Sacrifices

Sacrifices

Ultimate love and ultimate evil 2000 years ago.

The Sun God was awake again. The top of His head was just visible over the horizon at the far side of the bay and the first rays of His life-giving radiance made the four poles on either side of the dying embers of last night's fire cast long shadows towards Arn. A soft moan made him turn his head. Gro hung slumped in her bonds, apparently unconscious. Her hands, tied so high up the pole that she was forced on tiptoe, were blue and swollen and her strained feet no longer had the strength to support her. He looked up at his own hands; they'd gone numb some time ago. At least he was spared that pain, but his feet, lashed so tightly that the thin string cutting into his ankles had drawn blood, hurt terribly. He looked at the empty poles again. ‘Only one day left'.

They had attacked their village deep in the woods three nights ago, the coast people. The inland tribe's warriors were out hunting and the remaining old men and boys didn't stand a chance when the superior force of better-armed raiders took them by surprise. Huts had been burned down, stores plundered and most of the villagers slaughtered. Only young women and adolescent girls and boys were dragged away to serve their captors as slaves. Except six, three girls and three boys, who were singled out as Midsummer sacrifices. Gro and Arn were last and after two days and nights in the cruel tie with neither food nor water, it would be a relief when their turn came, even if it was a horrible way to end their young lives.

They'd been left no choice but to watch their fellows die and listen to their screams during the previous nights, so he knew exactly what was in store for them. When the Sun God hid His face again, the fire would be rekindled and the warriors of the hostile tribe assemble around it. They would take down their victims, Gro first, but only to tie her spread-eagle between pegs on the beach and rape her, one after the other. The shaman first and the youngest men last. More than Arn had fingers and toes. When they had finished with her and she lay like a rag doll, slumped lifeless, sperm and blood oozing from her torn hole, the first to go had regained their strength and would turn her round to ravage her arse. After that they'd tie her to the pole again, this time on her knees, and break her lower jaw to ensure that she wouldn't bite when they took her for the third time, spurting down her throat. Perhaps she'd suffocate during the oral rape, like the girl they'd used on the first night. The next hadn't been that lucky. Her screams were still ringing in Arn's ears. They'd sliced off her budding young breasts and she'd watched them being roasted over the fire, cut into small pieces and eaten, while slowly bleeding to death. Almost; the limp body jerked feebly when her hands and feet were chopped off as special delicacies reserved for the most distinguished warriors. The others fought over the carcass to secure a slice of the juiciest parts, her arse and thighs. When all had got their share, the leftovers were thrown on the fire. Acrid smoke rose from the pyre to tickle the nose of the Sun God's silvery-faced sister and make Her sneeze to wake up Her powerful sibling.

The first part of the feast lasted several hours, during which the next victim was all but forgotten. Not completely, some of the men had milked his cock to make him spurt over a piece of roast flesh. When his turn eventually came, he was treated like the girl. Spread out and taken up the arse, tied back to the pole to have his jaw broken and his throat raped. He was stronger than she and his slaughterers more careful, so he survived when they cut off his cock and balls, cauterising the wounds with glowing embers, and even when his hands and feet were chopped off. Not until they sliced open his chest, wrenched the ribcage aside and ripped out the still beating heart did he finally die.

The other two boys had been incredibly brave and managed to endure all but the last ordeal in silence. But they were a couple of years older than Arn's sixteen summers. He looked into the rising sun and vowed to sustain his torture as befitting a man of his tribe.

A broken voice croaked: "I'm thirsty", and he looked at his sister again.

By far the most beautiful girl in their village, even exhausted and dishevelled as she was now. Blonde and slender, with long legs, a well-shaped bottom and, in spite of her only fifteen summers, fully developed, firm breasts, graced by large, dark brown nipples.

"It'll soon be over".

"I know".

They looked away again; there was nothing more to say.

