As Sure as the Dawn(153)

Righteous anger filled Theophilus as he looked into the gloating eyes of the old priest. He saw with a clarity that came from the Holy Spirit that Gundrid didn’t want the match to take place. He intended to circumvent it by making the warriors believe Tiwaz craved a human sacrifice instead.

Lord, I’d rather die fighting than on an altar to Satan! And what of these men? If they make a tribal alliance and revolt against Rome now, they’ll be annihilated like the Jews.

The baritus was deafening.

Theophilus stood abruptly. “I was brought here to fight your champion over the matter of a tribal alliance!” he shouted in challenge. The deafening roar quieted as he stepped boldly into the center of the circle and faced Gundrid. “Or is your god afraid of the outcome?”

Men began to shout against their shields.

Young Rolf jumped to his feet and strode into the circle, eager for the battle. “You will die, Roman!”

“For Tiwaz! For Tiwaz!”

Theophilus removed his belt. “Christ Jesus, be with me. Give me strength and endurance,” he said and pulled his gladius from its sheath. “May this battle be for your glory, Lord.” He heaved the belt out into the darkness.

The sword as well, came a still, quiet voice.

Theophilus felt as though the air had been punched from him. His palm went slick with sweat, his heart pounding.

“Lord?” he whispered in disbelief.

The sword.

“Jesus, do you want me to die?”

The young Chatti warrior advanced on him, grinning savagely, eager to use the deadly spatha in his hand.

Those who live by the sword, die by the sword.

Theophilus inhaled a lungful of air through his nose and then released it out his mouth. “So be it.” He flung the gladius out into the darkness.

Rolf stopped in surprise and straightened, frowning.

“What are you doing?” Atretes cried out as what little hope he had had died. Theophilus paid him no heed.

Lord, Lord! Theophilus prayed. Do I just stand here and die? Do I let him cut me to pieces like a lamb for the slaughter? I thought I came to stop a war.

Joshua. Samson. David. The names became like a drumbeat in his head. Joshua. Samson. David.

“Kill him!” Gundrid screamed, the spirit within him full of fear. “Kill him now!”

The warriors rose en masse as Rolf charged, crying out, “Tiwaz!” He swung the spatha with enough force to split Theophilus’ body in half. Theophilus dodged left, turned sharply, and brought his fist down hard on the back of Rolf’s head. He dented the helmet and sent the young warrior staggering to one knee.

Theophilus stepped to one side of the circle and waited. Atretes stared in disbelief. “Finish him!”

But Theophilus didn’t. Rolf rose, shaking his head. Theophilus didn’t move. Rolf turned, eyes unfocused. He was breathing hard, his face flushed. Before his head cleared, he brought the spatha up and lunged forward.

With the agility of a seasoned athlete, Theophilus dodged, dipped, and punched him hard in the sternum. Rolf staggered back, but didn’t go down. Exhaling hard, Theophilus punched him again with his full strength. The young champion went down like a toppled tree. He fought for breath and, after a few seconds, sagged back and lay still, arms and legs splayed.

Not a Chatti warrior moved or breathed. The battle hadn’t even lasted a minute and their champion lay as though dead on the ground.

“All glory to you, Lord God,” Theophilus said aloud. He raised his head and turned, looking squarely at the priest.

Gundrid shook with fear. No one breathed.

Theophilus went down on one knee beside Rolf and put his hand against the young warrior’s neck. He felt a strong pulse. He put his hand on Rolf’s chest and felt it rise. He was breathing again. Theophilus took the spatha from Rolf’s hand and rose. He glanced at Atretes and saw his friend’s emotions were torn. It was a Chatti warrior lying helpless, after all, a kinsman.

Theophilus’ gaze moved slowly around the circle of men standing. He could see in their faces how they tried to harden themselves for Rolf’s death. Holt closed his eyes, for it was his dead brother’s son who lay at Theophilus’ feet. Not a warrior present would move to stop the Roman from taking Rolf’s life. It was a matter of honor.

He tossed the spatha on the ground before Rud.

Surprised, the high chief searched his face. After a moment, he gave a stiff nod. “There will be no alliance.”





37


Though the men and women still avoided Theophilus after that night, it wasn’t long before all noticed the children had no fear or distrust of him. He sang as he worked, and the younger children came to listen. At first they kept their distance, hiding behind trees or climbing up into them and peering at him from the branches. Gradually, they lost their timidity. One brave little soul called out a question from a high branch, and Theophilus paused to answer. His manner was warm and friendly, and so they came down from lofty perches and out from behind trees, and sat on the grass in the sunshine to listen to him.