by Sandi Rog
He certainly didn’t think she was serious. Only girls or servants combed one another’s hair, not boys.
She frowned. “You have to sit down.” She sounded disappointed. Facing the ground, she pouted, but her dark eyes peered up at him.
Would she cry? If so, then he’d really be in trouble. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he looked around to see if anyone watched. The porch above the atrium was empty; no slaves were in their chambers at this time of day. No one was in sight at any of the doors. All was quiet, so he sat on a step at the edge of the plaza where he could keep a lookout. Such a dangerous situation for something so insignificant. He could get punished if found in this position. Alethea didn’t seem to have any concept of this.
She combed through his hair. “You know, you ought to comb your own hair. It’s very lazy and careless of you to have someone else do it.”
“Take the plank out of your own eye.” He tossed one ball up and caught it.
She raised her eyebrows at him.
She must not understand. Abba used to say things like that. “Maybe I don’t want to have my hair combed?” He tried not to sound frustrated and tossed the ball again. He could be trying his aim for the fountain again, but instead he was stuck being made beautiful at the risk of a beating. Was it irony that he faced the wooden stakes?
“Why do you say such strange things? You sound like Mpampas.” She combed slowly from the nape of his neck to his forehead. Then she brought the comb forward behind his ears. It sent tingles down his back and arms.
He stopped playing with the ball. Though in his relaxed state, he still kept an eye open for intruders. “Why do people call you Aucella?”
“My mpampas gave me the name.” She took in a long breath and smiled. “We used to dance and sing together. He called me his little bird, and ever since then the rest of the family calls me that.” She frowned. “But I don’t like it when Grandfather calls me Aucella.” She smiled and put her face close to his.
Her nose was so close, his eyes crossed.
“You may call me little bird if you like.” She started on his hair again with renewed vigor. “It’s settled. My mpampas is no longer here, so for now on I will be your Aucella—not Grandfather’s. He will still call me by that name though.” She waved the comb in his face. “But I’ll pretend he’s saying Alethea.”
David’s cheeks warmed. Again she reminded him of Sarah. He resolved then and there, he would take care of her the way he should have taken care of Sarah. Did that mean he wouldn’t try to escape? If he escaped, who would take care of Alethea? He tossed the ball again to try and distract himself from his thoughts; he missed.
Alethea giggled.
“What are you laughing at?” He hoped she wasn’t laughing because he dropped the ball.
“One piece won’t stay down.” She spit on her hand and wiped it in his hair.
“Hey!” He jumped up.
She tried to pull him down. “I’m not finished yet.”
David dropped back on the step. He hoped the spit would dry fast. How disgusting. He also hoped nobody came and saw him in this embarrassing position. Thoughts of being punished were no longer important when he realized how he must look. He didn’t mind the combing so much, but if anyone came and made fun of him, he might give them a solid punch, slave or not.
He tossed his ball again and caught it. “Aucella means little bird, but what does Alethea mean? It’s not a Latin name. Is it Greek?”
“It means truth. My mpampas’s name was Galen Aletheos, and of course, I’m named after him.”
Oh, yes, truth. He knew that. Why didn’t he make the connection? He’d only read it a thousand times in his father’s scrolls.
“You’re not Roman.” She continued her administrations on his hair. “Are you named after your mpampas?”
“I call him Abba, but his name was Aaron.” It felt good to say his name; it made Abba seem alive again. His thoughts turned back to Alethea’s name. “Hmmm, truth. God’s word is truth. Abba would say that. What else did he say . . . ?” He tried to imagine his abba speaking. “God seeks those who worship Him in spirit and in truth.” He was pleased with himself. He wanted to remember everything Abba used to teach him. “I like your name.”
Just then, the door to the atrium opened and closed. Alethea quickly stepped aside and hid the comb behind her back.
David let the rest of the balls fall down the steps and bent to pick them up. His heart raced in his chest as he faced the ground. He feared the person coming might notice the heat on his cheeks.
Portia came from around the corner with Paulus on her hip. She smiled and took Alethea by the hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He watched Alethea go, relieved they hadn’t been caught. She glanced over her shoulder and waved at him with her braid, flashing him a big smile, then skipped away with Portia.
He messed his hair and went about juggling, his face still warm. He couldn’t keep the two balls in the air.
As the months went by, David became a good juggler. So good, he even learned to juggle knives. Titus also taught him how to juggle in pairs, which was quite fun. He and Titus practiced in the gymnasium where there was less distraction.
Often, Aloysius came to watch them, and David worked hard to impress his master. The hope of freedom was always on his mind.
David and Titus juggled balls, sticks, arrows, knives, and wooden swords. Real swords were too dangerous.
In the gymnasium, Titus stood several feet away from David. “Catch this.” He threw a stick in David’s direction, but David jumped away from it. Titus wasn’t tossing the stick up like he did when they were juggling. Instead, he threw it straight at him. Titus had another stick. “Catch it, Damonus. Pretend we’re juggling together.” He threw the stick.
