Glaucus of Korinthos Or The Spoils of War Chapter 5: Rome
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): July, 2012 Read all my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
"The characters and ideaS 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 rewrites, make alterations or add pictures."
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Note: This story is set in the Republican era. Later, in Imperial times, the thermae enjoyed the patronage of the emperors. They became more elaborate and replaced the simpler balneae baths of the Republic. My descriptions of the forica and the thermae in this story are fictitious and in the interests of the storyline, I have based them on descriptions of these later, imperial ones.
Chapter 5: Urbs Roma
I've always had mixed feelings about returning to Urbs Roma. Mine is a love-hate relationship with Rome which, given the current and ongoing destruction of Carthage, is undoubtedly the most powerful city in the Mediterranean world. There are those who claim it to be the most powerful city in the world - and they could be right. But I have an open mind on this. As a soldier, I have been to many countries and seen cities of incomparable beauty - and other accomplishments - which surpass those of Rome. And in my travels, I have heard wondrous tales of fabled lands and cities populated by yellow skinned people far away to the east.
Six of the first words I learned in my native Latin were 'Roma est magna' - Rome is great and 'Roma est pulchra' - Rome is beautiful.
While I agree that Rome is great, I can't accept that she is beautiful. Viewed from a distance, perched on her seven hills, she does indeed look picturesque. But on entering into the city the veneer of her beauty is stripped away to reveal her real ugliness. Rome can be compared to a tarted up old matron who, if you remove the white chalk and lead from her brow and arms, the red ochre from her cheeks and lips and the black ash and antimony from her eyes, has her wrinkles and the other ravages of time revealed for all to see.
And so it is with Urbs Roma! If one looks behind her marbled magnificence in the Forum Romanun and the ornate facades of her temples and buildings of public administration one can see Rome in all her sordid ugliness.
Crowded into her eight square miles are one million restless people; one third of them are slaves. Confined to living in tiny, overcrowded apartments in dangerous, high-rise, wooden insulae they have neither heating nor sanitation. The windows of their apartments look down onto a maze of narrow, unsavoury streets full of pestilence and filth. Disease and mosquitos from the Tiber River swamps are rife here and death stalks the crowded, shadow-filled alleys. Here Rome's beauty is non-existent!
So why have I come to Rome? I have been charged by my General, Lucius Mummius with the oversight and delivery of his personal 'spoils of war' - some one thousand new slaves from his recent triumph over Korinthos to Rome's slave-markets. These wretched men, women and children are soon destined to be sold in the Graecostadium behind the Basilica Juliana adjacent to the Forum.
Of course, his share of the slaves resulting from the destruction of Korinthos is much higher. Already he has done a rough cull of them and many thousands of his new slaves were sold by private treaty to other parts of the Mediterranean world. How many of Korinthos men now labour in distant gold and silver mines or work the farms and quarries of the newly conquered Carthaginian lands of Iberia, Sicilia or Northern Africa.
Mummius, always canny, and with an eye to maximising his share of Korinthos plundered wealth, deliberately decided not to send all the new slaves to Rome's market. To have done so would have flooded the market with an oversupply of new slaves and lower their value. It is essentially a situation of oversupply exceeding demand and would result in less profit for him.
Instead, he'd carefully culled his 'spoils of war' and kept the best for Rome. Others he'd sold to the entrepreneurial slave-traders who'd followed his army to Korinthos with a nose for a cheap bargain.
Mummius had carefully chosen one thousand of the best slaves to be taken to Rome's market and arbitrarily placed them in my care. I'd not wanted this onerous task but he knew I was returning to Rome before visiting my family at Pompeii and he'd taken it upon himself to appoint me as his agent. Quite generously, he offered to pay me ten per cent of the purchase price for each slave sold. Despite my initial reluctance, I found it hard to refuse Mummius's request and besides I stood to make a handsome profit from my ten per cent commission.
Anyway, I'd planned a brief visit to Rome to establish business contacts for my new agricultural ventures at Tauromenium. So the general's request didn't take me out of my way. It just added to my tasks and prolonged my stay in Rome. Initially, it had been my intention to keep my stay as short as possible and then to visit my parents in Pompeii before moving permanently to Sicilia.
