Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
"The noble man who rode up to us is, indeed, the nephew of Tiridates III, ruler-in-friendship-with-Rome of Armenia. That Khosashir is an advisor-observer from that court to the Legion. He is a nobleman of great stature. However, the gangly bird next to me is also a quiet scoundrel named Bu, the Owl, whom I taught the art of not-dying-right-now many years past. He can be trusted beyond question with anything other than money, boys, wine, women, boys, dice, stories, boys, oaths, secrets, boys and portable items with a value greater than a mug of beer. Did I mention boys?" Seven slack-jawed warriors looked on as the two men tussled good-naturedly.
The Heathens 25: The Owl and the Big Dogs
By Bear Pup
***** "So, my mentor, how long before you and the As of Nemesis can be ready for travel?"
To my utter dismay, Harcos shouted, "Kucuk! I think we have been challenged! Show this whelp that my puppy can outrun him, if you please." Honestly, other than to blush purple at having been called out so prominently, I didn't even stop to parse the words. I was up the scarp and into the redoubt before the echoes stopped. I started to gather my master's kit then froze.
A bit later, I heard Harcos' voice laughing with the stranger as I rounded the corner back to the redoubt. I saw Harcos scowl at the state of his own gear compared to that of the others. My fellows had all but buttoned up their kit completely. I watched him suck in a breath for a bellow and careened into him, muttering beneath my breath, "There are more important things than blankets, my Aldus..." He looked down and swirled me into his arms, laughing. I was holding the reverently-folded Flax of Nemesis.
He set me down and gave me a thunderous smack on my ass as I finished the rest of the packing. Grubo, Furge and my dear Ox, Volot, were already back from dropping their own goods at the cliff-base, knowing that The Mice would need help with the portage. Perhaps a quarter-hour had passed between the stranger's challenge and moment the eight of us were ready for travel.
The proud nobleman whom we were now supposed to call Bu and treat as any other warrior was visibly impressed. Harcos smirked at him, "So, Bu, do you need some time to prepare? Perhaps, your highness, someone to hold your dick for you as you piss?"
"Don't tempt me, you old dog. I might take your puppy up on your offer and it won't be pissing that I'll be doing, either." Harcos laughed but I scowled murder at the rogue. "Sadly, we don't have time for pleasure this day. We need to get beyond the area where our direction might be noted before the Legion is organised for march. So, which of you can ride?"
Sixteen pairs of eyebrows shot upwards. "Um, why, your lord?"
All hint of geniality and gentility vanished and the man was an inch in front of Pameten in an instant. "The next man who 'lords' or 'sirs' or salutes or defers to me gets my sandal up his ass. Is that clear, soldier?"
Pameten was taken aback but certainly not cowed. "Then we are to treat you like any other confederate?"
"Yes!"
"Then get your fucking halitosis out of my face. You smell like your mount's ass." Pam was cocky, but I could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was also extremely nervous.
"Better," the man clapped Pam on the shoulder, "now, which of you dirt-pounding spear-targets can ride a horse?"
"Not that I'd want to be seen riding daintily through a battle like some gussied up harlot," drawled Cat, "but I could if it were required... and if I had a way to hide my face from the shame."
Say'f's gruff, quiet voice spoke up, "And, of course, all of my people can ride. It's a favourite pastime for children until our balls drop and we can do a man's work." Bu burst out laughing.
"Excellent! Finally! Insults worthy of warriors of Rome. Can one of you volunteer a servant to help me get out of this gaudy crap and into travelling clothes?"
Billen and Lavic moved forward so fast the dust didn't know they'd moved and set about stripping the outer layers of 'official' Roman Army gear. Bu was very much enjoying the scenery, and the touch, of the two beauties, but was also very efficiently pulling out an odd, mail-fronted shirt that hung in a sort of baltea below the waist, a broad cloak and a Phrygian cap. Within moments, the Eques was gone and a dusty if rough-looking warrior stood in his place armed with a pilum used like a walking stick, a strange flail-like weapon worn across the back and a pair of dagger-like swords at his waist.
