Silvus’s voice pried me from the pillows before the cock had sounded off even once. “Up and wash youngster. It is time to make a man of you.” Just as I found my feet, he and Emander grabbed me under the arms and hustled me down the corridor to a tub of water. In one move they removed my tunic and threw me in. I came up coughing and shaking like a an old goat who rammed a rock. “You don’t look awake!” They shoved me back in. This time I kept my head above the surface. Emander moved to push my face under. I grabbed his arm and pulled. “Nice that you could join me, Master Emander!”
Like a whip crack, Silvus spoke, “You both move too slow. Now dry off and report to the field!” I looked and Emander and grinned. His stern look shut any playful feelings I had.
Silvus was waiting for us on a closely cropped field surrounded by a low white washed stonewall. At each corner of the field was planted a spreading mustard tree and under each tree sat a barrel of water or oil and a table of some sort. “I need your eyes, HERE!”
“Yes, Master.”
“You are large for your age and you have a ready mind. Inside the flame of anger smolders under shame and doubt. If you are going to survive as a gladiator, I will end up tearing you apart and rebuilding you. If you can focus and follow my teachings to the letter, you will become a man who leaves people in awe. If you do not have the will to do this, you will live in ditches until you die. Now, look me in the eye, Benjamin. Will you do this?” His gaze held me with pride, arrogance, challenge and promise. His words had stirred my insides.
“Yes.”
“Meet your first friend.” Silvus pointed to a stone, rough-hewn, as high as my chest. It was covered with red patches, which I soon learned were blood. “This is the stone of discipline. You are going to break your will and anger on it. Benjamin, you must break this stone with your bare hands. As you can see, no one has managed it, but has instead been broken by it. No matter, I command you to break this stone. Report to me when it is done.” He turned and walked off. I had committed myself to a crazy man.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
In Silvus' Home
Silvus’ servants met Emander at the gate. “Greetings Zebulun! Is my room ready?”
“Yes, Master Emander, and we have set to rights another room for your guest as Master Silvus commanded.”
“Father is here, then?”
“Yes Master, he has retired for the evening and bids you do the same.” Zebulun smiled, “but I stand ready to carry out your wishes.” Emander looked at me with a half-smile. “Food?”
“Yes sir!”
“Set us out a table full of food and wine.”
“I have drawn you some water for your feet. When you are finished there your table will be loaded for a meal.”
I hadn’t realized how hard walking on cobblestone was on the feet until I eased them into the water. A young boy gave us both a foot kneading which cleaned the grime away. I followed Emander to a low table surrounded by pillows. We lay to eat and I almost fell asleep before I saw her. She carried in a bowl heaped with fruit. I could just see her eyes over the top of the cluster of green grapes. Her hair was as black as a moonless midnight.
“Just set these down here, Rebekah. Rebekah, this is Benjamin. He is testing to see if he might become one of us, a gladiator. He is from Nowhere.” My face heated, like when my Father first hooked me to the plow.
“Then I will pray our Lord gives him wisdom to find his place. How may I serve you further Masters?”
“You may go to your prayers, Rebekah. We will take care of this food.” As she left the room, my appetite seemed to wander off with her.
Later that night I climbed onto pillows for my first night’s sleep off the ground in a day or so. . I reached under my tunic and held the phylactery box I received at my bar mitzvah. As I drifted off, I could hear someone humming the Shema down the hall, as my mother used to do.
“Yes, Master Emander, and we have set to rights another room for your guest as Master Silvus commanded.”
“Father is here, then?”
“Yes Master, he has retired for the evening and bids you do the same.” Zebulun smiled, “but I stand ready to carry out your wishes.” Emander looked at me with a half-smile. “Food?”
“Yes sir!”
“Set us out a table full of food and wine.”
“I have drawn you some water for your feet. When you are finished there your table will be loaded for a meal.”
I hadn’t realized how hard walking on cobblestone was on the feet until I eased them into the water. A young boy gave us both a foot kneading which cleaned the grime away. I followed Emander to a low table surrounded by pillows. We lay to eat and I almost fell asleep before I saw her. She carried in a bowl heaped with fruit. I could just see her eyes over the top of the cluster of green grapes. Her hair was as black as a moonless midnight.
“Just set these down here, Rebekah. Rebekah, this is Benjamin. He is testing to see if he might become one of us, a gladiator. He is from Nowhere.” My face heated, like when my Father first hooked me to the plow.
