Chapter Eight: Slavery, Part 1
Sostratus Camillus sat upon a concrete bench outside his greatest achievement and sighed heavily. He ran his left had through his short, sandy blond hair and scratched absent-mindedly at the back of his neck. Then he let his hand fall to his lap.
“He’s not coming, is he?” he said morosely.
His brother Drusus glanced at him and shifted his helmet from one arm to the other. “He’s very busy in Rome, Sostratus. But I assure you, he’s very proud of you. I’m proud of you! It’s a beautiful building, an incredible achievement.”
Before them, aged scholars and young students traversed the marble steps leading into the Great Library of Ravenna. A small clump of them, a half dozen or so, had gathered off to one side, near one of the fruit stands near the base of the great stairway, their faces rapt and alight as they intensely discussed some esoteric subject. A constant stream of scholars entered and exited the great wooden doors of the building, holding scrolls as lovingly as a parent would a beloved child.
Sostratus rose to his feet, his right hand gripping a gnarled cane, his face displaying the briefest of grimaces as he stood and put weight upon his misshapen right leg.
“He still thinks he should have exposed me,” Sostratus said.
“That is not true, Sostratus,” his dark-haired younger brother insisted, his shining armor clanking as he, too, rose to his feet. He placed one large hand on his brother’s shoulder. Though three years younger than Sostratus, he was nearly a foot taller and several pounds heavier—all of it muscle, it seemed—than his lame older brother. “Self-pity doesn’t become you, big brother,” he chided his sibling gently.
Sostratus smiled and nodded. “You’re right, of course. Can you stay for dinner?”
Drusus frowned. “Unfortunately, no. The 8th leaves in an hour. It’s a long march to the border.”
"Why would the Spaniards found another city so close to our borders?" Sostratus asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Who knows?" Drusus responded. "You'd think they'd have learned their lesson after we razed Seville, but..." The
Primus Pilae for the 8th Legion shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's Isabella. She's either crazy, or she's eager for a fight."
"Do you think it means war?" Sostratus asked.
"Sooner or later, yes." Drusus answered, his jaw set firmly. "Rome has a great destiny, my brother. Spain seems determined to get in our way. The consequences are inevitable."
Sostratus turned, his thin face betraying his concern as he looked at his younger brother. Despite the armour and the masculine physique beneath it, he remembered the small, dark-haired boy Drusus had been, always running ahead of him and getting into one scrape or another. It seemed to Sostratus that he spent most of his childhood getting Drusus out of fights; a cane came in very hand under those circumstances, as several jeering boys had been shocked to discover. It came as no surprise to Sostratus when Drusus joined Rome’s constantly growing army.
“Be careful, Drusus,” he said.
“Always, big brother!” Drusus said with a grin. His gaze strayed so he was looking over Sostratus’s shoulder. Suddenly the smile vanished, and Drusus straightened his back as though he were on a parade ground. “Hail, Caesar!” he said, suddenly every inch the centurion.
“Hail, Drusus Camillus,” a low, sonorous voice intoned. “And this must be your brother, Sostratus?”
Sostratus’s eyes had gone wide at his brother’s reaction, and he slowly turned to face the man standing behind him. He had to look up into his face; Caesar was a good half-head taller than the average Roman, and Sostratus, with his clubfoot, was shorter than most. He’d never met the immortal Roman leader before; he’d both looked forward to a meeting one day, but had also quailed at the thought. Now here the man was, in the flesh, his tall, lean body draped in a purple-bordered toga, surrounded by a dozen attendants who all hung on his every word and order.
“It is, Caesar,” Drusus said, still standing at attention.
“At ease,” Caesar said absent-mindedly, and Drusus relaxed a little, but Caesar’s icy, blue-eyed gaze was focused upon Sostratus. Fortunately, the young architect had grown up enduring the harsh, appraising eye of a strict father, so he weathered the scrutiny better than many would have.
“Ceasar,” Sostratus said quietly, bowing his head respectfully. “It’s an honour…”
“The honour is mine, Sostratus Camillus,” Caesar said magnaminously. Sostratus raised his head and found that imposing, eagle-like visage had broken out into a broad smile. Caesar looked to his left, at the façade of the Great Library. He nodded with satisfaction. “It’s a splendid building you’ve built, young man. A perfect marriage of form and function. As much as Rome needs soldiers,” he said with a nod towards Drusus, “she also needs scholars—and architects to give both of them homes.”
Sostratus couldn’t help smiling with delight at the words. Oh, he’d known his library would be a marvel—a wonder! He’d designed it that way. But hearing his civilization’s leader describe it in such glowing terms filled his heart. After a lifetime of brutal teasing and snide remarks, the clubfooted young man felt vindicated. If only father would… he began to think.
