THE TRAITOR’S SON

By Zelamir, adapted by Pueros

Chapter 9

“Pulchellus, stand on your feet and stop making so much of a fuss unless you want another dose of the same,” Crastus next commanded harshly of the sobbing highly distressed boy. “You and Marius can then go and fetch a couple of jugs of wine from the kitchen and some tankards for me and my men,” he then added, “and don’t bring us any old rubbish either if you value your hides!”

“Only the best wine in the cellar and goblets in the kitchen will do,” Crastus continued, “and tell the servants to bring our dinner to us here as soon as it’s ready. Grynium, keep an eye on the brats whilst they perform their errand, as we don’t want them fleeing, do we?”

Crastus prodded the still prone Pulchellus on the bottom with his foot in order to encourage the boy to stand up and embark on his mission with Marius. By doing so, he wrung a further howl of pain from the boy.

“Now you’ve got your blood on my boot you filthy little brute,” Crastus subsequently commented in disgust. “Lick it clean, brat, before you do anything else,” the man therefore also ordered.

The still sobbing and tearful Pulchellus somehow managed to rouse himself to lick Crastus’ boot clean of his own blood before standing and leaving the room with the similarly naked Marius and the watchful Grynium. As they proceeded on their errand, Sejanus’ son could hear the other boy snivelling beside him as they padded on bare feet along the outside marble-floored corridor.

Marius’ sympathy for Pulchellus’ suffering then overcame his dislike of the boy and he silently offered him his hand. However, the 12 year-old brushed the proffered palm to one side contemptuously.

Pulchellus’ tears were not only of pain but also of anger and humiliation. The very pretty boy believed that he was something special. After all, his old master, Echion, had often told him so.

Pulchellus considered himself to be the best little tart on the estate, namely the liveliest fuck with the sweetest bottom and the nimblest tongue. However, he had now been stripped and beaten as though he was just a common little slave brat.

Pulchellus did not want sympathy from Marius, who, in his opinion, when the younger boy had been the free son of the very important owner of the estate, had clearly disliked Echion’s catamite. The 12 year-old had believed that, what he considered to be, regular slights towards him provided the evidence for such an attitude, although they were in fact unintended and unnoticed by the alleged perpetrator.

Marius did dislike Pulchellus but he did not deliberately attempt openly to display his distaste. The younger boy had simply diplomatically tried to avoid Echion’s catamite. However, the latter incorrectly considered such action to be insulting disdain.

Consequently, Pulchellus, who had also resented Marius’ previously privileged lifestyle, despised the younger boy in return. The 12 year-old also recognised that, now that they had been reduced to the same level of servitude, he could more safely display his hatred, which he fully intended to do in a vengeful manner.

Pulchellus’ spiteful attitude was only exacerbated by the fact that Marius had witnessed his humiliation and punishment at the hands of Crastus, whose favour he was already, even in his current misery, planning to win, as he had once done of his old master, Echion. If he could do so in order to try to safeguard himself from the man’s cruel brutality and, at the same time, manoeuvre the other boy into trouble, the success of his plan would be even sweeter.

Not only did Pulchellus now hate Marius but also he saw the younger boy as a rival, at least until Crastus sold them on to others. The 12 year-old felt no sympathy or solidarity with fellow slaves. He selfishly sought only to try to make his own life of servitude as easy as possible, and who could really blame him?

The world was cruel and slaves like Pulchellus were not humans and therefore possessed no rights. They were just the chattels and tools of the free, who could do anything they wanted with their property, as Marius was soon to discover.

Marius and Pulchellus arrived in the busy hot kitchen. For a moment, the nude boys went unnoticed in the bustle and heat of the large room. One of the half-naked youths, engaged in washing saucepans in the great sink, located just inside the door, then saw them. He grinned and nudged his neighbour and whispers soon ran round the amenity.

“Pulchellus, dearest,” a mincingly affected voice subsequently enquired, “is your poor little bottom sore?” “Did the nasty new Master cane your bum, sweetie?” giggled another.

Pulchellus blushed crimson, as other slaves joined in taunting him. One of them also flicked a wet dishcloth at the 12 year-old’s raw rump, snapping the towel painfully against his sore flesh. The boy immediately spun round to face his tormentor but another youth darted up behind him and slapped him harshly across the bottom.

