by Ted Mayes
Amanda again heard Baxter's words, which seemed freighted with a little bit of anger. “Fun is fun, Charlie, I get that, but the emperor has ordered me to buy her as part of my punishment. Can you outbid the money pit?” The part that stuck in her memory was 'part of my punishment' – if she hadn't been numb from everything else and if she actually knew the guy, that could have really hurt.
There was one last whisper from Private Jordan. “The bidding is over. The boss bought you for 5000 aureii, almost $5,000,000!” Yes, but did that balance out 'part of my punishment'? Private Jordan led her off the platform where they were intercepted by Agent Reynolds and the other suits. They gathered around her and tried to console her, but she shook her head at their protests. “No, enough, already. No more plans and schemes.”
“But Miss Ochs, slavery!”
“Oh, cut it out! It's a kind of poetic justice – I wanted to know what goes on here. I think I'm going to find out more than I originally expected.”
“But Miss Ochs, your father, … he didn't expect this to happen ...”
She stopped short and glared at the speaker, who turned pale. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she demanded “And just why would my father expect anything to happen to me?” The babbling excuses the man produced convinced her that her father had used her again. Maybe some time here might be good for her. “Gentlemen, if I need you, I'll get in touch with you. Private Jordan ... Beth, can we get out of here?”
Amanda was led back to 'the scene of the crime' but her thoughts were so mixed she was hardly aware of things. She was dimly aware of being in a bedroom, but her thoughts wouldn't slow down. Vaguely she noticed an older man in the room, the one that Private Jordan had called the 'First.' He turned her around and put a black choker around her neck. When she gave him a questioning look, all he said was “Slaves wear collars” as if that explained everything. ‘First’ said someone would give her something to help her sleep, but as she felt something sting in her good arm, she realized she had a question.
“Why did he do it?” Why did he take the blame and whipping? Why did he buy her as part of his punishment?
“Because the emperor trusts him to keep you safe, and maybe you can help him, too.”
“How could I do that?”
“He's still grieving over the loss of his wife.”
“When did that happen?”
The last thing she remembered before slipping off to sleep, “Just before the Five Families of New York City became the Four Families.”
5 – August 1993
The next morning she woke up earlier than usual, but one would think the stress of being arrested as a spy and being sold as a slave might have something to do with her departure from the usual. She'd been awake for a while last night, and she remembered having a supper and then sitting down and trying to put some of her thoughts into writing. Now she looked around the room where she was, pleasantly surprised to find it was a beautiful bedroom, easily on a par with some of the higher end hotels she'd stayed at in the past. She noticed that she'd been reunited with her overnight case and purse, which had been missing since the gun battle.
She got up carefully to look around and was pleased to find that there was a private bathroom attached as she had vaguely remembered. A hot bath sounded – and felt – good, although it was a little curious that her ‘collar’ never got wet and couldn’t be taken off. After the bath and after putting on clean clothes, she decided that she might as well face the music. It was time to find out what this 'slavery' was like, although she had to think that letting the new slave sleep in was, well, unusual.
She first investigated the rooms close to hers, and found four other bedrooms, comparable to her own. By then she could smell the aroma of coffee brewing and she followed her nose to the kitchen to get some. Then she wandered a bit, looking around and evaluating everything. It was a beautiful place, more of a huge apartment for entertaining than a real home. All the furnishings were top of the line, made by master craftsmen, and obviously expensive – and luxurious accommodations was just as confusing for a new 'slave' as being allowed to sleep in.
Eventually she followed sounds into the entry room, to the literal 'scene of the crime.' She moved carefully, very unsure of what was going to happen. As she came around the corner, she saw Baxter, no, the consul, no, her owner. Good grief, she was so confused she didn't even know how to refer to him in her own thoughts. How was she supposed to act? Should she act like a slave, whatever that might be and get along? Should she refuse to go along with what he might want?
* * * * *
Michael looked up from the report on one of the current projects to see Miss Amanda Ochs standing in the hallway, clutching a coffee cup and looking more than just a little bit skittish. Hardly a surprise, he thought to himself. A society girl, graduate of Vassar no less, thrown into the middle of a skirmish, wounded, arrested, jailed, tried, condemned and sold as a slave – of course she was going to be unsure of what to do. She had even less of an idea on how to be a slave than he did on how to be a slave owner.
Well, let's try to keep it as business-like as we can, at least for right now. He beckoned for her to come closer. When she did, he tossed a penny on the desk. “You like pastries for breakfast, so,” he nodded to the coin, “go get yourself 'breakfast.' Then I'll need some money for any awards the emperor might want to make, so stop at the fiscus and get some. Once you bring that back, you can take the rest of the morning to look around and see what you've gotten yourself into. If she's not too tired, I'll ask Private Jordan to go with you and she can show you around.”
He was pretty sure she was smart enough to catch all of that, but she stood there, wide-eyed. Finally she came forward and picked up the pennies. Then she spoke, “Can I ask you why?”
“Why what?” he responded.
“Why take a whipping? Why take responsibility, basically for what I did?”
