by Sandi Rog
Had Elohim been with him at all? Why did He allow him to earn so much money? What was it for? Why did it all have to be in vain? He shook his head against the wood, stifling a moan. What was Elohim’s plan? Could his Savior even have a plan for Alexander’s wretched, insignificant life?
Jehovah God is your Father here on earth and will be your Father in heaven. David’s words shot through Alexander’s mind.
And he believed them.
Despite everything, Alexander knew in the depths of his soul Elohim had to be near, whether Alexander felt Him or not. After all, He was the one who created the pebble and the ant. He’d kept Alexander from harming Demetri. And more importantly … my Father, my King came down from on high and died for me. If He’d go to all that trouble to save Alexander’s soul, why would He leave him now?
Alexander lifted his gaze. His God was far greater than the amazing sights before him. Mightier than the torch lighting the sky, wiser than the crew working the ship’s sails, and gentler than the wind whispering against his cheek. Elohim was his refuge, his strength, and his help. He refused to believe Elohim, his one and only true Father, had deserted him. Only the Evil One would want him to think that, to believe that.
A swell caused the ship to lift, sending it down with a cool spray against his face, washing away the torment, the heat of his anger. He had to trust in his heavenly Father.
My Father, my God, I’m on my knees. I surrender to You.
The scroll had been opened and signed once Alexander and the men disembarked the following morning. They were to travel outside of the city to Maximus Demetrius Arnensis’s home. The villa, surrounded by several trees and no aqueducts, had numerous stables almost as large as the house itself.
Alexander should have known Maximus would become his new master. However, if Demetri was so fearful of him, Alexander would have expected to be owned by someone who had no contact with Demetri so there would be no chance of their meeting.
Having been led in by slaves, Alexander stood in the atrium—his wrists and ankles still locked in irons. The house even smelled like Maximus and Calista, their sweet colognes mingling faintly on the air. The two men lugged in the large wooden chest that was still chained shut. They let it fall hard on the tiles, and its thud echoed off the columns surrounding them.
Maximus, followed by Calista, came into the atrium from behind a curtain that Alexander assumed must lead to a peristyle. Even the indoor courtyard with its fresh flowers wouldn’t be of any comfort to him while serving as a slave in his master’s childhood home.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Maximus lifted his chin, brows furrowed, so much like Demetri, Alexander wasn’t sure how he’d be able to stand serving another like him.
Calista watched the two men as they straightened from the chest and one of them handed her husband a sealed scroll.
“The seal hasn’t been broken,” one of the giant men said. “Lord Demetri wants your written word that what we deliver hasn’t been damaged or already opened.”
Will I be considered damaged goods? Alexander wondered, since his legs never felt so weak in his life and his ankles and wrists were raw. He shifted his stance in the heavy chains, clanking them on the floor.
Calista’s gaze fell on him. She stepped forward, her brows furrowed, and then her eyes widened in recognition. “Alexander!” She ran to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, nearly knocking him off his already unstable feet. She looked at the men. “Remove these chains at once!”
“Mistress, we’re not sure that’s such a good idea. Lord Demetri was quite serious about keeping him in chains once we were off the boat.”
“Do as she says,” Maximus said, his voice stern as he looked over the top of the opened parchment. He looked back at the scroll; a key dangling from a small rope swung below it.
One of the men unlocked the chains around Alexander’s wrists, and Alexander rubbed the chaffed skin, only irritating the raw wounds. The man then knelt to unlock the chains around his ankles.
“Holy Venus,” Maximus said as he continued reading, the wrinkled features of his tanned face taut with concern.
Calista’s hands were on Alexander, much like his mother would have touched him, and it brought a knot to Alexander’s throat. “You’re practically emaciated. Didn’t these men feed you?”
“He refused to eat,” one of the men said, shrugging.
“Well, it’s no wonder.” Maximus let his hands drop to his sides as he marched over to the wooden chest. “Demetri killed Bahiti.”