The rules of juggling flashed through David’s mind. He reached out and missed the stick. Normally the stick would be turning circles in the air and land right in his hand. But this was different. Sometimes they used techniques where they would grab the object. Perhaps if he did that he could catch it?
“Snatch it out of the air,” Titus said. “Concentrate and relax.” He threw another one.
David relaxed and grabbed it.
“Good. When it comes right at you, jump back and grab it.” Titus threw another stick. “Catch.”
David jumped back and caught it.
They did this until Titus was out of sticks. He then picked up the wooden swords that lay at his feet.
David didn’t mind catching the sticks, they were light and didn’t have any sharp edges. But if Titus planned on throwing the swords as hard and fast as he threw the sticks, David wasn’t sure he could catch them.
Titus took one of the wooden swords by the handle and held it back over his shoulder. He then pointed at David with his free hand.
David’s heart hammered. He knew what was coming.
“Now, when I throw this at you, I want you to jump to the side and catch it by its handle, like you did the sticks. Just relax, and remember the rules of juggling. Concentrate on the handle, not on the blade.” Titus drew the wooden sword back farther. “Ready?”
David wanted to run. “Ready.”
Titus threw the sword hard and fast, as if it were a javelin.
It came right at David. He sprang to the side and ducked.
It landed in the sand behind him.
“Focus on its handle and don’t be afraid.” Titus prepared to throw another.
It was only wood. Wood couldn’t do that much damage. David held his breath. He focused on its handle, jumped back, reached out, and caught the sword.
He did it! Catching the sword because of its size was actually easier than catching the sticks. He wanted to do it again, and when he looked up, Titus was ready to throw another.
David dropped the sword, jumped to the side, and caught the next one.
Titus threw another, and David caught it.
After the swords were all thrown, Titus picked up th
e javelins. Thick wads of cloth were wrapped around their sharp heads.
“These are the most difficult to catch because they’re fast. You must be alert.” He took one and made ready to throw it. “The same rule applies for the javelin as for the sword. Jump to the side and focus.”
David took a deep breath, beginning to feel confident. After all, he just caught several flying swords, this should be easy. Too bad Aloysius wasn’t here to see this.
He shook out his hands and slightly bent his knees. “Ready.”
Titus threw the javelin hard and fast.
It flew much faster than the sword. David reached out too slow and dove out of the way. He slammed his fist on the ground and crawled to his feet. It seemed impossible. Only a gladiator could catch something like this.
“Relax and focus.” Titus threw another.
David reached out and took hold of the javelin. Did he actually catch it? He looked down at his hand. Yes, he’d caught it. Chills went through him as he dropped it and readied himself for the next.
When they were finished for the day, it occurred to David that he ought to be learning how to throw a javelin, not catch it. “Why aren’t you teaching me how to fight?”
“A good warrior first learns how to protect himself before he learns to do harm to his opponent. When you learn how to disable your enemy, then you can attack.”
“What do I need to do, wait until he runs out of javelins or is foolish enough to throw his sword?”
Titus gazed hard at David. He turned and picked up one of the wooden swords and shields. Titus handed the sword to David. “Swing at me.”
David carefully swung his sword at Titus.
“No! Swing like you mean it. Put your weight into it and all your strength. I have my shield, I’m protected.”
David took a deep breath and swung his sword with all his might in hopes to impress Titus with his strength.
Titus jumped back, and instead of using his shield to block the swing, he used it to push the sword farther in the direction it was going. He then grabbed the handle of the sword and yanked it out of David’s hand, making him fall forward.
David landed on all fours, stunned by the smooth quick movement of Titus. He crawled to his feet, relieved that his ribs didn’t hurt. In fact, they didn’t even feel sore.
Titus looked down at him. “You have a lot to learn.”
seven
“Hold on! Don’t let go!” David shouted.
Marcus rode the sow, his head and spindly arms bobbing in the air.
The twins who shared David’s chamber doubled over with laughter, and the dog raced past them, barking.
David couldn’t keep from laughing.
He and Marcus had tied a rope around the sow’s neck, and the children took turns riding it. The poor animal didn’t know where to run. She turned in all directions and squealed madly. Marcus’s thin brown hair bounced as the swine tore up and down the field. He lost his grip, slid off, and dragged a few feet.
“Let go of the rope!” David shouted, running after them.
The rest of the children shrieked with laughter and took off after the pig, running and waving their sticks. They managed to corner her against the south wall next to the hill.
David and Marcus were the instigators of the day’s frenzy, and they wrestled with the sow, forcing her against the wall. David steered clear of her mouth, fearing he might get bitten. If Marcus hadn’t been there to help him, he never would have taken this on by himself. The angry sow let out a piercing squeal. The slave girls, along with Vibia and Alethea, covered their ears. The animal pushed back and forth, knocking him against the wall, and the rope burned his hands. By this time, he was nearly on top of the sow and thought she might try to run again. Luckily, the stable boys jumped in to help.
Lucius pushed through the girls.
“It’s my turn! I want a turn!”