The Sun God continued His journey and the tormented teenagers slumped into semi-consciousness. Arn slowly regained his senses when a babble of exited voices reached his ears. ‘Time to die', he thought, but then it was still plain day. He raised his head, squinting against the sharp light reflected from the surface of the bay. There was something strange out there, three red spots, slowly growing larger. Out of an inland tribe, he'd seldom seen the sea and never even heard about what was now closing on the coast.

The tribune Marcus Delius Peronius stood in the bow of his trireme, keenly watching the beach and the dark forest behind it. He'd been at this place once before and didn't expect trouble, but one couldn't be too cautious when exploring these remote and wild tracts, so they'd come well prepared this time. He had not only his own ship, with thirty heavily armed and well-trained legionnaires, but two smaller supply galleys as well, carrying another twenty. People were milling around on the shore, women and children among them, and one of their primitive boats was approaching. A half-naked savage, the man he remembered dealing with at his first visit, was standing upright, waving something. It looked like an enormous lump of amber. ‘Good! They've been busy, or their womenfolk and children have, hoping that we would return', he thought.

An hour later, when the galleys were riding at anchor at a safe distance, bows turned towards open sea and oars out; he was rowed ashore with thirty of his men. Bales of dyed cloth, gaudy glass pearls, copper and iron pots and pans, even a few knives were laid out for inspection and the savages looked at them in awe. The man who'd been rowed out to the galley greeted him cordially and waved some tribesmen forward to present what seemed a very fine collection of amber. The tribune looked them over, smiled and nodded, but left bargaining to his steward, an experienced tradesman, and strolled up towards the forest, followed by ten of his men. He wanted explore the nearest bit of it, but something caught his eye and he veered to the left, where a ring of large stones fenced off part of the beach. Up closer it looked like some sort of sacred place and he was about to turn away, not to worry or anger the savages, when spotting the two naked bodies tied to poles beside a fireplace. A glimpse of long blonde hair made him go on, glancing at the beach to see if anyone was watching and if his men were on the alert.

Satisfied that there were no signs of imminent trouble, he entered the stone circle to stop in front of the boy and the girl hanging there in their bonds. ‘Human sacrifices', he thought and studied them closer. The boy looked about seventeen or eighteen, strongly built with well-defined muscles and a rather handsome face. Prime slave meat. The girl was more than that, far more. She was exceptionally beautiful, or would be when cleaned up and rested. Even now, as she stood there, naked, helplessly tied, in pain, she was utterly desirable. ‘So alike what I had to give up, almost her fair twin', he thought, imagining her on a bed, spread, vulnerable, her eyes begging him to be gentle, and felt his cock stirring. Just then her eyelids fluttered open and those eyes, deep blue like the Bay of Neapolis, locked on his, wordlessly crying for help.

"I want her, Armin!" He turned to the blond giant behind him, one of his personal bodyguards: two Germanic slaves, whom he trusted with his life.

"You can't buy her, Tribune".

"Not at any price?"

The slave shook no. "She belongs to the God".

"But I must have her!"

"Then we'll steal her for you, Tribune". He looked calmly at his master.

"How?"

Armin turned to his even larger fellow and said something in their guttural language. Thor seemed to contemplate the problem, then brightened, rapped off a string of words, pointing to the narrow promontory shielding the Western side of the bay.

"Go back to the shore, Tribune", Armin related, "Finish trading, then board the ships and sail away. When you've rounded the headland, send one of the small galleys as close to the shore as she can get. We'll be waiting there, with the girl".

"You can handle this on your own?"

Marcus looked from the eight legionnaires in their short tunics, chest and leg armour and boots, to the two fair-haired slaves, dressed only in their native calf length trousers.

"We are men, Tribune!"

Armin rose to his full six feet seven inches and pushed out his magnificent chest. Instead of the standard weapons: Short stabbing sword and spear, and the three feet long curved bronze shield, Armin had two sleek knives tucked into his belt, while his fellow carried a razor sharp double edged battle axe.

"So you are".

The young commander smiled, punching the two men's bulging biceps.

"Come back to me".

