The Androcles Scrolls: The Adventures of Androcles and His Lion

By Michael Warren

Androcles and the Lion, the story made most famous by Sir George Bernard Shaw, has remained untainted for centuries. Now, for the first time, a glimmer of disagreement has appeared.
Off the coast of Samnos, a Greek island in the eastern Aegean Sea, south of Chios, north of Patmos and the Dodecanese, diving expeditions have produced evidence of an alternative explanation to the Androcles Legend. An explorer ship, uncovering ancient wrecks off the island coast for gold, silver, rare artifacts, using a well-trafficked route, commonly used for ages uncovered sealed amphora. As opposed to commodities for sale or trade, they contained contaminated, intact scrolls.
Carefully protected and restored, they slowly disintegrated, but not before yielding much of their information. Strangely enough, it concerned the man Androcles.
The amphora, apparently thrown off the ship en route, was recovered some three miles away from the ship itself before overtaken. They were purposely disposed of while being pursued. But why?
What is the mystery that caused men to conceal, then dispose of documents so seemingly harmless?
Re-assembled after twenty-seven years of painstaking effort; authenticated, well preserved, restored, unchanged, and uneditednow made public for the first time. Written by a slave who apparently witnessed everything, he was careful to conceal all the information until his death.
Is there some hidden state secret? A codesome event so dangerous it had to be dispelled, eliminated any way possible, even to the point of fable?
You must decide. It is presented, flaws and all, for your enjoyment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: May 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504331227

Michael Warren

Michael Warren served as a missionary in Bolivia for several years and in the church in various capacities throughout his life. God has healed him through prayer ministry training, courses, books, and personal revelation, but mainly through his relationships with men and women seeking God. A land surveyor, he lives in Sacramento, California, with his wife and two children.

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Copyright © 2015 Michael Warren Platt.

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ISBN: 978-1-5043-3121-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-3122-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015905776

Balboa Press rev. date: 5/8/2015

Contents

Introduction

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

About the Author

INTRODUCTION

‘Androcles:’ The slave of a Roman Consul, and sentenced to be exposed to the wild beasts in the circus; but a lion, which had been let loose upon him exhibited signs of recognition and began licking him. Upon inquiry, it appeared that Androcles had run away from his master in Africa; and that, having taken refuge in a cave, a lion entered, went up to him and held out his paw. Androcles extracted a large ‘thorn,’ which had entered it. Henceforth they lived together for some time, the lion, catering for his benefactor. But at last, tired of this savage life, Androcles left the cave, was apprehended by some soldiers, brought to Rome and condemned to the wild beasts. He was subsequently pardoned, presented with the lion which he use to lead about the city. (Sen.Ben. ii. 19; Gell. V. 14

Harper’s Dictionary of Ancient Literature and Antiquities: Harry Thurston Peck, Editor. Professor Emeritus, M.A., Ph.D. Latin Language, Columbia University.

The above explanation has been the document that certified it’s place in legend for the past two-thousand years. This highly mythological children’s fable has little in the way of verification to authenticate it’s historical value. Why then is it relevant enough to be in every formal modern and classical dictionary?

These discovered scrolls, sitting at the bottom of the ocean may shed some light on that. What it does show, is that there is possibly much more to the story than previously believed.

For

Kwittwen

In Memoriam:

Pepper

Nipper

Phoebe

Eddie

Rudy

Cookie

Dedicated to:

Oscar

photo.JPG

…..The heretic is the one that builds the fire…..

……not the witch that burns in it…..

A Winter’s Tale

William Shakespeare

…..Even though you know the story; that in no ways prepares you for what you are about to see….

Editor: Moses Hades, preface;

Sophocles: Oedipus, The King.

CHAPTER I

The back-packs themselves were of significant weight, but even more unbearable under the excessive heat of the midday sun. Now going up the steep, grassy sloping hills; struggling over wet slippery slopes angled as such that the only way to ascend without steps is on knees. These hills proved to be the toughest going with no established pathways zigzagging upwards. Still his brother, Marcellus, older by ten years, insisted. "This is faster, you’ll see; we’ll beat all those fools once south of Ameria, then on to Tudor, the other side of these hills.

All those people packed down there like hogs-in-a-pen." Looking back, the road was essentially motionless. Instead of going into the town of Carsulae, they traversed the hills thinking it a quick-cross the map indicated. But in fact, well short of Ameria by about three miles. A four miles of wretched man-traps. Thick, prickly bushes piercing mercilessly, crags and steep crevices on sharp-edged rocks. Not a place to get injury. Going was just as slow.

