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Part five.
Their long holiday came to an end together with Marcus' father's proconsulship. The young tribune was dispatched to reopen the family house in the city and villa at the coast near Ostia, making ready for the senator's return. His father expected him to settle down, set up his own household, take the seat in the Senate to which his rank entitled him, and of course, do his duty as a Patrician and marry a girl from his own class.
Marcus had other plans, didn't want to leave Britannia and expected to go back there as soon as possible, but saw no reason to quarrel until both of them were back in Rome.
He took only his four most trusted slaves with him on the journey.
First to Londinium, where his father's anxiety about his future was revived when he met Gro again.
Even if she was carefully submissive, modestly dressed and barefoot, she couldn't hide neither her beauty, nor what she had grown into.
And the proconsul was as alarmed as the black girl was relieved, when Marcus declined his offer of spending a night with Zosia. But, like his son, he postponed the very serious discussions they were bound to have, until they were back in Rome.
The journey down the rivers of Gallia went smoothly and in less than three weeks they reached Massilia, where Drusus now resided as proconsul. The two old friends fell into each other's arms and Marcus introduced his travelling companions.
The Emperor's son looked approvingly at the two hardened warriors and their younger apprentice, but frowned when he saw the gleam in his friend's eyes every time they settled on the beautiful slavegirl. And he was alarmed when Marcus insisted on keeping her in his room, instead of sending her to the slave-quarters at night.
Even an offer of Drusus' current favourites, a strikingly handsome pair of Illyrian twins, brother and sister and just turned fourteen, was politely declined.
The blonde beauty of course didn't dine with them, but it was clear that her master missed her company and on their last evening together before he set sail for Rome, Drusus decided to warn him.
"You are becoming too close to that slavegirl, Marcus, much too close for comfort".
His friend looked away without answering.
"You'll end up hurting yourself, if not careful. Your future wife will of course tolerate a romp with a slavegirl, that's only what she'll expect, but not a rival, and you won't be able to hide that this girl indeed is that".
"I'll install her at a villa of her own", Marcus mumbled.
"And only make it worse. You can't hide a mistress from a wife, at least not for long. She's bound to find out, or be told by some jealous friend and what then?"
"Nothing. I'm master of my own house!"
"And if your wife has the girl disposed of?"
"She can't!"
"She can. The girl will be her slave just as much as she's yours, and owners can deal with their property as they see fit".
"Then I'll never marry!"
"You have to, it's the law. As a senator you'll have to produce a legal heir".
"Then I won't take my seat".
"Don't be silly! Your fortune will be confiscated and you'll be banned to the provinces".
"Just what I want. I'll go to Britannia".
"Perhaps, but without money, and, my friend, without the girl. She'll be confiscated with the rest".
They argued on, but Marcus stubbornly refused even to think of abandoning his beloved.
"I'll find a way. I'm not married yet, and I can find a wife who'll accept Gro".
At length Drusus had to give up the argument, but he was saddened by his friend's stubbornness and feared that he might drop back into another deep depression, if he didn't get his way.
A nasty surprise was waiting for them when the small party finally arrived at Misenium on board a swift galley. The commander of the fleet had Marcus called as soon as he learned about his arrival.
The young man was sad to learn that the Emperor had died two days ago, and horrified when told that his younger son, Publius, in the absence of his half-brother, had usurped the throne, helped by the Praetorian Guard, the only troops allowed within the walls of Rome.
"But that's a catastrophe! He's not fit to rule!"
The commander agreed with him: "But what can I do? I have no troops".
"Drusus has and you have the ships to bring them here within a few days, by then it's not too late".
The commander, an old friend of his father and the deceased Emperor thought it over and decided to act at once, before the guard arrived to secure the ships. Within an hour every single galley and even three large transport ships, recently arrived from Egypt with grain, were ready to leave.
Marcus was at odds about what to do with his slaves. He didn't want to expose Gro to a new journey, especially not the way back on board a ship loaded to the brim with legionnaires.
"Armin, you remember the villa at Ostia from when we were down here last?", he asked, and the German nodded yes.
"Bring them there. She'll be safe enough in your care".
He embraced and kissed her deeply before boarding the swiftest galley and Armin commandeered three horses.
