Chapter 10

Before he'd arrived at the house, Corvus had planned to invite his new household to join him for dinner. He'd imagined they would all sit around the table, sharing a meal and discussing the events of the day. After his encounter with Formerly Regula, he'd revised the plan. Everyone but his former classmate would join him while she was brought bread and water out in her new quarters.

But then he thought of John. The enormous gardener looked like he could crush a man with his bare hands and, based on Malcolm's description, probably didn't have the best table manners. Besides, he smelled like scallions.

Then, he thought of Merula and all her talk of ravishment. He was going to have to ask Pera to stop telling her daughters he was going to ravish them all. But, he wasn't going to ask just now as talk of ravishment tended to ruin his appetite.

So, he found himself in the odd position of having dinner alone with his father's steward while Pera, Nerila, and Gwen served the table. They'd managed to make a passable roast beef, but Corvus realized he would need to get a full-time cook to train them up.

"Your father and I used to eat like this all the time," said Malcolm when Corvus mentioned the oddity of it. "In Britannica. You have to remember that your father was a subaltern at the time. It wasn't proper to eat with his men and nearly everyone in the officer's mess outranked him. So, most nights, it was just the two of us."

Corvus looked over his shoulder at the door of the kitchen where his slaves worked. "You cooked?"

Malcolm gave a half-smirk. "I cooked in a war camp. The first few years, there was no electricity or gas. Your father had a wood-burning Oracle stove brought over so that I at least didn't have to use a campfire. Still, this..." He held up a forkful of beef. "Would have been a delicacy. Should I have one of the cooks come over from your father's house and see what she can make of the staff here?"

"Please," said Corvus gratefully. He reached for a salt shaker. "I ... handled this all badly. Didn't I?"

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Your approach isn't what I would have chosen, sir. That doesn't mean it won't work ... although I still don't know how you're planning to get through to the slave formerly known as Regula Vitellius without formal training."

Corvus lifted his wineglass. "How did my father get through to you? You never had formal training."

A strange transformation overwent Malcolm's eyes as he thought back. "You have to understand the difference between my situation and hers. I was raised by savages who taught me that the pleasures of the flesh would keep me out of a paradise that was my only reward for suffering through this life. Hot showers, sanitary conditions, and electric lights were miracles from God and the Romans had all of them. What was I to think?"

Corvus nodded. "How long did it take?"

"About two years," said Malcolm. "For the first two years, I woke up every day convinced that was the day I would finally get the drop on my hated master, Gaius Gallicus, and murder him."

He said it so casually that a shiver went down Corvus's spine. Malcolm might seem mild-mannered and sophisticated now, but he'd been a savage, painted warrior once. Corvus asked, "What changed?"

"I began to acquire common sense," said Malcolm. "It dawned on me that, were I to succeed, I would be executed rather horribly by the Romans or I would escape back to the embrace of my church, my community, and my family, which wasn't much better. Gaius respected me, trained me from the beginning to read and keep his books, and was a considerate lover. Many slaves didn't have it so well."

Corvus choked a little on his wine and it ended up coming out his nose. Malcolm offered him a white cloth napkin without comment. The young patrician wiped his face. "You and my father were lovers?"

Malcolm nodded. "In a manner of speaking, yes. I was his catamite, although he wasn't that much younger than him. Not many prisoners had been taken at the time and the training to make them good slaves was lengthy. Only flag officers had girls dedicated to their service and the ones the rest of the officers' corps shared ended up killing more Romans with disease than all of England managed with swords and bows. Many subalterns took boys in battle and kept them for personal service." He wiped his own mouth. "Were you ever a catamite? I was led to understand that a lot of teenage plebeian boys traded such service for favor from patrician men."

"No," Corvus admitted. "I considered it, but there aren't as many men looking for that sort of thing as there used to be ... at least in civilian life. I was never pretty enough to be offered anything that made it seem worth the effort."

Malcolm nodded. "You have to understand, there's no such tradition in England. I mean ... I grew up knowing men of quality did that to serving boys and the like. But, we were taught it was a disgusting practice, sickening to the eyes of God and that the boys were just as culpable as the men. Do you know what we mean when we say, 'Service is the master's gift?'"