"Since we do not want this fine warrior to be hampered by covering his face, could you, my new fellow-warrior of the great deserts, honour me by riding my mount? I will introduce you." Say'f stepped forward slowly and ran an appreciative hand down the head of the beast who looked back with liquid and intelligent eyes. The horse turned to Bu as if asking a question. "This powerful warrior will be upon you today, my great Anvakh. Does this meet your approval?" The beast turned back to Say'f and tilted his great head to one side, then the other before nodding and nickering. Even Say'f laughed.
As Bu gave Say'f a leg up onto the beast, he asked, "And which cart do I pull this day?"
"You ask that we treat you as any other. So be it. My cart is pulled by Ghamad, but you will protect him. If a hair on his head is harmed while I babysit your beautiful mount, I will have you nuts nailed to your ears. Are we clear, fellow-warrior?"
"Fair enough, but I would be careful, brother. Anvakh is somewhat proud and very protective..."
"This beautiful, proud pussycat?" Say'f's smile froze as the beast shifted quicker than he could react, throwing Say'f forward just as it threw back his head, in effect reverse-headbutting the quiet warrior. As he rubbed the spot between his eyes where the beast's pall had conked him soundly, Say'f muttered, "Ah, uh, point taken. My sincere apologies, great Anvakh, and to your master as well."
The horse snorted, sounding for all the world like a slightly-mollified combatant's "Hmmph!" Everyone except Ghamad, who was now looking at Bu the way I had earlier with the 'hold his dick' comment, laughed and we set forth at a brisk but sustainable pace.
It had taken us only about five hours to make it from Winter Over to the gorge. It took a good part of the day to make it to the bridge-of-boats created to serve the great camp. We did not actually enter, or even go near unto, the fortification, but drove straight to the bridge across the Mtkvari. We got there as the sun was about halfway between zenith and the mountains, and they bridgemen were in no mood to see us. They had obviously hoped to make an early start on ingathering the midstream boats for the night. Our pass, though, bore several seals and marks with enough power in and of themselves that the men didn't even read the text.
Several hours later, we made camp on the open plain a dozen rods off the track. There was no road here, but enough men had sortied through and across the area to have beaten down a nice track. This was the first time that I saw the As operate as a single unit. We boys set the shelters and camp itself while our warriors laid out the perimeter and sentry stations. It would be many days before I operated within that efficient and automatic framework, but Volot and I did the best we could with only a few suggestions, head-thumps and imprecations from our fellows.
The guys even set up a small tent for Bu that he had packed onto Pam's cart. It was a simple affair with scant bedding to the shock of all of us who expected such a royal to travel in high style. Bu scored famously when he heaped praise on Grubo and Lavic for the thick stew they created from the three chickens we'd taken with us from the redoubt, scattering the rest to one day provide food for foraging soldiers. It was good, but not the transcendent ambrosia he made it out to be.
It might have helped that Lavic flirted shamelessly, making sure his lithe and stunning beauty was on full display. As usual, all of the servants had stripped bare to make and serve the dinner. Why sully clothes that would have to be cleaned of grease? The stranger was drooling like a warhound over Lavic's display, Billen's incomparable ass, Furge's frequently-licked lips and my dear Ox, Volot's, thick and swinging sausage. I could still not get past the idea that they were cheating on their masters (except for Volot, of course, who did nothing to encourage the lout).
After dinner as we sat drinking a spectacular tea that the nobleman had brought in quantity, Harcos snuggling me into his chest. "So, what do you think of Bu, my puppy?" I snorted, not unlike the horse. Harcos chuckled. "He has a wandering eye -- and hand if the opportunity arises -- but he is a good and true man. One of a handful of noble-borns that I would give that assessment." Harcos let his fingers creep into my crack and tease my asslips; I purred more like a kitten than a puppy. "And thanks to Marcus, my servant-son before Strasta, a supremely-talented fuck as well."
