First Fight

“So, Benjamin, where were you last night?” My fellow gladiators asked together.

“Sporting.”

“So you are no longer a boy?” Tertulus laughed.

“And she is no longer a girl. I had her moaning by the end.”

“Come to breakfast now. Master Silvus will not count hoaring as an excuse for missing training.” Tertulus swept me out the door. I didn’t care. I coursed with the strength of manhood. After chomping through breakfast, Master teamed me with Tertulus for advanced broadsword work. “So was I right about the slave-girl?”

“Not at first. She fought me, but after a few go rounds, she settled before my manhood.”

“I told you I had seen her eyeing you up, so will you go back for more?”

“I, I don’t know.”

“I see.” I fought Tertulus to a standstill for 10 sessions that morning. “I have nothing more to teach you. I will report that to Master Silvus at midday meal.” As I sat for lunch the activities of the night and morning climbed on my back. I almost fell asleep in my plate. I certainly planned to sleep instead of chasing once I reached my bunk that night. Master Silvus had other plans.

“Master Benjamin, come here. Tertulus tells me that you are a young magician of the broadsword. Your sparring is done for the day. Tonight you will test your growing skill in the ring. Rest yourself this afternoon to be prepared for the contest tonight.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And Benjamin . . .”

“Yes?”

“No sporting with the slave-girls until you have won.”

After a bath and rub down, I headed back to my room to wait. A Roman slave girl met me at the door with a sly smile. “Drucilla, I will see you later, after the fight.”

“You will not ‘fight’ tonight, Benjamin. A fight allows both to come out alive. Call them ‘contests’ or ‘spectacles.’ If you think of tonight as only a fight, you could be carried home in a bag.”
“Where did you come from, Emander?”

“I heard my Father give the order to put you in the ring tonight, so I sought you out.”

“What other cheery words do you have for me?” I asked trying to appear unconcerned, but hungry for any advice.

“You will have the advantage tonight with the crowd. They shout wildly for fellow countrymen. Father is starting you in the early rounds to break you in. The best and toughest matches are saved for the end of the evening, so the vendors may sell more of their stock to the spectators. The shouting of the crowd can lift you too high, so keep your emotions under control, but take your strength from their cheers.”

“What of the other gladiator? Who am I likely to fight? I mean best.”

“These rounds are usually the prowling grounds of old and half broken gladiators or children with lots of strength and little skill. There are also a very few highly trained up and comers like yourself. You understand, Benjamin, that tonight you will only leave the ring if you have killed or been killed?”

“I, yes, I u-understand.”

“Good. You should fear. Any of the opponents I just named could and would kill you if you hesitate too long. Practice on the old gladiators to learn their tricks. Finish off the children without revealing your skill. Take down the up and coming as quickly as you learn how.”

I ate alone. At least I moved my food about alone. My stomach was more nervous than my head and refused food. Master Silvus took me himself. We arrived at the back of the arena in time to send me into the second round of battles. I wore my sword resting easily on my hip and my helmet tight on my head. My feet were totally covered with heavy boots, but the rest of me was lightly clad for maximum speed.

My foe and I stared down each other on the way through the arch and into the ring. His name was Jerome and he looked older than my father. He was covered with scars and looked like he had his left eye sown back crooked. He stood as tall as I, but I had 20 pounds on him. “Watch this one.” Silvus whispered.

We met in the center. Our names were announced to the crowd. Emander was right. As my name echoed around the stone seats, a cheer arose that almost took me off my feet. “Swish” “Clang!” Jerome took advantage of my greenness and almost took my head off. He dropped back into a crippled looking stance and staggered back a couple of steps. I threw a tentative blow at his mid-section. He weakly blocked it. Must be he put all he had into the first swing, hoping to catch me unawares. I throw a more forceful swing at his shoulder. He blocked and ducked, almost falling into a heap. I don’t know why Silvus was worried about this one. I remembered Emander’s advice about sparring with old gladiators to learn their tricks. I exchanged half-hearted blows with Jerome, learning little. The crowd started jeering. They wanted action. I couldn’t let them down. I took a huge roundhouse swing, and he was gone! Off balance, I felt him slice across my back and set it on fire. I fell, tucked and rolled upright, but Jerome was nowhere to be “Whack!” He caught me right at the base of the helmet. I went down like a stone and lay still. I hoped the actor in him would have to play up his big victory over me. He kicked me. I didn’t resist. His next kick lifted me over onto my back. I groaned, but didn’t open my eyes. I heard the crowd gasp and felt the shadow of his sword fall on my face. Now. My sword leapt for his throat and opened it wide. I rolled after the sword stroke and I came up in a defensive crouch. Jerome made one last swing as the life blood left his head. The crowd roared in amazement. Maybe I had learned something from old Jerome after all.

