She wonders briefly whether Suzanne has given up on the book and is just stringing her along. But she knows that actually, it doesn’t matter. Julia would continue this on her own now. In some weird way, she is as happy – maybe happier, even – than she has ever been in her life.
Chapter Four
Arrival (Julia)
Kyna was still alive when they threw her over the side. The rest of the slaves were herded below decks again and kept there until the ship docked. As a punishment they were given no food or water. Several more died as a result. It was evening when the ship tied up. They were kept on board overnight.
In the morning a new slaver they hadn’t seen before came down the stairs into the hold. He was accompanied by two of the crew and carried some kind of wooden tablet and a writing instrument. The leg chains were pulled through and the man stepped amongst the slaves, looking carefully at each one. Some he asked to stand and the crew members pulled them roughly to their feet. They were in no mood for gentleness after what had happened to their comrade. When the slaver asked Birkita to get up and the two men pulled her up, he said something in a tone that clearly sounded like a reprimand. Birkita was ordered to stay standing. Finally, she and about twenty other slaves were chained together and led up the stairs and out of the hold.
When her eyes adjusted to the dazzling light, she saw that they had arrived at some city. Sunlight danced on blue water. The port was crowded with ships and the quayside throbbed with activity. There were men, some women, animals, carts. Boxes, bales, amphorae were being loaded and unloaded. The land sloped gently upwards away from the harbour and was carpeted with buildings, all topped with red tiled roofs.
They were herded across the gangplank, along a stone pier that ran out from the shore and into a shed. Here, there was a large barrel of water, the height of a man’s waist. Beside it were two men, one with a brush on a long handle and the other with a sponge. One by one the slaves were stripped of their stinking rags. A bucket of water was thrown over them and first, the man with the brush, then the other with the sponge, cleaned them down.
When she was being sponged, the man kneaded her breasts and pushed his fingers between her legs, probing. Birkita was only dimly aware of any of this – a state she had been in ever since what had happened in the forest clearing.
When the man with the sponge had finished she was handed on to another man who led her – completely naked – through a doorway into another part of the shed. Here there was some kind of stage or platform and beyond it a large crowd of people had gathered. Birkita’s leg iron was taken off and then she was put in a line with some of the other recently arrived slaves. She tried to cover herself as best she could with her hands.
Eventually she was pushed up some steps onto the platform. There were two Romans on the platform. One was prosperous-looking in a short-sleeved white tunic that came down to his calves. The other was naked from the waist up with a hairy, bronzed chest and looked like a wrestler. He took Birkita by the upper arm and pushed her out to the front of the platform. He displayed her to the crowd. Then he forced her to turn round and showed her back. She was made to bend over. Then, facing the crowd again, the wrestler held her while the other Roman opened her mouth and pulled her lips back to show her teeth.
The Romans in the crowd began to call out words. Some raised their hands. One or two signalled with their eyes. One, who looked like a merchant, made the slightest of nods. Birkita saw that she was being traded. Sold. It went on like this for some time, with the merchant repeatedly nodding. Eventually, it all came to an end and Birkita saw that she had been sold to him. She was led down the stairs, a rough cloak was put around her shoulders and she was given a pair of sandals. Then she was led out of the shed and into the city.
The merchant walked in front of Birkita and another man walked behind. She guessed he must be some kind of bodyguard. He was built like a keg and carried a club as well as a vicious-looking knife in his belt. From time to time, he prodded her forward.
They walked along the side of the street on a raised stone walkway. The street itself was covered with brown mud mixed with the lighter colour of shit and pools of yellow water. Animals thronged the streets – heavily laden donkeys, carthorses, dogs, horses with riders. Carts trundled past, along with the occasional chariot. From time to time there were places where square blocks of stone had been set in the road like stepping-stones. They meant that vehicles could drive through but people could also cross without getting their feet dirty. Somewhere deep in the recesses of Birkita’s mind, it occurred to her that it was a clever idea, but the thought was so far away, it might have been that she was thinking someone else’s thoughts.
On either side of the street were houses and shops. They sold vegetables, nuts, fruit, chickens, bread. Many were cooking food and Birkita salivated as the smells were wafted on the air. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten proper food. The place was noisy beyond belief with the sound of animals and men.
Eventually, they came to a two-storey building on a V where a pair of streets came together. A few paces down one of the streets was a doorway. Birkita was led inside.
She found herself in a hallway with a series of two or three drawn curtains on either side. The place smelt faintly of a toilet. From either side came sounds which Birkita quickly identified as those of people having sex. A man grunting, a woman moaning and managing to sound bored at the same time, a second woman repeating the same word over and over again in an increasingly excited state.
A woman appeared from behind a curtain at the end of the hallway. She was tall and blonde with a hard face. Despite this, she smiled kindly at Birkita.
‘I am Flavia,’ she said.
18
‘Flavia. It’s a nice name.’
‘Maybe she’s a nice person,’ says Suzanne.
‘You understand the kind of place they’re in?’ says Julia, a little hesitantly.
‘Of course I do. I’m not completely innocent.’
‘It’s just that – from everything you’ve told me about Ancient Rome – it seemed like the most likely thing that would happen to Birkita, if she was pretty.’
