Luke's Story Read Online Free

privileges.”

    “And what am I to do about that? Refuse the master’s kindnesses so I don’t separate myself from my people?”

    “That’s what I would have done.”

    Loukan found himself not only offended and resentful, but also angry. He wished he were bigger so he could challenge Diabolos to a fight. He imagined bloodying the man’s face, knocking him to the ground, and kicking him to within an inch of his life. And here he had been trying to convince the man that he was just a fortunate, humble servant.

    What am I really?

     
     
    LOUKON SPENT NEARLY the entire day interviewing survivors of the plague about their loved ones. He found it strange to wander where he and his parents had lived and to see nothing but dirt. The new quarters were in the same area but several yards away. And they were nice, roomier, and Theophilus had apparently approved an engineering project that directed a stream of water through the complex that would greatly aid with sanitation.

    Just before it was time to head back to the Mediterranean, Loukon made his way to the rough-hewn tombs where his parents and the others had been interred. He repeated aloud from memory what he had written his parents weeks before. When he got back to the estate, Diabolos was standing by the wagon and horses.

    “Ready?” he said.

    “I need to gather my things,” Loukon said. “But I would like to ask you about your family first, if you’re up to it. Come inside where I can write.”

    “Can’t we do it back at the retreat?”

    “We might not have as much time. What if you are assiwed him. “You know, of course, that I know what you’re going through. Don’t forget that my parents were among the first to die. I even understand the guilt of being the only survivor.”

    “But you had a reason!” Diabolos said, sitting across from Loukon. “I was out in the workplace with everyone else. I wasn’t lounging inside doing nothing!”

    “I am sorry, Diabolos. I truly am. Now, would you tell me about them?”

    All the while Loukon was taking notes, he was resenting Diabolos and wanted to strike back at his meanness. He somehow forced himself to dredge up some compassion for this sad, sad man. If Loukon felt the slave was being unfair, he could only imagine how Diabolos felt about him. But of course he didn’t have to imagine it; Diabolos was nothing if not forthright.

     
     
    LOUKON ALLOWED HIMSELF to hope that by the time he and Diabolos had reached the Mediterranean retreat again, they might have forged some sort of a relationship, if not an uneasy friendship. Even a truce would have been better than the distance he felt from the man.

    But no. While he thanked Diabolos effusively, Loukon got only a nod, and when he came upon him around the grounds during the ensuing days, his greetings were barely acknowledged. It was as if they had not spent the better part of a day together.

    Loukon spent most of the next two weeks daily working on the eulogy for Theophilus to read at the memorial. A target date had been set for the return to Daphne, and Loukon found himself eager to get back. Would he be assigned his own chambers in the servants’ quarters, or would he have a place in the main house? After the encounter with Diabolos, he wasn’t sure which he would rather have. Slave quarters would be fine with him. In truth, he’d rather stay in relative luxury, but he wanted his peers to think he was required to stay in the main house.

    It was time to endure the memorial. Endure was the right word, for as sweet and meaningful as Theophilus would make it, it would be an ordeal for the grieving. Maddeningly, part of him still hoped the master would acknowledge his part in the preparations.

    Once it was over, Loukon could get back to his studies. He hoped he hadn’t fallen hopelessly behind. With university looming on the horizon, he believed he could focus and find within himself renewed enthusiasm for the task of conducting the memorial. He