by Sandi Rog
He then faced the fifteen-foot wall. David might not be able to reach the top, but if his hands could get over the edge, that’s all he’d need to accomplish what he planned.
Sandals soaked in blood, enough for the sand to soak up most of it, he hoped there would be enough left on his soles for traction. He almost prayed he’d make it to the top, but realized his folly before the sentence completed itself in his mind. David charged toward the wall with the spectator dancing on top. He reached it, and as he expected, during the first few steps, his sandals slipped from the sand, but by the fourth, his soles gripped the wall’s edge and vaulted him up. He reached ten feet without a problem, but just short of a foot, he sensed his body begin to push outward, so he shoved himself forward and grabbed the edge—right where the man stood. Gripping the wall with one arm, David grabbed the spectator’s tunic, jerking him down. The man fell with surprising ease, which made sense because he clearly wasn’t trained to fight. To the man’s wide-eyed horror, David gripped him by the throat.
“Want to play?” David said between clenched teeth. He jerked him over the wall’s edge and realized … this was no man. Definitely not much older than nineteen.
The boy flailed and screamed as David dragged him down the side into the sandpit. As they neared the bottom, David dropped the boy and dove away, kicking off the stones, giving himself enough distance to help break the momentum of his fall. He stretched out as if he were diving into a lake of water and rolled out of it.
Covered in sand, David lay on his back in the arena, trying to stop the spinning in his head. Dazed, he got to his feet before someone else came at him, which wasn’t likely, each pair of gladiators having finished their fight. But he didn’t want to take any chances. On wobbly legs, he made his way toward the boy, snatching up his sword as he went. The crowd shouted and screamed more wildly than ever. David stood over him as the boy curled into a ball, gripping his broken leg, his face distorted in pain.
David burned with a craving desire to kill him. How often had he endured the boy’s taunts?
“No, David! Don’t do it!”
David stepped back and looked up into the stands toward the voice.
Galen leaned over the wall’s edge, waving at him. “Don’t kill him! He’s just a boy! Stop it!”
The last words were like a slap across the face, not so much as a plea for mercy but a reprimand from a father to a son. David looked at the whelp then back up at Galen. Furious, he tossed his sword at the wall, letting it fall awkwardly to the sand, sparing the boy. He turned and marched away, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. Why did Galen have to be here today? David suspected he came to some of his fights, watching and waiting for him to die. But why did he have to be here now? The fact that Galen prevented David from killing the coward, forced David to recall the time at the villa when Manius arrived just in time to keep him from killing a gladiator. God seemed to send the right person at the right time in moments of such abandon. The question was, why didn’t Elohim finish David off? Why didn’t He send a gladiator or a lion he couldn’t beat?
He turned and raged at the sky, at Elohim, shouting and crying out like a madman.
“Inasnum Simianus! Inasnum Simianus!” the crowd shouted in reply.
Ω
The following day, David stood alone in the arena, facing a lion with nothing but a small dagger and no shield. It turned out the boy he dragged over the wall was a senator’s son, which explained why no one stopped him from urinating on everyone in the arena. So today, David was scheduled to die for nearly killing the lunatic. Maybe this was Elohim’s way of finally putting an end to David’s miserable existence. But if he died, David knew his soul wouldn’t be in the right place. He was no longer worthy of God, and he knew Satan waited for him on the other side. All the more reason to survive … something he’d attempt to do anyway. He rolled his eyes at the thought.
Maybe he could climb the wall again? But he’d never make it to the top without blood on his sandals, and the only blood that would be shed was his own. Normally they would have bound a man in his position to a cart and let the lions tear him to shreds, but because of David’s career as a fighter, they felt it’d be more entertaining to watch him die trying to defend himself.
So, here David stood with his legs braced apart, dagger gripped in his hand. The male lion paced, his tail flicking from side to side. He stopped and shook his head, emphasizing his grand mane. He hadn’t spotted David yet. David knew he should wave the cat down to capture his attention. After all, it was inevitable that the animal would attack.
Someone from the stands tossed his bread into the sandpit. It landed near David. The lion saw the bread and then took notice of David, his brown gaze narrowing in on him. The lion stalked toward him, ambling along as if he didn’t have a care in the world. David stepped back then realized that was likely what the cat wanted—to play cat and mouse. So, David held his ground. The lion continued to move toward him, ignoring the small loaf of bread in his path. The closer the lion came, the quieter the crowd grew. The lion stopped about a foot away from David, his body coming to just below David’s waist and the mane on his head reaching his chest. David breathed in slowly, deeply, perspiring from head to toe. The lion’s nostrils flared and his hot breath whispered against David’s skin, causing his muscles to twitch.
The cat’s giant paw batted David’s leg, sending him stumbling to the side. Amazing the amount of power one paw held. The lion lunged, and David thrust his dagger at the furry flesh, but the animal crushed David’s thigh between his powerful jaws, pinning David beneath him. He cried out as the sharp fangs buried themselves into his flesh and muscle. He still held the dagger, keeping a fierce grip on the steel lifeline. Would the blade be long enough to penetrate the beast? He recalled stabbing a wild boar when he was young, and how the knife did little to slow the animal. The only way to get the pig to die was to shove the blade through his throat. But David couldn’t reach the lion’s throat, nor could he even move his arm. His other hand was free however, so he grabbed the lion by his ears, yanking on the appendage that looked small to the eye but felt as thick as a woman’s hand.