Everything seemed quiet when they arrived at the villa early in the morning, but as soon as they'd dismounted, they were surrounded by heavily armed Praetorians.
Publius had ordered the property of those of his father's old friends, he suspected might turn against him, confiscated.
The soldiers grabbed the weary travellers and proceeded to tie their hands behind their backs. Armin weighed up the odds and found them too heavily against them, nodded to Thor and wrestled free, knocking down a couple of soldiers.
"We'll come for you", he shouted to the youngsters before disappearing into a nearby piece of woodland with his fellow.
The decurion commanding the patrol shrugged his shoulders: "Then they'll have to move swiftly. These two are perfect for tomorrow's show. Let's take them to the circus".
Before Gro and Arn knew what was happening, they'd been thrown across a horseback in front of the rider, had their ankles tied and were off to an unknown destination.
Exhausted and in shock as they were, the captives hardly sensed their surroundings on the long ride between seaport and city or when the troop was admitted through the Ostia gate and galloped through the unusually empty streets, where soldiers seemed to be guarding every street corner. Few citizens dared venture out so soon after Publius' coup d'etat.
Only when they reached an incredibly high building did they wake up, but only to have their ankles freed and be dragged through a gate and thrown into a dark cell.
"What will become of us?", Gro whispered when they'd been left alone to sit down on some filthy straw, hands still tied behind their backs.
"I don't know", Arn mumbled.
"I think I do".
He looked at her, trying to read her face.
"You heard him, this is the circus. Marcus has told me about it, not much, but enough. They make men fight against each other, to death, to entertain the public. And", her voice broke, "And they throw prisoners to the wild beasts".
"They may not do that to us".
"Why bring us here then?"
"I don't know", Arn shrugged his shoulders helplessly, "Perhaps the Sun God is finally claiming what is His".
"Perhaps".
Gro snuggled closer to him.
"But at least they didn't catch Armin and Thor, or Marcus"
"No, and it'll soon be over".
They fell asleep and only woke when the door banged open and a couple of men entered to untie their hands. They were told to strip and left alone again with a jug of water and some stale bread.
After a time, the sound of many voices reached their ears and shortly after they heard wild shouting and cheering from what seemed like thousands of people.
The Coliseum was filled to the brim with thirty thousand spectators.
Publius had chosen the well-established way of pacifying the citizens of Rome: Offering them bread and circus.
The morning's show was a series of gladiator fights, very popular and exciting, but everybody was impatiently looking forward to the main event.
At noon, slaves dealt out lunch baskets and bottles of wine and the new Emperor took his seat in the central box, surrounded by his henchmen, the commanders of the Praetorian Guard among them.
The short, plump young man in the purple brimmed toga let his small, evil eyes roam the cheering audience, looking for signs of hostility towards his regime. Finding none, he raised his hand to let the afternoon's entertainment begin.
From the top tiers of the opposite site of the grand building two Praetorians were keenly watching what took place in the arena.
The men returned to drag Gro and Arn from the dark cell into the arena's blinding light.
They blinked and gasped. Never had they seen a building as large as this and never so many people assembled at one place.
They put up no resistance when brought to one end of the grand arena and told to stay where they were. Their handlers stepped back and a bottomless iron cage was lowered, trapping them on the spot.
Bewildered, they watched as another couple of naked youngsters, apparently sister and brother too, but jet-black, were similarly imprisoned ten yards away, and then a third couple, who looked Roman, were placed in yet another cage.
Arn embraced his trembling sister, pressing her face to his chest, and looked bewildered around to try guessing what was the purpose of this.
They were caged in the shadow of a low wall surrounding the arena, close to the Emperor's box, and he was surprised when a ray of light suddenly blinded him.
Was that a sign from the Sun God?
He looked up, but couldn't see His face and was then blinded again. Someone was doing this deliberately and he looked up and down the tiers of spectators, until a spot of light suddenly marked the sand just in front of their cage.
He looked up to see a soldier on the upper gallery using his sword like a mirror. He was in full armour and the helmet hid most of his face, but something about him seemed familiar, perhaps his unusual height.
Arn couldn't decide what it was, until another, even taller soldier, joined the first.
It was Armin and Thor!
He breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe and had apparently been able to steal uniforms and sneak in here. He was about to tell his sister, but stopped himself. What could two men do against so many thousands? Yet it was somehow comforting to know that they were close.
