Each lap around the track, a dolphin fell, bringing me closer to victory. Anticipation rose—and so did my heart rate. I wanted this more than I had ever wanted anything. I coaxed Mosi and Oni to keep going, not to let up, that the race was ours to win.
We rounded the final bend on the final lap and approached the finish line. I looked straight ahead. As we approached, the heavens opened. Rushing wind swooped down on the hippodrome and lifted the chariot. It seemed as if we were racing on air effortlessly. Peels of thunder reverberated overhead and blazing rays of light poured out of the sky. Was I driving a chariot of God? We crossed the finish line to the deafening crescendo of roaring crowds that shook the stadium. I raised my hands triumphantly.
The remaining chariots soon rolled gloomily over the finish line. I stepped off my chariot and hugged Mosi and Oni. They were exceptional horses. How many shekels had I won?
Cynisca ran up to me and gave me a hug. “Congratulations on your first win.” Tears streamed down her face.
I leaned into her. “Thank you.”
Dominus joined the rest of us and the whole stadium erupted when I stood in the spina to receive my crown. I waved to the fans. I was a star—the center of attention. I felt a strange surge of power pass through me. Is this how powerful people felt, movie stars and politicians and sports icons? I knew God had allowed me to win, but I didn’t feel close to him. I didn’t know why, although I didn’t care either.
When I walked out of the arena, the older Naser brother, Nidal, walked up to me. He reached out his hand. “Congratulations.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. I had feared something else. When I looked at his arm, I saw a tattoo. Did people have tattoos in first century Palestine? Nidal’s hand was extended. I clasped it. “Thank you.”
Then he walked away. If I had access to the Internet I’d do a Google search. I had seen that image before, but I didn’t know where.
CHAPTER 38 RECKONING
Seven Weeks Later
I won every race I entered. Cynisca encouraged me to begin training with four horses.
“You’ll make more money if you win,” she said.
I had grown attached to Mosi and Oni. I hated thinking about the emotional energy required to bond with two more horses. Besides, even racing with just two, my money had grown faster than I could have imagined.
“People want to see you race with four,” she insisted. “They have never seen anyone race like you.”
“What do you mean?”
Cynsica thought for a moment. “Magic takes over when you step on the chariot. The fans see it. They want more.”
I couldn’t deny it. I loved the spotlight. Being recognized by strangers on the streets was sweet. I had become a hero to many kids. More than that, I loved racing with Mosi and Oni. I didn’t think I would have as much success with four horses. The dangers of getting injured or killed quadrupled.
“Give me another month,” I said. “You already have great teams in place racing four. I would upset them if they thought I wanted their position.”
“But they aren’t winning, Daniel,” Cyncisa insisted. “And Dominus is antsy. He wants you to take one of those spots.”
“Tell him I will in a month.”
Cynisca sighed. “Come close,” she said.
We had lots of extra time since my race was later in the day. I walked over and sat beside her on the bench. She stood behind me and rubbed my back and shoulders.
My muscles had ached for weeks. “I didn’t know you knew how to give back massages.”
Cynsica laughed. “I didn’t think you would let me.”
I wanted to melt under her expert fingers. “So why now?”
“You seem tense. I know your muscles must be sore. I was once a gladiator, too, you know.”
I couldn’t argue with her.
“There are places in Caesarea you can go for a full rubdown,” she remarked.
I had seen those rooms, but I didn’t think a Jewish man would be welcomed. More than body massages took place behind those pagan walls. Despite my wanderings, I was still pure and intended to remain so until I married.
As I reflected on recent conversations with Cynisca, I sensed she wanted more in our relationship. My thoughts always returned to Shale. I liked Cynisca, though. If only I knew whether Shale had married Judd. Maybe she had returned to her time. Cynisca had a charm all her own that infatuated me. A woman who had such wits in a man’s world earned my admiration.
