by Nhys Glover
When we moved across into the senior barracks we were assigned smaller cells rather than sharing the one long dormitory. Four of us packed into the tiny, airless room that was barely big enough to lay four pallets—with small trunks at one end—against each wall. But for the four lads we’d been back then it had been the Elysian Plain. We got to be alone for the first time in five years. If, that is, you excluded the weekly fireside gatherings we stole for ourselves during the warmer months.
It was at that fireside we first met Accalia. Back then we’d thought her a slave girl, the handmaiden to the Little Mistress. We hadn’t known she was the Little Mistress, ‘though we should have guessed. No slave girl had the freedom she did. I still shudder whenever I think about how wrong we were about her back then.
Yet, in one sense, we’d been right. Accalia, or whatever name she went by, was part of us. Part of the Wolf Pack. We had known it almost from the first moment Typhon dragged her into our campsite, and it had never changed.
Oh, there had been a brief time when we went our separate ways, after we first found out who she really was. Back then we’d tried to tear her from our hearts. For her good, as much as our own. We faced death for what we did with her and she faced dishonour. But a week of her being gone from our lives had us giving in. We could no more cast her out than we could cast any of us from the pack.
And for more than five years we’d enjoyed our stolen friendship. But for six months of every one of those years we didn’t see her. And though we never had much time for dwelling on her absence, we all felt it as we would a missing limb.
That’s why when we turned fifteen and were allowed Whore Privileges we made use of them only during the months of her absence.
It’s hard to explain or even work out the thinking behind it. Sex became a driving need from the moment we hit manhood at about thirteen. At first it was enough to just satisfy ourselves. From the sounds in the darkness I know I wasn’t the only one doing it at least once a night back then.
At fifteen, we were considered old enough to lose our virginity. We received a small stipend for just this purpose and the Wolf Pack quickly realised that we could get more for our money by paying for a shared experience rather than four separate sessions.
It happened by accident at first. We had to lie in the dark listening to whoever was fucking the whore. As we were all a bit embarrassed by our lack of skill, the darkness was useful. Then someone got the bright idea to leave a lamp burning, and curious eyes quickly turned to watch whoever was being pleasured. And we discovered that watching was arousing. So we took to watching as each of us took our pleasure, and we learned from each other about the different ways we could meet our needs.
The whores were all farm-labourers who chose to make a little extra money by selling themselves. They were never worried about their own pleasure. We weren’t either at first. But then I started wondering whether a woman did get pleasure from the act. So I asked. I got told in a matter-of-fact way that there were things the whores enjoyed, but they did them to themselves because men didn’t really care about their pleasure.
In the back of my mind, I know I was thinking about Accalia when I asked my questions. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew she was off-limits, for so many reasons. But my body didn’t see it that way, and so my mind would sometimes stray to thoughts about what she might enjoy.
The others seemed as fascinated as I was with the answers we got. That’s when we decided to see if we could give as good as we got. At first the girls worried we wouldn’t pay them, but when they realised we would, and that they could enjoy it too...
It worked in our favour, in the end. The girls started competing with each other, by reducing their prices and staying longer. All we had to do was promise never to share with the other lads the fact we got special rates. As jealousy had always been an issue with our classmates—we were the best and they hated us for it—it was no hardship to keep our special arrangements to ourselves. It would only have made the jealousy worse.
Then we stopped watching and started joining in. Like everything we did in life, we did it together. When we started preferring the small, dark-haired girl that looked a little like Accalia, I don’t know. It wasn’t that she was any better than the others. But if I closed my eyes or didn’t look directly at her face, I could imagine I was with Accalia. We were with Accalia.
Were the others imagining the whore was Accalia too? I don’t know. But I hoped not. It was hard enough knowing how Typhon felt about her. The thought that the others might be a little in love with our pack-mate, too, made it even harder to imagine claiming her as my own. Even if she wasn’t who she was, how could I make a play for someone my brother cared for? It would create a division between us that couldn’t be repaired.
But now, with the promise of Accalia coming back into our lives after the six-month dry spell, my need for sex was insatiable. Yet once she was in my life again I knew I wouldn’t want to be with the whore. And neither would the others.
Again, if I had to explain why I lost interest, I wouldn’t really have an answer. It felt like being unfaithful, I suppose. When Accalia was back by our fire or in the barracks going about her tasks—exchanging smiles with me, sharing jokes—it felt wrong to then take pleasure with someone else. I knew that if she found out it would hurt her, though she would accept it. After all, we were just pack-mates, just friends. There could never be anything else between us.
Soon it wouldn’t matter. Soon we’d complete our final initiation and go south to Rome to become gladiators. When we did, we would likely never see Accalia again. And, if what she had told us during her infrequent visits over the winter months was true, then she would be married off soon as well. It seemed the new mistress was determined to be rid of Accalia.
The idea of her married to another man turned my blood to molten lava. If I ever had to fight harder and more fiercely on the training field, all I had to do was imagine Accalia with some patrician. My Accalia!
