GLAUCUS OF KORINTHOS OR THE SPOILS OR WAR Chapter 4 Glaucus Submits
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years.
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Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): May, 2012 An archive of all my stories can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean- Christophe_Stories
'The ideas and characters in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without his permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures.'
Chapter 4: Glaucus Submits
There is much feverish activity on the wharves this morning as the newly enslaved youths and maidens of Korinthos are loaded onto waiting ships for transportation to the slave- markets of the Mediterranean.
All around me are the sad sounds of their slavery. The melancholy clanking of chains, the hiss and crack of whips whistling through the air and the loud thwack as raw leather meets yielding naked flesh join with the cries of outraged pain and the pitiful pleas of the newly enslaved to be set free.
But freedom for these new slaves is now merely a memory of what vengeful Rome has taken from them and which she'll never return. The ships wait to carry them into bitter servitude in the far flung corners of Rome's dominions.
I have come to the wharves to supervise the loading of my 'spoils of war'; the five hundred brawny, young Greek males who are destined to labour as slaves on my farms and in my marble quarry at Tauromenium.
One of the two galleys I have engaged to transport them to Sicilia is fully laden and she rests low in the water from the weight of her human cargo. In contrast, the second - as yet unloaded galley with her empty holds - rides high above the waterline.
My slaves, naked and heavily chained, stand bewildered in a tight huddle of human misery. The shock of their new condition renders them uncomprehending and the whips of my soldiers employed on loading them onto the waiting galley ensure they remain compliant.
I have time to visually examine them as we wait for them to be loaded and I am well pleased with my war booty. Without exception, all are prime stock who enjoy robust good health and come with the promise of many years of bountiful labour.
Of course, there will be a temporary setback as they are transported to Sicilia. Their incarceration within the galleys' fetid, vermin infested cargo holds together with minimal food and water will see some falling off of their current well-fed condition. But once they are landed at Tauromenium, hard work and a healthy diet will soon return them to their present rude good health.
This morning, I am accompanied by my new slave, Glaucus who is acting as my scribe. He is busy counting the heads of the slaves, ascertaining their names and ages and any skills they might possess and recording these in my slave register.
I watch as a subdued Glaucus goes about his new duties with sulky efficiency. Unlike the naked slaves waiting to be loaded onto the galley, Glaucus is clothed. He wears a short, sleeveless tunic woven from coarse, unbleached Egyptian linen. As a slave he is forbidden to wear the sandals or shoes of the free man and within my tent he goes barefoot. However, to protect his feet when working outdoors, I allow him to wear the wooden-soled sculponea of the slave and the peasant. I wonder how he feels about being dressed as a slave. Until just a day or so ago he'd worn the colourful, fine silken and woollen robes of the Greek aristocrat; now he wears the cheap, colourless garb of the slave. And if this doesn't remind him of his new status then the metal collar fastened around his neck would surely do so.
Fortunately, amid the confusion of Korinthos's destruction, I had located three, new unused slave collars. I'd decided to allow my three new slaves to keep the names of Glaucus, Diagoras and Perimedes and I'd called on one of my legion's blacksmiths to inscribe these names and the fact that they are the property of Flaccus Marcus Bruscius on the collars. I have decided against branding them at this stage.
Slave- branding isn't universally practised In Rome and many slaves are unbranded unless they offend. Then, they are branded with the letters of their crime. Very few slaves abscond and I believe it is the fear of punishment that ensures they don't stray from their owners' households. Inevitably, a runaway slave is caught and there are lower class free men who eke out a living in apprehending a fugitive slave and returning him to his rightful owner for the reward money.
Sometimes an owner will have the slave put to death - usually by crucifixion - but more usually he will have the runaway branded on the forehead with the large letters 'FUG' for fugitivus. This marks the slave as an ingrate and as untrustworthy and the punishment for his crime is forever there for all to see.
I believe it is the fear of the fugitive brand that makes a slave think twice before absconding from his Master's lawful ownership of him.
However, I have decided all my work slaves are to be branded. And why have I come to that decision?
Primarily it is to protect my very considerable investment in my slaves. Because of the war with the Carthaginians, Sicilia is still a comparatively lawless society and there are those who wouldn't think twice about stealing a slave for profit. And it is hard to argue ownership of an unmarked slave offered for sale whereas there is no confusion if a slave wears his owner's brand prominently on his body.
It is my intention to design a brand that clearly establishes my particular ownership of my slaves and my first task on moving to Tauromenium will be to have them marked with it.
