by Martha Marks
“What will they eat tomorrow?” she asked Nizzo.
“The same.”
“What do they drink?”
Nizzo pointed to children hauling jugs to gangs sprawled on the ground. The chained laborers passed the jugs from one to another, gulping water directly from each spout.
“Show me the kitchen and the barracks.”
Still unsmiling, Nizzo escorted her to a building with a single door and two smoke vents in the roof. Theodosia glanced briefly at several old women who were kneading bread.
Old women? She looked again. They can’t be over thirty.
Outside once more, she passed mules turning wheat into flour with their endless haul around six grinding stones. Decades of plodding had worn circular tracks into the dirt. Nearly naked, sun-blackened men emptied and filled the millstones and kept the mules moving.
The expressionless Nizzo led the way to the far end of the compound. There he lit a torch and accompanied Theodosia down a steep flight of stairs, through a pair of heavy doors, and into an underground hall. The torch illuminated a series of cave-like rooms behind iron bars.
Theodosia took the torch and entered one chamber alone. Something scurried in a corner. The fetid combination of moldy straw and human excrement assaulted her nostrils as nausea swept over her for the second time that day. She retreated, thrust the torch into Nizzo’s hands, fled past Alexander to the stairs, and—once in the open air—inhaled deeply to clear her lungs and settle her stomach.
“Is there some place where we can talk privately?”
Nizzo guided her to a stairway that provided the only access to an odd structure built high above the ground, affixed to the outside wall.
Before going up, Theodosia turned to Alexander.
“Come along, but don’t interfere.”
Nizzo’s room was small and crudely furnished... two wooden stools beside a table, a chest, a narrow bed. Straw and a thin blanket were piled in one corner. As they entered, a plump woman with red hair rose from one of the stools. Her roundness and pale skin offered a startling contrast to the slaves in the fields and the compound below.
“That’s Persa, my woman.”
Nizzo offered Theodosia one stool and sat down in the other.
She was tempted to ask if Persa was actually his woman or her own property, but decided against it.
“Wine,” Nizzo said to Persa.
The woman deposited two black pottery cups and a chipped jug on the table, then turned and left... making no effort to serve them. Alexander poured the wine before stepping behind Theodosia.
“You do a fine job of managing the place,” she began, hoping to flatter Nizzo into cooperation.
“Why’d you come here? Alexander’s idea?”
Theodosia shook her head, picked up one of the cups, and sipped. It was typical slaves’ wine... thin and vinegary.
“He tried to dissuade me, but I insisted. I wanted to see it.”
“Now you’ve seen it.”
“Yes.” Theodosia leaned forward. “And now that I’ve seen it, I’d like to suggest a few changes.”
Nizzo drained his cup and motioned to Alexander to refill it.
“What changes?”
“Feed them three times a day, and give them some variety.”
“Can’t do it. Costs too much.”
“I’ll pay for it. Also, clean out the barracks and replace the straw a couple of times a year, at least.”
“You done that in the slave cells at your villa?”
Theodosia hesitated, realizing that she’d been distracted from her explorations and never got to the sleeping chambers under the kitchen.
“Yes,” she lied, silently commanding Alexander to hold his tongue.
I will make sure they’re cleaned out, if they’re anything like these.
“Well, you can do as you like at your villa.”
“This farm is my property, too.”
The freedman named after Theodosia’s father took another drink.
“I’ll have no frivolities here while I’m bailiff.”
Theodosia bit back an urge to snap at him.
An ultimatum won’t work.
“Where do the slaves bathe?” she asked instead.
“No facilities for that. Water’s too scarce.”
Theodosia thought of the streams they had crossed that morning and the irrigated fields. Water was anything but scarce around here.
“They must bathe at least once a month. I insist on it!”
“Then you can find yourself another bailiff.”
Theodosia stopped cold at that. Following Nizzo’s example, she drained her cup. Alexander refilled it.
“Do you bathe?” She fixed her eyes on Nizzo’s.
“When I’m in Rome. But I’m no slave.”
“Not now, thanks to my father, but you have been. Don’t you feel compassion for those who haven’t had your good fortune?”
“Fortune ain’t got nothing to do with it. Aulus Terentius Varro didn’t set me free because I was fortunate, but because I knew how to run this place. Then he and your brother were shrewd enough to stay out of my way. No, lady, fortune ain’t had nothing to do with it. I bent and sweated in those damn fields long before you was born. Never needed no bath.”
“But now—”
“My neck still remembers the caress of that iron collar, and for years I slept in those cells you’d have me go prettying up. No, lady, get yourself another bailiff if you ain’t satisfied with me. Just make sure he knows what he’s doing and don’t steal all your profits.”
Theodosia had forbidden Alexander to interfere, and he had obeyed, but in her head she could hear his arguments. A thousand brutes couldn’t be left without the one man they feared. The government would step in and take over. Rome had fought too many slave wars already to take any chances on another. Theodosia could lose a lucrative property.
“I got a better idea, lady. Sell the place to me. The whole thing. Land, equipment, slaves. I’ll pay a fair price.”
“With what?”