“If I may steal your brother from you for a few minutes, Drusus?” Caesar asked.
“Of course, Caesar,” Drusus said agreeably, obviously proud to see a member of the family so much in the leader’s good graces. “I have to steal away myself.”
“Ah, yes, back to the 8th. Tell the boys I’ll catch up with them on the road.”
“They’ll look forward to it, Caesar!” Drusus said as he turned and strode away.
Caesar smiled at Sostratus and looked at him thoughtfully. “So tell me… now that your Great Library is finished, do you have another commission?”
“Well, apparently there’s a public bath to be built in Pisae,” Sostratus said. “I thought I’d put my name forward.”
Caesar frowned and shook his head. “A public bath?” he said doubtfully. “I think your talents would be wasted there. No, I have something much grander in mind, if you’re game.”
Sostratus took a deep breath. He recalled his excitement when his design had been chosen for the Great Library, reportedly by Caesar himself. Now he was about to receive a commission from Rome’s immortal ruler himself! He could barely contain his excitement.
“Of course, Caesar! What is it?”
Caesar looked thoughtfully to the west. “How do you feel about taking in some sea air?” he asked, grinning.
***
Two months later, Sostratus was sitting in his new makeshift office in Antium, working at his drafting table. He dipped the point of his reed pen in a small bottle of octopus’ ink, then pressed it to the papyrus sheet again. He cursed softly when the point broke, then looked around for another.
“Damn it!” he swore. “Rufus!” he shouted, then drummed his fingers on the drafting table while he waited for a response. “Rufus, where are you!”
“Coming, master!” a voice shouted from the hall. “Coming, coming, coming…”
At long length, a man appeared in the doorway and shuffled over to Sostratus’ work area. His hair was dark brown and close-cropped, with just a few strands of grey to indicate the onset of middle age; he wore a simple linen tunic, tied at the waist with a length of rope. Old worn sandals adorned his feet.
“Rufus, I need more reeds sharpened,” Sostratus said. “I told you, I go through several a day.”
“Yes, master, of course, master!” Rufus said, then turned and started to walk back to the door.
“Here now, where are you going?” Sostratus called after him angrily.
The slave stopped and turned. “Begging your pardon, master, to finish preparing your lunch.”
“Lunch can wait,” Sostratus said. “I need the pens now.”
Rufus turned and walked back to the drafting table, shaking his head. “If you do not eat, master, you will not be able to work!” Reluctantly, he picked up a handful of unsharpened reeds and pulled a small, sharp knife from a small leather pouch that hung from his makeshift belt.
“You’re new to my service, Rufus,” Sostratus said, “but learn this now and remember it: I can go hours, even days without food when I’m working. The work comes first.”
Rufus nodded in resignation. “You know best, master,” he said as he began sharpening a reed while Sostratus waited. “I hear Caesar also does this—works for days without food or drink. My wife’s cousin’s father-in-law is a slave in Caesar’s villa in Rome, you see. I heard it from him.”
“Well, there you are. So it’s not unusual,” Sostratus said, plucking the sharpened reed from Rufus’ fingers.
“Yes, master,” Rufus said, sighing as he picked up another reed to sharpen. “But Caesar is immortal,” he added under his breath.
Sostratus glanced at his drawing of a tall, stone tower, which arose from, yet seemed part of a wave-drenched rocky promontory. The tower was topped by a huge lantern that would house a large mirror for use during the day and a huge, bright blaze at night. It would be visible for miles out at sea, and tremendously aid navigation to Rome’s main seaport. He permitted himself a little smile of satisfaction, and of anticipation.
“Once this is built,” Sostratus murmured, “I will be too…”
***
“It’s taking too long,” Sostratus said, his features scowling as he watched the workers heaving the heavy stones out to the rocky promontory. A sea breeze ruffled his sandy hair, which now had streaks of grey in it.
“We’re working as fast as we can,” the foreman, a burly, dark-featured man named Cornelius told him. “We already have the slaves working double shifts…”
“Then have them work triple shifts!” Sostratus said sharply. “Caesar wants this completed within five years. Five! It will take us two hundred at this pace! Get more slaves!”
“From where?” Cornelius said with a shrug. “Rome, Antium, Pisae, Ravenna—everywhere, everyone’s building! All that money we captured from Spain—it’s driving a building boom!”
“There’s your answer,” Sostratus said. “Spain, or at least the parts of it we’ve captured. There must be plenty of war prisoners and malcontents we can put to work.”
