Date: Thu, 2 Feb 2017 19:19:47 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens 2

Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens)
for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved.
Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is
against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if
you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to
Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

"You have been given THAT as a name, both within and outside the One True
Faith? How could they?" Both his 'call' name in the local patois and his
'real' name in Aramaic, Christ's own tongue, meant the same; the boy-man
was called Shame.

*****

The Heathens 2: The Bargain

By Bear Pup

M/T; no sex

Ayib dipped his head and did not raise it again or acknowledge my questions
until we entered the smoky structure. He set me at the side of the doorway
and I seized the moment when Harcos followed. I reached out and clung to
his boot, and forced Harcos to look at me.

"They do not value this man-child. He has strength," I gulped, swallowing
what pride remained, "and character, more than I have ever seen, perhaps.
But they despise him so much that they have named him SHAME, Master.
Please, I beg of you, take him from this place but do not reward this
viper's nest in your generosity. I would beg you to take me with you, but,"
and here I lost my own voice, "but it is not to be and I will make this
place my home. Please, Lord! Please Harcos, do not let them rob you in the
bargain!"

Harcos looked at me, and I recognised the countenance of love, tenderness
and forbearance.

"You will be eternally my own, Strasta, and your words warm me. But I know
more of these twisted ones that I could tell you. They deny the power of
love, the power upon which their own depraved faith (and yours, dear
Strasta) is presumably based. Trust in me, son."

He walked past and squatted next to the hearth. The Father and Mother were
there, haughty as princes. I translated, as Master was taking care to
ensure (as he had in my own negotiations) that they could not follow his
high and broken speech.

"This boy has no training. He has none of the skills required. I rescind my
offer. He is not suitable."

Ayib was even more stunned with this rebuke than his parents. He was...
undone. His parents went into feverish conference. They had pretended to
oppose any deal that would release the boy they disgustingly called
'Shame', but had quietly rejoiced in his riddance. That was crumbling.

The father now spoke, "You cannot yet know his worth. He is..."

My master overrode the man's voice, "Is he a healer? No. Is he a warrior?
No. Is he skilled at the march? The camp? No. The horse? the mule? The
wheels? The armour? The weapons? NO! And above all that, what do YOU have
to offer Strasta, the man-child I promised to treat as my own?  Nothing.
NOTHING!"

He sat back in silence as his words echoed in the gloom of the hut. The
Father was goggle-eyes and the Mother was little better. The eldest son
leant in and whispered frantically. All of them shot glances to me, Harcos,
Ayib and back. There was a delicious desperation to their chatter and both
Harcos and I smiled.

"We, we will give your surrogate-son our eldest and welcome him into our
home and our family. What else do you want, honoured lord?"

Harcos played it brilliantly, "Strasta is a great man, with many skills
that will enrich and protect your family. Whatever-his-name is a boy with
no skills and limited potential, but some attraction. I am not insensitive
to your plight. You have so few sons," all of the family looked down, "and
I propose to add to them.

"Here is what will happen. I will release and grant freedom to the healer
and warrior Strasta. I will give to him, as a dowry, what I offered to you
for the boy that you tried to pretend was a match for me. Strasta may
choose to wed one of your own or he may not. Strasta -- and if you are good
and kind to him, by extension your family -- will be under the protection
of my name and my fame.

"Whether he honours your family by marrying into it or not, you WILL treat
him with the respect that he deserves or I *will* know and I *will* return
for a reckoning. I am a respected warrior with many friends who will
deliver me news of his treatment here. I swear to treat this little boy
with the respect that I show Strasta, his predecessor. Is it agreed?"

The flurry of activity was like watching an anthill that has been disrupted
in a battle. They would get rid of the son they obviously didn't value.
They got nothing at all in return unless they treated me well enough that I
would agree to marry into the family. However, I would be (by local
standards) a rich man and, since I was apparently a Christian, they had a
really good shot at 'getting' me.

When the Father turned with a look that both Harcos and I signalled a
negotiating stance, my soon-to-be-former Master turned and reached down. He
said in a gutter language that the family could understand. "Strasta, we
go."

The mother physically restrained her husband. "Agree, we do. It will be
so."

We all turned to Ayib, Harcos and I with some tenderness and the family
with disgust when they realised he had been crying. The mother fairly
screeched at him in a local dialect she was sure I could not understand,
"Go, take yourself and your shame and serve this pagan filth!"

