Zelamir

A Roman Holiday

Chapters 21-23

Chapter 21

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 [25km] 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 [8km] 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 fucking, 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.

Chapter 22

Marcus felt the hardness pressing into the crack of his bum. Schooled by Menas he pushed his bottom backwards and began to rub himself against demanding flesh. He knew what he would get if he failed to satisfy the man, whoever he was, Menas had sent to enjoy him.

He blinked his eyes open and realised something was wrong. He was not lying on the filthy sacks in the back of the wagon but on coarse fern in some sort of shelter and it was not a man who was pressing against him but a boy like himself.

"Please go on," Musca's voice panted in his ear.

Marcus rolled fully onto his face and tried to part his legs.

"This place is too narrow," he said as his feet brushed against the rocks on either side. "Come on outside we'll do it there."

He crawled out of the shelter and turned to see Musca following close behind him the front of his tunic hooked over his stiff little boys prick. Musca grinned at him, white teeth flashing in his dark face.

"Are you going to let me fuck you?" He asked eagerly. It's the first time I'll have fucked …."

The sentence finished in a sharp gasp as Marcus dropping to his knees took the other boy's prick in his mouth. A few seconds later certain that Musca's cock was well lubricated with saliva he turned and still kneeling bent forward so that his head was resting on the ground flipping his tunic forward over his head. He felt Musca's cock pressing against his anus as the boy positioned himself behind him. He pushed his bum back and up eager to allow Musca to enter him. Marcus had taken much larger weapons than Musca's four inches [10cm] of boy hood and it's full length was soon buried in his body. He straightened tightening his bum's grip on the other lad's rod. Musca slipped his hands about him and began to stroke Marcus's own hard little cock. Marcus felt the muscles in his bum begin to pulse as Musca probed it with his prick. The both boys came together in a series of sharp orgasms that filled Marcus's bum and sent his own sperm jetting up over his tummy and dribbling over! Musca's fingers.

The two boys collapsed together on the grass. Panting Marcus became aware of the shrill song of the sky larks as they rose and fell in the blue morning sky, the distant chatter of running water mingling with the steady bleating of the goats.

He sat up and saw a large and extremely fierce looking billy goat with massive curved horns and a long beard standing a few feet away regarding him through small amber coloured eyes.

"Musca," he said sharply.

"Oh that's all right," Musca said sitting up in his turn, "that's only Taurus he's very friendly."

"He doesn't want to join in does he?" Marcus had heard whispers of special acts involving boys and girls and animals from some of his less respectable acquaintances in Rome and was not at all sure he wanted to be involved in anything like that.

"He couldn't if he wanted to," said Musca with a giggle but dropping his voice as if out of consideration for the goat's feelings who might not want such a matter to be too openly discusssed. "He's been castrated."

"That's all right then he won't be jealous when I get my cock up your bum," Marcus said giggling in his turn.

Both boys stood up and spontaneously pulling their tunics off threw them into the shelter.

"I hope I won't hurt you," Marcus said doubtfully.

"Why should you. I didn't hurt you and my prick three time as big as yours. If you can take mine I can take yours."

"It is not bigger than mine."

"It is."

"Well," Marcus said reasonably we can soon find out. "We'll both get stiff again and see which is the bigger."

The two lads sat down side by side and set to work on their pricks which were still wrinkled and shrunken after their last orgasm.

"Mine's all mucky," Musca announced, "from where it's been up your bum."

"All right I'll clean it up for you and get you hard at the same time," Marcus replied eagerly.

He scrambled to his knees and bending down took Musca's flaccid tool in his mouth tasting shit and boy's cum. Musca leant forward and placed his hand on the back of Marcus's rump. Marcus without removing his lips from the other boy's cock moved round on his hands and knees until he straddled Musca's head. Musca reached up and locking his hands round Marcus's waste pulled himself up so that he could take his prick into his own mouth. It was not long before the two boys cocks were hard again. They jumped to their feet and compared tools.

For a little time Musca tried to contend that although they were very much the same length his was quite considerably wider but after a certain amount of measuring with their fingers and some further argument he had to concede there was really nothing in it.

"Have you been fucked before," asked Marcus, the dispute having been resolved on this basis, moving round behind his friend.

"Yes," replied Musca bending forward and pulling his bum open with his hands. " In the winter us boys are all put together in a barn down at the farm when we're not working. We have fun them. Crastinus doesn't like it and he beats us occasionally when he catches us at it but there's nothing else much to do."

Marcus's cock was already wet with the other boy's saliva so he put his hands on Musca's hips to steady him and prepared to enter his friend.

There was a thundering sound behind him and he received a sudden savage blow on his bottom sending him stumbling forward onto Musca who lost his balance so that they both crashed to the ground. Marcus looked round for the source of the attack and saw Taurus his head bowed, his front hooves pawing the ground preparing for another charge.

"Musca," he shouted in alarm.

"He must have thought you were attacking me," Musca said laughing. "It's all right Taurus we're friends. Look."

He pulled Marcus to his feet and throwing his arms around his neck kissed him hard on the lips. Marcus responded enthusiastically. Musca's tongue entered his mouth and began to explore it. Marcus slid his hand down the curve of Musca's bum. His index finger found the boy's anus. He pushed gently, after a moments resistance the lips parted and he felt the heat of the boy's body close about it. Musca tightened his grip of his arms about his neck and his tongue shot down into his mouth like a snake striking.

Musca broke away and turning his back bent forward reaching behind him to part the cheeks of his bum, offering an unmistakable invitation to the other boy. Marcus glanced nervously at Taurus but the goat was browsing quietly. He seemed to have accepted that all was in order.

An hour or so later the two boys rather red eyed and feeling weak about the knees made their way together to the mountain stream. They cooled off in a small but deep pool and after cleaning themselves off settled side by side on the grassy bank.

"You're brown all over," Marcus remarked examining his new friend's naked body.

"Yes, I only wear the tunic when Crastinus is about, I think he might be upset if I didn't, and at night when it's cold. Other wise what's the point I'd only tear it or something and I doubt if he'd give me another one. It'll be different when it starts getting really cold."

"You've taken a real pounding," Musca continued running his finger along one of the purple welts that still disfigured Marcus's ribcage. "Who did that to you."

"The man who brought me up here," Marcus replied shuddering slightly at the memory of Menas's belt.

"I though it wasn't Crastinus he wouldn't hit you there. He beats us on the back, mostly on the bum."

"I've had a few from him too."

"I noticed that when I was fucking you." Musca said with a grin. "Why did he do that."

"Well when the carter had gone I told him I was Corax' son and he beat me for being cheeky."

"You're mad," Musca said admiringly, "you'd never get away with that. How did you really come to be sent here."

"I was caught stealing food and my master sent me up here to teach me a lesson," Marcus replied slowly. Nobody would belief the truth and anyway it wasn't too bad being a goat herd so far as he could see. Certainly he thought, as he looked at Musca's lithe young body stretched out beside him, there were advantages.

