Saul smiled at her. He realized he’d asked a question which didn’t have a simple and univocal answer, so he remained silent.
He remained in silence, thinking about his situation. He knew that, as a slave in Rome, he had no rights, but it seemed as if God had been merciful to him as Marcus Tiberius and his wife showed themselves as kind Masters.
He had no idea how many slaves lived in the same house, but he thought there were probably many, as Marcus Tiberius seemed to be a wealthy man.
He glanced around confused as if trying to find some answers about what was expected from him. He tried to familiarize himself with the place and the smells.
He knew the Romans had slaves and that the treatment reserved for them varied with the character of their Masters, but he didn’t know how he was supposed to behave.
Mistress Flaminia looked at him, trying to guess his thoughts, although she could imagine that a child who was born free would have a difficult time understanding the meaning of slavery.
Suddenly, she realized that, in all likelihood, the last time he ate was the previous day.
“Tell me, are you hungry?”
Saul turned his eyes up to her and seemed hesitant to answer the question. “I am, Mistress,” he replied ashamedly lowering his gaze and twisting his fingers.
She stood and called a man who was walking across the garden.
“We have a new slave in this household; he was purchased this morning. Take him to have a proper meal, and when he is done, bring him back to me.”
He bowed his head. “Yes, Mistress.”
The tall man looked at Saul, “Come with me,” he said and walked away.
His strong body structure reminded Saul of a warrior, and he wondered whether his duties within the household were those of guarding and protecting their Masters.
They walked away to a room that he guessed was the kitchen, as there was a massive table with chairs, a fireplace, and storage closets for pots and food.
“Now, sit down and I will see if I can find something to fill up your belly,” the slave said, disappearing to a sort of backroom.
Saul noticed that each slave wore a collar. He wondered whether this was the one he’d heard about, where the name of the owner was inscribed. He wondered when or whether his neck would be enclosed in a similar one, defining him as a slave, as mere property—a living creature, but not a person— a pet, perhaps.
He sat on a chair at the table and considered the entire day and his situation. Now that he was thinking about it, he realized that he was indeed hungry as his empty stomach rumbled.
After a while, the same slave returned with an abundant portion of food in a bowl. “The slave who takes care of the kitchen is out to run a few errands, so I just gathered what I found. I guess you should be really hungry, so go on and clean your plate; your day is not over yet,” he said, sitting in front of him.
“Thank you,” Saul said as he dug into the food. In between bites, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“I am Caleb, and you are?” the slave asked, looking amused at the boy.
“I am Saul,” he replied, continuing eating.
“Welcome. Do you already know your duties?” Caleb asked, trying to imagine what that little and delicate creature could be useful for.
“I understood that I will be Master Marcus Tiberius’ interpreter and translator. Moreover, I will be his son’s companion; I haven’t yet met him, and I hope he will like me.”
“You won’t have any problems. Master Flavius is a mild-natured person, exactly like his mother.”
“Caleb, I was born as a free man, and I don’t know anything about slavery.” He wanted to ask how a slave is supposed to behave. As he tried to form the words, Caleb spoke again.
“Son, from the moment our Master bought you, you ceased to be a person. You are nothing more than a living tool to serve him; you obey unconditionally whatever he orders. You shall never question his orders, nor will you talk back to him. However, in this household, you will be allowed free time, which you can spend any way you prefer, even frequenting the Thermae, or joining us at the tavern. Your life, from this day forward, must be selflessly devoted to serving your owner, nothing else.”
Saul looked at him and sighed.
“Are you still hungry, son?” Caleb asked, looking at the empty bowl.
“No, thanks, it was enough.” Saul rose from the chair almost impatiently, eager to meet Flavius.
“Then I guess there is nothing left to do but bring you back to Mistress Flaminia.”
“Are you a warrior?” Saul asked.
The corners of Caleb’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. “I’m not a warrior, but I take care of the security of the household, coordinating a group of other guards.”
“You are so big.”
“It is not me who’s big; it is you who is tiny, my puny friend.”
They walked back to the garden, where Flaminia awaited them sitting on the same bench, enjoying the fair weather. “That was fast. Have you eaten already?” she asked.
“Yes, Mistress, thank you.”
Caleb was dismissed and Flaminia guided Saul through the rooms of the house. Until they arrived at a room, where a boy read by the light of several oil lamps that illuminated the area.
Saul’s first impression was that his Master had his thoughts focused somewhere else, as he tapped his finger against the wood of the table. On the other hand, maybe the topic might have been somewhat difficult.
As they came in, he raised his head, looking at his mother and Saul with questioning eyes, “Who’s the boy, Mother?”
“He is your father’s new slave, purchased this morning, and he will serve as his translator on his trips.”
Flavius eyeballed Saul. “He must be pretty educated. How old are you?”
“I am eleven, Master,” Saul kept his eyes low.
“Eleven? Mother, he is just a child. I am thirteen, and even if I tried my hardest, I could never act as an interpreter, and to translate from Greek takes me forever. Which other languages do you speak?”
“Greek and Aramaic. The last one is my mother tongue, Master.”
“Very impressive.” Flavius walked around Saul, considering him from head to feet. “Do you also have a name, Slave, or do we have to figure out one for you?”
“Master, my name is Saul,” he replied, feeling like he was again on the market, ready to be sold.
“I like your name, Saul, and I like how you look. You are beautiful. Did Cassandra use one of her ribbons to hold your hair? She is our only slave who likes to keep her hair combed like that. I like it.”
Flavius lifted one hand to caress his cheek. “Your skin is very soft and nicely tanned; is it always that way?” He turned to Flaminia. “Mother, may we spend some time alone?”
She nodded and left the room in silence.
As she departed, Flavius returned his focus to Saul, “So, now that we are alone, tell me something about you,” he ordered.
“What do you want to know, Master?”
“Hmm. Where are you from?”
Saul started to tell him about his family and the education he received, “When the revolt started, we were forced to leave our house and take refuge with my uncle in a nearby village. We hoped we could hide there until the end of the conflict, but we were captured and brought to Rome to be sold as slaves.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Flavius asked, interested.
“Yes, I have a younger sister; she is five years old and very dear to me,” Saul gasped.
“I guess it would be nice to have a sister or a brother. Being the only son is not as good as one might think; it gets kind of lonely,” Flavius said, taking a pause. “So, you are a Jew.”
“Yes, Master.”