Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy Page 15

  Only Jews referred to him as a rabbi. She must have overheard some Jewish women discussing him in town.

  Mari smiled. “I’m so glad for Nathan’s sake—and so sorry Scylla doesn’t see the blessing.”

  “You and me, too.”

  Mari thought for a moment. “If you take Nathan to his father, Scylla may not keep me employed.”

  “As long as Shale is here, she needs you.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You must stay with Shale until I return. Otherwise, I’m going to worry myself sick about her.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know, but I will be back—even if I must watch Shale wed someone else.”

  Mari crossed her arms. “Daniel, she loves you. Her eyes are for you.”

  I remembered she had briefly seen the contract. “Can you remember what the contract says?”

  Mari leaned over and whispered. “I searched for the contract while Scylla was drugged last night and found it. There is one contingency.”

  “Hurry,” I whispered. I kept my eyes on the door.

  “If Shale meets someone she wants to marry before the betrothal, she can break the contract. Her mother wanted to make sure she wed.”

  “So Scylla must not have told Shale she had a choice.”

  “Scylla never talks to Shale unless it is to ridicule her. I don’t think Shale knows.” Mari turned and looked away. “It’s a disgrace for a woman not to wed.”

  Was Mari talking about herself? “You have many years.”

  “I was raised by Gentiles, but they kept my identity hidden.”

  “So you are Jewish?”

  Mari nodded.

  “Who raised you?”

  “Theophilus.”

  “Theophilus?” No wonder there was this strong connection between Mari and the wealthy Roman.

  “Don’t say anything to anyone. It’s better,” Mari cautioned.

  “All right.” Why wasn’t Mari telling me everything?

  She interrupted my thoughts. “There is something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  At that moment, the door opened. Scylla handed me a scroll. “Brutus’s address—where he lives, with his other wife.”

  What? Did I hear her right?

  Scylla went back inside without saying another word.

  “With his other wife,” I repeated.

  Mari’s mouth gaped.

  “Did you know?” I asked.

  “No.”

  What other family secrets did I not know? “Well, I suppose it won’t make any difference with Nathan, except to destroy his image of the perfect father.” No wonder Scylla was so bitter. How many women had he been involved with?

  “Poor woman,” Mari empathized.

  “This says Caesarea—I thought he was in Jerusalem.”

  “If you leave soon, you can arrive before nightfall.”

  I looked across the field. The sun was still high, but I was exhausted—physically and emotionally. Scylla’s constant flirting made sense now. She had everything any woman could want—except love.

  I leaned against the post as I debated whether to probe deeper. “How did Scylla meet Brutus?”

  Mari’s countenance fell. “Oh, that’s very dark.”

  I remembered Scylla’s veiled reference to fortunetelling but was curious if Mari knew more.

  The young woman wistfully glanced around to make sure no one heard. “A friend took Brutus to Scylla for—advice. She was a mystic. That’s all I feel comfortable saying.”

  I nodded, noting Mari tended to minimize things she found difficult to discuss.

  She smiled. “He’s still a good man—don’t you think?”

  I grimaced. Mari would go to great lengths to avoid talking badly about anyone. “Can you tell Nathan to hurry? I want to leave before Scylla changes her mind.”

  “All right.”

  “And don’t tell Shale about—the other woman.”

  “I won’t,” Mari said. “Nathan might when he finds out.”

  “Let it be from him and not us.”

  Mari reached over and tapped my arm. “I have something else to tell you.”

  “What’s that?”

  She shook her head. “No. I changed my mind. Later.” She walked over and clutched the door.

  “Can you tell Shale she doesn’t have to marry Judd?” I asked quickly.

  Mari entered the house before replying.

  Why did she say that and then refuse to tell me? Why didn’t she respond to my request? She must not have heard me. Should I follow her inside? Suppose Scylla overheard us—I knew she wanted Judd to marry Shale. I still suspected financial gain for Scylla. Why else would she have revealed the contract to Judd?

