Books by Rod Warren

Drusus shouted at the man he had just struck with his fist and knocked to the floor. “I know you’ve been secretly seeing my wife,” he snarled. “It ends now or I will see to it your end will come!”

The man rose to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth. Looking at Drusus with narrowed eyes, he said, “You would be wiser to watch what you drink rather than watching your wife, Drusus. Too much wine can be dangerous.”

“Leave my house!” Drusus shouted.

Feeling the blood rushing to his face, the man looked around at the other dinner guests. Some of the women looked at their husbands while the men avoided his gaze and gave each other grim looks. The room was deathly quiet as the man quickly left.

Drusus gave his dinner guests an unsteady bow and said, “My apologies for the incident. Please... eat, drink, enjoy yourselves.”

His wife, however, clenched her teeth and said, “I think the party’s over,” and stormed out.

Later that evening, the man made his way down dark stone steps, barely seeing where they led. A torch at the bottom, fortunately, gave him enough light to navigate. At the bottom of the steps, he entered a room lined with tables. Cages made of tightly woven metal strands sat on top. His curiosity aroused, he walked over to one and peered in. The tightly coiled black serpent lying inside suddenly spread its hood and gave out a warning hiss. The man flinched and backed away. Quickly walking past the other cages, he approached the door on the other side of the room and slowly turned the handle. 

In the next room, another man sat at another table extracting liquid from a reddish-stemmed plant with white flowers. Hearing the door creak open, he turned to see who the unexpected visitor was. “Who are you?” he asked.

“My name isn’t important,” replied the visitor, who kept his face well hidden under his hooded cloak. “Are you Glycon?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“If you are Glycon, I need your services, and I’m willing to pay handsomely for them.”

The man at the table smiled. “I am Glycon. How can I assist you?”

“I was told you are an expert with poisons. I need a toxic potion that will simulate a natural death and work very quickly. Do you have what I need?”

Glycon nodded and replied, “I have what you need.”

A short while later, the mysterious man walked back up the stairs clutching a vial that contained a deadly liquid. As he entered the dark street, he mumbled, “I have no choice; Drusus must die.”

The next evening, Drusus glared at his wife from across the table after they had finished their supper. He had not spoken to her since the incident at the dinner party. She glared back at him, still embarrassed from his outburst.

She watched as he picked up his wine goblet and drank deeply from it. He was about to say something when suddenly, he felt a strange sensation. The bronze goblet hit the white marble floor with a “Clang!” sending its reddish-purple contents in all directions. He clutched his throat and gasped for air.

His wife just sat there and watched, not saying a word.

He gave her a wide-eyed look and opened his mouth to speak. Only a gurgling sound came out. Struggling to breathe, he tried to stand up but had no feeling in his legs. In his last moments of life, he realized what was happening. Expelling a grunting moan as his heart stopped beating, he slumped over the table. A small amount of wine mixed with spittle trickled from his mouth onto the white tablecloth as his gaze went fixed.

His wife smiled.

Inside a magnificent villa high on Rome’s Palatine Hill, three male servants waited in a line outside a closed door in a darkened hallway. Two burly soldiers stood on either side of the door.

“Why are soldiers needed here?” the young servant in front of the line wondered. Feeling a flutter in his stomach, he kept staring at the door, afraid of what might be behind it. His uneasy feeling was due to his master’s order that all male servants were to be examined. He could tell that the other servants were just as apprehensive about the sudden demand, since they were never told the reason for the examination. Especially since Tiberius required that only the male servants be examined.

Mid-summer in Rome brought sultry temperatures, so the cold marble floor should have been soothing to their bare feet. But the anxiety of not knowing the reason for the examination distracted them from feeling any comforting physical sensations. Dusk embraced the villa and the approaching darkness added to the ominous feeling the young men experienced. One other servant had entered the room but had not come back out. The young servant in front of the line wanted to turn and run, but he abandoned the notion as being foolish. “It’s just going to be a simple examination,” he thought. “Nothing to worry about.”

Suddenly, the door creaked open slightly and a raspy voice said, “Who is next?”

The young man flinched when one of the two gruff-looking soldiers barked, “Don’t just stand there; get inside, slave!”

Entering a well-illuminated room with several hanging oil lamps, he came face to face with the physician.

“What is your name, slave?” the gaunt man asked.

“Lygdus,” the servant replied.

While the physician inscribed his name on a wax tablet, Lygdus looked around the room and noticed the servant who preceded him, lying on a long table. A white sheet covered him up to his neck. At first, Lygdus thought he was dead, then he noticed the sheet rising and falling with each breath. He exhaled a relieved sigh.

