most of the illiterate and uneducated masses, did not share the belief that madness was either just punishment meted out by an irate god, or the result of demonic possession. Even his predecessor and teacher, Plato, believed that this sickness might at times be divinely inspired. Aristotle knew that those who suffered this affliction did so from physical causes, but the belief that mental health or disease is dependent upon moral virtue or vice persists. Hanno’s parents, whoever they might have been, must not be faulted for their actions; in his Politics, Aristotle himself wrote, “as to the exposure and rearing of children, let there be a law that no deformed child shall live.” If he would not suffer their existence, what audacity to question the great teacher’s wisdom. Human perfection is the ideal; human imperfection, deformity of any kind, must by definition be less than human, mustn’t it?
I put down my pen and studied the child as he pulled the entangled hairs from his brush and dropped them on the tiles. Hanno did not belong to me, yet he was nonetheless mine; domina had given me authority over him on her behalf. A slave’s slave. I oversaw many in this way, but somehow Hanno was different. It seemed more poignant that in his case I ordered him about, slept in better quarters and ate better food (not that he would accept half the things he was offered). Just as Crassus lived a life beyond my reach. Did that mean I was entitled to look down upon Hanno as Crassus looked down upon me? Dominus would angrily deny that he did any such thing, but no matter how much slack he might pay out on my leash, the collar was still firmly bound about my neck. (I speak metaphorically, of course, although in other houses it was easy enough to find literal examples of tethering.)
Ironically, for most of us, being a slave was a mixture of shame but also of community—a gentle incentive to treat each other with civility, since there were plenty of others eager to remind us of our lowly station. Hanno did not know he was a slave, and if he did, he would hardly care. Why should he, when his prior life had offered no more freedom and far less cheer? I shifted in my chair, uncomfortable at the instinctive impulse to summarily exclude the child at my feet from the rest of our familia. At the sound, he looked up at me and smiled.
•••
In a few more moments, I was interrupted again. Lucius Curio, holding an armful of scrolls cleared his throat at the entrance to my office. I bid him enter and sit, sending Hanno to the kitchen for a sweet roll. As he squeezed past Curio, who made certain no part of either of them came in contact, Hanno asked for two. Two small ones, I told him, and off he went at lopsided speed, ignoring my shouted entreaty to slow down.
Lucius sat stiffly, feet flat on the floor. “How can you abide to have that thing scuttling about beneath your legs all day long?” I looked up to make certain no one was actually pinching his nose.
“Hanno is a member of the familia,” I said.
“I mean really, why wasn’t the poor creature left out in the woods as an infant?”
“He was.”
“Then I am at a loss. It’s not yours, is it?”
“Let’s get on with those requisitions, shall we.”
“Your productivity cannot help but be negatively impacted.”
“Remember that when domina comes to you with a request you predict will negatively impact your productivity. Lay out your reasons and I am certain she will withdraw her application.”
“The house should think of its reputation, then. Word is bound to get out.”
“Have you no empathy whatsoever, then?”
“Empathy is a luxury for patricians, priests and women.”
“I see. I’ll bear that in mind should you ever incur the ire of the master.”
Curio gave a short laugh, and I had to agree with him, there was little chance of that. “I for one, do not intend to have children,” he said, curling his upper lip as he handed the first account across for my perusal and counter-signature. “The pleasure gained compared to the effort required appears paltry by comparison.”
“You sound like your previous master, Lucius Calpurnius Piso, a staunch follower of Epicurus.”
“Former master. You don’t see a slave plaque hanging around my neck, do you?” Curio’s eyes, grey or pale blue depending on the light, smiled benignly at me. Just