Sharpie

Rufus had found a place to stow the things he was carrying (under a heavy marble bench, out of the way) and joined in with the fire-fighting efforts trying to keep the blaze from spreading and get it put out.

It took... it felt like forever but eventually the fire was out, the place blackened and with part of the roof fallen in, but the major part of the house was safe. Rufus couldn't help feeling for the slaves - they would feel the loss of any of their few possessions more keenly than the free who could replace theirs.

Rufus smelt of smoke, as did everyone. His eyes were stinging and he found himself outside, blinking fiercely to be able to see. his hair was every-which-way and his skin and tunic were smoke-stained.

He turned as he heard his name called. "Domine?" It was little more than a croak and he cleared his throat to try again. "Domine?"

@Gil

"Domine!" Those hands on his shoulders, and that voice, could not belong to anyone else, though the usual cool calm patrician tones were suffused with worry. "Your satchel - it's here, Domine." He fumbled the strap from over his head one-handed and held it out.

Now that he could take the time to see in the weak moonlight, the other man was now swathed in a cloak, where he had rushed out as bare as the day he was born.

"The fire...?" he asked, more than ready to put everything else down somewhere and join the bucket brigade if need be. Gods only knew where they were going to spend the rest of the night. In the stable or barn, with the animals, most likely, which wouldn't be the most comfortable night ever but would at least be out of the snow that was beginning to fall.

"I got your saddle-bag, too, Domine," he added. "I couldn't get your boots, though. I'm sorry." The apology was partly for that small failure, partly for disobeying orders and emphatically not staying put, returning to the house no matter its condition, to rescue things that might or might not be of more value than Rufus himself.

@Gil

Long overdue... Jupiter Optimus Maximus, could there be any more of an understatement about it?!

"Yes, Domine," he said, striving to keep any criticism out of his voice. Really, Tertius looked so pleased with himself for having finally got off his ass to do something about it that Teutus wasn't sure whether to burst out laughing or roll his eyes. Neither would be healthy, especially right now when Tertius looked as if he might explode or something. Teutus's freedom was so utterly dependant on Tertius finally getting around to this that he didn't dare to anything to jeopardise it.

But going for the full ceremony was something Teutus hadn't expected. Perhaps he should have; Tertius was so utterly determined to be correct in what he did.

And oh gods. The full ceremony - head shaved, stripped to his loincloth in front of... everybody who mattered (it wasn't being stripped completely for sale but it was a pretty close thing to it - and a slave stripped for sale generally shared that abject condition with others rather than being the only one!).

"May I ask when you plan to have this ceremony, Domine?" he asked, carefully not saying the words 'freeing me'; he didn't want to raise his hopes too much, after all. and then to wait the six weeks or so for his hair to grow back... Presumably he would be expected to join in the morning salutatio with Tertius' other clients for that time?

@Atrice

It was night, so it didn't matter that there was little no light in the house. All these small villas were very similar to one another which meant that it was easy for Rufus to find the room assigned to his temporary master. The oil lamp had fallen off the table and shattered on the floor, spilling oil but thankfully it hadn't caught light. He found  the satchel and, wonder of wonders, the saddle-bag from the mule which hadn't yet been opened.

He couldn't stay for anything else, and grabbed the two bags and the sword which had fallen on top of the saddle-bag, before hastily retracing his steps. His own spare tunics were in a haversack somewhere and he didn't know where his paenula had gone either. They might be found tomorrow, in daylight, if there was no more shaking tonight, and if the fire were put out quickly, before it spread.

He left the house the same way he had entered it, through the front door, running, and actually knocked into someone. Who else lacked common sense and would be on their way back in?

"I... Apologies, sir," he gasped out - pretty much everyone who'd come back in this way was a free person who was infinitely above Rufus in the social order of Roman society.

@Gil

If you believe you're ready!

Teutus had been ready for this for... years. Years in which it hadn't happened, was always something that was going to happen one day. In truth, it had been Tertius who hadn't been ready for it, but Teutus wasn't prepared to consider that.

Was he supposed to go and book a flautist and troupe of dancing girls to express how happy he was about it? He was not at all sure how he was supposed to feel, or what he was supposed to say, or anything. Was this some joke, to extend those items belonging to a freedman and then to snatch them away and send him right back to what he had been doing?