He led the troop back towards the trading place, while the two half-naked slaves melted into the edge of the forest. None of the savages seemed to take any notice of their absence, preoccupied as they were with the display of hitherto unknown luxuries; haggling fiercely with the smiling steward. Eventually the deals were done to mutual satisfaction, judging from the smug smiles shared equally by the tribesmen and the Roman. Galley slaves had brought new supplies of water on board, with the addition of some live chickens, baskets of eggs, and two freshly slaughtered wild boars. It was a long journey to this northernmost part of the continent and the main purpose of such a costly expedition was exploring the unknown, but a bit of trading on the side suited the practical minded Romans well. The cargo of amber was worth a fortune on the markets of Rome and the big bales of bear and wolf hides loaded at other villages a profitable addition. Well worth dispatching three galleys and half a centuria of legionnaires under the command of a tribune. At twenty-three Marcus was an experienced commander, yet still retained the audacity of youth and more than willing to endure hardships and lack of the comfort and luxury he was used to as the only son of a wealthy senator, if only his need for adventure was satisfied.

The Romans returned to the ships and the slaves pulled hard on the oars to gain the open sea. Marcus had boarded the smallest and swiftest galley instead of the ponderous three-decker and was keenly watching the disappearing shore from the stern. The savages were either looking after the departing ships or milling around their newly acquired treasures. None of them seemed to notice what happened at the edge of the forest, where Armin and Thor sneaked up to the poles and with a few quick cuts freed the girl. The tribune nodded satisfied when one of them threw the inert body over his shoulder and disappeared into the dense undergrowth, but frowned in surprise when the other hesitated and then cut loose the other victim to carry him away as well. They had to have a very good reason for acting without orders, further endangering the risky operation. Marcus ordered the slave drivers to increase speed and the ten archers, he'd brought on board, to stand ready. The galley rounded the headland and sped down the other side until a short flash from the forest made the tribune call an abrupt halt. The ship backed carefully as close to the shore as possible. When it stopped again, the two Germans broke cover and ran across the sandy beach, half carrying the boy between them. The girl was slung across Thor's broad shoulder. Seconds later, they splashed through the shallow water and were hauled on board. Drum and whips made the slaves pull on the oars again and the lithe vessel beat a hasty retreat towards the two galleys further out to sea. It was over!

Marcus kept watching the shore until it had all but disappeared in the sea mist, but saw no sign of pursuit. Satisfied, he turned to the saved youngsters and their rescuers.

"Why did you take the boy?" He frowned at Armin, who shrugged his shoulders.

"He's her brother, Tribune".

"How can you know that. Do you understand their tongue?"

"Some of it. She whispered a word, which is almost the same as brother in our language, so we took him too. Might make her a better slave for you, Tribune, or you can just sell him".

"Perhaps". Marcus smiled benevolently. "You did well, very well".

"Thank you, Tribune".

The two giants knelt to kiss the foot he put forward. On the deck beside them the youngsters were watching their saviours submitting to the much slighter built man in the red cloak. The girl slumped almost lifeless, apparently too exhausted to move, but the boy had managed to get on his hands and knees and now edged forward to press his mouth to the boot. Marcus nodded, satisfied, and looked at the girl, reading the same complete submission in her eyes.

A couple of hours later the small flotilla was heading southwards under sail, driven by a brisk northerly wind, the long oars shipped and the slaves resting in their chains. Marcus had transferred to the trireme and looked up when the curtain shielding the door to his cabin on the quarterdeck was drawn aside and Armin led in the latest additions to his household. They'd been cleaned and the deep wounds on their wrists and ankles anointed with aloe salve and bandaged. Fed a light meal and all the water she could drink, the girl managed walk unaided, but began to sink to her knees when she saw the tribune. Marcus gestured her to remain standing and rose to guide her hands behind her neck, kicking her feet lightly to make her spread her legs. Gro quickly understood the message and her brother copied the stance beside her. "Excellent!" Their new master circled them slowly. "Have you tried speaking with them?"

