Chapter 22

Mencius tied Brutus to a hitching-rack in the stable-yard of Levi’s Inn and found Captain Fulvius lounging in his room. Briefly he recounted the events of the morning, Fulvius listening attentively. When he had made an end of it, the Captain, who had been fascinated by the story of Voldi’s dangerous errand, inquired, ‘But suppose the youngster sees a chance to do his work while they are in camp tonight? In that case he would flee at once, and arrive in Joppa many hours before the time he had set. They would have no authority to take him aboard The Vestris; and there he would be, without protection; possibly pursued.’

‘You are right!’ said Mencius. ‘I had not thought of that. Perhaps I had better leave at once for Joppa and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.’

‘How about the Emperor’s message?’ queried Fulvius. ‘This young Legate Marcellus will be occupied most of the day.’

‘Do me a great favour, Captain,’ entreated Mencius. ‘Take charge of the letter. See that it gets into the Legate’s hands as soon as he has returned to the Insula.’

Fulvius consented, without enthusiasm, and the Proconsul set out on his journey. Once out of the city’s congested streets, Brutus was encouraged to a brisk canter. At the village of Emmaus, twelve miles to the west, he drew up before a tidy-looking inn for something to eat. The place was doing a thriving business today. In the paddock a dozen or more beautiful horses were tied, all of them a glossy black, their saddle-blankets bearing the familiar Roman device, the fasces.

In the centre of the dining-room there was a long table surrounded by a dozen fine-looking patrols, impressive in their black-and-scarlet tunics. By a front window, Prefect Sergius sat alone. He rose with a welcoming smile, an action that brought his stalwart guards instantly to their feet.

‘By all the Gods, Mencius!’ he exclaimed. ‘So it was you then, and not your ghost, that I saw in Pilate’s loathsome congregation this morning!…Do sit down and we will find you something to eat.’

The old inn-keeper shuffled up and put a bowl of steaming lentil soup and a plate of small barley loaves before the new guest.

‘Yes, I was there, Sergius,’ said Mencius soberly. ‘It was a disgraceful affair, was it not?’

‘Shocking!’ agreed Sergius. ‘A sad tragedy for the young fellow from Galilee, but worse for the Procurator. By this time the hapless Galilean will be dead and out of his trouble, while Pilate’s disaster is still to come. The canny old men of the Sanhedrin now know that they have him saddled, bridled, and ready to ride whenever they like.’