by Sandi Rog
Acclaim for The Master’s Wall
“It’s a grand thing to find an intriguing story told by a talented storyteller, and that’s just what we have in The Master’s Wall by Sandi Rog. This story has it all: ancient Rome, authentically depicted; a hero worth rooting for; and a feisty, charming heroine—all flowing through a rousting tale beautifully spun. Rog—and every reader—has a winner with this one.”
Robert Liparulo
Bestselling Author of Comes a Horseman,
Germ, and the Dreamhouse Kings series
“Powerful, faith-challenging, epic in nature, The Master’s Wall beckons readers to ancient Rome where Sandi Rog delivers a captivating story that transforms lives—and not only those of her characters. Highly recommended!”
Tamera Alexander
Bestselling Author of Within My Heart
and The Inheritance
“…If you love gladiator scenes—you’ll love this book. If you enjoy coming-of-age stories, you’ll enjoy Alethea’s journey from girlhood to adult. If you thrive on romances, the sweet love story will grasp your heart. A must read for all the right reasons.”
Darlene Franklin
Author of The Prodigal Patriot
“What a compelling novel! I was pulled into David’s world from the beginning of the book and couldn’t wait to get back to it every evening. Rog’s writing is very clean, but not only that, it’s vivid, colorful and emotional. She weaves a strong faith message in without being preachy, and the analogy to Jesus’ sacrifice for us through what happens to David is so touching. I cannot wait to see what comes next from the pen of Sandi Rog.”
Golden Keyes Parson
Author of In the Shadow of the Sun King
2009 ACFW Book of the Year Finalist
“The Master’s Wall is a meticulously researched story that grips you tighter and tighter with every page you turn. Sandi Rog has a knack for engaging, nail-biting narrative—I’m glad to see this is the first in a series, because I definitely want to read more from her.”
Alison Strobel
Author of The Weight of Shadows and Reinventing Rachel
“…a sweeping tale of pain and healing, forgiveness and redemption, and, most importantly, love. With every word, every phrase, Rog weaves a tale so compelling that readers will not be able to put it down. When they do so, it will be with tears borne of appreciation for a truly inspirational read.”
Jane Choate
Author of Bride Price
“Filled with fascinating details of life in first century Rome, The Master’s Wall is a story that will linger in readers’ memories.”
Amanda Cabot
Author of Scattered Petals
“Sandi skillfully transported me back to the harsh world of Roman rule with this engaging story about David and Alethea that moves at breakneck speed. I also learned a great deal about the courage of the ‘early adopters’ of Christianity.”
Mike Yorkey
Co-author of The Swiss Courier
and the Every Man’s Battle series
“Can I just say ‘Wow!’? Or maybe ‘Stunning!’? I love stories set in the first century, and The Master’s Wall ranks as one of the best I’ve read to date. The characters are exactly what a reader wants—full of spirit, full of fire, full of temper that leads them into trouble . . . and faith that helps them through it. The setting is so richly portrayed that you’ll feel like you’ve donned a toga and are wandering through the villa. . . .There’s so much I loved about it! . . .This is one I’m going to be recommending to everyone I know.”
Roseanna M. White
Author of A Stray Drop of Blood
“Awesome! Sandi Rog grabbed me from the very first sentence and didn’t let go until the last page. But I wanted more. I wanted to again run barefoot through the villa, climb the master’s stone wall, look out over the lush vineyards, and escape to ancient Rome in the distance. So . . . I read The Master’s Wall again.”
Wendy Chorot
Words To Life Editing
“I laughed, I cried, I worried, and I forgave as I read to the end of this wonderful story. I am impatient waiting for the next book.”
AJ Hawke
SANDI ROG
The
Master’s
Wall
The Master’s Wall
DeWard Publishing Company, Ltd.
P.O. Box 6259, Chillicothe, Ohio 45601
800.300.9778
www.deward.com
© 2010 Sandi Rog
Cover Design by Reuben Rog
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.
The Master’s Wall is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America.
ISBN: 978-1-936341-02-3
For You, my Master, my Love.
I hope and pray You are pleased.
To My Children,
May the Lord be Master of your hearts and the Love of your lives.
Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth;
I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.
For I came to set a man against his father,
And a daughter against her mother,
And a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law;
And a man’s enemies will be
the members of his household.
— Jesus Christ —
one
Rome, AD 76
David tried not to cry, tried not to breathe or make a sound as he crept along the dark street. Careful not to trip on the flat stones, he recalled how that morning he’d taken this same path, chasing friends between the alleys, pretending they were gladiators fighting at the Circus Maximus. Now again he followed the enemy. Only this enemy was real. There were three of them. And they had taken his parents.
Mamma. Abba.
He wanted to shout out their names, to cry out to them.
He could still feel Mamma’s hand in his. Could feel her letting go as the soldiers pulled her away. Could feel her stola ripping as he clutched it. All he had left was the shredded fabric from her dress still in his hand.
How empty his hand felt now that she was gone.
