Junias

The smell of oranges wafted under Theodora’s nose.1

“What a strange thing to smell before you die,” she thought.2

The pungent scent of exotic fruit just barely reached all the way to her dank cell, where she was crowded shoulder to shoulder with the other members of her small church. The whole place smelled of sweat, urine, and despair, and she thanked God for the blessing of bananas and oranges.3

“Auntie, can you smell that?” Theodora asked an old woman. “Stand here… don’t you suppose heaven will be that sweet?”4

“Aye,” replied the older woman. “And sweeter still, if we go as martyrs.” Theodora took her trembling hands and rubbed them between her own. The ceiling trembled as well from the footsteps of hundreds of people above.5

“I’m not afraid of death,” said Auntie plainly, “but I’m afraid of watching you young ones in pain.” Tears sprang to her eyes as a rabid crowd cheered over head.6

“Heathens!” spat a man nearby, shaking his fist at the people above.7

“Brother,” came a clear voice, “we must not forget that once we were of the same mind! Our martyrdom may spur them on to the truth of Christ. Let’s sing, as Paul did.”8

The cell of dirty, scared Christians lifted their voices in hope. Over the song, a jailer rattled a key ring, adding to the din below the arena.9

“Shut up! Shut up all of you, or you all burn together. You’re ruining the crowd!” He unlocked the cell and motioned three burly men inside. “Grab the older ones!” he shouted. “An’ don’t worry, they don’t fight back.”10

The men pulled out the five oldest members of Theodora’s little church, shoving and pushing those who got in their way. Theodora’s Auntie was snatched from her, and Theodora cried out.11

“Stop that!” said Auntie. “Our Lord waits for me. Rejoice that there are no children with us to die.”12

And the elderly group was taken away to a latticed gate.13

“Pray for us!” called out a man, feebly.14

The remaining Christians fell to their knees, praying for the quick deliverance of their friends. 15

Soon, Theodora heard the gate open, and the crowd boo. The cell full of people went silent. A roar filled the arena, and Theodora’s stomach dropped. Lions. Somebody suggested praying that the lions would be gentle as they were to the prophet Daniel, but Theodora could not think. She wanted only to vomit.16

The roar of the crowd deafened the screams of her friends, her family, but not enough. She threw up just as her jailer returned, and he kicked her in the ribs savagely.17

“Disgusting animal,” he taunted. “Damned heathen.”18

Theodora prayed quietly as she went numb.19

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Junias grumbled under his breath. His armor was hot, the mob smelled awful, and his fat uncle was enjoying himself entirely too much. He hated the Games, detested crowds, and wanted very much to be back in Gaul. Something cool and round hit him in the cheek, and he jerked his head up to see his fat uncle Marcus aiming grapes at him.21

“Uncle, please,” pleaded Junias. “If you must insist on dragging me to these blasted events, I must insist that you treat me like a soldier of Rome, and not your youngest nephew.”22

Marcus laughed, his stomach wobbling. “Come now, Junias, what’s an old man like me to do when all the maids around have their eyes firmly fixed upon you?” He chucked another grape at Junias. “Besides, you’re on leave by my request; you should be enjoying your time off. Be a civilian for once, my boy, there’s no shame in it.” He clapped his hands, and a servant jumped forward with a platter of tropical fruit. Junias took an orange and began to peel it with his dagger.23

His eyes wandered from the carefully prepared and shaded pavilion of his uncle to the rest of the arena. It was shabby, and all one golden color from the dust of the land. Even as governor of the province, his uncle’s capital was dingy and forlorn compared to the splendor of Jerusalem, Athens, Damascus, or much less, Rome. Junias resented being closer to Egypt than the cool, green hills of Gaul, and he hated the monotony of civilian life.24

Marcus was throwing these Games in honor of Apollo; Junias had forgotten all about summer solstice, other than it was even more blasted hot than usual. Not far below, in the sandy floor of the arena, five dismal figures were brought before the crowd. People threw moldy food and insults at them, but Junias was too bored with the ordeal to ask why. In a little while, they were dead, and the lions that killed them were ravaging their carcasses clean to the bone. Junias looked elsewhere—even though he was used to the carnage of battle, he never enjoyed watching the slaughter of innocents, though his uncle and the emperor might declare them criminals.25

“Could I persuade you to excuse me now, Uncle?” begged Junias.26

“I must insist” said his uncle between gulps of wine “that you stay. This wasn’t the main show, and I daresay you’ll be hard-pressed to find entertainment like this again.”27

No, thought Junias, you’re probably right. I’d be hard pressed to find flea bitten desert rats screaming over the murder of old fools at any real capital. Junias swore as he nicked his thumb on his dagger, stinging orange juice mixing with his blood.28

The crowd began to mingle and melt as the lions were recaptured and the arena prepared for the next event. Junias leaned back on his stool, stretching out his muscles and wishing desperately that he could take his sandals off and find a cool river to stand in. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what the Rhine felt like, when he sensed somebody staring at him. He opened one eye and saw a serving maid examining his legs with an approving smile, absentmindedly pouring wine into full goblets.29

