such peril, but it was the opinion of the
men I worked beside that none of it had anything to do with them.
By and large, I agreed with them.
By this time I had realized that not all the men around me were
slaves. Some were okloi tied to the baron’s family who worked
for room and board, and some were salary men, free to go at the end
of their contracts. They earned a pittance, paying most of their
wages back to cover the cost of their lodging, and would have been
better off tied to the baron and working for no wages at all. They
had no guarantee of more work or pay at the end of their contracts,
though in practice, I suppose, the baron was unlikely to let them
go. I knew that I hadn’t yet grasped all the details of the
pecking order, because one of the men much admired was a slave, and
Ochto himself was a former slave set in place over free men, who
worked very comfortably beneath him.
One day, after I had been in the field house for a few weeks, a
new worker joined us. The new man thought he should be first in
line for food. When he stepped in aggressively between me and the
potboy, my first reaction was surprise. Before I could register
anything but that he was both taller and heavier than I was, the
man behind him tugged urgently at his arm and hissed a warning
under his breath: “Man-killer.”
The new worker paused to reevaluate, but I didn’t. I
couldn’t afford to lose my reputation, and I certainly would
if there were a confrontation. I scooped up a wooden bowl and
collected my supper. Then I walked to my bed and sat, making a show
of careless bravado by crossing my legs and slumping as if I had
not a worry in the world. In other words, I gave my best imitation
of Eugenides. All I could do was hope the other men didn’t
see through the act.
The new man collected his own dinner and sat across the barracks
from me. I spooned my dinner into my mouth as quickly as I could to
hide the fact that my hands were shaking. Finally, I screwed my
courage to the sticking place and looked over at him to find him
staring warily back. I essayed a conciliatory smile. He hastily
dropped his eyes to his supper and didn’t look up again. I
glanced around at the other men, realizing that they, too, must be
wary of me to let me eat first every night. Wary of me. Not of my
father or the power of my uncle. Me.
I swallowed my laugh but couldn’t stop my smile.
The new worker’s name was Runeus. After the meal, as we
returned to work, he muttered a complaint about giving way to a
slave, but Helius, who was the undisputed second-in-command to
Ochto and also a slave, looked over his shoulder with a glance that
silenced him. I put everything I had into looking like someone who
has killed another man. Telling you this now, I realize that two
men were already dead at my hand, but somehow, I didn’t think
of them then. I was acting a part for the other men in the
barracks.
To my continuing but carefully hidden amazement, Runeus never
challenged me again. Instead, things continued much as before. Only
now I knew that my place in the food line was not a happy
coincidence but a marker of my place in the hierarchy of the field
hands.
The next rest day one of the men looked to me and then to the
overseer. “We thought to go to the shore. Man-killer, here,
can he come?” The men often went down to the water in their
free time or walked out to visit friends in other field houses or
to watch the dice games up on the terrace beside the megaron.
Ochto looked me over. I had been careful to offer no trouble,
and Ochto hadn’t bothered putting the bracelet and chain on
my wrist at night for many days.
Ochto nodded. Delighted, I jumped to my feet and followed the
other men away from the megaron. We took the road toward town and
then cut in the direction of the shore on a narrow path that led us
to a break in the rocks where we could climb down to the sand to
swim and then lie in the sun or the shade as each was inclined to
be warmer
men I worked beside that none of it had anything to do with them.
By and large, I agreed with them.
By this time I had realized that not all the men around me were
slaves. Some were okloi tied to the baron’s family who worked
for room and board, and some were salary men, free to go at the end
of their contracts. They earned a pittance, paying most of their
wages back to cover the cost of their lodging, and would have been
better off tied to the baron and working for no wages at all. They
had no guarantee of more work or pay at the end of their contracts,
though in practice, I suppose, the baron was unlikely to let them
go. I knew that I hadn’t yet grasped all the details of the
pecking order, because one of the men much admired was a slave, and
Ochto himself was a former slave set in place over free men, who
worked very comfortably beneath him.
One day, after I had been in the field house for a few weeks, a
new worker joined us. The new man thought he should be first in
line for food. When he stepped in aggressively between me and the
potboy, my first reaction was surprise. Before I could register
anything but that he was both taller and heavier than I was, the
man behind him tugged urgently at his arm and hissed a warning
under his breath: “Man-killer.”
The new worker paused to reevaluate, but I didn’t. I
couldn’t afford to lose my reputation, and I certainly would
if there were a confrontation. I scooped up a wooden bowl and
collected my supper. Then I walked to my bed and sat, making a show
of careless bravado by crossing my legs and slumping as if I had
not a worry in the world. In other words, I gave my best imitation
of Eugenides. All I could do was hope the other men didn’t
see through the act.
The new man collected his own dinner and sat across the barracks
from me. I spooned my dinner into my mouth as quickly as I could to
hide the fact that my hands were shaking. Finally, I screwed my
courage to the sticking place and looked over at him to find him
staring warily back. I essayed a conciliatory smile. He hastily
dropped his eyes to his supper and didn’t look up again. I
glanced around at the other men, realizing that they, too, must be
wary of me to let me eat first every night. Wary of me. Not of my
father or the power of my uncle. Me.
I swallowed my laugh but couldn’t stop my smile.
The new worker’s name was Runeus. After the meal, as we
returned to work, he muttered a complaint about giving way to a
slave, but Helius, who was the undisputed second-in-command to
Ochto and also a slave, looked over his shoulder with a glance that
silenced him. I put everything I had into looking like someone who
has killed another man. Telling you this now, I realize that two
men were already dead at my hand, but somehow, I didn’t think
of them then. I was acting a part for the other men in the
barracks.
To my continuing but carefully hidden amazement, Runeus never
challenged me again. Instead, things continued much as before. Only
now I knew that my place in the food line was not a happy
coincidence but a marker of my place in the hierarchy of the field
hands.
The next rest day one of the men looked to me and then to the
overseer. “We thought to go to the shore. Man-killer, here,
can he come?” The men often went down to the water in their
free time or walked out to visit friends in other field houses or
to watch the dice games up on the terrace beside the megaron.
Ochto looked me over. I had been careful to offer no trouble,
and Ochto hadn’t bothered putting the bracelet and chain on
my wrist at night for many days.
Ochto nodded. Delighted, I jumped to my feet and followed the
other men away from the megaron. We took the road toward town and
then cut in the direction of the shore on a narrow path that led us
to a break in the rocks where we could climb down to the sand to
swim and then lie in the sun or the shade as each was inclined to
be warmer
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