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 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.

chapter 14 and comments

I (Jon) realized this week that there are many reasons I write. I express feelings that I have in a safe way, that is true. But, a greater motivator is to pull out the same feelings in the reader. If they cry, laugh, feel love, saddness, scared, or angry then it gives me some form of satisfaction. Not because I feel controling, but that it is exactly what I am trying to do. I want the reader to feel the same thing the character feels. To live in their skin if but for the moment. I think that if I can accomplish that in my writing, then I am passing something important to the reader. In my life, there have been times of great feeling. Great fear. Great joy. Great love. Great grief. I can bring those feelings back by a simple thought and relive them. Why should I keep those feelings to myself. So I share them.

There is a scene in what is now chapter 14 where Adminius stands looking at the possibility of continued danger to his people and ruminates on his past. He explores deep into his soul and questions if he is good enough to meet the challenges before him. A young man, who is just now venturing into who he is as a man, is doing a reading of the book for me. He told me that when he got to that scene that he stood there on that hill in the place of Adminius when he read it. Yes, he felt it. I will post the scene but I wonder, if you didnt have what leads up to the scene if you would come to the same place. WARNING: may be spoilers. Here it is in its entirety:


Chapter 14 – “Firefight”

“The smallest of things can bring great pains, or may be angels in disguise.”