Once more, my gaze wanders back to Glaucus. Deliberately, I have forbidden him to wear a subligaculum -or loin cloth - under his tunic which remains his only article of clothing. This morning, as I look at Glaucus, I visualise the ten, angry stripes of my crop and whip on his buttocks and back that I'd administered to him last night.
The slave's tunic is what I would call figure-hugging and if it's possible it accentuates his boyish physique to perfection. Glaucus is eighteen and his body lacks the full development of an adult male slave. But the boyish curves of his burgeoning maturity do show through his tunic and hide very little from my eyes while suggesting much to my erotic fantasies.
I have decided that Glaucus, among his other duties, is to provide me with my sexual relief. I am ambivalent about my sexual orientation; variously I have had sex with both men and women during my time as a soldier of Rome.
I suppose I would have to admit that more often than not my sexual exploits have been with males rather than females. While the Greeks are openly tolerant of 'man love', Roman society is less so. However, that's not to say it doesn't exist. It does and it is as widely practised among Roman men as it is among Greeks. The difference is that the Greeks openly practise homosexuality between older men and youths whereas in Rome it is carefully hidden.
Love between freemen of equal status strikes at one of the major foundations of Roman society - the family. The importance of family lies at the very heart of our society. It defines who we are, our place in Rome's affairs and the rules of inheritance. Rome's laws support the concept of family and at its cornerstone is the concept of 'paterfamilias' whereby the affairs of a family are vested in the male head of the household.
Because of these social pressures many Romans tend to hide their homosexuality. For a wealthy Roman this is easily done. He buys young, male slaves and installs them in his household where they become the focus of their Master's preference for 'Greek love'. And of course sex with a slave, who is after all a non-person, isn't regarded in the same way as sex between free men.
In my case, my predilection for male sex is more prosaic. As a soldier, I spend most of my time in the company of other men. No one would question the masculinity of the Roman soldier. Without exception, they are boisterous and hard living. They are fierce fighters who are unswervingly loyal to their units and to one another. Theirs is a true 'brotherhood' of like minds.
And it is this brotherhood that bonds the Roman soldier to his fellows. It's true to say the Roman soldier would sacrifice his life in the interests of Rome and his fellow soldiers. And I sometimes wonder which has first claim on their loyalty - Rome or their comrades.
Rome's wars ensure her legions are engaged in long campaigns in the dank, dark green forests of barbarian Europa and the arid regions of nearby Asia. These wars are brutal, no quarter given affairs and so Rome's soldiers are tough. Above all they are fatalistic in that they know the gods of war could beckon to them from across the River Styx at any time; calling them home to the Elysian Fields, the afterlife abode of the hero and the courageous.
And so they fight hard, drink much and live life as though there is no tomorrow. And they take their sexual pleasures whenever and with whomever they can. Sometimes, there are newly captured young men and women who provide temporary relief as their wait for the arrival of the slave-traders but mostly they find their pleasure with one another or with the camp followers of loose women, whores and catamites.
Personally, I have never sought any sexual relief among these lower class groups and I'd always remained aloof from the drunken revelry of my men. The shrieking laughter of the pox-ridden whores and the girlish giggling of the slack-assed sodomites never appealed to me. In all my campaigns, I'd been accompanied by a slave -for practical reasons always a male - who attended to my bodily needs both within my tent and within my bed.
And this is the role I have now assigned to my new slave, Glaucus.
Last night, I'd used him for the very first time and I have to say I was delighted with him. I'd been attracted to him at my first sighting of his upturned ass as he was about to be raped by my soldiers. As I looked down upon his trembling, naked form, I decided to acquire him as my slave. And as an added bonus there were his two slaves, Perimedes and Diagoras. All three now belong to me.
Just before last evening's dusk, I'd returned to my tent where Glaucus was waiting on my arrival. I'd assigned Perimedes and Diagoras to work with my soldiers in preparing my new slaves for shipment to Sicilia and so Glaucus had been left with the duties of tidying my tent, preparing my evening meal and the cleaning and polishing of my blood-splattered body armour.
I'd spelt out in great detail to Glaucus before leaving what I expected of him and I was keen to see if he'd paid attention. I suspected he would prove a wilful pupil and I resolved to be strict in my training of him.
I'd spent time instructing him in the protocols that exist between a Roman master and his slave and which I now expected him to adopt in serving me. I'd told him he was to always to refer to me as 'Master' and that he was to begin and close each address to me with that honorific.
