Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) (15 page)

Helena pressed her back against the gladiator. He buried his
face in the crook of her neck. His hand holding the dagger hung lifelessly at
his side. Helena reached for it, encasing his hand with hers, lifting the knife
to her throat. She tugged his arm sharply and her body grew limp. Blood spilled
drop by drop, speckling the sand.

The crowd was on its feet. Such an unexpected, dramatic show!

Tatiana didn’t stand.

The gladiator fell to his knees, holding tightly to Helena’s
body. His shoulders shook and his chin dropped to his chest. Was he… crying?

The gladiator took the dagger, which was covered with Helena’s
blood, and examined it thoughtfully. Tatiana dare not look away. Was he about
to take his own life?

Then another gladiator approached him, the one with flaming red
hair. He grabbed Helena’s gladiator by his elbow lifting him to his feet.
Helena’s body slid to the ground.

Slaves ran to remove the corpses as the gladiators exited
through an open gate. The crowd’s applause continued to fill the place.

Tatiana closed her eyes, sighing, sorry for what she had done.
A lone tear trailed down her cheek

THE END

I hope you enjoyed Broken Vessels. Please leave a
review
on Amazon
. They are so helpful to Indie Authors like me.

If
you’d like to be the first to know about new releases by Elle Strauss/Lee
Strauss sign up for
my newsletter
. I
promise not to spam you or give away your email address. I’ll only write when a
there’s a new book or promotion.

Thanks!

Read on for the first chapter of
PLAYING
WITH MATCHES

.

Emil Radle is a dedicated member of Hitler Youth. He's
loyal to the Fuehrer before family, a champion for the cause and a fan of the
famous Luftwaffe.

When his friends Moritz and Johann discover a shortwave
radio, everything changes. Now they listen to BBC broadcasts of news reports
that tell both sides. Now they know the truth. The boys, along with Johann's
sister Katarina, band together to write out the reports and covertly distribute
flyers throughout their city. It's an act of high treason that could have them
arrested--or worse.

As the war progresses, so does Emil's affection for
Katarina. He'd do anything to have a normal life and to stay in Passau by her
side. But when Germany's losses become immense, even their greatest resistance
can't prevent the boys from being sent to the Eastern Front.

For Katrina's sake, and for his family, Emil hopes he will
survive the battle. He knows they've already lost the war.

Note from the author:

JARS OF CLAY and BROKEN VESSELS are fictional stories based
loosely on the true life account of a Roman maiden named
Perpetua
. I was
fascinated when I learned of her, how, though a daughter of a wealthy
businessman and entrenched in pagan life, she’d converted to Christianity as a
youth and was killed in the arena in Carthage, in a similar manner as Helena,
under Emperor Severus at games to celebrate his son’s birthday. I borrowed a
lot from
Perpetua
’s life and lifestyle, including her family, the death
of a younger brother, a slave girl named Felicity and an absentee husband.
However, this is not a retelling of her life. I took a lot of liberties, which
is why I created fictional characters to capture the essence of her story.

Recommended Reading:

Perpetua’s Passion - The Death and Memory of a Young Roman
Woman by Joyce E. Salisbury

Handbook to Life in Ancient Rome by Lesley Adkins and Roy A,
Adkins

Herodian Books I-IV— English Translator, C.R. Whittaker

Lee
Strauss writes historical and science fiction/romance for mature YA and adult
readers. She also writes light and fun stuff under the name Elle Strauss. You
can follow her on Facebook, twitter, pinterest and wattpad by visiting her at
www.ellestraussbooks.com
.

Other books by Lee Strauss

Ambition
(short story prequel to Perception)

Perception
(book 1 in the Perception series)

Volition
(book 2 in the Perception series)

Playing
with Matches

A
Piece of Blue String
(short story companion to Playing with Matches)

Acknowledgements:

I started the first draft of JARS OF CLAY over eleven years
ago—by far the oldest manuscript of mine that waited in a “drawer.” After much
research and countless re-writes, I’m excited to finally unleash what
eventually turned into this two novella book set. I want to thank Wesley
Campbell who was the first to tell me the incredible story of the Roman martyr,
Perpetua; author Denise Jaden who read an early draft years before she herself
became a writer (!); Lori Vanzyderveld proof reader extraordinaire and good
friend; Leigh Moore, whose editing finesse helped me to keep this story on
course; my friends and family, always faithful and supportive; and to you my readers—thanks
for making it to the end!

PLAYING WITH MATCHES

PROLOGUE

1945

JULY

THE PILLAR of smoke rising on the
horizon could only mean one thing: a farm, which meant food.

Emil Radle limped across the sloping
field that was brittle and dry from lack of rain and irrigation. He lost his
footing twice, falling, grabbing at his leg, his mouth opening in a wide
teeth-baring groan. The first time he beat the pain, pulling himself back onto
his feet, hunger pushing him on. The second time he gave into the primal urge
to scream and cry, until sleep threatened to take him again. The warm sun beat
down, heavy, his mind lapsing into a drug-like state.

Somewhere in his subconscious, he knew
he couldn't stay there; if he did he would die. He pulled himself up again,
shaky and quivering. Finally, a house came into view. Out of breath, he slipped
through the narrow opening of a stiff iron gate and knocked on the door.

It opened and a thin, elderly man with
an unshaven face looked him up and down. “Not another one,” he muttered.

“Please, do you have a piece of bread?
Anything?”

The man frowned. “How old are you,
boy?”