But the oversight and organisation of the sale of Mummius's slaves does mean I will have to extend my stay in Rome. Fortuitously, my father still maintains a domus in the capital although it is seldom used these days as he much prefers the life of a country gentleman tending to his latifundia on the fertile slopes of Vesuvio or immersing himself in the municipal affairs of Pompeii.
Nevertheless, he has kept our ancestral home in Rome and it is maintained by a trusted steward and a small number of house slaves and I have based myself here for the duration of my visit.
I am accompanied by my recently acquired body-slave, Glaucus and how glad I am to have him with me. He really is proving invaluable to me in more ways than I can imagine. He is of course well- educated and fluent in both Greek and Latin and his knowledge of the classics is second to none. Of late, I have found myself spending more time in my slave's company. To be truthful, I find him to be more intellectually stimulating than any other of my acquaintances. With Glaucus, I can engage in a conversation in Greek as we debate the great Grecian scientific theories or, alternatively, we can argue - in Latin- the literary value of the works of Rome's poets and philosophers. It would be true to say that Glaucus is more to me than just my slave. He is fast becoming my favourite companion and friend.
And his services to me are invaluable. His clerical and organisational skills are second to none. I rely heavily on him to catalogue Mummius's slaves ready for their sale in the Graecostadium. This is a task of some magnitude. All the slaves must be questioned individually for details of their age, education and what skills they possess. By Roman law, these facts must be made known to a potential buyer and when a slave is offered for sale, they must also be recorded on the wooden titulus hung around his neck. And I have placed Glaucus in charge of these interviews as I attend to my own, private business affairs.
And it also falls to Glaucus to look to the slaves' welfare. He had to arrange for them to be held in holding pens until the day of their sales and for victualling them as they wait. Obtaining the food to feed so many is in itself a major task. And to his credit, Glaucus is up to that task.
The slaves are comfortably stabled and well-fed and watered. And to my surprise, I discovered that Glaucus drove a hard bargain in negotiating reasonable rates for these. Mummius will be pleased with my slave's efforts on his behalf.
Rome's mores decree that the slaves must be presented for sale wearing some clothing. Although it is within the rights of a buyer to have any slave stripped naked for a thorough examination of his health and fitness on the day of the sale. Inevitably this will happen and in anticipation of this, Glaucus has purchased cheap Egyptian cloth to serve as loincloths for the males and - the gods know from where for I don't - he has procured, at minimal cost, tunics for the females.
When the slaves are presented for sale it will be a simple matter for the loincloth to be ripped from around the male's waist exposing his nether regions to the buyer's scrutiny. With the female slave all that is required it the unfastening of two clasps at the shoulders and the tunic falls to the floor of the viewing podium allowing her to step free for closer inspection.
I marvel at Glaucus's organisational skills!
But Glaucus's true worth to me extends beyond his clerical and organisational skills. The thing I appreciate the most about Glaucus is his capacity to satisfy my sexual needs.
Inexplicably, he'd appealed to me from the moment I saw him crouching naked in the blood-soaked streets of Korinthos. He and his two slaves Perimedes and Diagoras had been captured by my soldiers, stripped naked and made ready for raping before I came upon them.
As I'd looked down on the three trembling prisoners, I was taken by Glaucus's youthful vulnerability as he waited to be penetrated by a Roman cock. His nakedness was enchanting and his upturned arse aroused me to a rampant erection. I could well understand my soldiers desire to rape him.
His knees were spread open and afforded me a tantalising glimpse of his tight anus which seemed to wink an invitation to me. Of course, its twitching was due to his nervous breathing - and no doubt his fear of my soldiers - but its striated beauty gave it the appearance of an unfolding rosebud.
My gaze roamed lasciviously over his back from his uptilted arse to his lowered shoulders and I savoured the olive toned smoothness of his skin. I noted the tousled head of tight black curls and wondered about his face. Was this young Greek handsome?
For some unknown reason, I didn't want this young Greek despoiled by my coarse, common soldiers. Something told me to call a halt to their activities and I ordered the three prisoners to their feet.
As he stood, I had time to appraise Glaucus. His bearing and manner were those of a highborn, aristocratic Greek nobleman and he confirmed this with his answers, given in flawless Latin, to my probing questions. I was impressed and questioned him further.
"You speak Latin? Obviously you are well educated. What is your name, boy?"
