullus would have no excuse to harm it. Strabo then placed his hands on his hips and looked upward at Lucullus. The commander was in full armor, as were the soldiers. All of them, of course, towered over Strabo. Lucullus stepped forward from his men.

  “The woman and old man arrived on yesterday’s supply ship,” Lucullus growled. “They inquired at the harbor for the dwarf.”

  Strabo told himself that Lucullus had worn armor in a deliberate attempt to intimidate him. He enjoyed the sense of anger that came with the thought. It replaced a portion of his fear. “The woman and old man you bribed me to turn over to you?” Strabo asked.

  “The same.”

  “Thank you,” Strabo said.

  “You thank me?”

  “Now that you’ve warned me they are on the island, I’ll watch for them.”

  Without anger, Lucullus kicked over the bucket of milk, splashing Strabo. “Listen to me, little man,” Lucullus said. “They were last seen going up the trail to your cottage.”

  “When?” Strabo asked. He rubbed his foot across a rivulet of milk in the dust.

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  Strabo nodded thoughtfully. “That explains it then.”

  “I’m sure you have an explanation for everything.”

  “Chara and Zeno were in the vineyard yesterday afternoon. I was looking for a stray goat. It seemed to us that someone had been in the cottage while we were gone. Things had been moved.”

  It had been the soldiers who had come searching for Ben-Aryeh and Sophia. Strabo knew this, but he was gambling Lucullus could not be certain that Strabo knew it.

  This gamble was Strabo’s only chance. Patmos was too small, and there were only about a hundred people on it, half of them exiles. There was no place to hide, and Strabo wasn’t in a position to be able to move his family, even if he found a sponge diver or a fisherman willing to smuggle them off the island. Not with Chara so far into her pregnancy. Instead of running and hiding, Strabo could only bluff.

  “I sent soldiers yesterday afternoon,” Lucullus said, watching Strabo closely. “They found no one.”

  “They looked in our house then.” Indignation wouldn’t work here, Strabo told himself. But neither would passive acceptance, for Lucullus would wonder why Strabo didn’t make even a token protest. Strabo’s hands were trembling and he pressed them against his sides. His future and those of Chara, Zeno, and the unborn child depended on how well he handled this.

  “If you were the one who sent the soldiers,” Strabo said with quiet bitterness, “I suppose complaining won’t do any good.”

  “Where are your wife and son now?” Lucullus said, still intently watching Strabo’s eyes.

  “I sent them to a vineyard this morning to prune more vines.”

  “A suspicious man would think you’d sent them out of harm’s way. I am such a man.”

  “If I expected soldiers, of course I would send them away.” Strabo spit on the ground. “You, of all people, would know how much Chara fears soldiers.”

  “To me,” Lucullus said, “there are only two possibilities. The first is this: yesterday afternoon, the old man and the woman came up here to look for you. They didn’t find you but heard the soldiers I sent and managed to hide from them and have fled to another part of the island.”

  Don’t agree too eagerly, Strabo told himself. Don’t overplay this. If Chara had to face Roman soldiers again . . .

  “Managed to hide?” Strabo said. “Elephants in a latrine would be able to hide from your men.”

  “Don’t push me,” Lucullus said.

  “Roman law still applies on this island,” Strabo said. “I’ve done nothing wrong and here you are, harassing me. On my property.”

  “If it’s the first possibility,” Lucullus said, “that means you haven’t lied about any of this. You would have my apologies for this visit. I’m much less concerned about Roman law than I am about a continued supply of wine and fresh milk and cheese.”

  Strabo told himself to be no different than any other time in conversation with Lucullus. “You know if I could sell to anyone else,” Strabo said, “I would.”

  “The second possibility is that the old man and the woman did find you yesterday afternoon, and that all of you fled at the approach of my soldiers. You’re here, expecting me, and you’ve sent the others away while you hope to convince me of the first possibility.”