"Some, Tribune", Armin answered, "Their language is much different, but we do understand each other. They are primitive forest people. The tribe of the bay destroyed their village and took them prisoner. Those two", he nodded at the couple, "were destined for the Sun God, because they're very handsome".

Marcus stopped in front of the girl, looking into her eyes and slowly raising his hand to touch her left breast. She looked frightened, but didn't try avoiding his caress. The young flesh was firm and her nipple almost instantly hard. "Don't be scared, girl, I won't harm you". He smiled reassuringly and touched the other breast gently, then let his hand slide down her firm stomach towards the sparse blonde hair between her slim thighs.

She went rigid and Armin spoke to her. "I promised that you won't eat her, Tribune".

The Roman looked shocked. "Eat her!"

"That's what they do with sacrifices. Didn't you notice the four empty poles and the ashes from the fire?" "Jupiter! Does your tribe do the same?"

"No, Tribune. We burn them at the stake. The smoke pleases the God".

The tribune tried to let his eyes speak, "I won't eat you, just fuck you", and slid his fingers further down, parting her labia lips and probing the narrow opening. It was moist and she squirmed under his touch, but didn't turn away, not even when his finger penetrated her further, until it met resistance.

"She's a virgin!"

"She would be, until marriage, Tribune".

Marcus took a step back, licking the sweet juices off his finger, smiling tenderly. The girl seemed to understand and opened her thighs further, thrusting her pelvis forward, offering herself. ‘So like the other one", he thought and felt a stab in his heart.

The Roman nodded his satisfaction and turned to her brother. The boy stood stock still, staring into middle distance, and didn't move a muscle when his new master's hands slid down his chest, squeezed his biceps and felt up his strong thighs. Only when they grabbed his scrotum and closed around his long slender cock did he gasp. Marcus looked up to meet his eyes, calm, but with something lurking behind the mask. Fear? Hate? No, surprise rather.

"Do these savages know of the pleasures a man can offer his fellow man?"

"If they are like us, the warriors seek comfort with each other on the long hunting trips, but we don't use boys", Armin answered.

"What a waste!"

The tribune went round to have a look at the strong back, put a hand between the boy's shoulder blades and pressed. Arn stiffened for a moment, unsure of what was expected of him, but when the pressure was increased, bowed at the waist to present his firm boyarse.

"Very nice". Marcus grabbed the buttocks and drew them apart to reveal a firm little gloryhole.

"You're right, he's had nothing up here".

"Yet!", Armin added dryly.

"Not yet, no". His master confirmed and took a step back.

"You want him tonight, Tribune, or the girl?"

Marcus smiled. "No! Tonight I'll reward my best slaves for their cunning and bravery. Give those two a couple of tunics and some blankets. Feed them well, but only a little bit at a time or they may be sick. Chain them to the deck outside, I don't anyone near them, except you, and to ensure that they won't sneak overboard".

"I don't think they can swim, Tribune, and they wouldn't run away anyway. We believe that when you save a life, you own a life. They were already dead when you revived them to a new existence as your slaves". "Do it anyway, to make their status clear".

"Yes, Tribune".

Gro and Arn looked in wonder at the plain and simple clothes. The girl caressed the soft wool, something she didn't know existed, whispering her thanks to the German, who smiled warmly back, gesturing her to cover herself and sit down by the cabin wall. Thor knelt to close a shackle carefully around her bandaged ankle, then restrained her brother beside her. "Eat and drink". Armin indicated the mugs of spiced wine and plates of bread and cold meat, then left them alone. Still stunned by the quick turn of events and overawed by the new, frightening surroundings, they emptied the mugs and plates in silence. Arn put an arm around his sister's shoulders, making her rest her head on his chest and soon after they fell into an exhausted sleep.

