The Master's Wall

by Sandi Rog

  “He’s for you to ride.” Demetri led the pony to stand beside her. “Would you like to ride him now?”

  She stepped back and shook her head. “No, thank you.” She tried her best to sound sweet. She thought it might be fun to ride the beast and pretend to be a Roman soldier. She’d never seen a woman ride such an animal, but she wouldn’t give Demetri the pleasure.

  A look of disappointment washed over his face.

  She fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Let him be disappointed. He deserved it for having scared her with his nasty words.

  “So be it.” He turned and smiled as he escorted the pony back around the house through the awe-struck crowd.

  When the excitement died down, the two girls were made to sit away from the family and the rest of the guests. The men and women reclined on the couches that had been moved into the courtyard. By this time, scantily dressed women appeared and danced in and around the guests, while others played the lyre, panned flutes, and tambourines.

  She watched in fascination. The women were beautiful, and they danced with spirit and at the same time, a gentleness she wished to emulate. Their sheer veils and wraps glided in and around the adults.

  Arnos’s father reached out for one of the dancers and pulled her onto his lap. The woman laughed and together they shared a drink from his goblet. Arnos’s mother stood and stormed into the house. Nobody else seemed to care or notice.

  Alethea longed to be at home, but she took advantage of the private time with Vibia and leaned close, squeezing her kitten against her chest for comfort.

  “You can have Demetri.” She held the ring out to her. “I’m not going to marry him.”

  To her surprise, Vibia scowled. “You think it’s that easy? And what will Grandfather say? He promised you to him. Besides, the priest has already blessed your betrothal.”

  “I don’t want him,” Alethea said, certain her own will should make a difference. “You should be pleased. I’m giving him to you.”

  “And I am sure Grandfather will be pleased as well,” Vibia said sarcastically. “You will be severely punished, and if they find out how ungrateful you are—” Vibia shook her head, casting a grave look “—maybe even killed.”

  Cold fear washed over Alethea. Killed? Grandfather had killed her father. What would keep him from killing her? But that was because her father had been a Christian. She wasn’t a Christian, but her refusal to marry Demetri might very well ignite his anger. After all, look at how angry Grandmother had become when Vibia was ungrateful. Yet, Vibia was still willing to marry Arnos. Alethea really did need to think this through. According to Decimus, any Roman father had a legal right to put his children to death. Her heart sank. The situation seemed hopeless.

  “By the time I’m twelve, I will find someone else to marry.” Alethea consoled herself. She had to hold onto her dream, or she might die without the need of a sword.

  Vibia let out a snort. “I doubt you’ll be ready to marry at twelve. As for me, I will definitely be ready. I am far more mature than you.” She patted her braids and smoothed out her stola. “I’m sure Grandmother would beg Grandfather not to allow you to marry so young. She would rather have her curls straightened before she would ever let you marry at that age.” Vibia giggled. “You would make a fool of her with your antics.”

  Alethea shrugged off the statement. She was used to Vibia’s insults.

  Vibia tossed a braid over her shoulder. “You’re so ungrateful. Demetri gave you some fine gifts.” Vibia looked down at her feet. “All I got is this cheap anklet and necklace. I didn’t get a pony, a handsome jewel, or a cute kitten like you. If he does wish to marry soon, if I were you, I would happily accept.” She sighed. “Still, I’m sure we won’t be expected to marry until we’re fourteen. Let’s hope I won’t have to wait until I am sixteen, that’s so old.” Vibia pinched her face in disgust.

  Alethea’s dark world brightened and she grabbed hold of this small ray of hope. She had more time.

  Ω

  That night when the partiers had finally gone to bed, David crawled over sleeping bodies. Each slave rested on his own pallet, and he was careful not to bump anyone and jar them awake.

  Tonight was the night he’d been waiting for. The night he would find Sarah. Or find out what happened to her. He’d been so anxious to return to Rome, he could hardly contain himself. His hands trembled and his feet moved anxiously as he crept over his friends.