“Then I will pray our Lord gives him wisdom to find his place. How may I serve you further Masters?”
“You may go to your prayers, Rebekah. We will take care of this food.” As she left the room, my appetite seemed to wander off with her.
Later that night I climbed onto pillows for my first night’s sleep off the ground in a day or so. . I reached under my tunic and held the phylactery box I received at my bar mitzvah. As I drifted off, I could hear someone humming the Shema down the hall, as my mother used to do.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Caesaria
I fell in with those pulling down the tents and helped pile poles and coil ropes. Master Silvus just left me to wander or work as I saw fit. As the last rays of the day fled behind the mountains, the caravan rose and lumbered down the trail. Knobby-kneed camels honked their complaints, while donkeys brayed back their own sad tales. Silvus and his three companions did not ride, but rather led their horses in a walk.
“So my young Benjamin, have you had a chance to work off that fine meal, yet?”
“Tent poles and rope are not enough for that fine feast, Master Silvus.”
“Then maybe next time, I’ll give the servants a rest and let you set up camp in the morning by yourself.”
“Master, how far until we reach this city of Caesarea?”
“We will camp tomorrow on its edge. In fact I will send my three gladiators into my houses there to begin serious training. The rest of the supplies and company will finish the trip tomorrow night, in the cool of the day.”
“Where would you like me to stay tomorrow?”
“Why with the rest of us gladiators, of course? If tent poles aren’t enough for you, then you may be ready for some light training of your own.”
At the beginning of the second watch, the towers of Caesarea broke into view. Over the next hill stood a caravansary large enough to hold our party. Silvus gave orders to lay out the site, then sent us on ahead. We had letters for the keepers of his household and a few personal items to be delivered to his own quarters.
Silvus sent us off with orders for Emander to introduce me to the city. “So how did your father really end up as a Gladiator? Was he truly a legionnaire?”
“You ask straight arrow questions, Benjamin. What causes you to wonder such a thing?”
“As Master Silvus told me his tale, I watched his eyes flicker away for an instant. With my unpredictable father, I have at least gained the skill of reading his eyes.”
“I dare not answer for my father. He will likely tell you in his own time. Have you ever been to the sea?”
“No. Not even to the Lake we call the “Dead Sea.”
“Then I will take you there first.” Emander bade “Goodbye” to the fellow gladiators, entrusting the supplies, letters and packages to them. He explained that we would take midday meal “on the town,” but would arrive at the house by the last day watch. As we passed through the city gate, the other two men turned right or north down a wide stone street of overweight, whitewashed buildings. Many stood three or four stories high, with caravan sized pavilions on their roofs. The materials of these tents alone could have bought my father’s farm, gold trim around purples and reds and blues. “Close your mouth, Benjamin. You already look the part of country boy in the big city, without gaping at the houses.”
“Is this where you live?”
“Yes. We don’t put up such gaudy roof tents as these, but, yes, we live to the north of here. Now let’s get you some proper clothes and sandals, or I’ll end up wrestling you away from some slave trader taking you to his boat.”
We wound downhill on a rough stone street of stores. No noisy marketplace here like I was used to. Emander waved and greeted some of the shopkeepers. We passed by the larger two and three story structures. At the base of the hill was a stone hut with leather boots, breastplates and other leather goods dumped across its front. Emander turned into this shop.
“Uncle Julius! Wake up I have a customer for you!”
“Eh, who disturbs the artist at work?!” An ox of a man lumbered out of a back room. His reddish brown hair was swept all over his head, while scraps of leather lay like careless mice in his beard.
“Uncle Julius, it’s me, Emander. What is the ‘artist’ crafting today?”
“First my customer, then I might show you, if you are good.” His eyes turned to me, “Is this the fellow you want me to outfit?”
“Benjamin meet Julius the best tailor and leather craftsman outside Rome itself. Julius meet Benjamin potential customer and young man from Nowhere.”
I bowed.
“From Nowhere, eh? Seems you and your father are always bringing me business from Nowhere.” He looked me up and down slowly, “With his size, I would guess he will be given some of your training, eh lad!”
“So Silvus has offered. Can you outfit him for a trip to the baths and about town?”
“Depends. How much does he have to spend?”
