This story contains scenes involving the _s_e_x_ual and physical abuse of young boys by adults. I f you do not like such stories do not read this.
I would be glad to receive any comments or suggestions. Please send these to me zelamir@hotmail. com. The only comments I will ignore are those that tell me they do not like the story because it contains descriptions of _s_e_x_ual and physical abuse of boys by adults. That is what this story does contain. You have been warned.
Earlier instalments of this story can be found in the authors archive in MMSA Stories:
Corax stood a moment measuring the distance between himself and the whimpering boy who hung, suspended by his wrists, stripped ready for the lash. He lifted the whip over his shoulder and brought the whip singing down through the air to thud across the boys slim shoulders. The tip of the whip curled about the child's body catching him just below the left nipple. A single bead of blood formed and began to trickle down his delicately etched rib cage. After the crack of plated leather against bare flesh there was a split seconds silence as Bestia fought for breath, then he screamed shrilly. Even as he howled the lash mark across his golden brown shoulders deepened from white at the very moment of impact to deepest red. Corax raised the whip again, once more it sang through the air, again it ripped down across Bestia's bare shoulders and curled about his body.
Glancing round Marcus could see the boy's anguished howls were beginning to attract an audience of slaves and freemen. Some he could tell from the eager expressions on their faces were, like himself, excited by the spectacle of the heavily built man's merciless flogging of his frail victim. Others watched with horrified fascination as the lash rose and fell and the boy's slim body jerked and twisted under it's impact in a grotesque dance of pain. Bestia grew hoarse with screaming, his cries diminished first to a low pitiful moaning and then to a simple gasp each time the lash struck home until finally he fell silent.
At last Corax stopped. He shouted an order and one of the bystanders threw a bucket of water over Bestia's inert body. Corax stepped forward and turning the boy to face him tipped his head back from where it hung forward over his blood streaked chest. Bestia stared at him sightlessly through pain blinded eyes.
"He can still feel," he grated and thrusting the whip at Marcus continued. "Here you take this and give him a dose across his bum. I can see you're enjoying the show."
Marcus took the whip from his father. It's handle felt sticky and he realised that some of Bestia's blood had got on it. He hefted the whip in his hand feeling it move and jump as though it was a live thing. Then he lashed it hard across the boys bare bottom.
"Stand a bit further back," Corax shouted at him. "I don't want you to rip his balls off with it."
"That's enough," Corax finally said.
Men hastened forward to release Bestia's wrists. The boy tumbled unconscious to the ground.
"What are you going to do with him now Father?" Marcus asked.
"If he lives he can go down with the next draft of field slaves to Sicily. He won't last long there. None of them ever do. Now get along with you. Your young friend Gauis will be wondering where you are."
As Marcus left the yard he looked back. Bestia was still lying on the ground and a man was just about to throw a further bucket of water over him.
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Gauis took the model trireme from Marcus eagerly. He was clearly very excited by the gift. Marcus looking at the boy's flushed face was glad that he had thought of giving it to him. He was a very pretty boy and although he knew that he was really just a tart it was pleasant to see him happy and grateful. On the other hand Marcus wished that the boy would now moderate his enthusiasm. They were alone in Gaius's bedroom and in normal circumstances the boy would by now have been stripped and at his service. Marcus was still in a sate of arousement following Bestia's flogging and was eager to enjoy the other boy's bottom.
"I'm glad you like it Gauis," he said, "but.."
Gauis grinned at him.
"I'm sorry Sir," Gauis grinned at him, at that moment, shedding together with his clothes his identity as a young patrician and becoming once again the slave boy Pisclus.
Marcus reached out to take hold of the naked boy who stood so invitingly before him.
"What's that Sir," Pisclus asked catching sight of the dark stain on the palm of his master's right hand.
"Oh that," Marcus glanced down and laughed lightly. "Oh blood....Your friend Bestia's as a matter of fact. The little tyke killed a groom over in Britain. Father and I have been flogging him."
"Flogging him?" Pisclus exclaimed. Marcus, who was enjoying the memory of Bestia's bleeding body, did not catch the tone of outrage in the other boy's voice.
"_c_o_c_k_y little whore killed the man to safe his bum from the fellow's _c_o_c_k_ as if a slave boy's bottom is worth anything anyway. Well it's well bloodied now and his shoulders as well. He's going to be shipped down to one of our Sicilian farms and the overseers there will rape him first and work him to death second. Mind you Father will miss him a bit. He said he was a really good lively _f_u_c_k_."
To his amazement Pisclus suddenly twisted away from him.
"That's Bestia's blood," he gasped.
"Yes," Marcus said still not realising that something was seriously wrong. "Now come here boy unless you want your bum warmed with my belt. I want to get my _c_o_c_k_ into you."
"That's all you and your father think about," Pisclus screamed in sudden rage. "That's all we are to you, Bestia and me, just good _f_u_c_k_s, nothing else."