Not a good map. Heavily wooded, thick with ‘small’ trees that grabbed and slowed every step, no paths, no cut roads or animal trails.

But to unfamiliar travelers like Andros and Marcellus, a maze unconquerable.

Marcellus disappeared, now well ahead of Androcles in the brush. Andros of course had all the ‘metal’ pots, iron cross-bracings for bearing several small pans, kettles over a fire at a time on his back. Wooden buckets and utensils for eating, clothing, bedrolls, medical, all shoe repair equipment, while his older brother, Marcellus; so named by his father after the famous general Marcus Claudius Marcellus, five time Consul; who fought unsuccessfully, being killed accidentally against Hannibal in the Second Punic War; he was laden with items such as bedrolls, skins of wine, lot’s of wine.

Cut meats and condiments, medicinal herbs and poultices; other material needed for avoiding scamming ‘junk joints;’ along the way. Forcing all those seeking protection from the elements, end up sharing three to a bed, just to keep out of the rain, avoiding assault, injury, broken bones, robbery, infection or disease, which are prevalent in these overcrowded, excessively priced ‘Inn’s.

Refreshments were brought and purchased other items as needed. Andros pulled a make-shift ‘wheel-cart,’ small, tiny wheels, but bearing most of their goods; poles tied to his waist. He wished they’d have stayed on the Flaminian Way.

The ‘Old Flaminian Way,’ now permanently left behind, was utterly swamped with jammed up traffic for miles: horses, wagons with tents, food carts, slaves, all racing at a snails pace to get their spot of dirt in Rome’s vicinity.

Some made preparations already for the rapidly approaching night, thinking it would be a ‘cake-walk.’ As slaves struggled moving elevated carriers of the rich, then wagons driven by Teamsters loaded with travelers ferrying people to the city. Just wait till they see the prices for a loaf of bread in the city.

Money-making profits increased ten-fold in some cases, legally. While the liquor and available alcohol was of specious quality. Self-reliance on residence, food preparation, finding the lowest costs in each town, all kept the coinage going out to a minimum, all was up to the individual.

I’m coming, I’m coming, labored Andros, fighting trees, bushes, deeply hidden ravines, heavily wooded and thick grasses.

The worst kind of trees existed here; small thin and highly leafy saplings with low branches about the knees.

I can’t see you, slow down, as Andros rested, dropping the pack off his shoulders.

When finally recovered enough, catching up to his brother, they’d travelled another two miles, as two squiggles together, indicating ‘small hills,’ not the precipice riven location that was at times grass then impassable woods.

Here, over here, shouted his far-ahead brother. Then a pastoral paradise; a pond with birds dipping in and out, an artesian aquifer spring, supplying fresh water. Still, they were three miles from Tudor.

Here, a space; nice and flat, not too far from the water, a short walk, even in the dark, The night was closing. Thick mulberry bushes behind, leaves and thickly covered ground behind, offering good security.

Sliding down, he delicately walked around the pond, dropping into water, the ‘edges,’ not defined. "It’s a good place, c’mon I’ll show you.

Unoccupied, it was rocky, uneven and uncared for. Barely passable on foot. Accessing the road to Ameria through Tudor could offer quick access to Rome, as they had luxurious accommodations waiting. Andros said nothing just began setting up camp.

He didn’t even want his brother to come. His presence was needed at the farm, the land while he was away, the thought of ‘action,’ provided by the big city kept him afoot.

We’ll be in Rome tomorrow. Only forty more miles, and we’d have been there already, had we brought the horses, Marcellus said, criticizing his brothers decision, while spreading his bedding on the dry dirt, running rope hemp lines from the tree to tree, finally ending at the thick, thorny hedge bushes that ran in rocks behind. Good defensive position for a fire, protecting against animals; wild dogs, intruders, bears, other things.

In Rome, horses had to be ‘stabled,’ by law. Costs would be astronomical, charging everything at far higher prices for the celebration of Trajan’s Triumph and opening of the games. Many thousands were arriving every day. The roads were a testament to that.

Fine, fine, I don’t care, said Androcles, thoroughly exhausted, taking off his heavy load, looking at the setting sun. They had come so far so fast; they stayed strictly on traveled roadways.

Where are we anyway, close to Rome, right? Andros ignoring him, setting stones, mounting rods and hanging pots, seeing the sun setting faster, utterly worn down carrying the 70lbs. as opposed to Marcellus’s 58lbs. whereas he optioned for this ‘change’ of plans, making the trip significantly harder, longer, more difficult as the heat was increasing this time of year; middle summer.

