by Ava D. Dohn
* * *
It was late in the afternoon when the city stadium was finally readied for judicial matters. Claudesius felt ill, telling his court officers to cancel all other legal cases for the day. Only the trial of Symeon was to continue as scheduled.
Claudesius had taken occasion during preparations to get up and observe the progress of workers repairing the arena. Hurried crews had reinforced the damaged commons wall, roping off the section around the point of collapse. Then, burning lamps of perfumed oil were generously distributed along the wall surrounding the field, sending out the sweet smell of juniper and pine to cover the growing stench of blood and gore. This, added to the wagonloads of lime spread about, made the heat of the late day sun more tolerable on the nostrils of the thousands who were now crowding every nook and cranny of the stadium.
The time had come. The governor walked, again, to the balcony. A wild roar of approval rose from the thousands of anxious witnesses, the majority crying out for the death of the heretics. He waved his hand. The hastily replaced gates at the far end of the arena opened as horns, pipes, and cymbals began marshaling music. Then, slowly and steadily, a dozen soldiers dressed in armor and bright red uniforms, calling out cadence, pushed a huge four-wheeled wooden platform onto the field.
As the platform moved ever closer to its station near the governor’s balcony, two-dozen archers entered through the small double doors directly below it. Claudesius was much relived to see that these men were from Treston’s guard. How his lieutenant had managed to pull off such a coup he did not know, but it was a great relief to see it so. He knew that his friend would protect the girl from the riotous mob.
With a shouted command, the officer over the troop delivering the platform ordered a halt. The men gathered in a line facing the governor, the commander standing in front. All smartly saluted, remaining at attention while other royal soldiers paraded twenty or so shackled men across the field. The crowds went wild, shouting insults while throwing small objects at the bedraggled men, hitting some. One old man fell to the blow of a chunk of broken masonry, a soldier yanking him to his feet and pushing the bleeding fellow forward. At length, the prisoners were driven up to the north arena wall and forced to stand, facing the platform.
Sickness grew again in Claudesius’ belly. These were honest, hard-working men who lived in the city, itself. He recognized a few, having seen them labor on the docks or selling stuffs in the marketplace. Their only crime committed? Openly confessing their belief in one supreme God.
Looking away, the governor studied the crowds of his noble countrymen. He muttered under his breath, “Sewer rats the lot…would stick you in the back as to look at you. And I’m no better than the worst of them. Here we ruin the good to gather the filth. We drink down the vomit while throwing out the good wine.” He sadly shook his head, knowing it was by his very hand these atrocities had been heaped upon these innocents. And for what? To make sport of a nuisance people and obtain a pleasing name for himself before one of Caesar’s magistrates?
Claudesius nodded toward the soldiers, sending them to their stations on and around the platform. He glanced behind him into the shadows. The viewing stand was filled to overflowing with dignitaries and wealthy guests, but still no sign of Ogust or Jusslin. ‘Oh well, the better for it. Maybe they will gift me with a burning for starting without them. Then on with it...’
Turning to the crowds, Claudesius raised his arms in ceremony, beginning the late day’s events. He lifted his voice in praise to the gods, the caesars, all the brave men who had come before them, and to generations that would carry the glory of the empire into the unknown future. Oh, how he wanted to puke on his own smooth speech, but no, he could not. For, in his mind, he was developing a plan. Yes, the girl would die. Her god had checked his path. But what of the others? In his mind, Claudesius called out to a strange and unknown deity. ‘Just this once, give this fool words to tingle the ears. Just this once…’ Signaling to his heralds, the governor began the speech of his life.
“Brothers! My brothers! Our nation! Our nation was built on a set of divine laws of greater value than all the riches of all nations. These laws and principles they embody have made us the greatest kingdom the world has ever known! These very laws have unified people of every tongue, every culture and every ideology, welding them into the largest, strongest, family ever known to mankind. The length, breadth and majesty of this land which we call home is beyond measure. May it last forever!”
The crowd went wild with shouts and applause. Eventually, they quieted. ‘Now to bend the road...’
Claudesius raised a fist. “The reason for our success? The reason why we have succeeded where the other great powers of Greece, Babylon, and Egypt all miserably failed is because of the honest and just rule of law that is fairly imparted to all free men. In our nation, all men are offered freedom to think, believe, and act in accordance with the will of the gods! And what do the gods, themselves, prove to us? That freedom subjects all living men to protect and consider the rights of our fellow man. Is there a man among us who disputes those evident truths?!”
The people were silent.
Claudesius shouted, “That being the case then, we, the children of this glorious house, must continue to display this outstanding allegiance to the laws that bind our house together!” then raising a fist, “Our kingdom forever!”
The people roared their approval, many standing and, with raised fists, repeating with enthusiasm, “Our kingdom forever!”
The governor smiled. ‘Fools! Empty-headed fools!’
“We do not judge a man because of his race, home of birth, or even an ideology. Have we not seen the fool before? Yet we have seen tolerance from our greatest of lords. How often has our emperor proved his wisdom by allowing release to the man, though being a fool, or stupid in thought, because our great lord understands that ignorant stupidity was not justification in itself to call down judgment upon such a man. No! Not all children of the gods have been gifted with common sense, yet, are they not also children of the gods? Yes! Do we dare accuse the gods of incompetence because they make stupid men?”
“My fellow children of those very same makers of worlds, we have been given a sacred trust handed to us by those very powers, to care for their creation. Because we have held sacred that trust placed upon us, we have been blessed by those very divine beings. Tell me! Does there exist a more just and fair nation than what the gods have given to you and me?”
Shouts and applause echoed throughout the coliseum.
“We are not the kind of people who will abandon our sacred laws to satisfy any inner selfish desires or perceived offenses. Law! Law! Better is it for the entire world of living things to pass away than for one letter of our holy laws to be abused through greed, hatred, or fear! Are we not the stewards of divine knowledge, given to us through the oracles and priests who serve the gods looking down on us from hidden worlds?!”
Nodding heads shouted agreement…
Raising his hand and pointing skyward, Claudesius exclaimed, “Our fathers levied upon us a great responsibility, warning us so that our nation should last forever! They placed upon us the obligation to be wise and listen, to perceive the motive behind the action, to suffer the fool, to stand mature in a world filled with childishness. We have been placed under obligation to make the punishment fit the crime. And do our laws not also command us to withhold the whip from an innocent son whose father is a thief?”
