Devil's Island by John Hagee

quite make out the expression on the scrappy tribune’s face, but the threat implied in his voice was unmistakable.
    The tribune named Claudius did not flinch. “I did not make the complaint against you, Damian, someone else did. I just happen to be the one Tiberius Alexander sent to fetch you,” he said, his disgust for the other officer obvious. “Frankly, I’m surprised it took this long for you to come to his attention.”
    â€œThe Jews themselves set fire to the porticoes,” the tribune named Damian protested, “and Tiberius knows that.”
    Claudius did not back down. “General Titus had commanded that the fires be allowed to die out so the temple itself would be spared. Evidently someone saw you throw a torch directly into the temple.”
    â€œI was unaware of the order.”
    â€œI doubt that, but I’m not the one you have to answer to.”
    The two men glared at each other silently for a moment, until Claudius finally said, “You’re not under arrest, Damian. The commander simply wants to hear your side of the story.”
    The tension was so thick between the two men that Abraham could feel it where he lay in the shadows.
    â€œAre you going back with me willingly,” Claudius continued, “or shall I report to Tiberius that you refused and let him send a search party for you?”
    â€œNo need for that,” Damian replied sarcastically. He reached for the reins of his horse as if he were preparing to mount, but Abraham saw the subtle movement of Damian’s other hand feeling for something at his waist.
    The moment Claudius turned and put his foot in the stirrup, Damian whirled around and grabbed him from behind. Before Claudius could utter a protest, Damian had plunged a knife into the vulnerable spot between the tribune’s helmet and his chest armor. A low gurgle issued from Claudius’s split throat, and he slumped to the ground as Damian released his hold on him.
    Abraham was stunned. Watching the death of the rebels had been one thing; it’s what happened in a war. But this was cold-blooded murder. He’d never witnessed such ruthlessness, and was horrified at the barbarous conduct of a Roman officer against one of his own comrades. But then, the man was apparently guilty of arson as well. Fear gripped Abraham, knowing he was now alone on the hillside with this vicious killer.
    His fear rose as Damian took a few steps in his direction, and Abraham worried for a panicky moment that he had given himself away. But Damian soon turned and walked back. He leaned down, apparently checking to make sure Claudius was dead, then he stood up and lifted his tunic. Damian relieved himself on the bodies of the tribune and the fallen rebels, cursing the renegade Jew Tiberius Alexander, who served as the Roman commander’s chief adviser.
    His desecration complete, Damian mounted his horse and galloped off in the direction of the Tenth Legion camp. Abraham wondered if the villainous tribune would ever face the consequences of his crimes, but somehow he doubted it. Arson against the temple would be hard to prove, given the firestorm of the final battle for Jerusalem; most of the city was in flames. And whoever found Claudius’s body would assume he was a casualty of war, not a murder victim.
    Abraham waited until he could no longer hear the hoofbeats of Damian’s horse, then he stood stiffly. He was scratched and scared, but still in one piece. It was completely dark now, which was probably the only reason he had been able to remain hidden.
    He heard a snorting sound nearby and froze, then he realized it was Claudius’s horse.
    The horse! he thought, his spirits rising. I need that horse.
    He inched toward the sound, not wanting to frighten the animal, and not wanting to stumble over the carnage. Abraham got close enough to smell leather and sweat and blood, then close enough to detect a dark, hulking object directly in front