The Last Sacrifice (11 page)

“I’m going to tell you my name,” the ship’s captain told Vitas. “But I don’t want to know yours. You’re enough danger to me as it is.”

Vitas had no intention of giving his identity anyway. If Nero knew he was alive, Sophia would die.

“I’m Atronius Pavo,” the ship’s captain continued. “And you should know that on this ship’s previous voyage, I drowned a Jew in pig’s blood.”

Each of the two sat on a short, three-legged stool in the captain’s quarters. It was a square room centered beneath the deck, a location that gave it the best stability on the ship. There was a straw bed raised above the floor at the back; beneath this bed was a chamber pot. On the side, a table had been built out from the wall, and sea charts were unrolled across it, held down by lead weights on each side.

Vitas had been scrutinizing the small room carefully, hoping for a glimpse of the scroll that he’d lost during his fever. The only light, however, came from an oil lamp. It threw the captain’s shadow against one wall, casting an odd gleam on the oily skin of the man’s face.

“I only tell you this story,” Pavo continued, “because I want you to truly understand what kind of man I am.”

A rat rustled in the straw of the bed. The captain ignored it. He pointed to his once-broken nose and touched it lightly with the tip of his forefinger.

“The Jew was a brute,” Pavo said. “We’d been in a storm for two days, and he believed I’d made the wrong decision by pulling anchor to run ahead of it. I had the charts that told me we had open seas. He thought we would run aground.”

The captain pushed his nose sideways. He grinned at the sound of a crack. “I can’t stop a sailor from having opinions that differ from mine. But when he’s gathered the crew on the deck to share those opinions, that’s another matter.”

A push of the nose in the opposite direction. Another crack of cartilage. Another near-demented grin. “That Jew was responsible for this. You see, the crew ignored my orders to punish him. That left me two choices. Either fight him myself, or lose command of the ship. It wasn’t even a gamble. Losing to him would have been no worse than not fighting at all.”

The grin ceased. Pavo spoke grimly. “The gods favored me. He’d busted my face with a stave and was ready to finish me off when a wave almost capsized us. He slipped on the deck. I found my feet first. There wasn’t much left of his face when I finished working him over with the same stave he’d used on mine. But I left him alive.” The captain held up his hand, making it obvious he was pausing his story. “You don’t find this interesting?”

Vitas snapped his eyes away from his search of the cabin and back to the captain. “I’ve seen men fight other men.”

“I had him bound,” Pavo said. “Still alive, but bound. I waited until the storm had passed and all of the crew knew I’d made the right decision by pulling anchor. Then I slit a pig’s throat and filled a bucket with its blood. You do know that Jews are defiled by pigs, don’t you?”

Vitas said nothing. After years in Nero’s inner circle, there was nothing about any other man’s savagery that could impress or intimidate him.

“I sat on that Jew and held his head in the blood until he drowned,” the captain said, grinning. “And let me tell you, until he died, his body kicked and bucked so hard I could barely keep my balance. A wild mule would have been an easier ride.”

If he expected Vitas to grin in return at what was obviously a well-worn punch line to an often-told story, he was disappointed.

“As a Roman citizen,” Pavo continued, “I fully understand our ways of ruling the provinces. Reward those who obey. Destroy without mercy those who defy. The crew saw me drown that Jew, and I knew it taught them something they would not forget.”

The captain studied Vitas, looking for any reaction. Again he was disappointed. “Tell me why you dove overboard for the Jew with you,” Pavo said.

“It was wrong to sacrifice him.”

“And you would sacrifice yourself, too?” Pavo stared hard at Vitas.

Vitas stared back.

“No, you knew I could not let you die,” Pavo said. “That’s why you present a problem for me. The crew won’t forget that it looks like I serve you.”

“Set ashore at Messana,” Vitas said. “I’ll leave the ship.”

“You defied me in front of my crew. Forced me to turn the ship around to pull you and that Jew from the waters. How can they not wonder who has the greatest authority on my own ship?”

“Set ashore at Messana.”

“There is the truth, of course. That I fear not you or your authority, but that of some of the most powerful men in Rome. Yet I have my warning from them. To even hint at their involvement in your presence aboard my ship would mean my death and the death of my family.”

