by C K Ruppelt
“Now to business. What can you offer me to keep this slave from the auction block?” Nico asked.
“How about six hundred silver drachmae?” Parmenides stated.
Nico figured that this was simply the opening move for the age-old ritual of haggling. He stood up to head for the door. “Come, Timon, let’s go. That man has no shame.”
“Wait! I may have underestimated the worth of a good tutor. How about eight hundred?” came a humbled reply.
Nico turned back. “I’ve been at every one of our auctions for the last year. I know he would sell for a minimum of fifteen hundred there. Plus, you said yourself that good tutors are hard to find.” He shrugged his shoulders dramatically. “Since you are a good local citizen, I’ll let you have him for thirteen hundred.”
With another two counteroffers back and forth, they shook hands at eleven hundred. Parmenides brought out a small sack containing golden drachmae, counting out the equivalent of the negotiated sum. Nico sat down to log the sale on a papyrus containing Zenodoros’ running list of sales. When he had counted the coins himself, he handed over the official seal of ownership.
Parmenides shook his hand. “Thank you for your help.”
Nico walked them into the hallway and watched them leave through the main entry. Sorry, Timon, I wish I had the money to buy you myself. I hope I get to see you again.
He pulled himself together. He still had to get the other seven slaves out to the upcoming auction. And there would be a reckoning to look forward to. Zenodoros would be livid about the direct sale. Though the fair price Parmenides had paid for Timon would help to smooth things over.
***
“You’ve proven yourself with the children, and you seem to be exactly as advertised. I’ll take a chance and have your shackles removed, but I will not allow you to leave the house until you have convinced me that you will not try to run away.” Parmenides told Timon before turning to his majordomo. “See to it. I’ll be leaving for the afternoon.”
At least it’s a decent sized house, and I like the children. Timon followed the majordomo to the back of the house, where another household slave took off the shackles. This had been the first time outside of his small bedroom or the dining room he used for tutoring lessons for several weeks. He looked at the old slave running Parmenides’ household. With a face of stone, never smiling or looking angry, it was easy to see how uncaring he was. Well, all the other servants’ warmth makes up for the lack of his.
“How does it feel?” the majordomo asked him now as Timon rubbed his sore ankles.
“Much better,” Timon replied. The man waved at him to follow. They came to another section of the house that was new to Timon, and they stopped in front of a doorway.
“The master is gone, and he will not be back for many hours. You only know me as the majordomo—my name is Leonas,” he said, leading Timon through the door. “We got you a new set of clothes. Here’s a clean chiton, and on the chair over there is a clean peblos to wear over that.”
Timon only had eyes for the small bathtub built into the back wall of the room. He washed every morning with a bowl of water, but he hadn’t been allowed to properly bathe since his first capture by pirates years ago.
“I can’t thank you enough, Leonas,” Timon said, removing the knot holding his peblos over his left shoulder.
“Well, it was as much Cyanea’s idea as mine. Why don’t you thank our old kitchen mistress instead of old me?” He turned to leave. “I’ll be back when it’s time. We need to make sure all evidence is gone before the master comes home,” Leonas said, winking and showing surprisingly white teeth in a wide grin full of warmth.
***
Four months later, Nico had given up hope of seeing Timon again. He walked down the hallway leading to the office after paying some rather unsavory characters for the last load of fresh slaves when the boy working on their auction platform found him.
“Nico, there is a guy here asking for you. He says his name is Timon.”
“Please show him in!” Nico replied. He walked to the office to put the purse and his papers away. “If Zenodoros asks, I am out on an errand!” he told the two colleagues sharing the space with him. Back in the hallway he saw Timon walking up, and his heart hammered away in excitement.
“Timon, I am so glad to see you! Tell me, how are things for you?”
“I would like to talk, but don’t have much time. I am supposed to fetch papyrus for my master Parmenides, could you walk with me to the store?” Timon replied.
