Slave for a Day
The first rule of Roman slavery is... do as you're told. The second rule of Roman slavery is... don't speak unless spoken to. The third rule is... well, you get the picture. To be a slave in Roman Britain was to be at the bottom of the social heap: no pay, no rights, no holiday, just an endless string of orders until the end of your life. Relief could come if you had a kind master or mistress who could grant your freedom, but until that moment you were nothing more than a useful, if quite expensive, household appliance.
My day as a Roman slave started ominously. Freezing wind and rain were blowing across site. After struggling into my scratchy woolen leggings and tunic I was given my instructions: everyone on site was my superior - I had to obey all orders - from cameramen, diggers, runners, directors, even Phil. And I was not to speak unless spoken to.
My first job was making a fire. The director showed me the muddy corner of the field where I was to dig a small fire pit. Forcing the metal spade through near frozen ground wearing only a pair of leather sandals was pretty painful. The fact that it was seven thirty in the morning only made it worse. Eventually I managed to get the damp logs alight and soon had a nice warm blaze going - my first task was complete! But I had no time to sit back and warm up; I was ordered to make morning break-time tea. This presented me with my first real problem as I had no idea where to get the water to fill the urns but I couldn't ask anyone as I couldn't speak unless spoken to. I looked around hopelessly as break-time approached, and eventually a runner asked me what was wrong and I thankfully explained the situation. Day 1 tea was saved and I had avoided a whipping.
During break I was given permission to ask people if they wanted tea or coffee, and serve them. Everybody was very grateful and thanked me for their drink, and at this point I had to remind them that I was not worth the mud on their shoe and simply acknowledging my presence was much more than I deserved, but despite this people still treated me like an equal and were polite. I began to realize that being a master was in some ways as difficult as being a slave.
However, as the afternoon wore on some members of the team really got into their stride and I was soon running back and forth between the trenches, fetching tea and clearing spoil. My main task for the afternoon was to help Stewart. I think he may have been a Roman master in a past life as he took to the role a little too enthusiastically and I was soon left trailing behind him as I struggled to keep hold of his map and umbrella in the driving rain. Everything I said was met with a sharp reminder not to speak and everything I did was ignored or wrong. It was a relief when James called me over to clear up a pile of horse dung.
I was exhausted at the end of the day and a little confused. It had been hard to adjust to the role of slave - so often during the day we come out with subtle greetings, nods, offers of help and friendly chat. Without these life is pretty lonely and the worse thing was the feeling of isolation as I stood in the middle of the busy site without being able to ask anyone for help or instruction. On the other hand, most people found it hard to act as a master and I often had to remind them not to thank me or ask me how I was. I say most people... Stewart tried to string it out to the next shoot and still asks me to make his tea at break-time...
DAMNOSA QUID NON INMINUIT DIES?
(Horace Odes III:VI)
