Yahshua's Bridge

by Sandi Rog

  The guard unlocked the gate, letting the portal swing open. It creaked on its hinges, allowing Alexander to enter the gladiator training grounds.

  The bag filled with the polished leg guards, shield and helmet weighed down Alexander and his fingers nearly lost their grip. He readjusted it on his shoulder as he walked through the sandy arena. It was the same ludus Master Demetri had brought Alexander to the day he saved Elianna from drowning. There were several ludi in Rome. Builders were working on a new ludus located next to Vespasian’s amphitheater. It was a massive building but only half the height of the huge arena. They called it the Ludus Magnus, and it would become one of the biggest training schools for gladiators. Alexander heard they were building a tunnel from it that would reach Vespasian’s amphitheater. He hoped to see it someday.

  Several men sparred on the other side of the arena, grunting and swinging at one another with their wooden swords. A few walked toward the gate. The smell of their sweat-soaked bodies carried on a slight breeze and burned Alexander’s nostrils.

  “It’s Demetri’s pretty boy,” one of the newer gladiators called as he came toward Alexander.

  The other men laughed.

  The newest gladiator stopped. His black hair fell over his neck in a barbaric fashion, and his dark eyes watched Alexander as he walked by. He was used to taunts, but this particular gladiator’s gaze made Alexander pick up his pace despite the heavy bag.

  The man was Master Demetri’s most recent purchase. The gladiator had a name. What was it? Gervas. Yes, that was it. When Demetri purchased him on the auctioneer’s block, the man had stared at Alexander so long that Alexander had finally looked away to avoid Gervas’s intense gaze.

  Alexander glanced over his shoulder.

  Gervas still watched him with those dark eyes.

  Alexander made his way under the portico and spotted Master Demetri at the other end of the porch.

  Demetri motioned Alexander to take his armor into the nearby armory.

  Alexander stepped into the dark, windowless chamber. Shards of light from the open door reflected off shields, blades, and metal body guards. Numerous helmets and masks lined one shelf like soldiers in a column. The masks with their empty eyes gave Alexander a sensation of being watched. Like Gervas. He shivered as he lugged the equipment up onto the table. He groaned from the weight and released the heavy bag. It clanked and thudded into a rumpled heap in front of him. So much for all that polishing.

  Brushing his hands off on his tunic, he was turning to go when a large shadow filled the doorway.

  Gervas.

  The man stepped into the chamber, his sweaty odor permeating the room. He hovered over Alexander like a giant about to step on a bug.

  Alexander turned toward his master’s armor, straightening it, trying to find something to do with his hands since he couldn’t get to the door without pushing past the gladiator.

  “You’re a pretty boy, all right.” Gervas stepped closer, and Alexander inched farther down the table, moving items around as if he had a purpose. “I bet Demetri has a good time with you.”

  The man advanced.

  The thud of his sandals sent terror up Alexander’s spine. He caught his breath and backed away from the armor, anything to put space between him and the gladiator.

  Gervas kicked the door closed behind him, but it bounced open to a crack.

  Alexander’s heart beat so fast it reminded him of galloping horses. He wondered if it might gallop right out of his chest. “Master is waiting for me.”

  “No, he’s not.” Gervas snorted. “I know what you’re good for. I doubt your master will mind if I get a little taste of you myself.”

  The meaning of his words sent a cold tremor over Alexander. He watched the man’s movements in the dark shadows. He didn’t carry a weapon, his arms and torso bare. The table now stood between them, which meant the man would have to go around or over it to get to him. Alexander felt small, like a mouse about to be pounced on by a tiger, and the only sound in the chamber was his panting.

  Gervas chuckled.

  If only Alexander could get to the door, but the man blocked it from view with his large body.

  “I don’t mind a good fight.” Gervas moved closer. “But think of it this way, it’ll be done a lot sooner if you don’t struggle.”

