Chapter 6 -“Theft”

“What we hold tightest is the most difficult to let go.” - Scribonius Largus

Albion. One year later.

The force of Caradoc’s blow sent Alexenah smashing through the door of the roundhouse. The thick wooden door shattered. Broke off of its hinges. Splinters showered into the room. She landed hard on the swept dirt floor.
      In the back of the room, two newborn babies cried.
      Alexenah moaned, rolled over and coughed. She grabbed her side and forced herself to her knees. Then, half crawling, half pulling, she moved to the straw cot where her children lay.
     “You are God’s kind promise to me,” she said to the babes. “I will die first before he takes you.”
     The large center hearth-fire crackled, flamed, and sent sinister shadows writhing across the dark mud and straw walls. Smoke rose past rafters and through the peak of the thatched roof. Terrified, she glanced behind her to the doorway. Her husband was somewhere outside. She heard cursing followed by quick heavy breathing. What was he waiting for?
     She pushed herself to a kneeling position, and then pulled her torn light-blue peplos up over her shoulder. The dress covered the lengthy bearclaw-like cuts that transversed her back, from her shoulder, to just under her left ribs. Blood flowed, pooled and stained at the small of her back where the dress was belted. Her nose bled and her upper lip throbbed with pain as it swelled.
     Alexenah embraced her two boys and enclosed them in her shaking arms. She softly prayed to her God. “All-seeing One, protect my sons. I have placed them into your hands. Keep them, oh Lord, from the plans of the wicked; preserve them from violence. Don’t let him have them.” She grasped her two sons tighter to her breast.
     She placed her cheek on one of the boy’s little heads. One of the babes rooted to find suckle on her breast. She stroked his hair. “So pure,” she said, “So pure.”
     At that moment, a hulking figure raged through the open doorway and kicked the broken door aside. Caradoc cursed, and then yelled as he staggered across the room to where Alexenah knelt,
      “Rome will not have my whelps!” Her husband reached down, grabbed her by her hair, and wrenched her head back and to the side. Holding her locks tight, Caradoc bent low and whispered in her ear, “and, neither will you.”
     She felt her heart pound. Her chest heaved with each intake of air. She held it until it burned for release, and then let it out, screaming to the rafters, “You are my God. Hear the voice of my prayer!”      “Your god can’t hear you,” Caradoc rasped.
     She clamped her eyes tight, arms shielding her children, and she steeled herself for another blow.      “You’re just a slave-wife,” he said letting her go, “These don’t belong to you. Not sure they belong to me, either.” He struck her with the back of his hand. Then reaching down, he snatched a blanket from where the boys had been sleeping. One at a time, he grabbed for them.
     She turned away from his reach and tried to fight him off. “No!”
     He raised his hand to strike her again. Then he ripped them from her breast. Caradoc quickly wrapped the babes together in the coverlet and walked over to a table. He slammed the babies upon it. He lifted a wine jar and took a long draught of the thick red liquid. Then, laughing, he poured some of the drink down each bawling child’s throat. Putting the jar down, he bound the two together tightly in the blanket and shoved them both under his arm like a sack of potatoes. He strode over to where Alexenah lay crumpled on the floor.
     Alexenah pleaded, “No!” She grabbed his leg with one hand, and frantically reached toward her children with the other.
     He stared at her.
    “Don’t take them,” she said more softly. Then, letting go, she placed her hands in her lap and bowed her head, “Please, please don’t take them.” Then to God she cried, “Great Jehovah, protect my sons from this man!”
     Her husband turned, lifted his leg, put his boot on her chest, and shoved her hard onto the floor. Walking back to the table, he took another drink. He then banged the jar on the table. It broke.
     Caradoc adjusted his bundle and stormed into the night. “C’mon boys, your mother is sick.”

Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Slavery

“We are enslaved by that which consumes us. That which owns us. Whether physical or not, it does not matter.”
--Scribonius Largus

