Authors: Rosemary Sutcliff
Outcast (5 page)
He thrust the doubt away as base ingratitude to Aristobulo, who had been friendly to him in this town of strangers. And then Aristobulo himself, who had been deep in argument with a barrel-chested man beside him, turned to draw Beric into the talk. Wonderful talk it was, too, when they changed their tongue for his benefit and he could understand it—shining talk that they tossed from one to another like a bright ball: of sea monsters and sea fights and voyages whole moons out of sight of land. One man, it seemed, had sailed half the world over in search of a magical golden fleece, and had the most incredible adventures on the way; while Aristobulo himself told of birds with heads like beautiful women, whose sweet singing lured seamen to their deaths.
‘I suppose,’ said Aristobulo, looking round at his comrades and from them to Beric—‘I do suppose as I am the only man save one that has heard that song and lived. It was this way. Ye see, the Captain I was serving with—not Phanes—was a very wily man, and when he knew that we were drawing near to the island where these Sirens sing, he gave orders that all of us were to stop our ears with beeswax, that we might not hear, while he was bound to the mast and his ears left free, so that he might hear the song but not go to it. So it was
done, and we held to our course, and by and by we sees the island in the distance, and then we sees by the Captain’s face that he’s begun to hear the song. Lit up, it did, like as if he saw his heart’s desire before him. And then he began to struggle to get free of his bonds, but they was too surely tied; pull and strain at them, he did, and we could see him crying out to us to untie him, but a’ course we couldn’t hear nothing. Presently we come close alongside the island: little and low it was, and flowery, and there on it stood the three Sirens, like great birds, and their heads as the heads of women with long golden hair. And all among the little bright flowers there was bones a-lying—the bleached white bones of sailor men! Now the beeswax in my left ear weren’t stuffed home as surely as it should a’ been, and suddenly a trickle of the song that the Sirens were singing got through—faint like the sea in a shell, it was, but ’twas enough! I pulls out the bit of wax, and the song comes flooding in, so sweet as never mortal song in this world, and up I jumps to fling myself overboard and go to it, for I hadn’t got no choice. But my mate sees what’s in the wind, and he ups with his fist and catches me such a blow under the ear that I goes out like a candle. And the next thing I know, the island is only a shadow in our wake, and the Captain sitting on the deck and sobbing like a babe.’ Aristobulo wagged his head sadly. ‘But there’s times when I wish I’d never heard that song: comes between me and my vittles, now and again, it do.’
done, and we held to our course, and by and by we sees the island in the distance, and then we sees by the Captain’s face that he’s begun to hear the song. Lit up, it did, like as if he saw his heart’s desire before him. And then he began to struggle to get free of his bonds, but they was too surely tied; pull and strain at them, he did, and we could see him crying out to us to untie him, but a’ course we couldn’t hear nothing. Presently we come close alongside the island: little and low it was, and flowery, and there on it stood the three Sirens, like great birds, and their heads as the heads of women with long golden hair. And all among the little bright flowers there was bones a-lying—the bleached white bones of sailor men! Now the beeswax in my left ear weren’t stuffed home as surely as it should a’ been, and suddenly a trickle of the song that the Sirens were singing got through—faint like the sea in a shell, it was, but ’twas enough! I pulls out the bit of wax, and the song comes flooding in, so sweet as never mortal song in this world, and up I jumps to fling myself overboard and go to it, for I hadn’t got no choice. But my mate sees what’s in the wind, and he ups with his fist and catches me such a blow under the ear that I goes out like a candle. And the next thing I know, the island is only a shadow in our wake, and the Captain sitting on the deck and sobbing like a babe.’ Aristobulo wagged his head sadly. ‘But there’s times when I wish I’d never heard that song: comes between me and my vittles, now and again, it do.’
‘But not to-night, eh, lad?’ said the barrel-chested man, with an eye on the cheese, and there was a general laugh; and another man put in: ‘Talking of cheese—that minds me of the time …’
So it went on. And as Beric listened, gradually the little warning hammer beat softer and softer yet; and ceased to beat at all.
Presently Phanes lounged to his feet, stretching until the little muscles cracked behind his shoulders. ‘Time we got back to the ship, lads,’ he said. ‘Herope and Castor will be growing tired of being left in sole charge of the live-stock.’
‘What live-stock is that?’ Beric asked his new friend curiously, as they all struggled to their feet.
‘Only a few leash of hunting dogs being shipped to Rome, and some poultry for the voyage. The hounds fight if they get a chance,’ said Aristobulo.
