Date: Sat, 18 Mar 2017 19:31:25 -0400
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens 10

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 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."

*****

The Heathens 10: What is a Name?

By Bear Pup

NOTE: You can skip this angst-riddled chapter and not miss a single sexy
detail. It is re-stitching Harcos to Kucuk and nothing more. Just FYI.

M/T; all plot (sorry -- no sex at all)

Harcos slept with his back to me. The rains returned that evening. Harcos
woke with my mouth suckling him and he pushed me away, still angry and
disappointed, and left to take care of his own morning needs. I wept freely
as I went about the other morning rituals, oblivious to the stares and
muttered comments of the other servers. They assumed, all but Zajak, that
Harcos was furious over the clumsiness I had displayed that led to the
whole affair with Magare.

It was clear from the gossip of the camp that no crossing would be possible
for several days. The natives of the town said that rains like we had seen,
with storm on two of three days, would leave the river deadly for nearly a
week.

Zajak tried several times to engage me, but I rebuffed him. Not because I
didn't need his comfort, but because I knew that I did not deserve it.

Harcos returned and met in whispered conversation with Pameten. He held
similar congress with the others, save Magare who everyone ignored with
utter and undisguised contempt. Without a word to me, Harcos began to
strike camp and I dove to assist whilst still staying out of my master's
way (and, when possible, line of sight). I noticed that Pameten was guiding
Zajak in the same exercise and soon both he and Harcos were ready to set
out. The rain was pissing down, a perfect match for my own mood.

Harcos took the straps, still without a single word to me on the
day. Pameten strapped Zajak in shoulder style. As we walked abreast, our
masters in front, I rattled off the reason for the particular setup and
advised on how he should hide if we were attacked, or lacking that ability,
to run like his namesake hare. He objected and I shut him down more
forcefully than I should have, reminding him that his needless death would
gain his master nothing and, God willing, his escape would put him in a
position to tend the man's wounds.

I instantly regretted the harshness of my words, but Zajak made sure that I
could not speak again for nearly an hour, until we were well outside the
town. I also regretted the very words themselves. My use of 'God' instead
of 'the gods' had marked me as Christian. Diocletian has decreed a death
sentence on every Christian who refused to lay cult to the gods, and in
particular to patron-gods of Rome itself. With that single, fateful word, I
had condemned myself and put Harcos again at dire risk.

So now I walked in tripartite-guilt. I had failed Harcos from my actions
about the doomed children, with potentially-lethal consequences had things
gone otherwise; I had snuffed the tiny flicker of confidence that Zajak had
rekindled with my hurtful words; and I had again put myself and Harcos at
risk, with a death sentence for myself and perhaps even one for my beloved
master.

We stopped midmorning by what was likely the last 'improved' spring on the
road. It flowed into a long trough under a cupola, with images of one of
the various Roman goddesses of health attendant. Zajak and I refilled all
of our water-skins and pots whilst Harcos and Pameten laid cult before the
goddess, one neither Zajak or I recognised. Apparently, both thought we
might find trouble getting fresh water in the days ahead.

Harcos and Pameten conferred several times, and eventually agreed to turn
aside on what looked for the world like a goat-path leading nowhere. In
fact, it led over a small rise through some thick brush to a secluded box
canyon, invisible to anyone who did not already know of it. Harcos stalked
off and I set about building the camp: tent, fire-ring, fire, cookpot
bubbling. Pameten spent the same time methodically walking Zajak through
the same actions, with occasional grunts to me for words the lad would
understand.

Noontime was upon us when I set about preparing the smoked meats for my
master, and helped Zajak do the same for his. I watched with true
trepidation as our masters conferred. Harcos came over and grunted, "I will
eat what Zajak makes," and walked away. I conveyed the meaning to my friend
and ignored his questions, returning all but a hunk of bread to the
larder. I did not deserve to eat if I could not be trusted to make my
master's meal.

Harcos and Pameten set about teaching Zajak as Harcos had taught me. It was
slow going, a fact in which I took no satisfaction. Zajak, for all his
faults, did not betray Pam. I headed a little away from the camp and found
a likely game trail. Using the new techniques Harcos had taught me, I set
four snares. I hurried back to the camp and began to
clean... everything. Strasta had made it clear; nothing was ever clean
'enough' and down-time was designed to let the servant catch up.

An hour before dusk, I checked my snares and found a ferocious mother
racoon set to do battle with me. Two older kits had been snared, one
strangled and the other dangled. I scared away the mother and dispatched
the living one. Young racoons had soft and (if prepared right) delicious
meat. I returned to the camp to find Harcos with his back to me. He never
turned. I cleaned, cut and seared the meat, then used a tiny bit of flour
in the grease with onions I'd found to create a base, and added cool water
to make a bubbly gravy. I let that sit and simmer as I gathered herbs
nearby.

Harcos never turned once. Never even acknowledged the rumbling stomachs and
eager sniffs of Pameten and Zajak. As it neared completion, I threw in the
aromatic herbs and Pam turned to Harcos. "Well, the lad has no reason to
poison ME. Come Zajak, and leave Harcos to... stew."

I spooned out the meat and gravy over the now-stale bread that I'd toasted
over the coals, a large plate for Pameten and a smaller for his
servant. For myself, I took just some bread and sopped up some gravy as Pam
and Zajak complemented the meal. I was deaf to them, heartbroken over
Harcos' shunning of me. I filled a plate with the choicest cuts and the
thickest gravy and, without looking up at him, knelt at the feet of my
mater and laid the scutellae before him, letting my tears flow.

I sobbed inconsolably when he nudged it aside and left the camp. I did not
move until he returned. He lifted me bodily and grunted a request that
Pameten have Zajak clear the cooling plate. I barely registered his assent,
or the renewed yummy-noises as Zajak refilled his master's plate with what
my own mater had spurned.