“He’s gone,” Alexenah whispered. She repeated the phrase over and over in her head. “They took him from me. They took me away from him.”
Alexenah slowed her breathing. Took in a long draw of air and let it out slowly. Her heart raced. She placed her hand to her mouth to veil the quiver of her lower lip. All day it was like this. Whenever her mind was free, her thoughts immediately went back to what happened in the prison cell. The guards had wrapped her in the blanket and tossed her into the covered oxcart. It was more like a cage meant for an animal. She was certain she was to be taken to the slave gallery. Isn’t that what her father told her would happen?
Alexenah relaxed her hand and unwrapped the leather cord of the treasure pouch she still held. She placed the leather straps around her neck and tied it securely, letting it hang hidden under her clothing.
She looked through a small opening in the covering. As a tear clouded her vision, she wiped it away. From the sound of the wheels on old cobblestones she knew where she was and what route they traveled. She had been down these roads many times. Although no carts were allowed on the roads until the tenth hour, they took her from the Basilica Julia, right down the oldest street in Rome; the Via Sacra. They turned to the right after they passed the Vicus Tuscus Road. She could smell the spice shops. The cart was headed for the Forum Boaricum and beyond that the Saeptia Julia and the slave market.
They turned down the Saeptia Road and she immediately was overwhelmed by the smell of freshly baked bread. Next door to the bakery was her father’s linen shop where the wealthy would gather to buy expensive clothing. Another wave of grief overwhelmed her.
The cart stopped.
The guards argued with someone.
She peeked through the cover again and saw men and women on platforms. She heard salesmen barking the wonderful attributes of their wares. She shrank back when she saw the women stripped of their clothes. The men on the revolving stage were naked, to the waist. One foot whitened with chalk. Hung from their necks were placards that read “venalis”—for sale. She then realized the wares being sold were people. They had already travelled behind the Saeptia Julia and were now at the Graecostadium where they sold slaves. She had never been here before.
They took Alexenah from her cage and moved her inside a building. There was what she perceived were prostitutes standing against stone pillars positioned around the front of the entrance.
“No, God, no,” she said as they took her through a dark doorway into a small room of this building. She noticed a strong aroma of chamomile and lavender. This was one of the public bathhouses.
Two women took her from the guards. Alexenah went without struggle.
Removing her clothes, the attendants covered her with oil. It smelled of citrus and frankincense. They then scraped the oil and dirt from her body with small curved knives. Once cleaned, they led her to the edge of a perfumed pool and dunked her in the cold water —the frigidarium.
While the women dried her, Alexenah could not help but see the attendants’ gentle care for the other women in the bath. Young and old, they were all being prepared, but for what? She looked down at the leather pouch that hung on her breast. She was surprised they had not bothered to take it from her. She was dressed in a simple white peplos dress. It fastened at the shoulders and hung loosely down to her knees. She cried when they braided her long black hair.
“Come with us,” one of the woman said in Latin. It was the first time they had spoken to her. Alexenah followed the attendant down a long hallway, up a flight of stairs and out to a large room full of people. There was music and laughter. They marched the girls in a line behind a dais. It was a platform similar to the stage that the naked slaves in the forum stood upon.
Alexenah now stood with the other girls in the Forum Banquet hall, clean, clothed and placed on show like a prized lamb at the stockyard. She counted nine girls that stood with her. She was the last in the line. Offerings. Waiting for the butcher.
She looked at the food on the tables scattered around the vast hall. She licked her lips and swallowed. When was the last time she had eaten?
Horns sounded. Alexenah covered her ears at the noise.
Regulus, dressed in all his finery approached the girls. She knew it was him by his deep voice and the unmistakable smell of urine. He had painted his face like a prostitute--white face, red cheeks and lips. Was that blue on his eyelids? He wore a curly wig of gold. Pressing forward, he called out to the girls.
“Venite, servae!” Regulus commanded. He waved for the first two slave girls to come forward and ascend the steps of the dais.
Alexenah’s grief welled up in her for some reason and she started to cry.
“You must not cry,” a warm voice said behind her in Aramaic. Her language. The language of her father! “It will be well with you, my child. You are in God’s hands.”
Alexenah wiped her eyes, and turned. Behind her was the man who spoke to her in kindness. He was dressed in robes in the style of the east. The outer robe was of good cloth. It was the make of material she used to spin at the wheel in her fathers’ shop. He wore a large blue belt girdled about his round belly. By this she knew he was a merchant.
Alexenah looked into his bright eyes and at his soft smile. His teeth were white. He stood beside a large wooden box and carried a bag over his shoulder. It looked heavy—heavy enough to make him lean slightly to one side. She wondered what it could contain.
“Step forward, my child. It will be alright,” he said.
She stepped forward in line with the other girls. The room was filled with conversation and laughter. Music burst forth as a band of rough looking men came to inspect the girls.
“Who are you?” she asked the merchant.
“My name is Joseph. They call me ‘Tin-man’,” he told her.
“Tin-man?”
“I trade in metals,” he said and pointed to the box before him. “A gift for the High King.”
“But you are Jewish, like me.” Alexenah whispered.
“I come from Arimathia. But travel a lot.”
“Do you seek the Messiah as my father did?”
“Yes, I believe the Deliverer will come soon.”
“Me too.” She said. It encouraged her to know that.
“The sooner, the better. For us all,” He said.
As they talked, the men examined each girl. She saw them clamoring around the dais. The men shouted loud words she could not understand.
“That one there, with the cup in his hand is Caradoc. He is the youngest. The next in line is his brother Togodumnus. Married. Has several children already. And the third prince is Adminius. The eldest. Lost his wife and first child in birthing. They are from an island to the north of Gaul. To them it is Albion. To Rome it is called Britannia.”
He talked to her like a teacher; stringing pearls of information onto the line of knowledge.
“Why do they come so far south?” she whispered.
“They pay tribute monies and secure protection, trade, and peace with Rome. In return, they are given gifts. Such as you.”
She felt a sharp pain in her chest. “Me?”
“Yes, perhaps. They will choose one of your group to be concubina to seal the bargain and to raise sons for Rome.”
“Concubina? You mean like our father Abrahams’ wife Hagar?”
“Yes, Slave-wife.”
“Venite! Forward!” Regulus commanded. He motioned two more girls to climb the steps of the dais.
Alexenah crossed her arms and shivered. Everything has changed so quickly, she thought. Was it just this morning that father had died? Her lip quivered again. She watched the men, afraid which one would choose her, or if they would choose her at all. She felt caught up in a whirlwind where every choice was made for her.
Regulus commanded the girls on the dais to show their teeth. A girl cried out when one of the men pinched her. The other one squirmed when they lifted her skirt.
“Be calm. Stay strong.” Joseph whispered. “Your time will be soon and then it will be over.”
“Veneite.”
Alexenah and another girl climbed to the top. They were the last. Alexenah tried to calm herself. The men were rough and barbaric. Without manners. One put his stubby finger in her mouth and she tasted ash and grease. Another grabbed and sniffed her hair.
“You will, of course, notice the rich dark color of her eyes,” Regulus said.
All the men, except one, were cruel to the two girls. She focused her attention on the oldest son. He kept to himself.
“Kindness,” Alexenah said out loud.
The girl next to Alexenah turned, stared at her and said, “You look for good in this? Ha! They are nothing more than tears on your cheeks.”
Alexenah felt her face warm with embarrassment. She suddenly felt the urge to run away and go to her father. She teared up again.
“Ah, our Tin-man from Arimathea!” Tasciovaunus yelled as if seeing an old friend. “What have you brought me today?”
“Exactly what you ordered, Great King,” Joseph said. He motioned to the box before him.
Alexenah watched as Joseph offered his box and then removed the heavy bag from around his neck and shoulders and gave it to the King. They patted each other on the shoulders and laughed. She could tell they had been long friends. As they talked, she reached to her own neck to find the small treasure bag of her father still there. His ‘bundle of life’. She cradled the treasure and prayed. “My God, don’t let them choose me. However, if it be Your will, I ask that You do the choosing.”
At that moment, Tasciovaunus strode up to Regulus and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“I have made my choice.”

