Nero 36


By: pueros

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[WARNING] [BI] [PENECTOMY] [TESTICLES] [NULLIFICATION] [MINOR]

This is the thirty-sixth chapter of the autobiography of Bicilus, reputedly transcribed from the original Latin parchments and passed down through time until this version was discovered, translated and adapted for publication. The chapter describes some of the happenings in Rome and the city’s vast Empire after the formal adoption of the young Nero as Claudius’ son.


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NERO

By Pueros

Chapter XXXVI – Druids

(Dacia, Iul. DCCCLIX, in the 8th year of the reign of the Emperor Trajan [July, AD 106])

‘For dogs bark at those they do not know!’

- Heraclitus of Ephesus (‘Fragments’, 97)

I believe that, in a previous chapter of my lengthy life story, I refuted Roman claims about the brutal barbarism of my people. Certainly, from the perspective of my early boyhood amongst the Catuvellauni, I came across no evidence of ingrained uncivilised behaviour, certainly no human sacrifices and the like. In fact, my tribe did not even put animals wastefully to death during their rituals, for such tributes were invariably also used to supply the tables at the later celebratory feast with sumptuous fare.

I admit that my people were happy to advertise their ferociousness against enemies and that the warriors of some of the tribes painted and tattooed themselves blue and then entered battle almost naked, but this was done only to scare and discourage others from attacking them. In fact, such propaganda almost worked in respect of the Romans. After all, Gaius Caligula, turned his legions back from the shores of Gaul with only shells humiliatingly in their possession as booty, after they had exhibited great reluctance to traverse the narrow sea channel that separates that land from my homeland. Claudius himself had been forced to despatch Narcissus to overcome a mutiny before his own finally successful invasion of Britannia, so much had his soldiers originally been wary of confronting my compatriots.

I believe that the stories of my people’s prowess in war and terrible barbarity towards not only captives but also their own kind, according to gory tales about human mutilation and sacrifice, stemmed largely from Julius Caesar’s time a century previously. They were then useful excuses for the Romans and their renowned general to use to explain why they had failed to conquer Britannia in two expeditions. The natives also had no motive to want to refute the allegations, as they recognised that such a reputation might help to prevent future attempts to incorporate their island into the Latin Empire.

Certainly, during Claudius’ invasion, the Romans came across formidable warriors, amongst whom, I like to think, were my father and older brother. It was, in fact, only a lack of national unity and battlefield organisation that let my people down and led to the ultimate conquest of the island, albeit at significant human cost to the legions.

Such costly attrition and isolated incidents such as Didius’ penile loss were often exaggerated as to cause and effect to reflect better on the Romans, and this naturally added to my people’s savage reputation. This was also one of the reasons why slaves of my nationality were so fashionable at the time, being initially rare and exotic and so of great curiosity value. Our conquerors took great pleasure in seeing Britannians subjugated to their will, with quite a few undoubtedly thoroughly enjoying the emasculation of some of us, such as Hylas and myself. Nero, in his previous horrible boyish manifestation, was certainly one of these, judging by his earlier attitude and actions towards me.

I contend that my people were genuinely civilised, despite living in simple thatched roundhouses and possessing temples only of wood. They were also noble and just, with a proud heritage, as well as very able farmers and workers of metal. However, despite my protestations, there was perhaps a group in our society who might have been worthy of a barbaric reputation. I say ‘was’ because the Romans have virtually wiped them out and ‘perhaps’ because I can only relate hearsay.

My personal experience of the Druids, whose origins are shrouded in the mists of time but are believed to have come from Hibernia, suggest that they were a gentle people, whose faith, different from that of the Britannians, basically centred around the worship of the gods of nature. They generally co-existed peacefully alongside the native Celtic tribes, mainly in their own small, close-knit but inter-linked hierarchical communities. These were usually located deep in the forests, where their lives were totally dedicated to their religion.

Both Druidic males and females were introduced to the cult’s rites at an early age, gradually learning more about their faith and progressing up the priestly grades, with their associated robes of different colours, as their knowledge and capabilities grew. Meanwhile, neighbouring peoples, not least my own Catuvellauni, often respectfully commissioned their services as scholars, teachers, advisers, judges, bards, seers and healers. My own personal knowledge of them was restricted to their role in such exalted positions. Nevertheless, I have to confess that, during my boyhood and since, I heard stories that there might have been a much less pleasant side to the cult. However, I am unsure whether such tales are merely scary Britannian myths, designed to entertain children, and Roman propaganda, devised to justify genocide.

The Romans feared the Druids above all of the native clans, mainly because of their local influence, which, despite their relatively sparse numbers, was substantial. The invaders were also very wary of the cult’s supposedly powerful magical mysticism and perhaps false or exaggerated reputation for indulging in bloodthirsty religious rites.

The Romans were therefore under orders to take no chances with the Druids and to annihilate them and destroy their villages whenever they were encountered. Over the years, the conquerors were to prove very successful at perpetrating such devastation. Accordingly, certain responses from their victims were perhaps perfectly understandable.

I believe that the Druids particularly revered oak and ash trees, as well as birds such as the wren. Their places of worship tended to be simple and often outdoors. For example, wooded groves and caves, usually near to rivers and lakes, were frequently used, with a carefully arranged and decorated pile of stones acting as the sacred altar. Sometimes, the very ancient stone circles, presumably erected for their particular gods in the mists of time by those who preceded us all in Britannia, were also utilised for rituals.

Stories told to me in my boyhood suggested that the many and varied Druidic rites once included human sacrifice, usually of their own kind and sometimes involving volunteers. The victim was despatched by a sickle-like knife or other sharp blade, or occasionally buried alive, impaled, burnt, drowned, hung, disembowelled or dismembered, or killed by a combination of these gruesome practices. Hearing bloodcurdling details of such myths invariably encouraged amazed young children, not least myself, to want to sleep at night in the arms of our fathers or mothers, which was perhaps a subliminal reason why parents narrated the tales to their offspring in the first place.

The methods of sacrifice supposedly chosen generally related to the type of natural deity being worshipped at a particular time. For example, earth required burial alive, air impalement on a tall stake, fire burnings and water drownings, whilst the tree gods were appeased with hangings from relevant branches. For divination, disembowelling, using the sickle-like knife, enabled the victim’s entrails to be removed and read to judge the future. Crop and human fertility was encouraged by dismemberment, with the reproductive bodily fluids and blood of the victim spilled liberally on the soil or on the wedded couples whose childlessness needed ending. First-borns were sometimes killed to ensure subsequent large broods of children.

The belief that a life must be given for a more important life to be saved supposedly also stimulated human sacrifice. Similar offerings could also avert danger and ensure victory in war, with captives ritually killed in order to encourage the gods to provide success. If this materialised, thanksgiving to the deities could be shown by despatching many more prisoners, whilst the weak and feeble of the Druidic community, primarily a selection of the slaves and their wives and children, might suffer for any defeat.