Harcos carried me into the tent and tucked the edges tight. He set me down
and I curled again into the kneeling abasement that I'd used since I
presented the scutellae. Harcos sat cross-legged staring until I quieted.

"You are a danger to me," were the first words Harcos spoke to me since the
night before. His voice was deep, mournful, sad. "Having a child," the word
he used is closer to toddler, a boy not-yet housebroken, magnifying my
dishonour and indignity, "with me means that I must watch for that little
boy because he cannot follow my orders or do what is needful to protect
himself or me or my cohort."

I had still not met his eyes. I let the tears puddle on the material
beneath my face. I made no sound, but he could see my frame shake with
silent sobs.

"There are times, little boy, when what must be done is not the same as
what should be done. When the survival of the cohort or the salvation of
the army itself relies on unthinkable acts without which all would be
lost. I doubt neither your bravery nor your motives, child -- both were
above reproach -- but you took a course of action that I forbade.

"Look at me, little boy. LOOK AT ME!" The sudden change from stern, patient
voice to barbarian roar shook me and I stared at him in awe, fear and
despair.

"You put me at risk three ways, little boy. You put me at risk in my
cohort, of reprimand or rebuke and severe, perhaps irreparable loss of
status and rank. You put me at risk, were I unable to provide the coin to
that vile man to replace those two innocent babes, even to a life of
slavery to none other than Magare. You put me at the worst risk, little
boy, in that I might have had to stand aside while that monster debased,
raped, tortured and killed my Kucuk. The first two risk would wound me; the
last would have destroyed me."

I saw something I never imagine possible with those words. My barbarian
giant, my bear of a warrior, my master and saviour, wept real tears. "I
will kill myself before I suffer that, little boy. You may, MAY again
become my Kucuk, my Dasqas. But you will do so only when I know, am
certain, am convinced that you will never, ever again let your judgment
overrule my own."

I could hardly speak for wracking sobs, "O, my Harcos! O--" He cut me off
even more-harshly than I had Zajak earlier.

"NO! Tonight is not the time for words. Words fade. Word are like
mist. Words are smoke, gone int he morning. Tonight is for you to think and
for me to mourn. For I may never have my Kucuk back. I may never again be
Aldas to my Dasqas. Go to the rugs and furs there, little boy, and leave me
to my grief."

I had prayed for death more times in my life than I'd slept, but never as
fervently as I did that long and sleepless night. Before, I sought escape
from the torment of my family and their twisted beliefs. Now, though, I
sought to help someone I loved more than myself. I prayed to remove the
risk I posed to Harcos, my master, my salvation, my benediction. Because I
knew, in my deepest soul, that I could not have made -- cannot make in any
future -- any other decision that what I made that day. By my own knowledge
and the words of my master, I could never again be his Kucuk.

I faded to sleep and was met by the one apparition that I dreaded most. No
Satan, no demon, no pagan god scared me more than what stood before
me. Strasta stood just as naked and holy and unashamed as before, but
without the angelic light. His eyes held lightning and his brow was a
thunderhead.

"Szentley, you have let your true heart and true soul loose to do the will
of God as you understood it. I understand. God understands. Christ would
have done the same. But in doing so you have lost Harcos and put your own
mission at risk. Steel yourself, Szentley. Accept that Harcos may demand of
you what is beyond your capacity to give, and try your best to deliver
it. You will fail, but if you persevere, even your failure will be sacred.

"Before light, find in the larder honey and split-grain, chamomile and
sweet-grass, a single red berry and one of black. Use the heel of your hand
to crush them together. Scoop a small amount of the water you place to boil
into that mixture and have it waiting as you kneel before Harcos when he
wakes. He will know what this means, young Christian, thought he will not
accept it... yet."

I awoke terrified and trembling, far from the warmth of my masters'
arms. It was an hour at least before dawn. I took the cookpot with me with
a waterskin and the larder, each silently retrieved as Harcos snored, out
from the tent.

It was bloody freezing! I had not realised how much height we'd gained the
day before. I set about rekindling the fire, desperate for its warmth as
much as it cooking potential. I had the fire blazing the coals under the
cookpot to heat the water in, perhaps, forty minutes. I replicated the
dream-formula of Strasta and was like a shadow returning to the tent. I
knelt before Harcos, holding forward the bowl until he stirred. He snorted
like a bull and sat up, then registered my presence, posture, offering.

I felt the bowl lift, heard him sniff tentatively then suck in a deep
breath of the aroma rising, and tasted it.

"How...?"

I did not move at all as he mumbled in tongues I would never know,
devouring the porridge. He set the bowl aside and was silent for the
longest time. He leant forward and pried my chin upwards until I could not
help but look into his eyes.

"There are gods at work. Yours or mine? It is beyond me to know. What can
you tell me?"

I took a long a shuddering breath, "I am nothing if I am not your Kucuk and
striving every day to be your Dasqas. I deserve neither, but will work
every moment of my life to earn the names you, my saviour, have given me. I
will never again defy you, never again disobey you, never again turn away
from you. Please; please I beg, let me again call you my Aldas, and let me
earn the right to be your puppy and, perhaps, one day far distant, your
gemstone."

<eof>

I've decided to ask at each tenth chapter of a story: Is anyone still
reading and is it worth pursuing? Let me know, please. Remember, please,
that I have no editor, publisher of critics to instruct me, only
YOU. orson.cadell@gmail.com

*****

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Karl & Greg: 20 chapters .../incest/karl-and-greg/
Canvas Hell: 16 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 9 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 10 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Mud Lark Holler: 8 chapters .../rural/mud-lark-holler/
Off the Magic Carpet: 4 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 2 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/