Crastinus stumped bad temperedly out of the yard and up to the farmhouse. Standing in it's doorway waiting for him was a woman a few years younger than him but like him sturdily built and with strong features.
"You've finished flogging the child then," she said.
"For the moment," Crastinus growled, "I've left him chained up for the night in the yard. I'm not standing insolence like that from a slave brat." He knew that despite himself he was sounding defensive, though he told himself he had nothing to be defensive about.
"I expect that's the first beating he's had for day's and he's been well fed and looked after by Menas. He's always so kind to the boys he brings here," his wife said not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice.
"He's had a beating or two recently and I don't suppose he had too easy a time with Menas. That's not his way," Crastinus replied adding, "and that boy needs beating and starving too. Teach the little tyke to behave."
"Well you'd better come in or else you will get cold. The temperature falls fast up here at night and you must be hungry."
Crastinus glowered at his wife and pushed past her hanging the key to the padlock securing Marcus on a hook on the door post.
"It's so handy that Menas and you agree so well on the handling of boys," the woman remarked nastily as she ladled a helping of stew onto Crastinus's plate.
Crastinus's fist slammed down on the table.
"That boy is staying out overnight and that's the end of it woman," he roared. "I'm in charge here and I have spoken."
"Of course you're in charge dear." The woman spoke mildly, there was nothing in her tone to which Crastinus could take exception. Never the less he scowled savagely .
"When I was in the tenth legion I remember we slept out for two whole months with snow on the ground and then fought a battle and we were none of us the worst for it..."
The woman said nothing. She moved away from the table and began to rummage in a large chest in one corner of the room.
"What are you doing woman? Aren't you eating yourself?" Crastinus demanded.
"No dear. I am not hungry. I am just looking out a cloak for you in case you want to go out later on."
"I am going out now," Crastinus roared throwing his spoon down in a rage and starting to his feet.
As he passed his wife on the way to the door he saw she had pulled out of the chest not only a very old and threadbare cloak but also a ragged boy's tunic.
"What's that tunic there for?" he demanded suspiciously.
"Oh I thought I'd tear it up for rags. It's too shabby for anything else," his wife replied innocently.
Muttering angrily to himself he pulled the door to the yard open. He stood a moment on the threshold looking across the valley to the mountain peaks opposite now bathed in silver moonlight. In the woods below an owl hooted and somewhere in the outbuildings a dog barked. He rubbed his bare arms. It was chilly he thought. He glanced up at the padlock key hanging from it's hook by the door. He began to reach up towards it and then impatiently checked himself.
"We survived two months of it with snow on the ground woman. A night out'll do that boy nothing but good," he growled over his shoulder and slammed the door. His wife said nothing but picked up the unfinished bowl of stew and took it into the kitchen so that the maid could put it in the oven to keep warm for his return. She stayed there chatting to the maid and the two farm hands while listening for the sound of her husbands return.
Crastinus made his way slowly round the outbuildings methodically checking all was well. He knew there was no real need to do so. He himself , as was usual, had been busy on the farm all day and would have known if anything was amiss. In addition the two farm hands were totally reliable, slaves who, like their maid, had been with them since they had come to the farm some fifteen years ago. Never the less he examined the pig sties, the cattle biers, the stables with his horse and the two working oxen, the corn stores and dairies, glad to escape the nagging of his wife. She was a good woman and a good wife but did not always accept his decisions with out question.. They had been married some twenty five not always easy years. She had borne him five children of which only one survived, Glaucus, now a centurion in his father's beloved tenth legion.
Crastinus's face, which had lightened at he thought of his son, clouded. The tenth legion that superb body of men who slept out for months in the snow...it reminded him he had one other piece of livestock to check on. He didn't want to. He would have preferred to forget all about the boy until the next morning. He knew he couldn't and even if he could his wife would not have let him. Anyway his duty to his employer required he should look at the brat and he had never shirked his duty.
