The Sign of The Blood

by Laurence OBryan

  “But I'd be surprised if he did choose you for that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The master’s got more choices than a Numidian slave driver, not being married that is, and having different mistresses visit him every night.”

  She felt him pat her shoulder. She brushed quickly at where his hand had been.

  They waited without talking as the sounds of the villa continued around them. Occasional shouts from the stables and the clatter of dishes from the kitchens were the noises of a busy household. These she was used to. What was to come that morning, was what concerned her.

  “Can you smell the sea?” Tiny lifted his head back as he spoke. “We can't be far from the port. I’m told galleys arrive every day from Rome. Our master travels too, every year they say, and he takes slaves with him on his journeys. I heard he's planning to go again, that the villa's stores are being run down because of it.”

  Juliana knew little about Rome. Few freemen she'd met, never mind slaves, had ever even seen it.

  “I never want to go there,” she said. One of the other slave girls she’d talked to in the few days since her arrival had told her that Lucius’ father used to take their white-haired slave master to Rome with him. But he’d stopped, as he got older. Juliana had told her about the dream she’d had.

  “You don’t decide your fate, little Juliana,” said Tiny.

  At that moment Lucius appeared in the doorway. They both bowed low, almost together, as he came toward them. Her hands were trembling.

  “I hope you two haven’t picked up any bad habits. Slaves in this house are as lazy as any I’ve ever met. We leave here in a few days, on the Ides, and I want you both dressed properly, not in those rags. You’ll disgrace me at the palace like that.” He looked them up and down, shook his head, and let out a resigned sigh.

  “Remember this, slaves, give me one cause to regret buying you and you go back to the slave market or the nearest one I can find. Displease me greatly, and you'll have more to worry about than that. I warn you. A slave I cannot trust does not deserve their life. Is that clear enough?”

  Both of them nodded.

  “Your loyalty is suspect as far as I'm concerned, but I do what I’m asked, and you will too. You’ll be taught how to behave at a palace, and other things your barbarian mothers could not have known about. Learn quickly.”

  She swallowed. He’d said something about a palace. Had she misheard or misunderstood?

  “Don't let my house down,” he said. Then he pointed at them. She stopped breathing. “I’ll be watching you all the time. Now go on, go.”

  They bowed again, eyes down, and made their way to the kitchens.

  “Did he really say we’re to go to a palace?” Tiny asked in an excited whisper as soon as they were out of Lucius’ hearing.

  “Not you, just me.” She poked his arm with her elbow.

  “They have fountains that spew wine there, you know, and ten dancing girls for each man, and twenty slave boys to service every woman.” He made a loud kissing noise. Juliana’s mind raced. Why were they going to a palace? What would it be like?

  “Come with me.” The ancient slave looked exactly as she imagined the Oracle at Delphi must look. She led them to an empty store room at the back of the stables where she drilled them on many things, like how to bow, how to keep your eyes to the floor while taking commands, and how to reply when spoken to by a member of the imperial family, though she assured them Hades would freeze over and be shipped to Nicomedia to cool its storerooms before that was likely to happen. She also harangued them nonstop.

  “You sure are so stupid. Go down lower, oaf!” was a favorite, and she often slapped Tiny on the back with a rod, but he always looked around while she did it, as if it didn’t bother him.

  “How can I teach you in two days what it took me years to learn? I cannot do it. If you make a mistake it will be on your heads. They can cut them both off, for all I care.” She slapped Juliana for absolutely nothing at that point.

  “I've not seen the inside of a palace in thirty years, and now you two come along and you’re off with the master the next day. It’s not right.” The crone slapped them both again, to teach them what was likely to happen at the palace, she said.

  They learnt what they could. Tiny looked ridiculous bowing low, and Juliana's manner when intoning “My lord” was all wrong, so the old slave said. There was so much more to learn.

  Two days later she woke early. Today she’d visit the palace of Nicomedia, where the emperor of the east lived. Anything might happen. She lay awake in the dark in her cell, waiting for the sounds of the early rising slaves.

