“You have done it with him?”
She blushed and looked away and Titus groaned in dismay. Then he was off storming out of the workshop and into the darkened alley with clenched fists. He was closely followed by his sister who cried out for him to stop.
Titus found his sister’s boyfriend sitting in the parlour of the local whore house. The boy was only fourteen and a full head shorter than Titus. He looked up with alarm as Titus came for him. Titus grabbed him by the throat and lifted him boldly from his seat and dragged him out through the doorway in front of the astonished customers. The boy screamed. In the dirty stinking alleyway Titus began to pummel him with blow after blow until the boys cries turned to sobs and he curled up like a baby.
“Don’t you ever touch my sister again,” Titus shouted furiously spitting on the bloodied and crying boy at his feet.
Aelia stood a few paces away shouting at him to stop but he turned on her and there was something in his eyes that cut her off in mid sentence.
“And you,” he pointed a finger at her; “You will learn to behave like a proper Roman woman. If father could see you now he would have you beaten and locked up. How dare you bring such disgrace upon your family.”
She stared at him in complete surprise and he could see she was scared now. Then she whirled round on her heels and fled.
“What?” Titus growled as a customer poked his head from the door way.
***
It was near noon the following day when Milo stepped into the workshop. Titus had been helping Frontinus with his work.
“Outside,” Milo growled gesturing to Frontinus. The blacksmith laid down his tools, wiped his hands and without a word left the workshop glancing at Titus as he went out.
“I received a complaint about you,” Milo said turning on Titus.
“One of my whores, Servilia, claims you beat up her son, in fact you nearly killed him.”
“He beat my sister,” Titus said folding his arms across his chest.
“I should have killed him for such disrespect.”
“Ha!” Milo exclaimed with sudden amusement, “Yes I know about that. He’s a little shit that Marcus, just like his mother. Always screwing around with someone they shouldn’t be.”
Milo strolled casually around the large heavy work bench. “But you put me in a difficult position Titus. Justice must be done. If you had a grievance you should have come to me. I would have sorted it out.”
“Then sort it out.”
“Look at me when I am talking to you,” Milo snapped and reluctantly Titus raised his eyes and looked up. “Here is what I shall do,” Milo said fixing his bulging eyes on Titus, “Marcus the shit will not touch your sister again. But in exchange for my protection you will come and work for me.”
“I already have a job here,” Titus lied.
Milo’ face darkened.
“Well this workshop and everything in it could burn down and then you would be unemployed. Frontinus would be bankrupt and your mother would be without a roof and it would be your fault.”
Milo paused. “You are not still harbouring dreams of becoming an educated man are you, a Plebeian wearing Patricians clothing?”
“That doesn’t concern you,” Titus retorted.
“Everything that happens in this neighbourhood concerns me,” Milo’s fish eyes flashed angrily, “I own this place and I own you.”
“Go screw yourself,” the words leapt from Titus’ mouth before he could stop himself.
Milo grunted in surprise and for a moment the master of the Subura was at a loss to what to do but his recovery was fast and furious.
“Listen you little shit,” he said grasping Titus by the throat and pushing him back hard against the wall, “When I say I want something done, I am obeyed. You have until the count of three to agree or else I am going upstairs and I am going to cut your bitch of a mother’s throat.”
Titus stared back at Milo but made no attempt to fight back. Milo began to count, taking his time with each number but he was interrupted when he was just about to say three.
“Let go of my son,” a woman’s hoarse voice said suddenly. Titus’ mother was standing on the stairs. She gestured at Titus.
“Do as he asks Titus, for your family’s sake,” she commanded.
Slowly Milo’s face split into a grin and he released his grip.
“I thought you were the head of your family,” he said mockingly, “but it seems I was wrong. So we are agreed then,” he smiled.
Titus scowled.
Milo’s eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets and there was no doubting the menace in his voice. “If you defy me again you are a dead man,” he hissed. Then with an effort the smile returned.
“Come to my home tonight, I need you to do something for me.”
***
Titus had never been to Milo’s house but he knew where it was. It was a place where few liked to go and Titus approached the building reluctantly. He was still fuming and humiliated at being forced to do something he didn’t want to do. His mother had berated him for his foolishness in challenging Milo; she had even slapped him in the face afterwards but what hurt the most was that she had said that Milo was right. Aspirations of an education were just dreams, she had chided him. It was time, she had told him, that he learnt his place in society and joined the class to which he belonged. Her words had stung like a whip. He had felt betrayed, but he had taken comfort from knowing that she was wrong. His mother didn’t understand, she didn’t understand his ambition and what drove that ambition, but one day she would.