--Sribonius Largus


Adminius’ driver pulled back on the reins and the wheels of his chariot sent dust into the night air. The chariots had sped quickly up the road, then across a field, and up to the crest of the hill. The warriors lined up on the edge between up and down, and waited for the people to arrive before heading into the valley and to the stream below.
Before them lay Kendall’s field. Above them, the full moon rose behind dense rolling clouds of black smoke. Eerie shadows moved across the harvested pasture.
“We will stop here, but briefly,” Adminius said.
The Charioteers, although eager, held their ground. The horses stamped impatiently for battle.
Adminius’ eyes narrowed, hunting the origin of the blaze that came from somewhere deep within the woods. The fire moved slow and had not yet crowned into the tree canopy of the ancient forest. The dark oak and hickory stood in contrast to the bright yellow glow of the growing threat to his homeland. At various intervals, red, orange, and white flashes silhouetted the massive limbs of the great trees beyond so that they appeared as men writhing in pain. Their cries came in the form of crackle, hiss, and pop of the fire as it fed on the underbrush and shinery of the forest. The air around him filled with a thick husky smell of smoke and ash. It assailed his senses. His throat closed up. He gagged. Coughed. Rubbed his eyes.
As he stood in the chariot beside Kendall, Adminius’ cloak fluttered in the wind. A large fibula in the figure of a prancing horse encircled in a ring of gold appeared to dance in alternating moonlight and shadow. He unfastened the broach from his cloak. He then pulled the material closer and clasped it again around his wide shoulders. Loose-fit trousers flapped against his calves in the brisk breeze.
He gripped the reins. His biceps strained. Shoulders tightened. Neck muscles tensed. A gust of hot wind blew his obsidian-colored hair backward, away from his face.
He reached up and tied his long dark locks tight to his neck with a leather thong, just as he would before a fight.
“The maelstrom is headed right toward us.” He said to Kendall.
“It won’t be long,” Kendall replied.
With fierce determination, Adminius stepped out of the double-ponied chariot and checked the wind again.
“The air is hot,” he said. “I can feel it on my cheeks. It is like I’m too close to the bread furnace.”
“Look how the blaze in the distance twists up to the heavens. The flames lick the top of the trees,” Kendall said.
“If the flames reach the canopy, they will jump from crown to crown and quickly become uncontrollable,” he turned to Kendall, “Once it breaches the dry grassland of the meadow valley, it will travel as fast as the wind.”
“That’s my field. All will be lost.” Kendal said sorrowfully.
Adminius feared that as well. Once in the fields, the fire would voraciously climb the hill to feed on the waiting stacks of grain and forage for more timber to devour. Then their homes.
“Merely round houses with thatched roofs!” He said, pointing toward their homes emphasizing the danger.
He looked down the road and the people on foot huffed and puffed their way up the hillside. Feeling the people were now close enough to follow, Adminius joined Kendall in the cart once more.
“To the water!” he commanded.
The chariots took off down the hill one at a time like a flock of kites diving for food into a vast lake of green.
The fire—as if it knew the battle had been joined against it—ate, leapt, roared, rippled, and then burst into crimson towers as it penetrated into the smaller pine and oak to the west.
When they reached the stream on the north side of the valley, twigs—falling fragments bearing live fire—showered around them.
Once stopped, Adminius jumped over the chariot rail and up to the bank. He quickly summed up the situation as he undid the fibula and removed his cloak. He folded it and laid it carefully into the chariot.
Adminius knew that the river would provide a barrier to the south, working as a natural fire break. He felt confident that his men knew what to do.
“May the gods be with you, Kendall. You know what to do!” Adminius cried as he slapped the rump of the horse. The chariot took off toward the small tree line downstream.
All around him, the chariots, oxen carts, and people of the Catuvellauni were eager to help and quickly went to task. Women and children brought out their buckets, skins, pots, and jars—anything that would hold water. They filled the vessels, stepped back, and formed a path to the small trees at the edge of the woodlands. Then they passed the water pots and jugs one to another until the line ended in front of the flames. There, they tossed water, soaking the ground and snuffed out the fire. Emptied, they passed the containers back down the line to refill them. They did this repeatedly, pressing as close as they could to the blasting oven-like heat.
Everyone—men, women, young, and old, helped the warriors attack. Adminius noticed that even the children did what they could. It seemed as if the dogs barked orders to the little ones. The folk acted in unison. Some sang to keep cadence.
The men grabbed shovels, rakes, and axes and headed into the slight trees by the stream on the northwest. The warrior marveled at the enthusiasm of the men as they took their shovels to the soil or used axes to cut down the brush, small trees and even the hot roots underground. They pulled back the brush and removed everything down to the dark mineral dirt. In this manner, they cut, dug, and stole nourishment from the hungry monster’s path.
Adminius grabbed a cas chrom from one of the nearby carts and joined them close to the flame. He used the foot plough to turn the earth. It was tough work. The light-weight, hand-held plough was better than the larger ploughs at turning the soil in areas of rocky soil like that on top of the hill near the tree line. His muscles strained as he pulled on the hand plow. Sweat poured off his face and down his chest and arms. As the night wore on, he called to the others encouraging them.
As they penetrated further into the woods, he felt that they were making headway. His confidence grew.
He was about to tell some they could go back to their homes when there was a loud crashing, then a “boom” near the treeline.
“Help!” someone screamed through the smoke.
Adminius dropped his plow and ran to give assistance. Bounding over several smoldering logs and pushing through thick shinery, he arrived to where the call originated. A long-dead tree had fallen. Perhaps the men had pushed too hard into the interior.
“Help me,” called someone from beneath the debris pile of limbs and branches.
Adminius shielded his eyes and saw in the thick smoke before him an older man. He was trapped by the branches and his legs were pinned to the ground.
Two others joined him and together they lifted the log away as Adminius pulled the man to safety. Adminius was relieved that the man was able to stand.
Several of the women arrived and quickly tended to the man’s wounds.
“You will be fine, look at how easy it is to attract a flock of beautiful women,” Adminius said.
Patting the elderly man on the back, he said, “Take care, Old Man.” Then he walked back up the hill and directly back to the fight. But his feet were heavy and he felt weary. Adminius stepped through the blackened brush and limbs and made his way away from the dense smoke. He broke out into the open area. He stopped and picked up the hand-plough, leaned against it and tried to breathe. Except for the last incident, the battle was going well. The fire had not jumped the stream. The firebreak made by the ploughs and the individuals, by hand, was working. He could not see any flame before him and nothing but black smoke of dying ash lay all around. He saw his chariot down by the water.
“I will find refreshment there,” he said.
Once at the empty chariot, he looked in the supplies and found a small pouch made of pig bladder, full of clean water. As he was about to take a draught, he noticed a small boy and a dog standing by the chariot. The boy stood there and looked up at the warrior. He patted the dog’s head.
“Would you like a drink?” Adminius asked.
The boy reached out and took the pouch. Adminius smiled at the young boy’s ash-covered face. He watched the child drink from the pouch and then pour water into his dirty hand for the animal to lap.
“I see you brought your pet today,” Adminius said, “Has he helped you fight the enemy?”
“He singed his tail,” the boy said. He handed the bladder back and then ran off.
Adminius laughed to himself. Seeing the boy rejuvenated his own heart.
He replaced the bladder into the chariot and then picked up his plow and headed back to the battle with the blaze. He felt calm.
He soon crested a short rise and stopped to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat and dirt from his eyes with his forearm. He then placed his right hand between the buttons of his simple cotton shirt. His thumb reached around the leather baldric across his chest. The left hand he carried behind him, holding the cas chrom. His knuckles pressed into his lower back, just above his sword belt.
“Aaah, it is winding down. In control and away from the crops and our homes,” he said.
Alone, he stood and from this vantage point, surveyed the scene before him. Down the hill on the other side was the winter harvest, bundled into standing shocks of wheat, like men standing at attention waiting for battle. Looking at Kendall’s field, still intact, he wondered if all their efforts had been enough to halt the flames.
Adminius winced remembering the fallen tree and the old man they had saved. He wondered if others had been hurt that night. Maybe the danger was not yet over. Perhaps the enemy was only resting. Regrouping. He had seen fire do that before.
He smelled the acrid smoke and ash in the night air. The heat still burned his nose and lungs. Adminius heard the crackle of the fire as it fed on the underbrush and shinery deep within the forest and knew that it was still there, heading his way. It was slow moving and had not crowned into the tree canopy of the ancient forest, yet. Up on the hillside half a league away, suddenly to the north, he saw a whirlwind of fire that danced up and down the slope. It might have been a beautiful sight if Adminius didn’t fear that at any moment it could envelop the people in its fiery embrace and they would be no more.
“It won’t be long,” he said as he took in a slow deep breath. He felt a slight breeze on his face. “It will rise again. The people must not slack now.”
He thought of his family. His brothers. His father. Only Togodumnus had shown up for the fight. Where was Caradoc? Then for an instant, he pictured Caradoc’s wife, Alexenah and her newborn twin sons cradled in her arms again. Where had she gone? He let out a breath, coughed and then swallowed ash. He watched the dancing whirlwind and suddenly felt as if his strength was pulled from him. What if the fire reached her? What if it attacked her children? How could he live with the thought of her tiny babes twisted into tiny charred skeletons? Vessels pounded in his neck. He was exhausted. How could he see this through to the end? He felt as if a tight fist squeezed his heart, forcing the life from him.
A shiver ran down his back as the vision of the whirlwind sparked a memory. Kendall had mentioned it earlier. The fire of their youth. Adminius closed his eyes and recalled the memory of a child that stood in this very place and fearfully watched solid walls of fire going the other direction toward the timberline many years ago.
Like women’s gossip, it started as a whisper of flame from a glowing discarded faggot and became the loud cry of tragedy. The flames swept quickly through the grasses, up the hill, and down the valley toward the woods. Adminius remembered the cattle running ahead of the advancing flames trying to avoid the blaze as it spread into the dry winter field. He gazed across the valley and shook his head slowly.
“I have been here before,” he said. The memory of his past flooded his mind with unwanted and long repressed pictures and feelings. “By my hand. By my hand,” he said, “It sprang up quicker than I could warn anyone.”
He had set the fire and tried to put it out on his own.
Then down by the river, as if called up by his memories the people began to sing an old song, of tragedy long ago.
The Bard’s cadenced voice echoed in his mind as the women took up the melody. They sang the Firesong.

