by Sandi Rog
David straightened, crossing his arms. With all the heavy armor Amon wore, especially the leg guards beneath the heavy shield, the man would be slow. Hard to believe he was called a chaser. David felt sure he could outrun him, since he didn’t have the cumbersome armor weighing him down. But even a retiarius, which is what he was supposed to be, wouldn’t have a lot of armor, yet they paired the two fighters together. There had to be some opposition for it to be worth a match.
The six other men paired up, spreading out over the arena, waiting for the starting signal. Musicians sat on stools away from the fighters, entertaining the crowds. A new tune started, and Helladius stepped out, lifting his hands to the roaring crowd. The head trainer would act as a referee during the games. If one of the fighters was injured, he was to raise a finger in a plea for mercy to the lanista. Even if David were to ask for mercy, he’d aggravated Helladius so much, David doubted he’d render any.
The musicians stood, some raising their trumpets, and the crowd fell silent.
David exhaled, watching his opponent. This was it.
Someone in the stands coughed.
The trumpets sounded, and Amon raised his dagger.
David ducked from the man’s swing. Why was he ducking? He was supposed to die. David scurried around him, but the man was faster than David anticipated, and the dagger nicked him in the shoulder. He dove, rolled away, and got to his feet, disorientating Amon. He looked from side to side, while David stood behind him. This was so familiar. It brought back memories of the time David fought the gladiator at the villa when he was a slave. And like then, now would be a good time to go in for the kill, but he couldn’t bring himself to do what would be considered an abomination to Elohim.
Amon turned and spotted David through his little eye holes. So, that would be another impediment. The man’s vision was hindered. David ducked to the side where the man couldn’t see him as well. Amon raised his giant shield and attempted to cuff David with it, but David ducked and rolled. What a joke. What a waste. There was no way David would be able to let this imbecile kill him. While Amon was trying to find him, David charged him, sprang, and side-kicked him in the head. With the thick helmet pounding against Amon’s temples, he knew it’d hurt, and possibly knock him out. Amon teetered then righted himself. David spun for momentum and kicked him again, the heel of his foot slamming into his temple. This time, Amon dropped his dagger and toppled over like a tree. He landed in the sand with a thud.
David stood over him, breathless. That was too easy.
Helladius rushed up to them, his face red from the excitement of the other battles. He pointed at Amon as he lay lifeless on the ground. “Kill him!” he shouted at David as his gaze darted to the other fighters.
David straightened and crossed his arms in open defiance toward his head trainer and master.
Helladius shouted again, “I said, ‘Kill him!’”
David looked down at Amon and then at Helladius. There was no way he’d kill him.
“So be it!” Helladius said between clenched teeth, clearly ready to spit. David suspected he would pay for his defiance. Helladius ran to another pair of fighters just as Iason threatened to drive his sword into the chest of another. Markos, who lay on the ground bleeding, raised his finger for mercy.
Helladius grabbed the hilt of Iason’s sword just before he drove it into Markos’s heaving chest, the tip of the blade stopping against Markos’s skin. Helladius raised Iason’s hand and turned him toward the crowd, showing him as the victor. The crowd roared.
A cry carried up from another fighting pair, and David watched as a gladiator sliced at his opponent. The man raised his finger for mercy as he dropped to the ground, too late.
Helladius turned Iason toward David and gave him a shove. “I want him dead.”
David stepped back, realizing he couldn’t let these men kill him. It didn’t matter how well they fought. His natural instinct was to save himself. It reminded him of when he was young. Out of curiosity he’d hold his breath for as long as possible, to see what would happen, to see if he’d die, but he’d always had an overwhelming urge to breathe. To survive. Just like he did now. How could he be so foolish? So insane to step out into this arena without a weapon, without a shield. His plan was to give himself over to God, to release his soul, and finally be with Alethea. But what if God wanted him to survive? After all, God didn’t allow him to be fed to the lions. But why? Why would God want him to become a killer? A man who would spend each and every day attempting to kill other men or be killed—all for a game? He knew Elohim wouldn’t approve. He had to let these men kill him. But … he couldn’t.
Iason moved toward him, and David stepped back.
He could not bring himself to commit suicide when he had the ability to defend himself. What would be the greater sin? Allowing one of these men to hack him to pieces, or sparing his own life? Yet, what did he have to live for?
Elianna. That’s what he had to live for. That’s why God wanted him to survive. He had to survive for his little girl.
Iason thudded toward David in his heavy armor, wearing a left leg guard with a rectangular shield, a tad smaller than Amon’s. He played the part of a Samnite and waved his gladius, the short blade poised ready in his fist with a leather band around his forearm. David could see the whites of Iason’s eyes through the small eye holes in his helmet with a high crest decorated with feathers above his temples.
David ran for Amon’s blade and shield, jerking the knife out of the unconscious man’s hand. He needed both hands to remove his giant shield as he tugged it out of Amon’s grip.
“Stupid fool,” David said to himself. How could he be so contradictory?
