The Last Temple (14 page)

“And neither do you,” Nerva answered. “By the gods, I would have needed a dozen men against him, had I actually decided to turn you over to Nero.”

Since Vitas was a fugitive and unable to inherit, at his brother’s death, Damian’s villa had been transferred to the name of Titus, who ran the estate in absentia. This essentially meant arrangements among the slaves were unchanged, including the presence of Jerome’s family.

There was a risk that Helius and Tigellinus—two men happy to serve any whim of Nero’s and given great power accordingly—might have someone watching the villa for Jerome’s return, but only a slight risk. The slave had departed Rome many months ago, and there was no reason to expect him now.

Until they reached the cross street to this estate, Vitas had never seen Jerome moving at a pace faster than a brisk walk. He smiled as the big, ugly man began to trot, not even looking backward to see if Vitas and the children were keeping pace.

Valeria and Quintus had been born into nobility, their father a wealthy Roman living in Jerusalem. He’d been murdered at the beginning of the Jewish revolt a few years earlier, and they’d managed to survive life on the streets. As a result, they were no longer the pampered children they’d been when Vitas first met them. Instead they were tough and wary and self-confident.

Quintus was small for a ten-year-old and looked like no threat to anybody, but in Alexandria, Vitas had witnessed him fight two boys at once, both of them several years older.

Valeria had grown into a beautiful young woman, and someday, if she and Quintus could claim the estate that their stepmother had stolen from them after the murder of their father, she would marry into the Roman nobility where she’d begun her life. Thinking about that, Vitas could only feel sorry for any future husband who might expect her to be a passive and pretty decoration.

Like Vitas, both were wearing clothes that marked them as residents of the slums, because as with Vitas, it was important that no one in Rome realize they had returned.

As Jerome increased the gap ahead and moved from a trot to a sprint, Vitas smiled. The man was about to be reunited with his family.

At the gate that led to the villa, Vitas spoke to Quintus and Valeria. “Any questions before we say good-bye?”

“None,” Quintus said stoutly and proudly. He was a little warrior, and he knew what was at stake. Both were to join Jerome’s family for the next few days, and both were to be vigilant for any spies in the household.

“Then good-bye,” Vitas answered with a lightheartedness he did not feel.

Quintus and Valeria could have stayed safely in Alexandria but refused. They wanted to face their treacherous stepmother.

Valeria merely smiled a mysterious smile that Vitas knew would frustrate and hypnotize all future suitors.

“Don’t worry,” Quintus said. “I’ll take good care of Jerome.”

Vitas didn’t point out that Jerome probably had the strength to crush a man’s skull in one bare hand.

The brother and sister pushed through the gate without any hesitation.

In the background, Vitas heard children squeal in delight.

Jerome was home.

Vitas stood at the gate to a magnificent villa on the Capitoline Hill. It had taken him over an hour of walking to get there. He was dressed as a common worker and carried bundles of wood, making him reasonably unnoticed.

Vitas knocked on the gate, and within moments, a slave on the other side slid back the covering of a small opening at eye level. Vitas spoke to the pair of eyes on the other side. “‘Go to the woman clothed in finest purple and scarlet linens, decked out with gold and precious stones and pearls.’”

“Wait,” came the voice.

Vitas heard a faint slap of leather on stone as the slave hurried away.

He waited. Despite his simple disguise of worker’s clothing, Vitas felt exposed.

Half a mile away, if they’d had the ability to fly as crows, Vitas could have reached the imperial residence. There’d been a time when Vitas was a welcome visitor there. Now, if Nero learned of his presence in Rome, it would be death at the Gemonian stairs, not only for Vitas, but for any citizen who sheltered him.

Vitas tried to project an outer calm as he waited.

Someone returned and looked through the opening. “Repeat yourself.”

“‘Go to the woman clothed in finest purple and scarlet linens, decked out with gold and precious stones and pearls,’” Vitas said, quoting from the letter that had been with him on his escape from Rome.

“‘She is the one who slaughtered God’s people all over the world,’” came the reply from inside.

The passwords alluded to the letter of Revelation. The religious establishment of Jerusalem was the harlot of this letter; Jerusalem, the woman in finest purple, had literally slaughtered the Christos and had continued this persecution against his followers in all the lands. According to the letter, the city was calling down judgment upon itself, judgment that would lead to the utter destruction of the sacred Temple.

While Vitas, of course, was skeptical of the prophecy’s accuracy, he still took comfort from the passwords. It would be safe to enter. No one had intercepted the letter from Titus that instructed Senator Ruso, the man on the other side of the gate, to expect Vitas.

He also relaxed because the choice of passwords told him the stranger on the other side of the door was a follower of the Christos and, because of persecution by the Beast of Rome and the woman in purple, was undoubtedly a person of caution.

For now, Vitas was still safe from Nero.

Vitas followed Caius Sennius Ruso through an atrium into the
tablinum
, where family records were traditionally stored. They continued through a dining room and past the kitchen, where slaves laughed as they worked.

Vitas took this as a good sign. Happy slaves were an indication of a kind and respected master.

Ruso led him past a library—another indication of Ruso’s wealth—then outside to seats in a shaded garden protected by high walls, where a pitcher of freshly squeezed grape juice was waiting.

Ruso poured the juice into goblets, and Vitas sipped appreciatively.

Each studied the other.

