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Hope Unchained (Light in the Empire)

By Carol Ashby

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Chapter 1: Giving Her Word

Sarmizegetusa, Dacia, AD 106

Hand resting on his sword, the tribune rode slowly along the cages. When he reached the one where Ariana stood among the young women aged twelve to twenty, he reined in. His ice-cold eyes scanned the group, and a shiver ran up her spine.

The girl beside her shoved Ariana forward and slipped behind another taller girl. A futile move. There was no escape from what lay ahead. Front of the cage or rear, they were all slaves of the conquering army of Rome.

Ariana swallowed the lump that kept rising in her throat. The same fate awaited them all―the auction tomorrow, a long walk to the coast to board the slave ships, and a voyage to a life of bondage.

A flick of the tribune’s fingers summoned the Greek in charge of their cage. The Roman spoke quiet Latin, and it drew an oily smile from the Greek.

“All who speak Greek, come forward.” The trader’s command was in Greek. Should she reveal she understood and join the dozen girls who worked their way forward to stand closer to the bars?

She’d prayed a thousand prayers for deliverance. Was this an answer, or just one more time her cries brought no response?

One deep breath and she stepped out with the others.

The tribune’s gaze, which had swept past her before, locked on each girl in turn. One of the youngest stood next to Ariana, and her rapid breathing pulled Ariana’s attention from the tribune’s frown. She took a half step sideways and clasped the terrified girl’s hand. Then she moved it behind her back so the Greek wouldn’t see. When she interlaced their fingers and gave a gentle squeeze, the girl’s breathing slowed.

The Greek moved back by the officer, and again Latin words were spoken between them. The Greek’s smile turned wooden before he shrugged.

The stallion fidgeted, and the Roman leaned forward to pat its neck. He nudged the horse closer to the cage.

“Any Christian, step forward.” The Roman’s Greek was edged with anger as he scowled.

Ariana closed her eyes and fought to slow her own breathing. There would be no auction for her, no sea voyage.

Jesus, whatever comes, give me strength to show how one of Your own lives…and dies.

She took two steps forward. With shoulders squared, she raised her chin and looked straight into the tribune’s eyes.“I follow Jesus as my Lord.”

The scowl relaxed into a frown. He pointed at her, then turned emotionless eyes back on the Greek. She didn’t need to know Latin to understand what he said. The Greek unlocked the door and motioned for her to come out.

She stepped past him as he relocked the door. With a short strip of leather, he bound her wrists. The tribune tossed him one end of a rope, and he tied that to her wrists as well.

The officer nudged his horse into a walk, and the rope jerked her forward. She stumbled but caught herself before she fell. Like a sheep being led to slaughter, she followed him away from the cages.

For sixteen years, she’d known the love of her family and her God. Rome had taken her loved ones, but no one could take her from Jesus. Perhaps it was a mercy to die for her Lord rather than live as a Roman slave. But fear still flickered through her, and her chin quivered. Then she clenched her teeth and drew a deep breath. For whatever lay ahead, God would give her strength.

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The pace of the tribune’s horse was only a walk, but Ariana still found herself almost jogging to keep up. She’d walked perhaps a quarter hour when the legion field camp loomed before her.

An earthen wall more than a quarter mile long rose at least ten feet above the wide trench dug in front of it. A row of pointed stakes rose above the wall, and Roman sentries walked slowly behind them, flashes of sunlight reflecting off their armor. She scanned left and right, looking for the tall poles of the execution field and the crossbars holding the bodies of dead and dying men. She saw none, but maybe it was on the other side of the camp.

Or maybe that wasn’t where the tribune was taking her. Her breath came faster, and her heart raced as dreaded possibilities danced in her mind.

Then he turned down a road that led up a hill to an area of large houses once occupied by the wealthy who chose to live a few miles outside the capital city. Homes of the people who used to buy Father’s horses…before the Roman soldiers killed him and took them all.

The Greek-style house to her left, where she’d led a mare while Father led two more, stood vacant with its gate torn from its hinges. With each house she passed, the blood pounding in her ears drowned out the silence.