It was late when Armin woke them up with another light meal. The three ships were anchored close to a deserted coast and a contingent of legionnaires had lit a fire on the shore, preparing to keep watch. The two teenagers watched the sun sink slowly into the sea, while munching the dried dates and pickled olives, once again marvelling that such things existed. A shudder ran through the girl's body when the top of the Sun God's head disappeared and she relived the horrible scenes she'd witnessed during the previous nights. Her brother touched her cheek gently and she turned her head to look into his grave eyes.

"Will He be angry and hide His face forever?", she whispered.

"They'll offer Him another meal".

She shuddered again, imagining one of the other captured girls from her village screaming while she was gang-raped.

"But we belong to Him. He will not forget".

Gro nodded her understanding.

"He will be angry with him", Arn indicated the cabin, "That he stole us away".

"But the big men did that, not the dark one?"

"They're his slaves, he must have told them to do it".

"So we belong to him now?"

Arn nodded. "Until the Sun God claims us again".

"What will the dark one do to us?"

"I don't know".

She lowered her eyes. "It felt good, when he touched me".

"He'll do more than that".

"What men do to women?"

"Yes!" She munched another date. "He's kind".

"He'll hurt you".

"Men hurt women".

Arn didn't answer; there was no need. That's how it was, had to be, to keep them in their proper place. But he wondered what could be in store for him. Would he be chained to the oars like the naked men in the ship's hold? Would the dark one use him like a woman? But perhaps the dark one's tribe didn't do that. Yet he had touched him. Did it matter? The Sun God would soon take revenge and claim what was rightly His. He wondered why the dark one dared steal from Him. Perhaps he had other gods, he believed stronger. But no gods could be stronger than the provider of life, could they?

A boat put off from the beach, returning the tribune after his hot bath. He climbed on board, closely followed by Thor, and passed them with just a cursory glance on the way to his cabin. Shortly after, Armin brought a covered tray with his master's evening meal and a little later two glass-goblets of mulled wine for the shackled youngsters. "Rest", he told them, answering Gro's unspoken question, "We'll talk when He's awake again". He nodded towards the dark horizon.

"He is angry", Arn whispered

"The Romans have powerful gods". Armin's teeth flashed.

"Romans?"

"His tribe, very big, very strong".

Arn nodded doubtfully. The German touched his shoulder and left for the cabin. The siblings sipped the hot wine and, unused as she was to alcohol, Gro was soon snuggled up to her brother, fast asleep. He stayed awake a while longer, listening to faint noises from the cabin. At first it sounded like slaps and grunts, as if someone were whipped, then it changed to rhythmic gasps and groans, much like what he'd heard from their parents' hut on the nights when they'd been told to sleep outside and their mother had looked tired the next morning, displaying a severely striped arse. But Gro was surely the only girl on board? So the Romans did use men like women, even hurt them like men hurt women before using them. He wondered briefly who was using whom, but decided that it could only be the dark one hurting one of the big men. Strange! He must be a powerful chieftain to subdue much stronger men.

Had he been able to look through the cabin wall, he would've been even more surprised. The two large German slaves were naked, kneeling side by side on the edge of a bed, hands between their legs, grabbing their ankles. The likewise naked tribune's slender cock was buried in Thor's arsehole, sliding slowly forth and back in the hot tunnel. A short, sturdy whip lay abandoned at his feet, but the heavy welts decorating the two muscular arses proved that it had been used recently and with great effect.

"Aah!" Marcus emptied his balls. "That was good!"

"Thank you, Tribune", the slave grunted.

The Roman withdrew his spent cock and went round to present the soiled meat to Armin, who meekly closed his lips around it, sucking it clean.

"Yes, very good!" Marcus sank down on a chair and took a beaker of wine from a low table beside it, saluting the kneeling men. "It was a lucky day when we met".

Armin strained his head to look back at him. "It was, Tribune, for us".

That was two years ago, when Marcus' father was on his way to take up his post as proconsul and governor of Britannia, bringing his son along as personal aide. The young man was already experienced after having served his uncle, then military commander of Judaea, in the same capacity and seen action against the ever rebellious tribes. He had fought with such bravery and ferocity in the field of battle, that he'd won not only the respect, awe even, of his uncle, a hardened veteran not given to favouritism, but the common men as well. He returned home a centurion and was promoted tribune by the Emperor at the same time as his eldest son, Drusus, who had been Marcus' closest friend since boyhood and was now commanding a legion in the Southern part of Gallia Transalpina.

