From the Dark to the Dawn

by Alicia A Willis

  “Great gods!”

  Moriah blushed furiously. Her heart almost failed her, recognizing the arrogant carriage and lustful gaze of Thallus.

  Her color seemed to amuse him. He laughed gratingly.

  “I see you remember me. Great Diana of the Ephesians! We have met again.” He leaned close to her, tainting her with his hot breath. “And fortune would have it that the accursed Tribune Virginius Aeneas is nowhere in sight.”

  Moriah looked wildly about. Everyone was intent on their shopping, too busy to heed the dire predicament of a young woman.

  God, save me!

  Thallus’s hand closed menacingly around her wrist. “We were rudely interrupted at our last meeting. It will not happen again today.”

  “Let me go.” Moriah’s breathing was bated and tense. She attempted to snap her wrist from his grip, but his grip tightened.

  “Let you go?” Thallus’s mocking laughter filled the air. “How cruel you are. I know women such as you. You claim virtue and innocence, but, at heart, you are all the same. I won’t let you deny yourself and me.”

  Moriah’s mind whirled. She had not fully appreciated Marcus’s valiant assistance three weeks ago. What she would not give now to see him charge through the crowd and pluck her from the fiendish oaf who held her.

  “Let me go.”

  Thallus looked sneeringly at her. “The tribune was not a fool. For the first time in my existence, I will acknowledge him as a man of impeccable taste. I–”

  Moriah twisted violently. Thallus stepped close to her, grabbing both of her arms. The basket fell onto the street, spilling the bread and wine onto the cobblestones.

  “What have we here?” Thallus touched the food with the tip of his sandaled foot. “Bread and wine.” A fiendish expression crossed his face, exploding into anger. “By the gods! A vile Christian!”

  Moriah’s color vanished into snowy whiteness. “The only person deserving of the term vile is you, sir. Unhand me.”

  A stinging slap fell swiftly across her face.

  Moriah stumbled back, the blood tingling in her cheeks. Thallus jerked her closer, enraged disappointment and disgust working in his face.

  “Hold your peace! By Jupiter, I might have known. A Christian sow!”

  “Let me go.” Close to tears, Moriah pushed her uplifted wrists against his chest, endeavoring to distance her face from his. “Please, let me go.”

  “No.” Thallus ground his teeth. “Oh brave Nemesis! You have at last granted me my revenge. I am beginning to see the truth. Tribune Virginius Aeneas’s gallant stand for you was not merely a matter of principle, was it?”

  “You have no right–”

  “Say no more.” Thallus held up his hand. “Your color speaks for you. By all the gods in succession, I swear I will have my revenge. Justice will be served when Marcus finds that his glossy fruit has been plucked.”

  Moriah’s mind whirled, encircled by a terrifying black dizziness. She stumbled, feeling herself pulled tightly into his arms. His hot breath fell like a scorching flame on her neck, his fingers dug ruthlessly into her arms.

  God, help me!

  Her lungs gasped for air. She felt as if she could not breathe. Slowly, she felt herself going limp, succumbing to his brutal hold.

  God, don’t let me faint–don’t let him take me!

  A rolling wave of thunderous applause steadied Moriah’s mind. Loudening into an unchecked roar, the handclapping and cheers grew near.

  “Make way! Salute your divine emperor, Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus!”

  A dozen richly-clad slaves came into view, each bearing the Imperial rod of office. The sight of them cleared a wide path through the forum’s crowded market place, revealing a royal purple and gold litter.

  Its occupant sat carelessly atop his cushions. His pale, dull blue eyes scanned the street below him, careless, yet intent. Corpulent and fleshy, his appearance was loathsome to the few who spurned his vices and grotesque practices.

  To most, he was the idol of Rome.

  His pale eyes fell upon Thallus. In one fluid motion, he raised his jeweled hand, and the litter stood motionless. “Thallus Quinctia. What does the son Saturius do here with,” and his wanton eyes fell on Moriah, “this beauteous woman?”

  Thallus raised his arm in swift salute. “I have some acquaintance with this woman, divinity, and halted to speak with her.”

