The Captured Slave Pair
1 The Arrest in the Tavern of Claudius Palo
The door of the tavern on the road to Capua was swept open. Five Legionaries entered, stamping heavy-footed. into the room that was filled with the aroma of dinner. Unaccustomed silence fell at once, noisy exuberance of a moment ago gave way to paralysed horror – this could not be good. The legionaries dominated the room with their arrogant self-confidence, their aura of power needed no show of violence, though they were holding massive sticks in their large hands, and their swords were in their sheaths.
"Everyone stay in their place!" The sergeant gave the word of command, unnecessarily, all the customers were so stunned by the entry of the legionaries their limbs were seized with terror, not a word was uttered, apart from a drunken fool who greeted the legionary with exaggerated politeness, "Welcome brave centurion! The subjects of the Emperor rejoice..."
He got no further. At a signal from the Sergeant, a stick landed across the shoulders of the cheeky drunk, with a belch the felled fool crumpled to the ground.
"Just get this clear - you only have to open your mouth when you’re asked," the Sergeant snapped gruffly. "Who’s the owner of this smelly dive?"
A man in dirty clothes approached obsequiously.
"Claudius Palo at your service, Sergeant."
"Now, listen, Claudius Palo! It’s been reported to the aediles that there are two young runaway slaves in your tavern, I’m here to investigate."
"There are few strangers here, Sir."
"H’m. Well, you’ll understand I have to conduct a close check all the same."
At a sign from the Sergeant, one of the legionaries knocked over the nearest table, the two men seated there could only save the wine jug and their mugs, plates and bowls flew to the floor. The legionaries took the table and placed it in front of the door.
"Will nobody offer the respected Principalis Plinius Humanus a seat?" asked one of the legionaries in the room.
The diner sitting closest got up quickly and pushed his stool towards the table, the Principalis accepted this gesture of submission.
"We shall now undertake a check on all those present here. As you haven’t got a seat any no more, you can have the privilege – we’ll start with you!"
One of the legionaries found a large round, flat-bottomed basket and parked it next to the table, behind which the Principalis had taken his seat as judge. A legionary took up his position alongside him, another guarded the door, while the remaining two armed with their batons took control inside the tavern.
"Step up!"
"Carus the porter, free-born, at your service, Principalis."
"Strip off !" rang out the Principalis’s terse command.
"Uh, what, here? In front of everyone?"
Without any warning, a guardsman’s stick swung from behind onto Carus's back, "Obey, you bastard!"
The air was knocked out from Carus’s lungs, so he couldn’t cry out, the pain was intense, he sagged briefly then fell to his knees.
"Get up!" He heard as if through a muffle, he was close to fainting, but sufficiently in his right mind to stand up groaning, take off his belt, and lay it on the table.
The legionary assisting the proceedings checked it and found inside it a few old coins from the Republican period.
"What have we here? A Republican?"
"No sir, these are my savings."
"Nevertheless, they’re not legal tender, they are subject to confiscation."
With a practiced flick the coins disappeared into the Principalis’s purse.
" Next! Come on, we don’t want to stay here forever!"
Carus took off his tunic and stood before the table in just a loincloth. Investigation didn’t reveal any finds in the garment. It landed in the basket, as did the belt too.
"Now, come on!"
Shyly, Carus had to slide down his under-cloth.
"Ha, a Jew, or what?" exclaimed the Principalis looking at Carus's circumcised member, his exposed penis gleamed brightly before the table. Giggling was heard in the room, one woman there seemed never to have seen a circumcised penis before.
"Silence! "
Instantly it was quiet again.
"Hold your arms up and turn around - not so fast!" came the harsh command, Carus obeyed immediately.
The inquisitor examined his body for burns, brands such as are seared on slaves’ skin. Neither on his chest, shoulders, upper arms or buttocks were there any marks, only his back was red and swollen where the stick had hit him.
"Alright, he's clean,"said the assistant.
"Grab your things and get out!"
Carus didn’t need to be told twice, although he had to step out into the street naked, to where a group of spectators had already gathered, scoundrels and layabouts. The crowd laughed and jeered at the shame of beaten Carus.
"Next! "
Half a dozen more customers of the tavern were checked in the same way. Each one obeyed orders to the letter, the lesson Carus had been taught had its effect on all the others. Every now and then the Principalis found and confiscated a few coins, otherwise nothing special happened .
Now came the turn of the giggling women. There was a good view into the tavern from outside, the door was open, light was needed to search for slave-marks. Now there was a crowd, eager to get to see as much as possible – the strongest men won the best viewpoints.
