The Master's Wall

by Sandi Rog

  The caravan trudged along the gravel road leading to the Via Labicana, passing green fields on their left. To their right, delicate flowers glowed blue in the early morning light. The sounds of sheep and goats bleating grew faint as they neared the city.

  They came to the Porta Esquilina. The square gate loomed over Titus and his men, and the arched passageway swallowed them as they walked beneath the gate’s portals to the bustling streets on the other side. Shoppers carried cloth bags and baskets, weaving their way to various shops. The sweet aroma of baking bread enticed him.

  The caravan took a shortcut through the Subura Valley, a neighborhood where broken shutters hung from apartments. Titus eased his followers through the narrow streets, just wide enough for the mule’s load. Women collected water from outdoor fountains or shook out dirty rugs that had little hope of getting clean. A baby wailed for its mother. Chickens squawked, beating their wings, and artfully dodged the passersby.

  Near the Forum, the streets widened and were paved with stones. Titus and his followers crossed from one raised sidewalk to the other, avoiding the deposited filth.

  Thank the gods he didn’t live in this crowded city. Life at the villa was peaceful and quiet, but more importantly, clean.

  Just outside the Forum, he stopped. “The rest of you take the belongings to the house.” He motioned toward Gasparus and the stronger slaves closest to him. “You four come with me.” He watched as the rest of the caravan made its way toward the Palatine Hill. They would pass near the construction of Vespasian’s new amphitheater. He’d heard that it would be the largest coliseum Rome had ever built. He looked forward to seeing its progress later that day.

  As he dismounted the steps to the Forum Romanum, the aroma of baked bread and pastries again wafted over him. His mouth watered. He would purchase some bread as soon as he finished business.

  He went through the Forum where vendors had set up stalls of various sizes for the week’s market. The clanging of iron rang in his ears. Two men hovered over a pole, pounding it into shape. Slaves carried their masters in litters. The colorful upholstered stretchers glided by, while other men and women walked. Voices and laughter echoed off the white columns of the Basilica Julia as it came into view from across the plaza, a court of justice and also a center of business.

  He came upon the Tullianum. Many famous prisoners had resided in this state jail, including traitors of Rome from the new sect of the Jewish religion.

  Martyrs intrigued him. He admired anyone willing to die for his convictions, even if it was for a god that defied Caesar. Titus prided himself on his open mind; he worshipped all the gods. Engraved images of the new Christian god, along with Jupiter, Saturn, Pax, and several others were enshrined in his chamber back home.

  Today, a platform was set up in front of the Tullianum where slaves stood on display for prospective buyers.

  Ω

  “Stand up straight so he can look at you.” The dealer struck a ragged man on his legs with his stick.

  Titus stood on the platform with his hands behind his back, scrutinizing the man before him. How this brought back memories. There was a time when he himself had been sold and bought. Barbarians had murdered his father, raped and killed his sweet mother, and brought him all the way to Rome, selling him the same way these men were being sold. He had been a young man then, practically a boy.

  He frowned. “This one has lice. Shave him.” He moved with disgust to another slave. Had he changed so much? Had he managed to become like those barbarians? True, he wasn’t raping women and pillaging other men’s property, but his heart was cold and empty. His lonely bones cried out for something. For what, he wasn’t certain. He examined the next man, was satisfied, and made his purchase.

  He stepped off the platform, preparing to go to the docks where he would find more slaves.

  “One slave boy. One boy for sale!” a rickety voice called out. An old peddler pushed a cart between the shoppers.

  Titus motioned with his chin to the lump in the cart. “Let me see.”

  The old man pulled back a tattered cloth. The boy’s hands were tied and his mouth gagged. Tears streamed down cheeks caked with dried blood and dirt.

  Titus saw his younger self. The thought struck an emotional chord, one he hadn’t felt in years. Not since he was with his family. He shook it off and straightened. “What are you trying to sell me, old man?”

  The boy tried to sit up, then slumped back into the cart.

  “He’s a great buy, really.” The man’s shaggy beard wagged up and down as he spoke. “He just needs a good bathing. Once he’s cleaned up, I’m sure he’ll make a fine worker.”

  Titus examined the boy. He looked strong and would make a good fighter. His teeth, biting over the gag, were clean, and he had a good build, not scrawny. He’d been well cared for, too well. Might he be a Roman citizen? If so, Roman law prohibited his sale.

  “Where did you find him?”

  “In the street. He was half dead, but I brought him back to life.” The peddler smiled, revealing black gums and rotting teeth.

  Titus looked into the child’s eyes. They flashed with fear and anger. Every time the boy squirmed, he winced as though in pain.

  Titus had a suspicion the boy was indeed a Roman citizen. Would he know his rights?

  “Remove the gag.”

  The old man did as he was told. The boy shook his head free from the old man’s grasp.

  “What’s your name, boy?” Titus asked.

  The child didn’t answer but glared at him through narrowed eyes.

  Yes, Titus saw himself. “Your name,” he said, his tone more forceful.

  “David,” the boy said, giving in, his glare not quite as fierce but still present.