I turned to him in horror. "This, th-th-th-this Marcus? He cheated on you? With that?" Pam was the only one near enough to hear my appalled outrage, but his chuckle made me prudently lower my voice. "How could anyone choose that over my Aldus?"
Harcos continued to pet and tease my ass, making me itch for more. He growled into my ear as his other hand scraped across my nipples making me squeak, "I will tell you that story in bed, my Dasqas." He then laughed openly as I tried quite unsuccessfully to drag him toward the tent. He continued to stroke and tease and tempt me for another hour before we finally went to bed.
"So, my puppy, curl up. This tale will take some telling."
~~ This is how I recall my Aldus, my precious Harcos, telling the story. ~~
This would be, oh, ten years ago or more, now. Marcus had been with me perhaps three years then. I was with the Sixth Legion at the time, serving in Phrygia at the line dividing Asiana from Pontica.
Theremius, he was the head of the Cohort then, called me for a favour. A high-born kid would be with us on campaign and he needed one of my men to keep him alive. I made a, shall we say, imprudent use of the term 'babysitter' and suddenly became the very volunteer Theremius had asked me to name.
The brat was everything I expected; the product of sixteen summers of pampering and instruction in his own superiority. Spoiled, imperious, overconfident, smug. I'd dealt with more of those than I felt I could stomach and was simply not going to let this one annoy me more than required. He walked into my tent and proudly introduced himself, "I am Khosashir Arsacid, nephew of Tiridates, King of Armenia and Friend of Rome. You may call me My Arsacid or Sir."
"I was told to keep you alive sir," I put a lot of sneer into that word, "and I regret I will have to tell the hastatus that the best I can do is teach not to die immediately."
His jaw dropped like an anvil. "What? Why?"
"You are too stupid, stubborn and spoiled to survive for very long." He was psitting and sputtering like you would not believe. "It is... possible... that I might keep you for getting yourself killed here in camp, but I find it unlikely." I yawned hugely. "Marcus, could you make a note of, um, 'My Arse-something?'s name for the list, please?"
"Wh-wh-wh-what list? You impudent--"
"The list of children trampled to death because they were too obnoxious to get out of the way of the Century. Oh, I'll admit, you might be stabbed instead, but that's only if you're alive when we get to a battle." I sighed. "Anyway, let's get you kitted out. Follow. Marcus, come with, please. If the child begins to wander, take his hand, please."
"I will not be treated in this way! I am no child! I am {SQUAWK}!" I lifted him and tossed him over my shoulder like a sack of feed. The 'OOOF' was quite satisfying and ended his rant, and my jarring pace with a shoulder in his belly precluded its resumption.
We got to the quartermaster and I dumped the kid and sighed deeply (winking), "My apologies, Prefect, for interrupting you. I will need to borrow full kit for this one." Paulinus had seen the wink; we had known each other for years and knew how I trained.
He heaved a much-put-upon sigh. "How long, this time, Harcos?"
I looked down at the enraged, sputtering, gasping and petrified kid and said, "Two weeks at a guess. If that."
His voice was boredome personified, a man force to make notes of the useless and innane trivia that make a camp run. "So what do you think? Trampled or stabbed." Paulinus was desperately trying to stifle laughter.
"Oh, trampled, certainly. If we're lucky."
"Fine. Chop here. And the blood-stains get washed out and damage mended by YOUR servant this time, Harcos. You hear me? I'm not trying to piece together another tunica from scraps. Are you listening to me, Harcos?"
I mumbled at him, winked again, and threw half the gear to Marcus and the other half to the kid. Being the kind, generous prick that I am, I made sure the boy got the breastplate, pilum, shield, sword, sandals with inevitable dragging straps and helmet -- in that order. As he desperately tried to juggle that mess and move, too, I set a jogging pace back to my quarters. Six paces in when he tripped into an inevitable pile of metal and sandal-straps, I turned back.
"Um, 'sir'? Can you at least stay alive long enough for me to get you dressed? It looks bad otherwise." I sighed resignedly and scooped him and all the gear into my arms. I carried him like a squirming infant to the tent. I dumped him on the bunk and Marcus and I started quickly sorting the kit literally over his head.