"He couldn't have cared for you much," Musca remarked with a boy's unthinking cruelty.

"I…I don't think," Marcus replied slowly picking his words carefully so as not to betray himself, "that masters do care much about us. We're just things to them." Pisclus's reproach "to you we're just good fucks that's all" rang in his head shaming him with it's truth.

"Where did your master live."

"Rome."

"Rome," Musca cried excitedly. "Is it true that there are thousands of people there. That there are shops with all the goods in the world for sale. That the emperor lives in a golden palace and eats a whole ox every day. That there are games and public shows every day with gladiators and wild animals? That's there's food for everybody and not even boys like us go hungry?"

The questions came tumbling out from the excited boy. It was obvious that his imagination was obsessed with the city, so unlike anything he had ever seen in his own short life, and that it had been fuelled by stories told him by the men on the farm, who probably knew little more than he did, but amused themselves inventing what they did not know. Marcus did his best to reply to the boy's excited questioning. This became concentrated more and more on the banquets he had seen while serving his master and in particular the food served there. It was clear that the chief wonder of the city to the hungry little boy was the variety and quantity of food available.

Marcus disabused him of the believe that there were no starveling slave boys in Rome while trying to describe the more lavish of his fathers banquets as it would have been seen by a slave. This was not difficult for him as such occasions were not regarded as places for freeborn boys so he had only heard descriptions of then from the chatter of household slaves. He had just finished describing a dish consisting of a roast peacock cooked inside a roast swan cooked inside an ostrich all stuffed with dates and larks tongues and served with honey cakes and blood sausages when Musca burst out.

"Oh how I wish I could see that."

"I don't know," Marcus said rolling onto his side and running his hand up the inside of Musca's thigh until it rested on his balls, "I like it here well enough."

"Better than Rome."

"Yes…but I do wish we had more to eat."

"You must have been hungry in Rome. You stole food."

"I was greedy not hungry the way I am here," Marcus replied suddenly serious.

"Perhaps we could catch a hare," Musca suggested. "Now there are two of us we'll have a better chance. We mustn't let Crastinus know though. They are meant to be kept for the lords when they come hunting."

It was a little time before they set off in pursuit of the hare.

The weeks passed. The days got shorter. The weather grew steadily colder. And then the first frosts came. Marcus got used to moving around on numb feet. The noses of both boys ran constantly. Crastinus on one of his weekly visits brought an old blanket along with their rations. One night they heard in addition to the barking of foxes a low howling in the mountains above them.

"Wolves," Musca said sitting up from where he lay beside Marcus disturbing the cloak and blanket that covered them and exposing both boys to a blast of freezing air. "We'll have to take it in turn to stay awake and watch the herd. We can't expect Taurus to see off a wolf by himself. I'll go first." Taking the cloak he slipped off into the darkness.

Marcus was woken by the feel of Musca's cold body pressed against his.

"Your turn," now Musca whispered. "You take the cloak, come back here at dawn and we'll warm each other up."

"What do I do if a wolf comes?" Marcus asked uneasily.

"Shout and wave your stave at it. Don't worry they're not hungry enough now to try attacking us. It'll turn tail and I'll hear your shout anyway and come and help you."

Marcus felt very small as, huddled in his cloak, he sat listening to the night sounds. Every rustle of the wind passing through the thorn trees or sound of small animals moving in the low scrub alarmed him.. At any moment he expected to see the grey lean shape of a wolf moving in towards him. Shivering inside the thread bare cloak he felt lonely and frightened. Yet he waited until it was fully light before he returned to their shelter and the warmth and comfort of Musca's slim young body.

Musca, despite his confident words about the docile nature of wolves, spent the next morning painstakingly sharpening the ends of their two staves with a fragment of glass. This was his most prized possession ranking above his ragged tunic and cloak, which were the only other things he owned. It served both as a knife and as a means to kindle fire when there was sunshine. He told Marcus more than once the story of how he had obtained it, scavenging it from out of the midden behind the farm when Crastinus had thrown the fragments of a glass he had dropped during one of his rare drinking fits. Marcus gained the impression that a good deal of the value of the glass to Musca derived from the fact that it had once formed part of an object owned and used by Crastinus. The work took a long time as Musca did not wish to risk breaking further the precious fragment. At last however it was completed and he set about hardening the two points in the fire.

Marcus squatted on his haunches by the fire watching the other boy.

"I don't think a sharpened wooden stick would be much use if a wolf did decide to have a goat from the flock," he said doubtfully.

"Better than nothing," Musca replied a little huffily. "Any way they won't really try yet. I'm just being on the safe side. It's later on when they get desperate and by then we will be down at the farm and Crastinus and the other men will be there."

"It's not like they're mountain lions," he continued.

"What are mountain lions?" Marcus asked nervously.

"They're like great big cats and they come down from the North when the winter is really hard. They're bad they are. As ready to take a boy as a goat and they can't be frightened off either."

"Are there many?"

"Never seen one myself. But the men on the farm told me about them. There was one killed two boys the year Crastinus came here and he went out after it with his sword and killed it and the next day he went out again and killed it's mate. Where there's one there's always a second. Crastinus is brave. He's not afraid of anything and he the strongest man on the farm too."

Over the next few nights Marcus saw wolves, grey skinny long legged shadows moving silently in the undergrowth seeking an opportunity to raid the herd. It seemed to him they were increasing in number and growing bolder.

With the colder weather the small animals which the boys used to eat to supplement their meagre rations got scarcer. The boys tummies were always achingly empty. Crastinus paid another of his visits sniffed the air and looked round at the desolate plain, now flecked with white from the first snows of winter.

"One more week boys," he said, "then we'll have you down."

When he had gone Marcus cried he was so hungry and so cold.

Two days late it snowed hard.. The plain was all white. The goats picked their way over it scratching in the snow with their hooves for some fragment of vegetation to eat.

Then it happened. Marcus was asleep in the shelter when he was woken by the sound of Musca's shouting shrilly. Rapping the blanket round himself he crept reluctantly out into the bitter cold. There was a clear sky and the moon was bright. Musca's shouts were becoming increasingly urgent. Picking up his stave he ran towards the sound and then checked.

Musca was standing a few yards away from him facing a dark bulky form crouched close to the ground. Off to one side a clearly nervous Taurus pawed the ground in a half hearted manner. The creature was about the same length as a wolf but shorter ledgged and much heavier. Marcus had not seen one before but he knew in the instant that it was a mountain lion. Even as he watched the animal snarled and hurled itself at Musca. The boy levelled his stave but the sheer weight of the creature, a mass of muscle and heavy bone, snapped it short, bowling the lad over onto his back. Musca stabbed desperately upwards with the remnant of the broken stave as the lion, it's mouth open, went for his throat.

