Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two (25 page)

He’d rented the property near the Nola Gate in the quieter north east section of the city. The small villa gave him privacy and was only a short walk from the
Nola Palaestra
with its large grove of plane trees. It was a place where he felt at ease, when the simmering anger inside him burned less hot…for a short while.

Walking from the atrium to the bedroom, he stood at the open veranda doors to view his small garden. He watched Edo, the young house-boy, water the shrubs around a neat patch of grass. Albus had recommended him when Drilgisa had stated that he was looking for a servant to maintain his property. Albus, keen to please him, had also recommended Africanus, the newest of his catamites, who he described as a “rare exotic jewel.” Drilgisa had not been disappointed. So impressed was he, that he’d offered to pay the
lino
an additional fee for the slave to visit him at his property. Albus had been happy to accept.

From the first night their coupling had been different; passionate but not cruel.

Africanus was a sensuous and attentive bed-mate, and aroused Drilgisa more than any other had. Despite Africanus’s vain and shallow nature, he found that he was increasingly anticipating their arranged times in the bedchamber. Despite the excitement and pleasure, there was no endearment, not as there had been with Mensah. Drilgisa preferred it that way. Africanus was simply the food that fed his hunger.

Bored with watching Edo’s sweaty pottering he turned his attention elsewhere. There were no shadows to watch lengthen – the clouds overhead were small and high up and the shadows they cast were pale and fleeting. Shade was scarce and everything looked bright in the dazzling sun. He watched a small lizard traverse the garden wall at an odd angle, occasionally stopping to consider him through bulging eyes.

Bare foot-steps at his rear caught his attention. He knew who it was. Africanus padded elegantly across the stone floor towards him, white teeth flashing brightly in his dark face.

“What’s on your mind that makes you look so pleased with yourself?” Drilgisa asked.

“Merely anticipation.” Africanus’s ebony hair fell braided to his slim shoulders. Large almond shaped hazel eyes were set above a delicate nose and full, sensual lips. Strong white teeth suggestively bit on a soft bottom lip as he glided provocatively towards him, slender arms crossed in false modesty. His legs were long and smooth, the skin stretched taut like dark velvet over firm muscle.

Drilgisa’s calloused hand stroked the side of his neck, prompting, “Anticipation of what?”

“Of the thrust of your sword, of course. I eagerly await every stroke.”

“And pierced you will be, repeatedly,” murmured Drilgisa, conscious of the stirring in his loins.

Smiling wantonly, Africanus purred softly into his ear, “I see my words please you, and it’s my hope that you will allow my mouth and body to please you equally?”

He felt Africanus’s long fingers stroke his leg, and then glide adeptly to the inside of his thigh, before slipping under his loincloth. The catamite’s expert hand gripped his member firmly, quickly caressing him to hardness.

He found the pressure in his loins unbearable as Africanus's ministrations became more eager. He prized away the long fingers from his manhood, his loin cloth barely concealing the desire that the slave had awakened. Discarding his undergarment he grasped Africanus by the shoulders.

He guided the dark head downwards…

The sound of Edo dropping something in an adjacent room rang out in the shadowy stillness. Africanus flinched at the sound as he stared down at the slumbering figure on the bed. He could still taste Drilgisa’s manhood in his mouth and he struggled to swallow his spit. He closed his eyes a moment, listening to the night – the tired bark of a dog, the constant clicking drone of cicadas, and the faint jabber of night revellers in the distance.

Drilgisa was sprawled on his back, oblivious to the scattered sounds that echoed around them. His thick arms were extended across the bed, his ugly mouth open wide. His loud snoring reminded Africanus of a pig snorting. He wondered how the Dacian could breathe at all through the flat wedge of flesh that sat in the middle of his face that passed as a nose? The noise was as repulsive as the man. As always, few words had passed between them, Africanus constantly wary that a careless word could offend the prickly Dacian. Drilgisa had ordered food, a large piece of barely cooked pork, and then gulped it down as if afraid it would be snatched away.