"What ever's the matter with you," Marcus shouted back at the near hysterical boy. "What a fuss to get in about a slave brat like Bestia. He's nothing. We can buy a dozen just like him for a few denarii. What's got into you?"
"Bestia isn't nothing to me," Pisclus yelled back. "He was my friend when I had nobody else. He tried to help me and protect me when you and your father were cruel to me. When we were branded he took blows on his body that were meant for me."
"Well he killed the groom," Marcus somehow found him arguing with the boy although he felt he should really have silenced him with a blow and then beaten him for his impertinence.
"He didn't kill the groom. I did." Pisclus shrieked.
"Then why didn't he say so."
"To protect me. He still thinks I'm a slave like him. He wasn't going to tell on me and get me flogged, so he took it himself."
Pisclus flung himself down on his couch and burying his head in his hands sobbed wildly.
Marcus moved towards him once more and touched him on the shoulder. Pisclus leapt back to his feet and grabbing the model trireme hurled it to the floor, shattering it.
"Go away," he screeched his face red with rage.
Marcus took a step towards him. Pisclus bent down, grabbed the bronze sheathed beak of the model boat and jumped at Marcus slashing at his face with this make shift knife.
Marcus threw up his arms to defend himself. Somewhere within the house he heard the sound of voices and running footsteps. He realised that the sound of their quarrelling had been heard and people were coming to investigate. He darted to the door and ran quickly from the house.
At first all he felt was anger. Anger at Gaius/Pisclus for attacking him, for being so stupid as to attach any importance to the well being of a common slave brat like Bestia, anger against Bestia for being the cause of this mutiny by what he regarded as his boy. Then he remembered the way the lash had torn Bestia's body. At the time he had felt no pity for the boy, he was simply getting what he deserved. If anything he had felt a little contemptuous of the lad for screaming and howling so much under correction. He was sure that if he had been whipped he would have put up a better show. But now he knew that the boy was taking the whipping to shield another he felt differently.
Marcus was a cruel boy and lived in a cruel age. Slavery was based on cruelty and the society in which he lived was based on slavery. He was used to seeing slaves beaten and abused. He had seen men with broken arms and legs nailed to crosses and left to die slow agonising deaths. He had been to the circus and seen criminals fed to the wild beats and gladiators fight each other to a bloody death for the entertainment of the crowd. He was cruel but he was also brave and able to recognise bravery in others. Bestia was just a slave brat, and as such little better than any other item of livestock. He had shown little courage in bearing the beating, screaming and yelling without any sense of pride or shame. But in taking the whipping, in hanging there as the lash flayed his shoulders and bottom, and keeping silent to protect another boy he had, Marcus recognised, been very brave.
For probably the very first time in his life Marcus was thinking of a slave as an individual and not just as an object put into the world to serve and entertain him.
At this point in his thoughts his mind turned to Pisclus or Gauis which ever he should be called. He had regarded the boy as being very much his property. He had had the opportunity of complete freedom but had chosen slavery. It was clear from the eager way the boy offered him his bum that he was a born tart. Yet although the boy clearly needed him and wanted him he had rejected him. This was not bravery but it was loyalty. The boy had put his debts to Bestia a mere slave before his need for his master and lover.
Now at the very moment when he had lost the boy Marcus began to realise how much he needed him. He was his boy and with all his weaknesses he had become part of his life. There were other boys, many of them, but they were not Pisclus.
As he was thinking he continued walking quickly through the streets oblivious of the jostling crowds. With a start he saw that he had reached his home. He ran up the steps into the villa and made his way to his bedroom.
Throwing himself down on his couch he lay gazing at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his head, thinking. After a time he smiled. There were risks involved but he had a plan. It might not work. Perhaps Bestia would not survive his flogging, perhaps he would not be able to carry the plan through and even if he did succeed in that maybe Pisclus would not listen to him. Even if it did work there would be, he was sure, a price to pay.
He got off his bed and made his way to the yard where Bestia had been flogged. He crossed it and pushed open a door leading into a low dark stone flagged room. The man who had strung Bestia up for the lash was lolling on a bed of sacks a wine flask raised to his lips. He lowered it when he saw Marcus and started to scramble to his feet.
"Where's the boy we've just flogged," demanded Marcus brusquely.
"You needn't worry about him young Sir," the man's weedling voice belying his brutal appearance. "He won't be going anywhere Sir, not now, not ever."
Is he dead?" asked Marcus surprised. He knew Bestia had been hurt badly but hardly so badly that he should be dead already.
"I shouldn't think so yet Sir. I haven't looked at him for an hour or so but he was still alive when I put him down below Sir." The man nodded at a stout door at the far end of the room secured with two heavy bolts.
"I want to look at him," Marcus started across the room.
"Don't go down there Sir," the man said hastily, "It's no place for a young man like you Sir. He's safe enough there Sir you can be sure of that. No need for you to go looking."
