The Songs of Slaves (16 page)

             
Without another word the girl turned her horse and began to move once more down the path, her retinue in tow. She did not look back. The spectacle had ended.

             
When she was out of earshot,
Sergius began to
laugh.

             
“That would be the
Dominus’
daughter,” Philip said. “
Lucia
is her name.
Seventeen or eighteen years old.
Betrothed to the son of Effacus – the wealthiest family in the valley
–
but she still lives here until that boy is old enough to marry. A fine match it will be for the house of Montevarius.”

             
“She looks nothing like him,” Connor said.

             
“She is the image of her mother. The very image, rest the good woman’s soul.”

             
“And she is a Pagan witch, just like her mother,” Sergius said.

             
“Sergius, please, some respect,” Philip corrected.

             
“I am telling the truth,” Sergius said, moving down to the next row. “She is a worshipper of Isis, or some dark goddess. You will see her accompany her father and brother on the Sabbath, but what she does in secret is another matter entirely.”

             
“Very good, Sergius,” Brontius said. “We have all heard your story.”

             
Sergius ignored him. He went to take another drink from his wine skin but found it empty. Undaunted he continued.

             
“I was heading home from one of the west side houses. I had a rendezvous there with one of the kitchen girls, who was damn near insatiable. But when I finally put that whore to bed and was heading home
–
now mind you, I had a few drinks, but I know what I saw
–
well, I was down by the stream. It was a full moon. I was sticking to the tree line, in the shadows. I did not want to be seen. But there she was
–
Lucia
, our little
Domina
. She was naked in the moonlight. And I swear to God
–
you think she looks good now? Jupiter’s cock! She had drawn symbols on the ground with white sand. And she was working herself with a twisted piece of ivory, moaning some incantation over and over in a whore’s voice.”

             
“Sergius, please!”
Philip said. “Your disrespect is bad enough. But she is Lorentius’s sister
–
the apple of his eye. If he hears you talking like this he will kill you. Remember what he did to Marcus, just for looking at her.”

             
“Well Lorentius isn’t here.”

             
“We are close to the path. Just be quiet. We have all heard your story.”

             
“And you didn’t do anything about it anyway,” Brontius chided. “You are all talk.”

             
“I would have!” Sergius answered angrily. “But my whore wore me out. I was going to walk right into the light and give that little bitch exactly what she wanted. And she would not have told anyone. She would have come back begging me for more.”

             
“You’re full of goat shit,” Brontius said.

             
“Enough of this
talk
!” Philip said. “Enough. I am not going to quibble over your story, Sergius. But I am going to say that our good
Dominus’
daughter is a virtuous Christian, like he is, and deserving of our respect and allegiance.”

             
“God, where do you get this shit?” Sergius retorted. “It’s like you practice a creed every morning.”

             
But Connor had stopped in his tracks.

             
“The
Dominus
is a Christian?”

             
Philip looked surprised.

             
“Well of course,” he answered. “Of course he is.
Tithes to the Holy Church and everything.
Has the Bishop over often enough. What good family wouldn’t be Christian these days?”

             
Connor’s mouth was still open in amazement. Then, suddenly, he turned towards the path and began to run.

             
“Shit!” Brontius exclaimed.

             
“We must stop him!” Philip called as he recovered and gave chase.

             
But the slaves’ efforts to catch him were useless. Connor sprinted, kicking the stones and leaving dust in the path behind him. He tore the ground in long strides, pumping his arms as he pulled at the air. In moments he was down the hill. He reached the road, but he did not turn towards the gates. He headed straight up the tall hill, cutting across the grass and weaving amongst the trees. He cleared the low walls in single leaps. He was making straight for the villa.

             
Lucia
’s bodyguard stopped and stood ready when they noticed him; but he was far off and so little more than a curiosity. Connor barely slowed as the hill grew steep, as if the toil of the day had no effect on him. Philip and the others were far behind.

             
Ahead the wide double doors of the villa were open and unguarded. The defensive positions on the walls were vacant. Within Connor could see the lamps of the courtyard gleaming in the fading late. All at once he was through, inside the perimeter. He could hear the sounds of the people within. He barely registered the fragrance of flowers and the aroma of meat stewing in the kitchen. His shod feet pounded on the flagstones as
he crossed into the courtyard, where the fruiting trees made long shadows in the lamplight. His wide eyes made out the shapes in his periphery. He saw the men before they saw him
–
in the split second before they perceived his threat. Behind him a woman screamed and dropped a clay platter. But his hungry eyes were drawn straight ahead, to the far side
of the courtyard, where Lucius
Montevarius sat beneath the shade of a cherry tree.

             
Connor could sense the men close around him. Lucius rose to his feet and faced him. Connor perceived a slight unsteadiness in his movement, a subtle lack of balance
–
but the master stood before him with square shoulders and a steady gaze.