The cheeky woman was middle-aged, but by no means gone to seed - she was sumptuously built, a figure that pleased a lot of men. When she’d stripped off her belt and tunic, the gaping crowd were staring at her full, low‑hanging tits. Principalis Plinius Humanus clicked his tongue, he found the luscious female quite attractive. He was aware that he’d got a hard-on and lust was threatening to get the better of him, he tried to hide it, but he also noticed that his legionaries were in the same state.
The examination was not as superficial as the earlier investigation of the men. They wanted to enjoy their duties a little, too, they’d already done the unsexy job, whoever wants to see naked men? But this buxom wench made a pleasant change.
The woman seemed on the one hand to be ashamed, yet on the other hand the situation seemed to be exciting her too - she demurred at pulling down her skirt, Plinius Humanus gestured, the woman understood. She untied the ribbon and the wide skirt slid down. She revealed powerful, well‑formed buttocks and dark pubic hair. She stood naked, with her head bowed, before the legionaries, exposed to the gaze of the onlookers. Any attempt to cover her breasts with her long long hair could not be tolerated, the assistant handed her a short length of cord and ordered, "Tie your hair up!"
The woman dared not disobey. Wordlessly, she did as commanded. Those present looked at her naked body, while she was binding up her hair, she couldn’t hide her breasts, nor her shame. As she raised her arms, her lush boobs heaved, it was a spectacle worth seeing, over much too soon for the pleasure of the legionaries and the mob.
"Name?" the assistant demanded.
"Livilla Demus, daughter of Livius the saddler here in the city, 35 years old, widow."
By reciting all the information so quickly, she gave the impression that she wanted to shorten the procedure.
"What’s a respectable citizen doing in such a tavern, in the early afternoon of all time?" asked Plinius Humanus with interest.
"It’s just by chance that I'm here. My father asked me to look here for a leather-merchant, he’s received a large order from the Legion and needs hides."
"And did you find the supplier?"
"Yes, he left the inn shortly before you arrived, he hurried off to his warehouse."
"Very well. Raise your arms, so that we can look for any slave-brands!"
Plinius Humanus took the opportunity to carry out the examination of Livilla himself. He took his time.
"Arms up, turn around slowly!" rang out again the now familiar command.
Livilla turned, with a detectable tremor of excitement, you could tell she was willingly offering herself to the stately Principalis, secretly she wanted to be touched by his strong hands.
Plinius Humanus tried to suppress the lust surging up in him so that the bystanders would percieve nothing of it, but in vain, he couldn’t hide his delight. But he was such an authority figure that none of the mob, never mind the legionaries, dared to let a word slip out. Enviously, and often with open mouths, they followed his inspection of Livillas body.
Plinius Humanus stroked a few rebellious hairs of the woman that were still floating free, that hadn’t been tied up. While he was stroking her neck, Livilla trembled with desire, shivered with excitement. Then, overcome with desire, she let her hands which she’d clasped above her head slip down over her breasts to hide her shame. The nipples of those full breasts were unusually hard and firm, and – unseen by all, hidden beneath her lush pubic hair, her clitoris was swelling.
Her organs were sending their signals, their urgent commands, which she dared not obey. Her sense of restraint aroused even more lust, and her wet vulva let out a few drops which shone like dewdrops on her black fanny-hair.
Plinius Humanus couldn’t resist lifting the heavy breasts and weighing them in his powerful hands. Such a fine, clean, specimen of womanhood! So different from the scruffy, smelly, fur-wrapped, barbarian German girls in his last campaign.
Livilla’s hair exuded an irresistible scent as his mouth drew closer to her ear, at the same time as he was enjoying the delicate softness of her breasts.
"A stool!" ordered Plinius Humanus.
He was handed one instantly. The examination of Livilla’s torso was completed without Plinius finding any slave-brand. He was relieved, he’d have been sorry to have to crucify this fine female, and that was the usual punishment for runaway slaves. Certainly he wished to possess this woman, however his sense of duty over-ruled him, he continued his investigation conscientiously.
At a gesture, Livilla stood up on the stool and began to turn again - it would have been beneath the dignity of a Roman legion Principalis to bow down. He stroked her taut buttocks, pressing them apart, and peering into Livilla’s exposed anus. Then he turned her round and examined her cunt, fingering out the hairs and pulling them apart. Nowhere did he discover the dreaded mark. Plinius was relieved. With astonishment, he noticed Livilla’s moisture, the drops wetted his fingers. With a casual movement he touched her clitoris, and Livilla let out a lustful sigh, so he knew she was as horny as him.
"Get down!" he ordered in a firm voice, "I command you to report this evening to the guard at the barracks!"
"Yes Sir," breathed Livilla.
"Get dressed and go! I need to continue the inquiry."