Junias frowned. That’s one thing that doesn’t change throughout the empire. Women. All so easy to read, all wanting the same things. He couldn’t see his uncle’s fascination with young women; the last thing Junias needed was a girl his own age (or worse, younger) to have to take care of and guide. If he ever did decide to marry, it’d be to a woman much older, preferably a widow, who he could visit between campaigns and not have to worry about. It had almost worked in Rome, but Junias refused to live in the city and she refused to leave.30

A melancholy, bloated sound emanated from the arena’s main gate.31

“That’s the horn!” said Marcus excitedly. “Now it begins.”32

Two gladiators on horseback entered the arena, looking, in Junias’ opinion, rather ragamuffin and second rate. They paraded around the walls, preening their shining shields and swords for swooning girls. Junias grimaced. How coarse.33

Next, a troop of slow moving people clad in mismatched armor were dragged onto the field. The crowd hissed and catcalled. Some appeared to be old, and some appeared to be young, but none of the group looked like a trained fighter to Junias. It was almost worse than watching the lions.34

The pathetic combatants formed a ring which the gladiators began to circle. First a walk, then a trot, then finally a full gallop, and one gladiator gutted a man through with his spear. The crowded cheered and stomped, and Marcus laughed.35

“They never fight back at first,” he said, “but fear always wins over faith.”36

The gladiators circled again, and picked off two more, this time women. 37

“Fight back! Fight back!” screamed the crowd. “Where’s your savior? Fight back!” 38

But the Christians in the floor of the arena did not raise their arms, and one by one, they collapsed onto the dirt, muttering prayers as their blood soaked into the ground.39

Finally, there were only three. Junias made out two male figures and one female. The gladiators had saved the fittest for last, in the hopes that their opponents would take the odds of three on foot versus two on horseback and put up a good show.40

The crowded continued to call for the Christians to fight back and defend themselves, and when the gladiators took up the next charge, one of the men hurled his weapon at the gladiator’s horse. The horse reared back and lost its balance, dumping its rider. A gruesome snap signified the horse’s broken leg. People all around Junias went wild, expecting a fight, but the Christians did not advance on the fallen gladiator. The remaining gladiator hopped off his mount and smacked its flank, aiming it towards the arena gate. He pulled his compatriot to his feet, and they advanced on the last three people standing.41

Suddenly, Junias’ eye was drawn towards the female figure. Instead of preparing for onslaught from the gladiators, she had turned away and faced east, away from the late afternoon sun. She pulled her helmet from her head, and Junias saw that she was small, and that her armor was a joke, much too cumbersome and ill fitting to bear. She threw the helmet towards the pavilion. Next, she untied the thongs securing her armor, and tossed that on the ground, as well. A sickening thud announced the beheading of a man behind her, followed by his fellow. The lone young woman stood in the center of the arena, surrounded by the blood of her friends. 42

“By the gods, I hope she doesn’t sing,” sighed Marcus. “That always kills the crowd’s humor.”43

Instead of singing, however, the woman pulled her dirty, torn robe over her head and cast it on the ground. Junias inhaled sharply as he beheld her nakedness, like a newborn child. She knelt and bowed her head, her hair covered her chest and the hands clasped beneath in prayer. Behind her, the gladiators advanced.44

“Uncle!” cried Junias suddenly, “stop them! She mustn’t die!”45

“What’s this?” asked his uncle, surprised. “Of course she must, it’s the will of Rome.”46

“Please,” begged Junias. “She mustn’t die.” He looked at his bloated uncle fervently. “I must have her.”His hands shook as he watched her death approach, and his throat lurched violently, though he could not explain why.47

Without a word, Marcus raised his hand, and an attendant shouted “halt!” Marcus stuck out his thumb, to which the gladiators bowed deeply, and walked away. The young woman in the arena seemed not to have noticed, though Junias sighed in relief.48

“Well, Junias,” said his uncle, a grin playing on his pink lips, “what will you do with her?”49

Junias had no response, because he did not know, but he ran out of the pavilion and down deep into the arena. 50

“Get her!” he shouted. “Get her for me, bring her here.”51

A few dirty men rushed out into the sunlight and grabbed the girl by her hair. They dragged her forcibly through the dirt, the crowd howling at the loss of its prey, and into the dungeon of the arena. She was tossed like a slave before Junias’ feet, her scalp bleeding and her knees rubbed raw. Junias took her chin and tilted her head up roughly to him. Her eyes met his in a desperate, defiant glance before weariness overtook her, and the young woman blacked out on the ground. Junias knelt down and lifted her in his arms, concealing her nakedness with his cloak. 52

He strode out of the arena, having no intention of going back and listening to taunts from his uncle, and headed towards the small villa that once belonged to his uncle’s second son, now his own. The girl in his arms was slender and light, but her skin was cold and unfriendly like marble.53

“You survived,” he told her as he walked, “and you should be grateful to me when you wake.” At least I hope.54

In her sleep, Theodora heard none of this, and could not have felt through the immense pain in her heart any warmth emanating from her new captor.55

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