‘' ... female slave, fifteen years, property of Duillius Rufus, decurion of the sixth cohort of the …”
As the line moved slowly on, Karen became more and more nervous.
'I do hope someone nice'll buy me', she said to herself. I should hate to go to one of those hatchet-faced merchants. At last the sad group in front of her had gone, and she heard the auctioneer call out her lot number before the slave-master thrust her into the cleared circle.
She stared around at the ring of men, like a trapped animal. They seemed to be all eyes, critical, examining eyes that bored right through her.
' ... female slave, fifteen years, property of Duillius Rufus, decurion of the sixth cohort of the ...'
Property! Of Duillius Rufus! For a moment Karen was furious, but she knew her anger was of little use; after all, when she reflected on it, she was his property- personal property, like a piece of furniture. It was funny to think she belonged to someone else, but after all it was only in body. These
calculating old men could not buy her soul for all their money. She raised her head, self-assured.
Several people had already bid, but the auctioneer was trying to push the price up.
'Twelve hundred sesterces,' said one of the watching legionaries at last; then there was a silence. Karen looked for the man who had said it; he might well be the one to take her, but he was hidden behind a great fat merchant in long robes.
Sure enough, the auctioneer asked in vain for more bids and the hammer fell. Karen's hands were tied behind her back and she was told to sit down at the back of the platform. She did so with rather a bump and consequently grazed her knuckles on the rough stone. She was then so uncomfortable that she wriggled about until she was able to bring both bound hands underneath herself and round in front of her. She only achieved this after a great struggle that was witnessed with interest by one of the sad-faced group sitting to her.
'That's a good idea' he said, and did the same, though it was easier for him because his arms were longer. When the slave-master came round and saw them sitting there with their hands demurely in their laps, he stared suspiciously and frowned, scratching his head. Karen tried not to laugh.
Although she looked out for Kleon, Karen did not manage to see him before the legionary who had bought her came to fetch her away, and she was dragged off down the street clutching the brown dress in a bundle.
After a while her new owner said, 'You'll be wondering why I bought you?'
'Not particularly.' She was determined not to care. He looked at her curiously.
'Pretty little so-and-so, aren't you? But that's not the reason I paid twelve hundred for you. You're my surety- an investment, you might say. You can work in the kitchens until the ship leaves.'
'Ship?'
'For Rome. We're going back at last, and it can't be too soon for me, I can tell you 'That's what I mean about your being an investment. I've put my money in you and I'll get it back with interest in Rome. You're coming back to the city with me.'
IV
IT WAS ONLY THE THIRD COHORT THAT WAS GOING, although that was six hundred men. They were squeezed into eight troop-ships with two faster war-vessels to guard them.
It was a miserable wet morning when they embarked, with mist obscuring everything, and drizzle pocking the waves. Everyone got very wet and cross before they were on board and in the dry.
Karen was put in the cook's charge and told that she was to help him with the meals. Several of the other soldiers had slaves, so there were several girls on the ship. With the work divided among them it was easier. The male slaves were set to the oars.
Karen was appalled at the terrible life these galley-slaves led. She had read one or two novels about Rome, in which the Roman ship-system had been described, but the real thing was so much worse. The rowers underneath the deck were at least dry, but the air in the belly of the ship sometimes became almost unbreathable, especially if the hatches were closed. Walking about the ship, she could see them through the square hatchway, heaving and straining at the oars, their bodies covered in sweat. They were treated exactly like savage dogs, chained and beaten, with their food thrown so that they had to fight to get any; and savage dogs they became.
On the first day out, the cook,- who was a hasty, fat, man with a red face- flew into a temper with Karen because she dropped a saucepan of beans on his newly washed floor. He stamped and fumed, to Karen’s secret amusement, and finally said that for the rest of the trip she could feed the rowers as an extra chore.