“It was my responsibility. I should have remembered that I had to move in here, and that there would be a couple of weeks of paper stacked up here. I should never have let you get within a hundred feet of this place – then you'd have never had an opportunity to do anything, and you would have been on your way back home by now.”
“But the attack ….”
“No excuses. What I should have done was pathetically clear and I didn't do it.”
“So that's why you decided on the whipping...?”
“The whipping was the most I could get the emperor to agree to,” he said bitterly. She was still staring at him as he got his voice under control and called for Private Jordan.
* * * * *
Beth had already been alerted by the First, so she was ready when the consul called. She collected Amanda, and urged her out the door. Thankfully, the donut shop was right next door, which was greatly appreciated by the men on guard duty, because it was permitted for them to step over and get something if they were 'on the door.' It took a little while for Amanda to start functioning, but that was not surprising with three 'strikes' against her – it was early in the morning for her, everything was still totally strange, and she probably hadn't recovered from all the after-effects of her trial. Beth finally got her seated on a bench in the street, with a pastry on her lap and a big cup of coffee in one hand.
The coins in her other hand, though, were what had finally claimed her attention. “What are these things, and what am I supposed to do with them?”
Beth reached into her jacket pocket for some coins while asking, “Are you awake enough for a quick lesson on Imperial money?” At Amanda's nod, she went on, “First up, the gold aureus, 1 ounce of gold, officially $1000, but probably worth more because they're not readily available outside the empire. Next, the silver denarius, about 3/4s of an ounce of silver – about five or six dollars based on the silver content, but in imperial currency, there are twenty to the aureus, so it's the equivalent of around $50, and also not readily available.”
“Then there is the copper ass – that's t
he Latin word, which is translated as 'penny' in English. I don't need to mention the stupid 'ass' jokes that some men would make, right? Things like 'What a beautiful … penny … you got there.'”
“Ouch. Yeah, I've run across a few guys like that.”
“Well, the good news is those kind of jokes only work for English speakers, and imperial officers discourage that kind of stupid behavior. Anyway, there are 12 pennies to the denarius, so that means they’re supposedly worth about four or five dollars. Last are the uncia, Latin for a twelfth, twelve to the penny, and made out of wood, usually oak, but they're usually called 'nickels.' Why, you might ask, do they call them 'nickels'? Simple, because Americans were making jokes about 'wooden nickels' – everyone else in the world didn't get the joke, and thought that 'nickel' was the correct English translation. They're worth, what, about thirty-five cents.”
“All coins, no bills?”
“No bills. Curious, though, personally I feel richer with coins jangling in my pocket, regardless of what kind of coins they are. It feels richer, even though the US bills in my wallet may be worth more.”
“What do I do with these 'nickels', then?”
Beth thought for just a second and then said, “I don't know, and Jon says that when you don't know, that's the time to start asking questions, so let's get you connected.” She took an headset out of another pocket and helped Amanda set it on her ear. “Molly, connect me to Publius and Samuel, please.” At Amanda's questioning look, Beth whispered “Publius is the house's clerk and Samuel is the consul's.”
Although that explained nothing at all, Beth continued, “Recognition procedure – Publius, please recognize the following.” She whispered to Amanda, “Say your name!”
Amanda did so, but it was clear that she had no idea of what was going on.
Publius responded to both of them, “Thank you, Private Jordan, I will recognize Amanda in the future.”
* * * * *
Amanda thought she would check out, later, who this Publius was and find out what a 'house clerk' was. Then she heard another voice, this one rich with a distinguished British accent. “Miss Jordan, now that I can recognize Miss Amanda's voice, was there something else you wanted from me?”
“Yes, Samuel. Since the consul now owns Miss Amanda, I thought it appropriate that you should keep track of her, at least for now. Would you please sync with her collar, if you haven't done so already, and also with the headset she's wearing? She has some questions to ask and the consul is the one who should be making the decisions and giving the answers.”
“Very good, Miss Jordan, I am syncing with her now, since that is well within normal procedure, as, for example, when parents do the same for their children. Miss Amanda, if you have questions, please direct them to me and I will answer them as best as I can, unless Master Michael decides otherwise.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Master Michael Baxter's clerk.”
“What is a clerk?”
“'Clerk' is the common English translation of the Latin 'paedagogus', which is usually defined as a semi-sentient computer and communicator.”
“You're a computer?” Amanda's voice was strained with unbelief.
“Yes, Miss. Did you have another question for me?”
She stammered for a few seconds, trying to remember what they had been talking about before this … discussion … with 'Samuel.' “Oh, yes, I was given some money for breakfast – what do I do with the change that's left over?”
“If Master Michael asks for it back, you should, of course, return it to him. Otherwise, tradition says that the money is yours to keep. Is there anything else?”
“Not at the moment.” Amanda was too confused for the moment. How were talking 'semi-sentient' (whatever that meant) computers possible? How could she be feeling a sense of satisfaction from getting some 'nickels' when she had access to plenty of her own money? How could … there were just too many questions that were twining around each other in her mind.
