In the Shadow of Pompeii

No Such Thing as a Happy Slave

"SOLD!"

The pot-bellied and malodorous auctioneer announced as he pointed to a man in a white toga with an indigo cape hanging from his shoulders. The man smirked as though he had just completed some impossible feat; the one expression practically screaming to the rest of the wealthy gathered "I'm better than you!"

Pompeii. A luxurious and wealthy city, known for all the pleasures it has to offer, fine public buildings, and lavish private houses. A beautiful city where people flourish and get drunk on life's simple pleasures. Well, that is, if you have the freedom.

Bright, shiny, dazzling things have a tendency to cast dark, gloomy, deep shadows. Erasmus had the pleasure of living in the shadow of Pompeii. Living as a slave. A slave to be sold, bought, traded, no more than an object to those who were born with a title, those who had everything in life handed to them because they were born with money to their name, freedom, reputation.

Erasmus wasn't always a slave, oh no. He was a slave of war when the Roman Emperor Titus Caesar Vespasianus conquered Jerusalem. Erasmus was nine at the time, when the soldiers came to his village and killed people he had spoken to mere hours before, being deemed a slave ever since. Now he was eighteen years of age, a newly bought slave in the city of Pompeii to a clearly wealthy and narcissistic man.

One of the workers of the auction, their handlers, yanked on the chain attached to a collar clasped around Erasmus's throat. He stumbled forward, hearing the gathered crowd snicker as he was lead off the stage. The handler attached his chain to a post, a few other slaves looking down and adverting their gaze when the man walked past. The sun beat down on them, making the hot sand under the feet blindingly bright.

After the other slaves were auctioned off, the one who had bought Erasmus was lead to his prize. The auctioneer explained Erasmus's history, how he came to be a slave, and the such. Lord Titus. The auctioneer shook hands with Lord Titus before handing over Erasmus's chain, his leash, to the nobleman.

Titus, his new master, lead Erasmus to a carriage, two oxen ready to pull. The stagecoach took the chain from Titus, fastening the end to the back of the carriage. The Lord climbed into the carriage and the stagecoach hollered at the oxen to get them moving, Erasmus just barely able to keep up as they moved at an uncomfortably fast pace.

The uneven gravel road left cuts and blisters on Erasmus's feet, the hot summer sun leaving a painful sting on his back. The carriage came to a complete stop at the front of an exquisite home after what felt like hours, the front yard having a well-sculpted statue of the god Mercury.

The stagecoach brought Erasmus behind the house, Titus entered the lavish dwelling with servents rushing around him, offering him wine and grapes as though he were a god to please. Erasmus was ushered around the large establishment, not setting a foot inside the main building.

As he turned the corner, Erasmus was faced with a statue of Pluto, the god of wealth and death. Behind the massive statue, people with chains on their ankles milled about, completing manual labor. Some had ribs showing, nothing more than skin and bones. Some had a limp, some were bruised and bloodied, all had shadows in their eyes and vacant expressions, lifeless beings.

Mercury; the god that ruled over wealth and good fortune for the front of the house, on display where all his wealthy friends could see. And in the back, Pluto. The master of wealth and god of the dead, lord of the Underworld. The dark side and cruel side of Titus, out in the open for his slaves to look at and fear.

The stagecoach lead Erasmus to a small building that had dirty sheets lining the floor in place of beds, explaining that this was where he would be sleeping. The man took some chains off the wall, clasping them around Erasmus's ankles like the other slaves before taking off the chain leash, leaving the collar on.

Before the stagecoach left the small building, he turned to Erasmus and said, "Just remember, there is no such thing as a happy slave."