“Isn’t this where she died?” Iason said, surprising David that such a monster could even form words. But then the words slammed into David. Who was he talking about? He shook his head. He had better not be talking about her.
Iason jabbed his short blade at David, but David dodged the thrust, blocking it with his heavy shield. He would have preferred a smaller shield than lugging around this giant weighty mass, but it was better than nothing. And the dagger he held wasn’t going to offer much in the way of defense. The blade was too short to reach his opponent without getting his arm sliced off. Even if he could reach him, he shouldn’t kill him. Despite the horrific circumstances, David knew this situation was no excuse to sin. No understandable circumstances made sin excusable. Unless a man deserved to die … like Aulus.
Iason thrust his sword, and David parried the stroke.
“I could hear her scream that night. Crying as the men took their pleasure with her.”
David froze, unable to move.
Iason swung his sword, nicking David in the leg. Shards of pain sliced up the outside of his thigh.
“Some of the guards even went in to have their turn. I would have enjoyed getting a taste of her myself.”
David shouted, raging as he charged toward Iason with his shield up. The man swung his sword, but his blade knocked against the armor’s edge, and David kept charging. He rammed the shield into Iason and kept pushing. He shoved and pushed until Iason stumbled. David gave one last thrust, knocking Iason off his clumsy feet. He kicked away Iason’s shield and rammed the edge of his own into Iason’s gut. The man buckled and gasped. David bent over him and thrust his blade into the man’s throat, twisting it upward into his mouth, cutting out his tongue.
Iason lay motionless as blood poured out onto David’s fist and forearm.
Something warm sprinkled over David, showering on him from the stands. He looked up and saw a spectator standing on the edge of the wall, urinating on them. David jumped back.
Helladius grabbed David’s bloody arm and held it up in victory to the crowd. “It’s about time,” he shouted, his voice filled with approval.
David looked at the crowd, at the man urinating off the wall onto Iason’s lifeless body, the life David had so easily ended. David’s entire body went numb as Helladius continued to h
old his arm in the air for the cheering crowd, practically keeping David on his feet. The crowd’s shouts and cheers buzzed in his ears like wild insects. Iason’s blood ran down David’s elbow and onto his shoulder. Blood he had shed right before this crowd of witnesses and … Elohim.
What had he done? The man deserved to die, he told himself. He wouldn’t talk about his Alethea ever again.
That night in his cell, David wept. “Why?” He cried out to God, shoving against the stones and pressing his forehead against the wall. “Why didn’t You let me die with her?”
“Shut up!” one man shouted from outside David’s chamber, his tone heavy with sleep and carrying through the long corridor.
David sagged against the stone wall. Did Elohim keep him alive for Elianna? If so, would she even want David when he got out? He was a murderer. He ran his hands down his face. The hands of a killer. What frightened him was how easy it was to end Iason’s life. How easy it was to cut out his tongue. The thought made David shudder. Did the man really deserve to die? Was David God’s avenging angel? Surely not. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that.
It had been several weeks since David heard Alethea’s cries in his sleep, but that night again, her screams carried off the stone walls, running circles around him like a screeching trumpet.
She did it! Elianna finished her letter to Zander, wrote it all by herself, and found a publicani to have it delivered to Alexandria. Since no one else could help her, she did it herself. She’d dared to juggle in the forum without anyone knowing and earned just enough money to send it. Now she had to wait.
Elianna hummed a melancholy tune as she made her way home. It wasn’t an easy letter to write. After all, she had to relive every moment of when her parents were taken from her. That made it all the more difficult and made her feel especially low that afternoon. But she hoped sharing the horrible news with Zander would make him come, bring him to her side for comfort and . hope. She’d already suggested to Pappous that they go live with Aunt Sarah, but for some reason, he wanted to stay in this awful place. Ever since that dreadful day, she decided she didn’t like Rome at all, not one bit.
As she rounded a corner, she stopped.
Marcus.
He looked right at her.
She turned to leave, but he caught her by the shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” Elianna said and jerked away. Marcus had long figured out that Zander was gone, so he tormented her whenever he got the chance. She hadn’t seen much of his sister, Idetta, since she’d been betrothed. Elianna’s friend now spent most of her time with her family learning how to become a proper young lady. Hard to believe Idetta had to endure all that when she was one year younger than Elianna. Only Flavia was available to spend time with Elianna. Thankfully, she wasn’t yet betrothed and her parents still gave her the freedom to come out and play. Elianna hoped she’d never have to marry, unless it was to Zander, of course. She wondered if she’d ever see him again. Would he return once he received her letter?
Elianna made her way down the street, but Marcus jumped in front of her. He stood over her with a nasty freckled grin that always made her stomach turn. Why did he torment her so? All because of one little race? Had she known it would invoke his wrath for the rest of her life, she never would have run that day.
“What do you want?” Elianna asked, trying to tamp down the trembling in her voice, but failing miserably.
