Occasionally she saw older slaves, but not many, and sometimes child slaves, wild eyed, petrified. Their apprehension appeared only to bolster the smug superiority on the faces of potential purchasers who stopped to stare.
With a jerk on the rope holding her, they halted outside a trader's shop. It was, to Juliana's consternation, one of the poorest looking of all. Stained walls and the taint of urine and disrepair were accompanied by a gaudy depiction of a naked giant hurling blue thunderbolts painted beside the doorway to a shadowy interior.
The slave trader who appeared a moment later from inside did not look at all prosperous. His tunic was dirty and his black hair long and oily. The way he moved around, he looked like a pig nuzzling for food.
“You're late.” The trader spat the words out. “Someone's been looking for you.”
He stood in the doorway as Juliana's slave master undid the rope tying her to the cart. Her hands shook. They were cold though, and her wrists were sore and burning.
“This frigid bloody bitch delayed me.” Her slave master handed the rope to the slave trader. “I hope she ends up a whore for one of your tavern owner friends. They'll be able to sell her ten times over to the men who like the first spearing, she squeals so much. Come on, tell me. Who came in?”
“Hold yourself,” said the trader. “We’ll talk business inside.”
He yanked her toward him, growling as he did so. She stared back at him. He roared, laughing. She closed her eyes, prayed to wake somewhere else. He pinched her side. She jumped and opened her eyes. He grabbed her chin, pulled it down and looked in her mouth, then nodded with satisfaction.
There weren't any other slaves on display in front of his shop, so he attached the rope binding her wrists to the first of four rusty iron rings high up on the wall under the wooden roofed colonnade. Her wrists were dragged high when he'd finished. The position was uncomfortable, but bearable. And she had to be grateful. He hadn't pulled her clothes off.
The wall she stood near had been painted red a long time ago. Now it was peeling. Stains marked where the paint had been rubbed away by other slaves. The slave master and the trader were about to go inside when the trader seemed to remember something.
He turned back and walked over to Juliana. She looked away. But it did no good. With one fast movement, with both his hands, he tore away her short tunic, and to her horror, he yanked off her loincloth. Naked, she trembled from a rush of vulnerability. Every instinct told her to cover up, turn away.
But before she could, he pinched one of her nipples. A hot stinging sensation passed through her breast. She tried to turn to the wall, but found she'd been tied in such a way that if she did so, the rope cut into her wrists.
She stiffened inside.
She would not cry.
She wouldn't give them the pleasure.
Instead, she lifted her chin and glared at the trader. He brought his face close to hers, as if he might kiss her. She made her face still. His breath flowed over her, hot and garlicky.
She caught a glimpse of passers-by staring at her and had to close her eyes again even tighter.
But even with her eyes closed she could sense the staring.
It could often be, she'd been told, a living nightmare for slaves who ended up at the slave market, particularly for those who’d lived free on a country estate, as she had done. The noises of the slave market seemed to drift away.
“Where are you from, girl?”
She heard the gruff voice but didn’t open her eyes. Who would be talking to her?
“Answer me!”
A stinging blow fell on her arm. She let out a yelp, looked around.
The man standing beside her was short, he came up only to her armpits, and bald, with marbled yellow skin. A puckered scar ran from his lip to his ear. His clothes were a jumble of multihued layers, open at the midriff, where a blue-veined stomach lurched in folds over his dirty red trousers. He looked like the Egyptian merchant who'd come to their estate once, but more disheveled, as if he’d been bankrupted long ago and had never recovered.
The man licked his fingers one by one with great care as he waited for her to answer. Fragments of decaying foodstuff, onion and bread mainly, flecked his thick black beard.
“Nicaea,” she said.
“You don't look like a Bithynian girl. Show me your teeth, sweetheart.”
She bared her teeth at him. The Egyptian laughed. His fingers stroked her arm, slowly.
