The Last Temple by Sigmund Brouwer, Hank Hanegraaff

us. It will put you in favor with Rome.”
    The man in the middle did not have to glance at his companions before answering with grim determination. “Wait here. It will be done.”

Hora Duodecima
    An hour before sunset, Vitas and a ten-year-old boy followed Bucco and Bucco’s retinue of twenty soldiers into the outer courtyard of the villa where Helva had lived. Vitas trailed the retinue into the house, watching with amusement as servants vainly tried to protest the intrusion. He noted with satisfaction that half of the soldiers dispersed throughout the massive villa, acting on previous instructions from the governor.
    Vitas lowered his eyes and stayed behind Bucco’s remaining soldiers, confident he was invisible to Dolabella as she marched toward them.
    “This is an invasion!” Dolabella cried. “The governor will hear of this.”
    Bucco addressed Dolabella. “On behalf of the governor, I am investigating the death of your husband.”
    “I trust you have news for me, then. The Jews must pay for their atrocity.”
    “No news. Only questions.”
    “I don’t like your tone.”
    “Is this how you would speak to the governor?” Bucco asked.
    “You are not the governor.”
    “I’ve made it clear that I represent him. And my first question involves a slave who was in your employ—Novellus. I understand that when you and the magistrate began the initial interrogation, Novellus suggested that you go to the governor with instructions to find out who had hired the camel driver.”
    Dolabella tossed her head. “Who told you this? The magistrate? If so, consider the source. He’s been swooning around me, and I’ve spurned him publicly. Besides, why should it matter?”
    “What matters is that neither you nor the magistrate passed along the information.”
    “If indeed that’s what the slave said. He’s been crucified, and you are clutching at hearsay. And you still haven’t answered my question. Why should it matter?”
    “Tell me,” Bucco said, “the morning that Helva was killed, why was he in the marketplace?”
    “He told me he had been called by the governor. There are a dozen servants who could confirm this, if only you asked them instead of bothering me.”
    “What’s strange,” Bucco went on, “is that the governor had not sent for your husband.”
    “Someone did,” she said tartly. “It is not a concern to me.”
    “It’s a concern to me,” Bucco said. He raised his voice. “Novellus!”
    Vitas stepped around the soldiers. He wasn’t alone. He had the boy with him, a Nabataean.
    Dolabella frowned as she recognized Vitas. “The magistrate . . .”
    “Sentenced me to crucifixion,” Vitas said. “Yet here I am. I, too, am curious why you wouldn’t pass along my message to the governor. The diversion of camels was undoubtedly planned for when Helva was to pass through the market.”
    “I can hardly believe this,” Dolabella said, drawing herself up with indignation, speaking to Bucco and pointing at Vitas. “This slave failed in his duty to protect my husband, and now he is part of your investigation for the governor?”
    “No,” Bucco said, “the boy is.” Bucco turned to the boy and spoke softly. “Yes?”
    “Yes,” the boy said, nodding vigorously. “That’s the woman who met with my father’s brother. She said she wanted him to drive some camels for her.”
    “I’ve never seen this boy before.”
    “He was working among the camels,” Bucco said, “when you spoke to his uncle.”
    “Nonsense.”
    Hardly. And Vitas knew it. When the Nabataeans had brought him forward, the boy had described a woman whose hair was almost orange.
    “You couldn’t have done this alone,” Bucco said. “I’ve been authorized by the governor to tell you he is prepared to let you draw a bath as an alternative to crucifixion. On the condition that you testify against the man who helped you murder your husband.”
    Draw a bath. Vitas closed his eyes briefly. It was how Nero had