Tarandi
how it might have happened…
Chapter 1 –
Walls of Grey
375 AD - near Hadrian's wall, northern Great Britain
Low fog, seeping through the
trees, blanketed the field beyond and hid the ground. The humid mist made the
stillness even more eerie in the dim morning light. Marcus Antonius was sure he
had heard a slight thump against a tree, but the pounding of his own heartbeat
in his ears seemed loud enough to block any other tiny noise. He was afraid to
move his head even a fraction of an inch, as he did not want to give his
position away, but his grip tightened on the cowhorn dangling at his side. He
thought about moving it slowly up to his lips when a sudden spray of bark stung
his face and made him jerk his head back from the tree. The quivering shaft of
a very deadly and decidedly close arrow, protruded from the edge of the massive
oak. Flinging himself further behind the tree, he jerked up the horn and
immediately shattered the silence with the triple blast of an attack warning.
The screams of the enemy punctured the grayness and he heard the crashing of
bodies through the brush as he dropped the horn and jerked his sword from the
scabbard. Falling on one knee with his back to the thick trunk and his helmeted
head now level with the brush around him, he waited for the crashing to come
closer. The first of the wild tattooed bodies leapt over the bushes to his
left, and he spun around and chopped the fur-clad Pict across the throat and
chest. Without waiting to see what happened, he leaped back to the tree and
grabbed his shield just as another wild-eyed warrior ran around the other side.
The man brought his spiked club down on Marcus' upraised shield with a mighty
blow that almost knocked him to his knees, but instantly the veteran Roman
soldier thrust his sword into the man's unprotected chest and spun to the side.
He quickly swung the sword around and down across the hairy neck. Knowing he
didn't need to waste any further time with the falling body, he dropped to one
knee and with his shield held firmly before him, took in the battle below him.
He saw the dim glint of armor from the main body of Roman soldiers as they
stood together against the massive onslaught of the screaming Picts off to his
left. The tightly held shields and the protruding spears were taking a fearsome
toll on the loosely organized wild men and the disciplined Romans were keeping
them back quite easily.
Marcus moved down the hill
towards the surging bodies, but as quickly as the attack began, it now suddenly
melted back into the fog. The Roman soldiers did not follow the shadowy forms
leaping back into the forest, but lifted their shields and weapons and shouted
the victory cry:
"Hail Rome, the great victor…hail Caesar the Lord."
Marcus did not join in their
words, but looked at the now-still bodies of the men lying on the ground near
him. Dropping to one knee, he set down his shield and sword and bowed his head.
"Lord, please forgive me for killing these men. I know you died for them and would much rather that I told them of You. Please forgive me."
Rising to his feet, he heard a
low groan from the bushes to the right, in the direction of the Pict retreat.
Pushing his way through the wiry branches, he almost tripped over the prostrate
body of a young Pict warrior. His head was bloody from the fearsome wound that
had peeled back his matted scalp, but Marcus could see the wound was not
mortal. His light, patchy beard told of an age of no more than 15 or 16 years
old, and he had probably just witnessed his first battle. Marcus squatted at
his side, peered more closely at the boy, then pulled his outstretched arms in
and deftly rolled him over onto his stomach. Crinkling his nose and almost
gagging from the fetid smell of the unwashed body, he pulled out his dagger and
began cutting a strip of the rough, leather skin from the bottom of the boy's
covering. He quickly tied the hands together and made a hobble to keep him from
running away. As he worked, he noted the heavy silver chain around the tattooed
neck and pulled it off to study it. The circular star sign of some deity or
clan hung from it and Marcus stuffed it into his leather belt pouch.
"Found a live one, eh?"
The rough voice of Quintus
rolled ahead of his footsteps as the muscular soldier shoved his way through
the bushes. He looked down at the splayed out body before him.
"We'll have a good time with him tonight, you can be sure of that!" Quintus spat at the groaning form, then kicked the boy over to see his face.
"So, they send their children against us too? Soon it will be the women as well, then we'll really have some fun!"
His loud, raucous laughter
soon attracted the other soldiers and the seasoned warriors encircled the boy's
now slowly moving form. The shaggy head below suddenly opened startlingly blue
eyes and looked up at them. Picking up his shield and stepping back, Marcus saw
there was no fear in the young man's eyes, but his senses were still dulled by
the mighty blow to his head. Some of the soldiers began to kick him and laughed
when one kick glanced off his shoulder and touched the wound in his scalp and
he screamed from the pain. Marcus quickly stepped forward and set his shield
down hard between the boy and his tormentors.
"I, Marcus Antonius, claim my right to take this prisoner for Rome. From this moment on, he is the property of Rome."
He looked the men in the eyes
and saw their glares of disappointment. Marcus had probably just saved the life
of the young Pict warrior, as the men still had the blood lust upon them and
wanted vengeance for the lives of their fallen comrades.
Quintus sneered at Marcus, then said, "Saving him for Rome, or saving him for yourself?"