“It was only a small brand,
From hearth fire plucked,
tossed aside by a child long ago.
Fanned by the wind,
Igniting homeland’s dry stubble.
For days, fire raged.
Rising smoke,
so heavy the sun could not shine.
Come nighttime,
the light of day.
We walked with the great King Tasciovaunus.
We sifted through the ashes.
Smelled flesh charred.
We touched the warm melted metal
still around their necks and wrists.
Twenty-three passed to the vale beyond.
The black marks of death record.
Only burnt stumps remain.”

Adminius tried to avoid the dark thoughts, but the Firesong permeated the night. It was a terrible time. A fire much like the one they fought tonight.
“The only thing that survived was the ancient massive trees of the Great Forest.” He recalled.
He shivered again as he thought of the black skulls and bodies of the cattle and of the people who died as they tried in vain to put the flames out. How could he forget the scorched skeletons of their homes? He closed his eyes, pressing them tightly until his cheeks burned. He saw the carnage in his mind as if it was happening now.
He felt alone then. He felt responsible. He felt regret. He had those same feelings now. A deep sadness engulfed him as he stood there.
“Days. For days the fire raged,” he said softly, tears welling up in his eyes. His fist clutched tightly to his baldric. The leather felt good in his well-calloused hands. No matter where the fire originated, he was resolved to quench it this time. This time he had help.
He turned to look at the people. They were singing and laughing. He could sense the feeling that they felt the worst was over.
“We spend the best years of our lives making regrets. Would-to-the-gods that was my only one. All tasks have potential for regret. This will not be one of them,” he said aloud as if that would ease his pain. “I must think. Focus on this task. Now is what matters. My men, my friends, my family, my people need my help.”
He closed his eyes. As he reflected on his past, his present was ablaze. He longed for some kind of hope that it would all end well. He longed for anything that would give him hope.
Turning away he forced the memory from his mind.
“People died… Not again. Not tonight. With the help of friends I will stop it this time!”
Walking back to the chariot, he placed the cas chrom on the board and reached for a rag. Going to the water, he knelt down. He wet the rag and washed the soot from his face.
At that moment someone kicked water at him, and as he turned, his balance shifted. Then he was pushed and he fell on his backside in the stream.
He heard laughter.
“You need a bath!”
“Togodumnus, why you little…” Adminius said as he tried to get up. He intended to push his brother into the water as he had done to him.
“Whoa, brother,” Togodumnus said, stepping back. “Can you not see I am carrying a precious bundle?”
Adminius wiped the water from his eyes and looked at the warrior before him. How long had he been standing there? Then his mind suddenly sharpened. Did he say he had a precious bundle? There, held in his arms like a child, was a bundle wrapped in a cloak.
The bundle moved.

updates

"Theoden: [stands up from the throne] Dark have been my dreams of late.
[looks at his hands]
Gandalf: Your fingers would remember their old strength better... if they grasped your sword." - The Lord of the Rings

My life has hit a major bump in the road. My wife passed away suddenly and unexpected on Feburary 18th, 2011. She was the best part of my day. My muse and my cheerleader. I have attempted to continue the writing and find that I want to put her on every page. That may not be a bad thing, however I must keep to the plot. Alexenah will certainly pick up some of who she was, and it was always my goal to write her in as a character named Raena.