I was told that adult female victims were occasionally deprived of their bosoms, with the removed breasts stuffed into their mouths, causing choking. However, their ends would come when a stake was ritualistically driven slowly through their bodies, which were then hung in a sacred grove for the birds to feast upon.

Enemies slain in battle would be decapitated, with their heads hung from the successful Druidic warriors’ spears or saddles. Later, these gruesome trophies would be preserved in cedarwood oil to boast about over the years to come, or alternatively piled in great cairns.

Even if such horrific stories were true and not just scary myth related by mischievous parents and propaganda spread by genocidal Romans, I have to suggest that the conquerors of my homeland display amazing hypocrisy when displaying disgust at tales of Druidic atrocities. What the Latin Imperialists sometimes perpetrate against vanquished peoples, as well as what regularly occurs in the gladiatorial arenas throughout the Empire, seems to me to be much worse, particularly given the numbers of victims.

As I have already indicated, I personally have no proof of Druidic barbarity, just hearsay. However, I include one of these stories now because it was at this time in my saga that the supposed event took place. I was told about the incident much later by one of Cybele’s gallae, during one of my many respectful visits to the Magna Mater’s great temple in Rome.

(North-west Britannia, 56 years earlier, summer DCCCIII A.V.C., in the 9th year of the reign of the Emperor Claudius [summer, AD 50])

‘There is no debt with so much prejudice put off as that of justice.’

- Plutarch

An elderly man, wearing a white robe possessing an intricate trim of yellow and scarlet, along with a necklet and bracelets of gold, approached the terrified young legionary, who was firmly bound, spreadeagled and naked, between two mighty oak trees. The 19 year-old did not yet know why his substantial, low-hanging genitalia had been shaved of all hair, tied tightly round the scrotum with thin leather cord and decorated with mistletoe, many of whose small white berries now rested against his smooth and vulnerable sac. However, he prayed to his own gods that his guess as to what might now happen was incorrect.

The legionary had been captured when he had unwisely dallied at a Druidic settlement, just devastated by his century. Perpetrating his second rape of the afternoon, before cutting the young girl victim’s throat, had proved unwise because the delay had caused the soldier to become isolated from his companions, who had returned to their own encampment, unknowingly leaving their colleague behind.

The legionary, whose battle attire was now stained with his victims’ blood and his own extraneous cum, had discovered his isolation and had quickly tried to retrieve the situation by following the trail left by his victorious but nevertheless now tactically retreating century. However, the soldier had not travelled very far when he came across a large group of Druids who had successfully taken refuge amongst the trees when the Romans had attacked their forest settlement.

The Druids were returning after the enemy attack to their burning settlement to ascertain what could be rescued, in terms of both fellow villagers and possessions. A straggling Roman proved to be little compensation for the loss of many compatriots, homes and valuables. Nevertheless, his captors naturally decided to try to gain the most satisfaction they could from the unexpected legacy of the recent devastating raid.

The legionary was quickly overcome by overwhelming numbers, who wanted to capture this particular specimen of handsome young Roman manhood alive so that he could suffer appropriate retribution for the evils perpetrated on the Druids by him and his kind. However, the soldier was not to endure Druidic vengeance at the destroyed settlement.

The surviving Druids, now even more angered at the Romans by the sight of the devastation to their previously peaceful, almost idyllic, settlement, as well as by the evidence of the cold-blooded murder and rape of fellow villagers, including children of both genders, knew better than to try to stay. The whereabouts of the place was now known to the enemy, who would surely return, if only to try to find the missing soldier.

Accordingly, the survivors of the Roman raid, accompanied by their rightfully tremulous young captive, whose participation in murder and rape was evident by the stains on his uniform, set out for another Druidic community. As they embarked upon their long march towards this other settlement, located even deeper in the vast forest, the legionary’s captors attempted to use their expertise of their wooded surrounds to disguise their trail.

When the survivors and their captive finally reached their distant destination, the young Roman was deprived of his clothing and imprisoned in a large wicker basket to await his fate. His captors planned that he should discover what this was to be at the imminent Druidic fertility festival of ‘Lugnasadh’, which, in the Roman calendar, took place on the first day of Augustus.

Apart from the local High Priest, specially selected young betrothed adults also participated in the moonlit ceremony that was central to this festival. The latter were all nude, as a ritual orgy to celebrate and encourage the fertility of their coupling was to follow. However, the similarly naked and previously ritually cleansed legionary appreciated, from his bound perspective between two mighty oak trees, that he would not be a participant in such pleasurable activities. Instead, the elderly but surprisingly powerful man in a white robe, possessing an intricate trim of yellow and scarlet, began to whip the pleasant rear of the 19 year-old comprehensively with birchwood, an action that was supposed to drive evil spirits from the human body.

Having eventually caused many vividly red and sometimes bloody stripes to appear on the screaming legionary’s back, buttocks and rear legs, the elderly man then produced a gold-coloured sickle-like knife. The young nude celebrants, whose only adornments were wreaths of oak for the males and ash for the females, then stepped forward in pairs, ready to accept the imminent divine sacrificial largesse.

(Aigionian trireme, Sinus Corinthianus, Greece, same time)

‘….our nature is a bit like that of the immortal gods

either in greatness of mind or in our nature

although we don’t know either by day or night

what course destiny has inscribed for us to run.’

- Pindar (‘Nemean Victory Ode’, 4-7)

As Athendorus and Melankomas returned in triumph to the former’s home city, the north Peloponnese port of Aigion, called ‘Aegeum’ in Latin and located on the southern shore of the gulf known in the latter language as the ‘Sinus Corinthiacus’, they were accompanied by my beloved Gaius and Hylas. The exceptionally beautiful 17 year-old champion athlete and his 21 year-old lover were travelling via Corinth, where they hoped to take a ship to shorten the journey.

In the event, a magnificent trireme awaited them, sent by the proud people of Aigion to collect their most famous citizen, even if he was only 17 years of age and of Roman parentage. The municipal vessel had even been renamed ‘Athendorus’, who was overwhelmed at receiving such an honour, which was to be topped by the munificent civic reception that had been arranged for his eventual arrival home.

The sea and wind in the Sinus Corinthianus was currently placid, which persuaded the trireme captain, or ‘trirarchon’, to use his rowers to propel his ship in the required westerly direction. Unlike on Roman Imperial vessels, all of the oarsmen below decks on this particular boat were free and paid to perform their labours, otherwise Gaius would undoubtedly have politely declined the invitation to use the transport.

Gaius’ current objective was to sail via Aigion around the Peloponnese peninsula to the Elisian coast, where transport on the River Alpheus could take him at least part of the way to Olympia. There, he proposed to fulfil his promise to Hylas to see Pheidias’ great statue of Zeus.