Nico led them out of the building into the market area, and from there through a market colonnade onto one of the main thoroughfares of the city.
“Is your new owner a decent man?” Nico finally asked to break the silence.
“The treatment has been rather good, everything considered. Not as good as with my last owner who was a rich Athenian, but that did not end well for me either. I don’t know if you realize this—I was on a ship with him, on the way to move his whole family back from Naxos to Athenae when the pirates attacked. Of course, he spent the ransom money for his family, but he didn’t want to pay for anybody else, leaving all his servants.”
Nico was shocked into silence for a moment before he had the nerve for the next question. “You are from outside Smyrna, right? I would like to know more about how you became a slave. Having had good teachers and tutors usually means a wealthy family,” he finally asked.
Timon nodded. “My father used to be a successful trader. He owned several warehouses filled with wines imported from the Greek mainland and the islands of the Aegean Sea. He also had vendors selling his goods at the Smyrna market, plus contracts to ship back out to other ports. He always lost the occasional load to pirates, but five years ago that changed when all his shipments were stolen. He made one last gamble, buying the last delivery directly at the vineyard outside of Mende in Chalcidice. It took everything he could scrape together, and I came along for the trip. He said it was likely the last time we could afford to travel anywhere, though we nearly made it all the way back home with the goods before the pirates caught us. With no money left over to pay for ransom they sold us in Delos.” His eyes teared up. “I have no idea where my father went, or if he’s even still alive.”
If this can happen to someone like Timon, it could happen to anybody. Nico stared at the young man walking beside him. “I can’t promise anything, but I have been saving money for several months. Maybe I could get enough together within a year or two to get you away from Parmenides. I would like to see you set free,” Nico told Timon in a low voice.
Timon grabbed Nico’s arm, and studied his face. “Thank you. I would forever be in your debt.” As Timon’s hand dropped, their fingers touched. After that, it seemed only natural to hold hands all the way to the store.
***
Nico met Timon ten more times over the next two months during errand runs, happy to enjoy his company. Today though, Timon was clearly distraught. He barely said two words, and his eyes looked red as if from crying. Finally, Nico had enough. He cared deeply for Timon and had to know what was going on.
“It is clear that something is wrong with you. Can you please tell me what it is?”
Timon shook his head, looking down at the cobbles of the street.
“If I don’t know what it is, I can’t help you. All I want is to help you!” Nico blurted out.
“You can’t help me. No one can.” Timon looked up into Nico’s eyes. “I don’t know what to do. Parmenides often comes home drunk late at night. The last few night’s he came into my room. His wife knows about it, but she doesn’t care. He used to have a steady male lover, but they had a falling out, so now he wants me to console him. I can’t really say no.” He pulled up his tunic and turned to the side, showing Nico massive welts on his back from beatings. “There is nothing to be done.”
Nico broke out in tears and gently hugged Timon. “I will ask my great uncle for a personal loan, that’s the one thing I can do. As soon as I ha
ve the money I will tell Parmenides to set you free.” He let go of Timon. “In fact, I will go find Zenodoros right now.” He took off running but stopped for a quick glance back. I can’t wait for you to be free.
He sped into the office area and from there to the holding pens where he found Zenodoros. “Great-uncle, I need your help!”
***
The very next morning, Nico stood in front of Parmenides’ door with his coin purse full of golden drachmae. He knocked, and an old servant opened. “I need to talk to the master of the house.”
“As you wish. Who may I say is calling?” The man asked.
“Nicolaos, slave trader for Zenodoros from the Heraklion market.”
The man closed the door. A brief time later it reopened to show Parmenides starring at him. The man looked angry and irritated. Nico’s heart dropped.
“What do you want?”
“I am Nicolaos from the slave market. I sold you your tutor Timon half a year ago.”
“Yes, I remember you. Again, what do you want?” His voice took on an even sharper tone.
