by Carol Ashby
Her fingers shifted from his lips to his cheek. “You haven’t promised.”
He forced his voice to sound calm, pushing down the surging anger. “I promise. But who convinced you to become one?”
“I won’t tell you her name. I don’t want her hurt. Don’t try to find her.”
“But what could she have said to turn you from the gods? I was the one who questioned whether they were real, not you.”
“It didn’t start with what she said. It’s what she did. I told her I wanted to give you a son more than anything, but after losing three babies, I knew the gods were against me. Just before you came home from the Genava estate, she prayed to her god for me to conceive. Before the last words of that prayer, I knew something was different inside me. When I begged you to lay with me the night you returned and you gave in, I knew we would have a son.”
“But that doesn’t mean her prayer did anything. You conceived three times before.”
“That was only the start. I wanted to know the God who has real power. She told me how much God loves me, that He came as Jesus to let me become His child if I just believed, that I would feel that love when I did. And she was right. God gave me love and peace and joy. I used to fear death, but not now. I’ll be with Jesus when I die.”
Her thumb stroked his cheekbone. “God truly blessed me because He gave me the son I always wanted for you. My only regret is I won’t be with you to raise him.”
Married for ten years, and he’d thought they kept no secrets from each other. How could she hide this?
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I wanted to. I almost did, several times. But then you’d mock the Christians who died for their faith in the arena, and I knew it wasn’t the right time. But time has run out.”
Her fingers stroked his hair. “I wish I’d told you. Then you’d know how wonderful it is, and we’d be together for eternity. I’ll keep praying for you to come to Jesus, too.”
He tried to hide the emotions from her as he oscillated between pain and anger. Come to Jesus? He would never want to worship the god who took her from him.
He’d told her again and again he didn’t need her to give him a son. He could adopt one, and he knew several men willing to give him one of theirs. Nothing was worth losing her in childbirth. Why had some Christian convinced her it would be safe to try?
Her fingertips drifted down his cheek to his lips. “I don’t want you to grieve too long. Promise me.”
His jaw clenched. His nod drew her smile. “I’ll try.” But the best part of me dies with you. How can I not grieve until death swallows the rest?
A wave of shivers swept over Camilla. “I feel so cold.”
Brutus lay down beside her and drew her trembling body against his own. “Better?”
“Much.” She turned her head enough for their eyes to meet. “God has truly blessed me with you.”
He kissed her forehead, and wrapped her tighter in his arms. As he willed the warmth of life to flow from him to her, her contented sigh was a dagger slicing into his heart.
Her breaths grew shallower…and stopped.
He held her for several minutes before he rose and strode from her chamber.
Africanus stood, grim-faced, in the peristyle below, his arms hanging, each hand holding a wooden gladius. Brutus charged down the stairs. His slave yet closest friend held one out as he neared.
Brutus’s knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the hilt.
The clack of wooden sword on sword echoed through the house until sweat soaked Brutus’s hair and his arm was too leaden to raise the sword one more time.
And with every strike, he cursed the Christian woman who’d taken his beloved from him…in this life and the next.
Portus, seaport of Rome, that evening
Licinia’s fingers gripped the ship’s rail. The sun had vanished below the edge of the sea an hour earlier, but the wharves of Portus still swarmed with slaves unloading and loading cargo by torchlight. None of them wanted to be there, and neither did she.
A deep sigh drained her lungs. “I know you only want to protect me, Sextus, but to leave with only one day’s warning? To be parted from almost everyone I care about like this?” She bit her lip. “I didn’t even get to tell Camilla goodbye.”
Her brother’s brow furrowed. “It’s too dangerous to delay.”
She blinked hard to force back the tears she was determined not to shed where her brother could see. “You and Father have kept my secret for fifteen years. I still don’t think his death has to change everything.”
Sextus rested his hand on hers and squeezed. “I wish it didn’t, but it does. Father let everyone think he couldn’t bear to give you in marriage because you were so much like Mother. Some thought that foolish, but no one questioned his right to do it. But I’ve been paterfamilias for two months now, and I can’t use that excuse. Eyebrows are already raised because I haven’t arranged a marriage for you yet.”
He withdrew his hand. “You’re twenty-seven, and most women have half-grown children by your age. Many think marriage to a Licinius Crassus has great political value…and they’re right. I’ve already had several inquiries about you.”
“I could keep my faith secret from a husband. Camilla has.”
Sextus’s head drew back. “No, you couldn’t. What would you do the first time he asked you to offer a libation to his household gods? Or go with him to one of the temple ceremonies? Or host a dinner with male and female slaves to entertain his guests?” A frown accompanied the shake of his head. “You’d never go against what your god commands just to make a husband happy.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Gnaeus overheard one of Sabinus’s allies asking one of my clients why I didn’t want you to marry…what was wrong with you. That same client was fishing for information about you when he came to the salutation yesterday.” His mouth turned down. “For enough money, he’ll betray us.
