Your Eyes

Dael lifted his head sharply, and there, sprawled across the stone bench was none other than the soldier who’d captured him. He was without cape and armor, grinning. He looked almost like a prince.

Tertius kneed Dael in the spine, and he remembered himself, lowered his head. As much as the other servants were nice, they were fiercely loyal. Dael would have sworn they could read his mind and sense the moments rebellion rose in him, urging him to flee or disobey or drop everything he was doing and cry out –

“Lift your head. I want to see your eyes.”

Question of Choice

Dael knew from the whispering in the halls, the sudden scattering of servants, heads bowed, that the master and mistress were about, and only special servants could look upon them.

But the old man - Tertius - dragged Dael up, up, up to the main chamber where the master and mistress stayed. He shoved Dael to his knees in front of a wide stone bench, and Dael bowed his head. He heard the whisper of robes, the familiar cadence of a soldier’s boots.

And then a familiar voice said, in Dael’s own tongue,

“What do you think, Flavia? Did I choose well?”

Never To Go

It took Dael a day or three of following the young man around to figure out his name was Quintus and Quintus had named Dael, against his will, Angel. Dael tried to correct him, but Quintus couldn’t seem to wrap his name around the syllables and Dael was stuck, to dismay, with Del. Quintus did simple jobs, mostly carrying things around the massive house, moving furniture and transporting firewood into the upper rooms.

Dael was just learning his way around the house when the old man reappeared and dragged Dael where Quintus had showed him he was never to go.

Angel and Quintus

The old man led Dael into a low, squat building below the main halls. Other servants in plain robes were gathered here and there - cooking, mending, cleaning. The old man barked a command, and several other servants surrounded Dael, stripped him of his clothes, scrubbed him down with hot water, and dressed him in one of the plain tunics the other men wore.

“Quis est vestri nomen?” one of them asked.

Another man ruffled Dael’s hair and said, “Angel.”

Dael wasn’t sure if it was an insult or kindness.

“Angel.” Then the man tapped his own chest and said, “Quintus.”

Followed

Water glittered as it cascaded across tiny stones all the colors of the rainbow arranged in patterns to look like birds and trees. Plants bowed and swayed in a gentle breeze, and Dael stopped, stared.

The woman glided past it all, seemingly oblivious to it. How could she not see the beauty, the wonder? Dael started after her - and was jerked backward abruptly as the old man yanked on his chain. The woman ascended the stairs, and other women in plainer robes - servants - came to relieve her of her cloak and hood.

The old man grunted, "Era," and Dael followed.

Far Away

It was a long walk back to wherever the old man and the woman lived, far beyond the bustling crowds of the markets. When the buildings became infrequent and crowds thin, Dael recognized fields - sort of. The trees were different from any he’d seen, and the hills were a rolling, deep red instead of the brown, sturdy earth he’d grown up farming.

And he could feel a different, deeper thrum of energy in the ground beneath him. He was somewhere else, somewhere far away.

The woman’s house was set atop a hill, a sprawling affair, gardens and courtyards – a palace.

Sold

One of the captors handed the old man the end of the chain still attached to the collar at Dael’s throat, and then he said, slowly, as if to a dumb animal,

“Prosecutus suus. Vestri era.”

Dael blinked, confused. The captor prodded him. The old man tugged, almost yanking Dael off his feet, and he understood well enough: go.

The woman turned, skirts whispering, and strode through the crowded market. People stepped out of her way, and Dael wondered if she was some sort of princess. The old man followed along, muttering about Flavia Magna.

Dael realized he’d been sold.

For Now, Blessed Rescuers

His captors hesitated, but then they moved forward, untied him and yanked him around to face the intervenors who, for now, were also blessed rescuers.

The man was ancient and stooped, a mass of wrinkles like a walnut shell, and wearing simple robes. The woman was - shadowed beneath a hood, bright red over the paleness of her robe, which was obviously finely crafted in comparison to the man’s.

She reached into the folds of her skirt and handed the old man a pouch. It clinked loudly when it landed on his palm, and Dael’s captors accepted it with eager greed.

Only Hope

Dael felt fear churn low in his gut when they tied him fast to a pole, and he heard the crack of a whip on the air.

And then a woman spoke, and the anger in his captors’ voices faded.

Dael tried to crane his neck to see over his shoulder who had frightened his captors, but all he saw was a giant bull of a man, tapping the crop of his whip impatiently on one hand.


The woman spoke again, and one of the captors cut her off, and then an old man spoke, and Dael could only hope.

Imminent

Dael got in two, three, four hits before several captors landed on him and dragged him back. Avery had dived to cover Osbert, which only disrupted the line further. Dael didn’t understand his captors’ language, but he knew profanity when he heard it, and he supposed he should have expected the sharp blow to the skull that followed once the fray was settled, but that didn’t mean it hurt less.

He was cut free of the line and dragged away from the others, and this was it - they would leave him be or kill him. Either way, escape was imminent.

