Angel

Author's note: this is the full version of the story 'Angel' that was previously submitted as excerpts.

This work is a product of the author's imagination, places, events and people are either fictitious or used fictitiously and any resemblance to real events, places, or people, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author retains full copyright to the material, and sincerely hopes you like it! If you have something to say about it that isn't flaming me then email me at: jae.monroe@yahoo.com

Acknowledgment: Thanks to Richard for editing my work.

Angel

Chapter 1

Rome, 71 AD.

The youth walked past the rows and rows of stock for sale, of every size, colour, type and purpose, screwing up his nose at the stench of unwashed bodies mingling with the heavy scent of perfumes which were used to mask the less pleasant odour. Lucius Aurius Claudius was not used to the smell of the markets, the job of purchasing stock usually left up to the steward of the Aurius household, or Aurora Valia, Claudius's shrewd, widowed aunt who lived with them since Claudius's mother Sola had died five years previously. However, due to the steward's recent passing and his aunt's trip to visit her family in the south, the distasteful task of replacing the stock had fallen to himself and his father.

Claudius was interrupted from his thoughts about the unpleasantness of the task of flesh-buying when his father Gaius had pointed out a Nubian trader standing before a collection of broad ox-like Nubian slaves whose powerful chests glistened with oil in the sun.

"We have need of a field-worker, do we not son?" Gaius asked, sidestepping a glob of spittle on the path through which buyers in the market teemed.

Claudius did not respond; his eyes were transfixed by two slaves who stood some few feet away from the broad Nubians, in starkest contrast to them. It was a boy and a girl, the girl about ten; the boy could not be more than six years of age, of the fairest skin which gleamed in its ivory paleness in the sun, topped with hair the finest white-gold. The children were staring about them with wide, deep-blue eyes and Claudius walked toward them, drawn by their ethereal appearance.

"What are they, father?" Claudius breathed.

"They are Angles," his father answered, casting a quick glance at the Germanic children.

"They look more like angels," Claudius said, his dark eyes boring into the sweet blue-ones of the boy.

"Hmm," Gaius answered absently, perusing the Nubian stock. "But right now it is a field-worker we need for the estate, not an angel."

They came home with a strong-backed field-slave, much to Claudius's disappointment.

Germania, 74 A.D.

The four brothers stood around the mound of earth, quiet but for the soft sobbing of the youngest.

"Quiet!" hissed one of the twins and the youngest sucked in his breath, holding in his tears while the oldest brother whispered a prayer to the Blessed Hearth Mother to take their own mother to her bosom and give her sustenance in the after-life.

Next to the mound of fresh-laid dirt there was another, this one grassed over, their father having died some weeks before their mother. It was Brenn's belief that she had gone because she could not bear living on without her husband, for though his father had died of a wasting disease, his mother had been in all ways well, but had then wasted away after him once he had passed.

Jaime started his crying afresh now that the prayer was over and Brenn stood silently regarding the twin plot, their dead parents' ashes interred together, in death as they always were in life, hopelessly entwined with one-another. That was what he had prayed for; he had asked the Hearth Mother if she would allow his parents to share death as they did life, for he knew their love was so strong it would preclude even that of their Goddess Mother. He wondered if he would ever find love like that in his lifetime, probably not, he thought his shoulders slumping, love as his parents had was a rare and precious jewel and only bestowed on a very fortunate few.

Turning, Brenn took the hand of his youngest brother, Jaime, who had seen only six summers, but was soon to see his seventh, and walked back towards their small home, the twins following behind him, side by side, as usual.

Later that night Brenn lay in bed, his belly gnawing at him in its emptiness but he could not eat, he had partaken of none of the simple dinner he had made for his brothers and now he regretted it as his empty gut kept him awake. He rolled over and was trying to find a comfortable position, when he heard a woman's scream. His eyes widened and he sat up, his ears pricked, it was a quiet town so any unexpected noise was a point of interest, he wondered if it was some woman getting beaten.

It could be Red Edda, the village whore. Every now and then she tried to up her takings by swiping somewhat of value from her patrons when they were not looking and when she was not aware that they were she usually had to pay for it. Red Edda's activities were nothing new, though if she were the centre of tonight's activities, she would be setting tongues wagging on the morrow.

Then Brenn heard another scream, this one blood-curdling and ended very suddenly. Be damned! If it was Edda then even she did not deserve this. Brenn rose from the bed, throwing on a pair of elk-skin trousers and hastily tying the front, leaving himself shirtless, it was well into the darkness so none would be surprised that he did not wear his mantle for it.

He heard a third scream, then a fourth and then a cacophony on their heels. Blessed Mother, this was no scrap between Edda and one of her patrons. He did not bother climbing down from his loft, merely jumping the distance and racing around the corner into the kitchen where his brothers slept next to the fire-place. With urgent whispers and shaking of each pair of small shoulders, he roused all three of them hastily.