“So, you will have to learn quicker next time. Did I not tell you to watch him?” Silvus chided half serious and half humorous. “Well-done only a few bruises from your first fight. You have more seasoning to do, but you are well on your way to be a gladiator. Off with you before the cheering crowds swell your chest too large.” I turned to leave. “And here . . .” he threw a purse of coins at me. “Don’t forget your take.”

As soon as I passed under the grandstand, I opened the purse. Inside lay 30 silver denarii! It would take a month worth of work to come close to this kind of money. I couldn’t believe it. I counted again. When I was at about 5, Tertullus tapped me on the shoulder. “So, going to stand there and count all night or can we do some spending?”

“Tertullus! Did you see me! That old lion almost got me, until I fooled him with his own trick.”

“That’s why I’m here. Since I taught you, Silvus wanted me to review the match with you. I think we should do that with some food. Are you hungry?”

“Now that you remind me of my stomach, let’s eat!” Tertullus took me to one of his favorite eateries. I paid of course.

“Pretty proud of yourself, are you Benjamin?”

“Yes, he didn’t even get a scratch on me.”

“I observed about 7 different times that he could have put you in the grave.”

“Well, I know I made a few mistakes, but . . .”

“What do you think were your two biggest mistakes?”

“I was fooled by his crippled old gladiator drama.”

“That was almost your worst mistake. What do you suppose was the worst mistake I saw?”

“When he got around behind me?”

“No. Benjamin, you focused hard and long on splitting that stone in two. When you tore into that rock with all your anger and frustration, you accomplished the impossible. I didn’t see any of that focus or energy tonight. Benjamin, if ‘that old lion,’ as you called him had realized that Silvus has been training you, he would have taken you apart in the first 10 seconds.”

“No, no he wouldn’t.”

“You can think what you like, but I watch all the swordsman fight, and this gladiator has taken down more skilled men that you. Now don’t turn so pale. You are alive and eating a huge stake with me and he isn’t. What do you think you did right tonight?”

“Well, when I faked being knocked out. That was a turn I used to my advantage.”

“You almost overdid it. How did you know it would be have to law there that long?”

“Since he was such a great actor when playing the cripple, I figured he couldn’t resist playing up my death scene.”

“That was a lucky read, or very smart. Now let’s talk about your technique.” For the next hour Tertullus and I relived the battle blow by blow. I learned more in that hour than I had in the last month and a half sparring. “Are you satisfied that we went over everything?”

“You are a great teacher.”

“Listen to me, Benjamin. This is my last piece of advice. I don’t get friendly with other gladiators like Emander does. I watch out for me first. I went through all this with you, because Silvus wanted me to. It doesn’t mean I am your teacher or friend, it just means I was ordered to.”

“I, I understand.”

“Anytime you need someone to introduce you to all that your money can buy here in the city, I will be glad to help you spend it.” I found out that was true.

A Gladiator is Born

A Gladiator is Born

I picked up my third sword and faced the enemy. I had broken two others trying to drive the split deeper in the stone. The effort had cooled my rage into blue despair. At first the raw power of metal on stone drew excitement into each swing. Now it was just a tool, and not a very good one against granite. I steadied the blade overhead and tensed for another strike.

“For a Jew, you have amazing determination.” A voice grumbled behind me. I whirled with sword still high. Shhing! “Do not cause me to take that sword away from you.”

“Who are you, friend?”

“Your stubborn attacks on the stone have erased your memory, but not mine. I remember when we dragged you from the ditch, Benjamin.”