“Perhaps,” Cornelius said with a shrug, “but it will take time…”
“It will take more time without them,” Sostratus snapped. “See to it!”
Cornelius gave a resigned nod, then walked away, leaving Sostratus staring at the broad, square stonework that would serve as the foundation for the lighthouse. He shook his head and sighed impatiently. Two years had passed since he’d finalized his design. He’d hoped to be half-way finished by now, but the walls weren’t even higher than his own head!
“So this is how you’re keeping yourself busy these days,” a deep male voice said from behind him.
Even as he heard it, Sostratus’ blood turned to ice water in his veins. His stomach clenched, just as it had every time this man came into his presence, ever since he was a boy.
“Father…” Sostratus said, turning.
Quintus Camillus was well into his fifties now, and had the weathered features, grey hair, and paunch to go with it. But he looked as strong as ever; those arms still looked capable of gripping a shield and gladius, as they had in their youth, or a hickory switch, as they had frequently when raising his two sons. The elder Camillus’ thrusts and parries, however, were now restricted to verbal ones in Rome’s law courts.
The older man’s gaze was not directed at his son, but at the stone foundation a few yards away.
“What’s this supposed to be then?” he asked, waving at the stonework dismissively.
“A l-lighthouse, father,” Sostratus said meekly, then remembered his father’s constant reminders to stand straight and speak up, which he did. “A lighthouse, to guide ships.”
“A
lighthouse?” Quintus said, looking at the structure dubiously. “It has quite a ways to go, then, doesn’t it?”
“Y-yes,” Sostratus said. He silently cursed himself; why did he only stutter in his father’s presence? There had been times when the old man had accused him of doing it deliberately, in order to irritate him. As if Sostratus would ever want to do that! “It’s the s-slaves… they’re hard to c-come by, and…”
“I received word from your brother Drusus,” Quintus said, a note of pride stealing into his voice as his gaze shifted northwards. “The 8th is advancing on that new city the Spaniards were cheeky enough to build east of Ravenna...Santiago, they call it. Looks like war. Great news, eh?”
“Yes, father… g-great news…” Sostratus said. “How is D-Drusus…?”
“Makes me wish I was a younger man, so I could be there with them!” the older man said, continuing to speak as though his son had said nothing. He patted his ample belly. “Oh well, those days are past. At least I have one son who’s serving Rome as I did.”
Sostratus felt the colour rising to his cheeks, but knew better than to voice the reply on the tip of his tongue. There is more than one way to serve Rome, father…
“He wanted me to come down, Drusus did,” Quintus went on. “See what you were up to. Not much, it looks like,” he said, casting a dismissive eye at the stone foundations once again.
“Thank you for m-making the journey, father…” Sostratus began to say.
Quintus waved at him, silencing him. “No need to make a fuss about it. I have a client here in Antium I needed to see anyway.”
“Oh. Of c-course.”
“So, when will this thing be finished, anyway?”
“Caesar wants it operational in f-five years.”
The older Camillus barked a laugh. It was not a pleasant sound. “Five years? I think our great leader is going to be disappointed!”
Sostratus ground his teeth. He’d had enough—more than enough. More than enough for a lifetime, no, several lifetimes. He designed buildings that would stand for hundreds, even thousands of years, that bespoke of the power and the majesty of Rome and her growing empire. Of course the legions were a part of that as well, and Drusus with them—but what did they really do, except kill? Sostratus built things! Yet in his father’s eyes, he was nothing more than a lame, useless fool, who’d only been kept alive because his mother had begged her husband not to expose her first born child, despite the imperfection that had been obvious even at birth.
“No, father,” Sostratus said firmly. “He will
not be disappointed. The lighthouse will be completed on schedule, and it will be a marvel to behold. It will guide ships even in the worst weather, it will make Antium the world’s greatest seaport, and it will save the lives of sailors for generations!” He didn’t even notice that his stutter had vanished.
Quintus stared at his eldest son, whose blue eyes were blazing with an almost religious fervour, as if seeing him for the first time. He then shook his head and glanced back at the low foundations.
“Well, if you say so,” the advocate said. He suddenly grimaced and pressed his hand against his belly.
“Is something wrong?” Sostratus asked.
“Must be something I ate,” Quintus remarked. He inhaled deeply once the pain passed. “Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you have time for dinner tonight?”
Sostratus shrugged. “I… have to be on site quite late most nights. I suppose I could…”
“No matter,” Quintus said. “Some other time.” He turned to go, walking back towards the litter that would convey him back into Antium. “Do write and keep me informed on your progress, eh, Sostratus?”
“Of course,” Sostratus called after his father. “For all that you care,” he murmured once the old man was out of earshot.
And huzzah for the update!