“A very fine house slave, clean too. And still waiting for her first man.” This new voice had a supplicating tone. She looked around. The slave shop owner had appeared behind the Egyptian.
“She'll grace any bed, master, especially the bed of a great merchant like you. Two hundred aurei is all we ask for her. It's a great price, master. I sold one like her for twice that last week. Come on, let us make out the papers. You can take her away at once.” He put a hand on the Egyptian's arm.
The man shrugged him off and stepped back. “You take me for a fool, eh? I've been a master of thousands far better than this one. You Illyrians must take better care in describing your goods, trader. I see lice on her, and her teeth are half-rotten, anyone can see that. She'll not look half as well if they're knocked out. You'll never get such a ridiculous price. But I'll help you. I like Illyrians. My sister married one. I'll take her carcass off you for a hundred.” He poked Juliana in the side. She wanted to kick out at him. Already she hated him.
“She's defiant too. Her type dies quickly from beatings. A hundred is a good offer. That fish tattoo on her shoulder makes her ugly.”
“Master let’s discuss this inside. If you've taken a liking to her I may be able to do something on the price. I have some honeyed wine, if you'd care for it.” The slave trader bowed. The Egyptian nodded. He followed the trader through the doorway, looking back at Juliana as he passed inside, winking as he did. She looked away. Apprehension and revulsion roiled insider her. A hand-sized black spider scuttled toward the rope she hung from. Before it could crawl down to her, she shook the rope, then lifted her thin sandal, and with a pleasing crunch crushed the spider after it fell.
Her arms felt heavier now. She glanced along the colonnade. A giant brown-skinned slave with badly cut hair and a jutting jaw had been tied up two arches away. His loincloth was as gray as the rain clouds. He stared at her, his expression sour, as if saying - I would crush you, if I was free.
“What are you staring at, you ugly crab-ridden whelp?” The giant spat toward her. She felt a sudden fury. Field slaves on the estate always treated her with respect or they were punished.
“It can speak. What a surprise,” she replied loudly.
“Listen whelp, if I had a free hand I'd come over and slap that pretty face of yours. All you’re good for is lying on your back.” He sneered. “And whining and sucking your better’s cocks. I doubt your new master will need you for much else.” He stuck his tongue out at her.
“And was your mother a donkey?” she shouted.
She wanted to say more, but with a skin-crawling premonition she looked around. A crimson-cloaked man in a dark leather tunic stood a few paces away, as if he'd stopped to stare at her. She stared back at him. Then a bolt of fear ran through her. The man looked like an officer. There were marks where medallions had once been sewn onto his tunic. And a strange feeling came over her. No, it was impossible.
The man came toward her.
“Your name and your tribe, slave. And don't lie, I know every trick.” Her stomach jumped. He had the arrogant tone of someone who despised slaves, and he spoke in Latin.
“I am Juliana. Born in Nisibis, the daughter of a Roman legionary from Britannia and a Persian mother,” she replied, in Latin.
The man stared at her. He shook his head.
“Were you rescued from the Persians?”
“Yes, by a Roman officer at the Battle of the Palandoken and given as booty to a loyal officer of the emperor,” she replied, this time in Greek.
“And yo
u speak Latin and Greek. That is different.”
Her foster mother on the estate had been fluent in both. She’d said good house slaves should know these things, like in the old days.
“And you’ve grown well.” He looked her up and down. She tried to turn away. Then something dawned on her.
“Have you been a personal slave?”
“Yes, master, I have.” She turned her head to him.
“How much do they want for you?”
She looked down. “Three hundred aurei,” she said, softly. She bit her lip. Would it work?
“Ridiculous, I’ll pay two hundred, at most.” He turned away, as if he were about to move on. Her mouth opened. She had no idea what she would say, but she had to say something.
“I am worth a lot more than that.” She glared at him.
“Your father came from Britannia?”
Juliana nodded. He would walk away. She knew it. But she wasn’t going to beg. To hell with him.
He walked to the doorway to the slave trader’s shop and went through it. The saliva in her mouth dried up.