“Well, I live here now, friend and I ask again, who are you?”

“Tertulus. Benjamin, you have the heart of 5 Romans, but do not tell Silvus I said so. Let me inspect your work.” He strode past me and exclaimed, “By the gods, is this all your work?”

“Yes.” I hung my head for I had only driven the crack as deep as my wrist.

“Then this is not your first sword.”

“No, Master Tertulus.”

“Just Tertulus will do. How many blades have you laid waste on this rock?”

“Two, this is my third.” I held out the weapon.

“This poor tool is almost broken as well. I quit after my first sword splintered. Emander broke three as you are about to do, but he did not push his crack only half as deep as yours. Truly your heart and arm are determined. If your rage is spent, I can tell you how to get away from this task.”

“Yes please,” I replied as notes of hope arose inside.

“Take your sword and bow low before Silvus. Tell him, ‘My rage is gone and I bow empty for you to fill me with your knowledge.’ Can you repeat that?”

“Master Silvus my rage is gone and I bow empty for you to fill me with your knowledge. Is that right?”

“That will do.” He handed me back the sword. “Finish off your third sword and take the pieces to Silvus.”

“Thank you, uh, Tertulus.”

“And Benjamin . . .”

“Yes?”

“It gets worse before it gets better.”

Finally the clanging stopped as his third sword cracked into three pieces. I prayed to God that he would not go for another one. His arrival had stirred feelings and his attacks of rage twisted and confused my insides. He had to stop. The Lord in his mercy heard this prayer. He retrieved two of the sword parts from the ground and turned away toward Master Silvus’ quarters.

“Uncle, is Master Silvus in his rooms right now?”

“Has that incessant clanging finally ceased? That boy frightens me with his anger, determination and stupidity!”

“Uncle!”

“Yes, dear? Why do you care if I spout off about that urchin Master dragged here out of the ditch?” I might have yelled more, but the smile at the edges of his mouth told me Uncle was teasing. “Yes, Master Silvus is in his rooms. Your tall, dark young man will find him there.”

Shortly Benjamin and Silvus walked to the stone. “At least he holds no new sword.” I thought. Silvus stuck his hand in the crack, then slapped Benjamin on the back. I stood too far away to hear what was said, but Benjamin hurried off toward the Gladiator’s quarters while Silvus clapped for servants.

“It may get harder from here, but at least I am past the first step.” I muttered to myself. As I stepped through the door and into the darkness, a burly cheer went up and before I could defend myself, slaps of admiration fell on my back.

“This is the last pain free day for you, Benjamin,” cheered Brutus.
“Welcome to the smelliest room in Caesarea!” Emander joined in. “This is your last day of fresh air!”

Benjamin moved out of the house. I only saw glimpses of him for the next few weeks. He changed each new peek I was able to capture. His eyes turned hard and wary. His arms grew channeled with muscles, bruises and scars from his training. Once it seemed he saw me. His eyes softened and I thought he smiled. I felt my insides light up when he did. “Listen, slave-girl, and hear your uncle who loves you. Benjamin is working with one focus, to swing a weapon as a gladiator. You will then be his slave and not his love. Take care of your heart.”

The first week, two weeks actually, destroyed any memory of the stone. It took all my emotional energy to come back each day. A typical day in those first two weeks was filled with hours of running strapped to a tree, followed by hours of lifting and throwing stones two or three times my weight. Mixed throughout the day I took up the broadsword. For practice, my tip and blade were wrapped in leather and I wore a suffocating leather breastplate. Silvus showed me the ten fighting positions. Soon I was thrusting and parrying through them as fast as Silvus could order me.

At the beginning of week two he struck back, so I could learn the defensive positions for each attack position. He gave me two slow speed slashes to learn the response, then I was to defend myself as he yelled out the position numbers of his attack. Even with leather protection, Silvus raised cries from me and bruises on my arms.

One day I spied Rebekah watching. I smiled, but she turned away before she saw I think. I carefully asked about her to the other slaves. They knew little, except that her uncle was her only family. He always seemed behind a wall when I drew near. He spoke with respect and did what was needed, but never anything more.

“Soon you will be able to take her you know.”