Squaring his shoulders and feeling in his heart that he would much prefer to be with his old comrades facing an attack by the Parthians, he walked down to the far end of the yard. In the soft light of the moon he could clearly see the child's slight form huddled on the bare earth. Crastinus moved closer. The boy was whimpering quietly like a beaten puppy.
"At least I can tell her that the boy is still alive," Crastinus said to himself trying to harden his heart.
He walked slowly back to the house. Every now and again he would stop and mutter to himself. He paused outside the front door listening and then quietly pushed it open. He glanced quickly round the room. Seeing his wife was not there he stepped softly into the room, picked up the old cloak from the top of the coffer and taking the padlock key from it's hook by the door, crept out again.
Marcus heard the man's footsteps approaching. He looked up fearfully as Crastinus bent down and unlocked the chain around his ankle. The man said nothing but picked the boy up in his arms. A couple of seconds later Marcus found himself in an out house lying on straw. The man spread the cloak over him. Marcus heard the door close and a bolt being shot. He was left in total darkness.
As soon as Crastinus walked into the house his wife came out from the kitchen carrying his dinner plate. He was just able, he thought, to restore the padlock key back to it's hook with out her seeing. There was nothing he could do about the old cloak but she seemed not to notice it's absence. He sat down at the table and began to eat hungrily. His wife poured him a mug of red wine and then seated herself opposite him. The maid appeared from the kitchen carrying a plate for his wife and the bowl of stew so that he could have seconds. How pleasant Crastinus thought it was to be master in your own house. Some of his old comrades he knew complained about their wives bullying them. He was always able to tell them that he had no such problem and they would laugh enviously.
He cleared his plate and sat back.
"I'll take the boy to his flock after I've done my morning rounds of the farm Olivia. I'll combine it with taking the weekly rations up," he said wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Would you get him cleaned up and fed ready." He paused and said off handedly, "You'll find him in the empty loose box at the end of the stable range. I decided to put him in there."
"Yes, of course, what ever you say dear," his wife replied humbly. "You'll partner him with Musca I suppose" (a name sometimes given to small slave boys - literally a fly)
"Yes I've had to leave him up there alone all summer and with the cold weather coming I'd like to have another boy with him. They can manage all right by themselves early on but once winter begins to bring the wolves down you really need two."
Crastinus shifted a little uneasily.
"Er my dear, that old tunic of Glaucus's you found. It's good for nothing you know. Not worth bothering to tear up for cleaning rags I would say.....Er ... you .. .you... you might as well let the boy have it. No use for any thing else really."
His wife nodded her agreement. She had once described Crastinus to her maid in an unguarded moment as "mollissima corda" ( this could be broadly translated as "big softy") and she told herself she had been quite right. ---------
Marcus woke to find the sunlight streaming into the loose box through the gaps in the plank the door. He was lying on dirty straw but at least with that underneath him and the old cloak on top he was warm. Outside he could hear the sound of heavy shod men walking about and talking. There was a loud coarse laugh and some one started to whistle. He was hungry and thirsty but at least he felt well rested. He thought for a moment of trying the door and seeing what was going on outside but then he remembered all the terrible things he had suffered over the past few days. He wriggled down into the coarse smelly straw. He was probably better off keeping quiet he decided even if he was very hungry. In five days bitter experience had changed him from an arrogant self confident youth to a frightened distrustful boy. Time passed and he dozed fitfully.
He was jerked back to full consciousness by the door to the shed being flung open. Startled he scuttled across into the darkest corner and cowered up against the wall. Outlined against the strong sunlight was the shape of a sturdy middle aged woman wearing a dress that reached well below her knees.
"Come on out boy," she said gently. "I am not going to hurt you and you must be hungry."
Marcus his eyes becoming accustomed to the strong light after the gloom of the shed saw she was carrying an earthen ware bowl and his famished nostrils caught the scent of hot food. Timidly he crept towards her.
"There you are boy," she said softly stepping back into the yard and holding out the bowl to him. "You just come here and take this from me and I can have a proper look at you."
