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.

Part two.

Like many other upper class Romans, Marcus was bisexual, but his sadistic streak was less common. Not that it was frowned upon or even considered unusual, if a master, or mistress for that matter, took advantage of their slaves, but they were generally treated well, often almost like members of the family. Severe punishments were rare, at least in private households, and slaves were often granted their freedom in their owners' wills. But they were slaves, worked hard and subjected to bleak living conditions, expected to fulfil their owner's every whim. Even submitting to sexual abuse. Marcus' mother died when he was just a toddler and the boy grew up as an only child; the senator never took another wife. The boy had seen a succession of slavegirls warming his father's bed and was on his thirteenth birthday presented with the first of his own, a delicate doe-eyed Thracian of about his own age. She meekly undressed and stood passively with downcast eyes while his eager hands explored her charms. The senator, who preferred more mature women, smilingly watched his son's clumsy pawing her budding breasts and almost hairless slit.

"Content?"

"Oh, yes, Father. I can hardly wait!"

"No need to. Take her to your room".

"Right now?" The girl whimpered when he pinched her nipples.

"Why not? It's your birthday".

Grinning hugely, the boy hauled his new toy away.

"She's a virgin, so she'll be a bit tight, Marcus. Take care!", his father called after him, beckoning to a Nubian girl, who was dressed only in a white loincloth to display her large, but firm breasts better.

Marcus didn't heed the warning and his first sexual experience subsequently proved disappointing. Not that the slavegirl offered any resistance when he flung her onto his bed and literally jumped upon her naked body, mauling her breasts and biting the nipples. She willingly spread her legs when he kilted up his tunic, without bothering to undress. But when his stiff boyprick after several failed attempts at last parted her tightly sealed pussy lips and touched the entrance to her love tunnel, he found it not only tight, but also uncomfortably dry. Wheezing and cursing, he pressed on and managed to squeeze past the opening. It hurt, but in his excited state of mind he hardly noticed the pain when stabbing further up into the girl. She did, though, and was soon whimpering and squirming under him, making the task even harder. "Keep quiet, damn you!", he hissed, redoubling his efforts to overcome the last obstacle. It didn't yield to the pressure and, grunting with frustration, he backed off a bit and then with a mighty heave burst through. The girl screamed and tried pushing him away, but went limp again when his balls at last banged against her arsehole and he stopped for a moment to regain his breath. After that, it only took a couple of thrusts before he spurted into her and the intruder was withdrawn, dripping with semen and blood. The girl curled into a ball, pressing her hands to her molested crotch, sobbing helplessly.

He had done it! At last he was a man! But it had hardly been a pleasure, he had to admit when his father asked about it.

"Don't worry, Marcus, it'll get better. It's often like that with an untrained girl, but I wanted you to lose your virginity to a virgin. Use Zosia tonight".

He nodded at the Nubian girl, who was on her knees beside his chair, chest thrust out.

"She'll give you a good time and teach you a few tricks into the bargain".

And she did. Introduced him to foreplay, sucking his cock and playing with herself to lubricate her tunnel, then guided him in, whispering that he should go slowly, prolong the pleasure, stop once in a while inside her, play with her tits, bite her nipples gently. That she actually managed to make the horny teenager fuck her for almost ten minutes before urging him to go faster and thrust deeper just before the final explosion, was no mean feat.

Her nasty first experience had, however, frightened his new slavegirl so far that even if he made use of his newly acquired skills, their next coupling turned out another disaster. She was still dry and didn't respond to his fondling her intimate parts. When he forced himself into her mouth, she gagged and retched, and when he, exasperated, kicked her legs apart, she panicked and fought him with all of her strength. He did manage to overcome and rape her, but emptying himself into a hysterically weeping and thrashing girl gave him little satisfaction, so his father found him in a surly mood the next morning.

"Cheer up, Marcus, Zosia will help you".

"I don't want Zosia, I want my own girl!", the brat whined.

"And Zosia will show you how to gain and enjoy her. Just let her prepare that silly slave. There are special, and very interesting, ways of subduing a stubborn female".

When he that night entered his bedroom, he found the Thracian girl ready. More than ready. She was on her back on his bed; widespread arms tied to the bedpost, legs forced up beside her ears and big toes lashed to the headboard. Her frightened eyes were staring at him above the wooden dowel gagging her mouth. A smiling Zosia offered him a short whip.

"Another kind of foreplay, young master, which I believe you'll enjoy just as much as what I taught you the day before yesterday. Begin with her feet!"

He reluctantly took the whip and aimed a light slap at the sole of the tied girl's left foot.

"Harder, young master, much harder! Make her feel your strength".

He hit the other sole, hard, and the girl screamed around the gag.

"That's it, young master, hit the balls of her feet too, and the toes".

His already stiff cock began throbbing when he let loose a hail of lashes on the waving feet. The Nubian opened the screaming girl's labia lips.

"Look, young master, she's getting wet, can hardly wait for another show of your strength. But heat up her arse first!"

Breathing hard with excitement, he changed aim and painted a stripe across the unblemished globes. "Harder, young master! She's not made of glass, especially not there", the older girl laughed, drowning her fellow slave's muffled screams.

He put all of his strength behind the lashes, raising welt by welt, until Zosia, who'd been watching his bobbing cock keenly, cried: "Now, young master, take her now!"

It was an Earth-shattering experience when he dropped the whip, threw himself on his knees behind the trussed up girl, grabbed her burning feet and rammed the throbbing tool up the steaming tunnel with one violent thrust. It was heaven! The almost virgin hole's firm grip around his tool, the crying girl, the glowing hide against his sweaty crotch, gave him not only intense sexual pleasure, but an overwhelming rush of power. He hammered her relentlessly, harder and faster, until he with a shout spurted his hot semen over the entrance to her womb, then slumped upon the tied body, breathing heavily.

"Jupiter!", he moaned, "That was fantastic!"

"Venus, rather, young master", Zosia chuckled.

He shook his head. "Mars! This was not love, but war!"

With an effort, he withdrew his spent tool and sank back on his heels, staring into the terrified girl's teary eyes.

"I ought to thank you for your bad performance earlier. You've helped me discover what I really like". He grinned evilly. "But I guess you'll regret that".

She did and with good reason. Her master grew addicted to rough sex. Perhaps the experienced Zosia regretted teaching him. He couldn't get enough, experimented constantly, and invented new ways of tying up a girl, of hurting her. His own slave was driven to exhaustion, so far that she hardly responded to the pain she had to endure and he complained to his father about the lack of fun. The senator told him to allow the girl a rest and replace her with the Nubian for a week or two. An excellent piece of advice. The teenage girl was greater fun than the more mature Nubian. She, on the other hand, could take a lot of pain before breaking down, sobbing and pleading. And to whip her breasts was utter delight. He would tie her to a pole, on tiptoe, hands above her head and strained feet behind it, and lash at the prominent mounds. To watch the whip burying itself in the soft flesh, see the globes dancing wildly, take careful aim and hit both nipples was heavenly. And to take her afterwards, standing in her bonds, grabbing the burning tits for support, gave him some of his most intense orgasms.

It was Zosia who introduced him to anal sex, primarily to lure him away from her tormented tits. An arsewhipping was, comparatively, less painful, and the proper position, on her knees, arms between her legs and wrists lashed to ankles, less strenuous. That the open crack of her arse and the brown rosebud offered new targets for the dancing whip was an unforeseen complication she could very well have done without. But at least she was used to taking a cock up her brown hole, unlike the Thracian girl, who had to go though a new painful period of training when returning to her duties. Which she now shared with Zosia, at least in her master's bed. Marcus had grown so fond of the Nubian that he persuaded his father to let him use her most nights. That gave room for new innovations. Two girls had four holes on offer, and to have them trussed up side by side, on their knees or legs up beside their ears, presented not only a pleasant contrast between the black and the white arse, but endless possibilities for comparing heat, smoothness and friction. After a proper warming up with a whip of course. The latter position added another two holes, very convenient for cleaning a master's tool between samplings. It became his favourite and he frequently kept the two girls tied up like that for hours, enjoying himself immensely and improving his growing stamina, occasionally taking a break, downing a goblet of wine to revive himself for a new bout of hole ploughing. His father's excellent Falernian occasionally made another kind of relief urgent, but a soft mouth quickly took care of that too.

At the age of fifteen his knowledge of and experience with advanced sex matched that of any old satyr. Except for one thing. He'd never fucked another boy. Not that he thought it wrong, it was after all quite normal in Rome, but because he'd been so preoccupied with his slavegirls that he'd never felt the need to seek new experiences. That summer he was invited to stay with Drusus at the Imperial family's villa by the Bay of Neapolis during the hottest months. Drusus was in a rather gloomy mood when he arrived. His father had demanded that he left his favourite slavegirl in Rome, because he'd become too attached to her, and now he not only missed her, but also feared that she'd be sold in his absence. And he didn't even have another girl to for comfort. The female slaves at the villa were mature women, none of them under forty. The only slaves of about his own age were twins, two exceptionally handsome Greek boys his father had just bought at the slave market on the island of Delos on his way back from a tour of Egypt.

Marcus missed his own girl sorely, but it would have been impolite to bring her with him. The two friends spent most of the first week sunning themselves on the beach or swimming in the bay, but when the weather turned even hotter, Drusus suggested that they sought refuge at a cabin on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. They brought the Greek boys and rode up with them running beside their horses. Much to his surprise, Marcus found it quite attractive to watch the barefoot boys sprinting along, panting in sweat soaked thin tunics. The trip took almost three hours and Drusus only stopped twice for a brief rest, so the slaves were exhausted to the point of collapse when arriving at the cabin. It was actually a miniature villa situated in a vineyard maintained by a couple of elderly slaves. A bathhouse built over a hot spring was an added luxury.

Drusus headed straight for that, reined in his horse and jumped down. "Come on, Marcus, let's get the dust washed off".

He threw the reins to one of the panting slaveboys and slipped off his tunic. The guest followed his example and the two boys entered to sit down on a stone bench beside the steaming pool of fresh water, impatiently waiting for the second slave to relieve them of their soft boots.

Drusus kicked the kneeling boy in the stomach, grumbling: "Get a move on, you lazy pig!"

The slave scurried away to fetch body oil and strigils. His fellow came running and their young masters were carefully anointed before oil and dust was scraped off.

"Ouch!" Drusus slapped the hapless slave's face. "You clumsy oaf! Fetch a crop".

"Yes, Master. I'm sorry, Master". He fled and his master finished scraping.

The other slave took extra care with the guest and Marcus looked on, amused, when his fellow came back and was ordered to get out of his tunic and bend over to touch his toes.

"Spread those legs!" Drusus kicked his ankles apart before aiming a vicious lash across the narrow boyarse and the slave yelped. Another, harder, followed and several more while the boy cried and begged. At last the crop fell to the floor.

"Stay!"

Drusus grabbed the burning globes to force them apart and then rammed his rock hard dick up the narrow hole. The slave screamed in pain and his master grunted:

"Whipping always makes me so damned horny! I usually take a boy to my room and give him a good hiding to warm up before fucking my girl, but since she's not here, this one will have to do".

Mesmerised, Marcus watched his friend's dick pumping in and out of the striped arse.

"Heats you up too, I can see". Drusus nodded at his ramrod stiff tool. "Why don't you seek some relief?" "I've never done a boy, not yet!"

"But an arsehole?"

"Sure".

"It's more or less the same, not least when they're as young as these. Do try"

Marcus shrugged his shoulders and nudged the other slaveboy, who wordlessly turned to open his arsecrack. Taught by experience, he smeared a generous amount of oil on his dick before easing it in.

"Yes, aah, not bad", he moaned and Drusus grinned to him while the two of them pumped their mounts in unison.

That was a great start of a splendid fortnight for the two upper class boys. They explored the mountain, went hunting for rabbits, enjoyed the cool of the evenings and the simple, but tasty meals the old slave woman prepared and, not least, their two delicious slaves. The Greek boys were not only very handsome, with pretty, almost girlish looks, soft dark skin and slim, well proportioned bodies, but skilled sex partners as well. Marcus had to admit that not even Zosia mastered the art of milking a cock with her arse muscles as well as they and that their speciality, a tongue bath followed by a full body massage, was almost as satisfying as a fucking. Drusus, on the other hand, fond as he was of getting in the mood with a brutal whipping of a slave, had always been too impatient to explore the more saucy details of advanced sex.

His friend corrected that, well, but not exactly eagerly helped by the slaves, whose lithe, but strong bodies and greater stamina were a lot more suited for experimenting with harder bondage than a slavegirl's. Already on the first night at the mountain retreat he had them trussed up in his favourite position, side by side on a bed, arms tied akimbo and legs up beside their ears.

"Jupiter!" Drusus stared, wetting his lips.

"Sure, and have you tried this?"

Grinning hugely, Marcus hit across one of the exposed soles of the two pairs of bare feet. The boy yelped and Marcus hit his other foot.

"Makes a great hot handle when you fuck him".

"Yeah"

Drusus laid into the other slave's feet with gusto and the tormented boys' wild screams rang down the valley.

"Ooh, aah!", he moaned when a while later, emptying his balls into the bowels of the abused boy.

"Yess!", his friend shouted beside him.

"Ready for another round?" Marcus smiled teasingly to his host, when the two friends were refreshing themselves with goblets of spiced wine.

"Am I ever!"

The slaveboys were still trussed up on the bed, looking at their young masters with frightened eyes.

"Then watch this".

Marcus found two thin leather strings to wrap tightly around the slaves' cocks and ballsacks, then released their feet one by one, but only to tie the ends of the strings to their big toes.

"I usually tie up a girl's nipples, but this ought to work just as well. There!"

He ran his fingertips down one of the burning soles and the leg jerked.

"See?"

He scraped the other sole with his fingernails, forcing an anguished moan from the slave when he involuntarily kicked out, tightening the string around his genitals

"Yess!" Drusus jumped up to tickle the other boy.

"You're a fucking genius, man!", he laughed a while later, when the tormented boys' whimpering changed to cries as their equipment was turning an ugly blue.

"Try this".

Marcus grabbed a lamp to drip hot oil onto the raw welts of his victim's whipped feet.