She felt a hand on her arm and turned to look at Private Jordan, who said, “Some of the best advice I got at the beginning was just 'to go with the flow.' It's easy to think yourself into a state of paralysis around here.”
“Private....”
“You started calling me Beth after the trial – why don't we stick with that.”
“OK, and it's Amanda. Are you sure?” After she said the words, Amanda realized she wasn't even sure what she was asking.
“I'm sure that you'll get used to all this,” she waved her hand to include all of Ostia, “fairly quickly, since I did. However, it helps if someone keeps you busy, so, let's head top-side and take care of your errand at the fiscus, the imperial treasury, or the emperor's money, sometimes called the 'money pit'.”
Amanda tried hard just to listen as Beth led her to an elevator explaining about the various 'streets' and levels in Ostia, promising to show them to her after the errand was taken care of. Top-side, she had various government buildings vaguely pointed out, as they made their way to a building that, indeed, had the word “Fiscus” in gold letters over open doors. Amanda was left to stare into the 'money pit' while Beth chatted with a receptionist working at a near-by desk. It was strange, because she could see what looked like an incredible amount of coins piled up in heaps – she just couldn't believe it was real. She was called over to the receptionist, who made a point of looking not at her, but, strangely, at her throat, and pleasantly told them to take the elevator behind her to the pit.
When they were on the elevator, she asked Beth, “What was that about? I mean, looking at my throat, not my face?”
Beth grinned at her and said, “Molly, display a picture of Amanda's collar and throat.” Immediately a hologram of a throat, her throat, sprang into existence in front of their eyes. Beth pointed to the black 'medallions' of her ‘collar’ on either side of her throat, both of which had the same arrangement of white stripes on them. “The five chevrons and five rockers, lower and upper stripes, indicate the rank of consul – and there's only one of them. The white color indicates either a child or a slave, and you obviously are not a child. So, the receptionist was just checking that you are the consul's new slave. Molly, remove the display.”
Amanda didn't say anything, but found herself wondering whether she'd be better off with a scarlet 'A' on her chest. That was soon forgotten as they left the elevator, walked down a short hall and entered the money pit. It was much more impressive than she'd expected, because up close the heaps of coins were were much bigger than it looked from above. She decided she could really appreciate the message that was clearly on display here – if all this money belonged to one man, that one man's power must be something.
She picked up a bag off a shelf by the door. “How much do I take?” she asked Beth, who only smiled and pointed to her headset. Right, ask questions. Feeling a little silly, she announced to the empty air, “Samuel?”
“Yes, Miss Amanda?”
Amanda jumped, at least a little bit, because deep down she really hadn't been expecting an answer. “Uh, how much am I supposed to bring back?”
There was a moment or two of silence before there was a reply. “Master Michael says that two bags of 50 aureii each should be enough for the moment. Is there anything else?”
“No, thank you, Samuel.” She grabbed another bag off the shelf and was going to toss it to Beth, she held up a hand refusing it.
“You're the one who is authorized to handle the money – I'm just here to guard its movement back to the residence.”
“Isn't that a getting a little bit picky,” Amanda asked, counting out stacks of ten coins to make sure she had the right number.
“Well, you're soon going to be carrying $100,000 in gold coins, and right now we're surrounded by more money than I know how to count. Seems to me that I can't get too picky about what I do.”
Amanda nodded, tying up one full bag. She did have a good point. “Do they ever have someone try to rob this place?”
“I'm told some have tried, but no one's been successful. Molly, ask the receptionist upstairs if I can demonstrate the pit's security with a penny.” After a second, Beth groaned and, looking up at the receptionist who was giving her a 'thumb's up', gave the woman a 'thumb's down. “And here, I thought it was only men who made those jokes.” She looked at Amanda and explained, “Her answer was 'you bet your sweet … penny … that you can!”
Amanda groaned as she tied shut the second bag and watched as Beth picked up a penny and, holding it on the palm of her open hand, tried to move it through the doorway. The penny slid off her hand and bounced on the floor. Beth tried that one more time, with the same result. Then she held the penny in her closed hand and leaned against the open doorway, finally trying to push the penny through the open space. Giving up after the unsuccessful attempt, she tossed the penny back on the pile and said, “Well, that convinced me. Ready to go?”
Amanda looked dubiously at the doorway. “I don't know how that worked, but you seem pretty sure that I can get two bags out when you couldn't manage one coin.”
“Ah, but you have permission to take the money out.”
Amanda discovered Beth was somehow right about that. There was no difficulty in leaving the pit, and the receptionist upstairs even thanked them for the demonstration, saying that she'd never seen anything like it and had recorded it to demonstrate security in the vault. What was more interesting to Amanda was the change in Beth's attitude on the return trip. She was obviously more tense and focused and her eyes were constantly searching everyone in sight until they got through the door of the residence. As for her, Amanda was glad to drop the heavy bags of coins on the consul's desk. He looked up and thanked her, but said nothing else, and she slowly turned away when Beth pulled on her arm.