by Martha Marks
<><><>
Solteris returned to Antioch the second day of May.
At dawn the next morning, a messenger came to Alexander as he was eating his breakfast in Levi’s kitchen. He gulped his bread and figs and set out in the thin pink light. After some wrangling—and Alexander’s offer to work tomorrow without pay—Zamaris agreed to give him today off.
For two hours, he sat in Solteris’ shop, concentrating on keeping his nerves and his anger under control as he listened to the man he was sure had carried Antibe and Niko into slavery exactly ten years ago this spring.
Much as Alexander liked Xantho, he found it hard to like Xantho’s friend. Solteris exhibited all the swagger of a man accustomed to absolute power over powerless people. Alexander’s long-ago memories of a similar slave trader—not to mention more recent experiences with Gaius Terentius Varro and Marcus Salvius Otho—were still too brutally vivid.
Yani Solteris was handsome, urbane, and younger than Alexander had expected... only four or five years older than Alexander himself.
He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five when he made that trip to Corinth. Antibe was eighteen... and he held her on his ship for weeks.
Watching Solteris’ animated face as he recalled recent forays across Africa, reminisced about his trips to Greece, and told derisive anecdotes about his captives, Alexander struggled against a swell of indignation and suspicion.
He’s my only chance to find them. Don’t antagonize him!
As Alexander described the slaves he hoped to find—“for my employer in Corinth”—Solteris picked at his teeth and searched his memory. After a time, he gave a dry chuckle.
“I remember her. Just forgot the name.” He chuckled again. “Antibe. What a tempting little package she was. So... someone sent you all this way from Corinth for that one slave?”
“Two. My employer wants both the woman and the boy back.”
“Must be his son. I can’t picture the boy, but I sure do remember the wench. Slender, pretty, olive-skinned thing. Difficult at first, but pliant enough once it sank in I had her child, too. Your employer certainly hasn’t been in any big rush, has he? Waiting so many years. Let’s hope he’s not disappointed. She’ll not be so delicate as he remembers.”
Alexander clenched his fists under the table and avoided the eyes of Xantho, his co-conspirator in this perilous venture.
“Will you help me find them?”
“For a consideration. I’m a businessman, after all.”
“Of course.” Alexander wanted to wring his neck. “How much?”
“One hundred sesterces.”
Alexander exhaled sharply. By saving his wages for six months, he had put aside almost ninety sesterces to pay for three passages back to Greece. It had never occurred to him that just finding out who had bought his family would wipe him out. All four rubies might be needed to buy them. He couldn’t afford to sell even one to bribe a greedy trader.
“Twenty.”
Solteris shook his head.
“Your employer is rich, is he not? He’s already spent a fortune getting you here and keeping you here all winter. No doubt he provided a bagful of gold to buy those slaves he wants so badly. Don’t tell me he won’t pay good money to find them.”
“Twenty-five, then. I can go no higher.”
“Fifty... or you will have no information from me.”
Xantho threw an arm around Solteris and gave him a teasing shake.
“Come now, old man! Alexander’s been a friend to me all winter, as you were jaunting around the world piling up the wealth of Croesus and warming your nights with those little packages, as you call them. Don’t be so stubborn with him!”
“I’m not being stubborn with him, just with his employer. What are fifty sesterces to a rich Greek?”
“Ah, but you’ve got it all wrong! See, Yani, the rich Greek gave Alexander a certain amount of money for this project, leaving him to budget his own expenses.” The gray eyes twinkled as the lies tumbled out. “Alexander’s pay is what he manages to save. Nothing more. Those fifty sesterces you’re demanding will come right out of his pocket.”
Alexander smiled in appreciation of this skillful weaving of fact and fiction.
“And waiting for you all winter has almost wiped me out. If I pay you fifty sesterces, I won’t have enough to buy the slaves and take them back to Greece.”
“You will pay me twenty-five then?”
“I’d prefer to pay you with my gratitude.” Alexander looked into the dealer’s cold eyes. “You made a fine profit selling those two once. Most men would be content with that.”
“I am not most men, nor do I make my money by being a fool. And I cannot eat gratitude. Twenty-five sesterces.”
Alexander slid the coins across the table.
“Excellent. Well... I sold the woman and her son to a spice merchant who lives up in Daphne, name of Lero Heiron.”
“A Syrian?” Xantho glanced at Alexander. “Not a Roman?”
A wave of relief washed over Alexander.
“A Syrian,” Solteris said. “His wife’s Roman though. She will have only Greek slaves around her, so I used to do a lot of business with Lero Heiron. Not so much since I stopped going to Greece.” He paused. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him around for quite some time.”
“Tell me how to find the house.”
“Be easier for me to take you than to tell you.”
“All for twenty-five sesterces?”
“All for Xantho’s friendship.”
Good enough.
They left in the trader’s wagon, sitting in the rear as Solteris gave directions to his driver in the front seat. It was Alexander’s first ride ever in a slave-driven conveyance. Solteris chattered on and on about the aggravations of his trade. Alexander found it difficult to sympathize.
