by Lee Strauss
The bull’s horn speared the man through the side and it paraded its prize as it trotted in slow circles. The crowd rose to their feet in excitement as the man screamed in agony and then suddenly stopped.
A gate opened on the opposite side, and the bull rushed in with the man still impaled on its horn.
Helena thought she might throw up. She prayed silently for strength.
She kept her eyes on the gates, glancing north, south, east, west and then north again, over and over. When will the next gate rise?
Geta was on his feet yelling something and shaking his small fists. He was a boy of ten or eleven, but the look of hatred on his face caused her to catch her breath.
Then the sound of another gate opening. She swiveled to her right. Several men marched out, each outfitted in gladiator garb. Some with helmets, all with shields and some form of weapon in their hands.
There appeared to be one attacker for each victim. Felicity stood nearby and Helena reached out, taking her hand.
“We will meet very soon in heaven, with our Savior by our side,” Helena said. “Stay strong.”
Unlike with the bull, the victims remaining in the arena stayed in their positions. The crowd was dissatisfied with their response and began to boo.
Secundus was the first to go down, a spear in the side. Helena pinched her eyes tight, taking quick short breaths. Soon they would all be together again.
Other gladiators were screaming at them, “Run you fools, run!”
But Helena knew they would not. They were here to die for their Lord and die with dignity they would.
A man charged them, and Helena couldn’t help the scream that escaped her lips. He passed her, onto Felicity. He tossed his three-spiked trident at her frail body, impaling her heart. She toppled to the ground.
“Felicity!” Helena couldn’t help the tears this time, and even though her knees quivered, she remained standing. She would await her attacker and it would be over. Please, where was her attacker?
She turned and saw him. His face was concealed behind a helmet and a dagger hung limply in his hand. He faced her, so he must be the one meant to take her life. Come forward! Do your deed!
All around her the victims were falling to their deaths. She alone awaited hers. Why wouldn’t the gladiator attack?
Chapter Thirty
TATIANA
Tatiana arrived at the games, early in the morning in the company of her husband. He didn’t know about the reward money she had collected and she hadn’t formulated a plan for her escape quite yet. But his company did allow her entrance into the games, so he’d turned out to be useful for something.
Tackle the problems of the city by pacifying and distracting the people, her husband had said on their way in. Give them bread for their hunger and circuses for their amusement.
The concept was simple and effective, especially when it came to taming the poor. And it was certainly working on this sun-baked day. Forty thousand people had obtained free tickets in order to bask in the presence of their holy emperor.
The affair had commenced at dawn. The streets, which were normally quiet and dark, buzzed with vendors and merchants of all types, surrounding the amphitheater with awnings and stalls. They were confident large numbers of consumers would arrive, for this imperial show had been promoted heavily with advertisements painted on the sides of buildings all over Carthage and surrounding towns and cities for weeks prior to the event.
The roar of many trumpets blowing announced the start of the ludi, beginning with a lavish parade that poured into the arena from the gate of life at the south end. The crowd was presented with a performance from a troop of musicians and dancers; then a seemingly endless display of tamed exotic animals—row after row of stags pulling chariots, leopards in silver harnesses, bulls painted white and draped with fresh-cut flowers.
Those who were unimpressed with the lighthearted beginning were engaged soon enough by the entrance of the priest, who carried tall staffs topped with burning incense, and led a procession of sacrificial animals: rams, bulls and hogs. Statues of all the gods, demigods, muses, and deified emperors, each borne on a litter by eight uniformed slaves, slowly paraded around the arena.
Then a trumpet blast announced the entrance of the royal family. They were escorted by the imperial guards—men who had spent the whole previous day polishing their helmets and shields until they reflected the sky. Long, crimson capes blew behind them as they marched through a tunnel that led from the emperor’s private entrance straight to the imperial box.
Every person in the stands stood, and miraculously the Coliseum fell silent. Tatiana took the opportunity to prop her wig, proud to see that she was among the few women from Carthage to wear a similar head piece as Augusta Julia.
After pausing for an appropriate amount of time, perfecting the dramatic effect, Septimius stepped up from his throne and waved regally. The people went crazy, crying and shouting out their adoration for their emperor, Severus, Severus, Severus!
With a simple nod from the emperor, the games began.
Now almost midday, Tatiana had witnessed the slaughter of one hundred ostriches and one hundred stags. After being released into the arena, the hunt was on. Twenty archers had breezed in from both ends of the amphitheater, calmly and expertly drawing their bows and firing arrows through the air. The animals scattered with nowhere to hide. One after another they fell, and within minutes the first show had ended. Slaves rushed in with hooks and ropes, dragging the carcasses away.
Before the crowd could catch its breath, the floor of the arena opened up, and from the depths of the Coliseum rose a great wooden ship. Once settled it suddenly broke apart, letting loose hundreds of animals including lions, bears, leopards and boars. Fifty gladiators, bestiarii, charged the creatures with long spears.
