Free The Last Sacrifice by Sigmund Brouwer

of the previous emperor, Claudius, who had adopted Nero and made it possible for Nero to inherit the empire.
    “Your public adores you,” Helius said. “The mobs were outraged that she would betray you.”
    This was a lie. The mob knew the truth and was gossiping already. Because Nero had kicked his previous wife, Poppaea, to death, Antonia had sensibly refused to take her place as Nero’s wife. While Antonia might have expected Nero to want her dead for spurning him, she’d believed her position as daughter of the previous emperor would protect her. She’d been wrong, of course. A slave had sent her an invitation to suicide on the same afternoon that Sophia had received hers.
    “Just as well Antonia didn’t want to marry,” Nero said, smiling again and resuming his gaze on the boy fishing from the boat. “I would have had to divorce her for Sporus.”
    Were Nero not beside him, Helius would have found the scene idyllic. The gardens were spectacular with beauty; the sun was bright but not too hot; the sky was clear and the lake placid. But beside Nero, Helius could not relax. Ever.
    “And the arrangements for Sporus?” Nero asked.
    “Exactly as you requested. The doctors will wait for us to arrive.”
    “Tell me again,” Nero said. “Tell me that it will not endanger the boy’s life. I do adore him.”
    “He’s a strong boy,” Helius said. “The doctors have assured me there will be no complications.”
    “Excellent,” Nero said. “Now, tell me the news I don’t want to hear.”

    Five of the ship’s crew faced Vitas. Three others held the cross, balancing it on the edge of the ship’s railing. One quick shove, and it would fall into the water.
    “Back to your sickbed,” snarled the largest of the crew members. He was built like a bear, with dark, greasy hair and yellowed teeth.
    Vitas glanced at the cross, where John was lashed securely. John’s eyes were closed, his face serene. Who was this man?
    “What you are doing is murder,” Vitas said. The swaying of the ship made it difficult to keep his balance in his weakened state. “If you drown him, I’ll see you are all sent to the arena.”
    The leader of the crew grinned widely when Vitas staggered, suggesting he knew how little strength Vitas had. “So you’ve brought an army aboard and not a miserable old slave?”
    “Rome enforces its laws,” Vitas answered. “There is no place in the world for this ship to land that doesn’t have Roman law and the army to back it.”
    “Shut your mouth,” another said. “If we don’t make a sacrifice, this ship will never make it to land.”
    There were nods and grunts of agreement. Although this was a small group of men, it was rapidly forming the mentality of a mob.
    “The captain is aware of this?” Vitas asked.
    “We gave the captain a choice,” the first said. He picked up a short piece of lumber and slapped it against his opposite palm. “We told him one of you would pay the price for making us set sail without a sacrifice or omen. He gave us your slave.”
    The large man advanced on Vitas. His grin became a snarl as he raised the improvised club. “We can always put you on the cross instead.”
    Vitas was a former soldier, a former general, a man who had faced his share of street fights in his younger days. His mouth was dry, his body vibrant with adrenaline. He took a step backward, remembering that there was a knife among the tools on the deck.
    He squatted without removing his eyes from the man with the stick. A quick glance down showed him the knife. He grabbed it, stood, and marched forward, knowing that offensive tactics were the most effective move against bullies who expected their opponents to show fear.
    The large man stopped, uncertainty flickering across his face.
    “Set the cross down,” Vitas commanded. If he could bluff their leader into delaying an attack, perhaps the others would listen. “I’ll talk with the captain myself.”
    “Go ahead,” came a voice from