We were faced with a whole lot of torment as we continued our journey. Later on, I found out that we're heading to Rome, where our fate will finally be decided. I learned this information from Max, when he came to give me my own share of bread. I was sitting down alone on the cold, damp earth, my back against a rough tree trunk. The air was heavy with the scent of dampness and decay. My wrists and ankles hurt from the chain that I was bound with, which has now been loosened for the night, and my heart feels heavy with despair.
The moonlight filters through the canopy above, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, a cruel reminder of the freedom I once knew. My back hurts so much from sleeping on the cold, poky grass; having a bath would have helped a great deal, which has now become a luxury. I haven't had a bath since the day we left the wretched brothel. I didn't even know how long we have been traveling; I had totally lost track of time.
It was where I was seated, that Max came to meet me, holding two jugs and some loaves of bread with him. Seeing him from afar brought a smile to my face. We had become close during these few weeks, which I'm grateful for, because I got to get more food than I was supposed to be given.
"Greetings, fair one," he said when he was close.
"May I be of service to you, Sir?" I said, casting down my eyes. We might be close, but he is the one with the upper hands here and he's not to be trusted entirely, so I always try to tread carefully when I'm with him and give him the respect he deserves also.
"I bought some bread," he said while giving it to me. I started wolfing down the bread immediately he gave it to me, forgetting to say thank you because of how hungry I was. "Thank you," I finally said after I had eaten to my satisfaction. By now he was already seated beside me.
"How is your back now?" He asked. "Fine," I replied, "I have been having pains in my back as a result of the floor I have been constantly laying on."
"What are you doing here alone?" he inquired. "I was just looking for a moment alone before my execution," I answered.
"You have totally lost all hope, haven't you?" He asked. "Who wouldn't?" I replied. "I have lost everything dear to me, and I'm about to lose my life in the most terrifying way."
"I'm sorry for what you faced," he said. "Sorry," I laughed. Why would you be sorry when you were part of the people that destroyed my village and killed my parents? I think you meant to say you are glad, for you will make a lot of profit through us," I said, forgetting that he was also a victim.
Max was also from a small peaceful village called Durkom, nestled under the heart of the whispering rock, its thatched roofs and wooden palisades blending seamlessly into the natural surroundings. The villagers were known for their skill in remedies and craftsmanship, and they all lived in harmony, like our village too. But on a fateful day, their tranquility was shattered when a horde of bandits descended upon their village. The warriors, with their touch and swords in hands, rampaged through the village, leaving destruction in their wake.
The villagers, screaming and fleeing, were cut down or captured. Their once-peaceful homes were reduced to smoldering ruins, the air thick with the stench of smoke and fear. The villagers, bound and helpless, were dragged away from their burning home, their fates uncertain. The warriors, their faces twisted in cruelty, gloated over their captives, eager to sell them into slavery or exploit them for their skills.
Some were sold as slaves, while others were taken and groomed to work with them, which Max turned out to be part of. He was taken and forced to join them against his will.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have talked to you like that."
"It's okay," he replied. "You are right; I was part of those people that destroyed your village, and other villages. I will carry the guilt with me till I breathe my last," he said.
"It's not your fault," I replied, placing my hand on his. "It was not your choice that you were taken from your village when you were just a boy, it wasn't your choice to witness your parents' pain as they were being killed, it wasn't your choice that you have to see the village you grew to love be burned down to ashes, it wasn't your fault that you were trained for this. You are also a victim, like me, like those people over there. So don't you ever blame yourself again."
After what seemed like a long time, he finally broke the silence. "You will definitely meet with the Borgias," he said.
"Who are those?" I asked.
"They are the main family that keeps this slave trading going," he replied. "They donate a huge sum of money to this cause. It's from this money that we are able to buy food and ammunition."
"The Borgias," I said aloud.
"Yes, the Borgias," he repeated after me. " They get a whole lot of profit from the arena too. They are a very powerful family, I daresay they are more powerful and wealthier than the royal family."
After he said this, he stood up to leave, taking the jugs with him. "Good night," he said.
"May the gods grant you a good night's rest," I called after him, unsure if he heard it or not.
I laid down to sleep on that same spot I have been sitting on, praying that sleep would come early to me tonight. But it seemed the gods had other plans for me, as my thoughts kept going back to the Borgias. How can a family be so wicked as to destroy other people's homes, families, and get their lives shattered just so they can keep filling their coffers?
As sleep slowly took over, the only word that remained in my heart was "the Borgias."