He made a fist. All he had in the world. Snatched away. And now their lives might depend on him. On what he would do at this moment. But he was just a child, a boy. What could he do? He’d follow them, see where they were taken. Then he could get help. Manius would know what to do.
Voices carried off the mud-brick apartments. David pinned his back against a wall. A shadow moved and he glanced down. A rat scurried across the large stones through the empty street. He released his breath, only then realizing he’d been holding it.
Slowly, he peered around the wall. His fingers quivered as he gripped the brick. Three soldiers towered over his parents in the small street. They looked like giants. Giants with horsehair crests on their heads. Half human, half animal.
One burly monster hurled Mamma forward. She stumbled, but caught herself against Abba’s back and clung to his tunic. Abba helped her up and held her against him, but another soldier jerked them apart. These soldiers treated his parents like slaves, like common criminals. They weren’t any of those things.
The soldier brandished chains in front of Mamma’s face, laughing. Her eyes widened, and David knew she was scared. He’d seen Mamma scared before when he’d come home late one day. She had that same look in her eyes. She’d knelt in front of him and pulled him into her trembling arms. “David. How could you do this to me?” David’s stoma
ch had hurt because he’d frightened her. And now, he felt the same way. But what could he do?
The soldier chuckled as he knelt to bind her ankles, while another soldier held her from behind.
Abba would do something. He had to save Mamma. But now Abba’s arms were bound behind his back.
The man’s large hands locked the shackles into place on Mamma’s ankles. He then ran his fingers up Mamma’s leg, pulling her stola up to reveal her thigh. “Nice.” He ended the word on a long hiss.
“Let her go!” Abba pushed away from a soldier with his shoulder and lunged forward.
The third soldier rushed over, grabbed Abba, and held him back. He motioned toward the man touching Mamma. “Aulus, shouldn’t convicts pay the full penalty for their crimes?”
“Oh, yes.” Aulus smiled and continued to touch Mamma, to touch her in places David had never seen Abba touch her. The man’s big hands on her body made her look small, helpless.
Stop. David clenched his teeth. Stop it right now.
The burly soldier’s hands ran all over her, frightening her.
Someone had to stop him. But no one else was around to help.
No one but David.
“Get away from her!” David ran straight for the soldier.
“No!” Mamma shouted.
Aulus bent and caught David by his arm and leg, lifting him off the ground. The man swung him as if it were a game.
“Leave him!” Abba shouted from the spinning street.
David pried on the man’s hand, noticing a missing finger. But the force of the spin pulled on his limbs, pulled on his body, until suddenly, he found himself hurtling through the air.
“Look at him fly!” Aulus’s laugh echoed off the apartments.
David’s fingers clawed the air and his limbs flailed. He slammed into a wall. A burst of pain cracked audibly through his chest and searing light behind his eyes dazed him. He slumped to the ground. He struggled for breath, but no air came in. His lungs were like rock.
Air. He needed air.
Panicked, he grasped the wall for support, giving his chest room to expand. But he still couldn’t breathe. His lungs wouldn’t move. He gulped in air and gulped again, until finally he dragged in a breath. Knife-like pain stabbed his chest as it swelled.
He could breathe. At last, he could breathe.
Short, rapid breaths gave him strength. He kept them shallow, not too deep or it hurt. He focused on the ground, concentrating on each intake of breath.
The soldiers’ torches reflected off the watery filth between the smooth stones at his feet. He looked up and a blurred image of Mamma came into view. Abba held her, just like he used to. He’d make her smile. She’d laugh and dance around him. Abba would turn and follow her. Then she’d sing, her voice carrying over them as if they were the only ones that existed in the world. David loved to hear her sing. Her voice made him warm, like holding his face up to the sun. But as he watched Abba hold Mamma, the haze cleared, and he saw chains dangling from her ankles, muck gathering along the hem of her stola. And instead of Abba, Aulus held her, touched her.
She shrieked.
It made David’s gums tingle.
Aulus shoved Mamma toward a cart. She stumbled and landed on her knees.
White-hot anger surged through David. The wall and street shuddered. He scrambled to his feet and slammed, shoulder first, into the soldier’s midriff, crushing himself against the iron giant. Pain ripped through David’s body as he reeled back, the stench of the man’s sweat clinging to him.
Laughing, Aulus grabbed David’s tunic and jerked him to a stop. “Can you believe this whelp? Can’t be more than ten but keeps coming back for more.”
Alcohol on the man’s breath fouled the air, and a wicked scar raged from his right eye down to his mouth. David wanted to rip into it. “Don’t touch her!” Just past the man’s elbow, he caught sight of Abba’s tall frame buckling from the blows of another soldier. “Stop!” David swung his fists, batting air as hatred flamed through his mind.
Aulus flung him to the ground.
David’s arms slapped against the stones. The stabbing sensation gripped him, and he froze, stunned by the impact. He groaned and curled against the wrenching in his chest.
“Want to see your son die?” Aulus drew his sword.
“God, save him!” Abba’s words pierced David’s heart.
Aulus raised his sword.
Moonlight reflected off the blade. David froze. Fear clutched his throat. He would actually die.
