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. You can also set up AMAZON SMILE so that your purchases on Amazon earn contributions NIFTY! It's a great, zero-cost way to enhance the support you already give them.
The cold of the air and the warmth of my Harcos, my Aldus, led to a long and delicious lovemaking that I heard echoed from nearly every other tent. My master teased and tickled and tormented me until I literally bit his lip to get him to finally consummate the night. Harcos had drawn last watch and I had already woken him and taken his morning offering of night-water and seed when Pameten came to rouse us. Without the bitter wind, the cold was bracing and crisp, like a sudden bite of a tart apple or a sip from an icy brook. I spent our guard-hour under my master's tunica, very carefully washing Harcos with my lips and tongue to his utter delight. All in all, from sundown to camp-break, it was... perhaps one of the most-perfect nights I'd yet had in my life.
The Heathens 31: Ponies & Perfidies
By Bear Pup
The day that dawned, however, was most certainly NOT perfect. The road, such as it was, was far better maintained, but was also a never-ending series of switchbacks up and down the flanks of the mountains. Switchbacks are great if you're a mule with a pack, but I'll go for a long, straight slope any day. The carts, especially Stelio's with its extra length, had to be manhandled around each turn, a slow and painful process. We Mice were next to useless and felt the shame of that fact constantly, but our attempts to help just frustrated the larger servants and, frankly, annoyed the warriors.
The exception, of course, was that little fucktard, Kapik. Bu was still in the disgustingly-sweet, doe-eyed trance that he'd been in since the first night with the boy. Kapik, to his credit and my disgust, really was able to help. His tiny, lithe body could get where none of the rest of us could, to remove a rock that was blocking a wheel or call out directions from the underside of the carts. That bothered none of us. His boundless energy and open, relentless seduction of his new master, however, had all of us in a foul mood by the midday break.
We'd passed a number of other parties headed the other way, none of them memorable. After a particularly-brutal spot where the road made something that, seen from above, looked like a crooked and beckoning finger and from the side like a fucking ladder up the hillside, my master finally called a halt for an early lunch.
We had just built a cookfire when a small band of six, apparently a merchant, two bodyguards and three servants or slaves, jogged into view from above us. The merchant stopped abruptly and the burly guards moved past him just as the servants fell to a knee behind him, gasping, obviously exultant at the unexpected rest stop.
From behind the bulk of his protectors, the merchant's lovely and rich voice rang out. Bu answered, as it was obviously in a tongue he knew well. At one term, "Rome", the same in all languages, the merchant relaxed considerably. By the end of Bu's speech, the man actually smiled.
Bu turned to us after some back and forth. "This is a merchant named {?}." It sounded like he said something akin to Kush-ch!, with nothing after the ch! "He deals in small jewels, mainly wrought from silver, and largely from the peoples of the Empire." He lowered his voice and spoke in a broken lingo I was quickly learning was used when any man of the As wanted to prevent comprehension. "He is wed to the Empire, and happy about it, but I don't trust him in the least."
Louder, he continued, "Kushch and his ponies," the servants blushed furiously at the appellation as they obviously knew a modicum of the tongue of Rome, "are headed to Tbilisi in Iberia, to the north of us and in, um, in another province within the might of Rome. His guards are trained by the Legion," he looked pointedly at Harcos, "in the service of none other than the legendary Licinius the Younger." I watched as Pam and Harcos shared a look that was both innocuous (to others) and disdainful (to those who knew them).
"I think it would be mete to offer them the warmth of our hearth-fire," Harcos said as he looked the guards up and down as they shifted in obvious discomfort. Any one of the As could kill them in an instant, and it looked like they knew that fact. Harcos nodded once. The bodyguards and merchant dropped their packs.
"And the boys?" Harcos asked Bu, staring at the three panting young men still wearing their heavy packs.
Bu spoke, and the merchant laughed and sneered. Bu kept his voice level, but I could feel the tension and disapproval dripping under his words. "The 'mules' are new to their role having just been purchased some ten days thence in Kars. They are in training and will keep the packs on even at night." He whispered just loud enough for me and his own servant to hear, "Kapik, take a waterskin to them as their master intends them to have no respite and I won't stand for that."