The watching Marius knew it was common practice to tease boys who appeared in the kitchen bearing marks of a recent beating on their bums. He had seen such torments often before, with freedmen and slaves, young and old, joining in the process. However, on this occasion, proceedings appeared to possess an extra edge of violence and cruelty.

The bailiff was not a popular man and his favourite bumboy and spy less so. Now, with Pulchellus deprived of his protection, the workers in the kitchen took the opportunity of settling old scores.

An infant kicked Pulchellus, whilst a much larger youth clouted him on the side of the head. Soon hard blows with hands and feet were raining down from every side on the 12 year-old, who was helpless to do much to defend himself and therefore just sank to his knees, trying to cover his head with his arms.

Grynium therefore attempted to intervene. The man tried to drive Pulchellus’ many tormentors away but, as fast as he knocked one off the boy, another darted forward.

Marius, largely unnoticed in the mayhem, wriggled clear of the scene and ran across the kitchen to where the cook, usually a stickler for discipline in his domain, stood by the stove, a heavy ladle in his hand. The man was watching the commotion with a faint smile on his fat cheerful face.

“Daedalus,” panted Marius initially, whilst referring to the cook’s name. The boy, subsequently seeing a frown cross the man’s face and remembering his own changed status, then added a hasty “Sir”.

“Daedalus, Sir,” Marius next begged, whilst feeling a little ashamed at having to give one of his late father’s slaves such a title, “please stop them. They’ll really harm Pulchellus’ soon if you don’t!”

Daedalus considered the plea for a few moments before perhaps realising that the sinister Crastus might not like Pulchellus to be harmed by anyone other than himself or his men. He therefore began to move ponderously across the kitchen towards the disturbance. However, he still did not hurry himself.

Daedalus remembered a dispute with Echion, during which the bailiff had alleged an over-ordering of provisions. The cook had been sure that Pulchellus had played a major informing role in trying to bring an end to this, in his view traditional, perquisite of his office.

Pulchellus was down on the floor. He could hardly be seen beneath the surging mass of vengeful boys and youths struggling to punch or kick him, as older onlookers cheered them.

Severe retribution was being extracted by many against Pulchellus for the snide tales that he had frequently previously passed on to Echion, which had often resulted in the punishment of other slaves. In fact, the sheer number of his assailants alone probably prevented the 12 year-old from being seriously injured.

After Daedalus had finally arrived at the fray, he wasted no time. The cook used his ladle, cracking the implement down on young close-cropped heads, bare shoulders and bottoms. Pulchellus’ juvenile attackers therefore quickly scattered, leaving their victim still crouched on the floor, with his hands clasped on top of his head, whilst blood swelled from between his fingers and trickled down his once more tearful face.

“What do you mean by coming in here and creating chaos in my kitchen?” Daedalus then asked of Pulchellus, whose naked curled and hurting frame the cook prodded with a foot in order to encourage a quick answer. The man was clearly satisfied that order had now been restored to his kitchen and was now following the well-tried political expedient of blaming the victim for the acts of the aggressor.

Pulchellus remained silent, probably because his present grief was too great to notice Daedalus prodding him with his foot or the cook’s verbal question. Marius too hesitated to answer, whilst Grynium also now began to tap his boot against the 12 year-old’s prone form and cursed him for allowing himself to be injured.

Daedalus repeated his question with increased anger and more violent physical prodding. However, Pulchellus remained silent and so Marius considerately realised that he would have to answer on the other boy’s behalf to prevent any further harm, although he feared that what he had to say would do nothing to decrease the cook’s irritation.

“Daedalus, Sir, please Sir,” Marius intervened, “we have orders from the man that you’re to send him and his companions some wine, and he insisted that it must be the finest in the cellar and be served in the best goblets. He also wants dinner for four as soon as possible!”

Daedalus looked across into the nervous frightened face of Marius and his anger evaporated. The cook had always possessed affection for the pleasant boy, who had never displayed any real pomposity or cruelty towards his late father’s servants. The man’s attitude persisted, even after the 11 year-old’s loss of freedom.

Such affection did not mean that Daedalus, or anyone like him, would continue to treat Marius in the same way as the past. The boy was effectively a slave now and would be treated as such.

