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 Glaucus of Korinthos (Or the Spoils of War)

   Chapter 6: The Bay of Neapolis

   This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age
of eighteen years

   Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): August, 2012 Read all my stories at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
"The characters and ideas in this story are the writer's and shouldn't
be used without his permission.  Please respect the integrity of the story

and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures."

   Chapter 6: The Bay of Neapolis

   If one stands on the northern shore of the Bay of Neapolis between
Puteoli and Neapolis and looks to the south, it is easy to see why this
area is so popular with the Roman elite.  The sweeping curve of the
coastline is dotted with their luxurious villas which overlook the azure
blue sea and are open to the balmy ocean breezes which offer welcome relief
from the oppressive summer heat.

   The Bay of Neapolis - besides being one of the most beautiful stretches
of coastline in Italia - is a playground for the rich and the famous.  Most
senators and members of the patrician class have built impressive and
richly furbished villas along its shoreline and as I look over to the
southern shore towards Pompeii and Herculaneum, I see them white-gleaming
in the early morning sunlight.

   They cluster together so closely that, from this distance, I am reminded
of winter snow on the hilltops.

   I love this part of Italia and I always have.  Even as a boy, I eschewed
Roma for our summer holidays spent on my father's latifundia on the fertile
slopes of Mons Vesuvio or our townhouse in Pompeii.  The bay had proved a
wonderful playground for both my friends and me.  Our days were spent in
walking the beaches searching for seashells or finding some secluded beach
where we'd strip naked and frolic in the sparkling clear waters of the bay.
Afterwards, we would wrestle naked on the warm sand until, exhausted from
our boyish high spirits; we'd drift into a heat induced slumber watched
over by our attendant body slaves.

   Then there were those occasions, when my father allowed me to sail on
the safe waters of the bay.  As his only son and the family heir, my father
was always concerned for my safety and so I was never allowed to sail
alone. Father had bought a Spanish slave who was an experienced sailor and
he always accompanied me.  How I enjoyed the freedom and exhilaration as
our sail-boat skimmed over the wind-ruffled, white-capped waves.

   The slave, whose name was Lusitanicus, had once been a fisherman and he
was well-versed in boatmanship.  When father bought him he was aged in his
early twenties and from what I learned he'd been caught up in one of the
frequent and tiresome Spanish skirmishes against Roman rule.  I recall my
father saying there were no more troublesome slaves in the world than those
from Spain and that they could be sullen to the point of disobedience.  But
father also said their rebellions ensured a constant supply of strong,
healthy slaves for the Roman markets.  And he warned me that they needed to
be controlled more rigorously than slaves from most other parts of Rome's
world.

   But Lusitanicus never proved a problem for me.  However, I was aware
that my father had him flogged several times to break his spirit and I have
to say he served me well.

   It was Lusitanicus who taught me to sail and he proved an excellent
instructor.  But then I was a willing student for I loved the many happy
hours we spent together sailing the length and breadth of the Neapolis's
bay.

   Sometimes we'd sail over to the northern shore to look at the naval
galleys riding at anchor near Misenum.  A squadron of war galleys is
permanently stationed there and it is ready to put to sea at a moment's
notice should danger ever threaten Rome's friends and allies in the
Campanian region.  We'd watch as the oar-slaves, released from their
rowing-benches, cleaned and maintained the galleys and provisioned them for
long tours of duty at sea.

   At other times we sailed along the southern peninsula to distant
Surrentum and through the shimmering heat haze and the salty sea mist, I'd
catch glimpses of the limestone cliffs of the island of Capreae rising
precipitously out of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

   However, the activity, I enjoyed most was fishing in the River Sarnus
with my father.  Lusitanicus would always accompany us on our fishing
excursions; to both row our boat and to bait our hooks.

   Pompeii and its environs provided me with an inexhaustible variety of
activities over the long, hot summers.  Of course, Father always combined
business with pleasure and I'm not sure if he got to enjoy the summers to
the same extent as I did.

   Father's time was taken up with supervising the picking and pressing of
our olives and grapes.  And of course, there were the grain crops to be
harvested and threshed.  I recall that he would be out in the fields at
first light organizing the slaves and their overseers and it was often dusk
before he returned to the villa.

