This is the third part of a story of which six parts have been written and submitted to the archive. If you wish to read earlier or later parts please consult the authors personal archive.
The boys spoke little as they made there way along the river bank. They were both too busy with their own thoughts.
Marcus was trying to make sense of his own emotions. The thought that Gaius was, for however short a period, to be his slave excited him. That meant surely he could do what ever he wanted with him. He remembered the excitement of the little boy's firm rump pressed into his crutch, the smooth silkiness of his skin, the feel of the boy's flesh cool to his touch.
His had not been a sheltered upbringing. In the cramped quarters of a small trading vessel there is little privacy. He knew men got great pleasure from boys. He had seen boys, members of the crew or part of a cargo of slaves, brought, often unwillingly, to his father's cabin. Precisely what then happened he did not know for he would be banished to the deck but often he would hear through the planking a boy's voice pleading, shrill screaming and the sound of sobbing. He had seen boys after they had left the cabin walking gingerly, or carried out by members of the crew, the inside of their thighs bloody and messed. After such incidents his father would be for a time quieter, more relaxed.
He knew that he himself could be attractive to men. He had felt men's eyes on himself but no member of the crew dared touch Corax's son. Once at Lepcis Magna on the North African coast a Berber trader had offered his father in his hearing "500 sesterces for the boy or 50 if you will lend him to me for the night." His father, to Marcus's relief, had laughed and said that even for him certain things were not for sale.
More and more often recently he had felt a tightening in his chest and a strange excitement on catching a glimpse of another boy in the street or on the deck of neighbouring ship. Then later, lying on the cabin floor in the dark, he would imagine the boy was there beside him and his _c_o_c_k_ would harden and he would experience a new intense pleasure.
Indeed, now as he thought about Gaius, he felt his prick stir and begin to swell. He was puzzled by his feelings for the boy. On the one hand he wanted to dominate. He imagined the boy stripped and cowering at his feet waiting in terror for the bight of the lash. But
at the same time he wanted to protect the child, to hold him in his arms to wipe away the tears and to very gently reassure him.
Gaius's feelings were less complicated. Marcus had saved him from drowning and then preserved his hide from Titus's rage. He worshipped the older boy. He was glad to be with his hero. The thought of being Marcus's slave excited and frightened him. He wanted to be his boy but knew that there would be suffering as well as pleasure in that. A year younger than Marcus and having spent his whole life on his father's estate he had had a much more sheltered upbringing. He had seen however how his elder brother treated slave boys. The youth seemed to enjoy using the whip on them and some times he had hurt them in other ways, though what precisely he had done Gaius did not know. He hoped Marcus would be kind to him. He was sure he told himself, that even if Marcus proved to be as cruel as his brother he would still bear it and be brave and earn the other boy's respect.
Corax when he reached the bridge over the Stour saw below him the two boys sitting side by side in the shade of an ash tree staring out silently over the rivers swirling brown waters. They had taken their sandals off and were splashing their feet in the stream. He smiled grimly. That he thought will have to stop.
"Boy," he shouted. "You there boy." Both boys looked up startled. "Pisclus you lazy little brat up here at the double. Quick boy. I'll teach you to laze around when your betters call you."
Gaius forgetting for a moment his slave name and not expecting to be spoken to in such terms looked about him for the slave at whom Corax was shouting. Then he remembered and jumping to his to his feet scrambled bare foot up the bank to the man.
Corax slid from the saddle and threw the reigns at the boy.
"Don't just stand there with your mouth open you stupid little oaf," he snapped. "Bring the horse down after me," and he set about the descent to the river .
"You all right Marcus," he said more mildly greeting his son.
"Yes thank you father."
"You ought to keep that boy of yours in better order. Letting him sit on the ground beside you like that. He'll get above himself if you're not careful. He needs a lesson and we'll give it to him now."
"Tether that horse somewhere boy and get your idle little carcass over here. Quick now and bring the bundle on it's back to me."
Gaius hurriedly looped the reigns around the trunk of a bush and trotted over to Corax. He held out the bundle to the man who took it from him.
"Strip," the man ordered.
The boy hesitated. Suddenly a leather strap was in the man's hand. He lashed the boy hard across the front of his thighs catching him just below the hem of his tunic. Gaius squealed and jumped back.
"Come back here," Corax said pointing at the ground in front of him. Reluctantly Gaius obeyed.
"Strip," Corax repeated and hit the boy again.
Gaius was near to tears. It wasn't fair. He hadn't been told it would be like this. He should have been warned before they started treating him as a slave. It just wasn't fair to begin suddenly like that and the two stripes on the front of his thighs burnt terribly. He didn't want another one. He pulled his tunic over his head and dropped it on the ground. He fumbled at the knot in the front of his loincloth and it fell to the ground about his ankles. He stood naked and shivering in front of Corax.
He fought back the tears. He wasn't going to cry. Not in front of Marcus. He would show Marcus he could take what ever was thrown at him.