“Don’t worry about that, Uncle. Two sets of clothes, one in the Roman style and . . . “
“I know, lad, and one that is less likely to draw attention. Benjamin, eh? Well Benjamin I have a laver in the back where you may wash some of the dust of the caravan from you.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“Ah, the creature can speak for himself. You two may as well join me for midday meal and I will have you ready to wander the greatest city, outside Rome of course, by then.”
I went where Julius directed and found a large bronze bowl mounted on a pedestal at about waist height. A grey clay pitcher beside it waited with clean water. I poured the water over each hand, then soaked my forearms. Before I could towel off completely, Julius hustled in and dragged me into the fitting room to check his estimates.
“Get that old rag off, so I can see how this will fit.” He slipped a cotton tunic on. This was made of fine stuff and seemed like a second skin compared with the coarse homespun I had just discarded. “Ah, yes, just a few alterations here and here will be necessary. You size out as a man, but you appear to have a few years of growth ahead of you yet. How old are you?”
“I have been alive 15 harvests, Master.”
“’Years,’ son, say ‘Years’ instead of harvests.”
“15 Years, Master.”
“Call me ‘Uncle’, as I expect you will outgrow this and need my services fairly regular the next 3 or so harvests.”
“3 or so years, Uncle.”
I sat in another room with Emander while Uncle hummed and whistled sourly. “He is a wonderful tailor, but he can’t hear one note from another, Benjamin.”
“I heard that, young duckfeet.”
“Duckfeet, Uncle?”
“I was sparing Benjamin’s ears worse titles for you. Now leave me alone, or I will start to sing.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
A time later Uncle Julius emerged with two sets of clothes in hand. He lay them down next to me, then turned to a cupboard where he dug out a loaf of bread, some dried meat and some fruit.
“Uncle?”
“Yes, Emander.”
“We appreciate your kindness to share midday meal with us, but I have a pouch of coins that I am anxious to spend before they get cold. How about I pay you for the clothes and then take the three of us to a larger feast?”
“Benjamin, go get changed.”
When I came back out, Uncle Julius had taken off his apron, swatted the leather from his beard, and was running his hands through his hair to coax them into some sort of order.
“You look fine, no longer like a man from Nowhere. Let us be on our way.” Emander said as he turned toward the door. The tailor fell in behind him and I followed after. We left the steep hill behind and wandered west a couple of streets further. The odor of tanned leather gave way to the scents of spices and heat and meat mingled.
“So, what happened to your other three protégés, the forkman and the two knife wielders?”
“Two are still with us. The Forkman, as you call him, came with us, as did one of the Knifemen. I don’t know what happened to the other.” Emander gently tipped his head my direction. I pretended not to notice and kept looking at the buildings.
Uncle murmured, “Is this one to be a replacement then?”
Looking out of the corner of his eye at me, “That is up to the gods, isn’t it?” he replied.
“So my young Benjamin, have you had a chance to work off that fine meal, yet?”
“Tent poles and rope are not enough for that fine feast, Master Silvus.”
“Then maybe next time, I’ll give the servants a rest and let you set up camp in the morning by yourself.”
“Master, how far until we reach this city of Caesarea?”
“We will camp tomorrow on its edge. In fact I will send my three gladiators into my houses there to begin serious training. The rest of the supplies and company will finish the trip tomorrow night, in the cool of the day.”
“Where would you like me to stay tomorrow?”
“Why with the rest of us gladiators, of course? If tent poles aren’t enough for you, then you may be ready for some light training of your own.”
At the beginning of the second watch, the towers of Caesarea broke into view. Over the next hill stood a caravansary large enough to hold our party. Silvus gave orders to lay out the site, then sent us on ahead. We had letters for the keepers of his household and a few personal items to be delivered to his own quarters.
Silvus sent us off with orders for Emander to introduce me to the city. “So how did your father really end up as a Gladiator? Was he truly a legionnaire?”
“You ask straight arrow questions, Benjamin. What causes you to wonder such a thing?”
“As Master Silvus told me his tale, I watched his eyes flicker away for an instant. With my unpredictable father, I have at least gained the skill of reading his eyes.”
“I dare not answer for my father. He will likely tell you in his own time. Have you ever been to the sea?”
“No. Not even to the Lake we call the “Dead Sea.”
