J
Juan1234
Guest
Aleko was a big, strong, handsome man. Not like some preening Adonis - he was a field slave with humble brown eyes. I don't think he ever even noticed me looking at him.
Not that it mattered much. He was probably twice my age, well on his way to forty, and we were slaves of different masters. Besides, he wasn't Jewish. But I did like him.
Of course all of that was driven far from my mind when I was caught. My little side hustle, with which I had hoped one day to buy my freedom, wasn't strictly legal, and they caught me red-handed. I knew what that meant, but it was still hard to believe it when they told me my punishment was death. The slave's death - I had to die hanging on a cross.
They marched me to a cell while I tried to imagine what it meant that my life was already over, or what it would feel like to be nailed to my cross. For them it was a small item on the list of the day's chores.
My cell was more of a cage, with a make-shift feel to it. I suppose they weren't worried about a small girl like me escaping, because it was above ground and along the passage that led out of the praetorium to the plaza, just a few paces from the gateway. Or maybe they weren't planning on holding me long. They didn't tell me when I would be crucified, so I just had to wait.
There was a similar cell opposite mine, across the passage, and during the course of three days, as I waited, various prisoners were brought there, usually for less than an hour, and then removed. (Usually shortly after I heard their cries from the plaza as they were flogged.) I seemed to be the most long-term prisoner here.
Then, on the evening of the second day, who should come striding down the passage to occupy the empty cage, bronzed chest bare, a full head above the soldiers on either side, but Aleko?
Not that it mattered much. He was probably twice my age, well on his way to forty, and we were slaves of different masters. Besides, he wasn't Jewish. But I did like him.
Of course all of that was driven far from my mind when I was caught. My little side hustle, with which I had hoped one day to buy my freedom, wasn't strictly legal, and they caught me red-handed. I knew what that meant, but it was still hard to believe it when they told me my punishment was death. The slave's death - I had to die hanging on a cross.
They marched me to a cell while I tried to imagine what it meant that my life was already over, or what it would feel like to be nailed to my cross. For them it was a small item on the list of the day's chores.
My cell was more of a cage, with a make-shift feel to it. I suppose they weren't worried about a small girl like me escaping, because it was above ground and along the passage that led out of the praetorium to the plaza, just a few paces from the gateway. Or maybe they weren't planning on holding me long. They didn't tell me when I would be crucified, so I just had to wait.
There was a similar cell opposite mine, across the passage, and during the course of three days, as I waited, various prisoners were brought there, usually for less than an hour, and then removed. (Usually shortly after I heard their cries from the plaza as they were flogged.) I seemed to be the most long-term prisoner here.
Then, on the evening of the second day, who should come striding down the passage to occupy the empty cage, bronzed chest bare, a full head above the soldiers on either side, but Aleko?