I'd called him 'boy' without thinking. I'd used it more as a reference to his youth and not in the sense that he belonged to me. It is common practice among Romans of a certain sexual persuasion to give their favourite male slaves a special 'pet' name which is a corruption of their own with the addition of the word 'puer' which is Latin for boy. Thus such a slave would be called Marcipor or Lucipor - literally "Marcus's boy' or 'Lucius's boy'. And of course, it goes without saying that any slave bearing such a name carries with him the stigma of being his Master's fuck boy.
I'd not meant to imply this to Glaucus when I'd called him boy. After all, I would consider Flaccipor as a clumsy name even for a slave. But obviously, Glaucus, with his knowledge of Latin, made an unfortunate connection with my unintentional use of 'boy' and himself as my sex slave. I saw him bristle with indignation as he haughtily replied to my questions.
"I am Glaucus, son of Clearchus of Korinthos."
I remember thinking - 'this boy has spunk.' Even for a more mature man it would be most intimidating to stand naked before his conquerors and maintain his sense of pride and dignity. But Glaucus was courageous and showed no fear. Indeed, he spoke to me as an equal although he did call me 'Sir'. But this wasn't done out of subservience; rather it was done out of the courtesy that exists between honourable men of equal rank.
Glaucus was magnificent in his nudity. His body was at that transitional stage somewhere between adolescence and full manhood. It stilled retained the softness of the teenager yet showed the potential of the man he was yet to become. Obviously, his body lacked the bulk of the mature male and yet his burgeoning physique promised much. His musculature was clearly delineated and clean cut. He possessed wide shoulders, a broad chest and a flat, hard belly. His naked torso tapered down to a narrow waist and the deliciously flaring curves of his arse were supported by the twin pillars of his long, muscular legs. And suspended between those legs were the most beautiful cock and balls I'd ever seen on either a freeman or a slave.
As I expected, Glaucus was uncircumcised. Greek males don't believe in circumcision and have this quaint notion that retention of the foreskin means they are never completely naked even when without their garments. I smiled inwardly and wondered if Glaucus, son of Clearchus of Korinthos considered that he was covered before my eyes. I supposed that he did. But whether Glaucus thought of himself as naked or not was immaterial to me. I salivated at the athleticism of this young Greek's god's nudity. He was a worthy model for any artist either sculpted from cold marble or cast in warm bronze.
Even as I watched I could see Glaucus's cock stirring itself. Lasciviously, I watched his incipient erection inch itself into life. I licked my lips as I saw his low hanging, unevenly balanced balls involuntarily retract upwards into his tightening scrotum and the nervous fluttering of his well- defined abdominal muscles.
Glaucus's olive complexion had been sun-darkened to an all over deep honey-gold colour and most interestingly there wasn't that distracting, white strip around his midriff to jar the overall perfection of his young body. Obviously, Glaucus was used to being nude and I wondered about this. Later, I will learn that he much preferred the simple life of his family's farm-holdings where he worked naked alongside his father's slaves.
Glaucus stood between his two slaves, Perimedes and Diagoras. They too, were the epitome of male perfection and I marvelled also at their naked beauty. Like Glaucus they each possessed most admiral physiques with well-defined musculatures and like him they were deeply tanned. However, unlike Glaucus, the two brothers - I was to learn their story later - were blond and blue eyed and the older of the two exuded a maleness that overwhelmed me.
It was at that moment that I decided these three, young men; the Master and his two slaves would become part of my 'spoils of war'. Obviously, there'd be little change for the two slaves other than they would have a new master. For Glaucus however, the change in his situation would be more traumatic as the Master becomes a slave.
And so I'd intervened and saved Glaucus from a brutal raping at the hands of my soldiers. I'd claimed him and his two slaves as my own and they now serve me.
Perimedes and Diagoras went ahead of me to Tauromenium while Glaucus accompanied me to Rome. Perimedes impressed me with his forthrightness and honesty and I'd appointed him as my representative and given him letters of introduction to the magistrate at Tauromenium. He and his brother, Diagoras accompanied my new slaves on their long voyage from Korinthos to Sicilia and they had the oversight of the slaves' wellbeing. With the promised support of the magistrate, Perimedes, aided by his brother, is to supervise my slaves in the painstaking task of clearing away the debris of war and neglect on my newly acquired farms and in my quarry making them ready for production upon my arrival.