I'd also told him that whenever I returned, he is to fall to his knees and crawl forward to kiss my feet in both homage and welcome.
I saw the resentment in his eyes and the angry red flush in his face as he listened to my instructions. I knew then that Glaucus would prove a difficult slave to break into my ways.
I sensed his stubborn, aristocratic pride - and while I understood it and even admired him for it - he has to learn that he is no longer an aristocratic Greek. He is now a conquered vassal of Rome and a slave. And as bitter as this is, it's the lesson he must now learn; and learn it quickly.
Previously, I'd asked the Legion's cobbler to make me a leather crop and a short leather quirt which I could use as training aids with Glaucus. On my way back to my tent, I'd called in to the shoemaker's workshop and found that he'd taken time out from the making and repairing of the soldiers' footwear to make me my new instruments of discipline.
The cobbler, no doubt wishing to curry favour with me, had excelled himself. Both the crop and the quirt are exquisite in their workmanship and they far surpass what I'd expected. He told me both are made from the finest dressed steer hide and the handles of both are covered in finely plaited leather strips. The end of each ends in an ornate knob into which are etched my initials -''FMB'. I was delighted with them and despite his protests, I insisted on rewarding him with five sesterces for his efforts.
My other two slaves, Perimedes and Diagoras - I believe they are Keltoi brothers - don't present me with the same problems as Glaucus. As long serving slaves to him, they are well versed in their roles and I find them suitably subservient and willing to serve me - their new Master. And so, I don't anticipate that'll I'll need to use either the crop or the quirt on them.
Thus equipped, I returned to my tent to see if Glaucus had carried out his duties to my satisfaction.
As I parted the flap at the tent's entrance, Glaucus did fall to his knees and press his nose to the ground but I sensed his proud defiance. I took two or three steps into the tent and paused waiting for Glaucus to crawl forward to welcome me. For several moments neither of us moved and I was annoyed by my new slave's refusal to greet me. I decided then that Glaucus had just earned three cuts of my new crop.
Stubbornly, Glaucus didn't move and my annoyance turned to cold anger and in my mind, I increased the number of his strokes to ten. Angrily, I ordered my defiant slave to his feet and commanded him to strip out of his tunic.
Resentfully, he did as I'd commanded and with seconds, Glaucus stood before me in his new slave's nakedness. And the sight of his nude body took my breath away. Truly, Glaucus is a creature of true masculine beauty.
Obviously, as an aristocratic young Greek, he'd spent much time in the gymnasium. His youthful body was at the peak of physical condition and yet his clearly defined musculature lacked the over-development of the more mature Greek athlete whilst the sensuous curves of his young body added to his allure.
My gaze roamed down over his manly chest and well defined abdomen before coming to rest at his genitals. And it was very obvious that the Olympian gods had been very generous to Glaucus; his sexual endowment was a worthy challenger to the god, Priapus.
His long, thick cock rested at a cheeky angle on top of his scrotum and his two larger than average balls hung low and unevenly between his muscular thighs. As is the custom with all free Greek males, Glaucus is uncircumcised although in his semi-erect state, his prepuce did little to conceal his glans.
I've always regarded the Greek concept of male nudity with slight bemusement and their reluctance to expose the male glans in public puzzles me. The Greek male thinks nothing of proudly strutting around in total nakedness as long as his foreskin obscures his cockhead from public sight. For a Greek to exhibit his glans to others is considered indecent and a source of personal shame.
Most Greek males are inordinately proud of their foreskins and there is a tendency on their part to immortalise them in their works of art. Even within my parents' household there are numerous pieces of Greek pottery and statuary which give prominence to the male prepuce.
Of course, I accept that Greek males are more relaxed about nudity than we Romans. But their belief that a foreskin covering the head of one's cock somehow negates total nudity strikes me as laughable.
But as I look at Glaucus, I do have a new appreciation of Greek nudity. Glaucus, in his nakedness, is magnificent and I resolve to keep him this way within the confines of my tent. To cover so glorious a body seems almost sacrilegious.
There will be occasions when I entertain my fellow officers and Glaucus will serve us. On those occasions I will dress him in a breechclout so that my guests can gain a better appreciation of him. And when he accompanies me on my official duties, I will allow him to wear a slave's tunic and the wooden soled shoes of the slave. However, at all other times, when we are alone, he'll serve me barefoot and naked.
