The Traitor's Son Chapters 1-4
By Zelamir, adapted by Pueros

This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY

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Adaptor's Note:
This great story first appeared at a couple of other web venues under the title of 'Sejanus'. However, this renamed version has been especially adapted, with the author's permission and oversight and with amendments and fresh scenes, for this site by Pueros.

Original Author's Note:
I do not make any claim for historical accuracy, although I am sure that some of the background descriptions in this saga are correct. Overall, my story is a fantasy, set in a fantasy version of the early Roman Empire. I write because I enjoy doing so. As far as I am concerned, readers are perfectly at liberty to copy or post this tale. However, if you do so, I should be glad if you could acknowledge my authorship. - Zelamir

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Chapter I

Crastus stood at the edge of the pool and looked down into the face of a worried man.

Normally this would not have surprised Crastus. He was accustomed to causing fear amongst those he met, as the phenomenon went with his profession. However, to see trepidation on the face of his employer, the supreme pontiff, the first consul, the man everyone in Rome other than himself referred to as the Emperor, struck him as strange.

It would have been understandable perhaps a day or two earlier when the outcome of Sejanus' bid for power was still in doubt. Now, though, when the Praetorians had declared for Tiberius, the traitor himself had been slaughtered, his body exposed on the Gemonian steps before being cast into the Tiber and his supporters were being hunted down, such fear was strange indeed.

Yet the feel of a regime under threat had been palpable throughout Crastus' journey to the island of Capri. One clue had been provided by the naval squadron lying close off shore, the long sleek hulls of the galleys reflected in the almost unmoving sea, elegant and beautiful until his own boat had drawn close enough for him to catch the stink from the rowing benches. The double guard of marines at the single landing place, hard men in full battle gear, had added to the suggestion that Tiberius and his rule were under threat rather than, as they truly were, triumphant.

"I can trust no one, no one!"

The man who was Emperor of Rome stood naked, waist deep in the pool, with beads of water glinting on the thick dark hair that matted his powerful chest. He stared at Crastus through cold distrustful eyes.

"Sejanus," Tiberius declared, "whom I made my companion in power and whom I was going to bring into the my own family, betrays me. If he had been content to wait, who knows what might have been open to him? But no, he must snatch at the prize, as many have before him and many undoubtedly will in the future, and to what end? What has the supreme power brought me?"

Crastus glanced round at the vast marble-lined pool, with the opulent imperial villa towering behind it, and the crowd of beautiful naked boys, lithe-limbed and attentive, hovering eagerly about them, and thought that power seemed to have its compensations. Then his eyes went back to the Emperor's distracted and frightened face, disfigured by a mass of angry, white-tipped pimples, and he wondered if such luxuries were enough.

It was not the first time that Crastus had been summoned by the Emperor to receive his instructions direct from the Princeps himself. However, he thought the man looked more under strain and more troubled than in the past. Certainly, the pimples, which on earlier occasions had been merely a nervous blemish, now covered Tiberius' face with a livid rash of pustules. It was clear that Sejanus' attempted coup had hit the man hard.

Lucius Aelius Sejanus, like his father before him, had been the Prefect of the Praetorian guard, and had acquired great influence in Rome under Tiberius, which he had used to sinister effect, particularly of late, after he had persuaded his Imperial master to live on Capri. However, his relatively humble background had meant that he was unlikely to be adopted by the ageing Emperor as his successor, and he appreciated that, after the Princeps' death, his many enemies were sure to seek his own demise.

Becoming desperate, Sejanus had therefore organised a conspiracy to usurp ultimate power. However, his plans were betrayed to Tiberius, whose authority, despite his unpopularity and voluntary exile, still proved sufficient to have his minister overthrown. This successful trial of strength actually did much to strengthen the Principate as an institution.

"You have some special task for me, Sire?" Crastus asked. Experience had taught him that, once the Emperor began to talk about the burdens of his office, he would prose on indefinitely, in an incoherent disjointed sort of way, unless checked.

Tiberius made a small gesture of assent with his hand and one of the beautiful naked boys, mistaking the meaning, slipped, with a flash of smooth light brown limbs, from the side of the pool into the water and began to swim towards his master. A couple of yards from the Princeps, the youngster jack-knifed.

For an instant, the boy's tight bum broke the surface of the pool, and then, like a fish, he swam submerged, with his hands pressed to his sides, propelling himself forwards with small kicks of his bare feet. Crastus watched intrigued as the gorgeous outline of the youngster's slim body, distorted by the ripples of the clear water, approached Tiberius' crutch, with his lovely head thrown back ready to nuzzle his master's currently flaccid cock and heavy hairy balls.

Crastus resigned himself to a long wait before the Emperor would be ready to give him his instructions. However, it was soon clear that Tiberius did not wish to postpone the business immediately at hand. Turning slightly, the Princeps reached out his left hand and seized the attendant boy by his hair, holding the child firmly under the water. The youngster's feet then scrabbled desperately on the floor of the pool, as his master turned his attention back to his guest.

"I have indeed Crastus," Tiberius said, apparently oblivious of the increasingly frantic struggles of the boy whose head he continued to hold beneath the water, "as, in so serious a case of rebellion as that of Sejanus, it is of course not enough that the man himself should perish. His whole family must be expunged from the face of the earth!"
"At your command, his son and daughter have both been disposed of, Sire," Crastus advised, "and their naked bodies displayed to the Roman mob." Meanwhile, he could see that the desperate boy in the pool had grasped Tiberius' hand with both of his and was trying to break the man's grip on his beautiful young head. .
"I know, Crastus," Tiberius replied, "but I understand that there is another child, another son, younger than his dead brother and sister and whom Sejanus supposedly loved the most. He was kept on an estate in the countryside to preserve him from the temptations of Rome and the Imperial Court. I did not myself know of this but the freedman, in whose charge the brat was left, sent a messenger to me after the plot was unmasked, informing me of the boy's existence and asking me what was to be done with him. I want you to look after the matter for me!"

