Date: Thu, 8 Jun 2017 16:54:54 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens 21

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.

*****

"Yes, the sixth. You are right. All of them." Huge eyes met this news. If
gossip was currency, *confirmed* gossip, and specific at that, was gold. As
they exclaimed and muttered, I closely watched Pyrkagia's agile hands. He'd
taught me letters, but I wasn't sure of any of them. They were all staring
at me when I finally looked up and I was certain they had caught on. "When
you see the one with gold hair, call out 'Iosiphus' and see if he turns."
And with that, I bought the three of instant acceptance to the troupe.

*****

The Heathens 21: Beef and Bath

By Bear Pup

*****

And that acceptance paid dividends immediately. All of the guys started
helping us get things settled and organised and began quickly explaining
the rigour of the camp. Our masters would have to be up the following
morning before dawn and fully dressed in ornates uniform, something only
Pyrkagia even knew existed. Today, Veneris, was foreshortened for duty as
many cultus practices would begin at sunset, the beginning of
Saturni. Saturni was a day when formal attire was essential, as it was the
first day of the Legion's week. The rest of the week was the habitus style,
of which our masters each wore parts on the road.

The boys explained that our As actually fought in the type of attire we'd
travelled in, but for drills and manoeuvres until noon each day, the two
uniform styles were mandatory and had to be perfect at all times. While our
masters were 'at play' in the mornings as the guys called it, we boys would
have our own assignments. For our As, it was almost-always bread-baking
since most of them had been good at that and we had to report first to the
ovens, but it could be anything from maintenance to wood-gathering to
bandage-making. Our masters would have various duties in the afternoons,
either heavier jobs that we servants could be expected to accomplish or
military duties and excursions to protect Winter Over.

All that was discussed as they taught us the ornates and habitus. I knew
the tunica and lorica, and Volot knew the baltea. In fact, Pameten's kilt
was a baltea that went fully around him instead of just hanging across the
middle third to protect our masters' groins. The caligae sandals had to be
tied in a very specific (and, according to my new mates, utterly inferior)
way that differed from what I'd learned.

The pilum (javelin-like spear) and the Spanish Sword preferred by Harcos
were the only weapons that would show (the pugia was worn under the tunica
in any case). Pam's beloved adzes would stay in the niche. The cassis helm
and the scutum shield were completely novel to us as well; neither Pam nor
Harcos even carried them in the cart!

The scutum was a rectangle, like part of a cylinder. All were red
throughout the Legion, as were the tunica and scarves. Each had a metal
dome or spike in the middle and were decorated for the Century (two sets of
golden wings stretching top to bottom to either side of the centre) the
Cohort (the lightning bolts of Jove blasting to the top, bottom and either
side) and the Century (the helm of Athena at the centre).  At the corners
were the symbols of the patroness of our own As, the scales of the heathen
goddess Nemesis. The guys explained that our masters were the physical
judgement visited upon those who defied the Century and even the Legion,
sent to destroy those who stood against us. In battle, though, only three
of the eight used a scutum. For the other five, including Harcos and
Pameten, scutae were for dress only.

The cassis helm for our Cohort had a rigid crest utterly unlike the
feathered or horse-hair ones I'd seen before. It was perhaps a hand tall
and lethally-sharp. The cassis over had to literally glow for Saturni
mornings.

The thing that set the ornates apart, though, were the Glories. Each
warrior had ribbons, medals, insignia and emblems unique to his
history. The boys spoke with great reverence of them, and Ghamad indicated
that he would help me as he had been close with Strasta, and Lavik, the
youngest, would help Volot. Strasta had been deeply loved; Igracka,
Pameten's former helpmeet, had been revered and Lavik was still unable to
speak of the man-child who had died so recently.

