Skaia (3 page)

“
It is common knowledge, you stupid little boy,” one of the men growled at him. “How ignorant can you be?”

As hurtful as the words were, Skaia thought they were probably true. He knew nothing of Rome and Romans, and he huddled back against his post. He heard the men’s laughter as they discussed what might be done with the likes of him. They seemed to think the children would be the servants of the worker slaves, until they were old enough and big enough to be useful.

One of them suggested he might be something else, a slave who would see to their bodily needs. Skaia had looked up then, not understanding what the man meant. The crude words and the explicit illustrations drawn in the air explained it and had terrified him.

When a tall man without a collar strode among them, in his strange Roman clothing, Skaia watched as he examined each captive in turn. He had them remove what tatters of clothing they still wore. The man would look in their mouths, poke and prod their bodies. At his direction, the slave who followed him would mark each of them with a sponge dipped into one of two buckets, leaving them with either a blue or an orange mark on their faces.

The man came to him, and an order was barked. Though Skaia did not understand the words, he knew the others had stood and undressed when they heard them, and so he did the same, watching the man’s face to see if he was doing the right thing. There was the briefest nod of approval. His mouth was examined, his body was felt and then he was marked with orange.

As the man passed by, Skaia looked back to his companions, seeing that most were marked with blue. “What does it mean?” he whispered, when the Roman was well past him.

“
It means you’re a lucky bastard,” one of the men replied dourly. “You’ll be sold in the city, probably to a private family.”

After the last captive was marked, all those with blue were unchained from their posts and instead secured to a rough length of heavy chain, and then the group was taken away.

Skaia looked to the others who were left. They were all young, though most were older than him. Many, he thought, were almost pretty, like his sister.

Tears fell as he realized he had not thought of her in weeks. Dala, sweet, gentle Dala, who was to be married to the chieftain’s second son, had the Roman soldiers not destroyed the village. He wondered where she was and what fate had befallen her. He sat and drew his knees to his chest, and wept as he had not before, not even when his parents died.

He was lying curled up on the straw, still weeping for the loss of his family, when he was roused by a blow to his back. Unknown words were spoken harshly. Commands, he was sure, but what they might be, he had no idea. He turned and saw the heavy cane raised to strike him again and he scrambled to his feet. It seemed to be what was required, for the blow did not fall. In time, when all the boys were standing, they were unchained, taken away, bathed and their heads shaved. They were dressed in rough but clean tunics, similar to what all the Romans seemed to wear, collared with some black metal, and confined in a smaller space.

For several weeks, they were kept in the small room, drilled in Latin, and taught basic commands. There were more than a few punishments handed out—slaps, punches in the belly, canings on the feet—but nothing that would leave visible scars that might deter purchasers.

And, finally came the day of the auction. All the boys were bathed again, and chained naked in an outside area. Wooden plaques were hung around their necks, describing their origins, age and any special talents. Skaia could not read what they said, of course, but his identified him as a barbarian from Gaul, ten years old and a virgin.

He watched the Roman men who moved among their small group, examining each boy in turn. He was next to last, and he flinched when the first man touched him. After the first touch, he made himself be still. Except when some of the men would handle his scrotum roughly and put their fingers in his ass. Then he squirmed and groaned. But the other boys did the same, and he felt no special shame for his reaction.

Skaia was one of the last to be auctioned. He watched the other boys who went before him. Some were crying, some were angry and fighting. Others were overcome with shame and trying to cover themselves.

When Skaia was pushed to the front, he went silently, not trying to fight. He looked around to see who bid on him, identifying some of the men who had touched him earlier. He was humiliated by the process, and angry, but he didn’t know where to direct his hate, so he looked down finally, and tried to follow his mother’s advice.
Accept what you cannot control
or change.

Once the bidding was complete and coins exchanged, the chain on his collar was handed to the man who bought him.
My master,
Skaia thought as he looked up at the man. Tall, fully grown, but not old. His light brown hair was cut like most of the Romans he’d seen, cupping his face. He was beardless, as most of the Roman men. His clothing—a tunic, Skaia recalled—was of a fine dyed fabric falling just below his knees. Skaia thought he might find the man handsome under different circumstances; if he had not just bought him, and if he had not carried a look of austerity that Skaia found frightening.

Skaia dropped his hands to cover his exposed groin as the master led him away, to a small stand close to the auction site, where newly purchased slaves were being branded, some on their arms or legs, others on their faces. Skaia watched in horror as the burning metal would hit naked skin and hiss—and the slave would scream. He’d looked to the man holding his chain, knowing he could not stop it happening to him if he were handed over. If he had the words, he would have begged.

But it wasn’t necessary; the master looked at him appraisingly, shook his head, and led him past the stand. The man looked at him very little after that, just led him down the narrow streets until they reached a litter, surrounded by the four strong slaves who would carry it. The master climbed into the litter, still holding the chain. “Walk beside me,” he ordered.