Some of the other soldiers
chuckled at this crude joke, but Marcus noted that his brothers in the Way were
not laughing and several looked at him curiously. He felt other eyes on him and
glanced down at the young man. As he met the icy gaze, he realized the young
warrior knew he had saved his life, but he saw no gratitude, only anger and
hatred. His heart fell and he wondered if he had done the right thing…
Chapter 2 – The Chieftain
377 AD - near Hadrian's Wall, northern Great Britain
"Hipitosh lalech
ma'hind groandand. Translated into your language, it is 'The High Lands touch the sky and
become the pathway of the gods.'"
With a broad gesture, Tarandi
swept his hand across the sky and gazed at the mountains to the north. His eyes
reflected the deep blue of the sky as he turned his head to look steadily into
the eyes of the Roman.
"My people will come again and again until you are gone. You Romans can never take the highlands from us and you will never make us bow to Rome. We will always be free!"
His square chin jutted out
defiantly and except for his tattooed face, he looked like a painting from some
Roman fresco. Marcus noticed the tight muscles twitching in his jaw and
answered quietly:
"Tarandi, neither you, nor your people, nor the Romans are free. No man is truly free until Jeshua sets him free. The word of the Holy One of God to us is: 'If the Son sets you free, you shall be really be free!' He has told us that everyone in the world is a slave to the Twisted One, the Evil One that has deceived all men.'
His gentle but insistent way
made Tarandi's clench-jawed face soften as he stared at the older man. His
squinting look caused Marcus to explain more carefully:
"The Twisted One is the same one that makes your people think they have to kill their children in sacrifice to him. He is the same one that makes Romans want to take slaves and use them like animals to fight in the arenas. He is the same one that made the Jews want to kill the Perfect One. He is the one you Picts carve into the rocks as a snake and gives your priests the power to do harm to others, but does not truly heal them. His very name is Deceiver, for he will do anything to keep men from knowing the Truth that sets them free."
" But Novantae Cruthne are slaves of no one!" Tarandi indignantly jutted out his jaw.
"Tell me Tarandi, when your people drink the strong heather brew, do your women not run into the bushes with the children to hide? Why do they hide? It is because they are afraid the men will hurt them! Why would they want to hurt their own families? When you sleep at night in your houses, why do you put logs against the door? It is because you are afraid of the spirits! When a man sneaks into another man's house and visits the man's wife secretly, why does he do that? He knows that man will try to kill him when he finds out! Why does he do it even though he has his own wife? It is because all men do wrong things and the Enemy keeps them chained with fear. You are very right when you say the Picts are mighty warriors and very fierce, but they are also like all men everywhere and really serve the Twisted One, not the Creator of everything."
"But you serve Rome and kill others for her, why are you any better?" The Latin was halting and mixed with the Pict language, but Marcus easily understood the bitter verbal thrust.
Tarandi's question burned into
Marcus' heart and he looked down at his sandeled feet. The young Pict felt a
flash of shame at his cruel question and he regretted it immediately. He had
grown fond of the older soldier with his strange words that seemed to stab like
knives into his heart. He saw the struggle on the lined face of the old
centurion as the tanned face lifted to face him.
"Tarandi, I have asked my Lord many times why He wants me here. I know He loves your people and my heart is grieved within me at my life of war. I pray everyday for God to somehow help me use the Sword of His Word instead of the sword of Rome. The Word is a sword that gives life, not takes it away."
The shadows were lengthening
like dark fingers from the trees when the two men stood up. Marcus again felt a
pang as the clink of chains came from the young man's feet. His manacled ankles
were scarred and even the wraps of cloth around them did not hide the short
chain that kept the captive young warrior from running away. He grabbed the ragged piece of cloth tied in
the center of the chain, lifted it and as he turned to walk slowly towards the
wooden lean-to along the wall, he straightened his back and tried to walk with
as much dignity as possible.
Raising to his feet, Marcus
gathered his light toga more tightly around his shoulders. It was cool tonight
and the fires would need stoking to keep him warm in his hewn-block shelter. He
glanced once more down the long, gray wall, disappearing into the evening
gloom. He looked for any guards manning the wall again tonight. Discipline was
growing harder and harder as the men lost hope. Rome was going under and they
would soon be totally on their own. It had been months since they had heard
anything and the men were growing anxious to head further south, away from this
useless wall Hadrian had built. It certainly didn't stop the Picts and only
served to keep them in one place as easy targets!
He looked down at the silver
chain with its star-shaped clan sign in his hand and breathed a deep sigh. He
had planned to give it back to Tarandi tonight as a surprise, but had forgotten
after the young man's verbal thrust. Marcus flipped it over his head so he
wouldn't forget to give it back tomorrow, then walked slowly to the gatehouse
and ducked to enter the low doorway. His two best friends and brothers in the
Faith were singing a beautiful hymn about Jesus in a garden. He sat down on his
cot to listen and soon joined in the musical praise. He knew they had been
praying again for their families and for Marcus as he taught the young Pict
warrior about the Jewish Messiah. With the destruction of Rome becoming more
obvious from the last reports they had received, they were almost sick from
worry for their families. Marcus thought of his own elderly parents and prayed
silently again for their protection. He prayed also for someone to tell them
about his Jesus. He knew they had been disturbed by his attempts to explain
about Jesus, but he knew also they had been tremendously impressed by the
changes in him since the day he had come to believe.