"A very loyal man, Sejanus' freedman," Crastus observed dryly.

"Yes, yes," replied Tiberius, oblivious to the sarcasm in Crastus' voice. "I would wish the freedman to be appropriately rewarded," the Emperor instead informed, "and certainly he may be left to manage the requisitioned farm for the state. However, first and foremost, Sejanus' remaining son must be eradicated as a potential future problem!"

The boy in the water had now ceased to struggle. Tiberius released his hold and the nude youngster's lovely but now still body sank gently down until it floated just clear of the marble floor of the pool.

Some other young naked boys, already in the water, then, with as much discretion as they could manage, as they were acting dangerously without Tiberius' permission, recovered the worryingly still body to the side of the pool and began to attempt to revive their companion. The Emperor spotted their merciful action but decided to defer painful retribution until later.

"It will be done Sire," Crastus responded in response to Tiberius' command, "but where ."

"A villa just outside Perusia," Tiberius answered, "so sail back to Rome and pick up your men there. Then ." The Emperor did not, and did not have to, complete his sentence, which was nevertheless a fully understood sentence of death for the boy concerned.

Crastus himself also said nothing more. He instead bowed and turned to go to fulfil his mission.

"Crastus," Tiberius then called after him, "the two dead children, they were very young. Sacred convention decrees that virgins may not be executed. Did you ."

Crastus turned and stared at his employer coolly before advising grimly "Neither were virgins when they died, Sire. I can personally vouch for that!"

Tiberius grinned wolfishly at this reply before declaring "Good, excellent, I am glad that your trade, distasteful as it sometimes is, has its occasional little pleasures. Now, Titus, escort our faithful friend to the shore. We must not let so important a servant of the state be killed by over-zealous guards!"

A fat man, wearing a spotless toga, waddled forward from the shadows of a nearby colonnade and touched Crastus' arm. He was Titus Caesonius Priscus, Tiberius' official 'Comptroller of Pleasures'. The Emperor then clapped his hands and there were a series of splashes and squeals as conscious attendant boys threw themselves into the pool, eager to show their devotion to their Imperial master.

"I hope," Titus remarked, as he later escorted Crastus down the narrow path to the island's only landing place, "that he didn't drown that boy. Decent quality ones are becoming harder to come by all the time and the price is rising steeply. What we need is an end to the present peace and a good foreign war or a revolt in one of the provinces. Either of those would enrich the market with fresh stock fast enough!"

"You won't obtain much out of the treason trials then?" Crastus enquired absently, although he was not really interested in this fat old ponce's problems, as his mind was busy considering the new task he had just been set. "Not much for my needs", Titus lamented, "as we receive three quarters of the property of those condemned, including their slaves, but what our Emperor really wants are young fresh boys and what we generally acquire may be young but hardly fresh. If we could have the virgin sons of the accused, it might help a bit but they either get passed to you and your colleagues to dispose of or are impoverished and exiled. Still, it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good!"

"It's a busy time for me," Crastus admitted moodily, "but often not a particularly profitable one. Apart from a miserly wage, I just earn what the criminals have about them when I kill them and that's often precious little when it comes to the young ones. What good is a doll or a toy soldier to me?"

"At least the older ones," Crastus continued, "wear rings and other jewellery, which they frequently press on me to try to persuade me to make their deaths easier." His eyes then rested for a moment on Titus' precious equestrian ring, made of silver, before announcing jealously "It's the informers who do best. They are awarded a quarter of the criminals' property. You can become rich on that!"

"But, as an informer, you make enemies," Titus reflected, "and a change in policy or regime might have you standing accused. Then it's slit your wrists or face a visit from you. At least your job is a steady one!" "I've never been short of work," Crastus agreed with a harsh laugh.

"And never will be," Titus suggested, "but me, if the Emperor's tastes should change, I could be finished at once. Meanwhile, I have to try to keep him satisfied and he's become more demanding since Sejanus' plot was revealed."

The two men, the pimp and the executioner, whose positions comprised the two most important officers of state in many tyrannies, then walked on in silence, each bewailing to himself the hardness of his own lot.

Their narrow path, cut into the side of the cliff, turned sharply to the right. Visible below them now was the cove that formed the only landing place on the whole island, with the fierce Mediterranean sun glinting on the almost still water. Crastus saw that, since he had disembarked, a small fishing vessel had arrived and moored behind his own boat.

A skinny-looking youth, about 16 years old, his only clothing a brief threadbare tunic, was trudging up the path towards Crastus and Titus, with two large baskets of fish hanging from either end of the wooden yoke that rested across his narrow shoulders. Bent under his heavy burden as he laboured upwards, the lad's eyes were fixed on the ground, clearly unaware of the two men he was approaching.

"Watch where you're going, boy," Titus growled, as the youth almost collided with him. The startled lad then glanced up.

Crastus saw the youth's eyes widen with alarm, as he saw the two men looming over him. The lad, who might have been rather handsome if he had been fed and cared for properly, then stumbled to a halt and pressed himself against the face of the cliff to allow the pair of adults to pass.