  Soon she heard scuffles echoing along the bare brick walls. The slaves’ day had begun, and the sun had still not risen.

  The suddenness of the attack shocked her. One moment she lay in the dark, alone, the next, blows from a rod were landing all over her back.

  “Stop! I’ve done nothing.”

  Arms pinned her down. The blows continued, this time on her legs, hard and sharp.

  She squirmed and twisted, sharp pains burning at her skin, lashing out with her arms, waving her fists high in the air. She brushed the rod aside. The blows stopped.

  “Evil one be gone,” a voice hissed. Then a scuffling noise filled the room, like rats disappearing, and finally all she could hear was the sound of her own heavy breathing.

  She would have to sleep on the floor for a while, to be ready for them if they came back. Clearly, they didn’t intend to kill her, just to make her suffer, and possibly end up too injured to go out with the master that day.

  She clenched her fists. They weren’t going to succeed. She would ignore the pains from her back and legs. She would pretend they didn’t exist. Like she’d done with a thousand other punishments she’d been through.

  After washing and their usual breakfast of leftover bread and cheese, Juliana and Tiny were given freshly cleaned dark-gray tunics, and darker, but thankfully heavy, cloaks. They were told to wait by the stable gate. Outside, in the crisp cold air Juliana, determined not to think about the pains from her body, noticed for the first time the crumbling wall plaster and the weeds growing along the top of the flat stable roof.

  Even the gravel underfoot barely covered the path to the stables and a sodden pile of firewood had fallen over nearby.

  Lucius appeared with a bright red cloak swirling behind him. His only greeting to them was a nod. Then he started shouting for the stable hands to hurry. Horses were led out and slaves rushed forward to help him mount a shiny black stallion. Two smaller mottled-brown mares were clearly intended for Juliana and Tiny. Tiny’s eyebrows rose when he saw how small his horse was. But they mounted, and without a word or glance Lucius turned his horse and passed through the gate to the street. Juliana’s muscles ached from the beating. Her arms and legs felt stiff and she had to swallow hard and press her hands into fists all that day to stop the groans that wanted to force themselves out of her throat. And the riding made it worse. She’d only rarely been allowed to ride on her old estate, but she’d usually enjoyed the feel of a horse beneath her, though not now.

  She looked back, saw pure resentment on the faces of field slaves standing by a broken wall watching their departure. The villa’s slaves would be cursing bitterly the fortune of their master’s new additions. Few of them would have been taken anywhere by the master, never mind accompanying him to the palace on horseback. Juliana held her reins tight. Jealous slaves always plotted revenge. It was their way of passing time. She would never again sleep on the plank in her cell. The next time they came, it could be with knives.

  But that was a worry for the future. She was riding again. A gust of icy late winter wind pummeled her. But the cloudless blue sky lifted her spirits.

  She and Tiny followed a respectful single horse length behind Lucius, as he guided his horse past carts and the odd chariot on the road into the city.

  Near the city wall they turned off onto a wide roadway paved wi
th torso-sized white stone cobbles. On each side stood high gray and red brick walls of villas. The traffic was mostly in one direction now and she realized after a while that the great and worthy from the whole province of Bithynia must be travelling along with them, some on horseback, others in chariots or behind dark curtains in handsomely decorated carts. A few were even being carried in sedan chairs. They passed a barrel of a man in a spotless toga who whipped his horse as it tottered under him. The man’s polished head looked like a boil about to burst.

  “He'll be on his fat face soon,” whispered Tiny. “Why doesn't he hide in a cart like the rest of his patrician friends?”

  She looked at Tiny's horse. “He's not the only one in need of a cart,” she said. Tiny just stared at her, venom in his eyes.

  Lucius leaned up in his saddle as if searching for something. A formidable brick wall at least two stories high had come into view up ahead. Along the top of the wall thin slits overlooked them.

