Little Bird Caged

[Sharpie]

Rufus' life had turned upside down without a moment's warning - his master's death, the funeral, the being sold to a slave-dealer (or his representative, or something of that sort), the (long, tiring, footsore) journey to Rome... He made no protest (it would be useless, anyway, and he knew this was just something that went with his condition as a slave) but was grateful to find that he had a little freedom at the slave-dealer's once he arrived in Rome. Apparently, the merchant used his own stock to see to his stock. Slaves like Rufus, who were used to it, knew what was expected of them, were employed in bringing food and water to those in the cages.

Rufus, despite his own circumstances, couldn't help feeling sorry for them. Brought here from who knew where - there were dark-skinned Africans (possibly Nubians) and pale-skinned Celts. It was quite the babble of languages when they spoke, although they were quiet, on the whole.

He couldn't help sighing as he reached the last cage with his water bucket. His feet hurt - he'd been able to rest, a little, but hadn't had that long before one of the guards or overseers or somebody (not the big boss, though) had grabbed him to take water around. He held the bucket steady, making sure that the dipper was within reach of the pretty young chalk-footed woman in the cage. He smiled at her, wondering how much Latin she could speak, if any.

 

@Sara

[Sara]

Erea was exhausted. She had barely slept since she had arrived in this warehouse some two days ago. The journey to Rome had been what she imagined the journey to the afterlife would be like, for those not in the Gods graces. There had been the cage, wagon really, which had dragged her down to Lindon and regrouped with others destined for the markets of the Empire. They had slowly picked up more and more as the days and weeks rolled by, before by the time they reached the sea in an area of tribes she did not know (although now, ostensibly, was Roman), the cage was full of men and women - sniffing and crying, wailing or silently praying. Erea had been firmly in the latter camp, preferring to keep her feelings buried deep. No point upsetting others with her own pain. 

The boat had been another matter. The sea swells in winter and the waves, along with the progressing pregnancy, made her sick to her stomach and she couldn't help sobbing as she sat chained in the hull. By the time they reached dry land, her legs buckled and she swayed where she stood. It was no wonder the baby had been lost only a few days later, although fortunately the bleeding had not been overwhelming and the rest she was begrudgingly given, had stood her in good stead. 

That didn't, however, mean she was fine. Her fingers shook - whether through tiredness or illness, and she could barely stomach the offered food. Her back ached, and the whip mark had only recently scabbed into an angry, red line across her shoulder blades. So she sat, quiet and wan in the corner of the pen nearest the open space, trying to breathe in some of the (relatively) fresh air to settle her stomach. It was humiliation after humiliation here, she had come to learn; beatings (although never especially severe), stripping for inspection, being forced to mime her skills, being caged, and the indignity of the white powder that decorated the soles of her feet. She hadn't bothered to put up any resistance to any of it, what would it achieve? 

Lost in her thoughts, she blinked as somebody drew near with a bucket she recognised as containing water. Whilst she had taken little food, her mouth was parched and judging by the murmurs of excitement coming from behind her in the pen, so were others. Offering a dispirited smile in return, she tentatively reached her hand through the bars to take the small cup and took a full measure of water. Yet without hesitation, she passed it back to others behind her. There was a woman and a newborn with her. She no doubt needed it more. She repeated the action, silently, until she finally took a cup for herself. Glancing up to the water carrier, she narrowed her eyes. His hair was so familiar to her - she had seen in across the tribes, her own being no exception. She tried in her own language, "Are you Roman?" before she repeated it in stuttered, unsure Latin; "You Roman? Or Briton?"She tapped her hair, as if mimicking his own. 

 

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[Sharpie]

The pale-skinned, dark-haired girl didn't even hesitate before passing the full dipper back to someone else in the cage, and then another, and then another, making sure they all had something before she had any water herself. She looked Greek or something, with that dark hair, but the first words she spoke were definitely not any form of Greek Rufus had ever heard spoken (coming from an area that had once been a Greek colony, he knew Greek when he heard it, too!).

It sounded very like the language his mother had sung in, sometimes, when she didn't think anyone was listening. He shook his head, and brightened at her Latin (bad though it was). "Roman," he said, and explained, speaking slowly, "My mother was British. Atrebates?"

He couldn't be sure of his mother's tribe, she'd only spoken of it once, but he knew that the Atrebates were a tribe from somewhere in Britain, and she had mentioned them. "You... British?"

