The Master's Wall Read online

  “You’re supposed to be on my team!” David climbed to his feet and with a lunge, he tackled Lucius to the ground. Lucius’s shocked, freckled face became the object of David’s fury, and he pounded it as hard as he could.

  Lucius ground his hand into David’s face.

  David flung it away. He sprang forward, straddling Lucius. He pinned his shoulders to the ground and held his arms down with his knees. He punched him in the mouth, then in the cheek, and was about to crush his nose when Marcus grabbed him from behind, clamping down on his arms. Two more boys dragged David off.

  “Damonus!” someone shouted.

  David kicked and squirmed, trying to break from their grasp. He ached for one last punch to Lucius’s nose, but the boys lifted David to his feet.

  He fought to break free. He twisted and turned.

  “Damonus, stop! Damonus!” the boys shouted.

  David’s world spun, and he ached to pound Lucius as he still lay on the ground, whimpering. He was nothing but a baby.

  “Damonus!” Titus’s voice silenced all the shouts.

  David broke from the boys’ grasp and found himself standing before Titus. His spinning world came to a shuddering stop. The other boys dropped back, and David stood by himself.

  Titus’s eyes bore into David’s and his lips curved downward into a bone-chilling frown. “Go to your chamber.”

  David didn’t waste any time. Even though his fists itched for Lucius, he marched through the boys toward the villa. He was about to kick dirt on Lucius as he walked by when Marcus yanked Lucius to his feet.

  David walked backwards to watch the scene.

  “Get up, you blubbering goat!” Marcus got in his face. “You deserved it, dog.” Marcus pushed him. “If you ever do that again, I’ll pound you, myself.”

  It was satisfying to see Marcus put Lucius in his place.

  Lucius whimpered and ran past David to the villa. David fought the urge to chase after him and tackle him again.

  Later, David sat on his bed, still too angry to regret what he had done, when Titus entered the chamber and stood over him.

  “I spoke with Marcus and he told me what happened. I also spoke with Renata to question what type of punishment she deems appropriate for your behavior.”

  David dared to meet Titus’s gaze. Would he be banished, killed, flogged? He certainly deserved punishment.

  “You will be whipped.”

  David’s hands suddenly went cold, and fear like a sudden rain shower ran from his head to his toes. His mind immediately went back to the one whipping he’d seen. Titus was an expert with the cat. Nine long leather thongs; each had bits of glass tied into their ends, and each lash tore into the man’s bare flesh, leaving bloody stripes over his back, stomach, chest, legs, and upper arms. The man had passed out before all the required lashes had been delivered. But even though the man was unconscious, Titus delivered the last stroke.

  Titus tossed a breechcloth onto his lap. “Put this on and make haste. Master Lucius and I will be waiting for you in the plaza.”

  David took off his dirty tunic and put on the cloth, exposing his bare chest and legs. His fingers trembled as he tucked the extra material into his girdle. He thought to escape, but where would he hide? Where would he run? Eventually, he would be found and tied to one of the stakes. He didn’t want Lucius to see that he was afraid. Lucius would only play on his fear, and David would never hear the end of it.

  “Jehovah-Shammah, let me survive.” He said the words aloud. Perhaps passing out wouldn’t be such a terrible thing?

  His knees weakened as he shuffled down to the plaza where Titus stood with the cat. Lucius looked smug, with his arms folded over his chest. David noticed with satisfaction that Lucius’s eyes were red and swollen and his nose was packed with wads of linen.

  He had smashed him in the nose after all. A ripple of victory ran up his spine, but the sight of the stake shot cold chills of fear back down.

  Titus, a frown etched on his face, placed the cat under his arm, and without a word, he tied a heavy leather strap around one of David’s wrists. The touch made his arms weak and his mouth went dry. Titus then wrapped his arms around the large, dreaded stake, and bound both hands together.

  Splinters rubbed into David’s chest and arms when he moved. He couldn’t help but watch Titus as he stood next to him, wanting to see the look on his face when he administered the first blow. Titus took the cat out from under his arm and held it out to Lucius.