Men skewered bears and lions, lions attacked leopards, leopards attacked men; it was utter chaos on the sand. Tatiana felt like she had stopped breathing. The crowd roared, intoxicated by savagery.
“Look!” Tatiana pointed. Directly in front of the imperial box, a bear and a boar were engaged in battle. The large protruding fangs of the boar pierced the loose skin of the bear’s neck. The bear responded by yelping and spinning, shaking helplessly as its opponent hung and spun like a whip.
Now it was the midday intermission. The final act was to be a fight between the two most famous gladiators in the empire. But that wasn’t what Tatiana was waiting for.
She instructed Nesta to get her a goblet of water and something to eat. Her husband was engaged in a boring though intense conversation with his neighbor. She found herself suppressing a yawn. Since her marriage to Ursus she’d been to several circuses, and though this was by far the most extravagant, after a while the shedding of blood grew old.
Finally, one of the gates opened. Several men and women clothed in nothing more than thin white tunics were shuttled into the arena.
Tatiana squinted, searching.
There she was. Helena Vibius, her childhood friend.
She hadn’t known what to expect, what her reaction would be upon seeing Helena there, a victim soon to die.
Because she was the one who had betrayed her.
Her heart felt small and tight with remorse. She didn’t really want her friend to die this way. A burning ball of anger grew in her chest. How could Helena be so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! She should have recanted. Why didn’t she recant?
Chapter Thirty-One
LUCIUS
The girl whom he’d fantasized about for more than a year and a half stood in front of him now. How could this be? How could it be that his beautiful, intelligent and kind Helena was standing there, barefoot on the sand, in an awful white tunic awaiting her death?
Her face was so calm, peaceful, like she wanted him to kill her. Her eyes seemed to beg him to step forward.
Slowly, he removed his helmet.
“Lucius?” Her voice was breathy and innocent. Her eyes opened wide and her cherry red
lips fell open.
“Helena?”
“You’re a gladiator?”
“I was captured in Rome. I am ashamed to say my freedom was short lived.”
The crowd had begun to murmur. Lucius glanced about the stands. The emperor shifted impatiently. All the other gladiators with him had completed their tasks. Titus caught his eye and drew his finger across his throat as if to say, Get on with it, Lucius before you cause trouble for all of us.
He turned back to Helena. “You’re a Christian?”
“I am.”
“I don’t understand. Why? Do you not know what they want me to do?”
“Yes, I know. Lucius, I’m ready. I’ve found the One True God.”
Lucius scoffed. “The One True God! And this god would have you die at my hands?”
He waited but Helena said nothing. His head throbbed, pain pulsating behind his eyes. His throat was parched, swallowing became difficult. “I can’t do this,” he said. “I love you, Helena. You know I do.”
He stepped toward her, and she met him in an embrace. He buried his face in her hair. “I’ve dreamed of you every day and night, that one day I could hold you again. But not like this. I’d rather die than do what they’ve commanded me to do.”
Helena tilted her head up and he touched her lips with his, so soft, and warm and forbidden. “I love you too, Lucius,” she said. “I’m so happy that I can see your face one last time before I die.”
“Oh, Helena, I don’t want you to die! What am I to do?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
HELENA
Helena reached up with a trembling hand and stroked the rough beard on Lucius’s jaw. He had filled out, a grown man now, with broader shoulders and a stronger jaw. Lines had formed along his eyes from squinting in the sun, and around his mouth from frowning.
She remembered when they first met, in the grove, him picking olives. She’d stared at his mouth a lot in those days, and her heart squeezed with fondness.
She’d love Lucius then and she still loved him now. And because she loved him, she would help him.
“This is my destiny,” she said. “We were never meant to be together in this life, but maybe we can be in the next.”
She turned gently, pressing her back into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. He nuzzled his face into her neck and a heave of despair escaped his lungs. Her heart swelled, sharing his pain. Her eyes blurred with tears.
A hush fell among the crowd, curious and waiting.
“I’m going to help you with this,” Helena choked out. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
TATIANA
What was going on? All the Christians had been slaughtered but one. Helena Vibius remained standing. The gladiator assigned to terminate her just stood there. Why?
The crowd grew restless. They were bored with this show and wanted to move on, but Tatiana couldn’t look away.
Then the gladiator removed his helmet and Helena stepped towards him. Tatiana was stunned. Did they know each other? How was that possible?
A hush settled over the crowd and then a collective gasp. The gladiator embraced Helena and kissed her—and with such passion! Tatiana sat on the edge of her seat mesmerized.
Helena pressed her back against the gladiator. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. His hand holding the dagger hung lifelessly at his side. Helena reached for it, encasing his hand with hers, lifting the knife to her throat. She tugged his arm sharply and her body grew limp. Blood spilled drop by drop, speckling the sand.
The crowd was on its feet. Such an unexpected, dramatic show!
Tatiana didn’t stand.
