My Book:

The Master's Program

 

The Master's Program began its life as a non-fiction work, when I was trying to make sense of some rather complex thoughts I had assembled, concerning what Christian Maturity would look like when it's all said and done. In this non-fiction work, I found I kept using fictional accounts to illustrate examples of what I was talking about. Well, late one evening, as I stared at the ceiling trying to go to sleep (as is my custom), I decided to ditch the non-fictional elements and craft a full-blown novel that would serve as one big illustration of development in the area of Christian Maturity.

So we have James Todd, an alter ego of mine. And we have Pastor Julius Fletcher for contrast. James is in a hard place, and Julius is introduced to try and help him. Of course, it could be said that in reality, Julius is the one in a hard place and James is there to help him. Through their interractions and adventures, we, the reader, receive help in our hard place as well. Together, I hope, we can all take a step forward, into an area many of us might not have even considered before.

It is my hope with The Master's Program to introduce new thoughts and ideas into your walk with God, perhaps shake some things up a bit, and open new possibilities for your future, both in the short term and the long term. It is a fast-paced epic adventure, so buckle up.

Below this intro is the first chapter as it currently stands.

Thanks,

David L Wagner

 

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CHAPTER 1

Copyright 2003-2009

 

 

“So this is Pompeii, eh?”

What did you expect, James?

James Todd looked over the large, columned courtyard of the main forum in Pompeii. Men and women (mostly men) moving busily about, some headed for one of the many temples, some meandering around the merchants tables, some no doubt simply crossing through the forum on the way from one place to another.

James glanced over his shoulder, looking north. Above the Temple of Jupiter, he could see the towering Mt. Vesuvius, deceptively calm, in the distance. He looked back at the forum.

            Most of the buildings still had visible damage from the massive earthquake more than a decade before. A few, like the temple of Apollo, had been fully restored.

“I don’t know, Lord. All I remember of this place are pictures of excavations and ruins, like everyone else. I studied it in High School. I remember thinking how cool it must have been to be an ancient Roman.”

Well?

“They’re just people.”

Are you disappointed?

“Nah, not really. When I think about it, it shouldn’t surprise me.”

James glanced back at Vesuvius. “It’s sure a lot bigger than I realized.”

It will lose about 1,000 feet off the top when it goes.

James studied the people again. No one paid any attention to him anymore, now that he was dressed as they were. Not that he blended in perfectly with them; a noticeable farmer tan was still a concern, as was his hair style. He wore it combed straight back, as usual, whereas the most common cut he saw was the “bowl haircut with the itty bitty bangs” look, or the long hair of the fighters. At least the dark brown color was common. Of course, the old men seemed to prefer bald.

James shuddered again, as he chased away the sinking feeling that in a few days, most of these people would be dead or fled, and this time next week, the city would cease to exist.

“Part of me really wants to run around telling everyone to get out of here.”

How many do you think would believe you?

James waited a few moments before answering, studying the people. One lady met his eyes, smiled, and turned away.

“Still. Being roasted alive and entombed in ash seems a hard way to go, sinners or not.”

Do you trust me, James?

That question usually meant the real fun was about to start.

“I’d like to think I do,” James said, smiling.

Then let’s go to the amphitheater.

“I thought I was waiting for someone,” James asked.

It appears he isn’t coming today. We’ll have to meet him later.

“OK, King, you lead.” James stood and straightened his tunic. It was a loose garment, a light shade of brown, which went over both shoulders, unlike the Greek toga. Both sides were open down to the waist, which provided nice ventilation.

Are you hungry?

James smiled again. Jesus usually didn’t ask questions like that without knowing the answer first.

“What’s so amusing, sir?” A deep voice asked in Latin, causing James to turn his head. An older gentleman stood to James’ right, with a woman at his side, and four men behind them. He was definitely a man of some import.

“Excuse me?” James asked, also in Latin.

“You smiled as I approached. Do you find me amusing, sir?” He asked again, with an edge in his voice.

“No, sir. I had a pleasant thought, that is all. I didn’t see you approach.” James responded.

The man considered James for a few moments, looking him up and down. He turned, took a step and stopped; James thought he was going to walk away, but instead he turned back to James and said, “Where are you from, stranger?”

James smiled again, which cause the man’s brow to furrow again. James was smiling at the thought of telling the man truthfully, “I’m from across the great ocean, and actually I won’t be born for another 1900 years or so.”

“Well, I’m not from here. I’m a traveler from a place I doubt you’ve ever heard of.” James asked the Lord silently if that answer was ok.

“I can certainly tell that you are not from around here. That is no news to me. What is your name?” The man responded impatiently. The woman leaning on his shoulder smiled at James.

“My name is James, sir.”

“And what are you doing in my city, James?”

“What do I tell him, Lord?” James asked silently.

You’re a journeyman artist. You came here looking for work painting murals and creating floor mosaics.

James smiled again.

“Another amusing thought, James?”

“My apologies, sir, I’ve had quite a morning.” James bowed slightly, and proceeded to repeat what the King told him.

“A painter of murals? What a wonderful gift from the fates. I have need of just such a person. Have your services been engaged as of yet?” The man asked, eyebrows now arched.

“No, sir, I have just arrived this morning.”

The man motioned, and one of the men behind him stepped forward. They traded whispers, and then the older man strode away, taking the woman and the rest of his retinue with him, leaving James and the man he had swapped whispers with.

“Senator Julius asks you to kindly retrieve your things and accompany me to his palace. He wishes to employ you to assist our master painter in his project. You will be well paid.” The man spoke Latin tinged with an accent James couldn’t place.

“Senator Julius?” James asked.

“The Senator is an important man in this city. He honors you with his request.”

“Indeed. I will gladly serve the Senator.” James bowed.

“I will meet you here at the ninth hour. Please have all of your things with you. I am Justin.” Before James could respond, Justin turned and strode off, quickly disappearing into the forum crowds.

You handled that well, James.

“A painter?” James laughed.

You’re a fine painter; you just don’t know it yet. Now, to the amphitheater; the fights are already underway. Grab a snack before you go.

