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Charlie shivered. Graphic images of the executions he'd been forced to witness still haunted him.
"It is little enough to offer, but when we reach the port of Stabiae, we will tell no one in authority of this." He gestured to Charlie's stolen armor.
Charlie remained silent. Decius seemed to understand. The fisherman wiped ash and grit off his face. Lantern light revealed burns on his hand and lower arm. He must have kept hold of the tiller, or tried to, during one of the surges.
The fisherman lifted his gaze from the sea and met Charlie's eyes. "You must realize you ca
Charlie nodded, hardly daring to hope this man might show his child, at least, some pity. He winced when a pebble at terminal velocity stung his shoulder and wished he could wipe ash and grit off his own wet face.
"I know."
Decius' voice was a little less harsh this time. "We are not wealthy, Phillipa and I, but a fisherman can always earn a living and seldom starves."
It didn't take ESP to know the fisherman was afraid of him—and in his shoes, Charlie supposed he'd have been afraid, too—but equally clearly, the man was trying to be fair.
"Yeah, well, I guess that's true enough," Charlie agreed. "I'm not much good on a boat."
"No..." Decius pursed his lips slightly. Exhaustion made the man's eyes water and brought a tremble to his burned hand. How many hours since he had slept? "But there are other things a man who is slow of foot can do. I never have enough hands to keep nets mended. And the rigging and sails must be repaired constantly.
"Then there is the job of cleaning and sorting the catch, hauling it to market. And I will need a new mast, which you can help shape with wood-working tools, and the boat needs recaulking. And the gunwales are damaged. And once you learn woodworking skills... even a crippled man can work wood and earn himself and his master a living."
Too true.
"Or buy his child's freedom," Decius added softly.
Charlie's glance was sharp. But he said nothing. Not yet. He wouldn't risk Lucania's future on his temper.
"There is plenty of opportunity to do this—and more. You begin to see?"
Charlie's forced laugh came out badly strained. "Yes. I begin to see. Master," he added bitterly.
Decius grunted softly. "I have never been a slave. But I am not a citizen, either. And when you ca
Charlie was surprised by even that small measure of understanding. He hadn't expected to find any. If he were doomed to live out his life a slave... There were worse men he could call "master."
Charlie wondered how one mended fishing nets.
"I have no choice," Charlie answered slowly. "You could have me killed when we reach port. You could throw me overboard now. You could throw my child overboard. As you say, with this brand, who would believe I was a freedman? I have no manumission papers. No freedman's cap. And I certainly can't pass myself off as a citizen. They might believe you had lost my ownership papers in the disaster, but never that I had lost my manumission."
Decius relaxed marginally.
"I'll work for you, Decius Martis, because I have no choice, but I hope you won't expect me to be cheerful about it."
Decius' rusty laugh surprised him. "No, I won't expect that. In your place, I think I would hate me very much."
"Huh. If I don't work out to your satisfaction, I suppose you could always sell me. Provided you can find someone stupid enough to give you gold for a cripple and his baby."
"I would not sell the man who saved my family, whatever you may think of me. I would free you first, myself."
Charlie stared. Trust came hard, but something in Decius' eyes told him he could believe that. "Very well. Master." It came out sounding a little less bitter than before. Then, because the question burned his insides and Decius Martis had not made his intentions clear, "What will you do with Lucania?"
Decius tightened his lips. "I don't know, exactly. Somehow I don't think I'd live long if I tried selling her. And after what I've seen, I wouldn't do that, in any case. We'll decide later what's to be done about the child. After we're safe." He nodded toward the volcano. "And we are not safe yet. The wind and current are carrying us toward the blackest part of that ash cloud."
"I know," Charlie agreed darkly. More than you, pal. He knew exactly what they'd find when they reached shore: more death. Maybe even their own. Somewhere in the blackness they were heading into, the whole Imperial Navy from Misenum was stranded. Its commander—according to Sibyl—would be dead already.
Decius merely nodded to himself and shoved the naked sword under his seat in the stern, out of reach. Charlie let his head drop to the bottom of the boat and shut his eyes. He ached everywhere. Even in his soul. At least Lucania was safe for now. He'd held his temper, held his tongue. He couldn't do much for his daughter as a slave, but he'd secured his child's safety. For now, anyway.
Decius leaned forward from the stern. "Slave. You have never told me what name you are called by."
Charlie considered. Nothing short of torture would force him to reveal the name the roaring crowds—or Xanthus—had given him. How to Latinize his real name?
"Carolus Flineus," he finally said, "is how you would say my name in Latin."
"Flineus," his new master repeated. "An odd name, but it suits you, somehow. Your old master treated you ill." He did not phrase it as a question.
Charlie started to answer, then paused. "Yes. He beat me, sometimes for the pleasure of it. Often. But," he added candidly, "I did not adapt well to slavery. I was born a free man, a citizen, in my own country."
He wondered how to explain the concept of police officers to someone who possessed no inkling of a similar organization. "I held a position of authority. Something like the Praetorian guard or the provincial garrisons. When I was captured and sold, I fought—as any proud and free man would—and tried to escape."
"So your master branded you and maimed you to keep you from ru
Charlie's bark of bitter laughter clearly startled the fisherman. "Branded me? Oh, yes. He enjoyed that, too. But my leg was already ruined. I was crippled after two years of fighting in the Circus Maximus. When I was struck down, the crowd spared me. Emperor Vespasian himself ordered me to be tended by a surgeon. Alas, he did not instruct that if I lived, I was to be freed. So I was sold."
"You fought in the great circus at Rome? When you said you'd fought, I thought— What does it look like? What champions did you fight? What weapons did they use? Which did you use?"
Charlie couldn't believe it. He'd found a sports fan. The last thing he wanted to do was remember the years in the arena. But talking about it would please his new master. And there was Lucania to consider... .
So he talked of Rome, which the poverty-stricken fisherman had never seen. He talked of the arena, of the Emperor and the great Flavian Amphitheater (which in Charlie's time was known as the Colosseum, or so said his textbook captions), which was still under construction. He answered a thousand other questions Decius Martis had for him as best he could. And wondered the whole while when Lucania would wake up—and if Decius Martis would let him hold her when she did.
At length the fisherman changed the subject. "We must be getting close to land. If I'm right, the current and winds are carrying us toward Stabiae. I would come ashore elsewhere, given a chance, but I don't think we can make the straits off Capri." The fisherman's glance fell on Charlie's battered armor. "And the first thing you must do, Flineus, is get rid of everything from that soldier. Dump it overboard."