Marcus shouted in rage. He did not have time to feel fear or to calculate his chances. Musca was the only friend he had in the world and he had to come to his aid. His only weapon was the miserable wooden stick and he had already seen Musca's shattered by the lion's charge. So far as he could see he had only one chance. He levelled the stave and taking careful aim at the creatures eye hurled himself forward. Marcus was agile and fast. The animal screamed as the wood point penetrated it's eye. It was wounded but not fatally. It turned to face it's new attacker while Marcus wrestled to keep his stave point boring into it's eye hoping to penetrate into the skull beyond or at least to keep the animal away from Musca and himself. His bare feet scrabbled desperately on the frozen ground as he fought the beast. He knew he was loosing the fight. The creature was simply stronger and heavier then he was. Then there was a sound of hooves cracking down on hard earth, a! figure rushed by him and slammed into the big cat just behind it's shoulder. Taurus had found his courage. The lion caught off balance went down on one side. Marcus went after it thrusting, with the whole strength and weight of his body, at the stave still embedded in the beats eye. Twice more it tried to raise it itself and twice more Taurus charged it down. Then suddenly the stave seemed to slip forward in Marcus's hand. For a moment he thought the creature had shaken it's head free but then he realised it was lying quite still. The point of the stave had at last penetrated into it's skull and the lion was dead.

Marcus ran over to where Musca lay. The boy was conscious but the left hand side of his chest had been ripped by the animal's claws. Marcus pulled off the torn remnants of Musca's tunic and folded itinto a wad that he laid gently on the torn and bleeding flesh. He ripped his own tunic in half and used the strips to bind it in place. Musca gritted his teeth and grinned in pain.

"Help me back to the shelter," he whispered, "Then you can set off for the farm and tell Crastinus what has happened and I'll stay up here wi and guard the flock."

"And when it's mate comes round. What happens to you then?" Asked Marcus sharply. "You said where there was one of these things there were always two. We'll all go now you, me, Taurus and the herd."

"We'll never do it. It's fifteen miles [25km]. It's snowed. The days are short and anyway I can't walk that distance."

Marcus went over to the dead mountain lion. Placing his bare foot on the creature head he jerked the stave clear. H e whistled for Taurus and then hauled Musca to his feet. He wrapped the cloak as well as he could about the boy's narrow shoulders.

"Now put your right arm over my shoulders and we'll get moving," he said.

It was a slow and painful journey. The grey light of a bitterly cold dawn was breaking before they had even started the descent from the corrie. A thin layer of ice had formed over the snow and Marcus saw that each step he took left flecks of blood on the snow from where the ice had cut his feet. Musca struggled on as best he could although it was clear that he was in great pain and his strength was ebbing. Behind then trailed the herd of goats headed by Taurus whose head Marcus felt every now and again brush against his bare bottom as he plodded steadily forward. The only sound in the thin mountain air now was the bleating of the goats and the clang of Taurus's bell. The sky larks, whose song had filled the sky when Marcus had last walked that path, had all been silenced by the arrival of the winter snow.

The two boys trudged slowly on. Musca was finding it more and more difficult to drag himself forward and Marcus's shoulders ached from effort of supporting his friend. Finally Musca stumbling lost his balance and fell forward into the snow taking Marcus with him. Wearily Marcus pulled himself to his knees and shivering looked about him. The track now ran along the side of the mountain the slopes of which were almost featureless sheets of whiteness under their covering of snow. Marcus could not tell where in the long track back to the farm they had reached but he was sure they had only covered a fraction of the journey. Awkwardly he manoeuvred the cloak under Musca's body and then huddled up close to the other boy trying to gain some relief from the penetrating cold.

"I can't go on," Musca said weakly. "Take the cloak and leave me here. We'll both die if you don't."

Marcus hugged his friend.

"We rest here a bit and then we go on," he said. "You want to see Rome don't you…. Well I am going to show it you when all this is over."

Musca smiled weakly but shook his head.

"Leave me," he repeated but Marcus would not.

Neither boy could remember much about their trek later. How often they stopped and how often they argued with Musca demanding he should be left behind were all buried in a haze created by exhaustion and cold. It was quite dark when at last they saw far below them the glint of lamp light that marked Crastinus's farm.

Musca had said nothing for a long time. Now finally his legs gave way under him. Marcus knelt beside him in the snow. The other boy was still conscious but only just. It was obvious he had reached the end of his strength.

"I wish I could have come to Rome with you," he whispered smiling faintly.

Marcus said nothing. He dragged Musca to the side of the path and pulled him up so he was sitting on a boulder getting. The boy cried out weekly as the pain from his mangled chest tore through him. Marcus hauled the boy up onto his back and began the long descent to the farm staggering under the weight of his load.

Crastinus was sitting by the fire sipping a glass of red wine and worrying on about whether he had left the flocks on the high land too long. Olivia sat opposite him listening patiently.

"I don't like leaving them up there once the hard weather comes but if I get them down too soon then the fodder here is short at the end of the winter," he agonised yet again.

"Yes I know dear," Olivia said peering down at her sewing.

Then suddenly she lifted her head listening.

"What's that dear? Out in the yard, I am sure I heard something it sounded like a goat's bell."

Crastinus jumped to his feet threw open the outside door. In the dim light the yard seemed to be packed with goats. He heard a movement at the far end of the yard and in the darkness made out the figure of a boy struggling to close the yard gate. Pushing his way through the milling herd of goats he hurried forward.

"What's going on?" he shouted as he approached the lad. "What have you brought these goats in here for? "

"Oh it's you is it," he snapped recognising Marcus. "What are you doing here? Where's Musca? Where are your clothes and stave and everything else. You've left them up on the mountain have you, you useless lazy little runt. I'll teach you to sneak off down here. I'll tan your hide. I'll bloody that tight little bum of yours….."

"Sir….I'm sorry Sir…..Musca's here on the ground Sir….I had to put him down when I closed the gate Sir….and I'm sorry about the clothes and things Sir…I'll go and back and look for them tomorrow Sir if you want…"

Marcus fell silent as Crastinus pushed past him and bent over Musca whom he had laid propped against the gate post.

"Put those goats in the field below the yard boy and then come to the back of the house. You better have a good explanation for what you've been up to if you want to avoid the thrashing of your life."

He picked Musca up and carried him into the house. Marcus heard him shout for his wife and then the door slammed shut behind him.

Marcus hesitated at the bottom of the steps leading up to the kitchen door. He had been told to go to the house but was he meant to wait outside? Then he heard Musca scream shrilly. He crept up the steps and eased the door open. Timidly he hesitated on the threshold. He could see Musca spread eagled on the kitchen table held down by his ankles and shoulders by two men. Bending over the naked boy pulling at the blood soaked bandages that covered the left side of his chest was Crastinus's wife with beside her a slave women holding a bowl of steaming water. Alerted by the draught of cold air from the suddenly open door they all turned to stare at Marcus.

"What are you doing here?" the maid was the first one to speak. "Be off with you boy. This is no place for a filthy little brat like you. Get back to the barn where you belong."

"No, no," Olivia spoke reassuringly, her calm voice contrasting with the shrill stridency of the slave woman. "Come over here boy, you can help us. Now stand opposite me and tell your friend that we have got take these bandages off his wound to see how bad it is. It will hurt him but we are doing it to help him. Now take hold of his hand and tell him. He will trust you."