Something else caught his attention: A detail of slaves was hauling stacks of timber into the arena.
He instinctively knew for what they were preparing: Crucifixions!
He'd never seen one, but the Germans had told about such cruel executions.
Arn pressed his sister's face even tighter to his chest, whispering: "Stay like that and keep your eyes closed".
He covered her ears with the palms of his hands.
The slaves worked quickly and efficiently. Ten crosses were soon assembled and ready on the ground to one side, while on the other, ten stakes had been placed upright, their sharpened ends pointing to the sky. The slaves left and the audience cheered wildly when handlers dragged in twenty naked youths, ten boys and ten girls, all of them strikingly beautiful.
In the imperial box one of the aides sighed. Such a waste of prime slaves, but the public loved a show like this, and, what was more important, so did the new Emperor, whose eyes were gleaming sadistically, the tip of his tongue wetting his thick lips.
The handlers took their time, stretching the crying and screaming, terrified slaves on the crosses one by one, driving large nails slowly through their wrists and heels and then raising the swaying crosses, encouraged by cheering from the enthusiastic onlookers. At last the ten evil instruments of torture were firmly planted in holes in the ground, throwing ominous shadows on the sand. The victims were already writhing and gasping for breath. Two of them had been nailed head down and another attracted special attention because of her protruding belly, swollen in the last stages of pregnancy.
The handlers turned to the next batch of condemned slaves, whose only crime was to be the property of Publius' real or imaginary enemies. They were hogtied, elbows touching, with thin wire, cutting so deeply into their skin that it drew blood. One by one they were grabbed by two handlers, held upright over a pole with their cunts or arseholes lined up to the points and then pressed down until two feet of the pole were firmly embedded in their entrails.
The arena was cleared, leaving the audience to enjoy the sights and sounds of twenty screaming and writhing naked bodies, slowly impaling themselves or suffocating on the crosses. Eager eyes studied every movement and people were pointing out their favourites to each other, offering bets about which of the victims would die first, last longest or when the first tip of a pole would emerge from the mouth of one of the impaled.
The pregnant girl attracted special attention. She was hanging limply, but ripples in her swollen belly revealed that the child was kicking and people were betting if she might be giving birth before giving up her life.
Arn looked on in horror, still trying to shield his sister from the terrors, but could feel her trembling in his arms.
An hour went by and the audience became restless, bored by the lack of action down in the arena. All of the victims were slumped lifeless on their crosses and poles, moving feebly or moaning once in a while to show that none of them had died yet.
The Emperor sensed the mood and raised his hand to let the next part of the entertainment begin.
At the far end, a grille was hauled up, creaking ominously, and a moment later three huge yellow cats crept through the opening on their bellies. The audience roared and the cats roared defiantly back, stopping just inside the gate and raising their great heads, sniffing suspiciously.
The largest of them, with a thick black mane around his neck, apparently caught the smell of blood and lumbered forward towards the bleeding slaves. He reached the first of the poles, which a young man was desperately trying to prevent sliding further up his entrails by pressing his bare feet against it. With little success, slippery as it was with his blood.
The lion stopped, sniffed at the blood and lapped up some of it, spotted a blood-soaked foot and closed his giant jaws around it, hauling. The young man screamed shrilly when the pole slid through his belly, narrowly missed his heart and entered his windpipe. The lion growled and hauled again and the spectators cheered when the top of the pole burst from his mouth, knocking out his front teeth.
That alerted the two lionesses to join the feast. The first of them headed for another boy, crucified upside down. She didn't even stop to sniff at the blood, just closed her mouth around his head, biting down, and seconds later almost playfully threw it high in the air like a ball, while blood gushed out of the headless corpse.
The audience drowned the roars and snarls of the lions with its own excited shouts, but fell silent when the other lioness ran past her sister to stop in front of the pregnant girl.
She sat back on her haunches, licked up a bloodstained leg and raised a big paw to bury her sharp claws in the thigh. The tormented girl woke of her stupor and screamed, which made the lioness look up at her, snarling, and rise on her hind legs.
The onlookers held their breath out of fear of distracting her and were rewarded when mighty claws ripped open the swollen stomach.
The last the young mother saw in this world was her full-born baby between the jaws of her killer.
