Zelamir

Helot

Chapters 30-36

Chapter 30

He knelt down beside the naked boy silently offering the bowl to him. His eyes rested for a moment on the lad's raw bottom, still oozing blood despite the trainers' ministrations, before at last looking Ayas full in the face.

"Horsey said this was for you," he said. For some inexplicable reason a deep blush darkening his already sun tanned face.

Ayas silently shook his head.

"You don't want it?" Perin said clearly amazed that any boy should refuse food whatever the circumstances.

"Horsey said you should eat it," he repeated and then added as what he clearly saw as the final conclusive argument. "There's ox tripes in it. I saw him put them in. Look."

Placing the bowl on the ground he thrust a rather grubby hand into it searching for a scrap of the promised delicacy. He drew out a strip of grey pockmarked flesh and proffered it to Ayas. Meat, even tripes, was a luxury that did not often come the way of slave boys and it was beyond his imagination that the other would refuse it.

"I don't want it," Ayas mumbled, "you eat it."

Perin looked at the scrap doubtfully.

He was hungry, he was always hungry and the piece of flesh would be a real treat for him. On the other hand he had from the time of his first arrival at the stables regarded Ayas with the unquestioning awe that only a younger boy can feel for an older companion who seems to be the best at everything that matters. For the boys in Xionedes's stables only one thing mattered, the ability to ride and to ride winners. In those stables Ayas was the only boy who could stay on Vulcan and Vulcan was acknowledged to be the strongest and best horse in the place. As a consequence Ayas was worshipped by the younger boys with the same unquestioning fervour that in another society would be accorded by a young fourth former to the Captain of Rugby.

On top of this Perin was a far from stupid boy and he fully recognised that Ayas by taking his place on Vulcan's back had saved him from almost certain death. An act of courage for which he had been savagely beaten.

He felt he should be tending to Ayas, nursing him in his misery not taking his food but that scrap of meat was a sore temptation to him. Kneeling beside the naked boy he looked at the scrap of meat unhappily. It was Ayas's he told himself. Ayas whom he admired and who had now saved his life. He certainly should not take anything from him, rather he should give him anything he could, his own food or anything else he had, in gratitude. For a moment he imagined Ayas, a young aristocrat, lying on a couch himself kneeling beside it dressed in some skimpy garment of diaphanous material feeding his young master figs dipped in honey from a golden bowl. Then reality obtruded and he saw himself as he really was, a grubby naked little slave brat kneeling beside another brat with a sore bottom lying on a dirty fragment of sacking on the earth floor of a cramped cell.

But there remained the scrap of meat. If Ayas really did not want it surely it was all right for him to have it. It would be silly to waste it. He half lifted it to his mouth and then checked himself. He longed to put it in his mouth, to chew on it to enjoy its texture and the taste of the juices that flowed out of it, but he just could not do it. He might be a mere slave brat regarded as hardly human by his betters but he had a conscience and that conscience would not let him take something that rightfully belonged to the boy whose courage had saved his life. Not even when Ayas had told him he might have it.

Regretfully Perin lowered his hand and offered the fragment of meat again to Ayas. It was only a small piece of poor quality meat, to most people indeed with its greyish colour and strangely dimpled skin a peculiarly unappetising morsel, but nobody who has not been desperately, stomach achingly hungry and who has been suddenly presented with an opportunity to taste the most delicious food you could possibly imagine can begin to grasp the depth of Perin's sacrifice.

"I don't want it Ayas," he lied, "If you won't eat it I will throw it away, but as he spoke his voice shook and tears glinted in his eyes.

Although his bottom was still burning fiercely from the savage flogging he had received Ayas recognised the lie for what it was. Apart from the intrinsic unlikelihood of a slave boy, a perennially hungry species, not wanting food the tremor in Perin's voice betrayed him. Ayas however did not understand the reasons for Perin's abstinence. Indeed he supposed it was because of warnings from the trainer of what he would do to Perin if he found out the boy had eaten any of his food. Anyway Perin's motives were immaterial to Ayas. What mattered was the boy obviously wanted the food despite his repeated statements to the contrary. That was enough. One way or another Ayas determine he should at least have some of it.

Taking the strip of tripe he placed one end in his mouth, biting down on it and pulling he tore it in half.

"I'll only eat some if you'll share it with me," Ayas said holding out the two halves of pallid coloured meat to the other boy so that he could make his choice.

This Perin could see this changed the position entirely. Taking this piece of meat in these circumstances was not depriving Ayas of food. It was enabling him to have some. He took a piece from the palm of Ayas's hand and crammed it into his own mouth. He began to chew enthusiastically. Reddish brown juice trickled down his chin. It tasted just as good as he expected it to.

Ayas began to chew on the second scrap of meat. He found to his surprise that he was quite hungry.

