The Gladiator

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Less than a day’s journey from Rome, 81 AD

“Look around you, Niece. The gods are punishing you.”

Pelonia raised tear-swollen eyes from her beloved father’s lifeless face. From where she sat on the ground, her uncle Marcus towered over her, his mouth twisted in a snarl of contempt. Blood oozed from a gash at his temple.

Dazed by his cruel words, she watched him limp toward the torched wagons and pillaged tents of their once wealthy camp. Black smoke stretched toward the heavens. Its sharp stench singed her nostrils, burning her lungs until the fetid air promised to choke her.

Her father’s head in her lap, Pelonia stroked his weathered cheek with trembling fingers. Was Uncle Marcus right? Was she being punished? Had her father been wrong to reject the old ways and teach his household to embrace the Christ?

Everywhere she looked, destruction sweltered in the morning’s rising heat. All of her family’s accompanying servants lay massacred along both sides of the stone-paved road. Only she and Marcus survived.

Pelonia looked toward the cloudless sky. Birds of prey circled overhead. Their hungry cries echoed in the stillness, mocking her as though they sensed she would join the corpses before she had time to bury them.

On the horizon, a cloud of dust marked the direction of their attackers’ retreat. The marauders had struck before first light. She’d heard their battle cry from downstream where she’d sneaked away to bathe in private. By the time she ran back to camp, they’d taken flight. The demon’s spawn had stolen everything of value—animals, spices meant as a gift for her cousin’s wedding in Rome, and chests packed with rare purple cloth.

Worst of all, they’d murdered her father.

A wail of anguish rose in her throat, but she bit her lip to keep from surrendering to her grief. Her father would want her to be strong. She couldn’t bear to disappoint him. Instead, she bent over his precious body and buried her face in his tunic, begging her Lord to restore his life, just as He had once done for Lazarus.

Long moments passed. No miracle came from heaven, only silence.

She sat up and brushed the graying hair from his brow. Bowing her head, she rocked gently, clinging to her composure when pain threatened her sanity.

God, oh God, her heart cried out. How could You allow this? Why have You forsaken me when I have served You from my earliest days?

Her uncle’s hulking shadow loomed above her. “Hurry up, girl. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

Pelonia’s head snapped up. “We can’t leave our dead exposed! Already the vultures circle above us. Soon the wolves will come. Will you have our loved ones ravaged by both fowl and beast?”

Marcus kicked a rock with his sandaled foot. “I care not. I didn’t pretend death and elude our attackers to die of thirst in this glaring heat.”

“You pretended death? How could you not aid my father or defend—”

“Cease,” he growled so close to her nose his stale breath made her shudder. “Someone knocked me unconscious. When I awoke…Why should I have sacrificed my life for nothing?”

“Because it is your duty to defend your family. And to see the dead properly cared for.”

“Don’t lecture me, girl!” Color ran high across his cheekbones. “I won’t suffer your guilt when all but your father have traveled to Paradise. They won’t know if their flesh is left to rot, nor will they care.”

Pelonia adjusted her father’s tunic, wishing she had clean linen to shroud him and the others before placing them in the ground. “Father’s spirit is in heaven, Uncle, as are the rest of those who’ve died here.”

“Then their bodies are of no consequence.” His upper lip curled with ill-concealed scorn. “According to your religion, your God will give them new ones.”

Pelonia winced. Marcus clung to his pagan beliefs, despite her father’s years of prayer and good example. She lifted her gaze and squinted at the sun glinting over his shoulder. “How can you be so cruel? Except for me, Father was your last remaining kin.”

His hawkish eyes narrowed. “Pelonius is dead, but I continue to breathe. Soon scavengers will see the smoke. We won’t be safe once they come to investigate. Unless you wish to join these unfortunate wretches, we must leave now.”

“No!” She eased her father’s head to the damp earth and stood, bristling with defiance. “I won’t abandon him or our servants. It’s indecent and disrespectful. I won’t do it.”

His hand jerked up to strike her, but she didn’t flinch. Jaw flexing with unconcealed rage, he dropped his fist back to his side.

As though he couldn’t bear the sight of her, Marcus glanced to a point down the road. Her instincts warned her to look, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off her uncle. He’d proven on many occasions to be as crafty as the Evil One himself.

After a long moment, his mood shifted and much of his hostility seemed to evaporate. He gave her an odd smile. “Then you’re a fool, but I’ll help you bury them.”

Surprised by his capitulation, she swayed on her feet, light-headed with relief. She glanced down the cypress-lined road. A single horse and rider traveled in their direction, but remained at a distance. He didn’t look threatening, but wariness pricked her, instilling a new need for haste. She hoped the newcomer proved to be a friend, but after the events of the morning, strangers weren’t to be trusted.

Her attention returned to Marcus. “Thank you, Uncle. I couldn’t finish this sad task without you.”

He grunted. “You speak the truth for certain. You’re even smaller than your mother, and she was tiny as a fawn.”

“I wish I’d known her.” Pelonia hurried toward the charred remains of their camp. Her mother had died giving birth to her seventeen winters past. With her father taken from her, she was an orphan. The thought penetrated her mind like the point of a sword. Her head ached. Loneliness crushed her. She and her father had always been close. He’d treated her as well as any might treat a favored son, let alone a daughter.

Her steps slowed near a destroyed tent. Using a tree branch, she poked through the smoldering ruins, searching for anything that might aid with the burials.