It was midnight in the peristyle garden when I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He was as still and as white as the marble statues I had seen the stone masons carve in the narrow alleys between the Capitoline Hill and the Flaminium Circus. Underneath the glow of a full Roman moon, I noted many things at once: he wore a black, hooded cape of elegant cloth, he had a formal, patrician countenance, I saw his high cheekbones and fine aquiline nose. Nothing about him hinted at the lower classes; it appeared he had never worked a day under the hot southern sun. He was a man of great dignitas.
"What is your name, slave?" the stranger asked in a quiet, amused manner.
For a split second, I hesitated. On the one hand, my survival depended upon my deferential conduct to important Roman citizens; any impertinence could cost me my life. On the other hand, here was a stranger in the inner sanctum of my master's house, and at an uncivilized hour. In an instant, I determined that he must be acquainted with my master in order to gain entry. Did not every man of consequence in the Republic have some connection with Rome's most important citizen?
"I am called Sextus, sir." As I answered, I cast my eyes downward in deference.
"No, I do not mean your slave name," the dark haired stranger corrected. His tone was gentle, and looked up into his eyes without thought. Those black orbs bore into my own.
"My given name is Godric," I said as thought the man forced the truth from my mouth.
"Ah, and you hail from Germania?" Although it was phrased as a question, it was not an inquiry.
All I could do was stare at the stranger, mute.
"The tattoo around your neck. It gives you away." He smiled slightly, and for the first time, I sensed danger. Perhaps he owned slaves from my homeland himself, but the breadth of his knowledge left me in no doubt of his intellect.
As if sensing my apprehension, the man's face relaxed as he cocked his head. "You speak our language exceedingly well, don't you young Godric?"
I nodded and out of force of habit, looked down.
"You needn't worry. I wish you no harm, and shall not report our meeting to your mistress. What's that you have in your hands?" He seemed simultaneously amused and curious, and for the second time, I couldn't help but answer.
I looked at the papyrus roll in my hand and said, "It is Homer, sir. The Odyssey."
The stranger gave a melodic laugh of disbelief, "Godric, the scholar slave. You surprise me, and I am not often surprised. You cannot have spoken our language long, and yet, you read Homer?"
"Yes, sir," I stammered, embarrassed. "My master requires education in his house slaves." I looked down again, perplexed and not knowing how to proceed, but when I looked up again, the stranger had vanished. I lit the olive oil filled terra cotta lamp and sat down on a bench next to the shallow pool and began my journey with Homer. Had the past few moments been but a dream?
*****
I was born near the great forests of Germania next to the river Rhine in what I believe to be about 64 years before the birth of Christ. This is as close an approximation as I can give since our tribe kept no calendar to mark the passage of time. My father, Ewald, was the chief of our tribe which belonged to the Cherusci people. My mother came from a people up north, near a great sea, called the Chauci. Her family had fled plague and famine and had found refuge with our tribe. They spoke a mutually understandable dialect and she was a tall and beautiful woman. Our tribe was always in need of women, and my father gave her protection. My name came from her people.
Ours was a warrior culture. From the time I could walk, I was instructed in the ways of battle. Our training was regimented, lasting hours each day. We learned hand to hand combat with numerous weapons, we learned combat strategy. We kept physically fit, running and lifting as battle required prolonged exertion. In those times, fighting well meant freedom; losing battle meant slavery, rape of our women, and annihilation.
It was my shame that I was not built like the great warriors. My brother, Hartwin, five years my senior, was tall and blond with the strength of an ox, the living embodiment of all that could be desired in a warrior. I was short with dark hair and resembled my father's mother, a Gaul stolen across the river. However, I knew the forests around our village well and could run fast but with stealth. It was my fate to be a scout.
In my seventh summer, I was ordered to accompany my brother, Hartwin, to patrol the forests. We were always on the lookout for marauding Gauls crossing the Rhine, or other Cherusci attempting to violate peace treaties. At twelve, Hartwin was taller than our father, but not yet strong enough to fight should war arrive.