"Stupid little oaf," Titus commented, whilst beginning to slap the youth hard across his face, "I'll give you a taste of the whip this evening to teach you to keep out of the way of your betters!" The lad said nothing and made no attempt to ward off the harsh blows with which the fat man punctuated his threat. He just stood quietly, with head bowed and tears beginning to stream down his face as he started to sob hopelessly, as a result of not only the humiliation and pain of the moment but also the thought of the flogging to come.

"Look at this useless brute, Crastus," Titus requested, reaching out and lifting the youth's tunic up to reveal a hairless crutch and a chest so thin that every bone in his young rib cage was clearly visible. "Scrawny little runt isn't he?" the fat man suggested, "and look at his face." He caught hold of the lad by his chin and roughly pushed his head back.

"I don't think that I've ever seen an uglier or stupider boy," Titus declared, "but do you know if I had to replace him it would cost me perhaps a hundred denarii in the market, which is more than half the price of a decent mule. The world's gone mad if you ask me!"

Titus glared at the youth in silence for a second or two, apparently rendered speechless by the farcical values of the moment.

"Oh get up to the kitchens with you," Titus then ordered, "where I'll have the skin from your shoulders later!" He swung the starveling boy round and helped him on his way with a sharp kick up his backside. For a fat man, Tiberius' Comptroller of Pleasures was quite agile on his feet.

"I haven't told him yet," Titus then advised Cratus, whilst referring to the youth, who was rapidly disappearing up the path with his heavy and somewhat smelly load, "but I'm also going to have him castrated soon. He's recently been taking too much interest in some of the young female kitchen slaves to allow him to keep his balls!"

Chapter II

The sun blazed down on the rolling Umbrian plain. The dark green olive trees that stretched out on either side of the long straight road seemed to quiver in the hot air

To the left, a double row of cypresses marked a lane branching off from the surfaced road. About a mile away was a jumble of whitewashed walls and red-tiled roofs, where a large farm lay at the end of the track.

Four riders reigned in their horses at the point the lane joined the road and consulted together for a moment. Then they wheeled off and began to trot briskly along the track, their steeds' hooves casting up behind them a reddish cloud of dust. Members of a slave gang, hoeing the dry baked earth between the olive trees, turned to watch them until the shouts of the overseer and the crack of his whip drove them back to their arduous labours.

The middle-aged horsemen did not look pleasant men. All four of them were big with hard faces, and three had short swords hanging from their belts. There was something about them vaguely suggestive of the military, although they were not in uniform.

Nevertheless, despite their lack of uniform, the grooms at the various imperial post-stations, where they had changed horses, seemed to know the men well. They had brought out fresh mounts for them with a speed that suggested that they were eager to send the foursome, again commissioned to perform official Imperial business, on their way and to be rid of them.

The only man that did not carry a sword was the leader of the small band, Crastus.

When the sinister quartet eventually trotted through the gateway into the farmyard, it was clear that word of their approach had arrived ahead of them. A short, well- fed freedman stood ready to greet them, and young slaves were standing by to take their horses.

The four men stopped their mounts and slid from their saddles, throwing the horses' reigns to the waiting youths. "Welcome, Sir, welcome," the freedman said to Crastus, whose bearing clearly and correctly suggested that he was the leader of the quartet.

"My name is Echion," the freedman announced, whilst smiling ingratiatingly and nervously rubbing his hands together in front of Crastus, "and I was in the service of the criminal, Sejanus, acting here as his bailiff. I have been expecting you ever since I sent word to the Imperial authorities that I had secured one of the traitor's sons."

"Your message reached the ears of Tiberius himself and he sent us to take care of the boy," Crastus replied coldly. "We have him here waiting for you, Sir," Echion responded, "as we've had him incarcerated for the last week awaiting the Emperor's command."

"The last week," Crastus repeated, with a slight note of interrogation in his voice. He then made a small gesture and two of his companions moved forward to stand nearer to the plump little freedman. The remaining member of the sinister quartet began to whistle softly through his teeth and turned round, apparently to take a view of the yard, whilst his hand fell nonchalantly on his sword hilt. A look of alarm spread over Echion's face and he edged backwards until brought up short by the farmhouse wall.

"That is some time after Sejanus launched his coup against the Emperor," Crastus advised accusingly, "and indeed after the Praetorians declared their continued allegiance to my Imperial master, Tiberius." "News takes a long time to reach us here, Sir," Echion explained unconvincingly, his voice now shrill with fear.

"Really," Crastus commented, "as it only took two days for us to ride here from Rome? It would seem that somehow news of Sejanus' treachery took five times that to reach you, or did you wait until you knew that your master's attempt to seize power had failed before demonstrating your loyalty to the Emperor?" He then smiled icily, as he waited for a reply and whilst his hands began to untie the thick length of cord, with wooden toggles at either end, which kept his leather jerkin closed.

"No, no, Sir," Echion begged, as his legs began to quake and his petrified eyes watched, as if hypnotised, Crastus' strong blunt fingers play with the cord. "I am a loyal subject of the Emperor, Sir," the freedman continued, "and, as soon as I knew of the treason, I secured the boy. I swear it, Sir. I was in Sejanus' service, Sir, but I didn't know about his plot. I would have informed on him straight away if I had!"

"The Emperor expressed his initial appreciation of your loyalty," Crastus remarked, "but authorised me to investigate its extent and to reward it appropriately." He now had the cord free from his waist and was holding it loosely in front of him, a toggle in each hand.

Echion gave a high pitched moan and dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "Oh, Sir, please," he then continued his entreaties from this shameless perspective, "I did my best. Sir, I have been loyal to the Emperor. I assure you that the boy's been locked in the farm cellars ever since I learnt of his father's treachery!"

"And fed on the fat of the land and generally spoilt," Crastus sneered, "so that, if by chance his father came out on top, you could say you were just protecting him!"

