The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,38
three staff members from the homes of some of Tertulla’s friends. Each of those placed coins in my hand when they left. I looked at them and thought to myself with pride, now you are a professional. Little Nestor tapped me on the shoulder and snickered, yesterday you were a slave; today you are a slave with a few coins.
Livia and I were playing a game of tali after everyone else had left. Sabina came through the door adjoining our two rooms. She watched us quietly for several moments. I glanced up from the floor where we sat cross-legged and bid her join us.
“I cannot say what part you have played in this,” she said, gesturing to her daughter, “or why you would choose to hide it.” Livia was about to roll but held the knucklebones to listen. “I have decided that I do not need to know. However, you need to know this: you will always be in our hearts; no matter where the fates may take us, you will always be remembered.” She left without further comment.
Livia asked, “What’s she talking about?”
“You heard her. I’m in your heart.”
“Well I might not remember you.”
“Just roll.”
“All right, be like that.” She gave the bones a good shake and threw a Venus. “Hah!” she cried. “Victory! Just for that, I’m not giving you a rematch.”
It was hard to be a curmudgeon, hard as I tried. One day I came upon Pío teaching Livia and Nestor a melody from the Laletani village of his childhood. Astounding to both eyes and ears. The sound of laughter and children playing seeded every hour: contentment took hold, grew and flourished. Even the food improved: Tertulla gave cook stacks of recipes from her mother’s kitchen. He grumbled, behind her back of course, having no choice but to try them. When the quality of mealtime rose by several degrees, all he would say was that execution was everything. The weight he himself was gaining, however, was a belt-loosening contradiction.
From the first day Sabina opened her practice, her waiting area was never empty. Crassus was as good as his word. As that word spread, she became so busy Tertulla was forced to relinquish her as a wet nurse and hire another. By the end of the first month, even after she had paid the master for furnishings and rent, Sabina had put aside three hundred sesterces in the family books. In two years, maybe less, her debt would be paid and she could begin to apply her fees toward the purchase of their freedom.
At last the carpenters brought long tables and benches to my schoolroom, plus one for me as the master, and a most comfortable chair. With a cushion! The schedule was set: two hours, three times a week the house came under my tutelage, even Livia. Tertulla soon saw that my hours were doubled, easily convincing her friends to send their own servants. Crassus began dropping by late in the day; he found in me his own apt pupil; discussing an invigorating regimen of politics, philosophy and oratory. He never spoke down to me and always gave ear to my remarks with interest and thoughtfulness. He asked questions and invited debate when he could have commanded unilateral acceptance. The omnipresent imbalance of our status never left my consciousness, but it faded to a background noise, like the sound of distant surf. He made me feel valued, and by doing so, let me rediscover my manhood, which had been stripped away like bark from a tree.
Atop Rome’s richest hill, we lived at the cold heart of the world, where distance made everything sparkle, and close inspection was almost never required. Our masters were kind and our bellies full; who among all the bustling, struggling throng below could say as much? We could forget who we were and how we had gotten there. Yes, we were actors playing a part, but every day was dress rehearsal, and with enough practice, we could become the characters we played. The days passed and without even realizing it, the small estate on the Palatine began to feel like a place where I belonged.
All might be well again.
Except that it could never be. Boaz’s Eastern philosophers must have been mistaken. Perhaps there, at the edge of the world, life was more just, but here in Rome, one could never be certain that goodness would be rewarded in kind.