She heard distant voices speaking Greek, not Dacian. The man who rode through the gate fifty feet ahead had the dark, short-cropped hair of a Roman, not the full red mane of a Dacian.

Her lips tightened. The conquerors had occupied the homes of the conquered, and nothing would ever be the same. She swallowed hard and forced back the tears. Father and Mother dead, her younger brother dragged from her side and her little sister torn from her arms as the Romans sorted their newest slaves by age and gender…nothing would ever be the same. Everything had changed―except her God.

She turned her eyes skyward. Please, God. Diegis and Roanna…protect them. She closed her eyelids…and walked into the rear of the tribune’s gray stallion.

Her eyes popped open as the horse shied away from her. The tribune reined in and jerked on the rope to draw her close. She bowed her head, as expected of a slave. But he pressed his foot against her throat and lifted her chin until her eyes looked into his.

“Listen carefully, Christian, and speak only truth if you want to live.” His words were quiet with a hard edge. “I have heard that your kind make the best slaves, that you can be trusted to work when no one watches and that you never try to kill your masters. Is that true?”

His dark brown eyes bored into her as his foot dropped back to his horse’s side.
Ariana swallowed. She knew the commands of Paul to serve as if serving the Lord, and a follower of Jesus would never murder. But what did the tribune want her to say?

“If we obey God’s commands, it’s true.”

His brow furrowed. “Is it true of you?”

“I try to obey my Lord Jesus.”

His horse shifted sideways, and he pulled on the rope to draw her close again.
“The garrison that will remain at your capital when the rest of the legion leaves is under my command. My wife came from Moesia to join me.” His mouth curved into something that was part smile, part frown, but his eyes stayed unreadable.

“A cisium accident right after she arrived…” His jaw clenched. “The legion’s chief physician says she’ll never walk again. I must be with my troops every day and some nights, and that leaves her alone with a steward I’ve only owned a year and a household of slaves I don’t fully trust. She needs someone who will watch over her like I would.

“I took you from the cage because you admitted you’re a Christian, and I expect you to do exactly what a Christian slave is supposed to do.”

The tribune’s eyebrows dipped, and his mouth shifted into full frown. “But you are not to tell my wife anything about your god. I do not want her deluded by stories about a man who came back to life after being crucified.” A snort accompanied his sneer. “I want no stories of how your dead teacher healed people when he was alive. None of that really happened, and I do not want my wife’s hopes raised and then crushed when she isn’t healed.”

His eyes chilled. “I’ll have you nailed to a cross like your teacher if you fail to obey me in this.”

An ironic laugh rumbled in the tribune’s throat. “They say Christians always keep their word, so give me yours.”

Ariana stared at his horse’s feet as her heart raced. Never speak of her Lord?
The tribune leaned over and seized her chin. He tipped it up to put her face close to his. “Swear to me, Christian.”

His face was hard, but deep within those warrior eyes, worry about the woman he loved revealed a heart capable of more than cruelty.

“I will do my best to serve her as you wish.”

His eyes narrowed as he stared into her own. Finally, his curt nod confirmed his acceptance of her promise.

“You will tell no one I chose to bring a Christian into my household. As far as anyone else is concerned, I brought you because I want to give my wife a slave to stay with her at all times and help her while I’m away, and I thought a young one would cheer her up when she was sad.”

His eyes clouded. “She has begun saying she should just die so I could remarry. I know she’s thinking about suicide. You are to prevent that at all costs. If you fail, crucifixion will take you to join her in the underworld.”

Sadness lingered in his eyes, but his lips curved into a weary smile. “Your word again, Christian.”

“I will do my best to protect her, even from herself.”

He released her chin and sat upright in his saddle. “You’d better hope your best is good enough.” He glared down at her. “That god of yours may command forgiveness, but he is not my god. I am not a forgiving man.” His finger stabbed the air and stopped on her forehead. “Do not forget that.”

He nudged his horse to resume their climb.

With every step, relief and anxiety warred within her. Was this tribune saving her from the terrible fate she’d thought certain or leading her to one far worse than she feared?

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