by Martha Marks
“Go!” the Roman barked.
Finally, Niko bowed and left. There was a long silence.
“Why have you let me see him?”
“You came to see him, didn’t you?”
“I came to buy him.”
“That may not be possible.”
Alexander blinked a couple of times. It had never occurred to him that he might find Niko and still be unable to take him away.
“Why not, sir?”
“He’s well trained, gives good service. Handsome. Intelligent. Honest. Obedient... usually. A valuable slave. He’s worth a lot to me.”
“He is also worth a lot to me.” There was no reason to continue the pretense of the Corinthian employer. “I am his father.”
“I know. But that gives you no special right to him. He may be your son, but he is also my slave.”
“Yes, of course. Sir, I am prepared to pay you well for him.”
“I see no reason to part with a good slave just to satisfy the wishes of a man who shows up at my door and doesn’t even have the decency to come forward with his own story, but resorts instead to subterfuge.”
How do I respond to that? The truth might be deadly.
“Besides,” Valerius went on, “I’m responsible for him. How do I know you will treat him as your son? What proof do I have that you will not abuse him? Misuse him? Sell him to someone else?”
“My lord, at least let me respond to the first issue before you assault me with accusations!”
“Very well.” A hint of amusement crossed the Roman’s face.
“You have said it already, sir. You said that the boy’s mother—my wife, Antibe—claimed that her husband was falsely accused. Well, my lord, that is true. I was born free and worked for my father before I was accused—falsely, as Antibe said—of corruption by the very Romans who were our competitors. Accused by Romans and convicted by Romans when I was twenty years old. I spent ten years in prison—perhaps one little lie will pass—living for the day I’d be reunited with my family. When they finally released me last fall, I found out that the Romans had sold my wife and son—who were accused of no crime—into slavery. He paused and looked Valerius straight in the eye. “Can you give me any reason, sir, why I should trust a Roman now?”
“If you’re so distrustful of Romans,” said the Roman, “why are you telling me all this? Admitting you’re a prison rat doesn’t do much to enhance your case.”
“You seem like an honorable man, sir.” Alexander hoped it was true. “And I believe that an honorable man—of any class or nationality—will respect the love of a father who has traveled so far to find his son. I had hoped to find my wife, too. Please allow me to buy Niko’s freedom.”
Valerius stood. Alexander followed.
“How much are you prepared to pay?”
“How much is he worth to you, sir?”
The Roman shrugged.
“I’ve given it no thought. Wasn’t planning to sell him. Been training him for a secretary.” Valerius went to the window. “If you want the boy, you’ll have to make an offer.”
“I haven’t much money, sir. I’ve been living in Antioch since fall, working for a scribe in the market, saving my wages. The slave dealer who brought me here yesterday demanded a third of what I’d saved. What’s left wouldn’t buy a baby, let alone an educated youth. But I do have this.”
Alexander reached into his tunic and pulled out a small cloth pouch containing one of his four large rubies. The others were in a leather bag, still tucked safely away.
“I didn’t steal this, sir. Let me say that to you plainly. It was a gift.”
“A gift? From whom?”
“From a friend, sir. A wealthy, generous woman who knew how much my family meant to me.” He handed the stone to Valerius. “She gave me that ruby to ensure I could find them and take them home.”
A shaft of brilliant red fell across Valerius’ palm as he held the gem up to the light and studied it.
“It’s beautiful.” A new tone appeared in his voice. “You know... it’s odd that your generous friend would give you just one stone. Sure you don’t have another stashed away somewhere... to sweeten the deal?”
Alexander hesitated. The three other rubies would guarantee him and Niko a good future in Greece. He couldn’t afford to trade them now.
“Surely one fine ruby is enough for a young boy.”
Valerius raised one eyebrow and pursed his lips.
“You may not know... I came here from Rome about a year ago. There had been gossip before then about a wealthy young woman who was accused of terrible crimes. When her property was confiscated, they found she had pried a number of large rubies out of her serving pieces. Those rubies were never found, despite an exhaustive search... nor did they ever catch three slaves who ran away from her villa at the same time. It seemed there might be a connection between the vanished rubies and the vanished slaves, so word went out to government offices throughout the empire to be on the watch for large, unset, deep-red rubies.” Valerius continued watching Alexander. “The escaped slaves were described in considerable detail, too.”
Alexander turned his eyes to the window, forcing himself to keep his hand away from the tell-tale scars left on his jaw and cheek by Gaius’ ring and Otho’s dagger. His mind was blank except for one dreadful thought.
He knows.
“What have old rumors to do with me, sir?”
Valerius tossed the ruby in his palm.
“This is indeed a fine stone. My wife would love to have it set into earrings, but that requires a pair. Should you perhaps have another ruby of equal size and quality... I could forget to inquire the name of the prison where they held you all those years or why they kept you in prison at all, when the normal penalty for a non-citizen convicted of corruption is slavery. I’m sure my friend the governor would be most interested in your answers.”
Alexander opened his mouth, but the tribune hadn’t finished.
“Two fine rubies for one fine son, Greek.”
That derogatory “Greek” on a Roman tongue brought a surge of stinging memories.