"No, Sir, no," Echion petitioned, "as I wouldn't do anything to help an enemy of the Emperor. In fact, Sir, the boy might have starved before now if one of the household slave girls hadn't been feeding him on the sly. We caught her only yesterday, Sir, and I've had her well whipped and she'll now work in a field gang until she dies!"

"I wish all would deal with the family and friends of traitors with similar harshness," Crastus commented, with quiet irony. "Now show me where you have imprisoned this young threat to the state, about whom you informed the Emperor," he then commanded.

Echion half rose to his feet and then, bent almost double, scuttled off round the side of the main house, followed closely by Crastus and his three companions. The freedman eventually stopped before a stout door and fumbled in his tunic pocket for a key.

"The key was kept there by the door," Echion explained, as he fumbled the implement out of his pocket whilst gesturing towards a rusty nail hammered into the wall, "because I didn't think anyone would dare to use it to help the boy. Of course, once I found what that treacherous girl had been up to, I took charge of it personally."

Echion's hand was shaking so violently that it took him some time to find the key and fit it into the lock. However, he eventually succeeded and the door swung open to reveal a steep flight of stairs disappearing into darkness. A dank, cold smell then rose up from the cellars to greet him and his guests.

"The boy has no light down there?" Crastus asked. "No, Sir, none," Echion answered whilst fumbling at a lamp that stood on a ledge behind the door.

"Well perhaps you weren't spoiling him after all," Crastus remarked before turning to his companions. "All right," he then suggested, "you three stay up here. I reckon I can cope with a half-starved brat without your help. Just keep an eye on my back!"

Turning to face the frightened freedman again, Cratsus ordered "You, show me where the boy is." Echion replied by leading the way down the steps, with the rekindled lamp throwing an uncertain light ahead of him, as the flame flickered and guttered in his trembling hand.

At the bottom of the stairs, a narrow, earth-floored corridor stretched ahead of them, its damp stone walls glistening in the lamplight. Echion shuffled a few yards along the passageway to stop outside another door, which was fastened shut by two heavy metal bolts.

"The boy's in there," the freedman announced, for some reason in a hoarse whisper. Wordlessly, Crastus took the lamp from Echion and, with a jerk of the thumb, dismissed him.

Echion turned and set off at a half-run towards the pool of daylight now illuminating the bottom of the stairs before clambering back up the steps into the outside world. Crastus then shot the bolts and opened the door, to be greeted by a foul animal odour assaulting his nostrils.

Nevertheless, holding the lamp in front of him, Crastus stepped forward to meet the boy he had been sent to rape and kill.

Chapter III

Crastus heard a rustle of straw and the clink of metal. An uncertain young voice then enquired "Pannychis, is that you Pannychis?"

Lifting the lamp higher Crastus saw in its uncertain light a dark bundle lying in the corner of the small windowless cell. The bundle stirred and a small, scared, white but rather grubby face turned to look up at him.

Crastus now noticed a tousle of fair hair, not the insipid straw or flax blonde of the North but the deep dusty gold of Illyria, wide blue eyes, momentarily blinded by the light, and red lips, parted in momentary fear. So far as the man could judge in these dark and awful surrounds, a pretty but also clearly a very frightened boy, about 11 years old, awaited him.

Crastus moved closer to the boy, who responded by asking "Who are you? What do you want?" The youngster was trying to sound confident but there was a tremble in his voice and he pushed himself back against the cold and damp cell wall, trying to move as far away as possible from the sinister approaching man.

"This place smells like a pig-sty," Crastus observed contemptuously. "I can't help it," the boy retorted, "as Echion chained me here a long time ago. Please, can you release me. My father will reward you. He's rich and powerful. He's Sejanus, Prefect of the Praetorians, and I'm his younger son, Marius. Oh please, help me!"

"Your father's not rich or powerful any more, boy," Crastus announced brutally, "because he's dead!"

There was a moment's silence, during which Crastus placed the lamp on the floor. He then heard the boy begin to blubber.

Crastus did not try to comfort Marius with meaningless words, as he knew that the father was dead and soon the younger son would be too. He had a job to do and do it he would. However, he would not perpetrate the deed in this stinking pit because the boy was not to die a virgin. He would move the child outside and have him cleaned up before he had his moment of fun with him.

Kneeling down, Crastus could see that Marius was lying on a thin layer of filthy straw and was tethered to the cell wall by a short length of iron chain and a shackle locked tightly around his ankle. The greedily alert man also noticed something else. The boy was not wearing a silver or gold medallion about his neck, or bracelet, armlet or anklet of similar precious metal, as would normally be expected of the son of a rich and important man such as Sejanus.

Crastus swore uncouthly, disgusted at having travelled all this way from Rome to perform an Imperial commission and not receiving a bonus in the process, other than depriving young Marius of his virginity. He felt cheated, and his men, who would also share the pleasures of the boy's body, would be equally disappointed as well. Their pay for their work was measly enough and it was the little extra incidentals, acquired from the condemned, which made the job worthwhile.

Crastus had confidently expected Sejanus' son to sport some sort of expensive body ornaments. After all, he now reasoned, the tunic Marius was wearing, although currently horribly soiled, was of the highest quality, indicating that the job should have yielded rich pickings in the form of matching valuable jewellery.

Surely, Crastus thought, Marius must have worn some jewellery, but where was it? Had the boy hidden it in the straw in which he was lying, perhaps at the suggestion of Pannychis, or had the girl been friendly to the incarcerated child for devious reasons? Whilst pretending to help, she might have stolen it from him on some pretext, as slave bitches were often cunning enough to perpetrate such thieving deceptions!