“No one important is asking me dangerous questions…yet, but what can I say when they do? I’m not a good liar. Sabinus is looking for any way to undermine me. Even if that means getting you killed.”
His eyes turned away from her. “As praetor, it’s my job to judge and condemn the Christians brought before me. Imagine the scandal if it comes out that my own sister has been one for years.” His jaw clenched. “Nothing would give that reptile greater pleasure than exposing you to hurt me. Emperor Hadrian wouldn’t care about your religion if you were a slave or some shopkeeper’s wife, but a daughter of one of the noblest families, the sister of one of his magistrates…he’ll demand action against you.”
Licinia’s lips tightened. “And that would keep you from ever becoming a provincial governor.”
The pain in his eyes at her words made her wish she’d never uttered them. She reached for his hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry I said that. I know that’s not why you’re sending me to the Octodurus estate.”
His eyes clouded, but the pain was gone. “Uncle Gaius barely escaped his estate with Priscilla and his children before the soldiers came to arrest him. He was no more threat to Rome than you are, but that doesn’t seem to matter to the ones who want you Christians converted back to worshiping the Roman gods…or dead.” His eyes closed as his lips tightened. Sadness darkened them when he fixed them on her again. “I hate condemning them just because some Christians won’t make a meaningless sacrifice to the genius of the emperor and the Roman gods, but I have no choice when that’s the law.”
She drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. No more sighs…she didn’t want to make sending her away harder for her brother than it already was.
“I only wish I could stay in Rome until Camilla’s son is born. For years, it’s been her deepest desire to give Brutus an heir.”
A skeptical smile accompanied the shake of Sextus’s head. “What if she has a girl?”
“She won’t. When I prayed for her to conceive, God told me it
would be a son.”
His laughing snort was exactly what she expected.
“Laugh if you want, Sextus, but I know I’m right. You’ll hear when the newest Marcus Antonius Brutus is born. When he is, I want you to deliver the special blanket I wove for him to Camilla. I promised her I’d be there for the delivery. I was going to give it to her then, but now…” A tear tried to escape again.
“I will, but it will have to be an anonymous gift. I don’t want to draw Brutus’s anger if he discovers you’ve corrupted his wife by getting her to become a Christian, too.”
“It’s not corruption. It’s liberation from silly superstitions to freedom and joy in the presence of the only true God.”
Sextus rolled his eyes. “So you’ve told me for years, but that’s not how Brutus will see it. If he suspects you, he’ll throw his support behind Sabinus. Brutus might only be an equestrian, but his network of connections makes him a political force. He’s trained half the sons of the senatorial order before they take their first tribune post in the cursus honorum. He also rents out some of the best gladiators as bodyguards, enforcers, and fighters in the arena. I don’t want him as an enemy.”
He rested his hand on her cheek. “Time to bid you farewell, little sister. I don’t want anyone to know which ship you’re on, so I’d better leave before someone recognizes us. Stay in the cabin out of sight until you’re out to sea.” His thumb caressed her cheekbone. “I’ll miss you. Don’t forget to write to me as freedman Sextus Licinius Gratus. I can’t be certain your letters won’t be intercepted by one of Sabinus’s agents, and he must not discover where I’ve sent you.”
She shook the sleeve of the plain white tunic he’d borrowed from their steward. “You may think the famous Senator Crassus is recognized everywhere, but I think you can pass incognito without your purple stripes.”
Her teasing relaxed the grim lines around his mouth, just as it always had.
“I’ll write as soon as we reach the estate.” She took his other hand between both of hers. “And I’ll pray for you every day.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up. “You can pray for my health and success, but I want you to promise you will not be praying for my conversion.”
She stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “That’s one promise I will never make.”
Their hands slipped apart as Sextus stepped back. Then he strode down the gangplank and wove his way through the cargo on the wharf. His pace quickened as he climbed the ramp to the road. He paused in a circle of light beneath one of the torches and raised his hand. Then his figure was swallowed by darkness.
Licinia clenched her teeth, but some tears escaped anyway. Would she ever see the brother who’d teased and taught and defended her again? Please, God, protect him until you claim him as your own.
She swept the teardrops from her cheeks and squared her shoulders. Father was dead, and life in Rome was over.
She glanced at the cabin door. Primula, her maid and sister in Christ, awaited her in the cabin, and the four male slaves traveling with them were brothers as well. The life she’d known was gone, but she wasn’t completely alone.
She belonged to Jesus, and even though she couldn’t see it now, maybe this was God’s plan after all.
Historical Note
Slavery in Roman Times: Hoping for Freedom While Legally Classified as a Thing
In ancient times, slavery was a normal part of virtually all cultures surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. Slave labor was the engine that powered many segments of the Roman economy, and it underpinned the lifestyle of the Roman elite. While the Empire-wide slave population has been estimated at 15% during the early Empire, in Italy and Sicily it was as high as 30%.
Each time Rome’s armies conquered a new area or reconquered a rebellious one, many of its men, women, and children were captured and sold to the slave traders who followed the legions. These men transported the newly enslaved to slave markets throughout the Empire.
