The Last Sacrifice

by Hank Hanegraaff

  “Bountiful Harvest,” Damian announced, squinting at the letters engraved below the relief on the sternpost. “This is the one.”

  This was another reminder to Jerome of what set him apart. He could not speak. He could not read. He could not write. What good were his bulk and strength? Beasts had bulk and strength. Humans could speak to one another.

  Damian glanced at the boat again and shook his head. “They must have a different definition of bountiful than most.”

  A gangplank led up to the middle section of the ship. It was guarded by two men about the size of Vitas.

  “Let’s go then,” Vitas said. He didn’t hesitate and carried his buckets up the gangway.

  The two men on the ship crossed their arms and smirked at Vitas. The one on the left had scars across his bare forearms from rope burns. The one on the right had no obvious scars, but when he spoke, he showed large gaps in his mouth where teeth had been knocked out.

  “Any reason you are coming aboard?” the one with the scars asked.

  Vitas stared at them, still holding the buckets.

  Damian stepped past Vitas with his buckets. “Out of our way,” Damian said. “I’m tired of carrying these.”

  “We’ve already got all our provisions. We’re about ready to sail.”

  “Sure,” Damian said cheerfully. “But first, we want our friend back.”

  “Your friend?”

  “The one in your hold. The hostage you’re taking back to Rome.”

  “The ship is ready to sail.”

  “Listen to me carefully,” Damian said. “You’re going to let us past you. We’re going to talk to your captain. He’s going to give us our friend. We’re going to leave. Then you will sail.”

  “It’s early in the day to be drunk,” the gap-toothed man said.

  “And early for you to die.” Damian craned his head. “Jerome?”

  Jerome stepped onto the gangway. He was familiar with Damian’s methods. Damian loved a good fight but was very bad at fighting. So Damian did what he could to provoke others, and then he let Jerome step in.

  “Why don’t you tell Jerome here you won’t allow us onto the ship,” Damian said. “If my good manners aren’t enough to persuade you, Jerome will be more than happy to use other methods.”

  “The woman is under guard. In your quarters.”

  These were the words of Volaginius Auspex, the soldier Lucullus generally put in charge of daily details. Auspex was a decade older than Lucullus, a man with a pitted face and long nose, who had no bravery but a good sense of administration.

  Lucullus had been standing in the shade of the wooden walls of the barracks, staring across the Aegean at the jagged tips of other islands, blurred by distance. He had been mentally rehearsing how he would approach Helius, how he would apologetically and modestly tell him about his efforts to save Chayim from the treachery of the old Jew with the woman, rehearsing the details of his lie about a knife the old Jew had hidden in his tunic and how the old Jew had suddenly lashed out with it. He had wondered about the best way to negotiate a handsome reward for bringing the woman all the way back to Rome.

  “Good. Was it the threatened torture of the whore?”

  “We hardly had her in ropes before she stepped out of hiding.”

  “Excellent. I hate wasting time.”

  “What about Strabo?” Auspex asked.

  “Release him. And his whore wife.”

  “He did try to hide them.”

  “He also makes excellent cheese and supplies us with wine,” Lucullus said. “Is this island big enough that he can be replaced easily?”

  Auspex shook his head.

  “When I leave you in charge of the barracks,” Lucullus said, “you need to look beyond day to day. Keep the soldiers happy and you’ll be happy. Understand? This is a boring outpost with no difficulties. You’ll like it more than I have.”

  Auspex nodded.

  “I’ve delayed Chayim by telling him I want to speak to the woman alone,” Lucullus said. “When he’s brought to my quarters, you know what to do.” Lucullus stared hard at Auspex. “You aren’t going to lose your nerve, are you?”

  Auspex gulped.

  “Let me repeat. It will not be difficult for you. After Chayim has identified the woman as the one Helius wants, you and I will send the woman with the guards. I’ll invite Chayim to stay behind and have a drink in celebration. When he’s dead, we’ll bring in the old Jew, kill him too, and make it look like they fought.”

  “Will Chayim be armed?” Auspex asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lucullus said, hiding impatience. “I’ll grab him from behind, and I’ll have both his arms locked. He’s small enough I could hold for an hour in that position. All you need is a sharp knife.”

  “I’ve never killed a man before,” Auspex admitted.

  “You want me to choose someone else to help?” Lucullus needed the leverage of shared murder to keep this secret. He wondered if Auspex was smart enough to realize that refusing at this point would require killing him, too.

  “No.”

  Lucullus patted the man on the shoulder. “Take my advice,” he said in a friendly tone. “Turn the knife sideways so the blade is horizontal. It will slide between his ribs instead of bouncing off.”

  The captain of Bountiful Harvest had lost his left eye, and a puckered hole in his head remained as evidence of his loss. He tilted his head to peer better with his right eye at Vitas.

  “What’s he doing?” he demanded of Damian, who stood in the protective shade of Jerome.

  Five men were gathered behind the captain.

  Damian peered around Jerome at Vitas, who was near the furled sails. “My brother?”

  “I don’t care who he is. What’s he doing with those buckets?”

