The Son

By David Sawyer

Two legions of Roman soldiers invade a remote mountain kingdom while on their way to subdue an anticipated rebellion in distant Israel. In the battle, the king is killed, and the queen and two daughters are taken captive. The prince, the Son, and his best friend survive the battle and pursue the Romans to Israel, hoping to rescue his family. They encounter Jesus and His disciples in Samaria where friend Noro becomes a disciple, but Prince Marcus continues his quest. He seeks out Barabbas, a Jewish rebel, and they plot the family’s rescue from the Romans. Things don’t go as planned, however, and Marcus reaches an unfortunate end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638142294

Book preview

Chapter 1

The enemy was a flood!

It started quietly enough. Soft movements in the darkness. It could have been any nocturnal creature making its way home just before the fingers of the dawn grasped the edge of the world to lever itself up. But the sounds became more noticeable, and the rustle of stirred leaves now held the occasional snap of a twig rattle of a loose pebble and there the faint tick of metal against rock.

Crouched behind the barricade of sharpened saplings, Marcus roused from a state of drowsiness and strained to see in the predawn blackness. His right hand sought the comfort of the hilt of his sword as his left hand reached out to alert his companion, Noro, who responded with a low grunt. He, too, had heard the faint disturbance and was already scrabbling in the low growth to find and yank the rope that ran down the hill to his left and would quietly alert the other defenders.

They were at the extreme of the right flank where the barricade ran up to a steep slope which should prove very difficult for the enemy to navigate. It appeared, however, that they were undaunted by the scarce footing and lack of cover the area provided and were aggressively seeking the advantage of higher ground available should they be able to bypass the defenders. If by some miracle they were able to navigate that obstacle and avoid the plunge into the fearsome chasm below, it would expose the thinly manned right flank to a devastating attack.

I’m going to light the pots, Marcus whispered to Noro.

Good idea, man, came the muffled reply.

Marcus sheathed his sword and quickly untied a leather pouch from his waist. Unrolling it on a smooth boulder, he felt for the flint and iron that would light the tiny mound of tinder he had kept dry in a clamshell within the pouch. This could be done quickly, but he knew the sudden flare would make him an easy target for any alert archers or slingers.

No time to think of that now, he thought.

It was imperative that the enemy climbing the cliff be exposed. He quickly sought the end of the oil-soaked rope that ran up the steep hill to the first pot.

They had experimented for hours to get the right mixture of oil and tallow that would act as a crude fuse to ignite the pots of oil strung along the edge of the cliff. It had to burn quickly but not be so volatile that the oil all evaporated before it was time to use it. Their captain was angry that it took so long and kept them from helping with the barricade. The cook would not even look at them after repeated visits to the larder for oil and tallow, and the armorer had finally refused to give them any more rope.

You’ll just burn it up, he’d shouted.

They had finally hit upon the solution by necessity. Due to the shortage of rope, they had separated the strands which significantly loosened the fibers, making the burn much faster. Soaked in oil and coated with tallow, the strands burned grandly and fairly leaped toward the top of the hill.

They had struggled along the face of the cliff and placed pots of oil in the crags just on the edge of their line of sight. When lit, they would provide a backlight to expose anyone foolish enough to risk the climb. Archer camps spotted every hundred paces or so behind the line would have clear targets for their silent shafts of death.

Marcus propped his shield against a rock and arranged his lighting kit behind it with the end of the fuse in easy reach. It was important not to light too soon before the enemy was in position since it ran the risk that one of them could cut the fuse, thereby spoiling the trap. He waited impatiently for the scuffling to subside and then another few minutes for them to settle into their positions, waiting for the first light. With trembling hands, he grasped the iron in his right hand and turned the flint, resting it on the stone by the clamshell so that the sharp edge was up and close to the tinder. One, two trial strokes, and he struck the flint a glancing blow. He was rewarded by a glowing spark much brighter than a firefly, but it lodged beneath the lip of the clamshell. He quickly spilled the contents out on the rock, but the spark had already died. Arranging the tinder over the end of the fuse, he struck again, and this time, the spark flew into the tinder, smoldered briefly, and died. He turned quickly to Noro, grabbing his tunic and pulling him down by the boulder.