“Lie down on that table over there,” the physician ordered, pointing to another long table with a white sheet draped over it.

“What are you going to do?” Lygdus asked.

“Your master has ordered that all male servants must be examined for lesions,” the physician replied. Putting down the tablet, he picked up a small metal cup and offered it to Lygdus.

“What is in the cup?” Lygdus asked, gazing down warily at it.

“A potion to make you sleep,” came the curt reply.

“Why do I need to sleep?”

“Sometimes lesions need to be removed. It’s easier to do that if you are asleep.”

“Why does our master suspect we have lesions?”

Pushing the cup to his face, the physician snapped, “Enough questions! Drink it! I have others I must attend to.”

Lygdus hesitated, then finally took the cup and slowly drank its contents. He wrinkled his nose at the bitter taste and smacked his lips a few times.

“Lie back now,” the physician ordered.

Lygdus slowly reclined and glanced up at the ceiling. “Please do not find any lesions,” he thought. A moment later, the room began to spin. He turned to the physician and watched him melt like a candle reacting to an intense flame. Then blackness shrouded his vision.

A few hours later, wresting himself from the grip of a terrifying nightmare where he was being chased by strange-looking animals, he opened his eyes and felt an excruciating pain. “AHHHH!” he cried out.

Hearing the young servant’s scream, one of the soldiers outside the room turned to his companion with a smirk and said, “It appears one of the maidens has awakened.”

Glancing down at the sheet that covered him, Lygdus recoiled in horror. The area near his groin was drenched in blood. “What did you do to me?” he cried.

The twenty-year-old household servant to Praetor Tiberius Clemens Nero, had more than a lesion removed.

A few months later, after Lygdus had fully healed, he packed his things and disappeared on a dark night after everyone had retired. He vowed that someday, somehow, he would have his revenge on the man who turned him into a eunuch.

Slowly and silently the large forest cat crept on padded paws through the maze of tents. The Stygian night helped it blend into the dark shadows. It took a great risk stalking its prey so close to the scent of humans, but its sensitive ears could detect no sounds of their being alert to its presence. Its hunger overruled its caution. The smell of poultry nearby was too enticing to ignore. A quick pounce, a snap of its powerful jaws, and the big cat could run away with a chicken before the humans could stop it. The predator slunk closer and closer to where the livestock was being kept, then stopped in its tracks. A small boy lay asleep on the ground near the horse enclosure. The hungry animal ran its tongue around its teeth. The human would be a much better meal than a chicken and would certainly be tastier. It crouched and moved in slow, deliberate strides toward him. A faint, guttural growl vibrated in its throat. With jaws agape, the beast positioned its hind legs close to its front legs and prepared to attack. The sleeping boy remained motionless. Hesitating only a moment, the large carnivore sprang just as the horses whinnied a danger cry.

The great cat flew through the air unaware that a deadly missile sailed toward it. The pilum struck the animal’s side with such force that instead of coming down on the oblivious boy, it landed an arm’s length away. The feline’s yowl of pain woke the boy, who blinked a few times then opened his eyes wide when he saw the bleeding creature lying next to him. He remained like a supine statue while the cat moaned and tried to snap at the deadly spear which had pierced its flank. But the painful projectile was beyond its reach. The cat’s head fell flat on the ground, breathing a few ragged pants, then the rapacious predator died with a final gasp.

Hearing footsteps running toward him, the boy looked up to see a soldier approaching. Still not daring to move, the boy glanced over at the cat again then felt himself lifted in the air. The soldier set him down on his feet, well away from the danger and drew his gladius in case the unwelcome predator was still a threat.

“Are you all right?” the young sentry asked in a high pitched voice.

The small boy nodded.

At that moment, several others, who heard the cat’s death cry, came running over. An experienced veteran said, “It looks like that kitty won’t be raiding any more livestock pens! What’s the youngster doing here?”

Knowing the boy loved horses, the watchful sentry replied, “I think he wanted to sleep with the horses.”

The veteran snorted and said, “You had better return him to Germanicus’s tent before he discovers his youngest son is missing.”

The sentry faced the boy and said, “Come, Caligula. Let’s get you back to your tent.”

The pilot of Trumpet Force One was getting ready to land so he flipped a switch on the flight control panel and said, “Island tower this is India Golf niner niner requesting vectors to the initial, over.”

A confused voice on the other end replied, “What?”

The pilot laughed and turned to his co-pilot. “That was a monologue from that animated movie about the super family The Remarkables. I’ve always wanted to say that to a traffic controller.” Switching the radio back on, he said, “Yeah, tower, this is Trumpet Force One requesting permission to land, over.”