Igracka was, himself, a fierce protector, not only of Pameten but of the
other boys as well. He had been perhaps 19 summers when he was swept up in
an ill-starred revolt in his homeland in the Pannoniae. It would lead
Diocletian to redivide the area, but the immediate effect was a major
offensive to crush the rebels. The As of Nemesis had been unleashed on a
pocket of resistance inside a fortified gate built, ironically, to help
control the very rebels who used it as a base.

Pameten's adzes scythed through the defenders until he finally faced the
last foe, a beefy young man who stood tall and raised his chin, clearly
telling the warrior to end him quickly. It gave Pameten pause, though, and
instead he demanded the youth's surrender. Over the next half-year, Igracka
came to accept, then respect, then deeply love his new master. That had
been six years earlier. He had saved the lives of each of the boys at least
once, and been saved in return as well.

The men returned and it was clear that I was not the only one who glowed
when his master was around. Grubo, the big and quiet young tough who spoke
so little, instantly rushed to brush the dust from his lithe and supple
master, Skreini, the one the men called Skink, who had the colouring and
accent of Pameten. Skink grinned constantly, as if he were the only one to
get a subtle joke the rest had missed.

Billen, the beauty about my age but smoother with luscious lips and a
stunning ass, moved just as quickly to brush and primp his master, Ypoulos,
but also stripped him completely. Master and servant were a matched
pair. Both were handsome bordering on pretty and it was not hard to
understand who played which role. Where Billen had the ass of a young god,
Ypoulos had a long, thin spear of a dick that hung low over his balls. Even
Volot stared. Ypoulos was called The Greek but more often Cat, and he moved
like a cat as well.

When Grubo was done, Skink produced a heavy paper-wrapped parcel. The
servant opened it and gasped. Inside was a good-sized section of a steer's
ribs, once of the most-prized cuts of beef. Furge (the oldest of the
servants, tall, thin and agile) and Billen reverently took the beef and
began to prepare it in a way I'd not seen before.

A rack was set mere inches above the glowing coals of the hearth and they
rubbed the meat with salt, garlic, green herbs and fragrant oil. The meat
sizzled and spat fiercely and smoke billowed up the flue as they seared all
sides, apparently quite used to the heat of the flames. They then raised
the rack nearly into the flue itself. For the next several hours, small
flavour bombs dripped from the beef into the coals driving us all wild with
the amazing scent.

All of us served the men, rubbing sore arms or soothing aching feet,
bringing a steady supply of the thin beer on which the Roman Army ran. I
had never been around a company of men before, not in the relaxed and homey
atmosphere of a settlement. Most, including Harcos, went bare-chested. My
master wore a clout that made it easy to reach in and scratch his huge
balls, as did his equally-massive friend, Sziklak. They were from the same
region of the Empire. If anything, Sziklak was more muscular than my own
Harcos, making his contrast with his servant, Furge, almost comical. What
caught my attention was how smooth the man was; I soon found out that Furge
shaved him each night, leaving only his crotch and pits thick with fur.

Handart, young Lavik's master, was large but nothing like the two
barbarians. He was as calm and placid as his little helper was frenetic,
another nice contrast. Like Cat, he also stripped immediately upon
returning to the rooms. His sparse, light hair did nothing to hide his
fitness, nor his very respectable tackle. As with all the men, 'naked'
meant 'with thin belt and pugio'; I think these men would be more likely to
forget their balls than their daggers.

Say'f, Ghamad's dark and dangerous-looking master, always sat in a way that
kept him in close contact with his servant. Wehter a leg or an arm or a
hip, something touched Ghamad nearly at all times. He was the only one to
remain clothed, complete with tunica, as did Ghamad. Master and servant
both flashed those dark, beautiful eyes around the room.

The meal was a crowded affair as all the men ate tonight at the table meant
for just four. The beef was insanely good, fat dripping down arms and into
laps. All of the boys except Ghamad chose to strip while serving since
beef-grease is a hard thing to get out of a tunic or camp-shirt. When the
men were finally sated, we fell upon the more-than-adequate remains like a
pack of wolves. Furge fought off all comers for the bones and the meat
attached to them. We only relented because he promised us all stew the next
day (and because we were so stuffed already we looked pregnant).