“Gold. You think you’re the only one who profits here? Well, I’ve taken my legal share for twenty years, and you can see I ain’t spent much. It’s all been honestly earned, saved, and invested. Ask your steward. I bet he seen the contract your father wrote when he freed me.”
Theodosia lifted her eyes to Alexander, who nodded.
“But you couldn’t have saved enough to buy the whole thing.”
“What I ain’t got now I can get. I got friends—”
“I’ll not sell my land and slaves.”
“They’ll loan me whatever I ask ‘em to.”
“I will not sell any part of my inheritance to you.”
Nizzo smiled then, a chilling sight.
“Funny. That’s exactly what your brother said a month ago, last time I proposed the deal to him.”
<><><>
“Get the horses,” Theodosia said to Alexander.
I’ll be damned if I’ll play games with Nizzo.
As she approached the gate, her eyes fell on a scene that threatened to bring on her nausea a third time. Near the high wall—in plain view of all the slaves inside the compound—a man and a woman hung by their wrists from a raised wooden scaffold. Both had buckled at the knees and would have fallen but for the ropes. They had been whipped.
Gods! How did I miss seeing that when we entered?
Theodosia wanted to turn away, but her feet set a course of their own. Without consciously willing it, she walked until she stood directly in front of the scaffold.
At that close range, she could see the crudely stamped VARRO on the iron rings the couple wore. Their bloodless hands were distorted into crab-like shapes by the weight of their bodies against the ropes. Both were caked with dirt and blood, their lips crusted white, their protruding tongues swollen with thirst. Naked and unable to shoo away the flies that swarmed over them, they twitched reflexively. Only that faint response let Theodosia know the woman was still ali
ve.
The man, however, looked straight at Theodosia. There was no anger in his face, just pain and the same dull curiosity she’d seen on so many other faces that day. She stared into his bloodshot eyes, then swallowed, turned her back, and strode away.
She found Alexander and Nizzo standing beside the horses. The freedman’s expression betrayed no emotion. Her steward’s mixed annoyance and pity.
“Those two,” she said to Nizzo, “what have they done?”
“The woman lost control of herself. Went wild.”
“And the man?”
“One of the overseers was going to discipline the woman, and that fool interfered. Attacked the overseer.”
“Why did she ‘go wild’?”
“Something about a baby.”
“Whose baby?”
Nizzo shrugged with disinterest.
“I got a farm to run, lady. No time for personal chit-chats with every slave on the place.”
“I’m not asking you about every one of them. Is he her husband?”
“We don’t use words like that around here. Lots of stuff happens in a place like this, but marriage ain’t one of ‘em.”
Theodosia looked at the pair on the scaffold.
A field slave cared enough for a slave woman to risk torture and death to protect her.
The idea was revolutionary.
“What happened to the baby?”
“Died. It wasn’t well, even when she was nursing it. After we took it away so she could get back to work, she thought we let it die on purpose. Total nonsense, of course. Nobody lets good property die on purpose.”
Slaves can love. Stefan said so.
She looked again at the man and the woman on the scaffold.
“Has she any other children?”
“One.”
“How long since they’ve had food and water?”
“Two days. They’ll be dead by tomorrow night.”
“I want them taken down. Right now.”
Nizzo cleared his throat and spat on the ground.
“Every slave here knows I’ve sentenced ‘em to death. Can’t go back on that.”
“There’s only one person with the authority to sentence my slaves to death, and you are not that person!”
Furious, Theodosia flicked her eyes toward Alexander. Disapproval hung heavily on his face.
Damn them both!
“Tell you what,” she said to Nizzo, “I’ll let you run the place as you see fit, but you will take those two down. Do it after the others are locked in for the night. Give the word out tomorrow that they died.”
“What in hell do I do with ‘em then?”
“Put them in a wagon after dark and have them taken to my villa. The surviving child, too. I’ll find a place for all three.”
<><><>
“That man is brutal!”
They had crossed the fields in silence and now were reaching the gray stone wall. Alexander dismounted to open the gate.
What do you know about brutality? Ever been in a Roman prison? On the receiving end of Gaius’ rages?
“No, miss,” he said as he remounted his horse. “Nizzo’s tough, but he takes no pleasure in his punishments. Wish I could say that about everyone with power over slaves.”
“Tell that to those two back there.”
“I’m more concerned about what they’ll say at the villa about our soft-hearted mistress who can’t stand to see anyone in pain. A fine chance I’ll have of keeping order if your slaves get the idea you’ll interfere whenever one of them is punished. That is necessary at times, you know, even at your beloved villa. And you shouldn’t bring new slaves into the household without knowing something about them. There’s no telling what vermin and superstition will come along.”
“I’ll take the responsibility.” She looked at him. “Damn it, Alexander. It’s my farm and my villa. Those are my slaves hanging up there half dead. And—I swear by every god on Mount Olympus—I’ll have my way on something today!”
“Well,” Alexander knew his tone was testy, but he couldn’t stop himself, “I’d say Nizzo got off quite nicely, all in all. Traded a couple of near-dead troublemakers for a promise of no more interference from you. Not a bad deal.”
