arena. He asked for Draco. The boy brought the stallion and dropped to his hands and knees next to the horse. It was customary for a slave to ‘back up’ a rider. Roman saddles had four saddle horns, but no stirrups.
Adas put his hand out to the slave. “Get up,” he said as he gripped the child’s wrist, and pulled him to his feet. He gaped at the centurion. Adas tied the strap of his knapsack on a back saddle horn. “You’re new. What is your name?”
“Calais, Sir,” He kept his eyes respectfully lowered.
“Is Nikolaus back there?”
“He is, Sir. Here he comes now.” Nikolaus emerged from the stables leading a couple of saddled horses. Two decurions stood nearby, talking while they waited. “I’ll get him.” The boys hurried back to Adas.
“Nikolaus, if Tribune Salvitto approves, I might add a new kitchen slave to the Saturday morning class. Calais, how old are you? Do you work well with horses?”
“Eleven years, Sir. Yes, Sir. I love horses. They are big, but they never hurt me.”
Adas managed a smile. “You are old enough to be in the class. Would you like to join?”
The child was speechless. Nikolaus elbowed him. “I—I would like it very much. Yes, Sir. Thank you, Centurion Longinus, Sir.”
“I will speak to Tribune Salvitto about you as well. Nikolaus, tell me if any stallions get rough around Calais, since he’s new here.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Adas grasped a front saddle horn, jumped, and threw his right leg over the saddle as he pulled himself up. “Nikolaus, could you get someone in maintenance to replace the lock on my door? Remove the broken chair, too.”
“Of course, Centurion, I will see to it.”
“Thank you.” Adas reined Draco around into a brisk trot.
Calais stared after him. “Does he always get on his horse without help?”
“Yes. He is—unique.”
“What did he mean about the stallions?”
“That’s his code for, ‘Tell me if anyone is abusive,’ in case anyone overhears us. Since he came to the Antonia, no one on my team has been beaten. Centurion Longinus ‘put’ us behind his shield. Now, you’re included, Calais.”
“Does he always thank you when you do something?”
“He does. But he’s the only one.”
Outside the fortress, Adas slowed Draco to a walk. He was aware of a few gawking pedestrians. He assumed the local citizens were amused to see a battered Roman soldier. He was wrong. It was because Adas wore the caligae and belt of a centurion yet was unarmed. It was a rare sight to see a Roman dare to venture into Jerusalem without weapons. When Adas reached a scroll shop, he dismounted and dropped the reins. Draco snorted, but did not move away from where the ends of the reins lay in the street. He patted the horse’s neck and walked in the shop.
“Ah, Centurion, what may I do for you?” asked the shopkeeper, literally dropping what he was doing to assist. The man hastily picked up the bundle of papyrus he had been carrying.
Normally, Adas would have apologized for startling the man, but not today. “I’d like several letter-sized scrolls and a pot of ink,” he answered in Hebrew.
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Your Hebrew is very good, Sir. Here’s my selection.”
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