  A Hebrew. Nothing to worry about. Titus smiled with satisfaction and leaned close to him. “Listen to me, and listen well. You are hurt. I have a doctor, a fine Greek doctor, that can make you well, but you must cooperate.” Titus’s eyes locked onto the boy’s. The stench of vomit and urine stung his nostrils.

  Exhaustion reflected from the boy’s face and he nodded.

  Titus gave orders to his slaves. “Find an open litter.” He could make the boy walk, but a hired litter would keep him from becoming more damaged. He pulled the old man aside and haggled with him.

  After the deal was made, the litter arrived and Titus unbound the boy, picked him up, and laid him on the stretcher. “Take him to the house and have the doctor look at him. I’ll come when my work is done.”

  Two slaves hoisted the litter over their shoulders and carried the child to the house on the elite Palatine Hill.

  two

  David sensed someone in the chamber. He opened his eyes. A dark face smiled down on him. The man who’d rescued him from the peddler.

  “I’m Titus.” He broke a golden-brown loaf of bread and offered David a piece.

  David hesitated, but the aroma found an empty feeling in his stomach, so he greedily accepted it. He bit into the hard crust, savoring the flavor.

  “The doctor told me your ribs are broken.” Titus’s deep voice filled the small room. He held David’s face. “Let me look at that.”

  David stopped chewing while Titus examined his cheek. The sweet unfamiliar smell of the man’s cologne made him realize all over again that he wasn’t home, that he didn’t belong here.

  “I see he closed your face up quite nicely. Good thing the cut struck your cheekbone.”

  David became conscious of the ants’ teeth holding his skin together and shuddered at the thought.

  Titus nodded as though satisfied. He let go, and David resumed chewing, anxious to fill the hole in his belly. “The doctor says it won’t be long before you’ll be well again.” Titus spoke slowly and with precision. His deep voice soothed David’s battered body, as if stroking him with his words. “I’m glad to hear that, because if the master learns I’ve spent his hard-earned money on a useless slave, he’ll feed me to the dogs.”

  David stopped
short of taking another bite and tried to take in the man’s last words. Wasn’t the man going to find his mamma and abba? Didn’t he rescue him to help him?

  Titus sat on the bed, resting an elbow on his knee. “I don’t know what happened to you last night, but life as you knew it is over. You are now owned by Vibian Cornelius Aloysius.”

  Owned? The only people that owned David were his parents, not some stranger.

  Titus flicked his earring. “I’m a slave too. Master of Slaves.” He grinned, showing off white teeth. “Life under Aloysius can be good. He’s a wealthy man who owns many slaves.”

  David slowly gasped for air between the pains in his chest. Titus’s words made him feel like he was drowning. And the more he said, the deeper David sank.

  “As long as you work hard and do a good job—prove yourself worthy—the master will like you,” Titus said. “He liked me so much, he offered me freedom. But I chose to stay. If I had left, my life wouldn’t be as good as it is now.” He chuckled. “I have every luxury life can offer, there’s no good reason for me to leave.” Titus ran the length of the bread under his nose, taking in its scent.

  David watched and listened, unable to take another bite of his own bread, and barely able to swallow the bits left over in his mouth.

  “After I’m finished here in Rome, we’ll go back to his estate outside the city.”

  The clean bedding and the food in David’s hand did little to remove the invisible chains binding him to this room, to this bed. The bandages supporting his chest clenched like restraints.

  A slave. A slave?

  David had known slaves. But never had he imagined what it might mean to be one. To be bound to a master, to obey and do his every will.

  Titus ran a large hand over his shaved head. “Few people would have bought a slave in your condition. I likely saved your life.” He took a bite of his bread, chewing it slowly, deliberately. “If I bring you to the master’s villa and you run away, I’ll be the one to suffer. Yes, you’ll suffer too. When they find you, they’ll kill you, or flog you and sell you to someone else.” The man’s gaze swept over him. “Someone far crueler.”

  David’s ribs and cheek throbbed. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted Abba to walk through the door and take him away from this place, take him away from this man.

  Titus pointed his bread at him. “I pulled you out of trouble. If you do anything foolish, it’ll be on my head. I’ve served under Aloysius for many years, but all it takes is one foolish act on your part and I’ll be lunch for the wild beasts. And if I’m lunch, then you’re lunch.” He took another bite, tearing it with his teeth.

  David imagined his body being torn like the bread, being eaten alive by wild animals like the bodies of criminals in the Circus Maximus. Sometimes, unknown to Abba, he and his friends would sneak in and catch a glimpse of the games. He never considered what it might be like to be a part of the entertainment. He shuddered. He wanted to cry, to find his mamma, to shout for Abba. But a dark dread washed over him. They would never come. David would never see his parents again. Abba, who’d spent hours teaching him. David would never again look into his mother’s smiling face.

  “You’ll have a good home if you do as you’re told.” Titus smiled.

  David stared at the stranger sitting on the bed. Titus had saved him, but he’d also stolen something from him.

  His freedom.

  Yet, if this man hadn’t bought him, he’d most likely be dying in that foul-smelling cart. He fisted the soft blankets in his hand, the only form of comfort he had, the only sense of warmth. He wanted to curl up in them and go to sleep forever. If he could hold his breath long enough, maybe he would die.