James fished some coins out of a small pouch he had around his waist, and glanced around the forum. There were dozens of booths set up, selling all types of fruits and meats and things. James smiled yet again. “I guess the food court concept has been around for centuries, eh Lord?”

People need to eat, and people need to earn a living.

“How will the economy work in your Kingdom, Lord? Will it be money based?” James asked as he approached a vegetable vendor, and began examining the cucumbers.

Not money based. It will be a variation on a barter system, but I can’t go into that right now. Maybe another time.

The flies were out in force today. They didn’t seem to bother too many people, though. I guess you get used to things after a while. But shooing them away from the fruits and vegetables in order to inspect them was a bit unnerving to James.

“I guess I’m an ugly American,” James said in English, garnering a few strange looks, and smiled yet again. He wondered off-hand what the policy was for using the public fresh-water fountains, which were strategically placed at intersections around the city. Could one wash vegetables at them?

Worried about getting sick, James?

Ouch. He didn’t trust the Lord to keep him healthy, apparently. “Sorry, Lord. Force of habit.” James bought a pair of plums and continued on across the forum, rubbing one of them on his tunic. He said, “Thanks, Lord,” as he took a bite out of it.

At this point, he was near a long stone wall, about eight feet tall and a good 40 feet long. On it were painted political slogans and results of local trials of interest. Poor mans’ newspaper, he supposed. Well, the forum was the center of commerce, communication and city government, so a big bulletin board made sense.

Old notices were painted over with white paint, and new announcements were added in either red or black paint, in tall, thin letters. James smiled at the idea of adding his own message for the archeologists to scratch their heads over in 1800 years, but decided against it. He had to get over to the amphitheater, which was in the southeast corner of the city.

But instead of heading south, he passed through the northern gate of the forum, to get a glimpse of the forum baths. There was always a steady stream of people coming in and out of the three main public bathhouses, from what James could see. Apparently, cleanliness was next to ungodliness.

Certain things about the city were a surprise to James. One was the near overwhelming amount of color everywhere. Whenever he had considered Pompeii before (which was almost never, actually), it had always been in the context of dreary, drab ruins and the ghosts that haunted the place. It was quite a shift to see the place alive, with banners and flags and vibrant colors.

Speaking of banners, another semi-shocker for James was the overt embracing of lust and sex in the city; statues and pictures and signs emblazoned with pornographic imagery at an in-your-face level he didn’t think was possible. People engaged in public displays of activity usually reserved for behind closed doors - apparently it didn’t phase the city dwellers. James hardly considered himself a prude; still, the brazenness of it all was an eye-opener.

Also, numerous temples littered the city. Dozens of different gods, including the big guns: Jupiter, Venus, Hercules and Apollo. There seemed as many different religions as there were people. All of the gods were hamstrung with various human frailties and idiosyncrasies. Of course, nowhere did the God of Israel seem to be represented, which made sense to James, sadly.

It all added up to an ancient Las Vegas.

“Is that why you’re going to drop the hammer on this city, Lord”

That and more. You’ll see.

James looked around for a place to dispose of his plum pits, but couldn’t see a trash receptacle anywhere. He contemplated simply pocketing the refuse (thinking there must be a waste basket somewhere along the way to the amphitheater), but he decided instead to ask a passerby. The man stared blankly at James’ request, and then held out his hand.

“Here, let me show you,” the man said.

James handed him the plum pits. He man tossed them over his shoulder into the street, wiped his hand on his tunic, turned and walked away.

James shrugged his shoulders and continued walking. He past the forum baths and came to a large intersection. People hurried up and down the wide sidewalks and tall curbs. The cobblestone streets themselves were a mess: rubbish, horse refuse and standing water. It smelled like it looked, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone. At strategic points along the street, tall stepping stones allowed people to cross unsullied, while allowing space between the large stones for chariot wheels to pass.

“Which way, Lord?”

Head east. I want to show you something.

James turned to his right and began east down what would in the future be called Via di Fortuna. The sidewalks were packed; it reminded him of New York City, in a way. Snatches of music floated here and there, mixing not unpleasantly with the cacophony of voices – everyone seemed to be talking at once.

There were many different types of shops on display, including what could only be considered fast food shops. They had long bars, built of stone, that people stood at, and there were holes in the counter tops that held pottery vessels. Into these were placed warm foods of various kinds for its hurried patrons - meats and stews, from the look of it. Maybe James would stop back by here later – the food smelled really good.

As he walked, he played his usual game with the Lord. Any time he was in a crowd, he would look at the people as they passed and he would say, “Is there anything you would have me say to any of these people?”

            The King would know exactly what to say to each of these people to bring life and freedom – if he wanted to. James liked to make himself available as a messenger if needed.

Not here.

After a couple long blocks, James came to another large intersection.

Stop here for a minute.

James stood up against a wall, trying to stay out of the way of the foot traffic. Aside from the occasional sideways glance, no one paid him any mind. After a few minutes, James looked north up the street toward the northern gate of the walled city and saw a large wagon coming, pulled by a team of four horses. There were many people on the wagon, all unclothed and in chains (save the driver, and a soldier riding shotgun).

James heard a loud outburst of laughter from behind him, and turned to look south down the same road. Another wagon was coming from the opposite direction, likewise pulled by a team of four. This one was loaded with dead bodies, some with grievous wounds.

James watched as the wagons approached each other. The one heading north, carrying the dead, passed closest to James. As it passed, one body in the pile opened his eyes and focused on James, whose heart jumped. It was only for a second or two as the wagon passed by, but that look pierced through to James’ heart. The guy wasn’t dead, yet. Blood streaked from his ears and nose, and his jaw looked smashed.

But the look said it all. This man knew he was minutes away from passing, if that. He was as good as done.

I’m longsuffering, but I am not endlessly patient. That line has been crossed here. This city has become a stench in my Father’s nostrils.

No one else on the street looked at the wagon, save James. To the rest, it might as well have been invisible. The only other people that looked at the dead were those on the slave wagon, as it slowly passed, heading in the opposite direction. Every eye on that wagon was fixed on those bodies. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what most of them were thinking at that moment.