“Yes! Yes! Should a man be declared guilty, we must still treat that evildoer’s family… if innocent… with the utmost respect offered to any man! Do you! Do you! Do you still stand beside your governor in crying out to the heavens that we…yes we, the children of the gods, now and forever, will live by those divine standards?!”
The crowds were on their feet, wildly shouting and gesticulating, some people throwing kisses while others tossed flower petals toward the gov
ernor.
Claudesius smiled and, with a sweeping gesture, bowed to his loyal listeners, all the while feeling a desire to puke. How sour the taste, his words! How phony! It was so clear now. In his mind he could see his world racing headlong into oblivion. The future of the empire was as certain as if it had already happened.
As he stood, a vision suddenly flashed before the governor’s eyes. In an instant of time, the man saw his world – no, all the worlds of all living flesh - consumed by cosmic fire, it beginning in Rome and hungrily reaching out until the entire universe was a roaring inferno. Then, to his surprise, he watched a man - a boy from a strange world, yet a child of his own decadent land - rise up from the flames and wrest power from a giant serpent beast that stood above all the earth. And the boy defiantly cried out, “Law! I will take the law and bring down all mankind! My law! The Law of the living God! It is alive and exerts power even now!”
At that, the vision passed. Shaken, Claudesius bowed again to regain his composure. He then allowed the crowd time to calm down, all the while pondering his own people. ‘So this is the value of speeches with self-righteous bigots. Boost their egos for but the moment and they will follow you beyond the River of the Damned. Declare the evil righteous and these miscreants will bow before them in worship. Speak ill of the innocent and the mobs will stone them to death. Well, today I put the carrot on the stick and shall twist the trail. For once, I shall declare good to the good… and burn this night for such honesty.’
Raising his arms ever upward, the governor called out, “It has been reported there exist among us some certain men of question who preach there is but one true God. Can you believe that?!”
Laughter and mocking arose from many listeners.
“What foolish and ignorant little children they must be!”
Laughter erupted again.
“For men like us, we find it queer and baffling to think anyone could possibly believe such prattle. Only a daylight drunkard or one born without a mind or, possibly, one who has stood too long in the midday sun could find any logic in such folly! Are we so weak of mind that we also must fear that village idiot? Do we not laugh at such silly speech like one does the antics of a little child? What is the harm they have done to our great nation, to us, to our beautiful laws, my brothers?”
The people roared their adulation.
‘Gets them every time - a little pat on the head and the tail wags the dog.’ Claudesius smiled in disdain. “My brothers! Who among us would beat the child for saying foolish things? Then should we, the people who know for a fact that the gods bless our world, should we not be willing to suffer the childish antics of other foolish little children? Who do they hurt but themselves? If then, they do not harm those of us with knowledge or the law or our eternal emperor, why can we not suffer their silly speech? After all, is it not a fine thing to have the jester to laugh at while we tarry at our daily chores? My brothers! Would we not lower the beautiful standards of our divine laws if we should declare it a criminal act for being stupid?!”
“So then!” The governor raised his right hand, sweeping it outward toward the crowds. “We have gathered in this judicial seat of honor this day those who are perceived as wise, and…” He lifted his left hand, pointing out toward the shackled men standing by the north wall. “We have gathered here also those who are perceived as stupid.”
Then searching the faces of the many, he cried, “Our beautiful laws do not allow us the denigration of them to the judging of stupid people, for the gods themselves have destined them to live on this planet so as to be a test for mature men… to test our wisdom and tolerance, so that we may attain the stars, riding upon the great fire ships as they burn across the skies protecting the innocent… and the stupid!”
Now there was a certain Marcus Lucas of Hammond-Tun, a city some leagues north of Ephesus, who stood shackled by the north wall. He cocked an ear and lifted an eyebrow at hearing the judicial speech being presented. He bore the marks of many beatings delivered by this same governor. Something was queer about the man’s words. Although unlettered, Marcus could tell something was up. He closed his eyes, listening intently to the unfolding apologies, his heart racing in anticipation.
“So then, my brothers!” Claudesius’ voice filled with passion. “We must separate the stupid person from the true criminal. That is what we must decide here this day! Are these same believers in one god and one savior merely stupid… or are they seditionists, acting against our laws and great nation, as some of you have heard rumored? Let us put all rumor aside and judge in truth and knowledge!”
He paused for response. The crowd was silent but, looking into their faces, he saw them pondering, thinking. Never before had he reached this deep into men’s hearts. They were thinking! He had never before seen anyone quietly thinking within these walls. Oh yes, silently contemplating their coming fate, that was all too common, but to ponder the fate of another? ‘Well…’ He sighed. Was there a possible future for him and his people? A spark of hope began to burn in his breast.
“We will satisfy law and justice on this eve. If there is treason afoot, we shall weed such evil out, but we will not destroy the whole because one fellow of theirs has chosen to take it upon himself to attempt a ruin of our house. Justice! I say justice will prevail today… and for every day our grand kingdom exists!”
The people went wild, their hearts welling up with patriotic pride. Here was their leader! Had not the emperor chosen well when this man was appointed governor over their territories? Justice! Yes, justice would be served. And Governor Claudesius had invited all those present to share in the glory of that decision-making.
Claudesius’ voice fell into solemn prose. “In order to find the truth behind these rumors, I have summoned a great leader over these people to stand in front of this judicial seat and testify before all men and gods the truth of all matters. It will not be an easy test for reasons you, yourselves, shall soon see. This court will find the truth and then, by law, decide the fate of the guilty and innocent!”
With that, the governor motioned an attendant. In short order, a door opened beneath the viewing stand. An aged man shackled at his wrists and feet shuffled into the arena, he blinking away the blindness caused by the sudden brightness of day. Surrounding him were smartly dressed prison guards, two of which carried several months’ wages worth of newly received silver and gold coins. Following behind them was a middle-aged woman, unshackled, and with but one guard. Distraught she was, dressed in faded merchant wealth, but now with callused working hands and wrinkled brow. She was anxiously wringing her hands while staring at the ground, letting out an occasional sob as tears fell from reddened eyes.
While the tiny procession made its way across the arena and up onto the platform, Claudesius busied himself on some unimportant matters with a local magistrate, he fearing that he, too, would burst into tears should he stare down upon the scene.
