The Songs of Slaves (23 page)

             
Lucia
nodded.

             
“There is nothing for either of us to do then but to accept our fate,” she said.

             
“For now,
Domina
.”

             
“For now.”

             
“I’m of Eire; a Gael, or Celti as you might call us.”

             
“What?”

             
“I’m not a Germani.”

             
“What difference does it make?”
Lucia
said, but she smiled.

             
Connor instinctively stood to his feet as he heard someone approaching from the direction of the path.

             
“What the hell is this?” Lorentius cried, as he stormed towards Connor.

             
A great deal of time had passed since Connor had any dealings with Lorentius Montevarius, but Connor could see from the violence in the young man’s face that his hostility towards him had not coo
led. Behind him were Lorentius’
three friends
–
his lackeys
–
men of family and wealth, who only seemed to have an appetite for trouble. Fresh from the road, they were all armed with swords; and Connor had been found alo
ne in the woods with Lorentius’
beloved baby sister. Connor readied himself.

             
“Lorentius!”
Lucia
cried with pleasure, swiftly getting between them. “You are back from Massilia!”

             
“Why are you alone with this slave?” Lorentius demanded.

             
“Oh, I was walking here, and I turned my ankle. The slave saw me and was helping me to the house. We had just stopped to rest.”

             
“Your ankle seems fine now.”

             
“It does. I think it was really nothing.
Just a
twist.
Regardless, he did me a service.”

             
“He did her a service,”
one of the young men cooed
, jibing at Lorentius.

             
Lorentius turned and shoved him, issuing a piece of the violence that had been meant for Connor. The man hit his back hard on a willow trunk. He glared up in protest, but stayed silent as Lorentius seethed.

             
“Indeed, it would seem so,” Lorentius said to
Lucia
, softening his manner considerably. “Well, Love, we need to m
ake sure that your ankle is alright
. You will ride my horse back to the house, and the nurse will have a look at it.”

             
“When did you get back?”
Lucia
asked.

             
“Only just.
We had a marvelous time. I brought you home some presents, of course. But Father told me that you were hiding, and he asked me to fetch you. So be a good girl now and come along. We have tedious guests to entertain.”

             
Lucia
curtsied slightly and hugged her brother once again. Such a grotesque alliance, Connor thought. Like Persephone and Hades.

             
“Take her to the horses, Merridius,” Lorentius said to his friend who had just climbed back to his feet and arranged his cloak. “We’ll be right there.”

             
Lorentius turned to Connor. The expression of anger was replaced by his familiar malevolent smirk.

             
“Well, Slave. We just returned from Massilia. A place you know well, I guess.”

             
Connor said nothing.

             
“We actually wanted to pay a visit to an old friend of yours. I was hoping the Greek would take my advice about selling her to the house of Ruthia, and we would find her taking to her new trade quite well. I was going to pay her owner extra to accommodate the three of us.”

             
Connor went pale,
then
flushed red as the hairs on his neck and arms stood up. He expanded his shoulders and set his jaw.

             
“Sadly though,” Lorentius continued “I did not find her there. Who knows where she is
–
whether the Greek sold her to some other establishment or perhaps some man of means has bought her for his own pleasures? We shall likely never know. My friends and I were very disappointed, and had to satisfy ourselves on some others like her – fresh and new, so they still resist or cry and don’t just lie there and wait for it to be over.”

             
Connor glared at him, his throat tight and his
blood running cold. Lorentius took it in and smiled.
             

The young master turned away.

             
“Oh, and Slave,” he added “stay away from my sister.”

             
Lorentius swung around and struck Connor across the jaw. Connor saw a flash, and then his vision seemed to go green. He hit the ground, dazed but ready to get up and fight. And yet, reality restrained him.

             
Connor heard Lorentius’
friends laughing as they left him in the small clearing alone. 

X

             
“Quickly, men, quickly,” Lucius Montevarius called. “I know that it is getting late and that even the air coming in through the doors is hot; but the harvest will be upon us soon. And when the harvest comes, everything must come seamlessly. Give me a little more work today. These barrels must be moved.”

             
Connor set his hands to another barrel and carefully eased it from the frame that held them. He strained to control it as it rolled.

             
“Careful there, son,” Sextus said. “Even one barrel is worth a lot more than any of us are.”

             
Connor moved around to the front of the barrel and controlled it as he rolled it down the gentle slope towards the very back of the cellar. It was noticeably cooler there at least. The work today had not been too hard at first, but as time wore on and muscles fatigued it became difficult to manipulate the great weight of the full barrels and amphorae. The danger increased, as well, for if a slave slipped in the dim light or if the barrel got away from anyone the weight could snap a leg, or much worse.

             
“Almost done, men,” Lucius said again. As Connor moved back towards the fore of the wine cellar
he was encouraged, for the master’s drinking bowl was in his hands. Connor had learned that this meant that the master was pleased with the day’s work and was winding down.