He caught sight of her shoulder as she shifted. There was a mark there, that looked like the welt from a whip.

"Are you... hurt?"

 

@Sara

[Sara]

She frowned as he said he was Roman, but noticeably smiled at the mention of his mother. She nodded, understanding. "Atrebates tribe from south." She nodded,  "I British...Parisii...north, by Brigantes." She gestured a finger to herself, but sighed that it was probably nonsense to him. When she was a little girl, her father had used to practice with her - listing off all the tribes he knew on their island. She had forgotten a lot now, but it was depressing to think none of those complex relationships between tribes and chiefs mattered here. It had once been her whole world. 

Frowning at his question, and following his eyes to her shoulder she shrugged, and curled her feet up under her. "Hurt little bit, better than was...happen on road, not here." She didn't know if he worked here, or was enslaved and didn't want to risk saying she had been mistreated. The lines seemed blurred here between slaves and there overseers, in a way she hadn't expected. She suspected it would be different when she was sold, if she was sold. 

Pushing messily braided hair from her face, she shifted so he couldn't see the extent of the mark. The slave dealer had tutted when he saw it, and the young Briton assumed it would drop her price - as revolting as such a thought was. "You slave?" She asked directly, and put the dipper back in the bucket as one of the younger slaves - a girl of probably no more than nine or ten - grumbled. Erea handed it to her, and then returned her gaze to the young Roman in front of her, studying intently. She offered a wry, if not tired smile. "You get out of cage...you should tell how."

 

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[Sharpie]

"Yes, I'm a slave," Rufus said. "I'm verna - I was born a slave. In Italia, south of here." It made him a trusted quantity, at least - he knew how slavery worked and the punishments that would be brought down on the head of a runaway, which the imported, caged slaves wouldn't know. From what he had seen, all the slaves in the cages were chalk-footed, from the furthest reaches of the Empire (or beyond it, even).

"You need it cleaned?" he asked. He could no doubt find a rag and give the welt a bit of a clean up. Late in the day as that might be, surely it would help it heal a little cleaner.

"I'm Rufus," he said, suddenly realising they were talking and didn't even know one another's names. It was entirely possible that either or both of them might be renamed after they were sold, but that was in the future (hours or days away, but still the future.) And surely they could assert a little of their humanity even here.

 

@Sara

[Sara]

Erea blinked at him. Nobody had offered to help her with it since it happened, a week or so ago - just outside of Rome. She had been talking to the others (the woman in the newborn had been wailing) and the noise had infuriated those that were dragging the poor hapless slaves to the city. Erea had been in the wrong place and caught the full weight of the whip right across her shoulders. She had tried to feel just how big the mark was, but couldn't reach, and had been dismissively told to simply douse it in water and to be quiet. Easier said than done for a woman never struck by anything in her life! 

Tentatively, she nodded. "I do not know," she spoke hesitantly, sounding out the words; "How bad it is...man seemed angry at it." She was referring to one of the overseers, but had obviously not been told any names. With a reluctant smile she nodded, "Can help clean it?" 

At his introduction she wordlessly sounded out his name for a few moments, trying to get the pronunciation right; "Ru-fus. Rufus." Before shaking her head and raising her finger again to point at herself, "Erea." Slowly, she shifted from where she had been sitting. The tunica she was wearing, one given to her after the crossing (her own clothes soaked beyond salvaging with the freezing waters of the channel), was sleeveless and loose enough for the back to be pulled down low enough for Rufus to see the injury. Hesitantly, she shifted so her back was to him. It was easier to ask questions when she couldn't look in his eyes. "Bad?"

 

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[Sharpie]

"Erea." It was a pretty name; Rufus hoped that she would be allowed to keep it, although what little he knew of the fate of imported slaves suggested that she would not. Rufus, already used to the life of a Roman slave, and how the Romans did things, would doubtless be able to keep his - unless his new master or mistress already had a Rufus, or didn't like the name for some reason.

"I think you will have a scar," he said, speaking slowly. He was no medicus, to be able to divine such things merely by looking at them, but it was a whip welt, probably from a heavy whip - he knew the sort of thing slave overseers generally wielded, after all. "Wait there, I will come back," he said. He would need a cloth, in order to be able to clean it properly.

It did not take long to find an overseer and ask for what he needed, impressing on him the importance of it to the girl's final value at sale (Rufus hated bringing it down to that, when that was his own fate here, too, but needs must, and it was the quickest way - and the best way, really, for a slave to get something from a free man in this place).