  When they’d passed under Rome’s gate, a surge of anticipation had overwhelmed David. Walking through the city streets had been torture. He kept watching for familiar faces, familiar homes. Anything to find a hint of his past.

  He scrambled from the bedchamber and tiptoed toward the door. Slowly, he lifted the latch. It creaked and echoed down the narrow hall as if to sound off an alarm. David held his breath. He looked behind him. No movement. No sounds. He lifted the latch higher, until finally, the door opened.

  With the door ajar, he slipped into the night air. He knew exactly where to go. He’d find his father’s old friend, Manius. David jogged along the dark street, avoiding wheeled carts pulled by men and horses up and down the hills. He’d forgotten that wheeled carts were only allowed through the streets at night for fear they might kill a pedestrian. He’d better be careful. He passed by houses, fountains, and statues and was careful not to trip on the large paving stones.

  How this brought back memories. He was ten years old again. Not much had changed. The mud brick apartments loomed above him on both sides. An emptiness wrenched through his gut, the same emptiness he felt the last time he stole through these streets.

  A huge cart came toward him, rumbling on its giant wheels. David pressed against the side of a mud-brick building, bringing back memories of that fateful night. The night he lost his parents. He held his breath as the cart barely missed him. After it passed, he took off running.

  Finally, he came to Manius’s house. At least it used to be his house. Hopefully he still lived there. David pounded on the door.

  Silence.

  Glancing over his shoulder to see if he’d been followed, he pounded until his knuckles ached. This might be his only chance to find her.

  Shuffling sounded on the other side, and the lock clicked. The door opened just a crack. “Who’s there?” a voice came from inside.

  “I’m David. A friend of Manius.”

  David caught a glimpse of the person’s tunic on the other side and then part of his face.

  “We don’t know any David.”

  “David, son of Aaron.” Manius clearly still lived there.

  “We don’t know you.”

  “Yes, you do!” David stepped closer to the door. “Tell your master I’ve come. I need to speak to him.”

  The slave nodded and closed the door.

  David stood on the stoop and glanced around into the dark streets. No sign of Titus. Noise and shadows from wheeled carts moved about.

  The door flew open. Manius, much smaller than David remembered, stood before him with messy hair and sleepy eyes. “This better not be a jest,” he said, his tone weak from sleep. “Who are you?”

  “It’s me. David. Son of Aaron, the scribe. You and my father were good friends.”

  “David?” Incredulous surprise came over the man’s face. “Our David?” He ran his hand down his face as if trying to wake up.

  “What happened to Sarah? I need to find her.” David’s voice choked as he said the words, afraid of what the truth might reveal. “Is she . . . is she alive?”

  “It’s you.” The man’s voice was almost a whisper as he drew out the words. He grabbed David by the arms. “It’s really you!” He cupped David’s face in his hands.

  Manius’s familiar touch and smell enveloped him like a warm embrace, bringing him home. Only his mother and father had touched him in such an intimate manner. David’s stomach ached, carrying the same homesick sensation he felt when he’d first been enslaved.

  “We thought you were d
ead.”

  If they thought he was dead, perhaps that was Sarah’s fate. “Is she alive?” How he longed to remain here with this man who knew his father so well, with this man who worshipped Elohim, his Creator, the God above all gods. “I can’t stay.”

  A shadow loomed. Titus and armed guards came toward them. Recognition settled in his eyes when he saw David. “I knew I’d better watch you.” He started toward him.

  “Who are you?” Manius asked.

  “I wasn’t trying to escape,” David said, meeting Titus’s gaze. Then to Manius, “I’m looking for Sarah.”

  Titus grabbed David by the arm and yanked him between the men who stood guard around them.

  “What are you doing?” Manius asked, bewildered.

