Slavery

"Are you an idiot?! I sincerely believe you are!"

The old man sighed, his weak skeleton shivering under the thought of what could have just happened. Diarmuid protested.

" I don't understand any of you, how could you stand still?! Why would you accept this?!"

Diarmuid asked disgusted by the thought, but the old man gave no regard to the youngster's feelings, and kept walking away from the eastern yard as fast as he could, that is barely, supporting his bent back with a fray stick he snatched. 

"Did you honestly believe I will just stand and do nothing about it?!"

The lancer went on with his protest, taking his arm away from the old man's hand who was dragging him away like some defiant child.

"Well, You should have!"

The old man replied with harsh strictness that surprised the knight, as it came out firm and furious out of these time – rotten lips, he spoke as if ordering the youngster not simply advising him.

"I do not know of your past or what you have been in your earlier life, but this is not one of your chivalrous legends where the good guy wins and the princess is saved, this is your life now; doing what is asked of you with your mouth tightly shut!"

The old man spoke as if the lancer had had many lives before this, or was his equal in age. He was and still a Celtic knight who stands by his vows and spirit. Diarmuid stared at the arched back leading him through the corridors wandering:

"Were you fine by what was about to happen?"

"What I think holds no value than what I want. It is what I do that counts."

"And what were you going to do, if I may ask?"

Diarmuid stopped in his tracks, asking seriously but the answer he received surprised little than what he had expected by this point.

 "Nothing."

"And you call yourself a man?"

The elderly turned around flapping his old clock and pointing his stick in the lancer's face, in act not intended to inspire sympathy as it was meant to reality, but it was reflected in the radiant eyes of the lancer as nothing more than self - degradation.

"Do you see a man in front of you? Not only are you stupid, you are blind too."

"I am not too blind to witness the other "men" stand around and do nothing!"

"Well men come in different sizes and shapes."

A poor joke that even the old man who spouted it did not laugh at. He released a long sigh and when he understood the lancer refused to walk down with him anymore, he just sat down on the cold marble to rest his brittle bones, eyeing the hot – headed previous knight for seconds from his head to toes before averting his eyes in a grave abashment. 

"I was young and mad like you once, you think I have always been this docile and mindless? But this fate had matured me faster than time did. A few tastes of the lash and fire and what was inside of you dims out like a storm never meant to persist or begin to be more accurate. I can see that you had have your fair share before Lord Claudius bought you but you still have not learnt that safety is in the key to this new life."

"Then you should have refused this life."

"How easy of you to say so, but I see you in no different position than I am."

The old man laughed with no ill intent, and his unintended mockery did not bother him. He was right in a sense, bit wrong in many others. If he had allowed himself to succumb to this so called "life" then definitely would not.

"Listen, lad…"

The old man sprayed his tired legs more comfortably as the conversation seemed to last longer than he hoped for, and Diarmuid leaned against a pillar, to which the old man prophesied to himself that the Celtic will be bound and shredded, but he still went on in a less colder tone:

"We work hard and expect no harm in return, but if we mess up then we deserve punishment and do what we can to lessen it! It is that simple, did you get it through that thick skull of yours?!"

The Celtic crossed his arm, disagreement written all over his valiant features. His skull was really difficult to crack for the old man's peace of mind but he still carried on in a fatherly voice.

"I can tell you were an esteemed warrior, but fate had ushered you to the same shore as us. It did not weigh your valor and kindness and still tossed you to this fate. Do not act like you are different than anyone of us, or above those who possess your life. No matter what we were or where we hailed from, we are in the same chain. This is the meaning of slavery; do what you are ordered to, and pray for tomorrow."

The lancer's face lit up dangerously at the mention of that hateful word "slavery". But despite the calm façade the elderly still held, Diarmuid did not find a hint of conviction in his speech and so he asked him.

"Do you truly believe this?"

"I do."

The old man stood up after his firm reply staring directly at the bronze eyes shimmering like gold beneath the sunlight before he approached the angered youngster warmly:

"This is the easiest solution for us; contentedness. You should appreciate this word more."

