Chapter 1

The Roman Empire, like the stretch of a bow, had reached its maximum spread and was on the cusp of starting the inevitable collapse. Britannia was being abandoned already; having troops re-assigned to trouble spots around the empire. In the South of the province a villa continues as if nothing was happening, yet the signs were there to see. The memory of Boudicca remained.

Gricolus was not a cruel master to have, he wasn’t some soft, pussy, like Angilinus (who had more pretty male slaves than anyone could possibly fuck, though he tried), but he was mostly fair. But since slaves had an economic worth like a farm animal or a chair, he treated them accordingly. When Marina broke her leg and it would not heal, he had her put down. But not cruelly.

Grantus – Gricolus’s fifteen year old son – was different. Get on the wrong side of him and you’d get punished purely for the fun of seeing the pain. Gricolus remonstrated with him a couple of times for damaging the goods, I heard him; but mostly the whippings, beatings, brandings and punches were not so bad as to stop the slave working. Grantus liked boys too. He had a couple of ten year olds when this all began. He’d just kicked out his bed-boy because the boy was incontinent after so much fucking. These two new ones didn’t look happy. Still, at least it left the girl slaves a little safer. He wasn’t big, body or penis, just violent. And a slave has no rights. Everybody hated him; except Gricolus and Priapa. Even his three sisters didn’t like him, I could tell.

My name is Corialanus, my friends call me Cor. My birth name was Artos – the bear, but I was taken from my mother at three and given a new name. I’m used to it now. I never saw my mother again, she was from the Brigantes and was fucked, no, lets call it what it was, raped. She was raped by the garrison for a while, an army whore with no more rights than a dead cat. When she got pregnant they put her in the kitchen, the baby – me – was given away to Gricolus in payment of a debt. So I learnt Latin from them and Celtic from the other slaves, and even some Somali from Tiber. Tiber looked after me as I grew up. He protected me from the slaves who would bully less strong ones. Luckily I was too old for Grantus when that bastard started being an arse-bandit. But the shit found some reason to hate me and had me beaten one day. That’s why I have the twisted arm and the limp; and the face. He broke my jaw and my cheekbone. I don’t look good. My other deformity was not visible. But it all made me stronger, more determined. I wouldn’t let these cunts win! Gricolus saw I was clever and I became his personal slave.

Priapa was Gricolus’s second wife, first died in childbirth trying to give him another son. After two girls, then a boy, then another girl, he was desperate to get another boy as insurance. She was weak after the previous birth. The medic said her womb exploded. I doubt that, I think he was incompetent; most of them are. Anyway, she died, and Priapa appeared. Young, pretty, and hopefully fertile (else it’s back to the parents in disgrace for you). So far she seems nice. She had a slave, Virtua, with her.

Prima (18) Dusilla (17), and Fortunata (14) daughters to Gricolus

Gricolus was in a temper “I am master here! Do you hear?” Priapa had asked for a new path in the garden. If he was suffering from his gut pain, it was not a good time to get in his way. “You need to understand that -” he raised his hand to slap her. Virtua stepped in front of her mistress. A brave, but foolhardy act, Gricolus looked furious, then stomped off for a shit.

Later, he had decided on his revenge. “Corialanus is deformed. I wonder if his offspring will be.” It was a common misconception that traits picked up during life were passed on to children. If you are a nasty sod then your children will be brought up to be nasty sods, but that doesn’t mean they inherited it. Just because his son had the same Roman Nose as him – that was inherited, but not everything has to be. It stands to reason. “I wonder ... Corialanus, take Virtua as your partner, serve her well tonight and every night until she bears a child.” That was his revenge, to give the pretty maid-slave of his wife to me – the deformed monster – as a mate. And he would check her tomorrow, I knew that. If I failed to fuck her, we’d both be punished.

Virtua was perfect, except for her hair. She was pale, slim and graceful. Her hair was black as coal and I’d have preferred one of my Celtic blondes, but she was certainly something to look at. I think Priapa liked her because her hair was as black as her own. Gricolus’s first wife had been native, half Celt, she had been flaxen haired, as were her offspring.

That night we found a private kiosk. I slept with the male slaves usually, and she in her mistresses chamber. I begged permission to make a bed in the guest chambers. Not the actual guest bedroom, just in a corner of the reclining room. Priapa took her courage in both hands and agreed. I hoped she would not be punished for this act of kindness. It would have been in Gricolus’s right to make us put on a show for them. Other Roman families did this if they were bored. The fighting arena had occasional intermissions of some unfortunate virgin being hammered by the winning gladiator ... or a dog. It was regarded as highly amusing to see Semalus Sextus’s dog (who was willing to copulate with anything) mounting some young girl. Her cries made it all the more fun. So we were lucky.