“It’s most kind of you to offer us the hospitality of your home for a short stay in Aigion on our way to Olympia,” my beloved Gaius said to the beautiful Athenodorus, as they rested together against the side rail of the trireme to watch the blue waves pass by. As was common, 8 year-old Hylas’ arm was wrapped around his 20 year-old master’s slim waist. Meanwhile, one of 21 year-old Melankomas’ more manly upper limbs had engulfed his 17 year-old lover’s shoulders.

“It’s the least that I could do,” the literally newly crowned Nemean champion replied, “as I wouldn’t have my celery wreath in my possession if you hadn’t spotted and warned me about the swapping of my water jar for one containing a drug!” “Kallikles’ perfidy was accordingly happily foiled again,” Melankomas interceded, “but I worry that one day that evil Sidonian’s trickery will prevail somewhere!” Unfortunately, the young Carian’s fear was to prove prophetic.

“Let’s hope not,” Gaius remarked before asking Athendorus a question. “Am I correct in my assumption,” he enquired, “that, if you attend next year’s Isthmian and Pythian competitions at Corinth and Delphi respectively and victoriously acquire the pine and laurel wreaths there, you become a ‘periodonikes’? Would I also be correct in my assumption that you would then become the youngest champion ever of all four of the premier games, the ‘periodos’?”

“Both assumptions are indeed correct,” Athendorus replied, whilst trying to retain at least some quiet modesty, “and I have to confess that it’s an ambition that I’d like to achieve, if only to match the status of Melankomas here, who’s already a periodonikes, although he never boasts about it. Why don’t you consider returning to this part of Greece then to see whether I can achieve my goal? After all, Corinth is only down the coast of the Sinus Corinthianus from Aigion and Delphi is not far inland on the opposite side of the gulf from my home city. Going to the latter will also give you the opportunity to visit the sacred oracle!”

“I have to admit,” Gaius confessed, “that I had intended to visit the most famous oracle in the world, the one at Delphi, during my travels and I suppose matching my trip with Apollo’s Pythian games to see your undoubted victory in the stade race makes sense. I have to confess, though, that I’m rather sceptical about oracles and other forms of divination, despite two strange experiences.” My beloved then went on to describe to Athendorus and Melankomas the stories about the old woman soothsayer on the Vatican and the defecating eagle at Nemea.

(North-west Britannia, same time)

‘The Druids….hold nothing more sacred than the mistletoe and the tree on which it grows provided it is an oak. They choose the oak to form groves, and they do not perform any religious rites without its foliage……..Anything growing on those trees, they regard as sent from heaven and a sign that this tree has been chosen by the gods themselves. Mistletoe is, however, very rarely found, and when found, it is gathered with great ceremony and especially on the sixth day of the moon…..They prepare a ritual sacrifice and feast under the tree, and lead up two white bulls whose horns are bound for the first time on this occasion. A priest attired in a white vestment ascends the tree and with a golden pruning hook cuts the mistletoe, which is caught in a white cloth. Then next they sacrifice the victims praying that the gods will make their gifts propitious to those to whom they have given it….They believe that if given in drink the mistletoe will give fecundity to any barren animal, and that it is predominant against all poisons.’

- Pliny the Elder (‘Naturalis Historia’, XVI.95)

The naked legionary fearfully awaited his fate, whilst recalling some of the stories he had previously heard about horrific Druidic sacrificial rites.

I personally only remember mistletoe from its use as a decoration during the annual Greek and Roman festival called the ‘Saturnalia’, which celebrates the winter solstice. It is said that loving couples desirous of many children can assist their hopes of being fertile enough for such bountiful procreation by kissing underneath the plant.

I came to understand from a friend, to whom I refer later in this chapter and who was seemingly a miraculous fountain of knowledge, that mistletoe is a woody evergreen parasite, with branching stems and greyish-green bark, which grows on deciduous trees. Hosts include apple, pear, linden, poplar, willow and, perhaps most pertinently for my saga, oak, albeit rarely. However, when it does appear on the latter, it is usually easily discernible in winter through the bare branches.

Mistletoe is generally found high on the tree, has two long, narrow, leathery yellowish-green leaves at each joint and blooms from Februarius to Maius with flowers of similar colours. The wood is hard and the fruit is a small, round, transparent white berry with a black seed in a viscous pulp. These berries ripen in late autumn and stay on the plant all winter.

My encyclopaedic friend told me that he believed that mistletoe propagated by crushing the sticky berries against the bark. He also surmised that birds, especially thrushes, assist the spread of the tough, quick-growing plant by wiping their beaks on trees after they have eaten the fruit.

Mistletoe can be preserved for all-year-round ritual use by gathering in the autumn before the berries appear, drying in the shade and then storing in containers not exposed to the air. It was so kept by the Druids because the plant, being particularly rare on oak trees, was considered sacred when found on one, although the priests also took the precaution, to overcome any shortage, of grafting the evergreen from other trees.

The Druids considered the oak to be the king of trees, with the ash being the queen. Mistletoe was regarded as being divine because it grew without roots in the ground, suggesting that the plant had been put in place by the gods.

Moreover, the Druids believed that mistletoe was the phallic life-essence of the oak, being the king’s genitalia, with the white berries being the testes and their inherent juice divine semen. The latter was regarded as a universal panacea, possessing special regenerative powers.

As cutting mistletoe from an oak was seen to be an act that emasculated the tree god, bulls were often simultaneously sacrificed to compensate the deity for the loss of his vigour. Young human males were occasional replacements for the animals, especially at difficult times.

The young men would be ceremonially cleansed and shaved, scourged of evil by whipping with birchwood, milked of their now sin-free semen and then castrated so that their sperm and genital blood could fructify the earth and people. The victims’ lives were then forfeited using one of the sacrificial methods mentioned earlier.

The Druid High Priests used a gold-coloured sickle-shaped knife, which was actually made of brass or bronze, to reap the sacred plant from the oak. This sharp implement was curved like a moon that is not full, in honour of that particular goddess of the sky, and was carefully looked after to enable it to perform the symbolic castration of the oak, as well as the alleged occasional real gelding of young men.

(Castra Vetera, Germania Inferior, same time)

‘He began this during his military service in Germany, as the result of a dream. In his sleep, he saw standing over him the ghost of Drusus, who had triumphed far and wide in Germany and died there. He committed his memory to my uncle’s care, begging him to save him from the injustice of oblivion.’

- Pliny the Younger (referring to his uncle, Pliny the Elder, in ‘Letters’, 3.5.4)

The legionary fortress base of Castra Vetera, located 60 Roman miles south of Colonia Agrippina, had been established over 60 years previously on a steep hill by Augustus’ stepson, Drusus, and controlled the confluence of the Rhine with the River Lippe. Part of the unfortunate army of Publius Quinctilius Varus, who had allowed himself and his legions to be annihilated shortly afterwards in the Teutoburger Forest by the Germanian Bructerian, Chatti, Cheruscan and Marsi tribes, united under a chieftain named Arminius, had been stationed there.

