The Last Temple (10 page)

An hour before sunset, Vitas and a ten-year-old boy followed Bucco and Bucco’s retinue of twenty soldiers into the outer courtyard of the villa where Helva had lived. Vitas trailed the retinue into the house, watching with amusement as servants vainly tried to protest the intrusion. He noted with satisfaction that half of the soldiers dispersed throughout the massive villa, acting on previous instructions from the governor.

Vitas lowered his eyes and stayed behind Bucco’s remaining soldiers, confident he was invisible to Dolabella as she marched toward them.

“This is an invasion!” Dolabella cried. “The governor will hear of this.”

Bucco addressed Dolabella. “On behalf of the governor, I am investigating the death of your husband.”

“I trust you have news for me, then. The Jews must pay for their atrocity.”

“No news. Only questions.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

“Is this how you would speak to the governor?” Bucco asked.

“You are not the governor.”

“I’ve made it clear that I represent him. And my first question involves a slave who was in your employ—Novellus. I understand that when you and the magistrate began the initial interrogation, Novellus suggested that you go to the governor with instructions to find out who had hired the camel driver.”

Dolabella tossed her head. “Who told you this? The magistrate? If so, consider the source. He’s been swooning around me, and I’ve spurned him publicly. Besides, why should it matter?”

“What matters is that neither you nor the magistrate passed along the information.”

“If indeed that’s what the slave said. He’s been crucified, and you are clutching at hearsay. And you still haven’t answered my question. Why should it matter?”

“Tell me,” Bucco said, “the morning that Helva was killed, why was he in the marketplace?”

“He told me he had been called by the governor. There are a dozen servants who could confirm this, if only you asked them instead of bothering me.”

“What’s strange,” Bucco went on, “is that the governor had not sent for your husband.”

“Someone did,” she said tartly. “It is not a concern to me.”

“It’s a concern to me,” Bucco said. He raised his voice. “Novellus!”

Vitas stepped around the soldiers. He wasn’t alone. He had the boy with him, a Nabataean.

Dolabella frowned as she recognized Vitas. “The magistrate . . .”

“Sentenced me to crucifixion,” Vitas said. “Yet here I am. I, too, am curious why you wouldn’t pass along my message to the governor. The diversion of camels was undoubtedly planned for when Helva was to pass through the market.”

“I can hardly believe this,” Dolabella said, drawing herself up with indignation, speaking to Bucco and pointing at Vitas. “This slave failed in his duty to protect my husband, and now he is part of your investigation for the governor?”

“No,” Bucco said, “the boy is.” Bucco turned to the boy and spoke softly. “Yes?”

“Yes,” the boy said, nodding vigorously. “That’s the woman who met with my father’s brother. She said she wanted him to drive some camels for her.”

“I’ve never seen this boy before.”

“He was working among the camels,” Bucco said, “when you spoke to his uncle.”

“Nonsense.”

Hardly. And Vitas knew it. When the Nabataeans had brought him forward, the boy had described a woman whose hair was almost orange.

“You couldn’t have done this alone,” Bucco said. “I’ve been authorized by the governor to tell you he is prepared to let you draw a bath as an alternative to crucifixion. On the condition that you testify against the man who helped you murder your husband.”

Draw a bath. Vitas closed his eyes briefly. It was how Nero had commanded Sophia to die. Suicide—slitting her wrists in a hot bath.

Vitas opened his eyes again, surprised at the silence. He’d expected a squawk, but instead Dolabella was gaping at Bucco with a mixture of outrage and fear.

Bucco pressed his advantage and cued the boy. “The trumpet.”

“She asked him to release the camels at the sound of a trumpet,” the boy answered. He was losing his shyness in the presence of the soldiers, speaking louder.

That’s what had first struck Vitas as strange about the stampeding camels. The sound of trumpeting as Helva passed through the market.

Dolabella recovered her composure. “I know what is happening here. The governor wants a scapegoat to rescue his political situation. I’m a widow, far from Rome. So he sends you here to condemn me on the strength of the lies of a boy and a slave.”

“He sent me here on more than that,” Bucco said. “Soldiers are searching your house for a single earring with a large red ruby.”

Dolabella brought a hand to her mouth as if to prevent all the air being sucked from her body as she visibly shrank in front of Vitas and the boy.

Bucco explained to Dolabella what all of them already knew. “You gave the boy’s uncle one of the earrings and promised him the other if he accomplished the task. We found that earring among his possessions in his tent. Now we are looking here for the one that matches.”

“Alexios,” she said.

Bucco was puzzled. “Alexios?”

“That’s the man you want. He was my lover and threatened to inform Helva if I didn’t go to the camel driver. I had no idea what Alexios had planned to do, otherwise I never would have helped. He worked with some Sicarii who agreed to do the job. It served Alexios and the Sicarii. I had no choice in my involvement. You have to believe me. The governor has to believe me.”

Bucco gave her a strange smile. “My advice is to draw your bath now. Save yourself the humiliation. And if it helps, take a flagon of wine with you. From what I’ve heard, the drunker you are, the less pain you will feel.”

Vitas faced Julianus again, still bound at the wrists and ankles. Behind the governor, other slaves were lighting oil lamps on a balcony where the governor sat in a chair woven from reeds and drank from a gold-rimmed goblet. The balcony afforded a view of the Mediterranean, and the sun was almost gone. Dusk served as a shield, hiding the red of the sunburn on Julianus’s face.

“As you might know, already Alexios has been arrested and faced the red-hot tongs of torture,” the governor told Vitas. “It didn’t take long for him to break and give up the names of the others involved. We will have them all on crosses tomorrow.” The governor shook his head. “Not only was he making a cuckold of Helva; he’d been embezzling from the man. Consider the irony. The fiscal procurator himself, clutching every denarius for Nero and letting his own cascade away to a thief.”

Because Julianus had not asked a question, Vitas said nothing.

“You have saved Bernice’s life,” the governor continued. Odd, the strained voice that carried so much authority. “And you have served me well by eliminating this difficult political position. I’m sure the Jews who have been released would also feel gratitude toward you, but none will know of your role in this. You would do well to keep it that way—I have no intention of appearing like I needed the help of a slave. If the slightest whisper reaches me, I will put you on the cross again.”

Vitas fought to hide his impatience. He did not want to be here with the governor. Among the Jews who had been released was Sophia. She would not know yet all that had happened, only that Vitas was alive and not on a cross. He wanted to run full speed without stopping until he reached the settlement of the Jews and then shout her name until he found her.

But to all appearances, he was still a slave bound to the Helva estate.

“I have no intention of granting you anything in payment for this service,” the governor continued. There was the slightest of slurs in his voice. Drinking wine on a breezy balcony with the orange of the sun on shimmering water was, after all, a relatively harmless pleasure. Or had the governor been drinking to steel himself to execute Bernice if Vitas failed? “Taking you down from the cross was enough already. And I’m not happy at the way you spoke to me in front of Bernice. I should have you whipped for it. So there you have it. By not whipping you, I have repaid you for your assistance. Besides that, other men in my position might have you killed merely to ensure your silence about all of this.”

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 motion 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.”