Blow, he whispered urgently. The tinder’s already damp.

While repeating his practiced strokes, a spark lodged in the tiny pile, and Noro blew softly so as not to disturb it. At first nothing, then a faint tendril of smoke like a miniature wraith. An audible puff from Noro brought a glow and quickly a tongue of flame. Marcus dropped a few strands of oil-soaked fiber on the flame, which suddenly dimmed but came back with renewed vigor seconds later. Then finally a substantial flame which was quickly consuming the tiny pile. Normally this would be the time to apply a tent of twigs to start a cooking fire, but not this morning. Marcus caught the end of the snaking fuse and held it over the flame until it spluttered alive. Once it started moving up its length, Noro quickly doused the tinder with a handful of dirt and swept it away to dissipate the smoke.

The glowing end moved across the open ground with agonizing slowness, leaving a faint trail of smoke and giving off bursts of sparks from the water in the tallow. It suddenly disappeared altogether and remained thus for an eternity.

What happened? Marcus groused, turning to his companion who crouched behind the boulder with his gaze fixed on where the glow had vanished.

Looks like it went out. We should have made a double, came the dejected reply.

A moment later, a bright flare as the first of the pots came ablaze, and a yelp of shock and fear as an enemy soldier caught in open relief scrambled to gain cover. His attempt was cut short as Noro scooped up his bow and let fly a well-aimed dart that caught the other in the throat just above his breastplate. He pitched headlong down the slope with a strangled wail.

How do you do that? said Marcus in a choked whisper, his eyes gleaming as he planted a hearty slap on the back of his friend.

Life has taught me to be quick to keep the firmest grip on it, Noro retorted while smoothly notching another shaft, drawing back and scanning the slope for other targets.

Two more pots caught in quick succession, and a flight of arrows descended on a group of shadowy figures revealed by their flare. Screams of pain and fear mingled with curses rose, and several more dark forms plunged toward the chasm below.

The jangle of armed men running came from behind, and a contingent of mountain troops with drawn swords ran toward the precipice to intercept those climbing the cliff to make a flanking movement.

Shall we go with them?

Marcus paused. No, we’ll be needed here soon enough.

With that, the sky flared briefly as the pots of burning oil went cascading down the cliff, sent on their way by attackers desperate to extinguish the flames. In that brief flare, several flights of arrows sang their mournful death song as they fell among attackers briefly framed in bold relief. As the fires died, quiet suddenly returned, only to be broken moments later by shouts, battle cries, and the clatter of sword on a shield as defenders engaged and sent more shadows plunging.

Advancing dawn now yielded to a misty light that could not hide emerging pinpoints of flame much farther down the slope. These soon resolved into hundreds of winged birds of flame that soared up the mountainside. The first volley fell well short, but as the mass of archers ascended, pinpoints of flame began to fall on the barricade and the line of defenders behind it. The barricade caught fire in spots, and several brave souls ventured out to douse the flames. This became a costly endeavor, however, as it left them vulnerable and exposed. Most, however, walled their shields and fell back a respectful distance, waiting for the dual of the archers to exhaust itself. Many fell on both sides, but the superior numbers of the attackers seemed inexhaustible, and the barricade, now burned through in places, admitted foot soldiers through the gaps. These first assaults took terrible punishment, but then some scrambling over the bodies of their fallen comrades engaged the mountain lines.

Chapter 2

They came and came in seemingly endless waves. Marcus, Noro, and two dozen others formed a tight formation that became an island continually buffeted by this onslaught. The fighting went on endlessly, but the wall of shields held firm in the ebb and flow of battle. Detachment after detachment of invaders surrounded and sought to penetrate the defenders’ facade but only succeeded in pushing the group up the mountain while losing of their own to the thrusting spears and swords from within. They all eventually moved on in search of easier prey, leaving Marcus’ small group to harass them from the rear.

As darkness descended once again, exhaustion took its toll, and they paused in a glade of oaks to rest and evaluate their condition. The sounds of battle had dimmed, and all that could be seen of the enemy was the litter of battle and smoke rising from the walled citadel they all called home. Nearly everyone had wounds that needed binding, and several men were in serious condition and would require more help than was available.