The day the Master left we had a standing arrangement to meet beside our fire that night. It usually helped Accalia deal with her loss. But it was also a celebration for us, because we were getting her back into our lives. I know we all missed her. I know, for me, it went far beyond just missing her.
How I was going to keep my longing under control around her, I didn’t know. It was like my brain had no room for anything but thoughts of her. Naked in our room, naked on my bed. She was not as curvy and lush as many of the whores, but she had developed a womanly form in the last few years. And though she strapped down her breasts when she played the role of Cassius, she dressed as a girl when she came to our campfire. Albeit a short-haired girl.
How the other lads in the barracks didn’t see it, I don’t know. She might not have breasts on display, but her legs were, and they were shapely and long, for all she was a short girl. No, that was not right. She wasn’t so much short as we were tall. Many of the women we came in contact with were her height.
So our Accalia had long, luscious legs that were on display right up to her thighs and a heart-shaped arse that her tunic didn’t fully disguise. But I only properly got to see the outline of that beautiful backside when she wore gowns to our campfire. It was made for my hands, just as her breasts seemed just the right size for my palms.
Giving my head a shake to clear it, I focused on training. If I didn’t keep my mind on the contest I would suffer. And though Accalia might deal with the wound, it was a painful and embarrassing way to get her attention.
Few people could best us. Accalia had once told us that the Master considered us the best of the best, his finest accomplishment. And we had lived up to the promise we’d shown right from the first day. Now we were about to go out into the world and fight. Maybe to the death. And the idea thrilled me.
If I wasn’t thinking of Accalia when I dropped off to sleep at night, I was imagining being in the arena with the crowds screaming my name. I would fight before Nero himself and receive a garland for my impre
ssive victory. I might even be gifted my freedom, although that rarely happened to slaves owned by another. Nero might free his own slave gladiators, but it was harder to grant that honour to another man’s slaves. Though it had been done.
How would I feel about being freed? If it would mean I could be with Accalia, I might jump at the chance. But a freedman had as much chance of claiming a patrician’s daughter as a slave did. And what would I do with freedom? Rent myself out as a bodyguard? How would that be different from being a slave? My Master would rent our services out when we weren’t fighting, and we could look forward to a life as a bodyguard after retirement from the arena. No, my life would not change if I were free. This was my fate. This was what I had been born for.
My father had been a Dacian warrior captured when his tribe invaded Roman territory. My mother was one of the second-generation breeders. I wasn’t sure what her parents were like, but she was tall and big-boned, with dark-olive skin and black, curly hair, all of which I’d inherited. Although my skin would have been lighter than hers if I didn’t spend every daylight hour in the sun. I was what I was bred to be.
Once the Master came to say his farewells, we spent the rest of our time training. The days in the classroom were now long gone, and though I’d fretted being contained for even the short time our tutors had us back then, now I missed those lessons. I was no scholar. If any of us could’ve claimed that title it would have been Orion. But I loved to escape using what my mind provided. When I was learning about the gods, or even about Roman law and history, I could be somewhere else for a while.
I let my sexual tension drive my practise most of the day. In the last session I fought Talos, who was every bit as tall and muscled as I was. But while I wore the armour and carried the weapons of a thraex, he was kitted out as a murmillo, who was the usual opponent of the thraex.
What separated us from the gladiator ludii proper, other than our ages, was that we were trained in all the different styles of fighting so that we could naturally find the one that suited us best. When we entered the Imperial ludus we would specialize in one form over the others. The audience would come to expect to see us fight in a very specific and stylized way.
I already had my favourite, a secutor, which was a fairly new style of fighting. But I appreciated the training in the different varieties, as it saved it from getting dull because we used different muscles sets and developed skills with other weapons.
By the time the senior barracks had settled down for the night, we were ready to go out for our meeting with Accalia. I could barely stand to wait for the silence to become complete.
One of the good things about the barracks was that the lads tended to go to sleep as soon as their heads hit the pallet. Their days were so long and so gruelling that sleep was the only way to get relief from it. That we took time away from our sleep for our weekly gatherings was a sign of how important meeting up with Accalia had become. The novelty of the campfire would have worn off years ago if we hadn’t had Accalia to share it with. And her food, of course. The food never lost its appeal.
Our diet was that of a gladiator, heavy on barley and grains and light on meat. It gave us the bulk we needed so that if a sword got past our armour the muscle would protect our vital organs. Of course, muscle also gave us strength, which was also a valuable trait, although not necessary for all of the fighting styles. For instance, the retarius had little armour and just a net and a trident. He used agility and speed to overcome his opponent. It was the style of fighting Typhon excelled at.
Finally, the barracks had fallen as still as we required. We made our way silently along the corridor with the full moon in the training field as our only light. Our feet were bare and would stay so until we were out of the building. There were guards that patrolled the corridors at night, of course, but we were always careful to avoid them. Over the years, we’d developed a sixth sense about their locations and movements.