After that first experience, their games turned more and more sophisticated. The slaveboys were hogtied, frogtied, balltied, or spread-eagle to be whipped and fucked. And as if the nights were not enough, the young masters amused themselves by tying up their slaves outside during the day. There was no lack of suitable trees they could make a naked boy embrace before tying him tightly, stripe his back and arse and then fuck him, squirming in the bonds. Or a sturdy branch from which to hang him by wrists or ankles, perhaps with his fellow inverted beside him, cocks buried in each other's mouths, muffling screams of pain when the lashes rained down at them. An evening entertainment, where they hogtied the two slaves and then whipped them mercilessly until one of them succeeded in getting his cock up his fellow's arse, inspired them to try the same. Not being tied and whipped of course, but to let the slaves fuck them. The Greek boys were terrified, fearing the worst if they hurt their masters, and had trouble getting their tools erect, but in the end managed to penetrate the two virgin and well-lubricated holes as gently as possible. "Ooh!", Marcus moaned softly, "So this is how it feels".

"Yeah, great!", his friend sighed heavily, "Don't know why those damned slaves are complaining every time we fuck them".

Part three.

Close friends since early boyhood, the two boys after that holiday became inseparable, always hanging out together, even after Drusus' father a year later, following the sudden death of the last member of the ruling dynasty, was proclaimed emperor by the troops he successfully had led from victory to victory before entering the Senate. Not that the sudden rise to power and fame went to his son's head or made the two boys run wild. Unlike Drusus' younger step-brother, Publius, who became loathed and feared by the ordinary citizens of Rome when he began roaming round town with a gang of similar minded friends, they took their studies of law seriously, worked out in the gym every day and trained hard with a retired centurion to prepare for joining the army. Only their sex habits were rather wild, but they kept that part of their life strictly private and it was only their slaves who suffered. Marcus even won the Emperor's approval when he lured his friend away from his unbecoming infatuation with the slavegirl. When they turned seventeen they had to part. Drusus to go to Gallia and Marcus to earn his spurs in Judaea.

He went as an honorary aide to his uncle, but begged to see active service. The legate only reluctantly allowed it. Fighting the fierce tribes, who fearlessly placed their fate and destiny in the hands of their one and only god, was dangerous, and Marcus was his brother's only child, but at last the young man was given nominal command of a small troop of battle-scarred veterans, whose main task was to protect him with their lives. However, just a week later they were ambushed by a much larger force and cut off from other Roman troops, without any other option but to try fighting they way out.

It was a tired and bruised youngster, who in triumph led his little troop and their seven captives back to camp after having killed almost double that number, two of them with his own sword. His men hailed him and his uncle had to admit that there was more to the lad than he or his father had expected. As a reward and in recognition of his hard won position as a commander in his own right he was given the task of ridding the Empire of the captured rebels. It was done in the old-established way, by crucifixion. But Marcus wanted more than that and took his time; found out to which tribe the captives belonged, located their main village and raided it one morning at dawn. He brought the prisoners with him and they were helpless witnesses to the slaughter of their fellows, mostly old men, women and children, forced to see their houses burnt down and their crops destroyed. Seven teenage girls were spared, only to be dragged off for the next step in Marcus' revenge for the killing of one of his men in the skirmish.

Back in Judaea's capital city the male prisoners were marched naked to the main square at noon three days in a row for a public flogging. First suspended in a hogtie to have the soles of their feet beaten to bloody pulp, next dangling by their wrists to have their backs flogged until the ribs were visible and last upside down while their fronts suffered the same treatment. Each time they were left hanging until dusk. On the fourth day they were tied spread-eagle on a raised scaffold for all to see. Then the girls, naked and with their hands tied behind their backs, were brought to their knees beside them and, encouraged by a whip lashing across their budding breasts or frail shoulders, forced to suck on the helpless men's cocks until they, in spite of all efforts to stay limp, stood up, angry and waving, waiting for release. That came when two soldiers grabbed each of the girls to raise her over one of the poles, spreading her legs and lowering her onto it, pressing down until she with a scream indicated the she was no longer a virgin. Just then, when the first lover of her young life, perhaps a brother or a cousin, was staring at her in horror and shame, a soldier ensured that he stayed the first by slitting her throat, letting her lifeless body drop to the prisoner's chest, soaking him in her warm blood.

The scene of horror was left undisturbed but for the prisoners' shouts of anger or cries of sorrow, until dusk, when they were brought back to their cells. Finally, at dawn on the fifth day, they were stretched on the crosses, their wrists nailed to the crossbar and their feet on either side of the supporting pole with big iron spikes though their heels. Then a sharpened wooden dowel was rammed up their arseholes, but not far enough to cause the vital organs any harm, and nailed to the pole as a cruel seat when the crosses and their screaming burdens were heaved into holes in the ground and secured upright. When they at last were hanging there, a gruesome reminder to their countrymen of the ruthlessness of their conquerors, twine was tied around their genitals, cutting off the blood supply, and they were castrated. Their manhoods were nailed to the pole between their thighs. Two of them lasted three days on the crosses.

Marcus' revenge was praised by the common soldiers, and if the legate was dismayed by his nephew's brutality, he didn't show it, just gave him command of a larger force and sent them down south to root out a rebels' nest in the desert. Once again the young man, teenage boy rather, barely eighteen, showed bravery and cunning. Against the advice of his second in command, an experienced decurion his uncle had chosen carefully, he split up his troop in smaller groups, told them to leave all heavy equipment behind and gave them three days to steal into positions around the enemy camp. On the fourth dawn he made the agreed signal, a short, blinding burst of Greek fire, the secret weapon he had learned about as a young boy when his father briefly commanded the Misenium fleet, then, confident that his other men were ready, moved in his own troop. The raid came as a complete surprise for the rebels, who, even if outnumbering the Romans three to one, were mown down like hay by a scythe when attacked simultaneously from five different directions. Most of them were killed before they could arm themselves and the rest soon overpowered and taken prisoner.

The survivors were forced to destroy their own camp before the long march back towards the main city and Roman headquarters began. Each prisoner carried two pieces of timber, saved before their huts were burned, and once every ten miles of the ninety between battlefield and city a cross was made up and a naked man hung upon it, head down, widespread feet nailed to the crossbar by his heels and his severed genitals stuffed into his mouth. The veterans banged their swords on their shields when the legate promoted his nephew centurion, one of the youngest in Roman history, secretly doubting the future of the young hothead, who was expected to become an administrator, eventually a senator like his father, not a warrior. But for the greater cause, the sake of the Empire, the old commander overruled his family feelings and gave him command of a special force with orders to quell the natives' century old rebellion.

And he did, ruthlessly and mercilessly, became known among the terrified local tribes as ‘The Scourge of Judaea'. His devoted men conducted long, swift marches across country to make devastating dawn attacks on camps and villages, killing and destroying everyone and everything in their wake. If a rebel or his relatives died in such a raid, they could count themselves lucky, it was at least swift. If not, they were dragged off to a fate far worse. Crucifixion awaited them, of course, but before that they would be tortured and abused. Marcus' sadistic streak surfaced in earnest and he rewarded his men with the spoils of war. The business minded Romans usually turned the nations, they suppressed, into slaves. Rome depended on a steady supply. But the monotheistic people of Judaea were considered unsuitable for slavery, especially if rebelling against the invaders, so no one interfered if a successful commander destroyed what he had conquered.

Accordingly, the unlucky prisoners, teenage girls and boys not least, were left to the mercy, or rather lack thereof, of the legionnaires, who had their fill of raping virgin holes, whether it was a boyish arse or a girl's cunt or backdoor. And of course not only that. The victims were dead anyway, weren't they? Would decorate a cross within a few days. So why not have a little extra fun, now a poor legionnaire had the chance of savouring what the upper classes of the society they were fighting for considered their birthright. A trussed up, thoroughly whipped, screaming youngster is much more fun when it's your turn to rape her or him. And their revered commander set the example.

Until he met Rachel.

Marcus had long lost count of, if not the number of battles he had fought during the last 18 months, then the number of men he had killed and the endless succession of defenceless bodies trussed up on his bed, striped by his whip, ravaged by his hands and cock, when he one day was inspecting yet another batch of naked and chained captives and his eyes fell on a strikingly beautiful girl. Unlike her fellows she stood tall and proud, shoulders back and perfect breasts thrust out. When she saw him looking, her dark eyes caught his and held them boldly as if challenging him to conquer her. The young man suddenly felt a stab in his heart and heat rising in his loins and had to take a grip of himself to tear his eyes away and get back to the grim reality of lewdly grinning legionnaires and terrified prisoners. As usual they were dragged to a long horizontal bar, ten at a time, hung across it on their stomachs, wrists lashed to ankles and whipped until their arses were glowing crimson and they had screamed themselves hoarse. Then their torturers dropped the whips, raised their tunics to reveal ten hard and bobbing cocks, grabbed the flaming buttocks to wrench them apart and buried their tools in the virgin arseholes with one violent thrust. The air was filled with screams of pain and bellows of lust and Marcus was looking on with a grim smile, satisfied with the ferocity of his men, but this time something forced his eyes away from the scene. The other prisoners were looking shamed at the fate of their fellows and terrified that it would soon be their turn, but the dark girl was still standing calm and erect, looking steadily at him, even if it was obvious that she would be among the next ten across the bar. Marcus tried to tear his eyes away, but once again they were caught and held. Mentally shaking his head at his weakness he turned to the decurion beside him.

"Take her to my tent, now!" He nodded towards the girl.

The older man grinned lewdly, banged a fist on his breastplate and went over to drag her out of the line. Some of the other soldiers were nudging each other, exchanging smug smiles. Their beloved commander was in for a good, if not very restful night.

When he a couple of hours later after witnessing the initial punishment of the captives entered his tent, he found the girl leaning against the central pole, wrists and elbows lashed together behind it. She didn't utter a sound, but her calm eyes watched him when he caressed her firm breasts, pinching the nipples, and slid his hand down her flat belly to dug a finger between the pussy lips, sparsely covered by fine black hair. "I'm a virgin, Lord".

Her voice was husky, but calm as her eyes and he looked surprised at her.

"You speak Latin?"

"Yes, Lord".

Marcus took a step back and sat down on a campstool, reaching for a beaker of wine.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen, Lord".

Her eyes followed the beaker when he raised it to have a sip.

"Thirsty?"

"Yes, Lord".

"Good!" He emptied the glass and she sighed.

"So you've never had a man?"

"Yes, Lord, but not inside me".

His eyebrows rose questioningly. "Then how?"

"A woman can please a man with her mouth, Lord".

"True, and you have?"

"Yes, Lord".

"More than once?"

"Many times, lord".

"Why?"

"I'm a slave, Lord, and served my master and his sons".

"Why didn't they make full use of you then?"

"They were planning to sell me and virgins fetch a higher price, Lord. I was taught your tongue for the same reason".

He nodded his understanding and filled the beaker again, then rose to circle her. The straight back and pert little arse displayed a pattern of fresh and faded stripes.

"You've been whipped recently, why?"

"Slaves are whipped, Lord".

"As a punishment or for fun?"

"Both, Lord".

He went back in front of her and held the beaker to her lips. She drank deeply and sent him a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Lord".

Marcus sat down again. "So you are not of the rebel tribe?"

"I am, Lord".

"Then why a slave?"

"My parents sold me, Lord. We were seven sisters and girls need dowries".

He nodded. "You should have lied about your ancestry. It might have spared you a painful end".

"You would have discovered the truth anyway, Lord. One of my master's sons is among the prisoners. He would not have gone to his death without making sure that I followed".

"So you know that you'll be crucified?

"Yes, Lord". Her eyes didn't waver.

"But are not afraid?"

"I am, Lord, but giving in to my fear won't make my death easier".

He nodded again and rose to untie the ropes cutting deeply into her delicate skin. Her arms fell limply by her sides, but she didn't move or tried rubbing her wrists.

"Show me your skills".

He sat down again, drawing up the hem of his tunic. She dropped gracefully to her knees and ambled closer to catch his erect cock in a small hand and bend over it to let her tongue slide slowly up and down the shaft, then bowed lower so suck on his balls. She hadn't lied, she really was a skilled cocksucker, who knew how to please a man, bringing him the point of erupting again and again, sucking, blowing, licking, until Marcus almost went wild with lust and she at last took him all the way down her throat and he exploded, shooting his hot semen directly into her belly. Later that night, after he had shared his evening meal with her, she lost her virginity, twice. But for once Marcus didn't mix pleasure with pain, even tried to take her as gently as possible.

She was sound asleep on the floor beside his bed, while he rested on an elbow, looking down at the naked beauty. He had hogtied her, securely, but not too painfully, she was after all a prisoner and he couldn't risk her trying to escape. But he'd fucked her unrestrained and she'd willingly given herself to him, smiling when he slowly penetrated her virgin hole, not even flinching when he burst through the hymen. Only when he increased his speed did she close her eyes, losing herself in the throes of passion and screaming out her lust when his hot sperm washed the entrance to her womb. Afterwards, when he tried to withdraw, she'd wrapped her arms and legs around him, and begun rotating her hips until he was hard again and ready to come in another even more Earth-shattering explosion. Never in his young life had he felt so satisfied as when he at last rolled off her and she bent over his crotch to lick the spent tool clean of sperm and blood. Never before had a slavegirl been so loving, so willing, so eager to satisfy him. She had served a glass of wine and snuggled up to him, planting soft kisses all over his chest and sucking gently on his nipples. When he once again felt ready and told her to get on hands and knees, she had willingly spread her legs to expose her slightly swollen sex, expecting him to take her there again. When he instead pressed his tool further up against her brown globes, she had dropped her shoulders to the ground and reached back to open her arse for him. With a contented sigh he lay down to sleep, a tender smile playing on his lips.

She was already awake and had managed to get on her knees in spite of the hogtie, when he the next morning opened his eyes and swung his legs to the floor, stretching luxuriously. The bound girl smiled timidly and, before he was fully awake, shuffled closer to engulf his half-erect cock. He looked startled at her, then with an evil grin let loose a stream of hot piss, wondering how she would handle that. The girl didn't even flinch, just seemed to open her throat to swallow the acrid drink. When it stopped, she bobbed her head a couple of times to suck the member clean, then began swirling her tongue around it. Once again Marcus marvelled over her submissiveness while the heat in his loins rose and he at last spewed another fluid into the working mouth. She licked him clean for the second time and sat back on her heels, looking very smug.

"Good morning. What's your name, girl?"

"Rachel, Lord. Good morning".

"You've done that before?"

"Many, many times, lord".

