by Sandi Rog
“Oh, my baby girl,” Pappous’s voice broke, and he hugged her. “Yes, you can still smell them.”
They cried in each other’s arms.
Ω
David lay on the floor of his cell. Distant shouts and cries of the crowd carried through the thick stone walls, telling him he wasn’t far from the arena. Footsteps echoed down the narrow passageway along with a deep voice belonging to one of the guards.
“See if you can get him to eat. Don’t want him to lose his strength.”
The key turned in the lock, rattling through the thick wooden door.
David remained motionless as the door creaked open on its hinges. Cool air from the hall brushed over his skin, causing the wounds on his flesh to twitch. The air was fresh compared to the foul, stuffy odor of his cell. This time someone came in, and footsteps stopped before him. The door slammed shut, lifting a hint of dust in the darkness.
“David?” The hopeful voice belonged to Galen.
David groaned and tried to lift his heavy head, seeing only a shadow in the dark chamber.
“I have food.”
“Don’t want any,” David mumbled, dropping his head back down. He’d spent two nights in this cell, and even though they brought him succulent meats and a variety of vegetables, David couldn’t bring himself to eat. He knew they wanted him to be strong so he could fight, but he had no desire to fight for the men responsible for the assault on his wife. He preferred the thought of killing them over killing strangers.
The only comfort was that Alethea no longer suffered. Thank You, Jehovah-Shammah. Thank you that she’s now with You. He’d prayed non-stop for Yahshua to keep her safe, and he knew without a doubt that she was with Him now. Somehow he sensed when it happened. He didn’t know how he knew exactly when she’d left this earth, but somehow he knew.
“Talk to me.” Galen set the platter of food down in front of David. The delicious aromas wafted over him, overpowering the foul odors of the small chamber.
“What can I say?” David felt sick. How could he talk to the man whose daughter was just raped and murdered? Did Galen even know all of what Alethea suffered? Why couldn’t David protect her? He’d trained all those years to fight. Why couldn’t he use his skills to keep her safe? Why didn’t You let me protect her?
“I watched her die,” Galen whispered. “I know she was alone with those men, and I know what they did to her.”
A sudden wave of fury and nausea assailed David and he cried out, his anguished sobs echoing off the walls in the cell as he pushed up to his hands and knees. Of course David knew what happened, but to hear the words on her father’s lips, to hear that he witnessed her death, made the reality of what happened all the more absolute.
“But she’s with God now.” Galen put his hand on David’s shoulder. “We must take comfort in that.”
David shook his head. How could this man reach out and comfort him when he’d failed to protect his daughter? “How can you forgive me?” David’s voice was a cry of pain, of anguish.
“There’s nothing to forgive. You did all you could. You’re also a victim, and you’re still suffering.”
“Why couldn’t I die with her?” He should have been with her when she left this life.
“It wasn’t God’s will,” Galen said, his voice resigned.
“Was it His will then that she die?” Now David sat up. Why would God want that? Why would the horrible death she had to suffer be Elohim’s will?
Galen shifted on the stones, his sandals scraping against the sand. “If God knows when a sparrow falls to the ground, He knows when one of His own dies, especially when they die for Him.”
“I realize that,” David said, anguish burning in his throat. “But was it truly God’s will for her to die as she did?” He clenched his fists, stifling a growl. How he ached to hit something, to hit someone. “Why would He allow that? Hadn’t she suffered enough under the hands of her family? Hadn’t she proven her faithfulness to Him?”
The sounds of dripping water in the distance from an aqueduct counted off each moment as they sat in the silence. Raucous laughter echoed down the hall as if mocking them and their grief. And then Galen began to chuckle, a breathy gasp of air between laughs. But when a groan of despair escaped his lips, David realized he wasn’t laughing at all. He was crying.
David wanted to sink into the stones. After all, he felt like one of them. Hard and callous. How could he do this to Galen? “I’m sorry,” he finally said on a whispered breath.
“I don’t blame you, son.” Galen sniffed. “We’re all suffering. Elianna is devastated. Manius has shut himself off from everyone. And Paulus has disappeared.”
