The Writers' Circle

The blacksmith busied himself with his work.
Rachamim sat on a stool and watched him for a while.
"My father and mother were from Judea," he said.
The blacksmith looked up. "What? Where?"
Rachamim shrugged. "I don't know exactly. My father was from somewhere in the south, I think. My mother never spoke about the time before."
"Did your father ever speak of it?"
"He would tell us stories when he could."
The blacksmith made a noncommittal sound and resumed his work.
"What's your name?" Rachamim asked.
"Yonatan. What's yours?"
"I'm called Romulus. My father named me Rachamim, though. Rachamim ben Yekutiel."
"Rachamim. A prayer."
"My father was a God-fearing man."
"Was?"
"He was killed, nearly two years ago."
Yonatan looked up at him. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said softly. "Don't misunderstand me - I accept God's will, as you do. Still, I can't help but be bitter at times. You see, I left an expectant wife and three young children in Judea. They had hidden in the hills while I had gone to the front. That was twenty-four years ago. Are they still free? Are they even alive? Do they think I'm dead?"
He shook his head. "But what's the use speculating? Thank God, my masters have been good to me. I've become accustomed to this life. If God ever decides to set me free, I'll go to the ends of the earth to find them. Until then.there's nothing I can do."
He picked up his hammer again. "The other Jews here - each has a story just as heart-wrenching as mine. Look at Menashe - the cursed soldiers carried him and his bride off from their wedding feast. Naftali, a physician, was forced to fight in the arena. When he refused to kill the man he had downed, they would have killed him had our master not intervened. Shammai and Eliezer are brothers. They were given as children to the priests at the temple of Venus, where they were frightfully abused. Yishai, Mishael, Shaul, Ovadyah - all saw their fathers murdered before their eyes, their mothers defiled, their sisters and brothers enslaved.
"But we all have faith. If you don't have faith.you have nothing."
He resumed his work. Just then, Verus limped in, grumbling. "He's to have fighting lessons. We'll need that sword as soon as you can have it ready."
"I'm nearly finished with the nails for the goat yard fence," Yonatan said. "I can have it for you by midday tomorrow."
"Good enough," Verus grunted. "Romulus, come."
Rachamim rose to follow Verus. As he crossed the workshop's threshold, he shared a glance with Yonatan. A ghost of a smile flitted across the older man's lips. Rachamim acknowledged it with one of his own.
"The master wants a word with you," the vilicus said as they approached the villa. "You'll find him in the peristylium."
Rachamim nodded and turned to take the fork in the path that would lead him that way. He entered the villa through the side entrance that all the slaves used, and made his way to the peristylium in the rear. There Antonius sat on a cushioned stone bench, a scroll in his hand, and a wax tablet and stylus resting on a small round table beside him. He read the scroll intently, his brow furrowed in concentration, and every so often, he would make a note on the tablet.
Following protocol, Rachamim walked under the portico, stopping when he came directly in Antonius' line of sight. There he stood, waiting for his master to notice his presence. After a minute, the senator looked up and beckoned him closer.
Rachamim approached and bowed his head.
"Romulus," the senator acknowledged. "I trust Verus has told you of my intentions regarding you?"
"Yes, master," the slave answered in a low voice.
"Good. I want to explain exactly what your duties are so that there shall be no misunderstanding. You shall accompany me as my bodyguard and personal attendant whenever I leave the villa. You shall be instructed in the ways of weaponry, as I understand you have little experience in that regard. If you have any other skills that would be useful to me, I want to know."
Rachamim raised his eyes for a brief moment. "I can read and write Latin and Greek, master. I've also been educated in the classics."
Antonius raised an eyebrow. "How fortuitous. My old secretary took ill and died last week, and I've been meaning to replace him. You'll do, I suppose. You shall attend me in the morning, and from midday until supper you shall have training in sword fighting from Verus, which will continue until such time as he deems your skill satisfactory."
"As you wish, master," Rachamim answered quietly.
Antonius' eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Jupiter's sake, don't act so frightened! There's nothing I dislike more than seeing a grown man cringe like a beaten dog!"
At this, Rachamim's head snapped up. His hands clenched into fists and his eyes blazed, but he said nothing.
"Ah! Better!" the senator smiled. "There's fire in you - good! I could tell when I saw you fight that lion. The cunning, the utter fearlessness - you have a reputation as a ruthless killer. That's why I need you.
"You see," he said, as he rose from the bench and began to pace around Rachamim, "I, too, have a reputation. I'm an aristocrat, yet I'm seen as a man of the people, champion of the disadvantaged masses...and advocate for the people of conquered Judea, whom I believe have been tragically misunderstood. Unfortunately, I've made many enemies because of my political positions. Recently, I've had reports - on good authority - that my life is in danger from certain of these enemies. Hence the need for a bodyguard." He turned and looked Rachamim in the eye. "You escorted my daughter back home even though you knew what dire punishment might await you. Your concern for her safety at the expense of your own has earned you my trust. See that you don't abuse it."
Antonius held his gaze for a long moment, and Rachamim did not look away.
"I won't disappoint you, master," he said.
The senator nodded. He resumed his seat, and with a wave of his hand, sent Rachamim back under the portico to wait.