The Songs of Slaves (17 page)

             
Connor stared at him.
             
Lucius drained his cup again. He went to refill it from the amphora, but the jug was empty. A slave woman moved swiftly towards him with another.

             
“This cannot be your answer!” Connor exclaimed. “Lucius Montevarius, I was imprisoned by evil men, with many others. I must return them home. Lucius Montevarius, Christ bled to end evil on earth
–
not to sanctify it!”

             
“See him out,” Lucius said, turning his back to Connor and facing the long shadows.

VII

             
Wood chips flew as Connor’s axe bit deep into the tree trunk. He worked his blade free, reared back, and swung agai
n. On the other side of the oak
Sextus, a gray-haired Li
gurian Gaul with the build of a crooked
ox, swung with a warrior’s vehemence. Almost imperceptibly the wood creaked and the high limbs shifted. This was the dangerous part, when there were still many axe blows needed to complete the task but the tree becomes increasingly unstable. Connor had seen it go very wrong before. Though the day had been long and his tunic was soaked in sweat over his screaming muscles, Connor stepped up his vigilance. Letting his mind wonder even a little may be all it would take to miss a falling limb or a sudden failure of the tree itself, and that would be enough to crush a man.

             
But so far there had been no accidents. The July day was slowly shifting towards night, the cruel sun beginning to
relent
its attack on the slaves. Now two months on the estate, Connor’s fair skin was freckled and darkened and he no longer needed to cover himself with mud or over-dress as he had in the early days.

             
Movement caught Connor’s eye and he turned. It was only one of Lucius Montevarius’s
bucellarii
dismounting his horse. The man stretched his legs and his back, as if he had been among those doing the work today. His fellow passed him a water skin. Lucius sat high in the saddle of the same bay stallion he had ridden when he had bought Connor. His face was impassive, his be
aring almost regal. His
demeanor
–
whether the result of true confidence or just withdrawal from the objective state of things, the mental insistence that everything must be as he ordered because he ordered it
–
again sparked anger in Connor’s heart. He had not seen the
Dominus
this close since he had prostrated himself in the
courtyard,
pleading for what was his by right. He remembered the action now with a tremor of shame, regretting that he had ever given the hard man any acknowled
gement that he was Connor’s
superior. Connor’s anger burned and he channeled it into his axe. Here the man was, less than fifteen yards away, in a forest with all of his heavy lifters. Twelve of his strongest slaves all equipped with axes, and he stood by with only two bodyguards for protection. Connor’s thoughts darkened further. Lucius Montevarius had never lifted a hand against him, but he kept him a slave. As the buyer, as the market, he was the reason that all those atrocities had been done. He and his kind were
the ultimate reason so many people had suffered and died. Lives were ruined to ease the lives of this man’s kind. Somewhere now
–
not too far away
–
Dania was probably in a brothel
being raped by paying customers. But the
Dominus
just sat in his saddle, supervising the work and hand-picking each tree to be felled; making sure that his bidding was done to his seemingly pointless specifications.  Connor’s anger banked and he again felt the glow of murder upon him. He could turn and kill all three men with the axe they had given him. If Montevarius turned to escape, Connor could ride him down with one of the other horses.

             
He freed his blade and turned, ready to attack, ready to be free.

             
But reality set in. The law would avenge the
Dominus’
death
–
not on him but on anyone and everyone it saw fit. Lucius’ evil son would be the new
Dominus
. Connor would not be free, he would be lying dead in a
mass grave beside Philip, Brontius
, and others who had been kind to him and become his friends. And because of this fear, would not the other heavy lifters stop him before he made his attack? Though many were from the wild lands of Germania, Syria, and Africa some
of these men had been in the
Monte
varius’
service for
decade
s
. Could he expect the long habit of their loyalty to fail?

             
Connor turned back to his work. He saw once more that in truth the
Dominus
had not brought out two bodyguards to control twelve slaves. He had brought out eleven slaves to control any one slave who remembered freedom with enough longing to risk everything. It was this way on the estate
–
the family did not keep two hundred slaves in check; the two hundred slaves kept the slaves in check. It was probably this way throughout the entire
Imperium.
The image
–
even though only reported
–
of crosses lining the roads was enough to remind people of their place. The genius of it
–
a
nd the cravenness of it
–
mocked Connor. He swung his axe. He spent his murdering strokes on the tree. Wood flew instead of blood as the axe bit deep again and again.

             
The tree shifted and began to fall. Sextus sprang away like a young calf, grabbing Connor’s shoulder to guide him to safety. Connor’s chest was heaving with a mix of effort and rage. But he knew that the fire would soon spend itself. His heart had burned too many times before. The fire in his soul could find less and less fuel to sustain it. Sooner or later acceptance takes what it
will.

             
“That one next?”
Connor suggested to the older man.