Unfortunately, I have experienced another loss. One not so great. I had worked on new chapters connecting the start to the origional beginning of the book, yet had not saved the last few editing/rewrites when my computer crashed. Obtaining a new hard drive, I spent yesterday uploading all I had saved on the book and gathered the printed pages of the latest writing. I now have the task of putting it back together and finishing this task.

I was away for two weeks on a trip with my son. During that time the plot became more real in my mind, fleshing out some of the mystery and how to present it. I feel more than ever that this is my task and whether I write anything else, that for my wife's sake, I will finish what she so willingly promoted and sacrificed so that I could pursue writing this novel. Without her encouragement, I will move ahead. I must draw upon her life as though she stands beside me. There is a quote we both liked in the movie "Conan: the Barbarian." Renee was very much like this:

"All the god's, they cannot sever us. If I were dead and you were fighting for life, I'd come back from the darkness. Back from the pit of hell to fight at your side." --Valeria

I love you still, Renee' and I miss you so.
I will pick up my sword again. -- Jon

old stuff rewrite first chapter - Aballeh

Chapter One: Abbaleh

Alexenah looked at her father’s frail body. He lay motionless and quiet, his head in her lap, as she sat on the cold stone prison floor. His thin arms and legs were wrapped in bandages as though he had already been prepared for the grave. She cringed at the smell of pus and blood that seeped through the muslin cloth. His wrinkled gray tunic--as threadbare and simple as the small room they were in--rose slightly with each labored breath.
On the other side of the dark prison cell’s door, she heard the clink-clank sound of hobnailed sandals of the Roman guards as they 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 the color was the same as her father's--black as a raven. His bruised and swollen eyelids shielded bright playful eyes--the same light brown tint as her own. 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 hand felt cold. The fingers were stiff and unbending. The thin flesh was dry as old leather. His hands were no longer supple and caring as she remembered them. He was kind. Gentle. Loving, she thought, as she caressed her brow with her thin fingers. He was not even forty winters old. He had raised her--alone--given that her mother had died bringing her into the world. How had he come to this? He had never harmed anyone or taken anything from any man. No, quite the contrary, he was a giver—not a taker. How does that demand beatings and prison?
“Abbaleh,” Tobiah said. His sudden voice—a raspy, strained whisper—startled her. “Abbaleh," he repeated, "When you were very small, you called me ‘Abbaleh’." He opened his eyes. "Am I no longer Papa? Am I now just Father?” He squeezed her hand. Then, slowly, with much effort, Tobiah slid his hand from hers and pulled out a small leather pouch from inside his tattered shirt. 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 eyes widened when Tobiah undid the leather tie-strap with his trembling hands. With difficulty, he reached in the pouch and carefully took out a linen handkerchief, stained and soiled with age--folded--with something inside. He offered it reverently to his young daughter as though it was a sacred temple object.
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 feeble 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. There were sprinkles of granite that sparkled when held it just right.
“It looks like every other pebble you find along the road,” she replied.
“You were only a child when you brought it to me. Remember? You said, ‘Look, Abbaleh, it's a jewel! You called me Abbaleh. . .’”
“My pretty jewel!" she remembered, "But now. . .” she closed the linen over the stone and offered it back to him. "It is nothing more than a stone."
“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, then nodded. She carefully wrapped the stone again in the cloth and placed it back in the leather pouch. “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?"
“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.” He paused between each few words now to catch his breath.
As Alexenah drew her hand to her chest she felt the stone against her heartbeat. Tears welled up and overflowed as she lowered her head.
He tried to speak again.
"What is it you desire, my little one?" He asked.
"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 tongue as if to find moisture, then coughed uncontrollably, holding his chest. Pink foam appeared at the corners of his mouth.
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. She felt a choking knot in her throat.
"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? Just one?" He paused, then with emphasis, said, "Grandchildren. Yes, that would be a double blessing."
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?” she questioned.
“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 and sell you,” Tobiah whispered. She could barely hear his words.
“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 with the back of her hand. She bit her lip.
“There is someone greater than Rome,” he said, reaching for her face. Then, louder, 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 face more serene. His breathing shallow, slow, and calm. She counted the footsteps of the guards. The hallway was twenty-three steps long. She had just closed her eyes to rest when he woke and spoke to her again.
"Alexenah?"
"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." 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, he breathed only 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. He will never leave you…. never let our people go ... from…his embrace.” He squeezed her hand. Then slumping back down, he winced.
At that moment it seemed to Alexenah as if time halted. She held her breath.
He sunk deeper into her embrace.
Then, 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. "Oh, how I love you, my little flower.” He sucked in another measure of air.
She kissed his forehead, “I love you too." She paused, a tear trailed down her cheek. She ran her hand through his hair. "I love you too.... Abbaleh.”
Silence filled the room. No sound came from the hall. She felt her own heart beating. His eyes 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, Abbaleh! Abbaleh! Come back. I will give you a grandchild. Grand children. Oh, they will make you happy."
His face paled.
She rocked him back and forth as she wept until her heart could contain the weight of grief no longer. A scream erupted from the depths of her soul as she wailed to the ceiling above.
The door latch opened.