He grimaced as he recalled their earlier coupling. He’d felt sick when Drilgisa touched him with those massive scarred hands; the fingers thick and as coarse as tree bark, his pathetic caresses clumsy. Africanus dreaded his time here and cursed Albus for recommending his services. Their joining was thankfully short-lived and not cruel.

He understood that Drilgisa was capable of much worse things. He also suspected that in a strange way that Drilgisa was acting with as much gentleness as he was capable of. It did not make the experience any more palatable, but he always kept in mind the stories he’d been told about the brutal handling of his predecessors. He knew that he’d have to use all of his skills to keep Drilgisa hard, and satisfied.

After the Dacian was spent, he’d waited patiently for the darkness and for him to find sleep. Drilgisa had paid for him for the whole night, but Africanus had filled his wine cup at every opportunity, and he doubted that he’d wake till dawn. It was his intention to steal away and earn some extra silver, knowing that some of his regulars wouldn’t hesitate to accommodate him. He just prayed that they’d not carelessly betray him to Albus, because he knew that the punishment would be severe. He had no fear that someone would inform Drilgisa, as the pig had
no
friends.

At first, when he’d returned to the brothel, he’d pleaded with Albus to find him a different patron, emphasizing how popular he’d been with an impressive array of Pompeii’s most upstanding and wealthy citizens. Albus had refused to even consider it, and there was no hiding the fear clearly etched on the
lino’s
face when the matter was raised. Africanus knew then that he’d not change his mind. Still, he wondered what it was that engendered such palpable fear in a seasoned pimp like Albus
?

A half moan, half cry escaped the prone figure’s lips. Africanus silently swore, holding his breath. It passed, and for long minutes he studied the rhythm of Drilgisa’s breathing, waiting for it to settle. Satisfied, he looked to where his clothes lay strewn across the floor. His eyes were well-attuned to the darkness and he quickly dressed. He was tempted to pay Edo the house-boy a visit, as he appeared quite sweet, and he’d seen the way the youth had stared at him when Drilgisa wasn’t looking. He was sure he could persuade Edo to part with some of his hard earned silver in return for experiencing something quite special. But, not tonight, as he had other meat to grill.

He padded softly around to the other side of the bed.

Drilgisa’s jug of wine sat on the floor within easy reach. It was still a third full. Africanus scraped the mucus from the back of his throat as quietly as he could. He formed a thick globule in his mouth, before slowly expelling it downwards. It stretched then dropped into the jug with a soft plopping sound.

Africanus stepped cat-like to the door, taking comfort in a very small victory.

Chapter 30

BLACK NIGHT, RED BLOOD

A breeze sent a chill up his arms as he watched the young lovers whisper secret things
to each other as they held hands on the villa’s terrace. The evening had been pleasant, and Prudes sat at his side wearing his usual cheery expression. Belua had brought his own Falerian, knowing that Prudes was better at drinking the grape than buying a decent vintage, and he knew that Clodian had developed a taste for the local wine. It was good to see the youth smiling again after his recent loss, as well living under the shadow of foul play.

“I’ve missed you Belua,” said Clodian, taking his eyes off Orbiana for the first time since they’d sat around the table, partaking of a simple meal. “And Neo, too. Please give him my best wishes when you return.”

“I will,” confirmed Belua, regarding the young woman at Clodian’s side.
Small wonder the boy is smitten,
he thought, watching her small elegant movements
. Quite a beauty too…a good choice on my behalf, I think.

“Will you be staying a few days?” Clodian enquired
.

“I’m afraid not. I’ll be returning tonight.” After a tired sigh, he added, “Sadly, my work at the
ludus
never takes a holiday.

“A shame.” The disappointment was written clearly on Clodian’s face. It gave Belua a sad but warm feeling. The youth had grown very important to him, and he knew that Clodian greatly valued his friendship and returned it. The lad had a good heart.

“Will you be leaving the other amphora of Falerian when you go?” quipped Prudes, who was enjoying a brief time of relaxation with Belua present. He’d commented that it felt good to unfasten his sword, which now lay on the table next to the wine cups and empty plates. Belua smiled, knowing that his closest friend had done well, despite the boredom and lack of sleep.

“That was my intention, you greedy bastard,” Belua retorted.