The slave woman sniffed and said she wouldn't have let a smelly little slave brat into the kitchen if she had her way; goodness knew what diseases they would all catch as a consequence of letting such filth in and look he was leaving blood stains on the floor behind him. Olivia hushed the women impatiently and Marcus did as he was told.

"Now hold on to Musca's hand hard," the Olivia said when he had finished.

She began to slowly ease the bandages away from Musca's chest dabbing at them with a rag soaked in warm water to dissolve the congealed blood. Marcus's eyes widened and his mouth opened

"Musca," Marcus spoke urgently, "did I tell you about the dinner I had to attend my master to at the home of the Petronius Niger. The main course was sows wombs with crackling, spare ribs and trotters but it wasn't the food only. It was the boys that served it. They were all young and very pretty, younger and prettier than me, and they were wearing golden belts round their wastes with short tassels of gold material hanging down and that's all and their nipples had been gilded and as they served the food they sang all the time. I'd been given a new tunic silk very short and almost transparent and a silver chain round my waist. But they were….."

"What did that then?"

Olivia had been working steadily at peeling the bandages away while Marcus talked. Now Crastinus stepped out from the shadows at the side of the room where he had been standing and looked down at the gory mess that disfigured the left side of Musca's chest. His voice cut across Marcus's urgent chatter.

"I've only seen wounds like that twice before," his wife replied gravely. "On those two boys that were killed by mountain lions the first winter we were here."

"Please Sir. It was a mountain lion Sir. It was going for the goats and Musca tried to stop it."

"Where did this happen boy?"

"Up by our shelter Sir. It knocked Musca over so I went to help.. I and Taurus that is." Marcus did not want to deny anyone their proper share in what had taken place.

"Olivia, I'll leave you to deal with this. I'm no use here and I've got eight herds of goats and sixteen boys up there with two mountain lions on the loose. I must get them down before the brutes do more damage. I'll be off."

"And I with you Sir," one of the field slaves, a burly grizzled haired man, said.

A minute or two later Crastinus and the field slave left the house; Crastinus with his sword hanging in it's scabbard from his belt and the slave carrying a spear. There was a clatter of horses hooves in the yard and then silence.

"Men," Olivia said with a shrug, "they won't come back till they've killed the lions if I know them. Still we're better without them."

"Please Miss I think they'll only need to kill one lion. We got the other."

"He got it Miss he means," Musca whispered weakly. "He got his stave in it's eye and wouldn't let go."

"Well," Olivia said after a second's pause, "we must get on. Musca, I have to wash that wound clean before I put fresh bandages on. It'll hurt I'm afraid but there's nothing for it. Marcus you go on telling him about that party your master went to."

"Yes Miss. Musca, after they'd served the food a troop of boy acrobats came in all just wearing tiny loin cloths and Petronius said to my master if he fancied any one of them, or two, he just had to say….."

Musca screamed loudly.

"And what about you boy?" Olivia said after Musca's wounds had been dressed and he had been lifted from the kitchen table and placed on a bed made from a bundle of blankets by the kitchen fire. "Come over here where I can get a look at you."

Marcus moved over to stand beside her. Quickly she ran her hands over his body.

"Your legs and feet have been cut about badly. But otherwise you're all right."

"Come on I'll deal with those now." Without any further warning she caught hold of him beneath the arms and lifted him so that he was sitting on the table his feet dangling in the air.

"You carried Musca all the way back here?" She asked as she bent forward start cleaning his cuts.

"He walked a lot of the way Miss…Oh Miss…That hurts…"

"I'm sure it does but it has to be done." Olivia had lifted his bare foot in the air and was cleaning dirt from the cuts in it's sole.

"Good boy," Olivia said some half an hour later as she wound a bandage round Marcus's left foot. "You get down now and you can sleep in here with Musca tonight. I'll crop your hair and worm you tomorrow."

"We'll all have nits and worms then," the slave woman muttered under her breath.

"I expect your hungry. Would you like something to eat?"

"Oh yes please Miss."

All right sit down by Musca then and I'll give you a bowl of stew. See if you can get some in him as well. Do you know how to use a spoon?"

"Yes Miss."

Marcus thought he had never tasted any thing as good as that stew. It had oats and beans and even some goats meat in it. Olivia watched until he fell asleep a laden spoon halfway to his mouth. She gently took the spoon from his hand and spreading a blanket over the two naked boys, crept away to bed.

Later that night she heard a noise in the kitchen. She found Marcus still asleep but sitting upright, the fire light gleaming on his bare chest. He was muttering incoherently and then suddenly he chanted in the clearest of young voices "Through teeth, and skull and helmet" "So fierce a thrust he sped" "The good sword stood a hand breath out" "Behind the Tuscan's head"

She stopped amazed. She had heard her father teach her brothers and in turn Crastinus teach their son those words. They came from that ancient cycle of poems that described the founding of Rome and the city's early struggles against her neighbours. They were drummed into the minds of every free borne Roman boy but not often, if ever, taught to slave brats.

"I wonder," she said to herself as she sat to calm the still sleeping boy. "Could he really be? But then if he is he would be safest, as things are at the moment, with the slave boys here and if he isn't then that would be the right place for him any way."

What ever the truth of the matter, she told herself, it needed delicate handling. She resolved not to tell Crastinus and to bring forward her annual visit to her sister in Rome. While there she would no doubt be able to get a clear description of Marcus the son of Corax.

Chapter 23

"Well," he said gruffly as he stomped past Marcus scrubbing the flagstones of the low terrace that surrounded the farm house, a task set the him by Olivia to keep him out of mischief until his feet healed sufficiently o allow him to be sent to work in the yard and fields with the rest of the boys, "you spoke the truth so this time at least you won't be feeling my belt across your arse."

Marcus grinned quickly up at him but did not pause in his work. He had been told what to expect if he was caught taking it easy.

"It wouldn't," Crastinus said as he spooned hot soup into his mouth, "have disgraced the old tenth legion. Fight a battle then march fifteen miles [25km] through deep snow with the wounded and come out right in the end. Mind you I remember once in Upper Pannonia we had to …."

Olivia who was sitting alone with her husband in the front room ceased to listen while he prosed on. She had heard this particular story so often, as she had most of her husbands other stories, that she could judge to the second when it would wind it's way to it's rather tedious conclusion.

"Yes dear," she eventually said after Crastinus had reached the point where the senior centurion had congratulated him and his company on their endurance and fighting qualities and admitted that he had been wrong and Crastinus had been right in judging the ability of such fine a body of men to under take successfully so arduous a service, "but don't go making favourites of them will you. You know the sort of problems that would cause and though they're good boys they are just slaves and they mustn't be allowed to forget it. It wouldn't even be fair on them. We haven't the money to buy their freedom let alone to provide them with any sort of future as free boys. They're slaves and that's the end of it."

"Yes, yes," said Crastinus impatiently, "I know that's right. Don't worry about that. I know how important discipline is why…" And off he went again.