Slowly, Glaucus's cock inched itself from dormancy into throbbing activity and eventually I was rewarded with the spectacle of my new slave's impressive erection. I watched as his foreskin eased itself back along the heavily veined shaft of his cock until his glans seemed to be winking at me. My own cock responded and was barely concealed with the folds of my soldier's tunic.
As I appreciated Glaucus's demonstration of his capabilities, I thought back to my father's household where it is standard practice for all his male slaves to be infibulated. My father has a very conservative outlook and to save any embarrassing encounters between my mother, my two sisters and a masturbating slave, he'd ensured all his male slaves wore the fibula.
I will have Glaucus infibulated if only to impress upon him his new slave status. But apart from that I quite like the idea of him wearing a fibula. It is my intention to buy an ornamental collar to replace the ugly iron collar that he now wears. I'd only ever seen that as temporary until I had time to pick out a collar more in keeping with his role as my slave. Upon my return to Italia, I will commission a goldsmith to make me a matching neck torc and genital cinch for Glaucus. And I will add a fibula to that order.
But why stop with Glaucus. As soon as time permits, I will take Glaucus and the two Keltoi brothers to the Legion's surgeon and have them infibulated. It's a very quick procedure and I'm told it's virtually painless and causes minimal distress to the slave. Then when they are healed, I'll have a blacksmith fit them with temporary rings.
As he stood before me, Glaucus was obviously nervous. I suspect he knew that he had overtaxed my patience and yet he remained unrepentant. He stared at me, quite brazenly, and I stepped forward and slapped his right cheek leaving the angry, red imprint of my hand on the olive smooth complexion of his face. I demanded that he lower his eyes to the tent's floor.
As he did so, I caught a glimpse of his tears and momentarily, I felt remorse for my treatment of him. But I rebuked myself. Glaucus was my slave and he'd challenged my authority. This was a challenge I couldn't allow to go unchecked and Glaucus must be punished. I needed to assert my Master's rights over him and I knew that I must now treat him as I intended for the relationship between us to continue. I was his Master and he was my slave. He needed to learn that lesson.
I rebuked him for his disrespect to his Master in not properly greeting me and for his show of stubborn pride. I told him that I would now punish him for the first time and I showed him the instruments of that punishment - my new crop and quirt.
The sight of both caused the colour to drain from his face and his eyes to widen in fright. I imagined the prospect of punishment is something he'd never considered would ever happen to him. No doubt, as a free man, he had punished his own slaves and he'd probably have been untroubled by their suffering. But, as my slave, he was about to share their experiences.
I bound his wrists together and told him to stand facing hard up against the centre-pole of my tent. Then, I tied his ankles to the base of the pole and secured his wrists high above his head so that his body was stretched taut. As I did so, I could feel the trembling of his body. I wondered was it fear or some other emotion that affected him.
I stood for few moments and admired the rear of my slave. With his arms stretched above his head every muscle in his back stood out in sharp relief and invited my closer inspection. I stood close behind Glaucus - so close in fact that our bodies almost touched. Reaching up, my hands felt the hard knotted mounds of his biceps and swept down over his shoulders and back to the curvaceous mounds of his ass. By Jupiter, how good it felt.
I noted the sharp intake of his breath and the involuntary clenching of his buttocks as my hands explored their flawless smoothness. My lust got the better of me and I slipped an exploratory finger into the dividing cleft and sought out his anus. I felt the stiffening of his body as my finger gently teased his sensitive sphincter and I heard his audible gasp of outraged surprise as I thrust through his resistance and entered into him.
At first he fought me! He clenched his buttocks and I could feel the working of his anal muscles as he sought to expel my invading finger. Not to be thwarted, I persisted and gradually his resistance crumbled. Hungrily, my finger explored the silky smooth warmth of his inner being and searched for the pleasure nub of his prostate. Once found, Glaucus was defenceless!
Slowly, I felt the lessening of the knotted-muscle tension in his body and as he relaxed, I could feel him pushing back against me seeking to draw my finger even deeper inside of him.
His body trembled with a new found expectancy of pleasure and I tried not to disappoint him. Gently, I began to slide my finger in and out of him; slowly at first but as my lust mounted and as my cock throbbed, I quickened the pace of my thrusting.
As I listened to his low, pleasurable moaning, I appreciated the warmth and tightness of my new slave's ass. It would have been so easy to use my cock to claim him there and then as my own. Glaucus had bewitched me and I was eager to fuck him. But first things first and that would have to wait until after his punishment.