However, I still have much to do before I journey to Sicilia. I have to oversee the sale of Mummius's slaves and to interview and appoint an agent who'll act on my behalf once the produce from my Sicilian holdings starts to flow northwards to Rome's port at Ostia.
The Forum Forica:
Luckily, I have based myself in my family's townhouse which does afford me some comfort and luxury after my soldier's rough and ready existence. My family's domus is located not far from the Forum and whilst it's not the largest residence in the city it does have the luxury of piped water to its gardens and fountains and to its two latrines. One of these latrines is for the exclusive use of the Master and his family while the second one, adjacent to the kitchen, is for the household slaves.
These latrines are most welcome. It means that I don't have to visit the public forica adjacent to the Forum. I'm not a prude and I'm not unused to the rough latrines of the soldier but I am a little averse to publicly sharing my basic calls of nature with others citizens when in Rome.
The forica, open to all, is richly ornamented with marbled seats, each separated from its neighbour by an exquisitely carved dolphin and a continuous supply of water flows through little channels to wash away the ordure. In the background, fountains tinkle musically and marble statues of gods, goddesses and mythological beings benignly look down from their wall niches behind the seats.
Here, for a miniscule fee, the city's more affluent citizens gather to discuss business, politics or to issue dinner invitations to one another. As they unselfconsciously relieve themselves, there is no sense of embarrassment or shame for here all are made equal by the most basic of their bodily functions. The public toilets are a paradox where functionality and lavishness co-exist and where civility and coarseness go hand in hand.
Of course, the miserly and the disadvantaged poor who are without the few coins to pay the operators of the public latrines use their chamber pots or their commodes within their homes and dispose of their wastes in the vats placed beneath the stair wells of their apartment buildings. The elderly and the infirm, who find the stairs too steep, just resort to emptying the contents out the windows of their apartments into the streets and alleyways below. Consequently, most Roman streets stink with the pestilential odour of human excrement and urine.
There are laws to protect the innocent passer-by from these overhead assaults, but given the congested conditions of the city's high-rise insulae, it is hard to ever find the guilty culprit.
Naturally, slaves aren't permitted to use the public latrines and together with the city's beggars, should they be caught short, they are reduced to relieving themselves at neighbourhood dung heaps or by straddling the cess trenches.
I'd asked to meet with a potential agent and he'd suggested we meet at the forica. I refused his invitation and suggested that the baths would be a more convivial setting for our talks.
The Thermae: 'Salvom Lavisse' (A bath is good for you)
Like all Romans I love the baths and given the opportunity, I visit them daily. And this current visit to Rome is no different except that I now take my own slave, Glaucus to attend me rather than pay to have a slave attendant do so.
The baths or thermae - a word we Romans have taken from the Greek as is often the case - are among Rome's finest achievements. They epitomise our civilisation. Here a citizen can exercise in the gymnasium, play ballgames or wrestle in the palaestra to work up a sweat before bathing. Or he can read in the libraries, walk among the marble sculptures in the courtyards or to simply meet and talk with friends in the public halls.
I have the same routine which never varies. Accompanied by Glaucus, I begin in the gymnasium with a series of exercises. Many Romans still frown on athletics as 'too effeminately Greek' with emphasis on the narcissistic which itself leads to exhibitionism and immorality. They argue such exercises divert the Roman's attention from the more manly and martial activities that prepare him for life as a soldier of Rome.
I disagree with this! What's wrong with developing a body that is pleasing to the eye of both one's self and the casual beholder? Looking at Glaucus's body gives me great pleasure and I never tire of watching him.
After the exercises, I like to try my hand at one of the ballgames that are common to the baths. There are always others who are happy to play against me and this is usually followed up in the palaestra with a strenuous bout of wrestling with my partner from the ball game. I prefer to wrestle naked and Glaucus prepares me for this. Once he has undressed me, he liberally coats my body with an unguent of oil and wax which he then covers with a layer of dust to give my opponent purchase on my naked body.
Then win or lose, and perspiring freely, I retire to a dressing room where Glaucus prepares me for the baths. It goes without saying that Glaucus is as naked as his master.