Kapik scurried to the wagon and Bu kept the merchant busy with chatter about trade, bandits and mountain routes whilst the diminutive young man ministered to the grateful and openly-desperate youngsters bought into a life of talking livestock. I saw Harcos and several of the other warriors surreptitiously checking on the servants as well, and I surveyed them. All three were lean but not bony, and I was surprised to see that they looked like a set of brothers. The oldest looked perhaps seventeen summers and the youngest at most fourteen. All three had quivering legs and heaving chests.
A long, silent conversation went around the warriors as Bu kept the merchant distracted. Pam leant forward eventually and said in the gutter Latin of the Legion, knowing that the bodyguards would clearly understand, "Friend-Bu, ask our new acquaintance if he trades in anything other than silver," with a clear nod to the three 'mules'.
Bu spoke to the merchant, and the merchant laughed. Bu joined with a forced laugh of his own. He kept his voice light, though, as he replied, "Friend-Pameten," the guards shared a startled and nervous look at the sound of the name, "Kushch says he trades in anything other than his own stringy carcass. He would be reluctant, though, to give up his mules and carry his trade-goods himself." Bu had noticed the flinch of the guards and with a completely deadpan voice offered apologies in his own tongue and named the warriors around the fire. The colour slowly drained from the faces of the guards, especially at the mention of Harcos, Say'f and Handart. One leant forward urgently but was shushed by his employer.
Pameten asked, "Does reluctant mean unwilling, or just greedy?" It was clear that the merchant spoke at least some Latin, as he smiled even before Bu translated the question.
"Greedy seems so unfair when one could say thrifty or frugal," Bu translated back.
Pam, with his intimidating adzes, along with the mountainous Harcos and Sziklak, rose as one and the guards leapt to their feet, arms falling to weapons but faces clouded with dread and worry. The merchant barked a command that the guards were only too happy to obey. They backed down, hands loose at their sides, but did not return to a seated position.
Bu spoke to the merchant who responded with a growled command to his 'ponies' and the boys gratefully slid off their packs and tried to stand. The middle boy had to drag his youngest brother to his feet, and the boy could hardly stand. The eldest was slowest up and it was clear that he was half dead with fatigue, his heavier build clearly more punished by the brutal slopes.
The three warriors inspected the boys exactly like one would if purchasing a real mule, poking and prodding and testing the shoulders, the thighs, the arms, even pulling the lips back and looking at their teeth! The boys stared down, mortified at the treatment and equally ashamed of the yelps that some of the pokes elicited.
Bu and the merchant started a conversation that anyone over the age of five could easily follow whether he knew the language or not. The pattern -- a merchant upselling his wares and the customer scoffing and rebuking -- was as old as the spoken word. Bu turned and spoke a number and Pam laughed mightily, but Harcos' growl of displeasure startled both the merchant and his nervous bodyguards who spun to face the mighty barbarian. "I will not be robbed."
The merchant went into babbling mode until Bu stood, voice and posture saying, "Enough!" in whatever language they spoke. The merchant stood as well and began to quickly negotiate. I watched in bewilderment as did Volot, Kapik and a couple of the younger servants. Only Furge looked interested; the others were frankly bored. Bu finally turned and flung the merchant's hand off his arm. He spoke directly to my master in a hodgepodge of languages designed to hide his meaning. I only caught about one word in three. Harcos responded in kind.
Bu spoke to the merchant again with finality in his voice. The merchant scowled, then looked appraisingly between the warriors and his own phenomenally-outmatched guards, then to each of his 'ponies' in turn. He made a final counter-offer, which Bu accepted. They shook hands and Pam turned to his cart and retrieved a handful of coins, all in silver. Sziklak tossed the incredibly heavy packs filled with silver-goods onto his cart with barely a grunt, further unnerving the guards, as Furge snuffed the fire.
Bu turned to all of us and said, clearly, "There is a market town at the bottom of the next ridge, about a half-day's march. The merchant and his guards will accompany us that far so he can either find new 'ponies', obtain pack-mules, or sell off enough of his wares to complete his journey with only his guards and himself."
Harcos was giving me hand signals that I watched carefully. On-guard. Careful. In tight. The warriors started to pull the wagons again and we servants went back to the gruelling work of either pushing or acting as brakes. As it turned out, there was only one more vicious dogleg before the top of the ridge and the other side was not nearly as steep. It was, however, brutal on all of us as the carts did their best to go every direction except that which was needful. The three newly-purchased slaves needed no urging to assist regardless of the pain and exhaustion they clearly endured, and their help was both welcomed by us and noticed by the warriors.