"Clover kind of explained it to me," said Corvus. "I think I partly understand."

Malcolm nodded. "It helped me come to terms with being a slave. It means that, when you serve, all decisions are the master's and the slave is never to blame for what he's been told to do. In England, a serving boy has no more right to refuse his master than a slave here. He can do what he's told or run away and starve. But, he's blamed for whatever 'immoral acts' he might perform. Romans are far more civilized."

Corvus retired to his room that night with a lot on his mind. Along with his encounter with Formerly Regula and his conversation with Merula, he had what he'd learned from Malcolm to consider. The steward had eventually told him a story about an ambush he and Gaius had lived through in part because Malcolm had picked up a gun and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the future general, shooting down his one-time countrymen as they tried to swarm his position. To hear Malcolm tell it, he'd save Gaius Gallicus's life that day when even touching a gun meant he should have been executed.

He didn't know the truth of it, but it sounded true and it helped explain a lot of why his father treated Malcolm differently from other slaves. And of course there was the matter of Malcolm having been Gaius's catamite for years. It didn't fit Corvus's impression of either man, but it had been a long time ago when Gaius hadn't been much older than Corvus was now.

He didn't speak as Nerida helped him undress for bed, too rapt in thought. Only when she went to her knees, dark eyes glittering up at him and asked, "How may I serve?' did Corvus remember his conversation with Merula and the girl's recommendation that he would enjoy taking Nerida to his bed.

He thought about it for a second. He'd seen Nerida around school as much as he had Regula and didn't often think of her as a slave. She dressed in current fashions, attended classes, and had a slender, aristocratic figure like her mistress. She and Regula could have been classmates or even sisters.

But, Nerida was still a slave. Even if she was a girl's companion, she was an attractive young woman in a household without so many slaves that they could be too specialized in their use. She probably assumed when she'd been summoned her that she would be spending the night. Still, it was wise to check. "Nerida, have you served in this room before?"

Nerida smiled. "Yes, sir. I served the traitor Labeo Vitellius often until his wife insisted he buy a woman more appropriate for a man his age." She looked up at Corvus. "Are you asking only about this room? I was trained to be a girl's companion, but I've been pressed into other service when the need arose. I could tell you about the men who have used me and what they did if it pleases you to hear." There was an odd sparkle in her eye that suggested she might enjoy the recounting or thought Corvus would.

"Uh..." Corvus hadn't expected quite so thorough an answer. "Another time maybe. Would it please you to stay with me tonight?"

Nerida's face went smooth and unreadable, but she didn't school the mischief in her eyes. "Would you seek to please me, master?"

Somehow, there was something much more forbidden about this than being with Clover or Rose had been. He'd gone to school with her for years. If he looked at her from the right and couldn't see her provenance mark, he could imagine Nerida as a citizen or even a patrician. The idea excited him powerfully. "I would."

"Then it will please me twice. There is no greater pleasure than that received in service." Nerida rose from her knees. "Would you like a massage? I'm certain today's activities must have left you tense and sore and I've been told my hands are quite skilled in easing such aches."

"That sounds ... wonderful," said Corvus. As Nerida indicated, he stripped off his pants and lay face down on the bed. She disappeared into the bathroom and reemerged a few minutes later naked and carrying a glass phial of oil. Corvus glanced away at first before he remembered Nerida was his property and he was allowed, even encouraged to look.

When Corvus had first learned he was going to be elevated, he'd thought he understood what being a patrician meant - the money, the slaves, the power, the easy access to good food and drugs. What he hadn't even guessed at was the most profound part of his elevation. He got to see how beautiful the world could be.

True, he'd seen some ugliness he might have been sheltered from as a plebe. He never would have gone to the slums out by the airport if he hadn't had a patrician's security retinue. And he wouldn't have seen Regula's tantrum if he hadn't had something she wanted and refused to give it to her. But that was more than balanced by the beauty he saw everywhere he went. In his father's house, he was surrounded by artifacts and art from around the world and they were often surpassed by the vistas from the house's many windows. His car was a work of art and craftsmanship that as a plebeian he would have been chased away if he even stared at it too long.