  “Me? You want me to flog him?”

  “Damonus has shamed you, therefore you must regain your honor,” Titus said with a coolness in his tone that made David shiver.

  David would have preferred that Titus whip him. Having Lucius do it made his blood boil.

  Titus shook the whip, insisting Lucius take it.

  Lucius held out a quivering hand and accepted the cat.

  “Strike ten times, save one.” Titus stepped away and crossed his arms.

  Lucius stepped out of David’s view. He heard the cat slither along the plaza’s stones.

  He looked for the slave who held a bowl, and the other who would hand him the stones to count the strikes. They were out of view.

  David tensed when the whip sang through the air. The cat’s tails wrapped around his body and he jumped. The splinters from the stake stabbed into his skin, but there was no pain from the whip.

  “One!” Titus’s voice boomed.

  Again, the cat sang out, wrapping around his body, and its tips thrashed against the wooden stake on the other side, with only the thongs wrapped around his back.

  Where was the pain?

  “Two!” Titus boomed.

  Every swing of the cat and feel of its tails made David shudder, and his body was wet with perspiration. At one point, the tails had wrapped around his face. Suppose it had gotten him in the eye? Again and again, the cat sang out, but there was still no pain.

  “Eight!” he heard Titus call out.

  Only one more to go—but where was the sting, the bite, the pain that would bring him to his knees?

  The cat sang, and this time its vicious tails tore into David’s flesh. Pain seared like fire across his arms and back. His knees buckled. He screamed and arched, no longer caring that the splinters dug into his chest and arms. The pain was overwhelming, and he pressed the top of his head hard against the stake. Heat pounded to every limb as his heart slammed against his ribs. He forced back the tears that threatened; he would not give Lucius the pleasure.

  Lucius shouted victory.

  Titus was there, calmly untying David. “That was ten, save one.”

  “What? But I only got him one time!” Lucius shouted.

  David’s hands were free. His arms and chest felt chapped and raw as his back twitched with pain. His mind returned to when the soldier had cut his cheek. Just think of it that way. It’s nothing more than a cut, but it was far more painful than anything he ever remembered.

  Titus frowned. “If we waited for you to hit him nine times, the goddess of peace would declare war. Speak to your instructor about your skills with the cat.” He took the whip, slung it over his shoulder, and turned to a slave holding two small bowls and a cloth. “First clean his wounds, then apply the honey.”

  The slave nodded and scurried over to David as Titus left the plaza.

  The slave cleaned the wounds on David’s back and arms. It burned like fire.

  Lucius glared at David and thrust his freckled nose into his face. “Next time you need a flogging, I will do it and I will do it right.” Lucius spat on his face.

  David straightened from the onslaught. He forced his chin up a notch, not daring to raise his fists. He refused to flinch, refused to give Lucius the satisfaction. David’s gaze burned into Lucius as the spit rolled down his cheek and onto his neck.

  Finally, Lucius turned and stormed off.

  David wiped the spit off with the back of his hand.

  The slave then applied the honey. “This will prev
ent infection.” The ointment soothed him, although the cuts continued to burn.

  With quivering fingers, David plucked out some of the splinters from his skin. Tears threatened. He’d disappointed Titus. Lucius was just a pest.

  When the slave finished cleaning his wounds, David sat heavily on the step and worked out his splinters. His back and arms still hurt and burned.

  “How’re you doing?” Marcus came up beside him, tossing a ball in the air.

  David shrugged, not trusting his voice, fearing he might cry. He appreciated Marcus’s concern.

  “You’re lucky Grandfather’s in Rome. If he’d been here, he would have had Titus thrash you.” Marcus tossed the ball up and tried to hit it with his bicep the way David would when he juggled, but it flopped to the ground. “You remember hearing about the volcano erupting in Heraculum and Pompei?” He scooped up the ball. “He and Father are finding out about the destruction; they might even go there. If they go, they’ll be gone for a long time.” He tossed the ball with his other hand and missed. It rolled on the ground. “By the time they get back this’ll all be forgotten.”