Crastus’ proposals in respect of Marius were, of course, not only against Tiberius’ orders but also completely illegal. No free Roman boy could be enslaved without either parental approval or a court order. However, given the circumstances, no-one aware of the plans, even the 11 year-old himself or his allies amongst his late father’s estate household, were going to object or inform in respect of such an outcome. After all, such a future for the child was surely better than rape and execution.

Daedalus could clearly remember the day when he had himself been a boy and the Imperial tax collectors had called at his own father’s tiny farm with a court order. The youngest child had then been taken and enslaved to pay a parental debt.

Daedalus did not blame his parents for letting the tax collectors take possession of him. After all, the choice was either the boy or the large family’s sole oxen, without which they would all have starved.

The fates had decreed that Daedalus should be a slave and they had decided the same for Marius, albeit technically illegally. The cook had once had to concede to such a destiny and now the boy would have to as well if he wished to live. The outcome was harsh but formed part of the natural order and must be accepted.

Beforehand, Daedalus had treated Marius with the friendly respect due to the master’s son, and had provided him with the occasional sticky sweet almond and date cake, of which the boy had been so fond. However, the cook now regarded the child with the amused indulgence that you would accord to a puppy or any other lively young animal.

Such indulgence, however, had to have limits. A young animal might be played with but it must also be broken and disciplined. There was something about Marius’ reply to Daedalus’ recent question that did not please the cook.

“Who did boy?” Daedalus enquired sternly, in respect of the person referred to in Marius’ reply. “He did, Sir, the man….”

“I know he is a man,” Daedalus commented with irritation, “you said so before.” The cook had dinner to prepare for the household and could not spend an indefinite amount of time trying to teach this boy, pleasant and pretty as he was, manners, including how to convey messages properly.

Daedalus therefore approached Marius and lifted his hand to strike the 11 year-old with the ladle. “Who is this man,” the cook then asked, whilst delivering a hard blow to the pretty head below him, “who is he now to you, boy?”

“My….my….Master, Sir,” Marius muttered, whilst rubbing his suddenly sore head. The boy was also overcome by shame at finally affording such a title to Crastus, which caused him instinctively to stare at the ground and rub one bare foot against the shin of his other leg in embarrassment.

“Yes he is your Master,” Daedalus retorted, whilst delivering another painful blow of his ladle to Marius’ head in order to encourage remembrance, “and deserves your reverence, boy, and don’t you forget it. Now give me his message properly, and look me in the face and speak up whilst doing so!”

Marius subsequently overcame his embarrassment in order to comply with Daedalus’ instruction. “Please, Sir,” the humiliated boy advised, whilst obediently looking into he smirking cook’s flabby face, “we have orders from my Master that you’re to send him and his companions some wine, and he insisted that it must be the finest in the cellar and be served in the best goblets. My Master also wants dinner for four as soon as possible!”

“That’s better, boy,” Daedalus remarked. “Now I’ll fetch the wine,” the cook added, “although it’s really the steward’s job. However, he’s away on business and he’s left me the keys. I’ll try to find something decent for your Master to put him in a good temper with you!”

Daedalus then hurried off. Marius subsequently noticed that Grynium had tired of cursing Pulchellus and prodding the prone boy with his foot. Selia had now taken the opportunity to practice her healing skills on the 12 year-old.

Selia was seated on a stool, with her skirt pulled up above her knees and Pulchellus crouching between her legs. The tearful boy had his head bowed whilst the woman used the fingers of one hand to part his hair in order to expose the torn scalp and then pore stinging white powder on the open wound to staunch the bleeding.

“Miss….ouch….please,” Pulchellus pleaded urgently between anguished gasps, as Selia performed her painful ministrations on him, “please….ouch….just let me have a bit….ouch….just enough to grease me. Please, Miss….ouch….there’s four of them and….ouch….they’re all going to fuck me….ouch….and I’m sure they’ll have much bigger cocks….ouch….than Echion!”

“I expect they have, Pulchellus,” replied a smiling Selia, sounding amused. “From what I’ve heard,” she added, “your last Master was not much of a man, although, being a woman, I wouldn’t have first-hand knowledge of his cock!”

