Sold Into Freedom
A Planting Faith Novel
Carole Towriss
Copyright © 2018 by Carole Towriss
All rights reserved.
Book cover designed by JD&J with some stock imagery provided by Tetana Bahnenko © 123RF.com.
Edited by Natalie Hanemann.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™ Scripture quotations marked NASB are taken from the New American Standard Bible® (NASB), Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.Lockman.org All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked JUB are taken from the Jubilee Bible, copyright © 2000, 2001, 2010, 2013 by Life Sentence Publishing, Inc. Used by permission of Life Sentence Publishing, Inc., Abbotsford, Wisconsin. All rights reserved.
Sold into Freedom is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Previously Published novels by This Author
For those who are no longer slaves
to the power of sin
and have become slaves of God—
and those still seeking freedom.
Once when we were going to the place of prayer, we were met by a female slave who had a spirit by which she predicted the future. She earned a great deal of money for her owners by fortune-telling.
Acts 16:16
The crowd joined in the attack against Paul and Silas, and the magistrates ordered them to be stripped and beaten with rods. After they had been severely flogged, they were thrown into prison, and the jailer was commanded to guard them carefully.
Acts 16:22–23
CHARACTERS
BIBLICAL
Paulos • apostle of Yeshua
Timotheos/Timos • the youngest of Paulos’s companions
Loukas • Greek companion of Paulos; a physician
Lydia • cloth dealer from Anatolia
Silas • Jewish companion of Paulos
Euodia • slave of Maximus and Cassia
Syntyche/Syn • one of Lydia’s workers
HISTORICAL
Titus Flavius Vespasian •
former Roman legate (general) of the Second Augusta legion
Publius Ostorius Scapula •
Roman legate (general) of the Second Augusta legion
FICTIONAL
Elantia/Tia • a seer of a Britanni tribe in southwestern Britannia
Quintus Valerius/Quin • a Roman tribune in the Second Augusta Legion; fifth son of Julius Valerius
Attalos • Julius Valerius’s Greek slave; Quin’s tutor
Cassia • Maximus’s wife; Gallus’s cousin
Charis • Quin’s female slave; Greek.
Davos • physician; Greek physician in the Second Augusta
Decimus Magius • duovir/praetor of Philippi
Dorkas • inn owner in Ostia (port of Rome)
Flavius • a Roman tribune; son of a senator
Gallus Crispus • duovir/praetor of Philippi
Gallus’s slaves • Leonidas; Nicanor
Helios • Gallus’s scribe; records keeper of Philippi; Greek.
Julius Valerius • Quin’s father
Julia Valerius • Quin’s mother
Lydia’s workers • Zenobia, Demas
Mamma • Elantia’s mom
Marcus • wine dealer in Philippi
Maximus • Roman; resident of Philippi; Tia’s owner
Patroclus • a land broker
Philon • a young slave arrested for assault
Prison guards • Alexios, Numerius, Pandaros, Stolos
Tancorix • Elantia’s younger brother
Tatos • Elantia’s father; chieftain of village in Britannia
Xenia • customer of Elantia
GLOSSARY
Brittonic
bratir: brother
carami te: I love you
cariatu: sweetheart
Roumanos (pl. Roumani): Roman
tatos: dad
Latin
avia: grandmother
Britanni: inhabitants of Britannia
Camulodunum: retirement colony for soldiers in Britannia
carissima: dearest, beloved
cena: dinner
cuirass: sleeveless piece of armor covering from neck to waist
curia: meeting place for a Roman Senate
culina: kitchen
denarius (pl. denarii): silver coin of Rome worth four sesterces
domine, dominus: (f. domina, pl. domini) master
domus: house
dulcissima: sweetheart
duovir (pl. duoviri): magistracy of two men
duovir quinquennial: duoviri elected to conduct a census
fugitivarii: specialists in recovering runaway slaves
impluvium: sunken area in an open-air atrium
insula (pl. insulae): apartment building, usually cheaply made
lectus: backless couch
legate: leader of a legion
legio: legion
libra: ancient Roman unit of weight equal to about ¾ pound
lictors: officer, attending a ruler, who carries out sentences
mater: mother
medicus: doctor
pater: father
pugio: dagger
raeda: four-wheeled passenger carriage
scriba: scribe
sesterce (pl. sesterces): brass coin of Imperial Rome
stoa: roofed portico or colonnade
strigil: instrument used to scrape away sweat, oil, and dirt
te amo: I love you
testatio: document confirming Roman citizenship
triclinium: dining area
via: street
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
My thanks to . . .