  Trapped. Caged with a predator. He might as well have been locked up with one of the wild animals brought to Vespasian’s amphitheater. Alexander fought the desire to scream and run. If he did that, what good would it do? He knew no one would save him, not his master, not the other guards. He was just a slave, after all.

  Far less valuable than any gladiator.

  He had to keep a clear head, like David taught him. It’s not strength that wins a battle, but the mind, the heart. He watched the man’s movements. Alexander would bolt in the opposite direction.

  Gervas lunged over the table.

  Alexander dropped down and swung beneath it to the other side. He ran for the door, but slammed against it, shutting it. He jerked it open, but the gladiator’s hands clamped on him. Alexander cried out as the man flung him onto the table. He landed on his stomach, his hands and arms slapping the hard surface.

  Gervas grabbed him from behind, pinning him on the table. This was it. Alexander knew other slaves were raped, but he’d always hoped and prayed it would never happen to him.

  Gervas gurgled and sputtered.

  Warm liquid poured down Alexander’s shoulders and neck— blood. The gladiator’s severe hands released their fierce hold as he collapsed next to Alexander. The man’s cheek rested awkwardly on the table and his limbs still weighed down Alexander. Blood pooled around Gervas’s lifeless face—his throat severed and gaping open.

  Alexander cried out. He jerked and twisted out from under the man’s heavy arm and leg and rolled onto his back.

  Master Demetri stood over them with a bloodied sword in his hand.

  Alexander scrambled off the table and got to his feet.

  The light from the door slanted across Demetri’s face. His fierce gaze fixated on the dying gladiator.

  Alexander had seen that look of rage before, only this time his master was sober. It sent a shudder down his spine, and he stood trembling before Demetri, trying his best to ignore the trickling of Gervas’s blood as it ran a path down his chest to his belly. Would the master blame him? Would he lunge at him with the sword?

  Claudius, a friend of Demetri’s, sauntered into the chamber. When he saw the gladiator, he stopped, eyes wide. “What’s this?”

  Demetri tossed his bloody sword on Gervas. “What do you think?” His jaw pulsed, telling Alexander he was furious and trying to contain his anger.

  Claudius looked at Gervas and then at Alexander, his mouth open.

  Blood trickled down Alexander’s chest and on the front of his tunic. His cheeks burned as he watched the realization of what took place come over Claudius’s expression.

  Claudius looked at Demetri, his palms open in disbelief. “You killed him for it?”

  Demetri motioned to Alexander and then the sword. “Clean it up.” Alexander didn’t miss the slight tremor of his master’s hand.

  He forced his legs to move and stepped toward the sword resting on top of Gervas’s hairy back. Stretching out his hand over the large giant, Alexander slowly reached for it, fearful the man might come back to life and grab him. He wrapped his trembling fingers around the hilt and lifted the short blade off Gervas’s body. Blood pooled on the dark patches of hair, leaving an imprint on the man’s skin.

  Carrying the heavy gladius precariously in one hand as if it might bite, Alexander went for one of the rags on the other side of the room. Unsteady on his trembling legs, he squatted on the floor as he cleaned off the blood. His hands shook so much, he only managed to smear the blood over the blade.

  “Help me get him off the table,” Demetri said. “I don’t want blood on the armor.”

  “That was a lot of coin.” Claudius helped Demetri
lift Gervas’s body. “What a waste.” He grunted. “Glad he was yours and not mine.”

  Hiding in the corner, Alexander spat on the blade, only managing to spread the sticky blood over more of its flat surface and all over his hands.

  They dropped the gladiator’s dead body on the floor with a thud.

  Beneath the table, Alexander watched the man fall on his side, his arms and legs landing in an awkward position and his wide-open eyes, lifeless.

  “You done, boy?” Demetri straightened and looked at Alexander.

  Alexander got to his feet, still smearing the blood. “It won’t come off.” If he weren’t so shaky, he might be able to remove it. He’d have to try harder.

  “Give it to me.” Demetri snatched the blade from him.

