Athenian Slave (Book 2)

Chapter 2

Alexios did not want to think it was through pity that he received this inheritance. It turned his stomach to think as such. He was not to be pitied. He had come through what others would call a childhood. And had come through it as a strong warrior who would never give up. He did not ever want pity. But as much gold and jewels as he had received over all of his conquests and battles and wars. He could not think of anything he wanted more than having a place to find himself alone. Shut away from the world. Allowing himself to lick his wounds. And recover himself mentally from the horrors he had witnessed. And the visions that haunted him continuously.

He did not have long to compose himself. He knew he had just under two more sunrises before they reached the city he would call home. Wiping his hand down his face wearily. He finally turned around and faced his crew once more.

Maybe he should go up to the country villa his uncle had owned. The vineyard was supposed to produce an excellent beverage. Maybe the hustle and bustle of city life could come later. When he was adjusted once more to being around people who did not think of war, and strategy constantly.

The more he thought, as he made his way down the centre plank, the more he knew. It would be the countryside he saw first. He never went anywhere without information, and it would give him time to cement his spies in Athens, making sure the channels were open and information was filtering through to him. Information was his life. And he had survived this far, he was not going to give up so easily.

But maybe he could take a few precious moments for himself. Could anyone really begrudge him that?

Charmion lifted the water laden bucket from the well once more. Her back had twinging pains flaring up and down. No movement was free of it. It was as if fire had raced across it. But really it was only Anaxagoras’ whip. He was not pleased with her cleaning of the courtyard and entrance hall. Only, she knew, could see in his eyes. He lived to cause pain to others. He lived up to his name. He was a master orator. He could twist a man around his finger until he was clay between his hands. He had extorted much out of the fair men and women of Athens. And had managed to convince her new owner he was the perfect male to take place as caretaker until his return from war.

Only on the promise that if he died he could take control of the new masters holdings. It had been agreed. And Charmion’s life had proceeded to go from being nothing. A possession to look pretty and do menial jobs. An object with no thoughts and feelings. The old master had liked to look at her, but nothing more. The new master had left her and the others in the hands of Hades himself. She sometimes wondered if it would not be better to live out eternity there, than stay one more day at his hand.

The pain had become a normal part of her life. Expected, never liked, but never fought. It only became worse if it was. She had seen the results of a fellow slave who fought against Anaxagoras. What was left of the male barely breathed, three sunrise’s later he breathed his last. It had taught them all to accept the whip…or any other form of punishment he chose. No matter the degradation, the pain or how dirty it made them feel afterwards.

Taking a hold of the rough, burning rope. Knowing it had cut tracks into her hands. She hobbled painfully back through to the entranceway. Knowing if she did not finish soon, he would choose her for the evening entertainment. And she could take no more pain this day. As it was she practically sobbed with each and every movement. And as harsh as it was to think it. At that moment she would prefer one of the other slaves to be chosen. But she was his favourite. No matter how she tried to blend in.

He taunted her constantly.

With what he wanted to do to her. How he planned to hurt her next. How if the new master did not return from war, she would be his, and then he could hurt her without needing a reason to punish her. Not that he needed much of a reason at that moment. He even went as far as to whisper the possibility that he would ask the new master for her as a gift for looking after his possessions and land so well.

It was then she decided. After living the majority of her life so far in slavery. She would go on no further if she was under his rule for life. The new master had not come when the old master had died over two summers ago. Instead he had stayed on the other side of the city when he had eventually arrived. And as far as she was aware, had not even entered the villa she resided within. The gleaming whitewashed walls, alive with bright scenes that enchanted and terrified. The tiled floor gleaming with the water she had so grudgingly and diligently hauled and washed them with.

The new master had never looked upon his new abode, and had left for war once more over a summer ago. If he was to ever return, she could only hope he would be nothing like Anaxagoras. She could not and would not allow herself to be under such a man for much longer. From six summers old she had been told she was worthless. Owned. That she was not a woman in her own right. And yet, in her mind she still remembered what it was like to run free upon the soft sand, the wind whipping back her hair. And she vowed, if it was in this life, or the afterlife.

She would feel that again.