“Then we will go to our rooms, and decide what to do.You can sweep up and set the table, or whatever it is a person does in a house.”
“I don’t know much about cleaning either.”
I foresaw a future where I took out the slop buckets and fetched water while this swathed creature reclined on a dining couch, munching grapes while she observed my labors.
“I thought you weremyservant,” I said.“What sort of slave are you, if you can’t cook, clean, or fetch and carry?”
A courtesan, was the answer.One to keep the gladiator tamed while his benefactor decided what to do with my obligation to him.
Cassia lifted her chin.“I am a scribe.”
Her answer surprised me to silence.A scribe?The gods must be laughing at me.Leonidas, the champion of the empire, left alone on the streets with no money and no food, and the only one sent to assist him was an unworldly scribe.
My hand throbbed where it clutched the sword.Cassia had turned away and continued along the quiet street as I stared in disbelief.
“A scribe?”The words scraped out of me as I strode after her.“Why do I need ascribe?”
Cassia halted at a plain door next to a shop whose customers lined up to take away amphoras of wine.She opened the door to reveal a stone staircase that rose into shadows.
She began to ascend, but I put my hand on her shoulder and drew her back, not wanting her to walk alone into who knew what kind of rooms with who knew what kind of person waiting.Rome was not a safe place.
Cassia skittered from my touch like a bug from a boot, eyes enormous.While she hugged the wall, trying to catch her breath, I went past her and climbed the stairs.
Above I found a single, L-shaped room that stretched from the front of the building to the back, with a stone pallet built into a wall under a window.The shorter end of the L opened onto the roof of the wine shop below, wooden shutters leaning against the wall to close off the balcony in the evening.
The room held a table and two rough-hewn stools.A shelf, empty, had been fastened to one wall, but looked as though it would tumble down from any heavy tread on the stairs.That was all.
Cassia entered behind me, her footsteps light.From somewhere within the folds of her robes, she retrieved a wax tablet, the kind with wooden covers that folded in two, protecting the wax inside.
She removed a stylus that had been tucked inside the tablet and made a notation.As I could read no words, I had no idea what it said.
“A scribe does more than write letters.”Cassia’s voice was faint, but she spoke as one bent on explaining.“I can keep records, read and negotiate contracts, balance books and make sure all moneys owed are paid as well as all moneys owed to you.”
I had no money at all.Unlike some fighters, I had not stashed away my portion of prize winnings or fees earned from guarding to buy my freedom.My price was so high I’d known there was no point.I used the winnings to enjoy myself instead, staving off boredom until I had to fight for my life once more.
“No moneys are owed to me,” I said.
Cassia studied her tablet.“Your benefactor requests that you seek employment in order to feed yourself and pay the rent on this apartment.What little coin has been left for meals will only last the day, if that.”
A very odd sort of benefactor then.
I was growing weary, first from the excess of drinking and debauchery last night, and then from finding my circumstances so changed.I needed to lie on my back for a time, to think, to sleep.I suppressed a yawn.
“Whoisour benefactor?”I asked.
“I don’t know.”When I took a step toward her, Cassia raised a hand in alarm.“I truly do not.Hesiodos would not tell me.”
I continued past her and peered through the opening to the roof.Our view showed me the narrow street as it spilled down the hill into the main thoroughfare beyond.
“So I am to live here, find my own employment, pay the rent, and wait for instruction?”
“Yes.”Cassia sounded relieved I’d grasped it all.
It was strange, but by no means the most strange thing people had hired me to do.
I supposed I could walk out the door, tramp through the streets of Rome, and turn my back on this benefactor.I was a freedman now … I looked at the wooden sword adhered to my hand.
Or was I?