I have been thinking about the start of the book. Originally it started in a wheat field, then in a sacred grove. Now it starts in a prison cell focusing on the woman Alexenah. Feeling that she is the protagonist at the start, I went back to do some research so that I am not confused and don't confuse the reader. I was reading in the book "Story" by Robert McKee about protagonists wondering if this book has plural protags or multiple protags. And whether there is a change in protags half way through the book (which there kinda is) and he mentions that the movie "Psycho" did that. I mentioned that point to Tom and he said, "Yes, the protagonist is himself AND his mother!" so I guess if the protag is schizo, then there can definately be multiple protags in the story! Then I continued reading about characteristics of protagonists and MeKee states that EMPATHY rather than SYMPATHY is more important. You want the audience to relate to the character and say, "she is like me" rather than "I feel sorry for her." I wonder if that is shown and thus felt clearly in what is now titled the "Prologue"? That scene shows Alexenah as a child who acts like she is older and is responsible, therefore not using a child's term for her father. But what action does she take? What decision does she make? Does it show that she accepts what he says and determines to live her life that way? That can only been seen later as she is put in situations and makes choices. some changes need to be made in the following chapters, but I feel confident of where this takes the book, and more importantly where it takes Alexenah and the reader. --Jon

old stuff Prologue

Prologue. -- Abbaleh

Alexenah looked at her father’s frail body lying motionless and quiet before her on the cold stone prison floor. His head lay in her lap. His arms and legs were wrapped in bandages as though he had already been prepared for the grave. She cringed at the smell of pus and blood that seeped through the muslin cloth. His wrinkled gray tunic was as threadbare and simple as the small room they were in. On the other side of the dark prison cell’s door, she heard the clink-clank sound of the hobnailed sandals of the Roman Guards as they paced back and forth.

“"What will happen to me when you die, Abba?" she whispered, "Where will I go?"
She took his hand gently and enfolded it with her own. It felt cold. The fingers were stiff and unbending. The thin flesh was dry as old leather. His hands were no longer supple and caring as she remembered them. How had he come to this? He was kind. Gentle. Loving. He had never harmed anyone or taken anything from any man. No, quite the contrary, he was a giver—not a taker. How does that demand beatings and prison?

“Abbaleh,” Tobiah said. His sudden voice—a raspy, strained whisper—startled her. “Abbeleh," he repeated, "When you were small, you called me ‘Abbaleh’." He opened his eyes. "Am I no longer Papa. Am I now just Father?” He squeezed her hand. Then, slowly, with much effort, Tobiah slid his hand from hers and pulled out a small leather pouch from inside his shirt. 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.”

Tobiah undid the leather tie and reached in. He carefully took out a linen handkerchief, stained and soiled with age, with something folded inside. He offered it to his daughter.

Alexenah looked back to the cell door before she took the tiny bundle. Did they know he possessed this hidden treasure? She heard the guards arguing. Their attention remained elsewhere. 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, Abbaleh, a jewel! You called me Abbaleh. . .”

“My pretty jewel!" she remembered, "But now,” she closed the linen over the stone and offered it back to him, "It is nothing more than a stone."

“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, then nodded as she carefully wrapped the stone again in the cloth and placed it back in the leather pouch. “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?"

“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.” He paused between each few words now to catch his breath.

She felt a knot in the back of her throat. She drew her hand to her chest and felt her heartbeat. Tears welled up and overflowed as she lowered her head.
He tried to speak again.

She placed her finger to his lips, and said, “You shouldn’t talk any more, it only causes you pain.”

“There are things worse.”

“Worse than pain?” she questioned.

“Not feeling pain,” Tobiah said, 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 quiet. A long silence interrupted only by the mute conversation of the guards outside. He spoke her name again and Alexenah lowered her ear to his lips.