We reached the market town an hour before dusk. After a remarkably fine meal for very little coin, all the warriors enjoyed some strong-beer, or at least appeared to. As we ourselves served our masters, none could see that four of the men were largely drinking water and all of them imbibed far less than the inn's patrons could have guessed.
Cat, Skink, Bu, Sziklak, Say'f and Stelio chose to hire rooms in the inn, leaving Harcos, Pam, Skink and Handart to camp and keep watch on the carts. The new slaves were a second worry. Cat, a notoriously-light sleeper and the one with the most room to spare, took the middle boy. Handart and Grubo took the youngest and Harcos and I took the eldest. All three were securely bound, hand and feet (and not by the furiously-blushing and much teased Bu). I also knew that Stelio might enter his room but would soon be out of it unnoticed by the rest of the patrons.
The wagons had been set in the inn's common yard in a tight-packed square with the four tents arranged to each of the four sides, effectively creating a fort with warriors for walls. To my worshipful young eyes, that alone made it more secure than any stone fortress built by the imperial engineers.
Pam and Skink took the first watch; the nature of a market town demanded intense focus and a high level of caution. Harcos and I, for the first time in a long while, wore clothes to bed. Harcos left on his boiled-leather arm guards, threw on a loose tunica and laid his baltea, long and short swords aside for quick attention. I wore my sleep shorts and held my trident-spear. My pugio, the fang Agyar, was strapped securely to me as always. The eldest slave-brother wore a tunica from Pam's stock in addition to his bindings. He was a handsome if lean youth, perhaps closer to sixteen summers than seventeen.
He knew just barely enough Latin for us to explain his situation. Harcos had me do it, the repetition and rephrasing helping me learn. "You are safe. No harm to you. Fate not known. No Danger now." As we undressed, he looked fearfully at my master's slab of barbarian cock. Harcos smiled at me and I said, "No one touch you. No harm to you." I blushed fiercely, which probably said more than my words, "No sex on you." The boy sighed with relief and, as a candle snuffed, was instantly asleep as the uncertainty, dread and physical exhaustion presented their collective bill for immediate payment.
Perhaps two hours of fitful, not-quite-sleep later, a loud grunt following by a second from a different direction brought Harcos to his feet. Pam let out a gleeful cry which preceded another man's scream by an instant. Harcos donned his baltea and was outside, the tent's cloth-door vanished in an instant, and I followed.
The cause of the grunt we'd heard became immediately clear. A man lay writhing with an arrow just below his throat, not four paces from the tent. We found later that the other grunt resulted from one of Pam's heavy darts severing the spine of another attacker.
Handart emerged mere moments after us, Lavic following with a wicked, bent-bladed knife. What ensued was a melee. There were more men than I could readily count, and their objective was clearly the carts. I spun in time to intercept a man trying to strike my master's back, but his arm met my trident-spear instead. Harcos turned as if in afterthought and gutted the man with his Spanish short sword, then returned his attention to a man who was, shockingly, holding his own against my invincible barbarian.
A young buck, obviously not as well-trained as the others, rushed me and fell back howling when his hasty thrust fell straight onto Agyar, piercing his wrist. He spun as if to run, then spun again, unsure where or how to attack. His eye flicked to my master's back and that was his last mistake. My trident found his side and he screamed, but the sound was muted by my own cry of rage that anyone would threaten my Harcos. I wrenched the long weapon free and thrust again and a third time, first to his lower belly and then to his chest. The last struck between his ribs and nearly pulled the long weapon from my grasp. My fearsome turn and yank ended the man, obviously tearing something deep in his chest.
I spun for the next foe and screamed in alarm. The youngest of the new slaves had just erupted from Handart's tent, noticed a moment too late for Lavic to take action. We both watched for a split-second in awe as the boy, no more than thirteen or fourteen summers, launched himself not at Handart's back but at a foe approaching from the warrior's right.
The boy had grabbed a very narrow, forearm-long blade of some sort and it glinted briefly in the moon- and fire-light before it found itself plunged again and again at incredible speed upwards and into the groin of a man I recognised as one of the vile merchant's bodyguards. The large man screamed then shrieked as his manhood was stabbed over and over by an attacker he never saw coming for him, and he brought his longsword down on the boy. The youngster fell instantly, but the villain collapsed, still squealing like the stuck pig he was, his hands clutching at his groin where bright, arterial blood gushed and spurted in a torrent around the still-protruding blade.