"Didn't you have a medallion or bracelet or other jewellery?" Crastus asked Marius. However, the boy did not answer but continued to cry quietly. The child did not even seem to have heard the question.

Crastus therefore lent forward and flipped Marius hard across the face with the back of his manly hand. A dribble of blood appeared at the corner of the boy's mouth in response.

"When I ask you a question you answer me," Crastus grated, "so tell me: did you have a medallion or bracelet or other jewellery?" "Yes," Marius whimpered, whilst now holding a hand to his bruised and bloody mouth.

"Well, where are they then?" an impatient Crastus then enquired. "Echion took them off me," Marius answered. "Oh, did he!" Crastus commented, more to himself than Marius. He then advised the sobbing boy, but without any noticeable compassion, "Well, the first thing to do is to move you out of here. Then we'll sort out the little matter of your jewellery!"

Leaving the lamp on the floor, Crastus stood up and made his way back to the cell door. "Varro," he then shouted at the top of the voice, "can you hear me?"

Crastus was rewarded by an equally vociferous answer before announcing "I want the boy out of here but his ankle's manacled to the wall. Echion will know where the key is. Get it from him and bring it here so that I can release the brat!"

Crastus then waited at the door, where the air was slightly less foul, for his companion to obey his command. Meanwhile, from the corner where the boy was lying, the sound of occasional distressed sniffing and sobbing could be heard.

It was not long before Varro appeared with the key. The man, nostrils already disgusted by the pervading stench, then drew in his breath sharply when Crastus returned to Marius to open the tight iron shackle fixed to the boy's ankle.

"Well it's been on him a week," Crastus observed in relation to the increase in obnoxious odours and whilst now looking at the band of raw suppurating flesh where the metal had galled Marius' flesh, "so what can you expect?" "Come on, get up," he then ordered of the boy, whilst straightening himself and prodding the child sharply in the ribs with his toe. "We're not going to carry you, you filthy little brat," he subsequently harshly advised.

Marius began to comply, making his way unsteadily out of the cellars, urged on by occasional slaps and kicks from both Crastus and Varro. The boy eventually reached the top of the steps, where he hesitated, standing blinking and confused in the bright sunlight.

Crastus came up behind Marius and gave the boy a heavy push in the back that sent the child staggering forward. "Get his filthy tunic off him" he then ordered one of his other companions, "and washed down. I'm not having my fun with him in his present condition!"

A man stepped forward and took Marius by the arm and half dragged and half marched the boy towards the well in the centre of the farmyard. Crastus, with Varro at his side, then turned to face Echion, who was standing against the wall just outside the cellar door.

"Now," Crastus asked of Echion with clear irritation, "what have you done with the boy's valuables?"

"Valuables," Echion quavered uncertainly, "I .I .don't know what you mean!" "The boy's jewellery, the medallion, the bracelet and all the rest that you took off him," Crastus retorted. Meanwhile, Varro, without warning, menacingly half drew his sword before ramming the hilt into the freedman's bulbous stomach.

As Echion now lurched forward, Crastus drove the butt of his hand into the freedman's face. There was then an audible crunch, as a nose broke and a head slammed back against the nearby wall.

Echion's knees began to give way under him but Crastus twisted his left hand in the freedman's tunic to hold him upright before repeating his earlier question. The assailants were then rewarded when their victim, desperately raising his hands to try to ward off any further blows, declared "I .I .took the jewellery from the boy in case he tried to use it to bribe someone to help him escape. I intended to keep it safe for the Imperial treasury!"

"Very estimable," a disbelieving Crastus sneered, "but, as the Emperor has made us responsible for the boy, we'll look after his jewellery as well. Where is it?" Echion hesitated to answer, instead staring round with wild eyes, searching for a way to escape his inquisitor but there was none.

Crastus pulled Echion forward, away from the wall and then slammed him back once more against it with all his strength. There was a sickening thud as the back of the freedman's head struck the stonework.

"I .I .haven't got it any more," Echion now duly confessed, "as .I .I .had lost some money on the races and I .... I had to hand it over to satisfy the debt. They sent men here to collect what I owed. I .I . had no choice. They would have beaten me otherwise!"

Crastus swore fiercely. He then balled his right fist and punched Echion in the crutch. The freedman screamed shrilly.

Crastus released Echion's tunic and, whilst the freedman collapsed on the ground at his feet, remarked disgustedly "We ride all the way here from Rome to do a job of work and we're not going to get anything extra for our trouble!" He then drew back his foot and kicked the latest victim of his displeasure as hard as he could in the face.

Crastus finally turned his back on Echion and, followed by Varro, walked across to the well in the centre of the farmyard. The freedman remained behind, curled on the ground, moaning softly.

The man who had been ordered to clean Marius up had stripped him and was busy using the naked boy's own dampened tunic to sponge him down. Crastus settled himself on the stone wall surrounding the well and stared gloomily at the child whom he was commissioned to rape and kill.

Crastus then confirmed in his own mind that Marius was indeed a good-looking child. The man knew, from the cursory glance he had of it in the cellar, that the youngster's face was pretty in a boyish sort of way. However, he could now see, out in the sunlight and with the young form stripped of all cover, that his next imminent victim had a very nice little body.

Being revealed before Crastus was a good, clean-limbed young 11 year-old human animal, slim but not painfully thin, with a nicely formed rib cage, a good straight back, a tight well-rounded bottom, possessing two well- pronounced dimples on either side, and firm strong thighs. The creature was shivering now and looked rather out of condition, which was not surprising considering what he had had to endure over the past week. However, the man's watchful eyes could perceptively imagine how attractive the boy would have looked with the sheen of health restored to his smooth young body.