   And coupled with this was his oversight of the making of the product
which is the principal source of my family's immense wealth.  I refer of
course to that rich, spicy sauce known to all Romans as garum.  We Romans
love the tangy, zesty taste of garum and liberally garnish our dishes with
it.  The garum produced by my family is recognized as among the best
available and it is highly fancied throughout Italia and other parts of the
Mediterranean basin.

   Father's garum is considered as one of the finest that money can buy and
it is used by rich and poor alike.  The recipe is a closely guarded secret
and is handed down from father to son and never revealed to others.  The
slaves who work to make the garum are aware of the basic recipe which is
more or less universal to all other makers of the condiment.  But somewhere
in the family's past, special additives were used that set our garum apart
from all others.  These are jealously guarded secrets known only to my
father and I; not even my mother or sisters are aware of them.

   Father told me of them when I reached manhood and qualified for the toga
virilis.  One day, I will pass this secret on to my son.  For despite by
sexual proclivities and preference for male sex, I must one day marry for
dynastic reasons and produce a son to continue my family's proud lineage.
But that is for the future - although I fear my father will exert unwelcome
pressure on me during my current visit to find a suitable wife and to
marry.

   My father is a proud, aristocratic man and as such he would never sully
our family name by direct involvement in crass business dealings.  It is
one thing to be a "landed gentleman" and to personally manage the affairs
of a prosperous latifundia and most noble Romans do so.  But it is an
entirely different matter for a highborn Roman to personally engage in any
tawdry commercial ventures; such things are best left to the lower levels
of society or to ex- slaves who have been manumitted by their owners and
set up as clients to operate such ventures for their former masters.

   My father has two such clients.  They are canny brothers who were his
slaves and whose abilities and organizational skills he'd recognized and
decided to utilize.  He'd freed the brothers, Casca and Caecillius and
following the well-established custom of former slaves, they adopted our
family name of Bruscius and are known throughout Pompeii as Casca Bruscius
and Caecillius Bruscius.

   These two very able men are answerable to my father as his clients. 
Caecillius is responsible for the manufacture of the garum at the salt-pans
on the coast outside the city walls and Casca for the operation of a garum
shop in a side-street near the Forum.

   The shop was an innovation thought up by Casca who'd put the idea to my
father and convinced him of its business potential.  Father provided the
financial backing for the shop and it has to be said it is proving most
successful.

   The shop sells different grades and varieties of our garum in jars small
enough for use in the domestic kitchen, larger quantities for the city's
many food-stalls and inns and in amphorae suitable for shipping to Rome and
other parts of Italia.  Once the liquid is decanted from the fermentation
vats, the wily Casca even markets the by-products of this fish-sauce -
allec, the solid residue left as a result of fermentation and muria, the
brine which he markets as delicacies to the discerning Pompeian palate.

   But the wily brothers have gone two steps further and they shrewdly
manufacture the highest grade of garum made from pure mackerel which is
prized above all other fish sauce by the true food connoisseur and label it
as "liquaminus floris flos" - absolutely the best fish sauce. 
Additionally, they manufacture a special garum that meets the dietary
requirements of the city's small Jewish community.  It has to be said
neither brother loses the opportunity to make an extra copper as.

   Consequently, their efforts have made them both very wealthy and my
father enjoys a healthy return on his investment in them.

   My father enjoys a unique position in the city; one denied to the vast
majority of Pompeii's residents.  He, like a few fortunate others, is a
Roman citizen whilst they are not.  Pompeii is an ally and a friend of Rome
but it residents aren't Roman citizens.  And I'm not sure if they want to
be as Pompeii is still very much non-Roman in outlook and culture.

   It's an ancient city that reflects it multi-cultural roots and the
predominant languages spoken in Pompeii are the native Oscan and Greek. 
And throughout the city's history, many people have left their marks on its
heritage.  If one looks closely, you can see the influences of the native
Oscan inhabitants, Estruscan, Samnites, Greeks and lastly the Romans.

   Even the origin of the name Pompeii is disputed.  Greek mythology has it
that the city takes its name from Hercules's triumphal procession - called
"pompa"- celebrating his alleged victory over the monster Geryones and the
stealing of his cattle.  Local legend has it that Hercules passed this way
with the cattle on his way back to Greece and the existence of the city of
Herculaneum attests to that fact he'd rested there.

