by Sandi Rog
“I’m well,” Haru said, rubbing his arm, a thick cloth tied around it. “We just got word of David.”
Alexander straightened. “What news?” He swallowed and cleared his throat and walked out the door with Haru, anything to distract himself from the power of his emotions.
“He’s wounded.”
Ω
“I can do it now,” David said. “But it’s too late.”
He would die. He’d been in the arena more times than he could count, and he’d been afraid. Yes … afraid of coming face to face with men who would try to kill him. But this … dying … was more terrifying than anything he had encountered out there. He recalled the letter to the Hebrews. Didn’t it say that it was a dreadful thing to land in the hands of the living God? And that’s where he was going.
“What are you talking about?” Alexander knelt next to David’s bed in the infirmary chamber.
“Take the way out.” David winced, holding his side that was now bound, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop. “Elohim provides a way out of temptation. My way has been death, but I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t let myself die when I had the ability to defend myself. But … Titus showed me how.”
Alexander shook his head, concern clouding his eyes. “You’ve been under so much oppression. God is compassionate.”
“No. I’m not worthy to be with Him.”
Alexander’s brows rose. “When did you think you were worthy of Him?”
“When I wasn’t killing,” David said between clenched teeth.
Alexander shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “This isn’t like the games where you keep score.” Alexander studied him, his gaze severe. “If this is a game, then you can never win. None of us can.”
“You don’t understand. I’m worse than Aulus,” David said, but it came out on a ragged breath.
David knew the Father’s will. He had His salvation, His mercy, His grace, and he threw it all away every time he wielded his sword. “I couldn’t let myself die. I went beyond defending myself.” David cried in anguish. “I’m a hypocrite.”
Titus didn’t even have heaven to look forward to, and yet he showed more mercy, more faith in what lay ahead than David ever had. He did what David could never do all these years.
“I tried to do what was right in this. I tried so hard. But … I failed.” David wanted the Lord, wanted to cry out to Him. He never wanted to leave Him. He just didn’t know how to stop. He didn’t know how.
David wept.
Why did it have to take Titus to show him how? Titus never raised his sword—other than to deflect David’s blows—never raised his sword when he had the opportunity to win the battle. Instead, he allowed David to kill him. Titus had always been a man to obey his master. No matter the consequences. But this time was different. Who was his master?
“I can make it right,” David said, desperate to measure up. “I can go out there, defend myself, but not kill.” But hadn’t he tried that already? Over and over again? David groaned. It was hopeless. Even if he could go back in the arena and prove himself to Elohim, he would fail, just like he failed all those times in the past. There was nothing he could do. Nothing.
David turned his head away from Alexander, hopelessness enveloping him. “I see it now. I was never worthy.” All of Galen’s words about Aulus flooded his mind, as if a great light exposed their meaning after being buried in dark shadows. “I could never forgive what he did. How can I expect Elohim to forgive me for this,” he said, motioning out the door toward the arena, “when I haven’t forgiven others?” He sighed. “I put myself as judge over Aulus. I couldn’t forgive him when I thought his sins were greater than my own. But now I understand.” He reached up to Alexander and grabbed his tunic. “I was never a humble slave. Never humble like you.”
Now that he could see the debt he owed his God, he could see that he was no better than Aulus or anyone else on this earth. Who did David think he was all those years as he tried to please Elohim? All those years of trying to do right? He was so arrogant. He looked down on all those who weren’t as good as him. No wonder he had a hard time forgiving, no matter who it was. David groaned from the pain in his side.
“I hated Him for allowing this.” He’d wondered what he had done to deserve this life. But he needed to be humbled. Now he understood what he had to learn from this insanity. But how was he to ask for forgiveness?
“When you’re in a relationship with someone, you’re going to have disagreements.” Alexander pried David’s fingers off his tunic. “You’re going to get angry with each other. Your anger is not too great for God. He invented the emotion.”