Vitas tried to maintain an appearance of disinterest. He had no idea of who had arranged to pluck him from the prison cell and put him on this ship. Nor why. It seemed, however, foolhardy to admit this to the captain until he knew more. The scroll. He needed the scroll that he’d been given in the prison by the stranger. Surely the scroll held the answers.

“Set ashore at Messana,” Vitas said. “I won’t be a problem for you off the ship.”

“So that not only do I fail to deliver you to Alexandria, but my crew thinks I’m too afraid of you to keep you on board?” Pavo snorted. “Why not ask me to tie lead weights to my ankles and jump into the sea?”

Pavo stood. Indeed, he was a large man.

Vitas stood too. Not quite as tall. Muscled, but without nearly the body weight.

“There’s another reason I told you about the Jew I drowned in pig’s blood,” Pavo said. “I now face a similar dilemma.”

Vitas stared back, barely inches away from Pavo’s face. He did not fear the silence that Pavo let fall upon them. He also did not break the silence like a rabbit bolting from cover in the presence of a hawk.

Long moments passed. Vitas did not expect Pavo to throw a punch or pull a knife. Though the tension between them was building, it was clear that Pavo needed to protect Vitas. Otherwise Vitas would still be floating in open seas. Yes, that had been the gamble Vitas took in his moment of calculated anger, leaping from the ship to rescue John. That if the captain had left Rome as he did, then Vitas was very valuable to him. Too valuable to let drown.

It was Pavo who broke the silence he had imposed. “If my crew now believes your authority is greater than mine or that I fear you, I lose my crew, my ship, and most certainly my life. Yet I must protect your life at all costs, or I lose my crew, my ship, and my life to those in Rome who put you aboard.” Pavo shrugged. “Either way, I lose everything.”

Vitas wanted badly to ask which men of Rome had put him on the ship. Where was that scroll?

“There will be a day,” Pavo said, “when you speak again with those who arranged for your escape. That is why I brought you down here to explain in privacy what must be done. Tell them that if I lost my ship to my crew, I would have been unable to deliver you to Alexandria. Tell them that there was only one way I could keep my crew and ensure you made it there.”

Pavo sighed. “I respect you. Even admire you. Your gamble that I would turn the ship around to pluck you from the sea was remarkable. But I must do what I must do. And you must allow it, because if I lose my authority on this ship, you, too, will die.”

Another sigh. “I promise, however, that if you don’t fight what must be done and make it appear like I am in full command, I will protect the Jew. I presume he is a valuable slave; otherwise you would not have risked your life to save him.”

“What is it that I must allow?”

“The whip,” Pavo said. “A minimum of ten lashes. From me. With all the crew gathered to watch.”

Hora Octava

Damian stood on the deck of a small riverboat, uncomfortable on water, as always, even if it was only the current of the Tiber taking him away from Rome. He and Jerome were the only passengers.

“Do you travel this river at night?” These were the first words Damian had spoken since boarding the boat, a question he addressed to the captain, a man named Volusius, who was a middle-aged, barrel-chested man with an obvious limp. Despite the limp, however, he moved efficiently, something Damian had silently observed as the man had made all preparations to cast from shore nearly an hour earlier.

“Perhaps you’ll want to take a nap,” Volusius answered. He held a steering oar in both hands and looked past Damian, downstream, where the current carried them. “Go down to my cabin. It’s cramped, but the best you could expect on a craft like this.”

“I came back here to talk.” Until this point, Damian had been content to stand in the front of the boat and stare at passing scenery. Behind them, the seven hills of Rome. Ahead, the twists and turns of the Tiber. On both sides, the buildings that had crowded the shore were thinning out as they moved downstream from Rome. The wind was in their faces, and Damian found that to be good news. The current would take them to Ostia. A wind would bring them back to Rome. He’d be at his villa by dark and would get a report from his slave Castinus about the captive he’d ordered released.

“You’ll find it cooler down there,” Volusius grunted. “Out of the sun.”

“I want to talk.”

