Casca had determined to keep to himself during the voyage, but that did not prevent him from observing the other slaves. In the hold where the privately owned slaves were kept there was the usual blending of peoples and races. But one slave was unusual and specially interested him.
He had never seen the like before. The slave was a small man of indeterminate age. He could be anything from forty-five to sixty-five; a wispy gray moustache and beard accented his features. It was hard to tell because of the color of his skin which had a gold cast to it under the sunburn. His eyes were similar to some Casca had seen among travelers from the east who had come to the markets in Jerusalem, except that they seemed more slanted, giving the man a sleepy look. His body was lean and well-muscled.
But it was as much what the man did as what he looked like that made him so damned odd. Every morning and evening he went through a strange ritual of exercises, weaving his body about like a serpent, taking on odd positions and then holding the positions for long periods of time while he performed strange breathing exercises- letting the air hiss out between his teeth and then inhaling and sucking his abdomen in and holding the breath.
Even odder was the way he acted around the other slaves. The little man was quiet and well-mannered, never giving offense when he did not get the choice bits from the pot and even smiling and thanking the bastard who gypped him for being so good as to leave him what he did. Damned curious. Maybe there was something to that bit about a man's brain being touched by the gods.
As the days wore on, Casca watched the other slaves bit by bit take greater and greater advantage of the yellow man until he could no longer contain his curiosity. That night, after the evening meal, he moved to the side of the little man and asked:
'Why do you let them treat you so, yellow man?'
The brown eyes in the slanted epicanthic fold looked steadily at Casca. There was no trace of fear in the man. Whatever was done to him was not done because he was afraid.
The yellow man smiled, his even white teeth shining in the dim light. 'Not tonight, my monstrous barbarian. Sleep tonight. Tomorrow I will answer your questions, for it is as the Lord Confucius said that to teach is to learn. Tomorrow we will both learn more.'
As he lay on his pallet that night, Casca thought about the strange little man with the flashing eyes, but he finally gave up trying to fathom what the yellow slave meant and, giving a grunt, rolled over on his right side and let the creaking of the ship's wooden sides lull him to sleep.
And when the new day came with its sameness to all the other days of the voyage he had practically dismissed the yellow man from his mind.
Until the evening meal, that is.
The slaves' rations were lowered down to them in a large black kettle, one that-from the look of it-had seen service in the fleet for at least a hundred years. All meals were prepared at the only place on the ship where a fire could be lit, an open area covered with sand, a brass brazier serving as stove. Fire was the single most feared disaster on board the galleys.
With the kettle lowered, the slaves stood in line to dip their rations out of the pot and into their personal bowls. Naturally Casca took his place in the front of the line. He was the strongest, and the strongest always feed first.
He took his bowl of meaty fish stew to his bunking area and sat cross-legged and ate, dipping the pieces of fish out with his fingers, occasionally smacking his lips over a morsel.
A commotion by the pot drew his attention.
The yellow man was having problems.
He had awaited his turn at the pot patiently, content to be the last in line, even to the extent of giving an elderly slave a spot in front of him-and bowing politely while he did it.
When he had taken his own serving-and there was precious little left at the bottom of the pot- two of the younger slaves decided to have some fun with the little man. One was a young man of perhaps twenty, fair-haired and with pleasant-enough features-though a close look would show a mean set to the mouth. The other was of mixed blood, perhaps Greek and Persian. The half-breed was large and strong, and had more than once thought about challenging Casca for the first position. He had, however, apparently seen something in the legionary that told him to leave well enough alone, so Casca had not had the pleasure of whipping his ass. But the yellow man was something else-and fair game.
When little slant-eyes had taken his bowl and started back for his area, the blond young slave tripped him, knocking his food to the floor. The blond and the breed thought this great fun and suggested that the yellow one eat his food from the floor like a dog, seeing as how he was obviously an animal of some kind, perhaps even a new type of monkey.
The yellow man arose from the deck. Smiling, he wiped the stew from his saffron-colored robe and turned to face the two men. Bowing, he asked politely:
'Honored sirs, is it your intention to continue harassing me? Have I done anything to offend you? If so, I regret it most sincerely as it was unintentional. I wish you no harm. I only wish for you a joyous life filled with harmony.'
The breed couldn't believe his ears. Then he began to laugh.
'Harm? You wish us no harm? You yellow toad, I'll teach you what harm means.'
Casca had started to get up and put a stop to the action when the yellow man caught his eyes and motioned for him to sit back down. Well, it was none of his business if the little man wanted to get his head broken open by those two thugs. Casca shook his head and went back to eating, but he watched.
The Greek breed continued to talk to the yellow man. Liking the sound of his own voice, he began describing the type of parentage it must have taken to sire such as little slant-eyes.
The yellow man sighed as if weary and reconciled to this defilement and any others the two might wish to heap upon him. But he did lower his hands into one of the strange positions Casca had noticed when he exercised.
It got the breed's attention. 'What is this?' he demanded, reached out one long arm and grabbing the little man on the shoulder. But before he could register what was happening he was flying through the air. He landed on his back on the deck a full ten feet away, with an audibleThunk! as the air blew out of him.
The yellow man had barely changed position. Now he turned to face the downed man, bowed, and asked in the politest of tones:
'Will you please do me the great service of letting this unfortunate one be left in peace? I wish you no harm.' His yellow face showed no trace of mockery. The man was completely sincere. 'Please do not force me into that which is unpleasant.'
The half Greek lay on the deck for a moment, stunned. Then his breath returned, he got up, and with a growl threw himself at the yellow man, hands extended, going for the throat.
The slant-eyed one pivoted on one foot, turned his body away as if to run, and with a twisting motion swung his rear leg up and kicked the Greek in the throat, setting the man back down on the deck trying to breathe. When the breed came at him, so did the young blond. While the yellow man's foot was still in the air, the fair-haired youngster swung a fist at the yellow man's face-only to find it wasn't there. Slant-eye's hand made a pass, and the youngster's body did a complete turnaround, facing back the way he had come. By the time the Greek had hit the deck the yellow man had the youngster on his knees from the rear. With a sign of regret, he formed a strange fist and tapped the youngster just behind the ear. The young man fell forward onto the floor, unconscious. He would probably have broken his nose in the fall had not the yellow man caught his head and gently lowered him to the deck.
Slant-eyes turned to the other slaves. 'I apologize for this unpleasantness, but it was unavoidable.' Kneeling down, he put the scraps of food back in his bowl and, taking a scrap of rag, began meticulously cleaning the floor where his food had fallen. When he had finished, he stood, faced the others, and bowed.
Casca's mouth was hanging open. What the Hades was that? I have never seen anything like it. Gulping the rest of his food down, he wiped his mouth with the back of one hairy hand and made his way to the side of the yellow man.
Thumping himself down beside the yellow man, he asked: 'What kind of man are you, anyway? I know I asked you that yesterday, but you didn't answer, and after what I just saw you do to those two bravos I think I would like to know more about you. Will you tell me?'
The little man looked long and steadily past Casca before he spoke. 'I am Shiu Lao Tze.' His voice was soft