Staying on the course we’d planned would have kept us stronger, more available to products, fresh food, meat, drink and materials. Also up here, were not only wasting precious material were being delayed, since the smaller, Roman constructed ‘Tudor highway’ you’re so pressed to get to is smaller, and no less congested as it’s built in Roman fashion, single lanes each way; no passing, evading traffic and just as contested for room.

Marcellus shook his head, remarking while drinking, I’m sorry for this locations difficulties, but I didn’t think the ‘squiggles’ meant such a remarkably difficult detour, besides; I couldn’t take anymore wealthy carriages, heat, slaves, animals, horses, yelling roustabouts, all jostling, soldiers blowing horns, whistles, yelling to keep moving. Plus staying outside on the ground, while the taverns have room and food, it just doesn’t seem proper, he continued, downing more and more gulps.

Take it easy, that wine has to last the night, at least until I filter the water from the spring, boil it down for cleanliness, but it seems fresh. Nice view from here of the North, the city of Volsinii, in the distance."

Yep, said Marcellus, relaxing; receding hairline, his stomach ‘paunch’ that in the day was rock hard. Now a far cry from the slender, master swordsman he’d seen an worshiped as a boy. So painful to see him leave home, forsaking his leadership for his father’s disdain.

Then came his one and only, single letter every year. Andros father only speaking to him when he needed farm work performed, or perhaps another letter from Marcellus in Rome, selling his father on the attempt to become a ‘star,’ in Roman theatre.

Here, I got this today from Marcellus, he would say animated with joy. Andros played the excited part, knowing what was coming.

Doing fabulously well, his father read, making friends, important connections, great roles in plays, critics rave! Performing Roman, Egyptian, Greek second or lead roles. Many popular theatres. Making money, well enough to buy an apartment in the city while performing with the troupe in repertoire. Now travelling to the resort town of Terracina on the coast then the Campanian city of Neopolis, next month. Andros sighed.

Project $100,000 cash earnings. Wish me luck!

Love and happiness to you and Androcles. Your son, Marcellus.

How Androcles relished these moments; all lies. He feared at first that his brother, after achieving selection for the military academy in Tridentum, at such a young age, dropped out after the first year; His excuse to father was ‘failure in enduring severe scholastic agenda.’ I found out differently. He was ‘discontented with a soldiers life. He realized that it wasn’t what he hoped it would be at all.

Early rising, drilling, school work, abuse, hazing; then more running with 60lb. military packs every day. setting up camps; striking camps. Taking orders over and over from men he felt were beneath him in skill yet highly connected. Then classes; followed by more of the same. Over and over it went without change. That was the future.

He simply realized for 20 years that his father suffered broken bones, knees that swelled; a neck injury; twice breaking his back, enduring pain, stressful conditions; occupying lands who’s native inhabitants want you dead, then there was the fighting itself. He hated every moment.

But that was just the beginning, the ‘opening act,’ as it were. The money made was by the Generals; the ‘Equites,’ nobility of high ranking, wealthier officials, politicians and their relatives. They got the windfall of profits; booty and the choicest captured for slaves to do with as they pleased while soldiers wished for their loved ones, could only envy.

Many were shipped to their very large estates to be worked to death when used up. To get promoted; you either achieved in battle, or were related to a proper family, or ‘gens.’ An aristocratic family with ties and connections. With those connections, you rarely saw fighting.

He actually knew nothing of Marcellus after leaving home. He never discussed his life experiences. So protective, while being so gregarious, carefree.

Here, give me your shoes, put on the other Calceus shoes, ordered Andros. They were strap on sandals where the toes were open, to allow air, drain water with comfortable, relaxed movement. Andros had prepared them for the journey, thickening the soles, making them enduring with heavier leather to withstand the rocks, sticks trees and occasional nails, broken glass or iron parts fallen from wagons trains. Avoiding if possible, all manner of injury and infection that could delay, cut them off or isolate them completely.

Theft and robbery was feared at night. Up here, they were exposed, alone. Money was short. Survival meant preparation. Marcellus had no sense for it. Every time he showed up at their home, high in the valley of the Carnic Alps, above the town of Laebactes off of the Plavis River, he was always broke; shoeless while carrying his ‘sack’ of clothes and belongings. Starving and dirty as if he hadn’t eaten or bathed in days.

Not so what you think; I’m saving every penny. You know for when times go bad, bookings for acting parts slow down.