"Go out the back and to the pit in the garden, quietly mind, and await me there," Brenn told them urgently even as the screaming and howling rose around them. Invaders! Blessed Mother he did not dare think it, but the realisation hit him like a blow. "Go and do not leave the pit for any reason, understand?" The twins nodded, two sets of blue eyes widened with terror. They could all smell the smoke now.

"Go!" he yelled, and each brother grabbed one of Jaime's hands, dragging him out the back of the house to the hind-yard.

Brenn walked to the pit in the kitchen of their small house, it was designed to provide cover for a family but there was only one thing in it that Brenn was interested in. His sword, the finest held by any in the village, it had been a gift bestowed by his father to his mother on their wedding as part of her dowry and belonged to him now, as her oldest son. Grasping the jeweled hilt, the edge of the blade glinting in the dim light of the half-moon, regularly honed as he had trained with it daily with his father, but never used in earnest combat, he gripped it with firm resolve, an eerie calm settled over him as he prepared to put his fine sword to use. He sent a quick prayer up to the Blessed Mother that his sword might find its mark and drink much enemy blood this night then he walked out the front door.

No amount of combat training in the back-yard with his father could have prepared him for what he saw on coming out to the main road of the village, however. The first thing which struck him was the stench of burning, and not just wood but everything in a house, including its occupants. All were being burned as the invaders set alight to the timber houses, galloping down the main road and hurling their burning torches into the thatchings. The houses being made entirely of wood took to the flame quickly and there was such a lot of smoke and heat from the fires, it hit Brenn in the face like a choking wall as he made his way down the road slowly, taking cover behind the houses so that he could have the advantage of surprise when his and the invaders' paths met.

He was only two houses down from his own when a mounted invader spotted him and charged, his steely blade sweeping down in an arc that whipped through the air with an ominous ring. Brenn saw everything in slow-motion, his foot deftly stepping behind him as though of its own volition, his body arching backwards, so far it was near horizontal to the ground as he evaded the sword. One hand braced him against the ground, halting his descent towards it; the other gripped the jeweled hilt of the dower sword, the finest sword in his village, the jewels feeling like smooth orbs under his palm. As he came up, he swung his sword two-handed into the galloping horse when it passed him, severing the tendons of its hind-legs.

The horse screamed, its back dropping out from under it as its front legs still vainly sought to propel it forward, the rider rolling off it in a daze though unhurt by the blow as the horse flopped around in the hard-packed dirt of the main-road.

The soldier stood and Brenn gasped. A Roman soldier! Roman soldiers were attacking their village? But they had treaties with Rome! His blue eyes narrowed as the soldier strode towards him, his sword raised, and then he attacked. Brenn parried the blow easily, stepping back and bringing his own blade down, the heavier weapon slicing down on to the Roman's, causing him to grunt as he sought to maintain his grip. Brenn was a skilled swordsman, though young, but so was the Roman and he had the advantage of experience in true combat. His next blow was so quick it took all that was in Brenn to deflect it, he did though and met the next slice of the Roman's lighter, faster sword with his own, smashing the blades together, a messy blow but it served its purpose, the smaller weapon being knocked from the Roman's grasp and he stood there dumbstruck. Brenn advanced on him, his sword held before him. It was then that the horse, having lain still after its initial flailing, suddenly roused itself, kicking wildly and turning on its side in the dirt, the large heavy neck rolling around so fast as to knock the feet out from beneath Brenn and he fell on his back.

The soldier looked across and saw that his opponent had maintained his grip on his sword and looked to his own, broken in the dirt by the child's weapon. He looked back to the blonde boy who was rising and decided on his best option. Brenn's eyes widened as he saw the soldier racing down the road, in the direction from whence the smoke was coming and he scowled, he would have to walk into the midst of them then, with likely no element of surprise. Shuffling his sword in his hand somewhat, he found the comfortable and familiar grip, its weight resting reassuringly in his grasp, his calm and forthright stride in the direction that the soldier had run belied the erratic beating of his heart. Suddenly a scream halted him; he knew that scream and his heart dropped. Jaime came running out from behind a smoking house, blood running down his arm and his hair and face covered in soot.

"Jaime, get back!" Brenn screamed. "Go back to your brothers!"

Jaime did not heed him, running towards him. "Brenn!" he wailed, as Brenn looked about him desperately, though there was smoke all about which clouded his vision, stinging and smarting in his eyes, he could see the mounted soldiers approaching.

"Get back!" he screamed, his voice choking on the smoke as he backed up seeing the soldiers advance on them, their weapons ready.

"Brenn they are dead!" Jaime yelled, from where he stood, tears streaking through the soot on his face. "Petr and Jan are dead, a burning wood from the house fell on them and they wouldn't move and I called them and they wouldn't answer and they had their eyes shut and there was blood and..." Jaime couldn't finish that statement, the Romans had dismounted and were approaching, their weapons raised. Jan and Petr were dead, Brenn thought, a horrible coldness descending on his heart, his twin brothers, each having seen only thirteen summers, both dead.