She waited, shivering now. Could it be a good sign meeting this man again?
“Foolish, stupid,” the Egyptian shouted, as he came out through the doorway. “Bad luck, little girl,” he said, as he came toward her, his tone taunting.
Her hands gripped the rope. She waited for the worst.
“Be warned.” He spat in the palm of his hand, then rubbed his palm across her breasts. She twisted as far away from him as she could as the slime oozed across her skin.
He walked on down the colonnade. She watched him, relief growing fast inside her. He stopped by another slave girl.
The slave trader came out and untied the rope holding her hands. He passed her a soiled gray tunic. She rubbed the cloth against her breast to clean away any mark the Egyptian had made. Then she pulled the tunic on. Her arms were comically uncoordinated in her rush to cover herself. When she looked up the officer was standing in front of her.
“I’m Lucius. You’ll come with me. The papers are done. Stay close. We heard you were to be sold. Your owner has warned me about you, but if you know your place you’ll find me reasonable. Be good and you’ll be rewarded.” He spoke as if to a child, but she was used to it. She bowed in response.
This was better, much better, than she'd dared hope for.
“Follow me.” He turned away.
She nodded. She knew better than to run.
Lucius went to the giant slave Juliana had been bantering with and after asking him a few questions, while Juliana stood nearby hoping he wouldn’t, he bought this slave as well.
The giant walked behind her as they made their way through the streets, eyeing her up and down and grinning in a disconcerting manner whenever she turned to see if he had run off.
Unfortunately, he seemed as pleased as she was with their new master. Eventually they reached stables near a different city gate to the one she’d entered by, where Lucius told them to wait in an outer courtyard. Juliana asked to relieve herself. He nodded. After using a crude slaves’ facility at the city gate, she returned to the courtyard.
“You have me to protect you now, whelp,” said the giant in a low voice as they waited, surrounded by horses whinnying and the commotion of the busy stables.
She put a finger to her lips, shook her head and frowned. The giant made a face at her, as if he knew all about serving a new master and certainly didn't need her to tell him. They were given bread and water by a slave while they waited. With a sunny feeling of relief buoying her she ate ravenously, ignoring the giant.
Then Lucius appeared on horseback. He waved at them to follow and forced a path through the crowds at the city gate. There she learnt their new master's full name, Lucius Aurelius Armenius, when he was hailed by a guard.
Soon after they were heading down a dusty track into the countryside. By walking fast, the two slaves were able to keep up. Eventually, nearing midday, they entered through the high gate of a villa. Apprehension returned as they were led to the basement slave quarters by a well-dressed, white-haired house slave who shook his finger at her, demanding silence, when she started asking questions.
So much had changed so quickly. She still felt relief at escaping the Egyptian but kept wondering what she would be asked to do under her new master.
The villa and its estate were an unknown world she would have to learn all about. She would have to learn the rules fast, and how to fit in with the slaves already here. New slaves would be ignored and spat upon if they didn’t quickly accept the long-established slave hierarchy they’d joined.
The kitchen boy couldn't restrain himself from showing off, as he told them where they kept the slaves’ food. He gave them bread, olive oil and cheese, but only enough to stop their hunger. Then he talked about their new master.
“He is the son of the richest Armenian merchant in the whole world. He has killed a thousand Persians with his bare hands.” The boy stared, wide-eyed, at them. “His father raised troops against Persia and the master led them. They ravaged twenty cities and he kidnapped the harem of the Persian King. He is a friend of the emperor.” He narrowed his eyes. “But new slaves must wait many moons to serve the master.” The boy tilted his chin up, exuding superiority. “You will have to. . .” He stopped mid-sentence.
“Ignore this fool. It's not for boys to tell you what you must do.” The old house slave had come over to the bench where they were eating. He banged his knuckles against the kitchen boy's head.
“Run away, stupid boy,” he said. The boy scampered off, holding his head.