He nodded and rose to untie her.

"Time to whip you. Do I have to tie you up again?"

"No, Lord".

She was still smiling when getting to her feet in one fluent movement, turning to embrace the tent pole. Marcus grabbed a short whip, but her striped back didn't excite him, as a helpless girl's naked hide usually did. What he felt was not lust, but pity. Yet he had to do it or his men might wonder about him, if he was going soft. A first step towards losing their respect. Gritting his teeth he lashed out, but only hard enough to mark her.

After sharing his breakfast of hot wine, sweetened with honey, and the simple biscuits that were a soldiers fare when on the march, he led her out to his hugely grinning men.

"Good night, Marcus Delius?", the old decurion asked.

"Couldn't be better. I think I'll make use of her again tonight".

The men quickly and efficiently broke camp and marched off, driving the coffle of shackled prisoners along with frequent use of their whips. Marcus didn't make his chosen girl join her fellows, but let her walk beside his horse, leading her by a rope tied to her cuffed wrists.

The march back to the city lasted six days and Marcus hardly let Rachel out of his sight. She walked with him, effortlessly keeping pace with the swift marching soldiers, always with her head held high and a sweet smile playing on her lips. She shared his meals, slept on the floor beside his bed, and every night opened her mouth or her legs, welcoming him. Never once did she show any sign of fear of what was waiting for her at the end of their journey, never once did she lose her calm composure, never once did she fail to satisfy his sexual demands. And, apart from the mild morning whippings he felt compelled to give her, never once did Marcus hurt her. He didn't even think of tying her up, but she urged him to try, and rewarded him with wild cries of lust, when he hammered her defenceless body. For the first time in his life he didn't fuck a girl, but made love to her. And for the first time he felt a girl responding to him, willingly, passionately, desperately trying to fulfil his, and her own demands.

As the days, and nights, went by, he realised that he was falling in love with this beautiful creature, that all he wanted out of his life was to spend the remainder of it with her. Looking at her, listening to her sweet voice, making love to her. But that was not possible, he himself had seen to that. The Romans had cemented their rule over Judaea, all but quelled further outbreaks of rebellion before they even began, thanks to the ruthlessness of the Legate's nephew, Marcus Delius Peronius, the Scourge of Judaea. Yet the tables could be turned easily if he showed any sign of softening. Prisoners had to be flogged, tortured and crucified publicly, each and every time another uprising had been put down. All of them, without exception or word would spread that there was a chance of surviving, even if it were as a slave. No, Rachel had to die, but that brutal reality was tearing him apart and on the fourth night he woke up, bathed in sweat, from a nightmare. He'd seen himself sitting proudly on his horse, as so often before, watching the gruesome nailing of the helpless men and women to their crosses, heard their desperate screams when their limbs were mutilated, seen their naked bodies writhing when the crosses were raised and their burning lungs forced them into self-torment, trying to heave themselves upright to breathe. And he'd seen his lovely girl raise her head and look directly into his eyes, smiling her last goodbye, before she too had to give voice to her agony. That was unbearable and he lay awake for the rest of the night, tossing and turning, desperately seeking a way out. At last, just before dawn, he found it.

The following night he did something he'd never even contemplated. When Rachel once again, smiling, dropped to her knees in front of him and reached for the hem of his tunic, he grabbed her hands and rose with her, embracing her supple body, kissing her deeply until both of them were gasping for breath. Then he led her to his bed, made her lie down and knelt by her feet, gently spreading her legs, and bowed over her crotch. She tasted sweeter than honey, her juices were more intoxicating than any wine he'd ever drunk and her passionate cries of ecstasy more beautiful than any music when she came and came under his working tongue. After that they made quiet love, for a long, long time. When they at last lay entwined on his bed, spent but more satisfied than ever, he whispered that she had nothing to fear, that she wouldn't suffer on the cross, that she would stay his forever. Then he rose to pour two beakers of spiced wine, offering one of them to her and watched her empty it, smiling happily. He embraced and lay down with her body in his arms, pressing it to his own nakedness, while her breathing turned shallow and she fell asleep. It took less than an hour before the mixture of sedative and poison made her go limp. Marcus embraced her one last time, then let go to put an ear to her chest. There was no heartbeat and he kissed her still warm lips softly, tears welling in his eyes, then went in search of the decurion.

When he an hour later carried the lifeless body from his tent, wrapped in a cloak, a deep grave had been prepared beside the sparkling pond of the oasis where they were camped that night. The old decurion and ten of his men were lined up, staring in awe at their commander. Never before had they heard about a prisoner fucked to death. Marcus was already a legend among the common soldiers, now his name would be spread all over the world. The gravedigger, son of Rachel's former owner, was on his knees beside the hole.

The young Roman stepped into it to lay down his burden, gently straightening her limbs and smoothing the red cloth, then jumped up.

"Fill it in, but only half way up".

He watched the captive working to cover the remains of his first true love, then turned to the decurion. "Tie him up and cut out his tongue!"

The legionnaires grabbed the terrified youngster, bound his wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles and forced his mouth open to grab his tongue in a pair of pliers. A swift slash with a knife made him scream unintelligibly, blood welling in his mouth.

"Cock and balls!"

Marcus watched impassively while he was castrated and his manhood stuffed into his bleeding mouth, then gestured towards the open grave. The man, who had violated the mouth that had offered the Roman endless love, was thrown on top of his former slavegirl, and, still writhing and screaming, buried with her. Large stones were rolled on top of the fresh grave to prevent scavenging animals digging up the bodies, before Marcus with a grim smile to his soldiers swept back to the tent, to spend the remainder of the night hugging himself, crying out his agony.

Even his men were surprised by the ferocity of their commander when they the following day reached the main city. All of the prisoners, male or female were whipped until they hung unconscious and bleeding in their bonds, three days in a row, before finally meeting their deaths on a cross. Marcus was watching the last torment, sitting stiffly on his horse, just like in his dream, imagining Rachel among the screaming victims, and, when it finally was over, raised his baton in salute and wheeled his horse around to ride back to the legate's residence. He'd barely reached the courtyard before he slumped in the saddle and would have fallen to the ground, were it not for his trusty guard who grabbed and dragged his lifeless body to the house.

The next fortnight went by in a blur while Marcus lay semiconscious, shivering in fever, hovering between life and death. His deeply concerned uncle called for all the doctors he could find, at last even a couple of Judaeans. They prepared a potion they promised would beat down the fever. The legate allowed it, but ordered their two eldest sons brought to his house and forced to swallow parts of the potion to prove that their fathers were not trying to take revenge on ‘The Scourge of Judaea'. They were not and Marcus recovered, but was as weak as a baby and seemed apathetic. His uncle put his condition down to traumatic stress after his hard and dangerous command and decided to send him back to Rome to recuperate. The young man made no protest, didn't seem to care, and spent most of the long sea voyage sitting on deck, wrapped in his cloak and staring emptily at the glittering sea.

His father was shocked to see him and worried about his mental health, not least when Marcus seemed completely uninterested in sex. No matter what slave, female or male, young or mature, virgin or experienced he found in his room, he passively let them take care of his personal needs and then sent them away. Exasperated, the senator at last persuaded him to join a small flotilla of the fleet on it's long voyage past the Pillars of Hercules and up the coast of Gallia to Britannia. It did help. Marcus slowly came out of his stupor, began taking an interest in his surroundings, not least the handling of the ship. They made several landfalls on the coast of Gallia and Belgia and even ventured a bit further North, towards the unexplored tracts called Ultima Thule, before eventually sailing up the river Thamesis to reach Londinium. There he found a message waiting for him with the present proconsul, telling that his father had been appointed to the post. As governor he would have his headquarters in the main Roman city, but wanted a villa in the country as well and asked his son to explore the possibilities. The proconsul suggested the pleasant town of Aquae Sulis, which offered the additional benefit of hot springs. Marcus went down there by the straight, paved Roman road and indeed found it very pleasant, yes even more, he fell in love with it and was happy to find an excellent villa for sale on a hill above town, with a breathtaking view across the landscape. Even the cold climate of Britannia suited him after the long time spent in the deserts of Judaea.

It was a composed and matured Marcus, who after a happy reunion with Drusus at Massilia returned to Rome. Yet his father was still worried, the boy wasn't cured. In fact he admitted not to have had sex at all during the long voyage, claiming that he wasn't in the mood, but never revealing the reason why: That the image of his lost first love loomed up every time he felt tempted by a slavegirl or that he saw her pain-contorted face from his dream whenever his hands itched to hurt a slave.

Armin and Thor changed that. The two blond giants owed him their lives, they were strong, and they quite obviously not only accepted that he used them hard, but welcomed it as an opportunity to show their fierce loyalty. They were truly his to do with whatever he liked without remorse. And he did, used them relentlessly, tied them up and whipped them on his bed, before fucking their holes with abandon.

The new proconsul watched his son's antics with relief. When first told about his helping himself to the galley slaves, he'd made his dissatisfaction clear, didn't want a fight with the fleet, but when discovering that Marcus' sexual needs had been reawakened, he was delighted. That he kept strictly to the two Germans and still never touched a slavegirl was of less importance. His taste for female flesh would return, given time, and if not, it was of little importance, as long as he wasn't turned completely away from sex. To become a senator as his father, the young man would have to marry a suitable girl and produce at least one child. There was no reason to fear that he would be unable to fuck his wife the few times necessary and then live the separate lives of most Patrician families. He would be twenty-four when they returned to Rome after the end proconsul's term of office. Right in time for marriage.

Everyone was happy, even the two slaves, who had to endure the harsh treatment, but in accordance with their tribal custom and beliefs would have done the same to any slave they themselves had won. And their young master was kinder than they would have been, much kinder. Treated them more like comrades in arms than as slaves and even allowed them frequent use of his slavegirls. He saw no reason not to, doubting that he would ever again be lusting for a girl.

Until he saw his first and only love reborn in the helpless sacrifice. It was as if he heard Rachel whispering: "I'm back and this time you can keep me forever".

Part four.

The voyage from the wild tribal shores back to Britannia lasted five weeks. Marcus was sorely tempted, but decided not to take the blonde girl's virginity until he could enjoy her properly in the luxurious surroundings of his home. He wanted her waiting for him, bathed, groomed and perfumed, frightened, yet resigned, tied spread-eagle. Unlike Rachel, she was inexperienced, so he would take his time, kissing her beautiful body, licking her soft skin, until repeating what he'd done that last night in his tent, bury his face between her legs and taste her sweet juices. Then he would enter her, slowly, carefully, smiling into her eyes, and cover her mouth with his to quell the scream when he broke her hymen.

Unaware of his plans and dreams, Gro and Arn wondered why they were left alone, when they night after night could hear their master making use of his other slaves. The boy suggested that he perhaps preferred men, but his sister had read the lust in the Roman's eyes and was certain that he for some unknown reason was only waiting to use her in the way men used women. And she was not as inexperienced as Marcus thought. Only half a moon before the raid, she had been terrified to see blood seeping out between her legs. Her mother had calmed her down and, as was the custom, prepared her for what would soon happen. The male body held no secrets for her; she'd seen the men and boys of the tribe naked often enough and knew full well that the piece of meat dangling between their legs served more than one purpose. Her mother had told how it would hurt, the first time a man entered her, and made her stick a finger up the opening between her thighs to feel the blocked tunnel.

"At the next full moon your father will take you to the sacred grove".

Gro nodded, she knew that women were only allowed there once in their lives.

"But he'll cover your eyes so you can't see the place of the gods. He will bend you backward over a stone and tie your arms and legs to spread you wide to make it easier for them to enter you".

"How many?"

"Three. We don't know who they are, but guess that it is the chief, the shaman and the man they have chosen as your husband".

"Who is he?"

"Not even the man himself knows until called upon to take you, but you are very desirable, my daughter, so it will be one of the best hunters".

Gro hoped it would be the eldest son of their neighbours. He always brought home the finest game and had the right age for marriage.

"When he has spurted into you, they'll turn you on your stomach to initiate your other hole. That will hurt even worse".

"How many?", the girl asked again.

"Three, and these we know. First your father, then your eldest brother, to signify that you are leaving our family, and then your new husband, to show that he has taken complete possession of you".

"Oh!" So Arn would be among the men hurting her, but not like it, of that Gro was sure.

"But it won't be over yet. When he's done, you husband will beat you for the first time and then, my daughter, he will put his mark on you".

Gro shuddered, she knew what that meant, had seen the marks on her mother and other grown women. He would press a glowing stick into the flesh of her arse to show for all the world that she was his and his alone.

"It will be a hard night, my daughter, but it will prepare you for even worse nights, when you lie screaming in agony, giving birth".

"Will it always hurt when my husband enters me?", Gro asked. Her mother shook no.

"You'll get used to it, and not so badly after you've had your first child. If he only seldom use your other hole, that may hurt".

"Why do men beat women?"

"They have different reasons. Sometimes to punish you, if you've done something wrong. Sometimes just because they're angry, perhaps after a failed hunt".

"But father beats you before he use you, I've heard that?"

"He does that to make himself hard and ready to enter me".

"Must men always beat women before they can enter them?"

"No, most men, especially when still young, get hard as soon as you lie down and spread your legs for them. But sometimes they don't and then they may beat you. When your father was younger, he didn't need to very often, but now it's almost every time he wants me". The older woman sighed. "That is a woman's lot". She sighed again, then smiled to Gro. "And it's not always bad. To be entered by a man can be wonderful".

"How, if it hurts?"

"I can't explain, but if your husband is good, you'll soon know. And you can help him".

"How?"

Gro's mother drew her loincloth aside again, but this time to part her labia lips. "Look, you have a little nubbin here. Have you ever played with that?"

"No?"

"Try, gently. Wet your finger first".

Puzzled, the young girl reluctantly did as asked. A moment later she looked surprised at her mother. "Ooh!"

"Go on", the older woman urged with a smile.

"Ooh, aah, ooh!" Gro suddenly bent double, shivering. "What is happening. Oooh!"

"That is how you may feel when a man enters you, not always, mind you, but sometimes".

"Ooh, but it feels good!"

"Yes, it does, very good, but it depends on the man and how hard and fast he takes you. Put a finger into yourself again".

"But, but I'm wet! Am I bleeding again?"

"No, you get wet because of what you just did and that's what I wanted to show you. If you sense that your husband wants to use you, try touching yourself like that, just enough to make you wet. It makes it easier for him to enter and for you to enjoy it too".