Grubo carefully gathered every bit of fat he could find to render into
tallow and I heard both Harcos and Pam bartering with Skink for some of the
resulting grease. Grubo gave Volot and I a long leer, making it all too
clear exactly why our masters wanted a supply. Both of us blushed like
virgins.

After the meal had settled, Harcos, Pameten and Stelio announced their
intent to visit the Baths. Cat decided to join them. For Volot and I, the
prospect of seeing a fabled Roman Bath was thrilling; for Pyrkagia and
Billen, it was a tedious chore. We gathered us some oils and were told the
Proctor Balneator supplied towels and strigils at the Baths themselves.

The men had us dress them in a long, flowing drapery they called a toga as
the Baths were considered part of the cultus at that time. We boys wore the
camp-shirts, as only citizens could wear the toga. That was fine because
neither Volot nor I could figure out how the warriors could walk draped in
all those folds of cloth!

As we moved, Billen gave quick, soft, helpful explanations of what laid
where and discussed the rules. Outside the quarters, it was extremely
uncommon and uncouth for a master to directly speak to a servant unless a
situation arose for which the servant had no standing orders. We would have
to pay close attention to our masters in order to divine what they would
need and when. We noticed that many of the smaller servants were holding a
master's belt or even a leash to ensure that they could stay close in the
bustling crowds.

The Baths were in the camp's south-eastern corner which also held the kiln,
smith and ovens, all fed by the mountain of wood that was stacked against
the inner walls of the fortification. The livestock were at the far corner,
the kitchens and granary to the north-east and the horse-troop enclosure
were at the south-west. We passed the Commandant's Quarters, a beehive of
activity day and night, as well as the other functionaries that lined the
principalus.

The one thing that was everywhere, all the time, was human bodies. It would
be light another hour or so, and most of the men were going to or from the
forum where trade was conducted, or the gates where more-lucrative deals
could be struck and a much wider diversity of products bought and sold. The
heat of the kilns blasted us as we passed the open gates to its enclosure,
wooden surfaces prudently covered in dried-mud stucco.

We all made use of the latrina which Billen explained was far larger than
most city baths, even in Rome itself. On entering the Atrium, two soldiers
in presentation uniforms stood side by side above a desk for the Proctor
Balneator. Soldiers were allowed a bath per week gratis, but had to pay a
small coin for more-frequent use. Skink just bowed and the Proctor made a
mark; apparently, Skink was a regular customer and held account with the
Proctors.

As we went to pass, the Proctor stopped me and told Harcos to remove my
bandage. He did and the Protector grabbed my arm, turning it to and fro. He
finally frowned at Harcos, "He can enter but may not use the Frigidarium at
all and must not allow the arm to enter the water of the Caldarium pool."
Harcos thanked him and we moved inside.

Announcements lined the walls, one of which was stark white and displayed
only the official notices of the Legion. The others were a riot of discord,
with announcements, invitations and promotions for every product known to
mankind (and a few I doubted really existed at all!). Perhaps forty men
reclined on the benches under the eaves on all sides, chatting or placing
bets on various young warriors engaged in wrestling or other contests in
the middle. A large gaggle of women servants, barred from the rest of the
baths, chatted as they awaited their masters' return.

Our group didn't linger. Most were there to socialise or were awaiting
comrades who had not arrived or were taking longer at their baths. We
entered the next area, the Tepidarium. We undressed our masters and then
ourselves in the warm, muggy air. Billen explained that many city baths
also had an Apodyterium solely for that purpose, and the warm Tepidarium
was separate. He also hissed that this was the one place in the camp where
the 'no thievery' truth was put to the test. The boy-slaves that served men
who did not bring their own, called the capsarii, were notorious villains.

