Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy

by Lorilyn Roberts

  Cynisca turned her face from me, clearing her throat before continuing.

  “There are twenty-four races in a day. Most of the gladiators live in the barracks, and since you don’t, you’ll be a little unusual.”

  “In a bad way?”

  “No. They’ll just be curious about you. They’ll think you’re rich.” She shrugged. “It’s something you should be aware of.”

  “All right.”

  “And beware of the spikes on the sides of the chariots. Let’s see, we need to get your Xystis—garment. In the meantime, you can wear the robe I gave you. Do you have a curved knife?”

  “What’s the knife for?”

  “You don’t know much about racing, do you? If you get knocked off, you don’t want to be dragged by the reins of the horse. If you get tangled up, you need the knife to cut yourself loose.”

  My muscles tensed. Why did this have to be so dangerous?

  “And, of course, we need to fit you with a leather helmet, knee pads and shin pads, and the rest of your clothing.”

  “When do I get those?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  “You’ll race around the curricular seven times.”

  “What’s that?” I interrupted.

  “The arena,” Cynisca clarified. “Each time you go around, they’ll drop a dolphin.”

  “A dolphin?”

  “Oh, they are in the middle. See the decorative sculptures. As you finish each lap, they tilt them forward. That’s how they keep track of how many times you’ve gone around.”

  “I see.”

  Now, you’ll be in the starting gate on the outside since you’re new. Once you win a couple of races, they will give you a more preferred spot. You have to earn that.”

  “I will.”

  “And, of course, the judge’s boxes will be set up the day of the race. Pontius Pilate will drop the handkerchief. And dignitaries show up, so you must do well. Otherwise, the spectators will laugh at you. They are merciless until you’ve proven yourself. They want a show.”

  Reminded me of sports back home.

  “I think that’s it for the rules.”

  “What will I wear?”

  “It’s a sleeveless garment called a Xystis. It comes down in a V-shape and is cinched at the waist. You’ll have a pair of straps across your upper back to prevent it from ballooning up during the race. But for now, what you’re wearing will work fine. We won’t be racing for speed for a few days.

  “Practice maneuvering the chariot through the turns, as we did yesterday, only this time in the arena. It will be more fun here, where you get a feel for the bends around the stadium.”

  Cynisca darted her eyes about. “It’s quite exciting to be down here with all the seating and the colonnades. Don’t you think?”

  “Makes my stomach knot up.”

  She laughed. “That’s good. If you didn’t have some fear, I’d wonder if you were human.”

  I wiped the perspiration from my forehead.

  Cynisca stood. “Let’s head back to the stables and meet your horses.”

  We passed several gladiators on the way. I could feel their steely eyes, but I pretended not to notice. The Naser brothers in particular gawked at me. Of course, I wasn’t dressed in the proper attire, so I looked like a newbie.

  I caught up with Cynisca as we neared the entrance to the stables. The onlookers soon went back to their own business.

  At least a dozen horses stood in the stalls. Each horse was tended to by two or three slaves. I was impressed with how clean the area was for so many animals.

  Cynisca pointed to a chariot sitting outside a stall. “There is your bigae.” The waxed front and sides made the chariot look like a piece of art. Even the wooden wheels were spotless—without a speck of dust.

  Inside the stall, two slaves were grooming a horse. One of the slaves was cleaning the horse’s nose—I was glad I was spared that chore—and another was shampooing the same horse’s tail. Two additional slaves were tending to a second horse.

  “So I’m training with these horses?”

  “Yes. These are fine racehorses. Your horses,” she enunciated.

  I studied both of them with anticipation.

  “They were specially bred in Africa.”

  I walked over to the closest one. His freshly brushed mane was coppery and his tail was darker, more bronze. I reached out and stroked his neck. “What are their names?”

  “That one is Mosi, the lead horse. The other one is Oni.”

  “Greek names?”

  “Of course. This is a Greek sport.”