The men who were nearest to them, and caught his words, glanced at each other with a glint of laughter. And again Beric wondered why; and again the little warning woke and beat in his brain. ‘Danger! danger!’ But it was gone again almost before it came.
The men were settling their scores with the fat woman in pink, but when Beric brought out his few coins she patted his arm with a podgy brown hand, looking at him out of eyes rimmed with black stibium, that must once have been beautiful, and said: ‘Nay now, Honey.
They
have seen to all that.’
They
have seen to all that.’
For an instant her hand tightened on his arm, as though she was half minded to hold him back to say something to him, but Aristobulo was calling to him to come on, and with a quick word of thanks, he hurried to join his new friend at the courtyard entrance. ‘Aristobulo, she says you paid for me—I did not mean——’
‘Why, lad, I don’t ask a friend to supper and expect him to pay!’ Aristobulo grinned companionably, and flung an arm round Beric’s shoulder and swept him off after the rest.
They strolled in a bunch down the twisting alleyway, exchanging a passing word here and there with others of their kind, and came out on the river bank, where a rough jetty thrust out into the water. And, lying alongside, the first ship that Beric had ever seen at close quarters. The Clio was a battered little tub, a fine sea vessel, but not beautiful, save with that beauty which comes with absolute fitness for the use for which a thing was created. But to Beric, seeing her in the moonlight, dark against the fish-scale silver of the river, save for the tawny glow of a brazier at her stern, the furled sail on her yard like a folded wing against the sky, she seemed unbelievably strange and mysterious, a creature of the sea, part
gull, part dolphin, lying asleep on the bright surface of the water.
gull, part dolphin, lying asleep on the bright surface of the water.
A plank ran from the jetty, over the ship’s side, and the men were crowding up it. Beric followed, sniffing for the first time the mingled smell of rope and pitch and salt-soaked timber which was the smell of ships; and Aristobulo brought up the rear. Two men who had been sitting by the brazier uncoiled themselves and got up, and there was a rapid exchange of question and answer between them and Phanes, as they glanced at Beric. Some of the crew gathered round the brazier, others remained leaning over the side to talk to a couple of tribesmen on the bank; and Beric, with the living sensation of the deck beneath his feet, stood looking round him wide-eyed at the moon-washed curve of the high stern, at the stout mast rising up and the dark wing-curve of the furled sail against the glimmering sky.
Then Aristobulo touched him on the arm. ‘If you’ve stared your fill, ‘tis time we were turning in, for the morning tide turns seaward early. Down the hatch, here.’
And Beric noticed for the first time a square patch of blackness in the moon-whitened deck, just before the mast; a square hole, and a ladder leading down into the dark belly of the sea monster. It reminded him uncomfortably of the mouth of a trap, but of course that was simply foolishness, and Aristobulo, whose salt he had eaten, was already disappearing down it. ‘Come down backwards,’ Aristobulo called. ‘You are the less likely to break your neck. It is as black as Erebus down here, but we’ll get a light before you can sneeze.’
Beric hesitated an instant longer, then slipped over the edge of the hole, found the rungs, and dropped downward. The seamen by the bulwarks were still talking and laughing with the tribesmen on the bank. Below him, out of the darkness, rose a faint sense of life, a breathy, formless rustling, something that might have been a groan, and the thick smell of too many people packed in too small a space, not hounds or poultry; a human smell. It was very odd.
Suddenly the little warning hammer began to beat again, sharp and urgent this time. Danger! danger!’ His feet had just found the lower deck, and the moonlit sky was a glimmering square level with the top of his head, as he sprang for it again—too late. There was a swift movement behind him, and in that same instant something seemed to burst in the back of his head, and he stumbled forward into a spinning blackness shot with coloured lights.
THE ARM-RING
H
IGH overhead the white, high-piled clouds drifted slowly before the early autumn wind across a sky of speedwell blue, but down below in the principal slave-market of Rome there seemed no air at all. It was still early in the day, but already the market was crowded, as always. Here a master builder moved purposefully between the pens, looking for a good strong human animal to carry stones and mix concrete; there a stout matron looking for a girl to spin and carry cushions, and getting very hot and flustered about it; a senator in search of a secretary; a young Tribune wanting a body-slave; a grey-haired steward of a great household—himself a slave—making careful choice of a new under-cook to replace one that had just died. A many-coloured, many-voiced, shifting throng that came and went and came again, up and down the lanes between the pens and pitches where the slaves that they were seeking waited to be bought.