He turned, his eyes wild, and swung with his sword. The Roman was ready, he met the blow and the force of his upthrust wrenched Brenn's arms upward, leaving his midsection dangerously bare. He rolled his blade around, trying to bring it under that of the soldier's to reverse their positions, but the soldier surprised him by stepping back, withdrawing his blade from Brenn's then he sliced down, Brenn met it, though the force of the blow jarred his hands crushingly, he met the next blow also, a sideways arc, and the next, a downward lunge. Again and again their swords met as Brenn fought, his eyes full of desperation to protect his brother from the advancing men who had stopped to watch their leader fight the Angle boy. He was impressive, they thought, though doomed; he would not beat their leader who was a skilled swordsman of some twenty years' experience, no matter how well-made was his weapon.

And he did not, eventually one of those downward blows met their mark and Brenn's sword was split in two; his beautiful, shining sword with its bejeweled hilt, the finest sword in the village, was smashed in two. He stared at his hands in horror. No! Blessed Mother, he had failed, he had failed Jaime, who stood behind him, defenseless against the ravishment by the soldiers, he had failed Petr and Jan, who lay crushed and charred under a burning piece of timber, he had failed them all. He looked up in time to see the soldier take the hilt of his own sword, but Brenn didn't see what happened next as he fell to the dirt, blood dripping from his temple, unconscious amid the smoke and grime, oblivious to Jaime's screams behind him.

"Why did you do that?" one of the soldiers asked their leader, looking at the fallen man, wondering why his commanding officer had not killed the boy.

Junius Medo walked up to the fallen youth and the little brother screamed, wrapping his arms about the unconscious body: as the older one had tried to protect the younger, now were their roles switched. He looked down at the sooty, tear-streaked face of the younger boy and reached for him. Jaime yelled and struggled as he was held aloft, his tunic yanked over his head, leaving him naked on his top half, like his fallen brother.

One of the soldiers chuckled, stepping forward. "We will have some fun with the boy then, sir?" he asked of his leader.

Junius turned to him, frowning. "No, not these two." He thrust the boy into the man's arms. "Just hold him still for me," he said as he ripped the tunic into thin strips. One he stuffed into the boy's screaming mouth, gagging him, and the other he wrapped around his head, tying it at the back to secure the gag. The last strip of ruined tunic he used to tie the boy's small wrists at the front, and then lifted him from the other man's arms, dropping him down on the ground and taking a secure hold on him by his bound wrists. "As it happens, I owe our friend in the treasury some money; these two are mine, since I felled them, and may quite adequately cancel the debt. You may take what or who you want from the village."

The man looked longingly on the Angles, his eyes lingering on the younger one as Junius bound the older one with a thick rope from his saddle-pack, wrapping it about the youth's naked, finely sculpted torso to secure him. Though either would be a pleasant diversion, he would not question his leader and these boys were legitimately his spoils. He clucked his tongue, hoping that among those left alive from the village raid they could any others so fine.

Brenn was jolted awake as his body was hefted from the horse over which it was slung to the ground. He groaned, his eyes shut tight, as the blinding white spotted pain shot before them. Suddenly he felt his body convulse and the hot stinging sensation burned a searing line from his gut to his throat as he voided the contents of his stomach.

"Gods be damned!" The soldier who had launched Brenn from the horse swore as he sidestepped the retching youth.

He yanked the bound man up with a firm grasp on his upper-arm, grunting as he did for the youth was strappingly built, if young, his fingers did by no means reach around the smaller part of the man's bicep, he would be lucky if both his hands could get around them. Right now the boy was a sick pup, though, and appeared all his tender years as he groaned, wavering on his feet while his newly-regained consciousness faltered.

"Come on, pretty-boy, wipe your mouth." The soldier looked at him disapprovingly but his eyes widened in surprise as Brenn turned, rubbing his mouth on his shoulder. The boy understood Latin then, he thought, and then he smiled, wondering if the boy had heard all the things that he and his companions had been saying they would do to him, and especially his little brother, when Junius had his back turned this last day they had spent riding from the fallen village.

Brenn's father had made him learn Latin at an early age, believing that if one wanted to get anywhere in the world one had to know the language of those who dominated it, but fortunately he had not heard the lurid commentary about his person as he had lain unconscious and slung across the pommel of one of the soldiers' horses. Even if he had, many of the words used he would not have understood for they would not have been among those he had learned from his father.

The soldier pulled Brenn around to where the rest of their small camp were sitting about a fire they had newly lit, the flames yet too small to provide any true heat, but they were progressively adding thicker branches to build it up.

"Should I take off his ropes, Sir?" the soldier who was holding Brenn still by his upper arm asked Junius Medo, who looked Brenn up and down, his eyes coming to rest on the youth's striking face which was currently streaked with dust and soot.