He returned with a linen rag and poured water over it from the dipper.

"Let me see," he said, sitting down next to Erea, the cage bars the only thing separating them. "Apologies, if this hurts."

He began to gently, very gently, dab the cloth over the welt, easing up when she winced or flinched.

 

@Sara

Edited August 27, 2019 by Sharpie

[Sara]

She merely shrugged at the suggestion it would scar. She was not precious about her appearance - although given the situation she probably should have been, and had a fine littering of small white scars on her hands and calves from childhood escapades, that most freeborn 'savages' had. Although none in any way comparable to the angry red line across her shoulders, of course. When he left, she merely sat still, back to the bars and the curious faces of other slaves upon her. Few spoke any Latin, and she was grateful for the small amount of lessons she'd been able to glean from Aius those years ago. It hadn't been a lot, but it had certainly helped. 

She winced and gasped in shock a little as he started to clean the wound, screwing  up her face (which fortunately he could not see). It had been a dull ache for the past few days, but now it felt fresh all over again and the sting was excruciating. When she couldn't take it any longer, she shifted forward from the bars so he couldn't reach, and turned her head over her shoulder. "Few moment stop." She meant 'give me a few minutes' but her Latin wasn't that good. 

Trying to distract herself from the tingle of fire spreading across the welt, she considered him, trying to find the words. When she couldn't she just eyed him and stuttered; "Why you here? You be sold?" She had a million and one questions she wanted to ask him, but she'd start with that.

 

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[Sharpie]

"Apologies." He paused as she flinched away, out of his reach. "Ssh, easy, Little Bird," he said, quietly, soothingly. "Yes. My master died and the mistress sold me to a trader and so I'm here now."
He supposed Erea was here because she'd ended up as a prisoner in yet another of the interminable skirmishes between the Britons and the Roman invaders. It felt very strange being this close to someone from his mother's country, even if not from the same part of it.

It looked a nasty weal - he'd never understand slave traders who used their whips. Surely Erea hadn't caused any trouble - she didn't look the sort who would, and neither did she look cowed or broken in the way that a former trouble-maker would, once they'd been dealt with. And whipping someone just because you could was the epitome of cowardice, and meant , if nothing else, that you'd get less for them at the end of the day. If nothing else at all, that should stop the worst louts from lashing out.

He began to hum, very quietly, a half-remembered lullaby his mother had used to sing when he was very young, when she eventually settled back to allow him to continue. "You're very brave," he said, quietly, before resuming his humming.

 

@Sara

[Sara]

Erea mewled in pain as he resumed dabbing, although his humming was soothing. It was a tune she had heard before, distantly although she couldn't place where. She ran her fingers over the bracelet on her left wrist which nobody had seen fit to strip from her - it being perceived as just a worthless scrap of leather. She imagined Immin touching it and crafting the braids, and it soothed her. At least for a time before she hissed as the stinging intensified. She felt the dribble of something work down her back and couldn't be sure if it was water or blood from where the skin - only recently begun to heal - had broken again. 

"What like to be slave?" She asked, trying to distract herself. They had slaves in Britannia, of course, but Erea's family were never rich enough to need one and largely they were spoils from inter-tribal conflicts. None of her friends had them either and the idea of what it would be like was only hazy in her mind. That, of course, didn't make her question sound any less stupid. Trying to elaborate, but speaking in a whisper so as not to disturb the others were drifting dozily, she continued; "They say maybe Loo-dis...Ludus for me," What that meant was anybody's guess for her and then she shrugged again, "Or house slave, or br...brothel." She said the last word carefully and quietly. Whilst not nearly as popular in Britannia - the advent of the Romans in her homeland had meant the arrival of brothels. And she knew perfectly well what would lie in store for her there. 

Pulling her mass of dark hair over her shoulder so he could reach the end of the welt and wincing as he did so, she clenched her fists. "Shouldn't happen to me...this. Not meant to be slave." Although she was talking more to herself than him.

 

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[Sharpie]

"I am - was - a house slave," Rufus said, also speaking quietly. "Sh - ssh," he added, as she winced again. "Nearly finished, very nearly. It's not bad. Depends on the master, though. Clean the house, serve at dinner, run errands, go shopping for food. Not bad."