“What?” Calista stopped her ministrations. “He did … what?” Her trembling hand fluttered to her neck as she stared at him in disbelief.
Maximus took the key hanging from the scroll and unlocked the chains on the large chest. The locks released and he pulled them off.
Calista looked at Alexander, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She covered her mouth. “So, sorry.”
Alexander’s eyes burned, but he didn’t dare give in to the tears clotting in his throat. He’d now be their slave, and he had no desire for their sympathy.
The lid to the chest creaked open. “Unbelievable,” Maximus said as he stood over the open trunk.
Everyone but Alexander leaned toward it to see what was so important for Demetri to send all this way with an insignificant slave.
Maximus lifted out a scroll which rested atop hundreds of bronze, silver and gold coins, a small purse, and to Alexander’s surprise, his mother’s bracelet. The gold coil glimmered atop the mountain of coins. The master took out the scroll and read the writing near the seal then looked at Alexander. “It’s for you.” He held the missive out to him.
Stunned, Alexander looked at the men who delivered him. They shifted their stances and stared at each other, boredom written on their faces as they crossed their arms and scratched their heads. Alexander then looked at Calista who dabbed her eyes and patted his shoulder to go to Maximus. He stepped toward his new master, his legs wobbly. He kept his gaze to the floor and slowly reached for the scroll.
Maximus took Alexander’s hand in his and put the scroll into it, wrapping his fingers around the parchment, his rings reflecting the lowering sun’s rays as they sliced through the roof above the atrium. He turned and bent to lift a large square object covered in cloth from the chest. With great care, he unfolded the purple fabric and revealed a bronze diploma. He read the plaque, and as he read it, tears filled Lord Maximus’s eyes.
“What is it?” Calista went to Maximus and put her hand on his arm. As she read the diploma, her eyes widened and she gasped.
Alexander stood with his feet planted to the tiles, still holding the scroll in one hand and watching the surprising emotions flutter across their faces.
Clearing his throat, Maximus held the diploma up before him. He swallowed, and then read the words:
DECLARATION OF SONSHIP
I, MAXIMUS DEMETRIUS ARNENSIS II, from this day forward declare as my SON and HEIR, ALEXANDER, born to Maximus Demetrius Arnensis II and to Bahiti, daughter of Dakarai, slave of Maximus Demetrius Arnensis II. Alexander is henceforth to carry the name of my father, now his grandfather,
ALEXANDER MAXIMUS
DEMETRIUS ARNENSIS III
Alexander stood frozen, unable to move or breathe.
Maximus lowered the diploma and looked at him. Calista clasped her hands and cried with joy.
Alexander shook his head. This had to be a dream. It couldn’t be real. He didn’t dare believe it.
“Well, what do you have to say, son?” Maximus watched him, eyes shining.
Alexander looked from them to the bronzed plaque in Lord Maximus’s hands. “Why?” Alexander practically choked on the words. If this was so, then why didn’t the master tell him while he was in Rome? Why send him all this way, bound and chained?
Maximus’s gaze fell on the scroll Alexander held. “I think you should hear it from him. Read what he’s written.”
With trembling fingers, Alexander broke the seal. It ro
lled open, and he recognized Master Demetri’s own scrawl, not that of his scribe.
Maximus Demetrius Arnensis II,
Father of Alexander, to my boy.
By now, you know you are legally my son. I should have done this a long time ago. You are to inherit all I have, and I pray to the gods, you will be a better man than I am. Please remain in Alexandria. There is no need to return to Rome to seek your vengeance. By the time you read this letter, I will have left and taken Claudia with me. I will not be found. I’ve told no one where I’m going.
I won’t ask for your forgiveness.
I loved her, you know. You must believe me. I loved your mother.
I never meant to hurt her.
In the chest you will find all the coins you’ve earned, your mother’s favorite bracelet, and the amethyst stone.