“I have something to show you, come with me.” He held out his hand to her, but she didn’t dare take it. Why, after all the years of torment, would he suddenly be nice to her?
Snickering carried to her from a small alley between the back of two apartment buildings. Brianus ducked behind the wall. Tatius wasn’t with them this time. Marcus grabbed Elianna’s arm in a vise grip and tugged her toward the alley. She tripped over the wide stones paving the street as he pulled her along.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to go.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.” Marcus shoved her into the alley and pinned her against the wall. “All we want is for you to kiss us. No big deal. Just give us a kiss, and we’ll let you go.”
Elianna froze, horrified at the thought of being forced to kiss either one of their nasty, repulsive mouths.
“Yeah, just one small kiss.” Brianus puckered his lips.
Marcus bent toward her, his lips coming dangerously close to her face. She moved back, but the wall of the building stopped her. Just in time, she turned her head and Marcus’s lips came against her cheek.
“Stop!” she shouted into the street, struggling to free her arms from his fierce grip and praying someone would come along and rescue her.
He moved his face in front of hers, trying to capture her lips. She shook her head violently to avoid his mouth, but he grabbed her hair, knocking her head against the wall as he pressed his lips to hers.
She tried to scream, but the cry came out against his mouth and she felt his tongue. Releasing his hold on her, he pulled away, chuckling. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Like a wild cat, she clawed his face, and he ducked down, gripping his cheeks. Elianna ran, shrieking down the street. Covering her mouth, she reached her house, raced inside dodging those she knew and loved, and crumpled into the courtyard. Her stomach contracted, and something acidic rose to her throat. She vomited.
Ω
The following day, Elianna clung to Pappous’s arm as he led her to the docks. They were there to purchase a protector for Elianna. When Pappous learned what happened, he’d become livid. It took several of the brethren to calm him down before and after he spoke to Marcus’s father. They all knew it was in vain, for Pappous had spoken to him in the past and it never did any good. Finally, some of the brethren suggested they purchase a slave to guard Elianna. This slave would go where she went, and never leave her side. Pappous thought it an excellent idea, not only because of Marcus’s threats, but especially with the threats against the church. If anyone tried to harm Elianna or snatch her, someone would be there to protect her. The brethren took up a collection, and now that they had enough funds, they were off” to the market.
As they made their way through droves of slaves, Elianna shuddered at the sight of humans being treated like animals. She’d never been to a slave auction. There were men, women and children of all ages, sizes and colors. Several were naked or clothed with a simple loincloth.
“Why do I have to come?” she asked Pappous, who studied the men on the platforms and along the street lining the Tiber.
“I want to make sure it’ll be a good match. It’ll do no good for me to buy a slave, bring him home and discover that he doesn’t respect you because of your young age.” He squeezed her shoulder, hugging her against his side.
As they made their way down another line of male slaves, they came before a tall, dark man who towered over both of them. Pappous stopped, sucking in a breath. “It can’t be,” Pappous said, looking at the slave, his mouth slack.
Elianna studied the man before them, his black, muscular body sleek beneath the hot sun.
“Titus?” Pappous said, his voice hoarse.
Elianna looked from Pappous to the man. They knew each other? Was this someone Pappous knew while he had been a slave?
Titus nodded in acknowledgement, a single nod, where he lifted his chin and brought his head down slowly with a solemn expression.
“Where have you been?” Pappous asked, his voice incredulous. Before the man could answer, he said, “David tried to find you, to set you free, of all things.”
The man’s face made no expression, but his eyes widened for a fraction of a short breath, just enough for Elianna to notice a hint of emotion, of recognition at the mention of her abba’s name.
Pappous then squeezed Elianna against his side. “This is his little girl. David and Alethea’s daughter.”
Titus stood with his chin held high, and when he looked down at her with no expression, he looked only with his eyes, as if tilting his head would
be beneath him. Elianna swallowed. Would such news make him happy or angry?
Pappous bent toward her. “This is Titus. He used to be master over your father at the villa just outside of Rome. Titus was the Master of Slaves.” Pappous chuckled. “I’m not used to seeing you with hair. I’m surprised I recognized you.” He squeezed Elianna again, chuckling. “He used to shave his head.”
Would he shave his head again if they bought him? Elianna stared at Titus, wondering if he appreciated the conversation or preferred that they move on to the next available purchase.
Again, with his chin held high, Titus gazed at her, and this time she detected something in his eyes, some kind of emotion. It wasn’t negative, it wasn’t anything frightening. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time and studying her. Maybe he sought a resemblance to Mamma or Abba?
“David’s little girl,” he said, his voice deeper than any voice she’d ever heard, and exacting, as though he didn’t say a lot, but when he did speak, he spoke with such precision and perfection, people stopped to listen.
Pappous nodded, tears filling his eyes, but not spilling onto his cheeks. “As a matter of fact, you would be perfect for us.”
This time Titus’s brows drew together, and she could clearly make out the emotion in his eyes. Shock. Perhaps even fear.