Rebekah

Uncle made it his mission to keep me away from the gladiator’s end of the compound for the next few days. I didn’t hold any want to be around there anyway. The constant clanging of metal on stone set my backbone to quivering.

Uncle Zebulun and I had worked for Silvus for the past three years. The Roman occupation drew out Jewish pride in my father and brothers. They joined the Zealots and began training in the caves, “Like David” they said. David’s God didn’t fight their battles. Actually it was just a skirmish. Father was killed and my brothers wounded and dragged off into slavery.

Mom just quit wanting to live. She was a Naomi without a Boaz. She died a few months later shrunken and looking many years older than she was. I almost followed her. Uncle Zebulun grabbed me by the soul and wouldn’t let me turn my back on life. Neither of us could pay the debts, so we bonded out and became slaves to the largest landowner in Bethel. He wanted me for more than I could give. One evening his evil eyes roved all over me with every bite of his evening meal. As I was clearing his food, he touched me where no one had before or since. My insides began to melt in fear. “Run” I screamed at my knees. As I made my move, he grabbed the hem of my tunic. He pulled. I stumbled. He reached to catch me, breath chugging in delight. I thought Uncle was going to tear his arm off and feed it to him. I snapped free and ran from the room, as he and Uncle Zebulun roared at each other in mutual rage.

The next morning we were thrown in a wagon with the garbage. The garbage was dumped into the stinking fire of the valley of Gehenna. We bumped and bounced on into Jerusalem where Master Silvus bought us at auction. I couldn’t look at all the men in their jewels, afraid I would see the leering of my previous. Uncle Zebulun met each gaze with strength and surety. I still wonder if that look is not what drew Master Silvus to us. Uncle Zebulun blames Masters’ choice on the Lord.

Master ran a strict household. He would not allow me to mix with any males, until his other female servants had trained me in the ways and customs of the Romans. Until I passed all the tests of holidays and eating customs and clothing preferences, I lived in quarantine. Mistress Roxanna arrived from Rome to inspect her husband’s holdings. She personally approved of all of us women who joined the household staff that summer. She has only been back one more time in the past three years.

Under the fair gaze of Master Silvus and Uncle, the pain of my violation eased out of my waking thoughts. My dreams were another matter. His eyes floated in the dark and his leer undressed me each night for months. Master Silvus held no such feelings for me. He would not allow such complications to disrupt the smooth running of his home. Each slave knew that anything like rape would earn him or her Master Silvus’ own justice. Master Emander paid me no attentions. He sought the fair women with yellow or red hair, not a dark olive like me. He was kind enough and even would converse in friendly tones from time to time, but nothing more. The rumor in the slaves’ rooms was that he was to marry high in the Roman government when his time came.

In time I started to sing again. First I found myself humming notes that my mother used to set me to sleep. All those songs ended in tears, but they kept coming back. A particularly sunny day would find me singing a psalm of victory, until I caught myself. Uncle sat unnoticed as I sang. When I choked off that particular psalm he cried out, “No little one, no don’t sever your gift! My heart just cracked when you stopped.”

“Oh Uncle, you baby me all the time. My tunes are nothing special.” As I turned toward him some of the other servants scurried back to work.

“They don’t believe that, and neither do I. Please don’t stop.”