Read The Last Disciple for Free Online

Look at it. It’s easy to remember, especially with the snake in the middle.”
    Yes, Helius thought, easy to remember. Far too easy. And Nero, too, had seen it on the palace walls. So far, Helius had managed to laugh it off with Nero, but the word had shown up far too often in the last weeks. If only, Helius wished, every Christian in the city were already dead so none remained to scrawl that mark in public places.
    “What does it mean?” the boy asked.
    “Nothing of importance,” Helius said. “Make sure you don’t powder my face so thickly that it is obvious.”
    In one way, Helius was telling the truth. It was nothing but three Greek letters.

    But in another way, the center symbol gave the appearance of the writhing serpent and represented its hissing sound, and that made it truly ominous. The first letter was the initial letter of the name of Christ. The last letter was a double letter, which began the Greek word for “cross,” stauros . And the symbol of the snake was trapped in between the two.
    It was ominous in appearance.
    And because its constant use in defiance of the persecution made so little sense to Helius, its mystery made it all the more ominous.
    “Read the letter,” Helius barked at the old slave. He spoke to the woman and the boy. “You two, both of you, keep busy.”

    One of Paulina’s sisters tried to push Aristarchus away from his exhausted wife as her birthing moans grew again in intensity.
    He stood his ground, yelling at Paulina. “Don’t you understand? I am treasurer! I am a priest in the temple of Nero! You can serve any god but the Christos!”
    Her moans continued to grow louder as the next wave of pain crested.
    Aristarchus spoke to the eldest sister, his anger slipping into pleading. “The Christos demands service to no other gods. Our city depends on the largess of the divine Nero. Will the people allow me to remain treasurer if word spreads that my own wife refuses to worship Caesar?”
    Agony ripped another scream from Paulina.
    “Push,” the midwife urged. “Push!”
    “Any other religion!” Aristarchus pleaded hoarsely. He struggled to make himself heard above the noise of his wife’s screaming. “Any other religion would make room for emperor worship! There are dozens to choose from. I won’t stand in the way of them! In every other matter of our marriage I give you what you want! But here, I put my foot down. No Christos, or I am ruined!”
    “Push! Push!”
    “Listen to me!” he shouted. “Even the Jews in this city reject the Christos! You must do the same. Listen!”
    No one did.
    The midwife lifted the sheet to check Paulina’s progress. “Push! Push! Your child is nearly here.”
    Paulina shrieked, a mixture of torment and relief and joy.
    “Push! Push!” The midwife caught the baby’s head as it entered the world. Its shoulders twisted sideways and the rest of the tiny body followed.
    Paulina wept with relief.
    The midwife gently placed the baby in Paulina’s arms, allowing the new mother to cradle it as she cut and tied the umbilical cord.
    Aristarchus had stopped his ranting, mesmerized by the miracle that few Roman men witnessed. And briefly, one other item took priority over his fear for his employment and social standing. “Is it a boy?”
    He didn’t wait for the answer but peered for himself. A sneer crossed his face. “She serves the Christos and gives me a daughter.”
    Paulina ignored him and held her daughter close. “She’s beautiful,” she crooned, her pain and agony obviously forgotten. Serene joy lit her features. “Beautiful. And look at all her hair.”
    “What’s her name?” one sister asked, sponging Paulina’s face with a damp cloth.
    “Priscilla,” Paulina answered. “In honor of a woman in Ephesus who—”
    “The baby will be given no name,” Aristarchus snapped. “It will not live the nine days to the lustratio .”
    This was the official ceremony to name a Roman child and present it to the