“I resemble that remark,” said Prudes grinning. He raised his cup. “A toast to
Mithras
and good wine.”

Everyone raised their cups and drank.

Raising his own cup again, Belua toasted, “To diligence, and to Clodian soon becoming the master of his own house.” Clodian’s face lit up, and the four of them stood to drink.

“How long before I can return?” Clodian asked.

“I would advise in five days, just after the festival of Parentalia. That will give you just two days in the city to prepare for your man-hood ceremony. I believe it will significantly reduce the risk of…of your step – mother locating you.” He looked into his cup, casually swirling its contents. “After the ceremony, I suggest that you deal with her – immediately. You will have the means and the authority.”

“I’ll banish her to Rome. Her father will be displeased, but he’ll be powerless to do anything about it,” said Clodian, his face stern.

“I would consider something more permanent; carefully planned of course,”said Belua.

“I agree,” reiterated Prudes, looking more serious.

“No, it will be banishment,” Clodian asserted.

“Your choice,” said Belua, familiar with the youth’s good nature, but knowing that he’d have to learn to bite, and bite hard to survive in the treacherous world of Pompeii’s ruling elite; a world of back-stabbing snakes. “But, remember that a defeated enemy is like a smouldering fire. One day that smouldering may burst into flame once more. The wise man snuffs it out completely.”

“I’ll think carefully on your advice,” responded Clodian.

Belua sighed, knowing that he’d need to pursue the matter again, another day. He rose to his feet, his knee joints cracking. He slapped his mid-drift, complaining, “I need to lose weight.”

“You’re a fine specimen of Dalmatian manhood,” Prudes commented, also rising.

“You’d tell me anything to keep me sweet when you’re drinking my wine.” Belua punched him amicably in the chest, knocking him backwards.

“Now, I must bid you farewell, before Prudes starts singing, ‘I kissed a girl at Brundisium’, and that will be the end of us all,” said Belua, straightening his shoulders. He started in the direction of the small lean–to at the side of the villa where his mount was stabled. “And Prudes, no more Falerian tonight, and, I hope you haven’t got any of that cheap Etruscan piss stashed away somewhere.” Prudes shook his head, a false look of alarm on his face.

Belua handed the second amphora to Orbiana to store away.

Clodian walked with him to his horse. Belua saddled then mounted the sorrel gelding. As he tipped his hand to Prudes who waved from the terrace, Clodian stepped close, looking up at him intently. “I cannot thank you enough for everything you are doing for me, all of you.”

“We know that lad,” said Belua.

“After the ceremony, when everything has been sorted, I would like us all to have a holiday together, away from Pompeii. Perhaps Ravenna? I’ve heard that it is beautiful there. And I think Neo would like it too.”

“Yes, that would be good,” said Belua. “And Jupiter knows when the Greek last had a holiday? If he’s ever had one, that is.” He leaned down and patted Clodian on the shoulder. “I look forward to it.”

The night had grown chillier and he pulled his cloak’s hood up over his head.

He kicked the sorrel into motion.

He’d not gone far when he realized how dark it was, the moon having slipped on a hood of its own.

The night had grown quiet. It was a time Prudes loved.

The lovers had retired to their bed and he was alone with the sea and the star clustered sky. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the faint scent of lavender and wild garlic. He was pleased that his task was nearly done as he’d missed Zamura more than he’d ever realized. Belua had also surprised him with a proposition before he‘d left.

Belua had told him that he intended to retire from the
ludus
after Clodian’s man-hood ceremony. Prudes had jokingly commented that it was about time. His old friend had proceeded to tell him that with the money he’d saved he planned to buy an inn he’d been interested in for some time – a quiet, unremarkable eatery in the coastal town of Velia to the south. He’d proposed that Prudes help him run it, adding that there would be a place for Zamura too – not on her back but helping with the general tasks of managing such a business.

Taken aback, Prudes had commented that he’d welcome such an offer, but that he had no money to invest. Belua had responded with something obscene, suggesting that Prudes should let the “brains” of the partnership work out matters of finance.

He’d concluded that Prudes ultimately had no choice in the matter, as he had no intention of finding a new drinking partner who’d put up with him.