Gaius Plinius Secundus, who was now 26 years old and whom at that time I had only once seen briefly, when I had helped to organise his litter to enable him to leave Caius Silius’ great banquet 4 years earlier, was again writing. He was engaged on compiling a lengthy history of the earlier Germanic wars, which would eventually extend to twenty volumes, having been stimulated into doing so by a dream. He had somehow disciplined himself to need little sleep so that, even when campaigning, he could continue his historical record.

Since leaving Caius Silius’ banquet, Gaius Plinius Secundus, currently a cavalry Prefect, had experienced brutal campaigning in Germania at first hand, initially under another person who had also been a guest at my late but unlamented former master’s great feast, Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo. This renowned general, whose sister had been one of Gaius Caligula’s wives, will feature again in my saga, as will his daughter. However, the man whom I shall now refer to as Pliny the Elder, and who was the person who later educated me about mistletoe, was now under the command of a Governor of Germania Inferior who was a former mentor, Publius Pomponius Secundus.

Ironically, or perhaps appropriately, for a military leader, Publius Pomponius Secundus was regarded by some as the best tragic poet of his age. However, his current chief preoccupation with tragedy was not the creation of verse but rather the suppression of another rising by the Chatti tribe.

Palaemon knew Publius Pomponius Secundus well and Pliny the Elder fleetingly. The reason why the renowned teacher and his young lover left Rome for Germania at this time of conflict was to try to locate and secure the safety of Axenius’ family, if any still survived, for they derived from the Chatti.

(Colonia Agrippina, Germania Inferior, same time)

‘Every one is bound to bear patiently the results of his own example.’

- Phædrus

The administrative centre of Germania Inferior, Colonia Agrippina, had never really been threatened by the Chatti rising, thanks to the excellent response of Publius Pomponius Secundus and his legions, who were now engaged on a punitive counteroffensive. In his boredom, 18 year-old Marcus Salvius Otho might have preferred otherwise, or at least be allowed by his protective father to join the campaign. However, such permission had not been forthcoming and so he had remained stuck in this military colony of sparse entertainment. Even his lecherous approaches to an 11 year-old slave boy had been rebuffed.

Otho could, of course, have forced the little, 11 year-old blonde, blue-eyed beauty concerned into his bed but he was not that type of person. He rightly assumed that he was himself very attractive, having taken great care of his appearance, including daily plucking and shaving of any unsightly hair from his handsome body, just as Julius Caesar had done as a youth, well over a century earlier.

Otho wrongly guessed that such bodily attention would encourage the targets of his lusts to succumb eagerly to his charms and desires. Nevertheless, he was also not to be deterred by one setback, or even many, as I personally was eventually to discover, and he now had the boy’s older sister in his sights to occupy the wearing time on his hands.

(Imperial palace, Rome, same time)

‘In a word, neither death, nor exile, nor pain, nor anything of this kind is the real cause of our doing or not doing any action, but our inward opinions and principles.’

- Epictetus

Now in his mid-fifties, Seneca’s eyesight had begun to encounter difficulty in reading. As his late father had done before him, the Imperial tutor and adviser had therefore originally started to use a small clear glass globe to magnify writing. However, he found the device far from perfect for his purpose.

Seneca then formulated the idea that, as he had two eyes, they might benefit from having a pair of small globes side-by-side for each to peer through. He soon developed this notion so that two little glass lenses, set in a metallic frame, were made for him to his own design.

Seneca’s young charge, Nero, never one not to flaunt publicly his acceptance of clever and expensive innovations, was soon sporting his own pair to view gladiatorial games, despite the fact that his eyesight was perfect. The boy possessed an inherent inner desire to show-off, until Suffuscus’ influence persuaded him to be more modest, and so he had to have his own set made not of glass but of emeralds.

Seneca was currently using his device to read a report written by the military commander of Germania Superior in his capital of Mogontiacum, which was to the south of Germania Inferior. The original document, which detailed local affairs, had been sent to Claudius’ secretary, Narcissus. However, many provincial leaders throughout the Empire had begun to appreciate to where the real Imperial power was beginning to shift and now invariably furtively copied the documentation to the man who played a similar role for the new Empress.

The main topic of the report was the impact of the Chatti rising on Germania Superior, which principally entailed the transfer of legions to the north. However, amongst the minor administrative matters also mentioned, was a reference to Titus Vinius, whose maintained exile had to be monitored by the authorities. The local Governor suggested that the young man, now 23 years old, might be involved in dishonest trading of some sort, despite receiving a regular living allowance from his patron, the former gubernatorial office-holder, Servius Sulpicius Galba. However, no proof of the young man’s possible criminal activities had yet been secured.

Seneca thought little of the reference to an obscure exile. However, when Narcissus told me the news, appreciating that I would be interested, I have to confess to vengeful thoughts. I hoped that the person who had been responsible for my brief but horrific time as a galley slave might perhaps, one day, find himself sentenced to similar punishment for his own, genuine dishonesty.

This particular vengeful ambition was to be thwarted. Instead, revenge one day fell to my own hands, although the achievement of retribution was not, at the time, at the forefront of my mind. I was instead involved in saving the life of a future Emperor.

(Banks of the River Nar, near Narnia, Umbria, one week later)

‘A few days after Flaminius took office, he was sacrificing a calf. The animal, after being struck with the knife, escaped from the hands of those officiating, and splattered those standing around with blood. There was consternation everywhere….most people took the incident as a sign of coming disaster.’

- Livy (‘History of Rome’, 21.63)

18 year-old Apollinus, who was currently missing his lover, 24 year-old Petronius, very much, was, however, comforted by the pleasant company of 9 year-old Britannicus and Titus, as they walked the riverbank that bordered Palaemon’s huge Umbrian vineyard. Not far away was the Via Flaminia and the ‘praedium’, or ‘large estate’, of Marcus Cocceius Nerva junior’s eponymous father. The status of Claudius’ son was evident by the display of much purple, along with white, on his light summer tunic.

Purple was created from the most expensive dye, produced from seashells, a circumstance that had led to its association with privileged people, such as Senators, and eventually the Principate. Only the Emperor himself could wear attire entirely of the colour.

As the trio proceeded, they came across another three boys who were fishing, one of whom was instantly recognised by Britannicus because he was a relative. “What are you doing here, Rubellius Plautus?” the 9 year-old son of Claudius asked of the 17 year-old great grandson of Tiberius.

In response, Rubellius Plautus smiled, as he had always liked Britannicus, and answered “I could ask the same of you. I’m personally on holiday here with my friends. Let me introduce you!”

As Rubellius Plautus had done, the 17 year-old’s companions, 15 year-old Marcus Cocceius Nerva and Silius Italicus politely placed their rods on the riverside grass and stood to great the new arrivals. Their older friend, whose bottom was now sufficiently less sore to permit sitting without too much distress, introduced them respectively by their full names before jokingly adding a description of their juvenile aspirations.

“Nerva here,” Rubellius Plautus confided, “wants to be a great bridge builder, whereas Silius wants to be another poet, like Virgil!” In fact, the 17 year-old was to be even more prescient than he assumed possible on that day.