Crastus also now noticed that a number of farm slaves were lurking around the edge of the yard and in the doorways of the main house and surrounding outbuildings, quietly watching what was going on. He gained the impression from their expressions and some overheard muttered remarks that they were not at all worried at the treatment inflicted on Echion but were not so happy about that being perpetrated on Marius.

Crastus told himself that the slaves' obvious concern for Marius would probably come to nothing, almost certainly remaining at the level of sullen muttering. They must know that if they did attempt anything against him and his mission that, with three swordsmen to help him, he should be able to see off such an unarmed servile rabble. However, he recognised that, if they started throwing rocks or acquired scythes and pitchforks, events might turn a little awkward.

Meanwhile, the man engaged in swabbing down Marius had come to the boy's curvaceous rump. He was currently trying to persuade the lad to lean forward and part his legs so that he could clean the cleft of his bottom but the youngster had frozen.

The man therefore clipped Marius lightly on the back of his head and then reinforced his order with a sharp slap of his open hand on the boy's bum. A murmur, unhappy rather than angry, rose from the watching slaves but the lad obediently shuffled his feet apart and bent forward.

"Problems?" the grinning man asked of Crastus, whilst jerking his head towards where Echion still lay whimpering in the dust. "Yes," the leader of the quartet growled, "as the little fat sod has thieved the boy's jewellery and used it to pay off his gambling debts. We've therefore come all the way here to take care of the little turd you're cleaning but will receive no more than our wages for our efforts!"

"Well," the man replied, whilst speaking quietly so that the watching slaves could not hear what was being discussed, "the boy's not bad looking. I'd also say that he's a virgin too, so there'll be a bit of pleasure from him for us all before you finish the job!"

Marius seemed oblivious to what was being debated, instead just standing passively still, his eyes glazed as the man worked on his body. However, Crastus was not surprised at this reaction, as he had seen it many times before.

Some of Crastus' victims fought and struggled to the end. Others, and Marius appeared to fit this category, seemed to become mesmerised with terror and went without protest to their deaths like cattle being herded into a slaughter house.

Crastus preferred the more compliant subjects of his brutal trade, as they represented less trouble. Nevertheless, he hoped that the boy would liven up when the time came to rape him.

Crastus looked at Marius appraisingly, wondering whether the boy would be a good fuck. Certainly the naked young body looked good and, perhaps by regaining a bit of bloom, could prove exceptional. This thought then caused an idea to invade the man's avaricious mind, which was still keen to secure a financial bonus for the work at hand.
"You think that the boy's a virgin?" Crastus was now spurred to ask of the other man. "Near certain" was the answer.

"Bring the brat over here," Crastus then requested, "while I check."

The man propelled the docile Marius over to his leader, with a series of gentle pushes and slaps of encouragement to the boy's young bum. Crastus then levered himself wearily upright from his seat on the wall of the well and began a methodical examination of the lad.

Marius stood still, unresisting, as manly hands travelled over his young nude form. He even lacked the spirit to try to hide his nakedness with his hands.

Crastus steadily worked his way down Marius' body, ascertaining that no head lice or fleas and no obvious ear or eye infections were present. He assured himself that the boy's young face was clear of blemishes and that his mouth possessed good even white teeth and a clean tongue, with no inflammation of the throat.

Crastus checked that there was no indication of ringworm under Marius' arms. He also rubbed the side of the boy's neck with his fingers to ensure that there was no sign of swollen glands.

Crastus considered Marius' ribcage to be pleasantly defined whilst the overlying skin was not too tightly stretched. He decided to confirm this judgement by pinching the boy's flesh between manly finger and thumb. He then tweaked one hard young nipple.

Marius gave a small gasp of pain but otherwise did not react. Crastus then moved his hands downwards pressing the tips of his fingers firmly into the boy's stomach, seeking lumps and hardness but finding none. He took hold of the child's small hairless balls, rolling them gently between the tips of his fingers. The youngster caught his breath sharply at this intimate invasion but made no other protest.

Crastus pulled a face as he rolled back Marius' foreskin but reminded himself that the boy had had, for a week, little chance to clean himself. He then moved to check the inside of the lad's thighs for ringworm before kneeling on the ground to run his hands down the 11 year- old's firm lithe legs to explore the young feet below for parasites.

Crastus stood again and signalled to Marius to turn round. He then checked the boy's rear, including the back of the head, neck and shoulders, all the time moving his hands slowly down the lad's body, stroking, squeezing, probing.

Crastus finally ordered Marius to part his legs and bend forward to rest his hands on the top of the wall around the well. Again, zombie-like, the boy obeyed.

Crastus placed his hands on Marius' bottom, relishing the feel of the boy's cool flesh and smooth silky skin. The man knew that the key tests were now imminent.

Crastus had found nothing physically wrong with Marius, rather the opposite in fact. However, for all that the fat Imperial pimp, Titus, had said about the shortage of quality virgin boy flesh in the markets, he knew that no one would pay good money for a lad unless there was a bit of life to him. At the moment, the youngest son of Sejanus was hardly better than dead flesh to handle and dead flesh he would be unless he soon began to show a bit of spirit.

There was no point in going to the trouble and expense of taking such a brat to Rome unless he would fetch a good price on the auction block when he finally reached there. For that to be achieved, the boy's virginity had to be accompanied by obvious sexual liveliness.

Crastus slipped his right hand between Marius' splayed legs and pushed upwards, forcing the boy's bottom higher into the air. He then used his two thumbs to pull open the lips of the lad's anus.