And now, there was Nerida. Corvus already had Clover and now Rose at home. Both were so incredibly beautiful that he was occasionally astounded that he could touch them and not be dragged away by police, but they looked like slaves - voluptuous curves, wide hips, and generous chests. There were plenty of girls among the plebiscite with similar appearances and even a couple in Corvus's class at school, but it was unquestionably a "lower-class" look and girls of that class never took it as a compliment to be told they were "built like a house-slave."

Nerida might be a house-slave, but she was built like a patrician. If she were dressed casually or in something flowing and diaphanous, her figure might even be called boyish, but that would be a mistake. She was all long, toned limbs the color of buckwheat honey and gentle, elongated curves. Her breasts were high and firm, the nipples dark like chocolate, tempting Corvus to taste them. There would be no mistaking her for a boy.

As Nerida straddled Corvus's waist, resting lightly on his bottom with only the thin cloth of his shorts between them, he said, "I think you would have made a better citizen than your mistress, Nerida."

Nerida drizzled oil on his back and started to rub it in with the heels of her hands, eliciting a low, appreciative groan from Corvus. "I have no mistress, sir -- unless you have someone in mind." One fingertip traced a hard line down his spine. "You're so tense. I do hope your meeting with the slave once known as Merula Vitellius went better than the one with her sister?"

"In some ways." Corvus groaned at the tension leaving his body. "I did have to explain a few things to her. She was convinced I was here to rape her whole family. Did you ... have something to do with that?"

Nerida gave a little laugh. "She asked me a lot of questions about being a slave, but I guess she didn't quite understand the answers I gave. Everyone knows you can't rape a slave."

Corvus groaned again, partly from what Nerida was doing, but partly from what she'd said. "I ... that's not what I explained to her. And she didn't say 'rape, ' but, I don't intend to ravish her either. I have plenty of slaves that seem happy to serve in that capacity. I don't need to ravish anyone."

Nerida leaned down close enough to press her chest against Corvus's back, spreading the oil between them. "If happy slaves are what you want in your bed, I am born to service."

"And Gwen?" Corvus asked, thinking of the secretary he'd acquired.

Nerida shifted most pleasantly against Corvus's back and kissed the juncture between his neck and shoulder. "Well, yes. But I think she might be less pleasing to you than I can be." She kissed him again. "Even after he had her, Labeo took every opportunity to smuggle me back into his bed whenever his wife's back was turned."

Corvus chuckled and stretched out, enjoying her touch. "And were you happy to be there, Nerida?"

She shifted again, rising enough to rub her way down his spine with her hands, her legs squeezing fractionally harder around his waist. "Yes. Serving Formerly Regula could be taxing at times and I..." She stopped and seemed to consider her next words. "Are you really so concerned about the happiness of your slaves, Citizen Corvus?"

Corvus glanced back over his shoulder at her. "Shouldn't I be?"

"You should be as you like," said Nerida immediately. She gave him an odd half-smile. "It only seems an unusual preoccupation. Slaves are fulfilled through good service. We gain contentment through providing for your happiness, not our own."

"Rise a little," said Corvus. When she had, he rolled on his back. Nerida settled again, sending a whole new wave of wonderful distractions through his body as she retrieved the oil and poured a line of it down his chest. "You don't want to be happy? I don't believe that."

Nerida leaned in close to stroke his shoulders. Her hair made a curtain around Corvus's head and made it seem like their conversation was being held in secret. "I try not to want anything. The weight of desire rests on these shoulders and I can feel the tension of it in every muscle. Service is the master's gift and spares us from desire."

Corvus rested his hands on her hips, stroking the soft flesh. His cock raged against the cotton of his shorts, pressed between them, but he was momentarily more interested in the conversation. "You really believe that?"

Nerida nodded. "I've believed it my whole life. It's what we're taught in the creche. Why wouldn't I believe it?"

"It's just ... very alien to my way of thinking," said Corvus.

"Then fortunate we are the gods made me a slave and you a patrician," said Nerida. She'd stopped massaging him and rested her hands on his chest.

"Gaius Gallicus made me a patrician," said Corvus. "The gods made me a plebe."