Or worse, sell him - he hadn't forgotten his father selling other slaves who meant something to him, including Teutus' first real friend and Teutus' mother.

He still couldn't quite bring himself to believe this was real; it had happened so often in his imagination without ever coming real, that his first instinct was to pinch himself, surreptitiously.

"Yes, I'm ready, Domine. I just... can't quite believe it's real," he said, suddenly realising just how much the uncomfortable silence had stretched. Whatever scenario he had concocted, in those numerous sleepless nights, none of them had come close to the sheer... ordinariness of this.

@Atrice

He hadn't really noticed the items on the desk; a slave's attention was supposed to be on his master at all times (or that's what he had been told, over and over, even when he didn't want to see is master because it only reminded him how much he resented the man and his power over him).

"It's a pileus, Domine," he said, striving for a neutral tone. The freedman's cap of liberty. He could make a guess, but it was bound to be a wrong one. If he'd been brought in here so that his father - his master - could gloat to him over freeing the gardener, Teutus was going to go to the latrines and be sick.

Well, to be fair, though he had no idea why he'd want to bother being fair to a man who'd never been fair to him, Tertius Quinctilius Varus was not the gloating sort, especially when it came to his slaves.

Teutus took refuge in ignorance and stupidity (See, Master, I can be the perfect slave you always wanted me to be!). "No, Domine."

Too many broken promises. This was just another one to add to the long, long list of them.

@Atrice

It didn't seem to be dictation. Tertius was wearing his formal toga (why was he wearing his formal toga? Was he going somewhere on business and needed to take a secretary with him?)

"I am... well, Domine," he said, trying to wrap his head around what was going on. Was the master ill? Why had he been talking to the other slaves about him? Was he planning, finally, to... Teutus tamped down on that thought. It had been too long, there had been too many promises, he had heard 'Soon, Teutus, I promise, soon,' far too often without seeing any proof that the promise might be kept, and he had stopped hoping for it.

"Thank you, Domine," he said, as it seemed obvious he was supposed to say something in reply to that last, bizarre statement.

@Atrice

Stay here? What was he supposed to do if he did stay here - there were a pony and mule of his master's in the stable with the other animals, and they wouldn't know any of the soldiers who would be looking to their own animals.

The shaking dropped him to his knees as Flavius Alexander strode off, as naked as the day he was born.

And then it stopped, as suddenly as it had begun.

There was nothing he could do here, but he could see to the well-being of the animals. Disobeying would be a calculated risk, of course, but he had been more than obedient up till now, and hope it would not count against him too badly if he did not stay here. He could take a whipping, and his master would expect Rufus to be disciplined if necessary, so it was with no small amount of trepidation that he followed, to see if he could be of any use

As it turned out, he did not need to enter the stable - there was great confusion with soldiers and the farm's own slaves trying to get the animals out, into the paddock, but Rufus could help lead the animals into the fenced-off field - if the fence had not been damaged.

Any inhabitant of the area knew that one period of shaking could often be followed by another, and even if it was not, the farm buildings might not be safe to return to now. He was halfway between the house and the stable when there was a cry of 'Fire!'

The master's satchel! He had come out without a stitch on, and surely that would be the last thing on his mind, but whatever was in it was valuable, and Rufus didn't think twice, turning to run back to the house. The fire was in the kitchen, or somewhere near it, not in the guest-room, so he had time, if he was quick, if there was not another ground shake, if, if...

@Gil

"From Britannia, Domine, during the invasion there." She had been brought to Italy quite young, she had told her son, when he asked her about it, though she had said little more than that.

Red haired barbarians had been seen more and more frequently in Italy recently, but the ones Rufus had seen (and they wee not many; Paestum was not a major port, after all) had nearly all had brighter hair, more copper coloured than the dark red of his own, though he had been told even his glowed copper in sunlight, or bright lamplight.

The citizen seemed fascinated by it, running his fingers through it, before they slipped down his cheek, caressing, then took a light but commanding grip on his chin, pulling him sideways, stumbling a little at the unexpectedness of it, into a kiss.

"Do you want me again, Domine?" he asked as the kiss broke. He would not mind; the patrician was one of the more considerate men Rufus had ever been lent to, and he was not so stiff as he might have expected.

@Gil

Teutus had been collared to help with things elsewhere in the house. Respectfully, of course; everyone in the household was aware of his neither-fish-nor-fowl status: a slave but the son of the master who might or might not be freed and end up as their master one day.