After two days Marcus's feet were sufficiently heeled for him to be sent to work and live with the other boys. Five days later Musca joined him. His side had healed but ugly scars down one side of his chest showed where the mountain lion had savaged him. Shortly afterwards Olivia left to visit her sister in Rome.

The life of the boys at the farm was hard but not as hard as on the mountain. They were always hungry and often cold but they were used to that. They had to mount a continuous watch on the herds of goats but as these were now confined in fields about the farm they were split into teams of four by Crastinus and undertook this duty in turns. It was neither so lonely for them as on the mountain nor was it so frightening as they had orders to alert the men should the wolves get close. Other wise they were kept busy during the short day in various tasks about the farm some invented to keep them busy others necessary such as, clearing snow from the yard and lanes, carrying water and fodder. At night those who were not herding the goats were housed in a shed where there was plenty of clean store on which to lie and where they kept each other warm.

Marcus was carrying two pales of goat's milk from the dairy to the farm, when passing the open door of one of the outbuildings, he heard a low whistle. Looking round to make sure Crastinus or one of the man was not watching he pushed his head though the doorway. Musca was standing in the gloom a basket in his hand and a big grin on his face.

"Put those pales down and come in here," he said in a whisper.

"Look," he held out the basket to Marcus. It was full of eggs. "I got twenty two yesterday for them but today I found where that old brown hen has been laying and I've got twenty six. They won't know that there's so many so there's two each for us if we're quick."

Marcus slipped the yoke from over his shoulders and abandoning the buckets of goat's milk joined his friend in the shed. It was sheer bad luck that one of the farm dogs should at that moment have crossed the yard and seeing the buckets unattended on the ground decided to help himself. It was even worse luck that Crastinus, stepping out of the farm house, should have spotted the animal with it's head in one of the pails, its rump stuck in the air and it's tail wagging furiously.

He quietly crossed the yard and the first indication that Marcus had that anything was wrong was the tearing pain as Crastinus's belt cut him across the back of his thighs. He turned to face the enraged man, raw egg trickling down his chin.

"Why you dirty little thieves," Crastinus roared landing another cut across the front of Marcus's legs, "I'll tan your filthy idle hides for this. Stealing food and letting the dog get the milk, it's the cane for the pair of you before your suppers this evening. Get that stuff up to the house and I'll find some real work for you to do. Go on."

He grabbed Marcus by the arm and pushed him roughly out of the shed. Musca tried to slip past him unnoticed but Crastinus managed to land two fierce cuts on the back of his legs as he scuttled past.

Crastinus followed the two boys up to the farmhouse.

"Now," he said after they had handed the milk and eggs to the maid, "since you can't be trusted round the yard take these two brooms and sweep the lane up to the house clear of snow. I'll be keeping an eye on the pair of you so don't make things worse for yourself than they already are."

Two very chastened and frightened small boys a few minutes later were hard at work in the lane. Bare footed and with only thin tunics to keep out the cold they wielded the brooms vigorously trying to keep warm. Soon however their arms began to ache and they started, despite themselves, to slacken off. The path had been roughly dug out but there had been a further light fall that morning and this in addition to the patches of uncleared snow made their task a hard one.

"Well," Musca muttered trying to see the bright side of things, "at least we managed to get one egg each before he spotted us."

"Yes, I suppose so. Do you think he'll thrash us and not let us have any supper?" Marcus asked nervously.

Musca paused in his work the better to contemplate this awful possibility and in the sudden silence the boys heard the drum of horses hooves and the sound of men's voices on the road below them. Musca clambered up the bank bordering the hedge and stared down the hill.

"It's the huntsmen," he shouted excitedly. "They come here every year after the wolves. That must have been why Crastinus wanted the lane swept. Look."

Marcus clambered up the bank beside him. Approaching them was a column of men and horses. In the lead were five or six mounted men with swords hanging from their belts, behind them loped as many more on foot carrying spears, these were followed by six couple of wolf hounds, large grey and shaggy, kept in order by three men carrying whips. The rear was brought up by a string of pack animals carrying supplies for the party.

At the head of this cavalcade as it clattered noisily up the hill towards the two boys was a young man, hardly twenty two years old . Riding a tall black horse whose coat gleamed with health. The animal pranced and pawed at the ground impatient at being held back by it's rider. The young man controlled the horse despite it's fiery spirit. He had an arrogant rather cruel face, dark and hawk nosed, that spoke of power and wealth. He wore a black fur cloak fastened at his neck with a large gold broach that gleamed in the winter sunshine over a fur jerkin and a thick woollen tunic, his boots were fur lined and his legs also bound in fur. He was Marcus realised with a feeling of sick horror his step mother's younger brother, Cassius Valerius Corvus.

Musca pulled urgently on his tunic.

"Kneel," he said, "get down off the bank and kneel."

The two boys scrambled hastily down the to the road. It was unlikely Marcus thought as he knelt in the dirty snow that any of the men would pay much attention to two little slave boys cowering at their horses feet as they rode by. Just as it was unlikely that Cassius, if he did spare him a glance, would realise that one of the two bare legged, half starved brats was his sister's step son. He had only met Cassius twice before. On the first occasion the young man had made a pass at him which he had rejected and on the second Cassius had chosen to ignore him. To be on the safe side he kept his head bowed until the riders had passed by. Lifting it and looking after them he was disturbed to see Cassius turned in his saddle staring back at him. Their eyes met and something flared in the young man's eyes.

At that point one of the men with the hounds, laughing, lashed at the two boys with his whip. They jumped squealing to their feet and scampered out of reach. Glancing back to the farm house Marcus saw Cassius dismounting from his horse at the foot of the steps leading to the front door. It seemed to him the young man's eyes sought him out again.

"Did you see that cloak," Musca explained, "I wish I could have warm clothes like that. And that broach it must have cost more than four times what we are worth. Let's go up to the yard and see what else is going on."

"What about Crastinus? Marcus asked nervously. "He said we were to stay here."

"He'll be much too busy with the hunters now they've arrived to notice what we are up to. Come on they'll be feeding the hounds soon and there maybe some scraps for us if the kennel men are feeling generous."

The yard was crowded with excited chattering boys who had abandoned their work to see the hounds and to wonder at the clothes of the huntsmen. Either Crastinus was too busy welcoming his new guests to notice the boys or he felt this was one occasion when discipline should be relaxed.

Cassius and his friends had gone into the farmhouse leaving the grooms to see to their horses. Marcus stood with the other boys watching the horses being led away to the stables and listening to the wolf hounds baying in the shed in which they had been locked. The three kennel men appeared carrying buckets of steaming offal. The boys danced around them, keeping just out of their reach, begging shrilly for food. One of the men picked up a length of flesh and threw it among the crowd of starving slave brats. Laughing the men watched as the boys scrambled on the yard floor for this fragment of tripe. The men were obviously in a good mood and two or three further pieces of offal were thrown to the boys. Musca managed to secure one piece which he shared with Marcus in a corner of the yard away from the other boys.

