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Passing through the gates of Rome, Atretes is overwhelmed by the hurly-burly of the city, the overpowering diversity of sights, smells, and sounds, and the sheer magnitude of humanity crowded within the “splendor and magnificence” of the Imperial City. To Atretes, however, Rome is a “stinking bog of base humanity drowning in the filth of depravity” (182). He and the other gladiator-trainees are brought to the main ludus and locked in their cells. Atretes cannot imagine any viable means of escape.
Atretes trains harder than most, listening and studying for any advantage that will keep him alive in the arena. He feels a grudging respect for Bato, the Ethiopian trainer who is smarter, tougher, and less abusive than Tharacus. One day, a Roman aristocrat challenges Atretes to a sparring match. After only a few minutes, Atretes finds the man’s weakness and nicks him on the face, drawing blood. Bato stops the match, telling Atretes quietly, “Another day.” Rather than punish him for wounding a Roman citizen, Bato rewards him with a sex worker. Bato fears Atretes will incur the wrath of the emperor for besting and taunting an aristocrat, but nevertheless he schedules Atretes for the arena two months before his training is complete. “[A]t least you will die with a sword in your hands” (186), says Bato.
The day before the fight, Atretes is fitted with armor and led to the ceremonial feast with the other gladiators. In training, he has sparred with all but one, a Jew named Caleb with 22 kills to his credit. The lavish feast is lavish is attended by the emperor Vespasian and his sons. Atretes considers trying to break the neck of at least one of them but realizes it would be impossible. He is led to a couch—a seat of honor—where he is perused and studied like a prized steer. Marcus and Antigonus, both in attendance, place bets on the likely victors; Marcus bets on Atretes. Atretes recoils at the objectification—as well as the moral and sexual mutability of the attendees—until he and the others are eventually led back to their cells. He falls into a fitful sleep, dreaming of the forests of his homeland, the death of his people, and revenge.
The next morning, Atretes is roused from his cell and taken through a network of corridors to a waiting chariot. The gladiators are paraded before the crowd displaying their elaborate armor and weapons, but Atretes is clad only in a simple bearskin. After saluting the emperor, they are led back to their holding cells until they are called for their matches. By early afternoon, Atretes is summoned. Striding out into the arena, he shrugs off his bearskin and faces his opponent, a Gaul whom he dispatches in short order. Reveling in his victory, he taunts the crowd, disparaging Romans as “cowards.” A soldier leaps into the arena, willing to fight for the honor of Rome, but, after suffering a chest wound, Atretes beheads him. After three bouts, Atretes is exhausted and losing blood, and the crowd screams for the champion, Celerus. Atretes believes this fight will be his last. The crowd, however, now firmly behind the wounded German, waves the white handkerchiefs of support, beseeching the emperor to spare Atretes this battle and allow him to fight another day. Celerus stands down, but Atretes wants to fight, shouting at his opponent to engage with him. Bato and his guards run out to restrain Atretes, dragging him out of the arena where he is sedated and his wound stitched. Bato chastises him for trying to “’throw away your only chance for vengeance’” (200). He must live, Bato tells him, to conquer Rome.
One morning, Julia, angry because Claudius refuses to take her to the ludus, leaves on her own. Claudius decides it is time for he and Julia to have a serious talk, so he rides after her, but his horse throws him, breaking his neck and killing him. Claudius’s servants are bereft, blaming Julia for their master’s death, and Julia fears they will try to kill her. Three days later, Phoebe and Marcus arrive, finally rousing Julia from her bedchamber. Marcus takes charge of the household, ordering Claudius buried immediately. Going through Claudius’s papers, he realizes Julia is now the owner of the entire estate, and he arranges to sell it. Julia will return to Rome, but she has no say in how the estate is divided or where the servants are relocated.
Marcus sits under the stars, pondering the fate of Claudius’s servants, when Hadassah approaches to plead on their behalf. Furious that none of the staff wished to stay with Julia after Claudius’s death, Marcus is ready to punish them, especially Persis, the head servant. Hadassah argues that each person is responsible for their own actions, but ultimately, “it is God who decides” (209). She tries to explain that God not as a micromanager making fateful decisions on a whim but as a keen observer, watching the “tapestry” of his creation and all of its individual threads. Marcus, however, is unimpressed. When Hadassah reasons that Julia would have more freedom over her affairs in Capua than in Rome, Marcus realizes she is right. Perhaps leaving Julia and the staff intact would be the best choice. He tells Hadassah that the staff will be spared, but Hadassah whispers, “It was you I feared for most, Marcus” (211).
As Decimus and Phoebe walk along a cobbled garden path, Decimus in the midst of an existential crisis. His wealth and status have not brought him happiness. He fights with his children constantly, and his health is declining. He despairs over Marcus and Julia—“They haven’t the smallest fiber of moral character” (214)—and he worries for the future of a society infested with such selfishness.