"That depends if the boy will be a problem." The man looked into Brenn's violet eyes, his expression warning. "Will you be a problem boy?"

Brenn shook his head, his throat still burning.

Junius nodded and the soldier hacked off the knot on Brenn's bonds, unwinding the thick rope from around his arms and waist and coiling the bonds around his elbow and hand as he did. Brenn looked about him, now free to run but completely unable to as all the soldiers watched him closely, ready to apprehend him as soon as he did. Reluctantly he sat, cross-legged, on the ground by the fire and stared into the strengthening flame.

"You hungry, pretty-boy?" Junius asked Brenn, his light eyes traveling over the sullen form of the Germanic boy.

"Considering he just puked up half his guts, I say we shouldn't waste any more food on him," said the soldier who had untied him, taking a hearty bite out of the cured meat they had brought with them.

Probably meat from my village, Brenn thought, scowling. If he thought his expression was hidden behind the smoke from the fire, he was mistaken as the one they called Sir let out a bark of laughter. He hefted himself to his feet, then strode over to where Brenn sat, his hand reaching down to touch the grimy skin of the youth's cheek. He wiped a finger across the firm flesh of Brenn's cheek then looked at it, his lips curling.

"You're filthy," he said, thrusting his hand into Brenn's lank blonde locks. "What say we give him a bath?"

Brenn's eyes widened and he jerked his head out of the soldier's grasp, glaring up at the man. The other soldiers were far more enthusiastic, however, nodding excitedly as their eyes pored over Brenn's already half-naked form. Brenn regarded them with horror, then his eyes rolled back around and up to those of the soldier standing before him, he shook his head desperately.

Junius laughed, but he walked away, heading back to where he had been sitting, Brenn looked down at his hands, wondering why he had spurned their offer of food, cursing that his own pride was so entrenched that he was still spiting himself in not asking for a bite to eat. So he was surprised when he felt something drop into his lap, he looked up but all he saw was the retreating back of the soldier, and when he looked down in his lap he saw there was a small piece of cured meat, the least choice cut, he could see, but meat nonetheless and he grasped it, biting a large chunk and sucking against the salted meaty flavour, suddenly realising how incredibly hungry he was. But damned if he was going to ask for more, he thought as he savoured the tangy slice he had been given.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him as his brain unclouded once it was fed.

"Jaime?" he said, his voice husky and dry. He coughed, clearing his fuggy throat and looked across the flames to where the soldier now sat. "Please, Sir, where is my brother?" There were very few things for which Brenn would relinquish his pride, but with Jaime he would spend it all.

The soldier looked at him in surprise, his brows rising to see the obsequiousness come over the youth. "The curly-haired boy?" he asked, rubbing his roughened chin, and Brenn nodded. "I have sent him off with the others; he is the first installment of my debt."

Brenn's mouth dropped. Jaime was not here? He jumped to his feet, not thinking as he saw the other soldiers stand warily also.

"Where is he? I must go to him." Brenn stepped around the fire coming up to where the officer sat.

"Nay, you will not be going to him." The officer had the gall to chuckle, looking not at all ruffled as the livid youth stood before him. "Best you forget about him, boy, Rome is a big place; you'll likely never see him again."

A tortured sound escaped Brenn's throat and he turned on his heel, launching himself toward the horses, he had to get one of the mounts, he had to find Jaime.

He didn't even make it half-way towards the horses when he was tackled to the ground by three of the soldiers. Roughly, they pressed him into the dirt while his hands were dragged together behind his back and secured with a thick rope which was fiercely tight around his wrists.

Violently, he was yanked upright, his hands beginning to prickle within his bonds as he was dragged over to where Junius sat, the benign expression completely eradicated from his face as he glared at the brash youth. Brenn was thrust in front of the man, falling to the ground with a thud, his face hitting the dirt painfully since his bound hands were useless to brace his fall. Junius grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up to face him.

"Fool boy," he said disgustedly. "Where did you think you would go?" His smile returned, though now it was entirely without humour as he looked over Brenn who was held up by a painful fist in his hair. "I would beat you senseless now, if I was not trying to keep you intact for my patron, but be warned, I will not hesitate if you pull another stunt like that, the coin-counter be damned."

With that he dropped Brenn back to the dirt, but Brenn spared his head another bruise, falling on his shoulder this time.

"And retie his bonds, you miserable dogs; I don't want his hands falling off ere we reach Rome," Junius ordered the men who had bound Brenn none-too-carefully.

One of them came up to Brenn, muttering in annoyance, he shoved a knee in Brenn's back, preventing the youth from putting up any earnest struggle as he loosened the bonds about Brenn's wrists the retied them with just enough slack so that the blood was able to rush back into Brenn's hands, the uncomfortable prickling making him grind his teeth together, but he gave no outward sign of his discomfort.

Junius reached down, running his hand down Brenn's cheek and to under his jaw, lifting his face to look down at him. "You'd better learn some self-control, pretty-boy, or I'll teach it to you, do not doubt that, I won't give you to my patron as willful as you are."

