Life of a Slave in Ancient Greece

The story of a boy from the ages of 15-17 in Athens.

It all began in the year of 669.  I had just turned fifteen and was beginning work under the authority of my father’s old master.  His name was Argus, after the monster who had been slain by Hercules, because he was all-seeing and was thought to know all.  It was considered a very high favor to be working under my master, considering the kinds of people my friends had been sold to.  I hadn’t heard much from them, since communication between our “kind” was limited, as to avoid rebellion.  I had been passed on to Argus after my parents were captured by the Spartan Army; and from the stories I’ve heard, I haven’t been very trusting of their return.  They were most likely turned into slaves, Helots I believe they were called.  I can only pray that they were not treated harshly and if killed, died as painlessly as possible. 

            Life working for Argus was relatively easy; although every now and then I was forced to work in the silver mines.  I have never experienced such a hellish, torturous experience in my entire life.  I worked a shift of around ten hours eternally hammering away at the rock surrounding the veins of silver.  The mines echoed with the sounds of screams of agony, with the sporadic thud of an exhausted corpse fallen to the ground.  The guards treated slaves simply as objects, with no regard to our feelings; it was almost as if they thought we were incapable of feeling anything anymore.  They took pleasure in setting us straight, and since it was not illegal to kill slaves, they took no hesitation in having their way with us.  The guards often had sexual desires, which needed to be fulfilled and so every now and then, they would pull one of us to the side in order to satisfy their needs. 

            Argus had no children, only a wife, although she may as well have been a farm animal, as she was of no use to him, being infertile.  He had no way to continue his family line, and often became frustrated at this thought.  I remember many a night where he took out his anger on me incessantly, leaving many a mark upon my body.  I never said a word in dissent and simply allowed it to happen, as that was truly the only thing I could do.  If I were to rebel against my master, I would only be further punished.  I had been “lucky” enough to learn from experience. 

Argus had a very loving, yet extremely tormented soul.  I remember one night, I lay in the field wallowing in self-pity at the pain I was subjected to, and along came Argus, muttering under his breath, kicking up dust as he plowed through the pasture. His gaze lingered in my direction and unfortunately; I knew the reason behind his arrival.  I had mixed feelings on the favors he asked of me, because part of me valued and treasured the love from such authority, yet part of me felt it wrong.  While my father was alive, he had attempted to keep me from the affairs of older men, however I guess such was the life of a slave; it was inevitable.

The years went by and on the day of my seventeenth birthday, in 671 B.C, I realized I had nearly enough money to purchase citizenship and gain the rights of an individual in Athens.  It was wishful thinking, but it was the only hope I had left.  I longed to venture beyond the city walls and explore new lands, no longer harnessed by others; finally free. 

 

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(To be continued…)