Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy (21 page)

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 this 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?

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 pools 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.

“Did I come to the right place?” I asked.

“Come in,” he said at last.

I followed the
man inside. The apartment was richly furnished, similar to Brutus’s
although not quite as plush with the multicultural influence.
Paintings of horses and chariots decorated the walls.

With nightfall approaching, oil lamps burned. I
could hear a woman’s voice and a child squealing in the back.

“Sit, sit,” he said. “I’m Dominus. I’m the owner of
the horses for the white team.”

I found a chair. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Dominus leaned
back. “I used to race myself, until I got injured. Then I bought my
own horses. Trouble is they weren’t good enough. So I imported some
of the finest. We pasture them when they are young on the lower
slopes of Mount Argaeus. Then we bring them over to the stables
when they are old enough to start training.”

Dominus studied me. “How much do you know about
horses?”

“I took care of
Brutus’s horses in Nazareth.”

“I’m sure if you worked for him you must be a good
worker. Know anything about driving a chariot?”

I shook my head.

“Well, I lost
one of my gladiators last week—he was trampled.”

I swallowed.

“I need someone to replace him. Think you can be
ready in three weeks for your first race?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done any chariot
racing.”

Dominus eyed me inquisitively. “How old are you,
Son?”

“Almost twenty.”

“You can live in the barracks with the slaves. If I
train you, you have to be indentured for a year as payback. If you
win, you receive a nice paycheck for every race.”

How much would that be? I was afraid to ask—yet.
That might sound rude.

“But I’m the winner, not you.” Dominus seemed to
think this point was important.

“Do I have to live in the barracks with the
slaves?”

“Do you have
some money to pay room and board?”

“If you pay me, shouldn’t I be able to pay for
that?”

“Do you have
money now?”

“Yes, from my
earnings with Brutus.”

“You can check around. In fact, across the street is
a flat that’s not too expensive.”

“Can I try racing first—make sure I like it?”

“Sure. Win your first race and you get your first
paycheck.”

“What happens if I don’t win?”

“You either win or pay off your indenture agreement
by working in the mines. This sport is too expensive not to
win.”

Was I getting
in over my head? I didn’t want to look like a coward.

The man pointed
his finger at me. “Can you come out tomorrow?”

I nodded.

“Great.”
Dominus grasped at his cane and stood, limping over to a table. He
picked up an ink pen and wrote on a slip of parchment. “This is
where you need to go. I’ll tell Cynisca to look for you in the
morning. She’ll be your trainer.”