  Where the wall started, at the entrance to a wide laneway, a group of men waited on horseback. The road rose steeply beyond them. The walls on each side were close by now. She felt hemmed in, in a corridor of brick and stone.

  A row of low, black pine-smothered hills stood to her left. She guessed this villa’s walls enclosed a ridge running down to the water. She’d glimpsed a dark bay occasionally through breaks between the walls of the villas.

  Lucius trotted ahead to where riders were gathered in a circle around one man on horseback, like legionaries gathering round a standard. The man at the center was not only physically larger than the men around him, his whole appearance was different. The sight of him sent a deep shiver through her.

  His cloak was dark purple, and he held himself steady, unmoving as Lucius approached him. The men around him were his guards, she guessed. She slowed, and Tiny did too, as they all came nearer, and then stopped about twenty paces from the group.

  She saw the man’s face clearly for the first time as the horsemen parted, and he greeted Lucius. She had to look away at once. His status shone from him. But there was something else, something unsettling.

  She knew his face. She knew his heavy eyebrows, his high forehead, his short wavy black hair. But from where?

  And then, as if a door had swung open, it came to her. It was him. The man who'd saved her years before. It had to be. And if he wore the purple, that could only mean one thing. Would he remember her?

  She looked again. A name she’d overheard years before came back to her. Constantine. Was this Constantine, the son of the emperor of the western provinces, who was living here in the east? She mouthed his name then simply stared, though she knew she shouldn’t, tingling as if she’d been struck, as he greeted Lucius.

  And then, to her astonishment, his gaze swung to her. He frowned. She bowed and held it low and then wondered if she’d bowed at the wrong moment. She looked up.

  They had already turned their horses. He and Lucius set off up the road together, deep in conversation. The tightness in her chest eased. He hadn’t noticed her. She followed Tiny, who’d already set off after them. He looked back at her, shook his head and grinned, as if he knew her every thought. She narrowed her eyes at him. He laughed as if she was a lost cause. When he turned away, she scowled at all their backs.

  The road ran along the wall until the ground levelled off as they entered a dusty square. Giant wooden gates with an elaborately decorated stone arch above them dominated the center of the right-hand side of the square - the only break in the wall.

  On the other side of the square, the blackened stumps of what must have been a large building stood out like a broken tooth in the center of an otherwise perfect mouth. The year before she’d heard about the razing of the great church in Nicomedia and stories about executions of Christians, followers of the one god.

  On the far side of the square stood a colonnade of open fronted shops. She saw the sign of the guild of scribes marked above some of the doorways. Tall cypress trees, like green daggers, ran in a line in front of the pink and gray stone palace wall.

  The magnificent gates toward which they were headed were flanked by a pair of yellow marble pillars veined with purple. In front of them a well-dressed crowd jostled. More people were joining all the time, like flies attracted to a feast. Lucius was not attending some small audience with the imperial staff, as one of the house slaves had suggested. This was something more.

  As they came close to the gate people moved aside. Many stared at Constantine. They looked as if they were observing prey. Then she noticed they were staring at her as well. She stared back. Everything about her, from her thick sandals to her unbridled hair, marked her out as a slave. But she didn’t care. She rode with an emperor’s son.

  Tiny leant toward her. “Try not to look so happy.”

  She winked at him.

  Just then Lucius turned to look at them. He scowled at her. All around them people were stepping back, pushing and shoving others in the crowd in front of the gate. An occasional muttered complaint died away quickly as they passed.

  The guards at the gate must have recognized Constantine, as the gates creaked open and they were waved forward. Juliana was the last to be let through the half-open gate and for a moment she thought she wasn't going to make it, because of the crowd pressing close behind her, but she did. A slave in a pure white tunic came up to her in the wide graveled area beyond the gate. Everyone else had dismounted, so she gave up her reins. The guards Constantine had come with seemed to be staying with the horses.