A new sound, one of terror and pain, erupted from well off to the side as Pameten finished off two more men attempting to flee and Handart's javelin appeared to leap from a man's back; the attacker dropped and gurgled. With the same suddenness that it began, the noise and fury vanished as if it had never been. Left behind were the weeping, squealing and moaning remains of those whose final breath was not yet taken and the corpses of those who would never again threaten a Roman.
There was no question of mercy as these were not combatants but predators lower than wolves, for even those heathen creatures do not fall upon their own kind in the depth of night. Several had fallen to thrown knives from an opponent none of them ever saw, a hidden Stelio in the inn's rafters. Pam's adzes finished those still alive, save only for the guard, the former legionnaire, who lay in shrieking torment as he bled to death from his mutilated cock and balls. Instead, Handart kicked him in the throat to quiet him as Lavic fell beside the boy that the monster's longsword had brought down. The murderous creature's voice was gone but his gurgles and moans of piteous agony remained. I am ashamed to admit that I relished the sounds.
I heard shouting from our tent and ran to find the older of the new slaves wrenching at his bonds, wailing and sobbing, shouting what sounded like "zorty", presumedly the name of a brother. I tried to calm him and Lavic called out that I should let him up. I shot a glance to Harcos, his visage grim and nearly demonic with rage, who nodded. I sliced the bonds and the youth leapt up and ran past me only to fall at the side of his brother's body. The wail escalated until Lavic -- heartlessly, I thought -- cuffed him brutally upside the ear.
"Not dead. Not dead. Hurt. Not dead." Lavic repeated over and over in the simplest Latin he could form. The older brother reached instantly to grab the boy and Handart's gentle hand came down and pulled him away. I rushed forward, fuck if I know why, and clutched the young man to my chest. He collapsed into me, sobbing hysterically as my voice automatically took to the soothings. I looked down and saw a long, ragged gash across the youngest boy's entire back and shoulders, bleeding freely but not dangerously. The hilt of the monster's sword, though, had left a nasty gash that was swelling rapidly just at the base of the boy's skull. Even with my short time with my warrior, I knew the latter to be the far more dangerous wound.
Grubo was suddenly kneeling there with his own herb-roll, mortar and pestle. His arms and chest were literally awash in blood and I prayed it was neither his nor his master's. Grubo moved with grim efficiency and called over his shoulder to Volot, "Bring oil. Quickly!" He spilled several things into his mortar and began to grind. As soon as Volot arrived (and quickly ran off again), Grubo poured in some oil and ground some more, then gently swiped the paste along and into the horrid-looking gash.
A loud and painful moan erupted from the boy, and the man in my arms yelled and struggled. I held my grip fast and increased my soothings, trying to at least to diminish the wail of grief and helplessness. That groan, though, was a good sign. It meant that the boy still lived within that damaged body. I added, "He lives; he lives," to my soothings hoping it would penetrate the young man's anguish.
The boy on the ground seemed to relax and Grubo began to apply strips of boiled cloth to hold the poultice in place. The man in my own arms relaxed like his brother, then abruptly stiffened and I felt him begin to shake with rage. He escaped my arms and flew over to the supine and dying man whose blow had nearly ended his brother's life. No one moved to interfere as he began to kick viscously at the man's mauled crotch with its protruding dagger-hilt, over and over and over. He stopped only when the man moved no more and his blood stopped gushing. He had ensured that the man's last moments in this world were filled to overflowing with unimaginable agony. I couldn't feel at all bad about that.
Harcos was then beside me and I checked him thoroughly for injuries. It turned out that our company had four: Pameten had twisted his left wrist when one of the attackers fell in an unexpected direction as Pam's adze ended his miserable life. Skink had two wounds, neither serious. He'd taken a long, shallow cut to his thigh and a blow to his ribs, the former as his opponent died and fell forward with his sword, the latter avenged instantly as Grubo took out the entirety of the flail-wielding man's throat with a short but spiky and wickedly-lethal mace (hence the drenched-in-blood appearance). The fourth none of us knew about for hours; Grubo had been cut slightly by the flailman's dagger, the wound hidden completely by the dead's own lifeblood.
