It was the tiniest glance, a mere flicker. But it was enough for Jasmine to realise that Helena and Rebecca were utterly without hope. At that moment she knew for certain that they would end the day nude and screaming on their crosses, and that nothing she could say or do would alter that.
That momentary exchange between them told her that the Proconsul was a mere puppet in the hands of her half-brother, Marcus. Money or blackmail, she didn’t know, but she did know that the Proconsul would do exactly what Marcus wanted.
Mercifully, Helena hadn’t realised it. She still believed the Proconsul to be honest and just. “Please, sir, we didn’t hide the knife under Rebecca’s bed. We didn’t harm the master. We loved him!”
“’Loved him!’” Marcus spat his contempt. “Come on, everyone knows that my father just used you both as playthings, sexual toys. Cheaper than going to the brothel. You hated him, and….” He paused for emphasis, “you MURDERED him!”
“Please! You have to believe us! We didn’t kill him! We’ve never seen that knife before in our lives!” Rebecca was also unaware that her fate was sealed.
“Lying cunts.” Marcus sneered. “Sluts.”
Jasmine would have murdered Marcus, given a chance. She did hate him.
“We’re not lying! Please!”
Jasmine looked at her. How could anyone wish her harm? Even though she was a slave, she was bright, pretty, and vivacious. If she had a fault it was that she was too trusting. Jasmine was terribly fond of both Rebecca and Helena, and she knew that Helena loved Rebecca, too. She’d seen how they were together.
Jasmine considered the situation. These were just slaves, mere chattels, she thought. Calphurnus had treated them reasonably well, but she knew that Marcus wouldn’t. With the death of Calphurnus, their lives had altered irrevocably for the worse, unless Marcus put them up for sale and they happened to find another kind Master. Unlikely in the extreme.
She didn’t believe for one instant that they had murdered her father – they were both bright enough to realise that they would never find a better master, and they were both bright enough to know that flight was their only hope if they were guilty of murder. Neither had made the slightest effort to escape. But they were not worldly-wise enough to realise that they were being framed.
So what? The world was an unjust place. What did a couple of foreign slaves matter? Jasmine had enough problems of her own, especially if her half-brother was going to inherit everything.
Yet there was only one problem. These were slaves. If the Proconsul pronounced them guilty of murder, he wouldn’t sentence them to a quick death. They would be crucified. She doubted if he would even bother to flog them so that they died quicker – they might hang there in humiliated agony for days!
She had to try. She owed them that, at least. She addressed the Proconsul. “Sire, nobody in their right mind murders their master and then hides the bloodstained knife beneath their own bed, where it is sure to be found! Surely it is obvious to the court that the knife was planted there by….” she paused for emphasis, “…by the real murderer!”
The look that Marcus bestowed on her was one of pure loathing. Then – there it was again! That quick exchange of looks between the Proconsul and Marcus. Jasmine should have saved her breath.
“Your view was not invited,” said the Proconsul. “The court realises that you are in mourning for your father, and we extend our sympathies. Nevertheless it is not a woman’s place to become involved in matters of justice, and I must urge you to remain silent. However, I will answer your point. These are not Romans, these are foreign slaves. They do not think like we do. The knife is evidence that they murdered their master. We need not concern ourselves with why. Nor do we need to speculate which of them committed this terrible act. It is certain that they conspired with each other.”
He gazed at the two slaves. “Helena and Rebecca, slaves of Rome, this court has found you guilty of the murder of your Master, Calphurnus. You will be put to death by crucifixion. The sentence will be carried out immediately.”
Rebecca started to cry, but Helena shrieked in despair. “We did NOT murder our Master! Sir! You HAVE to believe us! Please! We loved him! Please! Sir! Not the cross! Not crucifixion! We have done no harm to anyone! Sir – you MUST see that!”
If she had any impact on the Proconsul, he did not show it. “Take them away!” he ordered. The guards grabbed the terrified women and marched them off through the door.
