VII
As the trees dropped their leaves and the snows came, Quintus soon felt how much colder the northern provinces could be. But even for Britannia, the year-end freeze was far worse than normal. The charcoal-burning braziers throughout the Viator house and slave barracks did little to relieve the bitter cold. Quintus and the other grooms spent many bone-chilling nights in the stables minding the braziers that were lit to warm the horses. A few of the older and weaker slaves died, but the horses all survived the season. Each of the villa residents, from the master to the youngest slave child, was happy to welcome the warmth of spring and summer back into their lives.
It had been over a year since Quintus had arrived. As if to further isolate him from the life he once knew, news had reached the villa in early August of a great fire in Rome. Three of the city’s residential districts, including most of the Palatine and Esquiline hills, had been completely destroyed in a holocaust that burned for a week. Rumors were rampant that Nero himself had set the blaze to secure land for a new palace. But that mattered little to Quintus. The Romanus family home was situated in the middle of the ravaged neighborhood. The house itself had been sold by Sextus and Julia, although they held on to his father’s shipping fleet to augment their textile business. The selling of the house was one thing, but the thought of his childhood home, with all its memories and possessions, now lying in a smoldering heap brought Quintus to tears. It was another cold reminder that life as he knew it would never be the same.
The news reinvigorated his determination to put his plan of escape into action and get on with seeking his new life. But how? Throughout the spring and summer, Quintus had kept a watchful eye for the right opportunity. On his early morning rides to exercise the horses, he had often considered simply jumping the low fence that surrounded the villa and riding off across the green hills. But where would he go? Though there were few physical barriers between him and freedom, many obstacles still blocked his path. He knew the punishment for runaway slaves was death, often by crucifixion. So where he went and how he hid once he left the villa were far more important than simply planning an escape route across the villa grounds. He considered the lives of the street urchins who were so plentiful in Rome. Was a life of begging and scrounging for every meal any better than what he had now? At least at the villa he ate relatively well and slept with a roof over his head. He had come to think of it as “The Pleasant Prison.” No, he would need to find a better life than that before he risked an escape. But, in over a year, that last elusive component had never presented itself.
As he did most mornings, Quintus shoveled grain into his cart before making the rounds of the horse stalls. Down the hill, he noticed the family coach already on the pathway with two mares in place. Each had a feed bag strapped to her face and a groom was wiping mud from the carriage sides. Quintus thought it odd that the coach had been out on the road so early.
The head groom led a small caravan of assistants, each loaded down with heavy tack and harnessing gear, past Quintus toward the stables.
“Hurry up with the feed this morning, Grumbles,” Dida called out as he passed. “We’ll be needing quite a few of the horses shortly. We’ll also need you to help pull three more wagons out of the shed.”
“Right away, sir.” Quintus thought he detected an unusually cheerful tone in the old groom’s voice.
Quintus’s strength and stamina had blossomed dramatically in his sixteenth year. To his mind, it was the single positive aspect of the manual labor to which he was now so accustomed. He was usually one of the first slaves sent to manhandle the heavy wagons from their shed. But three, he thought, in addition to the family coach, was a lot for a single morning.
He finished his feed rounds quickly then ran to the shed to help pull the cargo wagons out. These were smaller and easier to handle than the family coach, with flat cargo beds in the rear enclosed with wooden poles that held the payload secure. While Quintus began leading Saturnia and the other horses out to be hitched, the head groom cleaned the dirty straw from the back of the wagons and pitched in fresh-cut green hay. Quintus noticed a distinct smile on his face.
“What’s all the activity about, sir?”
“Games, Grumbles! Games today!”
The word didn’t sink in with Quintus. Games? What sort of games?
“Our kind master has selected his most loyal servants to accompany the family on this trip into Aquae Sulis. And I’ve been chosen.” His smile grew wider and a gleam was evident in his eye. “This old slave has not seen the games for many years.”
Games! Now he understood. It seemed like a hundred years since he had last thought about his favorite pastime.
“There is an arena at Aquae Sulis?” Quintus was astonished. He had never considered that provinces so far from Rome would house an arena and host their own games.
“It’s a short distance north of town on the Corinium road.” The old groom returned to his work. Quintus’s mind raced as he helped hitch the mares to the wagons. He had to devise a way to be included in this outing.
“Who will watch the horses during the games? Surely they can’t be left alone.”
“There are no lack of hands willing to hold onto bridles outside the arena for a few sesterces.”