She was pretty enough to go to a ludus or a brothel, though perhaps the whip-welt would put them off. He might end up in a brothel himself, but hopefully his literacy and Greek would be enough to secure him a place in someone's house. He knew how to be a good house slave. A prostitute, though? He could perform the basics, but not well, and could certainly not bring himself to flatter half-drunk men who just wanted to paw at him.

"Apologies," he added. "But you're here, now, you can't change the past. Only the future. And there, all done." He wrung the rag out over the straw-scattered floor, and paused.

"I can... plait your hair, tidier, if you want?" he offered, thinking it might be painful for her to raise her arm to do so herself, if she even cared enough to bother. The place hadn't completely broken her spirit, but if she were here for too long, hopelessness would surely settle in.

 

@Sara

[Sara]

Clean the house, serve at dinner, run errands... it didn't sound much different to her life at home, but she knew it would be. At home, if she didn't do her fair share of the chores all she got was an eyeroll from her mother, or a sharp word from her brothers. Here? Gods only knew. She tried not to let the thought linger but could't help it. Gesturing with one of her hand to the welt, and gasping as she stretched her arm she glanced over her shoulder concerned. "They do this if do badly?" Gods she hoped it would just be a whipping. 

At his platitudes, she just nodded wordlessly. He didn't believe her...that this wasn't a place for her. She was born free, she had lived her life with no restrictions other than those always imposed upon her sex. And what the Romans had said when they came was wrong. Surely that should count for something? Surely somebody would care? But she tried not to push her luck with this one. He evidently didn't understand, and couldn't help. Maybe the slave dealer would? Or her new owner? 

Still, she was relieved when he said he had finished and she let out a breath she didn't realise she was holding and her shoulders heaved in a shudder. At his question she only murmured; "Mhmm?" She turned round so she was facing him, with a frown. She reached a hand to her hair. "Hair?" She realised she hadn't combed it in...Gods knew how long! Certainly not in the last week or so. She'd just been attempting to braid and re-braid it. "I...thank you, yes." She dipped her head in thanks. 

With a little smile she eyed him, "They sell me next day...need to look nice, get good money, hmm?" 

 

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[Sharpie]

He tipped a little more water over the rag and offered it to her.

"Clean your face?" he suggested. It would help her feel better, more human, he hoped.

He shrugged. Some masters would whip if something wasn't to their standard, or taste, but most - in Rufus' experience - would not. "More like, if you are rude or insolent," he told her, though who knew if she'd understand the word 'insolent'. "Don't talk first, don't ask too many questions. You'll be all right."

He didn't have a comb with him, but once he'd untied the cord hold her plait together, it was easy enough to run his fingers through her hair and tease out the worst knots.

"I don't know when he wants to sell me. My feet hurt - I walked all the way from Campania," he told her. "It's a long way, all one road - the Via Appia."

Not that she'd know that - but then, he had only the faintest idea where Britannia lay, so they were just as ignorant as each other. He tied a slip-knot in the thin cord she'd tied her hair with, and lay it across his lap as he divided her hair into three sections to begin the plait.

"Do you think I could tell them I'm an ornator?" he said, carefully beginning to plait. He was not as skilled as some, but knew enough to make a simple braid. And it would have to be only a simple braid because he had none of the tools to do anything else, not even a bun.

Even the word sounded silly - the female ornatrix was the proper word for a hair-stylist, and he knew some female slaves trained for a long time to perfect the complex styles that the highest ranking ladies wore.

 

@Sara

[Sara]

Erea timidly accepted the rag and wiped the grime of travel from her features as she listened, nodding along to his instructions. "I'll be alright." She repeated, as if trying to convince herself. 

She turned a little over her shoulder as he worked his fingers through her hair. "How long walk?" Fortunately for her she had at least been in the 'comfort' of a cart. Although as it travelled the rutted roads of northern Britannia, it hadn't felt particularly comfortable. She felt for him, as much if not more than she pitied herself. He was kind when he needn't be, and thoughtful. This seemed no place for a man like that. She turned her face back around again, staring at the faces of the other slaves. Sitting in silence as he divided her hair (imagining when she closed her eyes, that it was her mother doing so), she listened to him and frowned. "What...ornator? I...do not know word." She said with little shrug, but tried to offer solace by saying; "But you be sold to good people, you kind...I have good feeling." She'd put in a good word with the Gods for him as well, for good measure.

