by Sandi Rog
Titus first showed him some important stretches. They worked on his arms and then his legs. Titus held his hands flat before him and moved them as if he were dancing. Some of his movements were swift as though slicing the air. Then he moved in slow, deliberate, even motions.
Titus told David to imitate these movements.
All the while, Aloysius watched them, so David did his best to be impressive, even though he had no idea what they were doing or why they were doing it.
David hesitated when Titus dropped into the splits. “You must learn that pain is in your mind. It’s your mind that will control the level of pain. Stretch your legs, Damonus.”
David eased his legs into a split position.
“Now farther.”
He hesitated. He didn’t think he could stretch them farther.
“Don’t think about the pain. Focus your mind on what you want from your body. Focus on the things around you, the air, the feel of the sand. Don’t focus on the pain. You control your body, it does not control you. Will it to obey.”
Hoping to please Aloysius, David did as he was bid and stretched his legs out until they hurt. His face heated at the pulling agony of unused muscles. After several seconds, the pain began to subside.
“Do it again.”
He stretched his legs even farther. It didn’t matter what Titus said, pain was pain and this hurt, but he willed his body to obey and tried to focus on impressing Aloysius. Anything to get his focus off the pain. This was just the beginning. One day, he would please his master enough to earn his freedom.
After the stretching and strange hand movements, Titus stood and waited for David to climb to his feet.
“A bad fall could kill you.” Titus straightened with his hands behind his back. “If you get knocked down by your opponent and hit your head on the ground or break a bone, it’ll be difficult, if not impossible, to jump back up and defend yourself.” Titus circled him again.
David fought the urge to turn and follow.
“You should always practice falling even when you’re a great fighter. No matter how good you are, you’ll do more falling than fighting.” Titus stopped in front of him. “Remember how you learned to jump back from the sword? Many times you will need to dive and fall from a sword. What you’re about to learn will help you do that.”
Titus motioned for David to kneel. He then placed his hand on David’s forehead. “I’m going to push you. Put your chin to your chest, and as you fall back, roll into it.”
Titus pushed him back. David, keeping his chin firmly on his chest, rolled into the fall and came up on his knees.
“Very good. But next time, come up onto your feet.”
Titus had David falling in every direction and all over the place. “Tuck and roll,” he said. “Always keep your chin down.”
David learned many new ways of falling. He fell only from his knees: forwards, backwards, and side to side. He also learned to fall without catching his weight with his hands.
“Use your shoulder and roll into it, chin down.”
Once David mastered this, Titus made him fall from a standing position. He imagined diving into one of the swimming pools at the baths. When he hit the ground, he went into a roll.
David tucked and rolled until sweat trickled down the sides of his face and he was so dizzy he couldn’t see straight.
Every now and then, his gaze went to Aloysius, curious to know what the master thought of these strange lessons. But the interest in his master’s eyes told David the man was entranced. Filled with wonder, perhaps even longing.
Titus knelt on his knees. “Sit up and face me.”
David sat on his knees before Titus.
“I have a lot to teach you. You’ll learn to move like the beasts of the earth.” Titus waved his hand in the air. “I will teach you to fly like a bird, to slither like a snake, and to be as ferocious as a tiger.”
David felt foolish, like the pig squealing in the field. He definitely wasn’t a tiger or a bird; a snake maybe, since he felt like lying flat on his belly from exhaustion.
Aloysius turned and left the arena. David’s hopes went with him. Had his master been pleased? Impressed with his performance?
“What about swords?” he asked, impatient to learn what interested him most.
“You’ll learn how to sword fight, but not from me. You’ll learn with Marcus and Lucius under their instructor.”
“When do they have their lessons? Why aren’t they here now?”
“I won’t teach them what you’re learning.”
David rubbed his arms and legs that quivered from the exertion. “Why are you teaching me this?”
“If I had children, they would learn these things from me. But I chose not to have children to be raised as slaves. You are to be the son I will never have.”
David let his words sink in. He was grateful to Titus for saving his life. He and Titus had also grown closer over the past months, and David liked him. He had to admit that Titus was the closest he had to a father and definitely deserved his respect, but that didn’t mean he would become Titus’s son. The last thing David wanted was to be forced to call Titus Father. He didn’t want to hurt Titus, but honesty would be best.
“I have only one father and he is dead.” Saying the words out loud drove an ax through his heart. He’d only spoken openly to Alethea about his parents, but even then, he didn’t say much.
“I won’t take the place of your father. I’ll only teach you how to survive and how to fight.” Titus’s gaze held David’s.
David couldn’t help but notice how Titus’s words clashed with those of his father. Abba would never have stressed any importance on learning how to fight. David thought about fighting. It was rather fun and swords intrigued him. The things Titus taught him slowly made sense. And the desire to defeat the evil soldier, Aulus, played prominently in his mind.
He imagined facing the soldier that nearly killed him the night his parents were taken. He pictured Aulus swinging his sword the way he had when he’d cut David’s cheek. But instead of lying there helpless, David pushes the sword away, causing the soldier to fall heavily to his knees. Then he leaps far above the soldier’s head. He lands with power, and the ground shudders.
