“She told a man he should not go to court against his abusive employer. He did not. Another did and won huge damages.” Cassia shrank back as Max glared at her.
“Those are all very circumstantial cases.” Gallus sighed. “I’ll tell you what the law says. For the second—he could still gain the citizenship later, so not necessarily false. Third case—she could have been faithful at the time the man came to see her. Fourth—doesn’t mean the man in question would have won because the other man did. The only possible false case is the first. And unless he specified travel by sea, that one is in question as well.”
“But she was never wrong before!” Max’s voice echoed in the tiled room.
“I’m only telling you what a jurist will say.” Gallus paused. “How much were you earning from her?”
“Cassia keeps the records.”
“Oh, I can speak now?”
Max glared.
Thank Jupiter Gallus didn’t have a wife. Wasn’t worth the anguish. Slaves would suffice.
She rolled her eyes. “We haven’t had her a year yet, but it would have been about 15,000 sesterces a year. We had planned to recover her purchase price in about a year and a half.”
“You’re going to have to let me study the laws on this and see what can be done to recover your lost income. I have a great deal of latitude on this as magistrate, but I can only stretch the law so far.”
Max slammed his fist on the table. “There must be something we can do. He has ruined us!”
Jupiter, grant me patience. “Trust me, I don’t want him to get away with this any more than you do. You’ll have to let me research this a little more. Let me study him, study the situation.”
Max smirked. “There are still other ways we can get money from her.”
“You’re not getting any money out of her that way any time soon,” Cassia said.
Gallus looked from one to the other. “Where is she now?”
“At our house. Recovering,” she said.
“Recovering? From what.”
“Max punished her. She couldn’t even stand up when we left.”
“That makes damage nearly impossible to prove. Any harm Paulos did will be obliterated by the damage you did.” Gallus took a piece of meat from the platter and bit off a piece.
Cassia smacked Max’s arm. “I told you not to hit her!”
“You did not!”
“Quiet! Both of you! I will try to help you but I will not listen to you bicker. You can fight with each other, or you can fight this Jew. When you decide, let me know.”
Tia pushed herself up on the sleeping mat, every muscle screaming in pain. Her arms were already turning blue and purple. Moving her jaw nearly caused her to cry out. She brought her fingers to her cheek—she couldn’t touch it without flinching. The flesh under her eye felt swollen. When she brought her hand away, her fingertips were dipped in blood.
Max’s seal ring. It must have cut her, more than once.
They obviously didn’t care if her bruises were noticeable this time. It was clear she could no longer tell fortunes. Not since the incident with Paulos. They had no need to keep her presentable now, so why not hit her even on her face?
Grabbing the edges of the mat, she pushed herself to a standing position. She waited a few moments to catch her breath. Every time she pulled air into her lungs was an experience in pain. The kicks Max had delivered must have broken a few ribs. She hobbled to the table where a servant had left some bread and water. The usually good food was gone, like the normally good care she received. Another bad sign.
What would they do with her now? Turn her into a household servant? A farm slave?
Or worse? She shivered at the despicable images that rushed into her mind. Her already weak legs threatened to give way.
Grabbing a piece of crusty bread, she shuffled to the wall and leaned her back against it. Sitting on the floor again would hurt too much.
Forget killing Max. She would need to set aside revenge for Tancorix’s death. She had to escape. There was no other way out. She’d never survive otherwise. If running away killed her, or her owners did when they caught her, she’d end up no worse off than she was now.
But she needed a plan. Even if she could get out of the house, she couldn’t simply walk through town and out the gate. She had to think it through.
Obviously, it had to wait until after dark. There would be a full moon tonight, which would make traveling less difficult, but also finding her easier.
She had to do it alone. Surely some of the other servants would offer help, but that would only lead to retribution for them.
Should she try to take the clothes they had bought for her?
Her tunic was ripped and stained with blood. She’d need something else to wear to avoid looking like a runaway. And if she took refuge in the marsh south of town, she’d need something warmer, but on the other hand carrying anything might slow her down and draw unwanted attention.
What about food for the journey? She couldn’t get any without letting someone else know what she was planning, and that was too big a risk, for her and for them.
And what about money? Was there anything small she could sell later? She scanned the room. Nothing in here. If she got out? In the main house?
Max and Cassia were at Gallus’s house for cena. She’d heard them talking. With all the wine that would surely be served, they wouldn’t be back until near morning.
Perhaps she could hide in the marsh awhile and head south later, toward Amphipolis. Or east of here to the port she’d been brought to after being purchased in Ephesus.
She could figure out later where to go next. Her first task was to get out of this house. Out of this room. They kept the door locked whenever they left her in here. Maybe the goddess was on her side tonight. She hobbled to the door, jiggled the handle. It was loose, but not loose enough. Her heart sank.
She jerked hard on the handle, pounded on the door a couple times. Leaning her head against it, she cried to Brigid. Why? Why can’t you help me? Have you left me completely? You obviously aren’t letting me see the future anymore.
