Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) (14 page)

They both knew they would simply add him to the group, and not
allow a replacement. “You are needed here,” she said. “To lead the others.”

Saturnus’s eyes filled with a soft sadness as he accepted her
words.

He began, “What can separate us from the love of Christ? Shall
trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?”

They were prodded like cattle to the gates at the base of the
arena. The gate was lifted and they were pushed out onto the sand like slop for
swine.

The crowd seemed unmoved by their arrival. Helena scanned the
ring of seats that surrounded them; flags of every color decorated the
circumference, horns blared, people chatted and laughed. The crowd was eating
and drinking like nothing of great consequence was happening. Their voices
echoed through the stadium, and Helena was awed by the size of it. She found it
ironic that this was how she was to first witness the games after all those
times of begging Brutus to go.

The group huddled in the center, their combined nervous energy
and fear pulsating through Helena’s veins. They waited but nothing came at
them. No gates were lifted.

In the stands people were coming and going from their seats and
it occurred to Helena this must be some kind of intermission. They were to be
the opening act of the second scene.

She scanned the crowd for familiar faces wondering if Brutus
had come and hoping he hadn’t. Was Gordian here? Vincentus?

Her eyes settled on the Emperor’s box. It was covered with a
purple awning trimmed with gold tassels. He sat in a throne-like chair, his
chest and face beefier than Helena recalled from the only other time she had
seen him. Beside him sat Julia Augustus, who had also grown rounder. Her face was
puffed out like an autumn gourd. A tower of yellow hair sat on her head just
like the wig Tatiana wore that last time she’d seen her in the Forum that day.

On the other side of Septimius Severus sat his son, Geta, whose
birthday they were celebrating.

Suddenly, a gate opened. A massive bull with silky black fur
and dark ferocious eyes bounded toward the group scattering them across the
sand. Helena’s heart exploded, and her feet seemed to move on their own accord
as the bull charged. Her life was spared for the moment, but one man she didn’t
know was not.

The bull’s horn speared the man through the side and it paraded
its prize as it trotted in slow circles. The crowd rose to their feet in
excitement as the man screamed in agony and then suddenly stopped.

A gate opened on the opposite side, and the bull rushed in with
the man still impaled on its horn.

Helena thought she might throw up. She prayed silently for
strength.

She kept her eyes on the gates, glancing north, south, east,
west and then north again, over and over. When will the next gate rise?

Geta was on his feet yelling something and shaking his small
fists. He was a boy of ten or eleven, but the look of hatred on his face caused
her to catch her breath.

Then the sound of another gate opening. She swiveled to her
right. Several men marched out, each outfitted in gladiator garb. Some with
helmets, all with shields and some form of weapon in their hands.

There appeared to be one attacker for each victim. Felicity
stood nearby and Helena reached out, taking her hand.

“We will meet very soon in heaven, with our Savior by our
side,” Helena said. “Stay strong.”

Unlike with the bull, the victims remaining in the arena stayed
in their positions. The crowd was dissatisfied with their response and began to
boo.

Secundus was the first to go down, a spear in the side. Helena
pinched her eyes tight, taking quick short breaths. Soon they would all be
together again.

Other gladiators were screaming at them, “Run you fools, run!”

But Helena knew they would not. They were here to die for their
Lord and die with dignity they would.

A man charged them, and Helena couldn’t help the scream that
escaped her lips. He passed her, onto Felicity. He tossed his three-spiked
trident at her frail body, impaling her heart. She toppled to the ground.

“Felicity!” Helena couldn’t help the tears this time, and even
though her knees quivered, she remained standing. She would await her attacker
and it would be over. Please, where was her attacker?

She turned and saw him. His face was concealed behind a helmet
and a dagger hung limply in his hand. He faced her, so he must be the one meant
to take her life. Come forward! Do your deed!

All around her the victims were falling to their deaths. She
alone awaited hers. Why wouldn’t the gladiator attack?