"Yes?"

"And there's another thing you can do, if he can't get hard and wants to beat you. Try kneeling before him and take his thing into your mouth to suck on it. The men usually like that and it may spare you a beating".

The raid came that same night and Gro had watched one of the attackers raping her mother before casually cutting her throat, sneering that she was too old and dry to be of any use. Now she remembered her words and advice, wondering now how it would be when the dark one entered her, as she was sure he would, sooner or later.

The two new slaves were allowed to rest and recuperate during their first week, but Armin began training them for their new duties by trying to teach them Latin. He was surprised and pleased to find them intelligent and quick learners, who within a few weeks mastered the strange language well enough to respond to simple commands, so Thor could begin teaching them how to serve their master. It was strange for the novices, who barely had worn clothes before, to learn how to dress and undress a master, or bathe him, something almost unknown to them. But they were eager and willing and soon got the knack of it, even serving at table, another novelty. The training took place at the galley's forecastle or on shore, when the flotilla anchored for the night. Marcus occasionally watched from a distance, without comment, but apparently enjoyed what he saw, not least when the slavegirl was training a maid's duties. So did the two teachers, especially when her small hands carefully oiled their magnificent bodies before scraping them clean. Gro was shy and reluctant at first, not only had she never been that intimate with a man, but such intimacy was unknown in her tribe, where men and woman mostly led separate lives. Yet the two blond giants were unfailingly kind and patient, never scolded her, so even if the long, stiff poles between their legs frightened her, she adjusted and even that part of her work became routine.

It was harder for Arn. Brought up as he was to become a hunter and warrior, who would expect to be served by the women of the tribe, he found it humiliating and degrading to kneel in front of another man to tie up his sandals or ease on his boots. Watching the two German slaves submit and serve so willingly helped him adjust like his sister, and, as he believed, it was only a matter of time anyway, before the Sun God claimed what was His.

Armin and Thor took care keeping fit, running long distances along the shore every night and spending a couple of hours every day at the oars, working as hard as the galley slaves, but not in chains and never whipped. When Arn and his sister had regained their strength and the deep wounds left by the cruel bonds were healed, the boy took his place beside them, happy to use his body again. With their master's assent, the Germans even began teaching him how to use the short Roman sword and Armin's favourite weapon, a razor sharp throwing knife. He already knew how to handle bow and arrow or throw a spear, and was immensely proud when his teachers praised his skills. They trained every night prior to their run, as did the legionnaires and the tribune, who didn't spare himself. There was one weapon, though, no one but Armin and Thor were allowed to touch, even if Marcus itched to include the formidable thing in the armoury of his troops. The Germans had been jumping with joy when they on the first voyage North happened to find two different species of trees, and explained that only these could be used to make the bows and arrows special of their tribe. Marcus allowed them bringing a good supply back to Britannia and was surprised when shown the new weapons. They were not like any bow he'd ever seen. Those he knew of were of short to medium length and used by drawing the string to your chest. These were almost a long as a fully-grown man and the string was drawn back behind your ear. The great difference was that where ordinary bows shot an arrow a couple of hundred yards, the reach of a longbow was more than double that distance and their long arrows could penetrate a ship's planks. And if that wasn't enough, the aim was far more accurate. He had ordered his slaves to produce more of such bows and train his men with them, but for once was rebuffed. Armin explained that they were a gift from the gods to their tribe and that the revenge would be terrible and swift if any member of it ever revealed the secret to others. No threat of punishment could sway the Germans, who were certain that it would cost not only their own lives, but that of their beloved master as well, if they gave in, so Marcus resigned himself to letting his slaves keep and train with their secret weapon.

When they at last sailed up the river Thamesis, the slave siblings were well trained and thought that they'd grown used to the fantastic new world they so unexpectedly had entered. But upon arriving in Londinium they could hardly believe their own eyes. That houses could be built of stone and in two stories, that paved streets, great squares, theatres, arenas existed was almost beyond belief. And all those people milling around! The eyes of the two youngsters were nearly bursting from their sockets when they followed behind their master on his way to the proconsul's residence.

"Wait here", Marcus told them in the entrance hall before disappearing through a doorway, behind which they glimpsed a lavish garden with a fountain. They stood uncertainly by the wall, looking wide-eyed at the wall paintings and watching the constant stream of people, soldiers, clerks and slaves, who were passing by without more than a cursory glance at them.

"Who're you?"

Gro turned, surprised, and shrank back in fear, bumping into her brother. In front of them was a young woman, dressed in a long white skirt, but naked from the waist up. The youngsters stared. She was black! Completely black, from her well shaped bare feet to her voluptuous breasts and finely chiselled face. Never in their lives had they seen a being like that, nor imagined that such might exist.

"Well, who are you?" The woman looked impatiently at them.

"Tribune", Arn stammered.

"Ah, so Marcus is back?" She took a closer look at them, Gro's slim body and long blonde hair not least. "And where did he pick you up?"

Arn shook his head to indicate that he didn't understand.

"Can't even speak a civilised language, can you? Savages captured on some distant shore, I guess, to use as fuck toys". She nodded at the boy. "You, at least, or has he finally overcome his stupid distaste for girls? Marcus fucked you?"

Gro just stared.

"Argh, stupid cow! But if he has, your hide will bear marks to prove it. Let's have a look". She took a step forward and reached for the hem of Gro's short tunic. The young girl cried out in fear and her brother threw his arms around her, dragging her away.

"No, he hasn't and who gave you permission to fiddle with my slavegirl, Zosia?"

The black girl spun round to face the tribune. "Welcome, young master. So good to see you safely back from your dangerous journey".

"I asked a question!" He frowned at her.

"I, eh, no one, young master".

"I should think not! You are growing a bit too big for your boots, slavegirl! The fact that my father likes fucking you doesn't make you a free woman".

"No, young master". She curtsied. "Please forgive me, young master".

"I shall, after I've striped those boobs of yours tonight".

"Oh, please no, young master!" Her eyes widened in fear and her hands flew up to cover the prominent mounds. She hadn't forgotten how brutally Marcus could treat a girl.

"Oh, yes. Perhaps I'll even fuck your arse, or give it to Armin and Thor. Yeah, they deserve a treat. My room after dinner, slavegirl, and don't even think of running to my father to complain!"

"No, young master. Please, young master, please whip my breasts, but please, please don't give me to those two, please!" She was on the verge of tears.

"Shut up and keep your hands off my slaves in the future".

"Yes, young master, please!"

"She's just an innocent child and I want her to stay that, so no teaching her any of your dirty tricks!"

"No, young master. I shall not speak to her".

Marcus turned away, beckoning the youngsters to follow him through the atrium to the proconsul's office.

"Very nice". The older man nodded appreciatively. Marcus had made his slaves undress and display their bodies. "Have you used her, or just him?"

"Neither, so far".

"Oh!" The proconsul sent his son a worried look.

"But I'm planning to, both of them". Marcus smiled and his father's face brightened.

"So you have got back your taste for girls?"

"She's tempting, don't you think?" The young man grinned.

"Very, my son, very".

"But a virgin and I don't want to repeat the fiasco with my first girl, so perhaps I've better train a bit before deflowering her. Can I borrow Zosia tonight?"

"Of course, Marcus, of course! All you like and don't spare the whip. She's been a bit cocky lately".

"I shan't".

The older man nodded, relieved that his son at long last seemed on the way back to full recovery. "And don't forget to pound her second hole thoroughly. She's had the cheek to complain when I used it". "Really? Seems as if you've been too soft with her. But I'll take care of that with good titwhipping before Armin and Thor block out her arse".

"Do that, but do try not to ruin her completely".

Smiling grimly, Marcus promised not to, told his slaves to put on their tunics again and handed them over to his father's steward, a freed slave, with strict orders to treat them kindly and feed them well.

When he, rather late, after enjoying a sumptuous dinner with the proconsul, his deputy and the tribune commanding the legion barracked in Londinium, telling about his latest journey, entered his room, he found everything ready for a pleasant night. His German slaves were waiting for him, naked and sporting imposing erections, and a likewise naked Zosia was standing on tiptoe, widespread arms and legs tied to rings in ceiling and floor. She seemed scared to death already and began babbling as soon as she saw him. "Please, young master, please don't give me to them, please! They'll split me in two".

Marcus looked coldly at her and nodded to Armin. "Gag her!"

Grinning hugely, the German grabbed a short length of rough rope and went behind the trembling girl. "Please, young…". Her pleading stopped short when she was cleavegagged, but she kept whimpering while Marcus wrapped rope around the base of her breasts, tightening them cruelly until the sensitive mounds were pressed into the shape of two swollen, throbbing pears.

"There!" He took a step back to begin flicking and scraping at the prominent nipples with his nails. The tormented girl screamed around the gag.

"Hmm, not so cocky now, are we?" He grabbed the erect nubbins between his finders, pinching them hard and twisting them around. She screamed again and fought against her bonds.

"Or are we?" Marcus let go of the nipples and turned to grab a short whip from the bed.

"But not for long!" He raised the whip, took careful aim, and slashed brutally across her left breast. "Complaining when our master wants his pleasure, are we?" He hit the right breast.

"Quite forgetting what we are, a lowly slavegirl?" The whip danced a merry reel on the swollen mounds, while Zosia screamed herself hoarse. At last, after more than fifty lashes, he lowered the whip.

"Don't like it in the arse, do we?" He turned to the other two slaves, who'd been watching the scene, eyes gleaming with lust. "Take her down and tie her kneeling on the bed, then rape her!"

"Yes, Tribune, thank you".

The girl pleaded and protested around the cruel gag, but was too weak to resist when thrown on the bed, feet hanging over the edge and arms between her legs, wrists lashed to ankles. Armin grinned to his gigantic fellow, whose tool matched his body in size, and nodded him to go first.

They took her three times, both of them, almost splitting her bleeding arsehole and had to carry her lifeless body away when Marcus at last told them to stop. When they returned, they found their master with the whip ready and, still grinning hugely, took up the same position as the girl, side by side, and grabbing their ankles firmly. But this time there were no screams, neither when the whip buried itself deeply in the scarred flesh of their firm buttocks, nor when Marcus' cock found their love chutes, hammering relentlessly and alternating between them, until he with a shout of joy collapsed on Thor's broad back.

If the proconsul disapproved of how roughly his son had treated the black slavegirl, he kept it to himself. Being forced to abstain from using her for a few nights was after all a small price to pay for what now seemed certain: Marcus was back to normal, not only fucking women, but hurting them in the process. The young man was just as satisfied, but for a different reason, which would have troubled his father, had he known. Whipping Zosia had not aroused him. She deserved what she got, the bitch, but watching her writhing in pain, listening to her screams had left him cold and his cock limp. He could enjoy a woman without hurting her, didn't have to fear losing control and maltreat the innocent girl for whom he felt more, much more than lust. A strong boy, yes, but not her.

Marcus stayed in Londinium for a week, visiting friends, watching gladiator games at the arena, enjoying the splendid food and the dancing girls at the banquets held in his honour every evening. His new slaves were left in the capable hands of the steward and his experienced staff of slaves, who helped refining their skills as houseslaves. When it was time to move on to Aquea Sulis, the siblings, who had spent all the time within the walls of the proconsul's residence, were in for another shock. They had never seen a horse or a carriage, didn't even know what a wheel was and now Marcus took Gro with him in a light chariot and told her brother to mount a horse behind Armin. They were trembling in fear, but soon grew used to the new experience. Arn even had his first riding lesson, when Armin after a stop for lunch made him sit in front and try holding the reins.

The staff had been alerted about their young master's imminent return by messenger and had everything ready when the weary travellers arrived at nightfall. The villa was much smaller than the proconsul's residence, but built in the same style: Four wings around an atrium and with a garden running to the edge of the cliff behind the complex. Marcus nodded curtly to the houseslaves lined up at the entrance and swept in, beckoning his four travelling companions to follow. He sank down on the soft cushions of a marble bench in the atrium, stretching his legs, and Armin knelt to relieve him of his dusty boots, but his master shook no, pointing to the slavegirl. Gro timidly took Armin's place, unwound the leather straps with trembling hands and drew them off. She was just about to lower her mouth to Marcus' bare feet, when she felt a hand creeping down the neckline of her tunic. Her body went rigid and the hand continued down to cup her left breast gently. She looked up, blushing, to meet her master's gentle eyes.

"I can hardly wait".

He smiled and she squirmed when his thumb ran over her nipple, making it grow hard.

"But I will, until tomorrow".

He looked up at Armin.

"I want her well fed and rested tonight and tomorrow morning. In the afternoon you take her down to the main baths. Tell them to give her the full treatment, bath, massage, hair cut in shape, pubes plucked clean, but gently, perfumed, but no make up".

"Yes, Tribune". The German nodded.

Gro sighed when the thumb found her other nipple. She didn't know all the words, but enough to understand that tomorrow she would be taken to the sacred grove to become a woman. She wondered briefly if Arn would be there too and if the Romans followed the same rituals as her own tribe. Hopefully, her brother wouldn't have to penetrate her arse, but she would of course be whipped and marked.

"Better take her away now". Marcus' voice interrupted her string of thoughts. "Or I won't be able to control myself".

"Yes, Tribune". The giant grinned hugely. "She'll be the most delicious little packet you've ever seen, tomorrow".

Marcus cupped the girl's chin, raising her head. "And don't worry, little one, I won't hurt you".

She looked into his dark eyes, reading only tenderness. ‘Perhaps the Romans did it differently, but they did hurt women', she thought, remembering the whipmarks she'd glimpsed on other slavegirls. Armin touched her shoulder and she rose gracefully to follow him to the slaves' quarters, while her brother by a sign from their master knelt to wash his feet with his tongue.

