The Last Temple Page 9

  When Julianus stopped, the quiet became dangerous, as if the governor were daring Vitas to protest.

  Instead, Vitas bowed his head.

  “What’s strange,” Julianus said, “is somehow you seem familiar to me. Tell me, have we met?”

  The first direct question of this audience.

  “We have not,” Vitas said truthfully. They had friends in common but had never been at a social occasion together.

  The governor tossed back more wine. “No matter.” A smacking of lips. “Bernice feels she does owe you.”

  Without warning, the governor laughed loudly. “But you may be out of the frying pan and into the fire. Dolabella as your mistress was one thing, for her reputation was rumored in all the streets of the city. Bernice, I daresay, may be another of the same stripe. She-wolves, both of them. And Bernice has purchased you. That’s her thanks for saving your life. Keeping you from the slave auction with the rest of Helva’s property.”

  In the light of the oil lamps, it appeared that Julianus was examining Vitas closely to see his reaction. If so, Vitas disappointed him, especially if the governor again expected Vitas to protest.

  Vitas felt just the opposite—as though his heart were taking wing. Bernice was a secret ally who owed Vitas her life. Twice. He had no doubt that Bernice would grant his request for an armed escort to journey immediately through the darkness to the Jewish settlement.

  “Bah,” Julianus said. “Go. You’ll be escorted to Bernice. And make a sacrifice of thanks at the statue of Nero that I don’t have you whipped for insolence.”

  Vitas felt slow torture as his fettered ankles shuffled through the streets to Queen Bernice’s villa. Soldiers bearing swords and torches, one on each side, were there to ensure he did not attempt to escape.

  The truth, of course, was that Vitas wanted nothing more than an audience with Bernice . . . and the subsequent swift trip to be reunited with Sophia.

  Sophia!

  Vitas was a man who held his emotions carefully, rarely trusting them himself, preferring to respond only after giving any matter a lot of thought. But tonight he wanted to burst into song.

  Sophia was alive!

  He ached to have his arms around her, to have her shuddering with relief in his embrace. He needed to get to Bernice much faster than these slow, awkward steps took him over the cobblestones.

  “Can you feel it?” one soldier was saying to the other. “It’s like the streets can breathe again.”

  “Had we crucified the Jews, it would have meant days of riots,” the second answered. “Not even the legion of Titus would have prevented it.”

  “Titus. Now there’s a commander to follow.”

  “Few better,” the other said. “But give me Caesarea. I’m not anxious to be any deeper in the province. Give me guard duty anytime.”

  “You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s with Bernice right now.”

  Vitas finally spoke. “Titus has arrived with his legion?”

  The first soldier slapped Vitas across the buttocks with the flat of his sword blade. “Shut up, slave. You’re not part of this conversation.”

  It didn’t matter that neither soldier gave Vitas an answer to his question.

  Titus indeed awaited them at the villa, alone and pacing back and forth at the entrance.

  “My friend,” Titus said. He extended his arms and took slow, steady steps toward Vitas.

  One of the soldiers lifted a sword in warning, stepped between them, and pointed it toward the general’s chest. “Back away,” he growled.

  Titus smiled, amused. The light of the oil lamp showed his handsome, elegant features and hair that had been neatly—and expensively—trimmed. His toga spoke of wealth—spotless linen.

  “You put me in a delicate situation,” Titus said. “On one hand, I’m impressed at your sense of duty. On the other, however, I am the commander of the Fifteenth Legion, and I expect that you would put down the sword.”

  “Titus!” the second soldier exclaimed.

  The first soldier spoke quickly. “Any man can claim to be Titus. And what reason would Titus have to call this slave a friend?”

  Titus sighed. “You are delivering this slave to Bernice?”

  “As commanded by the governor.”

  “And you will only release this man on the authority of Bernice.”

  “He is her slave.”

  “That is our difficulty, then,” Titus said. “She sent me here to wait for this slave.”

  “You said friend earlier.”

