Page 87 of Enslaved
When thePraefectus Vigilumarrived, he believed every word the vile Petrius Magnus uttered. Diana made so many denials she began to babble. Petrius insisted she was his brother’s slave, and as a result she had been transported to theergastula,the underground slave prison where the very scum of slave criminals were fettered each night in what could only be described as kennels.
The stench of human misery made the air fetid. There were hundreds of prisoners, some no more than children, but most of them were men either sentenced to hard labor or sentenced to death. They stared at her elegant magenta stola and her pale golden hair as if she were some sort of freak, and within the first hour she was thanking God for her manacles and those of the other slaves. They were the only things that stood between her and total violation.
Petrius returned to Nero the moment he left theergastula.The blood rushing through his veins was almost singing. This had been the most exhilarating day of his life, and it was not yet over. When he anticipated tomorrow, his blood rushed even faster. It was exactly like a play unfolding upon a vast stage, which had all the elements of a Greek tragedy. Not only was Petrius the leading actor, he was also the author!
He threw himself upon the emperor’s breast, allowing the anguish to flow from him. His suffering and pain seemed so real, it greatly excited Nero.
“I cannot tell my brother of our father’s death, I cannot … I cannot!” he sobbed.
“She shall be sentenced to death. Her suffering shall be greater than yours. I can have her brought here tonight, if you wish. Torture her, and as you watch her die, it will assuage your pain.”
Petrius was sorely tempted. He’d like to fuck her to death! But Diana’s suffering was not his ultimate goal. Petrius wanted revenge against Marcus. He wanted his brother’s suffering to be purest agony.
“Nay, my pain matters little. It is the thought of my brother’s pain that consumes me. He is to attend the races at Circus Maximus tomorrow. He has looked forward to seeing them for years. I cannot tell him of our father’s death unless I can assuage his pain. His need for revenge upon the woman he brought into our father’s home must be satisfied immediately. If I could give Marcus this gift, it would help me repay him for all he has done for me.”
“Petrius, that is an excellent suggestion. She shall be put to death in the morning at Circus Maximus. It will be spectacular. Half of Rome will be there to witness justice. I will turn her into a living torch!”
“And lions, I should like lions.” Petrius could see that Nero was becoming aroused.
“Yes, yes. It shall be another race the people may wager upon. Which will reach her first, the starving beasts or the flames?”
“How may I thank you, Emperor?”
Petrius need not have asked. Nero was already on his knees.
Magnus found that sleep eluded him. Earlier, he had spoken before the senators at the Curia and had done so with eloquence. When he spoke of Britannia and Aquae Sulis, his words were from the heart. He felt passionately about that corner of the empire, where he had spent so many years, and every senator present felt that passion and knew the sincerity of his words.
After his speech, Julius Classicianus, Britannia’s procurator, added the weight of his own words, and as they mingled with the senators after the meeting, they felt confident that they had accomplished their mission in persuading the senate to recall Paullinus as governor of Britannia. Already they were suggesting names of men who could replace him.
Over dinner, Julius told Marcus he was well pleased with what they had accomplished. He was acquainted with Petronius Turpilianus, the name that had been put forth most often. He had long experience in the military and had been a successful governor of Nimes in Gaul.
“It won’t happen overnight, the mills of officialdom grind slowly, but we have set the wheels in motion and a change for the better is inevitable. I deeply appreciate your help, Marcus. If you hadn’t accompanied me to Rome, it may have taken forever. How can I repay you?”
“By attending my wedding. You will be one of the few guests Diana knows.”
“I expect you are anxious to return to your lovely bride.”
Anxious doesn’t describe what I feel I am empty without her.
“After the races tomorrow, I intend to return to my father’s villa. I can wait no longer to be married. If you need me further, I will be happy to return,afterthe fact.”
“How impetuous you are. Still, love is so fleeting, you must grab hold and savor it while it lasts.”
As Marcus lay abed, he reflected upon Julius’ words and realized he disagreed.True love, the land of love I have, is everlasting,Marcus thought. Iwill love Diana throughout eternity.He stretched his limbs. The bed was so empty without her. Not only the bed; he, too, was empty, almost bereft.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply in an effort to assuage the ache of loneliness. Her scent stole to him and then a vision of her face filled his head. She had a radiance about her that was unique, special. The ache became sharper. Now he wished with all his heart he had gone to her tonight. He could manage without Circus Maximus a lot easier than he could manage without her. In the quiet of the night he imagined she called to him as he drifted into a light sleep. “Soon, my love, soon,” he murmured.
As Diana crouched in fear and misery, gradually she heard the words of the slaves about her. They spoke of beatings, lashings, and brandings. She saw that many had letters burned into their foreheads. At dawn each day coffles of slaves were taken to grist mills, chained to the grindstones, and driven by the lash to toil like donkeys. Other chain gangs, many of them male children, worked the fields until darkness fell. Others hauled concrete, stone, and marble fifteen hours a day to fill the constant demand for new buildings.
They spoke of loaded whips with leaden balls on the thongs and flesh-eating carp, kept in ponds behind the slave pens. There was also talk of a slave revolt. The one led by Spartacus over a hundred years ago had never been forgotten, but Diana heard the apathy and hopelessness in their voices and knew a revolt would never come to pass.
All wished they could be sold to train as gladiators, for most of them knew that this way they would only end up in the arena to give sport to the bears or lions. At least as gladiators, they would have a chance of victory. Finally, they spoke of crucifixion and the more common death on thefurca,where the victim’s head is placed at the opening of two V-shaped beams and the professional floggers lash them to death.
Diana could bear no more and blocked out their voices. Did Romans not realize slavery’s brutality was soul-destroying to master as well as slave? She should never have come to Rome. She had known it all along. The refined luxury of the fortunate few was purchased by the squalor and lifelong suffering of the brutalized many. How could Romans close their ears to the discordant sounds of misery, the clink of fetters, the snap of whips, the groans of human cattle?
“Marcus … Marcus,” she whispered, hope still flickering in her heart.
At dawn the slave pens were emptied except for the handful who were to be executed that day. When two Praetorian guards came to fetch her, hope soared inside Diana’s breast. When she told them she was to wed Marcus Magnus and begged them to take her to him, they replied, “We know you are a special prisoner. The emperor himself has given us our orders.”