Quintus scratched at Saturnia’s nose the way she loved. He spoke to the horse but aimed his comments at Dida. “Yes, but they wouldn’t take care of my beautiful Saturnia and her helpers like I would. Would they, girl?”
The old groom looked from behind the cart.
“Grumbles, we have twelve servants going, four to each cart. Where would you even ride?”
He had never seen the groom in such a friendly and benevolent mood. But Dida’s negative responses were beginning to irritate Quintus. He wanted to shout: Put me anywhere, you fucking old bastard! Just let me go to the games! But he knew he had to keep his temper in check.
“I could hang from the back or along the side.” He jumped up on the foot peg used by the driver to climb into the high seat. “Look. This would be fine.” He hurdled the seat and landed in the new green hay that filled the back of the cart. He looked Dida directly in the face with the pleading eyes he used to flash at his mother when he sought a gift for himself as a boy. Inside, he was a seething mass of impatience. “Please, sir. I’ve not been off the grounds of the villa since I arrived last year. You know my work and attitude have improved. I’ll mind the horses and keep them watered and safe through the day.”
The groom stared at him for a moment. “I have to say your attitude has improved since your rather unfortunate beginnings here. I’ll check with the foreman. If it’s alright with him, it’s alright with me.”
Quintus was concerned since his relationship with the tall foreman was tentative at best. But he had hope that he would finally see something of Britannia. It would also give him the opportunity, even if somewhat limited, to look for refuge outside the slave barracks of the villa.
Within an hour, the sun cleared the tops of the beech trees along the barley field and the morning chill dissipated. The wagons were put in line to leave. Although the beds were packed tight with human cargo, the close quarters did not seem to dampen the spirits of the chosen few. Quintus stood, anxiously holding Saturnia’s bridle. He still had not heard a final decision on his inclusion in the group.
Dida and three of his senior assistants walked from the nearby stable accompanied by the tall foreman. Quintus could overhear their last-minute instructions for the trip. He watched the head groom mount the driver’s seat on the family coach and the other three climb into the seats on the cargo wagons. They took the reins and got ready to nudge the horses down the bridle path. No one said anything to Quintus. His chin dropped to his chest. The foreman waved to Dida and walked to the last cart where Quintus waited, still holding Saturnia’s cheek strap. The foreman stepped on the foot peg and pulled his lanky body up onto the bench next to the driver. He glanced down at the horses without acknowledging Quintus. After a moment, he spoke out casually.
“So, Grumbles. Are you just going to stand there looking sorry for yourself or are you going to climb aboard?”
His words were like a ray of light on Quintus’s soul.
“Climbing aboard, sir!”
Quintus reached for the handhold to pull himself up on the foot peg next to the foreman.
“Not here. This cart is already overloaded,” said the foreman. “I believe there’s room next to the driver on the family coach.”
Quintus was stunned. Not only was he being allowed to go on this excursion, but he would be traveling atop the family carriage. He decided that the villa was a distinctly better place when the overseers were in a good mood.
“I expect the horses and carriages to be well looked-after today,” the foreman called to him as he ran forward.
“Count on me, sir,” Quintus yelled over his shoulder.
He grabbed the handhold at a full gallop and his momentum carried him up onto the driver’s bench. Dida still retained his smile.
“So, a trip into town on one of the best seats in the house. Must be your lucky day.”
Quintus smiled at him. “Thank you, sir, for putting in a good word for me.”
The old groom winked at him. Their attention was drawn to Julia, who was approaching the side of the carriage. She was guided into the vermilion coach by one of the assistant grooms. Sextus and Lucius were nowhere in sight.
“Is the master not attending the games?” Quintus asked the groom in a low voice.
“Master Viator and Master Quintus are already in Aquae Sulis. I drove them in earlier this morning. They had work to do at the textile shop. We’ll be going by there to pick them up.”
The notion of Lucius working his way into the Viator family business made Quintus wonder what miserable scheme he was now formulating. He pushed the depressing thought from his mind. This was a special day and he refused to allow thoughts of Lucius to ruin the mood. Besides, he thought, the stop would be a bonus. Not only would he get to finally see the Britannia countryside, but he would also visit the town of Aquae Sulis. The only thing left was to catch a glimpse of the games. And of course stay alert for a place to conceal himself after his escape.
Dida snapped his reins and the caravan slowly rumbled down the path toward the villa entrance. They crossed a wooden bridge over a small stream, and the dirt-and-crushed-rock pathway soon gave way to an impressive wide avenue capped with smooth paving stones.
