The Last Sacrifice by Sigmund Brouwer Read Free Book Online Page A

gave a wolflike smile. “For the same reason you asked me to bring it here.”
    Helius became still.
    “After all,” Tigellinus said, “you could have simply asked me to look closely at the body and report back to you.”
    Silence from Helius.
    “Why then did you insist I bring the head here?”
    “Enough games,” Helius snapped. “Because I trust no one and you trust no one.”
    “You wanted the head here, in this courtyard, in case you did not like my answer. In case I told you it was Vitas. Because you are as suspicious in nature as I am. You are wondering who might have arranged for Vitas to escape, and it has occurred to you that I am one of the few with that power. You fear that Vitas and I might band together against you.”
    “Does the head belong to Vitas?”
    “Yes,” Tigellinus said.
    Silence again from Helius.
    Tigellinus waited, guessing the thoughts going through Helius’s mind.
    More silence.
    Tigellinus shrugged, turned, and began to walk out of the courtyard.
    “Where are you going?” Helius asked.
    “To whatever business I had intended for the day before you begged me to scavenge carcasses. Since it was Vitas who died in the arena, you have nothing to fear.”
    Tigellinus made a bet with himself. That he wouldn’t be able to reach the arch at the edge of the courtyard before . . .
    “Stop,” Helius said.
    Tigellinus continued.
    “I need to see that head!” Helius called to his back.
    Tigellinus grinned in self-satisfaction. The arch was still three steps ahead.
    “Certainly,” Tigellinus said. He turned and waited.
    Helius approached. “Yes, yes,” he said, irritated. “You are proving yourself correct, and I’m forced to admit it. I have to see the head for myself.”
    “Because . . . ” Tigellinus wanted this conversation to remind Helius that, brawny as Tigellinus might be, he was still as astute as Helius. It was a way to prevent Helius from ever attempting any betrayal of any kind against him. Such were the politics of those who served Nero.
    “Because,” Helius said after some hesitation, “if you helped Vitas escape, you would tell me it was his head in the bag and let me believe he was dead.” He sighed. “Are you pleased with yourself?”
    “Very.” Tigellinus let his answer settle on Helius, emphasizing that he was still too smart for Helius to ever attempt to cross him.
    With reluctance, Helius reached for the sack containing the head.
    Tigellinus relented. “Don’t bother. I can save you the effort of looking. It is not Vitas. That tells you two things. I was not—and am not—part of the plot to aid his escape.”
    “And?”
    “The obvious. Vitas is still alive.”

    Vitas turned to the Jew behind him.
    John was already seated, his gaze on the horizon. Vitas sat beside him. The crew members had returned to their various tasks, but occasionally one would glance in their direction.
    “What can you tell me about the cross?” Vitas said.
    John slowly moved his eyes toward Vitas. His smile was sad, thoughtful. “I can’t think of a better question for any man to ask.”
    This Jew, Vitas knew, was a Christian. Vitas also knew from his wife, Sophia, the significance that the cross played in the faith of the followers of the Christos. This, however, did not appear to be a time for any discussion about faith. The ship, for Vitas, was a floating prison, surrounded by hundreds of square miles of open water. If the crew had malevolent intentions, it was imperative to know.
    “That cross there,” Vitas said, again impatient, “against the mast. What did I miss during my fever?”
    “The crew is near mutiny,” John answered. “They believe this ship is doomed.”
    “There’s no storm.”
    “The sky has been cloudy since departure.”
    Vitas knew the importance of that. Without stars at night or the sun during the day, navigation was difficult. “Still,” he said, “the breeze at this time of year is steady. Any sailor can use it for rough