“I’m sure that my friend,” Silius Italicus retaliated, with equal prescience whilst referring to Rubellius Plautus, “wants to emulate Zeno of Citium, given his stoic leanings.” He did not add that he had never known someone to change so much over such a short space of time, although he might have altered this opinion if he had become reacquainted with the new persona of the former Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus.

Silius Italicus had observed Rubellius Plautus, now under Seneca’s pater potestas, and recently the man’s crop, become so much less wild and excitable than he been when under Otho’s influence that the change virtually amounted to a reversal in character. The 17 year-old was now rather quiet and reserved, but also seemingly imperturbable, propounding a belief in the righteousness of the natural order of the world.

Silius Italicus had not been able to entirely pinpoint the reason for this dramatic change. He privately queried whether the advent of Seneca to a key role in his friend’s life might be the cause, or was the culprit the shock induced by the man’s severe beating of his charge’s naked rear? He wondered whether their new friend, Nerva, might have somehow been an influence, being apparently a rather simple but nevertheless pleasantly pacific and straightforward boy, or had he himself been? He had, after all, recently introduced Rubellius Plautus to reading poetry for pleasure rather than as an academic exercise.

Silius Italicus was not currently aware of a similar alteration to the character of the former Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, who, as Nero, was now also subject to Seneca’s influence, which extended to the subtle and judicious manipulation of the identity of his young charges’ friends. If the 15 year-old had known, he would surely have recognised that all of his suppositions were correct. They had been deliberately set into play by a very astute man, who genuinely cared for the welfare of the boys for whose continuing upbringing he had been given a high degree of responsibility.

“I presume,” Rubellius Plautus correctly observed, “that your friend here is the son of the famous general, Titus Flavius Vespasianus.” “You’re correct,” Britannicus replied, whilst displaying his common, completely disarming to all who witnessed it, smile, “and I think that he wants to grow up to emulate his father!”

“I’d also like to be involved in building great structures, like Nerva here,” Titus interrupted, “as testimony to my existence in this world. However, I expect Britannicus will leave far greater monuments behind!” Unfortunately, the boy could not have been more wrong in his original meaning, although in another way he was later shown to be right.

“Is this your slave?” Rubellius Plautus then asked of Britannicus, whilst appraising the very handsome Apollinus keenly, with his hidden cock beginning to experience agitation. “And my friend,” the 9 year-old prince replied, to the intense thrill of his 18 year-old servant.

“Why don’t you all come and join us in fishing?” Rubellius Plautus next enquired. Britannicus glanced at Titus, who nodded affirmatively, before the young prince replied “We’d be delighted to!”

Over the next few hours, the six boys, ranging in age from 9 to 18, sat on the quiet, sunny riverbank to indulge their pastime and chat amicably, with the slave in their company treated with equanimity by everyone else. However, it was noticed by the two 15 year-olds present that Rubellius Plautus afforded Apollinus, whom he had positioned besides him on the grass, particular regard and attention.

Meanwhile, on a nearby hilltop, 30 year-old Cornutus and 19 year-old Servius were also sitting on grass, whilst they took in the magnificent view gained of the surrounding Umbrian countryside from this perspective. In the far distance, beyond the copious array of grapevines, could be seen the virtually straight line of the Via Flaminia, as the road made its way from Rome, faraway to the south-west, to the even more distant east coast of Italia.

“I’d love to have had an education like you,” Servius commented, “so that I could understand the world better. For example, I don’t even know why that road is called the Via Flaminia!” “Alas, I’m full of knowledge like that,” Cornutus smilingly retorted, “but I bet I couldn’t grow a decent grape, let alone produce excellent wine from it as you do here!”

“Go on then, O great scholar,” Servius challenged, but with clear affection in his voice, “tell me how the Via Flaminia acquired its name!” “Only if you pass me some more cheese to go with my bread,” Cornutus replied, whilst sipping more wine and as he and his new friend continued their picnic in this rural idyll.

Servius complied and so Cornutus began his explanation. “The road’s named,” the teacher informed, “after a certain Gaius Flaminius, who was a popular politician of about 270 years ago. As Censor, one of whose responsibilities is major public works, he initiated two great civil engineering works, both still extant and named after him. There’s the roadway you see in the distance and an amphitheatre in Rome. Unfortunately, he, along with 15,000 of his soldiers, were massacred by the Carthaginian general, Hannibal, in an ambush at Lake Trasimene, north of here, one misty summer morning.”

“I hope that such misfortune never engulfs our hopefully future-Emperor-to-be,” Cornutus then commented, whilst referring to Britannicus, whom he and Servius could watch from their furtive vantage point, fishing with other boys on the riverbank of the Nar far below. In fact, there actually happened to be two future Princeps in the small, happy party concerned.

The naked Servius then began to play again with the similarly nude Cornutus’ cock. “Time for dessert?” the handsome 19 year-old eunuch asked, as his lips began to move towards the 30 year-old’s rapidly expanding penis.

(Imperial palace, Rome, same time)

‘Crescit amor nummi, quantum ipsa pecunia crevit.’

(‘The love of wealth grows, as the wealth itself grows.’)

- Juvenal (‘Saturae’)

Another mouth, this time a 35 year-old one of the feminine kind, had just swallowed another cockhead, this one aged 26. The Empress Agrippina had decided to reward through fellatio her latest secret paramour, Faenius Rufus, for recent, mutually pleasurable, coitus. She did so in complete safety from disclosure about her adulteries, following the example of Messallina. The new Augusta, and indeed everyone else apart from her cuckolded spouse, had realised that her husband would rather have the messenger executed than believe any ill of her. She believed that she could literally get away with murder if she wanted to, and so illicit love affairs should be no problem, as long as her activities did not become too overtly blatant and ambitious, as those of her late and younger predecessor had done.

Meanwhile, outside the Empress’ bedchamber, her other closest allies, the similarly-aged patrician, Aulus Vitellius, who had been the second man to debauch me, and the Imperial freedman and financial secretary, Pallas patiently awaited an audience with the Empress. Neither minded Agrippina’s current preoccupation with Faenius Rufus too much, as they had both recently also enjoyed the woman’s favours.

Agrippina and her three male lovers were scheduled to discuss the undermining and eventual elimination of more rivals to the Empress and her son. Seneca, the Augusta’s main adviser, and Burrus, her principal bodyguard, were excluded from the conversation because it was correctly assumed that they might dislike and object to the plotting, especially the modus operandi involved. The conspiratorial quartet appreciated that there were moral limits to the actions to which the renowned counsel and capable protector would agree, even to safeguard the future of Rome.

(Campania, Italia, same time)

‘He said that men ought to remember those friends who were absent as well as those who were present.’