“This is a nice road. Better than many in Italia,” Quintus said.
“Yes,” Dida answered. “It’s the main regional road. It passes the walls of Aquae Sulis then goes on to Corinium and Glevum, the port city where you were brought in by the fishermen.”
Quintus decided the province was much more beautiful than its reputation throughout the Empire implied. Yes, the winters were cold, but spring and summer brought a pleasant warmth and a vibrant green cast to the landscape like he had never seen. The road followed the path of the river Avon for many miles. Willow trees bent low along the bank, which was interrupted from time to time by a small stone bridge that allowed access to another country villa. The rolling hills reminded Quintus of the Tuscan landscape where he had traveled with his parents many years ago. The happy memory brought a smile to his face and enhanced the feeling of freedom as he watched the pastoral vistas pass by.
About an hour outside the villa they topped the crest of a hill on the edge of a deep valley. The silver ribbon of the Avon snaked across the valley floor. On a small peninsula created by a horseshoe bend in the river stood a town of clay-tiled roofs and lofty temples encircled by an impressive wall.
“Aquae Sulis,” proclaimed the old groom. “The baths here are remarkable, you know. They say they’ve been used for thousands of years by the locals. The Romans are just beginning to recognize their powers.”
Quintus could see that the settlement had already leaped beyond the town walls and filled the balance of the peninsula. Its location at a vital crossroads was evident from their high vantage point, where the sun-bleached rock beds of five converging roads were clearly visible.
The three cargo wagons of the caravan waited outside the town walls as the passenger coach entered through the south gate and rode north toward the massive bath complex. The majority of foot, horse, and carriage traffic was headed out of town, probably to the arena, Quintus figured. It had been over a year since he was immersed in urban life. While the activity in this town was far different from the commotion of Rome, it was heartening to see people going about their daily lives in jovial freedom. But it made the isolation of enslavement that much more oppressive.
Dida pointed to the impressive building just ahead. “That’s the Temple of Sulis-Minerva. It honors both the Celtic god Sulis and Minerva, our own goddess of wisdom.”
The main entrance to the baths was adjacent to the temple. Steam from the natural hot springs produced small white vapor trails that rose into the blue sky. Quintus spotted the Viator sign painted on the wall in red letters above a well-appointed shop. The business was on the ground floor of the massive stone building that housed the baths. A row of thirty Corinthian columns lined the covered promenade around the building. The Viator shop commanded the premium location just off the main road, first in line on the promenade. The constant stream of people coming and going through the doorway, all carrying large parcels and bolts of fabric, reflected its success.
“Take the reins while I go and summon the master,” commanded the old groom. He climbed from his seat and disappeared through the shop door.
From his roost atop the carriage Quintus studied the people on the street. They appeared to be a mixture of Roman, Briton, and Celtic heritage. Most were well-dressed Roman patricians enjoying a day at the spa. He overheard many discussing the day’s games. Some were placing bets.
He wondered how he could blend into this crowd. His dirty, olive drab wardrobe marked him as a slave. Or a pickpocket. Or at best, a street beggar. He knew of nobody in this town to whom he could appeal for help. Besides, he also knew the penalty for harboring a runaway slave was the same as for the slave himself: death. His mind worked to devise a storyline he might be able to feed one of these families—not now, but in a few days or weeks, once he made his way back to town on his own. He wondered if he would not be better off heading to Glevum, the port town. At least there he might be able to find passage back to Rome as a stowaway or ship assistant.
From the storefront emerged Sextus and Lucius, followed by the head groom. His uncle was dramatically dressed in a royal blue pallium over a short white tunic. Lucius wore his bright red pallium again, this time wrapped over a short cream-colored tunic. Quintus wondered how long Lucius had practiced folding the toga-like garment alone in his room to appear comfortable wearing this upper-class fashion.
As Lucius approached the carriage, Quintus considered turning away so he would not be seen. But deep inside he wanted Lucius to know that, in some small way, he too was gaining a bit more power and freedom. He wanted to show that he had risen to a higher status than Lucius ever had as a slave. Mostly he wanted to show that this slave life was not beating him. He decided to remain exactly where he was.
As Lucius glanced up for the handhold, his gaze met Quintus’s face staring down at him. He jumped back as if struck by lightning. Quintus smiled with satisfaction at the look of shock on his adversary’s face. Obviously the whispered threat from the bedroom incident still echoed in Lucius’s mind.
“What is he doing here?” Lucius shouted. “Why is he not in the stables? Who allowed this imbecile to leave the villa?”