It sounded reasonable, but the extremes of the letters for eight years; His father rushing out: He made another $100,000 this year!

Every year, for eight years, always the same amount. Never better or worse. It was then Andros realized that all this was nonsense. An elaborate ruse to impress his father that he was not ‘failing, hungry, broke.’ Father desperately wanted to believe in him, Andros dare not question anything he said. If he did, Father would say it was jealousy, envy, or ‘why don’t you challenge the world? I did; he does, what do you do?"

It was not worth the trouble arguing. Andros would lose no matter what was questioned.

It was eight years since father died of natural causes, mostly due to the service injuries he survived during the many battles, campaigns he served on commanding legions. Marcellus arrived two months ago with nothing. The usual.

He then slept for three straight days before coming out of his room, only to eat, or borrow money from father’s account to go out all night, come in the morning and sleep all day. Then do it again. After weeks of this, he’d suddenly leave.

It was the same ritual year after year with Father passed away. Once a year, every year, he’d show up, fatten up, take money and leave.

With the map here, Marcellus began as Andros filled the pots, sparked the moss with stone to get the fire going, adding twigs and dried leaves to build it up, we should be in Rome in two more days. Andros nodded. Were well ahead of schedule, wouldn’t you say? As he rolled it putting it back, stretching out. Drinking some more.

We should reach Tudor in the morning, eat there, then catch ride, maybe arrive a day ahead for the room, and seven for the opening of the games, clamored Marcellus.

Even then, they see long lines of wagons, prisoner, gold, jewels, new prisoners; sculptures arrive in the city daily.

No dirt segments in the fields for us; just fresh beds, clean water, fed proper food at the Inn. Marcellus mentioned, seeing all the possibilities, while the others labored in the elements, they would be in feather beds. A first in Andros life of long hard living.

Marcellus, so removed from daily life, interaction with his brother was now anxious to go, why?

I’m surprised that you came, Andros said. I thought you’d not want to go back to Rome but stay at home; care for the farm, eat, sleep to your hearts content. Andros pliers pulled the marlin spike through the leather, sealing the new sole onto his brothers worn out shoes.

I don’t want anymore climbing hills! Andros charged. Alright, Marcellus putting up his hands, "no more. I’m sorry about this, but from a distance it looked fast and easy. Besides, you haven’t answered, we rarely speak. Why is this trip so important to you?

Marcellus changed the subject. But you still haven’t explained to me what were doing going there, huh?

Ok, it’s because of this, Andros explained, reaching over to his pack, waving his hand with the flies all about; from the pond. He pulled out a carefully packed scroll, very old. Slipping off the thick, maroon colored ribbon with official, stamped hard wax seal, very old, he showed it to Marcellus.

That is what is known as a ‘Contract-Deed.’ Marcellus read it. By the gods, from the Divine Titus himself to father. It dedicates 2000 acres of his city estate to father, to be drawn on any time for the amount worth at that moment presented and paid perforce of this edict, to the bearer of this deed. Assigned; Magistrate of Treasury Property. It even gives location; in the city of Rome. It’s got dimensions, separate plots, everything. What’s it worth? Why didn’t father tell me of this paperwork and cash jackpot when he left the service?

He didn’t want ‘land payment;’ he wanted a nomination from Emperor Titus to the Senate requesting a ‘Generals Commission,’ with his own army. He never got that. Titus refused to submit. He’d have been immediately approved, he knew that.

Angered he moved up here, to the Alps, where the farm is. As far away from Rome as he could. Abandoned military service and a political career. Abandoned everything for this; this life pastoral: a farm. I don’t know why he just did. He’s an awful farmer.

Andros just looked at his brother, the sun now down and nighttime darkness setting in. Wow, I don’t believe this. The land could be priceless now, marveled Marcellus laying back.

Now that’s where it gets interesting; it is very valuable. I found that this land was in the city proper. Just farmland and gardens on the outskirts at the time, utterly worthless. Then, after Titus death all eventually being sold to cover debts. Domitian his brother; had an uncanny greed for peoples money.

He sold it all, and they built shops, markets, housing, temples, large estate homes during Rome’s largest building boom in history. It raged for twenty years. It’s possibly worth a fortune! Or at least more than we’d ever have working.

Really? You don’t know how much, and when we get the money? Marcellus anguished, now sorry he didn’t sign the documents of ownership when his father died being the eldest.

I don’t know, and ‘we’ don’t’ get anything until it’s evaluated by the Magistrate of Rome’s Quaestor of Estate Management. The land indicated by the assigned plots in large swathes, large acres in Rome.