  Marcus, giving up on the ball, shifted his weight to one leg and stuck a thumb in his belt. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Titus purposely had Lucius flog you. Everyone knows Lucius doesn’t know how to use the cat. Besides, Lucius deserved what he got.”

  When Marcus left him, David wandered into the woods next to the field. He knew he would have to make things up to Titus. In self-loathing, he side kicked a tree, his wounds tingling with pain. How could he be so foolish and let his temper get the best of him? Just that morning he had made an appointment with Ace after supper to share his father’s scrolls. Now Ace would never be interested. David was a fool to think he could start acting like a grown man and be the Christian example he ought to be. At thirteen, and almost considered a man, he had failed. He not only disappointed Titus, worst of all, he disappointed Elohim. He grabbed a pinecone and threw it.

  Pondering his dilemma, he leaned back against the wall but immediately shrieked and jumped away, his back burning like fire. He ran his hands through his hair. He thought of Yahshua and how He had suffered thirty lashes save one; and those who had applied the lashes knew how to use a cat. David only had a small taste of what His suffering must have been like.

  “I’m sorry, Father. I should never have pounded Lucius. The problem is if the situation was the same, I’d do it again!” He clenched his fists in frustration. How would he ever earn his freedom if he couldn’t control his temper?

  Sighing, he looked up at the trees.

  A large pine grew right next to the top of the wall. Its branches could easily be reached. He could climb up and over the wall. Taste freedom. Escape.

  Suddenly, nothing mattered. It didn’t matter that he disappointed Titus. It didn’t matter that he lost his temper. None of it mattered.

  He headed straight for the tree.

  nine

  David stood on top of the wall. He shaded his eyes from the sun as he gazed across the golden fields to the road that led to Rome.

  Freedom. He could snatch it out of the air just like that. That confining cage suddenly flew wide open and he could climb right out.

  A slave should obey his master. His father’s voice echoed in his thoughts. So easy to say the words when not a slave. He shoved the memory to the back of his mind. He knelt down, contemplating the jump. A nearby hill made it possible for him to reach the ground on the other side.

  When his feet hit the ground, he looked around him, as if his being on the other side of the wall might set off trumpeted alarms. But nothing happened. The wind blew and the birds continued to sing.

  He jogged next to the wall, staying close to cover for fear there might be guards in one of the towers. When he got closer to the road, he would slip away from the safety of the wall. In the meantime, he leaped over bushes and weeds that threatened to keep him captive.

  You have my word. This time David’s own voice carried through his mind. He remembered the deal he made with Titus, to never again attempt an escape. He let the broken promise fly away into the wind. After all, Sarah was never found. Still, as he ran, his word became worth no more than wind, worth no more than the hot air coming out of his mouth. Let them all fly away, as he himself also flew.

  Nothing would hold him back this time. He’d finally escape the life that only promised future scourging and slavery. He was free. At last, he could go home. The life he knew at the villa faded behind his feet as they flew towards freedom. No cords held him back. No chains bound him.

  A small doll with a missing arm caught his eye. It lay helplessly on a bush, abandoned and left to be exposed to the winds and rains. David slowed his pace. It belonged to Alethea. Her tear-streaked face flashed through his mind.

  Breathless, David stopped. She, like the doll, was abandoned. Left alone to be exposed to the storms of her family. He knelt and picked it up.

  He was wrong. A chain did bind him. A single cord did hold him back.

  Ω

  After making things right with Titus and learning that Ace was still interested in reading his father’s scrolls, David searched for Alethea. Since she was nowhere to be seen in or near the house, there was only one place she could be.

  He found her hanging upside down from a low tree branch in the woods. Her long dark hair hung unbound. She sang one of her Greek songs, as usual, and held a handful of flowers to her nose. Her bracelets jingled from her movements, and she had tied her stola at her ankles, apparently to keep it from falling down over her head.