"Please, your Arse-ness, sir, please, can you get undressed, please, sir, so we can get you into proper uniform, please?"
I started to actually feel sorry for the kid then. He gawped at me at a total loss. If I'd asked his name right then, he'd have need three tries to get it right. But he'd started this game and could damned well play it out.
I sighed so deeply the tent flapped. "Apparently not. Marcus, assist, please." We stripped him so quickly he didn't have time to do more than cluck. I had one more step to strip this arrogant little shit of his superiority. A terrible trick, but effective every time I've used it on each new recruit who pissed me off.
"Oh, by all the gods!" I held his loincloth out for him to see, waggling in front of his face. Now, the whole reason for a loincloth is to keep piss-tracks and the inevitable effluvium of travel from staining real gear, but few recognise that, especially when young. There were the inevitable brown streaks at the back. "Apparently, I not only have to keep you alive, but housetrain you as well. Marcus, clean him up before we dress him. I don't want him getting this kind of filth on a Warrior's kit!"
I turned to the weapons and arms more to avoid bursting out in laughter at the appalled, mortified child that had replaced the haughty teen prince who so recently introducing himself to me. Marcus murmured and used a cloth to clean the kid, getting the inevitable physical reaction. No matter how embarrassed a young man can get, it can always be enhanced by an unwelcome erection. I turned back and looked down.
"Clean that, too, Marcus." The kid's lips trembled, fighting back tears, as he looked straight up to the ceiling, clearly praying to any passing god for his death. Marcus skinned him back and wiped around and around the head far longer than really required. My helpmeet knew precisely what the score was here. I spun the kid so his feet hung to the side and sat down next to him, pulling his now-quivering frame to my side in a half-hug.
"Son, you are so far out of your depth here that you can't even see it. I'll give you a few choices. First, we keep going with the 'I'm a dumb soldier and you're a prince' and you might, honestly, survive. I don't know. Unlikely, but possible. Second, you can run back to whomever sent you to this Century and tell them that brute, Harcos, is mean and uncouth and unfair. I will get yelled at in front of the men (which we'll all laugh about later over the beer). You'll look like a spoiled child and be carted off to someone very nice and very polite who will unquestionably get you killed, or you'll be sent home to Uncle Kingie.
"Last, we start over. You haven't been here yet. We haven't met. Marcus will get you dressed and you can go out, scratch at the tent like a human and introduce yourself again. Give it some thought. I'll be back in a moment; I need a piss."
I stepped behind the blind and let loose, making sure to splash loudly and unnecessarily. There are few things as intimidating to an already-embarrassed young man that hearing that and comparing it to his own pizzle-stream. I shook off and came around the blind. The kid had honestly made a real attempt to man up. His face was red, but determined, and devoid of tears. He had pulled most of his own clothes on and was out the door and instant later. He'd left the soiled loincloth.
I shrugged at Marcus who sighed and started sorting the kit to return to the quartermaster. I resigned myself to another tongue-lashing that would only increase my stature with the men. Tedious, but useful.
I was shocked when a bold scratching came at the door only a half-hour later. That was quick. Normally it took hours to get a summons. "Come!" I was floored when the kid stepped in.
"I {gulp} I am here to see the warrior Harcos. Is that you?" He had no fucking clue how to do this but was giving it an honest try.
"Yes. How may I help you?"
"I am... I, uh. I am Khosashir Ar-- um, well, Khosashir. P-P-P-People call me Khoshi? Will you, uh, teach me? Everything?"
"Good to meet you, Khoshi. And very well done. For future reference, a 'please' would be a nice addition to that, but for someone who has had the life you've led, you have done a man's job of it. You have my respect now, and perhaps in time we can earn each other's trust. Isn't that a better way to start something? Come in. Sit. Let's find out who you are and what you can do."