The soldiers lifted the aged man’s hands, dropping the shackles’ chain over a secured hook fastened to an upright pole protruding from the platform’s planked floor. The woman, still quietly sobbing, was standing beside the man, a guard’s spear keeping her in check. All was ready.
Claudesius excused himself, directing his attention toward the man on the platform. His throat constricted, he forcing his mind to think about duty. Duty? The duty now was to save this man from the fate he, himself, had heaped upon him, and at what cost? It was too much to think about. He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts.
“Symeon!” He paused, forcing the nervous anxiety from his voice. “Symeon! Today I put you under oath before all men and gods, to speak truth and honesty in this sacred court. Do you swear, before the glory of our emperor, our people, this nation… before your very own God to speak honestly and truthfully at whatever the cost to the worlds above and below?”
Symeon lifted his head until his eyes met Claudesius’. “Your
Excellency! There is but one truth. An honest man need not swear an oath, for God does judge that man for good or bad by what proceeds from his mouth. But for you, to satisfy the needs of this court, I swear an oath of fealty to truth and justice to God and men that what I speak will be honest and accurate. It is an honor to have you judging all matters, for your wisdom is renowned among this people.”
Claudesius was taken aback, marveling at the oratory of this unlettered man. ‘Should he be permitted, he could convert the world of men to believe that rocks can fly. Pity us all, for our world shall fall to the wiles of these people if this man goes free. But that is what I must do.’
“Tell us then, Cephas of Capernaum, what do you request from your God concerning our great nation?”
Symeon bowed his head in respect before answering. “There exists among us a man, prophet to all the nations, who is by far the greatest and most honored among my people. This man, Paul, speaks to us with the authority of the gods. His words are clear and well-defined. With prayers we are to offer thanks concerning kings and all those who are in high station, in order that we may go on living a calm and quiet life. This command, I and all my brothers hold dear to, as often has been proved to all mankind.”
“Tell us!” Claudesius demanded. “Tell us, then, what of the person claiming loyalty to your God who willfully disregards our laws and customs, acting in defiance of our gods and our greatest of all rulers?”
Symeon winced as an ache raced through his head. He knew that in some way his words would affect this day’s outcome concerning another person, he believing it to be Ishtar. “So be it!” He muttered under his breath.
“My Lord, it is not our place to stand in opposition to your gods or rulers. We are a peaceful people. Doing an act of aggression in word or action, or supporting a person who carries out such folly would be an act of treason and rebellion against the very God who placed all governments upon this earth to serve in a way that pleases him. For it is spoken of by our Lord, Paul, ‘Let every soul be in subjection to the superior authorities, for there is no authority except by the will of God!’ We do not condone rebellion in any form!”
A sickness was again growing in Claudesius’ belly. He was tightening the noose upon the one creature he would rather die for than continue living. Yet every word, every question, every gesture, was forcing the Fates to bring about that creature’s demise. He could not win. Swallowing down bile, he asked, “What then, Cephas - known to others as 'Symeon, the prophet and seer' - you, one of the twelve pillars of your faith, what is an acceptable punishment for someone who wantonly defies the gods and our nation that, you say, your people pray for?”
How well Symeon knew the weight resting upon his shoulders. The lives and future of his people hinged upon the outcome of this trial. Should he falter, all might be lost. Silently, he cried out to his God to give him wisdom. There was a sudden rush of refreshing breath that filled his heart, easing the growing anxiousness. ‘Be calm and speak.’ A voice whispered in his mind.
Symeon sighed relief, believing the day was not his to fight alone. With respectful boldness, he answered, “My Lord, it has not been granted to common men like myself to pass judgment upon the wicked or the righteous. We trust to our God to set all matters right. It is he who has given to men like yourself the wisdom to lead our world along history’s road, choosing the destiny of the men in your charge. For it has been taught to us by our leaders that you are God’s minister, an avenger of blood against the wicked and an angel of mercy to the innocent.”
“My Lord, I do not choose life or death for any man. My hands do not hold the tiller nor do they unfurl the sails. The river is not mine to set course upon, nor is journey’s end mine to choose. You…you, the great magistrate, must choose the fate of all mankind on this earth… and God will choose it beyond.”
Clenching his fist in frustration, Claudesius silently cursed Symeon’s reply. ‘Damn him! Damn him! He binds me with fated chains that I cannot escape. He condemns me to damnation, forcing me to murder the most innocent of beings! A goddess I must destroy to buy his release! Yet, what other choice? For I see his God has bound me to this road. Damn him! Damn him! So now it is come, upon Symeon will arrive a release through declared innocence, me forcing the man to do so. By so doing, I heap the fiery coals of Hell upon my head, for shall I destroy one of the gods.’
Swallowing hard, he asked, shouting out to the ears of his people, “Then tell me, Cephas, lord over this illegal sect, will you hold this nation guilty if it brings to justice one of your own who has practiced such wantonness? Will you permit your God to hold this people responsible for exercising justice against a willful rebel who disregards even your laws?”
Symeon’s heart ached, he knowing the sentence being passed. “I am but a man. I cannot speak for God, nor can I excuse the teachings of all men. But, in truth, I can say this: Never have I spoken sedition of any sort, nor have my ears heard one word echoed from the leaders of my people. I do not, cannot support any vile act of rebellion against this nation or its leaders. We have preached, publicly and privately, that all men must remain in subjection to their king and nation and, if at all possible, remain loyal to all the laws, standards, and customs of this land. We will not tolerate a felon!”
Claudesius’ reply was instant and cruel, theatrics so practiced that it was now second nature and he hated himself so much for it. He extended an accusing hand. “What of your own flesh?! Will you be so bold in your patriotic defense if the person you condemn is of your own blood? Tell me, you the great Cephas, if it’s your blood, will you still hold true to your words?!”
The woman standing near Symeon howled in agony, “Not her! My Lord, not my child! Forgive her foolishness! It is not her fault, but the prattle of this fool that has filled her head with stupid ideas!” Pointing at Symeon, she screamed, “It is the evil of this man that has corrupted my child, he and his stupid religion! Make him stand in her stead for he rides the winds of evil against her! Make him pay for twisting the mind of an innocent babe!”
Symeon lowered his gaze, refusing to look at his sister. He asked the governor, “Please, my Lord, what is the charge levied against the child? For I do not know of any foul deed done by the maiden - that is, if the child you speak of is my niece, Ishtar.”