Marcus watched the young blond slave's bobbing head. He performed the degrading task well enough, but his body language revealed his resentment. ‘You'll hate even more what I'm going to do to you tomorrow', his master thought. Arn ‘was' angry, but not at his master. His own tribe kept slaves too and slaves had to do as told, but the raid had been cowardly. Captured in a fair fight, like Armin and Thor, and made a slave, that he could accept, like the big men, but overrun like that in the middle of the night without any chance of defending himself or his family, that made him hate and despise the coast people. Yet Marcus had nothing to do with that and Arn did his very best to remember his training when the young master that night used him as bodyslave. It was the first time the boy had been that close to him and he admired the hard body, wondering about the numerous scars. ‘This is how a real warrior looks', he thought, ‘There's no shame in serving him'. But he did wonder how it would be when Marcus decided to use him, like he used his Germans. It would hurt, but he could take it, he wanted to take it, without a sound. And his master wasn't that big, not like Thor, he thought while carefully washing his cock and balls. Slender and strong it was, fitting his wiry body. It would be harder for Gro. Girls were so narrow, especially their arseholes. They were shaped like that because it gave men greater pleasure when they used them. That was what his father had told when preparing him for Gro's initiation. At least he would be spared that now, hurting her. He knew that it was necessary, to make her a proper woman, but they'd always been close, much closer than other siblings of the tribe, and he didn't want to hurt his sister.

She was waiting when Marcus dismissed him. They'd been allotted their own room. Just a simple place with two beds and a small table, but to the two youngsters, who were used to primitive huts, it seemed palatial. Gro had a light supper ready and they ate slowly, tired as they were after the day's long journey. When she'd cleared the table and taken away the plates, she returned with another two beakers of wine. They'd grown used to it by now, but seldom had more than one glass with a meal.

"Armin said that we need to relax". Gro smiled to her brother and they sipped the wine in companionable silence, until she looked directly at him.

"I'll become a woman tomorrow!"

He nodded mutely.

"It'll hurt!"

He nodded again.

"He'll beat me!"

"Men beat women", he mumbled.

"Why?"

"I don't know"

"I do!"

He looked surprised at her.

"Mother told me. They do it because it makes them hard".

"Yeah". Arn blushed. He'd often grown a raging boner on the nights they were sent outside to sleep and could hear their mother whimpering and moaning while her backside was striped, but thought that it was because he imagined his father entering her.

"But she taught me a way to make your man meat hard without beatings".

He looked questioningly at her.

"A woman can suck a man's thing and then it grows hard".

The boy blushed again.

"Is that true?"

"Yeah".

"How do you know?"

"Boys". He hesitated, looking away. "We do it too".

"Suck each others' things".

"Yeah".

"Does it feel god?"

"Yeah".

"Can I try?"

He stared at her, bereft of speech.

"So I'll know how it feels before I try sucking our master".

"You can't. You're my sister!"

"Why not? If we hadn't been captured, you'd have put your thing up my arse!"

"Yeah". He looked away.

"So why can't I suck it?"

He mutely shook no.

"Please, Arn, help me!"

Her large blue eyes were pleading, so he gave in, hauled up the hem of his tunic and spread his legs, looking stiffly at the opposite wall.

"Thank you". His sister dropped to her knees, looking at the limp piece of meat. ‘Not very big', she thought and stuck out her tongue to take a tentative lick. It jumped, right up in her face, hitting her between the eyes, and she fell back on her haunches in surprise.

"Ooh!"

Arn blushed even deeper, but didn't say anything. She looked amazed at it, now grown double in length and thickness. "Ooh!" Yes, it was going to hurt, especially in her arse. She had hardly been able to get a finger up there.

"Go on!" Arn's voice was hoarse. "Grab it and stroke it, gently, then suck it in".

She hesitated and he impatiently reached for her hand.

"Do it! It was you who asked".

His sudden vehemence scared her a bit, but she did as ordered, wondering how hard and throbbing it was when she cupped her slender hand around it.

"Suck!", he moaned and she opened her mouth, but before she could close her lips around the red and swollen head, a long spurt of grey slime shot out of the slit, hitting her in the face.

"Ooh!" Arn moaned loudly and another spurt hit her, quickly followed by a third and fourth. Gro was frozen in shock when her brother collapsed on the bed, totally spent. She raised a hand to her face, catching some of the slime and was staring at it when he mumbled: "I'm sorry".

"What is this?"

"What men put into women when they enter them. Father told me that it's what makes children".

"Ooh! So you've made a child now?"

"No, silly! I didn't enter you, did I, and it's only if I'd entered you down there". He sat back up, grinning sheepishly and pointing at her cunt.

"Ooh! So when the master puts his thing into me down there, he makes me with child?"

"Perhaps, it's not always, but you've better clean that away".

Later that night Gro lay awake, contemplating what had happened. She was sorry that Arn had spurted before she had a chance to suck him and that he'd absolutely refused to let her try again, but at least she knew a bit more about a man's thing and how it looked when ready to enter a woman. And she knew how it tasted, what they deposited in her. Neither good, nor bad, but it was well to be prepared if she got to suck their master's thing and perhaps made him spurt into her mouth. It would hurt, when he entered her, of that she was still certain, but perhaps she might have a chance to prepare herself. Her hand stole down between her legs, tentatively rubbing the little nubbin and she felt how her opening got wet almost at once. Yes, she hoped she got that chance, but at least this felt nice. The finger moved more rapidly and suddenly the world exploded as wave after wave of orgasm washed over her.

Armin took hand of her the next day, told her to rest in the sun all morning, nude, and urged her to eat a solid lunch. "You won't get any dinner", he grinned, "You're going to ‘be' the dinner".

Gro's eyes widened in shock. "Master eat me?" She was shivering in fright.

"Yes, but not in the way you think. You'll still be here tomorrow". The large German smiled reassuringly. "Promise".

Still somewhat troubled she followed him to the stables where a light carriage was waiting. He helped her up and drove to the public bathhouse, built over a spring which for thousands of years had gushed a steady stream of hot water out on the plain, until the Romans tamed it, dried the swampland and built their city.

The bath attendants took care of Gro. She was subjected to a steam bath, followed by a cold rinse, then oiled and scraped down before being led to the hot bath where she spent an hour, revelling in a luxury she didn't know existed. After that she was dried and told to lie down on the massage table. Two skilled slavegirls kneaded every muscle of her supple body and she almost fell asleep before they finished by anointing it with scented oil. It felt wonderful! Only for a few short moments, when they carefully plucked out her sparse pubic hair, did some of her fear and anxiety about the coming ordeal return. At last, another slavegirl cut and set her long blonde hair and dabbed drops of perfume at her neck, between her breasts, above her pubic mound and on the soles of her feet. She was given a clean tunic and a pair of sandals to wear on the trip back.

"Magnificent!" Armin clapped his hands when she stood before him in all her glory. "Ready to be eaten!" He grinned hugely and helped her up.

"Eat?", she asked, shivering.

"Not in the way you think", he repeated.

Back at the villa he led her to a secluded spot in the garden. ‘So this is the sacred grove', she thought, looking at the flowery bushes shielding it and inhaling their fragrant scent. Placed in the middle of the clearing was, not a stone, but a bed made out of soft cushions. Armin told her to step onto them before she removed her sandals and tunic.

"Not magnificent, but mouth-watering!"

Gro blushed under his admiring scrutiny of her naked body.

"You come in me?"

The large man laughed. "I'd love to, but don't think Marcus will allow that".

"My arse?", she asked timidly.

"Not that either. I doubt that any man but our master will ever enter you. Now lie down, please, and spread your arms and legs".

She looked around and saw that four pegs had been driven into the ground at the corners of the makeshift bed. "You tie?"

"That's how Marcus wants you".

She mutely nodded her understanding and got into position, watching him wrap soft white rope around her slim wrists and ankles, then tie it to the pegs, spreading her, careful not to put a strain on her limbs. "Comfortable?", he asked, rising, and she couldn't but notice the large bulge in his pants. She tugged at her restraints, which kept her firmly in place, but didn't hurt, and nodded mutely again.

"Good! Marcus will be here shortly. Enjoy!" Armin sent her a reassuring smile and left.

Gro tried to relax, but her thoughts kept running round in circles, wondering what was about to happen, fearing pain, hoping for joy. After a while, not her master, but Thor entered the clearing, leading a naked Arn, wrists tied behind his back. ‘So my brother will enter me too, after all', she thought, ‘but why is he bound?' The German didn't say anything to her, just gruffly told Arn to kneel by her head and then left. Gro looked up at her brother's grave face. "I'm sorry", she whispered.

"What for?"

"You won't like hurting me".

"I won't, but we have no other choice, and I would have had to do it anyway, back home". His eyes were tender, and sad.

"I know", she whispered and they fell silent. There was nothing to say, only wait.

The time passed slowly, but at last they heard soft footsteps and a moment later their master appeared before them, naked and barefoot, carrying a jug and a glass. He stood for what seemed a long time, looking at the spread-eagle naked girl, occasionally sipping his wine. Gro watched him, wide-eyed and frightened. ‘His thing doesn't look too big', she thought, ‘but it isn't stiff yet, and I can't offer my mouth, tied as I am, so he'll beat me'. But he didn't carry a whip. At last he seemed to make up his mind, knelt by her feet and put down the jug and glass, then bowed over her left foot to let his tongue slide up the clean and sweet smelling sole. Gro was so surprised that she gasped and then giggled when the raspy tongue slid down again. It tickled delightfully, even if she never had worn shoes and the hide was thick and hard. Marcus looked up briefly, smiled teasingly, and went for her other foot. Then be began sucking on her toes one by one until he reached the small toe on her left foot and began licking up her leg. He took a long time, kissing and licking up her body, every inch of it, except her breasts and her sex, and by the time he reached her ears and finished by kissing her eyelids softly, she was shivering, not in fright, but in lust. He hadn't spoken a word yet, but now his head was hovering over her. "You are beautiful", he whispered and kissed her lips, first just a feather-light touch, but gradually harder, until they parted and she felt his tongue enter her mouth.

When the long kiss finally ended, Gro was reduced to a writhing mass of quivering flesh, barely conscious about what was happening. Her brother had been looking on in wonder, his cock so hard that it almost hurt. He had never imagined, let alone seen a man do such things to a woman. It was shameful! He should dominate, not worship her. But did his sister enjoy it! She'd even peed! Her crotch was dripping wet. He looked away, ashamed.

Marcus rose and Gro saw that his thing had grown. It seemed huge, but no longer frightening. On the contrary, she could hardly wait to feel it enter her itching tunnel. But her master had not reached that point yet. He poured himself another glass and came back to stand looking at her, teasingly, she thought, then knelt, took a long sip and bowed over her again to seek her mouth. She willingly parted her lips and got, not a tongue but a dribble of wine. He was sharing it with her! When the glass was empty, he set it aside and began his tantalising kissing and licking again, this time targeting her breasts. Covered them in little kisses, flicked her hard nipples with his tongue, bit them gently. And then he moved down her stomach, stuck his tongue into her navel and, at long, long last, reached her pussy. He had hardly touched the little nubbin before she exploded, crying out and straining against her bonds. Arn looked alarmed at her, but soon realised that it wasn't pain that made her scream. His master raised his head briefly and their eyes locked and stayed so while Marcus slowly rose on his arms and manoeuvred himself into position between the only half-conscious girl's legs. She sighed and involuntarily raised her hips, when she felt his cock at the entrance to her tunnel. It went in, slowly, ever so slowly, and the fire in her loins was rekindled when he slid halfway out, in again, a little further up, met resistance, withdrew a bit and then came back, forcefully, to break the barrier. Gro's eyes flew open and she felt a short stab of pain, but soon forgot about it when he began sliding in and out of her. Long, slow strokes at first, but the tempo increased until he was hammering her with all of his strength, moaning with lust. She was meeting him, thrusting up her pelvis, babbling incoherently in her own language, pleading with him to do her faster, harder, until she with a high pitched scream disappeared into a violent orgasm and he joined her, bellowing and shooting his load over the entrance to her womb.

Arn was breathing heavily, staring wide-eyed at the two limp bodies entwined in front of him, oblivious of the fact that he had shot his own load all over his stomach. Everything he'd been taught about the relationship between men and women was wrong, he realised, this was how to couple, not in pain and fear, but in mutual joy and lust. Looking into his master's eyes throughout their lovemaking, it was almost as if it was his cock that had made her sister scream and plead in words that only he understood. Marcus stirred and heaved himself upright, disengaging from the wet embrace with a soft plop. He kissed Gro's flat stomach softly and got to his feet, a bit unsteadily, to walk around her prone body, soft cock swinging. "Clean me", he ordered her brother, presenting it in front of his face. Arn looked up, uncertain about the order, and his master repeated: "Clean me", touching the slimy meat to his mouth. The boy almost puked on the spot, but reluctantly stuck out his tongue to lick away the mixture of sperm and his sister's blood and love juices. Marcus jutted his pelvis forward, forcing his cock into the slave's mouth, and Arn closed his lips around it, sucking until his master withdrew the now sparkling clean tool. "Now her", he ordered, nodding towards the still only half-conscious girl. This time Arn understood the message and didn't hesitate to shuffle round his sister on his knees, bowing between her widespread legs to lap up the copious amount of juices seeping out of her no longer virgin hole, tasting her blood.

Marcus looked on, smiling tenderly and sipping another glass of wine. "Enough", he ordered, "Move back", when the girl began to stir, mumbling feeble protests. Arn crept away and her lover knelt to untie first her ankles, then her wrists, kissing the rope burns. He sat down on the cushions, helped her up to lean against his damp chest, cradling her still shivering body, and held the glass to her lips. She drank deeply and craned her neck to look into her master's eyes, reading love, but not the same kind of love she'd seen in her mother's or brother's eyes. This went deeper, much deeper, and her post-orgasmic bliss was replaced by feelings she'd never experienced before, feelings that make her warm all over. She felt safe and secure like never before and only wanted to spend the rest of her life here, in the arms of the man who had brought her unimaginable joy.

"Bad was it?" Marcus kissed her lips softly. She shook no, unable to give words to what she felt. "It may be next time". His hand crept down her bare back to worm its way in between her arsecheeks, touching the little rosebud. "Perhaps I should spare you that?" ‘No!', she thought, and freed herself gently from his grasp, kneeling before him, forehead pressed to the cushion and arse high, wriggling invitingly.

Marcus laughed softly. "An eager little slut, aren't you? But we've better prepare that end a bit". He found a small bottle beside the bed and spread the tempting globes to anoint the puckered entrance with scented oil. Gro squealed with surprise, but soon understood what he was doing and eagerly rubbed her bum against the probing fingers. One of them slipped inside her, feeling around and rubbing oil into the tunnel, was joined by another with more oil and a third, gently opening her up. The girl was breathing heavily, obviously ready, and Marcus rose to present his tool to her brother once again.

"Make me hard!"

The kneeling and bound boy recoiled. ‘This is wrong, wrong! I can't help him hurt my sister', he thought. "Open up, slave!"