Meanwhile, Julia and Octavia sit around the villa, bored. Octavia convinces Julia to come shopping with her, although she is supposed to still be in mourning. She badgers Julia about bowing to her father’s demands, arguing that Julia is entitled to a share of Claudius’s estate even though Marcus sold it and invested the money. Octavia is persuasive, and the women leave. Julia begs Hadassah not tell Decimus where she has gone. As they browse the marketplace, Octavia continues to push Julia to take control of her money and her life. They stop at a stall selling crystal pendants, and Julia is so entranced by the Egyptian vendor’s intense gaze and melodic voice, she buys several, much to the resentment of Octavia who doesn’t have Julia’s disposable income. Her jealousy grows as they sit near the Field of Mars and watch the legionnaires train—Julia garners more attention than Octavia who covets her friend’s beauty, wealth, and social status. Leaving the field, they head to Octavia’s friend Calabah’s house. Octavia is certain Calabah will mock Julia for her naivete, and she relishes the chance to witness it.
Marcus returns, demanding to know where Julia is. Hadassah does not want to betray Julia, but she cannot lie to her master. When she mentions Calabah, Marcus grows angry, fearing Calabah’s negative influence over his sister. He leaves to bring her back, ordering Hadassah to avoid Decimus when he returns so she will not have to confess Julia’s whereabouts. Marcus and Hadassah banter briefly, both aware of a deep attraction to the other. Hadassah is ashamed of her attraction, and Marcus is confused by what he feels: It is not lust but something deeper and more profound. Hadassah knows Marcus has had sexual relations with Bithia, an Egyptian servant whom Enoch considers “a deceiver and a sorceress” (232), but Hadassah argues that Bithia would change if she knew the one, true God—although she never mentions Jesus, afraid of the conflict between her Christianity and Enoch’s Judaism. She despairs over the futility of trying to convert any of the souls around her. When Phoebe and Decimus return, Phoebe asks Hadassah to sing to her husband as a way to distract him from his illness. Her melodic voice lulls him to sleep.
Julia sits, rapt, listening to Calabah’s discourse about the power of womanhood—a direct rebuke to Roman patriarchy. Octavia becomes further angered by Calabah’s condescension toward her and attention toward Julia, so she leaves. The women chat—Calabah offers Julia advice on how to deal with her father—when Marcus barges in, demanding Julia come home with him. She is embarrassed by the intrusion, but she complies. When she returns, she offers to give one of the pendants, a healing crystal, to her father to help with his illness, but Phoebe understands the gift is simply an “afterthought.” When Julia storms off to her room, Marcus argues that, as a 16-year-old widowed woman, Julia should have more freedom, and that Decimus is too rigid. Phoebe claims he is only trying to protect her from future harm, and that her independent streak disrespects his authority. They tentatively agree to a compromise: Decimus will loosen the reins but maintain certain restrictions over whom Julia can spend time with.
Rivers draws clear moral lines throughout the narrative, often juxtaposing one moral standard against another. Decimus bemoans the younger generation as a group of self-interested, spoiled children “who want to be free of the old standards” (214). They lack the qualities of honor, obedience, and self-sacrifice that built Rome. Marcus, on the other hand, accuses his father of hypocrisy. Decimus, he reasons, pursued wealth, so Marcus should be permitted to do the same. In defense of Julia, he argues that Decimus’s rigidity is too confining for a young woman. Marcus even tells his mother that she forgot what it is like to be young. Embedded in these disputes are the conflicting moralities of age versus youth. Decimus and his generation cling to a vision of Rome that may no longer exist—that the empire is a powerful, morally upright force for improving civilization and culture. Marcus and his generation, however, have witnessed the decadence and corruption of Roman leadership—Nero, in particular—culminating in the great fires that destroyed much of the city. What good are old traditions, Marcus reasons, when life is so uncertain.
Another moral line Rivers draws is sexual. When Atretes is brought to Rome to fight in the gladiator games, he is appalled by what he sees as the depravity among the citizens, including same-sex coupling (a crime punishable by death among his tribespeople), women exploring and indulging in their own sexuality, and the lack of monogamy. To Atretes, these are clear moral flaws which make him hate the Empire even more. Hadassah is equally shocked by the licentious behavior around her; even the mere discussion of sexuality discomforts her. One popular theory for the fall of the Roman Empire has been the decline in morals and the neglect of social institutions. “Many historians note that the final years of the Empire were especially excessive in declining morals and values and witnessed through decreasing safety, promiscuity, lavish overindulgent parties, and violence” (Pooner, Sarah Maia Conde, “Why Rome Fell and Is the United States Next?” Yale National Initiative. yale.edu). While a host of other explanations exist—invasion from outside forces, political corruption, and excessive military spending—moral decline is the cause Rivers focuses on.
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By Francine Rivers