Date: Fri, 10 Mar 2017 20:53:19 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens 9

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.

*****

"My friend tells me that my Kucuk is magical, you have done healing to
broken man-child he has saved. Is this true, my puppy? Are you gift of the
gods that he describes?"

I paused, then smiled and leant to his ear and whispered, parroting words
he'd said earlier in the day, "I am no blessing, my Harcos. I come from no
gods. But I am honoured that you think me so... and I will work to become
one, to be worthy of you, my Aldas."

Harcos spun me and laid a mighty slap upon my ass. "There are lentils in
yon sack. Fix them in the water you have on boil." I watched him wipe sweat
dripping on his cheeks; odd, for the night had cooled quickly.

*****

The Heathens 9: Gifts of Gods

By Bear Pup

M/T; tenderness; brief piss/oral (morning ritual)

I quietly went to the tent when the lentils were ready and Harcos had
pulled the meat to rest and finish on a warm stone. Zajak was
not-quite-snoring, the soft susurration of a man-child in peaceful sleep. I
carefully crawled behind him and started muttering my soothings. Soon my
arms were wrapped protectively around him and I nudged him awake, "Wake
slowly, Zajak, my hunky ox. Time for a meal of meat and beans." I slowed
the soothings as he woke and stretched, and I was ready when I felt his
body go rigid with fear.

I let the soothings stay a subtle background, but I told him how lucky he
was to find such a kind and gentle man as Pameten, how much better his life
and mine would be with people who did not condemn or despise us. He
gradually relaxed and I coaxed him out of the tent. He froze in abject
terror as Pameten Harcos looked up and I nudged him forward and sat him by
the fire. I served the men their food and then got plates for us.

I had never had beef-meat grilled before; I'd never actually seen a hunk of
meat anywhere near the size of that one. It was the taste of God's own
feast. Harcos had acquired oven-bread as well, and it made the lentils
sing. Zajak eyes took in the two large men in fear, then awe, then
concern. I served the men seconds and showed Zajak how to clean the
scutellae and the cookpot. Harcos asked Pam something. I barked as he
simply flung the remaining meat onto the coals directly. The sizzle was
both loud and aromatic; even though we'd just eaten, the smell called to
me.

I leant into Zajak's shoulder. "I need you to be the stalwart ox, my
brother. Go to Pameten," he looked at me in such fear that I pinched him,
"He calls you the hare, my brother, are you a scared little boy intent to
run to mother's skirts, or are you the brave, big-balled ox I think you to
be?"

I don't care how a young buck is raised or by whom; poke his budding
manhood and he'll jump. Zajak scowled at me, then looked appraisingly at
his new master, then back to me. I could see his lip quiver and his knees
shake, but he did it. He went and sat next to Pameten, shocking and
pleasing the warrior. I sat with Harcos and he petted my hair and crooned
to me how special his Kucuk was to make his friend so happy.

We went together to relieve ourselves, at Harcos' insistence. I have to
say, it was the first piss of my life where I and two of the three other
men were armed and wary. We tucked ourselves into our tents, Pameten's
protective and soothing hand on the back or shoulder of his slowly-relaxing
servant throughout. I said a fervent prayer for both of them, even though I
had come to doubt all I'd been taught. In spite of all, I knew that the One
True God was real and, far from cauldron of anger, guilt and shame taught
by my erstwhile family, He was the source of love and light and compassion
in the world. I prayed for Him to give a little of each to the poor damaged
Ox/Hare I'd met this day.

I snuggled into Harcos, but could tell he had a new level of tension that
had not been present before. There was no hint of friskiness in either of
us. Yes, we slept, but it was not the deep sleep with sporadic snoring of
the road; he woke instantly at any sound. I found myself following suit.

Perhaps two hours after we've banked the fire and crawled under the
blankets, we both jerked awake. I felt Harcos tense long before I could
really recognise the noise. A child, a girl, was sobbing and crying in
grief and pain and a man was grunting. My young ears heard something that I
think Harcos could not, and certainly he could not have understood it. It
was a young boy, stifling tears and praying to a heathen god for
deliverance through death, for his sister first and for himself if the god
would extend such a boon. Over and over the prayer repeated, a mantra, as
the girl was ravaged by the rutting pig.