‘But, of course, I'm just a slave, we are slaves', and Arn opened his mouth to swallow the meat and suck on it, until Marcus withdrew the now stiff cock, poured oil into his hands to make it slippery and then turned to the waiting arse. This time no foreplay was needed, the girl was wet and willing when he touched the engorged head to the tightly sealed entrance. Gro moaned and tried to relax her sphincter. Her lover grabbed her hips and pressed, and, thanks to the oil, in went, first the head and then the rest of the long member, until his balls banged against her creaming sex. He rested for a moment to let the molested girl catch her breath and get used to the intruder, then began banging her ever so slowly. This time Gro felt the pain and tears were streaming down her face, but she suppressed her sobs and thrust back to meet him, trying to relax and ride with it. A hand stole down to her sex, searching for the sensitive little nubbin. When it found and began rubbing it gently, all pain disappeared as if by magic, to be replaced by those wonderful sensations she'd just experienced for the first time half an hour previously, only stronger and more intense. So soon after his first climax, Marcus lasted longer this time, and drove the girl to three screaming orgasms before he finally filled her arse with buckets of hot sperm. He let go of her hips and she collapsed, sobbing and crying, mumbling her thanks over and over again. This time Arn didn't hesitate to clean first their master, then his sister's soiled backside, even if what he had to swallow was far more loathsome than after their first coupling.

Gro lay like a discarded rag-doll on the soft cushions, completely spent and unable to move. Her master and now lover knelt beside her, turned her limp body on its back, kissed her lips softly, hefted her up in his strong arms to rise and carry her away. Arn stared after them, fighting his emotions. Their master had taken Gro, in both of her holes as it was proper, but gently, without making her suffer what girls had to suffer to become women. Was that wrong? Would it anger the Sun God even further, or would His silvery-faced sister, the protector of women, smile and make Him forget His rage? Arn found himself wishing that it were so. He didn't want to see his master hurt, even if he'd humiliated him in a way no man should be forced to accept.

Marcus carried his lovely burden to the villa's own bathhouse, where a couple of slavegirls were waiting with a tub filled with hot, scented water, to sponge down the exhausted girl and her lover. ‘Thank you, Rachel', he thought, watching the blonde beauty slowly come to life under the girls' gentle care, ‘Thank you, and welcome back'. Her large eyes fluttered open and once again they sucked him in, swallowing his soul. That they now were blue like a mountain spring, not dark as a forest pond, made no difference. His one and only love was back and this time nothing and nobody would ever make him part with her.

When they'd been bathed and dressed in clean tunics, he led his beloved to the atrium and lay down with her on the dining couch in the Roman fashion, raised on the left elbow with the woman in front of her partner, spooned up to him. A refined meal was served and he took his time, fingerfeeding both of them and sharing his wine with her, in between caressing her supple body. None of them spoke; there was no reason to say anything, to give words to their mutual feelings. After this first lovemaking their souls were joined, forever.

Arn waited in the grove, still bound, and uncertain of what to do until Armin came for him. The tall German stood for a moment, scrutinising the cushions, then lit up in a smile when he saw the bloodstains. "So he took her?", he grinned and untied his fellow slave.

Arn nodded: "Twice, front and back".

"Thought so. We heard screaming. Was it bad for her?"

Her brother shook no: "She didn't scream because it hurt".

"Not even the second time?"

"No! Perhaps at first, but he soon made her forget it".

"Did he beat her?"

"No".

"Strange, he always warms up with a flogging or caning".

"Not this time, he was so gentle. Almost too gentle. I don't think he wants to hurt her".

"He will, next time".

Arn didn't think so, but said nothing.

"What did he do to you?"

"Made me clean him, and her".

"With your mouth?"

The boy mutely nodded yes, suddenly tasting what he'd had to swallow. Armin roared with laughter.

"Now I know our tribune again, but don't you fret, boy, your reward is waiting".

With that he led his fellow back to the villa and to the room he shared with Gro. She wasn't there, but a young slavegirl was kneeling beside a table, laid with delicacies.

"Eat, drink, and enjoy yourself, boy". Armin slapped his shoulder, once again roaring with laughter.

Arn stared from the meal to the girl, who was naked and had her hands clasped behind her back, eyes demurely lowered, and up at grinning the giant.

"Sure, time to lose your virginity, just like your sister. Kind, isn't he, our master?"

"You mean that I…".

"She'll feed you and then spread her legs. Enjoy!" With that Arn was left alone with the girl.

Gro never came back to share the room with her brother. She stayed with their master, who soon made it clear that she might be a slave, but only to him. Everyone else, from the steward down to the most humble kitchen girl would treat her as mistress of the house. He seemed completely infatuated with her, hardly let her out of his sight, and never took another slave to bed, not even the Germans. Neither did he whip a slave again, leaving necessary punishments to the steward, but forbade him touching Armin and Thor, or Arn. They were left more or less to enjoy themselves; free of any duties to their master, even allowed to go on long hunting trips into the wild mountain regions to the West. During those eight months spent in Aquae Sulis, Arn grew into a man. His tutors took hand of him, refined his skills in hunting and the art of using a sword or throwing a knife with deadly precision. Only their longbows were out of bonds, even to him. And the three young men were allowed free access to the slavegirls. The Germans didn't hesitate to make full use of the offer, but, after trying out a couple of others, Arn stuck to his first girl, Gwen, a delicate, dark little creature from the Western mountains. Both of them were equally inexperienced, but soon grew comfortable with each other, in as well as out of bed.

For Gro, a primitive daughter of a wild tribe from the dark forests, the transformation was even greater. Marcus seemed determined to make a Roman lady out of her. He patiently corrected her manners, refined her Latin, even taught her to read and write. Within months she moved gracefully around, dressed in the finest of clothes, even sandals, something otherwise not allowed slaves. She knew how to eat daintily, make intelligent conversation, entertain guests, when her master proudly showed her off to people from the city or visiting friends. And she learned how to please him in bed, when they every night, most mornings too made passionate love.

Part five.

Their long holiday came to an end together with Marcus' father's proconsulship. The young tribune was dispatched to reopen the family house in the city and villa at the coast near Ostia, making ready for the senator's return. His father expected him to settle down, set up his own household, take the seat in the Senate to which his rank entitled him, and of course, do his duty as a Patrician and marry a girl from his own class.

Marcus had other plans, didn't want to leave Britannia and expected to go back there as soon as possible, but saw no reason to quarrel until both of them were back in Rome.

He took only his four most trusted slaves with him on the journey.

First to Londinium, where his father's anxiety about his future was revived when he met Gro again.

Even if she was carefully submissive, modestly dressed and barefoot, she couldn't hide neither her beauty, nor what she had grown into.

And the proconsul was as alarmed as the black girl was relieved, when Marcus declined his offer of spending a night with Zosia. But, like his son, he postponed the very serious discussions they were bound to have, until they were back in Rome.

The journey down the rivers of Gallia went smoothly and in less than three weeks they reached Massilia, where Drusus now resided as proconsul. The two old friends fell into each other's arms and Marcus introduced his travelling companions.

The Emperor's son looked approvingly at the two hardened warriors and their younger apprentice, but frowned when he saw the gleam in his friend's eyes every time they settled on the beautiful slavegirl. And he was alarmed when Marcus insisted on keeping her in his room, instead of sending her to the slave-quarters at night.

Even an offer of Drusus' current favourites, a strikingly handsome pair of Illyrian twins, brother and sister and just turned fourteen, was politely declined.

The blonde beauty of course didn't dine with them, but it was clear that her master missed her company and on their last evening together before he set sail for Rome, Drusus decided to warn him.

"You are becoming too close to that slavegirl, Marcus, much too close for comfort".

His friend looked away without answering.

"You'll end up hurting yourself, if not careful. Your future wife will of course tolerate a romp with a slavegirl, that's only what she'll expect, but not a rival, and you won't be able to hide that this girl indeed is that".

"I'll install her at a villa of her own", Marcus mumbled.

"And only make it worse. You can't hide a mistress from a wife, at least not for long. She's bound to find out, or be told by some jealous friend and what then?"

"Nothing. I'm master of my own house!"

"And if your wife has the girl disposed of?"

"She can't!"

"She can. The girl will be her slave just as much as she's yours, and owners can deal with their property as they see fit".

"Then I'll never marry!"

"You have to, it's the law. As a senator you'll have to produce a legal heir".

"Then I won't take my seat".

"Don't be silly! Your fortune will be confiscated and you'll be banned to the provinces".

"Just what I want. I'll go to Britannia".

"Perhaps, but without money, and, my friend, without the girl. She'll be confiscated with the rest".

They argued on, but Marcus stubbornly refused even to think of abandoning his beloved.

"I'll find a way. I'm not married yet, and I can find a wife who'll accept Gro".

At length Drusus had to give up the argument, but he was saddened by his friend's stubbornness and feared that he might drop back into another deep depression, if he didn't get his way.

A nasty surprise was waiting for them when the small party finally arrived at Misenium on board a swift galley. The commander of the fleet had Marcus called as soon as he learned about his arrival.

The young man was sad to learn that the Emperor had died two days ago, and horrified when told that his younger son, Publius, in the absence of his half-brother, had usurped the throne, helped by the Praetorian Guard, the only troops allowed within the walls of Rome.

"But that's a catastrophe! He's not fit to rule!"

The commander agreed with him: "But what can I do? I have no troops".

"Drusus has and you have the ships to bring them here within a few days, by then it's not too late".

The commander, an old friend of his father and the deceased Emperor thought it over and decided to act at once, before the guard arrived to secure the ships. Within an hour every single galley and even three large transport ships, recently arrived from Egypt with grain, were ready to leave.

Marcus was at odds about what to do with his slaves. He didn't want to expose Gro to a new journey, especially not the way back on board a ship loaded to the brim with legionnaires.

"Armin, you remember the villa at Ostia from when we were down here last?", he asked, and the German nodded yes.

"Bring them there. She'll be safe enough in your care".

He embraced and kissed her deeply before boarding the swiftest galley and Armin commandeered three horses.

Everything seemed quiet when they arrived at the villa early in the morning, but as soon as they'd dismounted, they were surrounded by heavily armed Praetorians.

Publius had ordered the property of those of his father's old friends, he suspected might turn against him, confiscated.

The soldiers grabbed the weary travellers and proceeded to tie their hands behind their backs. Armin weighed up the odds and found them too heavily against them, nodded to Thor and wrestled free, knocking down a couple of soldiers.

"We'll come for you", he shouted to the youngsters before disappearing into a nearby piece of woodland with his fellow.

The decurion commanding the patrol shrugged his shoulders: "Then they'll have to move swiftly. These two are perfect for tomorrow's show. Let's take them to the circus".

Before Gro and Arn knew what was happening, they'd been thrown across a horseback in front of the rider, had their ankles tied and were off to an unknown destination.

Exhausted and in shock as they were, the captives hardly sensed their surroundings on the long ride between seaport and city or when the troop was admitted through the Ostia gate and galloped through the unusually empty streets, where soldiers seemed to be guarding every street corner. Few citizens dared venture out so soon after Publius' coup d'etat.

Only when they reached an incredibly high building did they wake up, but only to have their ankles freed and be dragged through a gate and thrown into a dark cell.

"What will become of us?", Gro whispered when they'd been left alone to sit down on some filthy straw, hands still tied behind their backs.

"I don't know", Arn mumbled.

"I think I do".

He looked at her, trying to read her face.

"You heard him, this is the circus. Marcus has told me about it, not much, but enough. They make men fight against each other, to death, to entertain the public. And", her voice broke, "And they throw prisoners to the wild beasts".

"They may not do that to us".

"Why bring us here then?"

"I don't know", Arn shrugged his shoulders helplessly, "Perhaps the Sun God is finally claiming what is His".

"Perhaps".

Gro snuggled closer to him.

"But at least they didn't catch Armin and Thor, or Marcus"

"No, and it'll soon be over".

They fell asleep and only woke when the door banged open and a couple of men entered to untie their hands. They were told to strip and left alone again with a jug of water and some stale bread.

After a time, the sound of many voices reached their ears and shortly after they heard wild shouting and cheering from what seemed like thousands of people.

The Coliseum was filled to the brim with thirty thousand spectators.

Publius had chosen the well-established way of pacifying the citizens of Rome: Offering them bread and circus.

The morning's show was a series of gladiator fights, very popular and exciting, but everybody was impatiently looking forward to the main event.

At noon, slaves dealt out lunch baskets and bottles of wine and the new Emperor took his seat in the central box, surrounded by his henchmen, the commanders of the Praetorian Guard among them.

The short, plump young man in the purple brimmed toga let his small, evil eyes roam the cheering audience, looking for signs of hostility towards his regime. Finding none, he raised his hand to let the afternoon's entertainment begin.

From the top tiers of the opposite site of the grand building two Praetorians were keenly watching what took place in the arena.

The men returned to drag Gro and Arn from the dark cell into the arena's blinding light.

They blinked and gasped. Never had they seen a building as large as this and never so many people assembled at one place.

They put up no resistance when brought to one end of the grand arena and told to stay where they were. Their handlers stepped back and a bottomless iron cage was lowered, trapping them on the spot.

Bewildered, they watched as another couple of naked youngsters, apparently sister and brother too, but jet-black, were similarly imprisoned ten yards away, and then a third couple, who looked Roman, were placed in yet another cage.

Arn embraced his trembling sister, pressing her face to his chest, and looked bewildered around to try guessing what was the purpose of this.

They were caged in the shadow of a low wall surrounding the arena, close to the Emperor's box, and he was surprised when a ray of light suddenly blinded him.

Was that a sign from the Sun God?

He looked up, but couldn't see His face and was then blinded again. Someone was doing this deliberately and he looked up and down the tiers of spectators, until a spot of light suddenly marked the sand just in front of their cage.

He looked up to see a soldier on the upper gallery using his sword like a mirror. He was in full armour and the helmet hid most of his face, but something about him seemed familiar, perhaps his unusual height.

Arn couldn't decide what it was, until another, even taller soldier, joined the first.

It was Armin and Thor!

He breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe and had apparently been able to steal uniforms and sneak in here. He was about to tell his sister, but stopped himself. What could two men do against so many thousands? Yet it was somehow comforting to know that they were close.

Something else caught his attention: A detail of slaves was hauling stacks of timber into the arena.