“That is the child of whom I speak!” Answered Claudesius, he leaning forward, glaring into Symeon’s face, reminding himself, ‘Put on the act, you fool! The people must not learn what you are really doing.’
He then declared Ishtar’s insubordination. “She is accused of treasonous acts against the gods and men! Against our very emperor she has committed a seditious act!”
“What?!” Symeon blurted out, surprised.
“Yes!” Claudesius shook his fist. “She is accused by many eye witnesses of performing the greatest of atrocities against our lord-king, by willfully smashing, with vile curses, his god-statue and altar upon which it was stationed!”
Symeon could not believe his ears. “There must be a mistake, my Lord. This girl is most law-abiding, she never speaking one word against you or this great nation. She is a loyal child. There must be some mistake!”
“Mistake?!” Claudesius sneered. “Even I am witness to this travesty!” He then shrugged, putting on a pious face. “But do not believe me. Let the perpetrator of such heinous crimes speak in her own defense.”
At that, he motioned to his attendant. In only moments, the door beneath the viewing stand again opened. Treston, along with four of his most loyal guards, ushered Ishtar onto the field.
A hush fell across the stadium, followed by an audible gasp. The people stood agape at seeing this perfect creature of beauty. Many clasped their chest while others looked away in order to catch their breath as there came the occasional cry, “Let her live! She is a goddess! Let the goddess live!”
Claudesius smiled. Maybe he had won. Maybe this was but a tes
t given him by Ishtar’s strange God. At that instant, his hopeful visions were shattered. Someone in the nearby crowd heaved a jagged stone, striking Ishtar across the cheek, the man screaming, “Traitor! Villain!”
No sooner were his words exhausted than the man fell backward into the crowd, an arrow piercing his heart. Claudesius glanced first at the archer who was reloading his bow and then at Treston, who was also looking up at him. There would be no more foul deeds attempted against the girl today, other than the most atrocious, and that by his command. He nodded approval to Treston.
The governor shouted to the people, “This is a court of law! Justice will be served up swiftly against anyone failing to show the proper respect concerning it! Another such outburst and I will burn the criminal, his house and household for acting so disrespectfully!”
There were still a few muted cries to release the girl, and a few of more vulgar comments. Claudesius ignored them and went on with business. Ishtar had been taken to within some twelve paces of the platform, well in range of speaking distance of it. She then was faced toward the viewing stand, about an equal distance away.
Motioning the guards to quiet Ishtar’s wailing mother, Claudesius leaned forward, peering into the girl’s serene face. Oh, how he hated himself. In a voice resolute, pretending offence, he declared, “The charge levied against you is serious and, if true, brings death to the perpetrator! You have been accused of displaying gross disrespect for our chief magistrate and emperor by destroying his effigy in wrath and anger. How do you plead to this charge?”
Ishtar stood defiant. “I brought to nothing what is mere rock and stone that was shaped in the form of a man! For that, I am willing to die! But let it be known, your leader is no god! I will not bend a knee to a man of flesh and bone!”
Ear-splitting shouts and cries went up from the people, some covering their ears and crying out to the gods, lest the world be smitten in their anger. “Throw her to the dogs! Cut out its tongue and burn her with fire!” Had it not been for the fear of Treston’s archers, the coliseum would have exploded into uncontrolled rioting.
Hanna was standing less than four rods from where Ishtar stood, holding her head, mouth agape, not believing what she had heard. Never had any of her people spoken out against the leaders of their world. This was unthinkable! Had the child lost her mind, or had a demon possessed her body and was speaking through a bewitched mouth?
At length, the crowd was silenced.
Claudesius asked Ishtar, concerned, “Does this child speak her own words or have the teachings of your uncle warped your mind toward doing wicked things?”
Ishtar stared at Claudesius, smiling as she had when goading him earlier into killing her. It was a trap! She had set him up, using him to ask a question that would absolve Symeon while condemning her. And now she must answer him, he unable to retract his words.
Ishtar paused a moment, realizing the pain she was about to cause. Her uncle would not know, could not know that what she was about to say was for the preservation of his soul and the souls of all her brotherhood. She must become the evil one, an abomination among her own people if they hoped to survive this hour. There was nothing else for it and she was not afraid to bring it about.
Looking up and into the governor’s face, she cried, “I am a free woman! No man owns my bed or leads me along as a slave. The prattle of my uncle is not my master! I do as I please and live as I wish. You have no say about me! The Tillerman take my soul and all the world be damned to Hell!”
The crowd went riotously mad, the guards being forced to restrain them.
When it was again quiet, Claudesius asked Symeon, he showing a long face of sadness and offence, “Tell me, please. Be truthful, for you have given your oath. Do you support the actions of this woman? Does your religion permit such outrageous outbursts against not only our leaders but against the very station of womanhood in our land?”
Symeon looked down at Ishtar, confused and dismayed, her eyes searching his, pleading for him to understand, a thing he was unable to do. There was something he could denote about her, as if she were asking him not to hate her, but to be patient and wait before casting judgment upon the child.
Finally, in tears, he called out to the governor, “Please! My Lord! The child must be sick. A fever must be upon her, or a derangement in her mind caused by this excitement. Allow, please, this once, give to me the sentence cast against such deeds done. Let me take responsibility for the girl. Give her to her mother so she may convalesce back to health. She is not acting as the child I know and love.”
Ishtar angrily shouted, “Do not listen to the words of a fool! This man seeks only succor from a woman who curses the day of his birth. He wishes only to pacify his own heart for his silly chatter!” She waved her fist. “Release me and I swear, as I live, I shall make a destruction of all your god-men, be they statues or flesh!”
She ranted on, being drowned out by the uproarious crowd. Seeing them nearly out of control, Treston hurried up behind her, wrapping his hand over the girl’s mouth, telling her to be silent. “That’s enough! Or do you really wish we all die here today? You can rest assured that your soul will not outlive this hour. That may be your wish, but I would like to keep my skin a while longer. I promised you no harm would come from those people, but it will be hard to do so if we are all rushed upon.”
Ishtar stuck out her tongue, smearing Treston’s hand with spittle. Reacting in surprise, he released his grip. Ishtar quickly answered, “Your skin is worth little to me, but my God has promised you life if you do his will today. I will not risk you or your men harm. There is nothing left to say. I promise to be silent.”