There was no doubt; we were hearing the purposefully-painful rape of the
girl-child, the despair of her brother and the sadistic lust of the
horrible, evil man we'd met that day. From the boy's prayers, it was clear
that this was not nearly the first such event, and that he'd tried and
failed to protect his sister and paid dearly for it; in addition to
punishing the boy, Magare inflicted far more cruelty on the girl if he did
not behave and stay silent, pliant and obedient at all times, and told her
over and over that she was only in pain because of the wicked acts of her
prideful brother.

Harcos was livid with rage, literally shaking. His concern for the children
he'd barely seen and never actually met broke my heart. I turned in his
arms. "My Aldas, you cannot save them this night. But you and Pameten are
brave and good men and will find a way. This night, let me sooth you, my
Aldas." I began to croon my soothings as I kissed my warrior's chest and
arms, his face and neck, softly, compassionately, with love; not hard,
passionate or as a lover. He softened and nuzzled into my neck, whispering
things in his own language, the rhythm that of a prayer and the intensity
that of a promise.

I kept soothing, caressing and gentling my giant until I heard the evil
creature climax and the girl's sobs subside. I silently prayed for guidance
from The Lord God on delivering them from the grip of that
demon-made-flesh, and that Harcos and Pameten could find a way to free
them. We both faded slowing into sleep.

We awoke to loud and frenzied noises. A hard and driving rain was washing
the tent, and merchants were scrambling to protect merchandise and
livestock from the sudden storm. It was still full dark and from the
obscured moon I guessed halfway to dawn. The noisiest of the merchants
subsided and the rain became a lullaby, the remaining whinnies, baas and
imprecations fading to the background.

We awoke finally to a dim, cloudy light, the rain slackened but not
gone. As had become my most-treasured duty, I drained Harcos of his piss
and cum, then dressed him in travelling kit, complete with arm-guards and
sword in an untooled, boiled-leather sheath, its insides rough and harsh so
I could hear the blade honed with each movement.

When I was suitably attired, we emerged and Harcos began to attempt to
salvage the coals he'd banked, but the rain had driven deep into the ash
and quenched even the deepest embers. He went to the cart and pulled out an
odd leather rack, perhaps an arm-span wide and two long. He pounded the
ends into the upwind side of the fire pit and leant it over enough that is
sheltered the spot where the fire had previously been laid. The smooth side
of the leather was down, facing the fire, and the rough, porous face, that
which you needed to be sure never got wet, was exposed to the driving rain.

I watched in fascination as he laid down several wet pieces of wood, then
pulled a handful of plant-fluff from the cart, along with several dried
branches and two split-logs. He kindled the tinder and flame came up. When
it caught, he laid a complex cone of wet wood and let it smoke and spit.

The rain came in waves, rarely hard but never stopping entirely. I was
astounded that the leather smoked but did not char at all. Harcos explained
that the rain itself soaked the leather more quickly than the fire could
dry it. It would simultaneously keep the rain from the flames and keep
driving winds from snuffing or spreading the blaze.

No sooner had the first flames taken hold, I had the cookpot as close as
possible with water to boil. Zajak emerged from the tent and came to help
just as I was testing the not-quite-to-boil pot. He came to me and I raised
an eyebrow. He gave me a tentative smile and muttered his thanks; Pameten
had nestled and held and comforted him -- no more -- throughout the
night. Pam was, however, still sleeping, something that amused Harcos no
end. Apparently, Pam was a notorious bear in the morning, one that Harcos
loved to poke whenever possible.

When four bowls and split grain were ready to eat and the camp around us
was alive with morning sounds, Harcos stepped silently to the 'back' side
of the tent, leant forward and bellowed, "HAIL THE CENTURION!"

Zajak's eyes flew to mine, wide and shocked as the most amusing noises
erupted from the tent and Harcos doubled over laughing. He was back by the
fire when Pameten came out, eyes wild and roving, a kilt on (backwards and
gapping rather obscenely) and no shirt, but both adzes in
place. Apparently, as long as Pameten was armed, he considered all clothing
other than weapons optional at best.

I was trying hard not to laugh and Harcos had a bored look on his face as
he sipped his grains and berries and just stared at Pam, but Zajak was
appalled. He ran to Pameten and tugged him back toward the tent, whispering
fiercely in a language that I knew Pameten could never understand, but as
Harcos lost control and began howling with laughter, Pam ground his teeth
and let Zajak drag him into the tent.