  The guards pushed Manius back toward his door, pushing him away from David as Titus dragged him away. His stride faltered, barely keeping up as Titus jerked him by the arm down the street.

  “Where’s Sarah?” David shouted, his throat closing in on his words as Manius’s voice rose in protest toward the guards.

  “Silence, boy!” Titus shoved David by his collar against the wall.

  “I had a life before this,” David said between clenched teeth.

  “I told you. That life is over.” Titus jerked him away from the wall and shoved him down the street.

  David tried to keep up with his pace. “Was it so easy for you to give up your past? Your father? Your mother?”

  “I had no choice.” Titus yanked him along. “And neither do you.”

  David knew he’d get a lashing for what he’d done. “I just had to find my sister.” Tears burned behind David’s eyes, and it took all he had to fight them back. It was all in vain. He still didn’t know if she were dead or alive.

  “She’s alive!” Manius’s voice carried down the street.

  David glanced over his shoulder as Titus continued to tug him along. Joyous relief sprang through him.

  “Why are you doing this?” Manius shouted, struggling to break free of the armed guards. “You’re treating him like . . . it can’t be! The boy’s not a slave!”

  “Silence him!” Titus shouted at the guards, his voice a charge that one didn’t ignore. But dare they harm a Roman citizen?

  Unable to break free from the guards holding him back, Manius shouted, “David, you’re—”

  The hilt of a sword came down on David’s head and blackness consumed him.

  Later that night, David lay on his stomach between the other slaves. It didn’t matter that his back and legs burned from the scourging. It didn’t matter that his flesh twitched in pain with each delicate movement of the air. Nor did it matter that he couldn’t roll over and fall asleep. All that mattered was Sarah. And his silent tears of relief.

  thirteen

  Alethea lay on her back, and David lay on his back opposite her on the wall. The pine tree provided just enough shade to keep them cool. She scooted up towards him so that her head touched his. She’d thought about asking him to pray with her just so he would hold her hands, but she didn’t want to be deceitful. Nor did she wish to anger his God. After all, she was still waiting for Him to bring back Mpampas.

  “David?” Alethea whispered as the birds called to one another from the trees. “How long does it take your God to answer prayers?”

  “It depends.” He released a long breath. “Sometimes He answers them right away, and other times He waits.”

  “Hmm.” She would just have to wait then. She rolled over onto her tummy, careful not to fall off the wall. “David.” She twisted her hair between her fingers and weaved it into his hair. She liked the way the sun cast light through the shade of the trees and how it made some of his strands light up like gold.

  “Yes.” His eyes remained closed.

  “Are you my friend?”

  “Humph. Of course.”

  Birds twittered above their heads as a long silence between them thickened on the air. She hoped he’d say more about their friendship, but when he didn’t, she continued. “They’re going to make me marry Demetri, and I don’t want to marry him. So, I was thinking . . . .” She waited to see if he was listening.

  “Hmm, mm?”

  “I was thinking, maybe you and I should get married, then I won’t have to marry Demetri.”

  David smiled, then he chuckled, his eyes still closed.

  “What’s so funny?” She pushed up on her elbows. “We wouldn’t have to get married now. We can do it after I turn fourteen. That would be a decent age to marry, and Vibia doesn’t think I’ll be ready for marriage until then anyway.” She rested her chin on her fists, holding her breath. She knew marrying a slave was impossible, but if he did want to marry her, maybe they could run away?

  David rolled onto his side and pushed up on his elbow. He narrowed his gaze and looked at her. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” She twirled her hair around her fingers so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes.

  He sat up and let his hands dangle between his legs. He shook his head, then cast a side-glance at her.

  She stared back down at her hair, avoiding his gaze.

  “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  She nodded, her cheeks hot.

  The buzz of flies and the sounds of locusts increased their volume. Alethea could even hear the sun bearing down on them. Despite the noise, David’s silence stretched out like a long speech from her schoolmaster that would never end. And like her schoolmaster, this silent “speech” communicated information she didn’t wish to know. She twirled her hair some more. Finally, she couldn’t endure the quiet any longer. “Don’t you want to marry me?”

