The Last Sacrifice by Sigmund Brouwer Read Free Book Online

splintering results. “To refresh your memory, I am a slave hunter. A man of great power has hired me to capture you. But before I deliver you to him, I want to know more about your vision, the one that is in a letter circulating among followers of the Christos.”
    After all, if this was something Helius wanted badly, it would have value for Damian.
    “Talk to me about your vision,” Damian continued.
    He watched the face of the captive closely. A muscle twitched along the man’s jaw. But there was no other sign that the captive would respond.
    “Jerome,” Damian said, “this man needs more persuasion.”
    The giant slave began pushing again, until the massive wheel touched the captive’s nearest arm. A quarter turn more and his arm would be pulverized.
    Damian spoke to the captive in a conversational tone. “Perhaps now you’ll answer my questions?”

    “Well?” Helius demanded of Tigellinus as soon as they were alone in the courtyard. “Whose head is it?”
    “I don’t like your tone,” Tigellinus said casually and just as casually placed a hand on Helius’s shoulder. “I searched among the bodies myself because I recognized the need for secrecy. But it doesn’t mean you can speak to me like I’m one of your slaves.”
    Tigellinus smiled as he spoke but squeezed hard with his powerful fingers, digging into the meat of Helius’s shoulder.
    After all their years together in close service to Nero, Tigellinus had a rough affection for Helius. Tigellinus was brawn to Helius’s elegance, crudeness to his effeminacy. As a devious man himself, Tigellinus admired Helius for the same quality. Yet Tigellinus knew that Helius would seize on the first sign of weakness, and he was ever vigilant to squash any signs of imperiousness.
    Like now.
    “You do want to apologize, don’t you?” Tigellinus said, smile still in place.
    “Of course,” Helius said, his grimace plain. “I forgot myself simply because of my distress at this situation.”
    Tigellinus eased the pressure and stepped back.
    “Was it Vitas?” Helius asked more respectfully.
    “See for yourself.” Tigellinus hid a grin as he lifted the sack and extended it to Helius.
    Tigellinus was aware of Helius’s squeamishness, aware that Helius had flicked a glance at his blood-crusted fingernails and swallowed back revulsion. But, because they were always involved in a subtle power struggle, Tigellinus enjoyed the chance to expose weakness in Helius. A true Roman like Tigellinus had no compunctions about the blood that flowed when hacking apart another man’s body.
    “That’s not necessary,” Helius said. “I’ve done my part.”
    “By sending me at dawn into the pile of bodies outside the arena?”
    “You agreed with me,” Helius insisted. “Vitas was a soldier. He would not have strapped the shield on his right arm.”
    Tigellinus nodded at that. Soldiers—even left-handed soldiers—were trained to handle a sword with their right hand and strap the shield to the left arm. This way, an entire line of soldiers, each guarding the next, presented an unbroken row of shields to the enemy. It was inconceivable that Vitas would have fought the retiarius with a sword in his left hand. And that could only mean something else just as inconceivable: it had not been Vitas in the arena, but a left-handed man unfamiliar with military training.
    “As you promised, the face was bruised badly, almost beyond recognition,” Tigellinus said. “That’s how I was able to identify the body.”
    “Does the head belong to Vitas?”
    “Check the teeth first,” Tigellinus said, holding the sack open and peering inside. “Vitas came from wealth. You’d expect the teeth to show that. And you’ll also see that without blood to fill the bruises, the bone structure of the face gives a semblance of recognition.”
    “Please!” Helius stamped his foot, much to the enjoyment of Tigellinus. “You’ve already seen the head. Why do I need to do so?”
    Tigellinus