And just like that, the scene was over. Both wagons passed; the dead were headed out of the city, and fresh meat was headed in. Slave trade was huge in Pompeii – a third of its inhabitants were slaves. Even the poorest of families had a slave or two to prepare meals, clean up around the living quarters, and tend to the garden.

The slaves were of all nationalities, and were unlucky enough to have been defeated enemy soldiers (or sons thereof), or had lost all money, or were captured at sea while minding their own business. Each ended up at Pompeii, a center of slave trade in the Roman Empire.

Many were educated, and thus were both in demand and well treated. Doctors, teachers, philosophers, even artists, as James would soon find out.

Follow the wagon south, to the gladiator barracks.

James followed, but at a distance, feeling a bit self-conscious at the glances of those manacled in the back of the wagon. Some had such sad faces; others were defiant and angry.

“Is there anything you want me to do or say, Lord?”

Not yet.

The wagon continued south, past the Stabian baths, which was bustling with activity, mostly men, none of whom seemed to notice the wagon passing by, including the many slaves among them. Another long block and the wagon came to a stop at the gladiator barracks. The area was lush with vegetation.

Next door to the gladiator barracks was a beautiful outdoor theater, a stone wall separated the two. James walked into one of the theater entrances and peered down into the empty theater. Several men were on the stage assembling what looked like a set, for a play of some sort, no doubt. It was an intimate arena; James wondered if gladiator fights ever took place in such a close arena.

“What do you want?” One of the men on stage looked up and asked James.

James shrugged his shoulders and walked back out the way he came in. Back outside, he looked for the wagon, and found it unloading its passengers in front of the barracks, in the presence of several soldiers. The prisoners were all lined up, still shackled, and an older, balding man with multiple scars began looking over them. Another man stood just behind him, marking on what looked to James like a clipboard.

The process took about 15 minutes; several slaves were placed back onto the wagon, and the rest ushered into the barracks and out of view. In a way, the whole thing reminded James of the stories he’d read of the nazi death camps (which one day he would see firsthand), and the daily selections that used to take place at some of them.

The wagon continued south, stopping at the southern gate to the city, where it waited to be cleared to pass out of the city.

“Where are those slaves going now, Lord?”

To work in the mines.

“Do I follow?”

No. Wait for a moment or two. There’s someone I want you to talk to.

James found an out-of-the-way spot to stand near the barracks wall, and crossed his arms, leaning up against a waist-high pillar. He looked around a bit more, taking in the sites of this southern extremity of the city. This part was so beautiful, like a park. All that was missing was a few kids running around. But he had yet to notice any children, save those that were working in the occasional sidewalk shop. The rest, he presumed, were busy with their schooling.

The pillar that James leaned against was near a side gate to the barracks, unbeknownst to him. He had his back to the gate, as it slammed open, startling him. He jumped, and spun around, backing away as a pair of armed men (possibly soldiers, James couldn’t tell) pushed a third unclothed man to the ground right there on the sidewalk.

“Dog. I think I’ll gut you right now,” one of the armed men said, unsheathing his sword. “Hold him.”

His cohort grabbed the unclothed, skinny man by the hair and pulled him to his feet. He was bleeding from one side of his mouth, and he trembled even though he held a defiant look on his face. None of them seemed to care that James was standing there, watching it all.

As the sword moved into position to run the skinny guy through, James blurted out, “I’ll give you 50 for him.” It just erupted out of him.

The man with the sword stopped and looked up at James, noticing him for the first time. “What?”

“60. I’ll give you 60 for him.”

The two men exchanged looks. For a second, James thought they were going to turn their swords on him. He had no idea why he was saying any of this. James filled the awkward silence with one word:

“Each.”

“You want to give us money for this piece of trash?” The one with the sword said and laughed. His partner let the skinny guy fall in a heap to the ground, and then put a foot on him, pinning him to the ground.

“Where’s the money,” the armed brute asked, pointing his sword into James’ chest. James only had a few coins in his hip pouch, he knew.

“Um, Lord, I don’t know what I’m doing,” James said silently.

Pay the men.

James reached into his hip pouch to pull out his few coins, and found that he had a lot more coins than the last time he checked, and big ones too. He fished a handful and held them out. The man laughed and put his sword away, wrenching the coins from James’ hand, dropping a few in the process, which his friend scooped up.

The unclothed man crawled quickly over, like a dog, to James’ feet and crouched there, glancing up at the men that had almost run him through. After handing the coins to his friend (who disappeared back through the gate), the man said “Nice doing business with you,” sheathed his sword, and punched James squarely in the face.

Lights exploded in James field of vision, and he dropped to one knee. His assailant laughed and disappeared through the gate as well, back into the gladiator barracks.

James gathered himself and stood, rubbing his mouth gingerly. His upper lip was split and bleeding. He spit out some blood, and glanced at the man he had just purchased.

“Well, that’s that, Lord. Guess I’m a slave owner now,” he prayed.

“Loreius.”

James glanced down at the source of the voice – the smiling, unclothed man at his feet. “Excuse me?” James asked, confused.

“Excuse you for what?” The man said, standing, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. “You need thanking, not excusing.”

“I didn’t understand what you said, that’s all,” James added.

“I was telling you the name of your servant. I’m Loreius.” He seemed completely unbothered by the fact that he was nude. No one else that passed seemed to care either. “What would you have from me, master?”

James dabbed at his split lip again, and wondered what to do with this guy. Let him go, he supposed. He couldn’t very well have someone calling him “master.”

“Well, I suppose for starters, I would have you put some clothing on,” James said, chuckling.

Loreius motioned over his shoulder with his thumb, at the gate. “Well, they confiscated my tunic before bringing me out here to be disposed of.”

As if on cue, the gate swung open again, and the large man that had punched James moments before reappeared holding a dirty tunic. He was smiling smugly; Loreius shrunk visibly before James’ eyes. “This belongs to your new dog.” He held it out, dangling it, laughing. “Come on, dog. Take it.”