She was going to die here, in this room. After who knew what Max would do to her.
What about Paulos’s God? If he was more powerful, could he help?
But she didn’t even know his name. How could she ask him?
“God of Paulos, if you are real, if you are the Most High, please help me.”
The door jiggled, pushed into her.
She scurried back against the wall, bolts of pain racing through her body.
“Tia?”
Euodia. Cassia’s slave—the first person to show her any kindness in this horrible place.
“Are you all right?”
Tia straightened, wincing. “I’m all right. Thank you for checking.”
Euodia entered, carrying an oil lamp. She shut the door behind her. “I heard—oh my!” Her eyes were as wide as bronze coins.
“What?”
“Your face, your arms. You are one huge bruise.” She covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes blinked back tears.
“I fell. Thank you for checking. You can go now.” She hobbled away.
“Are you sure? Can I bring you anything?”
“I don’t think you should. You’d better go.”
“I heard . . .” Euodia hesitated. “Did you call out to the God of Paulos?”
“Of course not!” she hissed. “Are you trying to get me beaten even worse than I already am?”
“No. But I believe in Yahweh, the God of Paulos. And He can help you, if that’s what you want.”
Her breath caught. Was this a trick? “Why would you believe in Paulos’s God?”
“I heard Paulos talk by the river, and I know his God, my God, is real.”
“Good for you. But no one can help me. I’m stuck here.”
“I’ll help you.”
“You’ll get caught and then we’ll both be in trouble. I don’t want you to end up looking
like me.”
“This lock has always been tricky. If it happens to fail . . . and if you happen to wander off late in the night after everyone is asleep, and go south, and then right along the wall to the Marsh Gate, who can be blamed? While the domini are getting drunk with Gallus instead of home, they have no control over what can happen.”
It sounded so good, so tempting. But could she do that to this young girl? “No. No, I can’t let you do that. If they beat you I would never forgive myself.”
“They won’t know anything.”
“How do you know someone hasn’t already seen you in here, and when I ‘escape,’ they will tell the domini, and they will think it was you, whether you help me or not.”
She smiled brightly. “The domina would never let Max hurt me. I do her hair and apply her cosmetics every morning, like I did yours. She’s an incredibly vain woman, so I’m too valuable to her. And you may as well let me help you. Because I believe that is why Yahweh had me in this house and let me walk by your door tonight.”
15
“Keep me safe, Lord, from the hands of the wicked; protect me from the violent, who devise ways to trip my feet.”
Psalm 140:4
Gallus yawned. Those two were going to be the death of him. Between the rich food, the lack of sleep, the arguing, and the wine they’d consumed, even liberally diluted—and he’d had Leonidas dilute it even further as night dragged toward day—and Max’s incessant bragging, Gallus could sleep where he stood.
But they were influential in Philippi, and Gallus needed their support, especially this early in his year of office. Not to mention she was family, and by extension, so was Max. In the morning Gallus would consult with his scriba on the law and find out exactly what could and could not be done to try to recoup some of their losses. Probably not much, but he had to at least look like he’d tried. All that could wait until his head stopped pounding and his vision cleared, though.
He let his toga and tunic fall to the floor and crawled onto his bed.
Shouting in the hallway woke him from slumber a moment later. Or what felt like only a moment.
Who would dare shout like this in his home? Not one of his slaves. They knew he wouldn’t hesitate to have them flogged.
“You cannot just barge in his domus like this! I will call for the guards!”
The door to his chamber shook.
“No! I forbid it!”
Nicanor?
“Forbid it? You cannot speak to me in this manner. I’ll have you beaten until you cannot stand.” Had to be Max. Who else could that be at this hour?
“He is my dominus, not you. And if someone is to punish me for disobedience, it shall be him.”
Gallus chuckled. Nicanor had more courage than he’d given him credit for. He rose and opened the door.
His slave stood in the doorway, arms spread wide, barring entrance.
“Thank you, Nicanor.”
The Greek slave looked over his shoulder. His eyes held sheer terror.
“You may go. You won’t be beaten. I appreciate your effort to protect me.”
The man’s body relaxed as if a temple had slid from his shoulders, and he scurried down the hall.
“Max. I thought we bid farewell.”
“She’s gone.”
Gallus searched through the fog in his brain. She. Cassia? Surely not. “She?”
“The slave! The seer!” His arms flailed wildly.
“The girl from Britannia? I thought you said you beat her. Unmercifully.”
“I did.”
“And yet she managed to flee from your guarded domus.” He tried to keep the scorn from his voice, but judging from Max’s face, he hadn’t.
“I didn’t ask them to keep watch over her. I didn’t see the need.”
“Apparently you misjudged.”
“Apparently.” The man’s dismay at his loss evidently outweighed his shame and he kept his gaze steady. “Well, are you going to help us or not?”
Gallus yawned and looked at his bare torso and legs. “May I dress first?”
At last, Max’s face reddened. “Of course.”