- Diogenes

Caius Silius seaside villa in Campania, near Pompeii, had, in the end, not been sold after my late unlamented master’s treachery and execution. The vast property, or ‘latifundium’, which was bigger than Nerva’s ‘praedium’, and associated slaves had instead been appropriated by Narcissus, officially for the Emperor’s benefit as a holiday retreat but actually so that the Imperial secretary could cream off most of the farm’s profits into his own substantial coffers. Naturally, such a scenario required the dismissal of the previous estate manager, or ‘vilicus’, who happened to be rather too good at such corrupt practices himself.

Naturally, most of the farm workers and slaves, who happily no longer included Apollinus’ parents and younger brother, did not regret the departure of the cruel vilicus and his wife, the ‘vilica’. One young eunuch particularly enjoyed the sight of the former estate manager’s wagon, loaded with his possessions, leaving the latifundium.

Nevertheless, all of the farm staff were now nervously expectant because the first visit by a member of the Imperial family was about to take place. Their trepidation was compounded by rumours that the holidaying 12 year-old concerned was a little monster. They were therefore very pleased to discover that the Emperor’s newly adopted older son, the newly renamed Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus, was actually rather pleasant, although not quite as nice as his slightly older and much more beautiful friend, 13 year-old Aulus Plautius Suffuscus.

Petronius once again found himself holidaying on the estate, although he would have much preferred to be spending time with Apollinus on Palaemon’s Umbria property. However, the 24 year-old ‘elegentiae arbiter’ had been persuaded to forego a vacation with his 18 year-old lover for the sake of the future of Rome.

Seneca had become aware of the burgeoning reputation as an author and raconteur of Petronius, who had been appointed by Palaemon as Britannicus’ part-time teacher of creative writing. He had therefore requested him to perform the same role for his own Imperial class, which included Nero and Suffuscus. The ‘elegentiae arbiter’ agreed and immediately established a rapport with these two older boys, whilst at the same time he wondered how anyone could have claimed that the former Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus was a little monster.

Nero, at the suggestion of Suffuscus, who was thinking of the opportunities for healthy exercise for his new friend and himself, later asked to spend his summer in the countryside. To Seneca, the new Imperial estate outside Pompeii seemed to be an ideal choice for two lively boys, given that it also boasted a seaside location and luxurious villa. Narcissus, who now controlled the operation of the latifundium via his own vilicus, raised no objections. However, an appropriate supervisory escort had to be appointed to accompany the important youngsters.

Seneca could not go because of his other Imperial role alongside being Nero’s tutor. As Agrippina’s official adviser, he had to remain with the Empress who, along with her husband, was remaining in Rome, despite the stifling urban heat. Matters of important politics had to be attended to, regardless of the fact that most of the political elite were also retreating from the capital to the cooler climes of their own rural villas.

Seneca therefore concluded that there would be no-one better to substitute for him as chaperon to Nero and Suffuscus than the boys’ other new tutor, Petronius. However, the man in his mid fifties had to plead the cause of the future of Rome to persuade the younger man in his mid twenties to accept the commission. After all, the ‘elegentiae arbiter’ had really been looking forward to frolicking with Apollinus in the countryside of Umbria.

Petronius eventually succumbed to Seneca’s entreaties. Despite the fact that the former was a renowned storyteller, there was no-one more proficient at erudite elocution to win arguments than the latter, apart perhaps from Palaemon. The real difficulty encountered by the ‘elegentiae arbiter’ was to explain his decision to a very disappointed Apollinus. The 18 year-old did not, of course, want to desert Britannicus by requesting to go on his own holiday elsewhere, even if slaves could make such outrageous pleas, which they could not, at least with most other masters.

Petronius and Apollinus eventually overcame at least some of their grief by indulging in an exceptionally romantic private dinner, followed by a particularly passionate night of lovemaking, before embarking upon their separate vacations with their respective pair of young charges. That of the ‘elegentiae arbiter’ was to take place to the south of Rome and that of the Imperial slave to the north.

Petronius and Apollinus departed from each other sorrowfully but consoled themselves with the thought of meeting to make love again in September. However, both were eventually to return to Rome changed people. For the ‘elegentiae arbiter’ in particular, the summer holiday of the year DCCCIII A.V.C. to Caius Silius’ old estate was to have major repercussions for his future life.

(Imperial palace, Rome, same time)

‘Fortune is not on the side of the faint-hearted.’

- Sophocles

By now, I had heard about Nero’s alleged reformation of character but, given what I had literally suffered at his young hands in the past, I was highly sceptical, presuming that the boy was putting on a show for his adoptive father and others of influence. I was sure that his motives were to undermine the position of the delightful Britannicus and become the declared heir to the Principate.

I also could not forget the words Nero had uttered when he had last spoken to me, over a year earlier, since when I had carefully tried to avoid him. “Hello, No-Balls!” the smirking 11 year-old had then greeted me in a palace corridor, “it's nice to see you again. How’s your bottom, as I do hope that it’s fully recovered from the attentions I used to give it with a cane? Perhaps I should check sometime. Alternatively, perhaps you’ll provide me with the opportunity to practise the art of flagellation again, for I’ll be watching your every move, No-Balls! I can assure you that, if you give me the chance, I'll be entertaining you in the palace dungeons!”

I would, however, have no chance to check my worrying theory for now, as Nero had departed for a certain estate in Campania, a location that I, of course, knew well. Anyway, my mind was instead currently engaged on trying to fight, with only a wooden sword, an experienced Praetorian in the palaestra of the Imperial palace.

“I under….st….st….stand, Bilicus, that, unusually f….f….for your race, you’rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre untrained at ar….ar….arms,” Claudius had earlier declared to me one evening when he dined alone, with his new wife being occupied elsewhere, as was now common and reminiscent of her late predecessor, Messallina. “I believe that a lllllllllllllllllllloyal and in….in….intimate Im….Im….Imperial servant like you should pppppppossess the skill,” the Emperor then announced in his usual faltering way but with a smile on his ageing face, indicative of the jest to come, “if only f….f….for my protection!” The Princeps was genuinely renowned for his fear of assassins, a feature of his character that was understandable given his history and that of his family.

My Imperial master was not quite correct in his declaration, as my father had tried to train me at arms, horsemanship and general warfare, along with my older brother, from when we could both barely walk. However, unlike my sibling and most other boys in my village and tribe, I believe that I exhibited early disdain for the practice, perhaps because my vanity at the time made me too preoccupied with my appearance to pay much regard to my ability and valour in combat.

I shall always remember overhearing my dear mother telling my frustrated father, who somehow always remained remarkably patient with me despite my desultory and sulky attitude to what he was trying to teach, that I would “grow out of it!” I was so detached at the time that I was not sure to what she was referring. It was only much later that I realised what she meant, and that my parents probably suffered much ribaldry from others about my lack of interest in being a warrior. I am also sure that sometimes such comments were not well meant and were hurtful, but they must have protected my own ears from such abuse, unless I was simply deaf to it.