Brenn looked up at him and willed his face to remain stoic, though a scowl pulled at his eyebrows as he fought the urge to spit in the face of this Roman swine.

Much later that night Brenn lay in the tent of the Roman, awake a long time after the other man had fallen into noisy sleep. He had been put in with the officer, Junius was his name, Brenn had surmised from the conversations he had overheard that night. His hair was wet at his temples from the tears that shamefully spilled from his eyes. It was for his little brother that he was crying; he had given in to tears when he realised he had no recourse for action and once again he would fail Jaime when the boy needed him most, as he traveled to some unknown fate. He was doubly ashamed that he was crying like a simpering maid in front of Romans, though this one had long since passed from wakefulness.

Poor little Jaime, alone, unprotected, headed for Rome with the rest of the murdering plundering company and what could Brenn do to stop it? The memories of his failure flooded back to him, unbidden. He had failed Jaime, he had failed his village, and his beautiful sword had been as useless in his grasp as if it were indeed some pretty chalice or bejeweled ornament, smashed so easily under the weapon of the officer who lay not two feet from him. He was not fit to hold it, he should have hidden in the pit, he'd have accomplished just as much if he had done that. One thing he knew for certain was that he was not fit to hold a sword ever again, and he never would. His father had tried, but he had failed to give Brenn the gift, he was a mere child, toying with things he was incapable of understanding. Blessed Mother he felt like such a failure.

Blessed Mother. She'd been just as useless as he, Brenn thought resentfully. Where was the Blessed Mother when Petr and Jan had been crushed under the timber? Where was the Blessed Mother when Her village had been sacked? Where was the Blessed Mother when he'd been defeated and Jaime taken prisoner apart from him, to be delivered to Rome and some unknown fate? Where was the Goddess Bitch? Why hadn't She protected them? Why had She merely watched them die? For years and years he had been praying to the Goddess Mother, whom he had been told was protector of hearth and home, and its heart, but where had She been when so many homes were destroyed? As he lay there he realised he hated the Blessed Mother, he hated the Goddess Whore who had left them all to die, turned Her back on Her faithful people in their time of need. Never would he pray to Her again, never would he appeal to Her icy heart.

But who, then, would he pray to? He heard a stirring next to him and though he kept his head still, his eyes turned to see the Roman had rolled over, and was making himself comfortable on his side now. Hah, maybe he should pray to the Roman gods, he thought. They had delivered Rome so many victories: while her neighbours shrank from her borders, placated with weak treaties that were just as easily broken as not, Rome continued to grow, Rome's gods continued to deliver her enemies into vanquishment, Rome's gods continued to deliver wave after wave of conquered slaves into her clutches. Then he would pray to the Roman gods, he knew already of Mercury, and somewhat of Jupiter, there being some equivalent to these gods, if not among his tribe, then among others, Brenn knew. Aye, he would pray to them, then; he would call upon the Roman gods to deliver him where his Hearth Mother had deplorably failed.

"Come on, pretty-boy, we gonna see just how pretty you are." Brenn started at the voices which stirred him awake from his slumber. He had been allowed to sleep late this morning, but now he was wrenched to wakefulness.

One of the men reached down to grab his upper-arm which he jerked away from them, backing up as best he could over the earthen floor under the tent where he had been sleeping, given his hands were still bound behind his back. The soldier laughed and turned to his friend. In one swoop each man had slid their hands between his chest and his bound arms and proceeded to drag him upright though he fought them every step of the way.

He was dragged outside into the light of the morning, the bright sun searing his eyes which had grown used to the dimness inside the tent. He blinked several times as he struggled to make out where they were going; being roughly dragged upright when he stumbled on somewhat that lay in the path they were taking.

"Festus, Duonus," Junius Medo called out behind them. "Naught more than a wash - no funny business, eh?"

"Aye," both men called out in unison and Brenn looked to either side of him, wondering at the warning.

"Was he worried you would kill me?" Brenn asked the men as he was led towards the pond that was coming into view behind some rather parched looking rocks. The pond was just as parched, Brenn noted, it was really a mere puddle, barely knee-deep.

Festus and Duonus looked to one-another then laughed heartily. "Nay, not kill you, pretty-boy."

"Then what?" Brenn asked, frowning at the way the men laughed, it was the way adults laughed around children who had just displayed their naïveté. "Would you beat me?"

This caused another round of laughter and Brenn scowled, wondering why he was the butt of the joke.

"Not beat you, pretty-boy," Duonus said, yanking down Brenn's trousers and getting on to his knees to do so. He pushed on Brenn's calves, running his fingers along the length to just behind his knees and Brenn started at the blatant caress. He stepped out quickly and suddenly, though he was in the company of men, he felt embarrassed to be naked.

"No," Festus said, coming up behind Brenn without his realising and gripped his shoulders and Brenn felt his breath hot against the nape of his neck. "He was worried that we would fuck you."