“You bought passage. Nothing more. I’m not interested in idle chitchat with tourists.”

Volusius leaned on the oar, and the ship grudgingly shifted to miss an unseen sandbar.

Damian cleared his throat.

Jerome, sitting midway down the deck and apparently asleep, opened one eye.

“We have a problem here,” Damian told Jerome. “Our captain has no interest in conversation.”

With an impassive face, Jerome rose. He stripped his tunic off down to a band of cloth wrapped around his loins, showing a broad chest that rippled with muscle like the front quarters of a stallion.

“He blocks a lot of sun, doesn’t he?” Damian said to Volusius. “Once I saw him punch an ox between the eyes. Buckled it to its knees. A slave like Jerome is very useful, as you might guess.”

Volusius gave that some thought. “River like this holds a lot of water, doesn’t it?” he said moments later. “Once I saw a boat like this hit another coming upstream. Both boats tore apart, drowning ten men. An experienced pilot like me is very useful, as you might guess.”

Jerome ambled closer.

“Looks like he’s going to keep me busy,” Volusius said to Damian. “Take the steering oar. Someone has to keep this boat from sinking. You do know what parts of the river are safe and what parts aren’t, don’t you? If not, I hope you can swim. Drowning, as I’ve seen, is a horrible way to die.”

Damian held up his hand and Jerome stopped. “You know the river as well as any pilot, I’ve been told,” Damian said.

Volusius ignored him and made another adjustment with the steering oar.

“If anyone can move on the water at night, it’s you.”

No answer.

Damian sighed. “Jerome,” he said. “Start with the mast.”

Volusius gave Damian a startled glance.

“His strength is impressive,” Damian said. “Persistent, too. If he’s unable to push the mast over, I’m sure he’ll tie a rope halfway up and pull it down.”

“Not the mast.”

“Not bad,” Damian said.

“Huh?”

“Not bad as a start to a pleasant conversation. Let’s continue it. Tell me more about the mast. Expensive? Hard to replace?”

“I can move on the water at night,” Volusius said, his teeth clenched. “What of it?”

“Think back. Not too far. Today’s Moon. Not last night then, but the night before. Did you make a trip from Rome to Ostia in the dark? With, say, a passenger delivered to you in a large tapestry?”

The startled look on the face of Volusius told Damian enough.

“Four men delivered him to you,” Damian continued. “Brought him aboard and bound him securely. To continue our pleasant conversation, all I need is a simple yes.”

“Break the mast,” Volusius said. “It can be replaced.”

“I like your efficiency in conversation. While you left a lot unsaid, what I heard was that someone paid you to make the trip, and you fear betraying that person far more than you fear a broken mast.”

“What I left unsaid was your questionable parentage. So let me say it now.” In language suitable for a port town’s inn, Volusius then went into great detail and speculation.

“Tut-tut,” Damian said. “Distracting me with insults won’t work either. Especially as we still have a few miles left together on the river.”

Volusius worked up a great gob, but before he could spit at Damian’s feet, Damian shook his head.

“Don’t push me.” Damian said it in such a tone that once again he was rewarded with a startled glance from Volusius. “I’m not going to ask you who paid you to take that night journey. All I want to know is where the passenger went once you arrived in Ostia. It’s something I could find out myself by asking around anyway, but you’ll save me several hours. Fair enough?”

Damian stepped back and, with a gesture, invited Volusius to spit out the contents of his mouth.

With some relief, Volusius did so, then spoke. Quietly. “Fair enough.”

“Thank you,” Damian said. “I always prefer my conversations to remain this civilized.”

“You’ve spoiled my appetite,” Helius said. He was meeting with Tigellinus for the second time in a day, and although the Vitas issue weighed heavily on his mind, he disliked being reminded of it.

“We should pretend this problem doesn’t exist? And if Nero finds out and sends us into the arena, pretend the lions don’t exist either?”

“Who do you suggest is the one person in Rome to help us?” Helius asked. Nothing on the table appealed to him anymore.

Tigellinus picked up a slice of cake and, with little elegance, shoved it into his mouth. He cocked his head sideways as he chewed. “Acceptable.”

