It was only the beginning of the second watch, but even now the oppressive heat was building. The sun was already moving higher into a cloudless sky. There was just enough of a breeze to feel its coolness on one’s perspiring skin. However, working in the confines of the courtyard scarcely allowed for even that little reprieve.
Onesimus was preparing a shipment of wool to be transported to the neighbouring city of Laodicea. His master, Philemon, was a shrewd buyer of some of the best wool in the region. In sheep-shearing season wool Philemon had purchased from the area would arrive in piles on the backs of donkeys and be unloaded under the shelter of a roof projecting out from the side of his house. It was Onesimus’ job to take these piles of wool and try and sort them out into bales of similar quality. Once that was done to Philemon’s satisfaction, they would be tied up and transported to Laodicea. There, they were made into clothing by the many slaves who dyed and wove the wool.
By the time the wool got to Onesimus it had become quite dusty from the roads over which it had traveled. Handling it with its itchiness was bad enough; the dust only added to the discomfort.
Onesimus really did not remember any other life than being in the service of Philemon. As a long-time slave, he and his master had reached a mutually beneficial understanding of their roles, their places in society. Onesimus knew when his services did not reach his master’s expectations that the consequences could be severe, but her had leaned to take that. It was the lot of a slave, and that’s what he was. He knew too though, from his limited contact with other slaves, that there were far worse masters than Philemon.
Just the same, Onesimus sometimes wondered what it would be like to be a freedman. He knew he was not stupid. He watched how things were done. In fact, it was that trait that had led Onesimus to try and be helpful as a young child, before he was really expected to do slave duty. That was how he had been given the name Onesimus, meaning ‘helpful one.’
Some of his cuurent thinking now might have been the over confidence of youth, but sometimes he thought he could make a go of his own business. However, he knew those were futile thoughts. Unless one came to an understanding with one’s master, one would never become a freedman. Even then, the master would expect a considerable payment from the would-be freedman, something he could use to replace him by purchasing another slave. From what Onesimus had seen, that rarely happened, and when it did, the slave had usually outlived his usefulness to the master. It was more like the master no longer wanted to be responsible for the slave than that he gave him freedman status out of goodwill. Besides, with the situation Onesimsus found himself in, he was a long way from having any money to buy his freedom. The other option? Running away? That was pretty much a death sentence.
Still, it irked him sometimes in particular when he compared himself to Archippus, Onesimus’ only son. They were very much the same age, had grown up together, but the obvious privileges of the one set him in quite a different world than the one in which Onesimus was destined to live.
But what was really bothering Onesimus now were the changes he was observing in both Philemon and Apphia. He thought he knew them well, could practically read their minds. That way, he could avoid some of the mistakes and punishing consequences that would ensue. But now, he was increasingly finding that he no longer knew what to expect of his masters. Even Apphia, his mistress, was not as harsh as she had once been.
Of course, it would never have crossed Onesimus’ mind to try and find out what was going on. There was a certain familiarity in his relationship with his long-time masters, but that only went so far. You could never let your guard down and be lulled into thinking you had everything figured out. He could only observe and listen to try and make sense of what seemed to be a developing new order. Where did it come from and what did it mean? Onesimus was not really concerned for his position; he was sure that was a given. However, if one did not know how to relate to one’s master, well, there was increased risk in that. Onesimus had suffered enough beating in his life not to really want more.
The strangest thing was that, from what he heard, and from some of the new practices Philemon and his family seemed to be carrying out, was that these changes seemed to have something to do with religion. Now, in some ways, religion was everywhere in the life in which Onesimus had grown up. There were shrines and statues of the gods everywhere. There were rituals that had to be performed to appease the gods, to keep them on your good side as much as possible. Sometimes, there might even be an occasion to give an offering of thanksgiving to a god if, for example, you really got a good batch of wool that fetched a high price in the markets in Laodicea and Hierapolis. These practices never really demanded that much from one though. There was really no sacrifice involved. One did or gave just enough. There was certainly no impact of these traditions on one’s daily life. By and large, Onesimus knew, it all just made more intelligent people somewhat cynical about the whole affair, and he was quite satisfied with that.
Onesimus had picked up though that there was a new twist to this worship. The Emperor in that faraway city of Rome was now demanding worship. It was not enough that everyone was taxed to the limit. Now people were expected to worship the Emperor as a god. As a rule, none of this had any effect on Onesimus. The master’s trips to the temples were not usually excursions that included his slaves. However, he had heard Philemon complain about this added layer of expectation. It just took more time out of his day and money out of his pocket. Of course, Philemon had to be careful where he expressed these sentiments, lest he be suspected of treason. However, Onesimus had heard of others who felt the same way.
Begrudgingly, it seemed the master’s family had come to terms with this new reality. Sometimes Onesimus had accompanied his master to the temples of they were together delivering wool or on some other business errand that took them past these centres. For him, it just meant a few more stops on the route. That was not so bad though, as it gave him more time away from the labour back home. His lot was just to wait on the street with the cargo and animals, not to join in on what went on in the temple. It gave him more time to rest and sometimes to chat with other slaves whose masters were in the temple.
All of this had not really made that much difference in the life Onesimus knew otherwise. It really had not taken much effort on his part to accommodate this, and, as he saw it, there had been certain advantages for him socially at times. However, he had not been long getting used to these changes when something altogether different and more demanding seemed to be occurring.
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