In the same tongue, to the family's intense shock and embarrassment, I
replied a bit roughly, "You never will again speak at Ayib in such
voice. You never will again have power or chance to shame him. He is of
Harcos, a mighty warrior of the Empire. And if you try me, Harcos shall
least of your worries be. I was schooled not in healing and war only, but
in mysteries of the One True Faith. Do not test me."

Harcos probably caught about one word in six, but he beamed at me with his
back to the cowering family. He leant down and picked me up in one arm and
Ayib in the other, carrying us both to the cart. Ayib sat stunned and
staring, pale and flushed in turn as a welter of emotions washed over him.
His eyes would seek mine, then glance fleetingly at Harcos as if afraid to
been caught looking. He looked only once that I saw at the hovel that had
been his home until a few minutes before, and the look was one of sad
disgust, not hint of nostalgia.

Harcos and I divided my healing herbs, me refusing any that I was certain
could be gathered here and splitting the rest with him. Throughout, he
whispered his love and promises to me. I tried, I really did, to seem
something other than devastated but he knew. He would occasionally reach
one enormous paw out and wipe away a tear or tousle my hair. Finally, I had
the bundle of things that would stay with me, including a couple of weapons
I had earned in battle and various clothes that would not fit the scrawny
man-child that would replace me.

Harcos leant into me and took the nape of my neck, forcing me to look into
his eyes. "You have been a true blessing from many gods, Strasta. You have
become my son, my true son. You have the strength to prevent these people
from warping you and perhaps to rescue them from themselves. You are dear
to my heart and my soul, Strasta, and you will never, ever be forgotten.
But I have one more task for you. Please help that man-child understand
that he is safe, and will be honoured. Speak of his duties with food and
herbs and clothes and armour and weapons, but nothing else.

"He is a true innocent and I will not abuse that. You are the greatest
lover I ever bedded, my son," I was openly sobbing at that praise, "but his
innocence is as precious to me as your skill. Go to him. Soothe him. Tell
him of healing. Tell him what I will need to heal after battle and how to
prepare me to enter it. Tell him of the cohort and of your compatriots and
whom he can trust. Tell him what he needs to know, But No More." His
massive hand caressed my cheek as he stood. In terms that the boy could
likely understand or guess the meaning of, Harcos said, "I go to cut you a
crutch for your healing," and headed into the copse near the road.

I turned and limped over to Ayib and forced him to look at me. "There is
much that you will learn, and little time for me to teach. If I know
Harcos, you will not sleep near here tonight. You must listen and listen
well, young warrior. First and above all, know that Harcos is more than an
honourable warrior. He is a good and perhaps even holy man, even if he
denies the One True Faith.

"He is," my voice choked, "the most wonderful person I could ever wish to
have served and he will be the same to you. Never for one moment doubt his
words, his protection, his consideration... or his love if you are lucky
enough to earn it. You are," I began to sob again, "the luckiest man-child
in the Empire. You must promise that you will work to earn what you have
been given by the Lord God."

Ayib nodded like a tremor and stared at me as I regained my composure. I
knew that Harcos would give me time, but there could never be enough. I
told Ayib of hygiene and cleaning wounds both new and healing; of telling
pure water from foul; of the most-important herbs; of the oft-damaged
muscles of the back and leg and arm and how to treat them. I spoke of the
clothes and the armour and how the buckles were tricky; when to arise to
ensure that he could have his kit ready when he arose; how to treat edged
and blunt weapons both before and after each battle; how to be ready at all
times for any danger. I spoke a lot about the cohort, who to trust or
avoid; which compatriot to ask for lessons and which to simply watch and
copy.

I yearned to tell him of Harcos. How he liked his taint rubbed when being
sucked. How sensitive his toes were (good) and his balls (bad; he was
ticklish there). How he would never admit loving a guy nibbling on his
nipples. How his piss tasted different in the morning and evening, and so
luscious after any meal that had carrots. How to tease his hole when
rimming to get him into rut that would inevitably end with a prolonged and
vigorous fuck (and how my ass loved him plunging over and over). How he
loved to nibble my ears when he thought he was teasing me into sex. How to
tell the difference between a post-battle low that needed space and a
post-battle low that needed seduction.

