LITMIR.BIZ

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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 suffer.’

      A form of logic with which I had no sympathy. Later, at the baths, when examining my weals, Macer laughed.

      ‘At least, Atilus, you’ll know what to expect if you join the army. Stripes are common.’

      ‘I can’t join the army. No slave can be a legionary.’

      ‘Would you become one if you could?’ Macer’s eyes held a peculiar expression as if he held secret knowledge. ‘Would you?’

      ‘I might.’

      ‘I want to know, Atilus.’

      I couldn’t understand his insistence, but it was easier to agree than to argue. ‘Yes, but—’

      ‘You can’t be accepted until you are free,’ he interrupted. ‘I know that.’

      He leaned back on the couch, sweating in the heat. With a strigil I scraped the dirt and oil from his pores, wiping the curved, bronze blade on a scrap of linen. An attendant slave scowled at me as he passed, taking me for a normal client robbing him of a tip.

      ‘I’ll have to do military service anyway if I hope to gain public office,’ mused Macer. ‘Father wants me to stand for election, but I think I’ll stay with the army. When I’m the legate of a legion, I’ll show these armchair warriors just how to achieve victories. Earn a triumph too, maybe. Did you know that Aulus Plautius could claim a triumph if he wanted? He’s killed more than five thousand of the British; that’s more than the Emperor Claudius did and he was granted a triumph. You know, Atilus, the real power of Rome lies not in the Senate but with the legions. You’ll see.’

      I said nothing, finishing my scraping, then following him into the cold plunge where we sported for a while before he decided that he wanted his massage.

      I used scented oils and my fingers dug deep.

      ‘Careful, Atilus!’

      ‘Sorry.’

      After the massage we sat in the cooling room and listened to the gossip. Today it was of Messalina, the Emperor’s wife. Claudius had finally discovered her flagrantly wanton behaviour and, after giving her a chance to commit suicide, had sent an officer to run her through with his sword.

      The symbolism amused those present.

      ‘I’ll bet that’s the first time she’d had something long and hard shoved into her and didn’t like it,’ said a fat, red-faced man.

      Another laughed.

      ‘Maybe she wouldn’t have complained had he put it somewhere else.’

      ‘Did you ever see her?’ A lean man with a badly scarred leg hunched forward on his chair. ‘She was a real beauty. I saw her once when I visited Rome; she was at the arena, you know, the one built by Titus Statilius.’

      ‘The Taurus? Is that still standing?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘A good show?’

      ‘Fair. I dropped in during the afternoon hoping to see some real action, but there was nothing special. They had a fairly good secutor, and some of the bestiarii weren’t too bad, but you can see as good at Lyons anyday. That wasn’t what I was going to tell you. Messalina was there with a few sychophants, among them a young lute player. Well, he was afraid of her, everyone could see that, and she kept threatening to throw him into the arena unless he did exactly what she wanted. I had a good seat and she didn’t trouble to lower her voice, so I could hear every word. The poor devil was sweating and he looked ready to throw a fit. She had a big gladiator with her and when she gave the signal, he picked up the lute player by his feet and held him head downwards over the sand. He had long hair and it hung down like a woman’s. A lion took a swipe at it and almost scalped him—he screamed as if he’d been gutted.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘He begged her to forgive him. When the gladiator set him down he dropped to his knees and kissed her feet. We could all tell what he had to do once they were alone.’

      ‘I bet he regrets it now,’ said the fat man. ‘From what I hear heads are falling all over Rome. The woman must have operated like a brothel.’

      Macer said, ‘Why did she have to threaten anyone to make them go with her? If she was a beauty, surely any man would have been willing.’

      The lean man grunted. ‘You’re young, friend, but think about it. Would you commit adultery with the wife of the Emperor? A word, and you’d find yourself tied in a sack with a boar. Or hanging on a cross. Or watching as they frizzled your genitals on a fire. No woman’s worth it.’

      ‘But how did she get away with it for so long?’

      ‘The husband’s the last to know,’ said the fat man. ‘Remember that when you’re married.’

      ‘But the Emperor! Surely someone would have told him?’

      ‘Would you have done?’ The lean man shook his head. ‘It’s taking a risk to tell any man his wife’s acting the harlot; carry a tale like that to a man like Claudius and he’d accuse you of treason. He doted on her. You know what they say, no fool like an old fool, and he was old enough to be her father. He even gave orders to people that they should do exactly what she told them. Naturally

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