  Frustrated about the lack of answers, I wandered back to the cave. I was surprised to see Judd sitting by the water bin with his hand submerged in the water.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I burned my hand.”

  “Oh.” I tried to see but he pulled his hand away.

  I shrugged. “You’ll be glad to know Nathan and I are leaving.”

  “Oh.”

  “Shale will make you a fine wife.”

  “Thank you,” he said smugly.

  If only there were a way to prevent it—would Mari tell her? Or would Mari get in trouble if she did anything to prevent it?

  I sighed. Again, too many unanswered questions. I patted Baruch on the head, hugged the rabbit, and said goodbye to Much-Afraid. Shale’s affection for them had rubbed off on me.

  “Take care of the animals.”

  “I always do. They haven’t died.”

  “And don’t forget about Lowly.”

  “Lowly?”

  “The pig. That’s what Shale named him.”

  “It’s no big deal to me. I’m not Jewish.”

  Was that meant to be a jab? I let it go. No reason to leave on bad terms.

  I found Nathan waiting by the gate. “Ready?”

  He nodded.

  Mari rushed over and handed Nathan a bag of fruit and fresh bread. “You don’t want to go hungry.” She turned to me, “Stay safe.”

  I thanked her. We closed the gate behind us. Nathan was excited to leave, but I felt conflicted. How would I live without Shale? Did she know she could get out of the contract? Perhaps she wasn’t told because someone didn’t want her to know. Who would benefit by not telling her? I still had this deep-seated feeling that Judd and Scylla had an arrangement, and for some reason, Brutus didn’t want to get involved. Perhaps Shale’s father was just too preoccupied with his other life outside of Galilee.

  Besides all the questions, my heart ached. What good was all the money in the world if I didn’t have Shale with me and couldn’t get back to 2015?

  Despite my bleak outlook, the rolling hills on the way to Caesarea from Nazareth lifted my spirits. Nathan delighted in the magnificent vistas, seeing the many shepherd boys guarding the sheep, and meeting other wayfaring travelers. I hoped he could keep that childlike quality—enjoying the simple things many ignored.

  We arrived at Caesarea before sundown. I looked forward to seeing the city in the daylight. Herod had made the city a vacation spot. On every corner, magnificent buildings stood that in modern times lay in ruins. Caesarea was like the Roman capital of Palestine. Many Gentiles lived here year round.

  As we neared the center of town, Nathan asked, “After you drop me off at my father’s, where are you going?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe I’ll visit Jerusalem. Go back to Dothan and help Doctor Luke. I don’t know.”

  I asked a street vender for directions to Brutus’s flat.

  “Very nice area,” the man remarked. “All the government officials live on that road. In fact, Pontius Pilate lives nearby when he isn’t in Jerusalem.”

  “Pontius Pilate?”

  “Yeah, the prefect. Somebody has to keep order in Jerusalem.” He laughed. When I didn’t laugh back, he continued. “You go down thi
s road, take a left at the bend, and go a little further. You will come to this street. It’s close to the shopping district.”

  I thanked the man.

  The road had lots of foot and animal traffic—a diversity of people, but it seemed as if more Greeks lived here than Jews. I looked forward to seeing the manmade harbor, a magnificent achievement.

  We entered the gates of Caesarea and soon came to a two-story villa. It matched the address on Scylla’s note. My thoughts returned to Nathan. I hadn’t told him that his father had another wife.

  “Are you ready?”

  He nodded.

  We walked up the stone steps and knocked.

  Brutus appeared at the door. His eyes went from surprise to joy. “Nathan—what are you doing here?”

  “Father!” Nathan cried.

  Brutus embraced Nathan warmly—a sweet moment. He motioned for us to follow him. We walked past the kitchen-like area where a woman in a colorful robe was cooking. The delicious smell made my stomach growl. Brutus pointed us to a large living area decorated with Greek and Roman wall hangings and Egyptian rugs.

  “Sit down,” he said. “Nathan, tell me what happened, how can you speak now?”