Reluctantly, I withdrew from Glaucus and picked up my new crop. I swished it through the air several times to get a feel for its balance and its sibilant sound caused Glaucus to turn his head to the side to watch as I did so.
I'd determined that Glaucus's offences were serious and warranted firm punishment. And I was keen to impress upon him that I wouldn't tolerate such behaviour from a slave. I'd decided that Glaucus would taste both the crop and the quirt. He was to receive five strokes of the crop on his buttocks and five strokes of the quirt on his shoulders.
I very rarely use a whip on a slave. The whip's ferocity can irrevocably mark a slave's body and spoil his appearance. And to permanently mark Glaucus's physical perfection with a heavy whip was unthinkable. That is why I'd opted for the light weight, two-tailed quirt - which is similar to the one I use with my horses - rather than the heavy duty whip.
I'd always found the quirt is capable of delivering a salutary lesson to a miscreant slave without permanently marking his body. Certainly the pain they feel often causes them to cry out in distress. It will be interesting to see if Glaucus does so.
Glaucus watched wide-eyed as I removed my outer garments until I was clothed in just my undergarment. I'd always found being stripped to the waist gave me more freedom in wielding the cane or the whip.
Outwardly, Glaucus struggled to stay composed. But the pallor of his face and the trembling of his limbs betrayed his inner fear. I admired him for his courage and saw this as reflection of his Stoic upbringing. Glaucus was in every sense a young, Greek nobleman.
Unfortunately, because of his nobility, his transition into slavery will be that much harder.
I felt it only fair to Glaucus to tell him about the severity of his punishment and the reasons for it. He listened in sullen silence as I told him that his failure to welcome me on my return was a major breach of slave etiquette and that I couldn't overlook it.
Then I took up a position behind him and delivered the first stinging blow to his ass. The hiss of the crop as it travelled through the resisting air was answered by the loud, resounding 'thwack' of hard leather striking soft, yielding flesh.
I paused before delivering the second stroke giving Glaucus time to savour his pain. And as I watched, his blood suffused the angry red stripe that now ran roughly parallel across his ass cheeks.
Even though it must have hurt, Glaucus gritted his teeth and remained grimly determined not to show his pain and I wondered when, or if, he would break.
Obviously, my second stroke - yielded with more strength - was more effective for he squirmed in a futile attempt to break free from his bonds but still he remained silent.
And he remained so for the third, fourth and fifth strokes of the crop and he refused to yield. I wondered if Glaucus thought he'd had a victory over me. If so, I promised myself that his victory would be short-lived. He would yield to me - his Master!
I laid down my crop and picked up the quirt and I went through my limbering up exercises before applying it to my slave's shoulders.
I have a practice - learned from my father - of only whipping the fleshy, upper back and shoulders of a slave and never his lower back. My father had taught me that flogging the lower back can potentially incapacitate a slave by injuring his kidneys or other internal organs. Of course this isn't done out of consideration for the slave; rather it has to do with his monetary value to his owner and the loss of his labour.
However, in Glaucus's case, I'd placed a too high value on his worth to me to risk permanently injuring or disfiguring him.
Nevertheless, I applied the quirt to his shoulders with all the strength my whipping arm could muster and the two tails of the quirt left their angry imprints on his flawlessly smooth upper back.
Despite his best efforts, Glaucus couldn't deny this new assault on his body. As the whip cut across his shoulders he jerked violently within his bonds and I watched the erotic play of his pain-contorted back muscles rippling beneath his olive-complexioned skin. And for the first time, he vocalised his pain. However, it wasn't a scream; it was more of a grunt than even a cry of distress.
Encouraged, I applied the quirt to his shoulders once more and I was rewarded for my effort. As he convulsed against the tent-pole, his grunt became a loud yelp. And with the next stroke, Glaucus's yelp became a scream.
With the fourth and fifth strokes, Glaucus capitulated and he begged me to stop. I had succeeded and I relished my victory over my slave!
Before untying him from the post, I examined his back and ass to see that I'd not been over- zealous in my use of the crop and the quirt. I was happy to see that no lasting damage had been done to him.
The stripes of my anger told me that Glaucus would be sore for a few days but that he'd heal nicely. And as I ran my hands over his body he winced.
I untied him and ordered him to his knees. Fleetingly, he hesitated and I could see his inner conflict as the proud Greek aristocrat wrestled with the new realisation that he is now a whipped slave. Momentarily, I thought he was going to defy me once more and I could feel my rising anger. Then, I saw the tears welling in his eyes and his chest heaved as he gave a deep sigh of final resignation and dropped to his knees at my feet.