“And no I won’t let you have any grease,” Selia advised, “not unless your new Master says I should. He might want your bum to be fucked dry. Perhaps he’s looking forward to hurting and tearing you, and where would I be if I spoiled his fun?”

Pulchellus shuddered. Selias’ speculations about the tastes and wishes of Crastus seemed to the boy to be all too likely.

Nevertheless, Pulchellus was not going to give up his entreaties too quickly. “Miss, I won’t use it unless he says I can,” the boy continued desperately, “I promise, Miss….really….please, Miss!”

Selia, satisfied the flow of blood on Pulchellus’ scalp had been stopped, tipped back the boy’s head and, picking up a damp cloth, began to wipe the dried blood and tears from his usually very pretty face. “You must believe I’m pretty stupid,” she simultaneously laughed, “if you think I believe a word that you or any other slave brat says. You’ll all say anything and swear anything to escape being hurt!”

“Please….Miss….” Pulchellus then began to say again but Marius’ attention was now suddenly distracted by a sharp clip on the side of his head. The naked boy swung round rubbing his stinging ear to see that Daedalus had returned from the cellars.

“If you can spare me a moment of your time, boy,” Daedalus advised sarcastically, “I’ve brought two jugs of wine for your new Master.” The cook nodded to the table beside him, on which stood two large silver ewers brimming with dark red, almost purple, liquid.

Marius gazed in amazement at the ornate jugs and the adjacent matching quartet of silver goblets. He had only seen them fleetingly from a distance in the past, being carried into the dining room when his father had been entertaining some of his special cronies to dinner, which were occasions deemed unsuitable for a free boy of his age.

Marius had also noticed that, although he was banished to bed at such times, there were always many pretty slave boys of his own age and even younger in attendance on his father and guests. The fine and elaborate decoration of the jugs and goblets, which the astute 11 year-old now saw from a much closer distance, provided a clear clue as to why such young male slaves had been present at the banquets.

Embossed satyrs with huge erections were depicted on the silver jugs and goblets, chasing beautiful young naked boys through wooded glades or, having been successful in their pursuit, burying their monstrous cocks into the slim bodies of their prey. However, Marius’ mental reflection in respect of the obscene portrayals was quickly ended.

“Pay attention, boy,” Daedalus had snapped. “Yes, Sir,” Marius had answered, reverting his glance from jugs to cook.

Marius then screwed up his face, into what any onlooker would see as a comical grimace of apprehension. The boy had seen and laughed at Daedalus carrying out this little entertainment of his often enough in the past on other young slaves to know what was coming to him and he knew that people in the kitchen were turning to watch the fun.

“Well keep your hands down by your side then,” Daedalus commanded, whilst again picking up his heavy ladle and once more bringing the implement down hard on the crown of Marius’ head.

“Are you listening boy?” Daedalus subsequently asked, whilst Marius knew better than to rub his sore head again, whilst this scene was enacted. “Yes, Sir,” the hurting boy instead simply once more replied.

“You are to inform your new Master,” Daedalus then instructed, “that this wine is choice Falerian from the prime upper slopes and dates from the first year of the reign of the Divine Augustus. Repeat what are you to tell him!”

Marius, standing obediently to attention, with his hands firmly against the sides of his bare thighs and his face twisted in fear of the next blow that he knew was to come, recited in his answer in his clear boyish soprano voice. “I must inform my Master,” the abashed 11 year-old announced, “that the wine is choice Falerian from the prime upper slopes and dates from the reign of the Divine Augustus!”

“Don’t forget then, boy,” Daedalus subsequently ordered, whilst rewarding Marius for his good memory by again banging the ladle down on top of the 11 year-old’s head, thereby making the child’s ears ring.

“Now,” Daedalus commented, whilst turning to Grynium, “if the other boy is ready, the pair of brats can each carry a jug and two of the four silver goblets. Perhaps they’ll even manage not to spill some wine, especially as they’ll know that, if they do, their backsides might feel the strap of their new Master!”

“What about our dinner?" Grynium demanded roughly. “It’ll be artichokes with fish pickle sauce,” Daedalus replied, “followed by boiled pork stew with olives and then figs in honey to finish. Send the brats down in half an hour to fetch the first course!”