Nerida smiled and gave a faint shake of her head like she disagreed. "How may I serve, Citizen?"

Apparently, the massage was over and Nerida wanted to move onto the next thing ... or didn't want, but was ready. Still, Corvus had more questions, "Would you become a citizen if it were offered?"

She gave a faint nod and her smile got warmer. "Oh, yes. If there were a man who wanted me and would provide. I wouldn't want to be out on the street, but I could gladly serve my husband and the Empire as a wife and mother."

Corvus nodded thoughtfully. He'd already mentioned the possibility of finding Merula a husband and manumitting her at some time in the future. The girl hadn't been enamored of the idea, but Nerida seemed to be. Maybe at the same time he manumitted the former Vitellii, he would offer Nerida the same option.

"There are some slaves who don't believe what they're taught," Nerida said quietly. "Or they do for a while and then some crazy idea slips into their head and they become discontent. Even girls of good breeding can fall prey if they're not vigilant." She leaned in closer so that her lips were almost touching Corvus's and wriggled against his straining cock. "Would you like me to be one of those girls ... or a citizen. I've done it before."

Corvus was having a hard enough time parsing basic Latin when she moved like that. Her last sentence made no sense at all. "You've done ... what?"

Nerida gave a little smirk. "Formerly Merula isn't the only one in this household who can act, master. I can be a citizen or a rebellious slave if that's what you want. I've done both." She reached down and touched the bruise Regula had left on his cheek. "I know how to struggle without really struggling ... if you like."

Corvus was horrified, but his body gave an entirely different signal that Nerida couldn't possibly miss, straddling him as she was. Still, he shook his head and said, "No. I only want happy slaves in my bed."

"Of course." Nerida kissed his lips softly. "How may I serve?"

Corvus sighed and raised his hips, all the signal Nerida needed to slide off his shorts and slide herself down onto his aching cock. She was hot, tight, and wet and it was some consolation to Corvus that he apparently wasn't the only one in the room turned on by their previous conversation.

As Nerida rode him, she started to make little pleasure noises that rose with the speed of their coupling. But they sounded a little ... wrong to Corvus. "Nerida, what are you doing?"

"I'm riding my master's cock," said Nerida brightly. "And it makes me happy."

Corvus gave her a playful swat on the ass. "Don't do that unless you mean it. I'll never learn if everything seems to work."

Nerida shifted her hips so she was no longer arching her back, but instead leaned forward to rest her hand on the bed and look down at him. "I wish only to express my joy at being in your bed, master. If you prefer, I could sing instead."

"No singing," said Corvus emphatically. He gripped Nerida's hips and thrust upwards hard, drawing her down on himself at the same time. Nerida let out a cry that sounded halfway between pleasure and distress. "That's far more honest. I only want to hear those sounds from you when you mean them."

Nerida nodded and shifted her hips. "As my master wishes."

She rode him again, her breathing quick, but didn't make another sound until Corvus flipped her on her back and pounded into her with unbridled enthusiasm. Then she cried out, clinging to him until her nails drew furrows across his back. She shuddered out her pleasure beneath him shortly before his exploded into her.

Later, Corvus lay on his back panting. "I don't need my slaves to humor me, Nerida. I need you to teach me how to do that so a woman enjoys it. I'm bound to end up with a wife one of these days and I'll need to know what I'm doing. She won't be born to service."

"Of course not." Nerida rolled on her side against him, cuddling up on his arm. "I understand you're a very rich and powerful man. The woman who captures your heart will have to be incredibly beautiful."

Corvus chuckled and stroked her back. "Perhaps, but the one I marry will only need to have a rich and powerful father. I won't get to marry for beauty."

"A terrible burden," said Nerida earnestly. "Still, if she's ugly, she'll be an ugly girl happy to be in your bed - especially if as you're such an enthusiastic learner."

Corvus smiled and cupped Nerida's ass. He would have to be careful with her. Labeo Vitellius must have been a very insecure man for her to have learned so thoroughly to stroke a man's ego. He drew up the sheets over them, feeling as relaxed as he had all day.

He was mostly asleep when Nerida asked, "You are going to let someone fuck them. Aren't you?"