Chapter Thirty

TATIANA

Tatiana arrived at the games, early in the morning in the
company of her husband. He didn’t know about the reward money she had collected
and she hadn’t formulated a plan for her escape quite yet. But his company did
allow her entrance into the games, so he’d turned out to be useful for
something.

Tackle the problems of the city by pacifying and distracting
the people, her husband had said on their way in. Give them bread for their
hunger and circuses for their amusement.

The concept was simple and effective, especially when it came
to taming the poor. And it was certainly working on this sun-baked day. Forty
thousand people had obtained free tickets in order to bask in the presence of
their holy emperor.

The affair had commenced at dawn. The streets, which were normally
quiet and dark, buzzed with vendors and merchants of all types, surrounding the
amphitheater with awnings and stalls. They were confident large numbers of
consumers would arrive, for this imperial show had been promoted heavily with
advertisements painted on the sides of buildings all over Carthage and
surrounding towns and cities for weeks prior to the event.

The roar of many trumpets blowing announced the start of the ludi,
beginning with a lavish parade that poured into the arena from the gate of life
at the south end. The crowd was presented with a performance from a troop of
musicians and dancers; then a seemingly endless display of tamed exotic animals—row
after row of stags pulling chariots, leopards in silver harnesses, bulls
painted white and draped with fresh-cut flowers.

Those who were unimpressed with the lighthearted beginning were
engaged soon enough by the entrance of the priest, who carried tall staffs
topped with burning incense, and led a procession of sacrificial animals: rams,
bulls and hogs. Statues of all the gods, demigods, muses, and deified emperors,
each borne on a litter by eight uniformed slaves, slowly paraded around the
arena.

Then a trumpet blast announced the entrance of the royal
family. They were escorted by the imperial guards—men who had spent the whole
previous day polishing their helmets and shields until they reflected the sky.
Long, crimson capes blew behind them as they marched through a tunnel that led
from the emperor’s private entrance straight to the imperial box.

Every person in the stands stood, and miraculously the Coliseum
fell silent. Tatiana took the opportunity to prop her wig, proud to see that
she was among the few women from Carthage to wear a similar head piece as
Augusta Julia.

After pausing for an appropriate amount of time, perfecting the
dramatic effect, Septimius stepped up from his throne and waved regally. The
people went crazy, crying and shouting out their adoration for their emperor, Severus,
Severus, Severus!

With a simple nod from the emperor, the games began.

Now almost midday, Tatiana had witnessed the slaughter of one
hundred ostriches and one hundred stags. After being released into the arena,
the hunt was on. Twenty archers had breezed in from both ends of the
amphitheater, calmly and expertly drawing their bows and firing arrows through
the air. The animals scattered with nowhere to hide. One after another they
fell, and within minutes the first show had ended. Slaves rushed in with hooks
and ropes, dragging the carcasses away.

Before the crowd could catch its breath, the floor of the arena
opened up, and from the depths of the Coliseum rose a great wooden ship. Once
settled it suddenly broke apart, letting loose hundreds of animals including
lions, bears, leopards and boars. Fifty gladiators, bestiarii, charged the
creatures with long spears.

Men skewered bears and lions, lions attacked leopards, leopards
attacked men; it was utter chaos on the sand. Tatiana felt like she had stopped
breathing. The crowd roared, intoxicated by savagery.

“Look!” Tatiana pointed. Directly in front of the imperial box,
a bear and a boar were engaged in battle. The large protruding fangs of the
boar pierced the loose skin of the bear’s neck. The bear responded by yelping
and spinning, shaking helplessly as its opponent hung and spun like a whip.

Now it was the midday intermission. The final act was to be a
fight between the two most famous gladiators in the empire. But that wasn’t
what Tatiana was waiting for.

She instructed Nesta to get her a goblet of water and something
to eat. Her husband was engaged in a boring though intense conversation with
his neighbor. She found herself suppressing a yawn. Since her marriage to Ursus
she’d been to several circuses, and though this was by far the most
extravagant, after a while the shedding of blood grew old.