I will not have my Niko submit to that for the rest of his life.
“I have your word, sir?”
Alexander knew Valerius would honor his word. If his superiors got wind of this, he himself would be in trouble for corruption.
“My word.”
Alexander reached into his tunic once more, pulled out the leather bag, and laid another big ruby on the table.
Valerius took it and examined it as he had the first one, then held them both against the light, side by side. His lips curled into a smile.
“The slave is yours.”
He clapped his hands again, and Decimus opened the door.
“Bring the boy back.”
“I do not want a slave, sir. I insist on a certificate of manumission for him, properly witnessed... so it can stand up in any court.”
At least Niko will be free, even if I am caught.
“Of course.”
Valerius pulled a sheet of parchment, a reed-pen, and ink from his desk and wrote rapidly. Then he stamped it with wax and his signet ring.
“Find my wife and son,” he said when the steward reappeared, “and tell them I want their signatures on this.”
Neither Valerius nor Alexander said anything to Niko, who stood waiting in that same subservient posture, just inside the door. When Decimus returned with the document, Valerius showed it to Alexander. He was satisfied, so the tribune rolled it, thrust it into a scroll ring, and handed it over. Alexander stashed it in the breast of his tunic.
“You are to go with this man now,” Valerius said to Niko. “You no longer belong to me.”
The Roman scooped up the two rubies and departed without another word, leaving Decimus to escort Alexander and the stranger who was his son to the street. There was to be no explanation for the boy, no farewell from master to servant, no chance for Niko to say good-bye to the other slaves who had b
een his friends and family for most of his life.
Alexander watched his son’s perplexed face as they stepped onto the cobblestones and the bronze door closed behind them.
Niko looked at the walls that kept the world out of the only home he could possibly remember. His eyes lingered on the red roses spilling over the top, then ran the length of the wall to a pear tree lifting its fragrant white flowers above the corner of the garden. Voices and a childish song floated out from inside. Alexander was sure he knew what the boy was thinking. His mother had died somewhere within those walls.
“Come,” he said in Greek. “We must go quickly.”
Niko raised questioning eyes to Alexander, then dropped them.
“Yes, my lord.”
“I am not your lord, my son. I’m your father.” Alexander put his arm around the boy’s shoulders and smiled into the bewildered olive-toned oval. “And I hope that someday you will wish to call me that.”
Chapter Twenty-five
At dusk, four days past the Ides of June—after weeks of catching free boat rides from Syria to Crete and on through the Cyclades—Alexander and his son debarked at Piraeus, just southwest of Athens.
They spent the night at a quiet inn on a dead-end street a mile from the crowded waterfront taverns where Roman soldiers would be lording it over Greek sailors, longshoremen, and harlots.
At dawn, carrying bread, goat-milk cheese, and a wineskin filled with water, they set out on foot, skirting around Roman-infested Athens and heading north through pockets of poppies across the rocky peninsula toward the gulf of Eretria.
“Are Stefan and Lycos expecting us?” Niko asked over breakfast the third morning out.
They were sitting on the raised roots of an ancient cypress, savoring the washes of pink and orange that swept the sky.
Alexander finished his cheese, shaking his head as he swallowed.
“I’ve been gone so long, they probably think I’m dead.”
“That’s what Mother thought.”
Alexander looked at the boy. This was the first time since their reunion that Niko had mentioned Antibe.
“She thought I was dead?”
“That’s what she said. She said you’d have come for us if you were alive. When you never showed up, she said the Romans had killed you. So—since they didn’t kill you—why didn’t you come for us?”
Alexander dropped his eyes. He had told Niko about Rome, about the villa, and about Stefan and Lycos. Even about Theodosia. Until now, Niko had revealed no curiosity about Alexander’s past, no interest in personal conversation. This was a good first step, but...
“That’s a difficult question. I did write to your mother several times. I tried to get information about both of you, but by then you were gone from Corinth. I didn’t know where they’d taken you. And I was a slave all those years, too, just as you were, so I couldn’t just leave and look for you.”
“Did they whip you like they whipped Mother?”
Alexander’s jaw tightened as he shook his head.
“I was luckier than most.”
“But they wouldn’t let you come for us?”
“No. But remember... I did come for you, soon as I could. And I’d have bought your mother out, too, if—” He traded a shrug for the words.
Niko nodded and reached into the sack for more cheese.
“Tell me more about Lycos.”
“Well, he always reminded me of you. I especially liked to read with him, because I could pretend I was reading with you. You’ll like him.”
“Will I like Stefan, too?”
“I think so. Just don’t be intimidated by him. He’s probably the biggest human you’ll ever see in your life.”
“Will he like me?” The deep-set eyes peered anxiously out of that eerie oval replica of Antibe’s face.
Alexander smiled and a swell of love flowed through him. Lots of walls had come down since that morning in Daphne. Niko had dropped the stiff “my lord” right away, but he hadn’t yet said “Father,” much less “Papa,” as he once did. But Alexander was willing to wait. It was enough that he had his son again.
“Oh, yes. He will like you as much as I do.”