"What?" Corvus slurred. "Let who fuck who?"

"The former Vitellii," said Nerida. "They're beautiful and two of them are young. Formerly Regula has all the natural appetites of a healthy young woman and Formerly Merula has been increasingly curious about the subject. I was to be her companion once she turned fifteen, but she already had a million questions. It would be unnatural and cruel to deprive them for their whole lives."

Corvus certainly hadn't thought of it that way. He'd been so worried about the consequence of ordering them to his bed that he hadn't even thought there were consequences to not ordering them there. Sending them to someone else's bed posed the same problems. Until Malcolm had brought it up, he hadn't thought slaves would sleep with each other, but it apparently did happen. "They don't have to be deprived. Slaves can sleep with each other. Right?"

"If their master allows it," said Nerida. "But, there's only John. He's simple and smells a bit. She might settle for other girls, but I'm certainly not going to sleep with her anymore unless you will it and I very much doubt any of the other girls will volunteer for the task. Besides, what sort of girl gives up her maidenhead to another slave? You might as well steal the silverware."

Corvus lay back and closed his eyes. "Well, it's not something I have to decide tonight. We should get some sleep."

Nerida snuggled closer. "Plenty of time tomorrow."

That wasn't what Corvus had meant. He was planning on putting off the decision for a while at least. He wasn't sure he was even going to be able to keep Regula or if he'd have to send her off for training. He wondered if training involved someone having sex with her. Maybe they did it all with girls.

His eyes flew open again. "Did you say you used to have sex with Regula?"

"Only as service required," said Nerida. "Not since her fall."

"But, you had sex with her?" Corvus insisting, trying to wrap his brain around it.

"I did." Nerida rose to look in his eyes and that glint of mischief was there. "Should I tell you all about it? Some men have asked for such stories."

Considering what he'd seen between Clover and Rose, Corvus wasn't at all surprised that men would be curious about such things. Still, it raised a fresh worry. "Did you tell them?"

"I told them what Formerly Regula ordered me to tell them," said Nerida. "I would tell you the truth if you asked."

Corvus shook his head. "What did she order you to tell them?"

"That she was a skillful and adept lover, uninhibited and free with her touches - that her kisses left me breathless and I couldn't contain myself when she touched me." Nerida scowled. "That ... I was so distracted by her beauty that I would forget to do other tasks, daydreaming about her. Service is a gift, but I did not like saying that at all."

"She wasn't a..." What was the phrase Malcolm had used. "A considerate lover?"

"She wasn't a lover. She was a mistress. I served her pleasure, not she mine." Nerida shrugged as if to say that was the way with the world. "Boys somehow like the fantasy of a mistress who pleasures her slaves and I did not mind playing it, but to have me tell them I was a lazy daydreamer? Service is a gift, but it's not always an easy gift to bear."

Corvus stroked her hair, comforting her even if he didn't really understand the nature of her pique. "Who were these men?"

"Patricians," said Nerida. "Men who sought to contract Regula as a mistress. As a maid, she couldn't very well go to their beds herself, but she would send me with her regrets."

Corvus frowned. "Wouldn't a simple 'no' have sufficed?"

"If these were men she meant to say 'no' to, there are many ways to say it," said Nerida. "These were the ones she was considering."

"Regula was considering taking a lover?" Corvus wasn't sure how many more shocks his impression of his former classmate could take.

"She was seeking one," said Nerida. "She wanted to raise a dowry before she went looking for a husband. Any one of them might have shielded her from this, but none were ever good enough for her."

Corvus doubted a patrician lover could have saved Regula from the taint of a traitor's get, but didn't bother to argue. "I ... it never occurred to me that Regula thought about sex at all. She always seemed ... untouchable to me, like a beautiful statue made out of glass." He frowned. "You did say she was a virgin. Right?"

"Just barely, but she thought about sex quite a bit and probably still does. Like I said, she has healthy appetites and she fed them as best she could." Nerida kissed his chest. "She's a virgin, but there's not much left to blush about."

Corvus looked in her eyes. "You make it sound like she'd be eager to have sex with me."