  I smiled. I would soon be so fluent in Greek and Hellenistic culture I might lose my Jewishness. I had not noticed any Jews in the chariot races. I seemed to be the only one here.

  Cynisca’s eyes studied me as I ran my hand along the back of the horse. The slave moved out of my way.

  I spoke gently to the horse. “So you are Mosi, huh? I’m Daniel and we’ll make a great team, with Oni.”

  The horse nodded and snorted, as if understanding me.

  “So even though you don’t know anything about racing chariots, you seem to be comfortable with horses.”

  I glanced at Cynisca. “This is a fine horse, but unless he trusts me, he won’t race for me.”

  “That’s so true,” Cynisca agreed. “Relationship building is important.”

  I stared into Mosi’s eyes. If Shale were here, what secrets could she tell me about the horses?

  I turned to Oni and stroked him on the neck. Both horses seemed to have good temperaments. I was glad I’d had an opportunity to meet my racing partners before we got on the track.

  “Come,” Cynisca said. “Let the slaves finish with the horses. They will bring the chariot and the horses out to us. Nidal and Tariq are doing their practice runs and I want you to watch.”

  We entered the arena and sat a few rows up in the stadium seats. The brothers were trotting around the track in their bigaes. I paid close attention to how each used his left hand to steer around the corners. Their skills impressed me. In art and athletics, whenever someone made something look easy, you knew he was skillful.

  “In how many races have they competed?” I asked.

  Cynisca stopped to think. “They have been racing for only a few months, but they have won every race. We race every week, sometimes twice a week, so what would that be? Twenty-five races at least.”

  “How much money is that?”

  Cynisca laughed. “They moved out of the slave quarters after their first two races. If they keep this up, they will soon become quite wealthy.”

  How much would medical school cost? It would take three months of working for Brutus to earn what I could win in one race—and he paid well.

  I asked Cynisca, “Which is more important, the charioteer’s prowess or the horse’s ability?”

  She puckered her mouth as she thought. “It’s a little of both.”

  One of the brothers slapped the horse with a whip.

  “I don’t like slapping a horse with a whip,” I commented.

  “That’s how you make them go faster. Horses are basically stubborn, you know.”

  “Not if they are trained well,” I countered.

  Cynisca seemed surprised by my statement. “You’re in charge when you’re out there racing. You must make your horse outperform the others.”

  I would work on the relationship part. I didn’t like the whip.

  After a while, the slaves brought out my bigae and horses.

  Cynisca touched my hand and her bright eyes focused on me. “It’s your turn now.”

  We walked down the steps and headed over to the chariot. My mind went blank—like right before a test at school, when I felt that I’d forgotten all the answers.

  Cynisca directed me to step up on the chariot, and the slaves connected it to the horses. She handed me the reins.

  “Let’s go around the track slowly through the turns. Get a feel for the hor
ses.” She handed me the whip.

  “You don’t have to hit them hard,” she cautioned. “They know what to do, but you need to let them know you’re in charge.”

  I checked the reins. They needed to be short enough to stop the horses, but not so short that I tugged at their mouth. I would steer Mosi with my left hand and he would guide Oni on the right.

  Everyone moved out of my way—probably out of fear. They knew I was a newbie.

  I yelled at the horses to go. They didn’t move. I tried a couple more times. They still didn’t move. My face burned hot as I heard a couple of snickers from the gladiators.

  Cynisca approached me. “You will have to hit them with the whip to make them go,” she whispered.

  I took the whip and slapped the left horse, and both horses took off running—too fast. I panicked. We came to the first turn. I blanked on what Cynisca had showed me the day before. I hoped I didn’t fall off and wildly moved the reins with both hands.

  As we spun out of the first turn, I breathed a sigh of relief. The horses knew what they were doing, even if I didn’t know what I was doing. They made me look better than I was.

  We completed the first lap around the track and I arrived back at my starting point. I noticed the slaves and gladiators looked surprised that I hadn’t wrecked or fallen off the chariot.