“I want to set Timon free. I will gift him the money, or buy him from you first, whichever you prefer. I am prepared to pay higher than market price, just tell me how much you want.” Nico saw the man’s eyes turn to slits and hurriedly continued. “You have to grant him his freedom once he can pay the money, that is age-old tradition.”
Parmenides’ anger seemed to have reached its boiling point. “What makes you think I would set him free, or sell him to you of all people? You must be the boy walking with him everywhere I send him. Don’t think I don’t know about that! I will not allow his liberation, especially not when it’s paid by you vermin, tradition be damned!” Parmenides screamed before slamming the door shut in his face.
***
Nico came by again that evening, hoping to find Parmenides gone from the house as usual. He knocked to see the same older servant opening the door. When the man saw Nico, his stony face burst into tears.
“I am so sorry. The master sold Timon this morning, soon after you left. Not at the market, he found a buyer who came by our house.” The man paused, composing himself. “We are all heart broken, including the master’s children. Nobody understands why he sold Timon to the copper mines.”
Nico was utterly shocked and had to sit down on the sidewalk. The copper mines are a death sentence. Nobody lasts more than a few months there. He had seen many unfortunate souls without higher skills sold to the mine’s buyers. They were always buying huge quantities of new slaves.
Nico clenched his teeth and swallowed. I cannot give up yet. Not while there’s still a chance I can find out more. “Can you tell me where Parmenides goes drinking every night?”
“He goes to a taverna not far from the crossroads of the Tripods’ street and the Panathenaic way. It’s two streets east from that intersection.” The old man wiped his eyes. “I am very sorry. We all loved Timon and will miss him deeply.”
Nico shook hands with the servant before slowly walking home in a trance. He ate some bread and olives to steady his stomach. Then he gathered the tools he figured he might need, a midsize cudgel and one of his bigger knives, just shy of a short sword. He experimented with how to secure the weapons to his chiton and put on a light linen cloak over to keep them out of sight. He sat down to drink a few cups of un-watered wine to steady his nerves until he finally looked out the window. The sun had set and it was time to head out.
***
Parmenides walked out of the door of the taverna clutching a small oil lamp in his hands. He turned around in the doorway to shout back obscenities.
Very, VERY drunk. Nico watched him turn the first street corner and started to follow. He knew the man was heading home; he stayed far away and out of sight.
At about half the distance home, Parmenides was about to walk past a small alleyway that Nico had noticed earlier, and he started to run and shout with a changed voice to make him stop. “Parmenides, my friend, wait up, wait up!” Good, just in time.
Nico fingered the cudgel to remove it from the backside of his chiton and hold it ready behind his back.
“Who are you? Is that you, Akadios? Or Tecton?” Parmenides slurred, trying to lift his lamp higher to make out this supposed friend.
Nico kept his head low and made it all the way before being found out.
“It’s you! You filthy…” the man shouted, before trailing off and falling down. Nico had hit him over the head. Parmenides’ lamp had fallen, some of the burning oil puddling on the cobblestones. He looked up and down the street. Good, nobody saw anything. He grabbed Parmenides arms to drag him into the dark alleyway and came back to use the still burning oil in the street to light his own lamp.
As Parmenides came back to, Nico saw the man’s eyes widen at the big knife pointed at his throat before looking around in panic. The alley was filthy, and their spot was hidden from the main street by a pile of garbage. The stones beneath them had been frequently used as an outhouse, adding to the stink of many rotting kitchen scraps and worse.
“I already know that you sold Timon. Tell me who the buyer is, and I’ll let you go. But you better tell me now,” Nico said, furious with the man, pushing his knife slightly forward.
Parmenides roared with laughter. “I knew you would try to find out, but I made sure you couldn’t. You made it clear to me that Timon did not want to stay with me. Nobody else will have him now, certainly not you.”