Brenn started, jerking out of the man's grip and turning around to face him, now painfully aware of his nakedness and his inability to cover it given his hands were bound behind his back.

"How?" Brenn asked incredulously. "You can see I am not a woman."

Both men let out a third round of hearty laughter.

"Think you the act cannot be accomplished with a man?" Festus asked, his eyes still twinkling with mirth as they traveled up and down Brenn's finely made body.

"What?" Brenn asked, taking another step back. "How?" Then he regretted asking.

Though he tried to evade him, Duonus came to stand before Brenn, his hand reaching around to pat Brenn across the cleft of his firm buttocks, his fingers trailing up and down the crevice. Brenn's eyes flared as he felt a finger sneak in between them and he quickly side-stepped the hand. He was apprehended and he felt a moment's trepidation, but the men merely pulled him towards the bathing hole, walking in with him.

Brenn was right, the water only came up to their bare knees and they sat him down in it, dunking his head and then rubbing their crude soap through it, washing out the grime of many days of being unwashed. Despite the way they clearly caressed him, it felt so good to have the grime washed from his skin that Brenn felt it worth the discomfort of being bathed by these licentious Romans, but truly, fucking a man? He would not have thought it possible.

"No. Responsibilities are not enough; they imply only weak societal censure if not upheld, and are at their possessor's discretion to be bent or broken" Claudius argued as the steam wafted around the group of young men in the exclusive bath-house. They were sons of Rome, scions of the finest of her society, enjoying a leisurely soak in the pleasantly tepid baths.

"But we are in Rome, society is utmost in our thinking, so would not society's censure be adequate?" Sextus answered.

"Society's censure?" Claudius's eyes widened. "I have yet to see it." There was no disagreement from the other bathers on that point. "It remains that society is a whore whose approval rests upon he who showers her with the most coin."

There was a gasp from the other bathers who were avidly watching the discussion.

"You do not believe me?" Claudius asked, his onyx eyes fixing on those of each and every bather. "I am living proof of how effective is society's censure."

"This is true," Sextus replied. "And your father is the whore's greatest patron."

There was a collective snigger at this and Claudius had the decency to blush. "I would say touché but I see the son of Rome's other great patron coming. He will come to my defense."

Marcus Solacca Commodus entered the bath and his eyes widened to see all eyes on him. "What is this? You have all seen me naked before," he quipped as he sank below the water.

"Claudius suggested that as the son of Rome's second greatest patron you could come to his defense." Sextus filled Commodus in.

Commodus screwed up his nose. "Really, Claud, you are not having another of your silly debates? And what's this about my being Rome's patron?"

"We were saying that society was a whore and your father is one of her biggest patrons," one of the other bathers informed him.

"Oh, well then I suppose so, and one day I shall be," Commodus answered easily.

"As you are already Rome's biggest whore," Claudius couldn't resist adding.

Commodus rolled his eyes. "Really Claud, it was months ago, get over it!"

Months ago! It was not three weeks since Claudius had walked in on his lover bouncing up and down on another man.

"Slut," he replied.

"Prude," Commodus replied just as fast.

"So...I hear they are to hike the chariot tax." Sextus deflected the argument he could see brewing.

"Whore," Claudius mouthed at his friend from across the bathing pool and Commodus rolled his eyes in response.

Claudius rose, flicking water past his ex-lover as he left the bath.

"I miss you." Commodus came up behind him as he was being dressed by one of the slaves who worked at the bath-house.

"Do you?" Claudius quirked a brow at his friend as he turned to have his toga arranged across his back by the attendant.

"Yes, I hate fighting," Commodus replied, doing the straightening at the front then running his hands over the firm chest of the man before him. "You cut a very fine figure, Claudius," he told his friend, smiling.

Claudius removed his hands from his person.

"I know," he said, his velvety eyes regarding his friend with a measure of detachment. Commodus looked down. "I know you have said you wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot barge-pole," he said, and then his silvery eyes rose to fix on his lover with a measure of pleading. "But do you think you could see your way clear to at least forgiving me so we can go back to being friends?"

Claudius smiled. "I am not a forgiving man, Commodus," he said, and saw his friend's shoulders slump. "But do not lose heart; I'd like to think our friendship is as strong as it has always been. It would take more than your sleeping with half the Roman peerage for it to be broken."

With that he bowed, kissing his friend on each cheek, then turned and took his leave from the bath-house. Commodus stood there for some minutes before he whirled around, kicking over a chair that stood in his way and sending one of the bath-house slaves ducking for cover as he stormed away. Damn Claudius with his smug serenity while he delivered his biting insults, Commodus thought, hating that it made him want the man all the more.

