Rome in Flames (5 page)

– chapter ix –

Saturnalia

 

My escape bid had taught me something important – I must try to learn the Roman language. Without it, I would get nowhere.

Until now, I hadn't even attempted to learn Latin – I had closed my ears to the sound of it all around me. But now I started listening, and I was surprised to find that I could understand quite a bit of what people were saying. Even if I only knew some of the words, I could often make a guess at the rest.

But actually speaking Latin . . . that was harder. I didn't want to say something totally stupid and have people laugh at me.

The first person I spoke to in Latin was Tiro. I knew he would never laugh at my accent or make fun of my mistakes. By now, I was in the habit of visiting the stable every afternoon during the hour of sleep. If Tiro was asleep, I didn't wake him. But quite often he was awake and willing to talk.

When I asked him, he told me about his life before he became a slave. ‘You and me, we're not like the rest of the slaves,' he said. ‘They were born to it – their mothers were slaves. They don't know any other way of life, and even though they grumble, they don't mind it too much.'

Tiro had been born in a southern land far across the sea, so distant that his people had not heard of the Romans. He had never seen a white-skinned man, just as I, in Britain, had never seen a dark-skinned one. His tribe lived by hunting the animals that grazed on the hot, dusty plains.

I asked him what kind of animals they were, and he tried to describe them. Some sounded rather like the deer we used to hunt in the forests, but others seemed very strange. Creatures that looked like oxen but could run like horses; animals with necks as long as a spear; huge, heavy creatures with tails attached to their heads.

Was he making this up? Or was my shaky grasp of Latin getting me confused? He must have seen the look of doubt on my face.

‘It's all true,' he said. ‘If you go to the Games, you'll see them for yourself.'

I asked him how he came to be in Rome.

‘When I was a young man, with a wife and baby son, there came a time without any rain. All the rivers dried up. The animal herds roamed far across the land, looking for water, and we followed them. We went into the lands of a different tribe, our enemies. But what else could we do? If we had stayed in our own land, we would have died of hunger and thirst.'

There was a war between the tribes. In the fierce fighting, most of Tiro's friends were killed and the rest were captured.

‘I was sold to a tribe further north. Then I was sold again to a slave dealer. I don't know what happened to my wife and baby. Probably they are dead. But if he's still alive, my son must be about the same age as you.'

I understood the look of longing in his eyes. He had lost his family, and I had lost mine.

Tiro was taken to Rome – a long journey through deserts, down a river valley and over the sea. By then, he knew there was no way he could ever find his home again. He was sold in the slave market. His new master was big and fat, needing strong slaves to carry him on his couch whenever he went out.

‘What was he like?' I asked.

‘He was a bad master,' said Tiro, scowling at the memory. ‘If you stumbled while you were carrying his couch, he would have you whipped. If you got old or sick, he would sell you. If you tried to escape, you'd be branded for life.'

He touched a mark on his forehead. It was an old scar which I'd noticed before, three lines making a shape like this:

 

F

‘
Fugitatus
,' Tiro said.

I asked him what it meant. He never got annoyed by my endless questions. If I didn't understand a new word, he would try to explain it, helping me to learn the language.

‘It means a slave who keeps running away. So take care, Bryn. Next time, this could happen to you.'

‘Not me,' I said.

‘You mean, next time they won't catch you? That's what everyone thinks. I ran away twice. They caught me both times. My old master said that if I did it again, he'd sell me to an
ergastulum
.'

Another word I didn't know. ‘A prison farm,' Tiro explained. ‘They keep slaves in chains and treat them like animals. Terrible places.'

‘But you did get away,' I said.

‘Not by escaping. The old master died, and all his slaves were sold. I was lucky to be bought by Lucius, our master. He looks after his slaves. He only punishes them when they deserve it.'

Maybe. But even a good master didn't make me content to be a slave. I was still determined to run away.

Hesitating, stumbling over words I didn't know, I told Tiro of my plans. Somehow I knew I could trust him. He wasn't at all like Theon – he was a friend.

‘I need money,' I said. ‘Some of the other slaves have got some. How do they get it?'

‘Oh, different ways. If I take the master's guests home in the carriage, they often give me a tip. And we all get gifts at Saturnalia.'

There wasn't time to ask him what Saturnalia was. The cook was shouting for me – I had to go back to work.

* * *

As the months passed and my Latin slowly improved, I started to get to know the people around me. Closest to me in age were Rufus and Clemens, the two serving boys. They were quite friendly once they realized I could begin to understand their talk. I liked the two of them because they were funny. They were forever playing tricks on the cook, stealing food or hiding his favourite kitchen knife. They could each put on an innocent look, as blank as the face of a statue.

Neither of them liked Theon. He looked down on them because he thought his job was more important than theirs. Rufus could do a good imitation of Theon, giving orders as if he were the master himself.