  He forced back a chuckle, then cleared his throat.

  “Aucella, I have something for you.” It was easy for him to call her Aucella. He was determined to do everything for her that he didn’t do for Sarah, and the name suited her. She was very much like a little bird, always singing and dancing, not to mention hanging around in trees.

  Her eyes widened. She swung from the branch, and dropped down in front of him.

  “Really? What do you have?” She untied the stola from around her ankles, pulled her disheveled hair out of her face, and picked up the flowers she had set on the ground. Her brown eyes lit with excitement when she noticed he hid something behind his back. She scrambled from side to side, trying to peek behind him. “What is it?”

  He jumped away from her, enjoying his game even though it stretched the wounds on his back; he tried to ignore the pain. He wore a tunic from the waist down today to keep the wounds from rubbing against his clothing.

  She persisted. He took a few steps back and couldn’t keep from chuckling. Finally, he held out the doll.

  She stopped jumping, clasped her hands together, and gasped. A big smile brightened her face. She grabbed the doll and cuddled it to her cheek, lavishing it with kisses.

  “You found her!” Her eyes brimmed with tears, then she stopped and looked at him. “What about Vibia’s doll?”

  “I found it and gave it to her.”

  Alethea examined the doll. “You fixed her arm!” She kissed it and hugged it. “Mpampas made her for me.”

  He couldn’t help but think of Sarah as he watched Alethea. She’d hugged her doll the same way, caring for it as if it were a kitten.

  She gazed up at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “You remind me of Sarah.” His own words surprised him. It was the first time he had spoken of Sarah since he’d asked Titus to search for her.

  “Who is Sarah?”

  He cleared his throat, not sure he wanted to talk about her, but he had already said more than he intended. “She’s my little sister.”

  “You had a sister?” Her eyes widened.

  He nodded. “She doesn’t look like you, but she had a doll too. She would hold it and kiss it, just like you’re doing.”

  A wisp of hair fell into her face. He thought of Sarah’s curls and her innocence, so much like Alethea.

  “She was only six when . . . .” When what? When he’d abandoned her. He stepped away
and ran his hand through his hair, fighting off the memory.

  “Did she . . . die too?” Alethea whispered.

  David shook his head, determined to believe Sarah was safe. If she were dead, he would never forgive himself. “No.” He prayed this was the truth. She had to be safe.

  Something inside drove him on. He felt the need to tell her all the bad things he had done. “I left her alone the night my parents were taken.” He remembered Sarah’s eyes and how fearful they had been when he’d hastily tucked the covers around her and reassured her that he would return. How could he have been so foolish to leave her alone?

  “I thought I could help my parents. I told her to wait until I got back.”

  He couldn’t believe he was sharing these things, but somehow it felt good to finally tell someone what he’d done. He recalled how his mother sang to Sarah as she lay curled on her lap. He remembered at the time his father was working on the copies of his letters to the church. All was quiet, peaceful as his mother’s voice carried off the walls in their small apartment. Then the soldiers burst through the door. His mother screamed, Sarah cried. The soldiers dragged his parents out the door, accusing them of treason, of defying Caesar. His father had shouted at David, “Stay with your sister!”

  David shook his head, thinking how he’d gone after the soldiers, in his haste leaving poor Sarah alone. Maybe if Alethea could forgive him, so could Sarah?

  “I never returned.” He barely got the last words out, the lump in his throat was so large that he clenched his teeth and forced back tears that threatened.

  Alethea gazed into his eyes for a long time.

  It made him uneasy, but he dared not look away. His heart pounded. Would she forgive him?

  “You must hate your God for what He’s done to you.” She frowned.

  Her words shot out like a slap. He straightened and searched her face. She didn’t blame him, she blamed Elohim. How could she say something like that? She even referred to Him as his God.

  He tried to form an answer, to shake the confusion from his head. “Why do you talk this way? Didn’t your father teach you—”