The lion reared back and swatted David on the chest, sending his claws into David’s flesh, scratching down toward his abdomen. The movement freed David’s hand that held the dagger. Quickly, he shoved it into the lion, digging it into the animal’s side. The lion jerked away from the knife, not releasing his jaws on David’s thigh. He swung back to thrust the knife in again, but the lion’s paw caught his arm and pinned it to the ground. He then chomped down on his arm, holding him in a vise grip.
Why wasn’t the lion eating him? It was all a game to the animal, playing with his food. Usually, they sent out the beasts that were starving. This one must have eaten recently. The thought of what, or who, made David shudder. He wasn’t about to join the lion’s latest victim.
David beat the lion with his free hand, his own blood splattering onto the animal’s mane. He pushed up, trying to get on top of the lion, but the animal rolled over, releasing his grip on David’s arm with the dagger but taking his entire body down. David found himself beneath the lion as his jaws clamped onto his shoulder. He thrust the dagger into the lion’s belly, and thrust again, feeling the heat of the animal’s blood on his hand. With the next twist, the dagger slid from his grip. The lion bellowed a mournful roar and his weight came down on David, knocking the breath out of him. He felt for the blade, but his fingers found only fur and sand.
The heavy animal’s breathing grew labored, and the lion’s weight prevented David from sucking in a full breath of his own. He pushed against the animal but failed to budge him. The lion’s head collapsed on David, covering his face with his mane. Heat from the animal’s blood poured over David’s body, and he felt like he would drown.
The animal released one last breath and his entire weight came down. Sunlight spun around them, cheers from the crowd ringing like buzzards in the sky, soaring over him as if waiting
to eat his flesh, buzzing in his ears until darkness swallowed him.
Ω
The stench of blood, sweat and death overwhelmed David. He lay on someone, a lifeless someone, and then another someone fell on him, crushing against his torso. He pushed at the body, attempting to shout, “Get off,” but no words came.
“That one moved!” a man said. “I saw him move!”
“You’re imagining things. A lion got that one. There’s no way he survived.”
“I’m telling you, he’s alive!”
David pushed again, but the heaviness of his arms felt like boulders. He opened his eyes, looking over the person lying on him. Night. In the near distance, flames reflected on the faces of two men tossing bodies. He was outside the gates of Rome where the dead were burned.
“David!” It was Galen’s voice, but David couldn’t turn his head to see. “Get them off!” Galen shouted as he tugged the dead bodies off him.
“Holy thunder! You’re right!”
Suddenly, the weights lifted and David could breathe, but the stench of death nearly suffocated him. The men picked him up and lay him on the ground, dirt and rocks pressed against his shoulders and back. Moaning, he straightened his legs, stretching against the dirt, his broken sandal fumbling over the rocks.
Galen leaned over him, tears in his eyes. “I thought we’d finally lost you.” He sobbed against David’s shoulder.
“If only that were true,” David mumbled, but deep inside he was relieved. The fires of hell would likely be worse than the predicament in which he now found himself.
“Get off him, old man!” The heavier of the two men shoved Galen aside and knelt over David. “Can you move? Can you walk?”
David tried to sit up, but the ground swirled. He groaned and lay back down.
“Fortuna must be smiling on you tonight.” The heavyset man shook his head with a grin of amazement. “You would have burned to death.”
“Amazing that lion didn’t put an end to him,” another voice said, the same voice who hadn’t believed David was alive.
“What are we gonna do with him now?” The man looked at his friend.
“I’ll take him home.” Galen’s voice carried to David, but he couldn’t see him.
Elianna. David would finally get to see his little girl. But would she want anything to do with him? Would the church accept him? Surely not.
“We could sell him.” The voice came from the other man who David still couldn’t see.
The larger man hovering over David looked at him, the light from the fire casting a shadow over the side of his face. Strangely, it brought to mind the night the peddler found him as a boy and sold him. Would the same happen now?
“He’s my son-in-law. He’s served his time,” Galen said, his voice pleading. “Let me take him home.”
“Do you realize who this is?” the other voice said.
The man hovering over David looked at him, studying him from his head to his feet. “Inasnum Simianus,” he whispered, the revelation and glow of the fire reflecting in his eyes.
“Imagine how much he’d be worth.” The other man moved closer, grabbing his friend. “No one has to know.”
“I’ll know!” Galen shouted, coming into David’s view, standing over all of them. “Release him now!”
The other man stood, and the heavyset man leaning over David patted him on the cheek as a father would his son. He stood, and they both turned on Galen.
“No!” David shouted and reached up, but his words came out on a broken whisper.