I learned what Saturnalia meant – it was the next big feast. Everyone was looking forward to it. One of the women told her young son, ‘At Saturnalia, the slaves become masters and the masters become slaves.' What did she mean by that?

I learned that the cook had a name – Quintus – and I began to understand his instructions better. He didn't shout at me quite so much. This was fortunate, for in the days leading up to Saturnalia, we were extra busy in the kitchen. We prepared special food – rich sauces, pastries, roast hare and duck, and the head of a boar. According to Rufus, this was all for the slaves to eat, not the master. I thought he was joking.

At last, the day arrived. Just like on other feast days, no one had to do much work. But Saturnalia wasn't like the other festivals. For a start, there were presents for everyone, including the household gods, who were crowned with garlands. The master gave each slave some money. I decided not to spend mine – I would save it for the day of my escape.

Rufus gave me a little cake, painted gold. ‘I nicked it from a baker's shop,' he said proudly.

Clemens handed me three small cubes with dots on each side. I wondered what they were for. ‘A game,' said Clemens, promising to teach me it later. Best of all, Tiro gave me some more money. I felt bad because I had nothing to give in return.

Until now, I hadn't owned anything, not even the clothes I wore. Where could I keep my money safe? In the shared dormitory, there was no place to hide valuable things. The best place I could think of was the stable, where the old walls had a hundred cracks and holes in the plaster. I wrapped the money in a piece of cloth and pushed it deep into the wall.

Everyone got dressed up ready for the evening meal. The master's wife had loaned her maid some of her own clothes and jewels to wear. The master's attendant looked very grand in a borrowed toga. All of us were given special hats to wear.

‘These hats are what slaves wear on the day they're set free,' said Clemens. ‘During Saturnalia, we're free. We can do as we like.'

‘But only for a couple of days, remember. Don't do anything stupid,' Rufus warned me.

We all went into the master's dining room. Feeling rather nervous, I copied the other slaves and lay down on a couch beside a low table. I looked around. All the slaves were here, so who was going to bring in the food?

The answer was – the master and his wife. It was funny to see that haughty woman acting as a servant. Her children helped her, bringing in dish after dish of food. There was more than anyone could eat, and plenty of wine to drink.

I saw the master's son looking at me. By now, I knew that his name was Manius. He was only a couple of years younger than me. The slaves didn't like him much – he was spoilt and hard to please, not at all like his little sister, Lucia.

‘Are you a Celt?' Manius asked me. ‘Where do you come from?'

‘From the Iceni tribe,' I told him.

‘That's not what I asked you. Do you come from Britain?'

I nodded.

‘I think I will have you as my attendant,' he said. ‘It's quite fashionable to have a British slave. Father, may I—'

‘Silence, boy!' the cook yelled at him. ‘Servants should not speak in front of their betters. Don't you know anything?'

I wondered how he dared talk to the master's son like that. But everyone laughed. It seemed that anything was allowed during Saturnalia.

One person, though, wasn't even smiling. Theon glared at me from across the room. He looked as if he would like to kill me.

I wanted to tell him not to worry – I had no desire to take over his job. But then, it wasn't up to me. I was just a slave; I had to do whatever job I was given, even if Theon hated me for ever after.

Oh well . . . by tomorrow, Manius would probably forget the idea. I really hoped he would.

– chapter x –

Finding gold

 

We all ate far too much that night, and some people drank too much. Albus, the doorman, knocked over a whole jug of wine, which went everywhere.

‘Someone call for young Manius to clean it up!' he said.

He was joking, of course. The master and his family had slipped away, leaving us to enjoy ourselves. They weren't really our slaves – it was all a kind of game.

The cook didn't eat much, but he drank several cups of wine. He had his arm around the waist of Anna, the maid, who was giggling a lot and showing off in her borrowed finery. I looked for Tiro, but he had gone out. For some reason, he didn't seem to enjoy Saturnalia as much as the others.

Rufus gave a huge yawn. ‘This is where it gets boring. They all get drunk and make idiots of themselves.'

‘Come to the dormitory, Bryn,' said Clemens, ‘and we'll teach you how to play dice. We're allowed to gamble during Saturnalia.'

They taught me the rules of the dice game, and then said we should start playing for money. But I didn't want to risk losing my small amount of cash. I'd seen Quintus win money at the races, only to lose it all.

‘Oh, go on,' said Clemens. ‘It's no fun without something to win or lose.'

Rufus asked, ‘What are you saving your money for? Going to buy your freedom, are you?' They both laughed, but the words made my ears prick up.

‘Buy your freedom – what does that mean?'

‘Slaves can go free if they save up enough money to pay the master what they're worth,' Rufus explained.

‘But most people don't bother, because it takes so long,' said Clemens. ‘You ask Tiro. He's been saving up for years and years, and he still hasn't got enough.' I felt even more grateful for the money Tiro had given me.