  Claudius watched the exchange. His eyes narrowed as he looked from Alexander to Demetri and back again. Nodding, he released a breath through his teeth. “It’s about time you got a legitimate heir.” He crossed his arms.

  Demetri turned to his friend, spitting on his sword and handing it back to Alexander.

  He took the gladius and again scrubbed, the larger amount of spit making the blood come off easier.

  “You know, Claudia, my girl. She’s in the way of a woman now. She could provide you with a decent heir.”

  Demetri pursed his lips as he looked at Claudius, clearly contemplating his friend’s idea. “She is pretty.”

  Claudius chuckled. “And healthy. She’d make for good breeding.”

  Sword reasonably clean, Alexander handed it, handle first, back to Demetri. Without looking at Alexander, Demetri took the sword and sheathed it. “Get on home, boy.”

  Alexander wiped his bloodied hands on his tunic as he went to the door from the opposite side of the table. He stayed as far away from Gervas as possible, grateful he didn’t have to help remove the man’s body.

  “Try not to get into trouble before you reach the gate,” Demetri said, a grimace on his face.

  “Yes, master.” Alexander quickly bowed. “Thank you, master.”

  He ran for the gate, conscious of the nearby gladiators in the arena watching him. The guards, seeing him come, had the gate open by the time he got there. He raced toward home, dodging a fuller and nearly knocking a huge basket of pressed tunics out of his hands.

  Two women up the street stopped, eyes wide and hands on their mouths. He followed their gazes to his tunic and became aware of the blood drying on his neck and hands. He hurried by them.

  Limbs still shivering, he slowed to a jog and then a walk, replaying the scene in his mind: the man towering over him like a wild beast, his own swift dive under the table, his near escape. He would have gotten away had it not been for the door. His head throbbed. He pressed his hand to the pain and realized he’d slammed it into the doorframe. He looked at his bloody fingers. His hand trembled like his master’s. Had Demetri ever killed a man before?

  Alexander could hardly believe Master Demetri sacrificed one of his gladiators to rescue him. Alexander didn’t think he would have died at Gervas’s hands, so why would the master make such a huge sacrifice? His gladiators were of great value to him.

  Could it be the master held some affection for him? It gave Alexander hope and warmed him inside. Since Elianna’s near drowning, it was the second act of kindness Alexander had experienced from the master. He even seemed to be making an effort to treat Alexander and his mother well. After all, he hadn’t been drunk since Elianna’s accident. It made Alexander feel like the master cared for him … like a son.

  And it made Alexander feel like he could love his father.

  Ω

  Alexander wanted to see her face.

  The woman hidden behind the orange veil couldn’t have been much older than him. So, this was the girl his master would marry. He knew plenty of older men married younger women, but seeing it happen before his own eyes made Alexander sick to his stomach.

  Alexander squeezed between the other slaves.

  His mother grabbed his hand. “Don’t get too close.” Her fingers trembled as she held him.

  The crowded house was that of Master Demetri’s bride, and today was the special occasion of his marriage. Having never been married before, Demetri was a much-sought after bachelor. Mostly because of his money, but also his good looks.

  The wedding was thrown together in such haste that Lord Maximus and Calista didn’t have time to make the trip, so the only “family” Demetri had present was Alexander and his mother.

  “She’s so young,” he whispered to his mother beneath the playing of the harp.

  “She’s three years older than you. Fourteen. Not that young,” his mother said, her brown gaze darting to the newlyweds. “Hush, now.”

  He didn’t miss the pain in his mother’s eyes. He knew, despite Demetri’s flaws, she loved the master.

  His beautiful mother moved forward, her blue stola flowing over her body like a delicate curtain. The other slaves gave her a wide berth as Master Demetri’s favorite. How would Alexander and his mother’s world change now that the master was married? Would he continue to visit Alexander’s mother in her chamber at night? Demetri hadn’t beaten his mother since he quit drinking, but how long would that last? Would she become a second-rate slave, demoted and forgotten? Dare Alexander hope for such a thing when he knew it didn’t seem to be what his mother wanted? How could she desire the attentions of such a man? How could she love someone who hurt her?