In his agitation, Parmenides had moved forward enough to nick his own throat on Nico’s blade. He kept talking, seemingly unperturbed. “I had some luck, finding that buyer. I went down to the docks, and he had his ships already loaded, ready to leave the docks. I made him a great offer that he couldn’t resist, so he came back to my house with me to get just one more slave for his mine.” He laughed. “The only one that can tell you where Timon went is me.” The evil man had seemed to enjoy himself. Now his eyes shrunk to slits in determination. “I will never tell you!”
Parmenides grabbed Nico’s right hand to move the knife away to the side before jumping up to tackle Nico to the ground. They both fell, and the lamp went out. Nico sat up, his hand still on the knife’s handle.
What is that? The smell, that must be fresh blood. He slowly let go to feel around in the dark for his lamp. After a brief search he found it and moved around the garbage pile back to the street, where a small amount of oil was still burning. His lamp re-lighted, he moved back into the alley. The knife was stuck in Parmenides’ sternum; the dead man’s eyes stared at him in silent complaint. He shook his head as if to throw off the overwhelming despair he felt and pulled out the knife. After cleaning it on Parmenides clothes, he turned around to walk back home to his room. Halfway there he realized he still smelled blood and looked down at his drenched chlamys. Suddenly lightheaded, he stopped to take it off. Walking on in his undergarment he was surprised that he did not encounter any other early morning walkers. He burst in through his door, went straight for his water bowl and cleaned himself up before sitting down on the bed. He felt like he was in a stupor and leaned back to close his eyes. Within moments, a wave of emotion hit him, tumbling his mind uncontrollably. Timon will die, and I will never see him again. Reliving the day’s unfortunate events, he burst into fits of weeping until he finally fell asleep from exhaustion.
692 AUC (62 BC), summer
Magetobriga, Free Gallia, Sequani Nation
“The Sequani and Arverni have always been jealous of our hold on trade between the Rhodanus in the south and the mighty Rhenus to the east. For two years we heard rumors about them bringing in warriors from Germania, but until now I did not want to believe they would stoop so low,” Drestan explained to his daughter Aina. They were riding at the head of the Bailenau contingent of warriors on their way to join the great Aedui host led by his father Haerviu.
“Was it desperation that made them contemplate such a thing?” Elsed loudly threw in from Aina’s other side.
“That we
will likely never know. It seems they feel invincible now with the new Suebi king by their side. In his letter, my father said that when the Sequani captured Magetobriga, they slaughtered everybody except for five old people. They gave them horses to make sure they made it back to Bibracte to report,” Drestan said. “They knew where it hurt us most. As our outpost in the Vosago mountains, Magetobriga is our people’s pride, and the linchpin for our trade.”
Drestan had only visited the town once, but he knew the whole area was a melting pot, with the Sequani to the south, the Raurici people to the east, the Triboci to the northeast, the Lingones to the northwest, and the Aedui nation straight west. Magetobriga’s importance laid in its location as it was close to several rivers. With the origin of the Mosella on the backside of the closest mountain and the Mosa, the Dubs and the Arar all nearby, it was a natural connection between Gallia, Germania, the lands of the Belgae and the Mediterranean.
“And here we are to take the town back for our people,” Aina commented.
“Right. The messenger said that my father collected the biggest Aedui host in a generation. I hope to see some of my brothers.” Several of Drestan’s siblings were active council members and constant contenders for the rotating Vergobret position.
“Look!” Aina called out, pointing forward to where the ancient Celtic road bent slightly as it exited the low hills they were in. The road emerged onto a long plain, and the entire Aedui army became visible in the distance. The sight was breathtaking.
“Amazing, I have never seen such a big group. How many people is that?” Elsed asked.
“Maybe fifty thousand?” Morcant, his youngest, answered. He had ridden up to Drestan’s other side.
He looked at his three children, seeing the awe in their eyes. “You need to look at the colors of the single clans,” he explained. “When you start counting these, you’ll see this looks like much more than fifty thousand. Your grandfather must have rallied every able body around Bibracte.”