Arn sank to his knees, still clutching and protecting his sister, and closed his eyes, but wished he could cover his own ears to cut off the horrible noise when the lions went wild, maiming and killing the helpless victims, accompanied by encouraging shouts and cheers from the spectators. Bellies were ripped open, thighs slashed, feet bit off, and whole bodies reduced to bloody pulp when they slid down the poles.
One of the lionesses developed a fancy for male genitals and ran from one to the next of the male victims, gnawing away.
Arn sensed some of the animals sniffing around his cage, but kept his eyes firmly closed.
It took two hours before the lions had exhausted their frenzy and sank down, chewing on a torn limb.
Most of the arena was splattered with blood and barely recognisable human remains scattered everywhere.
Even the audience's thirst for blood had momentarily been satisfied, so the slaves, who were passing around wine and sweet cakes, were eagerly welcomed.
Down below, experienced handlers drove the lions back to their cage with long whips and burning torches, before slaves milled in to remove the grisly remains, the poles and crosses, and rake the sand smooth, wiping out all traces of what had just happened.
Revived by their afternoon snacks, the spectators once again turned their attention to the arena, eagerly awaiting the last of today's shows.
Arn and Gro had all but dozed off, but were prodded awake by a handler's spear.
"Get up, it's your turn!", he sneered and went to the other cages, whose occupants too were clinging desperately to each other.
When the six youngsters were on their feet, he handed the dark haired boy in the cage furthest from Arn's something. It looked like a knife, but surely couldn't be.
The handler retreated behind an iron grille and the Emperor raised his hand for the third time.
Another gate was opened and in strode a creature the like of which Arn had never seen, but heard of from some of the hunters of his tribe. A brown bear!
The dark haired girl's scream of terror proved that she had recognised the monster, fairly common in the mountain range to the north of Iberia, from where she and her brother came.
The bear dropped to all fours and ambled closer to the cages.
Just then there was a creaking sound and the cage imprisoning the Iberian siblings rose, leaving them exposed. The girl screamed again and some of the spectators called to the boy to defend his sister, but he just stared for a moment at the approaching mountain of death, dropped what he had in his hand and hugged his sister close.
Arn now saw that it indeed was a knife.
The beast closed on the trembling couple, sniffed at them, rose on his hind legs and almost lazily smashed their heads together between his huge paws, cracking their skulls and killing them instantly. He dropped down again, sniffed at the entwined bodies and lumbered back towards his cage, followed by booing from the disappointed audience.
Slaves removed the first pair of dead siblings and the handler passed the knife to the black boy.
He accepted it, snarling something, and pushed his sister behind his back.
The handler left for safety and a sleek black cat jumped from another gate, just as the second cage was hauled up and away.
The black boy bared his teeth, took a couple of steps forward and crouched, knife ready, waiting for the panther.
Once again the audience held its breath, eagerly watching the animal creep forward on its belly until it stopped a few yards in front of the boy, drew up its hind legs in preparation, and jumped with a roar. The boy answered with a war cry and sprang up to meet his opponent, burying the knife to the hilt in its chest. The panther roared again, staggered and fell forward, bringing down its prey. Spasms racked the great body, but with its dying breath the beast managed to close its teeth around the boy's throat, ripping it open.
The onlookers were jumping up and down, wildly excited, while the girl knelt beside her dead brother, trying to push his killer away. She retrieved the bloody knife, rose to scream her defiance at the jeering spectators and with a quick turn of her wrist stabbed the sharp weapon into her chest, penetrating the heart.
The last pair of siblings had been looking on, wide-eyed. When it was over, Gro turned to her brother. "Do the same to me, before whatever they send in gets to us".
He nodded, "I will", but looked up to find the two Germans. Only Armin was still at the upper gallery and he was brandishing a long stick, apparently trying to catch Arn's attention.
The boy looked bewildered at him for a moment, then smiled broadly to himself. ‘So that's what they have in mind, perhaps there's still a chance', he thought, but dared not raise his sister's hopes. His eyes roamed the audience and soon found Thor's huge frame right above the gate from which the handler now emerged, looking very angry and disappointed.
He snatched the knife from the dead girl's chest, kicking the inert body contemptuously before slaves dragged it away together with her brother's and the animal carcass.
"Now show some courage, slave!", he sneered, handing over the dripping knife.