By the time the Empire reached its greatest extent under Trajan in AD 117, more than a million people had been taken as slaves. While many Dacians from the region of present-day Romania were already Roman slaves, Trajan’s two wars with Decebalus (AD 101 to 102, 105 to 106), injected as many as 400,000 newly enslaved Dacians into the Roman markets.
A slave was considered property to be treated however the owner wished. The Latin legal term for slaves emphasized their lowly status: res (a thing, an object, property). In the Digest, which compiled centuries of Roman law in AD 533, a slave was called a res mortales (mortal thing), and any injury was treated as damage to the property of the owner and nothing more.
When a person was first enslaved, it was customary for the first owner to rename him or her as part of stripping them of personhood. Names often reflected their place of origin (Dacius for a male slave who came from Dacia). They could be named after plants or animals, after a physical characteristic, or even a number. If a slave was sold, the new owner often changed the name again. Born Diegis in Dacia, the hero in True Freedom was renamed Dacius to reflect where he was born. After he almost dies rescuing his owner’s daughter, Julia recognizes his selfless bravery by renaming him Leander because of his courage as he fought to save her.
Owning many slaves was a way to flaunt a person’s wealth. Although the private home of an average person in Rome might use five to twelve slaves, the elite might have up to 500 slaves in their urban townhouse (domus), even though a fraction of that number could perform the tasks. Many of these slaves had limited duties and ample free time while they waited to serve.
Owners often allowed their urban/household slaves (familia urbana) to go to the public baths, watch chariot races and gladiatorial games, and even run their own small businesses. Masters sometimes became friends with those who served them as stewards, secretaries, and in other duties that allowed frequent personal contact. It was common for some to be freed during the owner’s lifetime or, more likely, in the will of a paterfamilias (legal head/patriarch of a Roman family who owned all the family property).
In contrast, life as a farm slave was one of constant toil. The familia rustica of a large estate might include two or three thousand slaves, and often they were treated worse than the estate’s livestock. A slave or ex-slave overseer (vilicus) made them work them from dawn until dusk, seven days a week. Unless an owner decided to free a fraction of his farm slaves in his will, servitude was usually until death.
The Latin terms for farm equipment demonstrate the farm slave’s subhuman status in Roman society. A farm implement, like a plow, was an instrumentum. The ox pulling the plow was an instrumentum semivocalis. The slave driving the ox was an instrumentum vocalis, a talking tool. Their lodging was an ergastulum (private prison), and on some estates, farm slaves might work and even sleep in chains.
Life could be brutal for a Roman slave, but for those who were freed, the future could be bright. When freed by a Roman citizen, some became Roman citizens themselves. New freedmen had limited political rights and specific obligations to the ones who freed them. But their children from a legally recognized marriage had the full rights of any freeborn Roman citizen. Publius Helvius Pertinax, the son of a freed slave, even became emperor.
When a Roman citizen freed a slave (manumission), the new freedman or freedwoman joined one of three classes: Roman citizens, Junian Latins, and those given the status of an enemy who fought against Rome and then surrendered (peregrini dediticii). If the owner was over twenty and the slave over thirty, a new Roman citizen was created. For slaves under thirty, manumission made them Junian Latins without citizen rights but with more rights than foreigners.
Under special conditions, a slave under thirty might get full citizenship. Natural children of their owner could be made citizens. A female slave being freed to marry her former owner also became a citizen so their children could be full citizens. For a male slave, citizenship was granted if he was to become an agent in business with his former owner
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For older slaves, the master and slave appeared before a praetor (judge), and the slave was declared free. The praetor touched the slave with a rod to officially free him or her. This manumission “by the rod” (vindicta) could occur anytime and anyplace, even while walking through the streets or relaxing at the baths. The freed slaves became Roman citizens, although they were barred from holding elected office. For slaves under thirty in Rome, a council of five senators and five equestrians convened to determine whether the conditions for citizenship were being met.
Once freed, the former master became the patron and the new freedman his became client. While the patron or his children lived, a freedman owed specific services to his former owner. The most significant was his duty to give his patron officium. This could consist of a specified number of days of work (operae) or their equivalent in money. Often the new freedman continued working for his patron as he had before being freed. Like other clients, freedmen often visited their patron during the morning salutation to express their respect and often to receive a gift of food or money from their patron.
When a male slave was freed, his name changed one more time. He took his former owner’s first and clan names (praenomen and nomen) and added his slave name as his third name (cognomen). For example, when Leander was freed by Tiberius Julius Secundus, he became Tiberius Julius Leander. In essence, a freed slave became a member of the former owner’s extended family.
In the polytheistic Roman society, it was not uncommon to allow a slave to worship gods different from those of his or her Roman owners. Some chose to become Christians, where they were welcomed as brothers and sisters even by wealthy Romans who owned many slaves themselves. The teaching of Paul the Apostle explained this unusual relationship in his letter to the Galatians: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Galatians 3:28 (ESV).