Gingerly, her body stiff from travel and the various ordeals she had been subjected to, she drew her knees to her chest and winced. How she was going to stand at the slave auction for hours, Gods only knew. At least the weather was cool - she'd been warned the sun was ferocious in Rome. She heard footsteps coming from the doorway to the cramped warehouse and glanced to her right as Rufus worked. A figure, not a slave judging by the cane in his hand and his dress was making the rounds. He drew near to Erea and Rufus, eyeing the scene with amusement. "I thought it was a rag for her back she needed, not a makeover." He smirked at Rufus. 

 

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[Sharpie]

"Ornatrix, really," Rufus told her. "Um. You know hair?" He held a strand of her own hair over her shoulder, so she could see what he meant. "An ornatrix is a slave-girl who makes ladies' hair pretty."

If she had skills with any sort of hair-styling, she could do that. The more skills a slave had, the more likely they were to go for a good price... and that meant they were surely likely to be better treated because who'd spend money on a slave and then mistreat them so that they couldn't work? Only a damned fool.

"Even a barbarian can look pretty, sir," Rufus said, looking up at the man who'd approached. "She might fetch a better price, this way - I won't be long."

Appeal to their greed, it usually worked. And it wouldn't take Rufus long, anyway. Depending on whether the citizen moved on or not, he might be able to give her a quick shoulder-rub through the cage bars - he had no oil and was not going to ask her to undress (he'd gone through that ordeal enough himself since arriving here and wasn't going to ask a girl to do it - she might be far more squeamish about nudity than Rufus or anyone else used to the Roman way of doing things, after all). But she looked as though she were stiff and perhaps had a bit of a back-ache, which were totally understandable.

Concentrating on Erea was helping dispel Rufus' own sense of homesickness and trepidation about his future, too - but the help he was offering was far more overt. But it was helping, a little; he couldn't sink into his own thoughts when he was trying to talk to someone whose Latin was not strong!

 

@Sara

[Sara]

Erea blinked and looked away as the man spoke to Rufus. She didn't want to be drawn into a conversation that was not her place, nor did she have anything useful to contribute to it. The man grunted at the red-heads reply, "Better price? Not likely that one. None of this lot." He banged his stick on the bars to the cage and Erea noticed the nervous glances people gave to each other. At least she understood a little of what was happening. To be completely alien in this environment with none of their language...she was surprised they'd all made it this far. "Some of them are going to the mines, a couple to the Elysium, maybe one or two the Venus, the rest probably to the Ludii." The man simply shrugged and moved to step past Rufus, whistling a tune and saying; "I wouldn't waste your time boy...but hurry up at any rate." as he left. Erea, her Latin poor as it was, understood very little of the rapid conversation.

"It okay? All good?" She glanced behind her as Rufus tugged gently on her hair, hoping he'd interpret what just happened. At an rate, he wasn't upping and leaving so that had to be a good sign, didn't it? Settling back against the bars, still hugging her knees she sighed and let her eyes drift shut. She was so, so tired but the Gods wouldn't let her sleep. Everytime she shut her eyes she'd hear a sound that stirred her, or painful memories would fill the dark spaces before her eyes. Snapping them back open, she shifted to speak to him again. 

"You...sad, Rufus?" She asked - noting his silence. He was diligent at helping, she'd realised that, but his quiet and the almost mournful humming from before had piqued something in her. "You need...talk?" She cast a quick glance behind her - big blue eyes searching his freckled face. Sometimes just being there to listen helped. 

 

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[Sharpie]

"It's good," Rufus said. If she hadn't understood that exchange, good. He hoped she'd find a good buyer, it seemed she needed a little luck to go her way for a change. "O Fortuna, smile on Erea!"

He carefully pulled the loop of cord tight around the end of the plait before wrapping the rest of the cord around it and tying the two ends together - it wasn't the very best hairdressing ever - the most skilled ornatrices could completely hide the thread fastening their work! - but it was secure and wouldn't come out until Erea took it out.

"I'm not sad, but I think you are? If you move back, a little," he gave a tiny tug to show what he meant, "I can help with your shoulders. If you want. I don't have long, though."

He muttered something uncomplimentary in Greek about the overseer.

 

@Sara

[Sara]

Erea flinched at his tug on her shoulder and it had the opposite effect - instead she moved forward and swivelled where she sat, coming to face him.  Her hair plaited and her face cleaned - she looked much better, but she frowned. He wasn't sad? He was about to be sold and he wasn't sad? It didn't make sense to her - but then she considered that this must be her future, sold and re-sold until the humiliation of being penned up in cages, stripped and sold had worn off. But she narrowed her eyes on Rufus and without hesitation, reached through the bars and took one of his hands. 

