Rome in Flames (8 page)

– chapter xv –

Freedom

 

‘You're supposed to be attending Manius,' said Theon. His voice sounded accusing. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Manius said I could go and see my brother,' I said. (By now, the whole household knew about Conan, although I'd only told a few people. Slaves are terrible for gossiping.) ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Taking a message for Pallas. This isn't the way to the gladiator school,' he said suspiciously.

‘I got lost.'

Theon sighed. ‘Typical! Do you want me to take you there?'

I tried to sound suitably grateful. ‘If you could just point me in the right direction . . .'

But he took me right to the door, as if to make sure I hadn't lied about where I was going. He was still suspicious of me, I could tell. What would happen if he went back to the street of goldsmiths and started asking questions?

Trying not to think about this, I knocked on the gladiators' door. ‘I want to see the owner,' I said to the doorman.

‘Oh, do you now?'

‘It's about my brother. Please can I talk to the master? Look, I'm sorry, but I haven't any money to give you.' I wasn't going to waste my precious money on him. I might need every bit of it.

‘All right. I'll ask,' the man said, grudgingly. ‘Wait there.'

I had to wait in the street for ages. At last, the door opened again. The doorman led me to a richly decorated room, very different from Conan's dark cell. It looked as if the owner of the gladiator school had made a lot of money out of it.

Decimus, the owner, was a tough-looking man. His face and arms showed the scars of many fights. At his feet lay a dog which looked even fiercer than he was. It bared its teeth in a snarl.

‘Don't worry about Brutus,' he said. ‘He's all mouth – he wouldn't hurt a fly. You wanted to see me?'

‘Yes.' Because I was nervous, I couldn't think what to say next. My hard-earned knowledge of Latin seemed to vanish like dew under a hot sun.

‘It's my brother. I want to buy him,' I managed to say.

‘Your brother . . . now which one might he be? All you Celts look alike to me.'

‘His name is Conan. He has a wounded leg.'

Decimus was looking me up and down. ‘A pity you're not a few years older,' he said. ‘I could have used the two of you as a double act. The barbarian brothers . . . the crowd would love it. I would pit you against those African twins I bought the other day.'

‘I'm not for sale,' I said.

He laughed. ‘Oh, any slave is for sale if the price is high enough.'

‘All right,' I said, ‘how much do you want for Conan?'

‘I want six hundred denarii.'

My heart sank. But maybe he expected me to argue about prices, like the goldsmiths did.

‘I'll give you a hundred,' I said.

‘What, only a hundred? I could easily get five hundred for him at the slave market.'

‘Not with his bad leg,' I objected. ‘It might never heal right, the doctor said.'

‘Well, four hundred and fifty then,' said Decimus, grinning. It was like a game to him, and the winner would be the one who got the best bargain.

But it wasn't a game to me. I only had three hundred denarii, plus a few small coins still hidden in the stable. If I couldn't bargain the price down low enough, I couldn't rescue Conan.

‘I'll give you a hundred and fifty,' I said, as firmly as I could.

After a lot of haggling, he came down to three hundred and fifty.

‘All right, three hundred. I can't give you more because I haven't got it. See?' I emptied the bag of coins onto his table.

‘Sorry. That's not enough,' he said, turning away.

Suddenly I was furious, and anger gave me words. ‘Why won't you sell him? You don't need my money because you're rich already – rich and free. Don't you remember what it was like being a slave?'

He gave me a startled look. I was only guessing, of course, but if he had been a gladiator in the past, then probably he had been a slave.

‘I remember all right,' he said, his voice as sharp as a blade, and the dog growled. There was a long moment of silence.

‘Very well then. You can have him for three hundred,' he said at last.

He called for his secretary, who wrote something down and gave the writing to me. (Not that I could read it. If Decimus wanted to cheat me, the writing might say absolutely anything, such as
Vote for Marcus Casellius
or
Beware of the dog
.)

The doorman took me down to Conan's room. I told Conan what I'd done, and he stared at me in amazement.

‘But where did you get the money?'

‘Ask me later. Are you all right? Can you walk?'

Leaning on my shoulder, Conan managed to hobble painfully along the corridor. He could hardly put any weight on his injured leg.

The doorman was grinning as he let us out into the street. ‘Now be sure to obey your new master,' he said to Conan. ‘Otherwise, he may beat you.'

‘I'm not your master,' I said hastily. Conan would absolutely hate that idea. ‘I'll set you free just as soon as I find out how to.'

‘Free . . .' Conan said, looking rather dazed. He stared around at the busy street. His hand tightened on my shoulder, as if he was about to lose his balance. ‘Where are we going? Is it far?'

Oh, help! I hadn't given much thought to that. My mind had been set on rescuing Conan, without considering what he would do afterwards.

Until his leg began to heal, Conan would need food, rest and somewhere to sleep. Would my master allow him to stay with me? He might, if Manius asked him. But the cook might object to feeding an extra person who didn't belong in the house. I had a little money, enough to buy food for a few days. When that ran out, what would Conan live on?