Arn just stared angrily at him and he went back behind his gate, while the boy glanced briefly at Thor, who nodded to him, showing a glimpse of the battle axe he kept hidden behind his shield.
For the fourth time a grille was opened and out trotted an animal, all too familiar to the Nordic siblings: A giant white wolf!
Their cage disappeared and Gro turned to her brother: "Kill me!", but he shook his head and pushed her behind him.
"You promised!", she cried, trembling in fear to see the frightening beast trotting towards them.
Before he could answer, something swished through the air, slamming into the wolf's flank. It stumbled, snarling, and toppled over, pinned to the ground by the next long arrow.
The audience gave voice to their rage when they for the third time were deprived of the bloody show they craved. Even the Emperor was screaming, jumping up and down and waving his stubby arms.
"Run!" Thor had jumped into the arena to tear out the grille, behind which the handlers were hiding, with one mighty heave of his shovel of a hand.
"Follow me!"
He disappeared inside, battle-axe raised, and Arn pushed his sister towards the opening.
He was about to follow when an arrow swished by, barely missing his shoulder, and turned towards the Imperial box to see the furious Publius pointing at him, urging an archer to shoot again.
Without stopping to think, Arn grabbed the point of the knife between his fingers, took aim and threw as he had never thrown before, then ducked to avoid the next arrow.
Armin had been about to run down the steps leading to an exit when he saw his young fellow's daring act of defiance. Hardly trusting his own eyes, he followed the knife's flight and saw it bury itself in the Emperor's fat throat, exactly where his Adam's apple would be.
The plump figure in the purple brimmed toga collapsed like a rag doll and his entourage stood frozen to the spot, staring horrified at the dying body of the man they had helped usurping the throne.
That was too much of a temptation for the German master archer. He grabbed an arrow and raised the longbow.
Fractions of a second later, the commander of the Praetorian Guard dropped dead, still clutching the arrow that had felled him. The next was already on its way to bury itself in the chest of his second-in-command, quickly followed by a third, aimed at the dead Emperor's closest friend and advisor.
There were ten arrows in his quiver and all of them found their targets, the last the broad back of Publius' fat steward, who was trying to flee the deadly hail, screaming for help. With a grim smile, Armin slung the bow over his shoulder, drew his sword and jumped down the stairs, but none of the panic-stricken people milling around tried to stop him.
His fellow and the freed captives were waiting for him with the horses Thor and he had stolen from the two guardsmen left at the senator's villa when the rest of the troop rode away with Gro and Arn.
The men didn't stand a chance against the two hardened warriors, who donned their armour and rode hard for the Ostia gate. They'd heard the decurion's words and guessed what was awaiting the siblings left in their care by their beloved master. There was never a shadow of doubt in their minds about what they had to do, or die in the attempt.
The four of them beat a hasty retreat from the circus, but stopped in a deserted alley close to the city gate. "I'm sorry, but we have to make you look like slaves", Armin apologised when tying the wrists of the two naked youngsters in front of them.
"Sure, just get us away", Arn confirmed, looking anxiously at his sister, who seemed completely oblivious of what was happening.
"Can you manage?", Thor asked, while draping a ragged cloth around her loins to hide at least her pubes. She stared at him with large eyes.
"We escaped?", she whispered, "I thought I was dead already".
"Not a chance. The Tribune would never forgive us", the giant joked and gave her a hug.
The two Germans were prepared to fight their way out if necessary, but the vigiles guarding the Ostia gate hardly glanced at the two Praetorians, who apparently were bringing two runaways back to their master, stumbling at the end of a rope, bound and barefoot, and looking very scared.
Once out of sight, they were untied and hauled up behind their protectors, who kicked the horses into a fast trot. They skirted the seaport and headed for a small fishing village on the coast near Marcus' father's villa.
Armin had been there several times, while staying at the villa when he and his fellow had accompanied their master on a trip to Rome the previous year, and made friends with a son of one of the fishermen.
They let the horses loose on the far side of the coastal pine forest and the two Germans stripped off their armour and hid it before going the last mile on foot, with the exhausted Gro resting in Thor's arms. The three of them stayed at the edge of the forest while Armin went in search of his friend. After an hour's anxious waiting he returned with tunics for the naked youngsters.