How... oh, how to please him and how much he'd please me. His moods and
lusts, his secret vices and vocal desires. The wonders he'd taught me even
after I was a highly-adept Christian male, schooled to love his fellow
man. But what Harcos had forbidden was beyond my willingness to disobey. He
wanted this 'innocent' (seriously? An innocent *Christian*? Is that even
*possible*?) to stay pure as the mountain snow.

I heard Harcos rustling the underbrush and knew it was his 'subtle' way to
tell me I had only a few more moments. I asked Ayib to tell me everything
he could, as quickly as possible, about the family that might become my
own. With a fearful and defiant glance at the hovel, he whispered to me
Father's apparent tyranny but Mother's true domination of the family. Of
the prohibitions on 'intimacy' (I didn't figure out what he meant for
several days and was shocked silent when I did). Of his eldest brother's
fanaticism and youngest sister's rebellion against it. That is when Harcos
emerged, carrying a stripped and forked branch that was the perfect size
and shape for me to use supporting my mauled leg.

Ayib's POV:

The day was a blur. The family had gone into a frenzy when word reached us
that several warriors had lost slaves or servants. I was primped and
cleaned and dressed in what was considered the nicest clothing we owned
when a mountain of a man turned into our courtyard. This warrior drew the
cart into the centre of the space and stood, staring at the house Father
and Mother had built.

It wasn't much, I'll admit. They had built it (as was the custom) around a
cookfire kitchen. A reception room faced the courtyard, a Parents' Room
backed to the chimney to take the heat and two Children's room flanked it,
filling the remaining space. The goat- and chicken-shed leant against the
boys' room and the cow- and pig-shed against the girls'. The pastures
reached out like fans around the courtyard and the vegetable and silage
patches laid behind the house.

So suddenly, there was this mammoth man, pulling a cart as if he were an ox
and just as muscular, sweaty and hairy. He stood there staring at our
house. This was not just a man, this was a MAN. I trembled inside. I knew
(oh, Lord God how I knew) that lust of any kind was the work of Satan's
Demons, and lust for another man was the worst of all possible sins... but
I just didn't care. I used every prayer I knew to keep my member from
hardening, even to the point of digging my nails into the tender flesh of
my sides; that last measure working just enough to keep me from being
noticed and suffering the vicious wrath of Mother.

With ill grace, Father invited the heathen warrior into the house and sat
him opposite the fire. The warrior carried in a beautiful young man, long
and lithe and lean, obviously injured and unable to walk and set him down
with such caring and grace it took my breath away. To be so cared for by
such a man was unthinkable. Divine.

As he settled, I was seated cross-legged perhaps two cubiti [Ed note: six
feet] to his left, my youngest brother and middle sister between
us. Suddenly, his scent wafted over me and all of my prayers and defences
were undone. I had two brothers, a father and I dealt with the men of the
village every day. Nothing prepared me for the sheer animal musk that
rolled off this massive, god-like man. My unmentioned part went as hard as
brass and my tenders pulled up tight against it. I knew that I would face a
punishment that would leave me barely able to walk if Mother made me stand
before I found a way to control my sinful parts.

I stared at the ground in front of me, desperate to distract myself from
this divine/demonic creature that tormented my mind and made me think such
abominations and consider with desperate need all of the worst sins of the
Holy Book. I tried to breathe only through my mouth, for any sniff caused
my nostrils to flare in an attempt to capture one more mote of his
intoxicating scent. Worst, though, was each time I did glance at this
magnificent creature, his eyes were boring into my soul, a smouldering and
brooding gaze that set me atremble. I was lost in my own head when I
finally caught Father brusquely suggesting that the wonderful warrior leave
as we had nothing for him.

The man grunted in a patchwork language that none of my family could catch,
not one language but several. The lame servant related: "I am Harcos,
warrior of Rome. I will give unto you this, my son," the young man was
clearly anguished to translate that part. "He will heal back to a strong
and fit man who can protect and improve your family. I swore unto your god,
the god also of this my son, as well as the sacred Gods of Rome to treat
him not as a servant but as my flesh.

"He has my name and the protection of my renown. In these uncertain times
that is a treasured coin. I will give you an Aureus from the times of
Caracalla [Ed note: more and more-pure gold than the coinage contemporary
to the time the story takes place]," the servant literally choked and
sputtered at the warrior. If true, the coin was worth the total value of
much of the village!