  “And has she proven worthy of your attention, Son of Saturius?”

  “In beauty, yes, Caesar. However, I fear I have discovered a slight difficulty.”

  “And what is that?”

  Thallus cleared his throat, the turn of his eye sending chills down Moriah’s spine. “I believe she is one of those fanatical sorcerers called Christians.”

  Nero’s bloated face lapsed from interest into cruel displeasure. “If this is true, you are to be commended, Son of Saturius. The danger from these obstinate Christus-worshippers rises every day.”

  His cool, colorless eyes rested on Moriah’s face. “Tell me, woman, are you a Christian?”

  Moriah’s heart pounded wildly. The perspiration broke out on her pallid skin, moistening her face. There was no chance of escape.

  And she would never deny the truth.

  Thallus’s grasp tightened, nearly expelling a gasp of pain from her throat. She lifted her eyes to the emperor’s face.

  “I am, sire.”

  The calmness of her reply flickered interest in Nero’s eyes. He leaned ever so slightly forward. “You are not ignorant, girl. You know how many of your sect have been condemned to their just deaths. Still, the divine Nero,” and he glanced around the on-looking crowd with pompous eyes, “is merciful. Come with me into the temple of Venus and offer incense. It will save your life.”

  “I cannot do that, sire.” Moriah heard her own tones tremble. She knew the stories, the terrible sentences of her dearly-beloved brethren. Almost every day, her mind was haunted with gruesome tales of bloodshed and gore.

  But there was something else beside her fear, her terror of the arena. A strange inner strength sustained her. Its peaceful whispers calmed her, settling her heart into a more natural cadence.

  She was not alone.

  Nero raised his brows. “And why not?”

  “Jesus Christ is the son of God, the Savior of the world. I have pledged to follow Him. Come what may,” and again, Moriah heard her voice shake, “I will not deny Him.”

  Fuming irritation crossed Nero’s face. “By Bacchus, these Christians are all the same! Even their women are as stubborn, insolent sheep, going aimlessly to their own slaughter.” A theatrical sigh escaped him. “Still, it pains me to sentence such a beautiful woman as lion’s bait.”

  “Why do so, divinity?” An officer, who had been fixing his lascivious eyes for the past five minutes on Moriah’s white face, turned enticingly towards him. “If you will pardon my boldness, idol of Rome, the woman is too beautiful to be wasted on gladiators and leopards. Her beauty is more fitted, shall we say, to servitude.”

  Nero blinked, then, slapped his thigh, throwing back his head in merry amusement. “By Pollux, Gaius! Your ingenuity is worthy of the gods. I could not propose a more satisfactory plan myself.”

  Thallus’s eyes deepened with sinister satisfaction. Humoring Nero by his quizzical expression, he feigned misunderstanding. “Do I understand you correctly, sire? You wish to place this young woman upon the auction block?”

  “Naturally, man! Gaius, I place you in charge of the whole business. Take this maid to the palace dungeons and confine her. When a convenient time for her sale comes, see that the bidding begins at no less than seven thousand denarii. The money will proceed into my treasury, of course.”

  The officer bowed. “As you desire, divinity.”

  Nero reaffixed his nonchalant gaze upon Thallus. “I think the business is settled satisfactorily, do you not?” Then, without waiting for his reply, “I hope to see you at my next banquet, Son of Saturius. Vale.”
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  The jeweled hand was lifted, and the litter passed on. Moriah saw the expression of utmost pleasure Thallus sent after it before turning to fix his cool eyes again on her.

  “Divinity is indeed within the emperor.”

  “Did you ever doubt it?” The officer Gaius’s tones were dry. Stepping forward, he grasped Moriah’s wrist and drew her towards himself. “Come, pretty one. Venus awaits.”

  Panic began to tingle in Moriah’s numbed mind. She was helpless in the merciless power of the officer–and his wanton eyes had not escaped her notice. There was no law, no command that would withhold his lust.

  Keep me pure, Father. Somehow, don’t let him or any other man harm me.

