'Nero, of course- may the gods bless his soul.' The last words were spoken in a tone which implied that the gods had better, because nobody else would.
Karen’s eyes widened. 'Nero!' she said in a tone of horror; she'd read a good deal about Nero and his deeds. '
Why do you speak of him in that tone?' inquired Davus, and Karen covered her confusion by saying she'd thought it was someone else.
'How old is he now?' was her next question.
After a thought Davus said twenty-five. There had been a great celebration on the occasion of the emperor's birthday and he still had the scar on his ribs where a drunken soldier had attacked him and tried to carve Nero's name with his dagger. Karen did some quick reckoning. In her Latin lessons at school she had done some Roman history, and the date A.D. 54 stuck in her mind as being the year in which Nero had ascended the throne at sixteen years of age. So if he was twenty-five now, that meant he had been emperor for nine years, and the date should now be A.D. 63. Furthermore, judging by the flowers that were out at the moment, it was safe to assume that it was still late spring, about the time of school half-term.
She had no time for further reflection for Davus put her to work as soon as they returned to the decurions' rooms, and the men came in themselves an hour later. Cordella cooked the officers' meals in her kitchen, and Karen's job was to fetch and carry the trays. She lost her way twice, and had to ask a couple of leering soldiers, one of whom slapped her bottom, but at last she found the right doorway.
Coming back with the tray of faintly steaming plates, she again met the soldier who had slapped her behind- she recognized him as Calvus, of Duillius's ten- and he tried rather meanly to trip her up. When she told him what she thought of him, the lazy smile left his fat face and he ordered her not to speak to him like that because she was only a slave-girl.
Karen stared hotly, colour rising to her cheeks, and then stamped on his foot really hard with her sandal before she hurried away as fast as she dared with the wobbling plates. Hearing him bellow with pain and start to hobble after her, she was horribly frightened, but in spite of her fear she very much wanted to giggle, because it was like an old comedy film. After that Calvus treated her with more respect.
Apparently Cordella cooked only for the officers, who had better fare than the legionaries' food which was cooked in a larger communal canteen. Tonight Cordella had done them proud with chicken and white sauce, though Karen couldn't help wondering if they would have liked potatoes with it. She herself, like the rest of the slaves, ate the stew which was on the soldiers' menu and was hungry enough to enjoy it.
That evening old Davus polished the armour, and Karen washed the dirty clothes, while Duillius wrote a long letter to his sister in Capua, and Veturius went out. Later, Karen slept on a couple of old blankets in the corner, wondering miserably if she would ever see the twentieth century again, and cursing the green bronze mirror.
III
DURING THE NEXT WEEK KAREN SETTLED INTO HER NEW life, although she found it depressing having to work all the time. She could never reconcile herself to behaving with the proper servility, and anyone seeing her going about the camp would not have taken her for a slave.
Duillius was amused at her attitude, but made no attempt to change her nature. As far as he was concerned, she did no harm to anyone; besides, he never really thought of slaves as being human. If she did not come up to his required standard he would sell her. It was as simple as that. This state of things did not last however. One afternoon Duillius Rufus came in scratching his head and staring at a letter he had just opened. Karen was washing clothes on the doorstep and moved aside to let him pass. Wondering what the letter was about, she kept her ears open in case he said anything important to Veturius, who was lying on the bed.
Sure enough: 'I've been to headquarters, Veturius. Just look at this.'
There was a silence while Veturius read the letter, and Karen waited agog on the step. A woman passing winked at her as she saw her so obviously listening, and she guiltily fell to squeezing and thumping the sweaty tunics again, although still listening. It was so hard to get anything clean without soap. She wished that Veturius would hurry.
At last he spoke: 'Hmmm! When'll you be going, then?
'Three days.'
'That all? You'll have to get a move on. I'll tell Davus to help you.'
'Thanks. What I must get is a good strong British slave to come with me.'
'You know, I thought it wouldn't be long before the Welsh made trouble again. If they think they can follow Boadicea's example they're wrong!'
'About two years ago, wasn't it? Well, no matter. You know that cock-fight on tonight? People are saying ...'