The old man wanted to add something, but was to tired, maybe bored, so he resumed his walking silently after asking the lancer to follow him. Through the sculptured arches, Diarmuid watched the other slaves working hardly sweating every muscle in their bodies as if any of this work will bring a reward for themselves while in fact it got them nothing yet they resumed whatever was assigned to them with utter perfection and precision. That was the meaning of being a slave and the whole aspiration it held. If they had just stopped working for one day, then what will become out of this household? If they had grasped the ranches and tools they were given to

retaliate so what could stop them? As if reading his thoughts, the old man suddenly started talking again:

"I have heard some interesting rumors going around, and today I find myself obliged to my frail body's surprise to believe them."

The lancer did not need any clarification, but he was also a little surprised that these rumors had not reached the head of the slaves or the lord of the house yet, rekindling what little faith he had in the void of souls their slaves still clung to. but that was not the case as he would come to realize later as the old man went on. It was pity and the what he believed to be gift of another chance.

Yes, it was true that he had tried to speak to some of the slaves, mostly the new ones like himself, convince them with a group escape and riot but the only answer he received was that he is a new comer, and yet he has not been asked to do anything so tiring or exhausting so what was he complaining about donning on the infuriated lancer That slaves of this house, and perhaps of every other house, were beyond salvation.

"Listen kid, you speak the common tongue, you are skilled with weapons, you do not seem stupid though you insist on acting like you are one, but please honor this old man's request. The gods had bestowed upon you many favors, do not waste them in vain."

"You call regaining my freedom and the others' a vain act? If you believe it is our of selfishness then rest assured…"

The elderly massaged his temples that were beginning to throb, a headache he had not had in his many years of service was arising once again. He sighed and confronted the

lancer, patting his shoulder, what he could reach of it with his crooked bones speaking, akin to deploring of him, genuinely:

"Do not be a hero where no one wish to be saved."

 Diarmuid was taken aback by the sorrowful glimmer the fainted

 eyes reflected and the fatigued tone breathed.

"Do not think you are unique, do not think these you look down upon now were not as vivid and courageous like you are now."

The elderly moved his back from the lancer's shoulder and pointed with his shivering finger beyond the walls of the household.

"I do not know what route you have traveled to here, or what condition you were in, but if walk few meters down that direction you will see for yourself what will remain of your bravery and chivalry."

Diarmuid narrowed his eyes, of course he could not see that far, but that was not the point as the old man continued his tale:

"There will be nothing left of it but your rotting flesh for the crows to feed on and festering innards for the dogs to play with."

The lancer opened his mouth to protest against the underestimation of his abilities but he was crudely silenced.

"A one hundreds crosses across that road testify to the bravery of men who held your ideals, yet also justify the remaining's fears. Please, we do not need to add another one."

The old man smiled solemnly at the lancer who remained silent this time, not out of fear. If anything, then this tale, repeated again and again throughout the years fueled his will even more, yet reignited what faint he still held for abject souls trapped in these tales of terror.

"Even if your intention is to save them, you are only leading them down a path of destruction!"

A third voice interrupted. And Diarmuid turned harshly to silence the accusation but

he was stunned to see the head of the slaves joining the conversation, as if nothing had happened few moments ago. There was nothing of his previous fury, just a stone – hard face. 

"Peace is inferred differently by many. Please let us have ours."

A last plea, a beseeching, before the two men went on to carry on their load of work.

 ***

The head of the slaves did not forget his promise to the new Celtic who walked around as if he owned the place as that same night, the master of the house called for his new servant for the first time into one of the many large chambers of the house.

After seeing the man at the general's warehouse, Diarmuid barely caught glimpses of his new lord during which they did not exchange any words. Lord Claudius was an important slave trader who spent most of his times outside the house looking after his thriving business. Apparently, he had a good eye for men and women, and that what made him a successful merchant. He knew who to buy and when to do so, he knew how to sell and also when to. He made a huge fortune and gained fame for quality and efficiency, not the least cleanly, but smartly and wisely.

Diarmuid entered the room where the lord of the house was waiting, his round head and plumped chin were immersed in his papers, was it not for Diarmuid's entrance without a knock or a asking for permission, the merchant would have probably forgotten the matter, his mind taken by his calculations of his ever growing profits.