On our fourth night of scouting, voices filtered through the forest. We quietly followed their sound and realized soon enough that the voices were numerous and loud and belonged to an unfamiliar people.
What I saw in the distance under the light of the moon knocked me to my knees. Thousands of men, working in concert like forest ants, were busy building a massive wooden structure across the Rhine. They were building a bridge and had already accomplished much. Hartwin and I had patrolled this area, five miles from our village, just days ago, and it was deserted. Now, it was filled with thousands upon thousands of soldiers with red capes and ingenious metal armor and plumed helmets, all working in unison to ford this river in a feat of engineering that was beyond my imagination. These were great and powerful people: it was my first glimpse of the Romans.
The Romans, we understood, were battling the Gauls who owned the lands across the Rhine. Many people of the Cherusci had established trade with the Romans, and they had stated intentions of remaining in Gaul. Not anymore. Hartwin and I fled to our father immediately.
By the time we reached Ewald, word had reached him of the Roman invasion. Our tribe had been visited by representatives of Ariovistus, a Germanic mercenary of the Suebi people. He had been in league with Rome, but then had attacked the mighty people. He wanted Ewald and our tribe to join him in his fight against the Romans. Ewald was a shrewd judge of character and had prior dealings with Ariovistus finding him dishonorable and untrustworthy. He refused to join the mercenary, a move that would mark my father as a traitor to his own people. Either way, a battle was brewing: we could fight the Romans or we could fight the Suebi. Our tribe revered my father's judgment and agreed to evacuate the village. Hartwin and I would remain behind and scout the battle.
It took the Romans only ten days to complete their miraculous bridge. Hartwin and I watched as they crossed the bridge and stepped onto our lands, dug defensive trenches, pitched tents and prepared for war.
War did not come fast, but when it came, my brother and I watched the slaughter from a close vantage point. In those days, women and children accompanied their men to battle, egging their men into a frenzy, and sometimes fighting themselves. It was called the battle of Vosges and it would haunt the memories of our people for hundreds of years. With the same skill and determination that they constructed their bridge, the Romans systematically cut down Germanic forces. Although Ariovistus had recruited hundreds of thousands of Suebi and the Romans were vastly out numbered, they were no match for the coordination and discipline of the Romans. The Suebi were slaughtered with impunity, men, women, and children alike, sparing only a few for slavery, even in the face of surrender. I later learned that the dead numbered 430,000. The battle field swam in blood.
****
The following evening, I entered the peristyle garden, my only time alone in a long day. My main work consisted of recording and reconciling the household accounts and that work consumed my day. As a trusted and favored slave, I was allowed to read at night when the house rested. This was my favorite time in Rome, the blazing Roman sun gone, that orb so much stronger and oppressive than its weaker northern counterpart. The Roman sun burned my fair skin and drained my strength so I rejoiced in the cool breezes that graced the Palatine Hill at night.
"Hello, Godric," the melodic voice whispered.
Startled, I looked up. "Good evening, sir." The cloaked stranger stood stock still in the exact spot he stood last night. Blood filled my cheeks: I had convinced myself I had dreamed this creature, yet here he was, marble white with a shock of black hair. He was real.
"My name is Appius," the man said in answer to my unsaid question. "It was rude to not previously introduce myself. I found I have some questions for you, young Godric."
This was confusing. I was a slave, no longer a person, no longer of consequence. How could this noble Roman who could kill me with a whisper, wish to introduce himself to me and know my mind?
"You may relax," he smiled at me, "I only want you to answer some questions, truthfully, if you please. Not a word of our conversation shall ever reach other ears." He must have sensed my apprehension, for the tone of his voice was instantly smoothing.
"I will answer truthfully." My master had always counseled me on the importance of being frank, and I gulped air in the hopes of increasing my courage.
"What do you desire more than anything?" he asked. "What is your first thought on the subject?"
The answer was ridiculously easy, but I hesitated as the truth could end my life. "My freedom," I replied.
"Yes, yes, of course you want your freedom. What slave doesn't? Assuming you had your freedom, what is your greatest desire?"
"To be a warrior, of course." It was an answer that required no thought.