  Cynisca was all smiles. “Good job,” she congratulated me, “after a somewhat dubious start.”

  “Can I go around again?” I asked.

  “Sure. The track is ours for the next hour. Don’t go too fast. Besides, you don’t have your helmet. Let the horses get to know your voice today.”

  I galloped the horses around the track a few more times, feeling more confident each time. On the third lap, I looked up into the stands. I imagined crowds cheering as I passed victory lane.

  Unexpectedly, I saw someone from my past. She sat in the first seat next to the track on the far side, wearing the same clothes I had seen her wear before. I’d almost forgotten about the ventriloquist. A year had passed since her last appearance.

  She smiled and waved, holding a bag of popcorn, as if she were in the year 2015 watching a football game. Her presence was disturbing and broke my focus and concentration. What was she doing here?

  I had to put her out of my mind. When I made another trip around the track, she was gone, but that she was here at all disturbed me. The demon had followed me all the way to Caesarea—why?

  Cynisca walked up to me on my final lap, smiling broadly. “You did a fine job on your first day at the hippodrome.”

  “Thank you.” My elated feeling from earlier had been subdued by the unexpected visitor. Cynisca seemed not to notice.

  She peered up at the sky studying the sun’s position. “It is time to finish for today. We’ll be back here tomorrow first thing in the morning.”

  I nodded.

  “You still want to be a gladiator, right?”

  “Yes—absolutely.”

  “Great.” Cynisca glanced at her parchment. “Tomorrow I’ll give you your corset, helmet, shin guards, knee protectors and knife. You’ll need to decide if you want to fasten the knife over your back or at your waist.

  “When we take the horses up to racing speed, you’ll need to wear the helmet. Accidents can happen during training.”

  I stepped off the chariot and stretched my muscles. I’d be sore tomorrow.

  Cynisca chuckled. “You held the interest of Tariq and Nidal. They came up and asked where you’re from.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  Cynisca shrugged. “I told them I didn’t know, except that you’re Jewish.”

  I didn’t say anything. An awkward silence followed.

  Cynisca eyed me curiously. “Where are you from?”

  “Jerusalem,” I replied.

  She scrunched up her nose. “Where are you staying?”

  Did I want to tell her that? “Close by.”

  She smiled. “So you don’t want to tell me, huh? I was just curious.”

  “I don’t remember the name of the inn,” I lied.

  She tossed her head.

  I laughed. She didn’t believe me. My physical desire for Cynisca returned. I wanted to prove myself to her—that I could be the best. I knew I needed to focus on racing, though. Death or working in the mines were not good alternatives to winning. I couldn’t win if I was distracted.

  CHAPTER 35 THE DEMON

  I left the hippodrome excited. The evening sun hung over the Mediterranean and my shadow appeared long and skinny. Now that I needed muscle mass, I was mindful of my physique.

  I headed through the gates back into town. The square brimmed with activity. I grabbed some food from a street vender and walked over to an empty table. The fountain had several winged visitors playing in the spray. Stretching out on the bench, I admired the harbor.

  Overlooking the harbor stood Caesar’s temple. Curiosity got the best of me. What was inside that magnificent structure? Greeks frequented it throughout the day. I had never been inside a pagan temple.

  After finishing my meal, I climbed the hill to see the temple up close. Was anyone watching me? Not that anyone cared, but for a Jew to enter a pagan temple would be considered scandalous by another Jew.

  Why did I feel a need to be secretive anyway? I knew their gods had no power. I entered through the ornate doors and inside the hallway was a colossal statue of Caesar. I smirked that the Greeks thought Caesar was a god.

  A partially clothed Roman goddess stood in a prominent location. I had no idea who she was in the hierarchy of Greek and Roman idols. The statues were beautiful as art but to believe they had supernatural powers was vexing. I didn’t like being around them and left.