The two men attacked Galen, punching him and kicking him. They moved out of David’s sight, and for the first time in years, David prayed. Galen was Elianna’s only family, her only protection, other than the church. She needed Galen. He had to survive.
The two men came back into David’s line of vision, one rubbing his hands together as if anticipating something wonderful, the other man rubbing his knuckles as if in pain.
Ω
Elianna walked back over to Titus after pacing the courtyard. As she nestled in next to him, she became all too aware of how much she’d grown. She had to curl into him more to fit under his arm.
“What if the authorities got him?” Elianna whispered to Titus, voicing her greatest fear and twisting her sash as she leaned against his side. He put a trembling arm around her as they sat together in the courtyard. She realized Titus was likely as worried as she. That certainly didn’t put her at ease.
Several of the Christians tried to give Elianna comfort by bringing her food and offering her words of encouragement that Pappous would be back soon, but she didn’t believe them and couldn’t eat. When Pappous didn’t return last night, several of the men went in search for him. She discovered he was missing that morning. She knew Pappous held odd jobs here and there, but she didn’t know of any that went through the night, other than the task of bringing wheeled carts into the city. But he would have told someone.
What would she do if he were gone? She leaned closer to Titus. He’d be all she had left. Titus wasn’t blood related, but because he was once like a father to Abba, she felt like he was family, even if he wasn’t her brother in Christ. Still, because of her faith, she would need the brethren as much or more than she needed Titus.
If only Zander were here. She still hadn’t heard from him. She’d sent her letter two years ago. That should have been plenty of time to get a response. The nagging realization that she needed to let go of Zander made her heart ache. Why didn’t he write back … or return? Surely, he loved Abba and Mamma as much as she did. But the fact that he wasn’t here made the reason for his absence that much clearer. The painful realization that he moved on without them … without her.
Jiggling of the latch carried from down the hall to across the courtyard, and the door opened, revealing Pappous leaning between two of the brothers. They escorted a limping and haggard Pappous into the courtyard.
Elianna ran up to him and hugged him. He groaned, and she pulled back. His eye was swollen, and his limp was more pronounced as the men led him to a bench.
Titus jumped to his feet and stared at Pappous.
“What happened?” She put her hand over her mouth as they helped him sit down. “Did the authorities get you?”
“I’ll explain later,” he said, half-smiling at her and reaching a trembling hand to her cheek. “Get your things packed. We’ll be leaving.”
“Leaving?”
Pappous nodded toward Titus. “We won’t be coming back.”
“Are we going to Aunt Sarah?” Elianna had always hoped they’d finally go to Germania, but Pappous shook his head. “Where then?” she asked, disappointment making her heart sink.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Master, we thought we lost you.” Titus knelt before Pappous.
“You may rise, Titus.” Shaking his head, he motioned for Titus to get up. “As you can see, I am well.”
Elianna gasped at the absurd statement. He didn’t look well at all. One of the women brought a bowl of water and a cloth and dabbed at the wounds and cuts on Pappous’s face.
Titus remained kneeling, his head down. Elianna had never seen him look so contrite. “Master … if your God is as kind and merciful as you have been to me these past two years, I wish for your God to be mine as well.”
Pappous reached out and touched Titus on the head, his hand covering the small turban Titus wore that day. “Titus, please look at me.”
“I did you wrong, and you have shown me nothing but kindness … forgiveness.” Titus slowly lifted his gaze. “I do not deserve such treatment from the man I once tried to put to death.”
Elianna gasped, but Pappous held his hand up to silence her.
“That was a long time ago.” Pappous leaned closer to Titus. “You were following your master’s orders.”
“Yes.” Titus’s chin rose and determination was set in his jaw. “But I’ve since learned that my fear for my Creator should be greater than my fear for man.”
“I am a sinful man, and I need forgiveness.” He paused as though finding it difficult to speak, but finally, he opened his mouth, and with great effort put his thoughts to words. “Are my sins … too great … for your God to wash away?”
Tears filled Pappous’s eyes as he grabbed Titus by the shoulders. “No sin is too great,” he said. “God is merciful and He forgives.”
Alexander raised his fingers to his lips, the two rings given to him by his grandfather glinting in the bright sun. He released a shrill whistle and it echoed off the arid canyons. In the desert valley below, the black stallion galloped in a wide arc, turning toward him. He cocked a half grin. “Beautiful,” Alexander whispered as the stallion’s black flanks and mane reflected the sunlight like a jewel in the desert.
Just as Alexander hoped, Nefer raced around the cliff to the gradual incline that would lead to him. A hot wind caught Alexander’s keffiyeh, blowing the dark fabric of his headscarf against his cheeks. Loose strands of hair caught on the shadowed whiskers along his rough jaw. He gazed out over the dunes in the distance, the dark liner around his eyes protecting them from the bright sun. When he first arrived, he thought it strange that his people wore black liner, but now he understood why, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
A lone rider came toward him in the distance. Sand spiraled through the air behind his camel, catching on the wind and vanishing into the blue sky. A stranger. Alexander squinted to get a better look. Odd. Few men dared venture this far into the barren land for fear of the Bedouin tribes.