"But what of your reading, your languages? For it appears that you speak both Latin and Greek as well as your native tongue," he noted quickly,
"But I could have both, couldn't I?" There was not better example than my master. I looked at Appius straight in the eyes and said, "Nothing could be more glorious than fighting well in battle."
"Is that what you long for, Godric? Your people have no written language, your mind is filled with learning and you chose warfare?"
"My people, my tribe just recently obtained letters." I lifted the course sleeve on my right arm to reveal my runic tattoo. These symbols were permanently marked upon my skin to mark my passage into adulthood at the age of twelve.
"Ah..." he said as he came closer to take a better look. "They look vaguely Etruscan, a language I am intimately acquainted with, but I cannot make them out."
"They are symbols brought to our village by a fur merchant who traded with the Romans. I was captured before I knew their meaning," I noted.
"So, Godric, you have the heart of a warrior, the mind of a scholar, and an uncanny ability to not only survive, but to also thrive, in spite of your circumstances." A smiled curled at the corner of his mouth. "What would you be willing to sacrifice for your freedom, for the opportunity to be one of the fiercest warriors in history?"
I stared at the white face, not answering. Of course, I would sacrifice almost everything, anything for freedom, for battle, for the shackles of servitude to be lifted. To say so would be dangerous, indeed.
"Think about my offer. I shall see you again." With that, Appius walked around the shallow pool of the garden and melted into the darkness.
***
At the age of twelve, I became a man. For three years, our people had reeled in the aftermath of the Battle of Vosges, and my chieftain father, Ewald, had risen to the ranks of a regional leader of many tribes due, in part, to his wise decision to rebuke Ariovistus. No one who had previously called Ewald a traitor was alive to repeat that slur.
The force of Rome had shaken our people to the core. Although Hartwin no longer patrolled the forests with me, my skills in that regard had increased significantly. The forest was my home, and I could move in her with impunity. At eighteen, Hartwin was a blond giant, broad shouldered and as talented a warrior as our tribe possessed. My favorite pass time was to be schooled in battle skills by him. However, in the forest, I was the skilled one.
The night following midsummer of my twelfth year saw me patrolling once again. This time, when I heard the voices drift through the woods, they were no longer foreign: the Romans had arrived again. I spotted them across the Rhine, this time closer to our village than ever. Immediately, I returned quickly and quietly to my father.
Upon the news, my father issued orders which gave me great pleasure: "Godric, you shall keep close to the Romans. Observe everything, and report back every two days." It was an important job and left to me alone. "We do no understand Roman intentions and will not engage in battle unless they attack first. However, we must prepare."
It was only a matter of days before timber was felled and construction of a new bridge began. I watched transfixed as large logs were piled into the river bed by ingenious pounding instruments, the Roman worker ants busy and coordinated. It took them eighteen days to ford the river; they seemed in no great hurry this time.
It was as they crossed the river that I first saw their leader, striding a horse ahead of his troops. His face was pale and handsome, his hair receding, but his most remarkable feature were his eyes: they were pale blue, the color of my people, but with a depth and intelligence that seared through anyone caught in their path. His men called him Caesar.
I recognized him as a great warrior. This recognition had nothing to do with the skill in which he had slaughtered our people, but with the efficiency in which he able to marshall his troops and the loyalty he garnered. His men would follow him to sure death and would do so gladly.
The moment the Romans arrived on our side of the Rhine, they dug camp. I observed them from a close distance for a number of days, faithfully reporting to my father. After two weeks of encampment, I saw no signs of war preparation. It was at the end of my third week of observation that I made an uncharacteristic mistake.
It was daytime and I was too close to the Roman camp, too sure of my skills. An eagle screeched above my head and, rather than focusing my attention on my targets, I looked up and saw the winged giant gracefully riding a current below the tree line, close enough to hit with a stone. When I looked down, two Roman soldiers with wide grins greeted me. Within the span of a moment, my freedom was gone.
