The Paga Diaries (44)

 44.  Scrolls

“What is the spirit of the bayonet?” the drill sergeant barked out loudly.

To KILL!” I yelled out in unison with the other recruits.

“What makes the grass grow?”

“Blood, Drill Sergeant!”

Lunge, parry, upstroke, butt stroke, slash, thrust!

I couldn’t get my bayonet to stick in the hard rubber of the tires that made up the target.

I woke up from the frustrating nightmare, Mena still asleep next to me in the furs.

What was in the scrolls?  I needed to know so I would know what to do with them.

Mena woke and I unlocked her ankle from the slave ring so that she could relieve herself and start a fire to cook breakfast.  After I ate the vulo egg scramble she made, she knelt down and kissed my feet, seeking permission to speak.

“This slave begs to know how you were cut, Master.”  I didn’t want to tell her, but I knew her curiosity would only continue to build, probably forming a distracting obsession.

“I was attacked in alley, used sword for defense.”

“Why were you attacked, Master?” she asked.  I didn’t feel that Mena needed to know all of the details about the fight, but I would tell her a little to alleviate her curiosity.

“Man in alley became offended, drew sword. I not want to fight, tried to withdraw.”

“Offended? Master, what man, did you know him?”

“Yes, Penny’s Master,” I said.

“Penny? Who, the coin slut? The one you tried to buy? Did you try and buy her again?”

“No. I came up on him in alley. Surprised him, he thought I was meddling,” I said.

“Meddling? I don’t understand, Master.”

“Meddling in his business,” I said wondering if I was saying the word right. “He told me to kneel. Give up sword, answer questions. I did not submit. We fought, I won.”

“If you won Master, where is Penny?”

“I left her,” I said.

“Is that his satchel, Master?” She asked, glancing at the counter.  I had meant to put it in the strongbox before going to sleep.

“Yes,” I said.

“You left the slave you tried to buy for ten silver tarsks, but took the satchel? I don’t understand.”

“I not want Penny. You are better than Penny,” I said.

“Thank you Master, I hope I am better than a street slut. What is in the satchel?”

“Scrolls,” I said.  I noticed that she had not addressed me as Master a couple times during her questions.  I felt like I was giving her too much leeway with allowing her to question me like this.

“You can’t read. Why would you take a satchel of scrolls and not a kajira?”

“You are going to read them to me,” I said, not answering her question.  I went to the counter and opened the large leather satchel.  Inside it there were maybe two dozen rolled scrolls of various sizes.  I took all of them out.  I opened one and it looked at it.  It appeared to have tables and columns and rows of figures, but I couldn’t read it.

“Mena, come over here and tell me what this is.” I said.  She walked over slowly and started to read.

“This is a record of prices for goods, like here, the various meats available at several markets,” she said pointing at a spot on the document.  “Another for bags of sa-tarna. Here is something about lumber. Maybe this information is for the Merchant guild?”

I unrolled another scroll and it was clearly a city map.  Mena gasped, and then said quickly, “Master, you can’t have this! Maps of the city are strictly controlled. You will be killed for possessing this!”

“I need know what scrolls say, then know what to do. What does this one say?” I said, unrolling another one.

“This scroll documents observations from six individuals, referred to by number instead of by name. It is sorted by dates and locations of the city, and what the individual noted on a certain date. Here, number Three noted activity at the Division Gate, arriving caravans, departing infantry units. Master I don’t want to read anymore. These scrolls are dangerous. I am scared, please don’t make me read anymore!”

“No harm in reading them, then I know what to do.” I repeated, unrolling another scroll.

“Respectfully Master, there is harm in reading them. We may learn things that put our lives in jeopardy!”

I hadn’t thought about that.  She had a point; possessing the map and having knowledge of the contents of these scrolls could be a liability if the wrong people knew we read them.  People like Lenious and whoever he worked for.  My regret for sparing his life grew very heavy.  Maybe being illiterate would eliminate this liability?  I needed to know more, to know what to do with these scrolls.  “Read a couple more,” I said. Mena gave me a terrified look, and then resignedly lowered her gaze to the next scroll.

“This one is strange Master. It appears to be a summary of public judicial proceedings.  Once a week, sometimes longer intervals between hearings, with mentions of the issues resolved.  What is this? On this day a Merchant from Torcadino charged with spreading misinformation about the war, fined five silver tarsks, lashed and expelled from the city. Then another Merchant accused of using false weights on market scales, lashed, marked as an outlaw and banished from the city. The next case is a man charged with the illegal enslavement of a Free Woman, sentenced to impalement! This, this is the day of my hearing! I can’t believe it! A Free Woman charged with breach of contract for failing to deliver war tharlarion saddles, sentenced to slavery! Please Master, don’t make me read anymore. These scrolls were written by spies, probably Corcyrusian!” she screamed hysterically.

“One more,” I said, taking another scroll from pile. She looked at me incredulously, but I met her stare and said firmly, “One more.”