I looked up, startled, to find the rest of the company had joined us. I only really noticed because a flurry of motion brought the middle brother to the side of the youngest, then into the arms of the eldest as they shared their fear and grief and rage. The middle brother spun and launched himself toward another who'd joined the party, this one quite unwillingly. The traitorous merchant was being dragged by Ghamad, none too gently, as the man struggled in the entwining net of Say'f. Cat's pilum was poised above the man's face, limiting his willingness to object too strongly.
The giant hand of Sziklak caught the boy effortlessly and held him at arm's length, kicking and spitting in an attempt to reach his former owner. Bu stepped forward and slapped the boy ringingly across the face and spoke urgently to him in the language they shared. The middle brother calmed enough to speak and the story built slowly.
The boys had indeed been purchased as described and had found that their life in servitude would be as pack-mules to this wretched man. Their father had lost the family's freedom in an act of defiance against Rome, the nature of which we never learned. Their owner, however, had also let the guards use the boys as cruelly as they liked as part of the men's pay. These were monsters spawned in a hell unknown to all but Christians. With the other boys bound, gagged and forced to watch, the two had brutally and repeatedly raped the youngest brother throughout the first night. From that day forward, the elder brothers were forced to sexually serve the depraved men on penalty of renewing the relentless rape of the gentle boy they both treasured. The one who had just died in torment was the worst of the two. Sadly, the other guard was the one who'd gurgled to death on Skink's arrow in the first moments of the fray, so he was far beyond mortal retribution.
The merchant really was a trader in silver and wrought jewels. He was also a casual spy, selling information to whomever would pay, usually but not always the Legions or the Empire. He had heard that there was a band of men rushing from the east and that there would be profit to any who could explain the mission or, better yet, destroy them entirely. He would, the boys were assured, be spending plenty of time with the specialists of Rome to get every shred of information he possessed. Bu added a personal promise that the man would live for at least a month in the tender care of the inquisitors, even though he was already pleading for his death. They seemed mollified but far from satisfied. I knew, however, that his death would be far more merciful -- and quick -- if left to the brothers. Again, even my Christian soul had no room for pity.
Most of the people of the market town, always ready for violence and never willing to miss a good show, had gathered around our group. The ferocity of Harcos' visage as he glared and snarled at one and all, along with the general waving-about of lethal and bloodied weapons, kept the onlookers well back, however.
Without any real discussion, we set about breaking the tents, collecting weapons and spoils, and harnessing up. We would not stay near the place that night... morning, actually, as it was after midnight by the time we settled up (from the brigands' purses) for the townsfolk to butcher them and feed them to animals and swear oaths that none would be buried in consecrated ground. One pig farmer visibly brightened at the news; free hog-fodder was not to be sniffed at.
We were a nearly-silent crew as we marched out, the only sounds the creak of a wheel, the sliding of a foot, the clatter of a kicked stone... and the sobbing of the brothers who walked alongside Handart's cart to tend their fallen favourite. Any noise whatever from the well-trussed prisoner was instantly silenced by a growl from the boys and a word from Bu that he had yet to decide if they would get some time with the man before the Romans set to their more-professional interview.
We walked through the well-lit night under a full moon and cloudless (if cold) sky for at least two hours to ensure that none followed. The path here was clear and well-travelled, nearly to the point of being paved, and we made good time even with the changes in elevation that taxed our muscles. We stopped for a rest at a spring dedicated to a goddess so old that Bu did not even know her name and stayed for a couple of hours to break our fast and drink strong teas even though no hint of light yet showed. We boys dozed and the men drowsed, alert but resting as comfortably as possible.
We resumed and marched on until dawn caressed the mountains behind us with her gentle touch. In the growing light, we were able to find a sheltered dell that had clear water running alongside and had obviously been used as a roadside camp for ages. We secured the area (sans alarm-cups which would be useless in the daylight, replaced instead with a cubit's-width of the smallest twigs and dried leaves). We took turns throughout the day catching up on sleep and repairs, especially on the treatment of amour and weapons deployed in the previous evening's attack.
The longsword my master used had a terrific notch where he'd cleaved in another's helm. After we cleaned and treated everything else, he schooled me in tending the notch so that it would not catch and turn in battle before he could either have it retooled or replaced. That took nearly all of our time aside from our rest.