“Then I will take you there first.” Emander bade “Goodbye” to the fellow gladiators, entrusting the supplies, letters and packages to them. He explained that we would take midday meal “on the town,” but would arrive at the house by the last day watch. As we passed through the city gate, the other two men turned right or north down a wide stone street of overweight, whitewashed buildings. Many stood three or four stories high, with caravan sized pavilions on their roofs. The materials of these tents alone could have bought my father’s farm, gold trim around purples and reds and blues. “Close your mouth, Benjamin. You already look the part of country boy in the big city, without gaping at the houses.”
“Is this where you live?”
“Yes. We don’t put up such gaudy roof tents as these, but, yes, we live to the north of here. Now let’s get you some proper clothes and sandals, or I’ll end up wrestling you away from some slave trader taking you to his boat.”
We wound downhill on a rough stone street of stores. No noisy marketplace here like I was used to. Emander waved and greeted some of the shopkeepers. We passed by the larger two and three story structures. At the base of the hill was a stone hut with leather boots, breastplates and other leather goods dumped across its front. Emander turned into this shop.
“Uncle Julius! Wake up I have a customer for you!”
“Eh, who disturbs the artist at work?!” An ox of a man lumbered out of a back room. His reddish brown hair was swept all over his head, while scraps of leather lay like careless mice in his beard.
“Uncle Julius, it’s me, Emander. What is the ‘artist’ crafting today?”
“First my customer, then I might show you, if you are good.” His eyes turned to me, “Is this the fellow you want me to outfit?”
“Benjamin meet Julius the best tailor and leather craftsman outside Rome itself. Julius meet Benjamin potential customer and young man from Nowhere.”
I bowed.
“From Nowhere, eh? Seems you and your father are always bringing me business from Nowhere.” He looked me up and down slowly, “With his size, I would guess he will be given some of your training, eh lad!”
“So Silvus has offered. Can you outfit him for a trip to the baths and about town?”
“Depends. How much does he have to spend?”
“Don’t worry about that, Uncle. Two sets of clothes, one in the Roman style and . . . “
“I know, lad, and one that is less likely to draw attention. Benjamin, eh? Well Benjamin I have a laver in the back where you may wash some of the dust of the caravan from you.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“Ah, the creature can speak for himself. You two may as well join me for midday meal and I will have you ready to wander the greatest city, outside Rome of course, by then.”
I went where Julius directed and found a large bronze bowl mounted on a pedestal at about waist height. A grey clay pitcher beside it waited with clean water. I poured the water over each hand, then soaked my forearms. Before I could towel off completely, Julius hustled in and dragged me into the fitting room to check his estimates.
“Get that old rag off, so I can see how this will fit.” He slipped a cotton tunic on. This was made of fine stuff and seemed like a second skin compared with the coarse homespun I had just discarded. “Ah, yes, just a few alterations here and here will be necessary. You size out as a man, but you appear to have a few years of growth ahead of you yet. How old are you?”
“I have been alive 15 harvests, Master.”
“’Years,’ son, say ‘Years’ instead of harvests.”
“15 Years, Master.”
“Call me ‘Uncle’, as I expect you will outgrow this and need my services fairly regular the next 3 or so harvests.”
“3 or so years, Uncle.”
I sat in another room with Emander while Uncle hummed and whistled sourly. “He is a wonderful tailor, but he can’t hear one note from another, Benjamin.”
“I heard that, young duckfeet.”
“Duckfeet, Uncle?”
“I was sparing Benjamin’s ears worse titles for you. Now leave me alone, or I will start to sing.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
A time later Uncle Julius emerged with two sets of clothes in hand. He lay them down next to me, then turned to a cupboard where he dug out a loaf of bread, some dried meat and some fruit.
“Uncle?”
“Yes, Emander.”
“We appreciate your kindness to share midday meal with us, but I have a pouch of coins that I am anxious to spend before they get cold. How about I pay you for the clothes and then take the three of us to a larger feast?”
“Benjamin, go get changed.”
When I came back out, Uncle Julius had taken off his apron, swatted the leather from his beard, and was running his hands through his hair to coax them into some sort of order.
“You look fine, no longer like a man from Nowhere. Let us be on our way.” Emander said as he turned toward the door. The tailor fell in behind him and I followed after. We left the steep hill behind and wandered west a couple of streets further. The odor of tanned leather gave way to the scents of spices and heat and meat mingled.
“So, what happened to your other three protégés, the forkman and the two knife wielders?”