Our masters strode around, loosening their limbs and coming to enjoy the
warmth, occasionally hailing a friends or rival. Pyrkagia, unsurprisingly
to Volot and me, volunteered to stay with the clothes as no clothing was
allowed other than bath sandals (a basket sat near the inner doorway)
beyond. That left Volot and I to carry oils for Harcos, Pameten and
Stelio. Billen carried a basket that seemed oddly heavy. I also carried a
bandage to rewrap my arm.

The next room, the Caldarium, felt like an oven. Heat poured from the floor
and even the walls. An immensely-long pool of water was to the right with
perhaps a dozen men relaxing, most with servants to assist them. Two tiers
of benches formed the left wall and another twenty or so men were there as
well. In the centre sat a huge bowl called the labrum and we watched
several men, heavy with sweat, pour cool water over their heads before
exiting. Other stood on small platforms while servants (or they themselves)
used oil and curved, cupped wands called strigils to remove bodily grime.

All four of our warriors sat on the benches, breathing heavily in the hot
and humid air. When all of us were slick with sweat, we stepped into the
last of the room, the Sudatorium. If the Caldarium was an oven, this was a
furnace. I had to squint to see through the heat haze. Billen moved quickly
and we copied his actions.

We anointed out masters as well as Stelio with scented oil, then quickly
scraped the sweat, oil and dirt away with a curved strigil. The insane heat
meant the men poured with sweat, leaving their skin clean and almost
glowing. We oiled and scraped twice in quick succession before retreating
to the Caldarium. Billen hissed, "See them into the water then return to
bathe each other." He and Cat did not join us; the beautiful boy started
with a second, different oil, again using the strigil to whisk it away
there in the less-heated Caldarium.

Harcos, Stelio and Pam climbed the steps to the pool and, huffing and
chuffing, lowered themselves into the hot water. Volot and I braved the
heat of the Sudatorium again and began to anoint and scrape each other
clean. My wound had begun to seep and Volot treated it with incredible
tenderness. The strigil nearly made me scream, but I knew it was necessary
pain.

Billen and Cat came back, using yet another oil that Billen called a
finisher. Cat was hard by this time and seemed to take no notice as Billen
etched the strigil around his testes and between his legs. Billen looked up
and seemed to almost panic, looking frantically around, relaxing only when
he saw we were alone. "Do not be seen hard here! No slave may do so!" We
looked at him in amazement and not a little puzzlement. I was well past
chubby, the arm-pain taking the edge off, but Volot was certainly -- and
impressively -- rampant from the touch of our mutual bathing. He whispered
back, "How do I 'not be hard'?"

Billen sighed exasperatedly (a truly beautiful thing to behold with those
amazing lips) and gave a demonstration instead of an instruction. With that
couple quick flicks of his strigil`, Volot and I were doubled-over having
breathing difficulties from the thwACK our balls had just sustained. I have
to say, though, the method worked! When we were free of oil (and taking
exaggerated care around our aching nuts), we returned to the relative cool
of the Caldarium where Volot rebound my wound.

A nod of the head from Harcos brought us both to the hot water where we
rinsed each other as the warriors had already done, me taking scrupulous
care to hold my freshly-bandaged wound high. The five of us emerged from
the pool as Billen and Cat came into the Caldarium. Billen was buffing his
master with an oiled cloth as one would a price of armour. Harcos gave us a
look and we followed silently as the men moved to stand at the labrum.

We decided that they wanted us to douse them with the cold water. We did,
Volot perhaps too generously as Pam squawked like a scalded cat when the
cool water hit his heat-reddened shoulders. Harcos and Stelio laughed long
and loud as the warriors settled on the hot bench and indicated that we
should sit at their feet. We crouched instead. The floor was HOT. I saw Cat
stretching in the heat and scurried over to Billen.

"Shall I wash you, friend-Billen?"

"No. I washed yesterday," he whispered. "My master likes this almost
daily. I don't mind but I sure don't want to join him!" He smiled and I
went back to sit with my own master.