Karen was not unduly upset at the task; instead she resolved to give it to them individually so that at least they would have a fair share. Then she climbed down the ladder for the first time and started along the gangway, saddened to see them all slumped in misery over the oars. The first man looked up in some surprise as she thrust a lump of stale bread and a little meat into his hand. They were all puzzled by her attitude, but as some who had never managed to grab much before now got a proper share, they were
grateful. Looking at their sad, bearded faces, with the eyes dead, like stones, Karen wondered how people could reduce their fellow men to a state like this.
As well as feeding the slaves, she had to help distribute the legionaries' food. They were fed in three shifts, at several long tables in one of the cabins. On the whole, the food was good, for one of the girls was imaginative at cooking and so managed to vary the menu now and again.
Karen didn't mind feeding the rowers below deck, although it made her feel depressed, but she hated dishing out soup and fish to the legionaries. They used to make passes at her, and comment on her figure as though she were a statue. It was like going on show every mealtime. The only one who never made remarks was Marius, the man who had bought her in the first place. One drunken soldier actually seized her round the waist on one occasion as she passed; but she managed to throw him off, furious, before he could kiss her.
Two days went by with cooking in the hot little galley, cleaning, and tidying up. No sooner had one meal been finished with and cleared up after, than it seemed to be time to start on another. However, Karen still found time to take some interest in the journey.
They disembarked on the French coast, somewhere near Boulogne, she reckoned, and they walked from there to the Mediterranean more or less due south by the regular trade and military route via Lugdunum, which she knew became Lyon in later history. The soldiers marched ahead in a long column, and the slaves travelled behind with the baggage-waggons.
They had only been on the road for one day when Karen suffered a mishap. It was a silly little accident. She had been riding on the tailboard of a cart and when they halted for the night, she had jumped down and put her foot in a rut, falling and twisting her ankle agonizingly. The driver of the next waggon pulled up his mules to avoid trampling her, and hauled her out of the way. She sat miserably propped up under a tree, nursing her ankle, and the other girls brought her something to eat. Later that evening Marius wandered over and inspected her ankle, now badly swollen. She gave him a withering look when he asked if she could manage to walk.
'I'll arrange for you to ride in a cart then,' he said.
He kept his word, and for the next week she lay flat on her back in the creaking cart, surrounded by boxes and sacks, with only the sky to look at unless she tortured her ankle by sitting up; and then she could only see the long trail of carts following, pulled by mule-teams, and the slaves walking by the side. At intervals soldiers rode alongside, to see that no slave ran off into the woods and fields by the well-paved highway. One of them was friendly, and talked to Karen if he were riding near her waggon.
The first few days after she was on her feet again tired Karen hopelessly, but she gradually became hardened to it and needed fewer rides on the cart.
She was content now to go along with events and see what would happen to her. From what Marius had said about being his surety, she knew that he meant to sell her at a profitable price in Rom
e. She gathered from the other girls that this was quite a common practice- a sort of guard against losing money, which was much easier to lose than a slave-girl.
As they neared the south of France the country became less wild and forested. Quite a number of soldiers lived in the country round about, for this was the Provincia- modern Provence- which had long been Romanized. As the train progressed, the soldiers gradually dropped off along with their possessions, amongst them the owner of one of Karen's friends among the girls; the parting was sudden because the girl had not known she was to go until the last minute, and Karen missed her for a while.
The road lay long, straight and white ahead of them, bordered by rows of shady trees and great farming-estates, or latifundia. As the really scorching heat had not yet set in, the flowers by the road were fresh and pretty. The sounds of the mules' jingling harness, the measured tramp of the legionaries and the creaking of the wooden wheels were in Karen's ears all day long.
When they reached Massilia- the modern Marseilles- Karen felt quite a thrill of fascination for the Mediterranean, and even as they trailed wearily towards the barracks near the harbour, her heart gave a leap as she caught a glimpse of glittering blue sea between the narrow houses. She had been to Spain and Italy on various tours, and there was a definite atmosphere- every time