LITMIR.BIZ

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does, Sir.”

      “Of course, it does.”

      “But it’s not true, Sir.”

      Valentius’s face went red. “I think it is true! In fact, I’m about to order ten squads to round up every Hebrew who so much as blinked at the Nazarene and give them to the quaestionarii, and their beloved tools of torture.”

      Color drained from Adas’s face. “Yeshua’s followers did nothing wrong.”

      “Perhaps they didn’t,” Valentius purred. “Here’s another possibility—you were drunk, passed out, and hit your head while your men were getting food. The zealots took advantage of the moment and stole the Nazarene’s body while you were out cold. Your men came back and thought you had been attacked. They separated to find your attackers. Falto caught up with them, the Nazarene’s followers, by accident, no doubt, and was assaulted. You woke up and wandered off.” He threw his hands up and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re a clumsy drunk or I tell the quaestionarii to get ready to interrogate prisoners, lots of prisoners. Your choice.”

      Octavean told the truth; he really was under Valentius’s protection. Fury glinted in Adas’s eyes. Valentius dropped his hand to his dagger. Adas was keenly aware that he was unarmed. By taking the side of the legionaries against him, Valentius was denying Adas’s authority and integrity, a supreme humiliation for a centurion. However, if Adas put his pride first, others would suffer far worse than humiliation.

      “Centurion Valentius, you are correct. I was drunk and suffered a head injury, in fact, several head injuries. Apparently, I also cut my neck and took a blow to the face, accidently, of course. I found myself wandering the streets when Decurion Quintus found me.”

      Valentius snorted with triumph. “Ah, you have come to your senses. How cooperative of you. I’ll even spare you the humiliation of delivering a public apology to your men. But, I do want a written apology on my desk tomorrow before the third hour. However, your false accusations don’t surprise me—considering your family history.”

      Adas frowned in confusion. “What family history are you. . .?”

      “Silence! When I want you to speak, I’ll ask you a question. You should be grateful I didn’t sentence you to fustuarium since your actions endangered your men. Now get out!”

      Adas turned on his heel and left. As soon as the door shut behind him, Valentius’s arrogance faded. His plan had failed. He had hoped Adas and his men would be attacked by Yeshua’s followers. Likewise, Valentius yearned to force Longinus to make a public apology, but he had assigned them to guard the tomb without authorization. He removed a leather-corded amulet he always wore under his tunic. It was made of a six-sided tourmaline crystal, green on the outside with a red core. The name Aurelius was engraved on the crystal. He kept an urn at the bottom of his clothes chest engraved with the same name. Besides Demitre, no one knew about it or whose ashes were inside.

      He clutched the amulet in his fist. “Very soon Consul Clovius Longinus will know what it feels like to lose his son. I will have my revenge, as will you, Aurelius. I promise you!”

      After being dismissed, Adas closed the office door behind him and started to cross the main quad toward the officers’ quarters. Cassius was waiting.

      “What happened? Did Valentius believe you?”

      Adas took three strides before he could bring himself to answer. “Apparently he does believe me, which is why he devised his own version. He says if I don’t ‘admit’ I was falling down drunk, he will round up the followers of Yeshua. He will order their interrogation under torture for ‘attacking me’ when they ‘stole Yeshua’s body.’ His words. Octavean truly does stand behind Valentius’s shield.”

      “Adas, this makes no sense. Your father is the minor consul. He stands only a few men from the emperor. How can Valentius get away with this? When Salvitto hears of this. . .”

      “He’s counting on me not telling my father or Salvitto.”

      “So he’s blackmailing you into withdrawing your accusation?”

      “I have to write an apology, confirming his version, which will make it official.”

      Cassius stopped in his tracks. “Is he making you read it in general assembly?”

      “No. He’s not. I wonder why?”

      “Perhaps he doesn’t want to push his luck.”

      “He threatened me with fustuarium.”

      Again, Cassius stopped and stared in astonishment. “Now I know he’s lost his mind. A centurion has to nearly kill off his whole centuria before fustuarium is declared. What has set him against you with such vengeance?”

      “I don’t know. He did make an odd reference to my family. I have no idea what he was talking about. Whatever is going on, you have to promise me you won’t say anything about the man who came for you, not to anyone. His life would be forfeit. Valentius knows I have witnesses out there. He may try to find them.”

      “I understand, but what about you? Adas, I know you and your father have your differences, but maybe you should tell him.”

      “No. He taught me to stand up for myself, so I’m not going to disappoint him anymore than I already have. Besides, he was furious when I joined the army. If I tell him about Valentius, it will confirm he was right, and I was wrong. I hope you don’t get dragged into this further.”

      “I’ll be fine. Go, you look like you’re about to collapse.”

      The two men continued across the quad. Cassius headed for the common room. Adas went to his quarters. As he turned down the lane, he thought he saw an odd shadow near his door. Someone was crouching in the dark, waiting for him.

      Chapter 12

      Adas slapped a hand to his belt, forgetting he was unarmed. He braced himself for an attack, but the figure stood and spoke. “Sir, you are injured. Do you need medical attention?”

      It was Demitre, the slave trained as a medicus in Rome. He was fifty-four years old, but looked much younger due to his dyed, black, wavy hair and short-cropped beard. It was not vanity, but rather secrecy that motivated the disguise. Any aging around the eyes and mouth were shielded from casual observation by his hair and beard. He rarely revealed his true feelings. His jet-black eyes were shiny with intelligence, but the irises seemed too large for his eyes giving him a disconcerting stare. People often felt uncomfortable under his gaze, and would complain about Demitre’s disrespectful scrutiny. Valentius would angrily rebuke them. Demitre maintained a subservient manner, yet he watched for the faults and vices in others to use for his advantage.

      Demitre padded closer, silent as a cat. “Centurion Longinus, I did not mean to startle you. Do you wish for me to check your injuries?” Adas hesitated, knowing Demitre would report to Valentius, but decided he might learn something as well.

      Adas responded in Greek, “Fine. Come in.” Adas was surprised to find an oil lamp already burning. He shot a withering glare of reprimand at the slave.

      “My master told me to put your possessions in your quarters. I left my lamp there for you.” Demitre used the lamp to light the others. He set his medical kit on the table.

      Adas saw his knapsack lying on the bed. He opened it to see if his sword and dagger were undamaged. He slumped into a chair at the table, and gestured for Demitre to sit.

      Demitre remained standing. “Sir, you will need to remove your armor. Let me help you.” The slave helped him out of the armor and set it on top of a wooden chest. “And your belt, Sir?”

      Adas realized that when Lucius took his knapsack and weapons; he might have taken Dulcibella’s eilat stone. Before he unfastened his belt he pressed his fingers around the coin pouch. He relaxed when he felt for the eilat stone in the pouch. He unfastened the belt and hung it off the back of his chair. Demitre saw the gesture and wondered what was in the pouch.

      Demitre

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