Our masters relaxed in companionable silence for a few minutes until the
sweat was fully formed, then rose and we followed back to the
Tepidarium. Pyrkagia handed us towels and began to minister to
Stelio. Volot and I did the same for our own masters who were smiling and
content. As we gradually cooled to normal temperature, we redressed our
masters in their togas and donned our own shirts.

The three men relaxed on a bench in the Atrium and chatted with some
acquaintances. Within a few minutes, they gathered us in their wake and
returned to the quarters. It was full dark but might as well have been day
with the torches blazing along the principalus. Many men were in ceremonial
garb required to pay cult to one deity or another, all of course within the
cultus of Rome. Many seemed headed to a structure outside the gate. Billen
whispered, "Mithraic mysteries. Pretend not to notice."

We made it to our 'home' and found both Say'f and Ghamad to have already
retired. Volot and I sighed deeply when Harcos and Pam finally spoke. "You
boys did well. Very well. You've made us both proud." Pam's voice puffed
Volot up like a rooster and Harcos' smile make my innards squirm. In Pam's
ludicrous excuse for a whisper (he echoed), he growled "Come, my Ox, and
find out what a clean Pameten tastes like." They retreated to their niche
as did Stelio and Pyrkagia.

"Well, my puppy, shall we follow suit?" I just grinned and tried pulling my
mammoth master into our niche. He pulled me back to his lap and chuckled,
"No, my Kucuk, tonight you must learn a very difficult and stressful
lesson." I looked at him questioningly as he stood and moved us toward our
bedding. He bent to my ear and whispered, "You will learn how, my Dasqas,
my precious jewel -- how to make love in silence." His warm breath and
voice purred across my ear and I was suddenly harder than I'd been in my
life, desperate for the touch of this giant of a man.

Harcos was right, though, this was the most exasperating lesson I had ever
faced, and he taught it ruthlessly. I could do anything I wanted and he
also made love to my body, but if I so much as squeaked or whimpered, he
made me immediately stand at the foot of the bed with my arms behind me and
whisper-count to fifty... in Latin! Then we would start again. And again.

His taste, now, was shocking. It was still my Harcos, my Aldus, my
everything. But it was gentle in the same way he so often made love. His
thick scent when we were on the trail was like his ferocity in
battle. Here, fresh from the Baths, he was the Harcos of my quiet evenings,
the Aldus of my softest dreams. He was also a complete fucking monster
about the accursed noise thing!

What undid me every time was his touch or tongue at my ass. The tallow
supplied by Billen made me want to sing in exultation! It was
heavenly. Time and again I would sense my Aldus begin to close on his own
ecstasy only to feel his tongue swipe in *just* the right way or his finger
scrape against my ass-walls *so* perfectly and I would moan around his cock
or whimper into the nipple I was making love to. Then it was unus, duo,
tres, quattuor, quinque, sex!

At quinquaginta, I would again dive in, the silent predator intent on
extracting the yolk from the eggs he held in his sac. His hair would rustle
and tease my cock; his lips would nibble my balls; his hands would play my
body like and instrument and I remained resolute and utterly silent. Then
the tongue or the touch, the gasp or the groan. Unus! Duo!! Tres!!!

After perhaps two hours, Harcos finally decided the lesson would end for
the evening. He shoved his breechclout into my mouth and, in a single
motion, ran his finger far enough up my ass to hit that sacred nubbin of
flesh while swallowing my entire dick. Even with my mouth smothered in
cloth and his hand clamped firmly on top of that, I'm pretty certain that
anyone in the room understood exactly what had just happened as I climaxed
so hard I was afraid I'd broken something.

He turned me then and pointed to his dick which I fell upon like a moveable
feast. This is when I learned what discipline meant. My incredibly virile
and vocal master made not one sound even as his neck exploded in cords and
his body bucked and arched his cock deep into my throat as he came and came
and came. The eruption seemed even more intense and satisfying to me for
its silence. When he fell, spent, I curled into him and sighed. This was
where I wanted to stay for the rest of my life.

<eof>

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