Marcus stepped nervously into the sunlight shooting sharp glances about him like a frightened little animal, which indeed, was what he had become. He took the bowl from the woman and would have darted back into the comparative safety of the dark shed if she had not grabbed him by the wrist.
"No little one. You mustn't go back in there," she said smiling encouragingly at the terrified naked child. "You've got to come out now. You sit down in the sun and eat your meal and I'll get some hot water to clean you up with. You're a grubby little tyke."
Obediently Marcus squatted at her feet and began to eagerly shovel the contents of the bowl into his mouth with his fingers. It was some form of porridge and bean stew. Marcus thought he had never tasted anything better in his life.
Olivia looked down at the famished naked boy as, now oblivious to everything but the demands of his empty belly, he gulped the food down. She saw a dirty little boy, fair haired and long legged, whose naked body was bruised and ribbed with welts the results, she had no doubt, of a series of savage beatings. The boy she knew was only a slave and it was the fate of slaves to feel the lash. No doubt too the boy had deserved at least some of the beatings if the stupid trick he had tried to pull on her husband was anything to go by. Still she, like her husband, was as kind hearted as times and circumstances would allow. She knew boys had to be flogged regularly or else they got cheeky and lazy but it seemed to her that this particular one had perhaps received more than his full ration of beatings over the past few days.
She went to fetch warm water from the house. When she returned Marcus had finished the bowl of stew and was sitting on the ground his knees pulled up to his chin. He glanced up at her as she drew nearer and smiled uncertainly.
"Here we are then," the woman said as she placed the steaming leather pail on the ground beside the boy and returning his smile. "Time to get to work. Stand up now so I can wash you."
Marcus scrambled to his feet and stood still as the woman sponged the accumulated filth of five days of cruelty and ill usage from his body. She noted the many welts and deep bruising that marred the smooth skin of his shoulders and bottom. She saw that he had also been beaten on the chest and legs. It was when she made him bend forward and part his legs so that she could clean between them and she saw the rawness there that a comment was wrung from her.
"Well you're a pretty one," she said gently, " but I don't think that that has done you much good."
"No Miss, it hasn't," Marcus replied humbly.
"Well perhaps a time in the hills away from us all will be good for you. It's a hard life but Musca who you'll be teamed with is a good little lad in his way and you'll look after each other I'm sure."
"If you're going to be a goat herd you must look like one and not a whore." She pulled a pair of clippers from her girdle and rapidly sheared Marcus's long fair hair down to a short golden stubble.
"Now you put this on and you'll be ready to be off as soon as my husband comes to collect you.," she produced the ragged tunic that she had turned out the previous day.
Marcus took it from her and slipped it over his head. It reached half way down to his knees. It was torn and threadbare. He looked down at it and then up at the woman. Tears flooded his eyes. He, whose clothes had been of the finest linen and of the latest cut, who had been used to wearing gold jewellery and belts with silver buckles, was moved to tears by the gift of a tattered old cast-off that didn't even fit properly.
"There you are then," she said gruffly turning away. She had seen the tears in the boy's eyes and despite herself was moved. "It's no use to any one else now so you're welcome to it."
As she was speaking Crastinus strolled up carrying a large satchel and an earthen ware water flask contained in a leather case . He glanced at Marcus and nodded approvingly.
"That's better," he said. "Looks more like a boy and less like a tart. Well come on boy you've a long march in front of you. Reckon you can manage fifteen miles of difficult country?
"Yes Sir, I think so," Marcus replied shifting as he spoke nervously, rubbing one bare foot against his shin. He remembered the way he had upset the man the previous evening and the thrashing he had given him. He did not want a further taste of Crastinus's belt. "
"Well what sort of condition are your feet in. Let me have a look."
Crastinus walked behind Marcus and the boy lifted each foot backwards in turn for the man to inspect. He felt the man's hard fingers pressing into the soles of his feet. Crastinus grunted.
"Well all right" he said. "Better than I expected."