My thoughts turned to more practical matters. How much money had I won? I didn’t know how to equate it to American dollars in 2015, but I hoped my college tuition would be covered. Would a hundred thousand dollars pay for the cost of a U.S. school like Stanford? Of course, if I went to a state school it would be much less.
Was there a medical school near Atlanta? I loved being rich.
I left the hippodrome to get a bite to eat, feeling more confident than ever. Passersby waved at me.
“Look, Daniel, the charioteer,” a young lad said to his mom in Greek.
“Yes, you are quite right. It is.” They waved and I waved back. I had not seen the Jewish family since that first night.
The races started as usual early in the morning, but my race was later. I found it draining to sit all day inside the hippodrome, so I made a couple of visits to the food court. After eating, I headed back.
The roar of the crowds cheering on their favorite racer was deafening. The slaves were still prepping my horses.
I spoke kindly to Mosi and Oni and gave them each a sweet treat. Perhaps more out of superstition than anything else, the slaves pearled the mane of the horses in the same way as when I had won my first race.
“How are you doing?” I asked the slaves. They worked hard and rarely received the recognition they deserved.
“We are doing fine,” the young Egyptian said. He was about my age. “We are praying you have a good race today.”
“Thank you.” Who was their god? I was afraid to ask.
Soon the announcer called my race. I went to the starting gate where I held the pole position. Sometimes the crowds thinned as the day wore on, but today the stadium overflowed with patrons, some forced to stand and watch from the aisles.
Many had stayed only to see me. My fame had spread beyond Caesarea—as the Jew who raced with horses and a chariot of the one true God.
People chanted my name and the fans even invented their own form of a human wave machine. They would start at one end and travel to the other. The visual effect was stunning.
When the flowers that had been thrown on the track were removed, all eyes turned to Pontius Pilate. He dropped the handkerchief and the gates flew open. The track became a sea of horses and chariots.
Mosi and Oni nosed out the other horses as they galloped across the stadium. I had not laid the whip on them in weeks. The race went by quickly with the usual casualties, the usual carnage, the usual dolphins, the usual crown. The races were no longer exciting to me.
I had grown accustomed to the usual ho-hum and pretended it didn’t bother me, even though it did. I had to compromise on some things, but I wasn’t proud of it.
On this day, despite my win, I didn’t feel the usual high. Perhaps I was tired. I stood and waved at the fans from the spina. They had come to see a good show and I had delivered. When I turned to leave, I heard a familiar voice, but I couldn’t place it. The words were in Aramaic.
“Daniel, it’s Simon.”
I searched for the man in the twilight. No, it couldn’t be. The only Simon I knew was a leper from years ago. I vaguely remembered Dr. Luke telling me the rabbi had healed him.
The man approached waving his arms and smiling. He thrust his hand out for me to shake it. I stared into his eyes with disbelief.
“Don’t you remember me?” he asked. “I’m Simon, the leper.”
I shook my head. “No. I mean yes.”
We laughed and hugged each other. I stepped backed to examine him. I saw no lesions on his fa
ce or his body.
“I’m healed,” said Simon.
“How?”
“You’ll never believe it, but Yeshua, the rabbi from Nazareth, healed me.”
I hadn’t heard that name since I had arrived in Caesarea. My mind reflected back to meeting the rabbi—and Nathan’s healing. I was caught off-guard and didn’t know what to say.
Simon leaned over and looked into my face in the approaching darkness. “You do know who that is?” he asked.
“Yes, I do. We just don’t hear much about rabbis in Caesarea and I’d forgotten about him.”
Simon shook his head. “I don’t like what this place is doing to you, Daniel. You are becoming one of them.”
“What do you mean by one of them?”
“A pagan,” Simon said.
Anger welled up. What right did he have to judge me? I remained silent and started walking.
“Come on, Daniel. You know this isn’t right for you. You are a Jew and living a lie.”