After a few long moments, Loreius reached out for it, and, predictably, the large man pulled it away, taking a swing at him with his free fist. Loreius ducked and retreated to James.

This drew the guards’ gaze to James. “Hey, rich man. Got any more coins for your dogs’ rags?” He laughed again, dangling the tunic with one hand, rubbing the thumb and fingers of his other hand together.

James choked down his anger. “Lord, what should I do?” he prayed.

Don’t do anything. Just leave.

“Thank you for the offer, but I think I’ll buy him something new to wear instead. Come, Loreius.”

The smile disappeared from the guard’s face, and he let the tunic drop to the ground. “You’ll find out what a joy this one is. I give it one day, and you’ll be bringing him back here, begging me to skewer him, like I wanted to begin with.”

He turned and reentered the barracks, closing the gate behind him again. Loreius immediately snatched up the tunic, clutching it to his chest, and returned to James’ side. After a moment, he was smiling again. “I despise that man.”

“Why did he want to slay you?” James asked, as Loreius clothed himself.

He smoothed out the wrinkles with both hands, as if his tunic was made of fine silk. “I angered him.”

“And..?”

“Well, I wouldn’t play nice. I have a hard time with rules. I like to break them.” Loreius touched his own wounded mouth, and added, “Can we continue talking over at the fountain? I could use a swig of water.”

They began east, chatting as they strolled.

“Loreius is actually my former master’s name. I took his name when I was younger to honor him, but it never got me much in return. He never cared for me much, which is fine. He was a selfish slob anyway. After my latest transgression, he had me brought here to the barracks. He wanted to kill me himself, but said he’d much rather watch me die in the amphitheater.”

Loreius burst out laughing, and hopped into the air. “Oh, I can just imagine the look on his face when he finds out I’m free.” He looked at James, and dropped his smile. “I mean, that I belong to another better master now, and won’t be dying like a butchered pig in the pit.”

“He certainly doesn’t behave like a slave, does he, Lord?” James prayed silently, as they walked.

If only you knew.

James didn’t like the sound of that.

Loreius was a bit shorter than James, about five-six or so, and wiry, with dark olive skin (or maybe that was just dirt). He couldn’t have been much older than 20. It looked and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in weeks.

“What did you do to get your former master so angry at you,” James tested.

Loreius dodged. “Well, it’s more an accumulation of things, really. It’s not important now.”

They arrived at a small sidewalk fountain. Fresh water poured into the concrete basin through the mouth of a sculpted stone face. Loreius dipped both hands in, took a drink, and then poured handfuls of water onto his head, working it through his matted hair. James took the opportunity to dab the end of his tunic into the water, and then using the damp end to dab at his split front lip, wincing.

“So, you don’t live here in Pompeii, right?” Loreius asked, sitting on the curb. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

“No. Just visiting,” James replied.

“Excellent. So where are we going when we leave then? Cyprus, by chance?”

James chuckled. “Well, I’m going back to where I belong, in a way. And you, my friend, will be going wherever you want to go.”

Loreius’ face lit up. “You’re setting me free?”

Not yet.

James paused. “Uh…not yet. But when we leave the city, you will be a free man.”

Loreius leapt to his feet and embraced James, who winced a bit at the filth of the man. As he pulled away from James, Loreius said, “Until that moment comes, I am yours. I know this city like the back of my hand. What will we be doing next?”

“Well, I’m to meet a man named Justin at the great forum at the ninth hour.”

“That’s a few hours away. What shall we do to pass the time, master?” Loreius was literally gleeful.

“Well, first, if you don’t mind, we’ll get you cleaned up, and in a fresh change of clothes.”

Loreius grabbed James’ arm, and pulled him with him as he hurriedly walked east. “I know just the place, and it won’t cost you a thing.”

Ten minutes later, Loreius was inquiring at the door of a smallish estate just north of the amphitheater. He whispered something to the ancient man at the front gate, who apparently recognized Loreius. Judging from the body language, the other man wasn’t too fond of Loreius. The old man left the gate, and Loreius smiled at James, motioning him over to the gate.

As James approached, Loreius said, “The master of this estate is out of the city for another day. He’ll come back tomorrow. I know two servant girls that work here. The old man is going to get them.”

“And why are we here again?” James asked.

“They have a bath room here, believe it or not. Kind of a luxury for a private home. I don’t want to risk being seen at the Stabian baths just yet, so I’ll have them ready the bath here.” Loreius rubbed his hands together, smiling.

Another 30 seconds, and a woman’s voice squealed Loreius’ name, giggling. Loreius’ face lit up, the gate opened and the two embraced, but only briefly, as the woman pulled away.

“Loreius, you’re filthy!” She held her nose, but still beamed.

“That’s why we’re here, love. Can you get the bath ready for me?” He reached for her cheek, but she recoiled again, giggling.

Her smile softened a bit when she noticed James standing there. She turned to Loreius and asked with her eyes.

“Henna, this is my new master. His name is…” He turned to James, puzzled. Then he burst out laughing, “I don’t even know your name!” Henna joined him laughing, though James was sure she had no idea what she was laughing about. James stood, hands clasped behind him, waiting for them to settle down.

“I’m James, Henna. Nice to meet you.”

Henna just smiled, and looked back to Loreius. She grabbed him by the hand, saying, “Come on. Let’s get you washed up.”

Loreius beckoned James inside. They all walked past the ancient gateman, who had returned. He looked down his nose at Loreius, and then nodded to James, saying, “Welcome, sir.”

Upon entering, James found himself in a large atrium. The room was decorated with murals painted directly upon the walls. There were carved wooden chairs, small tables holding flower vases, and a pole that looked suspiciously like a coat rack of some kind. There were recessed places in the walls at regular intervals that held small statues.

In the middle of the room was what looked like a well. It was about four feet square and sunk down into the ground to an unknown depth.

“What is that thing, Lord?” James prayed.

They use these recessed basins to catch rainwater. Many of the larger houses here have them.

James looked up and, indeed, there were two spouts that were above the basin on the ceiling. Apparently the rainwater was collected on the roof and funneled to the spouts, where it dropped into the basin. Pretty ingenious.