David longed to ask about Elianna, but what good would it do? She was suffering, just like all of them. How could he bear to hear about her pain? “Does she know I’m here?”
Galen sniffed again. No reply.
“Elianna.” Just saying her name made his voice break as renewed tears clogged his throat. “Does she know?”
“No. I only just found you. When I saw that you weren’t with Alethea, I started searching for you. I didn’t tell her you weren’t with her mother for fear we’d find you dead.”
“Don’t tell her,” David said, his voice firm now, without a hint of the grief that threatened to overtake him. “To her, I’m dead.” He was dead in his mind, anyway.
“But she’s heartbroken.”
“I don’t want her to see me fight.” Not that he would fight. He planned to go out there and sacrifice his life.
“She wouldn’t see you, David. I would never allow it.”
“If she knows I’m alive, she will find a way to see me. I know her. It will also give her hope, only for it to be crushed when I do finally meet my end, and we both know it’ll be soon.” David ran his hands through his hair at the thought of his Elianna’s renewed devastation. “Don’t do that to her!” David spoke between clenched teeth. He’d give his right arm to see his little girl again, to hold her and tell her all would be well. But he wouldn’t be able to stand the pain, the pain she would again have to suffer at the loss of her father. And how could he tell her all would be well when he himself knew it wouldn’t?
“I won’t tell her,” Galen whispered, his voice resigned.
David reached out to him, reached toward the shadow, and put his hand on him. Galen put his hand over David’s and squeezed.
Ω
Long after Galen left, David counted the drips of water coming from a distant aqueduct. His stomach growled and began to hurt. He ignored it, but the pain gnawed at his gut so much, he felt like his own body would eat away his insides. When he thought of eating his own tunic, he realized the buckling pain could no longer be ignored. Talking to Galen had roused him from his stupor, so he picked at the cold meat and vegetables on the platter, eating for the first time since his incarceration and feeling very much like a street hound foraging for food. The venison certainly hadn’t lost its flavor. But there was something wrong about eating food that tasted so good. Something wrong about the fact that he was still alive.
Something foreboding.
Ω
David heard Alethea scream. He shoved a guard out of his way and pounded the others as they blocked his progression. She cried and screamed again, her terrified voice carrying to him from a dark, narrow corridor. David shouted and slammed his fist into another guard’s face. Pain shot through his arm. The guard’s face was like stone, and part of his cheek crumbled.
David’s eyes flew open. He found himself lying on the hard floor of his new cell. His fist pounded the stone wall. Alethea’s screams continued to echo in his mind. Her whimpers, her cries. Panting, he sat up, leaned against the wall, and covered his ears. But the screaming continued.
How long had he been in this new chamber? Did they move him here two days ago or three? He didn’t know. Was it even daytime? The tormenting screams would drive him mad. Crawling to his feet, he groaned. When David reached the door, he pounded on its splin
tery wood, shouting, “Let me out!” He’d had enough. He couldn’t bear to be in the confining chamber another night as the walls closed in around him. David didn’t care if they fed him to the lions, he had to get out. He punched the door, his knuckles already bleeding from their assault on the wall.
Stepping back, he then kicked the door. It shook on its hinges. He kicked again and again, until he felt a slight buckle in a plank. David lunged into it, using his shoulder. Again, the wood cracked. Again he lunged and kicked, until it snapped. When that opened up to him, he kicked it further and ripped it open. He lunged again with his shoulder and fell through, landing against a stone wall outside in a narrow corridor.
Like the one in his dream, where Alethea’s screams shattered the darkness at the other end. As he stumbled down the hall, David held his bruised shoulder. Warm blood ran over his knuckles and arm.
Shards of light pierced the darkness, and he moved toward it, not caring what awaited him at the other end. He realized the light came from a small window. It was daylight. He continued his trudge down the long corridor, surprised he hadn’t met any guards. The hall curved and as he rounded the corner, more light filled the corridor, lighting up the gray stones on both sides of him.
He tripped over someone, falling against one of the hard walls.
