Albus sprang to his feet and greeted his master with a contrite bow at the waist. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Domine.”
The grumpy old man let out a grunt when he sat down then gestured for Albus to do the same. “You said you wanted to buy your entire family out of my service.” The old man let out a laugh that morphed into a coughing fit that only a lifetime spent inhaling tobacco smoke could produce.
“Well then, let’s hear it,” the old man finally recovered enough to utter. “Say what you have to say so we can both get back to reality.”
“I believe a fair price to be ten silver pieces for each of us; fifty in total,” Albus began.
“Ridiculous,” the master said with great insult in his tone.
“You originally purchased me for ten and my wife for five,” Albus countered. “I now offer you fifty, is this not reasonable?”
“If she were barren, or you impotent it might be,” the master instructed. “But seeing how productive the two of you are together raises the market price. If I were so inclined, I could simply lock the two of you away for the next ten years to spit out children to sell and make ten times that amount.
“Plus there’s the children you already have,” the master went on. “The boy may be as worthless as the ten silver pieces you offer, but unfortunately for you, the girls take after their mother. Their beauty would be most valued at a whore house a few years from now.”
Albus knew the master was attempting to antagonize him because an angry man is a terrible negotiator. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to push the image of his two girls spending a lifetime on their backs so this pig could make a few extra coins.
“What do you consider a fair price then?” Albus asked in a level tone.
“What does it matter, we both know you can’t afford a fair price so this conversation is pointless,” the old man barked.
“I’ve been saving for a long time, Domine. If you would be so kind, I’d like to know the price.”
“Very well. Ten gold pieces for you, ten for your wife, twenty for each of the girls, and I’ll throw the boy in for five.”
“Gold pieces,” Albus repeated with open mouthed awe at the disgustingly inflated prices.
“I warned you this discussion was pointless,” the master shot back.
“Fifty gold pieces for all five of us,” Albus countered. “That is ten times the price you would get in the open market.”
“Fifty it is,” the old man said with a dismissive smirk. “That should take you about twelve lifetimes to save so we’ll talk again then.”
Albus said nothing, he simply reached into his carrying sack and pulled out the five purses contained within and set them on the table. He opened the first and poured the contents of ten gold coins out. He repeated the process until all five purses lay empty and fifty stacked gold coins sat in front of him.
It was the old man’s turn to don a shocked expression. He quickly recovered and soon began evaluating the stack with a doubtful eye. “This kind of money does not come to a man of your station through legal means. Where did you get this?”
“Their source is not your concern, Domine,” Albus said. “Your price has been met, do we have an accord?”
A knot tightened around Albus’ stomach as his master picked up the fifty coins. The man bit into a few to test if they were genuine. He inspected several with a close eye to verify they were not counterfeits. He stopped everything for a moment, and then set the coins on the table and looked at Albus with an expression he hadn’t seen on the man in years – a smile.
“By the gods, I never thought I’d see the day,” the old man said with a bright laugh.
Albus felt his stomach relax with the master’s brightened mood. Just when the rest of his body began to follow suit, his entire world came crashing down on top of him.
“I never thought I’d live to see the day a slave would have the balls to steal my coins and then attempt to buy his freedom with it,” the old man said with a rage so intense it nearly set the wood furnishings of the room on fire. “The gold I gave you to save the house four years ago, you kept it for yourself didn’t you? You and your precious family will all suf . . .”
The tirade was cut short by Albus leaping across the table and delivering a blow with the palm of his hand to the old man’s sternum. He heard a satisfying snap upon impact letting him know that the bone along with numerous ribs were now broken.
Albus stuffed a wad of toga into the old man’s mouth to muffle the scream and then pinched his nose closed to cut off all air. A minute later it was all over.
He removed the fabric from the master’s mouth and smoothed it into its proper place. Albus then took forty of the gold pieces and placed them back in his carrying sack leaving ten on the table. He then hollered at the top of his lungs. “Help! Help, the master is not well.”
A dozen house slaves along with the Domina of the house came into the room and found the old man dead in his chair.
“We . . . we just agreed on ten gold pieces for my family and he suddenly clinched his chest in pain and stopped breathing,” Albus said while projecting the best approximation of shock his limited acting abilities could to pull it off.
The first to regain his wits was the master’s secretary, a learned slave who ran all the old man’s affairs. “This is tragic. Before we can do anything we must know how the master wanted his remains to be treated and his wealth passed on. Albus, I need you to run to the House of Vestals and retrieve the will our master filed with them.”
The secretary then walked to the corner of the room, unlocked a drawer and pulled out a wax imprinting stamp. He paced back to Albus and handed him the circular stamp. “Show this to the vestals. It will validate you represent the master’s interests so they can release the document to you, now go. Hurry.”
“What of the accord the master and I reached for my family?” Albus asked.
“Ten pieces of gold? You paid far too much, but that is your issue,” the secretary answered. “The deal is struck, let this errand be the last service you perform for the master and mistress.”
Without a word Albus turned, left the villa, and headed for the House of Vestals with a magnificent smile stretching his cheeks.