He stepped around the basin, and tried to catch up with Loreius and Henna, who had proceeded into the garden. The atrium opened up into a square, columned garden. It was covered around the perimeter only; the sun light shone brightly onto the vegetation in the center. There were vegetables of various kinds, as well as decorative landscaping. A large statue sat in the center, and near it were a pair of stone benches. Very nice.

This garden was the center of the estate; the many rooms of the house surrounded the garden. One could access any room, it appeared, from this beautiful little oasis.

James caught a glimpse of Loreius, still being pulled by the arm by Henna. Loreius glanced over his shoulder at James, smiling ear to ear, and disappeared into a room. James followed, and found them in a bathing area, getting undressed.

“I shouldn’t be too long, James. Have a look around. I’ll find you.”

James’ gaze narrowed and he studied Loreius’ face from across the room. He decided it would be a waste of time to get angry at this point, so he turned to leave. He would be rid of Loreius soon enough anyway. Loreius seemed to sense that he’d offended James, so he called out before James had left the room.

“James?”

James stopped and turned.

“I really do appreciate what you’ve done for me. I would be dead right now if it wasn’t for you. Today is a new beginning for me. I’m truly grateful.”

He seemed sincere, but really, it didn’t matter. James forced a smile, which caused him to wince. He’d forgotten about his split upper lip.

“I’ll be in the garden.”

Sitting on the bench in silence was a nice break for James. He looked at the craftsmanship of the statue, which was truly excellent. It was a life-sized marble sculpture of a standing man. His left hand was across his waste, holding a large fabric around himself, and his right hand was raised in what looked like a greeting. The smooth lines and perfect attention to detail was almost stunning. The look on its face was neutral. You could read anything into an expression like that, which, James supposed, was probably the point.

“This one will be leaving us in two days.”

James turned, and saw the old man from the front door. He had come up and stood behind James without sound, it seemed.

“Really? And where is it going?” James asked.

“Master has a brother in Rome. It is a gift to him.”

“Well, what a shame. It’s beautiful.” James turned back to look at the statue again.

“True. But we will use the space to display his latest piece,” the old man said, also looking at the statue. “It will be a better work.”

“Did your master buy a new statue?”

“Not purchased. He created it himself. He is quite an artisan.”

“Wow,” James said, which received a puzzling look from the old man.

“‘Wow?’ What does that mean, sir?” The old man looked almost offended. James laughed and winced again. Touching his lip, he said, “My apologies. ‘Wow’ is an expression of amazement where I come from. I was only impressed at the skill of your master.”

“I see. Your lip looks like it could use some attention. Did Loreius do that?”

“Oh, no, it was…uh, someone else.” He didn’t want to explain the story to the old man. In a way, Loreius did do it.

“Well, in any case, if you follow me, I can attend to your wound.”

“Much appreciated, sir.”

As they crossed the garden and headed for the kitchen, they passed a large, cluttered room. James glanced in as they passed, and then stopped. There were work benches along the walls with tools of various kinds all arranged in relatively neat rows. Hammers, chisels, brushes, and various other metal instruments that looked to James like they could be at home in a medieval torture chamber. But what drew his gaze was the large fabric draped over something big in the middle of the room.

By this time, the old man had rejoined James and they both looked into the workroom.

“This is masters’ workshop. He creates his statues and things in here.”

“May I go in?” James asked.

“Of course. Just, please, don’t touch anything.”

They both entered the room, and James took it all in. It was a very large room, compared to many of the others that he saw. Perhaps fifteen feet square. He walked over to the draped item in the center of the room.

“This is the new sculpture?”

“Yes, it is. It will be moved into place in three days.”

“No, it won’t,” James thought to himself.

“I’ll be gone by then. Any chance I could see it now?” he added aloud.

“Certainly not,” the man said, as if James had asked the most absurd question in the world. “No one sees it before the unveiling. Not even me.”

James shrugged his shoulders and looked back at the draped statue, trying to imagine what it looked like under there. No one knew what the artist was doing under there, really. James had known a few artists, and they were all picky about their work. James enjoyed watching the process, but those artists didn’t want anyone to see something that wasn’t perfect, especially if they had a reputation for being top notch.

James looked up at the ceiling, and there were pegs at regular intervals in a straight line from one side to the other, near the door. The old man caught James’ glance, and answered the question for him.

“He hangs the fabric up there while working. It drapes from the ceiling to shield the view of anyone that might be walking in the garden.”

“I guess he takes the secrecy seriously,” James replied.

At that moment, James had a brief vision. It lasted all of five seconds, and was a picture of a grave bursting open like a cannon, and a man popping out and onto his feet near the grave. His body was strong and his eyes were glowing. The man looked at James; his expression was complete triumph and joy.

And then the vision vanished. It didn’t mean anything to James at the moment. He decided to file it away in his brain for later, after he had time to think and write about it in his journaling.

He turned for the door; that’s when he saw the paints. Small jars, each covered with a thin fabric, but spattered with rich color. There were brushes nearby.

“Your master paints as well?” James asked, arching an eyebrow.

“He is a man of many talents. He is quite a musician as well, and has a good singing voice,” the old man replied, with an edge in his voice that indicated he wanted to leave the workshop. James had an idea.

“I don’t suppose your master has any painting supplies that he is not using anymore? I would like to take up the art, and perhaps I could purchase them from your master.”

The old man studied James for a few moments; James thought perhaps he’d misstepped by asking. The old man said, “Follow me, sir,” and led him out of the workshop and down two more doors to the kitchen area. There were two other servants in here, preparing greens of some sort in a pair of large bowls. Both were women, one young and the other not so young. Neither of them paid any attention to James and the old man as they crossed the room and entered a small storage closet.

The old man grabbed a sack and set it on a small table back in the kitchen. Inside the sack were three fist-sized jars and some brushes. He arranged them carefully on the small table, and folded the bag up, tucking it neatly under his arm, all wordlessly.

After a few moments, he said, “These are mine. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I am giving them to you.” He held the bag out for James.