“That sounds all right,” Grynium said ungraciously and, followed by Marius and the partially recovered Pulchellus, stumped from the kitchen, whilst Daedalus pulled a rude face at his back. Like nearly everybody else whose paths crossed those of Crastus and his companions, the cook was ready to do anything the men wanted in the hope that if he did they would go away quickly and inflict themselves on someone else.

Crastus and his three companions subsequently quickly emptied one of the jugs of wine. Pulchellus, whose extra bruises had been ignored by his new master, was then returned to the kitchen to obtain a refill, whilst Marius was kept busy topping up the goblets with the contents of the other silver container.

The silver jug was heavy and Marius had to use both hands to pour the wine, which left him defenceless against the pawing attentions of the increasingly drunken men. As the naked boy served the strong red liquid, rough fingers strayed over his gorgeous body, caressing the inside of his legs, stroking his bottom, toying with his little cock and small hairless balls, and generally poking and prying into the most intimate recesses of his form.

The men frightened Marius, especially Crastus. The boy could not look at his heavy strong body and broad hands, with their hairy backs and thick stubby fingers, without remembering that the adult had raped and killed both his brother and his sister.

Marius despised Crastus but, despite his revulsion at having to serve the man and allow his hands to paw his body, the boy also found himself becoming increasingly excited and so he began to hate himself too. Surely, the 11 year-old thought, he could not enjoy the caresses of an adult male, who had treated his own brother and sister so cruelly. However, the child’s stiff cock betrayed the shameful fact that he was indeed being pleasured.

Pulchellus eventually returned from the kitchen with more wine, having on this occasion been spared the bullying previously endured there. The four men then became drunker and wilder.

Pulchellus circulated with the newly refilled jug, and was also subjected to intimate fondling. However, the boy, keen to gain the favour of the men, especially Crastus, reacted rather differently to the blushing but quiescent Marius.

Pulchellus deliberately lingered for a while by each man he served, whilst wriggling his little sore bottom invitingly as he moved about the room, with his rosy lips half parted and his eyes glazed with lust. Marius, whose own jug was now empty, tried to use the opportunity to fade into the background but Crastus soon demanded a fresh service from him.

“Bring the empty jug here, boy, as I want to pee,” Crastus shouted. Marius subsequently found himself kneeling in front of the man.

Marius held his the jug ready, and was rewarded when a stream of tarty smelling amber fluid jetted from Crastus’ cock, only a few inches away from the boy’s face, to fill the bottom of the ewer with frothing urine. The 11 year-old, who had never seen a man’s penis so close before, wondered at its size and the great blue veins that ribbed it. He also wondered how Pulchellus’ bottom would accommodate so monstrous an object.

Crastus eventually shook the last drops of liquid from his prick and wiped his fingers dry on Marius’ short silky fair hair. Another of the men subsequently shouted for the boy, who then went from adult to adult as they emptied their bladders into the increasingly heavy jug.

Varro was the last to call for Marius’ services. The boy again knelt at a man’s feet, holding a few inches from his young pretty face his heavy jug, which was now more than three-quarters full of steaming urine.

When Varro had finished relieving himself, a single bead of fluid hung from the tip of his large hairy penis. “Lick it off,” the grinning man then ordered of the shocked and appalled Marius.

“Don’t hurry the boy,” Crastus shouted from across the room, “as I don’t want to do anything that’ll cut his value on the auction block. He’ll learn to suck cock soon enough, don’t you worry."

“Marius give that jug to Pulchellus,” Crastus continued, “and come over here to me, as it’s time we became better acquainted.” “After all, I knew your big brother and sister very well,” he added with a brutal laugh.

Before Marius could obey, Pulchellus pushed him aside, apparently eager to take the younger boy’s place at Varro’ feet. Without awaiting further instruction, the 12 year-old then lent forward to introduce the tip of his tongue to the droplet of urine at the end of the man’s cock.

Whilst the amazed younger boy looked on, Pulchellus then lingered briefly before licking and exploring Varro’s penile slit with his tongue. “Marius,” Crastus' voice then resounded round the room, assuming an edge of impatience, “come here!”

Marius rose to his feet and began to walk towards Crastus, fearing what was to come next but, at the same time, as was evident from his little erection, deeply excited.

(To be continued)