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The Last Sacrifice
Copyright © 2005 by Hank Hanegraaff. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of man taken by Stephen Vosloo. Copyright © by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of clouds copyright © Steve Geer/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of moon copyright © Evgeny Kuklev/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of boat copyright © Jakez/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.
Cover image of bronze embellishment copyright © Dusko Jovic/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.
Designed by Daniel Farrell
Edited by James H. Cain III
Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version,® NIV.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.
This novel is a work of fiction. With the exception of historical persons and facts as noted on the website, names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons in the present day is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the authors or the publisher.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the original edition as follows:
Hanegraaff, Hank.
The last sacrifice / Hank Hanegraaff, Sigmund Brouwer.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-8423-8441-4 (hc)
ISBN 978-0-8423-8442-1 (sc)
1. Bible. N.T. Revelation XIII—History of Biblical events—Fiction. 2. Church history—Primitive and early church, ca. 30-600—Fiction. 3. Rome—History—Nero, 54-68—Fiction. 4. End of the world—Fiction. I. Brouwer, Sigmund, date. II. Title.
PS3608.A714L375 2005
813'.6—dc22 2005016381
Repackage first published in 2012 under ISBN 978-1-4143-6498-8
To Christina.
Your encouragement for the Last Disciple series is inspirational, your enthusiasm infectious.
Contents
Calendar Notes
Dramatis Personae
Part I
Sun
Hora Octava
Part II
Moon
Hora Quarta
Hora Quinta
Hora Sexta
Hora Octava
Hora Nonana
Hora Duodecima
Mars
Hora Tertiana
Hora Quarta
Hora Quinta
Part III
13 Av
The Tenth Hour
14 Av
The Sixth Hour
The Seventh Hour
The Tenth Hour
Dusk
15 Av
Dawn
The Second Hour
The Third Hour
The Fourth Hour
Part IV
Mercury
Hora Sexta
Hora Septina
Hora Octava
Hora Nonana
Hora Decima
Jupiter
Hora Prima
Hora Secunda
Hora Tertiana
Hora Quarta
Hora Quinta
Hora Sexta
Hora Septina
Afterword
Discussion Questions
Other Books by the Authors
Christian Research Institute
Notes
Calendar Notes
The Romans divided the day into twelve hours. The first hour, hora prima, began at sunrise, approximately 6 a.m. The twelfth hour, hora duodecima, ended at sunset, approximately 6 p.m.
hora prima: first hour: 6–7 a.m.
hora secunda: second hour: 7–8 a.m.
hora tertiana: third hour: 8–9 a.m.
hora quarta: fourth hour: 9–10 a.m.
hora quinta: fifth hour: 10–11 a.m.
hora sexta: sixth hour: 11 a.m.–12 p.m.
hora septina: seventh hour: 12–1 p.m.
hora octava: eighth hour: 1–2 p.m.
hora nonana: ninth hour: 2–3 p.m.
hora decima: tenth hour: 3–4 p.m.
hora undecima: eleventh hour: 4–5 p.m.
hora duodecima: twelfth hour: 5–6 p.m.
The New Testament refers to hours in a similar way. Thus, when we read in Luke 23:44, “It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour,” we understand that this period of time was from the hour before noon to approximately 3 p.m.
The Romans divided the night into eight watches.
Watches before midnight: Vespera, Prima fax, Concubia, Intempesta.
Watches after midnight: Inclinatio, Gallicinium, Conticinium, Diluculum.
The Romans’ days of the week were Sun, Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, and Saturn.
The months of the Hebrew calendar are Nisan, Iyar, Sivan, Tammuz, Av, Elul, Tishri, Heshvan, Kislev, Tevet, Shevat, Adar I, and Adar II. In AD 65, the date 13 Av was approximately August 1.