“Oh, I couldn’t take them from you without paying for them,” James said, not taking the bag.

“By the fates, what would I do with money, sir?” The old man said, holding the bag out still. James took the bag.

“I have the primary colors here only. You will have to mix anything else you need.” He grabbed each of the three small vessels and shook them slightly. “The yellow is low. I will fill it up more.”

He turned and said something to the older woman in a language that was not Latin. James didn’t understand it, which was an odd feeling. It didn’t matter, ultimately, since he figured out what he had told her as he left. The woman grabbed a cloth, a small vessel of water and a small bowl of something brown and finely chopped.

She came to James and motioned for him to sit down. She grabbed a pinch of the brown spice (or whatever it was), and tossed it into the water bowl. She soaked the cloth in the liquid and cleaned James’ wounded lip with it. He tried valiantly to keep from wincing, but it stung like the dickens. The woman paid no mind to James’ squirming, and examined the wound like an old pro.

She finished by mumbling something in that other language, and walked away. She returned with a cup of something and gave it to James to drink. He took it and drank from it while the woman watched approvingly. It was wine, and good wine at that. James smiled and tried to put the pain somewhere else in his brain. It was not easy.

He took a second drink, and the woman returned to her vegetables. His lip was throbbing.

The old man returned, and bundled the art supplies up for James. He then escorted him back out to the garden, depositing him back on the same bench he sat on to begin with. He then left James alone.

“Ouch,” James prayed, closing his eyes. “Any chance you could heal this for me, Lord?”

Not today.

That wasn’t exactly the answer James wanted to hear, but he didn’t push it. He took a deep breath and lay down on the bench, looking up at the clear blue sky. He must have drifted off to sleep. One moment, he was laying there looking up, praying softly, and the next he was waking up with a start, with Loreius smiling and standing over him, looking down.

“It’s about the seventh hour, master. When did you say you needed to meet someone at the forum?”

James sat up. “The ninth hour. The man’s name is Justin.”

James was glad he had someone else to tell him the hour. They tracked time differently in Pompeii. Their idea of a day was exactly 12 hours of daylight, and 12 hours of night, regardless of the time of year. So, in the winter time, the daytime hours were shortened to as few as 45 minutes, while in the summer, they stretched out to as many as 75 minutes each. Thus, the beginning of the 7^th hour was always the midpoint of the day – or noon, and James understood it.

Loreius had apparently located a fresh change of clothing. He certainly looked better cleaned up, which James supposed went without saying.

“Well, we still have some time. There’s someone I’d like to talk to down at the waterfront. Is that ok with you, Master James?” Loreius asked, inching toward the atrium.

James grabbed his bag of art supplies, and stood. “No. We’re going to the amphitheater.” He left no room for discussion, and was not moved by the crestfallen look on Loreius’ face.

“I’m not an expert on being a slave, Lord, but I’m pretty sure one isn’t supposed to behave like this cheeky guy here,” James said silently, as he left the garden for the atrium. Loreius walked by his side.

It’s just about all I get from mine, too.

James laughed. He noticed something tucked into Loreius’ belt.

“He’s armed now, Lord.”

Leave it be for now.

They said goodbye to the old man at the door and reentered the city. They walked south three blocks and came upon the amphitheater, with gladiator fights in full swing.

It was a free-standing, oval-shaped outdoor structure that could seat up to 20,000 people. Two main entrance tunnels on either end gave access to the arena floor for the fighters, while the spectators entered from the top. Great sets of arched staircases ascended from outside, at floor level, and fed the people upward to entrances, where they trickled back down into the arena to find the best seats.

This is exactly what James and Loreius did, finding pretty good middle-level seats. Three men dressed in costumes came out to remove the body of the previous loser, and another group of boys came trotting out to clean the blood stains up. The amphitheater was at about half capacity. Even so, they generated a lot of noise, hungry for more fighting.

After a few minutes, a robed man came out and shouted the names of the next two combatants. One entered from each tunnel, armed and armored. The larger fighter carried a sword in one hand, and a large rectangular shield in the other. He had a full helm covering his head, and, oddly, was wearing armor on his right arm and left leg; the other limbs were bare. He had a breastplate on, which allowed full movement of his arms.

The smaller fighter wasn’t wearing much at all along the lines of armor, and was holding a smallish, curved sword and a small round shield. He had on a half-helm that seemed to offer a bit of protection for his cheek bones and nose, but most of his face was visible.

As they walked toward each other, the crowd roared and clapped. The fighters stood before the robed man, and bowed slightly to each other, then faced the audience on the opposite side, away from James, and both said something to someone seated over there. The crowd roared again.

“What did they say, I wonder?” James asked out loud.

“They said, ‘we who are about to die salute you.’” Loreius responded with a smile, leaning forward in his seat.

“I always thought that was a myth,” James said, brow furrowed a bit.

“What?”

“Nevermind.” James watched the robed man exit the arena floor, and the two fighters begin to circle each other, sizing each other up.

James felt his stomach tie into a knot as they started swinging. The smaller one stayed low and moved quickly, jabbing now and again, testing the movements of his opponent. He almost seemed hesitant to get close enough to score a solid blow; the larger fighter not only had an arm-reach advantage, but a longer sword as well. He was fanning that sword like a windmill.

James had the urge to get up and leave. “Lord, why did you bring me here to see this again?” he prayed.

Look around you, James.

As James looked at the roaring, spitting, cheering crowd, the Lord opened James’ eyes and he saw into the spirit realm around him. He was categorically unprepared to see what he was seeing.

He’d seen into the spirit realm before on numerous occasions, but this was beyond his experience. The place was a swarming hive of activity. Demons swirled around in the air, shrieking, looking for someone to light upon, but, literally, there were no more people to land upon. Each person he could see, including Loreius, had several spirits attached to them like leeches, arms and legs buried into their torsos, gripping their hearts with rage and bloodlust.

Still more shocking was the site of what looked like a blimp in the air, blocking out the sunlight. It was a mammoth, floating creature, straight out of someone’s nightmare. It might have been James’ imagination, but he thought that its one great black eye was looking at him. It wasn’t the only leviathan floating over the city, either.