Now it will be assessed to it’s appropriate value at this time by the Magistrate’s office of the Assessor. Once officially calculated; declared; then put forth to the Secretary Magistrate of Roman Land Grants for approval. Once his office approves, it’s to be subject to the Quaestor Prefectus, who runs the State Treasury.

The then approved amount is formally transferred from the treasury to Father’s account in Tridentum, which is under my name and control only

Damn, muttered Marcellus, drinking more and more wine. It was now pitch black. The woods, coming to life with hungry animals.

Once received, I’ll use it to improve the land substratum, removing the old; tear down and rebuild a modern ‘Italian Estate House.’ Thus overwhelmingly enhance the purchase incentive; to the corporates; some already offering ten times face value. It must be done, all before the ‘icefall’ upriver occurs. Also buying the bottom land from ‘old man Borus’ a mile upriver, who’s been harassed by the corporates to sell him the 40 hectare’s of ‘bottom-land,’ he has. Those rich deposits of alluvial soil from the yearly spring flood overflow. It replenishes every year with incredibly fertile soil from the Alps. We’ll be so well off. All’s left is get married.

Wait, I don’t understand, what do you mean, ‘get married?’ And why is old man Borus selling it to you when he can make a killing with the corporates?

Andros hesitated, swatting flies in his face, stirring the pot. Oh, well that’s the kicker. When he dealt with the ‘corporates,’ years ago, he was offered to sell another large piece of land at a very high offering. He took it, too good to resist.

When he did, it was he found, way over-valued. He ended up receiving much more than it was later calculated. So taxes, corporate owned magistrates then required him to pay past debts firs, then the interest owed; recovery and ‘luxury’ tax. The County Supervisors then gave the Corporates, transfer and title breaks.’ He paid over 65% percent of the money, plus the yearly tenant rate was too high per yearly acreage yield for occupancy.

So, to avoid penalties he couldn’t afford; he had pay every piece of coin back to the County Assessor’s to bail himself out. He only received a fraction of the agreed sum on the deal, losing two-thirds profit on the principal. money, and the property because of it’s artificially overvalued, inflated valuation manipulated by the buy-back schemes run by the Corporatives. Boy was he mad. Had he sold to me, I’d have invested and rolled-it-over in father’s ‘untouchable’ financial retirement account with the bank. Marcellus mouth hung open.

And you know all this….? Andros looked at him ludicrously.

So angered after that experience, he agreed only to a price with me; virtually cut-rate. That way he’d avoid the company, and it would allow us to build up the stock in the property as a whole by increasing productive acreage; bring up the soil to sell as fertilizer; avoid expensive purchases elsewhere and reduce taxation. Andros waved the spoon victoriously.

"Anyway, I’m also being squeezed buy the local supervising magistrates. The Censor in town, Rastus sent official documents. I haven’t fulfilled the Julian law prescript for marriage since father passed. They’ve given me two and a half years to complete the process. ‘Get married and prove a pregnancy, or lose the land.’

Father’s farm would go back to sale by the State. Marcellus sat, shaking his head.

Why didn’t I get the land: this document, the rights? I’m the eldest, the proper inheritor of the estate? Andros was waiting for this: Yes, exactly, where were you when father passed away? I couldn’t find you, nobody knew where or what became of you. The district courts, and supervisors searched and searched. Sent letters to officials in Rome, Greece, Alexandria and nobody knew. The court sent inquiries, waited the requisite 90 days then sent the commissioners a ‘Default Citation;’ giving everything to next of kin.

Marcellus shook his head, I’ve been in his office, through his papers a thousand times. I’ve never seen this, He said, reading the Contract-Deed. Walking the thick hedges of Mulberry bushes. Here, the waters boiling. Give me your clothes the others that you won’t be wearing tomorrow. Go into Rome ready, assured Andros.

They both changed clothing, from the dirty, cold, sweaty shirts and short pantaloons, donning fresh clothes, putting them into the boiling water beside the stew pot. This while Andros plied dried meat into the other pot of stew, adding peppers, salts, other seasoning agents for a tasty sweet meat broth. Then adding meat to boil

I never told you, since all father’s money, estate ownership, military papers came to me, along with this item…. Marcellus stared at the metal key Andros handed him.. What’s this? A secret hidden lockbox filled with contraband gold?

No, something far more interesting and amazing: Fathers storage locker at the warehouse located at the military outpost at Tridentum. Now a training facility for horsemen in the cavalry. But it’s what I Found inside the large facility amazed me.

