VOLUMEN VII

Crescit sub pondere virtus.

Even though I had seen innumerable slaves fall victim to the cruelty of my father's wrath, I never imagined he would unleash its full tempest against his own son. When Pater woke up one morning, he was completely silent. I knew something was wrong, for I was usually awakened by the sound of his impatient shouts as he gave orders to the slaves or demanded to know why breakfast was not yet finished.

"Is there a problem, Drusus?" Mater inquired gently. "You don't seem yourself this morning."

"Come with me!" he retorted. "All of you!"

Publius clasped his hands together in an unsuccessful attempt to still their trembling. I noticed his lips form inaudible words as he briefly glanced toward the sky.

Mater placed her hands on my shoulders as we followed Pater to the barn. He ordered the nearest field hand to summon the other slaves at once, glaring at us as the frightened slave hurried away to do my father's bidding.

Numerius had been taking deep breaths, as if trying to calm himself. He stood tall, refusing to cower, but as he smiled reassuringly at me, I noticed that he was unable to look Pater in the eye.

"What's wrong?" Publius whispered, his hands still wrapped around each other so tightly that his knuckles were white, and his fingernails had left their marks in his skin.

Numerius placed his own hands over his knees, as if willing them not to quaver so badly, as he quietly replied, "Those who do the right thing need not live in fear."

As the slaves gathered around us, several looked at Numerius in a way that showed both deepest sympathy and greatest respect. I knew then that my brother had committed an act of treason against Pater.

"I have found a solution to a problem that has plagued our villa for quite some time!" Pater announced. "Many of my slaves have taken the liberty of trying to become their own masters! This is nothing less than theft, for you are stealing my property! All of you belong to me, not yourselves! Until recently, I had managed to execute every slave who dared to become a fugitive! However, for well over a year now, several groups of deceitful slaves have been making a fool of me! They have not been caught, but the rest of you must not think you shall be so fortunate, for I have discovered their method of escape, and now I shall destroy it! Never again shall any slave escape Drusus Duilius Domitianus!"

Numerius was trying to be brave, but I noticed he was shuddering.

Pater turned to my brother. "Numerius! Bring the whip! One of my slaves deserves punishment!"

Although he was reluctant to do so, Numerius had no choice. Not wishing to arouse Pater's wrath any further, he brought the whip that had inflicted innumerable stripes on nearly all of my father's slaves.

"Suspend him and tie a weight to his feet!" Pater commanded the nearest slave.

"Who does our master wish to punish in this manner?" the slave asked. "Surely the master did not mean his own son. Which slave has enraged our master?"

"Of course I meant my own son!" my father retorted brusquely. "Numerius has been helping my slaves run away! If he wishes to take part in a slave's crime, he shall have a slave's punishment!"

Mater's eyes widened as she gasped, throwing her arms around Numerius. "Drusus, be reasonable! I understand that you are upset with him for stealing our slaves, and I too am angry, but would you flog your own son?"

"One lash per slave he has cost us!" Pater answered.

"You're not beating him!" Mater crossed her arms. "Our son is a Roman citizen, and your citizenship was revoked! Where in the Twelve Tables does it say that it is lawful for a mere freeborn to whip a citizen? You know as well as I that a true citizen of Rome cannot receive lashes without consent of the people, and even then, he must first be sentenced after an unbiased trial! By the laws of our glorious empire, you have no right to harm him!"

"I am his father! We both know that a father has as much power over his children as a master has over his slaves! That being, I may do whatever I please! Now mind your place as a woman, obey your husband, and stand aside!"

"Crudelis! In every other matter, I submit to you, but I will not stand aside and allow you to harm another of our children! Are you not satisfied that Paula is dead?!"

Pater raised his hand menacingly. He never caused her any serious injuries, but often when they argued, he would strike Mater across the face.

"All will be well!" Numerius interjected. "I know my father will not rest until he has punished me as he sees fit. The best I can do now is to endure my suffering like a man. A real man accepts his inevitable fate without seeing others come to harm, especially women."

"Remove your tunic!" Pater ordered.

My brother managed to keep his hands steady as he pulled his tunic over his head. "Even gladiators fight while wearing only a loincloth."

"Domine," one of the slaves began, "we all know your son has greatly displeased you, but could his punishment not be divided among ourselves? Is it not far more fitting for a master to whip his slaves than for a father to flog his child?"

"One more word against my decision, and you'll go to the cross!" Pater warned.

Numerius was bound, just as Pater had previously commanded. Mater was already crying, but even though my brother's face had turned a sickening shade of pale, he still made every effort to hide his fear.

"Have you any final words before receiving your sentence?!" our father demanded.

"Pater," Numerius began, "as you know, there are various methods for slaves to become freedmen. A master can free a slave in his will, add his name to a census, or simply turn him out when he becomes too old or infirm to work. However, if a master is a Roman citizen who takes his slave before the consul or praetor to be manumitted, then the slave also becomes a citizen of Rome rather than a mere freedman." He smiled as he concluded by asking, "How does it feel knowing that your slaves are not considered escaped fugitives, but Roman citizens, a higher status than yourself?"

Judging from the way Pater immediately drew back his whip and began flaying his victim mercilessly, Numerius would have been wiser not to have mentioned that our father's missing slaves were now citizens. I had seen countless slaves fall victim to Pater's whip, but the punishment seemed so much worse when the cries of anguish escaped my own brother's lips. Despite their fear of Pater, I could tell that any of the slaves would gladly have taken the place of their master's son, for he had helped so many others escape the torment of this same lash. The slaves' eyes silently asked each other why the master's own son would take stripes on his back for their sake, why he would submit to a slave's punishment he didn't deserve so they could have the chance of citizenship that they could never earn. Why should the master's son, the heir to the villa, take their place as the recipient of his father's wrath?