  Yet, didn’t Alexander love him? Didn’t he long to be a son to him? Long to be loved in return? He shoved the painful thoughts aside.

  The matron of honor placed the bride’s right hand in Demetri’s and everyone clapped.

  Everyone but Alexander. This entire arrangement was to provide Demetri with a legitimate son. Why couldn’t he be that son? Why did Demetri have to view him and his mother with such shame? Why didn’t the master free them both?

  Claudius, the girl’s father, stepped forward and kissed the bride and groom. He then led them to the sacrificial pig.

  Alexander stood near the impluvium. He’d never witnessed a pig sacrifice, so he climbed onto a marble bench near the edge of the fountain in order to see. He watched his footing so as not to fall into the water.

  Slaves led the pig into the large atrium. The animal must have sensed he was the center of attention. His flanks twitched and his eyes and snout poked around the slaves pulling on his tether.

  Two slaves picked up the animal and placed him on a stone table with a high wooden bar stretched across the top. A priest dressed in red flowing robes leapt onto the table and mounted the pig, holding him down. The animal screamed and squealed. Slaves grabbed his snout to keep him still.

  Alexander fought the urge to run over and rescue the pig from his impending slaughter.

  The priest brandished a long knife and placed its tip at the base of the pig’s head just above the neck. “May the goddess Fauna give Demetri and Claudia a fertile marriage.” He then plunged the knife into the swine, and it squealed a soft protest. It collapsed onto its knees then lay quiet. A hushed silence fell over the crowd.

  Surprisingly, there was little blood. The priest hopped down as his helpers crowded in. They tied one of the pig’s hooves to a rope and strung him up over the wooden bar. One of them slashed the animal’s throat and caught the blood in a small sarcophagus. Blood poured from the animal’s mouth and nose into the marble box that depicted images of a wedding ceremony much like this one.

  Other instruments joined the harp, and entertainers danced around the newlyweds.

  Flower petals fluttered from the sunroof above the impluvium and onto Alexander. He studied the opening until he spotted slaves above, emptying large baskets of fragrant petals.

  A woman nearby played the tibiae. The fluted music from the triple pipes echoed off the columns, floating up and then down—down like the flowers drifting over him.

  Alexander lifted his hands to catch the petals.

  They fell like fat snowflakes bet
ween his fingers, landing in the small pool of water beyond his feet.

  Ω

  With a confident gait, Alexander strode up the street.

  He was a man. A real man.

  At fourteen, he’d managed to earn enough money to tempt Master Demetri with an offer. But just to be sure, he decided to go out for a big job. The city planned a large slave auction in the Forum Romanum, moving it from the docks where dealers would normally sell their goods. Merchants from all over would be gathered and looking for grand entertainment. He should earn quite a few coins juggling his torches. After that, he’d have more than enough to buy freedom for both him and his mother.

  Alexander felt certain Demetri would be happy to set them free. Ever since the wedding, Demetri had actually been kind. As soon as Claudia gave him a legitimate heir, all would be complete for the master. Three years of marriage was a long time. Why hadn’t it happened yet?

  Moments of their time together played through Alexander’s mind: the master placing food in Claudia’s pretty mouth, her dark hair flowing unbound behind her back. His genuine smile. A smile that actually met his eyes. Alexander had seen that smile when the master looked at his mother, but even more so now that he had taken a wife. Alexander blushed at the thought of all the intimate moments they had allowed him to witness. Yet, the sadness in his mother’s eyes also came to his mind. Her tears at night when she thought no one was listening. She’d lost her bedchamber and slept on the floor with the rest of the slaves.

  Alexander’s stomach clenched. If she didn’t have to witness the master’s intimacies with his young wife—a lingering gaze, a loving embrace, a kiss on the lips—it’d be less painful for her. As far as Alexander was concerned, the farther his mother got from the master, the better and happier she would be.