"That's better," the man said coldly. "that's how I like to see a slave boy. Pretty miserable specimen you are though. It's hard to tell even whether you are a boy."
"What are those things there," he flicked the strap at Gaius's testicles, "not balls, more like little peas. Not worth having at all might as well cut 'em off they're no good to you. What do you think Marcus a have you seen anything smaller ."
"They're not very big Father," Marcus said uneasily. He actually thought that the boy's hairless crutch and balls and tiny _c_o_c_k_ were rather touching, at least he found he wanted to touch them.
"Not very big! They're tiny. More like a mouse's balls than a boy's," Corax jeered.
He bent over picked up Gaius's clothes and sandals. He bundled them together and before the boy's horrified eyes threw them into the river.
"No...." surprise and shock wrenched the protest from the boy's lips.
"What did you say?" Corax thundered, "you insolent little tyke. I'll teach you to say no to me boy. Get over to that tree." He grabbed Gaius by the back of the neck and threw him against the tree trunk. The boy's face thudded into the tree, his head jerked back and blood trickled from his nose and mouth.
I will not cry Gaius thought desperately. I won't disgrace myself by crying.
"Hands above your head boy," Corax ordered. "Take hold of that branch and keep hold of it. If you let it go while you're being beaten your punishment will start all over again."
"All right Marcus," he continued, " he's your boy you flog him. Six strokes. It would be more but I want him capable of walking afterwards."
He handed the strap to his son. Marcus looked at the other boy and hesitated. Gaius looked so helpless and vulnerable his arms stretched high above his head, his naked body taught and waiting for the lash.
"Come on," his father snapped impatiently. "We haven't all day."
Marcus brought the strap back over his shoulder and began the downward swing. Gaius, hearing the hiss of the lash as it descended, tensed, the muscles in his bottom and shoulders tightening in anticipation of the pain to come. Marcus instinctively checked his blow. The strap thudded down across Gaius's bare rump.
Gaius drew his breath in sharply. To him it sounded like the full blooded crack of leather striking unprotected flesh . It hurt too. It hurt a lot but he thought he would be able to take six strikes, with luck, without crying.
Corax however who had flogged and been flogged recognised what had happened.
"You're meant to be trying to beating the boy Marcus," he said impatiently. "You're supposed to hurt him not to tickle him so that he giggles. Give me that strap."
"Now look. Stand back and to the left, your left foot slightly advanced. Now pivoting from the waste bring the strap back over your left shoulder and then with all your weight behind it bring it forward as hard as you can with plenty of follow through. If you're flogging the brat's bum aim at something about two feet beyond it. Like this."
He swung the strap back over his shoulder and then brought it singing down across Gaius's defenceless rump. Leather cracked sharply against bare flesh. Gaius's body jerked convulsively as the pain coursed through it. The boy gasped and an odd strangled noise, half scream, half moan, was wrenched from him.
"Now you can tell when a blow hurts," Corax said. "You can tell from the noise the boy makes, you can tell from the way his body moves and above all you can tell from the sound of the blow and the mark it leaves on the lad's flesh. Look at where that last stroke land, white deepening to red and now in places turning a dark purple. I want to see a stripe like that left by every cut you land on him. Now you try."
Reluctantly Marcus took the strap from his father. He followed Corax's instructions and gritting his teeth struck with all his weight behind the blow.
Gaius heard the whistle of the lash above his head and tensed again. The strap cut down across his bottom. It curled round the side of his hip and it's tip caught him across his testicles. The agony was intense driving him to his knees. He rolled onto his side his hands clasping his crutch. For a moment he couldn't breath then he began to whimper helplessly.
"Well that's a useful lesson for you Marcus," Corax said calmly. "Always measure your distance carefully before delivering a blow. If you don't that's what can happen. Of course sometimes you'll want to deliver a blow like that but you shouldn't do it accidentally."
"Come on boy, "he said turning his attention to Gaius and prodding him viciously in the rump with his toe, "that's enough of that. Get back in position. You still have six strokes coming to you. That last one doesn't count. You let go of the branch."
Gaius pulled himself painfully to his feet. He was crying now all thought of retaining his pride gone.
"Please Sir. Please," he pleaded hopelessly as he stretched up to grasp the branch again.
"Stop making such a fuss boy," Corax snapped impatiently.
" You can learn a lesson from this as well." He placed his hand on the small of the boy's back pushing him forward so that his chest and the front of his thighs were pressed against the rough bark of the tree. "That's right. Now the tree will protect the front of your body. And get your head down between your arms to protect your face. I've blinded slaves in my time but never accidentally."
"Now Marcus let's see you do the job properly. Six strokes. Three across the bum and three across the shoulders."