David fisted the covers on the bed as pain seared through his insides. “But I’m a worm. A man who was supposed to grow, to become a better person. Not turn into this vile being. Why would He save me now?”
Alexander shook his head. “Just because your sins are now exposed to you, doesn’t mean Elohim has also been blind to them. He already knows. Now, tell Him that you know.” He gestured toward David. “Elohim already knows how evil you are, how evil we all are. That’s why He provided a bridge so we can reach Him—Yahshua’s death, burial, and resurrection.” Alexander shrugged. “No one is good enough for the Father. Sin separated us from Him because He’s holy. The only way back to the Father is through Yahshua’s death. He paid the price for our sin.”
“I should be baptized again,” David said.
“What? When you were baptized you were united with Christ in His death. It’s not needed again! Just because you have sinned since you accepted the Way does not mean that you have denounced Christ or removed yourself from His grace. You just need to recognize and take advantage of the powerful relationship you entered when you became a Christian.”
Alexander scrubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t you remember Job and what happened to him? Satan had God’s permission to harm him. But it wasn’t about his suffering. It was about his faithfulness.”
Alexander leaned over the bed as if realizing something, his face intense. “Manius gave me his scrolls—the scriptures. I’ve been reading a lot, especially in Luke’s letter. And do you know what Yahshua said to Peter? ‘Satan has asked permission to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Peter, that your faith may not fail.’ He didn’t ask for him not to be sifted, he asked for him to remain faithful. After that, Peter denied Christ three times! And when he grieved over his sin, he repented. No different than what you’re doing now.” He slapped the bed. “Who’s to say Satan hasn’t been sifting you like wheat all this time? But you’ve kept the faith, David. Yes, you’ve sinned along the way, but that’s why we need Yahshua. It’s all about His death! That’s how He bridged the gap. Even better, He died for us while we were still His enemies.”
Still His enemies. David pondered those words. He was an enemy, no doubt. Had Satan been sifting him? Was that what this was all about? And David allowed it to weaken him. He had to try. He had to hope. It was all he had left. “Elohim, my Father, my God.” David choked on a sob. “I have sinned. I don’t like the man I’ve become. Please have mercy on my soul! I know I don’t deserve it. I know I have not been worthy of You. And I know I’ve hated You at times for allowing my suffering.” He groaned as the words choked over his lips. “But it’s opened my eyes. Made me see who and what I really am. And I … I … thank You.” He gasped from the pain. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” David began to weep, and Alexander grasped David’s hand and prayed with him.
Despite the fact that David would be useless to them now that he was dying, the magistrate wouldn’t let Alexander take him unless he paid. So Alexander had his men bring his chest of coins, and for all the coins he earned juggling, including those first several times with David, Alexander bought David’s freedom.
Strange.
The coins were always meant to buy Alexander’s freedom. He never dreamed he’d use them for David’s.
And now, Alexander made his way to Elianna’s tent. He’d put David in his ow
n tent. David didn’t have long, and he wanted Elianna to say goodbye to him before it was too late.
The chambermaid nodded for him to enter, and he pushed aside the curtain. Elianna stood at the table with all the trinkets he’d purchased for her over the years, holding one of them in her hands, rubbing her fingers over it as if it were something important. Important to throw at him, or important for another reason? He cleared his throat, and she turned.
“Your father is dying, and if you wish to see him, we haven’t much time.” He held out his hand, waiting for her to take it.
She set the trinket down, walked over to him and placed her hand in his. Resisting the urge to kiss her fingers, he led her to his tent.
Outside his curtained door, they stopped. “He might not be able to talk.”
She nodded, and he led her inside. She stopped at the bed where David lay. Gasping, she looked at Alexander then at David. She crept closer to him and sat on the bed. With a trembling hand, she gently brushed aside the hair on his forehead as David’s struggling breaths filled the room.
Ω
David sensed someone near, someone on the bed next to him. He slowly, painstakingly opened his eyes. A woman who looked like Alethea, only with auburn curls cascading over her narrow shoulders. Her dark eyes were wide, as if she were seeing a ghost.