Marius could be cleaner he thought at first, as he examined the revealed scene, but at least there is no sign of round worm and the boy's clearly a virgin. He then licked the tip of his index finger and pressed it into the lad.

Marius tensed and for a moment resisted the intimate invasion. However, Crastus increased the pressure and forced the young pink sphincter open. The boy then cried out in anguish and shock but compliantly maintained his degrading posture.

The slaves standing round the edge of the yard moved uneasily. Varro, who until then had also been sitting on the wall of the well, watching events, lounged to his feet, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

Crastus now placed his left hand on Marius' shoulder to steady the boy before probing deeper into his young body. The lad resumed his moans but more quietly this time.

Crastus probed still deeper and smiled when he felt Marius' body tighten once again about his finger, this time not resisting the intrusion but apparently trying to draw it further into him. He then glanced round the boy to observe his little cock standing rigidly to attention, its tip pressing up against his tummy. A woman amongst the watching slaves giggled, then another and another. Varro removed his hand from his sword and joined in the laughter that now rang out round the farmyard.

A grinning Crastus eventually pulled his finger out of Marius. There was an audible plop as the now grimy digit came clear of the boy's bottom.

With a laugh, Crastus then landed a hard and noisy open- handed slap on Marius' bare rump. "The boy's just a slut like any other brat of his age," he then announced cheerfully and with deliberate loudness so that the crowd of slaves could hear. There was a murmur of agreement in response. The spectators might have felt uneasy when they saw the lad, who until very recently was their master's rather pleasant son, being humiliated and hurt but they had liked being told that he was, after all, no better than they were.

"Take the boy into the kitchens and get him cleaned up thoroughly using hot water," Crastus asked of the man who had been washing Marius by the well, "as there's sure to be a woman there who is used to dealing with dirty brats and their cuts and bruises. Tell her to pay special attention to his foreskin and bottom, as they're both still filthy. Also, tell her to look at his ankle, where the iron manacle has cut the flesh. However, when she's attended to it, don't let her bandage it. I think the wound will heal quicker exposed to the air."

"When she's finished," Crastus continued his instructions, "bring the boy back to me. By then, we'll be in the principal guestroom. I don't yet know where that is but that's where we'll be. One of the slaves will no doubt show you where it is. Meanwhile, keep a careful eye on what's going on, as I wouldn't put it past this lot to try to spirit the brat away if they saw a chance."

The man took hold of Marius by his arm and led the boy towards the house. Crastus was pleased to see that, whilst tears had resumed streaming down the lad's pretty face, the 11 year-old was also now trying to hide his still rigid prick with his hands.

Clearly Marius had snapped out of his fatalistic apathy and was now lively enough to feel his humiliation deeply.

Chapter IV

"Now," Crastus said whilst turning to Varro, "fetch Echion over to me. I have a couple of things I need to discuss with that thieving bastard."

Crastus settled himself back on the low wall surrounding the well. The slaves who had gathered round the edge of the courtyard drifted off one by one to resume their work.

It was some time before Varro returned, holding Echion none too gently by the arm with one hand and dragging with the other by the ear a pretty 12 year-old boy with a mop of curly black hair. The freedman had disappeared from the farmyard and had obviously made some attempt to clean himself up. His nose had clearly been broken but he had put on a clean tunic and the blood had been washed from his face.

"Sorry not to be back sooner," Varro apologised whilst giving Echion a shake, "but it took me sometime to find our friend here."

"Where did you find that tart?" Crastus asked, nodding at the boy, whose only clothing was a very brief tunic, fringed with tassels, which reached only halfway down his bum. Forced to bend forward by the grip on his ear, this sparse attire totally failed to cover his pleasant little rump.

"This?" Varro rhetorically enquired, "this is Pulchellus. I found him washing the blood from Echion's face and kissing the man's wounds to make them better." "Oh," Crastus sneered, "he must be the bailiff's favourite bumboy, whom I suppose is better fed and plumper than any other brat on the farm."

"He's my own property," Echion protested, "as I bought him myself. I can do what I like with my own."

"So you can, so you can," Crastus replied, "but not with what belongs to the Emperor. He'd be very annoyed if he found out that, to pay off your own gambling debts, you took Marius' jewellery, which should have been forfeited to the Imperial treasury."

"You'd only have taken them yourself if I hadn't acquired them first," Echion retorted in a brief and ill-judged moment of defiance. Crastus lashed out with his foot, catching the freedman on his right knee and causing him again to scream shrilly.

"Don't be insolent," Crastus suggested to Echion, "as the Emperor won't be interested in what we might have done. He will be interested in what you have done, should I remember to tell him about it, but you don't want to me to tell him, do you?"

Echion stared sullenly at Crastus who moved his foot, threatening another kick. "No .no, I don't," the freedman then reluctantly confessed.

"Then ask me politely not to tell," Crastus commanded, "not forgetting to say 'please'!" He was rewarded with a humiliating request from Echion. "Please, please don't tell," the freedman begged.

"I might help you," Crastus advised, "but I think that you'll have to do something for me in return. However, you'll be glad to do that, won't you?"

Crastus had to repeat "Won't you?" with a more threatening slant to the words before Echion answered "Yes, yes I will."

"Well then, you can first show us the way to your office, where you can write out a couple of documents for me," Crastus advised before instructing Varro, whilst referring to Pulchellus, to "Bring the tart along too!"

Echion hobbled painfully across the farmyard, followed closely by Crastus and Varro, who kept a tight and painful hold on Pulchellus' ear. The bailiff's office eventually proved to be a long, low room set immediately to the left of a wall archway.