“Wait in the atrium.” He shooed Max down the hall and pulled the door closed. He dropped back onto his bed. Max still wore the clothes he left in. They must have gone home, found the girl missing, and come straight back. No wonder he could barely think. He’d better come up with something before going out there.
But what?
He rose and paced. Think. How to find a runaway slave?
There were those who specialized in hunting fugitives, but he’d have to send to Amphipolis for them. It would be midmorning before the fugitivarii even arrived, let alone started looking for her.
He snorted. How foolish of them. They should have beaten her even more thoroughly, locked her up . . .
Wait . . .
He pulled his tunic over his head and hurried out to the atrium.
“I have an idea.”
“That’s the last one, then.” Quin walked the prisoner into the inner cell and turned the key. He climbed that stairs and returned to the small vestibule at the front of the prison. Pulling the wax tablet off the shelf, he grabbed the stylus and etched the name of the last prisoner on it as the trumpet signaled the end of second watch.
Stolos opened the main door and strolled in. “Everyone taken care of?”
He nodded and gestured toward the row of empty cells. “Numerius is sweeping up the cells. I just took the others to the inner cell for the night. When Pandaros arrives, he can go.”
“Very well.”
“There are three downstairs. One is only in for theft of some bread, so he’ll probably be out tomorrow. Bring him up first in the morning so he’ll be ready when they come for him.” He released a deep sigh as he glanced toward the door. “Pandaros is late again. I’ll have to let him go, I think, but I have to find someone to replace him first. I’m going home. I’ve been up since before dawn.”
“Of course, Domine.”
“Tribune Quintus Valerius!” The shout came from the street.
“Who’s that?” Stolos frowned.
“I’ve no idea.” Quin handed over the keys and exited the prison.
One of Gallus’s lictors waited. “Quintus Valerius, Gallus Crispus commands your presence.”
“Now?”
“Are you refusing?”
“Of course not. Let’s go.” He took two steps and turned back. “Stolos, throw me my cloak.” He waited for the garment. “And Numerius had better wait here until I return. Just in case.”
“Yes, Domine.”
They walked southeast across the forum and turned south on one of the wide streets to the villas. The night air was cold and he threw his cloak over his shoulder.
When they passed Gallus’s house, he was confused, but said nothing. They continued farther south to the villa of Max and Cassia—Tia’s owners.
A chill crawled down his back. Why should he be summoned to this house at this hour? He wouldn’t be called out to arrest the Jews. That left Tia—
Had his worst fear already come to pass?
The lictor opened the gate and stepped back. Quin strode to the door where a servant took over and led him into the house. “You may wait here.”
The room was large and almost completely bare. A couch or two hugged the walls. There were no tapestries on the walls, no statuary on pedestals. The room was utterly devoid of any personality, much like its owners.
Gallus entered from the hall, goblet in hand. “Ahhh, Quin. We have need of your services tonight.” He glanced upward through the open ceiling, at a full moon showering the sky with silver light. “And perhaps most of your men.”
My men? “Whatever you need, Domine.” He bowed.
“My friends’ fortune-teller has run away. If she were only a house servant it would be bad enough, and I would call my lictors. But she is not a mere servant girl. She is worth a considerable sum of money to them—every day, in fact—and we need her fou
nd immediately.” He handed his goblet to a server and laced his hands behind his back as he closed the distance between them. “Quin.” He lowered his voice. “I want you to take personal charge of this search, and get your best watchmen searching with you. If you have any friends you can enlist, I will pay them.”
“Yes, Domine.” She wouldn’t run away if nothing had changed. Had they hurt her? “To help me, may I ask a question?”
Gallus nodded.
“Just to determine how far she could go, had she eaten today? Is she a strong girl?”
“A moment.” He disappeared and returned with Max. “Tell him what he needs to know.”
Max frowned. “She was beaten. Badly.”
A nearly overpowering desire to pummel the man washed over Quin, but he quenched it. “And fed?”
“She was left with bread and water but it looked untouched.”
His chest ached for her, but he revealed nothing. “And when was this?”
“Last evening.”
“So she couldn’t have gone far, then.”
Max scowled. “I would have said she couldn’t cross the room, but obviously I was mistaken.”
“Thank you. That will help us narrow our search.” He dipped his head.
Gallus waved a hand. “If you can’t find her tonight, we’ll call the fugitivarii. Now go, quickly.”
“At once.” He bowed and marched out. When he hit the street he broke into a jog, keeping it up until he reached the prison.
What had happened? How bad had it gotten that she had fled? And what was he supposed to do? They had every legal right to beat her, even kill her, and he had no right whatsoever to stop them. Indeed, he had a duty to obey, to find her and bring her back to them.
So they could beat her again for running away. Or worse.
Stopping at the prison door, he drew in a deep breath, and froze his features into a mask before throwing open the door. He could allow no one to know his dilemma.
“Domine? Is everything all right?” Stolos asked.
“No. I need you to gather all the guards. I want everyone back here at once. Go!”
Sold Into Freedom Page 15