IGH overhead the white, high-piled clouds drifted slowly before the early autumn wind across a sky of speedwell blue, but down below in the principal slave-market of Rome there seemed no air at all. It was still early in the day, but already the market was crowded, as always. Here a master builder moved purposefully between the pens, looking for a good strong human animal to carry stones and mix concrete; there a stout matron looking for a girl to spin and carry cushions, and getting very hot and flustered about it; a senator in search of a secretary; a young Tribune wanting a body-slave; a grey-haired steward of a great household—himself a slave—making careful choice of a new under-cook to replace one that had just died. A many-coloured, many-voiced, shifting throng that came and went and came again, up and down the lanes between the pens and pitches where the slaves that they were seeking waited to be bought.
In the corner of one such pen, Beric sat on the hard, hot pavement with his arms across his knees, staring straight before him. Some of his companions spoke to each other from time to time, but mostly they sat silent, as listless and hopeless as himself. Aaron Ben Malachi, whose property they were, leaned against a temple column that formed the corner of his pitch, discussing prices with his neighbour. Prices were bad, it seemed. ‘A big fine Athenian, gently born and played upon the lyre like an angel, and I had to let him go for three thousand sesterces! Only last week that was. Ai, ai, ai, I shall be ruined if the market does not improve!’ Beric heard the long complaint going on and on; he saw the feet of the passers-by moving in front of him: dusty sandals, military
boots, the pretty scarlet slippers of a lady of rank, the bare blistered feet of a beggar; but he was not thinking of what he heard or saw. He was wondering—how long was it since that night at Isca Dumnoniorum? Five moons? Six? Seven? He did not know, he had lost count long ago. He knew only that they had been the moons of a nightmare, such a nightmare as one wakes from with the taste of evil in one’s mouth. Sometimes he thought that that was what it really was, an ill dream from which he might awake at any moment; but the waking never came.
boots, the pretty scarlet slippers of a lady of rank, the bare blistered feet of a beggar; but he was not thinking of what he heard or saw. He was wondering—how long was it since that night at Isca Dumnoniorum? Five moons? Six? Seven? He did not know, he had lost count long ago. He knew only that they had been the moons of a nightmare, such a nightmare as one wakes from with the taste of evil in one’s mouth. Sometimes he thought that that was what it really was, an ill dream from which he might awake at any moment; but the waking never came.
After that night in Isca Dumnoniorum he had woken to find himself in the belly of the strange sea-beast that was a ship, lying with several others of his kind, in what space remained between the piled bales of the cargo. The
Clio
was at sea, and they had all been very sick. Most of the others had been bought perfectly legally from Roman landowners along the south coast, but two beside himself had been carried off, and one of these, who had been captured while out fishing, seemed to find a certain comfort for himself in explaining the whole hideous situation to Beric and enquiring whether he had never heard of Greek slavers and their ways. The slavers themselves had met his furious protests and rebellion with a few floggings and a certain amount of knocking about; not too much, for it was in their interest to get the cargo in reasonably good condition to its destination, but sufficient to school him. And Beric’s hands became quivering fists as he remembered their schooling. He was living again the misery of those past moons. Sold and resold from one trader to another, like a dressed skin or a cooking-pot; the filthy Tiber-side sheds where he had been herded with slaves of every colour and smell, all his brothers and sisters in misery; the scanty food, the kicks and blows of the slave-drivers; above all, the sense of utter helplessness, of being caught and caged and lost to all eternity.
Clio
was at sea, and they had all been very sick. Most of the others had been bought perfectly legally from Roman landowners along the south coast, but two beside himself had been carried off, and one of these, who had been captured while out fishing, seemed to find a certain comfort for himself in explaining the whole hideous situation to Beric and enquiring whether he had never heard of Greek slavers and their ways. The slavers themselves had met his furious protests and rebellion with a few floggings and a certain amount of knocking about; not too much, for it was in their interest to get the cargo in reasonably good condition to its destination, but sufficient to school him. And Beric’s hands became quivering fists as he remembered their schooling. He was living again the misery of those past moons. Sold and resold from one trader to another, like a dressed skin or a cooking-pot; the filthy Tiber-side sheds where he had been herded with slaves of every colour and smell, all his brothers and sisters in misery; the scanty food, the kicks and blows of the slave-drivers; above all, the sense of utter helplessness, of being caught and caged and lost to all eternity.