“You just went before me.” Marcus struggled with David and the other boys to keep the animal in her place. “The others . . . want a ride too.”
Lucius’s eyes welled with tears and his face reddened, matching the tints in his chestnut hair. He stomped off and yelled a few things that everyone ignored.
David spotted Alethea. Dirt littered her white stola, and loose tresses fell from her thick braid, clinging to her flushed cheeks.
“You want a ride?” he asked, fighting the sow.
“No!” Alethea stepped back, her eyes widened, and she waved her hands in front of her as if to push the very idea away. “If she falls on me, I’ll get squashed.”
David laughed, trying not to lose his hold, his muscles now aching. He imagined Alethea flattened by the pig. There really wouldn’t be much left of her if the animal fell on that twiggy, frail body.
Marcus grabbed one of the stable boys who begged for a ride and set him on top of the sow. “Hold onto the rope and squeeze with your legs, that way you won’t fall off.”
The boy nodded in readiness, Marcus and David released the sow, and she squealed off. The children shrieked with excitement and ran around the hill, chasing her toward the stables.
David jogged behind, watching the boy ride away. He held on fairly well. He might last longer than Marcus. David’s arms were heavy from the strain of fighting with the animal. He was glad for the short break.
He was nearing the stables when Marcus came next to him, his form meeting David eye to eye. “We’re going hunting this afternoon. Father says you’re to join us.”
David nodded. He enjoyed his adventures with Marcus. Hunting was just one of the many things they did together.
“Damonus.” Titus stood in the gate of the courtyard, looking serene and polished. A stark contrast with the game taking place. “Come.”
David followed him toward the gymnasium. “Your ribs are obviously healed. It’s time to begin the most difficult part of your training.”
Ω
David and Titus stood alone in the open-air gymnasium. The soft sand crept comfortably between David’s toes. These past months had been quite good, now that he had Marcus and the stable boys as pals, and he especially enjoyed the time he and Titus had spent in the gym. He had become a good juggler, and he liked to spend his free time showing off for the children and other slaves.
The members of the family, including Aloysius, enjoyed it as well, except for Cornelia, but she never enjoyed anything. She seemed angry at the world, so over the months he learned not to take it personally. He’d also avoided getting into trouble. Until now, nobody had caught him throwing balls into the fountain, and Alethea turned out to be a perfect guard to make sure no one was looking.
“When I was born, my father lived in the far east, in Asia.” Titus towered over David, and he spoke in crisp tones. “He was a silk trader and spent many years learning their ways and customs. The people there don’t depend on brute strength, but on wits.” Titus straightened his bracelet. “They fight with swords, much like we do, but they also fight without weapons.” He picked lint off the front of his tunic. “When I was a child, they taught me their methods, and this is what I’ve been teaching you.”
Titus circled him and walked with his hands behind his back. He seemed especially serious today. “You’re a unique boy and very lucky too. The gods must favor you, because you ought to be dead.”
David swallowed hard. Titus hadn’t spoken to him about the gods in all the time he’d been at the villa. What would Titus do if he spoke the truth about his faith? Perhaps kill him.
David could spare his own life. He could lie about his beliefs. But the thought made him want to vomit. Was he willing to die for his God? He prayed for strength and courage. “Only one God has shown me mercy, Master. He sent you to rescue me, and for that, I’m grateful.” David breathed, proud of how mature and strong he sounded.
“Hmm, you worship only one god.” Titus came to stand in front of him. He looked him up and down. “The only people I know who worship one god are the Jews and the Christians. Which one are you?”
“I’m a Christian.” David’s world spun.
“I see. So you worship the god of the Jews.” Titus looked down his nose at him. “You’re just a child. A child worships the gods of his father. One day you will also worship my gods and the Roman gods.”
David’s heart pounded in his chest. He wondered if Titus could hear its drumming. “I worship the God above your gods and above all Roman gods.” If his life ended here and now, at least he would not die in shame, having denied Elohim. He knew many Christians who stood up for their faith, even in the face of death. Now it was his turn.
He made ready to defend himself. He waited for Titus to strike. Although Titus showed no expression on his face, David thought he detected a hint of a smile in his eyes.
“What was your father’s profession, Damonus?”
“He was a scribe, Master.”
Titus was thoughtful and quiet; finally, he smiled. “You’re a courageous young man. Your father would have been proud. You’ll make a good fighter.”
Aloysius appeared at the door. He crossed his arms and braced his legs apart, watching, scrutinizing.
Titus shot his hand above David and shouted, “First lesson!”
David ducked, nearly choking on his spit. He thought Titus was going to hit him.
Titus bent closer. “You will learn to fall.” The whites of his eyes flashed, and his lips curled into a wry smile.
Relief washed over David. He’d survived. Then his mind reeled. What did he say? Something about falling? With the conversation about his faith still fresh in his mind, he couldn’t follow Titus’s line of thinking. He took in a deep breath and looked around. He thought he would finally learn to spar, but there were no swords.
“What about weapons?”
“No weapons today.”
David had looked forward to the time he would learn to sword fight, and now again, he would have to wait.