A chair scraped along the stone floor, and a guard staggered to his feet. David had tripped over his outstretched legs. The man must have been asleep because he rubbed his hand over his weary face. David landed his fist on the guard’s nose and the man toppled over his chair. David continued to punch him, until he knew the man was unconscious.
He straightened and looked around. Torches lit up the hall. He tore one out of the bracket and made his way down another corridor. This time voices carried on the musty air. David slowed his pace so as not to raise alarm. Perhaps they’d think he was one of the guards. But once they saw him, they’d know the truth. He only prayed there weren’t too many of them and he could take them down. Really, he didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish. Gladiators didn’t escape. Well, escaped maybe, but without success. He just didn’t want to be put back in that cell. David had to make the screaming stop.
He reached an alcove where several guards stood, talking as if they had nothing better to do. David charged in, waving the torch at their faces. One man screamed, and David shoved past them against a wooden door. It burst open and he stumbled into a sandy arena, the guards clamoring toward him. The bright sun blinded him, and hands and fists were on him. There were too many. He couldn’t fight them off as they pounded his face and stomach.
Something solid knocked him over the head and darkness claimed him.
Cold water splashed on David’s face, and he gasped for air. His eyes opened, and he found his ankles and wrists bound in chains as he dangled against a large, wooden stake. He was still in the arena, and gladiators thwacked at one another with wooden swords. A ludus. A training school for gladiators.
He shook the water out of his hair as the man who did the deed walked away.
David was chained to a wooden pole. It was far better than being locked up in that small cell. Instead of Alethea’s haunting screams, there were shouts of men, ordering other men to swing this way and that, teaching them how to fight.
And fresh air and sunshine. He lifted his wet face to the sky, relieved to find life and familiarity outside the chamber’s walls. He breathed the air in deep.
Deep.
Elianna banged on Manius’s door, her knuckles sore from the constant hammering. The gate was locked again, and she was desperate to talk to him. Two months had gone by since she lost her parents … and since she’d seen Manius. She and Pappous were living with several of the brethren who had sold all their belongings to move in together. They took her and Pappous under their wings. It was like being at Manius’s house, really. Only, without Manius, and how she missed him. She’d come up with an idea, and only Manius could help, and just maybe he’d talk to her, encourage her.
Surprisingly, the door opened and Elianna’s fist met air rather than wood. Elpida, a kind slave, stood in the small opening, her face saddened. “The master doesn’t want any visitors.”
Elianna swallowed. No one had been able to get Manius to open his door, and this was the first time she’d tried. She’d better be quick. “I want to send a letter to Zander. He doesn’t know what happened. I need a scribe, and Manius is the only scribe I know.” Really, she wanted to add how much she missed seeing him. Dare she? “And I miss Manius.” Her voice choked on the words.
Elpida hesitated and cast a side glance beside her. She cleared her throat. “The master’s not taking any visitors. Be on your way, now.” The door closed.
Elianna stood there, staring at the wooden frame. Why didn’t Manius care anymore? She turned away from the door, but not before she saw someone in the window. The curtain fell closed before she could see who it was. She knew it was a man though. The frame was too tall and square to have belonged to a woman. Certainly it was Manius. Why didn’t he want to help? Why did he turn his back on the church? He was the only other person who was close to her other than Pappous. Manius and Pappous were all she had left. Tears flooded her eyes and she faced the door again.
“Why?” she shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why?” Tugging on her stola, she ran down the street, desperate for someone to hold her. She imagined running up to Abba. He’d take her in his arms and make her feel safe. Mamma would hold her and sing to her. Pappous would hold her, but he was gone most of the day, so she knew he wouldn’t be home. She ran all the way to her old apartment and leaned against one of the columns along the portico. She wiped the tears from her cheeks. All she wanted was Abba and Mamma, no one else would suffice. She looked up at the window, remembering Mamma as she’d sit on its ledge. Elianna didn’t dare go up there this time. She’d heard that the Imperial Magistrate had confiscated all their belongings and sold everything. Apparently someone else lived there now. Just like someone else lived in Manius’s house. No, he hadn’t moved, but he was no longer the Manius she knew. Nothing was the same.