"Gajus is confident that he can set a course for Massilia, even in the dark".
"Let's do it", Thor agreed, "We have to get away before they come searching for us".
They stole through the dunes and waded through shallow water to reach a sleek sailboat a wiry young man had ready just off the beach. He steered towards the sinking sun, while his passengers satisfied their hunger and thirst with the provisions he had brought, and later through the night under the glittering stars, while Gro and Arn slept, huddled together for warmth.
The morning found them riding the waves of an empty sea, but Gajus assured them that they were less than a day's sailing from Massilia. Gro had regained some of her strength, but still had a haunted look in her eyes and Arn had grown apprehensive, realising the enormity of what he had done. A slave killing a freeman! A crime for which only one punishment was imaginable: Death by heavy torture! He dared not say anything to the others out of fear of frightening his sister, but his heart grew heavier and heavier for each mile they came closer to their destination, where not only his master, but the brother of the man he had killed were waiting. Yet Armin and Thor seemed quite unperturbed, even if they had committed the same crime, so perhaps there was hope.
In the event they never reached Massilia. Around noon Gajus rose to stare intensely at the horizon, shading his eyes.
"What is it?", Armin anxiously asked.
"Ships, several of them. It seems to be a whole fleet".
"Can you climb the mast, Arn?", Armin asked.
"I can try".
The boy managed to get halfway up.
"Yes, it is ships, some of them very large. The foremost is a trireme and I think it flies a purple standard". "Great! That must be the Emperor, the rightful Emperor, that is. Our tribune is bound to be on board. Steer for it, Gajus".
Armin and Thor seemed happy, but Arn's mood darkened even further at the prospect of meeting those two at a place where there was no chance of avoiding his fate. He had contemplated running away as soon as they reached port, certain that Marcus would take care of his sister, but that was out of the question now. Even Gro's eyes lit up when she understood that she soon might be reunited with her beloved master.
"So you killed my brother?" Drusus looked searchingly at the slaveboy, who knelt in front of him, fighting hard not to show his fear.
"Yes, Lord".
"You threw a knife at him?"
"Yes, Lord".
"Show me".
The soon-to-be Emperor drew his own dagger and handed it to Arn.
"Hit that spot on the mast".
The boy stared from him to the razor-sharp knife, hardly believing what he saw or heard. This all-powerful man didn't seem angry about what he had done! He weighed the weapon, held it by the tip, rose and in one fluent motion let it fly through the air to bury itself in the wood with an audible thump, exactly in the middle of a black circle.
"Incredible! Where did you learn that?"
"Armin taught me, Lord", Arn answered, eyes humbly lowered.
"So you could do the same?"
Drusus turned to the blond giant, who had related the events of the previous day in Rome. Without answering, Armin drew his own knife and before anyone had time to blink, it was buried beside the first. Shaking his head in wonder Drusus looked at his friend.
"Some slaves you have, but not for long".
Marcus, who was clutching a relieved, but still shocked Gro, looked questioningly at him and a chill ran down Arn's spine.
"We can't allow slaves killing freemen, can we now? So we have to execute them, or…".
"Free them", Marcus finished the sentence, "But none of them are old enough to manumitted. They have to be at least thirty years of age, before I can free them!"
"Perhaps you can't, but the Emperor can, and he will".
Drusus turned back to the three slaves.
"He will, as soon as he has won his throne, an easy task, after what you have done for him".
The fleet reached the Bay of Neapolis the following day and the legion, it transported, marched against Rome, only to find the gates open and people cheering their new sovereign. The pampered soldiers of the Praetorian Guard offered no resistance, knowing full well that they were no match against Drusus' hardened veterans. Marcus went to the family house and found it plundered by Publius' henchmen, but the slaves had been returned and new furniture sent over from the Imperial palace.
That night Arn for the first time tried dining Roman fashion when their master ordered his Nordic slaves to lie at table with him, Gro as usual sharing his couch. She was still shaky, and shivered in horror when Armin and Arn told about the events at the Coliseum in more detail. Marcus embraced and held her tight, whispering that from now on she would never leave his side, that he would never let her go.
Secretly hoping that he could keep that promise, that he could find a woman of rank willing to marry and bear him children, but give up her rightful place in his bed to a slavegirl.
