"Yes, that's him," he confirmed in amusement, leaning idly against the wall. As master of the house - and the richest man in Rome - he enjoyed bringing pleasure to his guests.
"Not much to him, is there?" Her eyes were programmed for disdain, yet she wondered why she fought it for the petite personage standing before her. Insecurity pressed her into contempt. "No wonder he didn't join the other slaves in revolt. What could this weakling possibly have to offer?" Then she turned her back on him as if that proved her point.
"He says there's no need to fight. That one day I'm just going to let him go free and I quote: 'of my own free will', unquote."
"Really? How amusingly absurd!" It bothered her that his statement lessened her confidence rather than encouraged it. "Not only is he a coward but it seems mentally impaired. I'm surprised he's of any service to you at all!"
"He has his uses," assured the master, not wanting to seem the fool.
***
No one wanted to seem the fool anymore, not after Spartacus and his slave uprising had rocked the empire. Upon pain of death no Roman would admit the permanent dent Spartacus had made on their self-image, yanking from under them the false leg of superiority. Still, they struggled to maintain the precious lie, but the price had gone up. And tomorrow didn't look any better. Even for he, Crassus, the general who finally squashed the revolt.
But the Slave was no coward and found himself dismayed when Spartacus and his burgeoning forces came through, gathering slaves on a path to eventual doom. The Thracian gladiator inspired his followers with impossible dreams and it was true many would have joined him even if they knew it meant eventual death. But for thousands it meant only the cruel fate of crucifixion as Rome sought to reassert her authority and self-esteem. Neither ever fully recovered.
Looting in vengeance and turning the knife back on their tormenters were the rebellious slaves, and the Slave was urged to join the fight as the winds of revolt swept through. "You owe them nothing! Come with us and be free!"
"It's true I owe them nothing - but I owe myself. And freedom is not what will come of this. It must come from our masters."
"Are you crazy? To hell with them! They're never going to free you! Death is what they deserve and death is what we shall give them!"
The Slave was sold from a land beyond the farthest reaches of the empire, and never had he felt more foreign than at this moment, belonging to no group on earth but his own. But that was enough.
"You cannot defeat their power with power. That is their game and this republic their empire. No one man rules over them to be killed, to cut the head off the snake. But that day is coming and their decline will be irreversible."
"Idiot! This is not the time for philosophy but for action! The day is ours to rule!"
"I agree, it is no time for philosophy, but reality, and that is of what I speak."
"Suit yourself! I'm not wasting any more time with you! I've waited years for this moment and I'm taking it!"
The Slave remembered the scene well, branded into his memory with the background of noisy chaos and burning buildings searing his senses. Like a passing storm the revolt moved on with news of distant success over the next few months and then, a final defeat. Now no one respected the Slave who stayed. He was no freedom fighter; a man without heart. Who were these frail beings from the the far east? A people not worth conquering. A people without courage.
But they could not have been more wrong.
Many were those who took the easy way out, joining the rebellion despite their qualms and misgivings, fearing most what would be said of them. Even when under the most vile of leadership, rare is the soldier who refuses to participate in war. Easier to risk death than be made outcast. War is nothing more than a conspiracy of the silenced doubts of men. But the Slave stood his ground though he be branded traitor and a cowardly person, contemptible in the eyes of others. He had the courage to resist.
***
The aristocratic lady, having heard of this oddity, had come to inspect him for herself. She too felt the psychic wound of the self-justification for slavery vanishing for having suffered defeat at the hands of their "inferiors" and she hoped in meeting one so feckless as the Slave the gnawing doubts unleashed by Spartacus could be quashed, the genie put back in the bottle. But the Slave gave her no such satisfaction and in a strange way she felt he as master of the situation instead of the other way around. That, of course, could not be reality.
"Drop your robe. I wish to see the size of a coward's penis."
The Slave did so without shame or pleasure, annoying the lady to no end. She made remarks she considered appropriately disparaging and bade him to cover up attesting she cared only to see the bodies of real men. The Slave's master, a Roman general, was more wary in his tactics. He knew he could have the Slave's neck at any moment and yet, he knew he would never allow it. At least not until he understood who this Slave was. The conquering general refused to accept his current understanding.
He remembered their lasting conversation of the sword...
"You know what makes the Roman soldier the greatest in the world, Slave? It's not just our superior training, or our visionary commanders - keep your eye on young Caesar! - nor our ingenious engineering. Yes, those are factors, but they are mere byproducts. It is our belief that makes us strongest. It's he who believes the most who wins the most. Our noble Republic government is worth a thousand legions. Our opponents are savage, brutal, clever, even fanatical warriors - but for what do they fight? An inferior way of life, lacking in understanding and sophistication. We don't just conquer but we liberate, introducing them to the Roman way, a better way!
"What do you think of that?"
Do you feel my power?
The Slave felt the raging energy of the general. It was true, the light of the world - such as it was - shined on Rome and that was her edge. She would bend, she would ebb and flow, but she would never break as long as she held the light. The Slave too saw that light and knew that here in Rome he was at the center of the world and he felt a vibrancy in the city unlike anywhere else. But savagery has its limitations.
"It is said - since you ask my unworthy opinion - that if one must live by the sword then one has already lost."
The commander let out a repressed smile. "Words of old women and feeble men!" he dismissed with a wave of the arm.
"As you wish."
Damn him! He constantly defeats me with his surrender. Argue, you fool! Don't leave me to my own words. "Haven't you understood anything I've said? I tell you the secrets of an empire! It is by the sword man lives, not by pretty words. Just look at you! You wield no sword, you become a slave. What kind of argument is that?"
"I'm sorry, but my opinions can only be my own."