A little cur dog, scavenging among the feet of the crowd, slunk past him, and he stretched out a hand to it. It sniffed his fingers, fawned for an instant with flattened ears under his
touch, and then slunk away. There was one thing he had to be thankful for, anyway, he thought, watching it out of sight: that he had not had Gelert with him that night. What would have become of Gelert, left alone in a strange town—always supposing that he had not been knifed by the slavers? At the thought of Gelert a wave of blinding misery swept over Beric. His Tribe, his father and mother, even Cathlan, he had shut away from him; but his dog, that was another matter.
touch, and then slunk away. There was one thing he had to be thankful for, anyway, he thought, watching it out of sight: that he had not had Gelert with him that night. What would have become of Gelert, left alone in a strange town—always supposing that he had not been knifed by the slavers? At the thought of Gelert a wave of blinding misery swept over Beric. His Tribe, his father and mother, even Cathlan, he had shut away from him; but his dog, that was another matter.
There was a sudden stir around him. A pretty, bold-looking girl, with a crimson edge to her tunic and a gold chain round her neck, had come up and was speaking to Ben Malachi, who had abandoned his column and come forward, smiling hopefully and rubbing his hands together, to receive her orders.
‘My mistress, the Lady Julia,’ said the girl, with a gesture of her head towards a richly curtained litter carried on the shoulders of six men, which had halted a few paces off, ‘needs a replacement for one of her Gaulish litter-bearers. Have you anything that might do? It must be something good; only the best will serve for my Lady.’
Beric, who had picked up a good many words of Latin by now (though he no longer thought of it as the tongue of his own people), understood what she said well enough, but paid no heed, since he was not Gaulish, and therefore it could have nothing to do with him.
But Ben Malachi was not one to let slip the chance of a sale for so small a matter as that. ‘I have the very slave to suit the Lady Julia, the best—oh, yes, indeed; would I think for one moment, my dear, of trying to sell anything but the best to so great a lady?’ He made a quick gesture to his slave-driver, a slant-eyed Syrian, who promptly kicked Beric with a nailed sandal.
‘Up, you.’
Beric stumbled to his feet without protest; he was well used to kicks by now, and followed Ben Malachi and the girl towards the curtained litter.
The curtain was drawn back a little now, and the lady
inside was talking to a tall man with the purple stripe of a senator down his tunic, who had just paused to greet her. ‘He took to brawling, so of course I had to sell him, and put Philo in his place for the present,’ Beric heard a clear, musical voice saying. ‘But you may see for yourself that it completely
ruins
my matched team.’ Then as the little group came up: ‘Ah, Ben Malachi, have you brought me something?’
inside was talking to a tall man with the purple stripe of a senator down his tunic, who had just paused to greet her. ‘He took to brawling, so of course I had to sell him, and put Philo in his place for the present,’ Beric heard a clear, musical voice saying. ‘But you may see for yourself that it completely
ruins
my matched team.’ Then as the little group came up: ‘Ah, Ben Malachi, have you brought me something?’
The curtain was drawn back farther, and Beric found himself looking at the woman within. A beautiful woman, but cold, so cold. She looked him over with careless eyes that never noticed that he was human, and scarcely seemed to listen to Ben Malachi’s list of his good points. Then she shook her head. ‘No, no, he will not do. I must have a Gaul.’
‘This one is British, my Lady; the same stock——’ the slave merchant began, bowing; but she cut him short.
‘He is too dark and too red. I must have a golden Gaul, or spoil my team.’
‘As to the colour of his hair, noble lady’—Ben Malachi was bending almost double—‘might I suggest a few lime-washes, a very few——’
This time it was the man with the Senator’s stripe on his tunic who cut in, saying lazily: ‘Julia, you cannot do that! Percol! It would be like faking a chestnut to make a matched chariot team with bays.’
‘My dear Hirpinius, you may make your mind easy: I have no intention of doing it,’ said the Lady Julia with bored amusement, then to Ben Malachi, ‘unless you can show me something else, I must leave the matter for now, or try elsewhere.’
‘In a few days, but three at the most, I shall have some fresh stock.’ Ben Malachi bowed again, his thin grey beard flapping up and down on the breast of his black robe. ‘Very fine stock! If the most gracious lady permits, I will send along any that seem suitable for her inspection before anyone else sees them. I am a poor man and——’
‘As you will. I may look at them if I have found nothing
to suit me in the meantime,’ said the most gracious lady. ‘Hirpinius, do you walk my way? No? Until our next meeting, then.’ She made a gesture to her golden Gauls: the embroidered curtain fell back into place, and the litter-bearers moved off, carrying their burden, with the maid walking beside it.
to suit me in the meantime,’ said the most gracious lady. ‘Hirpinius, do you walk my way? No? Until our next meeting, then.’ She made a gesture to her golden Gauls: the embroidered curtain fell back into place, and the litter-bearers moved off, carrying their burden, with the maid walking beside it.