             
“We’ll finish these few off,” Lucius continued. “Tomorrow we will get the new ones stacked here instead. They will be empty at least.
An easy day preparing for the hard weeks ahead.”

             
Only a few more barrels remained, but they were towards the back of the wooden frame, and it was not an easy matter of reaching them on the slope, or controlling them as they were released.

             
“Come on men,” Lucius said, but the tired slaves were not quick to accept this new challenge. Two of the master’s older slaves
–
wine making assistants and not even heavy lifters
–
finally stepped forward and started to negotiate the wooden beams of the frame towards the barrels.

             
“Connor, come show them how it is done,” Lucius ordered.

             
Connor obeyed, and the two slaves let him by. They hovered, arms out, waiting to be of assistance.

             
“I’ve got it,” Connor said. “Move off to the side so I don’t trip over you.”

             
He carefully rocked the barrel over one of the wooden pegs that held it, and then carefully over the next. The frame creaked, but Connor knew that it was probably much less likely to collapse then it had been all day, and put his efforts into controlling the barrel. He moved carefully back, allowing the mass to roll slowly but trying to dampen any extra momentum, as he maneuvered it past the various pegs and bars of the frame. For a second his heel caught as he pulled it up from one of the beams, but he was able to regain his balance and maintain his force against the heavy barrel.

             
“This is a great way to get crushed,” Connor thought to himself, but said nothing.

             
“There you go, young man,” Lucius said.
“Good effort. ‘
The art of living is more like wrestling than like dancing.’
”

             
“Marcus Aurelius,” Connor said.

             
“Very good.
You had said you knew his work.”

             
“
‘
Do
every act of your life as if it were your last
,’” Connor said, enjoying the irony as he freed the barrel from the rack. One of the other lifters took his place to roll the barrel down the grade towards the others.

             
Lucius nodded approvingly; then turned his
attention to the slaves handling the last two barrels. Connor took advantage of the lull to grab some water from the fountain. He then took his place in the back of the line as Lucius dismissed them with his usual rations and words of appreciation. Dusk was falling, as the two assistants closed the heavy double doors and left the wine cellar immersed in sparse lamplight.

             
“What else do you know of Aurelius’ writings?” Lucius Montevarius asked as he handed Connor the extra rations of his lifter’s gift.

             
“‘
He who lives in harmony with himself lives in harmony with the universe. The universal order and the personal order are nothing but different expressions and manifestations of a common underlying principle.
’”

             
“That is a good passage. That is what I love about the stoics. There teachings are about real life, and how a real life should be lived.”

             
The door to the staircase closed, and Connor saw that he was again alone with the Master, as he had been on that night that they read Aristotle
–
now about a month or more ago. The Master turned his back to Connor in order to reach for his pitcher of wine and refill his bowl. He picked up a second bowl and set it on the table.

             
“Have some wine, young man. You have worked very hard today.”

             
Connor nodded his thanks and sat down on the stool across the table from Montevarius. The similarity in the situation brought into stark relief what was different about it though
–
Connor realized that he was not feeling the same temptation to attack his captor. Escape had barely entered his mind that day. Instead there had just been the dull circle of thoughts that went with the work they were doing, interspersed by the desire for quitting time. The only thing that he had actively wanted was to stop working so that he could eat and drink some wine, and then find one of the domestics. He had moved on from Mella to the taller, darker skinned Priscilla; but a somewhat older, blonde-haired Germani named Hildenna had caught his eye. He had seen her staring at him as well, and her blue eyes and the way she carried herself intrigued him. Connor took a deep draught of Montevarius’s perfect wine. Yes, all that had been on his mind that day was working, eating, drinking, fucking, and sleeping. Now he was sitting talking about the philosophy Titus had taught him.

             
“To me what
is
so interesting about the writings
of Marcus Aurelius is not just his words themselves
–
but the man who was writing them and the unique circumstances he was in,” Lucius said. “He ascended to the emperor’s throne out of obscurity
–
a surrogate son, who was so poorly prepared for what he was to do. And he inherited an empire on the brink of destruction! Germani threatened the borders as they had not done in decades. And if that were not enough, internal strife alone threatened to bring everything down to ruin. When I pick up that book and read that man’s thoughts I am moved by his nobility, his wisdom, his shear courage. To think that he succeeded, that such a quiet and humble man saved the
Imperium
! It moves me greatly. How we need someone like him now.”

             
Montevarius took to his wine. Connor thought that it seemed that the master was drinking even more quickly than usual, and this observation made the younger man slowdown in spite of his thirst.

             
“Is not Constantine the Third such a man?” Connor asked, probing for information. Growing up in a small village on the southern tip of Eire
–
far away from even the modest movings of chiefs and war bands that happened in his part of the world
–
had given him little reason to have an awareness of politics. But he
understood that here in his new world the affairs of men a thousand miles away somehow affected everyone else; and he understood that something was wrong. Whatever it might be was being kept from the slaves, but there were events that were pressing heavily on the thoughts of the rich and free.