“What Brutus?”

“The Jewish slave girl, Rebekah, she’s the one who steals your gaze.”

“What of her?”

“You will be able to take her. The Master is investing in you like Emander. You will soon become more than a gladiator to him. Emander wanted Rebekah too. He was not Jewish, she not Roman.”

“Why would I take her, as you put it?”

“You are drawn to her? You are a man, she a lovely young woman. Why wouldn’t you take her? You are both Jewish, no mingled blood.”

“I am man enough for you!” With a roar I launched into him and drove him to the floor.

A month later I caught her alone. I waited until after evening meal. The perfume of her had once again wrapped around my insides. I dimly remember Brutus elbowing Tertulus to leave. Emander had not joined us that evening. Her every move about the table seemed a dance just for me.

“Would you like some more to eat or drink before I finish clearing away the food?”

My ears prickled as she spoke. “No thank you, Rebekah. Stay and sit awhile if you can.”

“I dare not. My uncle is expecting me soon.”

I grabbed her wrist. “No, no. Please sit.” I pulled her down next to me. “Tell me of yourself.”

“Yes Master.” She looked away curling her arms about her waist. “There is not much to tell. My parents died. My uncle and I are slaves.”

I slid next to her. The heat of her washed over my bones. She started to quiver. She slid away.

“I I must go now.” She knelt to rise. I caught her square in the back of her tunic and pulled her down.

“I apologize, Rebekah, for my own rudeness. I should tell you about myself. My Father sent me here to learn the Roman way. He owns great property and livestock. I was supposed to go to the Greek academy, but Master Silvus and I crossed paths on the way here. He convinced me that some time in Gladiator training would prepare me for Rome much more thoroughly.” I continued on with my lies for another couple of minutes. I felt her shrink at each phrase, as I look back on it. I thought the feeling was me, growing larger than life.

“thank you for telling me of yourself, Master. I am not sure why you told me, but I thank you for your trust.”

“I told you, so that when we lie together you will know me.”

“No, no I must leave.” I was too fast for her. I scooped her up and took her to my room, then I tortured her with my clumsy attempts at love-making. Her tears seemed to stoke my fires higher. By morning I was actually gaining skill in sex. At least her tears turned to moans. I always interpreted them to mean pleasure.

I ran to my uncle. The imprint of his hands stood out on my wrists. “Kill me uncle, kill me, kill me!”

“Child, Child was are you screaming about? What happened to you?” He yelled as he turned over my hands in his. I fell into him crying at a safe touch. “What happened? Was it him, was it Emander?”

“No, no, it was Benjamin, dear awful, beastly Benjamin.” I collapsed in tears. For the rest of the day. The next, uncle snuck in a doctor friend, a Greek from down the street. With Uncle holding both my hands, I gnashed my teeth and let him look me all over. They whispered outside the room.

“So, Ben, are you a Gladiator in the bedroom?” Brutus laughed with a wink.

“None of your business!” I swung back with a grin.

“What is this all about, you two?” Emander asked. “Did some young lady consent to give up her innocence to you, Benjamin?”

Just then Tertullus broke in the door. “Arise, Gladiators, our Master has called us to his aid! You too Benjamin!”

Rebekah

Uncle made it his mission to keep me away from the gladiator’s end of the compound for the next few days. I didn’t hold any want to be around there anyway. The constant clanging of metal on stone set my backbone to quivering.

Uncle Zebulun and I had worked for Silvus for the past three years. The Roman occupation drew out Jewish pride in my father and brothers. They joined the Zealots and began training in the caves, “Like David” they said. David’s God didn’t fight their battles. Actually it was just a skirmish. Father was killed and my brothers wounded and dragged off into slavery.

Mom just quit wanting to live. She was a Naomi without a Boaz. She died a few months later shrunken and looking many years older than she was. I almost followed her. Uncle Zebulun grabbed me by the soul and wouldn’t let me turn my back on life. Neither of us could pay the debts, so we bonded out and became slaves to the largest landowner in Bethel. He wanted me for more than I could give. One evening his evil eyes roved all over me with every bite of his evening meal. As I was clearing his food, he touched me where no one had before or since. My insides began to melt in fear. “Run” I screamed at my knees. As I made my move, he grabbed the hem of my tunic. He pulled. I stumbled. He reached to catch me, breath chugging in delight. I thought Uncle was going to tear his arm off and feed it to him. I snapped free and ran from the room, as he and Uncle Zebulun roared at each other in mutual rage.

