Author's Note: This is slavery, not to speak one's thought. –Euripides
Disclaimer: A slave owns nothing; I own no more.
Had any of Esca's former owners proposed to provide him with a weapon, he would have assumed it was a joke. Or a trick. Or a test.
It was a testament to the hopefulness of the human spirit that a mere few weeks of kindness had overcome more than three years of bitter experience.
Esca believed. And was touched.
Of course, he'd been wrong before.
That same morning, after a light repast of bread and fruit, Marcus told his slave, "We'll go to the forum, and see what we can find for you in the shops."
Not knowing what to say, Esca nodded. His hair was still wet from the bathing pool when they left the villa.
The Roman did not ask his slave if he knew of a good bowyer in town, merely lead him into the commercial district, to the stall of an armorer who obligingly laid out half a dozen bows on the counter.
Esca looked them over carefully without touching. Finally, he shook his head and gave a tiny shrug. Was a slave even allowed to own a weapon?
"Oh, no," Marcus chuckled. "You don't get off that easily. Try them out."
Esca eyed the stall's proprietor, then stepped closer to the bows.
"Is he going to touch them?" the man asked.
Marcus nodded. "He's the expert," he explained mildly.
The armorer pulled out a cloth from under the counter and handed it to Esca. "Wipe your hands, slave, before you touch my wares."
It was the kind of indignity the unfree were exposed to every day. Every hour. The Briton accepted the cloth in silence and without apparent offense. Marcus watched him wipe his already clean hands, then display them for inspection. Receiving a grudging nod of approval from the vendor, he quickly picked up the weapon furthest to the left, strung it, drew the string to his ear, released it, then just as quickly unstrung the bow, set it down and moved on to the next to repeat the process.
Both Marcus and the vendor watched attentively, trying to guess which the bondsman would pronounce the best. The Briton's expression was unreadable, even to his master. Clearly, his task absorbed him, but whether the ornate, the gilded or the plain pleased him or dismayed him, it was impossible to tell.
When he had tried them all, the slave stepped back, hands clasped in front of him, eyes properly cast down.
"Well?" Marcus asked.
The slave's lilting response was only barely audible. "It's up to you." He knew they couldn't negotiate for the weapon now; they'd neglected to set up a signal for which bow was the best. If he revealed to the proprietor that he thought they should purchase the plain yew, it would up the weapon's price considerably. They should leave and come back a little later to bargain.
"You must have some idea which you think is best," his master prompted. "Or should we try somewhere else?"
A tricky question. The proprietor was watching them with narrowed eyes. Esca didn't want to antagonize the man; he wanted to be able to return and negotiate a good price for the yew. "They're all fine weapons."
Marcus, not being a mind reader, was irritated. Try to be nice to some people. He sighed and picked up the largest and sturdiest looking of the bows himself. "Fine," he snapped. "I'll decide. Though I don't know what I brought you for then."
The proprietor didn't either. He began to extol the virtues of the weapon Marcus was handling.
Esca frowned. He didn't like the pull of that bow, and the price the vendor was quoting was much too high. He would have liked to urge Marcus away from the stall, but to do so would offend the proprietor, and he wanted the yew. Plus, the next time he came to the market he'd likely be alone. Vulnerable. A slave can't afford to make enemies. Against his better judgement, his right hand crept up to tap the counter in front of the yew. "This one's draw weight is better for me," he admitted, trying hard to get the right mix of deference and indifference into his voice.
"Too late," Marcus informed him. "I like this one." Internally, he was happy that Esca had revealed his choice, but this was a negotiation, so he directed his smile at the vendor, rather than at his bondsman.
"How right you are, dominus," the vendor agreed. "That yew is much too plain for a commander of men such as yourself. The one you've chosen is much better. Now, the price I'm asking for it is cheap…"
It wasn't, but even if it had been, Esca didn't want it. Was Marcus really going to buy it… for himself? Maybe he intended to buy one for each of them.
Maybe he had changed his mind about buying one for Esca.
Disappointment shot through him at the thought. He hadn't realized how much he'd been looking forward to it, even though the idea had never entered his head until that morning when Marcus put it there. He stared at the young Roman, feeling betrayed. Marcus had set down the bow with the irritating pull, and was considering another, so didn't see his bondsman's face.
But the vendor did. And laughed. "He thought it was for him!" the man crowed in cruel delight.
Esca fought to control his features. He didn't care what the vendor thought. Fortunately, Marcus wasn't even looking at him, having picked up a beautifully painted and highly carved, but functionally useless bow that had apparently been made by someone who intended it to be used as a votive offering. It was not even made of an appropriate wood for archery. "His last owner spoiled him terribly," Esca's current owner agreed casually. "Gets all sorts of notions. How much for this one?"
It would serve him right if he did waste coin on that one! Stupid idiot! He was a stupid idiot to have believed something said by someone who owned him! Esca's face hardened into stone.
The vendor, watching him, chuckled. "You know, dominus, I think you should buy the yew for him. Makes a nice flexible switch."
Esca clenched strong teech. He'd had such a beating, more than once, and to think of it was to feel again the sting of the bow's flexible limbs on his own limbs, on his back—
And Marcus was laughing.
Because it was funny.
He should have lied about the marks on his arm.
Just as Esca had, Marcus tried each bow in turn.
Except the yew. That one he never touched. Why would he?
It was only the one he knew Esca wanted.
Why would a man arm his enemy? His slave?
Why would he save his life?
Esca had hated Beppo, but at least the master of the gladiators had never pretended to be kind.
Marcus set down the last bow. "I don't know," he sighed. He looked over at his slave as if for guidance, and appeared startled by the angry look that greeted him. He cocked his head, and turned back to the vendor.
"You know what? Let me have that little yew bow, after all."
One corner of the vendor's mouth curled up in disdain. It was the plainest and cheapest of the bows on offer. "You haven't even tried it, dominus."
"I don't need to," the Roman assured him. "I've no intention of shooting it. I'm going to use it to teach my slave here some manners."