Beric was herded back into the pen, and squatted hopelessly down again in his corner.
The hours dragged by, and in the crowded slave-market there seemed less and less air to breathe. Three of his fellow-slaves were sold. One of them, a big negro, had been friendly, and if it were possible for Beric to feel more desolate than he did already, he would have done so as he watched the broad black figure follow his new master away. Long past noon, when the slave-market was almost deserted and the pavements threw back the heat like the blast from an oven, a man came by, glanced at Beric, hesitated, and came back. He was a young man with a broad, pleasant face, and carried himself as though used to the weight of a soldier’s harness. He spoke to Ben Malachi, but his gaze remained on Beric, and meeting it, Beric was filled with a sudden desperate hope, and got up without waiting to be kicked to his feet by the slave-driver.
‘How much do you want for him?’ the young man was asking, cutting short Ben Malachi’s usual flow of praise for his wares.
‘Only two thousand sesterces, Centurion.’
‘One thousand,’ said the young man.
‘The centurion makes a jest.’ Ben Malachi spread his hands and smiled. ‘Nineteen hundred, my dear.’
‘Eleven hundred.’
The bargaining was so quick and quiet that Beric could scarcely follow it, but he understood all too clearly when at last the young man said with a little gesture of finish:
‘Thirteen hundred and fifty. I can go no higher.’
‘Seventeen hundred,’ said the Jew. ‘You will not get a good strong slave to take with you into Dacia for less than that anywhere, my dear.’
‘Then I must needs go without one.’
‘Sixteen hundred and fifty—take him for sixteen hundred and fifty!’ wailed Ben Malachi. ‘And may it never come between you and sleep that you have ruined an old man!’
‘I cannot go beyond thirteen fifty; I have not got it,’ said the young man, already turning away. Over his shoulder he looked back. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, not to Ben Malachi, but to Beric himself. Then he was gone: and Beric, feeling suddenly sick, sat down again.
More time crawled by. Two more of Ben Malachi’s slaves found purchasers. The westering sun slanted across the slave-market, which had become crowded again; and still Beric sat in his corner, where the stones were beginning to cool in the widening shade. He was no longer thinking, just sitting, with his elbows on his knees and his aching head in his hands, while still the feet of the throng moved by: saffron shoes of a priest, nailed sandals of a gladiator … . He was roughly jerked out of the half stupor into which he had sunk, to find that another purchaser had appeared. Thrust forward by the heavy hand of the slave-driver, he found himself standing before a small stout man with a puckered pink face, and hot-tempered eyes of very faded blue which were looking him up and down exactly as they might have studied the points of a pony—save that probably they would have had more of kindness in them for a pony.
After the first glance, his head went down, and he stood with stubborn, hunched shoulders, and wide-planted feet, staring at the small man’s stomach, which was round and pompous.
‘Is this the best you have?’ the small man was demanding.
‘I have a very pretty Syrian boy, Excellency——’
‘The whole market is full of pretty Syrian boys. I have had them before, and they thieve like monkeys.’ Excellency sounded both tired and exasperated.
A depressed-looking man hovering just behind him said anxiously,’ If you would allow me to attend to the matter to-morrow, sir.’
‘If I required anyone to choose the household slaves for me, it would be my steward’s job, not my secretary’s,’ said his master waspishly. ‘I
always
choose my own slaves: you should know that by now. No, I said I would replace Damon to-day, and I am a man of my word.’ Then to Ben Malachi: ‘Apart from the Syrian, is that the best you have?’
always
choose my own slaves: you should know that by now. No, I said I would replace Damon to-day, and I am a man of my word.’ Then to Ben Malachi: ‘Apart from the Syrian, is that the best you have?’
The Jew bowed again. ‘He is a very fine boy, Excellency, worthy even of the household of Publius Lucianus Piso the Magistrate. Unbroken, yes, but intelligent; ai, ai, ai, your steward could train him to anything in half a month.’
‘He is sullen,’ said Publius Piso.
‘He is new to slavery. The British do not take easily to the arm-ring; but a few whippings will soon remedy that.’ Ben Malachi made a sign to his slave-driver, who promptly thrust a hand under Beric’s chin to force it up. The boy flung his head back from the man’s touch, and stood staring, straight enough now, into the round pink face before him.
‘British, is he?’ said the Magistrate.
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