“When I die they will take you and sell you,” Tobiah whispered. She could barely hear his words.

“ Should I fight them, Abba, or should I run? I will stand up to them. I am not afraid. I will resist them. We have lived our lives in peace," 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. She 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.

After what seemed like hours of holding him, he whispered, "Remember Chesed my dear Alexenah?”

“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." 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, only a whisper's 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. He will never leave you…. never let our people go from…..His embrace.” He squeezed her hand. Then slumping back down, he winced.

To Alexenah it seemed as if time halted.

Then, but a murmuring whisper, he said “When the best is torn from your life, He still holds you in the fold of his arms. Oh, how I love you, my little flower.” He sucked in another measure of air as he stared toward the ceiling.

She kissed his forehead, “I love you too, Abbaleh.”

Silence filled the room. No sound came from the hall. She couldn't even hear her own heart beating. Why won't he let the last breath out again? His eyes widened. His cheeks paled. He tensed, and then his muscles relaxed.

And then she heard the door latch open.

old stuff beginning of chapter one?

Alexenah smashed through the thick wooden door with more than enough force to shatter it. It broke off at the hinges. Splinters showered into the room. She crashed hard on the swept dirt floor. The large center hearth-fire crackled, flamed, and sent shadows writhing across the dark mud and straw walls. In the back of the roundhouse, two newborn babies woke and cried.
She moaned. Coughed. Forced herself to her knees. Grabbed her side. Then, half crawling, half pulling, Alexenah quickly moved to the straw cot where her children lay.
Terrified, she glanced behind her to the doorway. Her husband Caradoc was somewhere outside. She pushed herself to a kneeling position, and then pulled her torn light-blue peplos dress up over her shoulder. The dress covered the lengthy lionclaw-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.
She grasped her two sons tightly to her breast and 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. You are my God,” she screamed to the rafters above her, “hear the voice of my prayer!”
Alexenah embraced her two boys and enclosed them in her shaking arms. Sinking her head down, she placed her cheek on one of their little heads. One of the babes rooted to find suckle on her breast. Unconsciously, she stroked one of the boy’s 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, “Rome will not have my whelps!” Then he staggered across the room to where Alexenah knelt. Her husband reached down and grabbed her by her hair, pulling her head back and to the side.
She said nothing. Looked away.
Then, bending low he angrily whispered in her ear, “And, neither will you! You’re just a slave-wife.” He struck her with the back of his other hand. Letting her go, he reached down and snatched a blanket from where the boys had been sleeping. Then, one at a time, he ripped them from her breast.
Walking 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.
The woman pleaded, “No!” She grabbed his leg with one hand, and frantically reached toward her children with the other. “Don’t take them. Please, please don’t take them!”
The man turned, lifted his leg, put his boot on her chest, and shoved her hard onto the floor. Again, he took a drink, banged the jar on the table breaking it. Caradoc adjusted his bundle and stormed into the night.
“C’mon boys, your mother is sick.”

reading to write

I started reading David Gemmel's book "Troy" with a view to learn how he creates deep characterization. So far I have seen that he includes desription in the "he said" statements and doesn't break conversation with
"he said" if you know who is talking. He uses a lot of past tense "Had" words which I have tried not to use. He uses the word "Had" 12 times on page 12 alone! He uses inner thoughts as if they were giving history or information or how the person feels about something. He is not afraid to use "ly" words to describe things and states what someone looks like rather than showing it. So far, he breaks the rules I have been trying to employ in my writting. i.e. show dont tell, action rather than decription, dont use "Had" or "began" or such words. His chapters are short. Probably 6 pages would equal less than 2,000 words. I will continue to read, as I also want to chomp down on good story, and will try to decern his methods to see if they can help me. I desire to have strong characters who you hate or love deeply. I want to know them. I have probably a whole yellow notepad on who Adminius is and why he does things, but need to know how to make that information ring true and develop him deeply. The same for Alexenah, Jachin and Boaz. oh, one thing I noticed is that Gemmel said someone "said in a deep voice." I have not thought to put voices to the characters. What if Caradoc had a high pitched lisping voice? I did try to put that in Kenjars speech though. Caradoc needs a deep commanding tone. Does it sound like he is chewing gravel? or that he has worn it out by yelling too much, like professional wrestlers do? would Adminius talk softly and tilt his head to the side like the guy on CSI Miami? (I hate that head tilt thing he does. Remindes me of someone who worked at a telephone counselling service too long!)Well, gotta go. Gonna call Caradoc on the phone and listen to his voice. --Jon