It seemed Marcus thought as he squatted on the ground chewing hungrily on the fragment of raw tripe that Cassius had not recognised him. He had not been seized by the men and dragged into the house for questioning or any thing like that. Perhaps what he had seen in Cassius's eyes was not recognition but lust. Marcus knew that with his cropped fair hair and deeply tanned skin he was an attractive looking boy. True he was a good deal skinnier now, after months of short rations, than when he first arrived at the farm. There was less flesh on his thighs, the dimples on either side of his rump were more pronounced, and the outline of his rib cage was more visible but he looked lithe and fit rather than completely starved. It was not as though his limbs looked stick like or his elbows and knees stood out from the rest of his body.

The bell at the back of the farm house clanged signalling it was time for the boy's supper. This was the one occasion in the day when the boys did not need driving. They crowded together a few yards away from the kitchen steps. One of the field slaves set the troughs on the ground and a ripple of anticipation ran through the crowd of boys. For Marcus and Musca, knowing that they were to be thrashed, feeling of anticipation was strongly laced with fear. The boys waited patiently knowing that they were only allowed to approach the troughs when they had been filled and permission granted.

Marcus sensed a movement on the terrace above him, dragging his eyes from the food troughs on which all his and every other the boy's attention was focused, he saw Cassias leaning on the railing staring down at the crowd of shivering hungry slave brats. He had shed his cloak but still wore his fur lined jerkin. He was nursing in his hands a silver goblet from which steam rose and there was a curl to his thin lips that mixed contempt and amusement in more or less equal proportions. It occurred to Marcus that if things had turned out differently in nine or so years he could well have been standing in Cassius's place, well fed and warmly clothed, whiling away the time before his dinner surveying the boy flesh available for his later enjoyment.

Another young man strolled round the corner of the house and joined Cassius. He too was expensively clothed and had a heavy gold chain hanging round his neck.

"I doubt if you will see anything to appeal to your tastes here Cassius," he said speaking in a loud confident voice. "Dirty little animals all of them, not like the well washed scented little beauties we have at home. And not very skilled either I suspect."

"You never know your luck Antonius. If you see one you fancy no doubt Crastinus will have the brat cleaned up for you if you tell him. As for skill well there's a pleasure in teaching a fresh young boy how to please his betters, though I agree this lot don't look very fresh. Too worn down with hunger and hard work for that."

The field slave reappeared carrying two heavy buckets. A ripple of excitement passed through the ranks of the slave boys as he slopped their steaming contents into the trough.. Marcus stirred unhappily as he saw Crastinus appear at the kitchen door a long supple cane held in his right hand.

"Can you imagine," Cassius demanded of his friend having to eat that muck. I'd rather die. I don't know how any one can."

"Well the boy's seem to like it," his companion said with a laugh, " but then I suppose it's debatable as to whether they are human or not."

"Oh look there's Crastinus and he's carrying a cane. Do you think he's going to beat one of the boys Cassius. I do hope so. There's nothing that gives me a better appetite for my dinner than watching a boy having his bum well flayed."

"Well we'd better ask him Antonius. Crastinus, my dear fellow, my friend wants one of the boys flogged as an appetiser for his dinner. I don't know why. Maybe the cane cutting up the boys bum puts him in mind of a joint being carved or alternatively the child's squeals reminds him of a pig being slaughtered." Cassius laughed uproariously and continued. "Anyway are you going to oblige?"

"I have to thrash two boys Sir," Crastinus replied gruffly. It was clear that beating a boy was a duty not a pleasure to him, "and they both know who they are. Come on over here you two and strip."

Musca and Marcus got reluctantly to their feet. It seemed to Marcus as he stumbled forward that his legs were numb and that the distance between him and Crastinus had suddenly become enormous. The two boys pulled their short tunics over their heads and placed them carefully on the bottom of the steps leading up to the terrace. Naked they turned to face Crastinus.

"What a ghastly mess that dark haired little tyke is," Antonius exclaimed in his piercing voice. "Have you ever seen any thing uglier. Look at the scars on his chest. Crastinus why ever do you bother to feed such a deformed little brute.?"

Marcus moved close to his friend and touched him reassuringly on his bare thigh. He knew Musca was very sensitive about the marks left on him by the mountain lion's mauling. He heard Musca sniff as he struggled to hold back his tears.

"I keep the boy for the work he does Sir and he's good enough at that." The man's voice was grim. He was going to beat the two boys because he had caught them thieving and thieving boys got beaten. Privately though and he would never admit this to anyone else other than his wife, he thought they were about the best boys he had.

"The blondes not too bad though," Cassius remarked. "Lovely little bum look at it. A nice jut to it and don't you think the dimples are attractive. It really is very inviting."

"Yes but is it a boy Cassius? I can't see anything very much between the legs in front to give a clue."

"That's the cold and lack of food their balls and cocks sort of shrivel up. I'm sure I can see something there not very large I admit. Any way what's in front isn't important to me. It's the boy's bottom I want to fuck."

Musca's hand sort Marcus's and squeezed it. Marcus felt his eyes smart with tears of humiliation.

"Crastinus, my good fellow," Cassius continued, "don't cut up that little blondes backside too much will you. Just enough to make him look attractive and when you've finished with him have him cleaned up and sent to me. You can slice the dark haired one's bottom up as much as you like though."

"Very well Sir," Crastinus grated turning his back on the two young men. It was clear he was rapidly loosing his patience.

"You ungrateful little brutes are thieves," he said to Marcus and Musca speaking slowly and raising his voice so that the other slave boys could hear him. "You have stolen food. Because of that I am going to punish you. This is the first time I have caught you I am going to give you both twelve strokes of the cane. Musca you will get all twelve today. Marcus as the lord has asked me not to cut you up too badly you will get six.. But do not think you will get off as lightly as that. You will have the remaining six when the lord has finished with you. All of you be warned I will not be so merciful if this happens again."

"You are friends so you can help each other. Musca come here and stand close behind Marcus and put your arms over his shoulders. Marcus get hold of his wrists and lean forward so that his feet are clear of the ground. Very Good."

Crastinus walked behind the two boys. He laid his cane gently across Musca's bare rump measuring his distance. Marcus felt his friends body tense. Crastinus lifted the cane high over his shoulder, paused and then brought it down across the child's defenceless rump with all his strength. Marcus heard the vicious hiss as the cane descended and the sharp crack as wood struck bare flesh. Musca's body jerked convulsively and a split second later the boy screamed shrilly. Crastinus waited a couple of seconds to allow the boy to fully experience the agony of the first cut. He watched as the scarlet weal raised by the cane across the smooth curve of Musca's neat little bottom deepened to a reddish purple. He noticed a bead of blood, red against the boys brown skin, well from the spot where the tip of the cane, curving about the boys body, had torn the flesh. He raised the cane again. Slowly and methodically, spacing the cuts out so that Musca would feel everyone to the full, he thrashed the boy. Musca howled and writhed as the cane sliced down on his quivering rump. Crastinus worked from the top of the boys bottom down, laying each stroke parallel to the last with unerring accuracy.