A fierce glare from the warrior made the servant blush in embarrassment and
rage, "one Caracalla Aureus, and in trade you will relinquish any claim you
may have on that," he pointed to me and I gasped, shocked and afraid,
"untrained and unskilled urchin," 'HEY! That's a bit unnecessary,' I
thought! "to become my helpmeet and servant. I do this not because the
trade is equitable, but because it is not and in fulfilment of the oath I
swore for Strasta." Again the servant appointed to himself.

Father and Mother, and eventually my eldest brother Inkar, whispered madly
and violently. They kept looking at me with daggers and money-lust; they
looked at the servant, fat and healthy except for his wound, with
calculation; and they looked at the warrior with a bit of fear and a lot of
greed. Greed clearly won. They could not care less what this giant had in
store for me, but their whispers had made it clear that were I to become a
man-whore (something they considered inevitable and the reasons they called
me Shame), they might as well profit from it. Father was frankly opposed
because it looked like I would end up treated *too well*, but gave in under
the onslaught of his wife and son.

"We will accept this offer on the condition that you stay two nights so
that we can examine your 'son'," Father's voice dripped with derision, "and
judge for ourselves his health and talent."

The servant tried to speak to the mammoth warrior and was silenced with a
glance. In a passable version of the regional trading tongue, the man
stated "It is done," with the severity and finality of the Final Trump.

I could not at first tear my eyes away from my Father, at a loss to
understand my fate and how I got away so simply. I felt the giant's hand on
my shoulder and for the first time looked into his eyes. They were dark
pools into which my soul was drawn. I lost myself in those eyes, and barely
realised that the family was celebrating their triumph over the
Heathen. They (in their minds) had traded a shameful liability for a
potential asset and got a huge windfall of wealth in the bargain. They were
jubilant. The giant scooped up the servant like a toy and returned his hand
to my shoulder.

He gathered the wagon effortlessly and said to me, "Goats, not pigs!" and I
guided him to the stables where the goats and chickens were housed. He
whispered to the servant who shot me poisonous and disgruntled looks as he
hobbled about (in my opinion, playing up his lamentable injury like an
actor on stage) spreading furs then cloths, one large pile for the warrior
and a smaller for himself. I assumed I'd be sleeping with the goats. That
didn't really bother me since, frankly, they smelled better and were more
mannered than the brothers I normally bedded with.

I was stunned to silence when this god of a man gathered me in his massive
arms and drew me into his bedding. I could feel the burning rage of the
servant and realised that I was replacing him. A wave of compassion for his
misfortune was suddenly overwhelmed by the need and desire that erupted in
my soul as the giant's arms and scent enveloped me. I was so excited that I
could never sleep...

Moments later I awoke to the crow of the rooster, proclaiming his ownership
of the chicken and frankly the entire farmstead. The mammoth mountain of a
man stumbled upright. His, his, um, his unmentionable part was *massive*,
breath-taking and throbbing in his loincloth. He simple said, "To piss?"
and I pointed to the outhouse. He stumbled off to relieve himself, but I
could not get that image from my mind.

I moved to the side of the stable and spent minutes coaxing my sin-obsessed
part to the point that I could finally let loose with my own stream.
Halfway through, I began to think of the man -- my new Master? I quivered
and moaned softly -- and his own stream. My own piss stopped as if cut with
a knife as I stiffened sinfully. What would it be like. NO! No! I will not
give in to the Demons of the Great Enemy and their temptation! NO!  ...and
yet, I could not force myself soft as His image, pissing, caressing,
tugging -- LORD HELP ME -- invaded my mind and soul.

<eof>

If you like this storyline, let me know. I have others in progress (see
below) and would love your input on any or all of them. The input (and
especially the Kink Lists) of correspondents have changed and improved
every single storyline.

[This One]: The Heathens: 2 chapters, more coming, www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens/
Canvas Hell: 10 chapters, more coming, .../camping/canvas-hell/
Karl & Greg: 12 chapters, more coming, .../incest/karl-and-greg/
Beaux Thibodaux: 1 chapter, LOTS more coming, .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
Mud Lark Holler: 1 chapter, more coming, .../rural/mud-lark-holler
Turntable Rehab: 1 chapter, more coming, .../authoritarian/turntable-rehabilitation-services
Off the Magic Carpet: 1 chapter, not sure yet, .../military/off-the-magic-carpet