I commanded him to pay me the homage he'd earlier refused me and obediently he crawled to my feet and kissed them.
I looked down upon his naked body and saw the pattern of stripes that criss-crossed his upturned ass and bowed shoulders. Yet, I received no satisfaction from seeing them. Indeed, I regretted very much that I had needed to resort to punishing him. There was something about Glaucus that deeply affected me.
Drifting in from outside, the tent's silence was broken by the myriad sounds of an army camp settling in for the night. The whinnying of officers' horses, the rhythmic thump-thump of hobnailed feet marching past in step and the metallic clanking of the body armour and weapons worn by the duty centuries returning to camp joined with the sounds of loud chatter as off-duty soldiers joked around their campfires and cooking-pots while preparing their evening meals.
Outside the tent, as twilight fell, the slaves of my brother officers scurried to fetch hot water for their masters to wash away the day's grime whilst others prepared their masters' evening meals. It occurred to me that tomorrow, Glaucus will be assigned to these duties on my behalf.
I waited in silence for Glaucus to speak and he didn't disappoint me. He spoke just three words but contained within them was his total submission to me.
"Welcome back, Master!"
Glaucus had called me 'Master' for the first time and I imagined how hard that would have been for him to do. But in doing so, Glaucus had broken the ice and from now on it will be easier for him to call me -'Master'. Incrementally, it will become second nature for him to do so.
I'd established my authority over Glaucus and he'd accepted that. We now had a proper Master and slave relationship and I will build on that. There is something about Glaucus which appeals to me like no other - freeman of slave - ever has.
I didn't know it then, but Glaucus will become so much a part of my life. He will be my assistant, my scribe, my confidante, my one true friend and my lover. He will work alongside of me as I establish myself in Sicilia and he will walk three paces behind me when I eventually take up public office in Rome.
Until then, I will regret that his status as a slave prevents him from being my official lictor who'll carry my magistrate's fasces before me in procession at Tauromenium. But always he will stand just behind me holding all my official scrolls as I hand down my judgements.
I will learn to look to Glaucus for his wise Greek counsel in times of uncertainty and for his loving, warm comfort in times of distress.
But that is in the future!
Last night, after his punishment, I gave into my lust and I used Glaucus sexually. It was the first time I fucked Glaucus and over the coming years there'll be countless other times. Each will prove as pleasurable as the preceding one, but always that first time will remain imprinted in my memory as the most memorable.
The remainder of my slaves - my spoils of war - have all been loaded onto the second galley and this evening she rides at anchor alongside her sister ship.
Tonight, their oar-slaves will be well fed and watered and rested before they are woken at daybreak and whipped into action for the long row to Tauromenium. I wish I was going with them but my duties here at Korinthos prevent this from happening.
I have sent Perimedes and Diagoras ahead to Sicilia with my other slaves whilst I and Glaucus remain behind in Korinthos. I have entrusted Perimedes to act as my intermediary with the magistrate at Tauromenium who has kindly offered to manage my affairs until I can take up permanent residence in Sicilia.
As soon as my duties in Korinthos are finished, Glaucus will accompany me on a visit to my parents at Pompeii. In my most recent correspondence with my father, he'd told me that he has tired of the intrigues in Rome and now seeks a less stressful life on his farms on the fertile slopes of Vesuvio overlooking the Bay of Neapolis. Rather than worry about the politics of Rome he now concentrates his efforts on improving the yields of his vineyards and olive groves in Campania.
Of course, it would be unseemly for my aristocratic father to actively involve himself in any commerce. But he does have many clients and a number of manumitted slaves he finances in their business ventures including the production of the delicacy for which Pompeii is justifiably famous. I refer to the pungent, spicy fish-sauce known far and wide as garum and which is exported to all corners of the Mediterranean world.
The olive oil, the Vesuvio wine and the Pompeian garum are the sources of my family's enormous wealth and I hope to diversify these and add to them with my Sicilian wheat growing, timber cutting and marble quarry ventures.
The last slave has been loaded and it is time for me to return to the camp. I beckon to Glaucus and obediently he falls into step behind me.
Tonight, he will prepare and serve my evening meal after which I will examine the records of my slaves that he has prepared for me. Then, I will order him onto my soldier's pallet and for the second time I will experience the delights of his young body.
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