He instinctively knew for what they were preparing: Crucifixions!

He'd never seen one, but the Germans had told about such cruel executions.

Arn pressed his sister's face even tighter to his chest, whispering: "Stay like that and keep your eyes closed".

He covered her ears with the palms of his hands.

The slaves worked quickly and efficiently. Ten crosses were soon assembled and ready on the ground to one side, while on the other, ten stakes had been placed upright, their sharpened ends pointing to the sky. The slaves left and the audience cheered wildly when handlers dragged in twenty naked youths, ten boys and ten girls, all of them strikingly beautiful.

In the imperial box one of the aides sighed. Such a waste of prime slaves, but the public loved a show like this, and, what was more important, so did the new Emperor, whose eyes were gleaming sadistically, the tip of his tongue wetting his thick lips.

The handlers took their time, stretching the crying and screaming, terrified slaves on the crosses one by one, driving large nails slowly through their wrists and heels and then raising the swaying crosses, encouraged by cheering from the enthusiastic onlookers. At last the ten evil instruments of torture were firmly planted in holes in the ground, throwing ominous shadows on the sand. The victims were already writhing and gasping for breath. Two of them had been nailed head down and another attracted special attention because of her protruding belly, swollen in the last stages of pregnancy.

The handlers turned to the next batch of condemned slaves, whose only crime was to be the property of Publius' real or imaginary enemies. They were hogtied, elbows touching, with thin wire, cutting so deeply into their skin that it drew blood. One by one they were grabbed by two handlers, held upright over a pole with their cunts or arseholes lined up to the points and then pressed down until two feet of the pole were firmly embedded in their entrails.

The arena was cleared, leaving the audience to enjoy the sights and sounds of twenty screaming and writhing naked bodies, slowly impaling themselves or suffocating on the crosses. Eager eyes studied every movement and people were pointing out their favourites to each other, offering bets about which of the victims would die first, last longest or when the first tip of a pole would emerge from the mouth of one of the impaled.

The pregnant girl attracted special attention. She was hanging limply, but ripples in her swollen belly revealed that the child was kicking and people were betting if she might be giving birth before giving up her life.

Arn looked on in horror, still trying to shield his sister from the terrors, but could feel her trembling in his arms.

An hour went by and the audience became restless, bored by the lack of action down in the arena. All of the victims were slumped lifeless on their crosses and poles, moving feebly or moaning once in a while to show that none of them had died yet.

The Emperor sensed the mood and raised his hand to let the next part of the entertainment begin.

At the far end, a grille was hauled up, creaking ominously, and a moment later three huge yellow cats crept through the opening on their bellies. The audience roared and the cats roared defiantly back, stopping just inside the gate and raising their great heads, sniffing suspiciously.

The largest of them, with a thick black mane around his neck, apparently caught the smell of blood and lumbered forward towards the bleeding slaves. He reached the first of the poles, which a young man was desperately trying to prevent sliding further up his entrails by pressing his bare feet against it. With little success, slippery as it was with his blood.

The lion stopped, sniffed at the blood and lapped up some of it, spotted a blood-soaked foot and closed his giant jaws around it, hauling. The young man screamed shrilly when the pole slid through his belly, narrowly missed his heart and entered his windpipe. The lion growled and hauled again and the spectators cheered when the top of the pole burst from his mouth, knocking out his front teeth.

That alerted the two lionesses to join the feast. The first of them headed for another boy, crucified upside down. She didn't even stop to sniff at the blood, just closed her mouth around his head, biting down, and seconds later almost playfully threw it high in the air like a ball, while blood gushed out of the headless corpse.

The audience drowned the roars and snarls of the lions with its own excited shouts, but fell silent when the other lioness ran past her sister to stop in front of the pregnant girl.

She sat back on her haunches, licked up a bloodstained leg and raised a big paw to bury her sharp claws in the thigh. The tormented girl woke of her stupor and screamed, which made the lioness look up at her, snarling, and rise on her hind legs.

The onlookers held their breath out of fear of distracting her and were rewarded when mighty claws ripped open the swollen stomach.

The last the young mother saw in this world was her full-born baby between the jaws of her killer.

Arn sank to his knees, still clutching and protecting his sister, and closed his eyes, but wished he could cover his own ears to cut off the horrible noise when the lions went wild, maiming and killing the helpless victims, accompanied by encouraging shouts and cheers from the spectators. Bellies were ripped open, thighs slashed, feet bit off, and whole bodies reduced to bloody pulp when they slid down the poles.

One of the lionesses developed a fancy for male genitals and ran from one to the next of the male victims, gnawing away.

Arn sensed some of the animals sniffing around his cage, but kept his eyes firmly closed.

It took two hours before the lions had exhausted their frenzy and sank down, chewing on a torn limb.

Most of the arena was splattered with blood and barely recognisable human remains scattered everywhere.

Even the audience's thirst for blood had momentarily been satisfied, so the slaves, who were passing around wine and sweet cakes, were eagerly welcomed.

Down below, experienced handlers drove the lions back to their cage with long whips and burning torches, before slaves milled in to remove the grisly remains, the poles and crosses, and rake the sand smooth, wiping out all traces of what had just happened.

Revived by their afternoon snacks, the spectators once again turned their attention to the arena, eagerly awaiting the last of today's shows.

Arn and Gro had all but dozed off, but were prodded awake by a handler's spear.

"Get up, it's your turn!", he sneered and went to the other cages, whose occupants too were clinging desperately to each other.

When the six youngsters were on their feet, he handed the dark haired boy in the cage furthest from Arn's something. It looked like a knife, but surely couldn't be.

The handler retreated behind an iron grille and the Emperor raised his hand for the third time.

Another gate was opened and in strode a creature the like of which Arn had never seen, but heard of from some of the hunters of his tribe. A brown bear!

The dark haired girl's scream of terror proved that she had recognised the monster, fairly common in the mountain range to the north of Iberia, from where she and her brother came.

The bear dropped to all fours and ambled closer to the cages.

Just then there was a creaking sound and the cage imprisoning the Iberian siblings rose, leaving them exposed. The girl screamed again and some of the spectators called to the boy to defend his sister, but he just stared for a moment at the approaching mountain of death, dropped what he had in his hand and hugged his sister close.

Arn now saw that it indeed was a knife.

The beast closed on the trembling couple, sniffed at them, rose on his hind legs and almost lazily smashed their heads together between his huge paws, cracking their skulls and killing them instantly. He dropped down again, sniffed at the entwined bodies and lumbered back towards his cage, followed by booing from the disappointed audience.

Slaves removed the first pair of dead siblings and the handler passed the knife to the black boy.

He accepted it, snarling something, and pushed his sister behind his back.

The handler left for safety and a sleek black cat jumped from another gate, just as the second cage was hauled up and away.

The black boy bared his teeth, took a couple of steps forward and crouched, knife ready, waiting for the panther.

Once again the audience held its breath, eagerly watching the animal creep forward on its belly until it stopped a few yards in front of the boy, drew up its hind legs in preparation, and jumped with a roar. The boy answered with a war cry and sprang up to meet his opponent, burying the knife to the hilt in its chest. The panther roared again, staggered and fell forward, bringing down its prey. Spasms racked the great body, but with its dying breath the beast managed to close its teeth around the boy's throat, ripping it open.

The onlookers were jumping up and down, wildly excited, while the girl knelt beside her dead brother, trying to push his killer away. She retrieved the bloody knife, rose to scream her defiance at the jeering spectators and with a quick turn of her wrist stabbed the sharp weapon into her chest, penetrating the heart.

The last pair of siblings had been looking on, wide-eyed. When it was over, Gro turned to her brother. "Do the same to me, before whatever they send in gets to us".

He nodded, "I will", but looked up to find the two Germans. Only Armin was still at the upper gallery and he was brandishing a long stick, apparently trying to catch Arn's attention.

The boy looked bewildered at him for a moment, then smiled broadly to himself. ‘So that's what they have in mind, perhaps there's still a chance', he thought, but dared not raise his sister's hopes. His eyes roamed the audience and soon found Thor's huge frame right above the gate from which the handler now emerged, looking very angry and disappointed.

He snatched the knife from the dead girl's chest, kicking the inert body contemptuously before slaves dragged it away together with her brother's and the animal carcass.

"Now show some courage, slave!", he sneered, handing over the dripping knife.

Arn just stared angrily at him and he went back behind his gate, while the boy glanced briefly at Thor, who nodded to him, showing a glimpse of the battle axe he kept hidden behind his shield.

For the fourth time a grille was opened and out trotted an animal, all too familiar to the Nordic siblings: A giant white wolf!

Their cage disappeared and Gro turned to her brother: "Kill me!", but he shook his head and pushed her behind him.

"You promised!", she cried, trembling in fear to see the frightening beast trotting towards them.

Before he could answer, something swished through the air, slamming into the wolf's flank. It stumbled, snarling, and toppled over, pinned to the ground by the next long arrow.

The audience gave voice to their rage when they for the third time were deprived of the bloody show they craved. Even the Emperor was screaming, jumping up and down and waving his stubby arms.

"Run!" Thor had jumped into the arena to tear out the grille, behind which the handlers were hiding, with one mighty heave of his shovel of a hand.

"Follow me!"

He disappeared inside, battle-axe raised, and Arn pushed his sister towards the opening.

He was about to follow when an arrow swished by, barely missing his shoulder, and turned towards the Imperial box to see the furious Publius pointing at him, urging an archer to shoot again.

Without stopping to think, Arn grabbed the point of the knife between his fingers, took aim and threw as he had never thrown before, then ducked to avoid the next arrow.

Armin had been about to run down the steps leading to an exit when he saw his young fellow's daring act of defiance. Hardly trusting his own eyes, he followed the knife's flight and saw it bury itself in the Emperor's fat throat, exactly where his Adam's apple would be.

The plump figure in the purple brimmed toga collapsed like a rag doll and his entourage stood frozen to the spot, staring horrified at the dying body of the man they had helped usurping the throne.

That was too much of a temptation for the German master archer. He grabbed an arrow and raised the longbow.

Fractions of a second later, the commander of the Praetorian Guard dropped dead, still clutching the arrow that had felled him. The next was already on its way to bury itself in the chest of his second-in-command, quickly followed by a third, aimed at the dead Emperor's closest friend and advisor.

There were ten arrows in his quiver and all of them found their targets, the last the broad back of Publius' fat steward, who was trying to flee the deadly hail, screaming for help. With a grim smile, Armin slung the bow over his shoulder, drew his sword and jumped down the stairs, but none of the panic-stricken people milling around tried to stop him.

His fellow and the freed captives were waiting for him with the horses Thor and he had stolen from the two guardsmen left at the senator's villa when the rest of the troop rode away with Gro and Arn.

The men didn't stand a chance against the two hardened warriors, who donned their armour and rode hard for the Ostia gate. They'd heard the decurion's words and guessed what was awaiting the siblings left in their care by their beloved master. There was never a shadow of doubt in their minds about what they had to do, or die in the attempt.

The four of them beat a hasty retreat from the circus, but stopped in a deserted alley close to the city gate. "I'm sorry, but we have to make you look like slaves", Armin apologised when tying the wrists of the two naked youngsters in front of them.

"Sure, just get us away", Arn confirmed, looking anxiously at his sister, who seemed completely oblivious of what was happening.

"Can you manage?", Thor asked, while draping a ragged cloth around her loins to hide at least her pubes. She stared at him with large eyes.

"We escaped?", she whispered, "I thought I was dead already".

"Not a chance. The Tribune would never forgive us", the giant joked and gave her a hug.

The two Germans were prepared to fight their way out if necessary, but the vigiles guarding the Ostia gate hardly glanced at the two Praetorians, who apparently were bringing two runaways back to their master, stumbling at the end of a rope, bound and barefoot, and looking very scared.

Once out of sight, they were untied and hauled up behind their protectors, who kicked the horses into a fast trot. They skirted the seaport and headed for a small fishing village on the coast near Marcus' father's villa.

Armin had been there several times, while staying at the villa when he and his fellow had accompanied their master on a trip to Rome the previous year, and made friends with a son of one of the fishermen.

They let the horses loose on the far side of the coastal pine forest and the two Germans stripped off their armour and hid it before going the last mile on foot, with the exhausted Gro resting in Thor's arms. The three of them stayed at the edge of the forest while Armin went in search of his friend. After an hour's anxious waiting he returned with tunics for the naked youngsters.

"Gajus is confident that he can set a course for Massilia, even in the dark".

"Let's do it", Thor agreed, "We have to get away before they come searching for us".

They stole through the dunes and waded through shallow water to reach a sleek sailboat a wiry young man had ready just off the beach. He steered towards the sinking sun, while his passengers satisfied their hunger and thirst with the provisions he had brought, and later through the night under the glittering stars, while Gro and Arn slept, huddled together for warmth.

The morning found them riding the waves of an empty sea, but Gajus assured them that they were less than a day's sailing from Massilia. Gro had regained some of her strength, but still had a haunted look in her eyes and Arn had grown apprehensive, realising the enormity of what he had done. A slave killing a freeman! A crime for which only one punishment was imaginable: Death by heavy torture! He dared not say anything to the others out of fear of frightening his sister, but his heart grew heavier and heavier for each mile they came closer to their destination, where not only his master, but the brother of the man he had killed were waiting. Yet Armin and Thor seemed quite unperturbed, even if they had committed the same crime, so perhaps there was hope.

In the event they never reached Massilia. Around noon Gajus rose to stare intensely at the horizon, shading his eyes.

"What is it?", Armin anxiously asked.

"Ships, several of them. It seems to be a whole fleet".

"Can you climb the mast, Arn?", Armin asked.

"I can try".

The boy managed to get halfway up.

"Yes, it is ships, some of them very large. The foremost is a trireme and I think it flies a purple standard". "Great! That must be the Emperor, the rightful Emperor, that is. Our tribune is bound to be on board. Steer for it, Gajus".

Armin and Thor seemed happy, but Arn's mood darkened even further at the prospect of meeting those two at a place where there was no chance of avoiding his fate. He had contemplated running away as soon as they reached port, certain that Marcus would take care of his sister, but that was out of the question now. Even Gro's eyes lit up when she understood that she soon might be reunited with her beloved master.

"So you killed my brother?" Drusus looked searchingly at the slaveboy, who knelt in front of him, fighting hard not to show his fear.

"Yes, Lord".

"You threw a knife at him?"