“He is here only to mind the horses and carriages, Master Quintus,” Dida explained with a nervous smile.
Sextus quickly said good-bye to one of his customers, then ushered Lucius into the carriage. His voice carried out the window and reached Quintus perched on the driver’s seat.
“Will you stop worrying about him?” Sextus said with some irritation. “You’re obsessed with that slave. He has responsibilities on our staff, you know.”
Quintus was pleased that he still had such a negative effect on Lucius. The old groom climbed back up in his seat. He glanced at Quintus and shrugged, then expertly turned the horse team around and drove them back out the south gate. The three other carts merged in behind as they headed north on the Corinium road toward the arena. Progress was slowed by the throng of pedestrians and the hundreds of carriages and carts that clogged the road. The shutters on the Viator coach remained open to the fresh air. Quintus watched the countryside pass by as he eavesdropped on the conversation between Julia and Lucius.
“Business is growing better each week, isn’t it?” she asked.
“It is, Aunt Julia. But I would think you could do even better with a more diverse inventory. Frankly, I think you need more colored fabric. This is a resort town. I’ll bet more colorful palliums, like Uncle wears, would sell very well for you.”
“First of all,” Julia began, “what I want to hear is ‘sell well for us,’ not ‘sell well for you.’ This business will be yours some day, Quintus. You should start thinking of it that way. Secondly, I couldn’t agree more. It’s such a shame we lost all the inventory that was aboard your father’s ship.”
Quintus bristled at the reference to his father.
“We haven’t been able to get another supply of silk from the Far East,” Julia continued. “There’s no telling when another shipment may come our way.”
“How about Egyptian cotton?” Lucius asked. “I overheard some of the customers saying how much they miss the feel of Egyptian cotton. Can we get that?”
“I think we can. What do you think, Sextus?”
Before her husband could answer, Lucius was speaking again. Quintus was astonished, not only at how much Lucius had learned about the textile industry, but at how involved he was becoming in the Viators’s business. This was a side of Lucius that Quintus had never seen.
“Why don’t we dye it?” asked Lucius. “I thought the Celts were supposed to be good with dyes here. That would give us the colors we’re looking for.”
Julia seemed energized by Lucius’s enthusiasm. “That might work. I know the people of society here would prefer the Egyptian cotton over the standard grades, and they certainly can afford it. We could charge triple our cost, including transport and dying expenses. Don’t you agree, Sextus?”
“Sure, dear, whatever.”
Quintus casually glanced back at the side of the vermilion coach to see Sextus staring out the window. His uncle seemed uninterested in the conversation as he watched the morning sun glisten on the river.
“I’m glad to see you taking this interest, Quintus.” The intensity and determination in Julia’s voice was unmistakable. “It’s good to think about the future. There are great things in store for you. We’re well known in the equite class, so you’re in the right circles to make a political move.” There was a brief pause, then she continued. “Your uncle missed his calling a number of years ago. But you’re still young. You have the opportunity to do more.”
“I missed no such calling.” Sextus’s voice was strong, but Quintus noticed he never looked away from the passing countryside. “The voice called to you, dear, not me.” Quintus sensed that his uncle had had this discussion with Julia before and did not wish to have it again. But his aunt seemed determined to keep the conversation going.
“Face it, Sextus. We could have done so much more with our social standing. Even now, our friends push you to climb the political ladder here in Aquae Sulis and still you refuse.”
“I’m very happy with our business and our standing in life. It’s you who wants the glamour of high society, not me.”
“Yes, because that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Class is everything in the Empire. You know that as well as anyone.”
“Yes. And that’s exactly why I chose to move from the environs of Rome,” Sextus responded. “High society and political office were not my aspirations. Nor are they my aspirations in the provinces.”
Quintus glanced back in time to see Sextus break his gaze from the scenery and address Julia head on. “That was something you aspired to through me. I wanted no part of it and I have no regrets.”
The silence coming from the coach told Quintus the discussion was over. While he had come to know Julia as a determined woman, he had never before heard her lock horns with her husband. He was intrigued by his aunt’s political plans for Lucius. And knowing how fierce Lucius’s ambition could be, Quintus had no doubt the scheming wretch would embrace and expand those plans.
The amphitheater was less than a mile north of the town center, yet with the congestion it took almost thirty minutes to reach the site. The Viator coach and carts were waved through the outer ring of security by legionaries in polished armor. Wealthy families, merchants, and political figures were allowed to station their horses and carriages at secure positions near the arena walls. The groom steered his team to a shaded spot under a large oak tree. The slave carts followed.