“It’s mostly the people you’ve got to deal with,” Solteris said as they turned into the noisy mass of litters, carts, chariots, horses, mules, camels, and pedestrians jostling one another in the broad street named jointly after Herod and Tiberius. It was a long boulevard, lined with buildings that rivaled many in Rome.
“You wouldn’t believe what they’ll do to cheat me,” Solteris went on, raising his voice to be heard over a group of angry muleteers arguing in the middle of the road, where there had been a collision. “They’ll take me to their camp—way out in the desert maybe—saying they’ve got such and such an assortment of merchandise. But when I get there, they’ve stashed the slaves somewhere else and are demanding an exorbitant sum for the privilege of laying eyes on them.”
Like demanding an exorbitant sum for simple information?
“By then, you’ve got so much time invested in the process,” Alexander said to be sociable, “you don’t have a choice.”
I can understand that.
“Exactly, and they know it. Pull right!” Solteris yelled at his driver.
When the man didn’t respond, Solteris took a stick from the floor and jabbed it into his back. Then he motioned him to pull onto the shoulder to get around the tangle of carts.
“Then, of course, when I do get a coffle together, the damned fools go out of their way to be annoying. They slow down, get sick and listless, whine and complain. Sometimes it takes a heavy hand to shut ‘em up.”
“Why stay in the business then, if you dislike it so?”
“Money. And excitement. I’m not a fellow to stay home. Rather be on expedition, even with the problems, than spend my life in Antioch with a fat wife and a flock of squalling brats.” Solteris chuckled in that dry way that was beginning to annoy Alexander tremendously. “There are better ways for a man to take his pleasure.”
The wagon lumbered along the dirt shoulder for a while.
“So, you find some of the women you buy... inviting?”
Solteris grinned and eyed Alexander sideways.
“Don’t you ever see a slave gal you’d like to screw?”
“Of course.”
&nbs
p; “Well, so do I. That’s a plus to the business.” Another dry chuckle. “All those tempting little packages that can’t say no. Never enough time to get bored with any of ‘em. Who wouldn’t take advantage of that?”
“Don’t their men put up a fight?”
“Their men? Pfffffh! Slaves aren’t men.” Solteris looked smugly at Alexander. “It’s real fun to take their wives in front of their eyes—or hand somebody’s daughter over to my lads—and watch the explosion in their dumb heads when they realize they can’t do a damn thing about it.”
Alexander fell back on the training of slavery as he swallowed every visible sign of anger.
He’ll turn me in for the reward—in an instant—if he finds out.
He averted his face, pretending an interest in another collision, aware that if he said anything at all right now, he’d give himself away.
He had her on that ship. Antibe would’ve been just another “tempting little package” to break up a dull voyage. Wonder how many other men have had her since?
He bit his tongue and silently cursed every god he knew of.
Antibe and Niko... they’ve been through so much. Will they blame me? Will they even want to see me? Can our lives ever be the same again?
<><><>
“Lero Heiron died two years ago.”
The Greek porter watched a squad of legionaries passing on patrol, then shifted his eyes back to the strangers standing on the cobblestones of the most exclusive residential street in Daphne.
Solteris chuckled.
“Guess that’s why I haven’t seen him lately. Who lives here now?”
Beyond the cool atrium, Alexander saw the yellows and reds of a flower-filled peristyle.
A Roman house.
He braced himself for bad news.
“My master is the most noble Tribune Marcus Valerius, first deputy to the imperial governor of Antioch.”
Alexander felt as if his heart would fall and smash against the floor, and for a time he had no voice.
It was Solteris who asked the questions that Alexander could not.
“Did your new master buy the entire staff?”
“Yes, sir, except some maids the old mistress took with her when she went back to Rome.”
May it please the gods... let them still be here!
The idea of returning to Rome—even for Antibe—was unnerving.
The porter peered cautiously over his shoulder.
“I should not talk about such matters to strangers.”
“Is your master at home?”
“He’s lunching with the governor today, sir.”
“Is his steward available?”
“He is. Who is it that seeks to speak with him?”
Solteris turned toward Alexander, who rallied.
“My name is Alexander. I am from Corinth.”
It was a classic Roman house. Apparently, the deceased Syrian had reconstructed a piece of Rome for his wife. A murmur of Greek wafted out from an unseen room, competing with the splash of the fountain.
Beloved Apollo, grant me the strength to look on Antibe as a stranger, and give her the wits not to show she knows me.
The steward—an elderly Greek, obviously a slave by his clothing and demeanor—approached and bowed.
The very image of what I would have become in time.
“My name is Decimus. How may I serve you?”
“I’ve come from Corinth in search of two slaves who were sold from the household of my employer many years ago.” Alexander turned and gestured to Solteris. “This gentleman is a dealer here in Antioch. He recalls bringing the two from Corinth a decade ago and selling them to Lero Heiron. I have hopes of buying them back for my employer.”
“You must speak with my master, sir. Come tomorrow morning.”
“May I ask—” Alexander found it difficult, after waiting months for this moment, to phrase the hardest question of his life. “Is there in this household a woman named Antibe... and a boy of thirteen named Niko?”
