I passed much of the next year in suspense. We spent a lean, cold winter growing thinner and huddling around the hearth, and I scraped what cash I could out of the villa's upkeep, neglecting the yearly expense of replacing roof tiles and maintaining the mosaics. The master seemed unconcerned with finding new sources of revenue, as he wandered the cold tiles. He did not acknowledge us, and his silence struck me as unnervingly hostile.
Nonus, thinking himself helpful, began to refuse food, cultivating a habit of neglected eating that would serve him terribly. He could not be intimidated into sharing a meal, manifesting a fanatic asceticism that would persist in him for some time. Like most forms of asceticism, this one, I strongly suspect, was more about control than helping anybody, as his refusal to eat created rather than solved problems. Aggravating this was the master's new insistence that Escha get first share of everything served to us, that to which Escha is blameless. He did not ask for special treatment, and I cannot blame a boy like him, who had been born into a slave's life and beaten into observing its order. I can blame him for not having the good sense to be respectful of his brothers' upset frustration though. Or rather, I wanted to blame him, and couldn't bear that out. It was nobody's fault.
I think that it was Nonus who resented Escha, but it was Aulus who acted that resentment out. It fell to me to dole out discipline. I must admit that at times, hitting Aulus felt good, because it felt right. It felt like what I was supposed to be doing. He could be very funny about it, resenting me one moment, and answering questions in spite of himself the next. Being smart was no source of pride for him, rather, an instinct. "Donkey," I said to him, after having beat him for smashing a plate, "how do I sweep up these little shards? They're hard to sweep. I could stand her sweeping forever but the cold hurts my fingers."
"Get a bit of bread," he wept. "The bread will pick up the little pieces. Why'd I tell you? I hope your fingers turn black and fall off, because you are a fool."
After beating a child, it is necessary not to comfort him, and I myself understood how an adversarial relationship with my teachers had strengthened the bonds between brothers. But I was not a teacher. I had never been trained to instruct them, and if the master thought I would be terrible at it, he was right. I tried to teach them rhetoric and social grace, but to be honest, Aulus at the age of ten was already better than me at those things, and better at teaching them, too. I wouldn't stoop now to pretend to be stupid thinking stupidity looks humble. I am not unintelligent, and I feel that I express myself well. It is only that Aulus brought a natural touch to leadership and speaking tactfully, to applying his knowledge without insulting his listener, that regardless of our six year age difference I deferred to him a lot. It was to his credit that he was no more arrogant than he was. However, for all of his awareness of his gifts, he was far less aware of his emotional sensitivity, and often at a loss to discover how he could be master of himself. I don't think he had any idea he was acting out Nonus's desires rather than his own, throwing tantrums as a result of the tension we lived beneath. Or that wasn't all, but it seemed so at the time.
In late winter, Cassius came quietly to dinner and whispered to me, "Iovita, what is it that I may do now for work?" He touched his forehead and nodded to the pantry gods on the table and pushed Aulus aside to sit on the curved bench.
"You have the horses. You have that," I said to him, equally as quietly, thinking myself magnanimous for giving the horseboy horse-work.
His silence told me that I had overlooked something, as he soaked his bread in watered wine. He kept his eyes turned toward the clay serving plate. "Well it is the case that," he muttered.
"All of the horses are dead."
"He finally understands it."
"When the spring comes, Romans will billet their horses with us. You should keep the stable up until then."
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The Story of the Vampire, L (Completed | Featured )
VampireHe looked over at me in the dimness, fingers loose in my grip. "You are hurting me," he said, without interest. He had caked powder on his already pale skin, all of one shade except for points made by a hot pencil. Though it was no longer the mode a...