  “Both,” Titus said. “Let’s be men of reason.”

  “No,” the first soldier said. “If you are Titus, let’s both be military men. I respect my orders. As should you.”

  The door behind them opened. Bernice stepped out with two male slaves behind her.

  “You have delivered this man,” Bernice said. “That should end the matter.”

  “Not quite,” Titus told her. He spoke to the soldier who still held his sword at the ready. “Interested in joining the Fifteenth?”

  “If you are Titus, the answer is yes.”

  “I’ll arrange it with the governor. Tomorrow’s password to get through the gates is ‘eagles fly to victory.’ Report to me at the camp at dawn, before the council meeting when the password changes. The legion will be on the march again as soon as camp breaks.”

  Inside the doorway, Titus stepped back from Vitas. “You look like a man stepping foot outside of hades.”

  “Until today, I felt like that man,” Vitas answered.

  Titus laughed. Held out his arms.

  Wrists still roped together, Vitas did the same.

  Though Vitas’s injuries were still raw, each man clasped the other’s forearms and did not speak for long moments.

  Titus broke from the clench first. “Let’s get you out of these bonds and bathed and dressed properly. We have much to discuss.” Titus glanced at Bernice, who nodded and retreated with her slaves, leaving Titus and Vitas alone just inside the doorway.

  “It was you who saved me from the arena and sent me from Rome,” Vitas said. “With that cryptic letter.”

  “Yes, I was among those who arranged it,” Titus answered, pulling a short dagger from beneath his toga. “And that is much of what we have to discuss. But Vespasian expects no delay in the legion’s march.”

  “That was the only answer I wanted for now,” Vitas said. He held out his hands for Titus to cut the rope. “Instead of a bath, I’d prefer a sword and three hours of freedom.”

  “Time is short.” Titus freed Vitas’s wrists, then knelt to release his ankles.

  “I owe you my life,” Vitas said as Titus stood. “Understand, then, how important it is for me to leave immediately. It’s Sophia. She’s alive.”

  “If you know that, I presume she is in Caesarea as directed.”

  “Directed by you?”

  “And the others. Bath first. Food. We will talk when you don’t stink.”

  “No. I saw her today for the first time. And abandoned her. She has no idea if I’m alive or dead. Nothing matters more to me than finding her.”

  “Today was the first time you saw her?” Titus was surprised.

  “Let me find her and return. Then you’ll have your explanations.”

  “We’ll find her together,” Titus said. “It’s night. And two swords are better than one.”

  “No,” Vitas said. “You are too important to the empire. The Jews would be openly hostile. Who knows if among them is someone willing to risk crucifixion to kill you.”

  “They would not know who I am.”

  “You also risk your friends. If something happened to you—with me nearby—it would draw Nero’s attention to this situation and those who conspired with you to set me free. We do not need to repeat the tragedy of Piso.”

  Titus’s face clouded at the reference to the renowned Roman statesman. A little over two years previously, Gaius Calpurnius Piso set a plan into mo
tion to have Nero assassinated, with the intent that the Praetorian Guard—the imperial bodyguards—would declare him emperor of Rome. Because of the growing discontent over Nero’s excesses, prominent senators and equestrians supported the secret plot. When the plot was betrayed to Nero’s secretary, the ensuing tortures revealed the conspirators, and nineteen prominent citizens were put to death, their properties confiscated by Nero. Among the executed were the uncle of Titus’s wife at the time and the uncle’s daughter. While Titus was now divorced, even two years was not enough time to entirely remove the stain of association.

  Titus let out a long breath. “True enough. But do you remember Smyrna? Such a wonderful brawl you and I had in that tavern. I miss those days. Even now, I wanted to fight that soldier outside. I’m sure he saw this toga and mistook me for a soft man; it would have been wonderful to prove him wrong. A quick step inside the reach of his sword and a well-placed head butt was all that was required. But he was correct about military obligations. His to the governor, and mine to my title and my duties to Vespasian. A small adventure tonight to help my best friend would be a welcome diversion from my duties.”