Elianna. His precious little girl.
He wanted to reach up to her, to say her name, but it took everything he had just to breathe. Still, he had to try. To touch her one last time before it was too late. With excruciating effort, he lifted his arm, reaching to touch his precious daughter, but he wasn’t going to make it. Her gaze darted to his hand, and she took it gently, her fingers so small and soft, just like her mother’s. She held his palm against her smooth cheek, and he was able to brush his fingers over her softness. Like a kitten, she pressed further into his palm, molding his fingers to her warmth.
Beautiful. Just like your mother.
Elianna smiled, tears shining in her eyes, and she began to hum, the song she and her mother always sang. The room grew dark, and his arm grew heavy, so heavy he could no longer hold it up, but Elianna held on, as though, if she could hold on to him, she could keep him there. She began to fade, to drift away from him, so far away, he didn’t think he could still reach her, but he felt her still holding on. A whisper of wind filled his ears, and its murmur blew the curtains of his lids closed.
Elianna’s song continued to carry over him, swirling through his dreams and drifting over him, plunging him into a deep final rest.
Morning dawned, and David awoke to a song. A sweet melody danced through his head. Smiling, he kept his eyes closed, taking in the sound, the smells, the cool, comforting sensation beneath his body. He wasn’t lying on cushions or pillows, nor did he have covers pulled over him, and the bed was singing. Not an overwhelming sound of music, but with a soft voice, and if he wasn’t lying so still, he might not have heard it. Strange. A bed didn’t sing. He must be dreaming. But the sun was so bright, and the smells and sound of familiar humming above him were so real, he had to open his eyes.
He lay on his back in a grassy meadow. Birds soared above and landed in nearby trees. But not all of the trees were green. Some were bright yellow and red, and even some shades he’d never seen before. And colors of the rainbow. A soft wind blew, whispering through the leaves of the trees, carrying a hint of another song. What were they singing? He listened carefully and heard praises. They were singing praises to Elohim.
David pushed up to get a better look, to take in the sounds around him, the smells of lilacs, and the rolling green hills beneath a majestic expanse of blue sky.
“Your scar is gone.”
David looked toward the familiar voice, shock knocking him back down. He blinked. Was he truly awake? Alethea, more beautiful than he remembered, hovered over him in much the same way Elianna had been hovering over him just moments ago.
“Yahshua said I could be the first to come.” Alethea smiled and brushed her fingers along his cheek where his scar had been. She leaned down close to him and whispered, “I’ve met your parents. They’re anxious to see you. Titus is here and so is my daddy.”
Alethea’s dark curls cascaded over her shoulder and onto David’s chest. He reached up, strong, unlike moments ago, and took a lock between his fingers. “You’re real.”
“Yes, I am.” She giggled and fell on his chest.
Taking in her scent, he hugged her close, running his fingers through her hair. “How can this be? I don’t belong here.”
Alethea tenderly kissed his forehead then his nose. “None of us do. I’m so glad you’re here.” She smiled, a smile that met her eyes and told him of the overwhelming joy she felt. “Sometimes Yahshua would ask me to sing. Just out of the blue and for no reason at all.” She lifted a hand, waving it in the air. “I’d ask Him why, and He said it was because you were taking your thoughts captive.” Staring out into the distance, she furrowed her brows and shook her head. “I never understood.” She looked back down at him, her dark, sparkling eyes more beautiful than he remembered. “Could you hear me sing?”
David recalled all the times he forced his mind on Alethea’s voice, forced himself to hear her songs so he wouldn’t have to hear her screams. And it had worked. He would pray to hear her, pray that God would help him hear her voice, and when he focused, her songs would carry through his mind. “Yes. I could hear you,” he whispered, amazed that she was actually singing to him at those times.