Indeed Marcus although he had been spoilt by his father in one way was in many ways a tough little animal. Corax had lavished money on him when occasion offered but the boy had travelled the world with him and could hold his own with most children of his age when it came to swimming or running or simple endurance. In Rome he wore the most expensive clothes but at sea with his father or at some foreign port he would be dressed like any other bare footed ship's boy.
He lead Marcus across to the stables where a mule laden with two panniers slung either side of it's back and a pony stood tethered to iron rings. He handed Marcus the satchel and water bottle.
"Sling these over your shoulder," he commanded. Marcus did so staggering slightly as he took their weight .
Crastinus picked up a cudgel which stood leaning against the stable wall and mounted the pony.
"You lead the mule," he ordered, "and keep up, if you don't want this staff across your back."
He rode on leaving Marcus to trudge after him.
The nights in the mountains were cold all the year round but days, at this season, with the Mediterranean sun blazing down were very hot indeed. Marcus plodding doggedly along in the dust thrown up by the ponies hooves, tugging at the mule's lead reign and stooping under the weight of the satchel and water bottle, was soon covered in sweat.. The heat brought out all the scent of the thorny scrub which at this level covered the hill sides, a mixture of thyme, juniper, pine and a myriad other plants that crowded round either side of the narrow rocky track that wound steeply up the mountain side. Small lizards brown or brilliant green basked in the sun and scuttled away to shelter at the last possible moment as they approached. Before long Marcus noticed none of this. Heat, thirst, dust, the sharp stones under his bare fee, the ache of his shoulders, that was his world .
The track reached the summit of the ridge up which they had been toiling. Crastinus reigned in his pony waiting for Marcus to catch up. He looked back into the valley. He could see his farm and it's out buildings tiny now in the distance far below them.
"Come on boy," he shouted. "Hurry up and bring the water flask here."
Marcus drew level to him and pulling the flask off his shoulder handed it to the man. Crastinus took it from him pulled out the cork and took a long luxurious drink. The boy looked up at him as he sat in the saddle his head thrown back gulping down the cool water. Crastinus took the flask from his lips and tipped the remainder of it's contents over his head. He handed the empty flask back to the boy.
"You see ahead," he said looking down into Marcus's dust caked face, "there's a point perhaps five miles on where the track crosses a saddle in the mountains. We go near the stream there and you can fill that flask for me and have a drink yourself. Now come on and try to keep up or I'll be giving fresh bruises on your bottom."
Crastinus was not deliberately cruel. It was just the way the world worked. A slave boy walked and carried burdens while his master rode. The slave boy went thirsty and his master did not. Any other arrangement was unthinkable and unnatural. Marcus too was beginning to learn and to accept some of the basic rules of slavery.
Nearly two hours later they reached the point where the track crossed the stream. Crastinus dismounted and sent Marcus to refill his water flask. Then at last the boy, along with the pony and mule was allowed to drink. Crastinus sitting on a boulder by the side of the track watched Marcus. The lad was kneeling on all fours on stream the bank his head thrust into the water. His short tunic had ridden up over his hips exposing his bottom to the man's gaze. It was a nice bottom Crastinus told himself, made more attractive in a way by the welts that cut across the boy's tightly drawn skin. He was not interested in boys but he could see why, looking at Marcus in his present position, with his bum so invitingly stuck in the air, some people were.
Crastinus looked up at the sun. Time was getting on. If he was to complete his round of the goat herds that day they had to make better speed.
"Come on boy," he called, "you've had long enough. Bring the animals back here."
He watched as Marcus struggled to his feet. The boy was tired but he still had some reserves of energy untapped. The boy required motivating. He waited until Marcus came up to him.
"We're behind time," he grated. "I warned you about what I would do to you if you held me up. Didn't I."
"Yes Sir," Marcus quavered unhappily.
"Yes Sir, is right boy," Crastinus said picking up his staff. "Turn round and bend over."