“Yes Master,” she replied quietly. She took the scroll and straightened it out before her, at the same time knocking over a half empty bottle of paga. She quickly tried to wipe the paga away with her forearm, sending the scroll to the floor. As I bent down to grab it, she scooped up all the scrolls from the counter, both rolled and unrolled. She took the awkward bundle and ran for the small fireplace, haphazardly throwing the scrolls in.

I was one step behind her and grabbed her hair, which I used to jerk her body away from the fire and onto the floor.  I then tried to retrieve the scrolls that had landed in the fireplace.  Most of the scrolls had missed the flames but some had not.  I pulled these from the fire as fast as I could, tossing them to the floor where I stomped out the flames.  Two scrolls had perished quickly in flames.

I was furious and turned to look at Mena, who was looking at me in utmost terror, her bold actions having failed, the unknown consequences she now contemplated.

“Master, they must be burned, destroyed with no trace, the satchel too, as if you never had it! At the hearing you saw what happened to the man in the tavern who merely talked about the city losing a battle. In their eyes you are a barbarian, a spy, you will be tortured and impaled. Do you know what impalement is? They take a long pole and sharpen one end. Then they shove it up your ass like an animal on a spit, before mounting the pole vertically with your body tied above it. They beat you with a whip, so you writhe, the weight of your body making you sink further down onto the pole, where they leave you exposed for all to see. It could be days before you die, unless you have the strength and courage to move your body in a way that makes it sink further, the pole penetrating deeper into your core with the hopes that your life will fade away quicker.”

My fury quickly turned to horror with her description of a most abominable death.  I knew she was right; I couldn’t deny it.  I had made a grave mistake, several of them.  I should never have followed Lenious, should not have spared his life, and should have let the satchel lie on the cobblestone.  I didn’t know what to do next.  As wrong as it was for a slave to destroy her master’s things, Mena had, in desperation, tried to save my life.  I knew I should punish her, but at the moment I couldn’t.  I was afraid, the pit of my stomach twisted into a dark, tight, fearful knot.

“Obeisance,” I said after a few moments and watched Mena go to nadu, then bend over at the waist, putting her head and the palms of her hands to the floor.  I picked up the scattered scrolls, some of them damaged, browned and blackened, partially burned from the fire.  The end of one rolled scroll crumbled in ash as I set it on the counter.  I wondered if it was destroyed.  I gently tried to unroll it, to see if it was readable.  It was an incomplete map of the stadium, with what appeared to be measurement of distances between certain features of the building.  I rolled it back up and put all of the scrolls back into the satchel.  I had seen enough, and thought that once I knew what the scrolls were, I would know what to do, but I didn’t.

I poured myself a paga and sat on the couch to think.  Perhaps Mena was right, the scrolls and satchel should be burned, as if I had never touched them.  Lenious looked to be a spy and know I would look like one too if anyone discovered that I possessed them.  I got up and locked them in the strongbox, then I went back to the couch and sipped paga.  Who did Lenious work for?  Argentum was at war, should I turn these into the authorities, informing them of the espionage?  Would this knowledge aid in the war effort?  Surely they would want to see them and figure out who was in league with Lenious.  Atticus, or Julian the Magistrate?

I needed advice and thought of Mirus.  Or maybe Trem?  But I also thought about what Mena had said, that knowing the contents would put our lives in jeopardy.  I looked at her.  She was trembling, but holding her position.  I took another sip.  I didn’t want to place Trem or Mirus in jeopardy.  I didn’t know what to do.  I looked again upon my naked trembling slave, her head to the floor.

“Mena, you are intelligent woman. I know you think it best to burn scrolls, but would it be better to give them to Magistrate? Will scrolls help win war?”

“Master, this slave is petrified. I’m sure the authorities would love to see the scrolls. But at what expense? Do you trust the Magistrate? Or anyone with your life? You have no Home Stone. Are you willing to risk your life for a city you barely know? This slave begs to be sold, please sell me Master!” she pleaded.

I didn’t trust Julian.  I did trust Mirus.  I felt I could trust Trem with my life, but I didn’t want to jeopardize him.  I liked Argentum, but I wasn’t willing to risk my life for it.  I didn’t understand why Mena wanted me to sell her.  Surely as a slave she wasn’t in jeopardy.

“All good questions Mena, and I must think. What you did was wrong. I know you did this to protect me, but you acted as free person. You have not accepted your brand and collar. You must be punished. You must be reminded of what you are now.”

“Master, this slave feels her collar and brand! This slave knows she is not free. This slave knows she was wrong and begs forgiveness. Please have mercy Master!”

“You said you know you were wrong. Do you believe you should be punished?” I asked.

“Yes Master,” she said quietly.

“Fetch the whip.”  She looked up at me in disbelief and then stood up.  She dejectedly walked to fetch the whip from where it hung on the wall.  She knelt before me and bowed her head, her trembling arms outstretched offering me the whip.