Those in serious condition were ministered to by their compatriots while others constructed crude litters to carry the ones who couldn’t walk. As darkness fell, they set off up the mountain in the direction of home, each man wondering with dread what they would find. After a weary march, they came to a copse of trees that offered needed seclusion and a welcome resting place for the night. They spread their cloaks and such garments as they had for the wounded and sat wearily in the center of the grove.

Riderless horses wandered aimlessly amongst the debris and bodies, often pausing to sniff at a corpse or shattered armament. Many were grievously injured, and Noro assembled a team of men to dispatch those beyond help and end their piteous cries. Several of the healthy animals were led to the shelter of the trees and tethered where they could graze and rest until it was decided what they would do.

Marcus assembled the others and took inventory of the food, water, arms, and other supplies. There wasn’t much but enough to provide for a simple meal and refresh the desperately exhausted troopers. Even a small fire would have been of benefit, but they dare not give away their existence and position for any reason. After the meager meal, Marcus gathered the able bodied and assigned some to guard the perimeter and sent others out in the dark to recover any supplies they could find on the battlefield. He then huddled with two of the best remaining troopers and appointed them as his assistant officers for future ventures. He then moved among the wounded, speaking softly to each one in reassuring tones and ministering to their needs where he could.

As the moon sets in the early hours of the morning, he gathered Noro and two others and set off toward the city, their home, about three leagues distance. They made their way quietly since they didn’t know what security patrols the enemy may have dispatched. Sometime before dawn, they could see the glow of fires from inside the city walls as it reflected off low clouds and as they drew closer an occasional scream and clashing of arms.

Marcus turned to Noro as they crouched in a sheltered depression. Didn’t we leave a sizable contingent to defend the city? How could they have captured it so quickly?

Noro just shook his head and, with a grim face, first held up an arrow, then pointed with it to the ladders and siege machines, littering the landscape between them and the city wall. They came prepared. We didn’t have a chance.

Marcus paused and thought back over the last few days before the battle. They had received an emissary from the enemy general who demanded they surrender and swear allegiance to an emperor in a far-off city. He was well-known in the region, and neighboring kingdoms had fallen under his scepter at various times either by surrender or victims of a crushing assault. As long as the populous and leaders obeyed the foreign ruler and paid the exorbitant taxes they levied, there was usually little trouble and even some benefits in terms of better infrastructure, mostly for the benefit of the conquerors and their lackeys. On occasion, they brought out their foreign gods and made everyone bow in worship, but these incidents were usually short-lived and could be tolerated.

Marcus’s father and those before him had walked a narrow pathway of sending tribute to the emperor on a regular basis, and since their kingdom was somewhat isolated and not wealthy, lying far off the main trade routes, they had until now avoided the heavy hand of Rome. Apparently this new general was out to make a name for himself by subjugating some of these remote kingdoms to add to his own and the empire’s wealth.

As their little group crept closer to the walls, they could see that the main gate was well guarded by a contingent of soldiers armed with swords and spears. A squad of archers stood guard on the wall above the gate and presented a discouraging deterrent to their entrance to the city. They huddled in their hidden position for a while and observed the scene before them. As the sky began to brighten, they noted that what had before been only dark smudges on the outside of wall were now taking shape as human forms. Human forms without heads! A gasp escaped from Marcus’s throat as a soldier appeared on the wall with a burning torch, and Marcus recognized his father’s royal robes though heavily smeared with filth and blood. At that moment, several other soldiers appeared, carrying torches and pikes burdened with dripping gore, which on second look resolved into severed heads that Marcus could see at once belonged to his father and several of the city’s nobles. He screamed involuntarily and, drawing his sword, charged the guards at the gate while Noro and the others instinctively drew back on bowstrings in what was obviously a futile attempt to protect him. The guards at the gate came immediately to attention, lowering their lances to form an impenetrable wall of steel. The archers above were no less ready and drew almost as one man, which would have rendered Marcus with the appearance of a porcupine had not a strong voice from the wall stopped the action. Halt, I say! Let this young fool enter if he dares. Perhaps he has come to belatedly surrender or perhaps give obeisance to his betters.

Marcus hesitated in mid-stride, shocked and disappointed that he wasn’t dead, and still trying to grasp what had happened.