About the Author
If You Liked This book . . .
Introduction
In 43 A.D., Emperor Claudius sent four Roman legions to invade Britannia. After a brutal initial battle, the Legio Secunda Augusta, under the command of future emperor Vespasian, stormed west along the southern coast, fighting thirty battles, conquering two warlike tribes, and capturing more than twenty hillforts and the Isle of Wight.
One of these two tribes was located jus
t east of what is now Cornwall and Devon, the southwest peninsula of Britain. The battles against this tribe were so fierce, Vespasian decided not to fight against their neighbors, the Dumnonii who lived on the peninsula. Instead they headed north to Wales. Vespasian returned to Rome in 47 A.D., but the legion continued battling the Britanni until 52 A.D., when they were defeated.
In 49 A.D., the apostle Paul began his second missionary journey, accompanied by Silas. In Lystra, a city in Asia Minor (present-day Turkey), Paul again connected with Timothy, whom he had met on his first visit there, and asked Timothy to join him and Silas. In a vision, God told Paul to go to Macedonia, now northern Greece, to preach the gospel. There, Luke joined them. Their first stop was Philippi.
Philippi was a Roman colony, a status of which it was justifiably proud. Though important, it was not a large city, with a population of between 10- and 15,000. Most of those would have been slaves and Greek farmers living outside the walls. Greek was the main language spoken. Philippi had a Roman form of government, and its free-born inhabitants were citizens with enormous privileges. It does not appear, however, that there were many Jews living there.
It is here that our characters meet—and change—each other.
1
“There are . . . things which the Lord hates, . . . that are detestable to him: . . . a heart that devises wicked schemes, [and] feet that are quick to rush into evil.”
Proverbs 6:16,18
Southwestern coast of Britannia, 49 a.d.
It was the screaming that woke her up.
Elantia rubbed the sleep from her eyes and scrambled from her straw-covered cottage in the tiny village by the sea. In the grim light of early morning, nail-studded leather pounded the ground as soldiers dragged horrified families out of their roundhouses. Blood-red cloaks whipped in the ocean breeze as the invaders set fire to anything they could burn, tearing apart what they could not.
Screeches and wails intertwined with the clang of metal against metal, the crackle of flames eating up thatch, and the soldiers’ horrible, dreadful words. Thank the gods their chieftain father had insisted they learn Latin when the Roumani defeated their neighbors years ago, but she hated the sound of it.
Muscles tightened, ready to fight, Elantia fought through the throng of townspeople surrounding her father.
The Roumani leader, a centurion judging by his uniform, stood face-to-face with him. “Give us your best quietly or we will take them by force.”
Shoulders back, Tatos stood his ground. “You have no right. We are at peace with Rome. After months of bloody battles with our neighbors, Commander Vespasian decided conquering us was not worth the losses to his legion. He vowed the Roumani would never attack us.”
“What makes you think we answer to Vespasian?” He leaned nearer. “Now stand aside.”
“I will not.” Tatos pulled himself as tall as his aging body allowed. “We’ve done nothing to you to warrant such violence. I must protect my people.”
Her heart swelled at her tatos’s vow, even in the face of almost certain defeat.
The centurion shoved him aside. “Rome needs strong backs. When we’re done, you’ll have nothing left to protect.”
In the six years since the Roumani had invaded their land, they had brought nothing but pain.
He beckoned to another, whispered to him. The younger man grabbed Tatos and Mamma and dragged them away.
“Mamma!” Elantia rushed to follow her parents, but a rough hand jerked her by the arm and shoved her into a sheep pen, where most of the other young adults of the tribe already waited. She ran to Tancorix.
Her brother wrapped his arms around her, held her close.
The second soldier grabbed Tancorix and pulled him from Elantia, lining them up in a loose row.
The centurion strode over. Eyeing each of them from head to toe, he hesitated when he came to their cousin. He grabbed her thin arm and turned it over once, twice.
Elantia’s breath caught. The girl was weak. She’d been sick most of the winter. What would he do to her?