The aircraft controller on the other end replied, “Uh, yeah, Trumpet Force One. You’re cleared to land on runway zero zero two. And we’re not an island.”

“Got it.” The pilot turned back to his co-pilot and said, “That guy has no sense of humor.”

In the passenger area, Presidential candidate Donald J. Trumpet finished the last bite of a creme sandwich cookie and washed it down with Diet Koke. Trumpet was an intimidating figure, standing 6’3” and weighing just under 240 pounds. His strawberry blonde hair flowed over his head like a breaking wave and his favorite hand gesture was putting his thumb and index fingers together when he was trying to make a point. Dave Bossy, Trumpet’s Deputy Campaign Manager, sat in front of him. A stocky figure himself, Bossy had a flat nose and the puffy face of a bulldog with closely cropped, dark hair that was thinning. Bobby Night, the retired college basketball coach, sat across from him. Cory Looseandrowsy, Trumpet’s Campaign Manager, walked up and down the aisle with a beer in one hand singing, “For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellowwww...”

“Cory! Sit down!” Trumpet bellowed.

“Which nobodly can deny,” Looseandrowsy finished, plopping down in one of the seats and immediately falling asleep. He was a thinly built man who looked like a detective and had a bad habit of hitting on stewardesses and female campaign volunteers when he was awake.

“Bobby. What do you think I should start the rally with?” Trumpet asked the retired basketball coach.

Bobby Night rubbed his stubbled chin and said, “If you want to get the crowd excited, throw a few chairs onto the court.”

“There won’t be a court,” Bossy commented.

“In that case, pace back and forth like you want to kill somebody.”

“He wants to win voters, not kill them,” Bossy explained.

“You don’t have to kill them, just look like you want to,” Night countered.

“Perhaps I’ll save that for when I debate my opponents,” Trumpet interjected.

Night shrugged his shoulders and spun a basketball on his index finger. “Can you do that?” he asked Bossy. 

Bossy spun a Make America Terrific Again hat on his index finger and smirked.

“Dave!” Trumpet shouted. “Quit spinning the merchandise! You’ll ruin the shape!”

Bossy quickly put the hat on his head sideways and said, “Sorry, Boss.”

“Bill on the front, Dave. Bill on the front. You’re not some hip hop artist,” Trumpet growled. Then he mumbled, “I should have hired some of the Adventists from my TV reality show.”

 The Runner

The runner knelt down, and awaited the sound he would hear from the crack of the gun.

To his beating heart the big race would soon start. In his mind he had already won.

At the sound of the gun all the racers did run and the runner jumped out to a lead.

He breathed in the air, with the wind in his hair, as his feet began to pick up speed.

The first hurdle came, then came more of the same, he had sprinted ahead of them all.

He stumbled a bit then a hurdle he hit and it was a disastrous fall.

He sat there in shame, and he could only blame himself for the bad choice that he made.

As others passed by, the downed runner did cry, then an observer came to his aid.

He put down his cup, to help the runner up then he said, “Go continue the race.”

The child shook his head, his incentive was dead.  As he gazed into the kind man’s face

He said , “I’m a disgrace I will not even place Or win the most coveted first prize.”

The Observer smiled, and he said “You’re wrong child, You will always win if you just rise.”

 The Gathering

There was a lone fish in the sea, Then two gathered, then gathered three,

Then soon gathered four and many fish more, They were happy as any could be.

Then one day the happiness left, And all the fish were quite bereft.

Some went to the shallows, some went to the deep, They just couldn’t join in one school.

Then all of their promises they couldn’t keep, Put them in a dark, dismal pool.

A fisherman then came along And gathered the fish in a throng,

He said follow me, and I’m sure you will see, This true fisherman won’t steer you wrong.

There were many fish in the sea, The fisherman gathered with glee.

But still quite a few had washed up on the shore, They just couldn’t join in one school.

And others who thought that they wanted much more, Wound up in the dark, dismal pool.

 Prophets

Prophets, seers, and revelators are God’s chosen ones,

Foreordained in heaven they are his appointed sons.

Favored daughters of our God can also join the sect,

All still have the option to accept or to reject.

For God gives us our agency and we still have a choice,

But Satan wanted selfishly to take away our voice.

So Jesus Christ stepped in and said, “I’ll do the Father’s will.” 

God sent him down onto the earth, His kingdom to instill.

Christ’s coming was foretold by men and women long before

He came to earth as they predicted, opening the door

To show the way, the truth, the light so we can always know,

The path to take, the prophets testified of long ago.

Now many claim to speak for God and say, “Come follow me.”

Just put a dollar in my hand and I will pray for thee.

But money doesn’t pick a prophet or can buy God’s love.

The one God chooses only needs His guidance from above.