"No shoulders, you watch." She pointed with her other hand. It was a trick her mother used to do on her when she was a young girl, when Erea - stubborn, assertive Erea - often hid her feelings or refused comfort. Her mother would take her palm, as she did to Rufus now, and close her eyes. Erea did so. Then her mother would lightly trace the lines of her palm and divine (although as she got older, Erea quickly realised she didn't divine anything, she made up) that she could sense her emotion - stored in the palm of her hand. It had only worked for a few years, when she was little, but Rufus was ignorant to their 'barbarian' ways and may just buy it. If he didn't, it would at least get him talking. Erea felt bad he had taken such care over her, and she had (presumably) provided no comfort in return.

Eyes shut, she traced soft fingers over the lines of his palm. "You are sad, I feel it." She cracked an eye to watch his face, "You feel lost?" It was complete and utter bollocks. They no doubt all felt lost. But she offered a little smile, "I good listen." I'm a good listener, I promise. 

 

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Edited August 27, 2019 by Sara

[Sharpie]

"I..." He stopped as she took his work-hardened hand in hers and traced the lines of his palm. "A bit sad, perhaps, at leaving home. But no family, nobody to be sad for me." He smiled. "I might find my sister here, maybe? And lost, because I'm going to be sold to a new owner, someone I don't know and don't know how to serve." There was a shrug there. "I've never been sold, before - like you haven't."

He'd seen slaves sold, though, in the market, with the placards around their necks, and felt a little sick that he was going to end up in that situation himself in the next day or so. He might be lucky and get to keep his tunic on, but he wasn't about to bet a bent as on it.

 

@Sara

[Sara]

She tried to smile encouragingly before she released his palm, her hand coming to rest on the bars separating them. "I sad for you then, if no family." And she meant it, although she wasn't sure whether it was worse to have left loved ones behind. She had felt the pain when when her mother was taken, and her stomach heaved at the thought of Turi and Ardra going through the same over her now. It might be a small mercy for them to be in their own cages, en route to Rome. 

Pulling the newly (and surprisingly well done!) plait over her shoulder, she smiled wanly at him - tiredness edging in. "You will be fine. You very brave." She repeated his own words back to him, although left out the little bird epithet - sweet as she'd found it. "If I do it, you do it." If I can do it, you can do it. They sounded like bland pleasantries, but she truly meant it. A slave like him - kind, respectful, spoke Latin and with his looks...surely only a fool would sell him to a subpar house. She tried not to think about the fact that she had no such skills to recommend herself. Leaning her head against the bars, and trying to deflect the conversation to happier pastures, she offered a tired smile. "What sister like? She have hair like you?" She pulled at her own, as if making a point. Maybe the hope of seeing her again would keep him going? But she didn't dare ask why they had been separated. That was too painful a thought to consider now.

 

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[Sharpie]

Rufus folded his hands over hers where they clasped the bars of the cage. "Yes - her name is Bretta. She has dark red hair, the same colour as mine but long, like yours." He indicated his hair and then the length of hers with one hand before putting it over hers again. Small, delicate hands, but used to work.

"She's older than me... twenty-two." Again, he used his hands to signal her age. "Do you have family here, anyone you want me help you find?"

He might not be able to, of course - he might not even be able to find Erea again! - but it would be worth looking, worth asking, and if there were family and he came across them, he could at least let them know Erea was in Rome, somewhere. He rubbed her knuckles with a thumb, a tiny, minuscule comfort in a place where comfort was as rare as hens' teeth.

@Sara

[Sara]

Erea smiled at the warmth of his hands and didn't flinch this time. It was comforting, in a place that had so few comforts. "Bret-a...Bretta, sister of Rufus." She repeated, as if committing it to her deepest memories. Without hesitation, she eyed him sagely. "I look for her. Any woman red hair I stop her and ask for Bretta." She was joking, of course, but she would look. She didn't know what she'd do if she found her of course, she had no idea how things worked here - whether she'd be permitted to ask her master if she could go out and find Rufus, or whether she'd have to rely on word of mouth, but she'd try.