When the two of them retired to it that night and he had undressed his beloved, Gro turned to him with tears in her eyes. "Master, you said that you would never let me go?"
He nodded mutely, fearing her next words, but almost recoiled in surprise when he heard them.
"Then prove that! Tie me to your bed, Master, like you did when you made me a woman".
He stared, slowly shaking his head.
"I cannot, will not hurt you!"
"I don't ask to be hurt, Master, only held firmly. Please!"
Her large blue eyes pleaded and in a flash he saw Rachel tied spread-eagle on his camp bed, eagerly waiting for him. So he fetched four lengths of soft rope, tied up his willing victim and made passionate love to her, with his tongue and his dick, again and again and again.
A week later, after Drusus had been hailed as Emperor by senators and people at the Forum, Marcus and his four slaves were summoned to the presence. They were received informally by the young ruler in the purple brimmed toga, who embraced his old friend.
"I have a favour to ask of you, Marcus".
He looked grave, but the ghost of a smile was playing on his lips.
"Your wish is my command, Sire".
The Emperor handed him four sesterties, newly minted and bearing his portrait.
"I want to buy those slaves".
"As you wish, Sire", Marcus answered gravely, accepting the coins.
Behind him, Gro gasped and felt about to swoon. ‘Her master was abandoning her! Her lover was breaking his promise!'
Arn threw an arm around her shoulders to steady her.
Drusus looked at the four slaves, modestly dressed in simple tunics and barefoot.
"So you are mine now", he smiled, "To do with what I want".
His eyes scrutinised Gro's supple body.
"I'm sorely tempted to keep you, especially one of you. But", he turned to an aide, who handed him four scrolls, "but this Emperor keeps his promises. These are your manumissions, you are free!"
The three young men bent a knee to receive the precious documents, kissing the hand of the man who so briefly had been their master, but Gro stood frozen in shock, thoughts racing through her head. ‘I don't want to be free! My only wish is to belong to Marcus, forever and ever!'
The Emperor took her hand, kissed it and closed it around the scroll.
"And now the next step".
He turned to a slave, who draped a purple cloak around his shoulders and placed a golden laurel wreath on his head.
"This way".
He swept through a door and his five guests followed him into the throne room, where a number of distinguished senators were waiting.
Arn had to support his sister, who was still shaken and mutely looked to her now former master for an explanation, but Marcus seemed as bewildered as she.
Drusus took his seat and addressed the senators: "These three brave freemen".
He emphasised the last word.
"These brave freemen have served your Emperor and our country far beyond the call of duty. It is only fair that we welcome them among us".
He was handed two scrolls.
"Arminius Peronius and Thoracius Peronius, you are now citizens of Rome with all rights and privileges".
Freed slaves customarily took the family name of their former master and the two Germans once again bent a knee to receive their Emperor's gift and kiss his hand. He turned to the third young man.
"Arnum Peronius, give me your right hand".
Bewildered, Arn too bent a knee, offering it.
"By your bravery and audacity you have saved our country from the horrors of civil war and your Emperor from the sin of fratricide. This is your just reward".
Drusus placed a heavy gold ring on his middle finger.
"You are now, not only a citizen of Rome, but a citizen of the second rank, member of the equestrian class".
He looked teasingly at his old friend.
"And so is of course your sister, Grotia Peronia".
Marcus gasped and grabbed the former slavegirl's hand to lead her forward.
"Sire!" He bowed to the Emperor.
"Yes, Senator?"
Drusus winked, but not even the announcement of this new honour could distract Marcus.
"Sire, I ask your permission to marry".
His friend's eyebrows rose.
"You have found a suitable woman, Senator?"
"I have, Sire, if Arnum Peronius consents to my marrying his sister".
"But you can't marry me, Master!", it burst out of Gro, "Zosia told me!"
"That slut!"
Drusus cut short the angry outburst.
"Yes, he can, my dear: By law a senator has to marry within his own class, either a woman of Patrician, or", he paused, smiling tenderly to the couple, "Equestrian rank".
"I consent to this, Mast…, Marcus Delius", Arn stammered, "We are honoured".
"So does your Emperor".
Drusus rose and a slave changed his purple cloak for a white, brimmed with gold.
"And your Pontifex Maximus is ready".
By tradition, the Emperor was also high priest.
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