Chapter 4

Chapter 4. Wisdom

“Age and knowledge does not produce wisdom. The heart must grow as well.”
--Scribonius Largus

“Yes, we both see it.” Caradoc said in a strained quiet tone. He let loose of the hilt of his sword and laughed. He turned and noticed Togodumnus’ return, laughed again and slapped his brother hard on the back. He raised his cup and nodded to Adminius and without further comment; he threw his leg over the chair and sat down in a slump.
Adminius wondered if the crisis was diverted. He perused the crowd. Had no one cared that the princes argued?
“Barbaricae,” someone said.
“Babblers.” Came a reply. Another group laughed and pointed. The Romans were intent on their celebration, of what, Adminius was sure, they were not even aware of. In the distance, amongst the din of the festivities, he heard someone crying. It sounded out of place. Adminius with shoulders still tense, sat down.
Togodumnus was at the Kings table. They had returned. King Tasciovaunus looked at him and then at Togodumnus. Togodumnus bowed and then returned to sit with his brothers.
They ate in quietness. Only their slow heavy breathing could be heard amidst the background noise of the room. Eventually, Caradoc spoke again. His voice was distant as though he was remembering wonderful things. “Large meeting halls carved out of stone. Great water roadways that run for many leagues seated high above the ground on arched pillars,” and suddenly in a tone of mock admiration, “the strict discipline of their blasted armies.” Then as if to Togodumnus, whose seat was empty, with his back to Adminius, he said, “And you want them here? Vast buildings to block our peaceful countryside views? The cities, the filth of their sewers? The change to our ways of peace?”
Adminius caught a sudden unexpected great sadness in his brother’s voice.
At that point, Togodumnus put his arm around his brother. “Did you miss me?” he said and patted Caradoc on the shoulder. Togodumnus addressed the men around him with good humor and energy. “You won’t believe what I just saw! The Roman Bath-house… did you see the baths? They have elaborately built houses made for the sole purpose of relieving themselves. Not only that but they told me that they bathe together.”
They all laughed. Caradoc laughed.
Adminius’ shoulders released the cool readiness that was there and he, too laughed. “Yes, my brother, they do.”
Togodumnus elaborated. “As this is my first time in Rome, no one told me that there are rooms like this! There are as many as a dozen holes in a stone bench where men sit, side by side mind you. They talked of the business of politics while doing their daily natural business. I get the impression that they sit there all day and gossip like a bunch of old women about their leaders and what the people in the community are doing. I felt like I was in a public tribal council."
"It is disgusting. To them it is an acceptable, social thing to do.” Caradoc waved his hand and leaned into Togodumnus, “and some want to bring that to Albion.” He pointed his thumb to the table of Kings.
“No one in Rome thinks it unclean or uncivil," Adminius said. “We don’t live in Rome.”
"Why don’t they go in the woods like everyone else?” Caradoc spewed.
Then he grabbed his head. “My head is spinning.”
He started to swoon. A slave came over with a vomit bowl.
At this point, their uncle, Epaticus came over from the King’s table. He was accompanied by Tasciovaunus. Epaticus bent low to Caradoc’s ear and said things Adminius could not hear. Caradoc looked at him and smiled. He gave his uncle a double pat on the shoulder and tried to stand. Epaticus grabbed him under his arms and helped Caradoc to stand. Holding his nephew, he removed him from the table.
Caradoc's slurred voice trailed as he was taken away. Epaticus took him to the wall and leaned him there. Adminius heard Epaticus whisper to Caradoc about the vices of their enemy.
“We have all seen this many times.” Adminius said. “Epaticus and Caradoc.”
Then an unexpected comment from his Grandfather Tasciovaunus as the High King sat in Caradoc’s evacuated place at the table, “Even in his cups his oration can move people.”
Togodumnus scooted to give his grandfather room.
Adminius nodded. "Yes, Epaticus is quite the motivator."
Tasciovaunus continued, “Not my son, Epaticus. I meant Caradoc. Caradoc speaks often about the disgraceful acts of the great civitas of Rome. He uses words that the Romans call us, he goes around telling everyone he can about, in his estimation, the ‘barbaric’ and ‘savage’ ways of the Roman people. It has been like this for years. I do not know why he hates them so. One day he will do more than talk. He can’t win this fight. Not this way. Not tonight. He will not win by lofty speeches. One day he will get the tribes together. Mark my words... and I am afraid of the outcome.”
"The Romans do not help his demeanor," Adminius added. "The people here call him ‘Caracticus’.”
“Latinizing our names is just another way of controlling others in Caradoc’s way of thinking.” Tasciovaunus explained.
His Grandfather was wise. Adminius recalled that he was descended from the great Velaunii tribe. Tasciovaunus was not only his grandfather, but was their High King by birth and by honor earned. The people respected him. They followed him. Adminius listened and tried to learn from his words and apparent prescience. He definitely had a grasp of Caradoc's plight. They had discussed this before.
“I see it as the struggle that all those in Albion feel. Even you Adminius.” Tasciovaunus said.
“Grandson?”
“Yes, Grandfather?”
“You know his name – Caradoc—means ‘love’ in our tongue? He feels it is fitting. Caradoc loves this land of ours, even when others are not loyal.”
“Yes, he acts as if he is the protector of the land. He takes that role very personally and seriously. It is in his deepest being. Perhaps that is why he is so opposed to what we are doing here.”
“In that he loves our land, I can relate to him, Adminius, but… his name’s definition has no meaning in relationships. He avoids me and your father for some reason. It is as though I too am his enemy. Even when I give him a great gift, as I do this day.” At that he stood and motioned to a golden haired man in a white tunic with a broad purple border.
The man stood on a dais and quieted the crowded room.
"Now is the time for giving of gifts!" He said in Latin.
As the Princes of Albion rose, horns sounded once more.

chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Honor

“A man is known by what others see, not by what he says.”
--Scribonius Largus


A man in royal toga with a purple border stepped forward. He loudly announced to the crowd in the great Roman Forum's Feast Hall, "Welcome, Great King Tasciovaunus, Grand Epaticus and the Austere Cunebelinos," he bowed. "And Cunebelinos' splendid sons: Adminius," another bow and gestures, "Togodumnus," a nod of the head, "and Caracticus." He declared, again with a bow and an extravagant hand flourish. He pronounced each name in the grand roman fashion; in a high resounding tone, and not in the Celtic pronunciations. "Most worthy kings and princes of Albion! All praise to your greatness. To your prominence. To your immensity! May all blessing of the gods be bestowed upon you!"
The patrons hardly noticed the pronouncement as they clamored for tables and banquet couches.
The crier bowed low with another great flourish of hands waving them above his head and around in circuitous fashion. He then stood straight and nodded in the direction of the musicians. They obviously did not see the head nod as he did it again, this time with more flourish.
A fanfare of Cornu horns echoed throughout the vast room. Young girls in whisper-thin dresses and flowers braided in their hair danced before the princes. They tossed rose petals into the air that settled around Adminius and his brothers. The people, excited by the sudden celebration of horns, broke out in calls of acclaim and applause.
“This room is immense. It would swallow ten of our roundhouse halls from back home in Albion.” Togodumnus said.
Adminius marveled as well. He wondered at the great mahogany marbled arches that rose to the open air ceiling above. When he saw the elaborate carvings at the capitols he said, “It is as a great forest is encased in glistening stone.” Stars shown in the clear sky above. “It grows close to the ninth hour.” He said.
“Kind of late for a meal,” Caradoc joined in as they ascended the steps.
There was a vast amount of guests already in attendance. People of various lands were dressed in silks and bleached-white linen. They filled the spaces between the columns and sat or lay on divans at lavish tables arranged around the room.
Adminius compared the styles. Everyone was in roman fashion, no matter their nationality. He and his brothers were dressed quite differently. Plain tunics, woolen cloaks, long swords at their sides and rough sandals on their feet. Adminius touched his sword, pushed it back under his cloak. He pulled down on his tunic where it wrinkled under his baldric and made sure the broach was straight where it fastened his cloak to his shoulder.
They walked together in a group. His Grandfather leading, his Uncle Epaticus and his father Cunebelinos on either side guarding the High King. He and his brothers bunched behind as they were directed to a place in the hall reserved for them.
The tables were stacked to overflowing with silver bowls, small statues of deities, and fruit and fauna. In the back, and to the left, he couldn’t help noticing a line of beautiful young women.
“Prostitutes!” Togodumnus said.
“Slaves,” Adminius replied. “Besides, brother, you are married.”
“Married, yes. Blind? No.” Togodumnus laughed.
Epaticus stated over his shoulder, “You can peruse the wares more carefully—after the meal.”
“The Roman's display their wealth to demean their foreign guests,” Caradoc said. “I have seen this before.”
“What a great day this has been!” Togodumnus said. “We brought tax money all the way from our island in the north. We gave sacrifice at the Great Palace. Then the Romans escort us to this place for a feast in the name of the Great Emperor Tiberius to celebrate loyalties,”
"He will not be in attendance,” Epaticus said as they walked to the row of tables reserved for them.
"Who holds a feast and doesn't show up?" Caradoc mumbled. "An insult. An affront it is."
"We are being honored. What does it matter? There's food, and I'm hungry!" Togodumnus exclaimed.
“The seating place of the esteemed,” Caradoc said as they reached the long tables.
Together, with his two brothers, Adminius sat down at the large marble table prepared for their pleasure. Tasciovaunus, Epaticus, and Cunebelinos were led to a low table surrounded by plush divans. Around the table were several men. Senators perhaps?
The kings lay on the divans in the style of the Romans.
On the table before Adminius was draped an enormous linen cloth. And before they could scoot up to the finery, an enormous sizzling pig carried by four slaves, was laid before them.
“It’s not the broad-shouldered boar we are used to, but a fat, meaty animal.” Togodumnus said eyes wide and mouth open.
The boar was stuffed with apple, pear, and raisins that poured out from its split side. A cacophony of spices entertained the senses. The pungent sweet spice smell was not what Adminius was accustomed to. “I prefer the aroma of the sweet fruit wood smoked boar.”
“Like your wife used to make,” Togodumnus said.
The statement startled Adminius and he looked at his brother. “The memory is pleasant, but. . . it still wells up in me as tightness in the chest.”
“Sorry, brother,” Togodumnus said putting his hand on his brothers shoulder. “It has only been two months since her passing. I understand.”
The men sat down. Caradoc was already partaking of the meat, bowls of fruit, cheeses, and hot breads twisted into shapes of birds.
"Look, there is dove-flesh imbedded in the bread," Togodumnus enlightened the group.
“And is this hare?” Adminius asked.
“I believe so. They say it is . . .” Togidumnus began.
“The Spanish variety!” Adminius and Togidumnus said together.
They both laughed.
Adminius welcomed the hare. They had shared the succulent meat before.
“And there is wine. Lots of Roman wine.” Caradoc laughed. It flowed from fountains in the middle of the table and filled their cups and bowls.
Servants stood waiting at each table. They moved in and out in quiet machinations.
“There were as many slaves, or more, as there are patrons,” Togodumnus pointed out.
Adminius ate slowly, watching in interest as the Roman's abandoned all decorum. Some ate, hardly taking time to chew, until they were gorged. A porcine man filled his mouth with both hands until servants brought him a silver bowl. The man violently stuck his fingers down his throat and vomited into the proffered container. He then went right back to eating again obviously enjoying more of the succulent fare.
He listened to the men at his father’s table as they talked of politics, while his brothers at his table made jokes about the way others looked, and discussed things of pleasure. Adminius half-listened, but he found it difficult to appear jubilant.
During the feast, as time wore on, women came forward and recited poetry. Then, musicians and dancers performed for the men's delight. When the dances grew suggestive and lewd, he looked down to his meal.
“What wrong brother?” Togodumnus asked him.
“Just memory,” Adminius said with pain in his voice.