"Yes, Lord".

"Show me".

The soon-to-be Emperor drew his own dagger and handed it to Arn.

"Hit that spot on the mast".

The boy stared from him to the razor-sharp knife, hardly believing what he saw or heard. This all-powerful man didn't seem angry about what he had done! He weighed the weapon, held it by the tip, rose and in one fluent motion let it fly through the air to bury itself in the wood with an audible thump, exactly in the middle of a black circle.

"Incredible! Where did you learn that?"

"Armin taught me, Lord", Arn answered, eyes humbly lowered.

"So you could do the same?"

Drusus turned to the blond giant, who had related the events of the previous day in Rome. Without answering, Armin drew his own knife and before anyone had time to blink, it was buried beside the first. Shaking his head in wonder Drusus looked at his friend.

"Some slaves you have, but not for long".

Marcus, who was clutching a relieved, but still shocked Gro, looked questioningly at him and a chill ran down Arn's spine.

"We can't allow slaves killing freemen, can we now? So we have to execute them, or…".

"Free them", Marcus finished the sentence, "But none of them are old enough to manumitted. They have to be at least thirty years of age, before I can free them!"

"Perhaps you can't, but the Emperor can, and he will".

Drusus turned back to the three slaves.

"He will, as soon as he has won his throne, an easy task, after what you have done for him".

The fleet reached the Bay of Neapolis the following day and the legion, it transported, marched against Rome, only to find the gates open and people cheering their new sovereign. The pampered soldiers of the Praetorian Guard offered no resistance, knowing full well that they were no match against Drusus' hardened veterans. Marcus went to the family house and found it plundered by Publius' henchmen, but the slaves had been returned and new furniture sent over from the Imperial palace.

That night Arn for the first time tried dining Roman fashion when their master ordered his Nordic slaves to lie at table with him, Gro as usual sharing his couch. She was still shaky, and shivered in horror when Armin and Arn told about the events at the Coliseum in more detail. Marcus embraced and held her tight, whispering that from now on she would never leave his side, that he would never let her go.

Secretly hoping that he could keep that promise, that he could find a woman of rank willing to marry and bear him children, but give up her rightful place in his bed to a slavegirl.

When the two of them retired to it that night and he had undressed his beloved, Gro turned to him with tears in her eyes. "Master, you said that you would never let me go?"

He nodded mutely, fearing her next words, but almost recoiled in surprise when he heard them.

"Then prove that! Tie me to your bed, Master, like you did when you made me a woman".

He stared, slowly shaking his head.

"I cannot, will not hurt you!"

"I don't ask to be hurt, Master, only held firmly. Please!"

Her large blue eyes pleaded and in a flash he saw Rachel tied spread-eagle on his camp bed, eagerly waiting for him. So he fetched four lengths of soft rope, tied up his willing victim and made passionate love to her, with his tongue and his dick, again and again and again.

A week later, after Drusus had been hailed as Emperor by senators and people at the Forum, Marcus and his four slaves were summoned to the presence. They were received informally by the young ruler in the purple brimmed toga, who embraced his old friend.

"I have a favour to ask of you, Marcus".

He looked grave, but the ghost of a smile was playing on his lips.

"Your wish is my command, Sire".

The Emperor handed him four sesterties, newly minted and bearing his portrait.

"I want to buy those slaves".

"As you wish, Sire", Marcus answered gravely, accepting the coins.

Behind him, Gro gasped and felt about to swoon. ‘Her master was abandoning her! Her lover was breaking his promise!'

Arn threw an arm around her shoulders to steady her.

Drusus looked at the four slaves, modestly dressed in simple tunics and barefoot.

"So you are mine now", he smiled, "To do with what I want".

His eyes scrutinised Gro's supple body.

"I'm sorely tempted to keep you, especially one of you. But", he turned to an aide, who handed him four scrolls, "but this Emperor keeps his promises. These are your manumissions, you are free!"

The three young men bent a knee to receive the precious documents, kissing the hand of the man who so briefly had been their master, but Gro stood frozen in shock, thoughts racing through her head. ‘I don't want to be free! My only wish is to belong to Marcus, forever and ever!'

The Emperor took her hand, kissed it and closed it around the scroll.

"And now the next step".

He turned to a slave, who draped a purple cloak around his shoulders and placed a golden laurel wreath on his head.

"This way".

He swept through a door and his five guests followed him into the throne room, where a number of distinguished senators were waiting.

Arn had to support his sister, who was still shaken and mutely looked to her now former master for an explanation, but Marcus seemed as bewildered as she.

Drusus took his seat and addressed the senators: "These three brave freemen".

He emphasised the last word.

"These brave freemen have served your Emperor and our country far beyond the call of duty. It is only fair that we welcome them among us".

He was handed two scrolls.

"Arminius Peronius and Thoracius Peronius, you are now citizens of Rome with all rights and privileges".

Freed slaves customarily took the family name of their former master and the two Germans once again bent a knee to receive their Emperor's gift and kiss his hand. He turned to the third young man.

"Arnum Peronius, give me your right hand".

Bewildered, Arn too bent a knee, offering it.

"By your bravery and audacity you have saved our country from the horrors of civil war and your Emperor from the sin of fratricide. This is your just reward".

Drusus placed a heavy gold ring on his middle finger.

"You are now, not only a citizen of Rome, but a citizen of the second rank, member of the equestrian class".

He looked teasingly at his old friend.

"And so is of course your sister, Grotia Peronia".

Marcus gasped and grabbed the former slavegirl's hand to lead her forward.

"Sire!" He bowed to the Emperor.

"Yes, Senator?"

Drusus winked, but not even the announcement of this new honour could distract Marcus.

"Sire, I ask your permission to marry".

His friend's eyebrows rose.

"You have found a suitable woman, Senator?"

"I have, Sire, if Arnum Peronius consents to my marrying his sister".

"But you can't marry me, Master!", it burst out of Gro, "Zosia told me!"

"That slut!"

Drusus cut short the angry outburst.

"Yes, he can, my dear: By law a senator has to marry within his own class, either a woman of Patrician, or", he paused, smiling tenderly to the couple, "Equestrian rank".

"I consent to this, Mast…, Marcus Delius", Arn stammered, "We are honoured".

"So does your Emperor".

Drusus rose and a slave changed his purple cloak for a white, brimmed with gold.

"And your Pontifex Maximus is ready".

By tradition, the Emperor was also high priest.

Epilogue

Marcus' father was, if not particularly happy, then relieved when confronted with the fact that his son had married the beautiful slavegirl. At least he didn't have to worry about Marcus any longer and the troublesome boy was now the Emperor's closest friend and confidante.

Armin and Thor were offered to join the army as centurions, but begged to continue serving their former master. He happily granted them their wish and sent them back to Britannia as stewards of the villa in Aquae Sulis, he bought from his father. There they spent quite some time on their favourite pastime: Hunting in mountains, and eventually found friends among the wild tribesmen. Later on they married daughters of the tribes and had sons, to whom they safely could pass the secrets of the longbow.

Little did they know that archers from what by then was known as Wales more than a thousand years later would become a deciding factor in the endless wars between England and France.

After consulting his sister and her husband, Arn did accept the offer of military training, and within a year joined one of the most prestigious legions as a centurion. He fought with distinction in Africa and Asia Minor until the Emperor made him tribune and sent him to Britannia as commander of the legion defending the Western borders. There he was reunited with his German friends, and the slavegirl, Gwen, whom they had preserved and guarded for him. Marcus gladly sold her to him and she bore him three sons before she finally was old enough to be manumitted and marry their father.

Gro and Marcus stayed in Rome, where he served the Emperor faithfully as a senator and advisor, but both of them longed to go back to Britannia. After three years and two sons born to them, Drusus reluctantly agreed to let them go, provided that Marcus paid biyearly visits to Rome. He served two years as proconsul and then, after the death of his father, retired to Aquae Sulis, now a very rich man.

So Marcus Delius was left in peace to enjoy what he had stolen from the Sun God, to see his sons grow into fine young men, who, as their father before them, became firm friends of the Emperor's, when Drusus sent them up to learn a soldier's as well as an administrator's tasks from Marcus.

But after fifty years he was tired and lately suffering from severe and painful stomach cramps. He felt that his time was up, but was reluctant to tell his beloved. In the event he didn't have to. One night, when they had made love, she as usual tied spread-eagle on the bed, and he was caressing her still flat stomach and firm breasts, as so often wondering how she could retain her youth, even if she was now well past sixty, she looked gravely at him.

"You will soon leave me, Marcus".

It wasn't a question; she was stating a fact.

"I'm afraid so".

He looked away.

"There's an end to everything".

"There is".

"When we, my people, feel it is near, we find a certain plant in the woods, make a drink out of it and go to sleep. The sleep from which you never wake up".

He stared at her, then nodded and released her.

"Come, I have something to tell you".

He had never talked about his first love, didn't want Gro to feel that she owned only part of his heart. Now she sat quietly beside him in the atrium, sipping a glass of mulled wine, listening, without interrupting his story.

When it was told, she whispered: "You are a good man, Marcus, and you deserve a good death, without fear or pain, like her".

"But I can't leave you!"

"You will never leave me! You'll always be here". She touched her chest. "Like she has always been here". Her soft hand rested on his and she felt his heartbeat.

He died in her arms, smiling, after a long, tender lovemaking, just as Rachel did so many years ago.

Gro lit his funeral pyre herself and, accompanied by her sons and her brother, travelled the long way to Rome to place the urn in the family tomb. Then she sought audience with the Emperor.

Not Drusus, who had died five years previously, but his eldest son, whom she almost considered her own after the years he had spent at her home.

The sovereign understood and granted her wish, but sadly.

One morning, at dawn before the Midsummer feast, people from a remote village on the northern coast of the continent looked alarmed out to the bay, where three red sails slowly grew larger. They were with long intervals visited by the dark men in their shining armour, but always only one of their big ships. A legend of the tribe told that another time, many, many summers and winters ago three ships with red sails and many warriors had come and brought great wealth to the village, but that was also the time of great evil. Two offerings to the Sun God had mysteriously managed to escape and, even if they had been replaced, the God had been angry and hid His face for a long time behind clouds bringing great rainstorms and thunder. Crops had been destroyed, boats sunk and men drowned, and most of the village burnt down after lightning struck the chief's hut one night, killing him and his family. Would that happen again now?

Gro stood in the bow of the trireme, watching the coast rise out of the bay. ‘Right on time', she thought and turned to her brother.

"Are you still certain?"

"I am", he calmly confirmed.

Like she, he had been left behind when Gwen died of a sudden fever.

"So this is the place where you nearly died?"

A tall, blond man in a red cloak spoke from behind.

"This is the place where we will die, my son", Gro answered.

"Yes, Mother".

He exchanged a sad look with the equally tall and blond legionnaire beside him.

"Tonight", Arn confirmed.

"Yes, Father", the legionnaire sighed.

Soldiers swarmed ashore, rounding up the villagers and confining them to their huts. Slaves raised a large red tent and two elderly people, white-haired, but still strikingly beautiful, were rowed ashore, accompanied by five big men. The party went up to the sacred place where everything had been prepared for the night's festivities. The fire had been built and the sacrifices were ready.

Six pairs of frightened eyes stared at the strangers, who for a moment stood looking silently at their naked bodies, painfully tied to the poles.

Gro whispered, shuddering: "Release them and bring them to the galley".

"Yes, Mother".

She turned away.

"Take good care of them".

"Yes, Mother".

She retired to the tent with her brother and stayed there while slaves prepared a sumptuous dinner and others replaced the fire within the sacred stone circle with a funeral pyre, built with sandalwood logs and soaked in scented oil.

It was late when the five younger men left the tent. Gro's eldest son looked up at the full moon.

"Have you secured all of the villagers?", he asked the centurion commanding the guard the Emperor had sent with his old friends on their last voyage

"Yes, Tribune".

"Put them in chains, but not until we've returned to the tent. I don't want my mother disturbed by their cries and she must not know about this".

"No, Tribune".

"The transport should be two days behind us. You know what to do".

"Yes, Tribune".

"When they have been brought aboard, you will see the village destroyed, completely, as if it never were here".

"Yes, Tribune".

He was dismissed and the five sons settled down to wait while the silvery faced goddess continued Her journey across the dark sky.

When Her almighty brother's face the next morning appeared over the horizon, they emerged from the tent, carrying two bundles, wrapped in the purple, gold-rimmed cloth, the Emperor had sent them.

They carried their burdens to the sacred place and placed them side by side on top of the logs, lighted a torch each, stood for a moment in prayer, and then started the funeral pyre. Flames soared high against the sky, while the Sun God slowly revealed His face. He seemed to be smiling.

He had finally received what was His.

Postscript:

This is fiction, fantasy, but partly based on facts.

The story takes place in what is now known as Scandinavia (Ultima Thule), possibly Denmark, in Britain, in the cities London and Bath (Aquae Sulis), both founded by the Romans, and of course in Ancient Rome. Massilia is the French seaport Marseille.

The time, though, is more dubious. It could be Rome under the Flavian dynasty in the latter half of the first century AD, but at that time the Scandinavian tribes were far more developed than described here.

It is a fact that the second Flavian emperor, Titus, destroyed Jerusalem and expelled the population, and that he did have a most unpleasant brother, Domitianus, who followed him on the throne and lived to die an old man. Coliseum was built under the Flavians, in 80 AD.

A decurion was a military commander of ten men, roughly a sergeant. A centurion commanded 80-100 men, like a major. A tribune, a colonel, and a legate, a general, were second in command and commander of a legion, a regiment of up to 6.000 legionnaires, professional soldiers.

Vigiles were a corps of policemen and fire-fighters in Rome.

A proconsul was the civil and military administrator of a province, often a very lucrative post.

Roman senators were elected, but only within the ranks of the Patrician class.

Most Roman emperors held or had held military rank when proclaimed, often by the elite Praetorian guard, though some marched on Rome from the provinces, supported by their own men.

Galleys could have from one up to five of six sets of oars on top of each other. A trireme had three.

Nobody knows what early Scandinavians called themselves, but authors of historical novels often use Gro, to grow things, for girls, and Arn, a hearth, for men. Armin and Thor are well known early German names.

Who invented the Welsh longbow, nobody knows, but it was a decisive factor in several battles during the latter part of the Hundred Years War (mid 14 th to mid 15 th century AD) between England and France