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Irish hatred ran deep and lasted a lifetime.
It was often all he could do to control it, to stay alive rather than give in as everything he was demanded.
"Back's healing," Charlie told the slave–secretary shortly. "And Achivus? Don't ever touch me again. Got that? Now get out of my way. I have work to do."
"Yes. I heard. Rufus, why didn't you obey him? Cleaning the dock was such a small thing. Must you defy Master at every single order? He only wants you to love and obey him—"
Something in Charlie's expression must've gotten through, because Achivus paused without finishing.
The secretary sighed and looked away. "Please keep trying, Rufus. It isn't so difficult to be a good slave, you know. Just do whatever you can to make sure his fortunes rise. You might be surprised how well he'll treat you. He... wants to treat you well. If only you'd let him."
Charlie, who knew exactly what Xanthus wanted from him to "make his fortunes rise" held silent. That was one thing among many he simply could not give the Lycian Roman: lead poisoning was not his fault, nor could he change the way engineers constructed the aquaducts.
Achivus glanced the long way up into Charlie's face again. "Your trouble," he said with a touch of bitterness, "is your pride from being a champion. It galls to be just an ordinary slave. There is no shame, Rufus, in whatever the master orders. Pleasing him is our duty. Take pride in it. I certainly do. Master's whole household does. All except you. Rufus the Champion. Rufus the great, popular hero. Rufus the gladiator, the man even senators' wives wanted to sleep with, if their husbands would've looked the other way. Dammit, Rufus, stop pining away for the glory and—"
"Don't tell me what I feel about those years!"
Achivus backpedaled a step, eyes wide in sudden fright.
Charlie ground his fists until his hands ached, trying desperately to forget the sights, the sounds and stenches, the terror and the burning, red rage that caused even greater terror, it was so overpowering—
He thrust aside any attempt at explanation with a bitter, Why try to explain anything to an alien? Then, changing his mind just as quickly, desperate to co
Achivus swallowed a couple of times while the sultry evening breeze ruffled their hair.
Achivus' lips thi
With that, Achivus headed toward the steep pathway and the marble steps Charlie had spent the past week cleaning with a scrub brush and a bucket of cold water. Charlie gripped his bucket for a moment, aware that in his hands, nearly anything was a lethal weapon. Then, forcing a deep breath, Charlie told himself hating Achivus was no answer. He might as well hate a beetle for the color of its carapace or the food it preferred. Achivus' beliefs were so far beyond anything Charlie had ever encountered, it was impossible to remain angry with him. Amazingly, very nearly all the slaves Charlie had encountered held the same insane attitudes about their masters.
Spartacus and his bunch were a minority.
Charlie watched the flow of the muddy Tiber for long moments. Achivus, the educated Greek secretary. Achivus, the master's favorite. Achivus was a good slave. Docile, obedient, devoted. Oh, to be sure, he gossiped about Master and Mistress—what slave didn't—but he actually loved that bastard and his harpy of a wife. Or claimed to, anyway. In reward, they treated him like a favored pet capable of particularly useful tricks.
The whole business made Charlie sick.
Charlie listened for a moment to the sailors as they finished securing the little yacht, but he didn't learn anything of importance. All they wanted was food in their bellies and a woman under their thighs. Rutting pigs....
The nearest scrub brush was up at the house. Charlie held back a groan and limped painfully up the path toward the villa urba he had called "home" for slightly more than two years, now. The back wall, heartlessly plain, hid Xanthus' wealth from casual observation. It also deadened city noise, an important function, as close as they were to the wharves of the Porticus Aemelia. Charlie limped through the gate and made certain it was latched, then passed through the kitchen. Xanthus' cook screeched at him.
"Get that shit bucket out of my kitchen, cripple!"
Charlie flipped him a good old-fashioned American bird.
"And none of that barbarian filth, either!"
"Blow it out your ass," Charlie muttered in English. But he kept going.
Xanthus was in the triclinium, the Roman equivalent of a dining room. He and his guest had already reclined on couches. Household slaves were serving the evening meal, which would probably go on for hours. Some of Xanthus' banquets lasted up to a grueling ten hours of hard work for the slaves required to serve and entertain them.
Xanthus' wife, Adflicta, seated in the high-backed armchair only privileged ladies were permitted, remained silent and pale. Xanthus' sons, cowed by the terrifying formality of di
"... Caelerus, simply astonishing."
"Yes, the voyage from Iberia was well favored with good winds."
Iberia? Charlie frowned and tried to remember where that was supposed to be. Somewhere to the west? He hadn't been all that good at modern geography, never mind ancient Roman geography. The next comment brought him up short.
"Yes," Xanthus was saying, "Publius Bericus will be delighted with her. She's exactly as you described. I've already sent word. If we're fortunate, he won't have left yet for his villa rustica."
Publius Bericus? Hatred and terror detonated inside Charlie. Despite his crutch, Charlie's knees began to wobble. Publius Bericus was coming here?
"That would be excellent," said the man who'd slapped the sailor. "I want this business transacted quickly. A trade in goods is what I want, as you know."
Unable to move for the sudden tremors in his legs, Charlie studied this newcomer covertly from the shadows. He was thin-faced, surprisingly tall, with a look Charlie would once have identified as savvy street predator. He possessed the sharp, cold eyes of a vulture. When he smiled, Charlie repressed the instinctive urge to reach for his backup gun. He was a colonial, judging from his accent. Charlie's was much worse, of course.
Xanthus laughed. "Bericus will consider it a bargain, even with the gold you're asking in addition."
"If you would be so kind, Xanthus, perhaps you might handle the negotiations? For a... percentage?"
Xanthus' eyes gleamed. Adflicta compressed her lips. No Roman lady of quality wanted to have it whispered, "Her husband is in trade!"
"Of course. Say... ten percent?"
The conversation devolved into a haggling war over percentage points. Charlie regained control of his shuddering pulse and tried to inch past along the edge of the room, since the dining couches were between him and the storeroom where cleaning supplies were kept. The thump of the crutch, however, caught his master's attention.