I was led to a tent, larger than any of that ever seen by my people, made of leather and expertly stitched. On a chair at the end of the tent, upon a raised platform, sat their leader, whose look I could not discern. He spoke with my hostage takers in his language and then sharply turned the entire force of his focus on me. I felt the breath leave my chest.
Without thought, I fell to my knees and uttered the words I had heard his soldiers say, "Ave, Caesar." With head down, I put my hands to the ground and completely prostrated myself. Perhaps the deference would gain me a quick death, rather than prolonged torture. Hartwin and I had witnessed Roman torture five years past and the thought made me shudder.
Caesar laughed. "Arise and speak to me," he uttered in my own tongue. I quickly scrambled to my feet.
"How long have you been observing us?" his face was pleasant and turned into a smile which formed a hundred tiny wrinkles around his eyes.
"Three weeks, sir," I managed to stammer through my astonishment at he ease in which he spoke my language.
"Three weeks? We have let a child observe us for three weeks?" He shook his head and looked at me with the full force of his eyes. "My patrols are usually more efficient. I shall call you 'Little Ghost'. Where do you live and who are your people?"
"My people are the Cherusci, and our village is but three miles down the river." I felt grateful for the opportunity to talk; it prolonged my life. "My father, Ewald, is a great chief over many tribes." Would this admission hinder my execution or hurry it?
His face relaxed and he spoke his language with the others in the room. "Excellent. We are favored by Fortune, Little Ghost. I will send a messenger to your father and explain that you are to be our guest." I understood immediately. I was taken prisoner by the Romans to ensure that my father would not cross the Rhine and interfere with Roman interests.
"Sir," I hoped my speaking out of turn would not give too great an offense, "my father, Ewald, did not join Ariovistus and he will not attack Rome, even on our lands, unless of course, you attack first."
"Yes, I know perfectly well of your father, and you, Little Ghost, will insure that he will never cross the river into Roman Gaul. For the lands across the river, all the way to Italy, are now under the auspices of Rome. You will be treated well, Little Ghost, for it is in our interests to make sure that nothing bad should befall you. Helios, come here."
A short, dark balding man came out from the shadows and bowed his head in deference to Caesar. He wore a rough hewn tunic and sandals, and I guessed that he was a slave.
"Helios here speaks your language. We have had five years to practice, and in fact, he speaks almost any many tongues as I do. He is a learned and valuable slave, a scholar and a teacher, and you shall be under his care. A word of caution, Little Ghost: you must obey him as you would me. The more you learn from him, the more use you will be to me. The more you are of use to me, the better your situation. Do we have an understanding?"
"Yes, sir," I said. And I did understand. I understood my life was no longer my own. I understood learning as much as I could would increase my comfort. I understood that I would not see my mother, father, Hartwin, or the forests of Germania ever again.
****
For the next two years, I joined the Romans in their battles against the Gauls. Not that I was allowed to fight, although the battles were numerous, and I longed to don battle armor and be a legionary. Instead, I was tutored. It took only six months before I could speak Latin and Greek and another six before I could read and write both. This facility with language would serve me well for all the years that followed.
Helios was an excellent teacher, patient and thorough and learning kept my mind occupied. Without the total immersion into learning, the hole left by the absence of my family would have consumed me. He introduced me to philosophy, history, mathematics, and theater. His wealth of knowledge was breathtaking.
"Helios," I ventured one night. "You are Greek and Greece has been a Roman province for hundreds of years. You are a teaher. How could you, of all people, be a slave?"
"Gambling debts," he noted, "I could not pay off my debts, which were incurred one night when I enjoyed too much wine. So, I sold myself into slavery to someone in need of my skills to pay off my debts. Caesar is a great man. If I do well, one day I may yet gain my freedom. He expects a great deal from those who are around him, but no more than he does from himself. If you serve him well, you may one day when you are older, earn your freedom, Sextus." He always called me by my formal slave name.
"But, Helios, I have so much more to learn." I lamented the fact that the more I learned, the more my ignorance became apparent to me.