Teutus was the most affected by it; all the other slaves could have their friendships with others in the house, but there was always that slight suspicion when he came in. And of course he couldn't have friendships with any of the freeborn young men, who were all busily getting on with their political careers and didn't want to have anything to do with a slave.

His freedom had been promised to him, over and over, until he was sick of hearing about it; it was nothing but words any more. So that when one of the other slaves came to tell him the master wanted him, he presumed it was to take dictation and found his wax tablets, tugging his tunic straight and taking a respectful position as he entered the tablinum, the office.

"You sent for me, Domine?" he asked, eyes lowered. The master's son or not, he was still a slave and liable to get in trouble if he was impertinent in words or behaviour.

@Atrice

Rufus was no medicus, of course, but knew enough - a sprain was not the same as a broken bone, but it might have done something - and anyway, joints did and could ache in cold weather, even if had only been a stupid thing like catching the knee on the doorframe (which had happened to one of Rufus' fellow slaves, a while ago, and now he muttered that he knew when it was going to rain, too).

A little oil and a little care should set it as much to rights as possible. It wasn't a muscle; Rufus was best when it came to actual massages, but he did what he could, conscious of being watched as he worked.

Germania, though... yes, that might explain why he felt cramped by civilisation now. Rufus couldn't understand the appeal of the tribes, nor why they fought so fiercely against Rome - although there was the objection to other people building towns and roads and the like on your land, so he could understand that part of it. And Rome was greedy for territory. Why they didn't go south into Africa where at least it was warm and sunny, Rufus would never understand - not that he would ever dare ask the question, either. He probably wouldn't understand the answer if he even got given one.

@Gil

"Yes, Domine," Rufus replied, approaching him to undress him, carefully laying his tunic aside; it had barely been worn today and might well do for tomorrow.

He found the bottle of oil provided for the lamp and poured a little into his hands, rubbing them together before beginning to minister to the citizen's knee. A warm compress might be better than rubbing it down, but he had little idea where to find the ingredients for one in this house and the cook had long gone to bed.

"Is it an old injury, Domine?" The question was asked quietly, respectfully. Rufus was not interrupting anything by asking; quite the contrary, for Flavius Alexander was watching him as he worked.

He might yet ended up with the man's prick inside him again, but he didn't think any coupling tonight would be so... driven, as it had been yesterday. The citizen looked far more peaceable than he had yesterday - and if he knee was paining him...

There were many many different positions for that kind of thing, if he did want that, of course!

@Gil

"A cup of wine and... what would you recommend off your menu?" Teutus spoke respectfully, of course; as far as anyone else in Rome was concerned, he was a slave. Perhaps a better sort of slave, one able to roam the streets almost at will during or after running his master's errands, but still a slave. "I have the money," he added, showing a quick glimpse of a sestertius.

A slave he might be, and promised his freedom (eventually. Probably when Caesar Augustus retired to his farm like Cincinnatus and let the Senate usher in a new republic of Rome). But he did still have his peculium, the small allowance of money (and tips) that some slaves saved up to eventually purchase their freedom with.

He had completed his errand and was heading home, but the scents issuing from the small caupona had reminded him that he was hungry, it was easily midday (actually, probably rather later than midday) and better to eat now than get home and find there was nothing but a bite of bread and cheap lora, the rubbish stuff from the third pressing of the grapes - if there was anything at all. Here, it would at least be posca, cheap but not next-door to vinegar, and something more appetising than dry bread.

@Gothic

Rufus had been able to have his own supper - two bowls of it, in fact, a decently-tasty vegetable stew which had gone down very well. He had returned to the guest-room to ensure that everything was to hand so they could be on their way as early as necessary, without risking leaving anything behind. He had taken a seat on the floor, and dosed off, the light sleep of a slave expecting to be summoned at any second. The ability to sleep anywhere yet instantly be awake when required was something he had once been informed that soldiers and slaves had in common, and it was the sound of approaching footsteps that woke him, allowing him to be on his feet as the citizen entered the room.

The lamplight lit the room in gold, although there were still deep shadows in the corners.

"Domine," he said, head bent, and hands folded in front of him. He probably wouldn't be required to provide the same sexual services tonight as he had last night, but it could never be guaranteed - anyway, the citizen had been given full use of Rufus' body by his master so either way, it wasn't like Rufus had a say in it.

