The Songs of Slaves (9 page)

When they landed on the rocky coast of Amorica, the westernmost fringe of Gaul, they were traded again, to the Greek merchants who held them now. These men had sailed them from port to port, selling some and taking on others, in their business of trafficking souls.

             
Many days and many miles lay behind them, and as Connor stood chained once more to the post, he wondered if he could even find his way home, even if he was to break free.

Connor winced as he felt a hand on his back. A wealthy woman was inspecting him closely. The two slaves that accompanied her were expressionless, but dressed in clean, well-made tunics. The older woman stared at Connor as she brushed the dyed locks out of her eyes. Almost instantly Andopaxtes, Connor’s trader, swooped in. The diminutive Greek flashed his toothy smile between his bursts of well-practiced pleasantries, assertions, and offers. His animated gesticulations were punctuated by the nervous ringing of his
long-fingered hands. His gray-
streaked curls were oiled; and he wore a robe and toga well above his
station, clean, pressed and smelling of myrrh, though he spent most of his nights aboard a ship. He was a master of his craft. And yet the rich woman folded her arms, her arrogant brow impervious to the Greek’s assault of words. Connor had seen it before, in almost every port they had stopped at throughout Gaul. He pieced it together from what he saw, and inferred from both the grumbling of his captors and their prospective buyers. The market was not as welcoming to the traders of foreign slaves as it may have once been. It was not only the swelling numbers of the debtors and dispossessed providing a cheap source of slaves, but it seemed to Connor that despite the arrogance of the people that came to the markets and the appearance of fabulous wealth that was everywhere, there was care and tightened purse strings. Like all the others,
this wealthy woman talked to Andopaxtes as if she were by far his social superior and when money was mentioned she spoke as if she had the wealth of Egypt; but Connor could see her holding back, se
e
the familiar self-concern behind her proud gaze. Back in his homeland a bad crop could cause such worry and caution. But what could cause it in these people, who purchased even their grain from markets that gave access to the entire world,
trading the coins of the
Imperium
for whatever they might need or want?

             
Connor looked away and scanned the growing crowd. He had no further interest in the bargaining over his life that was taking place. Andopaxtes would not have his sale because he was asking too much. Woderic had sold him at a high price, and the Angles had passed that on to these traders, who had paid it because when they had gone to
sea
the market must have been better. Now, Andopaxtes was too stubborn to take a loss, and so Connor and Dania, along with some of the Britons, toured the slave markets of Gaul.

             
Connor glanced over to Dania. She was chained only a few yards away, her red hair hanging down, obscuring her face. Connor had grown accustomed to the sight of her naked form, but always found
himself
gazing on her. She was his last link to home, to the past. The rest were gone. But sharing this misery with her made it more painful, to see her humiliation was more agonizing than bearing
his own
. Whenever Connor could he had tried to speak to her, to comfort her with a familiar voice and a familiar language, but it had been weeks since Connor had heard her say a word. Now as
he looked at her she did not stir. The iron chains hung limply in the stifling air.

             
It was then that Connor noticed three youths amidst the crowd. They were too old to be boys, but too young to be counted as men. Their plain clothes showed them to be of families of modest means – perhaps merchants’ sons. Almost as one they approached Dania, coming close enough almost to touch her. They stopped and leered. Dania took no notice. She stood still as an artist’s sculpture, as if able to send her mind far away. Then one of the boys moved forward, his hand outstretched to touch her.

             
“Stop!”
Connor
shouted,
his voice full of powerless anger.

             
It was as if the boys did not even hear him. They did not stop, or even look his way. But the wealthy woman immediately turned and marched away from Andopaxtes, indignant that he would try to sell her a slave given to demonstrations of will and temper. Andopaxtes called after her.

             
Sejius grabbed the hand of the groping boy and pushed him down. A hail of insults and obscenities from the big Germani followed the youths as they made their retreat back into the crowd. He was not protecting
Dania; he was protecting their property against those who would not pay.

             
Andopaxtes turned on his
heels
and rushed at Connor, his fist raised.

             
“How dare you frighten off my customer? You will be beaten tonight!”

             
A month or two before and Connor would have spat in his face. But instead he just glared and said nothing. A beating would mean nothing to him, and it was an empty threat because no trader wanted to bring a slave to market with bruises that would prove its recalcitrance.

             
“I will sell you to the mines, for all the trouble you cause me!” Andopaxtes raved on. But he turned his back and looked into the throng of people, searching for his next prospect.

             
Two priests walked past, engaged in conversation. Connor followed them with his eyes, but his memory was transported to the first Christian priests he had seen in the slave markets of Amorica. He had recognized their bright robes and gold crosses, and a rush of hope had filled him. But when he called out to them in Latin they ignored him and passed on by. He called out to other priests as they drew near, but even as
he was moved on to other cities it was always the same. The ears of most were deaf to him, but one had even looked at him and smiled in apparent amusement. Another had stopped to extol him to accept the place that God had given him, and not to be such a disobedient and rebellious servant. Soon this hope of rescue died in him, and he wondered how Titus could have come from such a group as these.