He lifted Marcus's tunic up over his shoulders. The Gods have provided boys with bottoms for other purposes than _f_u_c_k_ing, he reflected as he looked down at the boy's bare bum. He noticed Marcus had clenched it tight in anticipation of the blow that was to come. He raised the staff over his head. The boy began to whimper. He brought the cudgel cracking down across the boy's rump with such force that the lad staggered forward and loosing his balance fell to his knees. Crastinus continued to beat him showering blows on his shoulder and buttocks as the boy howled and begged for mercy. At last the man paused.
"Get up," he commanded. "Now no more lagging behind. Do you hear me?"
Marcus scrambled sobbing to his feet. Crastinus took the boy by his chin and tipping his head back looked down into his tear and snot stained face.
"Do you hear me boy?" he repeated.
"Yes Sir," Marcus whimpered
"Well take notice of what I say or you'll get another dose . Now pick up your load and get moving and this time keep up if you know what's good for you."
Crastinus did not find it necessary to beat Marcus again before they reached the high corrie that was their destination which just shows how effective a motivator of boys and other animals a sound beating is.
The high corrie was a rock strewn plain set in a semicircle of steep cliffs that rose high and menacing above it. The vegetation was sparse a mixture of low thorn and ragged grass tussocks burnt brown by the fierce sun. Although desolate the place was far from silent. Sky larks sang shrilly as they soared in the clear mountain air while from a distance came the sound of bleating and the faint tinkling of a bell.
There was a shrill shout and a wild looking boy carrying a thick staff appeared bounding towards them waving his arms excitedly. He was perhaps thirteen years old, dark hair tumbling untended about his shoulders, his arms legs and face deeply tanned, a skimpy tunic his only clothing. He came up to Crastinus and Marcus white teeth gleaming in a broad grin.
"Well Musca," Crastinus spoke almost kindly to the lad, "everything all right?"
"Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.. I've seen a couple of foxes about but they're not hungry enough yet to really try any thing on."
"Good boy," Crastinus swung from the saddle and walked back to the mule, "well I've got your rations for the week here plus another lot for this boy who I have brought up to help you." He lifted two small bags from one of the mules panniers and threw them to Musca.
"Thank you Sir," Musca said catching them.
"Here boy, take this," Crastinus ordered Marcus holding out the staff with which earlier he had beaten him. "That's yours now. All goat herds have them Now give me the lead reign for the mule."
He turned his pony and set off down the track leaving Marcus alone with the other boy on the desolate plain.
"Rations," said Musca weighing the two small sacks in his hand and grinning. "He's good to us is Crastinus. Once a week he brings them up to us. Never misses. Not like some. Why at Salsomagnus just over the mountain they left the boys out for four weeks without rations once and two died of starvation. Not Crastinus."
"He's got a strong arm though," Marcus ventured with a grin.
"And you've felt it too I expect," the other boy grinned back. "So have I. So have all of us. He doesn't stand nonsense and he drives hard but he's fair and he looks after us. He's even given me a cloak because I was up here alone. I'll show you. I've got a good place to sleep. Here take your bag."
Musca chucked one of the sacks to Marcus and began to scramble quickly up a boulder strewn hillock that bordered the track.
"If that's my food for the week it doesn't feel like much," Marcus panted as he hurried to catch the other boy up.
"Oh it's just some bread and flour and some cheese. You have to get other things to eat yourself. There's plenty of food about up here," Musca said pausing balanced on the top of a rock and turning to face him.
"Like what," Marcus asked glancing round the barren landscape doubtingly.
"Oh small birds if you're quick and down by the stream slugs and snails and tiny fish and up here," the boy moved suddenly and stooping grabbed something in his hand, "lizards." He held the small reptile out to Marcus who shook his head.
"Well suite yourself," Musca continued biting the creature's head off and spitting it out. He popped the body of the lizard into his mouth and began to chew. Marcus heard the bones crunch in his mouth. "It's no good being choosy though. You'll have to eat what you can get. But if it's not good enough for you I won't force it on you.."
The boy squatted down on the rock and stared our across the plain. Marcus realised he had offended him by rejecting his gift.
"Well," Marcus said after a minute or two of silence had passed, "will you tell me where the stream is. I need a drink."