   But my old Greek tutor had a more prosaic explanation for its name.  He
told me it comes from the native Oscan word, "pumpe" meaning five and that
Pompeii had grown from five, small hamlets which had originally occupied
the site.

   But do any of us know with certainty the origin of the name of this
priceless jewel nestling on the verdant, fertile plains between the
awe-inspiring heights of Mons Vesuvio and the sparkling clear, azure blue
waters of the Bay of Neapolis.

   Whatever its origins - now lost in the mists of time - Pompeii still
exerts her charms over me and I wait impatiently for the ferry to take me
across the Bay to her Porta Marina.

   My body-slave Glaucus waits with me.  He is keeping watch over my
luggage protecting it from the thieving vagabonds and filthy urchins who
are forever looking to steal from the unwary traveller.

   How glad I am to have Glaucus as my travelling companion and what a
comfort he proved to be during our nights on the road since leaving Rome
six days ago.

   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

   I'd not wanted to spend a day longer than was necessary in Rome.  I
wanted to conclude my personal business and dispose of Mummius's slaves as
quickly as possible and begin my long journey to my new home in
Tauromenium.

   But I'd been delayed longer than I'd expected in Rome and it all had to
do with the selling of Mummius's spoils of war.  Admittedly, Glaucus had
done much to relieve me of the stress involved in the accommodation and
provisioning of the slaves.  But Glaucus is himself a slave and there were
things that he couldn't do.  After all, the slave-traders simply refused to
do business with a slave and insisted that they deal with me.  As tiresome
as this was - I did have my own business affairs to attend to - I had no
alternative other than to meet with them on several occasions as we
organized the sale of the general's slaves.

   I'm afraid I found the whole idea of dealing in the sale of slaves as
beneath my dignitas.  But General Mummius isn't a man to be trifled with
and he'd been most generous in allowing me to hand-pick my own spoils of
war to labor on my new Sicilian ventures.

   And so, I'd reluctantly represented Mummius as his slaves were sold and
I have to say I found the whole thing to be very distasteful.

   I've been to many slave-markets on numerous times before but only ever
to buy or sell a slave.  Somehow, this was very different.  On those
previous occasions, I'd been a client; now I was a large scale vendor and I
felt like a despised slave-dealer.  With such a large number to sell, the
slaves were sold over five consecutive days and I'd been forced to attend
as all of them were sold.

   Normally, I have little regard for a slave's feelings as he stands on
the auction block; I'd never been squeamish about such matters.  Men, women
and children are enslaved for a variety of reasons.  It can be as
punishment for rebellion against Rome's rule as was the case with the
youths and maidens of Korinthos or as captured prisoners of war.  As a
soldier of the Senate and people of Rome, I'd never questioned why a
conquered person is made a slave or the legitimacy of such an action by the
victors.

   Over my army career, I'd seen thousands of captives marched away into
slavery.  This had never worried me until I sold Mummius's spoils of war.

   I'm not sure what it was that troubled me.  Perhaps it was the sheer
number of new slaves offered for sale in the Graecostadium but I was
affected by the shocked disbelief and the despairing cries of the young men
and women of Korinthos as they were paraded naked before those buyers
hoping for a cheap bargain.  And I noted their shame and humiliation as
they suffered the most obscene of inspections at the hands of the lechers
and voyeurs who are always attracted to these sales like flies to a dead
carcass.

   The physical condition of the slaves classified them as prime stock and
they presented well to the buyers who clustered around the hapless victims
eager to examine them.  As custom dictated the slaves' legs were painted
white - symbolizing they were new slaves for sale - and around their necks
hung the obligatory wooden tituli that told the buyers their nationality,
age and what skills - if any - they possessed.  As I watched the feverish
activity of the buyers examining the naked slaves, I was overwhelmed by the
wretchedness and the sordidness of the slave-market.  Without exception,
these slaves had lost all hope and stood uncomprehending as their bodies
were lewdly inspected for flaws and crudely discussed among their
tormentors.