"Speak! I'm not afraid of your words!" bluffed the Roman, who was indeed afraid, more afraid than he had been on any battlefield, for the worth of his life was at stake.
"Yes, I am a slave to Rome - as Rome is to her sword. There is no freedom for either of us. You speak of an empire but your empire rots from within."
"How dare you! We grow stronger every day!"
"If you wish me into silence..."
"Go ahead. You amuse me."
The Slave's voice drew deep and piercing, reaching into the soul of the Roman - and every living being. "You speak of a glorious future when I stand here before you a slave. But who is the captive here? Are you not indebted to me? Does not one chain one's own heart to make another a slave?"
The general was of two minds: one outraged, the other rejoicing. He'd risen through the ranks by his pursuit of the recognition of truth, to be able to read his enemy's mind and forestall his tactics. Nothing in the universe gave him more pleasure than that, it justified his conquests - and his lusts. But he was at a crossroads: to continue his pursuit of truth or turn his back on it and keep his approved lusts. This damnable slave - of all the luck to get one like him! - brought this internal war to light, the kind of war no commander can afford.
"Pity my ignorance, but how does one free oneself without a sword? Kill me and you may have your freedom! Or does actual freedom mean so little to you?" At that moment, the general was willing to give his life to see the Slave throw his away.
"Killing you does not benefit me though I may say there are times when I wish it. But I want neither you nor a sword as my master."
"Then all life is useless! You'll remain a slave forever and die! How can you ever plan to be free, tell me that!"
"You will simply let me go, of your own free will. You will see it's to your benefit."
Yes! Yes! I can feel it in my heart. What a glorious freedom that would be, just to let it all go! By the gods I'd love to take that final step. Truth IS freedom! But can I do this and live? Can I ever explain letting myself go? Would I still be seen as a loyal Roman? Truth's freedom leads me away from Rome and there I would die - but if I die what use is the truth? So the reality is...I must disregard the truth.
But once having been exposed there's no unknowing. "Wishful thinking!" scoffed the general. "You may go now." Yes, deep within, the general knew the wishful thinking was his, and he lived a secret torment ever since that conversation.
***
He'd brought in the aristocrat woman - someone who'd never harbored any thoughts of freeing a slave - as reinforcements, as someone untainted with moral struggles. Little did he suspect her equally flailing feeling of the ice melting under feet. But now having met the Slave, her sharp nose aimed squarely at his defeat at all costs.
"He has his uses, you say? Come closer," she beckoned though it was she who had stepped away. "Tell me what are your uses so we can all know what makes you so special."
"Only a free man knows his true usefulness."
"Did you hear that, Crassus? He wants to be a free man! But when he had the chance he did not take it. What are we to think of a person like that? Methinks a liar he be."
"I have seen no such chance, my lady."
"I bet!" The general was disappointed as he monitered the confrontation. She fared no better against this human stonewall than he. "Perhaps he'd be more useful in a brothel, Crassus. See what good his high talk does there! Do you think you have the talent for it?"
"Certainly you have the power to place my life where you wish, just as I have the power to end it." The Slave's voice was serenity itself, untouched by the world, living life on its own terms. The Slave never saw a reason to turn his back on the truth. Gradually it dawned upon the two captors it was they, as ones bound to the world, who were talking to a free man. Could they openly speak their minds and retain their lofty positions? Were they not caught in the ever-tangling web of politics, corruption and deceit?
But what truly galled the pair was the Slave knowing this. Neither could escape the feeling of hot coals incessantly burning their souls. The first instinct was to kill him. But then the Slave would live forever in victory. No, they must defeat him with words first, to prove that no man may be uncorrupt in this world. The general and the lady exchanged glances in communication of this.
The commander tried a new tactic. "And what if you were made Roman? What then of our corruption?"
"I graciously accept your offer. It is most kind."
Trapped. Certainly Crassus had the power to do it, but with what public justification? What had a mere slave done to earn the prestige of citizenship? These questions the general could not answer and his all important reputation would be damaged in the Senate. Damn this little man!
"I get it," maneuvered the lady. "The minute you get a chance at Roman power you jump all over it. You're no better than the rest of us!" The pair both prayed he'd take the bait and have their burning coals removed.
"With freedom I would speak my peace as any free man should. As I'm sure you do. I know what the human desire is: and that is to be free. One can never be free while enslaving another. Releasing me is born of your wisdom. I bear no grudge for weaknesses we all share."
The captive pair were as ones swayed by beautiful music to soothe the savage beast. To free the slave would be like pulling a long-festering thorn from their sides. Oh, how they ached to do it! No, don't! Be strong! Be strong! Don't give in to what you want! And humiliation won the day, the brave Roman Centurion and the proud, superior aristocrat refused to give in, weak to the end. The glowing coals burning and burning and burning...
The next day the Slave was killed "in an immediate fashion". While the freeing of a slave might be questioned, the killing of one was not. But the couple's failure lived on, mocking them for their refusal, shaming them as it caged them. They succumbed to whoredom, begging for degradation, asking to literally be spat upon by their fellow beasts who were all too happy to comply. Crassus tried saving himself on the battlefield, taking increasingly risky chances until finally he was defeated and killed at the Battle of Carrhae. The aristocrat lady's face turned fey and bizarre, her eyes arching as if in permanent terror. As her beauty passed, she drowned in despondancy and found herself hung by her own hand.
In the great invincible rule of the Roman empire, no one did as one pleased. And thus her heart became hollow and her soul emptied of all treasures.
***
In the year that came be known as 71 B.C. a slave was buried with no marker, his given name long forgotten: Gandhi.
From the anthology: The Many Lives of Mahatma Gandhi
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