“Another day,” Olennius replied with a bored sigh. “Let me see those taxation reports again.”
The servant reluctantly handed the scrolls over.
“It’s pretty simple, sir,” the freedman stated. “The tribute for Frisia has been the same since the time of Drusus Nero. The people have always complied, as well as providing auxiliary troops when required. In return, Rome gives Frisia imperial protection while allowing the Segon Kings to rule semi-autonomously.”
“Yes, well the prior magistrates lacked imagination,” Olennius replied with a sneer. “I have plans for this province, plans that go beyond Drusus Nero’s mere dole of cattle hides.”
“And what may I ask is your plan for the province?” the freedman asked.
The look of concern gave Olennius a certain amount of satisfaction.
“You will see,” he said with an evil grin. “Thorn in my side you may be, but I think you will be thanking me after we are done here. If I have to live in some shithole on the North Sea, then I will do so in comfort. Consider yourself lucky that you have me for an employer and not someone without any desire to better their position in life.”
Chapter VII: Simmering Hatred
“I hate the slave markets!” Artorius protested. “They are so damned depressing and smelly.”
“Come on,” Diana coaxed, taking him by the hand. “Every Centurion needs to have his own manservant! Besides, I have my ladies-in-waiting, as well as the household slaves, gardeners, cooks, and of course, Proximo. One more isn’t going to break us financially.”
“I just don’t relish the idea of a bondsman who will have access to my person at all times,” Artorius retorted.
“Oh, don’t be such a big girl’s blouse!” Magnus retorted as he walked behind them, grinning from ear to ear while eating an apple absentmindedly. The Norseman had decided to join his Centurion, claiming he had a good eye for quality slaves. “When was the last time one of our officers got stabbed by his own servant?”
“Yes, well you and I have had our fill of slave rebellions,” Artorius replied, causing Magnus to shrug.
“True,” the Tesserarius acknowledged. “Still, as hateful as it is, without slaves the Empire would probably cease to function. Besides, you can look at it this way; you get to save some poor sod from the mines or other worse fates. You ever notice that when you go to a Roman house that the slaves are almost all women? Most don’t have male slaves. That keeps the master from ever having doubts about the paternity of his children, or at least from having doubts coming from within his own household. A male slave who is not fortunate enough to end up as an army officer’s bondsman usually ends up either in the mines or in the arena.”
Slave markets depressed Artorius with good reason. Though he understood the need for human property, seeing the pitiful creatures that skulked amongst the cages disturbed him. The smell of unwashed bodies and flies swarming over the feces was particularly nauseating on this warm morning. The slave master walked with him, banging on the bars with his staff as Artorius asked to look at ones that might be suitable. Some stared at nothing, not even each other. Each slave had a placard hanging off his or her neck with details about their work history and talents. Prices were left to negotiation.
“What happened to this one,” as he nodded toward a towering youth with a soiled rag for a bandage on his head.
“He got uppity with me the other day, and I had to smack him alongside of his head with my cudgel,” said the slaver. “Now I have lost money on him since he just sits there and drools. He’ll be fodder in the arena for some wild beasts.”
“Let’s see this one,” Artorius directed, pointing to a young man who already stood by the bars. His head hung slightly, hands folded in front of him, though he did not look ashamed. Artorius lifted his placard and was intrigued by what he read.
“Says here that you are an experienced metal worker,” he stated.
“Yes, dominus,” the slave replied.
“It also says that you’re a Jew,” Artorius observed.
“Which seems to drive my price down,” the slave remarked, the corners of his mouth twitching.
He then caught Diana’s stern gaze and immediately dropped his eyes, swallowing hard.
“How much?” Artorius asked the slave master.
“Two hundred denarii.”
“I reckon a skilled metal worker rates that price,” Artorius concurred. “However, the slave here brings up a valid point. As a Jew he is bound to be trouble. I’ll give you one hundred and fifty and take him off your hands now.”
“Done,” the slave master replied hastily with a short bow.
“What is your name?” Artorius asked the slave once they were back at the Century’s barracks.
“Nathaniel, master,” the slave replied.
“I bought you because skilled metal workers are few and far between, and I need someone who can properly maintain armor and weapons. I don’t suppose you have any other useful skills?”
“I can work with leather, master,” Nathaniel replied. “I am also versed in four different languages; Latin, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Gallic.”
“Don’t know that Aramaic or Hebrew will do me any good,” the Centurion observed. “However, I can always use a Gallic interpreter. I don’t suppose you can cook?”
“No, master,” Nathaniel replied, hanging his head.
“Doesn’t matter,” Artorius said with a dismissive wave. “Proximo can cook well enough. Your purpose will be to keep my armor and equipment maintained. Do you know anything about horses?”
“Yes, master.”
“Good,” Artorius gave an approving nod. “I have a horse that needs to be fed and walked daily when I’m not using him. Lady Diana takes him out more than I do, so you will need to have him ready for her use at any time.”
“Yes, master.”
“You don’t talk much, do you?” Artorius asked, trying to size up the man.
“I speak when spoken to, master.”
“One thing I wish to know is whether or not you were born into servitude?” Never having owned a slave before, he had difficulty in assessing just how he was supposed to treat and be familiar with Nathaniel. Ironically, his parents were among the few who had never owned slaves; his father preferring to tend to the vineyards personally. Though the man was his property, he figured it would be best to know as much as he could, since they would be around each other constantly. He supposed that if he wished, he could just ignore the slave like he did anything else.
“I was born a slave,” Nathaniel replied. “My grandparents were servants to King Herod the Great.”
“Hmm,” Artorius replied with eyebrows raised. He did not know if the slave was telling the truth or just trying to sound more important to his new master. It did not matter, and besides, Artorius had little time for pleasantries with someone who was now his property. He was then puzzled when he saw a bulge in the side pocket of Nathaniel’s trousers.
“What have you got there?” he asked, pointing to the pocket. Keeping his eyes lowered, the slave produced a large scroll.
“Just a book, master,” he replied. “I’ve had it with me this whole time. I promise I did not steal it.”
“Well, at least I know you can read.” Artorius then took it from him and opened it. It was all very ornate, though in a language he could not understand. “What the hell is this?”
“This contains the holy writings of my people,” Nathaniel replied. “My previous master let me have it, and the slave drivers never tried to take it from me. They said it kept me quiet.” There was a trace of a smile on his face, though he kept his head lowered respectfully.
Artorius could see the fear in his eyes that he would take the book from him.