The Songs of Slaves (25 page)

             
“You accept it your way, and I’ll accept it mine,” Connor said. He knew even as he said it what a week retort it was. The truth was that he had nothing left to say.

             
“Thank you for your concern, Philip,” Connor offered as he turned to go.

             
“That is all it is, my friend. I believe that you will settle on the right thing.”

             
Connor looked over his shoulder as the older slave shuffled towards their home in the far corner of the estate. Connor sighed deeply. He was done thinking for the night. 

XI

             
“Arise! Arise! Arise!”

Connor awoke with a start and leapt out of bed. He nearly collided with Philip as he tried to get to the window to see what was on fire. He spied the silhouette of the rider as he galloped past, crying out to the slaves that slept in their cottages.

             
“It is time,” Philip said.

             
“It’s not even dawn yet,” Connor said.

             
“Regardless, the rider was sent by the
Dominus
. That means that he is out in the vineyards and has seen the grapes, and that they are ready. Harvest begins now!
A happy time for all of us.”

             
“Bloody hell, I was having a good dream,” Sergius protested, trying to rub the hangover headache out of his temples.

             
“Quickly, friends,” Philip called. “Grab your breakfast for the road and take plenty of water. We have no time to waste.”

             
“We’ve watched those grapes ripen for weeks,” Connor said. “Now suddenly they all have to come off right now?”

             
“Yes, right now,” Brontius said. Born on the vineyard, this would probably be his twentieth working harvest or greater, and so his satchel was already packed and his shears where in his hands.

             
“Part of the
Dominus’
art,” Philip said, reaching for his hat. “When he says it is time for the grapes to come off, it is exactly time. Just like in all of the cellar operations – timing is everything.”

             
Connor splashed water in his face and pushed his hair back. He grabbed a loaf of bread and his empty water skin and shoved them into his satchel.

             
“Quit making so much noise!” Corl griped from his bed.

             
“You must come too, Corl. The
Dominus
needs all hands. Everybody must do what they can. Nothing of our labor must be left to rot on the vine.”

             
Corl cursed before assenting “I’m coming in a moment.”

             
The slaves filed out of the cottage, taking time to urinate on the ground and then to fill their water skins from the stream. They followed Philip along the path, complaining further when he quickened to a trot. The first gray light of dawn began to chase the stars away one by one as groups of men, women, and the children old enough to follow instructions took to the hillsides.

             
Connor enjoyed the seclusion of the vineyards at times. Out on his area of vines with the few men who shared his cottage and therefore his usual assignment, once they spread out and started to work he could feel as if he was all alone. If he chose, he could easily tune everything else out and just follow the methodical patterns of whatever sort of task they had to perform that day. Once he had become used to life here he found the vineyard to be tranquil. It was a good place to think or a good place not to, if one so chose. Today was different, however. As Connor and his team took to their hillside many other slaves were arriving there too. It was not only some of the other teams, but Connor recognized men and women from the household staff as well, their sleeves rolled up, baskets in tow, and shears in their hands.

             
“Everybody is out here.”

             
“That is right,” Philip answered.
“Everybody.
We are going to move through the vineyard plot by plot in the pattern that the
Dominus
dictates.”

             
“How long do you think it will take?”

             
“Hm.
I’ve seen it take four solid days. I’ve seen it take more than a week. It depends on how things go.”

             
Connor turned as he heard an unexpected sound behind him. A priest in a black robe walked through the central pathway, ringing a bell and swinging a small incense burner from a rope as he chanted a prayer.

             
No sooner had he disappeared up the hillside then Montevarius arrived, mounted on his horse that seemed as bristling with nervous energy as he did. Connor then realized that it had been he who had ridden through the slave quarters calling them all to rise and take to the fields.

             
“It is time, men and women, it is time!” he called.
“The fulfillment of our toil this year.
Time to bring in the fruit of our labors.
The next few days I am asking a lot of each of you, but if you hang together
with me, we will not only be completing what has been given to us; but will ensure our prosperity through the winter and secure our futures. Now I ask you, let no one think of weariness, or hunger, or heat; but let us all think of our impending success. It is at hand for us to reach out and bring it in.”

             
Without waiting for a response Montevarius spurred his horse onward, presumably to where other slaves were working. Connor lowered his head and went straight to work, taking the first cluster of round, violet grapes in his hand and snipping the vine where it held them. As if in response to their master’s words and the first act of harvest, the slaves began to sing.

             
It was one thing to hear a few of his fellows singing, as perhaps another group within ear shot echoed the song back. It was quite another to be in the midst of more than a hundred men and women singing as they worked. There was some confusion at times over the words, but it did not matter – the rhythms were familiar to all, as were the patterns; and the slaves threw themselves into their work and their singing with equal vigor. Connor joined in, not taking the lead or embellishing the song as he often did, but following on
with his fellow workers He sang and swayed as he took each ripened cluster and freed it from its web before dropping it gently into the basket. When the basket was full and heavy he trotted to the end of the row and emptied it into the wagon. Then he returned to his place and started again, working in tandem with Philip and Brontius. When he finished one complete vine, he skipped two and went to the third. Philip and Brontius filed in behind him, hopping each other in line as the work went by quickly and seamlessly, without any real need to talk. Mesmerized by the music, Connor did not even realize that he was hungry and thirsty for quite some time. When he did, he would grab a mouthful of bread or water with one hand while working with the other, letting the others carry the song for him.