The next morning we were thrown in a wagon with the garbage. The garbage was dumped into the stinking fire of the valley of Gehenna. We bumped and bounced on into Jerusalem where Master Silvus bought us at auction. I couldn’t look at all the men in their jewels, afraid I would see the leering of my previous. Uncle Zebulun met each gaze with strength and surety. I still wonder if that look is not what drew Master Silvus to us. Uncle Zebulun blames Masters’ choice on the Lord.

Master ran a strict household. He would not allow me to mix with any males, until his other female servants had trained me in the ways and customs of the Romans. Until I passed all the tests of holidays and eating customs and clothing preferences, I lived in quarantine. Mistress Roxanna arrived from Rome to inspect her husband’s holdings. She personally approved of all of us women who joined the household staff that summer. She has only been back one more time in the past three years.

Under the fair gaze of Master Silvus and Uncle, the pain of my violation eased out of my waking thoughts. My dreams were another matter. His eyes floated in the dark and his leer undressed me each night for months. Master Silvus held no such feelings for me. He would not allow such complications to disrupt the smooth running of his home. Each slave knew that anything like rape would earn him or her Master Silvus’ own justice. Master Emander paid me no attentions. He sought the fair women with yellow or red hair, not a dark olive like me. He was kind enough and even would converse in friendly tones from time to time, but nothing more. The rumor in the slaves’ rooms was that he was to marry high in the Roman government when his time came.

In time I started to sing again. First I found myself humming notes that my mother used to set me to sleep. All those songs ended in tears, but they kept coming back. A particularly sunny day would find me singing a psalm of victory, until I caught myself. Uncle sat unnoticed as I sang. When I choked off that particular psalm he cried out, “No little one, no don’t sever your gift! My heart just cracked when you stopped.”

“Oh Uncle, you baby me all the time. My tunes are nothing special.” As I turned toward him some of the other servants scurried back to work.

“They don’t believe that, and neither do I. Please don’t stop.”

Beast and Cage

He snuck out again after evening meal. We stanched his wounds and he slept fitfully through the afternoon heat. He must have been dreaming of another time and place. He called out names in his sleep, ground his teeth. He drank nearly two pitchers of water at evening meal, but ate little. The Latins ignored him, except Master Silvus. Master never spoke to him, but his gaze was often on Ben.

Ben left the table first. As I hurried in to clear his bowls, I watched him stride at the stone. He circled it. I was drawn to my duties by Uncle Zebulun’s call.

The bellowing insults of my father fell on my brain again and again. His predictions of failure battered me from memory, as fresh as the moment he spat them at me. As I paced at the stone, his rage twisted face glared me down. I would not cry. I would not bleed again. I would conquer. I slowed my pace to cold-hearted study. I would find . . . there! A crack, no it was just a vein! I crept about the edge of the boulder with my nose just a fingers width from the surface. After a while my eyes began to water. I wiped them back. A drip fell square on it. A definite crack. I began with my littlest fingernail. Scratching back and forth, I worked at the chink in the stone. When I had ground my nail to the bed, the sun had set, so that I couldn’t see. Rebekah brought a lamp so I could see to go to bed.

“Master Benjamin, what is your fascination with Master Silvus’ test?”

“Don’t call me ‘Master.’ He has made it more than a test for me. I heard you singing your midday prayer, Rebekah.”

“Did my praying offend you, Ma . . ., Benjamin?” He looked away.

The next day I filed down all the nails on my left hand against the crack, but it was worth it. I could now get a grip. The next morning I felt my way around the rock in the dark. I swept as much dust as I could into the crack, then wedged the barest end of my longest fingers in as well. I pulled and tugged, allowing visions of my father and his friends full access to me. I focused so intently I forgot to breathe. This time I did not pass out, but gulped in fresh air and renewed my fight. For a week I strained and sawed and tried to peal the stone in two. My fingers had advanced to the depth of my nail bed into the rock.

