“This one has probably never worked in its entire life. How could it be useful?” he asked.
The merchant smiled broadly, showing his teeth. “Oh, but this slave is a remarkable one. Despite its age, it is quite educated; it can write and read,” He placed his hands on his protruding belly.
“And how much are you asking for it?”
“2500 Sestertii.”
In silence, Marcus Tiberius scrutinized the boy from head to feet, then burst out laughing. “2500 Sestertii for this little thing? Today the sun must be too hot. Either that or you’ve gone crazy. Say 1000, and I’ll buy it,” he looked at the boy whose defiance seemed to turn into fear of something he could not forecast.
The little boy considered his situation, why do they talk about me like I’m not even here? I have never been so shamed before; like a horse at the market.
The large chain that enclosed his neck was heavy and hurt his shoulders; he looked at himself and thought that he had never been that dirty.
Before he was brought to Rome, his skin glistened with the aromatic oil his mother used to massage his body with.
His hair used to be clean and combed, held by ribbons. His clothes were tailored with the finest fabrics, and he wore sandals to protect his feet.
The boy closed his eyes as he recalled that picture and those feelings, but desperation replaced the memory as he realized that those times were gone, and they didn’t belong to his life anymore.
Then, he turned his gaze and looked back at his mother and father in the cage. He could not see his little sister. Maybe she is behind them.
He glanced at Marcus Tiberius, almost begging to be purchased, when the merchant slapped him. “Look down, slave, you are not worthy of looking a Roman straight into his eyes,” he yelled.
The little boy lowered his gaze immediately without making any sound.
Marcus Tiberius smiled lightly. “Do you understand my language?”
“Yes, Sir,” he replied, keeping his gaze lowered.
“Which other languages can you speak?”
“Greek and Aramaic, Sir. I have been introduced to the principles of mathematics and philosophy too. I’ll be helpful if you buy me, Sir.”
Impressed, Marcus Tiberius looked at the boy as if wondering whether he was telling the truth. “Are you lying?” he asked, fixing the boy with a fierce stare.
He could not verify whether the boy was telling the truth. Once the purchase was made, it would be difficult to return the slave, if it turned out to be unfit for the duties for which he was purchased.
He did not intend to buy a slave who told lies; he needed to trust them. Moreover, he knew from experience that severe punishments rarely succeeded in correcting this kind of behavior.
The boy looked at him in surprise. No one ever doubted my words, and for a good reason; I am not a liar! How can he even think about it without even knowing me?
He knew that this sort of lie would have been short-lived, and the consequences of this would have been something he was not looking for.
“I am not a liar, Sir,” he cried, standing tall trying to keep calm.
Marcus Tiberius started to seriously consider purchasing the boy; he could become useful in many ways.
His son, Flavius, was about the same age, and this slave could be the perfect companion. He could serve as an interpreter during trips to the Middle East, and he could help him as well with translations. If Marcus allowed him to continue his education, he would become more and more useful.
“Do we agree, then, for 1000 Sestertii?” he asked, looking at the merchant.
“You must be in the mood for jokes; I can come down to 2000, nothing more,” he said chuckling.
Marcus Tiberius started to feel impatient, and besides, he hadn’t come to purchase a new slave, at least, not one that filthy. He began to lose his temper. “1100, last offer. You don’t want to have me as an enemy, believe me,” he hissed.
The merchant backed off. He knew he was an influential man with powerful friends.
“So it shall be, Marcus Tiberius Numida. The slave is yours for 1100 Sestertii, although, you know that his value is higher than this price.” Marcus Tiberius handed him the money he kept in a leather purse, and the trader released the boy’s neck from the heavy chain.
“What’s your name, slave?” Marcus Tiberius asked the boy.
“My name is Saul, Sir,” he replied, shyly keeping his voice low, peeking at Marcus Tiberius.
At those words, the merchant grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to his knees. “From this day on, you will address him as a Master, you worthless little beast. Apologize for your insolence, slave.”
The boy started to cry, realizing the depth of the desperate situation he was in.
“Forgive me…Master,” he sobbed, almost whispering, hoping from the bottom of his heart that his new Master would take him away from that square and the merchant as quickly as possible.
Marcus Tiberius looked at him and lent him a hand. “I forgive you, Saul. Take my hand and stand up; we’re going home,” he said in a gentle tone.
Without daring to look up into his face, Saul gently took his hand and stood.
Marcus Tiberius held the boy by the wrist and started to walk home in silence, wondering about the quality of his new slave.
Saul limped, struggling to keep up with Marcus Tiberius. With each step, pain rose in his chest, stabbing his heart like sharp blades, grabbing his soul, and choking every breath. He didn’t know how far Marcus Tiberius’ house was, but he knew he could not walk much longer at that pace. He felt like dying, and at that moment, he realized the thought came not to haunt his heart, but to give relief to a pain he wasn’t sure he could endure.
He fell to his knees, gasping for air.
“Master…” he said, struggling to rise. Tears filled his eyes.
Marcus Tiberius glanced down at the weeping thing on his knees in the dirt, and for the first time, he felt something he never experienced before in his life. He had mercy.
He knelt in front of him and scrutinized the state of his feet. “You can’t walk any farther.” As he had with his son in the past, he took Saul in his arms and continued to walk without saying a word or peering at him.
For Saul, it was hard to believe that a Roman who addressed him as an object had mercy in his heart. Shyly, he peered at him, feeling confused. Marcus didn’t seem upset that he had to carry him; he looked as if he was almost smiling. Maybe I’m imagining it.
Saul could never have predicted the recent changes in his life, nor could he guess what awaited him in his new house as Marcus Tiberius’ slave. He stared blankly at his new Master; he missed his family and worried about what happened to them.
He looked at his Master and, without conscious thought, smiled at him. He laid his head against Marcus’ chest and listened to the strong and regular beating of his heart.
Marcus Tiberius noticed and felt pleased. Knowing he should have been firm with him, as he was with all his slaves, he maintained a serious expression.
When they arrived home, he set Saul on his feet as soon as the ground evened out. As Marcus Tiberius released him, he locked his eyes on Saul, and with a stern expression, he lightly slapped the child’s face.
“This is not to punish you for something you have done, Saul, but rather because, in this way, I’m going to remind you of your position. I am your Master. You are my property, and I have the right to do to you whatever I judge appropriate, whether it is a reward or a punishment. Do you understand?” he asked severely.
Saul’s heart stuttered at his words
“Yes, Master. I understand… thank you,” he said, averting his eyes.