His
mind on the far away hills of Rome and his praise to the Lord, Marcus missed
hearing the first quiet thump of feet on the ground. At the sound of more feet
hitting the earth, he suddenly snapped back to the present and leaped from his
wooden cot. Jerking his sword from its sheath, he grabbed his helmet from its
peg by the door and jammed it down over his head as he followed his two friends
outside. The war cries of the swarming hoards of Pict warriors were all around
them and he braced himself for the first wave of wild-eyed men as they rushed
upon him. His two friends had their backs to each other as they fought
impossible odds and seeing them fall before the massed warriors, he prepared to
meet his Maker. The rushing, fur-clad Picts suddenly stopped only a dozen paces
from him and the screaming, jeering faces of a dozen warriors soon surrounded
him. They were like a pack of wolves, delaying the kill to heighten their
thrill. He moved forward to put an end to their fun and die with dignity, but a
mighty blow smashed into his helmet from behind and he only dully felt the
rushing ground as he crashed face down. He sensed the savage kicks to his body,
but was thrown abruptly onto his back as a large, blue-eyed warrior flipped him
with his foot. The giant barbarian grasped his gleaming long sword with both
hands to plunge it downward, and Marcus stared into the man's face as he waited
for the finishing blow. The muscular figure above him looked at his chest and
suddenly his wild, contorted face changed to one of unbelief. He reached down
with one large hand and yanked the chain off Marcus' neck. As he peered more
closely, Marcus saw great pain, then a look of utter hatred and anger filling
his eyes. He raised his craggy face to the heavens and screamed a long, almost
animal scream of emotion. He once again raised his sword with both hands and
looked down at Marcus before he plunged it through his body. A sudden voice
called:
"Padrenti! Padrentri! Leh hamen biernyon." Marcus recognised Tarandi's voice and the word "father" and "your child". The frozen figure above him turned to find the voice and Tarandi again spoke:
"Biruchna tawand romantsa. Padrenti cowant kratskit." "The Roman saved me. Father spare him!" Tarandi cried.
The
rugged, bearded face again registered unbelief and shock and Tarandi spoke
quickly to assure his father that the shaven-headed large youth before him was
really his now fully grown son. As the father finally recognized his tattooed
son, he cried out and leaped to embrace him. The youth was now almost as tall
as his father and though slimmer, his wide shoulders promised a powerful
physique. The wooly group of warriors soon surrounded father and son and Marcus
was left on the ground to nurse his splitting headache. He closed his eyes
tightly against the brightly burning torches and winced as he pulled his helmet
off to relieve the pressure of the rapidly swelling bump on the back of his
head. Turning his head slowly to the side, he opened his eyes the merest slit
and saw the bodies of his two spiritual brothers lying just beyond the noisy
crowd. He closed his eyes again and began to pray for the families of the two
slain Roman soldiers. It was hard to even think when his head felt like it was
being split in half from the throbbing pulses, but he managed to pray for even
the hairy warriors around him.
"Marcus, are you still alive?" Tarandi's voice came from above him and he slowly squinted his eyes open enough to see the face of the young Pict staring worriedly down at him.
"I'm not sure yet." was his croaking reply.
Relief
flooded Tarandi's face and he squatted down to look into the rapidly swelling
eyes of the older man. He helped the Roman to his feet and Marcus tried to open
his eyes enough to peer at the figures standing before him. The powerful form
of Tarandi's father pushed to the front of the silent crowd and the commanding
voice called out to him. Tarandi translated, even though Marcus understood many
of the words.
"Because you let my son live, I will let you live! Because you chained him, his chains will now be yours. Because you taught him the ways and speech of Rome, you will learn the way and speech of the Novantae Cruthne. Because you treated him well, we will also treat you well, but you will never return to your land or your people." The proud figure looked straight into Marcus' eyes for a few seconds, then turned and walked away.
Tarandi
spoke gently:
"It looks like your God has given you what you want. I know the bite of the chain will be bitter, but you say your heart is free no matter what happens to your body. I want to know more of your God. Now you will tell me in the land of the Cruthne and your days of war are over forever."
Marcus
looked at the serious young man, then replied just as gently:
"No, Tarandi, my days of true warfare are just beginning, but not with swords or spears. God is sending me to your people and I will now fight for your souls. With chains, or without."
Tarandi
looked down at his soon-to-be-removed chains, then after a glance at the
blackening eyes of his former captor, turned to follow his father. Marcus
closed his eyes briefly to give thanks for his life, then also turned to follow
his new owner into the Land of the Cruthne.
The
rest of “Tarandi” is
in the following chapters:
Chapter
3 – “Chains of Darkness”
Chapter
4 – “In His Image”
Chapter
5 – “Fires of Inferno”
Chapter
6 – “Brother against brother”
Chapter
7 – “Love in the Land”
Chapter
8 – “Another Hope”
Chapter
9 – “Fading of the light”
Chapter
10 – “Reaching out”
Chapter
11 – “Final meeting”
Chapter
12 – “Going home”