conversation,” Damian said. “I do have real curiosity about the Christians’ claims. You, of all people, would be in a position to answer, if indeed you were one of the man’s best friends. How can you maintain that this Christos was risen from the dead and still expect me or any other man to believe you are sane?”
Damian gave the slight nod again. Jerome pushed the wheel forward, and again the stone’s weight brought a gasp of pain from Ruso.
Lord Jesus, he prayed to his Christos, please give me strength to endure.
“If you are going to speak at all,” Damian said, “I would much rather know about your vision than a claim about resurrection, which I cannot believe no matter how sincerely you might repeat it to me.”
This time, however, Damian did not nod for Jerome to release the stone. It remained in place, squeezing on the muscles of Ruso’s forearm and biceps. An inch more, and he knew that it would snap his elbow. Another few inches, and the bones would be mashed into pulp.
“I’ve had a Jewish rabbi translate and interpret your letter for me,” Damian said. “The Lamb against the Beast, your Christos against the Roman emperor and the Roman Empire. Am I correct?”
Ruso was so thirsty that it felt like he verged on madness. Moments earlier, watching Damian suck juice from the orange had forced him to use all his willpower not to beg for a single drop for himself. Dizziness disoriented Ruso further; he could not think beyond a single act of resolve.
Remain silent!
Ruso was intensely focused on Damian. Dreading the next slight nod that would release the giant slave to push the stone forward that next inch.
Remain silent! Speaking would immediately reveal to Damian that Ruso did not have the Galilean accent that Damian expected to hear.
“Your letter predicts the death of Nero and suggests the possibility of civil war,” Damian said. “That, truly, is what I want to discuss with you.”
Remain silent! At first, in the shed, Ruso’s silence had been simply to ensure that the man Damian did seek would have time to escape by ship.
“Do you have any evidence of a conspiracy that allows you to promise Nero’s death to the followers of the Christos?” Damian’s voice had lost its conversational tone, and he leaned in, stopping inches away from Ruso’s face.
Remain silent! If Damian discovered he’d captured the wrong man, he’d realize he needed to kill Ruso or face a trial and probably execution. It would be much easier for Damian to bury his mistake than allow Ruso to go free and tell the world about it.
“This is all I need from you,” Damian said. “Tell me and you have your freedom. Speak or the second arm will be crushed after the first. Then your legs. And finally, your skull.”
Seconds passed like hours to Ruso. He fought the urge to vomit, such was his fear. Yet even now, was John the Beloved safe from this slave hunter?
Then came the slight nod that Ruso dreaded. Jerome eased the wheel forward again, and Ruso felt the joint of his elbow begin to separate. He did not have the courage to remain silent. Eyes closed in shame, he screamed in primal fear and pain.
The pain suddenly ended.
Ruso opened his eyes. Had shock mercifully ended it?
He saw instead that Jerome had pulled the wheel away from him, while Damian shook his head in disgust.
Had the slave hunter somehow understood Ruso’s shame?
“I’m a weak man,” Damian said to Jerome. “I cannot do this. Not even to avenge my brother.”
Damian leaned against the lower half of the olive press, still speaking to Jerome. “Put this man back in chains. Give him food and water, but make sure he remains under guard.”
“Shall we wager on who will kill us?” Tigellinus asked, grinning. “Nero or Vitas?”
Helius was in no mood to make light of their situation, much as the proposed wager accurately summed up their situation. It had taken great resolve to go ahead with the previously arranged appointment with
Damian gave the slight nod again. Jerome pushed the wheel forward, and again the stone’s weight brought a gasp of pain from Ruso.
Lord Jesus, he prayed to his Christos, please give me strength to endure.
“If you are going to speak at all,” Damian said, “I would much rather know about your vision than a claim about resurrection, which I cannot believe no matter how sincerely you might repeat it to me.”
This time, however, Damian did not nod for Jerome to release the stone. It remained in place, squeezing on the muscles of Ruso’s forearm and biceps. An inch more, and he knew that it would snap his elbow. Another few inches, and the bones would be mashed into pulp.
“I’ve had a Jewish rabbi translate and interpret your letter for me,” Damian said. “The Lamb against the Beast, your Christos against the Roman emperor and the Roman Empire. Am I correct?”
Ruso was so thirsty that it felt like he verged on madness. Moments earlier, watching Damian suck juice from the orange had forced him to use all his willpower not to beg for a single drop for himself. Dizziness disoriented Ruso further; he could not think beyond a single act of resolve.
Remain silent!
Ruso was intensely focused on Damian. Dreading the next slight nod that would release the giant slave to push the stone forward that next inch.
Remain silent! Speaking would immediately reveal to Damian that Ruso did not have the Galilean accent that Damian expected to hear.
“Your letter predicts the death of Nero and suggests the possibility of civil war,” Damian said. “That, truly, is what I want to discuss with you.”
Remain silent! At first, in the shed, Ruso’s silence had been simply to ensure that the man Damian did seek would have time to escape by ship.
“Do you have any evidence of a conspiracy that allows you to promise Nero’s death to the followers of the Christos?” Damian’s voice had lost its conversational tone, and he leaned in, stopping inches away from Ruso’s face.
Remain silent! If Damian discovered he’d captured the wrong man, he’d realize he needed to kill Ruso or face a trial and probably execution. It would be much easier for Damian to bury his mistake than allow Ruso to go free and tell the world about it.
“This is all I need from you,” Damian said. “Tell me and you have your freedom. Speak or the second arm will be crushed after the first. Then your legs. And finally, your skull.”
Seconds passed like hours to Ruso. He fought the urge to vomit, such was his fear. Yet even now, was John the Beloved safe from this slave hunter?
Then came the slight nod that Ruso dreaded. Jerome eased the wheel forward again, and Ruso felt the joint of his elbow begin to separate. He did not have the courage to remain silent. Eyes closed in shame, he screamed in primal fear and pain.
The pain suddenly ended.
Ruso opened his eyes. Had shock mercifully ended it?
He saw instead that Jerome had pulled the wheel away from him, while Damian shook his head in disgust.
Had the slave hunter somehow understood Ruso’s shame?
“I’m a weak man,” Damian said to Jerome. “I cannot do this. Not even to avenge my brother.”
Damian leaned against the lower half of the olive press, still speaking to Jerome. “Put this man back in chains. Give him food and water, but make sure he remains under guard.”
“Shall we wager on who will kill us?” Tigellinus asked, grinning. “Nero or Vitas?”
Helius was in no mood to make light of their situation, much as the proposed wager accurately summed up their situation. It had taken great resolve to go ahead with the previously arranged appointment with
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