Along with this document, a whole range of papers, items, military memorabilia from the wars. Battle fighting engagements, awards, appeals for transfers, pay increases, promotions, transfers along with items such as swords, cuirasses, standards, breastplates, helmets, crests, Persian bronzed grieves (really nice!) shields: an entire museum,

Marcellus was upset badly. Shaking his head, he didn’t understand why Father never told him about the locker, his collection of items. Some incredibly valuable. The ‘sword of Titus,’ the most of all.

Father’s other family documents ranging all the way back, hinting even to a time before the beginning of Rome. Although I could find no accurate dating, the documents clearly suggest our family lineage dates back to the time of Aeneas and the arrival of the Dardanians.

Marcellus was still confused, Really, a personal history of his life, enormous wealth of material? He never told me any of this stuff. I asked, he always said to me, ‘When the time comes, you’ll get everything, all of it don’t worry. Andros won’t see a thing.’ But I knew he had nothing of value; no money saved, nothing but the dirt he worked.

Well, Andros said, he hated everything about politics and still the documents are filled with ‘offers,’ ‘positions in Rome,’ he talked while sewing a tear in his shirt, the fire rising hotter and hotter, the darkness now total, realizing an ‘odor,’ a strange one never experienced before, but animals of all kinds were beginning to roam the hills this time of night after sleeping in the day.

I thought this very interesting document might appease your curiosity as to the purpose of our journey. Reaching into his pack, pulled out a scroll, small wooden holder on the inside, handing it to his brother. Marcellus opened the paper and found some very interesting information.

Hey, hey, they dropped the charges; insufficient evidence. Marcellus protested. It was a ‘rap-sheet’ on Marcellus’s criminal history. Mostly drunken, disorderly; assault and battery; things of that nature. But one stood out.

Read on, smiled Andros. Marcellus opened the entire document which then rolled on the piece of wood to almost five-feet long, filled with charges, fines and sentences for priors.

I don’t believe it, Where’d you get this? Oh, smiled Andros, you can believe it alright and the most damning is the charge that almost ended your life: ‘Marcellus Gaius Marcius,’ on the date stated; ‘was found in a drunken state, having trespassed. Broken into the women’s slaves quarters in Laurentum,’ on your way home.

No, no, not true. He remained quiet, highly defensive, but subdued, admitting to none of the charges.

All the accusations, charges of ‘violations,’ are completely false. I touched nothing, and they all testified to that.

"Really?

Yes, absolutely. I told the girls jokes, they laughed at my stories wanting me to tell them more and more. We were having fun. Yes, said Androcles, I know that, but the ‘defilement’ of the ‘housing’ misrepresented my situation, sounding bad. It was considered a violation of their purity; young and training for Temple maidens, Marcellus countered.

You were charged with sacrilege against the gods; theft, destruction of private property; trespassing with intent to ‘violate.’ Then added, pointing to a particular sub-paragraph, Here; assault and everything else they could think of. It would have meant loss of Roman citizenship with all it’s privileges. Then prison, even reducing you to ‘slave’ status. It took Father’s intervention with the ‘Metellus gens;’ a former Captain who served under him, now a long retired general in the twelfth legion at that time.

His personal influence with the judge from him, this retired general Drusus Metellus to appeal to the prosecuting family and judge to reduce the charges from eighteen to one, trespassing violation; this act reduced the sentence to a fine and five years exile. You were lucky.

I was unfairly treated, badly represented and falsely accused. I touched no one, stole anything; broke. damaged any property or so much as a door latch! So enough of this nonsense, he said, rolling up the scroll, throwing it on the fire, which Andros swiftly retrieved, and put back.

Angry, he changed, Tell me; you went to law school I understand, and if I had showed up, Father had not perished from war injuries, you’d be in Rome studying to become a Legal Secretary to Jurists, representing clients, right? Marcellus was good at avoiding discussing unwanted subject matter.

Yes, said Andros disappointedly, I would have sought to as low-level secretary to maybe Pliny the Younger, or even Strabo the Censor at that time. At least I’d qualify. I had notices from the professor’s.

Yeah, Father told me, before passing, the last time I saw him he didn’t seem too interested. He said you were preparing to leave, that your work was mediocre, but your final exam thesis sold them. What was that about?

Oh yeah, it’s funny, but in a class of 74 students, I was ranked 53rd so graduating not qualifying me for any real position. I was desperate. The final thesis is not written, but spoken; no documents, items or any physical, reference or substantial cause but voice of words.