  “Of course . . . I mean—” He ran his hands through his hair. “It just isn’t possible.”

  A long breath of relief escaped her. Thank Fortuna. He did want to marry her. “It’s hopeless.” She rested her chin on her hands. “I’m doomed to marry Demetri.” Sticking out her lip, she hoped he might feel sorry for her, give in, and say yes. “He’s so cruel. He’s not nice like you at all. He compares me to his horse, and he doesn’t even have dimples.”

  “What do dimples have to do with marriage?” David chuckled and shook his head. “Aucella, oh Aucella. You’re so silly.” He gazed at the trees. “I’m sure Demetri will treat you well. He probably compares you to his horse because he doesn’t understand you. After all, how many girls would dare refuse marriage to someone so rich and handsome, not to mention young? Most girls would be thrilled to marry a man like him.”

  “Well, I’m not!”

  He leaned back on his hands. “He gave you some really nice gifts.”

  “All he cares about is the land he’s going to get.”

  “You have to give him a chance. Maybe you need to be more friendly and look for the good things in him?” He sighed. “You need to start thinking of the good things about him.” He leaned close to her, his face serious. “Promise me you’ll do that. I want you to be happy. If you don’t start seeing anything good in him now, you’ll be miserable.”

  “But I don’t want to marry him.” She clenched her fists and her throat hurt from the knot building there. “You just don’t want to marry me.”

  “Alethea, it wouldn’t matter. I’m a slave. You can’t marry a slave.” He frowned and furrowed his brows. “It would be impossible, even if we did wish to marry. You know that.”

  “But you’re my best friend!” Tears spilled down her cheeks and her throat burned. “We can run away together. Marry in secret.”

  He gave her a disapproving look.

  “Then I’ll pray to your God. He can do anything. If He can part the Red Sea, as you said He did, then He can find a way for us to marry.”

  “We better get back.” He cleared his throat. “People will start looking for us.” He jumped to his feet, keeping his balance steady atop the wall, and reached out for her.

  She took his hand. It was bigger than hers and she savored every moment that he touched her. Why would he try to convince her
to like Demetri, let alone marry him? He said he wanted her to be happy, but only David could make her happy. And that’s when it hit her. She loved David. No one cared for her as much as David, not even her own mother. David was everything. How could she not love him?

  She would pray to his God every day if she had to. Desperation took over. She couldn’t lose him. She was determined to marry her best friend.

  Ω

  Several months later, Alethea ran to the gymnasium. “Do you know where Damonus is?” she asked one of the slaves.

  “I believe he’s in the woods, mistress.”

  She hiked up her stola and ran to the trees. Ducking under a branch, she searched the woods. “David! Where are you?”

  “Here!” His voice echoed through the trees.

  When she found him, he was doing the splits on top of the wall and punching the air.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” she asked, surprised to see him in such a strange position.

  He smiled. “Not anymore.” He placed his hands flat on the wall and pushed his whole body up into the air, slowly stretching his legs out above him into a handstand.

  She watched the muscles flex in his tanned arms and back. At fourteen he was beginning to look more like a man. His balancing act intrigued her.

  He fell backward toward the ground.

  “David!” Her heart went to her throat.

  At the last moment, he arched his back and landed on his feet.

  “I thought you were falling.” She crossed her arms in order to control her trembling.

  “What are you doing here?” He stretched his sweaty arms. “Shouldn’t you be learning something in the kitchen?” He grinned.

  She knew he was teasing, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his muscles. “I can prepare food quite well, thank you. And I pity anyone who doesn’t have the privilege of tasting my cooking,” she said, even though there wasn’t much she knew how to prepare. Still, she hoped to impress him.

  “I pity the one that does,” he said.

  She picked up a pinecone and threw it at him.