             
Connor loosened a few grapes and ate them. Their violet skins were thick and tough, but the flesh inside was warm and sweet, with a bright sharpness as they slid back. Instead of spitting out the seeds, he swallowed them whole as they provided a back current of bitterness. His mouth seemed coated as with honey. Connor was not an expert, but with grapes like these how could it not be less than an excellent vintage year?

***

             
The experienced laborer always notices the exact moment that early morning is ended and the day becomes hot. It was at this first realization that Connor ended his second long row. Without talking about it, Philip, Brontius, and he reasoned what row they needed to start next, based on the numbers of people working in front of them. They moved ahead seven rows and started work again. As soon as they had, another group passed them to take their place at the next row. They were domestics
–
household slaves – Connor surmised, not by the way they were dressed but rather by the way they moved. Connor turned back to his work, but then caught something out of the corner of his eye. A young woman followed the others, and took her place at the first vine of the row directly ahead of Connor’s. Connor peered through the foliage, trying to get a better look, trying to figure out why she seemed familiar to him. She was wearing a plain linen tunic that reached to her calves, and had a blue kerchief over her black hair. Even with her back turned, Connor recognized that hair,
just as he recognized her form, and the graceful way
Lucia
moved.

             
Connor nearly cut himself with his shears.
The
Domina
, the master’s daughter, working out in the field in the heat with the slaves?
Philip had not exaggerated when he said that everybody would be participating in the harvest. Yet
Lucia
handled the grapes and the shears as if she had been doing it her whole life. With economy of motion and deftness, she singled out the clusters, rejecting the marred ones; clipped them; and dropped them in her basket. Connor reminded himself to get back to work, but his eyes seemed to be drawn to her like a magnet. His flow was broken, but
Lucia
’s was not. She was suddenly finished with the vine in front of her, and so she hopped her coworkers in line and started on the next one.

She was now what Connor felt was an impossible distance away. Hastily he snipped the last few clusters of his vine and followed her.

Again positioned behind her, Connor got back to work.
Lucia
was moving swiftly, the sun reflecting on her long white tunic and making her skin glow bronze. Connor was fascinated by her movements; by
the way she carried herself. The length of her neck, the set of her chin, the subtle curving lines from her shoulders to her wrists, the symmetry of her hips,
–
everything about her body seemed so perfect to him. As she bent down to reach the low hanging grapes he was incapable of taking his eyes off of her.

Connor suddenly cursed as the tips of the shears pinched the meat of his palm. He stood up straight and brought the small wound to his mouth to stop the bleeding.

“You again?”
Lucia
said. “Are you alright?”

Her eyes were crinkled to hold back the glare of the sun, but the smile she gave him seemed brighter by far.

“Of course,
Domina
.
It’s just a scratch.”

“Let me see it.”

Lucia
moved some of the tendrils back so that she could reach Connor through the vine supports. She took his calloused hand in her two small, smooth hands, cupping it as if it were something precious.

“You’re a big baby,” she laughed.

“I told you it was nothing,
Domina
,” Connor smiled. Perhaps she would think the flushing in his face was just from the heat.

“Well, be careful. You can’t get out of all this work by hiding in the infirmary. We need everybody.”

Connor’s smile broadened at her teasing, but he felt an almost palpable sense of loss when she released his hand and turned back to her work. And then she was done once more and skipping ahead to the next vine. Connor turned to Philip and Brontius who had stopped working to eye him incredulously. Connor joined in the song once more, and smiling slyly to them he walked away from his vine – which was far from finished – and skipped ahead to be behind
Lucia
once more. Philip shook his head, but Brontius laughed as they all returned to work.

“Connor!
Connor!” someone called. “Where is Connor?” 

“Here,” Connor responded.

One of the
bucellarii
on horseback appeared at the head of the row.

“Gossip couldn’t have travelled that fast, could it?” Connor asked Brontius.

“The
Dominus
needs you,” the rider called. “Go to the cellars immediately. They are already starting the crush. The
Dominus
said ‘do not walk, run’.”

Connor set down his basket and his shears and stealing one last glance at
Lucia
, he jogged to the end of the row and then on towards the villa.

He slowed to a walk as he reached the open double doors and entered through the foyer to the courtyard, and then to the back of the house. He descended the steps to the cellar, blessing the respite from the sunlight and heat.

             
His hopes for working in the cool air were disappointed upon reaching the cellar. All the doors – both the wide ones that led to the drop-off as well as huge sliding doors to the south of the cellar were open wide, and the hot air was blowing in. Lucius Montevarius stood on top of the highest scaffold calling out orders to the heavy lifters and the others he had assembled. The men were as organized as ants as they
moved in an almost unbroken loop to empty the first of the wagons and drop the fruit into the wide wooden vat.