They had reached the mouth of the river Rhenum on the last lap of the long journey and boarded a trireme, which would take them across the open sea to Britannia. The proconsul retired to the aft cabin, but his son stayed to watch the ship getting under way. The moorings were cast off and he heard the command: "Oars out!", but it wasn't followed by the usual beating of a drum to mark the stroke. Instead came the familiar sound of a whip hitting bare flesh, followed by the deep bellow of a male voice. Another voice took up the chant and the two of them kept alternating regularly, supplanting the drum beat. Curious, he crossed to look into the hold where galley slaves were sitting on long benches, four to an oar in three tiers above each other on either side of the ship. A familiar sight, as were the handlers, ready to encourage the human engines with their whips. What he'd never seen before were the two naked bodies dangling on either side of the central gangway, their wrists tied to a rope run from the lower yard of the mast. Every square inch of their hide was marked by the sturdy whips two slave drivers were swinging expertly to force yet another scream from a helpless prisoner.

‘What a waste!', Marcus thought, studying the magnificent bodies. Even covered in welts, some of them oozing blood, both men displayed a remarkable physique. Well over six feet tall, arms bulging with strong muscles, wide chests tapering down to narrow waists and tight arses, and legs like tree trunks, they were specimens of a kind of manhood he'd seldom seen, if ever.

"Pity", someone said in his ear and he turned to see that the ship's captain had joined him, "To see good slaves go to waste".

"Why waste them, then?"

"Incorrigible troublemakers. I've had them for a year, but they've never adapted to their fate. Always complaining and rebelling, breaking the rhythm, upsetting the other slaves. We did try, believe me, there are many years of work left in them, but in the end had to realise that it would be impossible to tame them. So this is their last task, to serve as an example for their fellows"

"For how long have they been hanging like that?"

"This is the third day".

"And for how long are you going to keep them there?"

"Until they die!" The captain shrugged his shoulders. "Tonight, I guess".

Marcus watched the whips coming down another couple of times, then turned away with a pang of regret, but no pity. Slavery was a fact of life. Without a steady supply of slaves, the Empire would collapse. That some of them proved useless and had to be put down was inevitable.

"Do you know where they came from?", he asked.

"A wild forest tract near the northern coast of Germania, Marcus Delius", the decurion commanding the proconsul's bodyguard answered before the caption could say anything.

"What makes you think so?"

"Their tattoos. Its twenty years since I was up there last, but I'll never forget those. Warriors of their tribe are among the best I've ever met. Fantastic archers!"

The decurion was about twice Marcus' age; a battle scarred veteran of countless wars all over the Empire, who had been his second in command in Judaea. He spat on the deck.

"A stupid waste. Criminal!"

"Useless slaves have to be put down".

"They're not useless, Marcus Delius. They are men, not animals!"

"And therefore useless", the captain interrupted.

"Only if used wrongly and unfairly. I know these people, Marcus Delius. I've fought against them. I've conquered them. They are special. Fiercely loyal, fearless fighters. They have only two options in battle, victory or death! If they, against their own will, survive a defeat, they are dead. They do not belong to their tribe any longer, but to the victors. Yet not unconditionally. They still have two choices, seeking death or transferring their loyalty to their conquerors. If treated like trash, robbed of their dignity, they see no purpose in staying alive, but if their master wins their respect, he'll have the best and most devoted slaves in the world".

"Slaves don't have options, they obey", the captain growled.

"They don't? Then what do you call this?" The decurion indicated the tortured men. "They have chosen death, defeated you, because you don't deserve them!"

He spat on the deck again. "And what's worse, you've robbed the Empire of two valuable lives".

