Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
"You have given me more than I have ever deserved, my warrior, my master, my saviour, but I could never be worthy of you and what you have given me if I could ignore the prayers of the broken boy or the screams of the girl-child. As the Optio did for Magare, pass your judgment. I will accept it. But know that I... I could never have looked at you -- the man who delivered and saved and healed me -- with anything less than shame if I had left them to suffer at the hands of the monster. Kill me, Harcos, or let another do it. Sell me or let another do it. Punish me, or let another do it."
The Heathens 10: What is a Name?
By Bear Pup
NOTE: You can skip this angst-riddled chapter and not miss a single sexy detail. It is re-stitching Harcos to Kucuk and nothing more. Just FYI.
M/T; all plot (sorry -- no sex at all)
Harcos slept with his back to me. The rains returned that evening. Harcos woke with my mouth suckling him and he pushed me away, still angry and disappointed, and left to take care of his own morning needs. I wept freely as I went about the other morning rituals, oblivious to the stares and muttered comments of the other servers. They assumed, all but Zajak, that Harcos was furious over the clumsiness I had displayed that led to the whole affair with Magare.
It was clear from the gossip of the camp that no crossing would be possible for several days. The natives of the town said that rains like we had seen, with storm on two of three days, would leave the river deadly for nearly a week.
Zajak tried several times to engage me, but I rebuffed him. Not because I didn't need his comfort, but because I knew that I did not deserve it.
Harcos returned and met in whispered conversation with Pameten. He held similar congress with the others, save Magare who everyone ignored with utter and undisguised contempt. Without a word to me, Harcos began to strike camp and I dove to assist whilst still staying out of my master's way (and, when possible, line of sight). I noticed that Pameten was guiding Zajak in the same exercise and soon both he and Harcos were ready to set out. The rain was pissing down, a perfect match for my own mood.
Harcos took the straps, still without a single word to me on the day. Pameten strapped Zajak in shoulder style. As we walked abreast, our masters in front, I rattled off the reason for the particular setup and advised on how he should hide if we were attacked, or lacking that ability, to run like his namesake hare. He objected and I shut him down more forcefully than I should have, reminding him that his needless death would gain his master nothing and, God willing, his escape would put him in a position to tend the man's wounds.
I instantly regretted the harshness of my words, but Zajak made sure that I could not speak again for nearly an hour, until we were well outside the town. I also regretted the very words themselves. My use of 'God' instead of 'the gods' had marked me as Christian. Diocletian has decreed a death sentence on every Christian who refused to lay cult to the gods, and in particular to patron-gods of Rome itself. With that single, fateful word, I had condemned myself and put Harcos again at dire risk.
So now I walked in tripartite-guilt. I had failed Harcos from my actions about the doomed children, with potentially-lethal consequences had things gone otherwise; I had snuffed the tiny flicker of confidence that Zajak had rekindled with my hurtful words; and I had again put myself and Harcos at risk, with a death sentence for myself and perhaps even one for my beloved master.
We stopped midmorning by what was likely the last 'improved' spring on the road. It flowed into a long trough under a cupola, with images of one of the various Roman goddesses of health attendant. Zajak and I refilled all of our water-skins and pots whilst Harcos and Pameten laid cult before the goddess, one neither Zajak or I recognised. Apparently, both thought we might find trouble getting fresh water in the days ahead.
Harcos and Pameten conferred several times, and eventually agreed to turn aside on what looked for the world like a goat-path leading nowhere. In fact, it led over a small rise through some thick brush to a secluded box canyon, invisible to anyone who did not already know of it. Harcos stalked off and I set about building the camp: tent, fire-ring, fire, cookpot bubbling. Pameten spent the same time methodically walking Zajak through the same actions, with occasional grunts to me for words the lad would understand.
Noontime was upon us when I set about preparing the smoked meats for my master, and helped Zajak do the same for his. I watched with true trepidation as our masters conferred. Harcos came over and grunted, "I will eat what Zajak makes," and walked away. I conveyed the meaning to my friend and ignored his questions, returning all but a hunk of bread to the larder. I did not deserve to eat if I could not be trusted to make my master's meal.
Harcos and Pameten set about teaching Zajak as Harcos had taught me. It was slow going, a fact in which I took no satisfaction. Zajak, for all his faults, did not betray Pam. I headed a little away from the camp and found a likely game trail. Using the new techniques Harcos had taught me, I set four snares. I hurried back to the camp and began to clean... everything. Strasta had made it clear; nothing was ever clean 'enough' and down-time was designed to let the servant catch up.
An hour before dusk, I checked my snares and found a ferocious mother racoon set to do battle with me. Two older kits had been snared, one strangled and the other dangled. I scared away the mother and dispatched the living one. Young racoons had soft and (if prepared right) delicious meat. I returned to the camp to find Harcos with his back to me. He never turned. I cleaned, cut and seared the meat, then used a tiny bit of flour in the grease with onions I'd found to create a base, and added cool water to make a bubbly gravy. I let that sit and simmer as I gathered herbs nearby.
Harcos never turned once. Never even acknowledged the rumbling stomachs and eager sniffs of Pameten and Zajak. As it neared completion, I threw in the aromatic herbs and Pam turned to Harcos. "Well, the lad has no reason to poison ME. Come Zajak, and leave Harcos to... stew."
I spooned out the meat and gravy over the now-stale bread that I'd toasted over the coals, a large plate for Pameten and a smaller for his servant. For myself, I took just some bread and sopped up some gravy as Pam and Zajak complemented the meal. I was deaf to them, heartbroken over Harcos' shunning of me. I filled a plate with the choicest cuts and the thickest gravy and, without looking up at him, knelt at the feet of my mater and laid the scutellae before him, letting my tears flow.