I stopped and faced him. “If you came all the way here to tell me that, you’re wasting your time.” Then I started walking again, kicking a rock with my sandal in frustration. It skidded across the ground and hit a statue in the heart. “What are you doing here in Caesarea anyway?”
Simon seized me from behind and stood close, invading my personal space. I backed away.
“Are you afraid of me or something? I don’t have leprosy anymore.”
“No.”
Most of the people had left the hippodrome and slaves were cleaning up the trash. I saw a table and motioned for him to join me. We could talk undisturbed. The thirty seconds walking over gave me time to cool down. What right did he have to judge me for earning a respectable living?
I plopped down on the bench and changed the subject. “How is your family?”
He scooted in front of me on the other side. “Much has happened since I last saw you.”
I reached back in my thoughts to those first days after I arrived in Dothan. How innocent and young I was. “It’s been over three years, hasn’t it?”
Simon nodded. He cleared his throat. “Yeshua is the Messiah.”
“Oh!” I replied.
“He is.”
“You came all the way here to tell me that?”
Simon leaned forward undeterred. “Daniel, God sent me to tell you. You’ve become quite famous in the last couple of months. Once I realized the Daniel people were talking about was you, the Jewish charioteer, I had to come see you. My, but you’ve changed.”
What was that supposed to mean. “How?”
Simon shrugged. “Will you be attending the Passover?”
“You didn’t answer my question. How have I changed?”
“When is the last time you cared about someone besides yourself? Are you ever going to earn enough money? You’ve become self-serving, consumed by worldly passions, reveling in the pagan idol worship that God forbids.”
“That’s enough.” I glared at the man. I stood and paced, seething with anger. “I’m making a living, saving money for college. What’s wrong with that?”
“Come back with me,” said Simon. “You need to meet the Messiah. He will set you free—from all of this.” Simon waved his hand—in a stadium filled with pagan gods and goddesses.
“No,” I said flatly.
“Will you at least come to Jerusalem for Passover? When is the last time you offered a sacrifice?”
I didn’t respond.
Simon stood to leave. “God sent me to you and I have done as he asked. I go in peace, my friend.” He reached out to shake my hand.
I reluctantly shook it but refused to look him in the eyes. I didn’t want to admit he was right. I had grown comfortable in my lifestyle and wanted to keep racing.
“I’d love to serve you dinner in Bethany if you come for Passover next month. Ask anybody around the area. They can direct you to my house.”
“Thank you,” was all I could say.
Simon left, leaving me standing alone. A dolphin fell. The sky had darkened, as had my heart. What had I become?
CHAPTER 39 THE DREAM
A misty wind cut through me as I trudged back home. A heavy fog made it difficult to see. The cold raindrops felt like ice pellets and the waves pounding the rocky cliffs of the Mediterranean portended an approaching storm.
The strange weather reflected my distorted reality. Why was I here? Uneasiness swept over me. What did God want from me? How could I have strayed so far from my faith? I wasn’t even sure if I believed in God anymore, but he had brought me here. I pointed my finger at the heavens. “You hear that, God? You brought me here.”
I couldn’t see through the misty fog, but something or someone was nearby. I heard heavy breathing and mocking laughter.
A door slammed and a foul odor turned my stomach. The darkened sky opened and heavy raindrops mercilessly bore down on me. I sloshed through the storm as occasional lightning pierced the darkness.
The temporary light revealed the building straight ahead. The darkness that followed, though, was even blacker.
I counted my steps—one, two three, four, five—and strained forward as thunder shook the ground. I came to the portico and stumbled at the rise. The attendant had already locked the entrance. I pounded on the wooden door.
Someone opened it. I fell through the entryway and collapsed on a chair, dripping. When I looked up to see who had let me in, the room was empty.
The door creaked back and forth and a gush of wind-driven rain pelted me in the face. I ran over and shut the door.
I looked around. Did I lock someone out? I couldn’t leave some poor soul outside in this miserable weather. Who let me in?