He wanted to be friends and he knew it was silly for them, two lonely little slave boys, to quarrel, but he wasn't going to plead for it.
Musca said nothing but pointed out across the plain.
Evening came and Marcus ate a lonely meal of dry bread and goats cheese. He had seen nothing of Musca and he wondered what if anything they ought to be doing to look after the herd of goats of which they were meant to be in charge. Looking up at the hillock where Musca had taken him he saw a wisp of smoke rising. The other boy must some how have kindled a fire.
"We'll both be in trouble if we don't sort something out about the goats," he thought and gathering himself together he set out towards the thin column of smoke. At the top of the mound Marcus found the other boy squatting beside a small wood fire. Behind him was a narrow cleft between two rocks spanned by a make shift roof of thorn bushes. It's floor had been covered by a carpet of dried grass. The corpse of some small animal was lying among the glowing embers of the fire. Musca appeared to be unaware of his approach and while he watched the boy pulled the charred carcass from out of the fire with a piece of stick and, after giving it a minute or two to cool, began to tear at it with his teeth. Marcus approached the fire and hunkered down on the ground opposite Musca who tore a leg from the dead animal and held it out to him. It was bloody and only partly warmed. Marcus was now so hungry though that he eagerly chewed on this unappetising morsel. Musca still did not speak. It was clear to Marcus that he was tolerated but not forgiven.
"I was wondering what I ought to do to help you with the goats," he ventured.
"Nothing," Musca replied shortly and went on chewing sullenly.
Marcus did not know what to do so he just remained sitting on the ground by the fire watching the other boy eat.
"There isn't anything to do now," Musca said after a few minutes relenting slightly. "Earlier on when there was snow on the ground and later on again when it comes back we'll have to look out for wolves but it's not cold enough for them now to be bothered with us and foxes Taurus will see off for us, provided the herds not scattered and it isn't."
"Taurus?"
"Our old bell whether, I'll introduce you to him tomorrow."
Encouraged by this slight relaxation in the other boy's manner Marcus decided to try again.
"Why is your hair so long?" He asked when they cropped mine so short?" he asked searching for something to say.
"It was as short as yours when I first came up here and it'll be cropped again soon as we go back to the farm. Cropped and washed to get rid of the lice and we'll be wormed too. She's fussy about that she is."
"How long have you been up here by yourself then?" Marcus asked startled.
"Don't know exactly. We move up as the snow melts."
Marcus thought for a moment. It was now mid-August. Snow cleared from all but the highest peaks by mid- May. Four months.
"Isn't it lonely?"
"No I got Taurus for company. I don't need you."
Snubbed Marcus fell silent. The light began to wane and the air took on a distinct chill. Without saying anything further Musca crept into the shelter in the cleft between the rocks and lying down pulled a ragged cloak over himself. He did not invite the other boy to join him. Wearily Marcus pushed himself to his feet he would have to try to find some where to sleep himself.
Somewhere among the cliffs above them there was a rattle of falling stones. The wind soughed mournfully across the plain. The darkening world seemed to be full of rustling and movement. A fox or some other creature howled shrilly.
"Do you know about the mountain hounds?" Musca sounded uneasy.
"No"
"Nobody ever sees them. They live in the mountains and once they fasten on your scent they keep after you till your heart bursts and you die and when your found there's not a mark on you. Two of us were taken by them last year." (The boys probably died from exposure: Editors Note)
Again there was a howl. Marcus looked round uneasily. The sound seemed to be closer.
"Would you like to come in here with me?" Musca asked. Now there was a distinct tremor in his voice.
Marcus needed no second invitation. He crept quickly into the shelter and lay down beside the other boy.
"Get under the cloak with me," Musca said. It seemed to Marcus that both boy and cloak smelt strongly of goat but he didn't care.
The two boys curled up together taking comfort from each other's warmth.
"I'm glad you're hear," Musca said after a moments silence. "It has been lonely."
Marcus did not reply he was already asleep.