  Lucius motioned for her to come with them. Then she and Tiny followed, a half dozen paces behind, as Constantine and Lucius were escorted by an official with a bulbous stomach, thin arms and a long neck who looked to her like some upright rodent. He led them down the avenue.

  She could not believe how perfect everything looked. They passed by painted, life-sized statues of gods on a row of plinths. She’d never seen anything like them. And the gravel underfoot was whiter than any she’d ever seen. Her breathing quickened as she wondered what else she might see. Ahead, Constantine and Lucius took no notice of the surroundings.

  In the distance smoke spiraled into the sky behind a tall, marble pillared building at the end of the avenue. It looked like a temple she'd seen once but was even more magnificent. It looked as if the tops of every pillar had been dipped in gold. The statues in a line above the pillars looked like gods caught by some soothsayer’s alchemy, waiting for some magical command to free them. At their center a golden eagle stretched out its wings.

  And she felt a strange sensation, as if they were being watched.

  XVII

  Nicomedia, 306 A.D.

  From a grilled window above the double height doorway and directly below the giant golden eagle with outreaching wings, it was possible to watch people coming and going to the imperial palace of Nicomedia, unobserved.

  Behind the grilled window stood Galerius, the emperor of the east, the senior emperor of the Roman world, looking glorious in a jeweled toga. At the very moment Juliana sensed they were being watched, Galerius scratched distractedly at his beard as he stared down the avenue. Behind him the short, grotesquely fat governor of Bithynia bobbed up onto his toes to peer out over Galerius' shoulder. They watched Constantine and his retinue as they progressed up the avenue.

  “What will you do about his request, my lord?” said the governor.

  “I will do what I must. Do you see who’s with him?” The governor didn’t answer. Galerius continued almost to himself. “I am haunted by this bloody mongrel. He is like the pox. If I'd known he’d be coming back after all these years, still whining, I'd have ignored that meddlesome Armenian when I had the chance all those years ago. When I think how his father still will not do as he is told my blood boils.” He groaned and slipped an oil-softened hand under his tunic to scratch at the scabs under his belly. “Why doesn’t someone kill this Constantine for me? I’m sure there are plenty who could arrange it.” Galerius waited for the governor
's response.

  The man raised his eyebrows.

  Galerius turned back to the window. “I cannot be the one to do it or to order it done. I gave a sacred vow. I must return Constantine, unless I want a war with his father.” He turned to the governor. “Carry these words to Maxentius in Rome.”

  He put his arm around the governor’s shoulder. “Come on, governor, tell me about your new Egyptian girls. I hear they squeal mightily.”

  XVIII

  Nicomedia, 306 A.D.

  The total contrast of everything here against the world beyond the palace walls was what surprised Juliana most about the imperial palace. Beyond the walls, mud reigned everywhere. Here every leaf looked polished.

  “This must be what the palaces of the gods are like,” she whispered to Tiny. He grunted in reply.

  In front of the giant pillared building servants in yellow tunics threw flower petals over the path of the arriving guests. A small crowd had gathered at the doorway, like children waiting for their Saturnalia presents.

  Juliana and Tiny walked behind Constantine and Lucius. She gawked at everything. Tiny whispered to her, “Close your mouth. Everyone will think you're a fly catcher.” Juliana closed her mouth.

  “Galerius certainly knows how to spend the treasury. I thought he'd give up on absurd parties,” Constantine said to no one in particular, as they waited for the guards at the door to finish with the guests waiting in front of them. Juliana and Tiny were a few paces behind, eyes lowered.

  “He has to prove he's truly an emperor, in case Diocletian asks for his scepter back. Having a senior and a junior emperor in the east, and the west, has not been the great solution to the empire’s woes that Diocletian hoped it would be.” Lucius stamped his feet as he spoke, sending dust swirling.

  A scent of lemons gusted through the doorway. Juliana’s mouth watered. Slaves were shaking oil onto the upturned hands of each guest as they entered the palace. She rubbed her palms against the sides of her tunic.