I tried my best to look stern. "That was cruel, Harcos! And you scared poor
Zajak half to death. And poor P-P-Pam--" I dissolved in helpless giggles
and Harcos returned to his full-belly laugh. A sour-looking Pameten
emerged, fully if not artfully dressed (I'd have to help his new servant
with that), and Zajak had the most reproving face I've ever seen outside a
painting of a saint. The former sent Harcos into new gales of laughter, and
Zajak's look had me curled into Harcos with mirth as I tried desperately to
gain my breath.

Harcos handed them their breakfast. I sat there with a hint of pride at the
utterly affronted look Zajak gave my master. Last night, this young man was
completely undone by his fear of the intimidating beer-barrel warrior;
today he was close to an attempt at thrashing my mountain of a barbarian
for laughing at 'his' Pameten. What a difference a night can make!

When everyone was fed and watered (I'd made a warming tea of mint I'd
scavenged the day before), Harcos and Pameten planned the day. The first
order of business was to find if the river crossing was still viable after
the rains. It was also important for reasons that were all too obvious that
the tents never be left unattended. And, especially after what we'd all
heard in the night, that neither Zajak or I be left alone under any
circumstances.

I whispered in my master's ear during breaking in the conversation and he
nodded. Eventually it was arranged that Zajak would come with me and Harcos
on the reconnoitrer, leaving Pameten to inventory and straighten his cart,
something he'd had no time to accomplish yet. Harcos threw an oiled-cloth
cape over his shoulder and gave one to me; Pam gave a similar one of
leather to Zajak.

I spent the entire walk giving Zajak as much of the language and knowledge
that I could, as quickly as possible. I found that I was starting exactly
where Strasta had, with water and food, clothes and injuries, medicines and
weapons.

It quickly became clear that Zajak was perhaps not that far off his old
name, Ox, as I might have wished. I found myself slowing to his rather
plodding mental pace, focusing only on words he would need quickly, and
skills that I could explain using what he already knew. I also got a better
chance to really look at the young man; it took me only moments to see what
Pameten had so valued.

Zajak was tall for a man of our area, nothing close to Harcos, but
certainly taller than any in my own family and at least a head over
Pameten. He had wide shoulders, narrow hips and long legs. He was painfully
thin when seen from the side, as if he'd been flattened beneath a rock.

Things that had not been flattened were his broad chest, which seemed
strong if not muscular, and his, um, well, his ass. When he moved, the
simple shift he wore would catch and pull across the flexing, dimpled
muscles or catch within the deep, somewhat wide cleft. When we stepped
aside for a piss, though, I nearly choked. Ox as a name was *right*! I'd
seen smaller balls on cattle and smaller dicks on ponies! Unworthy as the
thought was, my mind went immediately to what it must look like hard, and
what it must feel like to... Oh dear.

When we got to the bluff overlooking what yesterday had been a bed of
rock-hard dry clay with a few streams, it took my breath away. We knew
floods that crashed down the valley, but our little river (creek) could be
jumped easily when calm and went from torrent to calm in hours after the
rains. What was below was a crashing hell of mud, waves, trees and snarling
currents. Even I could see that there would be no crossing that day.

On the way back, Harcos bartered for some uncommon medical herbs from a man
he knew and trusted, and a thick venison roast from a hunter just arrived
from the hills. He spoke and haggled with a dozen others, making sure Zajak
and I were never more than an arm's-width away, but bought little else. He
did find one item, though, that perplexed me, and he paid precious silver
for it. It was a disk of soft metal, silver adulterated with tin and other
metals. Inside a thick band was a nicely-worked tauroctony, the symbol of
the Mithraic heathens. It was mounted and held by a cross-bracing of
stouter metal. He pocketed it without a word.

The rain was finally diminishing when we returned, wet and muddy, to the
tents. Pameten was there, looking grave. Merchants to either side had moved
out, their destinations away from instead of over the river. Magare had,
naturally, forced his slave boy to move the tent next to ours. Harcos made
no sign of displeasure that was visible, but a long and silent conversation
of glances and gestures commenced between Pam and my master.

Marcos headed off, leaving us to tend to a lunch of the charred steak from
the night before, cutting it into tiny bits into the hot water in which
we'd cooked carrots and herbs. Not boiling it, but allowing the meat to
absorb and flavour the veggies. Zajak watched and helped, and I made sure
to teach (slowly) whatever I could.

