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.”