When the people were finally returned to order, Claudesius repeated his question. Symeon said nothing for the longest time, each moment lasting an eternity. When the governor was beginning to think no answer was forthcoming, Symeon broke that silence.
There was no energy left in his voice when he began. Ancient and stoop-shouldered, he appeared a broken man. “Whether this child is guilty before her God, I do not know. He, not I, can judge the heart. We have clear bounds given in our teachings that forbid her actions, actions that I cannot defend. I do not know the child standing before you. She is not the girl I know and love. A fever may be on her brain. She is not herself. Please have mercy on her.”
“It is not your place to judge innocence or guilt!” Claudesius huffed. Piously adding, “As for mercy, how well you should know that it is so much part of our law!” Extending an accusing hand, he commanded, “I have put you under oath, Cephas! Leader of this sect of Judaism, a sect you call ‘Christian’, one of the twelve pillars of this sect, tell me truthfully, do you support this woman in what she has done?! YES or NO?!”
Symeon lowered his head in grief, tears welling up in his eyes. ‘So it has come to this: I must cast the first stone. I must ruin my own flesh and blood.’ He then silently cried out to the Heavens for its mercy. Why must he carry the blood of his very own child? A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered, ‘My son, you must go on living even should all flesh around you fall. Do this thing for me and live. I will not forget her, for the child is also my vessel.’ He looked at Ishtar, wishing to cry out to her, asking what folly was on her brain. The girl stared off toward the east as if in a dream, seeing something no other human could comprehend. She gave no heed to the moment, serene and calm, as if having already reached some future destiny.
Slowly, Symeon raised his eyes until his met Claudesius’. For but an instant, he witnessed the same grief coming from the governor’s eyes as were showing in his own. Without hesitation, he answered. “NO!”
Hanna’s hands broke into a tremble, dropping her basket at her feet. Covering her mouth to stop a growing need to scream, she hurried to the closest exit, down the many flights of steps and out onto the street, running away in frantic distress. Her feet did not slow until they came to a nar
row alley between two buildings some distance from the arena. There she squirreled herself far away, hiding behind some broken crates, curling up into a little ball with her hood pulled down snuggly over her head. Finally, hidden from wondering eyes, she unleashed her sorrow in uncontrolled weeping and lament. There the little creature remained until the late night chill drove sleep from her eyes.
Claudesius paused in momentary consultation with two other officers of the court. When finished, he motioned for Treston to have Ishtar face him. He lifted his voice for all to hear the judicial decision of the court. “Ishtar, daughter of Guillhadden and Naomi, child of this city and subject of this nation! You have been found guilty of insurrection against our chief magistrate and emperor, your traitorous defiance being a rebellion of one, you the sole acting agent. By your own admission, you have declared your guilt while absolving your uncle and those who follow along in his teachings.”
Claudesius waved a hand, pointing a finger at Ishtar. “This crime cannot go unpunished! By your own volition, you have proffered to perform more and even greater heinous crimes, thus adding insult to already sordid actions. For past and threatened future acts of treason, you must suffer the penalty of death before the sun sets upon us this day!”
Ishtar looked down, a smile of satisfaction growing on her face. Claudesius felt sick, so sick that he sent an officer forward to read the details of the execution. Sitting down and resting his head in hand, he pondered the preceding hours. Only this morning the man had envisioned a grand feast for his visiting dignitary and other invited guests. Cephas would have been torn asunder by lions and his few surviving followers scattered to the winds, their tales of woe chilling the hearts of any listeners.
Then came into his life the most beautiful creature ever seen, and he stood upon the moment to ravish that creature to satisfy his personal selfish indulgence. Now he sat, broken and confused, wishing Death take him this second. Better to face the fires of Hell or just be dead forever than to carry out this awful crime. He must drop his hand, signaling the release of the dogs. Oh, how he wished for the knife to cut off, eternally, that arm so he this misdeed could not accomplish.
Treston lingered, standing beside Ishtar as the distant doors opened and the caged wagon containing the dogs entered the arena. He waited until the wagon began its turn to face its hinged rear gate toward the accused. The other soldiers were long since scurried away, finding safe perches to watch from before Treston departed. At the last moment, he spoke up. “May your God have mercy on us for the foul deeds we are about to commit.” Then taking her arm, Treston pled, “My Lady Divine, please forgive this miscreant for all the insults and injury I have caused you. I do not deserve life because of the many evil deeds my hands have committed. If your God gives me a chance, I will try to compensate for those evils. I don’t know how, but I will.”
The teamsters were finished backing up the wagon, and the officer holding the executioner dog had climbed aboard the machine’s fender. Men, too, stood above the gate ready to pull the release pins. They looked to the viewing stand for the signal. Treston began to leave, stopped, and leaned close to Ishtar’s ear. “It will be easier and less painful if you face the beasts like a warrior fending the battle line. Die as though a sword is held in your hand. Imagine it if you can. You can, because you are the greatest of warriors! You are a free woman!” He turned away, hiding tears as he hurried toward his soldiers who were holding open the nearby doors.
“My Lord! The time is arrived. The people await your orders.” Claudesius looked up wearily into the eyes of his trusted secretary, the man’s troubled expression showing concern for his master’s welfare. “My Lord, if my Excellency is ill, may I suggest he assign these duties to another of the city’s magistrates?”
Claudesius sighed, waving off the man’s recommendation. “No, Seulicious, I shall condemn no other man to Hell. The hour comes upon us all when the gods demand we accept our destiny. I must not pass off to another the hemlock I have brewed in my recklessness. The Kriggerman be damned to his darkened worlds, for no coward will he find when he reaches out for my worthless soul!”
Seulicious puzzled, seeking an answer to the governor’s black riddle. Claudesius waved him silent. “Another day, my friend, another day… Now come see the world burn. Please, beside me stand this day.” The two men slowly made their way to the rail of the viewing stand, Claudesius leaning upon Seulicious’ shoulder.
The crowds roared their bloodlust upon seeing their leader and judge. Clutching the rail with both hands, the governor leaned forward to study the people. ‘What filth, loathsome rotten filth, the whole lot! Better to burn this world with fire than to let the children of the future know the kind of scum that came before them!’