  Nathan told Brutus how the king had healed him. His father let him talk, nodding occasionally and smiling. Brutus seemed sincere and genuine despite my doubts.

  After a few minutes and getting past the shock of hearing Nathan talk, he turned to me. “How is Shale?”

  I hesitated. “She’s doing well. Wishes you would come home.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He called to the woman in an unfamiliar language.

  She brought water for Nathan and me. The woman had dark complexion with exotic features. I couldn’t place her ethnicity.

  Brutus spoke in Greek and another language I didn’t recognize. “This is Nathan and this is Daniel.”

  The woman smiled and curtsied.

  An awkward silence followed.

  Then Brutus said, “This is my wife, Lydia.”

  Lydia smiled.

  Nathan turned to his father. “She is your wife?”

  “Yes, my wife.”

  “Scylla isn’t your wife?”

  “Yes, she is my wife, too.”

  “So you have two wives?”

  “Yes. I have—two—wives.”

  I glanced at Lydia. She continued to smile.

  “Does she know I’m your son?” Nathan asked.

  “Oh, yes. She knows,” Brutus reassured Nathan.

  Brutus had not spoken in the other language again, but kept to Greek.

  Soon Lydia went back in the kitchen and finished preparing the food. A short while later, the woman served us a delicious meal. Their hospitality was warm and Nathan and Brutus dominated the meal with nonstop chatter. The woman never said anything but smiled from time to time.

  When we finished eating, I stood, fatigued. The day had been long. “I must leave,” I said. “It’s getting late.”

  “Let me see you to the door,” Brutus said.

  Nathan hugged me goodbye.

  “Do well in school. Make friends.”

  He held me tightly. “Promise you’ll come and see me.”

  “I will,” I assured him.

  Once outside, Brutus stiffened and his face tightened. “Why did you bring Nathan here?”

  “He asked me to. He can be like other boys now, go to school and get married—”

  Brutus cut me off. “You don’t understand. Lydia doesn’t know I have a son—or another wife.”

  I stared in disbelief.

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s not illegal to have two wives, you know.”

  I shrugged.

  “In fact, it’s very commonplace in her culture.”

  “So why don’t you tell her?” I suggested. “Where is she from, anyway?”

  Brutus glanced towards the door. “Egypt.”

  So they were speaking Egyptian. I was too weary to ask more and changed the subject. “Can you pay me the rest of what you owe—and I will be looking for other employment.”

  “Yeah, uh, sure. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Brutus disappeared into the house.

  I caught Nathan peering out the window. I looked away as if I hadn’t noticed.

  A few minutes later Brutus reappeared with the money. “Thank you for all your help with Nathan.”

  I nodded. “He’s a fine son. You should be proud.”

  Nathan’s father looked towards the ocean contemplatively. “And Shale?”

  “She misses you.”

  “I need to get back.”

  I started to leave but Brutus tapped me on the shoulder. “Listen, if you wanted to stay in Caesarea for a while, until Nathan gets situated in school and adjusts, I know of a job that pays many shekels and that you’d be well suited for.”

  Money was the one thing I needed to pay for my medical education, and jobs that paid well in first century Palestine were limited. “What’s that?”

  “Gladiator.”

  “Gladiator?” I repeated.

  “A charioteer, horse racing,” Brutus clarified.

  “Chariot racing?”

  Anticipation was written on his face. “Yes.”

  I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to stay in the city to spend time with Nathan or if he was sincere in wanting to help me get a good-paying job. “Tell me more.”

  Brutus handed me a small note. “This is the information. One of the drivers died in a race and the sponsor needs a new gladiator as soon as possible. His team has the fastest horses. You could make a lot of money—a nice living for someone as young as you.”

  I read his note. I had no experience with racing horses. “Why do you think I would be good at this?”

  Brutus waved his hand. “The trainer can teach you everything you need to learn. The racing season just started and it lasts for several months. You win—you become wealthy.”