He shook a bit, but there was a tentative if terrified smile under there. We sat for a while and spoke, then I had him stand and Marcus fitted him into the too-large kit. ALL kit is too large when issued. Any man who comes to the Legion and does not put on muscle and sinew quickly won't live long enough for the fit to matter.
We sparred that afternoon, I with two wooden blades and he with his preferred weapons. You will see when battle comes that he uses two daggers that are nearly-unique to his people. Straight, thin with a tiny curve at the end and a simple, guardless hilt, they are quite lethal and wickedly-sharp. I have seen Bu pierce the loricum segmantata of a (former) Legionnaire in a single lunge, killing the man and then going on to fight more. He holds one as a guard to slash and one as a dagger to stab.
He got six cuts on me that day, but could barely walk from the bruises, mainly on his ass and legs. Yes, my Kucuk, exactly like the ones you had. And yes, he also got a reddened ass for dropping his weapons when I still had mine. Any man I teach will have those self-same welts.
Marcus was much larger than you, my puppy, and he slept on thick carpets at the foot of my bed. We made Khoshi's bed next to my bench. Oh, my, that boy was in such pain that night. It was both funny and sad. The baths had closed by the time we finished and the soaking he had always known after a bout was not to be had. Marcus had magical hands, though, and had him moaning in delight in minutes.
It is that night when Bu became Bu, his people's name for the owl. After melting the sore and abused muscles of his back and ass, Marcus started ont eh front. Being a kind and generous soul, he worked on one muscle that had been uninjured but was very... stiff, nonetheless. Perhaps ten minutes in, the young man's "Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! HOOooOOooOO!" announced his introduction to Marcus' other incomparable skill, oral pleasure.
I was asked the next day if I'd had an owl in my tent. Khoshi blushed crimson but I said he'd fared poorly in our weapons practice and Marcus had a terrible time working out some of the knots and getting his muscles enough relief that the boy could sleep. Txakur, my greatest friend from that time, knew precisely which muscle Marcus had been relieving, having sampled Marcus' delights on many occasions.
Marcus took a special shine to Bu, teaching him as much or more than I did. I taught Bu survival in camp and in war; Marcus taught him the thing that has let him thrive in court and in the tents of Commandants, the art of silence. Of listening always and speaking only when required. I taught Bu honour, trust and fearlessness and Marcus taught him how to use those to win lasting allies.
Do not ever tell the still-arrogant piss-ant this, but Marcus pouted for a month after Bu was given a command and left our tent forever. This was, of course, after the two of them had fucked every ass, male or female, they could wile, con or wriggle their way into. Strasta was a sexual athlete, true, but Marcus was a dog of the first water and taught his skills to Bu in no uncertain terms. I knew Marcus to fuck -- and satisfy -- six men in a night after wearing me out with his own ass.
Ah, my Kucuk. You bridle so and your puppy-hackles are all ruffed! Men take lovers, my jewel, my Dasqas. You needed even ask; if you want a taste of Bu -- and I strongly suggest it, a delicious flavour and no mistake -- simple wiggle when he might see you. He will woo you, certainly, and he will flatter you endlessly and then fuck you to screaming delight, but he won't do anything to come between us.
And don't say NEVER with that outraged look upon your face! Never is a very long time and you have very young balls. And stop scratching my arm! Perhaps we might both like a little Bu one night, or perhaps some Billen? I've seen you look at that incredible ass and don't try to deny it. Ah ha! Struck too close to... home, eh? But what I told you the other night is true. You -- you, my Dasqas, my jewel, my Kucuk, my puppy -- you are all I really need. But you, my dog-child, you need to learn to howl sometimes.
Stop the spitting and snipping or I will... Oh ho! That was your plan? To earn the punishment you want? And what if I just turn over and oh, oh, oh. That is so very not fair, my p-p-p-p-p-pupp-pp-pppy...
~~ I think there was more to the story that night, but I can't seem to recall the words...
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 31 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 23 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 25 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 17 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Shark Reef: 10 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/ Culberhouse Rules: 8 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Raven's Claw: 6 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/ Ashes & Dust: 1 chapter .../rural/ashes-and-dust/