In his mind, Claudesius formed the words for the speech he most wanted to give. ‘What right do you have to live?! What have you done that is worth a breath?! The lion kills because it is hungry, the eagle to feed its young. You! Do you even deserve to be elevated to the glory of those mindless beasts? Murderers! Murderers! Men without souls, how will you escape the gates of Hell?! Escape?! Even Hell does not want you, your bones not worth the lime to spread on a beggar’s field. Death to us all! It is more than we deserve!’
But had it not been by the very teachings of him and his kind that the ignorant and fools of his world gathered themselves to such putrid celebrations, being taught it a noble thing to see one’s fellow slaughtered for sport? No, the debauched lives of the people were merely a reflection of the sordid leadership that directed and educated them. They were as much the victims as the girl standing below.
He looked down, disgusted and ashamed, seeing the child awaiting death. How quiet, calm and dignified she appeared, a smile of satisfaction upon her face. Guilt! For the first time in his life, Claudesius was ridden with guilt… guilt for taking an innocent’s life… guilt for being the fomenter of this travesty… guilt for being alive. He deserved death. How many innocents had he murdered? Numbers were lost to him, faces blurred into the distant past. His cousin was the first…poisoned apple. It was tough – family, you know. After that it became easier until… until it mattered little who or why, just as long as it served his sordid purpose.
Now the man stood upon the parapet of time and space, seeking absolution for one last evil deed, a deed yet uncommitted, but still unstoppable. Fair speech could not undo what the Fates had conspired against him. Ishtar’s God was a trickster extraordinaire, playing the worlds of men to music of his own liking.
He had failed; his people had failed. They had forgotten the moral obligation of being divine sparks, beings made from the fires of the heart of a living, caring Creator. So now the Maker of Worlds was going to teach them the folly of such foolishness.
Claudesius lifted his hand, the weight of mountains resisting his efforts. The men at the wagon tensed themselves, pulling fast the ropes that would remove the pins that would release death and judgment upon the nation’s offender. High he raised that hand, his stomach churning in convulsive knots. Oh, how he wished to close his eyes and turn away! But he remembered earlier events, how an innocent child was forced to witness torture and destruction. No, he would be a man about it, see the foul deed, watch the ruination of this most wonderful of divine creatures. He would suffer his punishment, murdering this child by his own hand, being witness to his act of wicked cowardice.
The crowd waited with bated breath. Was the governor changing his mind? So long he held his hand high, the people began to think he had become a statue. Then, suddenly, Claudesius’ arm fell, its strength as though ruined by the weight of the moment, it dropping to his side limp and broken. His eyes would remain fixed upon the child, refusing to allow their master escape from the horrid manifestations pummeling them from the field below. But the sounds of the raging tempest he did not hear, for within the man’s mind, the passionate screams and accusative cries from all his murders r
ose to condemn him and his race, they refusing to release him until long after the girl’s fate was come to a finish.
With a grunt, the men pulled heavy on the pins, releasing the counterweights holding the cage’s gate in place. Up it flew, slamming hard against the upper head-beam, violently shaking the machine. Six one-hundred pound wild beasts bolted through the opening, charging the tiny creature standing less than ten paces away.
Ishtar leaned into the coming storm, standing like a soldier facing a fearsome onslaught, but it was all in futility. The first dog jumped toward her face, she fending it off with an arm as she tumbled backward into a heap. And then the other starving canines were upon her.
In that instant of mindless desperation, she stretched out a hand toward a prison guard standing near Symeon, crying out for help. The man’s cruel answer was covered by the hungry snarls of the ravenous dogs, but his laughter was not hidden from her eyes. For but an instant, Ishtar watched, the scene frozen forever in her mind. Laughter erupted among the soldiers watching from the platform. Symeon stood silently, his head lowered in grief or shame, and her mother - her mother stunned as if in death.
Ishtar felt a violent tug at her arm and glanced up in time to see a large chunk of bloody meat being chomped down by a hungry mouth full of teeth. Then another violent tug and then another, each beast gulping down whole the first meal it had in days. Through a cloudy mind, the girl recognized these beasts for what they really were, hapless victims starved and beaten until, as an act of survival, they fought each other for one more meal - one more moment satisfied from hunger. At least they had reason…no malice, hatred, or lust…just a need, an instinctive will to live.
She laughed to herself. ‘Is it only the reasoning beast who surrenders the fight and wishes for death?’
The animals pulled Ishtar’s torn and bloodied body this way and that as the living flesh was ripped from her bones, each one fighting for its share of the evening meal. All this the child saw and heard, but there came no pain nor was there any fear…only peace, a rocking lullaby of peaceful music. A smile grew on pale lips. She had won! Today was her victory! Damn all the worlds of men and gods, for they held no rule over her now! She cried out in her mind, for her voice had no power, ‘I am become the Darkness! Freedom is mine! No one shall ever take it from me!’
Naomi screamed in grief, cursing Symeon and his God for her daughter’s ruination. Symeon stood silent, tears streaming down a haggard face. Claudesius stared down blankly, swallowing his own vomit. He was struggling to hold himself back from jumping from the balcony, wishing to be ripped apart in the feeding frenzy rather than to live another moment. And Treston? He watched through a peephole in the lower door, tensely waiting for the right moment.
With a painful yip, the executioner dog lunged forward, pulling its handler from the wagon and dragging him through the dirt until the heavy leash snapped, broken in two. Driving hard into the pack, it slammed its way through the hungry animals until it stood over Ishtar, staring into the woman’s placid face. It howled defiance to the crowd, then, with opened jaws, dove upon the girl’s neck, crushing bones and tearing muscle as it violently shook the now lifeless body.
“Drive ‘em away or kill ‘em!” Treston was diving through the opened door, his soldiers close behind. In only seconds it was over, Treston’s bloodied spear running through the last of the defiant beasts. He turned to look upon the handiwork of his demented world, stepping close to examine their damnable act. In growing anger, he stared up into the jeering faces of a threatening crowd, disappointed at his uncalled for intrusion and the girl’s quick demise.
As tears streamed down his face, Treston raised a fist, preparing to scream out his curses against this obscene world of degenerate animals, when a sudden eerie pall filled the sky, sweeping in a sickly yellowish-red twilight. A stifling silence fell upon the crowds as darkness pressed in upon them. Nothing stirred, the breeze having died with the gloom.
