The Gladiator's Day of Grace - A Christian Short Story

Chapter 1

The Gladiator's Day of Grace

A Christian Short Story

Jewel Adams

Copyright © 2016 J. Adams

All Rights Reserved.

Now therefore, I pray thee, if I have found grace in thy sight, shew me now thy way, that I may know thee, that I may find grace in thy sight:

Exodus 33:13

Blood on my hands,

Red soaks the sand.

The bleeding is staunched,

And the sword is buried.

But the stains remain.

M.V.M.

One

33 A.D.

Standing on the shores of Galilee in Capernaum, Maximus Vitruvius Messalla inhaled deeply. The clean, sweet tang of the sea filled his nostrils as sparkling waves lapped against the sand, washing treasures of sand dollars and colorful shells ashore. Closing his eyes and folding his arms over his massive chest, he slowly exhaled. To anyone observing him, he probably looked out of place standing on Jewish land wearing a white, Roman tunic trimmed in woven gold, a burgundy cloak, and finely-made leather sandals laced up his muscular calves.

Opening his eyes after another moment, Maximus stared out over the almost-transparent water. With feet apart and his sandals pressed firmly in the sand, he pondered grimly how unpredictable life was.

Raised in a home of prominence and wealth, Maximus had never given much thought to that commonly-uttered phrase, though he had certainly heard it used enough by the older generation. "Life is unpredictable, my young friend. You can never be certain of anything." Having every luxury known to man within reach of his fingertips had kept him occupied enough as a young man, and his mind never had cause to travel along those lines in any manner of seriousness. After all, what purpose would it have served? Life was whatever you made it. This was his father's adage, and his father, Lucius Vitruvius Messalla, had always been a wise man who had taught his only son much, molding him into his own image. Maximus had worshipped his father. He loved his mother as well for her kind and tender ways, but his respect for his father had run deep.

If he had only understood then, the unpredictability of life–and of people . . .

Following in the illustrious footsteps of many of his male kindred, Maximus became a soldier of Rome at seventeen. After years of fighting under the banner of Caesar, proving himself instrumental in many battles, he was celebrated as a decorated centurion, with one hundred men or more under his command at any given time. He then earned his place as a senior staffer in his legion, commanding cohorts of men and garnering the respect of every soldier he fought beside. His ambition would have swiftly moved him up in position, elevating him to great military heights. He'd even had the rank of general in his sights.

But somewhere along the way, the empire propaganda began to wear thin and Maximus began to think for himself. Even as he served Rome, he sensed that things were not as they seemed. The cause Rome fought for was not a just one–it never was. Conquering other people and cultures wasn't a real cause, it was just greed. And at twenty-seven, Maximus had finally had his fill of fighting for a gluttonous empire that forever consumed the land, territories, and treasures of its so-called enemies–an empire whose appetite would never be sated.