   Glaucus was attending me and I wondered about his feelings and emotions
as he watched his fellow Korinthians suffering.  The thought flashed
through my mind that some of the slaves might even be known to him. 
Perhaps, he'd shared the same pedagogues with the more highborn, young
nobles who, now like him, are condemned to spend the remainder of their
lives as Roman slaves.  Or is it possible that they'd attended the same
gymnasia and symposiums?  I regarded this as highly probable; after all
Korinthos was a small city and I imagined its former inhabitants were known
to one another if only by reputation.

   However, Glaucus gave nothing away.  If he knew any of the slaves, then
he showed no recognition of them and he carefully suppressed his emotions.
But I could tell he was deeply affected by the scenes being played out
before him.  I noticed the pallor of his skin beneath the deep tan and I
could see the nervous fluttering of his stomach muscles as horrified, he
watched the slaves' cocks being stroked to erections and then masturbated.
And for the first time ever, I shared his distress as the male slaves were
made to bend at the waist and part their buttocks to the lascivious
scrutiny of the public.  Several times, I saw him blush with the slaves'
collective shame as the probing fingers, lewd comments and ribald laughter
of the buyers teased and taunted them.

   In a way, I felt sympathy for the male slaves.  Most were young and
comely and inevitably they would soon become what the baser Romans call a
"scultimidonus" or ass-hole bestower.  This word is among the most
derogatory in the Roman language and yet I heard it used widely to crudely
describe the young men of Korinthos.

   Perhaps the younger, teenaged, male slaves were the luckiest.  Because
of their youth they were seen as "puer delicatus" - toy-boys - and as such
they'd be highly prized by their new masters.  For the next few years at
least, they will be well-treated and live their lives in comparative
luxury.

   I watched these things with mounting anger.  Inwardly, I seethed at the
treatment of these young people from Korinthos.  My emotions were raw and I
was mightily puzzled by this.  Never before had I felt this way about the
harsh treatment of slaves.  In fact, numerous times in the past, I'd been
known to deliver a severe flogging to a recalcitrant or disobedient slave
on my father's behalf.  And hadn't I recently crucified the rebellious
slaves at Tauromenium?

   Why then did the plight of these new slaves affect me?  After all, the
war that Rome had fought against the Achaeans was a "just war" and as the
defeated enemies, these slaves were legitimate spoils of that war.  That is
the immutable law of warfare; the victors triumph and the vanquished
suffer. So this situation wasn't new to me.  I'd seen it repeated many
times throughout my army career.

   But I was affected and it troubled me that I was becoming "soft" in my
attitude towards Rome's enemies.

   Then, I understood what it was that upset me.  As I watched the
humiliation being heaped onto the new slaves it occurred to me that they
were kith and kin to Glaucus and, had it not been for my intervention, he'd
most probably be among their number and suffering with them.

   The thought of my Glaucus standing naked with his legs painted white and
with a wooden titulus hanging around his neck distressed me.  The vision of
him being masturbated and made to bend at the waist to expose the most
intimate part of his body to the public's gaze angered me.

   As I watched the inspection of one young slave, I was outraged to think
that it could so easily be Glaucus standing in his place.  The mere thought
of pudgy, lecherous hands roaming freely over Glaucus's nakedness was
stomach-churning.  By the gods, I would have seen such treatment of Glaucus
as a base defilement of his magnificent, young body.

   Suddenly, I realized the truth of my feelings; they were motivated by my
love for my young, Greek slave from Korinthos.  In truth, I'd become so
possessive of Glaucus almost to the point of unreasoning jealousy.

   Inevitably, all of Mummius's slaves were sold and the proceeds added
enormously to his wealth.  He'd instructed me to deposit the monies with
his bankers and once that was done, I was free to leave Rome for
Tauromenium.  But first I would visit my parents in Pompeii.

   As an aside, before leaving Rome, I'd received word from the Tauromenium
magistrate that my spoils of war had arrived in moderately good condition
and with just the loss of twenty-three slaves who'd died during the voyage.
I was pleased with this news.  The loss of slaves during transportation is
inevitable; some sicken and die while others lose the will to live and turn
their faces to the wall and simply expire.  It is my experience that
whenever a slave loses his interest in living little can be done to
persuade him otherwise.  In such cases, some owners resort to the whip but
I'd always found its use to be futile.  Rather than persuade the slave that
he should live to serve his master it just seems to make him more
determined to die.