Ignoring the legionaries, Livilla dressed herself and left the place in pleasurable excitement. Her thoughts were focused on the Principalis, on his strong hands and what was hidden under his leather kilt. She knew she had found a man! The stunned onlookers in the street let her pass unchallenged.
The bar was almost empty now, only in one corner huddled two crouching, terrified figures.
"You there, come!" barked Plinius, eager now to get out of the tavern, to pay a visit to the bath-house so he could enjoy the evening fresh, relaxed and fragrant to meet the widow Livilla. Anticipation of her soft flesh aroused his desire to be quickly done here. Just examine these two and the case would be settled. Again, false information from a greedy spy! Well, these kinds of tip-off were only rewarded, if at all, when they brought success. For misinformation there was a scourging or caning in store for the shabby creatures, "Snitches are still the worst scoundrels in the land!" thought Plinius to himself. Now he was in a good mood and only wanted to bring the investigation quickly to a conclusion.
The two figures were approached with their heads down at the table .
Plinius looked at the two young people. A man, perhaps early twenties, and a younger girl, obviously scared, gripping his strong hand. They didn’t look like Romans or any Italians, the boy could have come from beyond the Alps, while the girl had a North African look, perhaps an Egyptian.
In the background, the innkeeper Claudius Palo made his voice heard, "These are strangers, Sir – they haven’t not paid for their food and drink yet... "
"Shut up, I’m doing the investigation, got it?" Plinius barked at the shabby host.
"So, you two, names, origin and business?"
The young people were silent, as if they didn’t understand him, though he spoke loud and clear. With a wave of his hand, Plinius forbade the guard from using his cudgel, he was still in too good a mood for such violence and more gentle than usual.
He tried a few words of Coptic, which he’d still got in his memory from his time in Egypt. The girl answered Coptic, "Patra. Together with my husband, on our way to Egypt. "
Plinius had to laugh. On the way to Egypt? How could these have-nots get across across the sea? But then his mood darkened. He got the first inkling that these two might be the ‘wanted’ slaves from the Pisolli estate.
With a gesture he made it clear that the couple should strip, they understood and took off their tunics. Otherwise they had nothing on their bodies, only old sandals.
Before Pliny stood a young man, strong and well-built, with a broad chest on which no hair grew. The blonde hairs around his large, drooping and uncircumcised penis were as soft and fluffy as those on his face. His skin was white, and on his back you could see welts from a flogging – this young man had already some experience of Roman justice!
The girl was wonderfully well-formed, slightly smaller than her companion, her body had an hourglass figure, her skin was ruddy and of an indescribable youthful delicacy. Her breasts, though large, were firm like the pyramids of the pharaohs, topped by magnificent upright nipples on small dark brown areoles. Her private parts had been carefully depilated, in the manner he was familiar with from the courtesans of Alexandria. She was a being created, and obviously intended, to afford sexual services.
Emblazoned on the upper right arm of the boy, in bright red, was a bunch of grapes, the badge of the estate of Pisolli. On his neck there was a slight but visible difference in the colour of the skin - a sign that a neck-ring had prevented the sun from colouring the pale skin.
The girl's buttock also displayed the grapes. Why in Hades isn’t slave identification standardized, wondered Pliny. Again and again in his soldier's life various kinds of label had appeared before him, burn marks or scars on the most diverse parts of the body - sometimes even several different ones if the slave had changed hands. Scars of iron neck-collars, wrist-manacles or ankle-shackles, he could often spot runaway slaves by these with a sure eye.
Plinius had caught the wanted slaves! At the thought of the formalities to follow, his good mood darkened noticeably. While he was still able to look forward to sexual high jinks with Livilla, now there was this discovery of the slave couple, whose life was as good as over. He and his legionaries could no longer give the runaway slaves the slip, they were discovered, captured, and thus condemned, so young, to die in agony on the cross. He’d have been inclined to let them escape – they’re obviously lovers. But anyone who helps slaves escape faces the same punishment as the fugitives.
Plinius stifled his compassion and comforted himself with the fact that the slaves had sealed their own destiny, every slave knows the penalty for escaping.
"Shackles on tight!" was his brief instruction which the legionaries followed assiduously on both the captured slaves.
"But, sir, these people have had food and drink and I haven’t not been paid…" whined the host.
"Shut up you moron! Can’t you see they’ve got no money? Do you think I’m going to cough it up? Don’t you know what the punishment is for helping fugitive slaves?"
"I really didn’t know ... "
"Shut up, or we’ll take you too!"
Cringing, the host hid behind the counter .
"March!" ordered Plinius, and the group set off through the gawking mob, up the street.