‘And is she?’
‘She is,’ says Julia.
‘All right. So now I think it’s high time I started.’
‘Yeah – give my hand a rest. I could do with it.’
Chapter Five
Flavia (Suzanne)
Flavia took Birkita upstairs into a room where there was a metal bath. She filled it with several jugs of steaming hot water that she brought from another part of the house.
‘I must make you ready,’ said Flavia. ‘I will make you clean and beautiful. Though I can see you are already quite beautiful.’
Birkita’s hands held the cloak shut but now Flavia gently prized her fingers open and slid the cloak off her shoulders. It whispered its way to the floor.
‘Now, in you go.’
Birkita did as she was told. The water was very hot and she submerged herself into it. The cuts and bruises and whip-stripes on her body burned and stung but the feeling was not unpleasant. It was as though a layer was being peeled away.
‘What is your name?’ asked Flavia as she began to sponge Birkita’s back.
‘Birkita.’
‘It’s a nice name but when the men come, you must ask them what they want to call you.’
Birkita suddenly realised that she understood most of what Flavia was saying and the shock jolted her.
‘You don’t speak the Roman tongue.’
‘I speak that too,’ said Flavia.
‘But you’re speaking ... I understand...’
‘I don’t speak your tongue but one close to it. I am from Gaul. We are neighbours. Or we were once.’
Birkita looked properly at Flavia for the first time. She was older than Birkita – by about ten summers, Birkita reckoned. Flavia had obviously been beautiful once and still retained some of that, but she was past her peak. There were wrinkles aro
und her mouth and eyes. Her teeth were yellowed and her skin was not as soft as Birkita’s. And her eyes – there was something in them – a hardness, maybe, like she had seen too many things, not all of which were good. Birkita wondered if she had the same look in her own eyes.
‘Where am I?’ Birkita asked.
‘You are in a city called Pompeii – in the same land as Rome.’
‘And what will happen to me?’
‘Happen? Why, nothing will happen to you. You are here to pleasure men. That’s what you will do.’
‘For the rest of my life?’
Flavia smiled.
‘For the rest of your life? Who can say such a thing? For now. Who knows how things can change – what surprises the gods have in store for us?’
She moved round to Birkita’s front, sponging her breasts, her belly and then between her legs.
‘Here you must keep clean,’ she said.
Flavia poured something cold from a small bottle onto Birkita’s head. Then she massaged it into a soapy foam and washed her hair, combing it out afterwards and removing all the tangles. Birkita tried not to think about anything else and just focussed on the sensations in her body. The hot water had relaxed all her muscles. Flavia had put some sort of scent in the water and Birkita inhaled it. It was beautiful and reminded her of flowers in summer meadows. It was the scent of her life of long ago, lost now for ever. She wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t come. She closed her eyes and just allowed the water to take her.
‘You have never been with a man before?’
‘No.’
‘Your master will be pleased.’
‘I will kill him before I let him touch me.’
The words were out of Birkita’s mouth before she knew she had said them aloud. She opened her eyes. It was as though she had suddenly returned from a far distant place.
‘We all felt like that when we came here. All the girls.’ Flavia shook her head. ‘There’s no point in thinking like that. Better to be alive. Life is sweet. Even this life.’
‘I will kill him,’ repeated Birkita.
Flavia spoke as though she hadn’t heard.
‘The first time will be the worst. It gets easier after that. After a while you’ll hardly notice. The important thing will be not to have a child and I will tell you how to do that. Here you’ll live well – enough food, wine, sleep – sleep mostly during the day. It’s almost like not being a slave at all. Now, out you come. I’ll dry you off and then there are clean clothes and food waiting for you. And after that a soft, warm bed. You will rest after your journey.’
19
British newspaper report
October 1st2015
An extremely rich cultural life developed in Theresienstadt. There were lectures, recitals, poetry readings, concerts, and so on. At least four concert orchestras were organized, as well as chamber groups and jazz ensembles. Several stage performances were produced and attended by camp inmates. Many prominent artists from Czechoslovakia, Austria, and Germany were imprisoned at Theresienstadt, along with writers, scientists, jurists, diplomats, musicians, and scholars, and many of these contributed to the camp's cultural life.
Chapter Six
The Games (Suzanne)
Birkita’s bed was indeed soft and warm and she slept the sleep of the dead. It was morning when Flavia woke her with a breakfast of freshly baked bread with honey, some fruit and a little wine.
‘What time is it?’
‘About noon. You were tired.’
Birkita was puzzled. There was something not right.
‘I am a slave,’ she said, ‘but you are treating me like a mistress of the house.’
‘This is the way Master Antonius likes it done,’ said Flavia as she walked out.
Left alone, Birkita ate and drank. She had vague memories of the night she had slept through. Sounds from downstairs or out on the street – shouting, a woman laughing, a lot of groaning and whimpering and frantic, unintelligible sounds, something breaking – pottery perhaps.
She tried not to think about everything that had happened. She thought very briefly about escaping – there appeared to be no one at her door. But escape to where? She didn’t even know where in the world she was. She couldn’t speak their tongue. And anyway – return to what? Everything she had known and loved had been destroyed.