Because he was watching for it, he saw when Nerida's eyes flicked to the right, indicating a lie. "I think she would."

Corvus considered his new slave, wondering what her angle was on this. He could think of only one thing. "And would you be eager to see me take her, Nerida?"

Nerida's smile chilled him. "I would be pleased to see Formerly Regula accept her new lot in life. The sooner tears are cried, the sooner they dry."

Corvus understood now. Nerida had made no secret of her dislike of her former mistress and she was out for some good, old-fashioned payback with Corvus as the instrument of her revenge. He could understand the animosity. He'd required a rather startling amount of it towards Regula in the course of a day. But, it didn't make him like Nerida any better. He lay back again. "I'll consider it ... tomorrow."

The next three days were a whirlwind of activity in Corvus's new house. The last remnants of the Vitellius family (other than the family themselves) were packed up, swept up, and washed away. With Crispa Iunius's help, Corvus spent each morning meeting with furniture sellers, tradesmen, and others who would as Crispa put it, "Transform his new home decor from 'early Imperial traitor' to 'patrician modern.' In the end, the furnishings and the work that was to start immediately on expanding the slave quarters was going to cost him more than the house had cost his father, but that was apparently the price of surrounding oneself with beauty.

His conversation with Nerida had made him realize how badly he'd let himself be lulled in some ways by his rise in the world. Among the skills Lucretia had insisted he learn growing up, he'd considered the ability to read people one of the most important. He still did it, but he'd only been doing it selectively - on the people he thought could most impact his future.

But who could impact his future more than the people in his own house? It was easy to think that most slaves had simple motivations based around their jobs. But whatever they were taught to believe, after watching a few more closely as they worked, Corvus had no doubt they wanted things.

Malcolm was largely an enigma, but watching him interact with others, Corvus started to see how much the man valued respect. He was aloof with the other slaves, but could show the sharp side of his tongue in a flash if one of them seemed to be talking back. With most citizens, he spoke as if he considered himself their equal and most fell into treating him as such. A few felt the need to establish their superiority by word or attitude. To those, he became instantly supercilious, but also painfully correct and polite in his words and form of address.

He watched Nerida and Gwen and their interaction as they cleaned, cooked, and worked around the constant chaos. The second night, he took Gwen to bed with him. She was built more like a house-slave than Nerida and performed admirably, but after she was done, she took her leave to clean herself up and straightened the room before asking if he wanted her to stay the night. Nothing about her body language suggested disgust or unhappiness, but this was clearly just another task for her and, when Corvus dismissed her back to her own room, she seemed just as pleased to go as to stay.

He didn't need that. The Vitellii might not be able to afford enough slaves to suit each to their best purpose, but he could. It was a shame in a way. Gwen and Clover could almost have been sisters in appearance, but that spark he felt with Clover simply wasn't there. Mostly, his encounter with Gwen made him miss his body-slave. So, he sent for her to join him on the third day.

He returned from a long lunch with Crispa Iunius to find her arranging linens in one of the closets off of the master bedroom. The bedroom door was open and he was able to watch her unobserved for several seconds before she realized he was there. A tightness that had been building in his chest vanished. She was smiling happily to herself at folding and storing sheets. He'd started to worry that she might be secretly unhappy as a slave, but everything about her relaxed posture and wide, easy smile suggested a woman in her element.

When she turned and looked at Corvus, her face fell and his heart sank with it. But he realized after a moment that he was seeing compassion and concern, not revulsion. She ran over and went down on her knees in front of him. "How may I serve?"

Corvus stroked her hair. "I didn't mean to interrupt. Go back to what you were doing."

Clover rose to her feet and headed back to the closet, but she kept glancing at Corvus's face out of the corner of her eye. The bruise on his cheek had faded a little, but it was still a mass of yellow and brown with a tinge of purple. But, Corvus ignored her glances. He didn't want to talk about Formerly Regula and had become something of an expert at not doing so. She'd been confined to the slave quarters since the attack with all the work that could be carried and couldn't be botched too badly brought to her. No one talked to him about her, not even her mother or sister. Corvus had the feeling that, if he didn't say anything, she would just stay there forever, forgotten and alone.