“Two are still with us. The Forkman, as you call him, came with us, as did one of the Knifemen. I don’t know what happened to the other.” Emander gently tipped his head my direction. I pretended not to notice and kept looking at the buildings.
Uncle murmured, “Is this one to be a replacement then?”
Looking out of the corner of his eye at me, “That is up to the gods, isn’t it?” he replied.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Emotions can't be trusted
My emotions are flying around like a balloon blasting air out its untied neck. If I listened to their whistling and flapping, I would ball up in a dark corner and cry. For some reason I can't sleep. My emotions try to walk me off a cliff.
Life provides no decent reason for all this. I have a great wife, four super kids and lots of good friends and family. I am fairly healthy. I spend my time doing many things I enjoy, writing, studying, spending time with teens and kids. Pastor Ken and Momma Joy are great friends to me.
The only conclusion I can hit, is that my emotions are liars. They don't spring from the facts. So they must be ignored until they get it right.
Now, if it were only that easy. Many times today I have reminded myself, "Your emotions are lieing."
Life provides no decent reason for all this. I have a great wife, four super kids and lots of good friends and family. I am fairly healthy. I spend my time doing many things I enjoy, writing, studying, spending time with teens and kids. Pastor Ken and Momma Joy are great friends to me.
The only conclusion I can hit, is that my emotions are liars. They don't spring from the facts. So they must be ignored until they get it right.
Now, if it were only that easy. Many times today I have reminded myself, "Your emotions are lieing."
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Weapons
A spurt of hope stirred my stomach, or was that hunger? While Silvus and I had been talking, the camp had settled to the preparations for the evening meal. As we walked to the center of the camp, Silvus explained that after supper, the camp would be broken down, so the travelers could move in the coolness of night toward their final destination of Caesarea. I spat in the dirt at that word. All our people felt the traitor Herod, Rome’s puppet, was inflicting the pagan ways of Rome on us through this Roman city built right on our coast.
“So you are a Jew, eh, Benjamin? I thought you lived in Nowhere.” Silvus chided.
“We have as many ‘Nowhere’s as any other people, some might say more, Master.” I muttered back.
“Yes, I suppose you do. Have you ever been to Caesarea, youngster?”
“No. This is the farthest I have been from Nowhere.” I tossed back.
“It’s a poor copy of Rome, to be sure, but your Herod has built a fine and beautiful city nonetheless. It seems as if it rises from the ocean, white and columned in Roman and Greek fashion. Ships from all over the Roman world come and go from its port. It is a far distance from Nowhere.” As he finished that thought, we arrived at the tallest and centermost tent. One of the other three folded the door aside for us and Silvus led us in to the most complete meal I had ever squared up to. Silvus just let me eat for the first couple of plates. “You eat as if good food is only an acquaintance or a distant memory.”
“This is my first introduction, actually Master. Where did your three servants go? Are they not allowed to eat with us?”
“They are not my slaves, lad. They live the life I would like to introduce to you. Are you not curious at all? You have asked me few questions, loosen your tongue and your mind, now that your body is fed.”
“So the meal is done?” I replied.
“No, no lad, but my servants need a rest to keep up with your appetite!”
“So you are a Roman, then Master Silvus?”
“Yes, Benjamin. My wife and two daughters still live near the city.”
“Then why do you travel so far from home?”
“Just recently I retired from the legions of Rome. After half a lifetime fighting the Senate’s wars, I decided to strike out on my own, but I am too old for the arena.”
Right then the other three entered and lay flat on their stomachs on three couches. Three servants set to work kneading their backs, as my mother used to work her dough. “These three men are my students and my partners, Benjamin. Brutus has learned all I have to teach in the use of the trident, a three pointed spear, and net. He is proving quite good with the whip as well. Tertulus is expert with the long sword and dagger. Emander is known for his strength, speed and raw power as a wrestler.”
“A wrestler is not able to stand against men armed with weapons!” I exclaimed. Emander rose to full height with a smile. The other two looked on uncomfortable, but ready.
Silvus eased to his feet and took a long wooden pole out of a rack near the tent wall. He tossed the weapon to Brutus. “Brutus, place on your guards and assemble with Emander outside for a round of two-touch.” With brief bows, Emander and Brutus left the tent. “Let’s see if your assessment of the situation is correct.”