Nudity was -and still is in some quarters - frowned upon as 'Greek decadence and immoral' and many influential Romans are noted for their public prudery. But the baths are steadily breaking down this opposition to nudity and one can walk proudly naked among the other bathers without any cause for embarrassment.
When ready, Glaucus accompanies me into the dry-bath area where the dry-heat induces even more sweating. The next room - the caldarium is my favourite. Here Glaucus liberally sprinkles my copiously sweating body with water before he uses a bronze strigil to scrape it clean of its coating of oil and sweat.
Why is this area my favourite? It goes without saying that I love the attention my body-slave lavishes on my naked body. It's very sensual to stand in the nude as a naked Glaucus carefully run a bronze strigil over my body scraping away the oil, sweat and other detritus. In his hands, the strigil caresses my body as it follows its contours and sends volts of pleasure coursing through to my brain.
Glaucus is proving a very deft hand at using the strigil but it wasn't always so. His first use of the strigil was disastrous; rather than let it just slide over my body with the customary feather lightness, he'd applied too much pressure which pinched and irritated my skin. At other times he noisily dropped it onto the marble floor. Most likely this was caused by his nervousness but I couldn't excuse him his carelessness and several times, I'd cuffed his ears and he'd apologised profusely.
"I'm sorry Master!" How pleasing it is to hear him call me Master. "I'm sorry Master. Please forgive me."
My impatience with him might have added to Glaucus's anxiety. I don't know whether it was from his inattention or his nervousness but once he nicked the skin on my left thigh and drew blood. I was angry with him and berated him for his carelessness. I also promised him a whipping for his bad performance when we returned home. I saw the blood drain from his face at my threat and his body was convulsed by a fearful shudder.
I've only whipped Glaucus once before and that was in my tent before we'd left Korinthos. But I have had recourse to use the cane and the strap on him on numerous occasions since then. After all, he is a new slave undergoing training and so beatings are routinely administered to him. These aren't necessarily expressions of my anger or disapproval; they are given more to focus his attention on his new duties and responsibilities to his master. I administer them much as a loving father deals sternly with a wayward son.
But Glaucus is a quick learner and soon the strigil became an instrument of erotic pleasure in his hands. As he guides it swiftly and deftly over my torso, the myriad of nerve-ends just under my skin leap into life and afford me limitless pleasure. When I raise my arms over my head and expose my armpits to Glaucus, the whispery touch of his strigil makes me quiver. By the time he parts my arse- cheeks to carefully scrape between them, I am mightily aroused. And as he kneels before me and delicately manoeuvres my cock and balls out of harm's way, I am ready once more to fuck him.
The heated environment of the baths is conducive to such lustful thoughts and as I look down on Glaucus's glistening, sweat soaked body, I marvel at his youthful beauty. Is it any wonder that he stirs my loins?
It is also very obvious that Glaucus enjoys his work. Always, his cock matches mine in its ramrod rigidity.
On more than one occasion during our visits to the baths, I have retired to a dressing cubicle and drawn the curtains to stop prying eyes watching as I take my pleasure with Glaucus.
Each cubicle is equipped with a marble bench that serves admirably as a rutting couch. Depending on my preference, I have Glaucus lie flat on his back with his legs in the air or kneeling on all fours. Both positions afford me a tantalising glimpse of his anus which both delights and excites me as it twitches in eager anticipation of what must inevitably follow.
I usually prepare Glaucus by liberally greasing his hole ready for my entry. Most times there is enough residual oil and wax on my body and I simply wipe some off my chest or belly and smear this around the entrance to his body. The touch of my finger energises Glaucus. As the tip of my finger makes contact with the hot, sensitive tissue of his anus, his appreciative moans and trembling tells me he is waiting for my finger to enter him. As my finger thrusts forward into him, his wriggles his arse and suggestively licks his lips. As I finger-fuck him to lubricate and loosen him ready for my cock, he writhes in pleasure.
However, it wasn't always this way. At first, Glaucus resented my use of him as a receptacle for my lust. He was defiant and unco-operative to say the least and he resisted me. Despite my slaps and rebukes, he refused to submit and would seek to deny me entry by clenching his buttocks and tightening his anal muscles. But I was his Master and I wasn't going to be denied my master's rights and pleasure. Several times, I resorted to the cane and the quirt to bring him firmly under my control.