Brenn was jolted awake for the fiftieth time as the wheels of the caged cart met with another rut in the road. The small contingent of soldiers with whom he had been traveling had joined up with a veritable horde of Roman soldiers after two days and from then on Brenn had been relegated to one of the slave-carts along with countless other miserable wretches who were, like him, filthy, lost and dreading what was to come next. Amongst the rabble, he could see none from his village which made him wonder just how many villages had met the same fate as his. Out to the sides, fore and aft of him were soldiers, countless lines of soldiers, all dressed in the blood-red and earth brown uniform, some looking the worse for wear, others looking fresher and cleaner, these he knew were the officers for they were fewer in number and wore some dress upon their helmets, likely these had attendants or somesuch who kept their uniforms cleaner than the rank-and-file.

He looked down to his wrist around which was bound a tag, a leather strip upon which was emblazoned some scrawl, he could not read it but he guessed it was a marker denoting him a possession of the soldier who had felled him. Periodically one of the inspectors would lift his wrist and examine the band then let him on. Other slaves had been branded, across the cheek, chest, buttocks, or marked with a tapper and ink behind the ear, indelibly labeled with the mark of those to whom they would belong, but these had been taken away fairly soon after so Brenn guessed that they were marked as they were sold. Unlike him, he was waiting to be made a gift to someone to whom his interim owner owed money; that much he had gathered. He was pleased that he was not so humiliatingly marked as an animal, just yet, but it would come, he had resigned himself to that fact, the time would come when he was passed into the possession of this man they called Vellum and then he would be marked as that man's property. He had resigned himself to it, but he didn't know how he would react when it eventuated.

He sighed, as he had done innumerable times along this journey, and rested his chin in his hand, staring out at the countryside for its view was so much better than the filthy one inside the cart. Some were crying; others were moaning. Personally, Brenn felt nothing; his heart was numb. It had always been a characteristic of his person that under duress all emotion shut down. He wondered if he could do that when he got to Rome, when he was exchanged for whatever debt the soldier had with this Vellius. For battle and for enduring the ignominy of capture, he had managed to empty his person of all feeling and emotion so as to bear it, but for the rest of his life?

"Ho, slave!" Brenn heard the call as he stared out at the countryside. He ignored it until he felt a jab in his arm and realised the address was directed at him.

"Aye?" he answered.

"You'll address your betters more respectfully than that," the soldier who was riding next to him told him menacingly, caressing the hilt of his sword pointedly.

"Aye, sir," Brenn replied, he knew to pick his battles and this one wasn't worth it.

"We were wondering if you had any sisters," the soldier told him quite kindly now that he was being respectful.

"No, sir," Brenn replied, wondering why they cared. "I have no sisters."

"Oh, any younger brothers?" the soldier asked.

Brenn turned. "I do," he said, his eyes wide with hope. "Have you seen a little boy who resembles me in hair and eyes? Do you know where he is kept?"

"Pity I do not," the soldier said, grinning to his friends who'd been listening amusedly to the interchange. "For if I did..." Hooking his reins around his wrist so as to leave his hands free he gestured in front of him, as if to grab his phallus and slap an imaginary rump, bucking his hips in the saddle as he did so.

Brenn looked horrified which elicited even more mirth from his companions than did their counterpart's display.

"We'll have to keep an eye out for this little brother who looks like you." The soldier said, grinning at his companions. "It's been a long and boring ride, about time we found something worthwhile to make sport with."

Brenn turned from them, aghast, still hearing their laughter and ribald jokes behind him. The numbness was gone, that was for certain, to be replaced with utter terror, to think he had jeopardised Jaime's safety like that, Blessed Mother - no, he did not call out to her anymore - he must prevail upon the Roman gods to keep his brother safe. Gods preserve little Jaime because Brenn had utterly failed to.

"Be glad we are away from the stench," Commodus commented to Claudius as they stood on the balcony, watching the entry of yet another group of conquesting soldiers to the city.

"Yes, but who stinks worse, the soldiers, the slaves, or the plebes who are screeching below us?" Aeticus Juniper Corvinus commented disgustedly.

"Pity we can never retreat from the stench of the latter," Claudius murmured to surprised looks from his friends.

"Do not say it; Claudius is looking down on those lower than him." Commodus was scandalised.

Claudius turned to him in amusement. "I look down on you all the time, don't I?"

Commodus flushed. "Claudius, I tell you, I will not tolerate this from you very much longer," he warned, his expression mutinous as he gripped the balcony railing so hard his knuckles turned white.

Claudius smiled down at his friend who was half a head shorter than him, chucking him under the chin as he would an amusing child. "Of course, Commodus, which is why I must get all my jibes in while you will continue to tolerate them."

Commodus jerked his head away, looking out over the balcony irritably. "Yes well that time is growing rapidly foreshortened," he muttered.

"You have not said why you dislike the plebes, Claud," Aeticus questioned, turning from the view of the soldiers' return parading through the town displaying their spoils for the delectation of the crowds.

Claudius sighed then leaned over the balcony, regarding those upon whom he had vented his dislike. "Look at them, they are most willing to hurl abuse at the slaves and screech their praise for those who've taken them, yet they are a step away from it themselves."