             
Connor fell to his knees before him, and bowed his head to the ground.

             
“Lucius Montevarius
Corvinus
! Brother in Christ! Have mercy upon me!” Connor cried.

             
One of the
bucellarii
had his cudgel raised, but a sound from the master stayed his hand. But the men did not move away. One was at Connor’s right and another at his left, practically touching him.

             
“Lucius Montevarius
Corvinus
, Brother in Christ, have mercy upon me!” Connor called again.

             
“What is the meaning of this?” Lucius replied, his voice even and calm.

             
Connor raised his head from the ground and sat back on his heels. His purchaser
–
his enslaver
–
stood before him, his face impassive, his body relaxed. He had changed his work clothes for a tunic and toga of white linen and held a wide rimmed bowl in his left hand.

             
“The
Dominus
orders you to speak, slave!” the bodyguard at his right shouted.

             
“Lucius Montevarius
Corvinus
,
” Connor said
, “m
ay God’s blessings be upon you. You bought me from the slave market days ago. You delivered me from those murderers and thieves and workers of evil, though only to bring me here to do your bidding. But God, our Father, had a greater purpose in mind. I, too, am a Christian. I was raised by priests to do the bidding of God. You hear that though I am from a far distant country that I speak your tongue. I was taught this by Titus Vestius
Laterensis
, a priest of the Holy Church, so that I might do the will of God. You see, like you I am a follower of Christ and his Father, the one true God. We are brothers, you and I.”

             
The
bucellarii
brought his club down on
Connor’s back.

             
“Insolence!” the man hissed as Connor tried to regain the breath that had been knocked from him.

             
Montevarius raised his hand, taking a step forward. Connor lifted his eyes again, ignoring his persecutor at his side.

             
“You are telling me that you are a priest of the Church?” Lucius asked, looking concerned for the first time.

             
“No,” Connor said. “No. I am not.
Though that was my intention.”

             
The guards beside him chuckled mockingly.

             
“Explain
yourself
then,” Lucius said. “You speak of God, and call us brothers. What do you mean? I am listening.”

             
The master took a deep draught from his bowl and then reached down to a small amphora on the bench and refilled it.

             
“Do you not see?” Connor asked. “All are equal in the love of Christ, in the love of God. Our great teacher, Declan taught us that. And it is substantiated in the teachings of the Church’s cannon. The saint Paul writes in his epistles that now there is no Jew nor Greek, no Slave nor Free, but all are one in Christ.”

             
“He says that?” Lucius asked.

             
“Yes, and more ….”

             
“Does he not also say ‘
Slaves, obey your masters
’? If the Apostle wanted to abolish subservience and dominion
–
the very fabric of the natural world
–
would he have said that?”

             
“There Paul was writing to ‘
a wicked and perverse generation
’
–
to quote the Christ. That was many hundreds of years ago. The Church has triumphed now, and there is no further need for such distinctions,” Connor said.

             
“And so it has,” Lucius consented. “The Church has changed many things that once were. But it has not disrupted the very system on which our prosperity
–
in which all order and decency
–
is sustained. There has been no edict from the Church Fathers to release all the slaves
–
even if the emperors would allow such an outrage. Rather, the Church has a great many slaves of its own, and uses them for the construction of their magnificent buildings, in the working of their extensive lands, and in the households of their bishops. Why should I be different? Why should I forsake the way of the world over the metaphors of a long-dead saint? This would be not faith or virtue, but fanaticism and folly. I
am no hermit living in the deserts of Egypt, but a man of business, the descendant of a noble house and bearer of a great name.”

             
Lucius again brought his cup to his lips and turned it until some of the purple wine escaped into his beard.

             
“My servant, I am not without feeling with you,” he said. “I know that it has been given to you to suffer. I can see that you were once perhaps a mighty warrior, and certainly a young man of at least rudimentary education. In truth, I am touched by your words. But I must say unto you, if you had been an actual priest of the
Church
who had fallen upon trouble, then I would go to the Church on your behalf, and the Church would buy you from me. But you are not. You say you are a Christian and therefore deserving freedom. If that were all that was required then all slaves would profess Christianity and civilization itself would collapse! Would that please you? You speak of God and his will. Well, as the Wheel has turned, it is God’s manifest will that you have come to be a slave. And whatever plan or purpose he may have in mind are his. And whatever sin you are being punished for is his knowledge alone. But the material point is that you are
now legally my property. My word is your law. You should thank God that in all things I have ever sought after virtue and what is right. I do not mean for your harm, but for our mutual prosperity. And even for that reason
–
and not in spite of it
–
I will hold to my right. You are my slave, and I am your master. Go now, in peace. Get some rest. We all have more work to do in the morning.”