work

Writing is work. Anyone that says otherwise hasn't written. Current work on just my side of the book includes researching flamable liquids used in sacrifice rituals, taking a class in Latin, reading and taking notes on the book: The Great Invasion by Leonard Cottrell, setting Alexenahs actions in chapter four in proper order to show change from confusion to peace, arranging pacing in chapter three, considering chopping chapters into smaller bites. (chapter three is 23 pages!) Working on final edits of chapters, etc. Waiting to discuss with Tom the chapter three changes he is editing. Will need to do some major changes in chapter four to reflect where Epos is and how to bring the babes back into the picture. May need to start over from scratch on that chapter. Considering still whether to write as one whole book the three books before I submit to a publisher or finish book one and submit that. Looking at the benefits of a print on demand publisher or holding out for the big advance paycheck. In the meantime, when I am at an impass I am trying to submit other stories and writing to magazines and compilations, and taking a stab at doing a teen dectective novel series that would be light and fun. And wondedring why no one leaves any comments on the posts. Noticed the hit ratio on the site is up with recent hits from California, Florida and Germany! Oh, well, back to work....

old stuff Chapter six - Cutting

Chapter VI - “Cutting”

“Words are like knives. Beware their sharp jagged corners.
And a sharp nod of the head can fell great oaks.”
---Mardus of Macedonia