  Lucullus paced, then whirled and paced back. “Did you wonder why I offered you a bribe to turn them over?” Lucullus asked, smiling.

  “You’re lazy.”

  “No. I knew I’d hear the moment they stepped off the supply ship. I offered you the bribe to see if you truly were afraid of me. See, if you turned them in, I’d know your fear of me is more than your hatred of me. But if you defied me, then I’d have a better measure of a man who would love to see me dead.”

  “What does it matter?” Strabo said. “I bring your soldiers wine and cheese and milk. You pay me.”

  “It matters,” Lucullus said, “because if I can’t make a little man like you afraid of me, then what respect would I get from my soldiers?”

  Lucullus stepped forward and, in a continuous motion, delivered a swift kick into Strabo’s ribs, sending him to the ground in a heap. Before Strabo could recover, Lucullus leaned over and grabbed the collar of Strabo’s tunic in one hand and his belt in the other. He carried Strabo back to his soldiers, as if Strabo were a child.

  “Here he is,” Lucullus told the soldiers. He shook Strabo, who was almost in shock from the impact of the kick. “Such a little, little man. But so much trouble.”

  Lucullus spit on the back of Strabo’s bald skull and smiled as it ran down the side of Strabo’s face. “Strabo,” he said, “I really need to know which of the two possibilities I should choose. Did you see the old man and woman? Or were you truly away from the cottage when they got here?”

  Lucullus clucked his tongue. “To find out, little man, we’re going to have some fun with you and candle flames.”

  Hora Secunda

  Direct sunshine flooded the mouth of the cave but made it difficult for Akakios to see into the darkness beyond.

  Akakios was a young man, a sponge diver from a line of men who had earned a living by plunging into the Aegean Sea for as long as their family history could be remembered. He was lithe and well muscled, dark hair cut short to make swimming easier. On this morning, he wore a simple tunic and old sandals.

  It was partly because of his youth and physique that Akakios moved forward to the dark shadows so confidently and partly because Strabo had told him where to
find the old man and the woman.

  He was eager to talk to them. Now, at last, his own curiosity would be satisfied. Who were these two sent all the way from Rome? Where would they be going from Patmos? And why had all of this been cloaked in mystery?

  Partway into the cave, as the ceiling dropped and forced Akakios to stoop, he paused. Shouldn’t the old man and the woman be awake by now?

  “My name is Akakios,” he called, expecting a reply.

  “What do you want?”

  The voice and the question startled Akakios, because they came from behind him.

  Akakios whirled. The rising sun in the east was blinding at the mouth of the cave, forcing him to squint. All he saw was a silhouette.

  “Answer me,” the man’s voice said. “What do you want?”

  “Strabo sent me here,” Akakios said.

  “I see.” The voice was less antagonistic than before.

  “Are you Ben-Aryeh?” Akakios slowly moved forward, shielding his eyes from the sun with a raised hand.

  “I am.”

  Akakios grinned, reaching Ben-Aryeh. He towered over the old man. “Strabo warned me not to expect someone cheerful.”

  “Humph.”

  “Where is Sophia?” Akakios asked.

  “She’ll come to the cave when I tell her it is safe.”

  “You didn’t sleep here through the night?”

  No answer.

  Akakios grinned again. “I understand. You didn’t trust Strabo.”

  “Humph.”

  “Well,” Akakios said, “I’m not a soldier, am I.”

  “But you are irritatingly cheerful.”

  Another grin. “Strabo thinks the same thing.”

  “Humph.”

  Sleeping on the hillside had doubtless done nothing to improve this man’s mood despite the blankets that Strabo had provided, Akakios thought.

  “Did Strabo send you here to irritate me instead of him?” Ben-Aryeh asked.

  “No. Chara sent me.”

  “The woman of mystery,” Ben-Aryeh said. “Or of extreme modesty.”

  “You mean her veil?”

  “Cheerful and of quick intelligence. Of course I meant her veil.”