“It’s an honor to serve our master,” the old slave said. “But don’t prattle about him, unless you’re looking for trouble.”
Juliana kept her eyes down.
That night she slept peacefully in the tiny cell she’d been allocated. The cell was only a handbreadth bigger than the recessed bench she slept on and had been cut into the wall of the main corridor in the slave quarters in the basement of the villa. It had only a curtain separating it from the corridor, but she was used to that. She fell asleep thinking about her father, trying to remember what her mother had said about him, though her words grew dimmer every year, like a candle being walked into the distance.
Something about her new home had revived her hopes of finding him. If things could change so much in one day, perhaps they could change again. It helped too that her fear of being raped had diminished.
Earlier that evening she'd heard that slave girls in other people’s houses often threw themselves at Lucius’ feet, wasting their time and his, and making fools of themselves.
She woke early the following morning, a vivid dream disturbing her. The old white-haired slave had been in it, but as a young man, his hair almost black. He’d been naked in a room with black pillars and a group of men in togas, laughing and placing gold coins down on a marble table.
“Why so glum, little Juliana?” The giant slave, who'd been purchased at the same time as her, nudged her arm. Everyone called him Tiny. He’d appeared beside her as soon as she’d sat down at the wooden bench outside the small basement kitchen.
“I am not glum.” She continued tying up her sandals. The basement corridor made her feel at home. The warm dusty smell of fresh bread filled it. A column of bright sunlight lit up a square on the stone floor near her feet, and swirls of dust sparkled in its shaft.
“Worries are sent by daemons. My mother, she used to say that.” Tiny tapped his shoulder as he spoke, as if to ward off the daemons he spoke about.
The sound of trilling sparrows reached them from the doorway out to the kitchen yard. She turned her head to listen to them. He tutted and went out. His comments had been friendly since they’d arrived, despite the continuing coolness of her responses. It would take more than a few kind words for her to trust him.
“You will probably never meet the master again,” said the cook, as she helped in the kitchen after they’d had breakfast. Juliana had simply ask
ed would they be serving their new master soon.
“If you by any chance meet him, remember to bow low, girl, and to never speak unless spoken to. He must be treated right, girl. Do not forget it.”
The head of the kitchen slaves scowled at Juliana and folded her arms. Juliana had seen a wooden rod hanging on the kitchen wall, within easy reach. It looked new. Her old slave master had broken rods on the arms and backs of slaves many times.
They spent the next few days helping in the kitchen, becoming familiar with the chores of the household. Juliana was set to washing and scouring, Tiny to heavier tasks, carrying and fetching. He'd spent the last few years accompanying his previous master on a journey to the trading forts along the Danube. He told them in numbing detail about every extraordinary thing he’d seen there. Juliana became irritated with his tales. They mostly ended up being about girls he’d met, who’d all been beautiful and friendly.
After two days, they were told Lucius had called for them and they were to wait in the outside yard. She shivered under a thin cloak she’d been given and tried to avoid the inquisitive glances of other household slaves as they went about their business.
There seemed an unusual number of tasks that needed doing in the yard that morning. Juliana guessed that the whole household waited expectantly to find out if there were any other duties the new slaves had been purchased for. The wall at the back of the yard, under a colonnade of small recently repaired pillars, had been painted long ago with vivid scenes against a now-faded crimson background.
She kept glancing at the open doorway, wondering when the master would come. She’d always hated waiting to see a master before. On the few occasions she had to, when she was very young, she’d almost vomited. Hoping to avoid that she held her arms tight around her stomach. Then Tiny leaned toward her.
“Today you’ll find out why you were purchased, little Juliana, and if the master wants you to start warming his bed.” He sniggered.
She looked at him. Did he know something she didn't? The waiting, the newness of everything, the horrible old slave who seemed to do nothing but watch her all the time, and now this, it all filled her with a terrible dread. She screwed her face up and turned as far away from him as she could.
The Sign of The Blood Page 9