“I’m here to have fun,” Caradoc said as he wiped dripping wine from his prominent cheekbones, bent nose, and long braided mustache. “Drink up brother!” He shoved a tankard Adminius’ way.
At the end of the dance number, Adminius' youngest brother stood to his feet. Caradoc knocked over his chair as he rose.
“Sit down brother,” Adminius said.
“No, let him speak, he is enjoying this!” Togodumnus said.
Laughing and lauding the dance with his sloshing cup, Caradoc stepped back a few steps. “My name is Caradoc. Caradoc. I declare. I…declare. I declare, to you all,” he said proudly.
Togodumnus, seated between Adminius and Caradoc, caught his brother's arm before he sloshed his wine over the table. Adminius reached around and rescued the chair and returned it to the table. They both helped their younger brother to his seat.
Another dance began.
Caradoc, now seated, leaned forward. His mood appeared suddenly somber as he spoke to anyone who would listen. His voice grew louder as he spoke.
“It will not be long until the Roman legions invade and the red-crested soldiers will kill, or worse," he paused and looked at the Kings at the other table. The dancing girl was giving them flowers. The kings laughed as they accepted the bouquet. Caradoc continued, “They will enslave our whole island for their evil purposes."
"Silence, brother," Adminius warned between his teeth, "this is not the time. We are guests, at their expense, mind you. They seek our trade. They need us and you know it."
"Their commerce is only bait. A front. A ploy. A trick. Blast it.... a prostitute’s ploy." Caradoc fumed, “A way to sneak in unawares and take what they want.”
A man moved over, away from the prince’s table. Another gathered up fruit in his tunic and with a dancing girl on his arm walked away looking back at Caradoc in disgust.
Caradoc gestured to the women lined up against the back wall. “They stand there as if waiting for something.” He then grabbed Togodumnus' tunic.
Togodumnus looked wide-eyed to his brother. His arms outstretched and palms turned up asking for help.
"Perhaps the noise will cover his indiscretion," Adminius told Togodumnus.
Adminius looked to the kings table and to his father. He was busy talking to one of the men in white togas.
“They will not be of help, as usual,” he said to himself.
Letting go, Caradoc took another drink and rambled loudly on. “There are some in Britain who embrace the empire and what Rome could bring,” he said, pointing to the High King. Togodumnus grabbed his arm and quickly brought it down.
“Brother," Adminius intervened, "can’t you see what is before your eyes?" Caradoc looked around the room and back to Adminius.
"Caradoc, the trade has been good in the south and many are becoming wealthy because of it," Adminius explained. "This flourishing continent across the water is not as far away from our homeland as some would think, my brother. What a great opportunity for us to prosper. This compromise we attempt is not without precedent. They have been trading for tin with us for years.”
Caradoc looked at the cup in his hand and dropped it to the table with a clang, then brushed Togodumnus away. He leaned closer to Adminius. His tone was hushed and guarded as if telling a secret. “Adminius, don’t you see what they are doing? When our brothers—traders of tin, copper, and even our precious wheat—come home from their travels—do they not tell wonderful stories of beauty and grandeur?” He turned his face away from the hall full of patrons.
“This is true,” Adminius agreed.
“Ahh, that it is!” Caradoc said. He then turned and opened his arms wide and bowed his head in mock reverence to Rome. “The men in the south of our Island and their oh-so-beautiful wives, seeing how others might profit, have a way of saying, ‘Should our neighbor’s wife have things I don’t have?"
Adminius looked around for a way to quiet his brother. Several more people were beginning to notice his loud tirade and antics.
Caradoc swung around in his chair with a flourish, “Because of their wive’s endless envious moaning, their weak husbands," he bellowed and pointed to each Celtic man in their retinue one at a time, "they, they....were not willing that they should be without any new trinket or the latest Roman . . .” He then grabbed a towel from the hands of a servant, draped it around his neck and said in his girlish voice. “Aren’t I be-you-ti-ful?” “Aaagh!” he said, and threw the towel back to the confused slave. "Then. Then. THEN! THEY TAKE OUR SONS TO EDUCATE IN THEIR EVIL WAYS!" He reached over to the roast pig and tore off a handful of meat. He then slumped down into his chair and gnawed on the juicy flesh.
The last thought seemed to overwhelm him. Adminius saw the disgust in every muscle of Caradoc’s face when he said the word ‘educate’.
“I need to empty some wine,” Togodumnus suddenly said and quickly excused himself from the table.
Dismissing his brother with flair of his wrist, Caradoc continued. “The southern merchants sought more substance only to get more status, and thus ultimately gain peace with their woman folk.” Caradoc’s mouth full, juice ran down his chin as he pointed to Adminius, "Their women folk, mind you."
Adminius winced. This sarcasm stabbed at recent injury. Adminius’ had a sudden flashback to the night he lost his wife and child. He vividly saw her face. Eyes open as she died giving birth. The child was stillborn. Adminius grabbed his chest where a necklace hung, and gathered resolve. He determined that he would not let Caradoc use this wound every time they disagreed.
However, before Adminius could respond, Caradoc pushed Togodumnus' empty chair back out from between himself and Adminius and scooted forward in his chair. He put his foot up on Adminius’ divan. Caradoc boldly proclaimed, "To appease their own whores. That is our lands only purpose in sucking at Rome’s breast.”
Then, as if a demon entered him, Caradoc's eyes went wide. He untied his hair cord, brushed back his hair, and then wildly shook it until it fell across his face and shoulders. He grunted. Caradoc rose quickly and grabbed Adminius by the side of his head with both hands.
Adminius did not expect the quick movement.
Caradoc leaned into Adminius' face and looked him straight in the eye. “They wish to be …..” he wrinkled his nose and wagged his head back and forth with each syllable, “ROMA POPULARI.”
Adminius spoke under his breath, “The lands, roadways, great buildings, and great riches are all immense in Rome. I know. I see it too.” Brushing Caradoc’s arm aside, he stood and faced him. “We both have walked the streets of Rome. And,” He said, “I will bring only memories back with me. What will you bring back home?”
The air in the room seemed to thicken when Caradoc rose to his feet. Adminius quickly glanced to the king’s table. They too had left somewhere. Adminius was alone to deal with this. The suspension of time felt to Adminius just how it must feel to put your hand into an adder's den. He looked at Caradoc, uncertain of what he would do in front of these foreigners. This snake would either strike or slither back into its hole. Adminius gradually squared his shoulders.
With narrowed eyes, Caradoc placed his hand to his long sword.

