Phillip did not remember much of childhood. Some vague impressions of running free through the forests of Germania, but that was all. He had lived through only thirteen winters when the Romans came to his land and captured his tribe. He remembered the fear that snaked through the trees, the courage that the warriors called upon to face it, and a bloody fight that stripped him of his father, his brothers, his uncles, his cousins. The last time he saw his mother and sisters, they were being raped by the Roman soldiers, three of his sisters dying of it, the youngest only nine years old. He remembered looking into his mother’s eyes and seeing her command: Live!
He had a different name before he was in his thirteenth winter, but he would never speak it now. They had called him Phillip because he had attempted an escape by stealing their horses, creatures supposedly so loyal to their masters that theft was not a worry. He had been caught, of course, having never so much as ridden a horse before that day, but for the rest of the journey back to Rome, he had learned of the magnificent creatures, how to care for them, ride them properly, speak to them. He had hoped he would end up somehow with these beasts.
Instead, he had been treated as though he were one. The castration he had completely blocked from his mind, but he recalled the humiliation of being sold. His first master had been a merchant that needed laborers to load and unload all of the wares from ship to land and back again. It had been grueling work, but it had paid off. He had grown strong and large, and when his master died and he was sold again, he was intimidating enough to be made a guard.
He had come to this house when he was in his nineteenth year, and the girl he was assigned to protect at all costs was nine. She reminded him of his smallest sister, and he honored her as though she were. Even as she grew up and grew insolent and cruel, he served her faithfully. To do otherwise would be to die, and that was the one thing he would not do. As long as he lived, he was obeying his mother’s last command.
When his mistress became engaged, he was not unhappy, even knowing it would mean his service here was complete. She had made a good match, and the man may even have a chance at making her happy. And secretly, deep inside, he was glad to be rid of her.
He knew his sale must be impending, but obviously his master saw no need to keep him informed of how it was going. But he was not surprised when he was called early that morning and told to go to the atrium to be examined by a prospective buyer. He simply dressed in his usual garments, designed to display his muscle more than any other purpose, and went where he was bidden.
When he entered the room, he recognized the man. Titus Asinius, once a friend of his mistress’s older brother. His mistress had entertained a crush on him for a while. Heartless was the best word he knew of to describe him, but Phillip could not see the same ice in his face now that he had always seen before. Curious.
But not his place to wonder.
The woman he had never seen before. He would have remembered such beauty. This would be the one he was meant for in these proceedings, he knew. A face so fair was in danger, and the child she cradled in her arms gave many reasons why her life was important. Asinius’s wife? Phillip doubted it. He imagined even he would have heard the gossip if the mighty Titus Asinius had been wed.
“Here he is,” his master said when Phillip entered the atrium. “Germanic. He has always served loyally.”
The woman nodded, and he stood tall and straight so that she could examine him. But her eyes did not roam over his body; they sought out his face. She handed her babe to Asinius and stepped closer to him.
“Hello, Phillip.” She spoke in a warm alto voice that he imagined would soothe the child and send shivers up many a man’s spine. “My name is Abigail Visibullis.”
The lesson of speaking only when necessary had been beaten into him, so he just bowed his head in deference.
The woman smiled. “Do you speak, Phillip?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She tilted her head up to look into his eyes.“What languages?”
“My native Germanic and Greek.” He knew his accent was not perfect, even after so many years in Rome. “A very little Latin.”
Abigail nodded again and turned back to his master. “Can you give me a few minutes to speak with him, my friend?”
Phillip was surprised when the man agreed without hesitation. He was usually not one to take orders, nor was he one to not have his hand in every part of a transaction. But he left soon after.
Abigail turned to him again with a smile. “Please, have a seat.”
He did not sit often, and it was uncomfortable. His post was usually in the corner of a room, standing as if a piece of the furniture, ready at any moment to spring forward and defend or kill. The only time he did not stand was when he slept. But she had asked him to sit. He sat.
Abigail smiled again. “Phillip, I will present myself honestly, and I will then ask you if you think you can serve me with your whole heart. First of all, I am a Hebrew. My parents died when I was a small child, and I was sold into slavery. A Roman prefect purchased me, and I became his wife’s companion.”