  “Let me go alone and silently,” Vitas said. “I’ll avoid trouble. So will you.”

  Titus finally nodded. “If you won’t risk my life, I won’t let you risk yours,” he answered. “I have a dozen soldiers who accompanied me here from the camp. I will send an escort with you, armed and carrying bright lamps. They will keep you safe on the road. Find Sophia and bring her here. Then we’ll talk.”

  Prima Fax

  In the warm night air, Vitas heard the celebratory singing of hymns a few hundred yards before he reached the Jewish settlement. It only confirmed the decision he’d first made when he’d accepted the offer from Titus for an escort of soldiers.

  “This is far enough,” he said, stopping and holding up a hand.

  “We have our orders to protect you,” came an answer from the older soldier of the two.

  “You have succeeded,” Vitas said. “We are almost there. What’s ahead of me will be safe enough. Please return to Titus and let him know it was my wish.”

  “We have our orders to protect you.”

  “Letting me proceed alone is the only and best way to protect me the final few paces. Listen to the singing. There are hundreds and hundreds of Jews gathered, and without doubt it’s to celebrate that none were slaughtered in reprisal for the assassination of Helva. Am I safer walking among them unarmed to look for a friend? Or bursting into their presence with the same Roman military that might have put their women and children on crosses at the side of this road?”

  “Point taken. We will wait here to escort you back when you are ready.”

  “Tell Titus instead that I will be at camp at dawn. I know the password to get through the gates.”

  “I understood from him that he wants you back tonight,” the soldier answered.

  “You’ve heard the rumors about him and Bernice,” Vitas said. “And you escorted him to her villa. He has one night here in Caesarea before marching again with the Fifteenth. Are you sure he’ll be disappointed if I don’t return?”

  “Once again, point taken.”

  Vitas moved slowly among the men and women crowded near fires at the center of the Jewish settlement. The shadows made it difficult to see faces clearly. While he was careful to check each person, he did not expect to find Sophia dancing and singing among them. She was heavily pregnant, and he expected that she would be exhausted not only from the events and stress, but from the heat of the day.

  He looked for those who were seated and saw the elderly Arella first. Then Ben-Aryeh. But not Sophia.

  He tried to contain the surge of disappointment and rationalize his fears. If Sophia were in any danger at all, Ben-Aryeh would be helping her, not here.

  Still, Vitas was anxious and could not help but hurry toward the old Jew.

  “Vitas!” The old man sprang to his feet and engulfed Vitas in an embrace. “I told her you would find a way back to her.”

  “So much to talk about,” Vitas said. “And so many questions. But later. Please, take me to her.”

  Ben-Aryeh grinned, his teeth gleaming in the firelight against the darkness of his beard. “Done.” He began to lead Vitas away from the crowd.

  Vitas took a couple steps to follow, then touched Ben-Aryeh’s shoulder. “Wait.”

  Vitas turned back to Arella, who had not moved. “Come with us,” he said.

  “I know who you are and I know where you are going,” she answered. “We left her resting.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Vitas said. Life for a widowed elderly woman without sons or daughters was a perilous struggle. “Come with us. For what you have done to help, you must join our household.”

  He took her by the arm, and both of them followed Ben-Aryeh away from the fires and singing.

  She was asleep. On a mat in the hut that belonged to Arella.

  With Ben-Aryeh and Arella waiting outside, Vitas held a lit candle and knelt beside his wife, the woman he loved and had believed was dead.

  He listened to the slow, deep breaths that she took in her slumber.

  Vitas did not believe in the gods of the Romans and wanted to believe in the God whom Sophia worshiped. He said a whispered prayer of gratitude, in the way he had learned from listening to her prayers. As he prayed, tears slid quietly down his face.

  She was alive.

  He set the candle down and leaned closer to take in the scent of her body.