Milo’s home was in the very heart of the Subura. He owned an entire four storey apartment block. From the outside the building looked like any other run down tenement in the neighbourhood. A few thugs lounged around the arched double doors and Titus recognised them as Milo’s men. He stepped inside and instantly he seemed to have entered a different world. Gone was the stink of the alleys, the smell of rotting garbage and rubbish, the crumbled masonry, dust and drip of broken drains and the bundles of human misery leaning against the alley walls. Instead Titus eyes widened in surprise at the luxury that surrounded him. Sweet perfume filled the room and a slave was fanning the air with a sail made of goat skin. Rich carpets from the east lay on the floors, statues of gods he’d didn’t know adorned the alcoves in the walls and numerous oil lamps bathed the corridors and rooms in bright, colourful light. Milo’s place was fit for a consul he thought. He’d never seen such a beautifully decorated home. The man even had running water and from somewhere in the house he could smell the delicious scent of fresh bread.
It seemed as if a party was just getting underway. Music was coming from down one of the corridors and he could hear high pitched female laughter. Richly dressed men and women, decked out with fine jewellery pushed past him speaking in loud excited voices and sipping wine. Some had painted their faces in vivid colours, red, yellow, blue; others wore outrageous costumes, impersonating the gods, yet others were clad like barbarians with blond hair and bear skins. Titus blushed at the sight but none of the guests seemed to take notice of him. He was shown into a small waiting room just off the main corridor and told to wait.
It was not long before Milo showed up. Titus stood up and nearly laughed when Milo came in for the boss of the Subura was dressed like the god Zeus, with a crown on his head, thick makeup around his eyes and a wooden trident in his hand.
Milo however seemed oblivious to the hilarity he had caused.
“Hhhhmmmm,” he frowned as he examined Titus, “Are those the best clothes you have got. You look like you are homeless.”
“They will think he’s a slave, we don’t have many in that category tonight,” one of Milo’s men smirked.
Milo laughed. “Very well, give him some perfume.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Titus said trying his hardest not to laugh at the way Milo was dressed. The man looked like an idiot.
“Just do what they tell you to do,” Milo said mysteriously.
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Milo disappeared. The thug in the doorway gestured for Titus to follow him. The music grew louder as they entered the main corridor into the building. They turned left and Titus found himself standing on a circular balcony looking down at a hall. A wooden balustrade prevented him from falling off the edge. As he looked down into the hall his eyes opened wide.
In the hall below richly decorated couches and mattresses covered the stone paved floor and writhing upon them was a mass of naked women and men having sex. A band of three musicians were providing the music but their efforts could not mask the groaning, screaming and grunting mass of humanity. Titus stared at them, unable to look away. The naked bodies reminded him of snakes writhing in a snake pit. He felt his cheeks blushing furiously. A couple of ladies, old enough to be his mother and dressed up to look like barbarian women with blond hair were leaning on the balustrade a few yards away. They caught his eye and smiled.
Then someone was at his side. He looked up. It was Milo. The man grinned and laid an arm around Titus’ shoulder.
“Quite a view eh,” he said, “So what do you think?”
“Think of what?” Titus muttered.
“Have you never seen an orgy before?”
“No,” Titus muttered. “I didn’t know that Rome had so many prostitutes and that you could afford them all.”
Milo laughed. Then he leaned in close and placed his mouth close to Titus’ ear.
“Oh you have much to learn boy,” he said, “It’s not the women who are the prostitutes, it’s the men.”
Titus took a step back and stared at Milo in confusion.
“You see those two ladies,” Milo said gesturing at the two who had earlier caught Titus’ eye, “Wives of senators”. Milo nodded towards a young woman riding on top of a man whilst another woman licked her breasts, “That’s the daughter of an ex consul.”
Titus said nothing.
“You see they like to come here to show their independence,” Milo said quietly, “I provide them with the goods, complete discretion and in return they make sure that nothing bad happens to me. A good deal eh.”
“It’s a bacchanalian orgy,” Titus said quietly.
“Yes some may call it that,” Milo replied, “I just call it good business.”
“So what am I doing here?”
Milo looked amused. “As I said,” he replied, “You are here to do what they want you to do, understood.”
Titus felt a spark of panic as Milo left him. Suddenly it was all clear. He was to be a male prostitute. He glanced down at the writhing mass of people. Without looking up he sensed one of the women further along on the balcony coming towards him.
“Look at me,” she commanded.
Titus did as she had asked. The woman studied him carefully.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Seventeen,” he replied.
“Are you a slave?” she inquired with a smile.
“No, freeborn,” Titus said with a note of defiance in his voice.
The woman chuckled, “I didn’t think you were a slave, Milo may try and sell you as one but he doesn’t fool me. Have you a drink?”
She snapped her fingers before Titus could answer and a few moments later a slave pressed a glass of wine into his hand.
“Drink it,” she commanded, “you will feel better.”
Titus took a long deep gulp.
“A nice shy freeborn virgin,” the woman smiled again. “Well what you think of him?” she called to her friend who had remained where she was.
“Are you a virgin?” the other woman said glancing at Titus.
“Answer her,” the woman beside him ordered taking hold of Titus’ chin and running her fingers along his jawbone.
“If it pleases you,” Titus muttered.
The woman’s eyes sparkled. She was silent for a moment. “I think I will have this one,” she announced.
Titus could smell her deep, rich perfume as she drew him closer. She leaned back against the wall and undid her dress.
She was stark naked underneath.
“Do it to me with your tongue first,” she ordered huskily.