@Gil

"Yes, Domine." He could only hope that he might be able to have something to eat before he went to bed; it had been a long day and he hadn't eaten much during the course of the day - a snatched few mouthfuls of bread in the morning and not very much more at midday.

Such was the life of a slave, of course, it was nothing new to Rufus, and it surely wouldn't be the last time he had to just deal with it.

He pulled his own tunic back on before gathering up the citizen's discarded tunic and appurtenances to return them to his room before making his way to the triclinium, hoping that he wouldn't be needed to serve during the meal, even while knowing it was probably a vain hope.

@Gil

This evening marked the first time that Rufus had seen the other man naked, without the knowledge that a fuck was imminent. He was taller than Rufus, dark-haired and olive-skinned like the native Italians were, with a vaguely impressive set of scars, including the one that Rufus had come so close to touching yesterday. It was a more impressive set of scars than those gathered by a slave would be, because none of them were the result of a punishment as a slave's would be.

He rubbed him down briskly, turning his skin pink, from his neck to his feet, being careful of the heavy cock and balls that had taken him with such force yesterday. Once dried, he reached for the clean tunic he had brought, and the belt to go with it.

"Do you wish me to wait upon you at dinner, domine, or...?" The rest of the question trailed off, left unspoken. It would be presumptuous to have added it: or may I have some free time could not be anything at all other than presumptuous, for a slave, and Rufus had no wish to be thought impertinent and receive a correction for it. And 'free time' for a slave merely meant time to sort out his master's things, or do some other little things to contribute to his master's comfort. Free time, for a slave, was a laughable concept; if a man belonged to someone, then his time belonged to that person to be spent as that person wished.

@Gil

"Yes, domine," Rufus replied and reached for the strigil. There was another reason why slaves were clothed (if a loincloth counted as clothing!) in the bath-house where the free were naked: the working slaves needed to be able to wipe the strigil on something after every pass.

He wondered why the free man thought Jupiter any more likely to listen to a slave's prayers than those of someone able to offer a much better sacrifice than he could. Almost nobody actually believed in the gods, not really, but it would be the height of folly to tell anybody that - that would be a sure-fire way of having the gods prove that they were indeed very much real!

He worked the strigil efficiently, careful not to scrape too hard and actually hurt the man - the slaves in the public baths might get away with such carelessness, but a personal attendant, privately owned, would not. Even if the free man concerned did have intriguing notions of holding a conversation with the slave in question.

First a late-night excursion along the beach, now this. It was different - but there had been the usual indifference of a citizen dealing with a slave, too. The citizen posed a very definite conundrum!

@Gil

There seemed to be no answer Rufus could make to the first question, which must surely be rhetorical.

He quickly set to work; a full massage could not be done if the citizen wished to be as brief as it seemed he did, but Rufus could at least ease some of the tension in his neck and shoulders, and tipped some oil into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it before he began working at the man's neck. "I am no soldier, domine. Maybe I am somewhat stiff, but there is little enough that can be done about that."

If he had a few minutes, he might be able to rub some of the stiffness from his legs. His bum was still a little sore, but not painfully so, about on the level of every other ache Rufus was suffering right now. He would live, at least.

"It's unlikely to kill me, domine," he added wryly, moving both hands to work out a particularly deep knot in the man's right shoulder.

@Gil

"Maybe once. I try not to any more."

What is your favourite way to spend an afternoon when you have nothing else to do?

The compliment was a genuine one and was met with a shy grin from Rufus, aimed more towards his feet than the citizen who'd actually offered the compliment. If he had to work and couldn't rest yet... How often, really did slaves have their work noticed and appreciated? It was unusual, and nice in its unusual-ness.

"Yes, Domine," he replied, setting aside the items he'd come in with and moving to remove his tunic and the subligaculum, and set his other things more tidily to the side.

"I hope your day was... profitable, Domine," he said, reaching for the oil bottle - a quick massage, a scrape down, dip and shave shouldn't take too long.

@Gil

Rufus had had just as long a day as anyone else in the group, yet because he was a slave and they were free, he was still expected to work while everyone else was able to relax.