Your father,
Demetri
Alexander stared at the letter and re-read it, and re-read it again. Who was this man? He recognized the penmanship—thanks to Manius and David he knew how to read—but the words were not the master’s. The kind words were that of a father to a son. Why couldn’t he have said these words to Alexander in person? Why?
The answer hit him.
Fear.
Alexander stared at the script. Why did the man have to be so afraid? And now there was no hope. No hope of forgiveness and reconciliation. Did Alexander want that? Did he really want to reconcile with the man who murdered his mother?
He looked up from the scroll. “Where’d he go?” His voice came out in a whisper, almost breathless.
Maximus shook his head. “He didn’t tell us.”
“We’ll never see him again,” Calista said, tears streaming down her cheeks as she read the scroll Maximus held. “We can’t even write. There’s no place to send a letter.” She buried her face in her hands and wept.
“You men. Allow my slaves to set you up for the night.” Maximus motioned to one of his slaves. “Tomorrow you will return to Claudius in Rome where you are to receive your payment.”
“What about—”
Maximus held up his hand to silence him. “I will send a letter explaining that all arrived in good order.”
The stone. Alexander had to know. Was David’s stone really in the chest? He started toward it, but stopped himself, unsure of how to behave. He was no longer a slave, but how much submission was he still to show?
Maximus noticed his intentions and motioned him to the chest. “It’s all yours. Everything here.”
Alexander went to the chest and bent over it. Resting on top of his coins was his mother’s bracelet. He held it up and ran his fingers along the golden strands that used to snake up her arm. He smelled it. It still carried a hint of jasmine. Gently, he pushed it onto his own arm. A tight fit. He then spotted a small purse. Would that be David’s stone? He had to know.
He lifted the purse out of the chest, and with trembling hands, untied its strings. From inside, he saw a leather rope. Dipping his fingers into the bag, he slowly plucked on the band. With great care, he pulled the length of the leather out, until at last the amethyst stone appeared, glittering before him. Alexander’s breath caught. Elianna was still his. A part of David still belonged to him. He had a family.
He closed his fingers around the purple gem, grasping the stone in his hand, afraid to let it go. It cut into his palm, but he didn’t care. Shaking uncontrollably, he clasped it to his chest, holding it against his pounding heart.
Ω
It was a simple meal, but Alexander never felt more uncomfortable in his life as he reclined at a small table with Maximus and Calista. Despite his growling stomach, he couldn’t bring himself to take the venison from the trencher.
“I’ll have several tunics made, and you’ll need new sandals and definitely a haircut,” Calista was saying. Her perfect lips parted as she took a bite of greens. She was just as beautiful as Alexander remembered—a bit older perhaps, but still beautiful, with her long, plaited hair cascading over one petite shoulder.
“Leave the boy alone,” Maximus said, spearing a large chunk of venison. Occasionally, his gaze flickered to Alexander’s, and out of habit, Alexander looked down.
“You’re a citizen now, boy—Alexander. Always look a man in the eye. Never look down. You’re no longer beneath anyone. Instead, they are beneath you.”
“Eat.” Calista motioned toward the trenchers before him. “You’re much too thin.”
Out of habit of obedience, Alexander reached for some vegetables with his knife. Back in Rome, he wasn’t allowed to enjoy the master’s meat. He only had meat when he was with the church. But it was pricy, so even they didn’t eat much of it. Eating it now in front of his former masters didn’t feel natural. In fact, acting as an equal amongst those who used to be his lords made him queasy.
He’d only been there a few days, and with nothing to do—since no one commanded him in his duties—he often went out to see the horses. Maximus had showed him around the stables, introducing him to all the breeds of horseflesh. But it was easy to pretend he was still a slave during that time, because Maximus did all the talking. If he could, Alexander would stay in the stalls all day, but eventually, he was encouraged to come inside.
Despite the great honor of citizenship bestowed upon him, he reclined among strangers, and he knew he couldn’t stay. He wouldn’t go back to Rome; although, it’d be nice to see David again. But now, he needed something other than this opulent existence, this training in what was proper and what was not for a Roman citizen such as himself.