Skaia understood enough that he knew he was not invited to ride, but was expected to accompany the man. He did as he was told, continuing to hold his hands in front of his body, trying to cover his nudity from all these strangers.

By the time they reached the man’s home, Skaia’s feet were bruised again and he was trembling from fatigue and hunger. The master left the litter and handed the chain to another man who seemed to be waiting for his arrival. An older man, one not dressed so finely as his owner. His master seemed to be giving instructions, but, again, Skaia could not understand what was being said.

The new man, who now had charge of him, pulled him along a walkway and into a side door. “I am Castor,” the man said, pointing to his chest.

This, Skaia understood and he spoke softly. “I Askarikia.”

“
Afraid not, little one,” Castor told him. Then looked thoughtful. “
Skaia
, I think…” He pointed to the child’s chest. “You—Skaia.” The little boy nodded, much too afraid to argue, and followed obediently as Castor led him further inside the domus.

Skaia sighed at the foot of the post and handled the knife. He knew he should cut his neck, like the soldiers had done to the weak.
But where exactly?
Many of the men on the road had not died immediately, rather they had had blood pour from their wounds and bubble into their mouths, all the while making awful, frightening sounds, even as they were left behind.

In the end, Skaia laid the knife on the ground, shamed by his weakness and indecision. Trembling now, he waited for Castor to return. When the man came, Skaia was not at first aware, until Castor walked toward him decisively, and towered above him. “So,” he said severely, “you do not want to die after all?”

Skaia looked up at him with tears in his eyes and offered the knife. “Not know how.”

Castor lowered himself, and put a hand to the boy’s throat. “Feel this?” Skaia put his hand in the same place, feeling his pulse. “Cut there,” Castor said curtly. “It will be quick.”

At the man’s coldness, Skaia sobbed. “I afraid.”

Castor rose to his feet and looked down at the child. “More afraid than you are of living as a slave?”

Skaia wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to offer himself comfort. “I afraid,” he repeated before holding the knife out to Castor again. “I can not.”

Castor took the knife and nodded.
It had ended as Thaddeus thought it would.
“Stand and I will tie you to the post for your punishment.” Skaia stood and the chain about his neck was pulled tighter on the post, so he could no longer sit. “The master will be back after the races to whip you.” At the look of fear on the young boy’s face, Castor took pity, looked around on the ground, and handed him a short thick stick. “Hold the post when it starts,” he said almost gently, “and bite on this to keep from crying out.”  

Skaia looked at the piece of wood in his hand and then back to Castor. “Thank you,” he managed to get out.

Castor was well aware of how hard this had to be for the youngster. He smiled and ruffled the boy’s short hair. “It won’t be so bad, Skaia. When it is done, it is done. If you obey orders from now on, you will not be whipped again.”

It was quite a while before Thaddeus returned; the sun was lowering in the sky, shadows were forming in the garden. He spoke with Castor first before taking the short whip and going to the slave child. He noticed the livid bruises on the boy’s face where he’d struck him earlier, but thought they would fade before Glaucus’ birthday. “Remove your clothing,” he ordered curtly.

This time, Skaia obeyed immediately, pulling the tunic over his head and dropping it to rest on the chain attached to his neck. Thaddeus looked at the youngster’s body appraisingly. In a few years, he would be given a loincloth, but not yet. Not until there was something to cover. Since speaking with his father this morning, and now looking at the child, he thought he had made a decent choice for his son. It was impossible yet to know what Skaia might look like as an adult, but he was an attractive child. And if Glaucus did not like him as he got older, he could be sold and replaced with someone more suiting.

Thaddeus touched Skaia’s back, feeling the softness of his skin.
So much like Glaucus…
He ran his fingers down the boy’s side, feeling him flinch and tremble. When he squeezed Skaia’s buttocks, the boy began to protest. “No. Not touch me. No!”

Moving closer, Thaddeus spoke harshly in the child’s ear. “I will do whatever I want with you. Whenever I want. As will any free Roman. I gave you your chance to die and you didn’t take it.” He pinched the child’s small scrotum and heard the quick intake of breath. “This is what you chose, Skaia. Do not forget it.”

The boy remained silent after that, even as Thaddeus played in the crack of his ass. Thaddeus stopped only when Skaia accepted his fingers in the intimate place and ceased his useless squirming. Then he stepped back and flicked the whip through the air once, making a sharp cracking sound, and watched Skaia shake as he embraced the post tightly with his small hands and bite in fear on the stick. The first strike was easy, and although Skaia tensed his muscles, he didn’t cry. Thaddeus deliberately struck him harder. The purpose of this beating, after all, was to teach Skaia he never wanted another one. On the fifth strike, Skaia screamed and the stick dropped from his mouth.

Thaddeus stood back. He had intended to give the boy ten stripes, an adult’s punishment, but when the child screamed, and Thaddeus saw blood, he decided to stop. He walked in front of Skaia, and held the whip to his lips. “Kiss it, now,” he said sternly, “and thank me.”