Earlier, however, Bu had sat down with all but a couple of the warriors across from the two young brothers. With much translation, Harcos explained their situation. No, they were not free. They were legally slaves of the Empire through the actions of their father, and manumission in such a case was impossible. However, Harcos gave them choices.
He could sell them to fellow warriors who would treat them well, just as we were treated. The middle bother scowled fiercely, but I watched the eldest's eye appraise our fit, well-fed and healthy bodies, as well as the clear light in our eyes and the open adoration on the faces of several when we looked at our beloved masters.
We finally had names for the trio. The youngest was called Xorti, a term of endearment roughly meaning 'cute kid', whose real name was Ajda. Both brothers were clearly smitten and protective, and they described him as a gentle soul. That got a lot of askance looks considering the fate at his hands of the murderous guard. "Gentle soul" and "stabbing a man to death via the crotch" did not seem to align too easily. The middle was Ejder which meant 'the Dragon'. He had certainly grown into that ferocity, shown clearly in his attempted attack on the traitor. The oldest was called Hemin. He was both strong and thoughtful, as well as fiercely-protective of his brothers.
The second choice was to be sold as field slaves. Harcos patiently explained that this could be ether very good or very, very bad. In much of the Empire, field slaves were treated far worse than the animals they used in their work. In other areas, field slaves were seen as only slightly-less than the families of the plebes who worked alongside them in the service of a Citizen.
Next were the markets of the cities. This could run the range from decades of safety, comfort and respect to a short and brutal life of horror. They were young and attractive, making them candidates for house-servants, but also for the brothels and worse; far, far worse. The horror on both their faces at that thought, with a shared look of terror when they glanced at their still-unconscious brother made it clear, that would be their last choice, ever.
Next were the town markets. The range was far more limited there. The glories of a house-slave in a city mansion were not on offer, but neither were the brothels, pits, dens and other truly-horrific owners. With their looks, youth and health, they were likely to be taken as a country-house servant, or a body-servant for a Citizen. The explanation of body-servant left the middle son, Ejder, appalled and his brother Hemin thoughtful. Keeping a master or a mistress (Ejder's ears pricked a bit at that detail) clean, clothed, fed and pampered was not what they expected, and they couldn't decide what to make of it.
Lastly was a casual sale, like that between the traitor and our warriors. The advantage was selectivity; the downside is that the longer it took to find a "good" buyer, the higher the price must be to cover the cost already expended by the As of Nemesis. Taking a significant loss on the boys was not something that would be happening, and Bu made that very, very clear. He also told them that they did not have to decide immediately, but to begin thinking of it and discuss it with the youngest when he was able.
There were two other "choices": stealthy escape and mutinous attack. Bu made it clear in tone, posture and words that both meant a painful and despised death for all three even if only one attempted it. They had seen the fate of trained and powerful warriors -- in what looked to be overwhelming force, by surprise and in the dead of night -- who were crushed by less than half of the As of Nemesis. The message was clearly received, with a near-whispered codicil of their eternal gratitude for saving them from the monsters who'd previously held their fate.
Hemin continued, never glancing up from the stones at his feet, that if the warriors needed... services, he would gladly provide them if they would only consent to spare the other two from such--
Harcos apparently had figured out, likely from the tone and intense blush, what would come next in Bu's translation and cut across the boy, startling him terribly and drawing a petrified gaze. My master's furious voice further unnerved the man-child. "Stop! Now! It will not be. Not now. Not ever." He turned to Bu to speak in more than the simple Latin the boys could understand. "You will not again insult me or my As with such nonsense. You were told last night that you would not be touched against your will. You have now come close to calling me and those with me liars and monsters. To do so again will not find you favour or preferment. Cease this at once."
Both boys babbled in near-incoherence until Harcos made a chopping motion and turned away, walking a short distance into a small copse to relieve himself. I followed swiftly as I heard the boys resume in a desperate attempt to apologise as Bu tried to calm them. I caught Harcos up just as he moved his breechclout aside. He harrumphed at me as I stood next to him and began to piss as well. He growled at me as I started to play in his thick stream, then grinned, then started to try and keep me from it. I giggled and teased, then sucked my fingers lustily as he tucked himself away.