“You’d like to figure out some similar deal, wouldn’t you? I guess that’s one big disadvantage of being a slave.”
She gave the filly a sharp slap with the reins and trotted away.
I guess so. Just one of many.
<><><>
They reached the villa two hours before dusk and found a set of horses that Alexander knew too well standing beside the barn. A cluster of green-liveried slaves mingled with those wearing the Varro brown.
It’s Otho, damn him, come for another state visit.
He glanced toward the pergola. There sat the young patrician, as much at home as if surveying his own domain. Marcipor was there, too, as always, standing silently in the shadows behind his former master.
Alexander dismounted to help Theodosia Varro down, but she ignored him and nudged the filly through the yews toward the pergola. He followed on foot.
“Your porter said you were gone for the day.” Otho rose from his chair. “Off on a horse, and to the farm of all places. If you weren’t old Gaius’ sister, I’d never have believed it.”
Alexander stopped beside his mistress’ horse and glanced up into her delighted face.
“Otho, I’m so glad you’ve come! I trust my servants have made you comfortable.”
“I feel quite at home with Marcipor looking after me.”
Alexander’s eyes shot to the other slave’s face. Marcipor looked subdued, all expression carefully veiled.
“Hope you’ll forgive me,” Theodosia Varro said, “but I’ve got to bathe and change. Alexander,” her voice became imperious, “you will stay and see that the tribune has everything he needs.”
Alexander suppressed a sigh.
I’m every bit as tired and gritty as you are.
In the next moment their eyes met, and he saw that she knew that. Theodosia had had the last word back at the farm gate. She intended to have it again now. And Alexander would have to spend an hour with the only person he had ever hated more than Gaius Terentius Varro.
Chapter Ten
Tribune Marcus Salvius Otho slouched against a post in the pergola, a smirk on his thin lips. As usual, he was perfectly turned out, with a fresh shave, immaculate clothing, and manicured, squared-off fingernails. Despite the obvious effort that went into Otho’s grooming, Alexander always found the smell of him repulsive, as if too much wine, sex, and power had left their mark on him... the very stench of Rome.
The long nose inherited from Otho’s royal Etruscan ancestors flared as Alexander approached and bowed.
“Well, Greek... what do you think of your new mistress?”
There was a dangerous edge to the question. Otho enjoyed getting slaves into trouble, and he was good at it.
“She is kind, sir.”
“Oh, really?” Otho’s voice rippled with amusement. “I hear she’s stripped control of the place from you.” His lips curled in derision. “Makes me wonder what else she’s stripped from you. You know, Greek, I bet you’d enjoy being stripped down by such a lovely woman.”
Alexander could think of no adequate response to that.
“Fetch more wine,” Otho barked at Marcipor, who hurried from the pergola. “Isn’t she a lovely thing, Greek?” His plucked eyebrows rose, inviting Alexander’s response. “So young and innocent.”
“It’s obvious that my mistress is young, sir.”
“And lovely? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that, too.”
“Her appearance is of no concern to me, sir.”
Otho regarded Alexander with studied arrogance.
“I never would have guessed, Greek, what a diplomat you would turn out to be. Don’t recall seeing ‘diplomat’ written on that tablet hanging from your neck in the slave market.”
Alexander clinched
his teeth. Otho never failed to mention the day eight years ago when he and Lucius Sergius Silus had accompanied Gaius to buy a steward. It was not a day that Alexander cared to remember.
“Aren’t you afraid your mistress will decide she doesn’t need you and send you back to market?” A malicious smile. “I don’t imagine you’d look forward to being sold again.”
“I would prefer not, sir.”
“But it’s quite likely, from what I hear. Of course, there are ways for you to stay right here, as much in charge as you were before.” Otho’s eyes wandered toward the house. “A new master would certainly take your mistress with him to Rome.”
Alexander kept silent, wary of the guile on the Roman’s face.
“Would that not please you, Greek?”
“Whatever my mistress chooses to do will please me, sir.”
“But you might be in a position to influence her, and the man she marries might reward you... if you’d been helpful.”
“The man she marries will become my master, sir.”
And if I’m going to help anyone become my master, it sure as hell won’t be a sonofabitch like you.
“All the more reason to win his favor before the marriage.”
<><><>
Theodosia returned to the pergola wearing still-damp hair, a fresh dab of clove-oil perfume, and a diaphanous silk stola in aquamarine, her most becoming color. Alexander pulled out a chair for her, but before she could sit, Otho rose, took her hand, turned it over, and pressed his lips into her palm. Theodosia felt a fiery blush race up from her throat.
“You’re too bold,” she said, embarrassed at being embarrassed in front of her servants.
“I’m known for courage in battle.” Otho’s eyes sparkled as he raised them to hers. “I’ve killed many enemy chieftains, taken many captives, brought many slaves to Rome. Should I be less bold in seeking the affection of a beautiful woman?”
Eight years in the Subura had taught Theodosia how to rebuff the advances of all sorts of low-born men, but she had no idea how to react to such an overt expression of interest from a patrician.