is simply Atilus, a slave needs no more than one.’
The blow had been hard and I lowered my face to stare at the elaborate mosaics set into the floor of the atrium. It was a large chamber with glowing braziers set at intervals and a line of statues at the walls. The air was warm and scented with the tang of incense which had been burned before the household gods. There were couches and low tables set with vases of alabaster. The house itself was the largest I had ever entered and I wondered why, if the Romans had so much, they should be greedy for more.
Severus said, thoughtfully, ‘He needs taming, you say?’
‘Training, rather, Domini. The Britons are savages and unused to civilised customs, but he is young and will quickly learn. I thought of you as soon as I saw him.’
‘The price?’
‘Twenty gold pieces.’
‘Ten. I could use the boy, but the price of slaves has fallen and will drop even lower now that the Emperor has taken Britain. Take it or leave it, I am not inclined to haggle.’
Brachus took it and I entered the household.
I was house-trained, taught certain skills, even tutored after a fashion, but my main purpose was to fetch and carry and to attend Macer wherever he went.
As the years passed we grew close.
He was lonely, chafing at the restrictions of the farm, impatient to enter the life beyond. Though he was older than I was, he had barely more growth, a lack he tried to make up with strenuous exercise. Together we chopped wood, swinging axes until our muscles ached, digging, running, leaping from tuft to tuft of the thick grass which grew in the western marshes.
I grew tall and strong. The food, though plain, was wholesome, and the female slaves in the kitchens always had a little extra to spare. One of them, Celia, used to save scraps from the master’s table, sharing them with me as we sat beneath the trees edging the slave quarters.
She was of Macer’s age, a slim, dark-haired girl with a budding figure, and was already conscious of her physical attractions. Some of the men had tried to get close to her and she told me about it as we chewed fragments of chicken and goose.
‘Cilo tried to kiss me this morning,’ she said casually. ‘He said he loved me, but all he wants is to use my body. Do you, Atilus?’
‘Love you?’
‘Use my body, stupid. You know what women are for, don’t you?’ She bit into another scrap of meat. ‘Is it true that before a fight all the British warriors lie with women? And if there aren’t enough women to go around, they share what is available?’
‘No,’ I said flatly. ‘That isn’t true.’
‘How can you be sure? You were only a boy at the time. Anyway, you can’t deny they fight naked and covered with paint.’
‘That isn’t true, either. Woad isn’t paint.’
‘It’s close enough.’ She shrugged and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. ‘Kiss me, Atilus.’
She was on me before I knew it, body pressing, lips rammed against my own. As a kiss it was clumsy, but I was young and couldn’t help but respond. Laughing she pulled away.
‘There, Atilus, you see? You’re just like all the rest. Think of me the next time Macer takes you to the baths.’
The day was warm, but I felt a chill as I entered the house. Celia had reminded me of things I had almost forgotten. The strongest grief can be eased by time and now the past seemed very remote. The life of the villa had enfolded me, kept me busy, softened me while it developed both body and mind. I was a slave and had accepted the life of a slave. Romans fed, housed, and clothed me and, like a tamed beast, I no longer flinched at the touch of the hands which had made it captive.
For that Didius was partly to blame.
The tutor was an old man, a Greek, and he had been delighted to learn that I spoke his tongue, though badly. He had insisted that we speak it together when Macer was present, and much to Severus’s pleasure, both he and I had gained proficiency in the language. He had given the old man a new woollen garment. I had received nothing, but I was only a barbarian, while Didius was the product of a civilisation which had been old when Rome was young.
‘The exercise of logic demands that we accept the inevitable, Atilus,’ he told me when, one winter’s day, we sat hunched before a brazier. Severus had taken Macer on a visit to the nearby town. ‘You are a slave as I am, and there has always been, and will always be, slaves. It is a fact of life like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Would you struggle against the wetness of the sea? Or the heat of summer, or the cold of winter? These things are and cannot be altered. To cavil against them is to set yourself against the gods.’
‘Do you believe in the gods, Didius?’
‘I would be a fool to say that I did not,’ he said dryly. ‘But there are degrees of belief, as there are degrees of love. And what have you lost? In Britain you were a savage, here you share the comforts of civilisation. If you were freed tomorrow, what would you live on? A wise man looks at the good things of life, he does not count his misfortunes.’
There had been more, skilful words to instill doubt in a young mind, to erode previous convictions. Now I heard his voice raised as I entered the house. It grew louder as I passed into his chamber.
‘Macer, attend! You will be considered an idiot in Rome unless you improve your rhetoric. Only a raw provincial would state his case in such an uncouth manner. If you ever become a senator, you will be laughed from the Forum.’
Macer was stubborn, his cheeks flushed with anger.
‘I don’t want to become a senator. I’m going to join the army.’
‘Even so—’
‘You’re a slave! I don’t have to listen to you!’ He turned towards me. ‘Come on, Atilus, let’s go and ride the horses.’
A slave also, I had no choice but to obey. We rode for a while and then wrestled, stripped to the raw and throwing each other to the ground. I was the stronger and he exerted himself even more. By accident I struck his nose and he looked at the blood, his face ugly.
‘You struck me! You struck me!’
‘It was an accident.’
‘Yes.’ He stood, breathing deeply. ‘Let’s get back to the house.’
Severus was waiting; Didius had complained. The beating Macer received was only a token, the one given me was savage. My silence beneath the rod appealed to the knight’s Stoic leanings.
‘There is good in you, Atilus. A man should be able to bear pain without flinching. The discomfort of the body must not be allowed to disturb the calm tranquillity of the mind. You realise why you are being punished?’
‘Master, I did no wrong.’
‘That is true, but Macer must learn that his actions affect others. To insult his tutor was impolite, to defy my orders was unforgiveable. The next time he is tempted to disobey, he will know that it is not he alone who will