The steward studied Alexander’s face at length. Too long.
Dear gods, have I given myself away? Too much emotion?
“There is a boy named Niko about that age.”
Alexander tried to return the man’s gaze casually.
“And his mother, the woman Antibe?”
“She died in childbirth, sir. About five years ago.”
<><><>
“My master will see you, sir,” said Decimus to the fellow Greek waiting in the atrium.
Solteris had offered to drive him up to Daphne again, but Alexander declined. He didn’t know how much longer he could bite his tongue, so he made the two-hour walk alone.
Zamaris was expecting him at work today, but Alexander had no intention of returning. He paid Levi as he left the inn, carrying his four rubies and what was left of his savings, wearing his good tunic and cloak.
The night had been endless, sleepless, filled with rage and grief and guilt... and the ordeal wasn’t over yet.
Now... all I have to do is face down this Roman, buy my son, and get out of town before I’m caught.
“I told my master about your mission,” Decimus said as he stopped at a closed wooden door and knocked.
Alexander found himself standing before the first deputy to the imperial governor of Antioch. Marcus Valerius was about forty, with a high-bridged nose, graying hair that still waved above his forehead, and the elegant, purple-bordered toga of the senatorial class. It was easy to picture him strolling through the Forum with General Vespasian, Gaius Terentius Varro, or Senator Marcus Salvius Otho.
Courage and caution! All the anger in the world won’t bring Antibe back, but if I slip up the Romans will have another runaway slave for their sport.
He had to stay alive for Niko... though in his darkest hour last night, he had wondered if anything really mattered, now that Antibe was gone.
The Roman rose from his desk and came forward.
“Decimus says you are searching for two slaves that were sold into this household.”
“Yes, sir, although I understand one of them has died.”
He made it a point to meet the deputy governor’s eyes.
This isn’t the man who raped her. Not the one whose baby killed her. He wasn’t even here then... but now he holds my Niko’s life in his hands.
“Unfortunately, yes. I can tell you nothing more about her.”
Valerius moved to a table, poured two cups of wine from a pitcher, and offered one to his guest. The gesture took Alexander by surprise.
“Please have a seat.”
This was the moment that Alexander had been dreading most.
You’re a free man in his eyes. Play the part!
He sat, trying not to look too out of place.
Pretend it’s Theodosia Varro you’re sitting with.
“Leave us,” the tribune said to his steward.
The old man bowed and departed as Alexander sipped from his cup.
“Decimus said something about your employer.”
“Yes, sir. Timaius of Corinth, who had a son years ago by a young slave woman in his household. He hopes to get both of them back.”
“How did he happen to sell them in the first place?”
“He was traveling when his wife had the woman and her child sold.”
“Jealous, I suppose.”
“I suppose.”
“It happens a lot.”
Valerius took a leisurely drink and lounged in his chair.
“Now... tell me the real story.”
“Sir?”
“There’s not a word of truth in anything you just said.”
Alexander leaped to his feet.
“I may not be a Roman, sir, but that does not make me a liar! Perhaps I should go.”
“Calm down, fellow.” Valerius was maddeningly calm himself. “And sit down.”
Alexander remembered the legionaries he had seen all over Daphne.
If I run, he’ll have me arrested before I
get to the end of the street.
He sat again.
“What makes you think I’ve kept the truth from you, sir?”
“Two things. Decimus remembers that when the woman Antibe was brought to this house, she claimed all sorts of things... that her husband was falsely accused of some trumped-up offense, that the Romans had no right to enslave her and her child, that she would never be a slave. It required a couple of encounters with the whip to convince her otherwise.”
Alexander gripped the arms of his chair and turned his face away, although he was sure it had already betrayed him. Whatever answer he might have found died in his throat.
My beloved Antibe... not just raped but also whipped?
Valerius said nothing, but Alexander knew he was watching him.
I’ve got to answer him somehow.
“You said there were two things, sir.”
“So I did.”
Valerius clapped his hands. When Decimus appeared in the doorway, the Roman nodded, as in a pre-arranged signal. A moment later, a slim youth stepped in, bowed, and stood with his hands at his sides, eyes on the floor... the classic pose of slavery.
“Come here, Niko,” commanded the Roman.
The boy walked forward until he stood a few paces from his master and bowed again, formally.
Alexander watched his stiff moves with horror. Whatever had happened to the giggly toddler who loved to run downhill as fast as his legs could carry him... loved to be tossed in the air... loved to gallop around the house on Alexander’s shoulders...? There was no trace here of that child, yet so many aspects of the boy’s face reminded Alexander of Antibe... the curly hair, the olive skin, the round mouth and chin.
“Look at my guest.”
The boy raised his eyes, and in that instant Alexander knew what had given him away. There—in Antibe’s gentle face—his own deep-set eyes stared back at him.
Valerius watched as Alexander and his son regarded each other for the first time in ten years.
Does he have any idea who I am?
“You may go, boy.” The voice was abrupt.
Niko stood still, his eyes fixed on Alexander’s, curiosity written on his face. Alexander feared his disobedience would anger Valerius.