Dramatis Personae
Alypia: Wife of Lucius Bellator; former lover of Maglorius; stepmother of Valeria and Quintus
Amaris: Wife of Simeon Ben-Aryeh
Ananias: High priest; father of Eliazar
Annas the Younger: Former high priest
Atronius Pavo: Captain of the ship carrying John and Vitas to Alexandria
Bernice: Queen of the Jews; sister of Agrippa II
Boaz: A Pharisee of high standing
Caius Sennius Ruso: Wealthy senator; friend of John
Chara: Wife of Strabo
Chayim: Son of Simeon Ben-Aryeh; in Rome as a “hostage”
Cosconius Betto: Sailing master on the ship carrying John and Vitas; brother of Kaeso
Eleazar: Governor of the Temple; son of Ananias
Falco: Prominent Roman citizen
Gaius Calpurnius Piso: Plotted to kill Nero
Gaius Cestius Gallus: Governor of Syria
Gaius Ofonius Tigellinus: Prefect of the praetorian guard; member of Nero’s inner circle
Gallus Sergius Damian: Slave hunter; brother of Vitas
Gallus Sergius Vitas: Famed general of the Roman army; former member of Nero’s inner circle; husband of Sophia; brother of Damian
Gessius Florus: Roman procurator of Judea
Helius: Nero’s secretary; member of Nero’s inner circle
Hezron: Famed rabbi in Rome; father of Leah
Issachar, son of Benjamin: Silversmith in Alexandria
Jerome: Slave of Damian
John, son of Zebedee: Last disciple of Jesus of Nazareth
Joseph Ben-Matthias: Prominent citizen in upper city Jerusalem
Leah: Daughter of Hezron and a follower of the Christos
Lucullus: Roman commander on Patmos
Maglorius: Former gladiator; servant in the Bellator household
Malka: Old, blind woman Quintus lives with in Jerusalem
Nahum: Glassblower in Jerusalem; husband of Leeba; father of Raanan
Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus: Roman emperor; persecutor of the followers of the Christos
Nigilius Strabo: Farmer on the island of Patmos; husband of Chara
Quintus Valerius Messalina: Seven-year-old son of Lucius Bellator; in hiding in Jerusalem
Simeon Ben-Aryeh: Member of the Sanhedrin; escaped Jerusalem; fugitive of Rome with Sophia
Sophia: Wife of Vitas; fugitive of Rome with Ben-Aryeh; a follower of the Christos
&nb
sp; Sporus: Nero’s young lover
Valeria Messalina: Daughter of Lucius Bellator; in hiding in Jerusalem
Part I
Prologue
Rome
Capital of the Empire
They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death.
—Revelation 12:11
Sun
Hora Octava
The early afternoon sunshine blazed down on a large pen out of the sight of amphitheater spectators. The bestiarius began covering the eyes of the hobbled bull elephant he had selected to kill Gallus Sergius Vitas.
Perched on its neck, the beast master hummed as he did his work, patting the hide of the massive animal, trying to settle and soothe it. In his mind, he saw clearly how it would happen. He would remove the blinds only after he strapped Vitas to a tusk and led the beast to the center of the sand. Then, while two bears fought the elephant, another condemned man would be forced to dart between the elephant’s legs to release the chains that kept it hobbled. After the bears had killed the condemned man, and after the elephant had killed the bears with Vitas still on its tusk, it would finally redirect its rage to shake and scrape Vitas loose, then stomp him into a red smear. The process would, with luck, entertain the crowd for half an hour.
It was routine, actually, except that the man who was to die today once had Nero’s ear. So the bestiarius knew it needed to be done properly.
From below, a voice interrupted his thoughts: “Nero wants Vitas so close he can taste his blood.”
The bestiarius, a small, dirty man with no teeth, secured the blinders and patted the animal’s head before looking down to answer. At the side of the elephant, he saw the former slave most citizens in Rome recognized. Helius, Nero’s most trusted adviser.
In his late twenties, Helius was a beautiful man, with smooth, almost bronze skin. His hair was luxuriously curly, his eyes a strange yellow, giving him a feral look that was rumored to hold great attraction for Nero. Helius wore a toga edged with purple, and his fingers and wrists and neck were layered with jewelry of gold and rubies.
“Did you hear me?” Helius said, impatient. He sniffed the air cautiously and wrinkled his nose at the smell of the elephant.
The bestiarius would have answered any other man with derogative curses. “No man alive,” the bestiarius finally said, “can direct or predict the movements of a raging elephant.”
“Nor can any man dead,” Helius told him. “Make sure Nero is not disappointed.”
The bestiarius cautioned himself that this was Helius, who had almost as much power over the lives and deaths of Nero’s subjects as Nero himself. “I’ll have two women chained in the sand below the emperor’s place in the stands,” he said after a few moments’ thought. Once the bull was in a rage, he knew it would attack everything in sight, including those women. It would rear on hind legs and stomp with the full force of its weight, something that would surely excite Nero. The bestiarius would also strap Vitas on so tightly that the elephant would not be able to shake him loose too soon. That would bring Vitas in close enough to the emperor. “He will get the blood he wants.”
“Ensure that the women are Christians and see it’s done properly,” Helius snapped. “You don’t want me back here again.”
Nearby, but in a world removed from blue skies and fresh air, Gordio and Catus, the two soldiers assigned the task of finding and escorting Vitas, had already entered the labyrinth of prison cells below the stands of the amphitheater.
While both were large, Catus was the larger of the two. In the flickering light of the torch, they gave the appearance of brothers, each with dark, cropped hair, each with a wide face marked by battle scars. They were old for soldiers, sharing a common bond back to the days when they were both recruited from neighboring farms north of Rome, sharing survived battles in Britannia and Gaul and all the years of monotony between them.
As they traveled through the dark corridors by torchlight, the rumbling of the spectators above sounded like growls of distant thunder. Each soldier had drenched his face and shoulders with inexpensive perfume to mask the odor; each knew from experience that no other smell on earth matched the stench of fear exuded by hundreds of prisoners.