Standing in the dust, dumb struck, there came to Treston’s ears distant rumbling the likes of a gathering storm. As this tumultuous agitation grew in power, he realized the noise was rising up from deep within the earth. In seconds, the entire colosseum was a’ tremble, the shaking so terrible, it became difficult to stand.
Walls cracked, pillars snapped, buckling, sending marble facades and balconies plunging into the crowded stone bleachers below. People screamed in panic, jumping from the parapets into the arena or clawing at one another to make their escape from certain death. Some men fell to their knees, beseeching their gods’ protection.
Reaching out a hand in desperation, Treston clutched onto the arm of a fellow guard, they holding tight, remembering earlier day’s events. There soon gathered his entire troop, surrounding Ishtar’s lifeless body in hopes of gaining some protection from the wrath of the girl’s God.
Then came the sudden explosion of lightnings filling the sky with fiery bolts of crackling, deafening thunders. Fireballs of crimson, gold and blinding white tormented the hysterical crowds, men collapsing and fainting out of fear. Stones were shattered and wood splintered when these divine comets rained down upon the helpless people.
There, above the roofline of the governor’s viewing stand, were two life-sized statues, one of the emperor and the other of a goddess holding justice in an upraised arm. Treston watched, amazed, when several fiery bombs blasted away the viewing stand and the statues, sending the pieces crashing into the arena.
As Treston watched a defaced marble head bouncing across the field, there arose such a thundering tempest as to ruin the ears. Above the raging winds, a voice cried out of the thunder - at least some believed there was a voice in that thunder. Treston believed. “As broken stones shall all your gods become! So is raised a dragonslayer… Sister of the BloodWind!”
Instantly, before the eyes of five astonished men, a white mist rose from the tortured remains of a holy child and, for but a moment, the mist collected itself into the girl’s form, her ghostly eyes turning a warning glance toward each of the spellbound soldiers. Then poof! the mist vanished into nothingness. At that, the quaking maelstrom ended, the evening sun peacefully casting its fading light across a terrified and confused crowd staring out upon a ruined world.
What was even more amazing was the fact that when a search was made, it was discovered that no lives were lost. Indeed, if not for the physical destruction done to the colosseum, many would have believed what took place was but a vision from the gods.
A stunned silence hung over the arena, the dusty calm nearly as unnerving as the earlier thrashing of earth and sky. Coming quickly to his senses, Treston ordered his men to remove Ishtar’s remains, they hurriedly dragging it past the rubble of the viewing stand and through the twisted door from which the party had entered the killing field.
Surveying the after-scene, Treston was disturbed to see that the ground had soaked up the girl’s blood in a most peculiar way, there being virtually no remaining trace of the gruesome contest entered upon only moments before.
As he, too, hurried to catch up with the others, Treston believed he could hear the very ground laughing, calling up to him, “Tomorrow! She is yet to best me on another day, or her heart will be forever mine!”
Treston picked up his pace, hair standing up on the back of his neck. ‘Enough! Enough witchery for one day… for a lifetime!’ The man wished never to see the goblin again, but in his bones a weary dread grew, he feeling the contest was not yet finished.
Claudesius and the others with him had been hurled back by the concussive blast that tore away the statue of the emperor, saving them from an untimely demise. When Treston reached what remained of the viewing stand, the governor was again staring down where Ishtar’s bloodied body had lain.
Sensing his captain’s presence, Claudesius looked over at him, his face grave and ashen. “My friend, your swift action this day will not be soon forgotten, but there are yet many deeds needed being d
one before the sun can rest in peace. Will you honor me with those requests?”
Somewhat surprised at the governor’s politeness, Treston bowed. “My Lord...”
“Please prepare the child for burial. By your own hands will you do this? I know you will be gentle with her. Do whatever it takes to rebuild her beauty, and order the parlor maids to do her up splendidly with painted lips and braided hair befitting a goddess. When finished, place the child upon the Stone of Artemis in the Great Temple sanctuary. Shroud her in the purple and gold tapestry of the palace.” He reached out a hand, clasping Treston’s arm. “And… and in the morning sunrise, bring her mother to the shrine to see her child taken to the gods.”
Treston bowed again. “It shall be done, my Lord, just as you have requested.”
“Good! Good!” Claudesius smiled weakly. “And on the ‘morrow, when the winds blow out toward the sea, take the girl to my northern estate near the mountains. Bury her in my family cemetery, in its center, and raise a mound up over her, and place a pillar inscribed upon it. This way all will know this woman was a goddess of flesh, spirit and soul.”
“It will be done just as you say, my Lord.” Treston stepped back to take his leave, Claudesius waving him to stay.
Turning his attention to Seulicious, the governor gave further orders. “I have not the heart to face the child’s mother, Naomi. Please stand in for this coward at the dawning tomorrow. Will you do this for me?”
Surprised, Seulicious stammered, “Y… Ye… Yes… my Lord! I will do this for you, my Excellency.”
“And!” Claudesius raised his hand. “You are to seal with my signet ring that Naomi shall receive an officer’s stipend in remembrance of her husband’s patriotic duties offered to the king for the remainder of her natural life. Then…” His hands began to tremble as he extended a parchment. “Then deliver this to the woman. It is a release from all taxes for as long as she may live. It is the least I can do for the murder of her holy child.”
“And…” He chanced a gaze back into the arena before continuing. “and you must speak not a word of this to anyone, but you must see me on the ‘morrow, if I still do live and I will arrange with you for all these monies to come from my personal treasure. Is it understood? You must tell no other soul of this!”
Seulicious stammered, “Y… Y… Yes… my Lord! Not a soul!” He chose not to even know the reason, himself. After bowing low and wishing the governor well, he hurried away on his assigned business.
Claudesius looked at a very confused Treston, nodding. “I ask not your silence in this regard for I do believe you truly do know my reasons, and I trust your loyalty in this matter because you are my friend.”
Treston confessed, “I do believe I know. My purse is not that fat, for I have not invested well these many years, but my heart wishes it could offer such a rich reward as you generously have. I am truly sorry about this day.”
“Wait here another moment.” Claudesius requested of Treston, motioning to an officer standing some distance away. Upon that man’s arrival, he ordered, “Take those in our custody, the men and women of this strange religion, and deliver each safely to one’s home. If a person is from another city, then escort that one there. I want you to give compensation for any damaged done to property or possession as well as returning any confiscated item or fines levied against them. Have the surgeons examine any who may be suffering injury, tending to their needs. Give official parchments of release to each person - man and woman - saving them harmless from any accusation or crime against the people.”