             
“We dropped an oak,” Sextus said. “We get a break.”

             
“It’s getting late. Let’s just get it done so we don’t have to do it tomorrow.”

             
“Fine,” Sextus said with a broken smile. “Young horse works the old horse into the grave. But have it your way.”

             
They made their way towards the new tree. In his channeled anger Connor had picked a gnarled, thick-trunked monster. Sextus shook his head.

             
“Bad luck cutting down oak trees,” Sextus said. “We do it every year, but I don’t ever get used to it.”

             
“We believe the same in my country,” Connor said. “My people worship in oak groves. The spirits are heavy there. The trees serve as doorways to them.”

             
“Hm.
We believe the same here. But few worship in the groves. It has always been illegal. Guess the
Imperium
likes temples and churches where they can see what you are up to.”

             
“Stop.”

             
It was the
Dominus
who spoke. Connor and
Sextus turned around to see him, still on horseback, just out of reach.

             
“This tree is too old. Cut that one down there. Be swift. It is getting late. We cannot leave the job half done.”

             
Connor followed Sextus, new resentment
–
trivial as the affront had been
–
added to his furnaces.

             
“What does it matter?” he asked, not caring if Montevarius overheard.

             
“Just does,” Sextus answered.

             
“What are we doing with this? We are not clearing land, obviously. And only a fool would choose to build with this hard wood.”

             
“It’s for the wine,” Sextus said. “But you must not tell anyone. Like I said, a lot of people around here still consider the oak sacred. But beyond that, it is one of the
Dominus
’ many secrets
–
part of what sets his wine apart. We are bound to that. Let it slip to an outsider and you will be aggressively punished.”

             
Connor shrugged. What did he care? Though he puzzled for a moment on what oak could have to do with wine. Everything he had ever seen of wine involved clay amphorae or sometimes goat skins. Even when he had loaded the traders’ carts from the cellars
everything had come up in ceramic. He turned his attention back to his work.

             
The tree seemed to give way easily under his assault. He could tell his axe head had dulled, but he did not want to stop and sharpen it. He made up for it with strength, working the wide notch at different angles, relishing the sound of every blow.

             
Half-way through he paused, setting his axe down to shake the muscles of his upper back loose and to stretch his blistered fingers. He turned his head to see that Lucius Montevarius and one of the guards were gazing at him. A gust of wind cut through the grove, moving the high boughs and sounding in the canopy of leaves.

             
But Connor perceived more in the sound. To his far left, where two slaves were chopping, he isolated the groaning of wood twisting in its weight.

             
“Aulus!
Gnaeus!” he shouted.

             
The
heavy, sandy-haired Goth
and the
long-limbed African
instantly dropped their axes and moved swiftly away. Their tree creaked and
–
slowly at first, then picking up rushing speed
–
fell forward, hitting the ground with the
snapping of a
dozen
thick
boughs. As it fell, the base kicked back violently to where the two
men had stood only a second before.

             
“See,” Sextus said. “Bad luck. That wind came out of nowhere. Well done, Hibernian. I think they are right when they say you have some magic in you.”

             
Connor said nothing, and went back to work. His pace finally calmed and steadied. As the sun reached the mountains the tree fell where Sextus had aimed it.

             
“That’s enough for today,” the
Dominus
said. “Tomorrow and the next day we have to cut these into loadable segments and move them. Get plenty of rest tonight. Good work today, men.”

             
“Axes over here,” one of the
bucellarii
called.

             
The slaves came up one by one to turn the tools in. They then stayed in a line approaching Lucius Montevarius.

             
“What are we doing?” Connor whispered. “We get to kiss his ass before going home, or something?”

             
Sextus chuckled.

             
“We get an extra meat and wine ration on hard days like this. That’s one of the good things about being a lifter. Usually just a little pork, but I’ll take yours if you don’t want it.”

             
Montevarius handed out the small bags of food
himself. Because he was still in his saddle he towered over even the tallest of his slaves. Connor noted the message once more
–
the
Dominus
awarding gifts and favor from on-high to his lowly subjects.

             
But Connor was not going to turn down extra meat. He approached the
Dominus
in his turn.

             
“And for this man, whom I watched working the hardest of anyone today,” Lucius said so that everyone could hear “the biggest portion, and a little wine from my own table.”

             
He handed the two parcels to Connor, who was too surprised to do anything but accept them silently. Sextus slapped him on the shoulder.

             
Lucius Montevarius finished handing out his gifts.

             
“Good night, men,” he offered before turning his horse towards home. A chorus of practiced salutations followed him.

             
“Good work, again, Connor,” Sextus said. “You made an impression. Be careful though. Now he’s going to expect you to hustle your arse off all the time.”

             
“I do not care what he expects,” Connor muttered.

             
“Well.
Dominus
has a new
favorite,” a gruff
voice joined
in from behind him.