Harcos returned and gave a nearly-imperceptible nod to Pameten. He was
followed a few minutes later by another large, wide warrior from his
cohort, this with an older, quite beautiful (if a tad hip-heavy) woman
servant. Magare's narrowed eyes made it clear he did not like the
company. Another rather larger wagon pulled in, completing the circle
around the fire pit. The man that came with it was almost tiny, perhaps the
size of a lad just reaching his growth, but wrapped in whipcord muscles. He
had two servants, a young a beautiful man-child, perhaps a tad older than
myself but taking great care to look younger, and young woman who was
clearly his kin, probably his older sister.

This last set really unnerved Magare and he berated the girl-servant who
scurried away from his wrath. We ate, sharing it around and partaking of
fruits or sweetmeats from the newcomers. I found a chance to feign
ignorance on a garment which allowed Harcos to join me briefly in the tent.

"Can you save those children, my Aldas, as you saved me?" His face fell,
sad and grave.

"No, my Kucuk. You have a strong heart, my puppy, but Magare has taken them
as slaves; they are his property to do with as he wills. The army and Roman
law will not intervene unless the damage he inflicts is visible and
permanently-scarring, and then would only fine him."

I got increasingly-agitated as he spoke. "We can do nothing? You, Pameten
and the two warriors who are clearly your friends and not friends of
Magare? You will do nothing but listen to their torment? You did not hear
how the boy prayed to his gods for death, at least for the sister if not
himself. He can bear whatever is given him, but is rent asunder at the
continual and brutal rape of his beloved sister. And we do NOTHING?"

Harcos pulled me hard into his chest and I struggled for the first time. I
did not want his hug, I wanted his help. My Aldas had all answers, all
solutions; how can he fail at this? He finally held me at arm's length,
massive paws on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. I was amazed to find
real pain and perhaps moisture in them. That sobered me. "What is right, my
Kucuk, is not always within a man's power to accomplish. This is a hard and
brutal lesson, but one you must learn. It is, perhaps, better that you
learn it here and now than on the field of your fist blooding. I am sorry,
my Kucuk"

"And if they die, what then?"

He got a shrewd and stern look, "No, Kucuk. If you kill Magare's property
it is as if I had. I will be forced to repay him double the value of his
loss, and I will be reduced in rank and stature. You will be given to him
as less than a slave, to punish or kill as he pleases. This is something
you must not consider, my brave and fearless little puppy."

"No, my *master*," using the harsh word that I knew he hated and saw that
the barb had struck, at least a little, "I would never do such a thing. I
ask not if they are killed, but if they die. If the boy succeeds in
bringing the final end to his sister's unbearable suffering. What then,
Harcos?"

"It depends, my Kucuk. If they die though an accident or the fate of Gods,
things go as before. If they die by the intervention of another, however
slight, it is as if that other had done the killing. If they die through
the negligence of Magare, he will be sanctioned, perhaps fined or even
prevented from owning slaves for a period. But nothing, no action, may be
taken by me, by us, by you. "

"Thank you, my *master*. I will remember as I listen to her cries and his
prayers." I had gone too far and knew this. His frown was one of real anger
and disappointment, and I immediately regretted what I'd said. I went to
apologise but Harcos was already gone in a swish of tent-flap.

I watched Magare closely through the day, and watched the boy most
carefully. Harcos cared deeply for me, as Pameten did for Zajak. Magare had
no feeling at all toward his slaves. Unless he had an immediate use -- a
blow to deliver or a need to satisfy -- the boy was utterly ignored. Magare
was also a pig that left detritus wherever he went, expecting (demanding)
that his slave be there to clean up after him instantly.

As this went on, I watched as Magare was careful to ensure that he was the
only one with sharp blades, apparently having long experience with slaves
not yet broken to their unthinkable fate. I realised that I was putting
myself and even my beloved Harcos at risk, but the horrific torment of
these children, boy not yet to his seed and the sister younger still, made
this a matter I could never allow. I would die a thousand terrible deaths
before failing to act to stop this atrocity.

My luck and advantage was the closeness of the cookfire. The rain had fled
and the fire had been built tremendously then burnt to coals for the
evening cooking, but that left little room to manoeuver. I waited until
Magare was slicing turnips of parsnips and I 'accidentally' fell back,
splashing myself and Magare with the near-scalding water. His howl of rage
and pain brought the attention of the entire range of nearby campers as he
pulled the stinging cloth away from his chest and chasing the boy into the
tent to get him new, dry clothes. No one, I was certain, saw that I'd
fallen in such a way as to know the turnips and knife to the ground, and
landed my hand upon the knife.