  When he was younger he’d hold his breath for as long as he could and wait to see what would happen, to see if he would die. Not because he didn’t want to live, he was just curious. But an irresistible urge to breathe always overwhelmed him and he’d gasp in air. Besides, he couldn’t die. If he were gone, who would take care of—

  Sarah.

  His head ached. He couldn’t be a slave. He had to find her. At the same time, he could be dead. Or, she could be dead. He shook the thought from his mind. If he kept thinking of that he’d never survive.

  He focused his gaze on the dark man. “Why did you save me?”

  Titus picked lint off his tunic. “We need a boy. Besides, you have what it takes to be a good worker. You’re a fighter. I see it in your eyes.” Titus lifted David’s chin and gazed at him, neither smiling nor frowning. Studying him as one would study an item purchased at the market. “Now, get some rest.” He stood to leave.

  David’s parents had owned slaves and treated them well. He recalled Abba saying that a slave should obey his master and that it was a sin to escape. Now he realized that was easy to say when you weren’t the one enslaved.

  David didn’t know what Abba would do in this situation, but he did know one thing: He’d escape and find Sarah.

  Ω

  David leaned over the latrina. He found himself here every morning. As soon as he awoke and remembered his parents were gone and he was a slave, he rushed to the kitchen, dropped to his bruised knees, and vomited. His ribs exploded in pain with each retch. Again, his stomach turned. He gripped the seat and heaved.

  For the last two weeks, he had watched for his chance to escape. But just when he’d found an opportunity and slipped out of the house, Titus had caught him and flung him back inside. The fall had winded David, and the pain was as great as when Aulus had tossed him on the ground. After that, his courage left him. As Titus had said, his situation could be much worse. He knew enough about slavery to realize that he was well off. He had a nice bed and good food. These luxuries were better here than at home.

  Home.

  Mamma and Abba were gone.

  Sarah. Gone.

  He kept hoping that maybe they’d escaped the soldiers. That they’d find him and come for him. But as each long day of waiting, each long day of hoping turned into another day of nothing, his stomach hurt even more. The thought that they would never come kept jumping out at him like wicked shadows in his mind.

  Again, his stomach retched and pain stabbed his chest. Clutching the latrina’s seat, he gasped in short breaths to keep from hurting.

  The day Titus had caught him trying to escape, David had begged him to search for Sarah. Finally, Titus had gone himself, after making David promise that if he were to go, David would never again try to leave. For Sarah, David made the deal readily, recalling Abba’s words, “Let your yes be yes and your no be no.” In honor of his abba, David would keep his word. When Titus returned, with no news of Sarah, David begged him to let him go find her, but Titus refused. “There is nothing for you there!” Titus stood over David, as if he were an ant about to be stepped on. “You belong here now.” His words were so fierce that chills shuddered up and down David’s spine.

  Now he was bound. Bound by his word.

  The walls closed in around him, and he couldn’t breathe, despite the wrenching in his gut. Titus stuffed him into a cage. A cage that was too small. He wanted to break out, break free of its bars. He didn’t belong in this new world. This closed-in world Titus created for him.

  There was a time when he was free. A time he felt safe. Despite the secrets, despite having to hide, he still felt protected. To think this could actually happen to him, to his family, seemed impossible. Unreal.

  But it was possible. And real.

  He was alone, completely alone.

  If Elohim really loved him and cared about his family, how could He let this happen? David had seen others suffer. And most of them seemed to have amazing strength. Why didn’t he feel strong? Why did he feel so weak, so empty?

  He squeezed the latrina’s seat until his knuckles turned white. A wail tore from his throat. “Eloi where are You?” he shouted.

  It no longer mattered that he leaned on the filthy seat. He slumped down on the floor, but because of the pains in his chest, it brought n
o comfort.

  He cried.

  His voice carried off the walls in the empty kitchen, and he knew other slaves could hear him, but he didn’t care. Mamma and Abba weren’t coming back. Hope was gone. What would he do without them? Sobs choked him and his ribs punished him for it. He groaned and laid his head against the seat, only to bump his sore ear. With trembling fingers, he felt for the new slave earring and turned it back and forth, the way Titus taught him.

  When he could cry no more, relief filled his stomach, though a painful knot in its center never went away. He stood on wobbly legs and took the ceramic bucket from the shelf that divided the latrina from the stove. With quivering arms, he poured the kitchen wastewater into the hole, flushing it. His weak movements reminded him of Old Man Tychicus. David was only ten years old, but this must be what it felt like to be old.

  That same day, they left the Palatine Hill and David trudged with the other new slaves to their new home.

  Home.

  He’d never been this far away from home. He’d felt lost when he was still in the busy city, but at least then he was closer to where his parents had been, closer to familiarity. But the more distance he traveled, the more that ache in his stomach grew, and the smaller the cage became. He struggled to keep up with the other slaves, all men who were older than David. They were bound together by a rope on their left ankle, and for each step the slave in front of him took, David had to take one large step to keep up. It didn’t help his aching ribs, and the coarse rope around his ankle rubbed him so raw, it made the pain from the small rocks in his sandals unimportant.