As Musca's naked body jumped and twisted under the bite of the cane Marcus felt a growing hardness pressing against the small of his back. Musca's screams, the hiss of the descending cane, the sound of wood striking boy's flesh, the feel of his friend's naked body against his bare back excited Marcus and his prick also began to harden. Musca's body jerked convulsively and a warm dampness flooded over the base of Marcus's back.

Crastinus saw Musca's bottom muscles begin to pulse. He lowered the cane waiting for the spasms to cease. He had flogged enough boys to recognise what has happening. He knew there was no point in continuing the beating until Musca had finished . The boy would not notice any cuts inflicted on him until then and the whole point of thrashing a boy was to make him feel the pain. He rested the flat of his hand on Musca's bottom feeling the boy shudder as the orgasm wracked his body. Satisfied that it was over and he once again had the child's full attention he shifted his stance and delivered the final four strokes of the beating diagonally across the weals of the strokes already inflicted. Blood welled from the boy's bottom where the cuts intersected.

"That's over Musca," Crastinus said. "Get down now."

Marcus straightened and released his grip on the other boy' wrists. Musca stood sobbing wiping the tears and snot from his face with the back of his hands.

"Oh look Antonius the poor child has been hurt," Cassius jeered. "What a cruel man you are Crastinus.

"And your blond is a boy Cassius," Antonius giggled, "his little prick is standing to attention."

"Little is the word," Cassius replied, "you're sure it's a prick and not a bit of straw that's somehow got stuck in him."

"It's the wrong colour for straw. Any way I'm going in now. I want another drink. You coming Cassius?" Antonius enquired.

"No I'll stay here and watch the blond tyke getting his bum warmed. It'll be a nice appetiser for later."

Crastinus meanwhile had been casting an experienced eye over Musca's bleeding rump.

"Let that be a warning to you brat," he said gruffly. "Next time I won't let you off so lightly. Now get back with the others you can't horse any one with your bum in that state."

Musca scuttled off sobbing to squat down among his fellow slave boys leaving Marcus standing alone before Crastinus. The man glared at the trembling boy, a wintry smile crossed his lips as he noticed the lad's tiny prick standing erect. Suddenly he grasped the back of Marcus's slave collar, twisting his left hand inside it, half choking the boy and forcing his head towards the ground. Marcus heard the cane sing through the air behind him, he tensed and a fierce all consuming pain drove the breath from his body. It felt as though a knife had been slashed across his bottom slicing through the flesh. For a moment he could not breath. Then he gasped air down into his lungs and shrieked in agony.

Before his flight from Rome pride would have forced Marcus to try not to scream. Even then he would have broken down before the third stroke for Crastinus was a strong man and wielded the cane with savage energy. Now he yelled as he suffered under the rod like any other little slave boy receiving a flogging. Crastinus kept a firm hold of his collar as hand Marcus bucked and jumped in his grasp as the man brought the cane slashing down across his bare bum.

At last it was over. Crastinus allowed the boy to stand upright but kept hold of his collar.

"All right," he said loudly, "you can eat now."

There was a dash for the trough and in a second the boys were squatting packed around it desperately stuffing handfuls of maize porridge into their mouths.

"You," he said giving Marcus a vigorous shake, "come with me. You'll have to be cleaned up for the lord."

Marcus cast a longing glance back to the trough as Crastinus lead him away. He knew there was no point in pleading but his tummy ached with hunger.

Marcus stumbled up the terrace steps beside Crastinus his head bowed snivelling in misery.

"Let's have a look at the brat's bum then," Marcus raised his head and saw Cassius standing grinning in front of him.

"Why boy," Cassius continued looking down into Marcus's tear and snot stained face, "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

"No Sir…I…I… don't think so Sir," Marcus said with as much conviction as he could manage through his sobs.

"Could have sworn I had. Still one slave brat looks much like another I suppose. Turn round boy."

Marcus felt Cassius run his fingers along the welts scored across his bottom by the cane. The man pressed his finger tips into the rawness where the rod had split the skin of his bottom and laughed when the boy squealed..

"You've marked him well Crastinus," Cassius gloated cruelly. "A boys bottom always look better for a few cuts of the cane. But the brat stinks of the yard. Have him thoroughly washed before you send him to me and I will get one of my people to bring you some stuff to make him smell of something else than goats."

He landed a hard open handed slap on Marcus's raw bum and walked off laughing.

"Sir," Marcus pleaded desperately, "please do I have to go to him. Couldn't I just go back to the other boys. Please Sir."

"Don't be stupid boy," Crastinus snapped, "The lord has chosen you and that's the end of it. If it wasn't that he wants to enjoy your bottom later you would get another taste of the cane for arguing."

Then he surprised Marcus by putting his hand on his shoulder.

"Look boy," Crastinus continued in a much milder voice, "I don't pretend I like this but it isn't the first time a man's had you. Remember the state you were in when you were brought here. If you play your cards right maybe it'll be back to Rome for you with a new master and a warm bed to sleep in and lots of good food to eat. You must make the most of your chances. You have few enough."

Marcus thought he would prefer to stay on the farm with Musca rather than go to Rome as Cassius's fancy boy but he knew better than to say so. Cassius had chosen him and that was the end of the matter. He would have to do his best to play his part so that Cassius did not recognise in the eager little slave slut his sister's step son.

Half an hour later Marcus washed and with his naked body oiled and scented slipped through the door into the room where the huntsmen were eating. It was crowded and noisy. The men did not lie on couches as they would have done at a formal dinner in their own homes but sat around a table as if they were in a common inn. Cassius was at the head of the table, his face flushed, his silver tankard in his hand. On either side of him sat the other young men talking and laughing. Youths hurried to and fro serving food to their masters and filling their wine cups. The table was littered with plates heaped with scallop shells, the remains of the first course of boiled shell fish. Marcus's mouth watered as the smell of cooked food pricked his nostrils. As Marcus stood hesitating he was knocked to one side by a man entering the room bearing an enormous salver of partridges in raisin sauce surrounded by almond sausages. The slaves hurried forward to clear the table. Cassius glanced round to see what was happening. He saw Marcus and beckoned him over.

"How's that bum of yours boy? Still sore?"

"Yes Sir," Marcus replied nervously.

"Well it's your own fault boy you should not steal food. Let's have a look at it." Grabbing Marcus by his wrist Cassius turned him so that he could see his bottom. Marcus braced himself expecting at least a slap on his still raw flesh. Instead he felt the man's lips against the curve of his rump.

"There you are. Kiss it better. Now we shan't say any more about it," Cassius said pulling the boy down onto his knees.

Marcus felt the man's fine linen tunic under his bare bottom. He also felt a growing hardness pressing up through the material. He wriggled up against the young man's chest working his rump tight into his lap. Cassius slipped his hand around the boy's waste and began to idly finger his little boy's cock.

"I though you were going to take a bight of him just then," Antonius, who was sitting immediately to Cassius's right, laughed.