Tertulus opened the curtain and we stepped out into the last rays of day. Brutus was placing corks on the tips of his trident. “In three-touch, the first combatant to tag the other two times is the winner. Brutus can use his spear, net and wits, while Emander will have only his wits. “Face on!” Silvus bellowed and the two man stared each other down. “Begin.”
Both men circled as precise on their feet as cats. Brutus feinted a jab with the spear to move Emander in position and swung his net at, nothing! Emander had pretended to slide one way, then turned it into a roll under Brutus’ defenses. A fraction of time later the wrestler swept Brutus’ feet out from under him. “First touch, Emander!” Silvus cheered. “Are you going to let ‘just a wrestler’ lay you down again!” he added.
“Face on!” “Begin!” Emander closed at a run hoping to catch Brutus off guard. He ducked under the net and dove for the spearman’s legs. Brutus pivoted to the side as the wrestler slid past, then placed cork firmly on the wrestler’s exposed back end. “Ha, good, score a touch for young Benjamin’s champion! Maybe Emander does not have as much wit as I thought. Face on! Begin!”
Brutus swung his net into a hypnotizing circle of distraction and held his trident cocked to throw. It seemed plain that he was not going to let Emander get close. Emander stood relaxed, hands on hips watching Brutus. “It’s getting dark, Brutus, when are you going to finish me off?” Emander called in a calm voice. Another minute of whirling net, then clang Brutus’ trident flew right through where Emander had been. “Sorry, friend, that touch looked painful.” The net increased speed and the ends started whistling. Brutus stepped down the distance, like he was sneaking toward a lion. Emander growled, then laughed. The net began to scream as it stretched to full circle. Just before Brutus let fly, Emander moved. As the net landed, so did Brutus with a smiling wrestler on his chest. “Benjamin weapons are useful, but the greatest weapon each of these men have is their wits. Don’t ever forget that. If you are going to survive in the Arena, as I know you will, I will develop all your weapons to their sharpest. You must always keep your wits.”
“So you are a Jew, eh, Benjamin? I thought you lived in Nowhere.” Silvus chided.
“We have as many ‘Nowhere’s as any other people, some might say more, Master.” I muttered back.
“Yes, I suppose you do. Have you ever been to Caesarea, youngster?”
“No. This is the farthest I have been from Nowhere.” I tossed back.
“It’s a poor copy of Rome, to be sure, but your Herod has built a fine and beautiful city nonetheless. It seems as if it rises from the ocean, white and columned in Roman and Greek fashion. Ships from all over the Roman world come and go from its port. It is a far distance from Nowhere.” As he finished that thought, we arrived at the tallest and centermost tent. One of the other three folded the door aside for us and Silvus led us in to the most complete meal I had ever squared up to. Silvus just let me eat for the first couple of plates. “You eat as if good food is only an acquaintance or a distant memory.”
“This is my first introduction, actually Master. Where did your three servants go? Are they not allowed to eat with us?”
“They are not my slaves, lad. They live the life I would like to introduce to you. Are you not curious at all? You have asked me few questions, loosen your tongue and your mind, now that your body is fed.”
“So the meal is done?” I replied.
“No, no lad, but my servants need a rest to keep up with your appetite!”
“So you are a Roman, then Master Silvus?”
“Yes, Benjamin. My wife and two daughters still live near the city.”
“Then why do you travel so far from home?”
“Just recently I retired from the legions of Rome. After half a lifetime fighting the Senate’s wars, I decided to strike out on my own, but I am too old for the arena.”
Right then the other three entered and lay flat on their stomachs on three couches. Three servants set to work kneading their backs, as my mother used to work her dough. “These three men are my students and my partners, Benjamin. Brutus has learned all I have to teach in the use of the trident, a three pointed spear, and net. He is proving quite good with the whip as well. Tertulus is expert with the long sword and dagger. Emander is known for his strength, speed and raw power as a wrestler.”
“A wrestler is not able to stand against men armed with weapons!” I exclaimed. Emander rose to full height with a smile. The other two looked on uncomfortable, but ready.
Silvus eased to his feet and took a long wooden pole out of a rack near the tent wall. He tossed the weapon to Brutus. “Brutus, place on your guards and assemble with Emander outside for a round of two-touch.” With brief bows, Emander and Brutus left the tent. “Let’s see if your assessment of the situation is correct.”