Rufus sighed. ‘Well, if we can't play for money, let's use something else. Bryn, why don't you fetch some of those little honey cakes from the dining room? There were lots of them left.'

‘Honey cakes,' groaned Clemens. ‘I never want another honey cake in my entire life.'

Rufus nudged him with his elbow. ‘Go on, Bryn,' he said to me.

I guessed that when I went out they would take the chance to look for my money. I didn't care – they could search the dormitory all night and never find it.

In the shadowy passage that led to the dining room, the cook was kissing the maid. I felt embarrassed, and walked past pretending not to see them. When I came back with a plateful of cakes, they had gone. But in the place where they'd been standing, my foot touched something. I picked it up and carried it towards the nearest lamp.

It was a gold bracelet – probably one that Anna, the maid, had been wearing. The master's wife had lent her several of them. Would she notice if one disappeared? The bracelet was heavy and plain, not richly decorated like most of her jewellery. But it was gold, and gold is always valuable.

My heart was beating fast. I tucked the bracelet into a fold of my tunic. Looking round to make sure no one had seen me, I walked towards the stables as casually as I could. Tiro wasn't there. Only the horses, moving restlessly in their stalls, saw me go in and hide the bracelet next to my money.

‘You took a long time,' said Rufus, when I returned.

I told the boys about Quintus and Anna. They didn't seem at all surprised.

‘It's Saturnalia,' said Clemens, as if that explained everything.

* * *

The master's wife didn't appear to notice that a bracelet had gone missing. Even when Saturnalia was over, no one said anything about it. Gradually, I forgot to feel anxious over it. I stopped having nightmares about being found out and punished.

I didn't tell Tiro what I had done because I knew he wouldn't approve. There were some things Tiro would never do – stealing, lying, gossiping, or hurting people. He said that his god didn't like that sort of behaviour.

I felt curious about this god of his. I hadn't forgotten the day when Tiro prayed and my leg stopped bleeding. (The wound had healed completely by now. All you could see was a line of faded scars.)

‘Tell me about the gods of your people,' I said one day.

Tiro looked surprised. ‘My people worshipped the spirits of animals. The snake for his wisdom, the lioness for her courage . . .'

‘Not those,' I said. ‘Who was the god you asked to heal my leg?
Father
, you called him.'

Tiro said, ‘I prayed to the one true God, the maker of heaven and earth. There are no other gods. They don't exist, except in people's minds.'

This seemed a weird idea to me. ‘You really believe there's only one god? What's he like, then?'

‘He's like a father,' said Tiro. ‘He loves me as my father loved me. Whenever I talk to him, he hears me. I can't see him, but he sees me, and he knows all about me.'

‘How do you know? If you can't see him, how can you possibly know what he's like?'

Tiro said, ‘Have you ever heard of a man called Jesus of Nazareth?'

I shook my head.

‘He lived in the land of Judea, far to the east. He looked like an ordinary man, but he was God's Son born on earth. He said, “I have come to bring good news to the poor, and freedom to the captives.” And he said, “Anyone who sees me has seen God, my father.” That's how we can know what God is like.'

‘Where is he now, this Jesus?' I asked. ‘Have you met him?'

Tiro said, ‘He was killed by the Romans, thirty years ago. They crucified him. But he was God's son – he was stronger than death itself. After three days, he came alive again, and many people saw him. I've talked to one of them – he's an old man now, but he remembers everything. He saw Jesus being taken up to heaven, back to God, his father.'

I thought this story was very strange. And yet my mind kept returning to it. I remembered my own father – how much he loved me, how much I missed him. I almost wanted to believe in Tiro's fatherlike god, and I wished I could meet Jesus, who came to bring freedom to captives.

Freedom – I longed for it. As I kneaded the dough in the hot kitchen, or piled wood on the fire, my mind was often far away. I was back in my own country. I could go where I wanted and no one could stop me. No master could buy or sell me. No cook could order me around.

‘Hey! Wake up, boy!' Quintus bellowed in my ear. ‘Why did I get landed with a useless idiot like you? I only hope the next one is better.'

What did he mean, the next one?

He enjoyed my look of bewilderment, and then he explained: ‘The master has a new job for you. Starting tomorrow, you're to be young Manius's personal attendant. Nice easy work, not that you deserve it. Wipe his nose . . . keep him out of trouble . . . take him to school . . .'

Apart from not knowing what ‘school' meant, I quite liked the sound of that. It would make a change from the kitchen.

‘You want to be careful,' the cook warned me. ‘That Manius is a spoilt little so-and-so. He's bossy enough to be Emperor. Likes to get his own way all the time.'

Oh yes? Look who's talking, I wanted to say. But I didn't dare. In silence, I got on with my work.