  “Wait.” Thallus tossed him a small purse. Moriah saw his keen eyes narrow. Obviously, he too had seen the officer’s crafty attentions. “See that she is treated with dignity. Her loveliness must not be filched before the time.”

  A low chuckle escaped the officer. “Truth, Thallus Quinctia. You strike a fair bargain.”

  “See that you keep it.”

  “Have no fear.” Gaius cast a laughing glance over his shoulder. “I will expect to see you at the auction.”

  Moriah felt as if the atmosphere was closing in around her. Numb with shock and disbelief, she submitted to the callous guidance of the officer as he led her beneath the colossal structures of the forum towards the Imperial Palace.

  Before its myriad of marble steps, Moriah felt the shadow of an immense statue of Venus fall on her. She half-lifted her eyes, resting them on the goddesses’ figure.

  An instant shudder rolled over her.

  In a single instant, she had been deduced from a free plebian woman to a slave. Her worth was now no more than a common strumpet. Unless a miracle of immense scale occurred, Roman law endowed her master to own her, body and soul.

  And, if that master was Thallus, his only god was Venus.

  The sea-foam goddess of sensuality, a vision of Thallus offering Venus an offering of roses flitted through her mind. She could almost taste the myrtle-tainted wine, feel the burning shame of slavery in his household. If he should purchase her…

  Moriah closed her eyes, washing away the terrifying thought. When she again opened them, she was in the palace dungeon.

  The clang of steel sounded in her ears. Echoing like a gong, she felt the cold, mysterious power of helplessness. Her eyes focused to the dim, shadowy lighting, revealing the stone floor and barren walls of her prison.

  The shriek of some tortured victim reverberated with frightening unexpectedness, traveling throughout the jail.

  Suddenly nauseous, Moriah felt a groaning cry escape her own lips. A dark cloud seemed to settle over her, and she sank to her knees on the hard floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Tribune, there is a legionary wishing to see you.”

  Dark irritation washed over Marcus’s face as he straightened himself. Two of his assembled centurions also glanced up, impatience tightening their already-serious expressions.

  “This is the second time you have interrupted me.” Marcus’s voice was sharp with exasperation. He saw the guard flinch. “Great Caesars, I am of the mind to reduce your rations.”

  The guard’s rigid stance melded into nervousness. “My apologies, tribune. The legionary will not be turned away. He insists the matter is of the utmost importance.”

  “And who is this brazen idiot who refuses to obey orders?” Marcus caught a glimpse of a tanned countenance just beyond the open door. Alexander. “Let the oaf in. I am more than willing to teach him a lesson in observing a little respectful compliance.”

  The guard turned and gave a sharp order. Alexander entered, saluting.

  “Hail, tribune.”

  Marcus eyed him sternly. He knew nothing short of an emergency would induce such persistence in his respectful young protégée. Still, he would never permit his centurions to know he had befriended a humble legionary from his own legion.

  “Your business with me must exact the urgency you claim, soldier. Nothing less will pardon your insolence from a thorough flogging.”

  Marcus saw Alexander stiffen, though to no surprise. His rank itself would cause even the closest friend to cringe under such a threat.

  “The matter is one requiring your private ear, tribune.”

  Marcus glanced over his centurions. “You are dismissed. Go, all of you.”

  With silent salutes, the centurions filed out. The guard brought up the rear, closing the door upon his exit.

  Marcus seated himself with new casualness on the edge of his writing table. He folded his arms across his chest, gesturing. “Well?”

  Alexander maintained a rigid soldierly pose. “By your leave, tribune, I–”

  “At ease, Alexander.” Marcus interrupted him, slightly impatient. “You know our customs.”

  “They do not normally involve scourging, my lord tribune.”

  “Enough.” A hint of a smile played about Marcus’s mouth. “I spoke lightly.”

  “And I did not.” Alexander snapped into a frustrated sense of urgency. “I told the truth when I said the matter was serious.”

  “As you better always speak the truth with me.” Marcus held up his hand, seeing Alexander’s sudden crimson color. He casually stood up. “Peace, my brother. I have never seen you so riled.”

  “There is good cause for it. This involves Moriah.”