The soldier charges him, and David falls into the splits, grabbing his sword by its handle. He flings the warrior violently to the wall. David then springs to his feet, seeing his enemy’s shocked, ugly scarred face. He towers over the once great warrior, who now cowers at his feet, and raises the sword high above his head, brandishing it with a hearty laugh. He brings it down with violent force into the wicked man’s skull. David, the great fighter, more powerful than any gladiator, the great avenger, reigns victorious over his enemies!
His thoughts snapped back to Abba. He’d always taught that God was love and that David should strive to be like Jehovah. Those who live by the sword, die by the sword, his abba used to say. It was about being meek; you were power under control. David liked the sound of that. Power under control.
He looked up at Titus, the dark man sitting before him, once a stranger, now a friend. Still, David longed for Abba.
Ω
After David cleaned up in the baths, Titus escorted him to his chamber above the atrium.
“Wait here until I return.”
David fell onto his bed, exhausted. His knuckles ached and his muscles quivered from the intense workout.
When Titus returned, he held four thick scrolls in his hands.
David straightened. He knew those scrolls.
“When I went to your home, I found these.” Titus dropped them on the bed.
David held his breath as he untied the leather thong that held the spools together. He put them down on his bed and lay them apart. His hands quivered, not from the workout anymore, but because of what he was about to discover. Could these be what he thought they were?
He slowly stroked the parchment of one as he unrolled it and recognized Abba’s handwriting. The memoirs of
Matthew. Another, a letter of the acts of the apostles of Christ. He opened the other scrolls. The book of Daniel the prophet and John’s Revelation. Abba had made him memorize every written line, as well as paragraph upon paragraph from other letters. That didn’t mean he understood everything; he could simply quote them. “These . . . belonged to my father.” He choked on his words.
“I’ll let you have them because they belonged to your father. But take care that the master doesn’t learn of your God.”
“Why give them to me if it’s dangerous to have them?”
A low, rumbling chuckle carried off the walls from Titus, something about it was dark, sinister. “Do you not realize you’re in danger of losing your life every day? One misstep from you, one foul mood from the master, could be your death.” He snorted. “Your life is already in danger, boy.”
David realized then that Titus had been testing him in the gymnasium when he had questioned him about his faith. “You read them?”
Titus nodded. “I found others, but they were water-damaged.”
David remembered his home, a single chamber apartment. The soldiers had ransacked the place. His father kept all his scrolls on a high table. The water his mother kept in the room from the outdoor fountain must have damaged the others. His mamma. How he missed her warm touch, her kisses, and her songs.
Titus tossed a coin on the bed.
David hesitated, then picked it up and turned it over in his hand. Just a Roman coin. On the back, an elegant woman sat on top of seven hills. The harlot named Babylon is the city of Rome. His father’s voice echoed in his mind, reminding him of the mental picture he had of the harlot sitting on a beast with seven heads, drunk on the blood of the saints.
“The city of seven hills.” Titus folded his arms and leaned against the doorpost. “Had I not read the letter of Daniel, I wouldn’t have understood the revelation of that writer, John.” Titus straightened. “A serious so-called ‘prophesy.’ ” He turned toward the door. “The fall of Rome.” He chuckled. “Impossible.”
David looked up; he was alone. He took in the familiar scent of the parchment. He kissed the scrolls, and tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He ran his fingers up and down the painstakingly drafted words. His abba’s hands once touched this parchment. He had spent long hours making copies of any letters the church received. And John’s revelation was the most exciting, the most encouraging.
“Jehovah-Shammah, thank you. Thank you for giving me this small part of my father.” He gazed down at the scrolls, tears blurring his vision.
“These are the words of the Lord,” Abba used to say.
David touched the spool’s handle. The magnitude of what was written on these sheets of parchment filled his mind, sent chills over his body, and the hairs on his forearms rose. These scrolls were an open door to the world from his past, a world that began two nights before his parents were taken away, the night he was immersed into Christ, when his heart pounded as heavily in his chest as it did now.
“You never left me.” David wiped away his tears. “I’m not alone. You’ll always be here.”
He rolled up the scrolls then lay on the bed and gently, but firmly, held them to his chest.
A murmuring song filled his head. A soft voice whispered through his mind and danced through the room. Mamma’s voice.
Mamma smiled and kissed his cheek. Her sweet scent mingled with her whispering words.
“Don’t cry, my son.” She brushed David’s hair from his forehead, her gentle caress and the warmth of her voice touching his skin. “The Lord will work all things out for good.”
She kissed him again softly, tenderly, her fingers stroking his cheek. She stood to leave and draped her cloak over her shoulders. As she opened the door, a cool breeze chilled him.
Then she was gone.
David’s eyes flew open. He bolted upright in bed. The chamber door had swung open from a gust of wind and slammed against the wall. How he longed to be back in that dream. But his mother’s words echoing in his mind drew his attention to those same words repeated by fellow Christians in their secret meetings.