The Thesis had to ‘challenge’ a qualified ‘trial outcome,’ in the form of an appeal from history. A real trial; documented, approved first by Professors, proving it’s ‘actual’ existence through archival sources or multiple reliable ones. Permission attained, you were put before the ten judges with for oral argument. Your job: challenge and argue for the overthrow of the original judgment. The harder, the better for your score, even if you fail.

All the others did the usual; the Catiline conspiracy, Socrates trial and so forth. I figured, since the judges, all independent professors from Venetian Law University in Verona, skilled in all disciplines; I would attempt to alleviate their tired ears with something ‘new,’ ‘fresh’ and untested.

Which was…. He continued.

The trial of the ‘Two women and child before King Solomon.’

Oh, hah! C’mon; everyone knows that’s a fake. It never happened, he laughed.

The judges selected taught courses in all disciplines: Mathematics, Physics, Rhetoric, Astronomy, Law, Religions, Customs, Governance and Accountability, Economics, Humanities, Agriculture, Philosophy, Botany, Anthropology, Medicine, Architecture and Design. You had to present, defend your case before all skillsets since you would be in a position often of defending or prosecuting all and any illegal practices in life.

I mean the list simply goes on. If your choice of trial wasn’t approved, you had to begin again. So in all cases, you had plenty of time to prepare. Using argument only and for the limit of 45 minute hourglass. Referencing legal precedence; case files or prior instances of persuasive ingenuity for reversal of outcome; providing basis, qualification and definitive reasoning for overthrowing sentence.

If you failed by receiving less than five votes, it would reflect poorly on your final score. 10 is perfect and would be unprecedented.

Ok, I understand now. So yours is unusual, different, a hard sell I can see. Certainly would be a real treat if you could pull it off, so I let me hear this, and I mean the whole thing; I’ll judge myself. So Marcellus sat back, sucking an apple, Andros took that remark from a convicted felon to be a compliment and began as night became black as Androcles began.

Ok the setting is ancient Judea over fifteen hundred years ago. Adad Shem, a Jewish worker at the palace, connected to the prison and courts, came in on his small donkey, as he’d done for 15 years. Early as always, he set up his table, then put out his instruments: Whips, of all types, screws for hands, wrists, knees, suffering instruments for various parts of the body. Finely sharpened knives for cutting, applying pressure, heat, beating, tearing; but nothing for execution. He did not perform those duties.

He then was presented with that days sentences, handed down from the courts, always run by judges of the king’s approval and then signed by him. Not an executioner, but punishment artist; so sometimes the list was really long, all day. Other times, short sending him home after filling out his paperwork then submitting the punishment complete to the Sergeant-at-arms. He then would go home.

But ritualistically, he would see the convicted individual tied down, or standing, depending, then look up to the apartment that belonged to the King. He awaited for the King’s appearance behind a thinly oblique curtain, that outlined his features but not his actual personage. When he appeared, he nodded and ceremony concluded, the days list of offenders began.

The King then withdrew for the days responsibilities.

Solomon was in power and was building his Lord’s Temple: ‘I will build you a house; not for worshiping, but to live in, if only you give me wisdom,’ or some such thing. His God said ‘sure.’

‘Then, gathering from all over the ancient world the best stone masons, cutters, woodworkers, architects, glass makers, gold workers, everything was to be top quality. It was costly and his lifestyle was so too. Many wives, concubines, costly stables a large expensive army, a wisdom known and sought by all philosophers and Kings."

Andros taking a drink wiped his forehead, as the wind had ceased and the circulation became slow, air stagnant.

The Queen of Sheba; a very beautiful woman came to give honor to Solomon, providing great gifts, craftsmanship and wealth of the finest jewels, gold, rare jewels, cloth and spices. But she also came prepared in other measures. Using her charms to seduce and cause him to fall in love with her.

In the city was a merchant, Bilhan Shemayah; meaning ‘Whom Jehovah has heard.’ A very successful importer, exporter with outlying countries. He dealt fine and rare objects through his mercantile exchanges, doing tremendous business. But his wife Raya was barren. They kept this a secret, as the concern was that his brother: A greedy, self-serving man, was anything. H lacked business acumen, lacking success in enterprises like his younger brother. He often borrowed money, lots of it to keep up his older brother’s lifestyle. But that was not enough; he wanted everything his brother built for himself.