  Vitas had begun to pour a long, thin black line beneath the sails. The line trailed behind Vitas as he backed away.

  “Stop that!” the captain shouted.

  A few men moved toward Vitas.

  Jerome stepped toward them.

  The crewmen hesitated, staring at the lit torch in his hand, obviously impressed at his bulk.

  Vitas kept backing away from the sails. He’d emptied the contents of one bucket and now had the other. He reached the mast at the center of the ship and poured more black material at the base of it.

  “Finished,” he said to Damian.

  All of this had happened so casually and quickly and brazenly that the captain and his men were still staring, dumbfounded.

  “Jerome?” Damian said.

  Jerome nodded and handed Damian the torch.

  Damian tossed Jerome a sword and moved to the mast.

  Jerome walked backward from the captain and his men, guarding Damian with the sword.

  “What we have here,” Damian said, waving the lit torch, “is a simple exchange. You’ve got a man below who is a friend of ours. Bring him up and let him go with us, and there will be no trouble.”

  “Look behind you,” the captain snarled. “The only trouble is the trouble you’ve brought upon yourselves.”

  “More crew?” Damian asked Vitas without looking.

  “Many more,” Vitas said.

  “Big, mean, and ugly?”

  Vitas shook his head at Damian’s attempt at humor. “Let’s just get John and go.”

  “Did you hear my brother?” Damian asked the captain. “All we need is the man below.”

  “All I need to do is say the word, and my men attack.”

  “Jerome will handle them.”

  “Not all of them.”

  “He’ll slow them down.” Damian tilted the torch and lit the black line between the furled sails and the mast. Flames leaped upward.

  The captain screamed in horror.

  Damian stamped out the flames. “Tar,” Damian said matter-of-factly. “Mixed with oil to thin it some.”

  He lit it again. Stamped out the new flames.

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” Damian said. “Ho
w quickly this stuff lights?”

  He held the flame of the torch just above the line but didn’t dip it.

  “You have to ask yourself how fast your men are. Fast enough to stop me from starting a fire in three places? five places? Remember, they’re going to have to deal with Jerome over there before they can start to put out the fire.”

  Damian touched the flame down again. This time, he let the new flame grow.

  And grow.

  “Stop!” the captain screamed.

  Damian had to stamp in several places before he extinguished the new flame.

  “You’ll give us our friend?” Damian asked.

  “With the money he had when they took him,” Vitas added.

  “With the money he had,” Damian said to the captain.

  “Bring him up,” the captain said between gritted teeth to a nearby crew member.

  Damian nodded. “Good. I really don’t like violence.”

  “Send all of your men down below.” This came from Vitas.

  “I nearly forgot that part, didn’t I?” Damian said. “All of your men below.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll keep them there until we’re safely off the ship,” Damian said. “Those directions are simple enough that any idiot can follow. Now get the man we want.”

  It took several minutes, but John finally emerged from the hold and blinked in the sunlight. When his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he saw Vitas, smiled, and nodded.

  When all of the crewmen except for the captain were down in the hold, Damian spoke again. “My friends will be leaving now.”

  “And you?” the captain snarled.

  “I’ll wait until they’re gone. A person like you would probably send his crew after them.”

  Vitas and John stepped off the gangplank onto the dock. Jerome stayed at the top of the gangplank, where ropes tied it in place to the side of the ship. This left Damian poised with the flame of the torch above the line of tar.

  “Someday, somehow, I’ll find you,” the captain said. His right eyeball darted back and forth as he scanned Damian’s face. “I’ll enjoy feeding your intestines to the fish.”

  “Even after I made it a point to tell you that I don’t like violence?”

  “You find this funny. I don’t.”

  “Tut-tut,” Damian said, waving the flame. “You’re moving closer.”

  The captain’s neck veins bulged with anger, but he restrained himself. Then he glanced over at Jerome, who chopped downward at the ship with his sword.

  “What now?” the captain said. His single eyeball appeared to be ready to pop from his skull.

  “I expect he’s cutting the ropes to the gangway,” Damian said. “If you want to feed my intestines to the fish, a good escape is crucial.”

  With that, Damian dropped the flame of the torch on the tar. A line of fire began to spread.

  The captain wailed.

  Damian sprinted toward the gangplank.

  The captain rushed forward and began stomping the flames.

  Damian took advantage of the diversion, sprang down the gangplank, and landed on the dock.

  Jerome severed the last rope holding it in place, ran to the dock, grabbed the end, and threw it into the water.

  The four of them hurried away from the ship. In a nearby alley, Damian turned to Vitas. “We separate now, but I’ll see you in a couple of hours. You know the place.”

  Hora Sexta

  Vitas and John sat on a bench in a crowded market square, with the noise and people giving them anonymity and privacy.

  Vitas looked up from the scroll from Issachar, which John had spent the previous few minutes transcribing from Hebrew into Greek for him. “All the pieces are together now.”

  “Caesarea first, then Jerusalem,” John said.

  “With no idea why.”

  “Some journeys are like that,” John said. “But if you trust whomever has sent you on the journey, you go and see where it leads you.”

  “Ephesus.”