The Celtic huffed in boredom when his waiting lasted longer than he appreciated, he was not a servant to be summoned and left waiting like a guarding dog, but apparently he was for the moment, the thought deepening the frown between his attractively carved eyebrows. The merchant noticed the tall lissome figure standing at the door staring at him in boredom and resentment yet continued his work as his sharp greedy eyes stared entertained by the sight of the handsome and easily to incite man. Claudius dealt with similar attitudes before, and easily broke them but he did not wish to do the same, yet. He enjoyed the spiteful proud eyes, it was still early to humble them. After wearing down his lips with biting them with as much patience he could muster, the lancer opened his mouth to speak but Claudius would not allow him to have the first world in his presence.

"Really, stirring up troubles since your arrival."

The merchant said burying his nose deeper in his papers without raising his head, no less bored than the slave.

"First trying to induce tumult in this house by inciting other slaves to rebel and escape, then defying one of my men openly…"

The lancer's eyes narrowed at hearing this; not that he was afraid of punishment but to know someone actually told the merchant about this was so odious to believe. Then even that old sack of bones could not be trusted despite his caring and fatherly attitude.

"Yeah, I know all about this."

The merchant assured noticing the lancer's reaction and enjoying the disappointed face of the latter.

"You should be grateful, you know. I saved you form that hell Rufinus made you endure!"

Diarmuid shrugged with contempt, he owed no one anything.

"I did not ask you to, you did it to your own benefit."

He remarked still keeping the same harsh stare.

"And even so, I do not think I was let down… unlike you!"

The merchant sneered getting once more on the lancer's blown hopes in his mates. Diarmuid replied with nothing but fearless stares of what to befall him. However, the subject was totally changed out of nowhere.

"You speak very good Latin, how did you learn it?"

"From a Roman slave my family had!"

Diarmuid replied haughtily hoping to trigger the merchant's wrath because he was not

certain that the man did not possess any shred of pride and true to his guess, he was answered with a loud amused laugh.

"You are the one to talk about us!"

Diarmuid fixed his disgusted gaze at the man; he was not enraged to hear the words

"Roman Slave". That man would sell his own people if it brought him benefit, perhaps he did. The Celtic thought, his lips turning disdainful.

"Anything else?"

"Not now, I am busy."

And thus the strange conversation ended without open consequences, whether these remained hidden for the days to come, nothing could be inferred from the merchant's lazy eyes.

 ***

"I see you got out in one piece. I guess Lord Claudius truly does not wish to ruin precious possession. You are just a fool to not take advantage of tit by now!"

A snarky voice emanated. When he looked closely, Diarmuid saw the head of the slaves who could not but report back what happened, not understanding it was not out of malice but out of wariness as the incident happened before many tale – telling eyes. Wishing for no further arguments, and refusing to pay attention to the comment he had been hearing since his arrival, the lancer quietly whispered.

"I don't have time…"

The Celtic kept on walking only stopping when his arm was grasped strongly.

"You will not be as lucky next time."

Normally, such comment would only serve to provoke the irritated lancer, but it was not said for this purpose. The truthfulness it was spoken with left Diarmuid confused; these were words of advice said with great care, there was not a single trace of the cruel ruthless that man had displayed in front of everyone earlier this morning and only now did Diarmuid understand the reason the head of the slaves forgot about the little girl's punishment; it was initial, the old man's interference was an excuse to let go of the girl, pretending he had forgotten. The man was happy to get this chance to feign forgetfulness as he usually does not. The Celtic lancer felt the man's pain, and he knew his next words were true.

"Just act as the rest of us and trouble will be spared for both of us. Please, don't endanger yourself or the others."

The lancer was silenced by the words stated like an unavoidable fact. The pair of bronze eyes poured into the other man's eyes peering deep within the black irises trying to reach the despair that laid there and understand its cause.

Diarmuid was a warrior, thus he was used to the cruelty war brings, but for some reason these ceaseless entreats coming from the mouths of perfect men sounded similar to the wails of women asking for mercy and salvation.

The head of the slave let go of the lancer's arm gently, humbly demanding before he left.