   I suppose this is can be seen as a weeding out of those who are unfit
for a life of slavery.  Better for them to die and leave the healthy to
labour.  As a slave-owner, I want my slaves to work without too much
supervision.

   Already, I have decided how my new Korinthian slaves will be treated. 
As long as they work hard in my interests and cause me no problems, they'll
be well-treated.  My overseers will carry whips but these will be more
symbolic - potent signs of their authority - rather than instruments of
pain and suffering.  But it will be a foolish slave who misinterprets this
as weakness on my part.  He'll soon discover that I can be as ruthless as
the next master and his back will carry the bloody stripes of my
displeasure.

   As custom demands, they'll work in chains if only to re-assure the
worthy townspeople of Tauromenium that they present no risk to their
safety. I will allow them to grow their hair thick and lustrous and when it
is at the desired length, they'll be shorn and their hair sold to the
wig-makers in Rome as a cash crop.  There is always great demand for the
hair of rural slaves to be coiffed into exotic and sometimes outlandish
wigs for the society matrons of Rome.

   But within limits, I want to be a benevolent master and not to mistreat
or abuse my slaves.  They'll have strong, weather-proof slave-barracks in
which they are housed and warm dry straw to sleep on.  I'll ensure they
have two adequate meals a day and they`ll have free access to water
throughout the working day.  They will be chained up of a night time, but I
will allow them enough freedom of movement so that they can indulge their
sexual appetites with one another.

   I recognize that my new slaves - my booty from Korinthos - are virile,
young males with healthy sexual appetites to match their youth.  How do I
know that?  As proof of that, I need look no further than Glaucus.  His sex
drive is voracious and outmatches my own.  Why there are nights when
Glaucus quite literally "exhausts" me; so great are his demands on my cock.
Perhaps this is true of all my other Greek slaves and I need to allow them
the freedom to copulate with one another to save them from boredom and
sexual frustration.

   I am of the opinion that healthy sex is both desirable and necessary -
even for a slave.

   I know there are some owners who try and deny their slaves any sexual
activity in the belief that fucking one another robs them of the energy
required for their labours.  Indeed, my own father insists on a chaste
household for his slaves.  All his male slaves are infibulated to protect
the female slaves from unwanted pregnancies.  Of course, during my stay,
Glaucus will be an exception to that rule and I will watch him closely
although to date he hasn't shown any interest in females.  I have now
decided he isn't to be infibulated and he will retain his foreskin - well
at least for the foreseeable future.

   My nights with Glaucus are filled with the most intense lovemaking.  By
Priapus, how I enjoy the tight confinement of my new slave's shapely ass as
it warmly embraces my rampant member.  As I plunge ever deeper into him and
as he matches the movement of his ass to my thrusting we are as one; joined
together by our mutual lust and for my growing love for Glaucus.

   For I have grown to love Glaucus as I have never loved any other of my
body-slaves.  Always, after the fiery passion of our lovemaking subsides,
we lie together in the still darkness of the night.  Glaucus is always the
first to succumb to the god, Hypnos's call to sleep; for my part I just lie
and gaze down on his sleeping form.  Cradled in my arms, with his head
resting on my chest, I am overwhelmed with my love for this beautiful,
young Greek.  Whenever he stirs and nestles closer into me, I reach out to
soothingly stroke his cheek and the feel of his stubbled chin reminds me
that he is a young adult.  This is incongruous as I see Glaucus very much
as a boy who enchants me and of whom I am overly protective.  Glaucus is my
puer delicatus - my delicious boy - and I love him with an intensity I
never knew was possible for one man to feel for another male.

   In my gratitude, there were times when I went to her temple in Rome and
paid homage to the goddess, Fortuna and made sacrificial offerings to her
for giving Glaucus to me.

   I have now decided that Glaucus is to be my concubinus and this will
declare my love for him to the wider world.  As a slave, Glaucus can never
be considered by the Romans as a vir - a man - and no matter what age he
attains he'll always be seen by them as a puer.