On my first penetration of him, Glaucus roared out his fury, his impotence and his frustration; on my first ejaculation into him he sobbed loudly and, afterwards, he wept softly as he lay on his pallet through the long, night hours.
But I am glad to say that is all in the past. Despite his initial resistance, Glaucus did submit - albeit unwillingly at first. But incrementally, he did learn to relax and it's now very obvious that he enjoys fucking as much as I do. Now, he is a willing participant and offers himself to me without any signs of his former reluctance.
Now, whenever I stand at the Glaucus's portal, he smiles encouragingly at me and his eyes tell me of his yearning as he arches his body upwards and positions his arse for my cock. As I thrust through into him, he relaxes and makes my entry easier for both of us. Once I am inside of him, I am enveloped by the warmth and silky smoothness of his inner recesses. Then -as only he can do - he uses his muscles to give my cock its maximum enjoyment. Glaucus has this inherent ability to use his arse muscles to grasp my cock in a tight embrace and to 'milk' it unmercifully.
Glaucus always encourages me to use strong, powerful strokes to thrust deeply into him. As I vary the speed and the depth of my plunging, Glaucus writhes beneath my onslaught and he spurs me on with his appreciative, guttural moaning.
As we rut, we are no longer Master and slave but two men uniting as one for a few minutes of carnal pleasure. Our hard, naked bodies touch and our sex-induced sweat assails our senses and inflames our passion. Temporarily, the world outside the cubicle is no more; our world is limited to the intensity of our lovemaking.
How do I describe that intensity? How do I put into mere words the indescribable pleasure of ejaculating inside of Glaucus? How can I describe the moments of calmness that follow after my needs are satiated? As I lay prone on top of him, I am enveloped in a sense of peace and wellbeing. As our sweat soaked bodies touch chest to chest and belly to belly and as we embrace, I feel the hard, urgent throbbing of Glaucus manhood imploringly begging for its own release. And who am I to deny my Glaucus his pleasure?
Briefly, I'd thought to have Glaucus infibulated but had decided against it. To do so would border on the sacrilegious. How can I deny Glaucus his rewards for the great pleasure he gives to me?
Always, I lovingly take his cock in my own hand and masturbate him. And as I stroke him to his own orgasm, Glaucus smiles and whispers his gratitude to me.
Afterwards, I become the Master once more and Glaucus is again my slave. But in our lovemaking, there is no master and no slave. The contrary is almost true; for in our lovemaking, Glaucus enslaves me as he lifts me to heights of erotic pleasure that I never knew were possible.
Recently, I met at length with a potential agent - not in the forica as he'd suggested but in one of the bath's public spaces - and we came to a mutually satisfactory arrangement. He would act as my representative and would market my Sicilian produce in Rome.
I know the man to be trustworthy. He is former Greek slave known to my family as Phaidros who'd been set free by my father and now serves as one of my father's clients. I remember him as a slave from my boyhood and I recall that a strong bond had existed between my father and this ex-slave. He'd served my father loyally and well; so well in fact, that eventually, my father manumitted him and rewarded him by appointing him as a client of my family. And as is customary, he took my father's name - Bruscius - for his own.
Phaidros promised to serve me as faithfully as he serves my father.
Glaucus had attended me during these talks. I consider it important that he is fully conversant with my all affairs. Naturally, as a slave, he had no part to play in these talks but he'd listened attentively and we did discuss them later that evening at home. I was impressed with Glaucus's grasp of those talks. He managed to alert me to one or two details that I'll have to clarify with Phaidros before we leave Rome.
But then, I shouldn't be surprised. Despite his youth, Glaucus had considerable experience in managing his family's farm before the fall of Korinthos and his enslavement. Glaucus is proving his worth to me in so many ways.
Gratefully, I'd felt the need to reward Glaucus and I'd commissioned a goldsmith to make an expensive, solid gold torc for his neck and a matching cinch ring for his cock and balls. The torc is to replace the coarse iron slave's collar fitted to him in Korinthos. These enhancements will elevate Glaucus's status in my household but more than that I hope they will prove to him how much I value him as my 'special' slave.
Over the years, I have been awarded many 'spoils of war' and these have added immeasurably to my wealth. However, Glaucus is my richest prize and my most precious possession. I cherish him above all other of my treasures.
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