Tertulus opened the curtain and we stepped out into the last rays of day. Brutus was placing corks on the tips of his trident. “In three-touch, the first combatant to tag the other two times is the winner. Brutus can use his spear, net and wits, while Emander will have only his wits. “Face on!” Silvus bellowed and the two man stared each other down. “Begin.”
Both men circled as precise on their feet as cats. Brutus feinted a jab with the spear to move Emander in position and swung his net at, nothing! Emander had pretended to slide one way, then turned it into a roll under Brutus’ defenses. A fraction of time later the wrestler swept Brutus’ feet out from under him. “First touch, Emander!” Silvus cheered. “Are you going to let ‘just a wrestler’ lay you down again!” he added.
“Face on!” “Begin!” Emander closed at a run hoping to catch Brutus off guard. He ducked under the net and dove for the spearman’s legs. Brutus pivoted to the side as the wrestler slid past, then placed cork firmly on the wrestler’s exposed back end. “Ha, good, score a touch for young Benjamin’s champion! Maybe Emander does not have as much wit as I thought. Face on! Begin!”
Brutus swung his net into a hypnotizing circle of distraction and held his trident cocked to throw. It seemed plain that he was not going to let Emander get close. Emander stood relaxed, hands on hips watching Brutus. “It’s getting dark, Brutus, when are you going to finish me off?” Emander called in a calm voice. Another minute of whirling net, then clang Brutus’ trident flew right through where Emander had been. “Sorry, friend, that touch looked painful.” The net increased speed and the ends started whistling. Brutus stepped down the distance, like he was sneaking toward a lion. Emander growled, then laughed. The net began to scream as it stretched to full circle. Just before Brutus let fly, Emander moved. As the net landed, so did Brutus with a smiling wrestler on his chest. “Benjamin weapons are useful, but the greatest weapon each of these men have is their wits. Don’t ever forget that. If you are going to survive in the Arena, as I know you will, I will develop all your weapons to their sharpest. You must always keep your wits.”
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Hello Master Ben
I cowered as the youngest in our family. I was that one mouth too many to feed. My father tried to give me some value. He tried to teach me some skill, but my hands fumbled. I couldn't work wood or metal. I couldn't produce even the simplest implement for farming.
My older brothers left as soon as they could. Joshua set up his own household. Zeb headed to Jerusalem to learn a trade. My dad hitched me to a plow. I was big and could pull a straight line. By the end of the day my toe nails ached from clawing the dirt through my sandals. I was 13 years old as big as a mule and almost as valuable. I found out I was not even worth that. Even a mule who grew uppety in the field was given rest and water. Father gave me the back of his hand. One day I gave him mine back. As he lay on the ground, I tore off the harness and ran. I would never live like that again!
Tears of rage, shame and pain made it hard to see. After tiring myself out several times, I finally tripped and fell into a ditch. Exhausted, I lay there panting. As my breathing eased, I relaxed and slept.
Shouts, braying animals and clouds of dust woke me. I had fallen into a shallow ditch next to a caravan road. One was shambling by me. "Hey, hey you laying by the road. Come here." I was too tired to run.
"Yes, Lord."
"What were you doing there?"
"Resting Lord. If it please you, I will be on my way."
"And where are you from, lad? There is no town for several stadia in any direction."
"Nowhere, Lord. I am from nowhere."
He laughed. "Your hometown is more populated than you know, youngster. Since you are from this great city of 'Nowhere' perhaps you might find a way with us instead."
"Your humor arises from my pain. I would seek no way with you, Lord."
"Ah, you have come from Nowhere with a nail in your side! If you are brave, I might pull that nail and use that pain to make us both rich."
"My pain is my own business. If you try to doctor me, I will apply a cure to you. Now good day, Lord."
"Easy lad. Brutus! Tertulus! Emander! Let me introduce you to a neighbor of yours from Nowhere!" As his three friends turned our way, I could see he was not afraid of any cure I might try to give. "Brutus, here, escaped from the slave market at age 13. I found him living on the streets of Rome." Tertulus' parents died when he was 6. No relatives wanted him. I found him. Emander is my son, with all the curse that implies. Join us and see if your way might improve."
"As you wish, Lord."
"What is your name, my enthusiastic citizen of Nowhere!"
"Benjamin."
"Welcome Benjamin, to the caravan of Silvus trainer of champions!"