As he made his way to the temple the crowds along the street gradually swelled from the usual hustle and bustle to a path obstructing mob with people touching him on all sides. The delays this caused did not concern him, his dead master wasn’t going anywhere after all. However, the vulnerability of the bag Albus carried over his shoulder had him on the verge of panic.
Albus didn’t have time to hide the forty gold pieces back under his bed; it would have been too suspicious. If anyone around him learned of the small fortune he carried Albus knew he was a dead man, or at the very least, a beat up poor man. He held the bag of coins with two hands and took extra care that they did not jingle to tip anyone off as to the contents.
He gradually made his way through the dense and increasingly angry crowds. Albus expected the crowds to thin out at some point as he approached the temple, but instead the mob grew only more dense and chaotic.
Eventually, Albus was able to move no farther. A wall of bodies surrounded him in every direction and moved like a tidal wave toward the forum grounds. Since he was being forced into whatever situation had the mob in such an uproar, Albus listened closely to the chatter around him to discern what all the commotion was about.
“The bastards have no morals,” one man said to another. “They think they can get away with anything.”
“But I heard no harm was done to the temple or the priestesses,” his friend countered.
“What difference does that make?” another chimed. “The vestals are sisters to every citizen of Rome. To assault them is to assault us all. They should be crucified for what they’ve done.”
“Gentlemen,” Albus asked. “Please, what has happened?”
“Octavian and his men stormed the Temple of Vesta and have taken the Vestali
s Maxima hostage,” the first man responded.
“What!” Albus exclaimed. “Has he gone mad? What could possibly posses him to insult the people like that?”
“That’s where we’re headed,” the man replied. “Octavian will explain himself at the Temple of Bellona, so we go to hear his words; most likely his last.”
Albus let the conversation end there. Despite his preoccupation with the gold coins he carried, a deep-seeded anger darkened his heart and mind. The vestals represented everything that was noble and pure about Rome and to have that purity violated was profound. He let the tide of people carry him, his gold, and now his unbridled rage to the temple.
When he finally arrived on the forum grounds he saw the Vestalis Maxima standing alone on the temple steps with her angelic gown waving ever so gently in the morning breeze. She was unharmed, and certainly didn’t look like anyone’s hostage.
Feeling his anger subside, Albus suddenly recalled the significance of where they stood. Among other things, war was declared against foreign powers on the steps of Bellona’s temple. He couldn’t piece together how the vestal virgins and a declaration of war went together, so he listened in with the rest of the angry crowd to see if they truly did.
“Romans,” the Vestalis Maxima bellowed with an astonishingly bombastic voice, especially coming from such a frail old woman. “You have come here for the sake of our sacred goddess Vesta, the source of all things prosperous in our land. Her temple, and the house of priestesses devoted to her service were trespassed upon last night.”
Angry shouts and declarations of vengeance rolled across the mob, but the Vestal signaled for them to fall silent and continued. “No one was more insulted by this affront on the Goddess I hold most dear than I. That said, what I’ve learned this morning forces me to declare for every Roman to hear. The actions taken last night were in the best interests of the Republic and therefore honorable and exempt from prosecution.”
Disappointed grumblings and confused looks were shared among the crowd until the Vestal spoke once more. “This is the conclusion I reached after hearing all the facts. It is now your turn to hear the evidence and render your own judgments on the matter.”
The Vestalis Maxima stepped back from the crest of the temple stairs and receded into the background. Assuming her position of prominence was Octavian Caesar, the man who led the trespass. Cold silence hung over the audience that was only rivaled by the winter morning air.
“Countrymen, there have been rumors floating about that the Roman territory of Egypt is being carved out as a private kingdom for that witch of the Nile, Cleopatra. I do not have to remind you of the danger such an uprising presents to our Republic. After all, half our grain originates from that territory. Nor do I have to remind you how exhausted we all have become of war. We have peace now, and we seek to keep it, do we not?”
The stoic silence of the crowd was not broken by the question so Octavian continued. “Evidence to confirm or disprove these rumors was kept in the vault of wills our noble vestals so diligently administer and protect. Rather than make ready for a war that would once again pull hundreds of thousands of you away from your families, I chose a path that could maintain the peace if the rumors were disproven.
“My fellow Romans, I now read from the will of Mark Antony, who now resides in Egypt and counts Cleopatra as his mistress. Actually, I shall paraphrase since the buffoon is apparently incapable of stringing together a coherent sentence.”
Albus and certainly everyone else in the crowd knew of the rumors. The thought of a former Consul of Rome going native angered him almost as much as the thought of the Temple of Vesta being violated. His rage, it seemed, was now equally split.
“As if it were Mark Antony’s right to do so, he declares Cleopatra to be the Queen of Queens and her son Cesarion the King of Kings.” Octavian read aloud. “He bequeaths to the desert witch and her bastard child the Roman territories of: Jerusalem, Parthia, Armenia, Media, Libya, Syria, Cilicia, and Egypt.”
