The Unfortunate Slave Master by Phillip Hill

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The Unfortunate Slave Master


The master kicked Enos as an evil man might kick a mongrel dog. Blood and dust from the street mixed to form a paste on his body. The slave pleaded with the master but his rage seemed to know no end. Again and again the heavy boots fell on his body. Enos had been beaten many times but until now he had not feared for his life. The master didn't even curse as he went about his work. A few people gathered to watch the horrifying spectacle but most quickly passed with their eyes on the ground.

The pain woke Enos. It was night and he was outside the village on the edge of the great plain. He stood on his feet but quickly fell to the ground. He began crawling away from the village. In the dark his hands found a wooden stick which he used to raise himself to his feet. The long stick made a passable staff and he continued into the night.

The plain was where the village sent men to die. Tales were told of creatures that inhabited it but no one spoke with authority as none had ever returned. Enos had heard his master talking with the men of the village while they drank late into the night. When the liquor had made them brave enough, they whispered about the Evil that had come from the plain when their grandfathers were children. It had destroyed the village, killing hundreds with fire from the sky. It was whispered that this was vengeance because the elders had knowingly sent an innocent man to die on the plain. Enos walked until the sun rose. The terrible heat weakened him further. He found shade under some large rocks. Exhaustion made sleep possible in spite of the pain.

He awoke with a start, with a sense of danger close by. It was dark and his eyes could see no immediate peril. Such awakenings were common to a slave. The cool night air felt like a balm on his wounds. He stood under the stars and watched the impossibly large moon as it slowly lifted off from the horizon. The insects hummed with an intoxicating rhythm. Perhaps it was because he knew his death was immanent, perhaps it was because this was his first taste of freedom. Whatever the reason, Enos had never felt so alive.

Enos had grown up in the masters' household. His earliest memories were pleasant enough, memories of playing with the other children who ran like packs of dogs in the street. He had never considered himself to be different. One day a village boy had struck him during a game and he in turn had struck the boy. That was the first beating his master had given him. He learned then to become invisible. He learned to speak little and to do only what was expected of him. His survival depended upon his coming and going unnoticed. Among the slaves he was a recognized authority on stealth. It was this which had led to his last beating. He was asked to secretly deliver a note to the masters' daughter. The note was from the millers' son whom the master despised. Enos had delivered many notes without incident for the two young lovers. That night the master had come to speak with his daughter and found the slave in her bedroom.