According to Jewish law at that time, when the elder fails to provide inheritors to his estate; all things, including his wife; is given to the nearest of kin, a brother in this instance. Having four children already, no one had to spell out for his wife what would become of her should his brother inherit. Adoption was out of the question for inheritance of a Benjamite, so she decided that an entirely different tact was needed: A surrogate.

At first he balked! Never! But over a longer period of time, seeing his brother was already crafting plans for acquisition, accidents being common, it motivated him.

Agreeing with his wife in principle; as long as nobody knew as he certainly had the money for it, he finally he began to seek out women of ‘ill-repute,’ for ‘discussions,’ on the matter. With all Jewish women known of this kind, they were out of the question. Then he found one: an Edomite woman, from the North, who shall remain nameless. But for the sake of argument, we’ll call her ‘Lyca.’

Now Lyca was already raising four children alone, and her ‘craft,’ or business was based on her ability to attract those men in need. Even though still young, she was now changed by bearing children and the expenses it imposed.

Marcellus was smiling, enjoying the story.

Business was slow, costs of living rising. So when approached by Bilhan in the night at her apartment, he was prepared. $10,000 in gold, on the table, he thrust forward; up front once pregnant; the same amount when complete. Accept? She did.

She saw only him, and after several attempts, he reported back to his wife, ‘It’s done!’ Both excited beyond measure. His child, although not ‘legally, but still his.

Then as planned his wife moved to a remote location in Egypt, away from prying eyes, so that when asked, Belhan reported that she wanted complete privacy; deeply concerned all go well.

This was understood, seeing her difficulty in the past. Absolute solitude, not locatable, respite from all social responsibilities and household duties were requisite. Any disturbance that might cause ‘accidents.’ All relatives agreed immensely joyous; save his brother, who was immediately suspicious. He didn’t believe it. He was sure something afoot, suspecting malfeasance. Timing was ‘too perfect.’ He knew this since her location was ‘unavailable’ to anyone? Something very wrong here."

Unable to confirm, she was spirited to the city of Canopus, near Alexandria, and available on the coast to all necessities in a Jewish Quarter. But his spies found nothing, suspecting she was using another identity. She was changed; presented as a mixed breed of Persian and Syrian blood, changed her name to Simona, with no ‘Hebrew blood,’ to remain undiscernible.

"Private investigators sought out the missing wife. But without sufficient funds, they quit after a short time, frustrating his attempts to prove fraud. Angry, he’d wait for the birth, then seek cause against him. His own brother.

The Edomite woman, bore the child saying when gone that it had died in child-birth, when in fact she would had it delivered nearby in Alexandria by Egyptian midwives. No records and no reports in Jerusalem or Judah at all. The child, officially buried with ceremony in Edomite fashion, corresponding to the birth of his wife’s new baby. All was proceeding as planned, the final payment transferred, arrived to the extremely satisfied ‘Lyca.’

All parties involved kept the pact, secrecy was maintained. Nothing could be obtained. Everyone else was totally complicit, praying for her success. His older brother desperately needed failure. He even tried to find transaction records in his brothers house of the birth, Jewish midwives, anything, but nothing was indicative of expenses, names or locations. It was very frustrating.

Solomon meanwhile, pursuing his immense building projects for the city, anticipated upon completion of the Temple, the building of a vast complex for the Palace; replacing his father David’s location with a very modern, highly ornate structure, stretching over many acres of land, costing even more than the Temple and it’s surrounding complex, preparing for the influx of tourists, worshipers and all manner of income. It’s existence providing jobs, increased spending, tourism and benefits for the underclass. It was a bold scheme, but with the completion of these projects, all running over-budget, his steely resolve, it had to be done, at all costs.

It was. So magnificently impressive were the buildings, the stables, the Temple Compound, and surrounding shops; reinvigorated streets and sewers, fresh water supplies, Inn’s and lodges for visitors with many fine dining, flourished, creating wealth, influence for the few.

Palace tours, seeing the Great Hall, the King’s Seat of Judgment; The actual seat or ‘bench’ itself was marble, colored in alabaster hewn wood carvings of Lions, stretching out their claws, mouths open, indicating complete authority over all. Any causes; great or small, thus brought before him. Cedar wainscoting covered the walls, floors, ceilings. It held hundreds of guests, scribes, scholars. General public given tours inside the Temple proper, although illegal religiously, viewing the outer-sanctum, not the ‘Holy of Holies,’ where the gold covered floors and Cherubim, wings spread wide, sculpturally extruding from the walls, were a massive money maker.

"The Temple steps became a speaking platform for teaching, out