He glanced down at the scrolls. He would devour every word Abba penned until he knew he was pleasing to Elohim. He shivered as he contemplated his situation. Though orphaned and a slave, weren’t things working out well for him? Very well, indeed.
He held the scrolls to his cheek. “Mamma and Abba taught me well, Elohim. I will make You proud.”
eight
For three years David hadn’t set foot outside the villa’s walls, which made finding an opportunity to escape impossible. So, like a dog eager to please his master, he spent every moment entertaining Aloysius in an attempt to earn his freedom.
But now, with Aloysius away from the villa, the master’s wall didn’t feel quite as confining, so David agreed to play with Marcus and the stable boys. Together, they carried several wooden swords and shields to the field. As they neared the hill, Alethea’s screams and cries carried through the air, mingled in with Vibia’s crying.
David dropped his equipment and ran toward the hill.
Lucius laughed and held a doll high over Vibia’s head. She jumped up and down, trying to get the doll. He threw it over the wall.
Vibia screamed and pounded her older brother, but her blows didn’t faze him, and he mimicked her. Tears covered Vibia’s face. Her reddish brown hair was pulled back into a large braid. It swung around as she turned and ran, screaming and crying, toward the house.
David ran up to Alethea who stood against the wall with her face in her hands. “Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head.
He was relieved to know she wasn’t hurt, but Lucius had done something to her and just as he was about to ask, Marcus ran up to Lucius and grabbed him by the arm.
“What’d you do that for?”
Lucius wrenched his arm free. “They were making trouble.”
“That’s not true!” Alethea’s dark eyes filled with tears and her cheeks flushed. “We were playing in the woods when Lucius jumped out and scared us. He grabbed our dolls and wouldn’t give them back.” She clenched her fists and stomped her foot. “He even broke the arm off mine.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and looked at David. “Mpampas made her for me, now she’s gone.” She wailed and ran past the boys toward the house.
David clenched his fists, trying his best to control his anger. He hated to see her cry.
“Your daddy was a rebel!” Lucius shouted after her. “Anything he made ought to be destroyed.” Lucius turned toward the boys with a look of triumph.
David wanted to tear Lucius’s head off and stomp on it, but he stood as still as he could, remembering his father’s words about self-control.
Marcus knocked Lucius on the back of his head. “You can thank Fortuna that Grandfather and Father aren’t here, or they’d whip you good.”
If only they were here. David would have found secret pleasure in Lucius’s punishment.
Lucius strutted away from the boys toward the swords and shields. “Holy Jupiter! Are we going to play Troy?”
“What do you think?” Marcus ambled toward him.
“Fortuna is smiling on me today.” Lucius went after the swords and picked the one he wanted. When he found one, he chose his shield. “Who’s going to be it?” He looked around. “I think Damonus should be it.”
“I think you ought to be it,” Marcus said.
“No,” Lucius whined. He wielded his sword and pointed it in David’s face. “He’s the slave. He ought to be it.”
Marcus picked up a sword and knocked Lucius’s out of his hands, nearly nicking David in the face.
David stepped back. Anytime Lucius was around, there was nothing but trouble. His patience with the little nit wore thin.
“I’ll be it.” Marcus picked up Lucius’s sword and tossed it to David.
“That was mine!”
“Not anymore,” Marcus said, smirking.
David picked up a sh
ield, wishing Marcus hadn’t given him Lucius’s sword. It would only cause more trouble.
Marcus drew a long line across the field with his wooden blade.
One of the twins yanked on David’s tunic. “I don’t understand this game.”
David bent down. “The idea is for all of us to get Marcus to cross this line. Once he’s crossed, he loses.”
“Oh,” the boy said. “That ought to be easy.”
But it wasn’t easy. The game was fierce and David charged after Marcus. All the things Titus had taught him flashed through his mind, including what he’d learned from Lucius and Marcus’s instructor. He and Marcus clashed swords and the other boys moved in on them.
David imagined Marcus as Aulus, the evil soldier who had taken his parents. He thrust his sword hard at him, just missing him in the gut. Marcus blocked another swing with his shield and charged forward. David dove to the ground, avoiding Marcus’s blade. He came to his feet and roared inside. He was a great warrior who had come to destroy the soldier and avenge his family.
He went after Marcus again. He pounded him, hitting his shield, arms, and legs, weakening him.
“Get out of my way, fool!” Lucius shoved one of the twins to the ground.
Marcus swung his sword at David and waved his shield in the other boys’ direction. He ran.
David shouted a warrior’s cry and charged after Marcus. The rest of the boys came upon Marcus, but he broke free from the group.
David ran with might, power, and strength. He, the mighty warrior, would avenge his family! He spotted Lucius out of the corner of his eye, swinging his sword at his legs.
With no time to react, Lucius’s sword sliced David’s feet out from under him, and he hit the dirt hard, sliding on his front. He laid on the ground, stunned, the fallen warrior slain by one of his own.
“He’s mine!” The brunt of Lucius’s shield slammed against David’s back. “Did you see that?” Lucius’s laughter echoed through the field.
David rolled over and glared at Lucius’s big, laughing mouth. His shins throbbed, and he spit dirt out of his mouth.