Quintus’s heart began pounding. He could feel the energy in the air. He felt alive again. Though this facility was half the size of the Amphitheater of Taurus in Rome, he discovered that the excitement of an arena on game day was the same, whether in the capital or in the provinces.
Quintus and Dida jumped down from their bench and opened the coach door. Julia stepped out, followed by Sextus and then Lucius, who made a point of ignoring Quintus. The family headed for the main stairs, followed by the chosen servants at a discreet distance. The servants’ anticipation was evident in the animated hand gestures and loud laughter. The old groom was the last to go.
“Keep a good eye on the horses, Grumbles.” He then glanced up into the immense oak tree above the coach. “You know, you do have another eye. If I were thirty years younger I might use it to watch the games from up in this tree. Looks like a pretty good view.” He smiled, then made his way to the entrance stairs.
Quintus was way ahead of him. He had not only scrutinized the tree, but had already selected the branch on which he would spend the rest of the day. He first checked all four sets of reins to see that they were secured to the lower branches. He grabbed two buckets from the cargo carts and trotted down to the river’s edge. He wanted the horses well watered before he climbed the tall tree. He decided to spend a few minutes brushing down the mares and cleaning the mud from the side of the coach, just to show he was mindful of his responsibilities. But the deeds came to an abrupt end with the blare of the trumpets. In a moment, Quintus was thirty feet in the air, comfortably situated in the crotch of two thick branches.
The view was magnificent, if a bit higher than Quintus was used to. He noticed the arena floor was about twenty feet lower than the outside ground level, indicating the reason this site had been chosen for the amphitheater. A natural depression in the earth was exploited to allow more tiered seating without having to build a towering structure. The ten thousand spectators climbed a staircase outside the arena, which brought them in at the top tier. The servants, slaves, and poor jostled for seats in the upper rows, while the patricians and politicians worked their way down to the best seats near the arena wall.
The soldiers of the Second Augusta and Twentieth Valeria Legions in their crimson tunics were seated along the mid-level rows. Their grouped presence produced a wide red band that ran fully around the arena, creating a visible separation between the upper and lower classes. Without their games, especially in these remote provinces, a cohort of legionaries could become a disgruntled lot.
Quintus scanned the arena and spotted Sextus in his royal blue pallium. The family was still making their way down the aisle toward their seats, stopping every few steps to greet a friend or customer.
Lucius trailed behind as Julia and Sextus proceeded through their usual lengthy entrance ritual. He glanced with trepidation at the sand-covered floor of the arena. He wondered how close to the death and carnage they would be sitting.
“I see it takes you a while to get to your seats,” Lucius said, attempting to keep the growing nervousness out of his voice.
“Not to worry. Our seats are secure,” Julia answered between hugs and false kisses. “You know, being seen at the games is as important as seeing the games. It’s not often that so many influential people are gathered in one spot like this. Why not take advantage?”
Sextus worked a few jokes into his conversation with a wealthy older woman, as Julia and Lucius descended another few steps down the stairway.
“Oh hello, Macro. Let me introduce you to my nephew, Quintus.” Julia looked over her shoulder at Lucius. “Macro is one of our best customers. I think he would be interested in the Egyptian cotton we were just discussing.” She spun back with a smile toward the handsome young Macro. “Quintus was suggesting we import a few bolts and have it dyed locally to create some colorful palliums.”
“An excellent idea, Quintus,” Macro said with a cheery smile. “You can count me in for a few of those. This town could do with some more color. Too much white everywhere for me.”
Lucius nodded and smiled tightly. “I’ll let you know as soon as they’re available, Macro. Enjoy the games.”
Julia gave Macro a wink, then turned her attention to finding their seats as they continued down the steps. The closer they got to the arena wall, the more nervous Lucius became. Having never been to the games in his life, he had never considered how he would react to the violence. He did not have the benefit of being hardened to the bloodshed and gore at an early age like the male children of the patrician class. Now, as they took their third row seats, he wondered how much of the carnage he would be able to stomach at such close quarters. He jumped as the trumpets blared again, announcing the parade of the gladiators.
“What is it, Quintus?” asked Julia. “Don’t you enjoy the games?”
“Of course I enjoy the games,” Lucius snapped.
Julia smiled. “Well, to be truthful, I don’t like them much either. Entirely too bloody for my taste. But it’s important to be seen here, so let’s make the best of it.”