Mater was on her knees, trying to beg Pater to reconsider and spare Numerius from any further torture, but she was sobbing so hard that she could barely speak. Publius looked as if he wished to comfort her, but he wasn't sure what to say. I wondered if he was thinking of how Tiberius had been beaten to death in the army.

When Pater finished flogging Numerius, he ordered that salt be rubbed into the wounds.

"Master," began Vercingetorix, "no salt remains at the villa. Our master saw fit to command his slaves to sell the salt last week, and we have done accordingly."

I knew Vercingetorix was lying, and although I feared for his life if Pater discovered a slave was speaking dishonestly and refusing to comply with the wishes of his master, I silently prayed that Libertas would grant his freedom as a reward for his courage. Believing him, Pater simply released Numerius and left to inspect the orchard.

Mater ran to her badly injured son, taking his hands in her own. I knew she wished to embrace him, but she dared not touch his back. Numerius was trembling from the pain, but although he was breathing heavily, my brother pressed his lips together firmly, too brave to complain.

"Mother's here. All will be well," Mater assured him as if he were a young child who had scraped a knee or gotten a sliver. "We'll take care of those wounds, and the pain will end."

She allowed him to place an arm over her shoulders and lean against her for support as he walked. Although the distance was short, Numerius could barely move, and he begged to rest in the shade after he had taken only a few steps.

Vercingetorix, who had been watching with the other slaves, bowed to Mater. "Domina, shall we bring the lectica for him?"

"Yes, serve, and make haste!" Mater replied.

The slaves brought the litter they used to carry Pater when he visited the city or had guests at the villa. They had placed extra cushions in it so Numerius could recline in even more comfort.

"I cannot allow this," my brother protested weakly. "They already have enough work to do, and they've all had worse beatings. Why should I be carried as if I were better than any of them?"

"You have done so much for us, domine," Vercingetorix answered. "Please allow us the pleasure of doing a kindness for you."

Numerius nodded and seated himself in the lectica. Perhaps it goes without saying that rather than lying on his back, as was customary for those riding in a litter, he turned onto his stomach. He bled from so many wounds that it was impossible to tell where his stripes were, for the blood covered his entire back.

Before lifting the litter to their shoulders, the slaves handed him grapes and cheese. Vercingetorix placed a crown of oak leaves on my brother's head, claiming that one whose valor had saved so many lives deserved the high honor of the Corona Civica, and he tossed rose petals as a sign of victory. I silently gave thanks that Pater was nowhere near, for by their actions, the slaves were demonstrating where their loyalty lay. Although they would not defy Pater's commands, they saw Numerius as dominus of the villa.

My brother was barely able to hide his tears. When I assured him that soon his torment would end, he shook his head, explaining that his tears were not those of agony; he was deeply moved that despite their own hardships, which were worse than his would ever be, the slaves still tried to comfort him during his hour of need.

We took him to his room and had him lie down on his bed. The blood from my brother's back ran down his arms and sides, staining the cushions underneath him. Mater ordered the slaves to bring water.

"Remember who was always the best at tending these kinds of injuries?" one of the slaves asked another. "He was always willing to help in exchange for a bit of food."

"I remember!" the other slave replied. "He used to crush plants and mix them together, and then he would…"

"I'd suggest not speaking of him unless you wish to be killed!" interrupted a third slave. "You know how the master feels about such things!"

"All I wished to say was that if were still here, he would no doubt be able to help the master's son," the first slave stated.

"Now that you've said it, perhaps you could keep silent before you get us all crucified!" responded the third.

I was silent as I helped Mater clean my brother's wounds. Numerius tried to keep still, but he jerked and pulled away each time we barely touched him. He would look ashamed of himself and apologize for having moved, but he was unable to control his wincing.

"I can't imagine how many regrets you must have," Publius remarked sympathetically.

"Only that I was unable to help more," Numerius replied, gasping sharply as my cloth came to rest over one of his longest stripes.

"I'm sorry, Numerius." My apology was difficult due to the severe tightening in my throat. "I know it must hurt you dreadfully."

He sighed. "It felt like a knife made of fire."

"At least Pater didn't accuse you of heresy," I answered. "He'd have done something even worse to you then."

Publius cringed. "Could we please discuss something other than what Pater would do to any heretics he found here? Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling us how you managed to have the slaves freed before a consul or praetor when you never left the villa."

"Let's just say I know someone," Numerius explained. "Vaha! Please don't ask me anything else about it. Ei!"

Mater turned to the slaves who were in the room, instructing them to hold my brother at the ankles, knees, wrists, and elbows. She patted his hand.

"I'm sorry to have to do this," Mater began, "but if the wounds become infected, they'll hurt you even more. I promise this will only take a moment."

We began using acetum on his injuries. Numerius cried out so loudly that he nearly lost his voice, but although he thrashed violently, the slaves held him in place. He looked ashamed of himself each time tears dripped down his face, but we all assured him that there was no need for his chagrin. We understood that he was suffering great anguish, and none of us thought he was unmanly simply for shedding a few tears. Mater promised to bring him calda for the pain in his throat and a damp cloth to cool his face.

"Do you still regret that you were unable to help more slaves?" Publius asked when we had finished. "That would have meant more lashes. Would it have been worth it?"

Numerius didn't even hesitate before nodding.

Virtue grows under oppression.