The gladiator fell to his knees, holding tightly to Helena’s body. His shoulders shook and his chin dropped to his chest. Was he… crying?
The gladiator took the dagger, which was covered with Helena’s blood, and examined it thoughtfully. Tatiana dare not look away. Was he about to take his own life?
Then another gladiator approached him, the one with flaming red hair. He grabbed Helena’s gladiator by his elbow lifting him to his feet. Helena’s body slid to the ground.
Slaves ran to remove the corpses as the gladiators exited through an open gate. The crowd’s applause continued to fill the place.
Tatiana closed her eyes, sighing, sorry for what she had done. A lone tear trailed down her cheek
THE END
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Read on for the first chapter of PLAYING WITH MATCHES
.
Emil Radle is a dedicated member of Hitler Youth. He's loyal to the Fuehrer before family, a champion for the cause and a fan of the famous Luftwaffe.
When his friends Moritz and Johann discover a shortwave radio, everything changes. Now they listen to BBC broadcasts of news reports that tell both sides. Now they know the truth. The boys, along with Johann's sister Katarina, band together to write out the reports and covertly distribute flyers throughout their city. It's an act of high treason that could have them arrested--or worse.
As the war progresses, so does Emil's affection for Katarina. He'd do anything to have a normal life and to stay in Passau by her side. But when Germany's losses become immense, even their greatest resistance can't prevent the boys from being sent to the Eastern Front.
For Katrina's sake, and for his family, Emil hopes he will survive the battle. He knows they've already lost the war.
Note from the author:
JARS OF CLAY and BROKEN VESSELS are fictional stories based loosely on the true life account of a Roman maiden named Perpetua. I was fascinated when I learned of her, how, though a daughter of a wealthy businessman and entrenched in pagan life, she’d converted to Christianity as a youth and was killed in the arena in Carthage, in a similar manner as Helena, under Emperor Severus at games to celebrate his son’s birthday. I borrowed a lot from Perpetua’s life and lifestyle, including her family, the death of a younger brother, a slave girl named Felicity and an absentee husband. However, this is not a retelling of her life. I took a lot of liberties, which is why I created fictional characters to capture the essence of her story.
Recommended Reading:
Perpetua’s Passion - The Death and Memory of a Young Roman Woman by Joyce E. Salisbury
Handbook to Life in Ancient Rome by Lesley Adkins and Roy A, Adkins
Herodian Books I-IV— English Translator, C.R. Whittaker
Lee Strauss writes historical and science fiction/romance for mature YA and adult readers. She also writes light and fun stuff under the name Elle Strauss. You can follow her on Facebook, twitter, pinterest and wattpad by visiting her at www.ellestraussbooks.com .
Other books by Lee Strauss
Ambition (short story prequel to Perception)
Perception (book 1 in the Perception series)
Volition (book 2 in the Perception series)
Playing with Matches
A Piece of Blue String (short story companion to Playing with Matches)
Acknowledgements:
I started the first draft of JARS OF CLAY over eleven years ago—by far the oldest manuscript of mine that waited in a “drawer.” After much research and countless re-writes, I’m excited to finally unleash what eventually turned into this two novella book set. I want to thank Wesley Campbell who was the first to tell me the incredible story of the Roman martyr, Perpetua; author Denise Jaden who read an early draft years before she herself became a writer (!); Lori Vanzyderveld proof reader extraordinaire and good friend; Leigh Moore, whose editing finesse helped me to keep this story on course; my friends and family, always faithful and supportive; and to you my readers—thanks fo
r making it to the end!
PLAYING WITH MATCHES
PROLOGUE
1945
JULY
THE PILLAR of smoke rising on the horizon could only mean one thing: a farm, which meant food.
Emil Radle limped across the sloping field that was brittle and dry from lack of rain and irrigation. He lost his footing twice, falling, grabbing at his leg, his mouth opening in a wide teeth-baring groan. The first time he beat the pain, pulling himself back onto his feet, hunger pushing him on. The second time he gave into the primal urge to scream and cry, until sleep threatened to take him again. The warm sun beat down, heavy, his mind lapsing into a drug-like state.
Somewhere in his subconscious, he knew he couldn't stay there; if he did he would die. He pulled himself up again, shaky and quivering. Finally, a house came into view. Out of breath, he slipped through the narrow opening of a stiff iron gate and knocked on the door.
It opened and a thin, elderly man with an unshaven face looked him up and down. “Not another one,” he muttered.
“Please, do you have a piece of bread? Anything?”
The man frowned. “How old are you, boy?”
“Sixteen.” Emil wondered what he must look like to the man. He hadn’t bathed or had a change of clothes in weeks. He knew his hair was too long. He shifted his weight nervously, rubbing his bad knee.
The man noticed. “What’s wrong with your leg?”
“Injured on the front.”
The man sighed. “I don’t have anything left. Someone knocks on my door every hour looking to eat.”