He looked up at Maximus. The man seemed to accept the idea of Alexander as his grandson, he even seemed happy about it—like when it was first announced. But Alexander felt almost no connection to the man. Maximus displayed little warmth. As his son, or grandson, Alexander feared it was his duty to remain in the household for three more years. After all, he wouldn’t be considered a man until he was seventeen. But the thought of remaining, when he was now free, made those chains of slavery—er … sonship—tighten around his neck. He rubbed his throat at the thought. True. Some chains even came with being a Roman citizen. He had to get out. He had to break free. Free of the invisible chains about to strangle him.
Just plain free.
How could he be so willing to give in to the chains when he thought he was to remain a slave, but now that he was free, they had become a source of agony? Perhaps it was because he knew and clearly understood his role as a slave. But as a son?
Alexander stared down at his uneaten food. “I’d like your permission, Master—Grandfather—to leave.”
Maximus looked up from his scroll and shrugged. “Of course. You may leave the table anytime you like.” He raised his brows for emphasis. “You don’t need to ask permission for every little thing.”
“But I wanted to discuss schooling for Alexander.” Calista looked from Alexander to Maximus.
Had he been asking permission for everything? He hadn’t realized it until that moment, but it was true, he had. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean permission to leave the table, Mas—Grandfather.” He sucked in a slow breath. How could he say this? “I … I want … I want to find my mother’s family.”
Calista looked at him. She lifted a dainty cloth to her mouth as sadness filled her eyes. “Of course you would.”
Maximus set down his scroll and eyed him.
Alexander straightened on the couch and met his gaze, practicing the advice just given to him about maintaining eye contact.
Maximus pursed his lips as if tasting Alexander’s words. “I was planning on teaching you my trade, and like Mistress Calista says, arranging for a tutor.”
“I can read, I can do sums, and … I can write.” Alexander knew it was a big deal that he could write, especially since it was likely Maximus couldn’t. After all, that was the whole reason to have a scribe. Manius, who was a scribe, had taught Alexander everything he knew. Thank Elohim for that. Manius said knowing how to write gave him power. Alexander contin
ued to hold his master’s gaze, and even dared lift his chin a little. This was much too easy. Would the master bring him down for it? And when would he ever get over calling Maximus his master? Another reason he had to leave. He’d forever be a slave in his mind and theirs.
Studying him, Maximus rubbed his chin and nodded. “I’ll take you to them.”
Ω
The journey lasted two weeks, and the sun’s heat reflecting off the bright desert sands nearly blinded Alexander. His eyes watered from the brightness. He wiped his brow with his arm as he swayed on the camel. He was sorry they didn’t take any of the horses with them, but Maximus told him the camels could last longer without water.
Alexander pulled the stopper out of his water skin and downed several gulps of warm liquid. Three slaves trailed behind, two sharing a camel. Another slave rode Alexander’s camel that carried his belongings. New clothes Calista ordered for him, along with his coins, were strapped to the animal. He would present half of his earnings to his grandfather, since it was originally intended for his mother. And one large slave rode a camel in front of them, keeping a lookout for danger. How were the slaves withstanding the heat?
“We’re almost there.” Maximus pointed ahead of them. In a distant valley below cliffs, a few treetops poked over a sandy hill. “They usually settle near that water hole this time of year.”
They’d finally arrived. He’d see his family. His true family.
Would his mother’s father still be alive? Would he be healthy? Would he accept Alexander? A former slave?
Maximus urged his camel ahead and spoke to the slave up front.
Alexander recalled what his mother told him about her people, that they were desert-dwellers and lived in tents. Alexander looked forward to living in a tent. No more hinges to remind him of that horrible night. She also told him that her people bred the greatest horses in the world. After witnessing the stallion in Rome, Alexander believed it. He’d only seen the Bedouins that one time. He wondered why they never came again.