“Who do you suggest?” Helius said, as usual irritated by Tigellinus’s lack of manners and entirely forgetful that he’d just spit food to the side.

“He’s already in your employ.”

“Good. You’ve narrowed it down to thousands.”

“He has two unique qualifications,” Tigellinus said, moving on to a dish of snails. He paused to wolf down a couple of mouthfuls. Only after wiping the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand did Tigellinus continue. “Few are better at hunting humans, no matter how far they travel across the world. And no other person in the world knows Vitas as well as he does.”

Helius thought about it, then snorted. “If you’re actually suggesting—”

“Damian. His brother.”

“When the day began, you agreed we should have him killed.”

“Only to remove him as a threat,” Tigellinus said. “If he is actively searching for Vitas for us, then he’s not a threat.”

“Unprincipled as Damian might be, I doubt even he would take any amount of bounty for the capture of Vitas.”

“Helius,” Tigellinus said softly, “don’t underestimate Damian.”

“You believe he would betray his brother?”

“The opposite. Damian is far more principled than you believe.”

Helius snorted again. “He’s a gambler. Womanizer.”

“A gambler who enrolled in gladiator school to pay off his debtors. A womanizer who does not spend time in affairs with married women. He has his own moral code and does not break it.”

“You defend his character in one breath and in another expect me to hire him to search for his brother on our behalf?”

“For a man of intelligence, there are times you can be exceptionally obtuse,” Tigellinus said.

“I’m not the one speaking nonsense here. Explain to me what could convince Damian to find Vitas for us.”

“What’s the name of the spy you have in Damian’s household?”

“Castinus,” Helius said after a careful pause.

“I’ll need to ask him some questions this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“Leverage,” Tigellinus said. “Isn’t that what you told me? With the right leverage you can manipulate anyone.”

“What kind of leverage do you have in mind?”

“The same leverage you mentioned earlier today.” Tigellinus grinned. “But not in the way anyone would expect.”

“You’re still making no sense.”

“It might be difficult to capture Vitas. So I say we just have him killed. Whatever plan the conspirators have will certainly fail with Vitas dead.”

“And you have a way not only to find Vitas but have him killed?”

“Listen carefully,” Tigellinus said. “I’ll speak slowly as I explain, and with luck, I won’t have to tell you twice.”

The first lash of the whip came down like a forceful blow of wood across his shoulders and drove all the air out of Vitas’s lungs. It was a shock of pain that sent his near-naked body into a spasm, and the grunt of agony that he managed to expel sounded to him like it came from another person.

He was unable to jerk away from the next blow.

His hands were tied to the mast of the ship so he faced the deck. A sailor on each side firmly held a rope knotted to each ankle, so his body was pulled its full length and his legs spread apart.

The next two lashes wrapped the cutting strips of leather around the back and front of his exposed thighs. Vitas clenched his teeth but could not prevent the scream of rage that escaped through them.

Another blow across the lower waist. The end of the whip snapped around his belly. He lost the willpower to hold back his scream and cried out his anguish.

The sixth blow cut across his shoulders. The seventh, his thighs again.

Then nothing.

Vitas found air. Heaved. Became aware of a warmth that he realized was blood.

He turned his head sideways to see why Pavo had stopped.

The captain was grinning, slapping the handle of the whip against his palm, as if he’d been waiting for Vitas to look. Behind him, two other men held John, restraining him from any action.

Pavo drew back the whip.

Vitas turned his head away, unable to bear another blow.

The whip cracked in the air above him, and the crew laughed at his instinctive reaction, an unsuccessful pulling at the ropes that held him.

Another crack of the whip.

Vitas looked over at Pavo, knowing the captain was toying with him.

There was a salty taste in his mouth; Vitas had bitten through his lip and blood flowed freely. Vitas forced himself to stare at Pavo. He would not show his fear again by flinching or pulling at the ropes. Then he remembered: he’d made the agreement with the captain to allow him full authority. Defiance meant John would not be protected from the crew.

Vitas dropped his head and stared at the deck . . . and waited.

The next blow cut his back again. And again.

Finally, mercifully, Vitas lost consciousness.