It was tucked beneath my sandal as I staggered to my feet, wailing in
apology to Harcos and, frankly, anyone who would listen. This was such
expected slave/servant behaviour as to cause everyone to turn away. Harcos
had a look of thunder in his face. I moved to scurry back to our own tent,
careful to kick the knife beneath the tent-floor of Magare himself. He came
out in a towering rage, and Harcos pulled me bodily from the tent and
forced me to bow and apologise, which I did. I did not need to fake the
terror and dread in my face and voice; I nearly wet myself at the look of
betrayal in Harcos' eyes and the thought that Magare might well have me
killed in ways I was unable to even imagine.

The ranting and raving of Magare took time to abate; he thoroughly enjoyed
the fearful panic I my cowering, whimpering countenance. The turnips I had
ruined made frequent appearance in his tirade, but the knife was
forgotten. Eventually, the others bade him leave off so they could cook in
peace and I could repair the damage to Harcos' dinner.

I was able to draw the attention of the boy as Magare was trying in vain to
get commiseration from one of the others and muttered, "Your gods have
answered. I saw them place their deliverance beneath the edge of the
tent. Let no one see you." He stared at me in horror and fascination,
wondering what my words might mean.

Among the other differences between the warriors' treatment of their
servants and Magare's treatment of his child-slaves was that we ate with,
if behind or beside, our masters. The nameless boy and girl were ordered to
the tent while Magare ate in the isolation of power and privilege. I was
not the only one who noted that the boy bent and slid something from
beneath the tent as he entered, ignored by his arrogant master.

As we all finished and the warriors ceased their amusing and appalling
stories of battles long past, Magare filled two tiny bowls, certainly not
enough for growing children, and barked a command. His face purpled when no
one answered his summons and he yelled his order again. Finally, he whirled
and ripped his way into the tent. There was the slightest silence, then a
sound of such rage and madness as I'd never heard. I cowered behind Harcos
as Magare erupted.

The men listened to his incoherent, spitting fury. They stitched together
that his slaves had been slain and that he, Magare, would exact swift
vengeance. This went on for some time, the wrath of the monster unabated
but his wits slowly returning.

The small and quick warrior next to his tent asked, "Who has slain them and
how, Magare?"

"The girl was pierced through the heart and the boy cut across the throat!"

"In your own tent, Magare?" came Pameten's soft, deep voice.

Magare faltered. "Yes in my tent. Someone snuck in and killed my slaves. I
WILL have retribution!"

"So the knife they used is gone as well?" the small man asked, voice cold
and brittle.

"NO! That bastards left the knife they used! I will use that to find them!
They will PAY!" Magare spun and returned with a knife that dripped with
blood. I shuddered and sent an unceasing stream of prayers to God and every
saint I could recall.

"Magare, that knife seems familiar..." This was the voice of the quiet,
wide man who joined us earlier with the beautiful woman servant.

"Yes! Yes! Where have you seen it?" Magare shouted in triumph.

"This very night," came the deep reply, "in your own hand as you
chopped... what was it? Parsnips? Turnips?"

"Yes," the small man replied with rising certainty, "of course. Just before
Harcos' servant dropped the water. You were using a knife such as that to
slice something, were you not?"

Magare's eyes went wide as he goggled at the bloody-drenched blade.

"What did you do with your own weapon, Magare, after the accident with the
water?" asked wide, deep warrior.

"I don't recall you even looking for it, Magare," purred Pameten.

"Magare, please produce the knife you used to chop the vegetables," intoned
the small, lithe man.

"I, I, but Barea...!"

"I think, Magare, that at this point you should address me as Optio."

Magare paled visibly and his hand began to shake. "Y-yes, sir, Op-Optio, I
will find it forthwith." He turned and the small commanding man halted him
and relieved him of the bloody blade. The slick monster spent perhaps a
quarter hour in the small tent, emerging when it was clear he had nowhere
else to look.

"Please produce the knife, Magare, now."

"I... the knife has been stolen," he invented desperately, "Optio, by those
who, who, slew my slaves!"

"Hmm. Did any of you soldiers see any disturbance in the tent?"

A universal negative swept the group.