"Well his bottoms good enough to eat but I have other plans for it," Cassius replied. "I leave dishes like that for the people who are privileged to attend those special dinner parties at the Golden Palace."

"If you're angling for an invite I'll try to get one for you." Antonius said.

"No thank you. Too many of our divine emperor's friends seem to be sent to make an early and permanent visit to his fellow Gods."

"Well I think perhaps you are wise. I hear your family has rather disappointed him over this Corax affairs. It has not proved to be as profitable as they lead him to believe."

Marcus who had started to gently nibble the lobe of Cassius's ear began to pay attention to the men's conversation. This was the first indication that he received that things were not going well for his father's enemies.

"The monies there all right.," Cassius snapped angrily. "It's just a question of screwing it out of his freemen and they're proving difficult. He's got no need to worry he'll get his cut in time."

"Well you're a lively little whore aren't you," he said pushing Marcus head away from his neck with his shoulder. "You've been fucked before haven't you?"

"Yes Sir," Marcus said looking up into the man's face and running the tip of his tongue along his lips. Cassius laughed and bending his head kissed the boy fiercely on the mouth. Marcus opened his lips and the man's tongue flicked into his mouth.

"I've picked myself a hot little bitch here," Cassius said a moment or two later wrenching his lips free. "I said you could find some choice boy's flesh among the brats here didn't I Antonius?"

"Yes but are you going to keep him for yourself or are you going to share him round. After all we are your guests."

"You'll have to wait your turn. He's mine for tonight maybe you lot can share him tomorrow after our first days hunting."

"Now boy are you hungry?"

Marcus wriggled his bottom in the man's lap and smiled up into his face suggestively. He was very hungry but he knew that convincing Cassius he was no more than a pretty and willing slave boy was more important than filling his stomach.

"I mean for food not cock boy. I can see I'm going to have a lively night with you though."

Marcus nodded his head and Antonius guffawed. "I've never come across a slave brat who isn't looking for food," he remarked.

Cassius reached across Marcus and tore a leg from the whole partridge that had been placed on the pate in front of him. Gripping it between his finger and thumb he held it to Marcus's lips who nibbled eagerly at it.

"Where shall we start the hunt tomorrow?" Cassius asked as he held his fingers out to Marcus to lick clean. The men started to talk about hunting and hounds and Marcus lost interest. He nestled on Cassius knees half dosing in the unaccustomed heat of the room, rousing himself every now and again to eat such scraps as the man allowed him, while the talk and laughter flowed on around him. As he chatted Cassius absent mindedly caressed the boy's naked body. Occasionally Marcus would stir himself , he would then give his bottom a little provocative wriggle against the man's growing hardness and softly nuzzle his neck.

The meal had long been finished and the lamps were burning low when Cassius pushed himself to his feet tumbling Marcus to the floor.

"Come on boy," the man said prodding the boy with his foot. "Now you can show me how good a tart you really are."

The other hunters laughed and shouted obscenities as the man followed by the fair haired naked boy walked from the room.

Cassius stumbled as he mounted the stairs. Once he was inside the bedroom he pulled off his tunic and sat heavily on the bed. It was clear that he had done himself well with the Setinian wine. Marcus knelt at his feet. Reaching upwards he unfastened Cassius's loincloth and gently pulled it away. His eyes fastened on the man's cock, already semi- erect, it's head just pushing clear of it's foreskin, and his heavy balls surrounded by a forest of dark wiry pubic hair. He lent forward and ran his tongue along the tiny slit at the top of Cassius's prick then he hunkered back on his heels and concentrated on unlacing the man's boots. He pulled these off and unwound the bandages about his feet. Bending down so that his bum was forced high up in the air he licked between the man's toes tasting the man's sour sweat on his tongue. Then he took them into his mouth and sucked them. Licking and kissing he made his way up Cassius's legs until his nose was pressed into his crutch. The man's testicles were large and hairy but Marcus managed to take them one by one into his mouth. By now Cassius's prick was fully erect. Marcus ran his tongue along it full length from it's base in the dark smelly tangle of pubic hair to it's throbbing tip. His tongue flicked round it's pink head before he took the man's rod into his mouth. He was experienced now and there was none of the choking and gagging that had marked his first attempts to suck cock. He swallowed and took it's full length into him, feeling it reaching down into his throat. He began to suck feeling the man's blood pounding as he pressed his tongue against the pulsating shaft. He felt the man's cock spasm and his mouth was full of warm sour fluid with a slightly metallic taste. He swallowed desperately but still some dribbled down his chin.

Cassius caught hold of him by his arm and pulled him up so that he was seated beside him.

"And now I'll fuck your bum," he said savagely and tumbled him backwards onto the bed.

Once again Marcus set to work with his lips and tongue. Dulled with wine and having already experienced one orgasm Cassius proved hard to rouse but at last Marcus felt his cock stir and begin to harden. Marcus redoubled his efforts and suddenly Cassius grabbed him by his shoulders and spun him over on to his face. Marcus knowing what was required of him. He spread his legs and raised his bum to receive the man's now rampant member. His anus, well lubricated and stretched by use, offered little resistance. A second or two later Cassius's cock was buried in his bottom The man's balls slapped against Marcus's rump as Cassius worked his cock in the boy. Cassius was quick and brutal in his fucking. His lust satisfied he rolled onto his side and immediately fell asleep snoring loudly.

Marcus spread some blankets over the sleeping man and crept into the bed beside him. He assumed Cassius would require his services again in the morning.

Marcus woke to find Cassius still asleep. He moved his hand to the man's crutch and found his cock limp and unresponsive to his caresses. Down stairs he could hear the household stirring. Eventually Cassius woke. He pushed Marcus from the bed and swung his own feet to the floor.

"Chamber pot, quickly, boy," he ordered hoarsely.

Marcus knelt between the man's knees holding the pot while Cassius directed a stream of amber liquid into it.

"I've got a mouth like a pig sty," Cassius complained as he wiped his fingers dry on Marcus's cropped head. "And my cocks covered with filth from your bottom. Come on clean it up."

Marcus bent down and set to work licking and sucking the man's flaccid prick clean. The dirt, a mixture of Cassius's sperm and his own shit, had dried over night so it was not a quick or easy task.

"Do the job properly boy," Cassius commanded brutally, "roll the foreskin back and clean behind it."

Eventually, in response to Marcus's agile tongue, the man's rod began to stiffen. By the time the boy had licked away the last fragment of filth it was once more fully erect, cruel and demanding.

Cassius caught hold of Marcus by his ears and pulled his head back. He looked down into the boy's face a cold smile on his lips.

"Well Marcus," he said, "you've certainly learnt some useful skills. Your step mother will be able to get a good price for you from one of the boy brothels near the forum once we no longer have any use for you."

"Oh," he continued seeing the look of shock on the boy's face, "I recognised you the first time I saw you. I thought it would be fun to see how good a slave boy you were. You're very good Marcus. Very good, but then I suppose you were borne to it. Both your mother and father were slaves weren't they?"

Cassius laughed loudly.

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