<><><>
Two days later, they made their way in a drizzle through a mountain pass, took a boat to the island of Euboea, and caught the main road heading south toward the ancient town of Eretria. The sun was out by late afternoon when Alexander spotted the rutted path leading to the farmhouse of Leios Bryaxis. About sundown, they opened the gate near the barn of native stone. Wolf, the gray dog that guarded the yard, began to bark.
Alexander silenced the dog with a friendly pat. When he stuck his head through the open barn door, expecting to find nothing but tired mules and oxen, he caught sight of Stefan and Iocaste—her thick black hair spilling around the post behind her—locked in a prolonged kiss. So surprised was Alexander that he laughed. Stefan drew back angrily, still clutching Iocaste’s shoulders; then his face buckled with joy.
“Alexander!”
Almost immediately, Stefan wrapped his arms around his friend and lifted him off the ground in a boisterous hug.
“By all the gods, man! You still alive!”
Stefan’s learning Greek.
“Alive... temporarily... till you squeeze me to death.”
Stefan set him down but kept both hands on his shoulders.
“Alive! Safe!” The big man’s eyes filled with tears... an incongruous sight. “I give back hope for you months ago.”
Stefan’s Greek was garbled, but the meaning was clear.
“Yes,” Alexander said with a grin for the beaming Iocaste, “I can tell you’ve been grieving. But come, both of you. See what I found in Syria.”
Niko had remained outside the barn. Alexander put his arm around him and drew him close.
“Niko, my son, this is Stefan.”
Niko gaped at the hairy giant emerging from the barn.
Stefan’s face, on the other hand, softened even more. In the next moment, he was on one knee, clutching the boy to his chest.
“It like meeting my personal son.”
If Niko was confused by the botched Greek, he didn’t show it.
“I never happier in my life,” Stefan said, his eyes welling with tears again as, effortlessly, he lifted Niko in his arms and rose to his feet.
Leios Bryaxis, his wife, his mother-in-law, his younger daughters, and his slaves began emerging from the house... all of them calling Alexander’s name in wonder.
Lycos raced across the driveway, leaped into Alexander’s arms, and planted a teary kiss on his cheek.
“Where you mother?” Stefan asked Niko.
Still holding Lycos, Alexander took one of Niko’s hands.
“Antibe is dead.” The words—spoken aloud for the first time—tore at Alexander’s heart. “But at least our son survives.”
<><><>
“I’m going back to Rome.”
“You’re crazy, man. You’re absolutely crazy.”
They were walking in the dappled sunlight beneath the well-pruned, aromatic trees of Leios Bryaxis’ apple orchard, speaking Latin again.
“Maybe, but I have to do something. It’d be different if Antibe were alive. I’d owe it to her to stay. But—”
“Your boy’s alive. Don’t you owe something to him?”
“That’s different. It really is. Besides... I can’t just forget. I can’t just settle down here with Niko and Lycos and Iocaste and you as some odd sort of family and forget that a woman I—”
He caught his breath.
A woman I love as dearly as I once loved Antibe… but how can I say that to you? You’re the one Theodosia loves, even if you have forgotten about her.
“I can’t forget that a woman who’s done so much for us is starving to death or dying of fever in that stinking pit.”
“They’ll kill you. Too many Romans know you... and there ain’t one of them wouldn’t love to make an example of you.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Oh, right! Just because you had one lucky run-in with a bureaucrat who turned out to be more greedy than patriotic, don’t assume you’re always gonna be that lucky.”
“There is one Roman who’ll help me.” Alexander patted Flavia’s letter, which he had read to Stefan and replaced inside his tunic. “I trust Flavia Domitilla. Wasn’t sure if I should, at first, but if she wanted me arrested, it would’ve been easy to do while I was in Antioch.”
“Well... not having you arrested in Antioch ain’t the same as risking her own neck to help you in Rome.”
“It’s not me she’ll be helping, but Theodosia.”
“You need to think about your son.” Stefan bent to pick up a stick. “He’s just learned he’s got a father. What’s it going to do to him if you go and get yourself crucified?”
“You’d take care of him, wouldn’t you? You and Iocaste?”
“She’s only two years older than Niko. What kind of mother do you think she’d make to him?”
“Better than no mother at all, which is what he’s had for years. Iocaste has all but adopted Lycos already, and you saw her take Niko under her wing last night. Lycos and Niko will be like brothers in no time. And I trust you to be a father to my son.”
“No talking you out of it?”
Alexander shook his head.
“I’m going to write to the lady Flavia again and—”
“From here? You’ll have the garrison from Eretria swarming all over Bryaxis’ farm. By all the gods, man, you really are crazy!”
“I’ll find some scribe in Eretria who’ll let me use his address and just see what happens. It may take as long as a year. Have to develop a plan.”
“If that ‘stinking pit’ is as bad as you say, you can’t really believe Theodosia will last another year.”
“I’ve got to think she’ll make it. There’s no other way for me to live.” He glanced at his friend. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep the Romans away from here... for everyone’s sake.”
Stefan was peeling the stick, leaving it greenish and shiny. After a long interval, he shook his head and sighed.