Some time later Flavia returned. She wore a floor-length sleeveless dress the same colour as autumn grass, trimmed with gold, and carried a second dress – a white one – over her arm.
‘Come,’ she said, ‘it is time to get ready.’
Birkita didn’t question her. She just did as she was told, putting on the dress, wrapping a gold coloured belt around her waist and stepping into gold sandals. Then Flavia applied something to Birkita’s eyes and to her cheeks.
‘You look beautiful,’ said Flavia.
‘Is all this for the men?’ asked Birkita, dully.
Flavia laughed.
‘No, of course not. We wouldn’t go to that much trouble for those. No. This is for something else. You will see. Come.’
Flavia led Birkita down the stairway into the street. Here they waited on the walkway. People hurried past. Carts laden with goods trundled along. A chariot came by followed by a mule with two barrels strapped, one either side, on its back. The smell was overpowering – a combination of people and animals and food cooking and horse shit and toilets. Birkita tried to remember the smell of lying in a meadow amongst the fragrant grasses and wild flowers but found that she couldn’t.
After a while they were joined by the merchant, Antonius and two men – the bodyguard and a second more compact man with curly hair who seemed to be one too. Birkita had not seen Antonius close up before or if she had, she had been in too much shock to notice much about him. Now she saw that he was short – not even as tall as her – and he reminded her of one of the Roman tax collectors that used to come to the village from time to time. He ignored the two women and set off towards the end of the street.
‘Come on,’ said Flavia, falling in behind him.
The two bodyguards brought up the rear.
At the corner they turned right and after two streets, turned left again. They were heading east. Over on their left, beyond the city a great mountain rose into the sky. Birkita had never seen anything like it. She tried to remember the way – she would need it when she came to escape – but she soon became totally confused. The streets all looked the same. They teemed with people, carts, chariots, animals. There was no grass or flowers – just stone everywhere, the buildings, the streets. And so many animals and people. And the noise – the shouts, the clamour. It was deafening. The only thing that seemed in any way familiar was the vivid blue sky like a ribbon overhead.
As they went further along, the flow of people increased. They all seemed to be moving in the same direction. The effect was like a river. Soon Birkita saw where they were going – a high, circular wall that extended off to either side and was inset with tall arches. There were stone stairs that led up onto the top of the wall and people were streaming towards the steps and going up them.
One of the bodyguards led the way and Birkita lifted the hem of her dress to climb the steps. The dress felt very strange on her. At home in summer she had worn a tunic that hung loosely on her and came down to her knees. Here, this dress seemed to have been fitted around her, moulded to her body. When they reached the top of the steps, she found that she was looking down into a huge elliptical depression in the ground. The bottom of the depression was covered in sand and a low wall encircled it. Tiers of seats mounted upwards from the wall. Overhead a great canopy shaded most of the seats from the sun. Birkita looked in a mixture of wonderment and confusion at Flavia. But Flavia said nothing – she just smiled.
They descended to seats about halfway down the stone stairs. Birkita sat on the cool stone with the original bodyguard on one side and Flavia on the other. Then she waited silently, wondering what was to happen next.
She had heard before that the Romans had places like this but she had never really been able to picture them. The scale of this was so far beyond anything she could have imagined. She knew too that it was a place where men fought each other. And so it turned out to be. When all the seats were filled, a trumpet blared, then a grey-haired Roman in a long red tunic made a speech. He signalled with his hand and things got under way.
Men in helmets and armour emerged from a tunnel and after saluting, began to fight each other. Birkita assumed that they were slaves or captives. She wondered for a moment whether, if she had been a man, she would have ended up down there rather than up here.
The crowds roared their approval. Soon men were dying. Birkita had seen fights to the death before, but to entertain a crowd? This was no way to die. What was it with the Romans and killing? What pleasure did they get from it? She watched the scene in front of her dully, trying to keep other thoughts and images at bay.
Finally, one warrior was left standing. He saluted and left the arena while men – Birkita assumed they were slaves – came in to remove the bodies. Using a large hammer and a knife, they finished off any that were still alive. Then they scattered fresh sand onto the bloodstains.
Once this was done, the same slaves carried in sections of timber which they quickly assembled into a low wooden platform. A man and a woman emerged from the tunnel and walked into the arena to the cheers of the crowd. Unlike the fighters who had looked around at the crowd grimly, these two smiled and waved to the audience who whistled and cheered and waved back.
The man and the woman stepped onto the platform where a rug had been laid. Each briskly stripped the other naked, kissing one another as they did so. The man was black, muscular and well-built with a huge penis that was now erect. The woman was white with black hair, columnar thighs and large breasts. Now she lay back on the rug and parted her legs as the man lay on top of her and entered her. He began to pump her and the crowd cheered. After a few minutes, the couple changed position. The woman knelt down while the man entered her from behind, like a dog. The crowds applauded them. After a few minutes, they changed to another position, head to toe and toe to head and used their mouths. Then they changed again. Each time the crowd roared their delight, egging them on. And between each change of position, they waved to the crowd and bowed.
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