He nodded. “Perhaps. But it is her tongue that saves us in the Angel’s Vault, during the final fermentation. Hers is the last tongue to taste our wine before it is sealed and shipped and then opened before even Caesar. It’s never let us down.”
“Or never let you or Vibius down, Father?” Cota replied, insinuating rumors that Cota knew were utterly false but which Dovilin did not refute, if only to make Gabrielle an outcast not only among the employees of the Dovilin Winery but the Christians of the underground church in the caves.
Dovilin was ready to send her away. “Is there anything else you wish to tell me about Ben-Deker?”
“What makes you say that?”
“His Star of David is something a man like him would never wear for himself. It has one of those Tears of Joy inside.”
Dovilin stiffened. “Tear of Joy, you say?”
“It’s a crystal of some kind.”
“What color?” Dovilin pressed.
“I think it’s a sapphire. For a man like Samuel, it must be his most priceless possession. He’ll have to watch himself in the caves.”
“Yes, yes,” Dovilin said and waved her off. “You can go.”
He cursed, pulled a cord and waited impatiently for Brutus to appear. He felt a dribble on his forehead and wiped off a rare drop of perspiration. His slave appeared in the courtyard and said, “Master.”
“Brutus,” said Dovilin, scribbling a coded text on a small strip of papyrus, rolling it up and slipping it into the stylus with which it was penned. “I need a Mercury courier and horse immediately to deliver this message to Rome: We have Athanasius.”