I never did “grow out of it” in my parent’s tragically truncated lifetime. However, in my old age, I believe that I shall meet them and my brother and sister again, in whatever form my afterlife takes, with my head held high. You see, reader, I believe that I eventually proved myself to be a capable and courageous defender of causes, using not only weapons but also brains. After all, I can boast amongst my achievements saving the lives of four Emperors, as well as of someone who should have reached the purple, which I proudly consider to be worthy accomplishments for a barbarian eunuch. My ability to handle arms was a gift from Claudius for he now introduced me to my instructor, although I was never to use weapons of metal in either the cause of this Princeps or that of his natural son.

“This is Sextus Afranius B….B….Burrus,” Claudius stammered, “who, as you kn….kn….know, is my wife’s pr….pr….principal bodyguard. He’ll arrange for you to ac….ac….acquire the necessary skills. However, I won’t r….r….require you to b….b….bear arms once you’re tr….tr….trained, as I’m sure that you could always find a w….w….weapon if you needed to d….d….defend me!”

Burrus, who was soon to attain a significantly higher position in Imperial circles than that of chief protector of the Empress, proved to be a highly adept trainer, as perhaps befitted the man who had decapitated Agrippina’s predecessor. However, I also believe that my desire not to let Claudius down, plus a wish to make up for precious time lost in Britannia, enabled me to be an excellent, quick-learning pupil.

(Plebeian quarter, Rome, same time)

‘A prosperous fool is a grievous burden.’

- Æschylus

I dislike being so disrespectful to a dead man’s memory but I cannot recall the name of the particular patrician whose fate I now intend to describe. In fact, the Senator involved was so unimportant to everyone except himself, and probably his family and servants, that no-one I have asked can recall him. Perhaps my worthy scribe can discover later and either add his finding here or to an addendum at the end of my lengthy saga.

The man was, in fact, a paid lackey of Narcissus, one of several Senators who received a regular commission for trying to look after the enormously wealthy Imperial secretary’s interests in the legislature, at least until someone who could offer more materialised. Agrippina, recognising that the powerful freedman was a major obstacle to her own ambitions but currently fearful of attacking him directly, had decided on a more subtle initial approach.

Agrippina and her three current lovers, Faenius Rufus, Aulus Vitellius and Pallas, proposed to undermine Narcissus’ support, starting with that in the Senate, which still had some influence in Rome whenever the Emperor felt benevolent towards the ancient institution. The Senator, whose name I have forgotten, was therefore lured to a meeting with a supposed informer, who would provide data regarding the Empress’ treachery for which the Imperial secretary would undoubtedly be prepared to pay well.

The Senator, full of his own self-importance, did not query why the chance of securing the information had come to him instead of directly to Narcissus. He instead excitedly, greedily and rather naively proceeded to the arranged rendezvous, a dingy tavern in the plebeian quarter where no-one of his standing would normally consider venturing. To maintain secrecy, he was unaccompanied as agreed, although he was stupid enough to allow his anonymity to be undermined by still wearing his Senatorial toga, which made him stand out like a sore thumb in the sordid place he was now frequenting. He was also silly enough to believe that, whilst he awaited his informer, being allowed to sit quietly in an empty room with a goblet of disgusting wine, rather than being ogled for his incongruous presence in a normally crowded bar, was not unusual.

When alerted members of the ‘cohortes urbanae’, or ‘urban cohorts’, who were soldiers, about 1500-strong, put in place by Augustus to police Rome, later arrived, they discovered the Senator still sitting patiently, with a half-full goblet of wine on the table in front of him. However, the patrician was never to finish his drink, as he was dead, his jugular having been skilfully severed by an unknown and unseen assailant. The motive was later ascribed to robbery.

Narcissus, with whom, reader please do not forget, I was allied in the aim of protecting Britannicus, was naturally concerned about the demise of one of his puppet Senators in such unlikely surrounds, and so launched his own furtive investigation. This produced suspicions but nothing more. The murderer was never caught, although the Imperial secretary told me that, shortly afterwards, the gladiator, Didius, somehow managed to pay off all of his gambling debts.

(Numantia, Hispania, same time)

‘Who, however, would deny that Scipio’s career was most glorious? For unless he chose to covet immortality, a desire which never entered his mind, what of all it is lawful for a man to desire did he fail of obtaining?….He was made Consul twice….he otherthrew two cities, both extremely hostile to this Empire, and thus extinguished not only present but also future wars!’

- Cicero (speaking of Scipio Aemilianus in ‘De Amicitia’, 3)

The carpentum of 16 year-old Persius and Quintilianus and 11 year-old Lucanus had reached the city of Numentia, during their slow, bone-rattling journey from Corbuba to the northern Hispanian metropolis of Calagurris, located in the district of Vascones on the River Iberus in the province of Tarraconensis. Two more days should see the boys finally reach their destination, where they would spend the second half of their summer holidays in Q’s home town until it was time to resume their education in Rome.

The young trio was spending the night, in a roadside inn, under the protection of their coachman, or ‘raedarius’, who was a freedman of Lucanus’ family. Many of these taverns were both disreputable and dangerous but the carpentum driver had selected one that was well run and clean in all senses.

Over cena, the gregarious coachman told the boys a chilling, detailed story about the city in which they were staying overnight. The tale involved Scipio Aemilianus, who came from a family after whom Rome’s first stone bridge over the River Tiber, the Aemilian, had been named.

Almost 200 years before the raedarius related his story, Scipio Aemilianus had been the Roman general responsible for, after intense house-to-house fighting, finally destroying Carthage in the 3rd Punic War. To ensure that Rome’s great enemy then never rose up again, he had razed the metropolis to the ground, sown salt into the ground to make it infertile and pronounced a solemn curse on anyone who wanted to settle there in future. Meanwhile, the surviving population was enslaved.

For his success in north Africa, Scipio Aemilianus was awarded the honorific title of ‘Africanus’ and, as a consequence of this and other notable achievements, he had become the greatest Roman of his generation. However, his career was not yet finished because serious conflict erupted in Hispania, which was in the process of being subsumed into the Empire. The subsequent campaign was brutal and ended with the siege of Numantia, where about 4000 warriors of the local Celtiberian tribe were holding out, albeit in terrible hardship. The great general eventually starved them into submission and was given the additional title of ‘Numantinus’ for his efforts.

Before the coachman concluded his well-described deliberately bloodcurdling tale, which even Q barely knew despite emanating from the locality, he added a happy rider. He pointed out to the fascinated boys that the Celtiberians, natives of the area around the valley of the River Iberus and formerly lightly armed but ferocious fighters, subsequently settled down after 200 years of combating the invaders of their lands. They eventually abandoned their hilltop fortresses and effective guerrilla warfare, along with their helmets made from dried sinew, small round shields, spears and single-edged, slightly curved swords, to help the Romans make Hispania peaceful and prosperous.

The mischievous raedarius then decided to defer his scary tales about supposed local Druidic cults and their barbaric rituals until another time, in case his young charges already had enough on their minds that might deter them from sleeping soundly.