"Did any of you see what might have happened to the knife the Magare claims
was stolen?"

The quiet, deep-voiced one spoke. "No, Optio, but I saw the boy-child reach
down at the tent's edge before entering."

Pameten spoke next, "No, Optio, but I saw the boy reach down and retrieve
something shiny and sharp from the mud."

The small man looked at Harcos who shook his head.

"And I saw the boy reach down when you dismissed him. What say you,
Magare?"

"I, I, NO! It was an attack! A theft and killing of my slaves, Optio!"

"Silence." The small man's voice was quiet and calm. "Based on what I have
seen, I pass the following judgment on this case. You, Magare, dropped a
weapon from your own hand and did nothing to retrieve it. In your
negligence, your slave found your weapon, the very one you discarded, and
entered the tent. Through your negligence and disregard for all military
protocol, you let another wield your own, discarded weapon.

"One of your slaves, through your negligence, killed another then took his
own life. This is my judgment. Your silence and acceptance is both expected
and required, Magare, until such time as the Primus Pilus hears these facts
and passes final sentence. Please pay obeisance if you understand, accept
and will obey this judgment."

Magare was shaking with rage, fear and loss, but he knelt and bowed his
head before retreating to his tent. "Stop!" Magare halted and turned. "You
will arrange for the immediate burial of both victims, in a plot consecrate
to one or more of the Roman Gods. And you will pay from your pocket for the
marker for each, bearing the true name of each. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Optio." Shoulders slumped, he turned and left the fire ring, seeking
the keepers of the dead. Death was common in any city, and never happened
at times convenient for the living. The Optio, Barea, gave a long and stern
look at Harcos before turning to his own tent.

Harcos turned and disappeared, and I spent far too much time cleaning and
cleansing the cooking pots, utensils and dishes. I was quaking with fear
and shame as I finally realised that there was nothing, nothing at all,
that I could do to delay further. I relieved myself and entered the tent to
find my master sitting cross-legged.

I came before him and did something I hadn't done since my first day with
this bear of a warrior -- I knelt and bowed to the ground and begged his
mercy. I expected either swift justice, rage or forgiveness. I received
none of those.

I finally wore down, unsure how else to abase myself, and looked
up. Harcos' face was grave, sad, disappointed but there was something else
underneath. He gestured me to sit, and I did, quaking all the way to my
soul.

"You have done a terrible and dangerous thing, child. No, I will not call
you Kucuk or Dasqas, for you have put yourself and me in terrible
danger. You are tonight *not* my puppy, *not* my gem. You put your life and
my position in jeopardy, and we will have a reckoning when we are far from
prying ears." I was weeping then, not from fear but from shame. I had
failed him. I had failed the man who saved me. And for what? Two children
whose fates were sealed when the monster found them. Two children that were
beyond the help of even the most powerful...

Two children my savour could (or would?) not save. Two children that I
couldn't NOT save. I raised my face to Harcos and spoke, weak and quivering
but I spoke nonetheless. "You can, you *must* punish me, Harcos. What I did
was wrong, and you expressly forbade me from doing it. I put you at risk,
and violated my own decision to obey you in all things. I defied you and
deserve any punishment you decide is mete. Discard me, sell me or leave me
to die; I deserve each of those, my Harcos. But I could not be your Kucuk,
your Dasqas and I could not have been true to my Aldas if I had left those
children to their fate.

"You have given me more than I have ever deserved, my warrior, my master,
my saviour, but I could never be worthy of you and what you have given me
if I could ignore the prayers of the broken boy or the screams of the
girl-child. As the Optio did for Magare, pass your judgment. I will accept
it. But know that I... I could never have looked at you -- the man who
delivered and saved and healed me -- with anything less than shame if I had
left them to suffer at the hands of the monster. Kill me, Harcos, or let
another do it. Sell me or let another do it. Punish me, or let another do
it."

<eof>

So Ayib-cum-Kucuk has put his master in mortal peril. How will the Roman
warrior, the tamed barbarian respond? Let me know you thoughts at
orson.cadell@gmail.com

*****

Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Karl & Greg: 19 chapters .../incest/karl-and-greg/
Canvas Hell: 16 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 9 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 9 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Mud Lark Holler: 7 chapters .../rural/mud-lark-holler/
Babe in the Woods: 2 chapters .../rural/babe-in-the-woods/
Off the Magic Carpet: 3 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/