  Once outside, I hurried across the street. I regretted my moment of frivolity. Then I saw her—the demon. No! That memory returned, when she sat cross-legged by the fire at Robbers Creek. I pretended not to see her. Somehow, I would lose her in the crowds.

  Everyone seemed to be in my way. I dodged in and out of traffic, vendors, and shoppers. A ship had arrived in port and I hurried to the harbor. The influx of passengers would make me difficult to spot. I lingered in the crowds until they dispersed. Several times, I glanced around, but I didn’t see her. Once I was sure she was gone, I climbed an overhanging rocky ledge. Ships filled the harbor, a hundred or more. Soon I forgot about the ventriloquist.

  A wicked wind kicked up and blew sand all around below me. I was glad I was up high to avoid the particles stinging my face or getting into my eyes. I sat and watched as dark gray clouds formed. Several fishing boats pulled in their nets and headed into port. The storm grew and the tumultuous cloud formations captivated me. My better judgment told me to find cover, but I tarried.

  Large droplets fell and splattered across the rocks. I climbed down and hurried back, but not before becoming drenched. I was almost to the apartment—and I saw her again. The demon was barely visible in the sheets of rain.

  She walked towards me like a ghost. I ran inside the apartment lobby and raced down the hallway. Fumbling with the key, I opened the door with difficulty. After slamming it shut, I leaned against the door. Breathing heavily, I slid to the floor.

  Why was she here? I knew she was evil—it was my fault. I shouldn’t have entered the pagan temple.

  The statue in my room had fallen over and broken into several pieces. Did I break it when I slammed the door, or did the storm shake the floor? Or had someone been in my room?

  I rushed over to my bed and stuck my hand inside the blankets. My moneybag was still there. I relaxed a little. Why did I feel so jumpy?

  The beheaded statue’s eyes stared at me from the floor and a mocking laugh covered its face. How could something pagan like a broken statue spook me? I kicked the head across the room and it slammed into the wall. The eyes still stared back.

  I stood and cracked the door. No one was around. I picked up the broken pieces and threw them in the trash.

  Now I was fearful to lea
ve. The demon saw me enter the apartment. Did she know which room was mine? I would sleep with the oil lamp burning tonight—if I slept at all.

  CHAPTER 36 FIRST RACE

  Three Weeks Later

  I awoke restless and sweaty. My mind swirled. Race day had arrived. I dressed and pulled the leather straps over my shoulders. The knife fit snugly in the sheath of my belt. I even took the time to fix my hair in the typical gladiator style. I would carry my helmet to the hippodrome instead of wearing it.

  What would Shale think of me now? I shook off the memories to focus on racing.

  The ventriloquist had not made another appearance—and my gladiator lessons had gone well—better than Cynisca anticipated. She claimed I had raised more than one eyebrow.

  I closed the door and stepped outside to chattering seabirds. The sun had risen and shades of red and gold over the blue Mediterranean waters promised sunshine. The equestrian races were some of the most popular events at the venue, and the chariot races were at the top of that exclusive list.

  As I walked along the streets that swelled with racing patrons, onlookers greeted me with new respect. I heard whispers, “Look, a gladiator.”

  Wide-eyed children delighted in my clothing. One came up and asked to touch my helmet.

  The festive activities set the tone for a day of unbridled entertainment. I found a food stand and ate some pita bread with humus. I washed it down with grape juice. Then I bought a couple of trinkets from a vendor.

  The celebration kicked off with a parade that began in the basilica. Each team joined in the procession, accompanied by their religious representatives, which included standards, musicians, and attending magistrates and workers.

  My standard was the Dioscuri twins. One was a famed rider and the other a boxer—part of my compromise for living here. I had come to accept the hedonism. What would have disturbed me a year ago barely pricked my conscience now.

  Caesarea was a Roman city and I had become like a Roman. Jerusalem was a distant memory and so was God. I had one goal—to become the most successful chariot racer who ever lived.

  Outside thoughts were distractions that would keep me from winning. I was determined to beat Nidal and Tariq by any means short of cheating.