He went to move back to the conversation and I stood to block his way, much to his shock and annoyance. "Harcos, my Aldus, give me a moment, please?" He crossed his massive arms and grunted. "Through the fault of their father, those boys have lost everything they have ever known, including all their dreams. The next they knew, they were bought by true demons and introduced to a life of horror and torment. You saw the guards who used them so cruelly, who raped the weakest to control the others. To them, each looked to be a veteran of the Legions that you, that we now serve." His scowl at me intensified but I ploughed forward as I knew I was on the cusp earning his outright rage.
"Look, my beloved Aldus, through their terrified eyes. See the mammoth warriors who surround these mere boys with fierce scowls, hard words, endless power and bristling weapons. Men not, to their unknowing eyes, that different than the monsters that the As has slain. Their brother lies dead to this world -- and perhaps not long for it -- in a tent mere cubits away. You discuss their sale like vegetables at a market. You describe a range of fates from hellishness to paradise as casually as you'd discuss the weather." His face deepened in thought, but I had his attention.
"And yet that one, the eldest, has the bravery and heart to offer himself to the most frightening men he may ever see, to be subjected to acts he detests, just to protect the younger ones from that selfsame use. And instead of comfort or respect, my Aldus, my greatest blessing, you give him a growl of anger and a bark of warning? This is your rage at the traitors speaking; it is not the Aldus who has given me a life the likes of which I never dreamed." I hardened my voice more than I think I had ever done. "Make this right, Harcos. Please do not hurt them for what others -- men who hurt them more than you can ever do -- have done to them and tried to do to us."
I had gone too far with that and was shocked that no blow felled me. When it didn't, I spun to hide my own sudden tears and moved to the cart to regain my composure. I returned to find the two boys clutching one another, huddled in abject terror, looking far younger than even their meagre years. Bu with Kapik at his knee sat across from them, and my towering barbarian slowly lowered himself just as I joined to sit below him. The other warriors and servants had been dismissed to various chores, leaving only the one who could talk to them and the one they most feared.
Harcos put his hand on my head and spoke, asking Bu to translate.
"Hemin, I have wronged you. I barked and growled and it took a sharp bite from my puppy," he ruffled my hair and I actually wagged a tail I didn't have, just a little anyways, "to show me what I have done. What you offered was wrong, but it was brave and honourable. None will touch you unless you ask and fully consent while you are with the As of Nemesis. Any that do will not live the day unless they be members of the Legion, in which case they will be killed -- or worse -- by the processes of the Legion itself. I will go further. As long as your ownership remains unresolved, I hereby say that you and your brothers are under my personal protection. Kucuk!" I jumped a foot. "Explain what that means."
"I, um, I...?" I looked at Harcos and found his face unreadable but his eyes smiling. "It means that... It means..." I stopped. What did it mean? I took a deep breath and decided to simply tell what I knew of it, and how. Bu translated -- apparently leaving every hesitation and stutter in place.
"I grew up in a, a terrible place. Harcos came with an injured man who'd been his... p-purchased servant," I knew that Harcos would hate the word slave as much as master, "but that he had treated as a son. Harcos took me from that p-p-place and gave me a life undreamt of. He told my -- I cannot call them my family -- He told them that, as his servant remained under his protection, as you now are, he would destroy them out of hand if they did not respect and honour the man who, who, who had been bought... j-j-just as I have been, as you have been. That young man wept when Harcos left, as I w-w-w-will weep one day. He means... It means that, as long as you remain under his protection, you are perhaps the safest people... in this part of the Empire of Rome." I brought my stumbling speech to a halt and looked from the awestruck youths to my Master and found him beaming with pride.
"Will you accept the apology of a Warrior of Rome, Hemin?" The boy nodded spastically and nearly (and possibly did) wet himself when Harcos reached his giant paw across to pat the boy's shoulder. "Bu, see them well-fed and well-watered, and bedded for the day. They are not to work in any way until I say so, and tell them... tell them I'll spank their scrawny asses raw if they don't eat and rest as instructed. Oh," he grinned wickedly, "since we're in this mess for a noble whose name I won't be mentioning, you are also to explain to them EXACTLY how you know what it means to be spanked by Harcos." He laughed at Bu's scowl, smiled and scooped me into his arms. We went to our tent and cuddled away the morning, dozing and drowsing, occasionally snoring, but never more than a caress away from one another.
Big thanks to beta-readers Zach, Skip, Rob, and the amazing Jeff Moses, all of whom helped make this chapter readable.