He looked up and stammered, Why did you have to cut off their heads? Why! You will pay for this if it’s the last thing I ever do. You’re a dead man!

Shouts and laughter from the soldiers followed this pronouncement, and the centurion in charge called to the figure on the wall, Can we kill him now, sir? He paused for a long moment and finally shook his head while looking at Marcus with a supercilious sneer; No, let him live. Perhaps he’ll spread the word to his friends that my demands have fire in them. If he’s a good boy he, can come back in three days to claim the rotting body of his king, but I keep the head to send to the emperor. Let this be a lesson to all who hear. Now be gone before I change my mind.

Marcus, stunned and overwhelmed with grief, turned and slowly walked away, followed by the jeers and insults of the soldiers who also hurled rocks but most fell well short. Rejoining Noro and the others, they turned from the sacked and smoldering remains of their former home and made their way back to the grove of trees where the others waited. The sentries alerted the others and followed the four as they stumbled into the camp.

What happened? What did you find? Has the city been taken? These and many other queries tumbled out of those gathered around with mingled fear and expectation written on their faces.

Noro glanced at Marcus who was leaning against a tree, looking at the ground, and seemed not to be aware of the others. After waiting a few moments, he turned to the group and announced in hushed tones, The king is dead, the city has fallen, and all is lost! Cries of shock and despair followed hard on this and then a hush as they began to process what had been said.

After several moments, when no one seemed to breathe, one small voice on the edge of tears said, Oh my, what are we going to do?

Chapter 3

The next morning, most were up before dawn, stumbling around in the dark of the unfamiliar campsite and grumbling about the lack of a fire to warm themselves.

Marcus soon joined them and quickly gave the command. Gather some wood and start a fire. They don’t really seem very interested in us anyway.

Several of them set to work on this with some enthusiasm, and Marcus went off to check on the wounded.

One of the men assigned to watch them through the night stood and came forward to speak to Marcus. Sir, two have died during the night, and several others are suffering grievously. There are six left alive, and I have no fresh water to bathe their wounds.

Marcus shook his head in despair. I know you’ve done everything you can. We need to get them to a village soon so they can be cared for properly. The men are building a fire over by that big rock. Let’s move them close to it, and then Noro and I can decide what to do.

A bit later, the two conferred while the others gathered around the blaze and tried to make the wounded comfortable.

Taking them to a village would be preferable, said Marcus, but any in this area will be occupied and heavily guarded so that definitely won’t work. Do you have any ideas, Noro?

Well, I’ve been thinking, two of my archers are shepherds, and this is the time of year that they move their flocks from the protected valleys to the high country for the summer grazing. They take their wives and families with them, and even though there are no physicians among them, they’re pretty self-sufficient and know how to deal with serious injuries. Those two will know about where the flocks are now, and chances are good that they will be avoiding the enemy troops.

Sounds like a good plan, said Marcus. You talk to them, and I’ll get started arranging their transport. They’ll need at least three of the horses, but I’m going to save the best ones for our use since we may need to travel fast and do some more fighting. Have you thought about our next move when we’ve taken care of the wounded?

Noro paused and looked enquiringly at his friend. If we are really going to kill that man, we’re going to need a lot more than our fifteen soldiers or maybe some kind of magic plan.

Marcus smiled at his friend’s sarcasm. Well, one of your arrows well placed just above his armor should do it my friend, so sharpen your eye and let’s get this done.

Noro smiled and said, Let’s get the wounded cared for, and on their way, then some breakfast if there is any and gather the men to talk about what will be our next step.

Don’t you think we should have a plan to propose? asked Marcus with some concern.

Oh, I’m sure something will come to you by then, assured Noro. The fellow who came up with that oil pot and fuse idea surely must have something in his pocket.

Well, that surely didn’t work out that well, did it, my friend? groused Marcus.

Actually, it worked just the way it was designed, and if we hadn’t been outnumbered five to one, we would have held them there at the cliff. Noro went on to say, "Some of the men will want to go back to their home villages to check on their families, and we need to scout around to find supplies. That will take a few days, and meanwhile, with a small force, we can get close to the city and maybe find out what’s going on with the enemy. You may be able to claim your father’s body and give him a proper burial. It would