(Placentia, Gallia Cisalpina, same time)

‘For full indeed is Earth of woes, and full the sea; and in the day, as well as night, diseases unbidden haunt mankind, silently bearing ills to men, for all-wise Zeus has taken from them their voice; so utterly impossible is it to escape the will of Zeus!’

- Hesiod

Coincidentally, the carpentum of Palaemon and Axenius was resting at the same time at another roadside inn in another location associated with the Aemilian clan. The tavern concerned was situated on the Via Aemilia, which runs about 180 Roman miles virtually straight north-west from Ariminum on the Mare Adriaticum to Placentia in Gallia Cisalpina. The Apenninus mountains are on the left of this road and the plain of the mighty River Padus, which would be crossed at Placentia on the next day, and its tributaries was on the right.

It had actually been the crossing of another, much more minor river on the Via Aemilia, which formed part of the boundary between the province of Gallia Cisaplina and Italia proper, that had triggered a civil war almost a century previously. Traversing the Rubicon, which is less than 10 Roman miles north of Ariminum, illegally with his legions, for such forces were not permitted on home soil, had been tantamount to a declaration of hostilities by an aggrieved Julius Caesar against Pompey and the Senate.

Palaemon and Axenius had chosen not to travel north from Rome along the coastal roads, favouring the cooler but more hilly Via Cassia, which joined with the Via Aemilia at Bononia. Progress had been slow but not only because they had to travel across the mountainous terrain of the Apenninus but also because the renowned teacher had become noticeably unwell. However, he had refused his lover’s entreaties to forget about their expedition and return to Rome. He instead insisted that the journey to try to rescue any remnants of the young Germanian’s family from the current conflict in their homeland be continued.

Nevertheless, Axenius had surreptitiously asked his own raedarius and their escorts to advance more slowly so as not to discomfort Palaemon too much through the inevitable and frequently bone-jarring rocking of the carpentum on the cobbled roads. My friend might perhaps have been more insistent about a return to Rome, and his older lover more compliant to the suggestion, if they had known that one of them would not be making the return trip from Germania.

(North-west Britannia, one week previously)

‘Who knows but that this life is really death,

And whether death is not what men call life?’

- Euripides

The legionary’s worst fears for his manhood temporarily disappeared when one of the young nude female celebrants, who was holding a small bronze dish, advanced towards the young man’s anguished shape and began to masturbate his flaccid cock proficiently with her free hand. Despite the mental and physical agony inherent through his worrying and shameful circumstances and ravaged rear, and a deep discolouring of his tightly bound and now painful scrotum that made the white mistletoe berries resting there stand out, the 19 year-old’s penis rapidly started to react to the manual manipulation. His stimulation was undoubtedly assisted by the fact that the naked girl perpetrating the rite was particularly beautiful.

The legionary’s own unclothed form was therefore soon vibrating in orgasmic delight, as his suddenly fulsomely erect cock began to gush white sperm into the bronze dish. The young man’s feminine masturbator had carefully positioned the receptacle to collect all of the ejaculate, little drops of which would now be smeared on her own and the other nude male and female celebrants’ shaved genitalia, with the residue poured onto the ground by the nearby stone altar.

After the nude girl had concluded, she stepped aside to allow the elderly man, wearing a white robe possessing an intricate trim of yellow and scarlet, to approach the shocked legionary, whilst now bearing the gold-coloured sickle-like knife instead of the switch. The soldier’s fear for his manhood then immediately returned when the High Priest knelt before him, removed the sacred genital mistletoe decoration and pulled down brutally on the young man’s bound scrotum, which was now a dark purple in colour.

The legionary yelped in agony as his distressed sac and the testicular contents were then squeezed, whilst he felt a cool blade come to rest across the rear base of his stretched scrotum. “No!” screamed the soldier loudly, as he also fruitlessly fought against the unyielding restraints that spreadeagled him between the two mighty oaks, whose summer foliage hid the signs above of the regular reaping of sacred mistletoe.

Of course, the Druids did not understand Latin but the legionary’s desperate verbal message was obvious to the many spectators, including the nude celebrants who readied themselves to be smeared with the next offering to guarantee their future fertility. Naturally, the soldier’s desperate entreaty was ignored and instead the High Priest began slicing. Meanwhile, the female masturbator returned, having fulfilled her mission and cleared her dish, which was now ready to collect not sperm but rather the organs that produced such life-giving liquid.

The High Priest did not seem to mind being rather awkward and time-consuming in concluding the latest rite, perhaps because he was dealing with someone who had clearly raped and murdered fellow Druids. The excruciation for the young legionary, as his manhood was gradually sawed away, was therefore undoubtedly acute, especially as release through fainting never happened. However, the deed was eventually done, and the 19 year-old’s severed sac rested amidst much blood in the bronze dish, which was now presented for inspection to his horrified eyes, before being offered to the waiting celebrants.

Some of the genital blood was then mixed with the semen already present on the sexual organs of these worshippers before the legionary’s own severed sac joined the residual sperm on the ground in front of the stone altar. Meanwhile, further sanguine fluid gushed onto the ground from the new eunuch’s untreated wound, whilst preparations were made to lift him and impale him via the anus onto a waiting stake, made of oak.

Fortunately for the legionary, according to the story he related to me, other Roman soldiers then came to his rescue, supposedly having been better at tracking than the Druids had been covering up their trail. I have to confess that it is this part of the gallae’s tale that I find most hard to believe.

I shall forever remain unsure whether one of Cybele’s gallae was telling me the truth about how he came to lose his balls. I was aware that this particular gelded servant of the Magna Mater had lost his testes when serving as a legionary in Britannia at about same time as Caratacus was captured, rather than by the more customary, for the priesthood, self-castration. However, he was known for exaggeration and I wondered whether his emasculation might have occurred in a less exotic fashion than the one he described.

As the gelded priest had confessed to rape, I instead wondered whether he perhaps lost his balls in circumstances similar to the way the gladiator Didius had lost his penis. Alternatively, I speculated as to whether the loss had stemmed from a very unfortunate but nevertheless comparatively unspectacular war wound.

I doubt that I shall ever know the truth. However, I am asking my patient scribe, whose father-in-law told him similar stories about the Druids, to record the gallae’s tale. Perhaps others might sometime verify that such incidents regularly took place and, if they did, that they happened because of ancient Druidic custom, as opposed to a new desire to secure appropriate justice against war criminals.

(Germania Inferior, several weeks later)

‘Do not turn back when you are just at the goal.’

- Publius Syrus

The small, desperate, renegade band of Chatti warriors lay secreted in the wood alongside the main road from the south to Colonia Agrippina. They could clearly hear the creaking advance towards them of a Roman carpentum.

(To be continued in chapter XXXXVII – ‘Ambushes’)

Erratum

The previous chapter 35 should, of course, have been enumerated in the title with the Roman numerals XXXV. Please accept apologies for the missing X!



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