Another lightning bolt lit up the room followed by violent thunder. The room rattled. Guilt got the best of me. I unlocked and cracked the door. “Anyone there?”
Falling rain was the only noise besides my labored breathing. Could it have been my imagination? Maybe the wind blew the door open. I called once more. “Anyone out there?”
Lightning revealed no one lurking in the shadows. I slammed the door shut and locked it. When I turned around, the room was still empty. I ran back to my apartment. Once inside, I checked three times to make sure I locked the door. My eyes scanned the room. I ran over to the bed. Underneath the blankets, my shekels remained hidden. Nothing seemed missing. I tried to inhale and exhale normally but my emotions betrayed me.
After stripping off my wet clothes and putting on something warm, I climbed underneath the covers, but I couldn’t quit shaking. The room was too dark. I reached over and lit the oil lamp. I would sleep with the light on tonight. I scooted back underneath the covers and stared at the ceiling. Soon I drifted off, but dreams that seemed too lifelike to be imaginary and too dreamlike to be real disturbed any restful sleep that might have come.
I saw a stone castle at the edge of a steep precipice. The citadel guarded a country unfamiliar to me. A golden swath of light emanated from within the old fortress, or maybe it came from behind the structure—or both. The light drew me towards what was an ancient castle.
Two towers flanked the gloomy building on each side. The ray of luminosity stopped abruptly at the front of the fortress forming a round floating sphere. It looked like a large transparent bubble, but I couldn’t see through it.
A narrow road scaled the rocky precipice. I kept fighting the sensation of falling as I climbed. The castle reminded me of the Tower of Babel—high above everything else. Wispy clouds surrounded it and gave it a floating appearance.
I shivered as an icy breeze cut through me. Climbing the slippery surface, I wished I had cleats on the soles of my shoes. I relished every breath as I gulped in the thin air.
Once I made it to the top, I turned around to see how high I was. The country below seemed small and insignificant. The castle beckoned me.
I walked through the door and flaming torches lined the hallway. Several doors to adjoining rooms flanked each side of the entryway.
The foyer led to stairs at the back of the castle that wound in a corkscrew to the second floor. I tried to open the first door in the foyer, but it was locked. I tried another and another, but to no avail.
I gave up on the doors and crept towards the back.
The sound of my footsteps on the marble floor echoed through the empty room. I was afraid someone might hear me, but the castle seemed vacant—forgotten in time.
I was searching for something, but I didn’t know what. The stairs creaked as I stepped on each one. I reached the top and stood before a large door. Upon opening it, a darkened rectangular room spread out in front of me. In the shadows at the far end, a man was chained to the wall, but I couldn’t see his face.
I heard voices and footsteps coming up the stairs behind me. I froze. My legs wouldn’t move. I pulled on one of my legs with my hands to lift my foot, but my leg was too heavy. I fell to my knees and scooted myself across the floor, hiding behind a chest of drawers. Two men entered, but I didn’t recognize them. They walked past me, speaking in Arabic. I tried to understand their words, but I couldn’t.
I watched from behind the chest. The two men approached the prisoner. One of them spoke to him, but I didn’t understand the Arabic.
I heard the voice of the prisoner. He spoke in Hebrew, “I’m not going to tell you where it is.”
I heard my father’s voice.
I woke up hyperventilating. Could my father be alive holed up in a castle somewhere? Who were those men? After a few moments, I came to my senses.
It was a dream—only a dream. I wanted something familiar to cling to, a tether to keep from falling—as if I could still fall off the mountain.
I sat on my bed and sobbed. I missed my father. I missed my home—my country, my time, my friends. I didn’t know how to get back. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I had agreed to race for the next eight months.
Honor meant I kept my word. I reached for my shekels under the covers—my gold, my golden idol. I would finish my time here and go back to Dothan and ask God to help me—just a little more money, a few more races.
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