Looking with sadness at Symeon, Claudesius added, “Give that man, Cephas, release, escorting him to a place of his choosing outside the district. Give him monies and proper attire for the journey. My captain here...” he pointed toward Treston. “will provide whatever assistance and direction you need. Report back to him when you have finished your duties.”
The officer saluted, asking no reason for his orders.
After the man departed, Claudesius asked, “Treston, my friend?”
Treston replied cautiously, he not yet comfortable being addressed as ‘friend’. “Yes… yes, my Lord?”
Claudesius frowned, but said nothing concerning the matter. Looking across the ruined scene at the colosseum, he commented, “I don’t know if there is but one God or many, but never in the annals of our history has such a display of glory and power been demonstrated by any of our gods. Ishtar’s God is most powerful. Who can stand against a Being able to spin sky and earth into doing his will? This God deserves a more studious investigation.”
Nodding in thought, he turned back to Treston. “But I will also tell you this, my friend… and please call me so, yourself - that is if the mood strikes you when we’re together in private. I would like that so much. My friend, I have learned the answer to one question. What other gods that may exist have no power over us unless we offer it to them. We must open the doors of our minds and invite them into our souls.”
“And I believe them for the most part to be cruel and evil, they playing out their own selfish fantasies through our flesh. We are no more than mouse-like toys for their idle amusement. They have no power at all unless we give it to them. My friend, we… you and me… must resist them with our whole mind, heart, and strength, or we will surely lose our destiny to them.”
Treston’s mind wandered, he thinking about the coming festivities. Curious, he asked. “What about tonight? This very day you promised the magistrate, Ogust, a great banquet. My… friend… er, I see and feel through your eyes and fully understand your sending innocent people away, but there are still the Kriggerman’s dues to be paid. We have not yet departed the torrid field. How shall the boy-tyrant be placated when he finds out his toys are gone a‘missing?”
Squinting an eye while staring into Treston’s with his other, Claudesius smartly answered, “Maybe this is the day we begin to investigate the real power of the gods. Shall we forget so quickly the hero who stood in our midst, defying all gods and men with curses and oaths? To follow her to journey’s end beyond the River would be a greater honor than to live another one hundred years.”
Looking toward the marble floor, he shook his head. “I will put this God of Ishtar to the test, to see what fate awaits me this day. If I die…” He shrugged. “well, it is only what I deserve, have for so long. This holy child is not the first innocent I have murdered in heart and soul. I ask you not to choose my fate. Arrest me if need be to save yourself. It is the least I can do for someone who has stood my side for these many years.”
Treston was about to object, saying he, too, would rather the boatman pay than play the disloyal prince, when Jusslin suddenly appeared on the stairs, his face so serious. Hurrying forward and clasping Claudesius’ hand, he grinned sadly. “Ogust is sick, I think from too much wine!”
Nodding reassuringly, he quickly added, “I know you cautioned him. Thank you. But he is a man of strong resolve, and when the mood is on him, he will do as he pleases. It was good wine! Very good wine you delivered to us. It’s just that early mornings for him are so tough on his constitution, and he takes to the fermented flower to soothe himself far too soon in the day. He is in a fine mood, I must say, for being sick, you know. You have been such a courteous host, better than any of the others we have happened upon. And… oh, yes! Yours was the best speech I have heard since leaving Rome. It… it made me homesick for the senate and the councils.”
Jusslin grinned, remembering, waving a finger. “I am so remiss in my purpose for searching you out… and I’m relieved to see you still well after this terrible storm. I regret to tell you that we must be disrespectful guests. We will not be remaining as lodgers this eve. The fish smell is reported to be far worse than this morning. Ogust would be forever sick should we stay there.”
“One of your splendid officers, Qutanius, your retired city constable, has invited us to his humble castle across the rive
r and far from its stink. I’m afraid there will be no time for returning to this most gracious of cities, for when Ogust is feeling better, we must leave for Miletus on emperor’s business. We will be pushing the season even now, seeing we desire to arrive there before the winter rains. Thank you again for your kind hospitality. We shall personally tell the senate about your loving generosity and patriotic fervor.”
Jusslin turned to hurry away, calling over his shoulder. “We will send for our things on the ‘morrow. Sorry, we will not be able to attend any festivities tonight. Do not wait us up!”
Dumbstruck, Claudesius and Treston stared silently at the fleeing figure, both too afraid to speak, fearing themselves only in a dream. The men’s minds raced with recollections of the day’s events and their implications. In one day…only hours…a woman-child had changed forever the way these two men would look at matters again. Although she no longer walked their world, her spirit haunted their minds and hearts for the remainder of their lives.
Claudesius wondered, asking, “Has there ever been a person willing to sacrifice everything - family, friends, and even death - for love of God and man? Have you ever seen anyone willing to die for a faith, a belief? Should all those believe as this child has, that belief will shake the world to its knees. There is no force in the heavens above, on this earth, or in the worlds below that check such power. Love…love my friend, is an unstoppable force. Nothing can halt a cause or idea built upon love. It will one day bring to a ruin everything contrived by heartless men and gods.”
He turned again to the field of death. “My friend, today we have unleashed the whirlwind. It shall sweep our universe, changing forever the way men view each other. It is a force that is relentless and unstoppable. One can only hope to be caught up with it and carried along by it for, in its tempest, all the world shall be overrun by it!”
(Author’s note: Indeed, as fables and stories of this grew among the witnesses of Ishtar’s demise, the colosseum itself became a haunted place, filled with accounts of a beautiful witch walking the field on moon-bright nights. Yes, and even superstition arose concerning her. Many a gladiator would seek out the spot of her death, feeling no harm could come to the man standing over it, the child’s blood protecting them from death and giving that warrior the victory.
And of Ogust and Jusslin? Legend has it that on their return trip to Rome, on the anniversary of Ishtar’s death, a sudden tempest arose from the depths of the sea, hurtling their ship against the rocks off the Malta coast, sending all hands to the bottom. It is only legend, but it is said the emperor, himself, declared a holiday from work when news of the disaster reached his ears.)
* * *
Section Five
Silent Tombs