             
A woman screamed. Connor turned towards the commotion. A dealer was placing silver in his purse as a buyer collected two Gallic children. The children’s mother wailed inconsolably. The young children’s hands were tethered as they wept at their mother’s feet. The woman could not reach them to take them in her arms. The dealer handed the leashes to the bald slave who accompanied the rich man.

             
“Do not worry,” the slave said to the bound woman. “My master is a good man. They will have bread. They will not be treated badly.”

             
His words were lost on the woman. Her grief became louder as the slave pulled the children to their feet and turned to follow his master through the crowd.

             
Connor turned his gaze away.

             
A young man, about twenty, was standing very close to Dania. He was tall, with soft brown curls of hair and a tightly groomed goatee. His face was handsome, with a strong brow above sharp hazel eyes, but his countenance was aloof – even cold. Connor could see that he was wealthy even before he noted the bulge of the leather money purse or the jewels in the hilt of the sword the man carried at his side. His blu
e toga and well-made brown tunic
boasted his status as much as the gold ring on his finger and the intricate medallion at his neck. He stood still, his arms folded, gazing at Dania; and though his look and bearing were so much more refined, the cold lust in his eyes was no less debase than the three boys had been. 

             
Andopaxtes shot Connor a preemptive threatening glance and then strode towards the visitor, his hands folded in feigned readiness to serve and an eager smile in his eyes. But before the trader could say a word, the young man spoke.

             
“What do you think of her, Father?”

             
Connor then noticed a man – perhaps in his late thirties or early forties – standing near the younger man. At first glance he seemed almost an older copy. His hair and beard were nearly the same. His clothes and shoes
were as well-made. His posture and bearing were as proud. But as Connor scrutinized him, he could see that instead of the conceit the young man bore in his countenance this older man’s face seemed worn from care and his eyes seemed filled with a hungry intelligence. He wore no rings, as the young man did, but only a cunningly designed amulet around his neck.

             
“I think that we do not need another domestic,” the older man said. “And with all the children growing we have plenty of field hands as well.”

             
“May I be of service?” Andopaxtes toned in a practiced voice.

             
“Buy her for me, Father,” the young man said, ignoring the Greek.

             
The older man sighed.

             
“When I am dead and you are heir to my estate, you can waste your family’s money and reputation however you choose, Lorentius.”

“But I like her,” Lorentius said.

“There is much about her to like. But for now I have not come here to buy you presents. And again I will caution you; your indiscretions with slaves may be smiled at by some and tolerated by others, but what family of breeding will want their daughter to marry a
man who is reputed as a drunkard and a whoremonger?”

Andopaxtes cleared his throat.

“May I be of assistance?” he said again.

“We are only looking,” the older man said.

“You worry too much,” Lorentius protested in a smooth voice. “You have already secured
Lucia
a high-born match. Your designs are safe and the estate is secure. I am very highly thought of by anyone whose opinion I value, for all are not as stoical as you. You always tell me of the family’s reputation – but our ancestors are happy in Elysium; why may I not be happy here?”

“My designs are safe and the estate is secure?” the older man echoed. “Is that what you think, watching me and working beside me all these years? Lorentius, for centuries this family has climbed and prospered, but we have ever been at odds with forces as inconstant as the sun and the rain. A family fortune is called ‘fortune’ because that is what it depends on – like your constant games of dice or lots. And like those gambles, the difference between want and plenty rests both on chance, and on the skill and wisdom of the master.”

“How much for this one?”
Lorentius said, acknowledging Andopaxtes for the first time.

“Sixteen, young
Dominus
.”

“Sixteen!
For a domestic?”

“I am not selling her as a domestic, my good men. I am selling her as an exotic.”

“Even for an exotic, you will have trouble finding that price here,” the older man said.

“Ah, but for men such as you, having such a woman as this is worth the price,” Andopaxtes said.
“Such ruby hair and sapphire eyes, such tone of body and softness of skin.
I can tell you, she is a nymph in bed, tireless and eager, well-trained in her foreign land in skills that your Gallic women have never dreamed of. She will do things with you that none of them will dare, because it is her savage barbarian nature. What is a mere sixteen coin to wealthy men like you in exchange for such pleasures? I can tell you when you have her at your command and can feel the warmth of her skin and the sweet honey of her attentions you would happily part with twice the amount, and will count me among the most generous of your friends for selling her to you.”

“That is quite enough,” the older man said, raising his hand. “We are not interested.”

But Lorentius was again staring at Dania. Andopaxtes grinned as the young man reached for his money purse.

“Father, loan me eleven.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Have you no love for your own son?” Lorentius said. “You have been unhappy for so long in life, and now you want me to be unhappy as well, is that it?”

“Be still, my son. Stop your raving. Of course I want you happy, but not by throwing your money away. Do not let the greased words of this foreigner bewitch you. But even if I wanted to give you the money I could not, for I have only brought what we needed, and if I give you some of it then I will not have enough to buy the heavy lifter that I need; and I will have to make this tedious journey again. Now, I beg you, enough of this loitering. Let us keep looking.”

“Heavy lifter, did you say?” Andopaxtes blurted as the older man turned to go. “Have you seen this one that I have?”

The older man turned back to him, his face once again open. Andopaxtes seized his opportunity, and in his excitement took his potential customer by the arm. The older man seemed to resent this contact, but allowed himself to be guided towards Connor.