"How so?" Aeticus asked. "I myself have no time for the plebes but even I wouldn't say they are on the same level as the slaves."

Claudius regarded the masses thoughtfully. "It was not so long ago they were pouring their hatred out on the slaves for taking all their work. Now they would congratulate those who bring more cheap labour to render theirs even further into obsolescence."

"But these are barbarians, Germanians; they will compete only for the meanest jobs, in the mines and such." Aeticus pointed out.

"Yet see how the plebes still hate them," Claudius replied. "They hate them because they see themselves in them, we always hate those who remind us who we are and, more importantly, who we might become."

"Truly you do not like the plebes," Commodus murmured as he watched a group of plebes get into a brawl over somewhat.

"Well thank you for pointing that out, Commodus," Claudius replied as though his friend were a simpleton.

Commodus glared at him, murder in his silver-grey eyes. "I just meant that your attitude is quite the reverse of that of your namesake."

Claudius grinned. "It is, indeed, much to my father's chagrin for he held so much admiration for that man."

"He is no longer considered a man, remember, the Emperor did return his status," Aeticus reminded him.

"So he did," Claudius remarked casually.

"You are so irreverent." Commodus giggled. "I'm surprised the gods deliver you so much good fortune."

"I am quite reverent," Claudius argued. "I call out to the gods all the time."

"Don't we all?" Aeticus replied, grinning. "I myself am particularly reverent in bed."

"As am I," Commodus answered with a pointed look to Claudius.

"And so you were," Claudius replied, crooking his brow. "I do wonder how many men have received blessings from the gods due to your particular reverence."

Commodus let out a sound of rage, slamming his fist down on the balcony railing. "I have had it, Claudius, I am sick to death of you and your snide comments." He turned from the railing to march back inside.

Claudius caught him about the waist, pulling him back against him. "I'm sorry Commodus, I'll stop, I promise." For good measure he kissed his friend several times on the smooth skin of his cheek.

Commodus giggled and met one of those kisses with his lips. Claudius pulled back hastily.

"What, are you afraid we shall create yet another scandal?" Commodus asked.

"My father did have words with me, yes," Claudius replied.

"Well what is the use of patronising half of Rome if she's not to afford you liberties to do as you please?" Commodus asked, quirking his light-brown eye-brows.

"Indeed," Claudius agreed, pulling his friend up against his side and turning to plant a rather large kiss on the man's willing lips.

Gaius turned away from the scene on the adjacent balcony in disgust. Titus Solacca Catullus continued to watch, however with no less ire.

"I did think they had severed from one another." Gaius commented, taking his seat once more and accepting a goblet of wine from a serving girl.

"As did I," Titus growled. "But it appears they have not, and are acting as flagrant as ever, Jupiter help us."

Gaius made another irritated sound in the back of his throat. "All the better when they are married and given appointments, I think."

Titus turned from the scene to fix his long-time friend with his penetrating smoky-eyed regard. "And you have accomplished the latter, I believe, but with a delay of the former."

Gaius looked up at his friend warningly. "No," he said firmly, "no that sort of appointment I do not want for my son."

"But I believe you have concluded a marriage agreement for your son to be unioned with Aul--"

"No," Gaius interrupted, looking about him for the walls had ears.

"Then what means the union?" Titus asked, keeping his language circumspect for the announcement had yet to be officially made and there may be some who would find it not to their liking.

"It means naught but that a troth was plighted and accepted," Gaius replied curtly. "She is a good match for my son."

There Titus had to scoff. "She is not four years old; do not treat me as a fool. Have you no plans for the unification of your Houses?"

"No. I will not lose my son the same way as I lost my friend and mentor. I've no plans but for my House to continue in prosperity, anonymous prosperity," Gaius replied.

"We will neither of us be anonymous, my friend, we both of us have had some generations of consular office, neither are you inconsiderable for the same," Titus replied.

"I plan to avoid it as best I can," Gaius replied. "Good men and bad both fall under such a weight, I do not wish that for my family. In any case," Gaius said with a grin, his expression lightening, "gold is just as satisfying as office, and far less dangerous."

"Indeed," Titus replied. "The Aurii will own all the gold, the Solaccae all the land, and then we may both of us settle into safe obscurity."

"Exactly." Gaius smiled at his life-long friend. "If, of course, our sons do not keep dragging us into public scrutiny with their total lack of discretion."

"Well, we could always get them some distractions, I suppose, some lovely slaves for them to spend their lust upon so that they do not seek each other out," Titus said thoughtfully.

"That might be an idea," Gaius mused. "Claudius has his twentieth birthday in three months' time; I might have to find him a nice pet for his gift." He rose, going to look out over the balcony but the cavalcade had passed, the last of the slave-cages receding into the distance, the plebes mingling on the road in their wake. He sighed. "Pity that all the soldiers have brought back are filthy barbarians."