Master Silvus met me as I headed into the pre-morning gloom once again. “You have done enough.”

“No!”

“I am your Master and I release you from the stone.”

“You are my Master, but I cannot let the stone be. You have turned it into my Father. I must beat him. I will not lose.”

“You cannot win.”
“I will not lose.” I turned back to my “Father.” CRACK! Silvus extended the lash past my face. I didn’t flinch or slow. Fire landed across my back and neck, and again. These blows only threw more fuel on the hate crackling to get out.

“I will beat you as senseless as you act. If you cannot learn to control the beast, you are worthless to me. Cage him and use his strength, but do not let your Father win your mind into foolish hatred.”

“Yes Master Silvus.” I stopped.

“Now that the stone and my words have unleashed your pain and anger, you need to build your cage. Blind anger against another makes you strong and banishes pain. Blind anger in the ring will leave you lifeless in two quick breaths. You are now outside your feelings thanks to the lash and my words. Never let yourself fall quite that senseless again. Instead learn to call up the images that bring on this rage and hold yourself on the edge of falling over to the beast. Then you will gain all the strength and toughness with control.”

“I will try.”

“You must do more than try, lad. The beast is always your greatest ally and opponent rolled up inside you. You cannot lose to the beast! Take this.” He unsheathed a broadsword about 5 cubits or forearm lengths. At the hilt, the blade was as wide as my hand. “You have earned a weapon to use with your hate on the stone.” I poured my memories and tears down my arms and into the blade.

When he took hold of the sword, I shivered. “Uncle Zebulun must need me somewhere else.” The first clang drove me to run.

Blood and Prayers

Silvus strode out to check my progress. He found me sitting leaned against the stone. “On your feet!” I bolted upright. “Bring me the lash!” A servant appeared through the back door of the house and jogged to Silvus with a strip of leather as wide as my thumb and and long as my body. “Face the stone, Benjamin! So, your father hooked you to a plow, then let’s unlock the donkey in you.” The first blow of the lash sliced my garment from my back. I stumbled into the stone and gripped it to keep on my feet. Another strike smashed across my shoulders. “Fall to your four legs young donkey, or get to work on the stone!” As I took a breath to answer another blow fell and I cried out. Another slash fell and I ground me teeth under a surge of anger. I caught the last strike on my bare hands and held the leather firm. “Now, aim that anger at that stone.” Silvus turned and left.

The top of the stone lay unblinking as I pounded. One fist then the other struck with just the tiniest of scraping sounds against it. With all the pain and fire in my back, I beat down upon the boulder. My hands turned red, then white, then brown as bruises formed around my little fingers.

Silvus walked up. “Let me see.” He turned my hands over and opened them. “The rock is winning. Your anger is weak. You risk little to express it, so that even stones can defeat you. You only invest the softest part of your hand to the task, like a little boy afraid of his shadow! Continue.”

The throbbing of my bruises screamed, “Liar!” at Silvus. I set my teeth and poured fist after fist into the stone. Each swing brought a whimper from me. As I heard my own pain, a part inside me broke. Tears and sweat mingled and fell on the stone. My whimpers, and the broken emotions they dragged to the surface, called up a fearsome anger in me. I swiped at the boulder with my knuckles. Keen clear pain shot up my arm. I met the stone with another swing. It bounced back my blood. Now he was an enemy. Stroke after stroke I lay on the beast. Both hands rose and landed against the stone. Flyspeck chips rolled down its edge. Great gulps of air hissed through my nose to feed the rage. The roar raised in my ears and drowned out everything. I was in a black rage and my vision shrunk to nothing.

I woke in a puddle of my own blood at the foot of the stone. Silvus had returned and gently shook me awake. “So, you have met the monster within, eh lad? Carry him inside. He has had enough for today.” I was able to get my feet under me, but without Zebulun and Rebekah’s help I would have crumpled again. They eased me into the shade and began to tend my wounds. I must have passed out again and again. Each time I came back around Rebekah was singing her midday prayers. I didn’t really understand the ancient Hebrew, but I did hear her sing my name, I think.