  Marcus grew suddenly rigid. “What do you mean?”

  “She was taken today to the Imperial dungeons.”

  “How? Why?” Marcus closed his hand with abrupt force around Alexander’s arm. His heart pulsed, nearly cutting off his air. “Stand and tell me everything.”

  “We don’t know everything. The story is that a patrician stopped her in the forum today, certainly for no good purpose. By some cursed chance, the emperor’s litter passed and he stopped to inquire.”

  “And? Hurry up, man!”

  “It is said she was accused of being a Christian. Apparently, she admitted it and was arrested. She–”

  Alexander stopped abruptly.

  Marcus looked keenly at him. The adrenaline rushed like a sea-gate flood through his body, tightening the force of his grip. “There is more. Go on.”

  “You are as pale as a spirit already, Marcus. I–”

  “Don’t talk to me about my looks.” Passion tightened Marcus’s face. “You will tell me everything. That’s an order.”

  Alexander’s green eyes flitted downwards. Subdued by Marcus’s tone, he again stiffened into soldierly discipline. “She was not sentenced to the arena. Instead, she is to be sold as a common slave to the highest bidder.”

  “At what prices?”

  “Some say no less than seven thousand denarii.”

  “By the gods!” Marcus checked the pagan exclamation too late. “For one woman? Why such fantastical bidding?”

  “Because the money drops neatly into Nero’s coffers. Why else? And it may be that he does not believe we poor,” and Alexander lowered his tone, “Christians can afford such prices.”

  “Heaven preserve us.” Marcus brought his arms behind his head, clasping his hands together. Indignant frustration boiled through him. Beneath it, however, was a pain so strong he could scarcely breathe. “How do you know all this?”

  “The brethren have eyes and ears everywhere.”

  “We do indeed. Praise the Lord not all of us are poor.” Marcus paused in contemplation. “No price is too much for Moriah.”

  Alexander looked oddly at him.

  Marcus felt the slow color rise in his cheeks. With the words spoken, he realized too late how tenderly passionate they had sounded. Irritated embarrassment seized him, spilling over into his words. “Why do you look at me that way? Would you have your sister in the faith live a life of shame?”

  “You know I would not, Marcus.” Alexander’s quiet voice was a striking contrast to Marcus’s wrath. “I was only unaware that it would be you bidding for her.”


  “Who else can?”

  “No one, I suppose. But are you certain you can pay?”

  “Yes, certainly.” Marcus turned, meeting Alexander’s forthright gaze. The young man’s tone both quieted and puzzled him. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “They say a high-ranking patrician will certainly bid and claim her, no matter what the cost.”

  Marcus felt the hairs on his neck bristle. “What patrician?”

  “The noble Thallus Quinctia, son of Saturius.”

  “Thallus Quinctia.” Marcus repeated the words in slow disbelief. Slowly, full understanding crept over him. He felt his hand clench into violent fists. “Great Caesars! The infernal swine!”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Perhaps better than he knows himself. The man is a devil. If he is so closely involved, this whole business was meant as nothing more than an insult against me.”

  “He does have a close hand on it. They say the auction will be held tomorrow night–at his request, of course.”

  “He’ll not be victorious in this pretty scheme.” Marcus’s hand closed vehemently around his gladius. He felt the hot blood rushing through him, controlling him. “I’ll purchase Moriah no matter what the price. And, if I fail, I’ll kill him in cold blood on his way home from the auction.”

  Again, Alexander looked with quiet strangeness at him. “You would murder a man?”

  “Protecting a woman’s honor from a beast like him is no murder.”

  “I wonder if our elders would say the same.”

  Marcus knit his brows, somewhat surprised. Alexander had never made the slightest challenge to his will in any regard before. “Do you question me?”

  “As my commander, never, my lord tribune.”

  “And as my friend?”

  Alexander studied the patterned floor, his green eyes quietly contemplative. “Perhaps I do. Your wisdom and understanding is far beyond me, and I think you know the esteem I have for you.” He paused. “But I cannot help but wonder if you are being guided by the Spirit or your own carnal lust in this matter.”