Finally, one of the gates opened. Several men and women clothed
in nothing more than thin white tunics were shuttled into the arena.

Tatiana squinted, searching.

There she was. Helena Vibius, her childhood friend.

She hadn’t known what to expect, what her reaction would be upon
seeing Helena there, a victim soon to die.

Because she was the one who had betrayed her.

Her heart felt small and tight with remorse. She didn’t really
want her friend to die this way. A burning ball of anger grew in her chest. How
could Helena be so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! She should have recanted.
Why didn’t she recant?

Chapter Thirty-One

LUCIUS

The girl whom he’d fantasized about for more than a year and a
half stood in front of him now. How could this be? How could it be that his
beautiful, intelligent and kind Helena was standing there, barefoot on the
sand, in an awful white tunic awaiting her death?

Her face was so calm, peaceful, like she wanted him to kill
her. Her eyes seemed to beg him to step forward.

Slowly, he removed his helmet.

“Lucius?” Her voice was breathy and innocent. Her eyes opened
wide and her cherry red lips fell open.

“Helena?”

“You’re a gladiator?”

“I was captured in Rome. I am ashamed to say my freedom was
short lived.”

The crowd had begun to murmur. Lucius glanced about the stands.
The emperor shifted impatiently. All the other gladiators with him had
completed their tasks. Titus caught his eye and drew his finger across his
throat as if to say, Get on with it, Lucius before you cause trouble for all of
us.

He turned back to Helena. “You’re a Christian?”

“I am.”

“I don’t understand. Why? Do you not know what they want me to
do?”

“Yes, I know. Lucius, I’m ready. I’ve found the One True God.”

Lucius scoffed. “The One True God! And this god would have you
die at my hands?” 

He waited but Helena said nothing. His head throbbed, pain
pulsating behind his eyes. His throat was parched, swallowing became difficult.
“I can’t do this,” he said. “I love you, Helena. You know I do.”

He stepped toward her, and she met him in an embrace. He buried
his face in her hair. “I’ve dreamed of you every day and night, that one day I
could hold you again. But not like this. I’d rather die than do what they’ve
commanded me to do.”

Helena tilted her head up and he touched her lips with his, so
soft, and warm and forbidden. “I love you too, Lucius,” she said. “I’m so happy
that I can see your face one last time before I die.”

“Oh, Helena, I don’t want you to die! What am I to do?”

Chapter Thirty-Two

HELENA

Helena reached up with a trembling hand and stroked the rough
beard on Lucius’s jaw. He had filled out, a grown man now, with broader
shoulders and a stronger jaw. Lines had formed along his eyes from squinting in
the sun, and around his mouth from frowning.

She remembered when they first met, in the grove, him picking
olives. She’d stared at his mouth a lot in those days, and her heart squeezed
with fondness.

She’d love Lucius then and she still loved him now. And because
she loved him, she would help him.

“This is my destiny,” she said. “We were never meant to be
together in this life, but maybe we can be in the next.”

She turned gently, pressing her back into his chest as he
wrapped his arms around her. He nuzzled his face into her neck and a heave of
despair escaped his lungs. Her heart swelled, sharing his pain. Her eyes blurred
with tears.

A hush fell among the crowd, curious and waiting.

“I’m going to help you with this,” Helena choked out. “Everything’s
going to be okay.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

TATIANA

What was going on? All the Christians had been slaughtered but
one. Helena Vibius remained standing. The gladiator assigned to terminate her
just stood there. Why?

The crowd grew restless. They were bored with this show and
wanted to move on, but Tatiana couldn’t look away.

Then the gladiator removed his helmet and Helena stepped
towards him. Tatiana was stunned. Did they know each other? How was that
possible?

A hush settled over the crowd and then a collective gasp. The
gladiator embraced Helena and kissed her—and with such passion! Tatiana sat on
the edge of her seat mesmerized.