My older brothers left as soon as they could. Joshua set up his own household. Zeb headed to Jerusalem to learn a trade. My dad hitched me to a plow. I was big and could pull a straight line. By the end of the day my toe nails ached from clawing the dirt through my sandals. I was 13 years old as big as a mule and almost as valuable. I found out I was not even worth that. Even a mule who grew uppety in the field was given rest and water. Father gave me the back of his hand. One day I gave him mine back. As he lay on the ground, I tore off the harness and ran. I would never live like that again!
Tears of rage, shame and pain made it hard to see. After tiring myself out several times, I finally tripped and fell into a ditch. Exhausted, I lay there panting. As my breathing eased, I relaxed and slept.
Shouts, braying animals and clouds of dust woke me. I had fallen into a shallow ditch next to a caravan road. One was shambling by me. "Hey, hey you laying by the road. Come here." I was too tired to run.
"Yes, Lord."
"What were you doing there?"
"Resting Lord. If it please you, I will be on my way."
"And where are you from, lad? There is no town for several stadia in any direction."
"Nowhere, Lord. I am from nowhere."
He laughed. "Your hometown is more populated than you know, youngster. Since you are from this great city of 'Nowhere' perhaps you might find a way with us instead."
"Your humor arises from my pain. I would seek no way with you, Lord."
"Ah, you have come from Nowhere with a nail in your side! If you are brave, I might pull that nail and use that pain to make us both rich."
"My pain is my own business. If you try to doctor me, I will apply a cure to you. Now good day, Lord."
"Easy lad. Brutus! Tertulus! Emander! Let me introduce you to a neighbor of yours from Nowhere!" As his three friends turned our way, I could see he was not afraid of any cure I might try to give. "Brutus, here, escaped from the slave market at age 13. I found him living on the streets of Rome." Tertulus' parents died when he was 6. No relatives wanted him. I found him. Emander is my son, with all the curse that implies. Join us and see if your way might improve."
"As you wish, Lord."
"What is your name, my enthusiastic citizen of Nowhere!"
"Benjamin."
"Welcome Benjamin, to the caravan of Silvus trainer of champions!"
Friday, December 01, 2006
My Uncle
As I mentioned a funeral kicked this Blog into cyberspace. My quiet feather gray-haired uncle died on Thanksgiving Day at age 84. In his obit, he was described as a purple heart 3 bronze battle star hero from World War 2. My uncle? He was quiet and worked for 30 some years making headlights and TV tubes at Sylvania. He owned a Willie's jeep and gave us rides in it. He was the silent supporter, who gave me a summer job painting a house he rented out to others. He helped drive when my two aunts and their husbands drove 13 hours to visit their nephew at his first pastorate.
My cousin in law heard some of the rest of the story 15 years ago. He was interviewing Uncle Louie for a college project. During this interview, he brought down the medals and told stories. Once again his memory rattled with NAZI machine gun fire aimed his way in the mountains of Italy. The shrapnel of a grenade burned again in his side as he shielded his buddies from the blast. Louie the courageous battled the NAZIs and lived to hide the tale.
I wonder "What are we going to do when these heroes are all gone?" Yet could such silent Atlases be rising from the wounded GIs in Iraq today? I have learned what my uncle went through to galvanize his character. I can relive my own aches and foibles, which have shaped me. What will I watch my kids go through to burnish them into high quality individuals?
My cousin in law heard some of the rest of the story 15 years ago. He was interviewing Uncle Louie for a college project. During this interview, he brought down the medals and told stories. Once again his memory rattled with NAZI machine gun fire aimed his way in the mountains of Italy. The shrapnel of a grenade burned again in his side as he shielded his buddies from the blast. Louie the courageous battled the NAZIs and lived to hide the tale.
I wonder "What are we going to do when these heroes are all gone?" Yet could such silent Atlases be rising from the wounded GIs in Iraq today? I have learned what my uncle went through to galvanize his character. I can relive my own aches and foibles, which have shaped me. What will I watch my kids go through to burnish them into high quality individuals?
My aunt says I should write . . .
At my uncle's funeral, another aunt sat me down and asked why I didn't write. Before marriage and 4 kids I had more time to put into such creative endeavors . . . or did I really? Such words sound like a righteous excuse.
I am going to take this aunt's advice and write. Please comment often as your thoughts will refine my efforts.
I am going to take this aunt's advice and write. Please comment often as your thoughts will refine my efforts.
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