chapter 2

Chapter 2 – “Taken”

“The important question is not ‘What will others take from you?’ but ‘What will you give to them?’”
--Scribonius Largus

Light flooded the room with sudden otherworldly luminescence. It was as though Heaven’s gate opened to receive Alexenah’s father into Abraham’s Bosom.
A wooden bucket kept by the door slammed against the wall in a loud shattering crash.
Alexenah screamed.
The foul contents of the pail splattered over where her father lay. The pungent excrement splashed on her as well. It left a dark stain on her dress and the wall behind. She tasted the filth. She sputtered. Wiped her eyes and mouth. Her lungs burned with every sobbing gulped bit of air she drew. She wailed and sobbed loud, convulsive gasps until she gagged
Another loud crash as the door swung around and banged the wall. The Roman guards rushed into the prison chamber. The first man went directly to her father’s body on the floor. He recklessly kicked the lifeless form out of the way.
“No!” She cried out.
The second man entered carrying what appeared to be a bed’s mattress. He advanced quickly toward her and bashed into her. It was not bedding. As he pushed against her, she felt the solidity and strength of the long hard shield—a scutum—wrapped in many cloths. She tried to escape around the shield, but the soldier blocked her every attempt. He positioned the scutum in every path of escape. Using the padded shield, he roughly shoved Alexenah away from her father’s body and back to the dark corner of the cell. He pinned her there against the cold stone wall.
She struck out.
He pressed harder.
She struggled. Kicked.
He thrust the shield forward, firmly fixing her against the stone.
Try as she might, Alexenah could not move. She smelled the foul odor of his sweat mingled with the leather of his baldric.
Again, she cried out—this time in a mournful cry to her God.
Another quick shove by the guard and the breath went out of her.
Fighting for air, she saw a third man enter the room. She watched wide-eyed as he spread a large thick wool blanket on the floor. Taking a different wool covering, this man approached calmly and draped it about Alexenah’s shoulders and arms. Together with the first guard, the shield-man remaining firm, they bound the cloth tightly so that she couldn’t move her arms where they to relax the hold against the wall.
They tossed the shield aside. Then deftly wrapping their large arms around her, the men lowered Alexenah to the blanket that lay already on the floor. Once down, they rolled her in the thick wool like a fish at the market.
Alexenah kicked, squirmed, and twisted to find release only to find the shielded guard place his knee on her lower back to contain her bucking. Another stationed himself at her head. The last guard grabbed an ankle in each hand. He pressed her feet to the floor. He laughed, and then growled a low evil sound. He slowly spread her legs.
She braced for the worse.
“Servius! What’re you doin?” the man at her head bellowed.
“Just checking her virtue, Marcus.” Servius replied. He pulled her skirt up past her thighs.
“Leave it be. She’s chaste! Was checked when she was admitted, she was”
“By who?” Servius grunted.
“By me. Now let’r be.” He tossed a leather strap to the man.
Grumbling, Servius shoved Alexenah’s ankles back together and secured them with the strap.
“Secured,” he said.
Thus incapacitated, Alexenah’s panic then turned to anger. She raised her head, turned it best she could, and spit at the man before her. Then she tried to dash her head against the floor. The guard quickly put his strong rough hands under her head and cradled it.
She bashed his knuckles to the ground.
Marcus winced, but held on with a firm grip.
Straining, she swiftly tucked her chin and sunk her teeth into the man’s thumb flesh.
Marcus cursed and ripped his hand away. He sucked on the wound as if removing poison from an asp’s bite.
Servius laughed. “What about her teeth? Did you check those for virtue as well?”
Marcus reared his hand back to slap Alexenah.
"Hold!" A deep voice thundered from the doorway, "Don't damage the goods Marcus!” then in a low determined tone, “This one is to remain pure."
“Regulus!” Marcus swallowed as he stayed the blow.
Into the room came a large round man dressed in a pristine white Roman toga. It had been recently bleached. Alexenah smelled the urine used to bleach the wool. He must have money.
He stood with his hands on hips looking over the scene. He smiled. Teeth bleached too. His round cheeks reddened.
"The sale has been made. Use your cloaks.”
The man whose knee bit hard into her back removed his red cloak. He rolled it into a ball and tossed it to Marcus, who quickly placed it under Alexenah’s head
“Will that suffice, Master Regulus?” Marcus asked, a hint of sarcasm and anger still in his voice.
“Yes. Yes.” Regulus looked at her and attempted his smile again. “Let her budge now.”
The men loosed their hold slightly, yet remained patient and still.
Alexenah struggled to no avail in her cocoon.
They allowed her only enough space to trash some.
She screamed into the cloak until her voice gave out. Finally exhausted, she slumped in resignation and held tightly to her father’s leather treasure pouch. . . his bundle of life. Sudden grief overwhelmed her in a flood of heaving sobs.
Regulus stepped further into the room. He leaned down to her ear and said in his deep resonate voice, “I am Regulus. Dominus Servus. The Emperor’s Slavemaster. And you?” he paused. “You are easily broken.” His breath stank of garlic and rotten meat.
Then to the men he exhorted, “Good job. Now, let’s travel.”
At his command the three men picked her up. Marcus grabbed the red cloak. Together, they wrapped their arms around her—one around her calves, the other two around her torso. When they got to the doorway they placed a loosely woven sack over her head. Once outside into the hall, Marcus and Servius lifted her onto the shoulder of another man who waited. Like a sack of grain, he carried her out of the prison.
The deep voiced man led them outside into the heat of the day.
As they quickly moved down the hallway, she clearly heard the man’s hob-nailed boots on the floor. Alexenah counted twenty three steps.