One of the many skills we had learned was lock-picking. I sometimes wondered why this skill was included in a program for slaves who could—and likely would—be locked up during their time as gladiators. I think it was meant to help us on our final initiation. When we were dropped off at the edge of the empire we might find ourselves imprisoned as escaped slaves. With lock-picking skills we had a chance of escaping and getting home.
I also think the Master felt that if we knew we had the choice to escape, then we were less likely to chafe under the strictures of slavery. But that was just my thought on the matter. It might be wrong.
We waited patiently while Orion worked the lock. We took turns doing it to keep our skills sharp. Once the outer door was unlocked, we closed it quietly behind us and ran across the dusty clearing to the tree-line. Once in the shadows there, we breathed for the first time and put on our sandals. It was still very cold, for all it was spring, but we barely felt it. Our sandals were to make sure our feet weren’t cut as we climbed up the hill to our spot, not to keep us warm.
On the way, we gathered firewood and checked our snares. It all came as second nature to us now. We set more snares these days because we had bigger appetites. And we shared our catch with Accalia. So, when we had a rabbit each by the time we reached the clearing, we were all content, though the poor creatures were not much more than skin and bones after a long winter.
By the time we had the fire going and the rabbits skinned, gutted and two of them spitted over the flames, Accalia arrived.
The first sight of her in woman’s clothes after six months had my heart aching and my cock hard in an instant. Even in the firelight I could see how full her breasts were, and how they strained against the fabric of her gown. I wanted her with a hunger I could barely comprehend. And when I glanced away, I caught sight of similar expressions on my pack-mates’ faces. Longing, desire and pain.
But those expressions were gone fast enough, and we were soon sitting beside the fire joking about a poor lad who had yet to get his co-ordination and spent more time on his butt than on his feet. We called him stumble-foot, and we laughed a lot at his expense.
Accalia’s face was alive with pleasure as she listened and laughed along with us. It was like she was free again after being locked in a dark cell for months. It was stupid to imagine it that way, when I knew the villa was as far from a dark cell as a person could get. But still the feeling remained.
“Are you all right about your Pater being gone?” I asked her when the laughter had quietened.
She looked at me with troubled eyes. “I will barely notice the difference. I have hardly seen him. At least it made it possible to get out and help Ariaratus a little. But I think I will have less freedom now with Camellia in charge. The woman loves to be in control.”
“Like Lucullus,” Typhon growled out, his face closed. He rarely spoke of the mad gladiator who had almost killed him twice. I know he had terrible nightmares for almost a year after he killed the bastard.
Accalia seemed shocked that Typhon should bring him up after all this time. Her expression told me that she was desperate to probe further but was afraid to disturb Typhon’s peace.
“No... Not as bad as that,” she finally said sadly, all animation gone from her sweet face. “And if I stay out of her and her daughters’ way it is not all that bad. I just worry that she will use this time to marry me off without Pater’s approval. Of course, she could not do that, as the paterfamilias has the final say in matters such as marriage. But... Oh, I do not know. She has Pater wrapped around her little finger. I hardly know him anymore.”
I had no idea what to say in response to that. How to comfort her and make it right. Before I could think to do or say anything, Typhon reached across the small distance between them and put his arm around her shoulder.
As I watched in disappointment, Accalia snuggled in to his shoulder, as if she belonged there.
Typhon was not my brother by blood. My mother was wet-nurse to him when his mother died in childbirth. We had fed together from the same breasts as ba
bes, which may explain why we feel as close as twins, although we look nothing alike.
My foster brother was half oriental, half Alan. He got his father’s giant size and his mother’s looks, although he was still half a hand shorter than me. His blue-black hair was as straight as mine was curly. And where I was known to be easy-going, he was famous for his volatile moods and thin skin. Two sides of the same coin people said of us and they were right.
His sensitivity turns up at the oddest moments, like now. He sensed Accalia’s loneliness and jumped in to give her what she needed. Even though it was dangerous. But even Orion was keeping quiet about his risky behaviour because he also cared about Accalia’s feelings.
“You have to use some of the spine you display as Cassius when you’re with your new mother. Remember, you never let anything stand in the way of what you want,” Orion told her sagely, his blue eyes soft.
“It is different being Cassius. I am more confident of my place when I am him. And I am knowledgeable and respected. Because of Camellia and her spiteful daughters, I no longer have a place, and I am not knowledgeable in the things that matter to a patrician. I do not deserve respect. Maybe I have spent too much time becoming someone I can never truly be.”
She sighed heavily and drew away from Typhon. Their gazes meshed for a moment, and I envied my brother that shared look. Spending weeks abed with a dagger wound had given Typhon a better chance to know Accalia than the rest of us had had. And in rare moments like this that intimacy showed itself. I didn’t want to hate my brother, but it was hard when he had something I so desperately wanted.
“You have the list of destinations your father will be travelling to this year?” Talos asked.
She nodded and tried to hide the fact she was brushing away tears.
“Then write to him as you always do and tell him every terrible thing she does to you. Don’t hide the truth from him. How can he hope to support you if he doesn’t know what’s happening here? He’s your father and he loves you. He’ll always want to protect you.”