He yanked her out of line, thrust her toward his second in command, and then continued his inspection, nodding in satisfaction. Stopping before Elantia’s brother, he fingered the thick, braided gold torque around Tancorix’s neck. He yanked at it, but the opening at the neck was but a finger’s breadth wide. He pulled harder, twisting.
Tancorix put his hands to his neck, wincing in pain as the stiff metal cut into his skin and cut off his air. He grasped the man’s forearms, sinking to the ground, his breath coming fast.
Tia’s heart pounded as she tried to pull the Roumanos’s hands away. “This is the chief’s son! That torque was put around his neck as a child, and he grew into it. It’s not coming off!”
Tancorix struggled for air, his face turning as red as the centurion’s cloak.
The Roumanos let go of the necklace to backhand her.
She stumbled but managed to stay upright. Stinging pain radiated from her cheek to her whole head. The metallic taste of blood lingered on her lip.
With a smile that sent a shiver down her back, he neared her. He ran his fingers down her face, her neck, then along the front of the sleeveless cloak she wore, the one Mamma had spent the winter months making for her. He moved behind her and wrenched it off her arms. His hot breath on her neck sent her stomach roiling. “It’s a shame we are in such a hurry.”
He tossed the garment to his aide, and the younger man left.
Tia’s hands trembled as she reached for Tancorix. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple.
The soldier returned with a long rope. Her skin burned as he wrapped it around her wrists and knotted it, far too tightly. It went from her to Tancorix to all the others in turn.
She searched for Tatos and Mamma. What had the soldiers done to them? She’d never trusted the Roumani, and today had proved her instinct right. Her father had made sure they’d been loyal, kept every provision of the truce, and then today . . .
The centurion yanked the end of the rope. Her knees hit the ground. Her face smashed against her fists. He tugged again, pulling her up, shouting some command at her. Tancorix’s gentle hands steadied her as she stood.
They followed the chief soldier. At the edge of the seaside village, all that remained of her people—the old ones and the youngest—huddled together. She quickly searched for familiar clothing. Her eyes rested on the colorful tunic Mamma wore. And Tatos? He waited behind her mother, his cheek swollen, his lip cut and bleeding.
Then she saw the bodies at their feet.
Her heart sank as realization dawned. The Roumani intended to make her father watch as they slaughtered what was left of his village.
One by one the legionaries dragged a villager from the crowd, rammed a sword through, and let the body drop.
Her father still stood, battered. Bound. Silent.
Elantia’s legs gave way, but Tancorix held her up. A moan escaped.
The villagers gone, the centurion neared Tatos.
Her father looked at her and mouthed the familiar command, “No tears.” His moist eyes reflected the raging flames. “Carami te.”
I love you too. Her blood pounded. Her breath came fast and shallow.
Another legionary blocked her view. His elbow shot back, and a body crumbled to the ground. The bloody sword came to rest at his side.
Elantia turned and buried her face in Tancorix’s chest. She longed to grab him, wrap his arms around her, feel safe, but since they were bound, he could only whisper in her ear.
“Don’t look,” her brother whispered. “You don’t want to remember them that way.”
After a few moments, a crimson-cloaked soldier grabbed at her again, pulling her away. She glanced toward the dwindling crowd.
Tancorix shook his head. “Don’t.” He placed his body between her and the pile of executed villagers.
The group stumbled forward as the legionary pulled on the rope.
“Keep looking ahead,
” Tancorix whispered from behind.
She focused her gaze on the cloak of the man leading them. It took everything she had to put one foot in front of the other, to keep from looking back.
The best her village had to offer marched, and marched, and marched. More soldiers added young people from other villages at various points along the way, the train of captives growing longer.
Tancorix was right. She needed to cherish the memory of her mother and father in her heart, a memory of them as wonderful parents and strong leaders.
She’d need their toughness, their love to face what was to come.
Because warriors don’t cry.
Battlefield, western coast of Britannia
The darkness evaporated, but the agony remained.
Quintus Valerius stretched his left hand across his chest, biting back a groan as he pressed his fingers against his shoulder. He brought his hand away dipped in blood. Any attempt at movement brought excruciating pain, and he let his arm fall against the damp grass. He tried to sit up but his body screamed in protest. The iron scent of blood filled his nostrils.
Wolves hovered at the edges of the battlefield, eager to attack the decaying flesh of fallen legionaries. Slaves tended fires, keeping the animals at bay as well as bringing light to the battlefield while the Romans buried their dead.
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