chapter one for beginners to the site, more to follow

Chapter 1 – Abba-Leh

“We begin much when we end much.”
--Scibonius Largus

Alexenah sat on the cold stone prison floor, her father's head in her lap. He lay motionless. His arms and legs were wrapped in bandages as though he was prepared for the grave. She cringed at the smell of pus and blood that seeped through the muslin cloth. His wrinkled gray tunic—threadbare and simple as the small room they were in—rose slightly with each labored breath.
On the other side of the locked door, she heard the clink-clank of hobnailed sandals as the Roman Guards paced back and forth.
“What will happen to me when you die, Abba?" she whispered, "Where will I go?"
She brushed back her long hair that had fallen across his face and noted that the color was the same as her father's—black as a raven. His eyes, were they open, were the same light brown. His lips were full, and curved up ever so slightly at the edges. She recalled how people would say to her, "You are definitely your father's child."
She took his hand gently and enfolded it with her own. His stiff and unbending fingers felt cold. She whispered his name, “Tobiah.”
She lightly stroked the thin dry flesh that was once supple and caring and talked to him. She didn’t even know if he could hear her.
“You are not even forty winters old, Abba. You are kind. Gentle. Loving. You raised me after mother died bringing me into the world. You are a clothier in Rome. Why, you have even sold linen to Emperor Tiberius himself.” She looked around the room. “How has it come to this? You have never harmed anyone or taken anything from any man! Quite the contrary, you are a giver—not a taker. Is it because we are Hebrew? How does that demand beatings and prison?” She paused, “It was only a cart accident.”
“Abba-Leh,” Tobiah said.
His sudden voice—a raspy, strained whisper—startled her.
“Abba-Leh," he repeated, "When you were very small, you called me ‘Abba-Leh’." He opened his eyes. "Am I no longer Papa? Am I now just Father?”
Then, slowly, with much effort, Tobiah slid his hand from hers and pulled out a small leather pouch from inside his tattered tunic. Pulling harder, he snapped the worn leather cord from around his neck. He grasped the pouch close to his chest and said, as if to himself, “My Bundle of Life.”
Alexenah’s curiosity grew when Tobiah undid the leather tie-strap with his quivering hands. She leaned closer to see.
With difficulty, he reached in the pouch and carefully took out a linen handkerchief, stained and soiled with age. It appeared to contain something inside its folds. He offered it to his young daughter.
Alexenah looked back to the cell door. Did they know he possessed this hidden treasure? She heard the guards arguing. Their attention remained elsewhere.
She took the small bundle from his shaking fingers. Delicately, she pulled back the layers of linen to reveal what was so precious to her father.
“It is but a rock, Abba. A pebble.”
“Do you not recognize it, my child?”
She turned it over in her hand, held it up between her finger and thumb trying to see it in the dim light.
“It looks like every other pebble you find along the road.”
“You were only a child when you brought it to me. Remember? You said, ‘Look, Abba-Leh, it's a jewel! You called me Abba-Leh. . .’”
“My pretty jewel!" Alexenah remembered. "But now, it is nothing more than a stone." She closed the linen over the stone and offered it back to him.
“Reminds me of you,” he said, gently covering her small hands with his. "It is truly a jewel." He closed her fingers over the parcel and pushed her hand back. “I want you to have it now.”
Alexenah paused, and then nodded. She carefully wrapped the stone again in the cloth and placed it back in the leather pouch. “As you have kept it in memento of me, I will keep it always to remind me of you, my father.” Then squeezing it tightly in her palm, she wrapped the broken leather neck-strap around her knuckles to bind it in her hand.
“I am of little importance, my child. Let it remind you of your heavenly Father.”
“My heavenly father?"
He paused between each few words now to catch his breath. “Yes, my dearest. Our Father in heaven placed you in His treasure pouch on the day you were born. You see, my child, you are most precious to Him. He keeps you close to His heart.”
She felt a knot in her throat. She drew her hand to her chest and felt her heartbeat against the stone. Tears welled up and overflowed as she lowered her head.
Tobiah tried to speak again. He cleared his throat weakly, "What is it you desire, my little one?"
"Desire?"
"In your life . . . what do you want more than anything?"