An unsettled murmur rose from the crowd, but Octavian put it down as he raised his voice and continued. “And if there were still any doubts if Antony had truly forsaken his Roman heritage and gone native, let Antony’s own declarations brush them aside once and for all. Mark Antony declares that upon his death a tomb be constructed to inter his body, and that of his Egyptian Queen. My fellow citizens, he instructs this tomb to be built in Alexandria, Egypt.”
Albus instinctively spat on the ground and cursed the name Mark Antony. The man was a vile betrayer, and he felt a wave of gratitude towards Octavian for risking everything he had to bring the treachery to light. He listened even more intently as Octavian said more.
“We have been betrayed, sold out to the desert witch. Let no one count Antony as a Roman, but rather an Egyptian. Let no one think he was ever Consul or Imperator, but only a gymnasiarch since all he ever did was plan festivals and games.”
“Yes,” the mob responded.
Octavian then stepped back from the temple steps and returned carrying a wooden spear. “The desert witch of Egypt has torn down her Roman banners and declared open rebellion. Will we stand for this?”
“No,” the mob fired back.
“Then to arms once more my dear Romans,” Octavian declared and then threw the spear he carried at the Columna Bellica, a marble column which stood halfway up the temple steps to represent foreign territory. The spear struck the column head on and broke off a small piece which members of the crowd tossed around and used to declare their enthusiasm for the coming conflict.
Chapter 56: It Is Finished
Simon stepped out of the temple on Friday morning in a state of inner turmoil. The Passover festival was coming to a close and the customary release of a prisoner by Governor Pontius Pilate was soon to follow. Most years the prisoner release was just a bit of theater. Release this petty crook or that one, and then cheer like you actually cared. This Passover was different.
This year the Temple priests were making sure every Jew in the city knew what was at stake this morning. A man arrested and convicted under charges of sedition would stand next to a man convicted of rape and murder. Contrary to all the holy teachings of the commandments, the priests made a compelling case to release the murderer.
All they really needed to do was remind the people of Jerusalem that Governor Pilate was cruel and anti-Semitic. On more than one occasion he flagrantly incited insurrection in order to ruthlessly purge it with his soldiers to set an example. If a man charged with provoking an insurrection were chosen for release, it would only serve to give the Governor another excuse for his soldiers to unsheathe their swords and stain the city walls red once more.
It made perfect sense, yet the man charged with leading an insurrection was the same person Simon admired just days before for chasing the crooks out of the temple bazaar at the end of his whip. Any man with an ounce of common sense knew this was the true reason the priests lobbied so heavily for the man’s condemnation. The man publically insulted them and now they wanted payback. Simon despised playing into their shallow scheme, but what choice did he have. One man, even if he was innocent, needed to be sacrificed for the greater good of avoiding another massacre at the hands of Governor Pontius Pilot.
Simon held his two boys by the hand as the crowd swept them towards the governor’s palace for the releasing ceremony. On a stone balcony ten feet above the crowd Pontius Pilot presided between two men who stood bound to their respective pedestals. The man on the governor’s right stood without a mark on him, while the one on his left had been beaten, flogged, and forced to wear a crown of thorns that provoked dozens of blood flow lines to crisscross his face.
Pontius Pilate posed the question, “Who shall I set free, Jesus the insurrectionist, or Barabbas the raping murderer?”
Without even making the conscious choice, Simon heard the word, “Barabbas” escape his lips. He screamed it at the top of his lungs over and over, along with the crowd, until the Governor gave in and
released the vile man who bore the name.
Simon breathed a sigh of relief knowing a massacre in the following days was avoided, but then his eyes fell upon the man the crowd chose to die and he hung his head in shame.
The crowd soon dispersed and flocked to the path leading outside the city walls and ended at the top of a hill affectionately known as Golgotha - place of the skulls. They all wanted a premium spot to watch the condemned man carry his cross to the top of that hill so the soldiers could nail him to it.
Simon however had no desire to witness the spectacle. It was one thing to vote for the man’s death in order to save many, it was quite another to take morbid pleasure in watching the innocent man get tortured. Instead, he took his two boys by the hand and set a course back to his aunt’s apartment. The most direct path home was blocked by the crowds and was hopelessly impassable. He went around the next corner only to run into a similar wall of bodies. He moved on to the next alley, and the next, and the one after that, but all were blocked. Soon he did not even recognize where they were in the maze of back streets and alleys that made up the city of Jerusalem.
He heard the morbid cries of the crowd intensify, which gave good evidence that the condemned man was on his way to Golgotha. Every piece of his moral fiber did not want to be there, just the sound of the crowd taunting the man brought him to the verge of tears.
Finally he saw a landmark he recognized; the city gate. He was amazed his wanderings had taken them this far out of the way, nevertheless, he spotted a gap in the crowd that Simon and his boys could squeeze through. The people standing along the road became animated as Simon reached the gap. He dashed through the wall of rejoicing people and came face to face with a Roman soldier.
The armed Roman lurched backward a step which sent the condemned man laboring to carry his cross crashing to the ground. The guard abandoned the notion to throw Simon aside, and instead labored to get the convict to his feet and on his way once more. It was no use, the man was spent.
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