Ruso was of medium height and middle-aged. His hair had probably once been dark red but was fading, both in color and thickness. But he was a man in trim shape, unlike many of his gluttonous peers who, it was said, dug their own graves with their spoons.

“I expected you to be accompanied by the bodyguard belonging to your brother, Damian.”

“I travel as I see fit.”

“You are aware,” Ruso said without severity, “that as a bounty hunter, Damian is in pursuit of a man I protected from Nero.”

“The man who escaped Rome with me. John, son of Zebedee, the last disciple of the Christos and author of a letter known as the Revelation.”

“Titus could not have known. I did not identify to him the man I wanted on the ship with you. All Titus knew was that a Jew would be there to translate the letter given you and that it was necessary to give you a code letter in case you or the letter fell into the wrong hands.”

This meeting had been arranged by Titus, so it was natural for Ruso to ask that indirect question.

“Since John was with me as I fled Rome,” Vitas said, “and since John was the person who translated the letter sent with me, I don’t think it’s a stretch to conclude that you are a link between John and me.”

Ruso sighed and leaned forward. “I’ve received a letter from John; he is well. For how long, however? Your brother, after all, is famous in Rome for never losing his bounty. Most believe he hasn’t returned because he is still on the trail.”

Vitas waited a few respectful moments of silence before speaking. “Damian was put to death in Jerusalem. John does not have to fear pursuit from my brother.”

Ruso matched the silence before saying, “You have my full sympathy, Vitas. We live in perilous times.” He paused before continuing. “I’m also aware of how perilous it is for you here in Rome.”

It was an unspoken question, and Vitas answered it. “I am here because of my obligation to you and Titus. I will also confess that I badly miss my wife and child and want to return to Alexandria. Let me know what you want from me so that I can fulfill that obligation as soon as possible.”

“Direct to business then,” Ruso said. “I have a slave waiting to take you to the person you need to see next. First, though, Titus’s letter hinted at news about the campaign in Judea that he did not want to commit to parchment.”

“Judea goes well for Rome,” Vitas replied. “I would guess you’ve already heard about the fall of the last rebel city outside Jerusalem.”

“Gischala.”

“And before that, Taricheae, Tiberias, and Joppa.”

Ruso nodded. “Each Jewish city folding as easily as the one previous, if you consider slaughtering all the young men in each city an easy task.”

“While the Jews have my sympathy,” Vitas said, “leaders in rebel cities well know the consequences of holding out against Rome.”

Ruso sighed. “If only Jotapata had not been so successful against Vespasian. The other city leaders would not have been so bold. Titus suggested you would tell me more about Jotapata.”

“Two months of valiant defense against an entire legion, and even then it would have been longer had the city not been betrayed by someone inside the walls.” Vitas gave Ruso a careful look. “But all of this anyone in Rome knows already. You want specific information, don’t you? Information not available to all of Rome. About one Jew in particular.”

“Joseph Ben-Matthias,” Ruso said.

Because Ben-Matthias had spoken of Ruso in Caesarea, Vitas had been expecting this answer, but it did nothing to slake his curiosity. Joseph Ben-Matthias was the Jew who had risked his life to visit Vitas in prison just after Vitas had been taken down from crucifixion, the Jew who had given Vitas a token along with a request that he might someday be called upon to fulfill.

Titus had also spoken to Vitas of Ben-Matthias, apparently unaware of the token and of that secret meeting.

“Yes,” Vitas acknowledged, “Titus did specify to pass along news about the man. How do you know him or know of him?”

Ruso shook his head, indicating he would not answer. “In Rome, secrets are a way of life. I expect that naturally you would withhold some things, as in return, you would expect the same of me. Some secrets are too important, don’t you agree?”

“We are at an impasse, then,” Vitas said. “I’m not interested in delivering to you anything from Titus unless I know more about the man.”

“Despite your obligation to Titus?”

“My obligation is to ensure the well-being of Titus,” Vitas said. “I cannot do this to the best of my ability if I don’t understand the role that Ben-Matthias has in all of this. Especially if I don’t know his relationship with you.”

Ruso shook his head again. “I do not see it that way. I cannot betray certain confidences.”

“You. Queen Bernice of the Jews. Ben-Matthias. And Titus, the son who serves his father, Vespasian, Rome’s greatest living general. The four of you have placed me in the middle of something. Do you really expect that I will blindly proceed? Start by telling me how Ben-Matthias is connected to Rome. And to my escape from Rome.”

Ruso stood and slowly paced back and forth. Vitas did not speak. Finally Ruso seemed to arrive at a decision that allowed him to sit again. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, fists together beneath his chin. “It will betray no confidence to tell you Ben-Matthias is a remarkable man. First by lineage. His mother descended from royalty under the former ruling Hasmoneans of the Jews, and through his father, he is descended from the Jehoiarib, the first of the twenty-four orders of the Temple priests in Jerusalem. He is a direct descendant of the Jonathon who governed Judea before the Romans arrived. But there is more to him than that. At fourteen, he was recognized for his understanding of Jewish law, with leaders in Jerusalem consulting him on legal matters. At sixteen, he stepped away from his wealth and lineage to live in the desert in a spiritual search with the Jewish Sadducees and Essenes. As you can imagine, when he returned to Jerusalem and decided to align himself with the Pharisees, he quickly became someone of influence.”

Vitas remembered the man’s quiet confidence in the darkness of the prison cell. It made sense, knowing the man’s background.