“Sixteen.” Emil wondered what he must
look like to the man. He hadn’t bathed or had a change of clothes in weeks. He
knew his hair was too long. He shifted his weight nervously, rubbing his bad
knee.

The man noticed. “What’s wrong with
your leg?”

“Injured on the front.”

The man sighed. “I don’t have anything
left. Someone knocks on my door every hour looking to eat.”

As if on cue, Emil's stomach growled.
“Please, I beg you. I’m starving.”

The man’s shoulders slumped. His face
was drawn, fatigued, and his eyes were watery, as if he were about to cry.

“Wait here.” He pointed to a rickety
chair on the patio, and Emil let his weary body drop into it. The man returned
with a coffee cup and handed it to Emil. “I have a cow out back. She doesn’t
give much. It’s all I have.”

Emil slurped it up. It was like a drop
in a very large bucket, but it would keep him going for a while.

“Where are you headed?” the man said.

“Passau.”

The man whistled. “That’s a long way
from here. At least two hundred kilometers.”

“Yes,” Emil said, handing the cup
back. “But it’s my home. I have to find my family.”

“All the trains are out,” the man
said. “The roads are too damaged in most places for automobiles.”

“I know. I’m walking.”

“That will take you weeks.” The man
glanced at Emil's bad leg and sighed again. “At least you are young. I wish you
the best.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The man offered his hand, pulling Emil
to his feet. Emil said goodbye then turned to the road
. Step, limp, step,
limp
, he headed south.

Behind him, Nuremberg lay in ruins, a
beaten down giant.

CHAPTER ONE

1938

OCTOBER

Passau, Germany

HEINZ SCHULTZ’ word could send a man
to prison. Though only a youth of fifteen, he was strong, tall, and blond. The
boys in his
Deutsches Jungvolk
unit esteemed him and feared him.

And they wanted to be just like him.

Mesmerized, Emil sat straight and
attentive. He didn’t want to miss a thing Heinz might say or an opportunity to
be noticed by him.

Heinz grabbed a pointing stick and tapped
a well-worn map of Europe that was thumb-tacked to the wall. “This is a map of
Europe from 1871.”

He stopped abruptly in front of
another, newer map. “And this is a map of Europe as she looks now. What is the
striking difference?” His eyes scanned the room before landing on Emil. “Emil?”

Emil squeaked, “Germany is too small?”

“YES!” Heinz shouted. “Germany is too
small. Much, much too small.” He pointed again to the first map. “Here we were
larger, though not yet great enough. And here,” he swiveled back to the second
map. “We are so tiny, you need a magnifying glass to see us. This is
injustice!”

The severity of Heinz’s convictions
had grown since his voice had changed. It seemed to Emil that Heinz’s voice
came from his gut now rather than his head and he couldn't wait until his own
voice finally changed. Not yet eleven, Emil knew he had a while to wait which
frustrated him. It was hard to act tough when you sounded like a girl.

Heinz stood stiff, hands behind his
back, studying each of his students until they were all white in the face with
fear. He whispered, “Who is to blame?”

Friedrich slowly raised his long,
skinny arm. Though the same age as the rest of the boys, he was much taller,
with long, thin legs. He reminded Emil of an ostrich.

“The Jews,” Friedrich answered.

Heinz’s head bobbed in affirmation.
“Correct. The Jews. And how do we know this?”

Friedrich continued, “They hurt the
war effort by stirring up bad feelings against the government. We lost the
Great War because people lost heart when they heard these lies.”

“Jews and Communists,” Heinz said.
“They are the real enemies of Germany.”

Emil tried to remember what his father
had told him. Germany had lost the Great War because they thought they could
win it quickly. They had underestimated their enemies. In the end, they hadn’t
enough soldiers left to finish the job.

But according to Heinz, his father was
wrong. Germany’s defeat was actually due to these other people, though, he
still didn’t fully understand what they did to cause their fall.

“We
were
a great nation,” Heinz
continued. “We
are
a great nation. And one day we
will be
an even
greater nation.”

Emil felt like a strong wind was
pressing him against the wall.

After a long meaningful pause, Heinz
said. “Give me examples of our superiority.”

Emil’s hand shot up, and then
realizing he wasn’t sure what answer Heinz wanted, quickly brought it down
again. Heinz called on his own younger brother, Rolf.

“We are white, Aryan, and not Jewish.”

Rolf said this like he was better than
the rest of them, Emil thought, just because he was Heinz’s brother.

Heinz nodded in agreement. “Others?”

Friedrich thrust his arm up again. “We
are athletic and fit.”

Moritz shifted uneasily in his chair;
Emil knew his hefty friend wasn’t exactly the most coordinated person. This
time Emil raised his hand and left it up.

“Emil?”

“We are intelligent.” All eyes were on
him. Heinz waited. Why? Should he present an example? A model glider hung above
the table prompting him. “We built the
Luftwaffe
.”

“Indeed,” said Heinz. “The mightiest
air force in the world!”

“One day I will be a pilot in the
Luftwaffe
!”
Emil boasted. The continued attention caused crimson flares to rush up his
neck.

“A noble goal, Emil,” Heinz said. Emil
sat up even taller if that were possible.

Heinz then nodded to Johann who picked
up his guitar and led the boys in a boisterous rendition of Deutschland,
Deutschland, uber alles: Germany, Germany over all.

“Time’s up,” Heinz said after checking
his watch. “But next meeting we have a surprise. There will be a test of
courage. Bring swim wear.”

Buy
on Amazon.