Ignoring the man's remonstrances Marcus shot the bolts on the door and pushed it open. A flight of steps led steeply downwards into darkness. Damp cold air heavy with a stench of rotting matter rose up them. Stealing himself Marcus put a hand on the wall to steady himself, feeling the stones cold and damp to his touch, and descended into the darkness. At first when he reached the bottom of the steps he could see nothing. Then slowly his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He was standing in a low windowless cell with a beaten earth floor that glistened with moisture. The only light came from the staircase. He could hear the sound of whimpering from a corner of the mean room. Straining his eyes he could just make out Bestia lying on his side on the bare floor his knees drawn up to his chin. The boy was clearly only semi-conscouse. Drawing closer to the lad he could see his shoulders and bottom were ribbed with weals and caked with blood. It was clear the man had simply dragged Bestia from the yard and dumped him in the cell with out making any effort to tend his injuries.
Marcus climbed back up the stairs.
"That boy," he said coldly, "was a favourite of my father's. He was very angry with him and rightly so, but I would not wish to be in your shoes if he was to die."
"Take the boy to the porter's lodge. Say that my father has ordered that he should be put in one of the cells there and his back cleaned and dressed. Do you understand me?"
"Yes Sir... Certainly Sir. I'll do it straight away Sir."
Marcus was just leaving the yard to return to the main portion of the villa when he checked himself. He walked back to the centre of the yard and began to search in the sand. He found three small copper coins and holding them in his hand went on his way.
Shortly afterwards he was knocking on the door of the room next to the library where his father's secretary worked.
"Hello young man enjoyed your trip to Britain," the secretary asked him as he walked into the room.
"It was interesting," Marcus replied with a smile.
The secretary was a slave but he had taught Marcus how to read and write. It is impossible on the one hand to regard a man who has held you over his knee and leathered your bare bottom for not paying attention with contempt or a boy who you have disciplined in that way with awe.
"It's a long time since you've been here to visit me," the man continued. "Have you come to practice your writing?"
The way he asked the question made it clear it was a joke.
"No but I would like you to help me with something please," Marcus said preparing to lie as fluently as he could. "I promised a friend I made in Britain to send him a silver clasp like the one I have for my belt once I was back in Rome and could get one like it."
"Well, I know no more about buying silver buckles than you do. Indeed probably a good deal less," the secretary said amiably.
"No it's not that," Marcus said hastily. He didn't want the man to think he was suggesting that he should run errands for him. "No what I'd like to know is when our next ship bound for Britain sails and how I can send the thing on it."
"That's easy," the man consulted some papers on his desk. "A ship sails from Ostia the day after tomorrow. If you want to send anything on it you just have to put it in the porter's lodge with a docket supported by your father's seal and it'll be put aboard and delivered at the other end as well, provided your friend doesn't live at the back of beyond."
"No London, that's all."
"Well that's no problem at all. Here's the docket, the seal's on it already, all you've got to do is complete it. Or I'll do that for you if you care to give me the details."
"No thank you very much," Marcus said hastily, that would not have suited him at all. "I haven't got the buckle yet. I'll do it once I've bought it."
"It sounds very simple," he said innocently. "Is it the same system with bigger things, say an animal or something like that."
"Exactly the same. Except if it's an animal like a lion you'd have to identify it on the docket and say where it is being kept before dispatch. You could hardly keep say a lion in the lodge could you."
The secretary laughed at the picture he had conjured up and Marcus made his escape.
Back in his bedroom he spread the docket out on a table and painstakingly wrote, "The slave boy Bestia at present in the porter's cell to be sent to London." He paused in thought. It occurred to him that that was not enough, you couldn't just send a slave boy or anything else just out into the void. That would raise suspicions and lead to questions being asked. There must be a final destination for the boy. After a moment pondering he wrote, "to be employed in the London Office". Then a grin split his face as a further thought came to him and he added "note this boy is to be taught to read and write." He was doing Bestia a favour. Once he had been taught to read and write he would become much too valuable a property to spend his time labouring in the fields under the overseers lash. He would be assured of a cosy billet in some office keeping records and writing letters. He doubted however if Bestia would be all that grateful while he was being taught. His own journey to literacy had been a painful one and he was the master's son. He had no doubt Bestia's schooling would be a rough one.
The porter's lodge was to one side of the main door into the villa. Marcus handed the chief porter the docket and demanded to see Bestia. He was taken into a cell behind the lodge. It was small but light and clean. Lying face down on a truckle bad was Bestia. He was naked and his whole back was ribbed with livid weals. He had been washed however and dried blood no longer caked his skin. He heard Marcus enter the room and turned his face to look at him. Fear flared in his eyes and he threw up an arm to defend himself.
Marcus knelt beside the bed.
"It's all right Bestia," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. I know you didn't kill the groom."
"Look," he produced the three copper coins and pressed them into the boy's hand. "I found these. I thought you would like them back. Don't worry about Pisclus he's all right too."
He stood up and then suddenly found himself saying something he had never thought he would say to a slave.
"I am sorry."
He turned on his heel and hurried from the room. He told himself he had only one thing to worry about. How his father would react when he discovered that he had countermanded his orders. It was only one thing but it was a very big one.