  She stirred. He moved away slightly, not wanting to startle her, and saw her lift a hand to her cheek, where a tear from his own eye had fallen upon her.

  In the candlelight, he saw her smile. “You were in my dream,” she said. “Tell me now that I’m awake.”

  “You are awake,” he said. “And I am here.”

  “So long,” she whispered. “And so many miles.” She began to weep. “Hold me.”

  He did.

  Jupiter

  Hora Secunda

  “Eagles fly to victory,” Vitas told the guards at the camp’s entrance.

  The Fifteenth was essentially composed of infantry with some cavalry support—six thousand soldiers in all. The smell of the stables just inside the camp was comforting and familiar to Vitas; he had spent years in the military and knew the smells and sounds of living among horses.

  The guards expected no attack—Vitas was obviously unarmed and alone—but neither relaxed the spears with which they blocked his access through a gap in the stockade fencing that surrounded the camp.

  Vitas wasn’t surprised at their discipline. First, it was expected of any Roman army. Large-scale discipline and organization was what made the Romans feared all across the world. Only the Romans would expect their soldiers to march twenty or thirty miles and then dig a ditch three feet wide and four feet deep to surround the camp. Only the Romans would put up the sharpened posts outward and upward at forty-five degrees to repel attackers around the entire perimeter, just for one night. Only the Romans would have three watches during the night, with a penalty of death for any sentry caught sleeping.

  Second, this was the legion led by Titus, who was not yet thirty years old but had already earned a reputation for his military prowess. Were it not for the hereditary nature of succession, many would openly speculate that Titus would someday be emperor. As it was, Vitas had heard rumors of another revolt against Nero, and whispers already put Vespasian on the throne, which would someday bode well for Titus.

  “Whom are you here to see?” the guard on the right asked.

  No emotion in the question, no judgment. Entirely neutral. Another characteristic of the men who served Titus. They had no need to preen by bullying civilians.

  “Titus.”

  “He’s expecting you?”

  “Yes,” Vitas said.

  “Wait for an escort.” Not asking Vitas for proof demonstrated confidence. The guards fully expected that if Vitas were lying, Titus would di
spense judgment and punishment. Their duty was not to interrogate Vitas, but to make sure that this strange slave could not wander camp at will, nor be a threat to Titus.

  Vitas waited under their watchful eye, again comforted by the morning rituals. It was barely dawn, but already the camp was brisk with movement. It was set up in a large square to encompass all the tents. And since every legion’s camp was set up identically, he could have walked blindfolded and found the general’s quarters.

  To each side of Vitas were stables, running lengthways along the perimeter of the camp, enclosing dozens of tents arranged in precise rows, each tent big enough to hold at least a century of men.

  The main paths of a Roman camp were wide enough to allow for horse and wagon traffic, because except during the dark of night, it would always be busy with the movement of soldiers and suppliers. Via Principalis led straight ahead to the altar and camp headquarters and the general’s quarters. Halfway through camp, Via Decumana was a ninety-degree turn one way, and Via Praetoria the other way.

  When an escort of two soldiers arrived, they were informed of their task and led Vitas past the altar with fresh animal entrails spread on the ground around it. This legion had a proud history since its establishment over a hundred years earlier with the nickname Apollinaris—“devoted to Apollo.” Daily, priests made sacrifices and read what the auspices portended for the day.

  They reached the camp headquarters, a tent large enough to accommodate all the legion’s centurions and the junior and senior tribunes.

  Outside the tent, near the aquilifer—the standard bearer—with the golden eagle atop a long pole, Vitas waited with the soldiers who guarded him. He did not expect to hear a murmur of voices through the walls of the tent. Titus, like all other generals, would ensure only one person spoke at a time, and only at his invitation. This morning, Vitas guessed, there would not be much discussion. The legion was not preparing for battle but was on the march. The new password would be given to all the centurions to pass on to their men, discipline reports would be made, and scouts would offer what they had learned about the terrain ahead and how far the march would be until the next camp.