Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Caesaria

I fell in with those pulling down the tents and helped pile poles and coil ropes. Master Silvus just left me to wander or work as I saw fit. As the last rays of the day fled behind the mountains, the caravan rose and lumbered down the trail. Knobby-kneed camels honked their complaints, while donkeys brayed back their own sad tales. Silvus and his three companions did not ride, but rather led their horses in a walk.

“So my young Benjamin, have you had a chance to work off that fine meal, yet?”

“Tent poles and rope are not enough for that fine feast, Master Silvus.”

“Then maybe next time, I’ll give the servants a rest and let you set up camp in the morning by yourself.”

“Master, how far until we reach this city of Caesarea?”

“We will camp tomorrow on its edge. In fact I will send my three gladiators into my houses there to begin serious training. The rest of the supplies and company will finish the trip tomorrow night, in the cool of the day.”

“Where would you like me to stay tomorrow?”

“Why with the rest of us gladiators, of course? If tent poles aren’t enough for you, then you may be ready for some light training of your own.”

At the beginning of the second watch, the towers of Caesarea broke into view. Over the next hill stood a caravansary large enough to hold our party. Silvus gave orders to lay out the site, then sent us on ahead. We had letters for the keepers of his household and a few personal items to be delivered to his own quarters.

Silvus sent us off with orders for Emander to introduce me to the city. “So how did your father really end up as a Gladiator? Was he truly a legionnaire?”

“You ask straight arrow questions, Benjamin. What causes you to wonder such a thing?”

“As Master Silvus told me his tale, I watched his eyes flicker away for an instant. With my unpredictable father, I have at least gained the skill of reading his eyes.”

“I dare not answer for my father. He will likely tell you in his own time. Have you ever been to the sea?”

“No. Not even to the Lake we call the “Dead Sea.”

“Then I will take you there first.” Emander bade “Goodbye” to the fellow gladiators, entrusting the supplies, letters and packages to them. He explained that we would take midday meal “on the town,” but would arrive at the house by the last day watch. As we passed through the city gate, the other two men turned right or north down a wide stone street of overweight, whitewashed buildings. Many stood three or four stories high, with caravan sized pavilions on their roofs. The materials of these tents alone could have bought my father’s farm, gold trim around purples and reds and blues. “Close your mouth, Benjamin. You already look the part of country boy in the big city, without gaping at the houses.”

“Is this where you live?”

“Yes. We don’t put up such gaudy roof tents as these, but, yes, we live to the north of here. Now let’s get you some proper clothes and sandals, or I’ll end up wrestling you away from some slave trader taking you to his boat.”

We wound downhill on a rough stone street of stores. No noisy marketplace here like I was used to. Emander waved and greeted some of the shopkeepers. We passed by the larger two and three story structures. At the base of the hill was a stone hut with leather boots, breastplates and other leather goods dumped across its front. Emander turned into this shop.

“Uncle Julius! Wake up I have a customer for you!”

“Eh, who disturbs the artist at work?!” An ox of a man lumbered out of a back room. His reddish brown hair was swept all over his head, while scraps of leather lay like careless mice in his beard.

“Uncle Julius, it’s me, Emander. What is the ‘artist’ crafting today?”

“First my customer, then I might show you, if you are good.” His eyes turned to me, “Is this the fellow you want me to outfit?”

“Benjamin meet Julius the best tailor and leather craftsman outside Rome itself. Julius meet Benjamin potential customer and young man from Nowhere.”

I bowed.

“From Nowhere, eh? Seems you and your father are always bringing me business from Nowhere.” He looked me up and down slowly, “With his size, I would guess he will be given some of your training, eh lad!”

“So Silvus has offered. Can you outfit him for a trip to the baths and about town?”

“Depends. How much does he have to spend?”

“Don’t worry about that, Uncle. Two sets of clothes, one in the Roman style and . . . “

“I know, lad, and one that is less likely to draw attention. Benjamin, eh? Well Benjamin I have a laver in the back where you may wash some of the dust of the caravan from you.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Ah, the creature can speak for himself. You two may as well join me for midday meal and I will have you ready to wander the greatest city, outside Rome of course, by then.”
I went where Julius directed and found a large bronze bowl mounted on a pedestal at about waist height. A grey clay pitcher beside it waited with clean water. I poured the water over each hand, then soaked my forearms. Before I could towel off completely, Julius hustled in and dragged me into the fitting room to check his estimates.

“Get that old rag off, so I can see how this will fit.” He slipped a cotton tunic on. This was made of fine stuff and seemed like a second skin compared with the coarse homespun I had just discarded. “Ah, yes, just a few alterations here and here will be necessary. You size out as a man, but you appear to have a few years of growth ahead of you yet. How old are you?”

“I have been alive 15 harvests, Master.”

“’Years,’ son, say ‘Years’ instead of harvests.”

“15 Years, Master.”

“Call me ‘Uncle’, as I expect you will outgrow this and need my services fairly regular the next 3 or so harvests.”

“3 or so years, Uncle.”

I sat in another room with Emander while Uncle hummed and whistled sourly. “He is a wonderful tailor, but he can’t hear one note from another, Benjamin.”

“I heard that, young duckfeet.”

“Duckfeet, Uncle?”

“I was sparing Benjamin’s ears worse titles for you. Now leave me alone, or I will start to sing.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

A time later Uncle Julius emerged with two sets of clothes in hand. He lay them down next to me, then turned to a cupboard where he dug out a loaf of bread, some dried meat and some fruit.

“Uncle?”
“Yes, Emander.”

“We appreciate your kindness to share midday meal with us, but I have a pouch of coins that I am anxious to spend before they get cold. How about I pay you for the clothes and then take the three of us to a larger feast?”

“Benjamin, go get changed.”

When I came back out, Uncle Julius had taken off his apron, swatted the leather from his beard, and was running his hands through his hair to coax them into some sort of order.

“You look fine, no longer like a man from Nowhere. Let us be on our way.” Emander said as he turned toward the door. The tailor fell in behind him and I followed after. We left the steep hill behind and wandered west a couple of streets further. The odor of tanned leather gave way to the scents of spices and heat and meat mingled.

“So, what happened to your other three protégés, the forkman and the two knife wielders?”

“Two are still with us. The Forkman, as you call him, came with us, as did one of the Knifemen. I don’t know what happened to the other.” Emander gently tipped his head my direction. I pretended not to notice and kept looking at the buildings.

Uncle murmured, “Is this one to be a replacement then?”

Looking out of the corner of his eye at me, “That is up to the gods, isn’t it?” he replied.

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