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.
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 28 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 19 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 21 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 13 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/ Shark Reef: 6 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/ Culberhouse Rules: 4 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
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