When Alpheo had been a slave, he passed through many cities, he mostly remembered the weight of the shackles in his hand and the look of disgusts of passerby. His journey had always been one of forced marches down major roads, through narrow back alleys, and across silent courtyards.
Whether he was paraded through bustling markets or led along deserted paths, people scarcely offered him more than a glance. To most, he was invisible, a part of the scenery, like a stray dog or a beggar. It was only the children who stared, their wide, curious eyes following the chain-bound figure trudging barefoot behind his captors. They looked at him the way one might look at a cockroach—occasionally disgusted, but more often simply unable to tear their gaze away from the wretched spectacle of the unfortunate creature.