  I hesitated. “How dangerous is it?”

  Brutus rubbed his eyes. “Don’t fall off the chariot and you’ll be fine. Besides, you’re young and strong, in good physical shape.”

  A charioteer sounded exciting and the money hard to turn down. Maybe I’d delay going back to Dothan. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Go see him now. It’s not too late,” Brutus said. “He will even pay your room and board. Do you have a place to stay?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “It’s settled,” Brutus said. “Go see him, tell him I sent you, and you’ll be racing soon.”

  I nodded. The lure of a big paycheck was tempting. If I ever made it back to 2015, I’d be set for life. I would have enough money to go to the United States and see Shale—if she made it back—and didn’t marry Judd. If she married him in first century Palestine, did that mean she would marry him in 2015?

  CHAPTER 33 CHARIOT RACING

  As I left Brutus’s villa, I again felt conflicted. I set aside my deep-seated sadness to think about chariot racing. How much money did gladiators make? Perhaps I could race for a few months, make some quick shekels, and then head back to Dothan. I would figure out how to get back to 2015. I sighed. Unexpected tears formed. Why had God abandoned me?

  Shale filled my thoughts—her smile, her outbursts, her strong spirit. I stood in the street alone. The salty air stirred up memories from home. Seabirds circled overhead from the Mediterranean. While I longed to return to Dothan, I couldn’t—yet. I checked my moneybag and turned south.

  I tried to read Brutus’s scribbled note without success. I waved to a man and spoke to him in Aramaic. “Can you give me directions?”

  He stared at me. I repeated myself in Greek.

  He glanced at the note and spoke too fast.

  “Slow down, please. I don’t speak perfect Greek.”

  The man complied. “You need to continue south to the theater district. You’ll pass Herod’s Palace. Keep going. The theater district faces the sea. If you follow the aqueduct to the Kurkar Ridge along the coast, you’ll see the collecting p
ools and fountains as you near the theater. Follow the villa numbers. The aqueduct will exit through the tunnel and some of the ducts will go to the fountains. The residence is probably in one of those apartments by the theater.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “How long will it take me to get there?”

  “Oh, not long. Maybe fifteen minutes.”

  “Thank you, again.” How could I remember all of that? Talking slower didn’t help.

  I watched as the sun kissed the Mediterranean. The red-tinged sky reminded me of the night before the earthquake. I cleared my throat. Too much thinking made me emotional. If I didn’t like what the charioteer guy said, I’d leave for Dothan in the morning.

  I came to the city gates and the grandeur of the Greek and Roman buildings surprised me. How did they manage to build such opulence in the first century?

  I’d studied Caesarean history, but the drawings in textbooks didn’t do it justice. The aqueduct started at the foot of Mount Carmel and traveled downhill for a long distance.

  I spotted where the water came out of the tunnel below the ridge. Pipes dispersed the water beautifying the city with romantic fountains. I stopped to look at one of the inscriptions. “Maintained by the second legion.”

  I came to Herod’s Palace. The pompous mansion stood tall on a rocky high point that jutted out into the sea. Several small fountains framed the front with a swimming pool in the back.

  When I passed the palace, I became aware of the roaring crowds. The hippodrome wasn’t far in the distance on the city’s southern shore. A wall surrounded it blocking my view. The ground shook from the pounding horse hoofs and chariot wheels.

  I’d been to Caesarea a few times on school field trips. The polished white stone from the hippodrome hadn’t had time to decay—it looked like marble.

  I glanced at the address. I tapped another man on the shoulder. “Can you tell me where this is?”

  “That way.” He pointed to the villa.

  I approached a two-story stone building and knocked. A stout, middle-aged man with a walking cane appeared at the door.

  I greeted him. “I’m Daniel of Jerusalem, son of Aviv, a friend of Brutus, son of Dirk. He said you were looking for a charioteer.”

  The man sized me up, as if I were applying to be a fighter or a boxer. He didn’t say anything at first.