The room had a bare plank floor and the only furniture comprised a table, a couple of wooden chairs and an open cupboard containing a number of scrolls. However, hanging from the wall just inside the door was a heavy whip and in a large earthenware pot beneath it were a number of canes of various lengths and weights.

"I see that you're a bit of a disciplinarian, Echion," Crastus sneeringly commented on catching sight of these implements. "How else," the freedman responded, "am I to get work out of the lazy slaves? The whip and cane seem to be the only things the brutes understand and respect!"

"And I suppose your little tart," Crastus suggested astutely and correctly, "looks on laughing while you slice up the bums of less fortunate slave brats. It must be fun for you both!" Without waiting for a reply, he then selected a cane and swung it experimentally in his hand.

"Nice springy movement," Crastus remarked before suddenly and unexpectedly lashing Pulchellus across the front of his thighs with the cane, raising a livid weal across the boy's smooth light brown skin. He was rewarded with a loud scream, shrilly uttered by the young victim's rosy lips.

Crastus then lifted the cane to make another cut. "Master, stop him!" a crying Pulchellus yelled desperately. "That's enough please," Echion protested weakly in response.

"Enough?" growled Crastus, "Enough? I've hardly begun. If ever I saw a slave boy who would be improved by a sound thrashing it's that one. Still, business before pleasure I suppose. Echion, go over to that table of yours and write me out a receipt for the body of Marius and an acknowledgement that you are taking responsibility for disposing of the corpse."

Echion limped over to the table and seated himself. The freedman scribbled away for a minute or two in silence and then passed what he had written to Crastus, who glanced through the parchment quickly.

"That's very good," Crastus informed Echion, who began to lever himself painfully out of his chair. "No, no," the former declared, putting his hand on the latter's shoulder to force him back into his seat, "as you haven't finished yet. You see, I'm going to sell Marius when we go back to Rome, as compensation for your thieving of his jewellery. Premium goods he will be on the slave market, a lively, beautiful virgin boy. However, he'd lose a good deal of his value if he went to the auction block with his bum ripped from our cocks and that would never do. You'll therefore need to provide me and my men with another lad to keep us amused on our journey, the state of whose bottom doesn't matter. So, just write out another note transferring ownership of your Pulchellus to me. I know you've been fucking him but we're not fussy and, judging by the look of you, even after having your cock up him, he'll be tight enough to give us pleasure!"

"Never, I won't do it, I won't," Echion exclaimed with as much vehemence as he could muster, but somehow his words lacked conviction. "Oh dear," Crastus replied wearily, "and I did so hope that we could conclude our business without any more unpleasantness!"

Crastus then placed his hand on the back of Echion's head and slammed the freedman's face down onto the table. Grasping the bailiff's hair, he subsequently hauled his victim back upright.

"Dear, dear, now look what's happened," Crastus commented with feigned sympathy, "and you're dripping blood all over your desk. However, I do admire the way you stick up for your Pulchellus. It's really brave of you when you consider what the Emperor will do to you when I report that you only remembered your loyalty to him after you knew Sejanus had been arrested. I really don't want to make that report, as I'm truly a kind-hearted man. So, perhaps on second thoughts, you will ."

"Master," Pulchellus screamed whilst wrenching himself free from Vacco's grasp and throwing himself on his knees before the table where Echion was seated, "please don't do it, please, Master, please!" However, Crastus was round the table in an instant, his foot crashing into the boy's crutch. The 12 year-old bent over, doubled his hands and clasped them protectively around his grief- stricken balls, his anguished action causing his brief tunic with its silly tassels to ride up his body to leave his bottom exposed.

"You talk only when you're spoken to brat," Crastus rasped before bringing his cane hissing down onto the boy's bare rump. "That," he then stated menacingly, whilst raising his voice to be heard over the child's anguished scream, "is just a foretaste of the thrashing you're going to get this evening. Now shut up!"

Leaving the sobbing Pulchellus curled on the floor and returning to the freedman, Crastus asked, now with impatience, "Well, Echion, are you going to transfer the boy to me or shall I make my report to the Emperor? Come on man, we haven't got all day for you to make up your mind!"

For a moment there was silence apart from the sound of Pulchellus whimpering. Then Echion started to write again.
"May I go now?" Echion enquired after he had finished writing. Crastus noted that the freedman took a great deal of care to avoid looking at Pulchellus, still hunched and weeping on the floor.

"Just one last thing," Crastus informed easily, "as I'd like you to show me again the place you kept Marius, in case the boy's left anything important behind. Come along!" "Varro," he also instructed, "bring the tart along and the cane too. I'm personally going to have to help our older friend here because he seems to have some trouble in walking!"

Holding Echion firmly by the elbow, Crastus guided him back across the farmyard to the door of the cellars, still open with the key in the lock. Followed by Varro and the blubbering Pulchellus, he then forced the freedman down the steps to the foul smelling cell in which Marius had been confined.

The cell door was also open. At the threshold, Crastus gave the bailiff a shove, kicking his feet from under him and sending him tumbling headlong into the filthy hole.

Crastus then slammed the cell door shut and shot the bolts, leaving Echion inside in the awful darkness, before subsequently leading the way back up the stairs and into the fresh air and bright sunlight. There, he locked the cellar door and, carrying its key with him, walked over to the well.

"I wonder," Crastus remarked, as he threw the key into the well, "how long it will take the slaves to break down those doors and release Echion after we leave tomorrow. I don't expect they'll hurry, as I don't think any of them like their bailiff very much apart from slut boy here, and he of course will be coming with us in order to keep our cocks happy!"

Pulchellus wailed dismally. Crastus and Varro laughed at the boy's misery.

(To be continued)