Only Jasmine noticed the tiny nod that the Proconsul gave to Marcus. She sighed, then turned and followed the execution party. She would try to stay close to them while they suffered. It was the least she could do.
That momentary exchange between them told her that the Proconsul was a mere puppet in the hands of her half-brother, Marcus. Money or blackmail, she didn’t know, but she did know that the Proconsul would do exactly what Marcus wanted.
Mercifully, Helena hadn’t realised it. She still believed the Proconsul to be honest and just. “Please, sir, we didn’t hide the knife under Rebecca’s bed. We didn’t harm the master. We loved him!”
“’Loved him!’” Marcus spat his contempt. “Come on, everyone knows that my father just used you both as playthings, sexual toys. Cheaper than going to the brothel. You hated him, and….” He paused for emphasis, “you MURDERED him!”
“Please! You have to believe us! We didn’t kill him! We’ve never seen that knife before in our lives!” Rebecca was also unaware that her fate was sealed.
“Lying cunts.” Marcus sneered. “Sluts.”
Jasmine would have murdered Marcus, given a chance. She did hate him.
“We’re not lying! Please!”
Jasmine looked at her. How could anyone wish her harm? Even though she was a slave, she was bright, pretty, and vivacious. If she had a fault it was that she was too trusting. Jasmine was terribly fond of both Rebecca and Helena, and she knew that Helena loved Rebecca, too. She’d seen how they were together.
Jasmine considered the situation. These were just slaves, mere chattels, she thought. Calphurnus had treated them reasonably well, but she knew that Marcus wouldn’t. With the death of Calphurnus, their lives had altered irrevocably for the worse, unless Marcus put them up for sale and they happened to find another kind Master. Unlikely in the extreme.
She didn’t believe for one instant that they had murdered her father – they were both bright enough to realise that they would never find a better master, and they were both bright enough to know that flight was their only hope if they were guilty of murder. Neither had made the slightest effort to escape. But they were not worldly-wise enough to realise that they were being framed.
So what? The world was an unjust place. What did a couple of foreign slaves matter? Jasmine had enough problems of her own, especially if her half-brother was going to inherit everything.
Yet there was only one problem. These were slaves. If the Proconsul pronounced them guilty of murder, he wouldn’t sentence them to a quick death. They would be crucified. She doubted if he would even bother to flog them so that they died quicker – they might hang there in humiliated agony for days!
She had to try. She owed them that, at least. She addressed the Proconsul. “Sire, nobody in their right mind murders their master and then hides the bloodstained knife beneath their own bed, where it is sure to be found! Surely it is obvious to the court that the knife was planted there by….” she paused for emphasis, “…by the real murderer!”
The look that Marcus bestowed on her was one of pure loathing. Then – there it was again! That quick exchange of looks between the Proconsul and Marcus. Jasmine should have saved her breath.
“Your view was not invited,” said the Proconsul. “The court realises that you are in mourning for your father, and we extend our sympathies. Nevertheless it is not a woman’s place to become involved in matters of justice, and I must urge you to remain silent. However, I will answer your point. These are not Romans, these are foreign slaves. They do not think like we do. The knife is evidence that they murdered their master. We need not concern ourselves with why. Nor do we need to speculate which of them committed this terrible act. It is certain that they conspired with each other.”
He gazed at the two slaves. “Helena and Rebecca, slaves of Rome, this court has found you guilty of the murder of your Master, Calphurnus. You will be put to death by crucifixion. The sentence will be carried out immediately.”
Rebecca started to cry, but Helena shrieked in despair. “We did NOT murder our Master! Sir! You HAVE to believe us! Please! We loved him! Please! Sir! Not the cross! Not crucifixion! We have done no harm to anyone! Sir – you MUST see that!”
If she had any impact on the Proconsul, he did not show it. “Take them away!” he ordered. The guards grabbed the terrified women and marched them off through the door.
Only Jasmine noticed the tiny nod that the Proconsul gave to Marcus. She sighed, then turned and followed the execution party. She would try to stay close to them while they suffered. It was the least she could do.