Titus stared at her flat stomach and gentle curves and the triangle of dark pubic hair. Then he got down on his knees. He had never done something like this before and as he fumbled around he could feel her impatience. Yet soon he seemed to be doing the right thing for he could feel her beginning to shake and quiver. It seemed an age before she suddenly grabbed his head, groaned and arched her back, thrusting her pelvis deep into his face.
“Good boy,” she gasped panting for breath, “Now you may fuck me.”
***
The orgy seemed to go on all night but the doors to the building had been bolted and no one was being allowed out. Titus found himself a place in the guard’s room where Milo’s thugs were drinking themselves silly. They were too drunk to notice him. He sat sipping wine and brooding on what had just happened to him. He had done as the woman had asked but his inexperience had finally caught up and she had angrily dismissed him when he had come inside her. He had not known that was forbidden. Stupid bitch, he thought as he silently cursed the whole party. If Milo punished him for this it would be intolerable. He took another sip of wine as he remembered the dark awkward fumble with a neighbours daughter to whom he had lost his virginity a couple of years earlier. That experience had been nothing compared to this. He’d fucked a senator’s wife and the thought brought a cheeky smile to his face.
He drained his glass and then suddenly froze in horror. Standing in the doorway to the guard room with its long wine stained table and gaggle of loud drunken thugs was a tall sober looking man. He had a glass in his hand and creeping up his arm was a long white scar. Titus knew he had seen the man’s face before. Then he remembered. The burning farm on the road to Rome! It was the same man who had murdered those farmers. Without thinking he ducked and pretended to fiddle with his sandals. What was the man doing here of all places? Had he been recognised? But when Titus cautiously raised his head the man had vanished.
Chapter Twenty – Fortune smiles on the brave
Adonibaal had been surprised by the reaction of Milo and his men. The thugs who had cornered him on the landing of the apartment building could so easily have killed him or turned him over to the authorities yet they hadn’t. He was not a particularly religious man but that night he had muttered a prayer to Jupiter for his good fortune. He’d known instantly that the only choice he had, was to go along with whatever this Milo wanted. The opportunity to escape, he knew, would come eventually if he remained patient. They had taken Centurion from him; as a precaution Milo had told him. Afterwards he’d been taken to Milo’s house. They had not let him leave which had suited him just fine for the authorities would surely be hunting him by now. It made sense to stay off the streets.
The first few days he’d sat around doing nothing. The thugs whom he’d shared dinner with had ignored him and that was fine too. He’d realised that he had never considered what to do if the initial assassination attempt failed. He always got his man but he should have made a contingency plan. The truth was that he’d been too complacent. Now he needed some time to plan his next move and he was lucky to have Milo’s protection. During the long hours of boredom he’d considered what had gone wrong. But from whatever angle he looked at it, he always came back to the same conclusion, he had failed because of a fluke. He’d just had some bad luck.
He had thought about Janus and how good it had felt to kill him. From a very early time, when the brothers had started to hate their father, Janus had tried to squeeze into the gap opening up between father and sons. The slave had made no secret of his ambition to replace the brothers as their father’s son through adoption and it had caused great bitterness. Adonibaal had always thought it unlikely that Janus would be given an inheritance but the man’s confession that he’d been given the house had stunned him. How could 175 years of Patrician tradition just be handed to a man of no rank or achievement? Had
his father truly gone mad? He had frowned, suddenly unsure of himself. But if Janus had been left the house in his father’s will, then for what had his brother betrayed him?
During the evening of the second night the mood in the apartment building had suddenly changed. A special party was being planned and Adonibaal had been told that he was going to take part in it. He had no idea what they were talking about. He was told to wash and had been giving an old soldiers tunic, complete with a wooden sword and a pot of perfume. The perfume baffled him but he did as he was told.
***
The woman would just not stop talking. The two of them sat on the ground with their backs against the wall, resting. He’d fucked her twice, once with her on top and once from behind and she had screamed every time she had come but now she just wanted to talk. All around them the orgy continued but Adonibaal was not looking at the writhing, moaning mass of bodies. He was staring at the opposite wall thinking of how he could get away from this woman. Her name was Marcella and her husband was a tax collector, away on business in Corsica. She was plain looking, in her late thirties but he’d got the impression that she was rather a lonely, sad character who was really just looking for someone to talk to. Yet every time he’d tried to leave she had pulled him back and made him stay. He’d noticed that she had no interest in any of the other males or women in the hall. Her words droned on and on and he closed his eyes. Then suddenly his ears pricked up. “What did you say?” he blurted out opening his eyes.
“I was saying,” she repeated, “That there is a tunnel that leads from the sewers to the house. Pay attention soldier when I am talking to you,” she chided him. “Now the tunnel leads to a room which the owners of the house had specially built for our Bacchanalian rites. I went there once for such a party. The owners made us leave through the tunnel and I got home stinking of shit.” She laughed in a high pitched annoying voice. “Still better that way than if we had entered through the sewers. It wouldn’t have been much of a party then would it.”
The Shield of Rome Page 19