the Sword and the Cross

Simon grinned at his sparring partner. “Quintus told me that in a month we are off to Rome to train with the best.” Simon flexed his shoulders. He was nearly a head taller than Darius and wider in the shoulders. His curly black hair contrasted with the deep bronze of his skin. His legs had the power of a man’s though he was only eighteen years old. His breastplate seemed molded to his broad chest and the leather straps of his helmet, now in his hand, were covered in sweat. Darius glanced aside, then murmured, “Quintus is watching us. Let’s put on a show for him.” He slipped on his helmet, and, with a single movement, drew his sword under Simon’s chin with the point lightly touching Simon’s neck. “Show me what you can do now, Simon,” he said mockingly. “Admit that I have you in an impossible position—bow and surrender and I may let you go.” It was a challenge Simon could not refuse. He threw his helmet to the ground, distracting Darius momentarily, then whirled and thrust his sword at Darius’s breast plate in one swift motion. Darius was slow to react and gave no ground. Simon’s sword penetrated the plates of his segmented armor and cut to the heart. . . With one careless stroke of his sword, Simon of Cyrene goes from being a promising candidate for the Roman Legion to being a wanted murderer—a man who has killed a friend, a comrade in arms ... and the Roman consul’s nephew. Simon flees into the desert, staying only a step ahead of his most avid pursuer—the Legionnaire who trained him and is now out for his blood. His sojourn takes him, ultimately, to Jerusalem and to the foot of a cross on Golgotha.