   But I can confer on him the status of concubinus which gives him a
special standing in both my household and my life.  As a sign of that
status, he'll grow his hair longer than is normal for the average male
house-slave and he'll even attend dinners and functions as my "special"
partner where he'll be publicly acknowledged as such.  At these dinners,
he'll recline on a couch next to me and he will be served by the household
slaves.

   Within my household, he'll be treated as an equal by me and my slaves
will give him the respect due to him as their Master's concubinus.  Glaucus
will dine with me in the triclinium and naturally he'll share my
bed-chamber.  And he'll be privy to all my business dealings; indeed I will
look to him for his frank opinions and wise advice.  In time, it will
become inconceivable to me that I'd ever make a business decision without
first asking Glaucus for his counsel.

   In truth, Glaucus is now to share my life in all matters and be my soul
mate and my lover!

   And because I know of Glaucus's insatiable sexual appetite - and of my
own needs - I will allow my worker slaves the same freedom to fuck in their
free hours.

   The magistrate from Tauromenium also wrote glowingly of Perimedes whom
I'd appointed to act on my behalf in my absence.  The magistrate told me
that Perimedes and his younger brother Diagoras had successfully unloaded
the slaves and marched them to my latifundia where they now labour to have
things in order for my arrival.  Perimedes, acting under the magistrate's
instructions, has set the slaves to work in clearing away the debris of
neglect and the wanton destruction of the recent slave rebellion and all
was progressing well.

   It would appear that I'd made the right decision in appointing Perimedes
as my estate manager and the younger Diagoras as his helper.

   The magistrate did draw to my attention the matter of clothing for my
slaves.  Naturally, they'd been transported from Korinthos to Sicilia as
naked as the days their mothers gave birth to them.  The transporting of
slaves over a long distance is, at best, a messy business and when you have
large numbers incarcerated in the closed confines of a galley's cargo hold
it becomes even messier.

   The arrival of such a large number of slaves overtaxed the limited
resources of the Tauromenium community and the best that could be provided
for my slaves were simple loincloths and not the customary tunics and
sandals worn by agricultural workers.

   Fortunately for the slaves, the weather in Sicilia is mild and so I
didn't consider their near naked state would be too much of a hardship for
them to endure.  In fact, I was of two minds about this and I had to decide
if my slaves would wear tunics or loincloths.  The idea of my semi-naked
slaves sweating under the hot sun and with their work-hardened muscles
stressed by their labours conjures up erotic images for me to salivate
over.

   Finally, I decided on a compromise.  I will have my slaves work in
loincloths during the warmer seasons and issue them with tunics in late
autumn and winter.

   Before leaving Rome, Glaucus had procured tunics and sandals for them
and he had sent these ahead to Tauromenium.  However, I'd instructed
Perimedes to wait until my arrival before issuing these to the
field-slaves. I'd also instructed him to choose ten slaves to prepare my
villa ready for my occupancy.

   After that, I'd wasted no time in quitting the heat and stink of Rome.
The trip to Pompeii can be very quick - a messenger on horse relay can make
the journey in a day - but for most it is a trip of three to six days.

   I'd decided to travel on horseback with Glaucus driving a mule -cart
loaded with my personal effects and other things that I needed for my villa
in Tauromenium.  Accordingly, we made the journey in easy stages travelling
through the Campanian countryside via Capua to Neapolis and stopping each
night at an inn for food and lodging.

   Our balmy, summer days were filled with the closest companionship
possible between two men who enjoy one another's company to the exclusion
of all others and our erotic nights were heady with the intoxicating,
sweaty scent of our torrid lovemaking.

   Indeed, I truly wished the trip from Rome to Pompeii would never end. 
But inevitably it did and we reached Neapolis.  Here, I stored my effects
in a warehouse and booked passage for Glaucus and me on a merchant ship
sailing to Sicilia in ten days' time.  Those ten days will be spent with my
family in Pompeii and I am looking forward to being re-united with them.

   I wait on the jetty for the ferry that is to take us across the bay to
the Marine Gate of Pompeii.  Glaucus stands at my side carefully guarding
my trunk which contains my clothing and the presents from exotic, faraway
places that I bear for my parents and my sisters.

   To be continued.................