“Are you okay?” Adminius asked her.
“Yes,” she shook her head and in her own tongue said, “Thanks be to my God”
He stepped closer to her. “Why do you continue to put up with him?”
“What do you mean?” she replied.
“How can you not wish to pay back or escape his evil?” He looked at her dark eyes, the bruise beginning on her cheek, and the split of her lower lip and her hair that had fallen out of its ribbon. “I don’t understand your actions, Alexenah,” He said.
She lowered her eyes.
He reached out to her cheek. “The way you are around him is not normal. He treats you as he treats no other women. Believe me I have seen it. Caradoc struck you for no other reason than that you were standing there. Again I ask you. How can you not strike back?”
Alexenah politely brushed his hand away and stepped back from Adminius’ touch. And then stooping, she began to clean the dishes off the floor picking up each piece carefully so as to not cut her hands, focusing on the task so she would not have to see his gaze.
He stood there with his hand held out to her as if waiting for her to fill it with the answers that he sought. She knew he would be silent until she responded. He would stand there forever. He was looking at her. She didn’t want him to see the warmth she felt in her cheek. She wiped a trickle of blood that was coming from her nostril.
Steeling herself she rose, faced him and placed the broken pieces of glass into his outstretched hand. Then with straightened spine and soft words, she spoke to Adminius.
“We take God’s gifts and abuse them and yet He is kind to us. When we are His enemy, He loves us. Why should we, who are so blessed by Him, return cursing for cursing?”
Adminius raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure I understand.” He said grasping the broken shards tighter. “When I would fight a battle,” He looked at her lips and the blood. “There were many times that I would ache afterwards- all night sometimes-and not wish to rise in the morning. But the pain was something I could easily bear. I will gladly take a blow in battle, if…” He paused, “If I knew I could strike back. Yet, now I watch you work in peace,” he continued as he put down the shards of broken ware, “and take a blow as if it was joy to do so. You do not fight back or protect yourself or even so much as make it seem that you were unhappy with his actions. It is like you are doing him a favor by letting him hit you.” He shook his head. “I do not understand your god.”
Alexenah looked at him and softly smiled.
Adminius sighed, and then continued, “Our women are treated as equal in our tribe, but you are treated by him as less than a slave. I do not accept this abuse and demand just treatment. He is beyond what is proper- even with slaves.” His shoulders tensed and his fist worked open and closed.
Alexenah reached out and put her hand to Adminius’ chest. She felt his quickened heartbeat.
“You must not attack him when he is already hot.” She said softly. “It is like opening a lid when the pot has been boiling for a time. Patience is the key.”
He continued to stare into her eyes and she saw his anger soften. She felt his breathing slow. She smelled the smoke still in his hair from the night before. Had she let him look too long? His reaction frightened her and she turned away. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks again. She stepped back, brushed her hair off of her shoulders, and turned her back to him and said, “Adminius, my greatest love is for my God; that is the relationship that I hang on to. That is my focus, and it allows me strength to show kindness to whomever I wish.” And then kneeling, she picked up the rags Mara had used to clean her children and she finished, “And I must think of my children.”
After a brief silence, Adminius said, “You sacrifice, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?” she said.
“I have heard that your people sacrifice to their god. Is that right?”
She nodded. “Yes, that is true.”
“Why, then, do you place yourself as a sacrifice to my brother?”
“I do not sacrifice myself to him, but I sacrifice to please my God.” She wiped the blood from under her nose as she stood again. “It is my hope that the Almighty will one day put all things right. It is only for me to show the Law of Kindness and let Him do the rest.”
“Certainly, you cannot expect some god will come down, rescue you and fix this man.” Adminius took the rag from her, dipped it in some water and drew closer to her. Tell me, what is this law of kindness you speak of?” As she explained, he tenderly wiped her face clean of the blood.
“This law? It is called goel in my tongue.” She said. “It means ‘to redeem or deliver’. It is my hope that one day God will raise up a redeemer for all men, even for my husband.” She looked to see if he understood. He made no acknowledgement. Her heart ached. Oh, how she wished others knew more about her God and His ways. She wanted so much to show this man how her Lord had from the beginning of time showed His everlasting love to her people. She longed to share the stories of how He protected and guided and delivered them from their enemies. How he had done the same for her. She bowed her head and said, “Perhaps my kindness will one day lead my husband to that redeemer.”
“Where is my wine sack?” Caradoc said as he burst in to the house. He stopped three steps into the room, looked at Adminius, then to the rag the man held and the closeness of his brother to his slave-wife.
“You are mine,” he said to Alexenah – not even looking at her, “and don’t you forget it.” Then he stepped between her and his brother, grabbed her arm and gave Adminius an exacting look. Then swinging her around, he yelled into her face, “I paid for you with boot lick money.” Then looking at Adminius, he swung back and then struck Alexenah in the face with the back of his hand. ”For blasted freedom I paid Caesar his tribute!” He said as she slumped to her knees. Caradoc raised his hand to strike again. Adminius stepped forward, reached out and quickly grabbed Caradoc’s wrist staying the blow before it could be delivered. He squeezed hard. Then, not showing any sign of fear in his eyes, he pulled a knife and raised his own hand to strike Caradoc.
Alexenah let out a gasp.
Adminius looked at that moment at Alexenah and she looked back. With eyes full of fear she shook her head. Adminius hesitated and then abruptly let go of Caradoc’s wrist.
Pulling away from his brother’s grasp Caradoc rubbed his wrist and then quickly turned toward the curtain where the babies were asleep. He marched toward the twin boys asleep on the palette in the dark recess of the room.
“And these whelps of yours. . .” he said.
Alexenah drew in a breath.
Adminius lunged forward. He reached out with the knife toward Caradoc prepared to thrust it deep into his brothers back. Just before Adminius could strike, Epos stepped from behind the curtain and pushed Caradoc aside away from the boys and the blow of Adminius’ knife. The giant then stood -hands on his hips- between Caradoc and her sons.
Adminius lowered his blade.
Alexenah slowly let out her breath. When did he come back into the room? How long had he been there hiding in the shadows? She wondered.
“Hmmmf.” Caradoc said catching his balance. “You son of a whore,” he said to the long-faced giant, “Get outside now, with the rest of the men-wives. We need to go.” Taking in one last look at Adminius as if to challenge him Caradoc put his thumb underneath the leather baldric of his great sword and walked to the doorway. On his way past the table, he pushed it behind him - toward Adminius - sending everything that was left on it scattering and clambering to the floor.
Adminius looked to the giant. Epos smiled. Adminius nodded to the man and then turned to look at Alexenah. “This law of kindness is difficult to enforce.” With that he picked up a cloak and both men left the room. Epos gently closed the door behind them.
Alexenah clutched her hands to her belt as all three men left the room.
* * *
In the quiet aftermath of Caradoc’s rage, Alexenah removed the knife from her belt and went to the babes. Going to the twins behind the curtain she pulled back their covers and pulled them up to her in a long quiet embrace. Then laying them on the floor, one at a time, she took the knife in her hands and circumcised them. As she did so, she prayed in her native tongue. “Creator of the universe. May it be Your gracious will to regard and accept this as if I had brought this baby before Your glorious throne.” She then cut the foreskin of the firstborn as she had seen it done many times. And then she cut the other son saying, “And You Lord, in Your abundant mercy, through Your Holy Angels, give a pure and holy heart to …” She stopped a moment. She needed a name. Looking around the room she saw the huge house poles holding the roof of the roundhouse in their mighty grasp. They reminded her of the pillars of Great Solomon’s Temple of old. She remembered her loving mother describing their majesty and grace. She had many times heard of the massive stone walls, the golden furniture and the great porch across the front of the Temple. She smiled and looked at the crying babes, “Give a pure and holy heart to Jachin, and his brother -- Boaz, both sons of Caradoc, who are now circumcised in honor of Your great Name.” Then, wrapping them up, bundling them tight and warm, she laid them both down in the bed. She then got a bottle off of the table and she soothed them with wine on their lips - as was the custom - and continued her prayer. “May their hearts be wide open to comprehend your Holy Law, and I pray that they may learn and teach, keep - and fulfill - your laws.”
As Alexenah wept before them, she suddenly felt a presence behind her. She slowly turned to see who it was. She had not heard the door open or the man enter. When he came into the room she didn’t know. Epos stood there quietly holding a bag in his hands. She stepped aside as he stepped up and kneeled before the babies. He opened the bag and slowly and reverently took something out of it. He then laid it gently before the babes at their feet. It was a golden roman sword.