Chapter 1

‘I wonder if you will ever see him again,’ Mother had said; and, in answer to her question, Marcipor appeared in the doorway.

‘A young Corinthian has arrived, Master,’ said Marcipor, a Corinthian himself. ‘He says he belongs to us.’

‘That is true,’ Father said, pleased with the news. ‘I bought him this morning. He will attend my son, though Marcellus is to know nothing of this for the present. Feed him well. And provide him with a bath and clean clothing. He has been imprisoned for a long time.’

‘The Greek has already bathed, Master,’ replied Marcipor.

‘Quite right,’ approved Father. ‘That was thoughtful of you.’

‘I had not yet thought of it,’ admitted Marcipor. ‘I was in the sunken garden, supervising the building of the new rose arbor, when this Greek appeared. Having told me his name, and that he belonged here, he caught sight of the pool—’

‘You mean’—expostulated Mother—’that he dared to use our pool?’

‘I am sorry,’ Marcipor replied. ‘It happened so quickly I was unable to thwart it. The Greek ran swiftly, tossing aside his garments, and dived in. I regret the incident. The pool will be drained immediately, and thoroughly cleansed.’

‘Very good, Marcipor,’ said Father. ‘And do not rebuke him; though he should be advised not to do that again.’ And Father had laughed, after Marcipor had left the room. Mother said, ‘The fellow should have known better than that.’ ‘Doubtless he did,’ Father had replied. ‘But I cannot blame him. He must have been immensely dirty. The sight of that much water probably drove him temporarily insane.’

One could be sure, reflected Lucia, that Marcipor hadn’t been too hard on poor Demetrius; for, from that day, he had treated him as if he were his own son. Indeed, the attachment was so close that slaves more recently acquired often asked if Marcipor and Demetrius were not somehow related.

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