I sobbed inconsolably when he nudged it aside and left the camp. I did not move until he returned. He lifted me bodily and grunted a request that Pameten have Zajak clear the cooling plate. I barely registered his assent, or the renewed yummy-noises as Zajak refilled his master's plate with what my own mater had spurned.
Harcos carried me into the tent and tucked the edges tight. He set me down and I curled again into the kneeling abasement that I'd used since I presented the scutellae. Harcos sat cross-legged staring until I quieted.
"You are a danger to me," were the first words Harcos spoke to me since the night before. His voice was deep, mournful, sad. "Having a child," the word he used is closer to toddler, a boy not-yet housebroken, magnifying my dishonour and indignity, "with me means that I must watch for that little boy because he cannot follow my orders or do what is needful to protect himself or me or my cohort."
I had still not met his eyes. I let the tears puddle on the material beneath my face. I made no sound, but he could see my frame shake with silent sobs.
"There are times, little boy, when what must be done is not the same as what should be done. When the survival of the cohort or the salvation of the army itself relies on unthinkable acts without which all would be lost. I doubt neither your bravery nor your motives, child -- both were above reproach -- but you took a course of action that I forbade.
"Look at me, little boy. LOOK AT ME!" The sudden change from stern, patient voice to barbarian roar shook me and I stared at him in awe, fear and despair.
"You put me at risk three ways, little boy. You put me at risk in my cohort, of reprimand or rebuke and severe, perhaps irreparable loss of status and rank. You put me at risk, were I unable to provide the coin to that vile man to replace those two innocent babes, even to a life of slavery to none other than Magare. You put me at the worst risk, little boy, in that I might have had to stand aside while that monster debased, raped, tortured and killed my Kucuk. The first two risk would wound me; the last would have destroyed me."
I saw something I never imagine possible with those words. My barbarian giant, my bear of a warrior, my master and saviour, wept real tears. "I will kill myself before I suffer that, little boy. You may, MAY again become my Kucuk, my Dasqas. But you will do so only when I know, am certain, am convinced that you will never, ever again let your judgment overrule my own."
I could hardly speak for wracking sobs, "O, my Harcos! O--" He cut me off even more-harshly than I had Zajak earlier.
"NO! Tonight is not the time for words. Words fade. Word are like mist. Words are smoke, gone int he morning. Tonight is for you to think and for me to mourn. For I may never have my Kucuk back. I may never again be Aldas to my Dasqas. Go to the rugs and furs there, little boy, and leave me to my grief."
I had prayed for death more times in my life than I'd slept, but never as fervently as I did that long and sleepless night. Before, I sought escape from the torment of my family and their twisted beliefs. Now, though, I sought to help someone I loved more than myself. I prayed to remove the risk I posed to Harcos, my master, my salvation, my benediction. Because I knew, in my deepest soul, that I could not have made -- cannot make in any future -- any other decision that what I made that day. By my own knowledge and the words of my master, I could never again be his Kucuk.
I faded to sleep and was met by the one apparition that I dreaded most. No Satan, no demon, no pagan god scared me more than what stood before me. Strasta stood just as naked and holy and unashamed as before, but without the angelic light. His eyes held lightning and his brow was a thunderhead.
"Szentley, you have let your true heart and true soul loose to do the will of God as you understood it. I understand. God understands. Christ would have done the same. But in doing so you have lost Harcos and put your own mission at risk. Steel yourself, Szentley. Accept that Harcos may demand of you what is beyond your capacity to give, and try your best to deliver it. You will fail, but if you persevere, even your failure will be sacred.
"Before light, find in the larder honey and split-grain, chamomile and sweet-grass, a single red berry and one of black. Use the heel of your hand to crush them together. Scoop a small amount of the water you place to boil into that mixture and have it waiting as you kneel before Harcos when he wakes. He will know what this means, young Christian, thought he will not accept it... yet."
I awoke terrified and trembling, far from the warmth of my masters' arms. It was an hour at least before dawn. I took the cookpot with me with a waterskin and the larder, each silently retrieved as Harcos snored, out from the tent.
It was bloody freezing! I had not realised how much height we'd gained the day before. I set about rekindling the fire, desperate for its warmth as much as it cooking potential. I had the fire blazing the coals under the cookpot to heat the water in, perhaps, forty minutes. I replicated the dream-formula of Strasta and was like a shadow returning to the tent. I knelt before Harcos, holding forward the bowl until he stirred. He snorted like a bull and sat up, then registered my presence, posture, offering.
I felt the bowl lift, heard him sniff tentatively then suck in a deep breath of the aroma rising, and tasted it.
"How...?"
I did not move at all as he mumbled in tongues I would never know, devouring the porridge. He set the bowl aside and was silent for the longest time. He leant forward and pried my chin upwards until I could not help but look into his eyes.
"There are gods at work. Yours or mine? It is beyond me to know. What can you tell me?"
I took a long a shuddering breath, "I am nothing if I am not your Kucuk and striving every day to be your Dasqas. I deserve neither, but will work every moment of my life to earn the names you, my saviour, have given me. I will never again defy you, never again disobey you, never again turn away from you. Please; please I beg, let me again call you my Aldas, and let me earn the right to be your puppy and, perhaps, one day far distant, your gemstone."
I've decided to ask at each tenth chapter of a story: Is anyone still reading and is it worth pursuing? Let me know, please. Remember, please, that I have no editor, publisher of critics to instruct me, only YOU. orson.cadell@gmail.com
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Karl & Greg: 20 chapters .../incest/karl-and-greg/ Canvas Hell: 16 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 9 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 10 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Mud Lark Holler: 8 chapters .../rural/mud-lark-holler/ Off the Magic Carpet: 4 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/ Lake Desolation: 2 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/