  “Yes, for me, Ephesus. But every day of my life since meeting the Christos has been a journey of trust for me.”

  “You know Damian and Jerome are supposed to be here in the next hour to meet us.”

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s what I don’t understand,” Vitas said. “You know he’s a bounty hunter. He had you captive once and undoubtedly wants to take you back to Rome.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know how badly I wanted the messages translated.”

  “Yes.”

  “You translated the second on the ship and made sure I received it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Had you sent the slave girl without the translation from Hebrew, I would have been forced to rescue you. Here, you could have bargained with me for your freedom from my brother before translating the final piece of the message. What I don’t understand is why you refuse to use what I need for leverage.”

  “If I can help you, I will.”

  “It’s that simple?” Vitas asked.

  “I follow in the footsteps of the Christos.”

  “Or you’re smart enough to guess that I will feel obliged to protect you from my brother.”

  “Do you really believe that?” John asked. “Or is it something you hope is true so you can feel better about yourself and how you try to control your world?”

  Vitas looked away. There was something so compelling about this man’s inner peace that he hungered for it himself. He felt like he was on the edge of an abyss, about to step forward.

  “Vitas,” John said gently. “There is very little we can control. Except our own hearts and our own choices.”

  “Someone in Rome knows that you know Issachar.”

  If John was perturbed by the abrupt subject change, he didn’t show it. “That looks obvious now, doesn’t it?”

  “Pavo had been instructed to take me there. You would have shown up later, had you not been taken.”

  “Issachar and his family provided for me on one of my visits here,” John said. “And yes, someone in Rome knew that.”

  “You won’t tell me who?”

  That person, Vitas knew, would be linked to the others in Rome who had arranged his freedom from the arena.

  “He’s gone to great lengths to protect himself,” John said. “I would prefer to extend that protection too.”

  “Fair enough.”

  A few moments of silence passed between them. Vitas felt as if his heart were trembling. He knew he needed to send John away before Damian arrived, but he couldn’t do it yet.

  “Will you visit Issachar today? tonight?” This was a way to delay both John’s departure and what Vitas needed to do.

  “He’s a free man now but a man with no future in Alexandria. You’ve provided me with ample money. I’ll ask him if he and his family would like to travel with me to Ephesus.” John paused. “Thank you.”

  Vitas was startled. “Thank you?”

  “You wouldn’t have asked about Issachar unless you had decided I should leave before Damian arrives.”

  “John,” Vitas said, too distracted by an inner urgency to acknowledge John’s simple gratitude, “earlier you told me you could show me the way to remove my burdens, that I could be healed, forgiven.”

  In his mind, Vitas saw it happening again. The Iceni warriors gathered for a final charge, surrounding the Roman wagons. The women and children behind the wagons, his Iceni wife and young son among them. Then the charge, the warriors upon them, his wife crying in agony as a spear pierced her chest, his son lifted up and—

  “I’m ready to listen,” Vitas said, his voice hardly more than a croak. “I want the peace that you have.”

  “Here’s the kind of travel companion any soldier would want; wouldn’t you say, Auspex?”

  Sophia had been led through the barracks to the quarters of the commander. He was a shaggy-haired bear of a man, wearing a shiny breastplate and full military regalia that added to the impression of size.
He stood close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke.

  Auspex shifted foot to foot behind the commander, as if he were nervous.

  “You have to look past the filthy clothing—” the commander continued speaking to Auspex, circling Sophia as he examined her— “and she smells a bit ripe, but all in all, I’d say this is quite the prize.”

  Sophia’s hands were bound behind her back. She wasn’t surprised at her lack of fear. Nor surprised at her sense of calm. Apathy was suitable armor for nearly any danger.

  “I’m Lucullus,” the commander said, moving around in front of her and lifting her chin with the tip of a forefinger. He leered. “We’re going to get to know each other very well over the next weeks; I can promise you that.”

  “What if she belongs to Helius?” Auspex said. “I doubt he’s going to want to hear that another man spoiled his property.”

  “Good point.” Lucullus laughed. “We’ll get Chayim to tell us. I can only hope I’ll have the freedom to let her amuse me every night on the way to Rome.” Lucullus caressed Sophia’s cheek.

  Sophia closed her eyes. What did she care? Without hope, did it matter if she was alive or dead?

  “Does Helius touch you this way?” Lucullus asked.

  The faintest heat of anger touched her heart. Not because of the threat to her. But because this was the man who had tortured Chara.

  “Or does Helius want you back in Rome for another reason?” Lucullus asked.

  Chara. So much had been taken from her, yet the woman faced the world with dignity and joy. She’d refused to let this beast take what was truly important. The heat of new anger began to burn Sophia’s shield of apathy.

  “If it’s for another reason,” Lucullus continued, “perhaps you can become my property.”

  Sophia opened her eyes. Looked directly at the beast. And, without thinking, spit in his face.

  His reaction was immediate. He slapped her across the face with an open hand, knocking her to the floor. He began kicking her ribs.

  Pain! It broke through what remained of Sophia’s apathy.

  “I’m going to kill you!” Lucullus shouted. He continued to kick.