She thought a moment and to herself she said, "That you would not die," but out loud, she said something else, "I have always wanted to grow up and be like you."
"And have beautiful children?" His lips turned in a fragile smile.
He was correct, she thought. She was now of betrothing age and desired children in her deepest soul.
"Yes, Abba. I will have beautiful children."
"Children are a gift." He struggled to continue, he moved his mouth as if to find moisture, then coughed uncontrollably, holding his chest.
She looked for a jug, a cup for water. She thought to call out to the guards for refreshment, but, changed her mind. They would not give him anything. She... had nothing to give him. Her fist beat against her thigh.
"You can't leave me now. Not now. I want to give you a grandchild. You have to live to put the babe on your lap."
"A child?" He paused, then with emphasis, said, "Grandchildren. Yes, a double blessing." He chuckled. Coughed.
She placed her finger to his lips, “You shouldn’t talk any more, it only causes you pain.”
“There are things worse.”
“Worse than pain?”
“Not feeling pain,” Tobiah sighed, his voice growing even more weak and trembling. He looked up at her and smiled. “I wish not to escape this. I am dying. I believe more in redemption than I do in recovery. And release from heartache and pain is not always necessary to see God’s hand.”
Then quietness. A long silence interrupted only by the muffled conversation of the guards outside.
Finally, he spoke her name again. Alexenah lowered her ear to his lips.
“When I die they will take you. Sell you. Perhaps worse,” Tobiah whispered. She could barely hear his words. They were a warning.
“Should I fight them, Abba, or should I run? I will stand up to them. I am not afraid. I will resist them," then quieter, "I do not wish to be a slave.”
“Your wishes. . . will not matter. They are even now waiting outside the door . . . to take you.”
Alexenah glanced to the door. She wiped her cheeks. Bit her lip.
“There is someone greater,” he said, reaching for her face. Then, louder as he grabbed her arm, “Jehovah will redeem you. He will redeem us all.” Then he was caught up in another paroxysmal of coughing.
Alexenah wiped the blood and sputum from his chin with the hem of her dress.
“I know the promise of the coming Messiah,” she said.
He appeared to sleep. His breathing shallow, but slow and calm.
She counted the hob-nailed footsteps of the guards. The hallway was twenty-three steps long.
"Alexenah?"
She had just closed her eyes to rest when he woke and spoke to her again.
"Yes, Abba, I am here." She still held him in her lap.
" Remember Chesed, my dear Alexenah?” he whispered.
"God’s loving kindness?”
“Chesed is God’s sure love. God is good. He is kind. Do not forget this.”
"I will not forget Abba, Father. I will remember all you have taught me."
She wiped the cold sweat that covered his forehead, nodded and swallowed. She watched as he struggled for air. Each painful breath sounded like a child's rattle. It was everything she could do to not let the scream in her belly escape.
Tobiah rose up on one elbow and strained to sit up.
Alexenah held him so that he could gain breath.
Again, Tobiah took a shallow breath. He leaned his head to the side and spoke again. “Earlier you asked where you will go….Go with Him… in His loving kindness.”
She nodded.
“He will never leave you…. never let His people go ... from…his embrace.” He squeezed her hand. Slumped back down. Winced.
At that moment it seemed as if time halted. She held her breath.
He sank deeper into her embrace.
Then, his voice but a murmuring whisper, he said “When the best is torn from your life, He still holds you in the fold of His arms.” He stared up to her face. He sucked in another frail measure of air. "Oh, how I love you, my little jewel.”
She kissed his forehead, “I love you too." She paused, a tear trailed down her cheek. She ran her hand through his dark hair. "I love you too.... Abba-Leh.”
Silence filled the room. No sound came from the hall. She couldn't hear her own heart beating. His eyes opened. His pupils widened. His cheeks paled. He tensed. And slowly she felt his muscles relax.
Alexenah pulled him in and clutched him close. Putting her hand to cradle his cheek, she drew his face to hers and sobbed. "No. No. Come back to me, Abba-Leh! Abba-Leh! Come back. I will give you a grandchild. Grand children. Oh, they will make you happy."
Pain, grief and sudden despair enveloped Alexenah in their dark shroud. She rocked him back and forth as she wept until her heart could contain the weight no longer. A scream erupted from the depths of her soul as she wailed to the ceiling above.
The door opened.