Soon, though, it was obvious that the master's house was too far away – Conan would never make it. I took as much of his weight as I could, but he could only walk a few steps at a time. His mouth was tight with pain.

‘Stop,' he gasped as we came to a fountain. ‘I need to sit down.'

Conan sank down onto the stone rim of the pool. He looked as if he couldn't walk much further.

It was up to me now. I had to be the strong one – the big brother, the decision-maker. Conan was depending on me. But what were we going to do?

Gazing around, I saw that we were in a quiet side street, not far from where Tiro's friends lived. They might help us. Anyway, it was worth a try.

‘Where are we going?' Conan asked again.

‘To the house of some people I know.' I suddenly realized that I didn't even know their names. ‘They're Christians. They helped me before, when I—'

‘Christians!' Conan looked alarmed. ‘I've heard about them. They're weird. They live off the flesh of dead people.'

‘No, they don't,' I said, certain that Tiro would never do such a thing, although I couldn't be so sure about his friends. After all, I had only met them twice. ‘They're nice people. They'll help us . . . I hope.'

But as we made our way slowly down the street, I began to feel anxious. Before, when I came to the Christians' house, I was with Tiro. If I arrived without him, would they let me in? Would I even be able to find the right house?

Then I spotted something. On the wall above one door was a small drawing of a fish, just an outline, like a child might draw in mud with a stick. A fish! That was one of the secret signs the Christians used.

I tapped on the door as Tiro had done – three knocks, a pause, and then another knock. But no one answered. My heart sank like a stone.

‘Hey, there!' a woman called from across the street. ‘Are you looking for Crispus and Marcella? They're at the shop – the baker's shop, just around the corner there.'

Leaving Conan on the doorstep, I ran round the corner. The baker's shop was just closing for the afternoon sleep. Tiro's friends were fastening the shutters. They were surprised to see me, and even more surprised to hear about Conan.

‘He's free? That's wonderful!' said the woman, Marcella. ‘God answered our prayers.'

This annoyed me slightly. After all, I was the one who had rescued Conan, wasn't I?

I said, ‘Yes, but his leg is still bad. He can hardly walk. Could he . . . could he stay with you, just for a few days? Until his wound heals, I mean? I can pay for his food.'

‘Of course he can stay,' said Crispus. ‘Where is he now?'

‘Er . . . he's on your doorstep.'

Together, we managed to get Conan into the house. With a weary groan, he collapsed onto a couch. Marcella brought him a drink. He seemed to have forgotten his suspicions about Christians, for he drank it eagerly, lay back and shut his eyes.

‘Don't you worry,' Marcella said to me. ‘We'll look after him.'

Look after him . . . Suddenly, with a horrible shock, I remembered about Manius. School must be over by now – I would be in big trouble.

As I expected, the young master was furious. Although he knew his way home perfectly well, he had waited for me outside the empty schoolroom, getting angrier with every passing moment.

‘So this is what happens! I treat you kindly, I let you go off and visit your brother, and you don't come back for hours! It's true what they say – slaves don't appreciate kindness. They only learn from the whip!'

I couldn't explain what I'd been doing, so I stayed silent. He told his father what I'd done. That night I got a beating, with a warning of worse to come if I didn't do my job properly.

But I didn't care. Conan was safe – which was all that mattered.

– chapter xvi –

Plans

 

Conan stayed with Crispus and Marcella for almost a month, as his leg slowly healed. I visited him whenever I could. One day I found him sitting on the doorstep with Philo, Marcella's young son. He was teaching Philo to play knuckle-bones.

‘Your friends are at the shop,' he said to me. ‘They left me in charge. They treat me like one of the family. But I'm a complete stranger to them, not even from the same tribe. Why are they doing it?'

‘Because they're Christians. See? You were wrong about them. Have you ever seen them eating dead people?'

‘Not while I've been watching,' Conan admitted.

Crispus and Marcella weren't rich, like my master. At first, I gave them the money I'd been hiding, to help pay for Conan's food. But when my money ran out, Marcella told me not to be anxious. ‘The brothers and sisters will take care of that,' she said.

I guessed she meant the Christians. They were mostly working people or slaves, not rich at all. But Tiro had told me they often gave money to help people in need. ‘It's what our master tells us to do,' he said.

It was confusing. Sometimes when he said ‘the master', he meant our owner, Lucius. At other times, he meant Jesus of Nazareth. I asked him what he would do if his two masters told him to do different things – for instance, if Lucius told him to stop following Jesus.

‘I would obey the one I love best,' said Tiro. ‘Lucius bought me with money, but Jesus bought me by giving up his own life.'

‘I don't understand.'

Tiro said, ‘Jesus came to earth knowing he was going to be killed. He let his enemies capture him. He didn't stop them from crucifying him. Have you ever seen anyone crucified?'

I nodded, remembering the line of crosses I had seen on the very first day I had arrived at Rome. Being crucified meant a horrible, slow, agonizing death, sometimes lasting for days.