James stood, not a little alarmed. At that point, he noticed a pair of angels standing next to him, on either side, shining swords drawn. One he recognized from previous adventures. They had almost neutral looks on their faces. One turned to James and said, “Under control, James. The King has all things in hand.”

Peace flooded over James, in spite of the surroundings. He noticed at that point that the demons had been giving them a wide berth. In fact, it didn’t bother the spectators behind James that he stood up, since, unbeknownst to James, nearly all the people that had been seated near them had moved to other sections, leaving James and Loreius basically alone in a 12 foot radius.

James looked again at the demons clinging to Loreius. They no longer were watching the fight, screaming into Loreius’ ear. Their eyes were darting back and forth between the angels and James. Loreius himself was not watching the fight, but rubbing his temples, as if he had a head ache.

“We belong here,” one of the spirits yelled at the angel.

The angel ignored it. Instead he looked to James and said, “Come with us.”

He stood, leaving Loreius behind, and followed the angels up the aisle, to the very top row of seats. Looking south, over the city wall and out into the bay of Naples, James’ breath was caught yet again. Standing in the middle of the bay was an angel whose size defied description. James could barely see his face up in the clouds. His great golden cloak was rippling softly (though James couldn’t imagine the force that wind would have to blow to get that cloak moving like that), and his arms were at his side. His great sword was sheathed. He stood there, motionless, like a great colossus, in the deepest part of the bay, which to him was but ankle deep.

I sent him here four days ago. In three days, I will command him to unsheathe his sword. He will drive it into the heart of the mountain, unleashing its fury upon this city. When man puts me far from them, this is the natural result. Lust, greed, entertainment, idolatry and violence, all sin and all unbridled.

James turned again and looked into the arena at the swirling, throbbing drive for violence. He turned back to get another look at the angel in the bay, but it was gone. He turned back, and the angels and demons were gone as well. His glimpse into the spirit realm was over.

He returned to his seat in time to see the smaller fighter dodge a blow from the great sword, roll forward, and thrust the larger fighter through with his sword, his blade disappearing into the larger mans’ left armpit. The crowd shot to its feet and roared, including Loreius.

He was clapping, smiling from ear to ear. “Wasn’t that outstanding? Speed beats strength almost every time. Great fight.”

James looked at the collapsed form of the fallen fighter on the dirt, clenching and releasing one of his hands, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. The victorious fighter stood over him, holding his stained sword, panting heavily. He tore off his helmet, casting it aside, and looked around at the cheering crowd.

Many were pointing toward their own chests with their thumbs, shouting “Lugula! Lugula!”

The victor grabbed his sword with both hands, lifted it over his head and drove the blade into the neck of the fallen foe. The crowd cheered still louder.

James had seen enough. “Can I go now, Lord?”

Remember what you’ve seen, James. I’m teaching you something here.

“Yes, my King.” James stood and tapped Loreius on the shoulder. “We’re leaving.”

“We just got here,” Loreius whined.

James turned and ascended the steps. At this point, he didn’t care if Loreius stayed or came along, or lived or died. Loreius followed him, carrying the bag of art supplies that James had inadvertently left behind.

Loreius fell in step with James once off the amphitheater grounds. They were heading west toward the barracks again.

“Where are we going now, master?” Loreius asked, holding out the bag of art supplies for James to take. James snatched the bag out of his hands and answered, “We’re going to the forum. I want to eat.”

Loreius hopped in front of James and turned around, walking backwards in front of James so he could see him while he talked. “I’m not really hungry, James. Would it be all right with you if I met you in the forum in an hour? I really want to say good bye to someone down at the waterfront. An old friend.”

The Spirit revealed to James what Loreius really wanted to do and it made James sick. He was already tired of Loreius’ shifty behavior and efforts at manipulating him, but this was the last straw. Thinking back on it later, James realized he could have handled things in a more diplomatic way, but at the moment, his emotions got the better of him.

“Oh, really? Visit a friend, huh?” He stopped walking, and Loreius followed suit.

“Well, sure. I want to say good bye.”

“You always say good bye with the point of a blade?”

Loreius’ mouth fell open. James continued.

“Just stroll right on down to the water front, spot your old master dining by the sea in his usual spot with whoever he got to replace your sorry carcass, and slice their necks ear to ear. Who knows? Maybe he has some money on him, eh? Then why not swing by Menander’s boat shop and see if your old friend Eleazar is working. You know, Henna’s brother. He could benefit from a taste of your blade as well, eh Loreius?”

Loreius was stunned. He slowly stepped backward, mouth still agape. “How do you…who are…I don’t…”

“You used Henna to find out where Eleazar was at today, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Loreius screamed into James’ face.

James held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Loreius stayed motionless.

“Come on. A man of your ability should have no problem finding another one. I mean, you do know this city like the back of your hand.” James kept his hand out. After another few seconds, he added, “Don’t make me have to take it away from you.”

Loreius steeled himself. He slowly grabbed the dagger from his belt and let it drop to the ground. His smile had disappeared completely. “Yes, master,” he whispered with disdain.

They held each other’s gaze for a moment or two before James said, “I tried treating you kindly, and you’ve done nothing but try to use me for your own purpose. But make no mistake, Loreius. I am no fool. I’ve let you go on like this to this point. But from now until we part I expect you to treat me with respect.”

Loreius lowered his eyes. James couldn’t read his expression.

“Loreius, I expect to see you in the forum in one hour. If you run from me, I will find you. And behave yourself. I have eyes in this city too.”

Loreius turned and walked away. James reached down and grabbed the dagger. It had a very elaborately-carved handle, and a sheath highlighted in places with gold. It was quite beautiful, and had some weight to it. He tested the edge and found it quite sharp. He didn’t know what to do with it, so he stuck it into the bag of art supplies. He took a deep breath and tried to relax. He resumed his walk toward the forum.

James, you’re forgetting who you are.

James slowed his pace, taken aback a bit. “What do you mean, King?”