Karen went to rinse the clothes. So Duillius was being sent somewhere else, was he? To Wales. Huh! She hoped he'd like it there. And meanwhile, what would be done with her?
When she had returned and settled down to scrubbing the step- Duillius was particular- the decurion himself came out.
Karen tugged the hem of his tunic. 'Oh, sir--'
'What do you want, girl?'
'Well, I couldn't help overhearing you just now, and-' He frowned and looked at her very hard.
‘I couldn't. I was washing your clothes ...on the step. She just stopped herself from applying an uncomplimentary adjective to her master's garments. 'Anyway, I heard you were being sent to Wales. Please, what are you going to do with me?'
He looked at her in some surprise. He could really be very supercilious at times.
‘What! You didn't think you were coming, did you?'
She gazed at him, speechless.
‘I can't take a girl with me. It's impossible. You’d only be a hindrance. There's an auction the day after the next fort up the coast. I'll buy a man there and sell you. Now, I've no more time to waste. Get out of my way.'
Karen moved slowly, her mind a blank except for one word. Sold!
The day of the auction came all too soon, and Karen went to say goodbye to CordelIa, who patted her arm comfortingly.
'I'm so sorry you're going, dearie,' she said, 'I've taken quite a liking to you, I must confess. Now, don't you worry. Just take things as they come, like.' She watched Karen mysteriously for a minute, and beckoned. 'Come on. I've a mind to give you another present.'
Karen followed her to the little room she had visited before. The present was another dress, this time bleached white, with a border of Greek design.
'It'll fit,' said Cordella. 'It's another of my old ones, same as the brown. It used to be my favourite. Like it?'
Karen smiled through her melancholy and gathered the dress to her. 'Yes,' she said. Oh, thank you, Cordella!' She sighed again. 'I must go. The decurion'll be searching for me.' She couldn't bring herself to call him 'my master.' Not yet.
The only other goodbye was to old Davus. He gave her a parting hug; then she hastily wiped a tear from her eye and reluctantly followed the waiting decurion on foot, while he rode a grey cob. He had wanted to tie her hands, but had refrained when she had promised not to run away; she was prepared to promise anything, if only he wouldn't humiliate her like that. She looked back once and waved to Davus.
It was a journey of five miles to the next fort, along a dreary cart-track, and the day was hot. Soon Karen was streaming with sweat; it made great dark patches on the dress, especially under the arms,and added to her misery. She lagged farther and farther behind, until Duillius reined in the stolid grey and impatiently helped her up behind him. Shyly, she held on to his waist.
Once she was on the horse's back the slight breeze fanned Karen's hot face; she began to feel better, and looked around her.
The green downs swept to the sea in gentle curves, at this time of year covered in flowers. Insects buzzed among them, and high up a lark warbled sweetly. Karen noticed the absence of walls dividing fields from one another; to one who was used to cosy farms everywhere, it made the scene look wild and untamed. It didn't look like England- dear,
peaceful England- but then, this was Roman Britain.
Karen knew how to ride, so she was in no danger of falling off, and soon she began to feel drowsy. The sun's heat and the buzzing flies added to her sleepiness, and besides, the view of the straight cart-track, with its uniform stripe of scrubby grass down the middle was always the same, so there was nothing to divert her. When she asked Duillius if it was much farther, he said in a tone of impatience that they had come about half-way, and Karen once more settled into boredom.
After another half hour the fort came into sight. It had much the same appearance as the other except that it was larger- a cluster of stone buildings strongly protected with a rampart and ditch. The guard at the gateway asked their business, and when the decurion told him, he waved them on and told them where to find the scene of the auction.
The area was crowded with people, soldiers, merchants, dealers- all waiting to buy or sell- and, of course, slaves. They were lined up along the far wall; some to be sold in groups, some singly, under the eye of a watchful slave-master who carried a vicious whip coiled in his hand. Duillius left Karen at the end of this queue and went to see the auction-master.
The slave-master eyed her sullenly and she felt very uncomfortable.
'I wonder if we're allowed to talk,' she thought, and resolved to try. She stole a glance at the slaves next to her, but they didn't look as if they would respond to