“Aulus, enough!” A new soldier grabbed Aulus’s wrist. “Leave the boy.”
Aulus stepped back. He scowled at the man and jerked his wrist free. He lowered his sword, revealing another large scar on his bulging arm.
“Let’s go.” The man spoke with an air of authority the other three soldiers lacked. “We’ve got what we came for.” The superior looked around with disapproval in his eyes then turned to the cart. He motioned to Abba who lay on the ground, hands tied behind his back. “Put him in the wagon.”
David pushed against the stones in an attempt to rise, but pain dragged him back down. “No.” He tried to shout, but his voice was a ragged breath. He had to get up. He had to follow them.
“Get up, David,” Abba would say when he’d fall. He’d give him a hand and help him to his feet. “It hurts now, but not forever. Just get up. Never stay down.” David pushed again, but his strength left him, and all he could manage was a roll.
As the soldiers walked by, Aulus nonchalantly swung his sword at his side, slicing David’s face.
David squealed, grasping his cheek. Warm blood streamed onto his hand and down his neck. Anger scorched away his fear and he jumped up to go after the soldier, but the knife inside his body seared through his chest. He dropped to his knees. The ground moved in waves like water, and shadows clouded his vision.
“Daaviiid, Daaviiid!” Mamma’s cries carried through the streets and through his foggy mind. The clatter of the cart’s wheels grew distant and faded into the darkness.
He collapsed on the ground. It pulsated beneath him, beating against his body. Beating against his arms and menacingly against his chest. A rushing wind filled his ears and blackness enveloped him.
Ω
A sour odor filled David’s nostrils. His stomach contracted and his slicing ribs cut off his breath. His eyes flew open.
He glimpsed a scraggly beard. He blinked and tried to focus. A man hovered over him. Part of his wrinkled face lit up in the moonlight, casting a shadow over one eye.
“The gods of fortune be praised.” The man’s smile revealed missing teeth. “You’re still alive.”
Where was he? Stones ground beneath David’s fingers and back. Why wasn’t he in his bed? Where was Mamma? Abba? Then he remembered soldiers.
He touched his cheek, accidentally scraping away part of the crusted surface. Blood trickled onto his fingers. He trembled. This was no dream.
The man pulled on David’s arm, struggling to pick him up.
Pain ripped through David’s chest, and he wailed, choking on each breath as his feet left the ground.
“Nice build and strong.” The man poked and prodded him. “Solid, with meat on your bones. Not like those spindly street urchins. Your value will be great.” The man bound his hands, then dropped him into a small cart, racking David’s ribcage.
Again, darkness claimed him, but the stench of urine and vomit roused his senses. The peddler threw a scratchy cover over him, then hacked and spit. “A nice profit.”
“Elohim, don’t let my parents . . . .” Tears blurred David’s vision and burned the wound on his cheek, each intake of breath stopped short by the pain in his chest.
“You’re an orphan now, boy. You belong to me. They will die under the hands of Caesar.”
David’s thoughts shifted to his little sister, hiding under her blankets and crouched in her nook, her wide eyes peering up at him. “No.” Realization of what he’d done slammed into him as the cart wre
nched with a start, yanking him into a black haze. “Eloi—” Hot and cold waves rocked over him. His tongue felt thick. “Sarah . . . please save—”
The peddler chuckled, and the cart jerked, tormenting David’s body as it lumbered down the road.
“The Roman Empire has iron feet, boy. It’ll stomp on you anytime it wants.”
Ω
The morning sun cast lances of light over the blue and purple valleys. A breeze carried the scent of flaxen crops and manure to the early risers.
Titus strode along the pasture in front of his caravan. He took pride in the way his white tunic contrasted with his dark Ethiopian skin. Despite the fact that his gold earring revealed his status as a slave, it hung attractively below his headscarf, and the gold band just above his elbow shimmered in the sun. Even as a slave, he was more valuable than most free men. And his fine appearance would serve him well in the marketplace.
Gasparus, one of the inferior slaves, led a mule piled with Titus’s belongings. Gravel crunched under the mule’s hooves in the quiet air and the load swayed. The rest of the slaves walked behind, carrying their few possessions on their heads and hips.
They passed a small cottage perched away from the lane. A boy circled from behind the house, guiding sheep across the small road. He yelled a greeting to the caravan. The herd quickened their pace and a dull clanging from their bells hung on the air.
Titus gazed into the cloudless sky. “It’s good we left before sunrise. It’s going to be a hot day.”
Gasparus murmured agreement.
Thank Fortuna, Titus wore his keffiyeh to protect his head from the rising sun’s rays. The daughters of the night would certainly take notice of the ruby brooch clasped in its center. A jewel of great value. Egyptian blood also ran through his veins. He was a handsome man, and he knew it. Indeed, these were not traveling clothes, but he had no fear of robbers and thieves. He was a man of large stature, and a fighter. Every thief in the past who had tried to rob him repented of his ways. Assuming death caused repentance. The jewel-hilted sword hanging at his side, the final touch to his attire, stated that he was a man of wealth and strength and not one with whom to make trouble.