Once I masted rudimentary mathematics, I found I enjoyed it as much as languages. At the end of my second year of captivity, I began to help Helios with accounting matters dealing with the campaign and much of that involved the slave trade. Slavery was immensely profitable and helped to finance Caesar's wars in Gaul. By the conclusion of the final battle for Gaul, the battle of Alesia, Caesar owned millions of slaves, and I became deeply grateful for my fate, a fate which did not resemble most of those whom I documented. Many were slated to be sold in rural Italy as laborers. My position was excellent in comparison and I gained a resolve to study harder.
After Caesar's fight with the Senate of Rome at the conclusion of the Gallic Wars, after his march on Rome and conquest of the city, I became the property of Gaius Julius Caesar himself, taken into his household and made to work on his personal household accounts. When Caesar soon left Rome to chase his conservative enemies who had fled south, I was left behind in Rome to serve his wife, Calpurnia. When she branded me with the slave emblem of her house, she did so on my right shoulder, rather than on my hands or forehead as was customary. It was a mark of respect which made my heart glad. No slave could have asked for more.
***
"Sextus", she rasped, "I am unwell." I looked at my mistress as she reclined in her bed chamber and had to concur: she looked quite unwell.
"I require a physician. You are to go to the Subura and fetch Caesar's physician, a Jew by the name of Abraham. Caesar told me that should I require emergency errands at night, that I must enlist you. Here is the address. You must go alone."
The Subrua was the tenement area to the east of the forum, taking the space between the forum and the Viminal Hill. The better apartment buildings were brick and had shops on the first floor, the poorer ones were made of wood. This was not the safest area during the daytime, but at night, it was outright dangerous. Rome had no police force, no one to enforce laws or protect victims from violent crime.
This was also the area in which my master was raised. Although from a noble family, my master's mother wanted him raised in the old Roman principles of stoic simplicity, not surrounded by wealth or excess. It was in the Subura that Caesar learned the many languages spoken there and developed a respect for different cultures, particularly the Jews. The old Jewish doctor had known Caesar since childhood and no other physician in Rome was ever allowed to treat him or his family.
After donning a black cloak, I quietly fled the safety of the Palatine Hill and slid through the forum, towards the Subura. Other than avoiding a group of three drunks exiting a tavern, I made haste to the doctor's apartment with little trouble. That the doctor should immediately rouse from bed and accompany me was taken for granted.
Although old, Abraham was not frail, and he knew the alleys of the Subura and the best path out, avoiding taverns and trouble. We easily left the danger, only to be stopped my prostitutes canvassing the forum for easy money. I showed them Caesar's seal and they stopped their harassment mid-sentence. We reached the door of my master's house, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"Godric, a word alone with you," Appius said.
"Of course, sir. Allow me to let the doctor in the house," I said, relieved to open the door and push the doctor inside. I exhaled with satisfaction at a job well done, turning my face to the noble man.
"I must leave the city soon," he started, "and I was curious as to your thoughts on my offer," he said more seriously than I had heard him speak before.
Perhaps it was the enveloping darkness, or the still coursing adrenalin in my veins, but I did not hesitate in addressing Appius directly and without fear. "The fact that you would consider purchasing my freedom," for I could not understand any other way out of slavery, "is very generous. How could I be of use to you in combat? You do not look like a warrior?"
"What I offer you is complete and absolute freedom, a freedom you cannot yet comprehend," Appius said.
"And, you will be strong beyond your understanding, able to crush a man with your bare hands. You will be a warrior without equal. You would be able to live as long as you choose, and I would be your guide through this new world, and your companion. Beyond that, I cannot explain in any manner in which you would understand. The important point is this: I a giving you a choice. Your decision, however, must be made now. If you refuse, you will go back to slavery and, as you know, the choices are few indeed."
It took me only a moment to reply. "I choose freedom. My time in servitude has not been harsh, but I long to have choice and to be my own master."
As I uttered the last word, Appius swept me in his arms and ran at blinding speed. In an instant we were in a dark and dank place; the smell was horrible.
"What is this place," I said as my eyes tried to adjust.
"We are in the sewers of Rome. Relax, young Godric. You must relax and trust me."
A sharp pain seized my neck before I drifted off into a darkness I had never known before.