The pack had been placed in the room allocated to Flavius Alexander and it was the work of mere moments to extract a clean tunic from it. He had to ask directions from one of the household slaves, but soon came into the bathhouse, where he placed the clean tunic in a niche, and quickly stripped off his own outer clothing, down to the loincloth he was wearing, finding oil-bottle and strigil set out ready.

"Domine," he said, neutrally, almost the first word he had exchanged with the tall citizen since that morning.

@Gil

With the disappearance into the house of his temporary owner, Rufus was somewhat at a loss. He was aching, unused to the long days in the saddle that were second nature to the soldiers, and still feeling sore after the previous night's activities in a way that he just hadn't before. Whether that was because he'd spent the morning in the saddle, or whether it was because last night he'd been fucked harder than he had in a long while, he had no idea.

Plebeian free men seemed less standoffish than patrician free men, for someone produced some dice and someone else dragged Rufus, kindly but roughly, into the circle of players, even though he had no money on him to gamble with.

It was barely an hour later when the group's leader re-emerged, curtly telling them to mount again. Normally this would not be a problem for Rufus, but he was stiff after everything he'd been doing and one of the soldiers gave him a leg-up.

Slave he might be, but Rufus did not want to feel that he was somehow less capable than these very capable men, and fiddled with the mule's leading-rein until the rest of the party had formed up again.

@Gil

Rufus was not accustomed to riding. He could do so, of course; nobody brought up on a farm where there were  horses could escape learning how.

That didn't mean that he was entirely comfortable, especially with the aches and soreness from last night. He was infinitely grateful for the easy pace set;  they could so easily have gone cantering off and left Rufus trailing behind, dealing with his own residual aches, a pony that wasn't up to cavalry standard and a mule that could easily take it into its head to be a stubborn bastard of thing. It wasn't now, thankfully.

The farmland they crossed could easily be his master's land, he wasn't entirely sure where the landward boundary of it lay, but everyone around here had much the same crops and animals as everyone else.

He was glad when they reached a stream and stopped to let the horses drink. He looked up from tending to the mule and his pony and caught Titus' eye, probably inadvertently. The citizen's expression seemed to be one almost of concern, a slight query as to whether Rufus was coping all right.

He nodded respectfully, trying not to get flustered - no citizen had ever, in his experience, bothered with how a slave dealt with a new situation. They dealt, or they didn't, and it was no concern to the free whether they were coping or not.

Titus Flavius Alexander was, after all was said and done, a conundrum!

@Gil

Rufus buckled the sword-belt on with as little fuss as possible, suddenly aware that he was going to be the only slave in a party of free men, and feeling unusually nervous at the realisation.

It was not, naturally, the best horse in Gaius' stable that Rufus was allowed to take, but a serviceable sturdy cob, smaller than the horses ridden by the mounted soldiers, but a 'good doer' according to the stablehand who boosted Rufus into the saddle, giving him a lewd look as Rufus shifted his weight uncomfortably, taking the mule's leading rein. He followed the rest of the party out, his spirits lifted by the prospect of just being away from the villa for three days, perhaps seeing a little of what lay over the horizon.

Even if he was the only slave in a party of free men, that alone had to be worth something.

@Gil

"Yes, Domine," was Rufus' short, simple reply to the string of instructions, which were clear in themselves, although the implication was not - was he to plan to be away for several days? Would he require a spare tunic - taking a paenula was a given, seeing that it was winter. And a blanket, if they were not coming back this evening. He would have to have a word with Gallus about it.

 He knelt to fasten the man's footwear, noting which holes the buckles were customarily fastened at. That was quickly done and then he bent to packing up the indicated items, folding things neatly so that they took up as little space as possible. The map and letters, and a wax writing tablet and stylus, slipped easily into the satchel, and he made his way to the kitchen to pass on the message and consult with what he himself would require - a spare tunic was scrounged from somewhere, and rolled in a blanket which could then be tied either across a saddle, or worn over Rufus' shoulder.

He took the satchel and the sword, aware of the responsibility of being given charge of them, even for such a short time, and joined the bustle of activity in the farmyard behind the house, waiting for a suitable pause before approaching Flavius Alexander.

"Sir," he said quietly, as the man's eyes fell on him. He brought sword and satchel out from beneath the thick felt hooded poncho (the paenula) that he was wearing, ready for to be told to fasten the swordbelt around the man's waist, or just to be told to hand the things over.

@Gil