Ω
David refused to fight.
He stood in the ludus, a wooden sword at his feet where he’d dropped it, letting it slip out of his hand like a limp rag.
This was the same ludus where Demetri had taken them when Alexander had saved Elianna. How ironic to be standing in the same place his little Elianna had stood when singing to the gladiator. His ankles throbbed from the shackles still at his feet, though his hands were free in hopes he might put up a fight. If his Elianna found him here, would she sing to him the way she had sung to that other beaten-down gladiator? Of course she wouldn’t. She’d run screaming into his arms. Only to later be devastated when he died in the arena. As much as he longed to see her, to hold her, he couldn’t put her through that kind of pain.
Jehovah-Shammah, be with her. Protect her.
David thanked God she was with Galen. He came to visit David quite frequently, and the procurator allowed it since it seemed to revive David and strengthen him. But David refused to give the lanista what he wanted.
Helladius, the lanista, paced in front of him now, a wooden sword in his hand. The head trainer shook his head in frustration, his leather tunic exposing thick thighs, wide chest and bulging arms. By the number of scars on his body, David could tell this man had seen plenty of battles in the arena. Helladius stood a head taller, and David had a hint of reminiscence of being enslaved back at the villa. Before Titus, the Master of Slaves and his trainer while growing up, David would have felt intimidated, and he probably should now, but since he longed for death, fear eluded him.
Without warning, Helladius lifted his wooden blade and slammed it across David’s head.
Lights seared behind David’s eyes and he stepped back from the blow, but he refused to raise his fists. It wasn’t the first time. It didn’t matter anyway; it was just wood. Helladius wouldn’t kill him. The procurator would rather he die i
n the arena when the bets were made.
Helladius socked him across the jaw, knocking David to the side. He stumbled, more from his already spinning head than the blow, and regained his footing, the chains dragging at his feet. He longed to be with Alethea, and he figured if she could endure the fierce jaws of the lions, he could endure this. Once in the arena, he would die for his God, and then he’d be free of this wretched existence.
Helladius hit him again, but this time, something inside David sparked. Anger. But that’s what the trainer wanted, what he tried to coax out of David. This wasn’t his first beating. Still, why would it infuriate him now, and not before?
“He’s useless to us!” Helladius shouted at the procurator who lounged in the stands in the distance, slaves shading and fanning him with their large peacock feathers.
The trainer turned and swung again, punching David in the face and stomach. He fell, and Helladius kicked him in the side. David buckled from the pain as he wallowed in the sand. Yes. Now he was furious. But he refused to use his fists, despite the fact that they ached to pummel Helladius.
“Put him in the arena tomorrow,” Helladius said to the nearby guards. “Get rid of him.” Helladius kicked dirt on David and spat. He stormed away, disgusted.
Good.
Tomorrow David would finally die … before he did something foolish.
Ω
Behind the musicians and line of gladiators, David stepped out into the arena, banners waving and crowds cheering for their favorite fighter. Seven men in front of him all wore the armor chosen for them. They’d tried to get David to wear the armor of a retiarius, a net fighter. He should have a net and a trident. But he had no need for the three-pronged fishing spear, since he didn’t plan on killing anyone. Instead, he planned to die.
The crowds roared, enticing him, and despite the fact that he hadn’t planned on fighting, he felt naked, foolish for not carrying any kind of weapon. He could see why some of the men had chosen to be gladiators. For the glory, the praise. The other gladiators waved, initiating more shouts and whistles from the people as music played. But it was wrong to feel any sense of glory as he strode beside these powerful men. He wasn’t one of them, nor did he plan on fighting them. Because David was supposed to play the part of a retiarius, they paired him with Amon who played the part of a secutor, otherwise known as a chaser. The man’s rounded helmet was supposed to keep David’s net from becoming entangled around his head. Amon snorted in disgust that he wouldn’t get a fair fight. He banged his large shield that covered more than half his body against the ground, stirring up the crowd as he stared at David through the small, round eye holes in his helmet. He waved his dagger in the air, and the people cheered.