Marcus hefted the strap again. Somehow the breakdown of Gaius's resolution and his reduction to a whimpering terrified child had hardened his heart. Pity had been replaced with contempt. Marcus looked at the boy's trembling body and saw not Gauis the boy he had rescued from drowning but Pisclus the little slave brat who had to be taught a lesson and that he was resolved to do.
Six times he brought the lash crashing down across the boy's naked body as the lad leapt and capered screaming under the impact of the strap.
"Well done," Corax said as the last blow slashed down and Pisclus, his suffering for the moment over, sank sobbing to his knees.
Corax stepped forward holding a pair of shears in his hands. He ran them over Pisclus's head the locks of long dark hair tumbling to the ground about the kneeling boy.
Marcus stood panting from his efforts. To his surprise he found he had an erection.
"Get up and put this on," Corax commanded. He produced a short blue tunic and threw it at Pisclus.
The boy clambered painfully to his feet. He wiped the snot and tears from his face with the back of his hand and sobbing quietly pulled the tunic on over his head. It was so short that it just covered his crutch when he was standing upright. If he lent forward or stretched upwards it would lift to bare his bottom.
"Now go and fetch my horse. I don't want to waste any more time."
Pisclus hesitated a moment hoping that perhaps Corax would produce a loincloth for him. Then remembering how the slave boys of his age were set to work naked on the fields about his home he scuttled off . He supposed he was lucky to be allowed such clothing as he had.
Corax watched the boy and smiled.
"I think he is learning", he said.
Corax and Marcus set their mounts at the bank leading up to the bridge leaving Pisclus to follow with the mule. They rode side by side chatting for some time till Corax looked back over his shoulder. He laughed.
"Marcus," he said chuckling, "you must have picked the cheekiest little slave brat in Britain. Go back and knock him off the back of the mule and tell him he has legs of his own to carry him. The mule is to carry those possessions of mine that do not have legs."
Seconds later Pisclus was picking himself off the hard surface of the road his head ringing from the clout Marcus had given him. Wearily he gathered the mules reigns in his hands and set off plodding after his master. Blinking back his tears he tried to ignore the crude joking of a carter going in the opposite direction.
It was a sore and tired nine year old who limped into Colchester as dusk approached. Hot and thirsty, his bare legs and arms caked with dust, it was only fear of the lash that kept him moving. The people in the streets paid little attention to him as he padded along behind his master's pony. Exhausted and bruised slave boys were a common enough sight. Nobody very much spared a glance for the crop haired bare footed brat that led Corax's mule.
Corax and Marcus turned off the main street into a tavern yard.
The inn keeper came out to greet them.
"Your rooms are ready for you Sir," he said to Corax. "I will have your dinner sent up to you directly."
Dismounting Corax handed his horse's reigns to Pisclus together with a silver coin.
"Take the animals to the stables and hand the groom there that coin. Then clean yourself up and go to the kitchens. You can help carry our dinner up to our rooms."
"You've brought a boy back with you," the inn keeper said glancing appreciatively at Pisclus. He reached forward and lifted the front of the boy's tunic exposing the lads hairless crutch.
"How old are you boy?" He gently fingered the child's tiny balls and prick.
Pisclus embarrassed by being exposed in this way, in a yard with people of all sorts passing by, flushed and shifted uneasily. Holding the three animals he could do nothing to evade the man's fumblings.
"Come on boy answer the question," Corax snapped.
"Please Sir, Nine Sir," the boy mumbled.
The man pushed his hand between the boy's legs. One of his fingers began to probe the cleft of his bottom.
"Tight little arse," the man remarked to Corax, "still young flesh and young bones, pliable and quick to mend."
He withdrew his hand and landed an open handed slap on the side of Pisciculus's leg.
"All right. Go on boy. Do as your master says. A man can dream I suppose."
Corax and the man both laughed. Pisclus could feel their eyes on him as he led the animals across the yard to the stables.
------
The stables were dark and smelt of horses and hay. Pisclus stood just inside the double doors, blinking, trying to accustom his eyes to the dim half light. He held the reigns of Pegasus and the mule in one hand and the reigns of Corax's horse together with the silver coin in the other.
"Well here's a pretty little boy, just what I need," a rough voice said from the shadows. "What do you want my lovely?"
A large dark man dressed in a shabby tunic his bare legs covered with black wiry hair lumbered forward into the light.
"My Master says to give you these animals to look after and there's some money for you too," Pisclus said nervously.
"And he sent me you as well." The man reached out for the boy
"Come on quick," a woman's voice spoke from the doorway. "Where's that boy. The dinner's ready and it'll be ruined if it isn't served soon and then we'll all suffer."
A fat brawny woman, sleeves rolled up above her elbows, a large wooden ladle stuck in the belt around her waste, sweat shining on her face waddled into sight.
"Take those animals from him this instant you lazy dirty minded pig and boy come along with me."
Thankfully Pisclus surrendered the reigns to the groom who leered at him and muttered that they would have another longer chat when he collected the beasts in the morning.