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Authors: Luke Devenish
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– looked like he was off to a festival banquet instead of a slave sale. He came into view from behind his caged captives, rubbing his hands together cheerily and greeting customers he recognised in the crowd. He saw Agrippina with her friends and changed his expression to one of deep respect, bowing to her, before he continued greeting others. Agrippina absorbed this with dignity, and I could tell she approved of it, as did Sosia and Claudia.
'He knows who you are, Lady,' I said, 'and he respects you.'
'Good,' said Agrippina. 'You can use that to drive down his price.'
The gate on the first of the slave cages was released and the mangon 's assistants poked sticks through the bars at the dozen grime-caked men. With nothing to protect them, they cowered, before realising they were expected to come out so that the buyers could examine them. Agrippina frowned as they started to emerge.
'Sardinians,' said Claudia, using the slang term for cheap captives not necessarily from Sardinia but from anywhere with a repressed population. Nerve-wracked, they looked like Britons to me. A commotion from behind the cages caught our attention. A woman was screaming, begging for her life in Latin. A ripple went through the crowd as all craned their heads to see what was happening. But Agrippina and her friends looked away from the distasteful scene.
I saw the source of the drama – a female slave was being dragged from a holding area that was covered from view. She was older and with few physical charms. The clothes she wore were rags but I could tell that they had once been fine garments. She was not a regular slave.
'What's happening?' Claudia whispered to me, still looking elsewhere.
'A woman is being taken away by the mangon 's men.'
'Why?'
'She is not being offered for sale,' I muttered.
'Has she committed a crime?' asked Sosia, who was too short to see, even if she'd wished to.
'Yes,' was all I could say. It didn't matter what that crime was, only that the wretched woman had been accused of it and was now facing the price.
'They won't do it here, will they?' said Claudia, appalled, as she realised this too.
Agrippina gave her friend a look and moved a short distance away to speak with some other members of her retinue.
'No, Lady,' I whispered.
Beyond us, among the auction crowd, people began to part and retreat as an ass-drawn cart trundled into the marketplace, led by a naked, leather-masked driver. Cries of disgust broke out from some as they realised what he was, while others – slaves, many of them, and freedmen with strong memories – could do nothing but stare. Claudia was compelled to look and she paled with dismay. 'That's not . . . him , is it?'
I shook my head, blinking back tears of pity for the condemned slave woman. 'No, Lady,' I said. 'The carnifex is too polluted to be here – he's not allowed inside the city. He has sent a man in his image to retrieve her.'
The ass-driver's leather mask would strike terror in anyone, let alone a slave. It was a copy of the mask worn by the real carnifex – the public executioner – who was forbidden to offend the gods by showing his accursed face. The slave woman's cries were terrible.
'Make it swift for her, Cybele,' I whispered in prayer to the Great Mother.
The mangon 's men bundled the woman inside the stinking cart, binding her hands to an iron hook.
Claudia saw what I had already noticed. 'Her clothes are well made – she speaks in Latin. Is she a well-born woman?'
'Slavery can be the fate of even the greatest, Lady,' I said. 'She could be the mother of a chief.'
'Which means she stood against Rome,' said Agrippina, coldly. The widow had returned to us and was keen for this upsetting spectacle to end.
Claudia shuddered, nodding. There was nothing more to add. But as the ass-drawn cart trundled away from the market, I felt the stirring of a tremor at my feet. It was tiny at first, barely there, but I felt it, a movement deep in the ground. At once my
'He knows who you are, Lady,' I said, 'and he respects you.'
'Good,' said Agrippina. 'You can use that to drive down his price.'
The gate on the first of the slave cages was released and the mangon 's assistants poked sticks through the bars at the dozen grime-caked men. With nothing to protect them, they cowered, before realising they were expected to come out so that the buyers could examine them. Agrippina frowned as they started to emerge.
'Sardinians,' said Claudia, using the slang term for cheap captives not necessarily from Sardinia but from anywhere with a repressed population. Nerve-wracked, they looked like Britons to me. A commotion from behind the cages caught our attention. A woman was screaming, begging for her life in Latin. A ripple went through the crowd as all craned their heads to see what was happening. But Agrippina and her friends looked away from the distasteful scene.
I saw the source of the drama – a female slave was being dragged from a holding area that was covered from view. She was older and with few physical charms. The clothes she wore were rags but I could tell that they had once been fine garments. She was not a regular slave.
'What's happening?' Claudia whispered to me, still looking elsewhere.
'A woman is being taken away by the mangon 's men.'
'Why?'
'She is not being offered for sale,' I muttered.
'Has she committed a crime?' asked Sosia, who was too short to see, even if she'd wished to.
'Yes,' was all I could say. It didn't matter what that crime was, only that the wretched woman had been accused of it and was now facing the price.
'They won't do it here, will they?' said Claudia, appalled, as she realised this too.
Agrippina gave her friend a look and moved a short distance away to speak with some other members of her retinue.
'No, Lady,' I whispered.
Beyond us, among the auction crowd, people began to part and retreat as an ass-drawn cart trundled into the marketplace, led by a naked, leather-masked driver. Cries of disgust broke out from some as they realised what he was, while others – slaves, many of them, and freedmen with strong memories – could do nothing but stare. Claudia was compelled to look and she paled with dismay. 'That's not . . . him , is it?'
I shook my head, blinking back tears of pity for the condemned slave woman. 'No, Lady,' I said. 'The carnifex is too polluted to be here – he's not allowed inside the city. He has sent a man in his image to retrieve her.'
The ass-driver's leather mask would strike terror in anyone, let alone a slave. It was a copy of the mask worn by the real carnifex – the public executioner – who was forbidden to offend the gods by showing his accursed face. The slave woman's cries were terrible.
'Make it swift for her, Cybele,' I whispered in prayer to the Great Mother.
The mangon 's men bundled the woman inside the stinking cart, binding her hands to an iron hook.
Claudia saw what I had already noticed. 'Her clothes are well made – she speaks in Latin. Is she a well-born woman?'
'Slavery can be the fate of even the greatest, Lady,' I said. 'She could be the mother of a chief.'
'Which means she stood against Rome,' said Agrippina, coldly. The widow had returned to us and was keen for this upsetting spectacle to end.
Claudia shuddered, nodding. There was nothing more to add. But as the ass-drawn cart trundled away from the market, I felt the stirring of a tremor at my feet. It was tiny at first, barely there, but I felt it, a movement deep in the ground. At once my
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