The torch Gordio carried was a beacon to all the prisoners, a flame serving notice that yet another among them would be plucked away for a horrible fate outside on the sunbaked sand. Halfway to the cell that held Vitas, a woman thrust her arms between iron bars in a useless effort to grasp at Gordio and Catus.
“Kill me!” the woman sobbed at them, her hands flailing. “I beg you!”
Neither of the soldiers broke stride.
“Have mercy!” she wailed at their broad backs. “Give me a sword or a knife. I’ll do it myself!”
Behind them, the woman’s pleading blended with the yells and groans and swearing of all the other men and women in the dozens of crowded, dank cells along their route. To Gordio and Catus, the men and women they were sent to retrieve for death were less than animals, troublesome debris, criminals deserving of their sentences.
“My fate is tied to yours,” Catus growled to Gordio. “I want you to say it again. We are in this together.”
“Yes, my friend,” Gordio said. “We are in this together. How can you doubt me after all the years we have shared?”
The answer was unnecessary, for if ever there was a time for one to doubt the other, this was it. Nothing during their years as soldiers serving the empire had prepared them for what they had resolved to do next.
The unthinkable.
Treason.
The chosen seat of the man who had been born Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus placed him so close to the sand of the arena that on occasion blood would splatter his toga, spots of bright red soaking in and fading against the purple as they dried.
On this morning, slaves shaded and fanned him as he anticipated the death of Gallus Sergius Vitas. A ferocious hangover diminished some of his anticipation, and despite the efforts of the slaves, the heat irritated him. But not enough to drive him away before the death of Vitas.
He waited with a degree of impatience and swallowed constantly, trying to work moisture into his mouth. His thin blond hair failed to cover the beads of sweat on his scalp. He’d once been handsome, but closing on his thirtieth birthday, his face was already swollen from years of decadent wine and food, showing a chin that had doubled and was on the verge of trebling. His eyes were the most telling of the horrors he had inflicted on others during the previous decade—they had a dulled mania and an emptiness that bordered on eerie. Few dared to look fully into those eyes, and most shivered under their attention. For this was the man now known and worshiped by his subjects as Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus.
Nero did not sit alone in the spectators’ box. To his right sat the boy Sporus, whose knee he touched casually; to his left, Helius, who had returned from the animal pens.
“How much longer until Vitas?” Nero said.
“Soon,” Helius said. A pause. Nero’s head throbbed as he concentrated on listening. Helius then spoke quietly. “Have you told Sporus about your intentions?”
Nero shifted, turning to face Helius fully. “You seem anxious for him to know.”
“The arrangements were your request,” Helius said. “What you want done is what you want done. But the doctors say it must be done soon, that any day now he will reach puberty.”
Nero frowned. “It seems you take pleasure in the procedure. Why should it matter to you when Sporus learns of it?”
“I’m only thinking of him,” Helius said, looking down in deference. “Perhaps it would be best to give the boy time to prepare himself.”
Nero turned away and, to disapproving murmurs from the crowd, kissed Sporus. He pulled back and stroked the boy’s hair for a few moments, then leaned over and spoke again to Helius.
“Prepare himself?” Nero asked. “Are you suggesting Sporus won’t
be delighted to honor me in such a manner? that there will be anything of more magnitude in his life than my love for him?”
“He lives for you,” Helius said. Another deferent look downward. “As does every subject in the empire.”
“Of course they live for me,” Nero said, feeling his irritation lessened by the obsequious reminder of his power. He allowed a smile, thinking again of Vitas suffering on the tusk of an elephant. “Unless I want them to die.”
“Gallus Sergius Vitas,” the soldier with the torch said to the prisoner. The soldier spoke quietly, compassionately, respectfully.
The prisoner knew his moment was upon him. He hoped that all his preparations for death would be enough.
He had been deliberate in thinking it through. During the long night of waiting, this grim contemplation had prevented him from wondering about the pain of his final moments, from wondering about the method of execution that Nero had chosen for him. Meticulous planning helped him maintain an illusion of control in a situation where all power had been taken from him. And most importantly, focusing on how he would face death dispelled the doubts that pressed at the edge of his consciousness like snakes trying to push beneath a locked door, insidious questions about the faith he’d staked his life upon and whether that faith would lead him to the eternity he believed was beyond.
“If this is my time,” the prisoner replied, his voice barely more than a croak, “let me prepare myself.”
Without waiting for an answer, he moved against the wall and squatted to void his body wastes in the darkness. This was the first thing he’d decided was necessary. Aside from whatever bravery he could find as he faced the beasts in the amphitheater, no other dignity would remain when his naked body became an offering of entertainment to be shredded for the delighted scrutiny of a crowd of thousands; at the very least he did not want his body to betray his fear.
When he finished, sadness crushed him so badly he could barely breathe. The moment had arrived, and the emotion he had expected was far greater than he believed possible for a man to bear. Not fear but sadness. Sadness not for his death but that he would never see his wife or children again. It took all of his focus to push that sadness aside. It was not time to allow it to fill him. Not yet.