The captain was about to retort angrily when Marcus stopped him with a raised hand. "Not yet, Decurion! We'll put your confidence to the test".

The captain stared uncomprehendingly at him.

"Release those men, right now! I'm taking them over", the young tribune ordered.

"But, but you can't", he sputtered, "They're mine and I'm disposing of my property".

"They belong to the Empire, not you, Captain, and I'm representing the Emperor".

"You expect me to bow to a snotty brat like you!" The captain was spluttering with contempt.

"I expect you to obey a superior officer!"

"No one but me gives orders aboard my ship!"

"We shall see. Decurion, have those men released".

"At once, Tribune".

The soldier touched his breastplate, calling two of his men to cut the ropes. The captain shouted frantically to the sailors to stop them and the decurion ordered the eight legionnaires on guard outside the aft cabin to string their bows.

"You don't really want a fight, Captain", Marcus remarked quietly.

"But you can't just confiscate my slaves. I'm responsible for them!"

"They're already dead, as you just told me, so I'm only relieving you of the carcasses".

Two swords flashed and two bodies dropped heavily to the lowest deck. The captain turned away, admitting defeat, and Marcus went to the rail, looking down at the slumped slaves. A couple of slave drivers approached them, raising their whips.

"Leave them!", he called and the decurion joined him, shouting something in a strange language. One of the slaves raised his head, squinting up at the men at the rail and the decurion called again.

"You know their language?", Marcus asked.

"Just a few words which most Germans understand. I told them to come up here".

"I doubt that is possible, better send someone down for them".

"Wait and see, Marcus Delius. These men are exceptionally strong and determined".

The decurion was proved right. The slave slowly got on his knees and raised his hands to try tearing off the tight rope with his teeth, but without success. He shook his head, looked up again and then began dragging his pain-wracked body across to his lifeless fellow. The galley slaves had stopped rowing and their handlers were staring at the two men until an angry shout from the captain drove them back to work, a drum beating the stroke and whips lashing at strained backs. The crawling slave eventually reached his fellow and shook him awake with his tied hands to make him kneel up. They exchanged a few words and looked around to spot a ladder, then stumbled to their feet. It was a long, painful crawl, but they never even paused to catch their breaths until they at last reached the upper deck to stand swaying, looking from one to the next of the three Romans. The captain was quickly dismissed as a known quantity from whom they had no reason to expect mercy, but their eyes flickered uncertainly between the burly decurion in his shining breast plate and the slender young man, dressed in a simple tunic and with a red cloak slung around his shoulders. One of them seemingly made up his mind, grunted to his fellow and took two steps towards Marcus, dropping to his knees in front of him. He looked up briefly, locking his clear blue eyes with the Roman's brown, then bowed his head, mumbling something unintelligible. The tribune was about to answer when the decurion put a restraining hand on his arm. "Wait, Marcus Delius!", he whispered. The tied and tormented slave ambled closer to fall flat on his face, prostrating himself and reaching for his new master's right foot. Marcus almost recoiled, but felt the decurion's hand again and remained as he was, watching the slave grab his ankle to raise the foot and place it on the back of his neck in a gesture of complete submission.

The two slaves had hardly left his side since then. As the decurion had predicted, they were unfailingly loyal, alert and obedient. They recovered quickly and took to their training as Marcus' personal slaves like ducks to water. Armin, the brightest of them, soon learned to speak adequate Latin, something his gigantic fellow never quite mastered. Thor, on the other hand, revealed a surprisingly gentle touch when helping their master with his bath or dressing and undressing him, and could wait at table as elegantly as any top trained Greek slaveboy. Not even their first experience with their master's sexual tastes seemed to disturb them. They looked surprised when he, on the first night after they'd arrived at the proconsul's country house in Aquae Sulis, ordered them to kneel at the edge of his bed for a taste of the whip, evidently wondering what they'd done wrong. Yet Thor just grunted when his master's engorged member touched the crack of his striped arse and even reached back to open it. Now they routinely made themselves available for his whip and cock.