He that would be greatest among you must be the servant of all. Loreius is a dog, but he is also my creation, and I love him. I showed you his intentions not so that you could beat him up with them, or impress him, but to try to give you a little understanding into how he operates. You don’t know his story. You don’t know what he has been put through, especially at the hands of his previous master and of Eleazar, Henna’s brother. He has been grievously wronged, James, and he has no light to guide him. Only emotion. Only revenge.

“He is a liar, Lord,” James tried to counter.

What would you have said if he had told you the truth?

James had no answer. He stopped walking.

What is your prayer, James?

“I don’t understand, Lord.”

What is your prayer for this city, James? I can see that this city is a distress to you also. Is there anything you would ask for, in reference to this city?

James thought with shame about his attitude toward this city. It had devolved from curiosity and even excitement at being here, into disgust and condemnation. He hadn’t even considered praying for the city. He knew it was going to be destroyed, so why bother?

“I’m sorry for my attitude, Lord. I would pray that there would be one person I could reach for you in this city, Lord. One person I could touch with your life. I would like to make a difference somehow, Lord.”

Look over there, in that shop.

James glanced over to his left, into a small eatery. Sitting on a chair, in a corner, was a boy, maybe eight. His left arm was missing at the elbow. But more, he was listless, resting his head up against the wall, a vacant look on his face. He looked pale.

Let’s make a difference, James.

James smiled. He walked into the small eatery and leaned up against the wall, next to the child. He looked down at him.

“Hello, son,” James said in Latin.

The boy didn’t respond. James crouched down and looked at the boy’s face. Cancer. It was written all over the boys’ face. James said hello again, trying to awaken the boy from his stupor. He touched his hair, gently stroking it. The boys’ eyes focused on James.

“Hello,” the boy whispered.

“You don’t look like you’re feeling very well today, son.”

The boy shrugged. “My stomach really hurts. It won’t go away.”

“Can I ask you something?” James said, smiling.

“Sure.”

“Have you ever heard the name ‘Jesus’ before?”

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed just a touch. He shook his head.

“Well, today is the day that you get to hear the name of Jesus, then. Can you say that name?”

“Jesus?” The boy whispered, a slight smile appearing on his face.

“That’s right. Jesus is a special name. A special name for a special man. He is God’s son, and he can do all things.”

The boys’ face puzzled again.

James put both of his hands on the boys’ head, closed his eyes and smiled. He leaned forward, whispered the name Jesus and kissed the boy on the head. He then stood and left the eatery.

The boy sat there, eyes wide open, an open-mouthed smile growing on his face. Over his shoulder, James heard the boy start to laugh. James smiled and crossed the street. “Thank you, Lord.”

Stop for a moment. I want you to see what we’ve done.

James turned and leaned against the wall. He was about half a block away from the eatery and across the street. Even from this distance, he could hear the boy laughing. A crowd had gathered at the entrance of the eatery. Soon, there were cries of shock and bewilderment. People began to come over to investigate, crowding at the eatery. Their voices drowned out the beautiful sound of the boys’ laughter.

Two men from the crowd ran up the block toward James. They flew past him, and headed for the forum. More people gathered. Suddenly, a boy burst forth from the shop and hopped into the street, spinning and shouting and laughing and clapping his hands. It took James a few moments to realize it was the same boy. He knew that Jesus was going to remove the cancer, but not that the boys’ arm would be restored as well.

All eyes were on him, as he danced for joy and sang the name of Jesus over and over in an impromptu song. The boy stopped and shouted, “Papa!” and took off running up the sidewalk on the other side of the street. The child was apparently heading for the forum as well. A woman, presumably a caretaker, was holding up the apron of her tunic to keep from tripping as she tried to keep up with the boy, a stunned look on her face.

The people began to move en masse up the street, past James. Snatches of conversations floated within earshot, and James learned that the child was the son of the high priest of Jupiter, working at the temple of Jupiter in the forum. James smiled.

“That should be some conversation, Lord. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he sees his son.”

That can be arranged.

One second, James was watching the crowd melt away, the next he was looking over the forum, standing next to a statue of Apollo just outside the temple of Jupiter. Jesus had done this with him only twice before, and each time it completely unnerved him. His heart pounded in his chest in spite of himself.

What’s wrong James?

If James could only see Jesus’ smile at that moment…

“Could you possibly warn me before you do that next time, please?” James asked, with an uneasy smile on his face. He wondered if he’d ever get used to that.

Here comes the boy.

True to his word, the boy came sprinting up to the temple, out of breath, huge smile, calling for his papa. At the same time, the high priest was coming out of the temple, accompanied by the two men that had left the eatery to notify him.

The boy leapt into his father’s trembling arms. They hugged and spun around once. Then the father set the boy down, and was looking at him, as if in a dream.

“Boy, what happened to you?” He held the boys’ hands, looking at them both, turning them over and back again.

“I don’t feel sick anymore, papa! And look at my hand! I have my arm back, papa! It tickled, papa! I couldn’t stop laughing!”

“The gods be praised!” He shouted.

“Papa, who is Jesus?”

The father just looked at him, as though he didn’t understand the question.

“Jesus, papa! I want to know about Jesus. He is God’s son, and he made me whole again. Tell me about him, papa!”

“Son, I know no Jesus. Jupiter has seen fit to do something I never thought possible. He has made you whole again.”

“No, papa, it was Jesus, not Jupiter. Please, tell me about him. You know of all the gods. Who is this Jesus? Whose son is he?”

The father picked the boy up again, twirling him around. The crowd increased and closed around, cutting off James’ view. Before their noise drowned out the conversation, James could hear the boy asking again, “I’m so happy, papa! I’m happy I heard of Jesus today! Tell me about him!”

The crowd swept into the temple of Jupiter. James could hear murmurs among them, and the most frequent had to do with this “Jesus” that the child kept inquiring about.

“Should I say something to these people, Lord?”

No, James. The seed is planted. Someone else will water it. Well done.

“What now, Lord?”

Home stretch. Your time here is almost done. Prepare to meet with Justin.