Worth the Risk

Dael watched buyers come and go, watched his captors squabble or acquiesce, cut people loose and kick people loose, and he tried to figure out why some were chosen and some were not, what made a good slave. If he could make himself seem like he would be a terrible slave, maybe no one would want to buy him, and he would have time to plan an escape. Only what if the captors would kill anyone who didn’t get sold?

Dael decided to risk it, and he lashed out, punched the man on the other side of Osbert.

Chaos followed.

How it Works

Dael watched prospective buyers circling the people. Captor tipped boy’s head back, allowed a portly man in an odd white robe to check his teeth, prod at the boy’s arm and leg muscles. And then the man grabbed the boy, leered, and Dael felt his stomach roil.

Avery nudged him in the ribs. “Can you get us free? You know, with your...” He fluttered his fingers.

“It doesn’t work like that.” Dael sighed. “Sorry.”

“Maybe we can stay together,” Osbert said. “Whoever takes one of us has to take all of us.”

“Don’t think it works like that,” Avery said.

Most of Our Lives

Rome had markets, just as back home. In those markets, food, cloth, wine, and cattle were sold for use and slaughter. And people were sold alongside the cattle. Dael stared at the rows of people chained up. Most of the people on the other side of the market platform chained in winding rows wore clean clothes and looked even more exhausted and empty than any of Dael’s fellow captives.

“Some must have been slaves most of their lives,” Avery said.

“When we die, we will have been slaves most of our lives too,” Dael murmured and hoped Osbert wouldn’t hear.

Rome

Rome, the new place was called, or so said one of the other captives. Rome. Such a small word to encompass so massive a place, as if twenty villages and their markets had been dropped into this one confined place and everyone was intent on stepping on each other as much as possible.

Dael lost track of their captors, but he continued to see soldiers in flashing red capes patrolling the streets as new captors - gruffer, unwashed men - herded them along the eerily straight paths.

Rome was taking everything Dael had ever known and turning it all on its head.

The Journey

Dael remembered the beginning of the journey, being herded onto one of the massive ships like so many head of cattle. He remembered the end, stumbling onto a wooden dock on shaky legs, sweating and faint and hot and looking onto a sheer mass of humanity, more people than Dael ever thought possible crammed into one place. Massive gleaming buildings reared toward the sky, and there was noise, a hundred markets at once.

Dael couldn’t remember the middle of the journey, but Avery said it was for the best - he’d never seen someone be sick that many times without dying.

Tethered

“Just...be calm,” Dael said, and reached inside himself. The energy was weak, tethered to the waxing and waning of his own energy, but it was there, a coil of blue sparkles waiting for release. So Dael caught it up and pushed it out, into Avery’s forearm.

Avery hissed in a breath, eyes wide, and his gaze shot toward Dael. “You - how did you -”

Dael shook his head. “There you go. Should help a bit.” He held Avery’s gaze, warning, and Avery nodded slowly.

“Aye. Thanks. You are good with a mend.”

“Welcome.”

Behind him, the soldier watched - and smiled.


Hand for a Mend

“Why, did he kidnap you?” Osbert asked. “I was clubbed over the head by one of his thugs while I was farming.”

“I’m sure that’s how all you young’uns were snatched,” Avery said. “Half of us - we were caught on the battlefield.” He shifted, and Dael saw him wince.

“Where are you hurt?” Dael asked.

Avery shrugged. “Just a scratch.”

“I always had a good hand for a mend,” Dael said. “Let me have a look?”

“If you like.” Avery was stoic as Dael studied the gash.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“You can’t be any worse than them.”

Personally? No

“Cold?” Dael remembered the man being charming, almost friendly. Callous with other human lives, but Dael suspected, if the man were not a soldier and Dael were not an enemy, they might have been friends.

“People mean nothing to him,” Avery said. “He kills as easily as most of us breathe.”

“The last stupid man who tried to escape –” Osbert began, but Avery cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Dael’s just awakened. Means he can still sleep. No need to give him nightmares.”

“Did he kidnap you?” Dael asked.

“Personally?” Avery snorted. “No. He’s much too important for that.”


Strange, Dark, Cold

“My brothers went to fight,” the boy beside Dael said.

“As did my sons,” the man said. “Those bastards killed them.” He turned his head to the side and spat.

“My father and brother left,” Dael said. “They never came back.”

“The stories are the same all around,” the man said. “What’s your name?”

“Dael.”

“I’m Avery,” the man said.

“And I’m Osbert.” The boy smiled tiredly.

“Think we can escape?” Dael asked.

“More than one man has died trying.” Avery lifted his chin in the direction of the soldiers. “That leader, the strange dark one - he’s a cold one.”

On a Grim Necklace

The boat was bigger than any Dael had ever seen, the length of nearly four houses, and had a massive sail of billowing red, just like the soldiers’ capes.

Soldiers. Dael craned his neck, which resulted in tugging on the ropes and earned grumblings from the people on either side of him. Sure enough, the soldiers who’d stopped by his farm were seated at a fire in the middle of the camp, sharing food and drink, laughing.

More soldiers, bristling with weapons but without capes or horses, ringed the camp, guarding the slaves.

Slaves like beads on a grim necklace.