"My Mama...take last year, Letinie." She said her name reverently. Her mother was firmly in middle age, and not in the best of wits after the death of her husband, Erea's father. Who knew where a slave like that would end up? Hopefully as some motherly cook, rather than a farm or worse. "Brother Turi, sister Ardra..." She shrugged, trying to find the words, "They not home when I go...worry taken too." But they would surely be in whichever car rolled after her, and so many not have made it to Rome yet. Still, their fate was likely sealed just as hers had been and poor Immin's. 

Still enjoying the feeling of his hands on hers, almost brotherly in nature, she used her free themb to squeeze his. "Tell me happy memory, happy us up," Cheer us up, "In this place." Erea's family, her tribe in fact, came from a long line of storytellers and maybe one of this one's would help her drift to sleep and forget about tomorrow?

 

TAG: @Sharpie

[Sharpie]

"Letinie, Erea's mother," Rufus said, wandering along the beach in his mind and placing the names at specific spots on the walk. "Brother Turi, sister Ardra. Come from Britannia, tribe Parisi." He kept his Latin simple, to help her understand, even as he committed the details to memory, using one of the tricks he'd learned as a child.

"A happy memory?" He had to think. "Ah. Do you know Saturnalia, at all - it's our midwinter festival, and in most households, the master and slaves swap roles for a day. It was a few years ago, now, and I just remember Mama reclining in the triclinium, like any high-born lady would, laughing at a joke, with her wreath all askew over her ear." He didn't recall the joke, which probably hadn't even been that funny, but he remembered the atmosphere of fun and laughter.

Gods, he missed that!

 

@Sara

[Sara]

Erea shook her head, and repeated slowly; "Sat-ur-nalia?" She listened with eyes shut to his story. Most of the words passed her by; triclinium, wreath...but she understood the gist enough to smile. "That is happy...and I look to it." She smiled again. How depressing though, to only have one festival a year to look forward to? Cracking her eyes open again, she eyed him. Poor, sweet Rufus. She felt as bad, if not more, for him as she did for herself! At least she had, had a life of freedom, before it was taken away. 

A sharp bang of a stick against the bars behind where she and Rufus sat disturbed their happy reverie, however, and the overseer from before cast a glance down at the odd little exchange. Erea, not wishing to get Rufus in trouble, withdrew her hands from the bars although she missed the comfort they had provided. "What was that about not being long?" The man didn't seem overtly unpleasant, just bemused and a little frustrated. She understood enough of what he said to glance quickly back down to Rufus and reaching through the bars, gave his hand one more quick squeeze. "You go, I hope see you again." And she genuinely meant it. Her first piece of kindness in this foreign land, and it had come from a red-haired descendent of her own people! She offered another wavering smile as she withdrew her hand, "Good luck Roo-fus."

 

TAG: @Sharpie

 

[Sharpie]

The sound of a sturdy stick against the bars of the cage made Rufus startle and he turned, getting to his feet.

"Yes, sir - I had just finished," he said, though that was perhaps stretching the truth a little.

"Really. Well, as you seem so keen to waste time chattering, perhaps you'd like to put your mouth to good use doing something else."

Rufus was not stupid and knew exactly what was meant by that - but right here, by the caged slaves who had no idea what servitude to a Roman could mean? Of course he meant right here, it would be a pretty little demonstration of just what their future lives might entail. Rufus was no stranger to the act - but it wasn't one that every slave ever had to do, and he was definitely too old to be the sort of pretty boy that most Romans thought of when they considered taking a male to their beds. He'd escaped that by being (probably) his old master's son, and now being older - but a slave dealer's hired muscle would take what he could get when he could get it, and Rufus wasn't ancient.

"Wouldn't you like somewhere a little more private, sir?"

The other man laughed. "Squeamish, are you? Come on, we don't have all night."

Rufus shrugged and shifted position, stepping a little so that the other's own body would hide precisely what was going on - he didn't know why, he just wanted to shield Erea from the realities of this life as much as he could, though it probably wouldn't help her in the long run.

The floor was hard under his knees, despite the strewn straw, but it didn't take long - he though the overseer might have found a corner to give himself a quiet moment with his hand, if he hadn't spotted Rufus. It was a stark contrast with the last time he'd done this - and the memory of his master's winter visitor was, overall, a much nicer thing to think about than this place. It was over quick enough and he was allowed to get to his feet to retrieve the water bucket, giving Erea a smile before he returned the bucket to its place, taking a mouthful of water for himself, and finding his own assigned spot. He just hoped he caught the eye of a decent master who preferred his other skills!

 

@Sara - and I'm done! Thanks!

Edited September 2, 2019 by Sharpie