Tiro was silent for a moment. He said, ‘Jesus' death was like a sacrifice . . . the greatest sacrifice ever.'

I knew what a sacrifice was. If you wanted to please the gods, or turn away their anger, you could give them one of your best animals. The priests would kill it as an offering. Some religions used humans as well as animals, but that was not allowed in Rome.

Tiro said, ‘Because Jesus died, we don't need to make sacrifices to please God. If we believe in Jesus, we can come near to God at any time. We can know his love, like children know the love of their father.'

Part of me longed to have faith like Tiro had. It would be good to feel so sure of God's love.

But another part of me didn't want to know. I didn't like the idea of Jesus as my master. I wanted to be free, with no one telling me what to do. Having Manius ordering me about was more than enough.

Oh, and talking of freedom – I discovered that it was quite simple to set Conan free. ‘Some owners make a big ceremony of it,' Crispus told me. ‘But you don't have to do that. You can just say, “I set you free,” as long as you do it in front of other people. Marcella and I will be your witnesses, if you like.'

So I said the words, feeling rather silly: ‘Conan, I set you free.'

‘Oh, thank you, master.' He smiled, and made a mocking bow.

This was the only time he actually thanked me for what I'd done. He didn't like having to be grateful to me – his kid brother. He seemed to find it embarrassing.

But his attitude towards me was changing. He treated me more like an equal these days. Instead of telling me what to do, he would ask what I thought about things. I liked that.

‘What will you do with your freedom?' Marcella asked him.

I already knew what he would say. ‘I'm going home. Home to Britain.'

‘But it's such a long way,' said Marcella anxiously. ‘Right on the edge of the empire. Will you be able to walk that far? Your leg hasn't healed properly yet. And Bryn will really miss you – so will we.' Marcella and Crispus had grown fond of Conan in the time he had been staying with them, and his news came as a shock to them.

‘Oh, I don't plan to walk it,' said Conan. ‘I'll go by sea. It's spring now, the time when ships set sail. How much will it cost to sail to Britain?'

Crispus and Marcella had no idea. But they talked to a friend of theirs, a cart driver, who often travelled to the harbour at Ostia. Conan rode down with him to find out what he could.

When he returned, he came to see me outside Manius's school. (It didn't matter if Manius saw him. I had explained that Conan's master had set him free – I just didn't mention that the master happened to be me.)

Conan was looking depressed.

‘I only found two ships sailing for Britain. One of them isn't taking passengers. The other one is, but it's far too expensive. Especially for two of us.' For I meant to go too, naturally, though no one knew that apart from Conan. We'd managed to keep our plans a secret from everybody.

He said, ‘There's only one thing to do. I'll have to walk. I'll take it slowly and hope that my leg doesn't give me too much trouble.' He lowered his voice, even though we were speaking Celtic. ‘Are you with me?'

‘Yes, of course. But how can we find the way?'

‘I talked to some sailors. They said that if we keep going north and west, eventually we'll come to the far coast of Gaul. Then there's a short sea crossing to Britain – less than a day.'

He made it all sound so easy. But I knew it would be a long, exhausting journey . . . dangerous, too. Robbers might attack us in the mountains. I might be captured and punished for running away. We might get lost and walk far in the wrong direction.

‘We're going to need money to buy food,' said Conan. ‘Quite a lot of money – we could be on the road for months. Can you get some from the same place as last time?'

I knew what he meant – steal something. But I didn't feel too keen on that idea. Tiro always said it was wrong to steal.

‘I don't know,' I said. ‘It could be risky. Why don't we just wait until I can save up some money?'

‘But that could take months – years. I can't wait that long. I've got to get out of this city! I can't stand the stinking place.'

He was right; the city did stink. As the weather grew warmer, the smell, like a village dunghill, was getting more noticeable. But it wasn't just the smell that bothered him. Conan hated Rome and everything Roman. Although Crispus and Marcella had been good to him, he couldn't forget that they were Roman too. He would be happy to leave their house.

For me, it was different. I didn't feel as bitter as Conan, but then my time in Rome had been much easier than his. I hadn't been badly mistreated, or forced to fight for my life. Of course I wanted to go home, but I also felt there was no need to hurry.

And I knew there was someone I would really miss – Tiro. To leave him would be almost as bad as leaving my own family. I couldn't even tell him what we were planning to do. Conan insisted on that, for he thought Tiro might try to persuade me to stay.

Perhaps I could ask Tiro to run away with us? But no, he would never do that. He had told me that after he became a Christian, he stopped trying to escape from his master. Instead, he worked hard and saved up his money in the hope of buying his own freedom. In another year or two, he might have enough.

In any case, Tiro would never feel at home in Britain. Even the mild Roman winter had felt chilly to him. He would hate our cold, wet, foggy weather.

But it was hard to talk to him of Conan's plans, remembering to say ‘he', not ‘we', and pretending to feel sad that Conan was leaving. Did Tiro guess the truth? He never asked me. I don't think he wanted to know.