“I’m so glad!” Giggling, she hugged him, then as if hearing something, or Someone, she straightened and looked over her shoulder. “He’s coming.” She grabbed both his hands and pulled him to his feet.
He stood over her, and just as he remembered, the top of her head still came to his chin, but her clothing was like none he had ever seen, so white and sparkling. David took her in his arms, holding her and taking in her familiar jasmine scent. “It’s you,” he said. “It’s really you.”
Laughing and turning in his arms, she pointed to a colorful hill in the distance where a lone man walked toward them, wading through rows of flowers. His white hair waved in a slight breeze, and His garment shimmered like the sun, the sleeves and sides of the open robe fluttering behind Him. On His robe and on His thigh His name was written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS. The man broke through the flowers and He wore no shoes. His feet had holes in them, as did His hands and His side. He came and stopped in front of David.
David’s knees buckled and he dropped to Yahshua’s feet. He wanted to kiss them, but he didn’t dare touch Him, didn’t dare grasp His ankles as he longed to do. “I don’t deserve to be here.” He rested his cheek on the grass, seeing his Master’s wounded feet, wounds made by him.
Yahshua knelt and tilted David’s chin, and with a stroke of His thumb, He wiped away David’s tears, sending light over his face. David didn’t dare blink as he absorbed His Lord’s powerful, cleansing palm. “Your sins have been forgiven.”
David cried, holding on to his Lord’s mighty hand as He tenderly cupped David’s face. He pulled David to his feet and took him into His strong arms, holding him like a brother. His Savior held him, cared for him when David had failed Him time and time again.
Slowly, he became aware of others surrounding them. Yahshua motioned for David to turn. He looked around and recognized his parents, Galen, and to his surprise, Titus. Titus was his brother, his brother in Christ. His parents stepped before him, his mother smiling, and Alethea came to his side.
Overwhelmed with joy, David took his mother in his arms. “It’s you,” he said. His father put his hand on his shoulder, and he turned to hug him as well, then Titus, and Galen, all the while keeping Alethea at his side.
Shaking his head with wonder as tears ran down his face, David turned back to Yahshua.
The Son of the Most High God smiled at him and nodded, His eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Smiling, Alethea brushed her fingers over David’s wet cheeks and pul
led him down so she could kiss him. “Don’t you know? There aren’t supposed to be tears in heaven.”
With that, David and Yahshua laughed.
Ω
Alexander leaned on the table in Mohar and Haru’s tent, staring at his reflection in the polished silver. He took a deep breath. It was now or never. He picked up the large knife and held it to his chin, preparing to remove all facial hair.
Mohar came into the tent. “He’s gone.”
Alexander nodded, relieved that Elianna was able to say goodbye. He better get this job done. The only way he could really comfort her was if she knew without a doubt who he was.
Mohar kicked one of his tunics into a pile of dirty clothes lying on the floor. “Sad that it had to end this way.”
Alexander started shaving, scraping off the whiskers along the line of his jaw. The skin beneath his whiskers showed lighter than the skin around the rest of his face. “Wonderful,” he said, full of sarcasm.
“What are you doing?” Mohar faced him, his fists on his hips.
“What’s it look like?”
“But why?” Mohar’s incredulous expression only aggravated Alexander.
“So she’ll recognize me.”
“You’re going to humiliate yourself for a woman?”
Alexander wanted to grab Mohar and shake him. “I’m all she has left. She has to know without a doubt that it’s me.”
Mohar stared at him. He blew out a breath. “I’ve never met a sheik without a beard.” Shaking his head, he stood watching, only making Alexander’s shame worse.
“Get me a tunic. A Roman one.”
Mohar looked around him as if lost, then raised a finger as if remembering where he could find what Alexander wanted, and left.
Alexander would have to trim his hair. Wasn’t that what David suggested? To shave and cut his hair? He rolled his eyes, trying not to be consumed in the misery and humiliation he would create for himself. It would be worth it. Worth her recognition. He was all she had, and he had to be here for her, especially now that everyone she loved was gone.