"Is there anymore?" he asked, swallowing, after a period of more or less silent chewing.

"I'll see," Perin replied plunging his far from clean hand into the bowl.

After some further fishing about he drew out a second chunk of tripe and silently passed it to Ayas who again tore it into two pieces with his teeth. For the next half hour or so Perin knelt close beside Ayas's prone body. Every now and again Perin would dip his fingers into the bowl cradled between his spread knees and draw out a further lump of offal to share between Ayas and himself.

Finally, after fishing for sometime in the murky depths of the bowl, he withdrew his fingers and licked them carefully before announcing the supply of meat was exhausted although there was plenty of barley porridge left.

"You finish that up," said Ayas whose immediate hunger had been sated and anyway, lying flat on his tummy, could not see quite how he could manage to get the sloppy mixture into his mouth.

Perin accepted the offer with alacrity. Barley porridge so far as he was concerned was in quite a different category to meat. The latter was to him and his like a rare luxury while the barley porridge was the everyday stomach filler they were all too familiar with. That was not to say that the chance of getting some extra was to be despised and Perin set about stuffing handfuls into his mouth with enthusiasm.

To make sure that not even the very last morsel of the porridge was wasted Perin, clasping the empty bowl in his two hands, lifted it to his lips and threw back his head. Ayas lying prone on his front, his face turned towards the younger boy, found himself presented with a clear view of Perin's cock between his widely spread knees. Thin and twig like it stood erect, eagerly quivering, a silent testimony to the child's continuing excitement. Ayas felt that the breath had been driven from his body. He lay still for a moment silently admiring it, wondering if he had read its significance correctly. Deciding to put the matter to the test he reached out and brushed Perin's little boy's cock with the back of his hand. The boy's reaction banished all doubts from Ayas's mind. Perin far from shying away from Ayas's tentative caress pushed his pelvis forward inviting further and more vigorous advances. At the same time he lowered the bowl and looking down into Ayas's face smiled shyly.

Ayas did not forget his stripes, nothing, not even Perin's smile could make him do that. But the fact that it felt as though he was being forced to sit down on a red hot iron plate somehow ceased to matter. He pushed himself up onto his knees and throwing his arms around the younger boy hugged him tightly. Perin responded enthusiastically to his embrace. Tilting his head back he looked up into Ayas's face who bending his head kissed the child fiercely on his slightly parted lips. Perin's lips it has to be admitted were liberally smeared with juice from the tripes mixed with the remnants of the barley porridge. Ayas however, as he slipped his tongue between the boy's half open lips, was oblivious to this. All he was conscious of and all he cared about was the small lithe body pressing close up against his own. With one hand cupping Perin's firm young rump, the other pressing hard against the back of the his head Ayas flicked his tongue down into the back of the other boy's throat. For a moment the two boys tongues indulged in an erotic jousting match.

Then Perin broke their embrace. He nuzzled the side of Ayas's neck before beginning to work his way slowly down his body.

"I thought you hadn't done this before," Ayas gasped hoarsely as Perin gently nibbled at one of his nipples.

"I haven't," Perin replied briefly raising his head, "but it didn't stop me watching the other boys."

His lips closed once more about the now swollen nipple. Perin abandoned Ayas's nipple and nuzzled the side of his chest before sliding the tip of his tongue into his arm pit. Ayas hugged the younger boy to him and then putting a hand on each shoulder pressed downward. Perin, responding to this signal began to make his way slowly down Ayas's body, his lips and tongue always busy.

"What is the most times you've done it with Damos?" he asked, pausing for a moment from his labours.

"Three," Ayas replied hoarsely.

"Well try for five tonight," Perin said before bending his head back to its task and slipping the tip of his tongue into Ayas's belly button.

Suddenly Ayas felt Perin's hands clasping him by the hips, the child knees pressing against the inside of his thighs. Automatically Ayas moved his own legs apart and in a single lithe movement Perin slid down between them. Now he wsa lying prone on his back, his head directly beneath Ayas's bottom. Ayas moaned in excitement as Perin licked his perineum, that sensitive area of the body lying immediately behind the scrotum. His moans increased in volume as the tip of the boy's tongue entered his hole and teased the lips of his anus.

Now Ayas forgot his lacerated and burning bottom and the sordid cell in which he lay. All he was conscious of was the delicious sensations that were sweeping through his whole body. The intensity of those sensations increase rather than diminished as Perin withdrawing his tongue from his hole, sucked and then spreading opening his jaws as wide as he could, took his balls in his mouth.

Ayas's cock was rigid and leaking precum. Perin ran his tongue along its length from its base in the boy's still hairless scrotum to the swollen pink helmet at its top. He teased the slit at its top, removing the beads of welling precum with the tip of his tongue. Then his lips closed round the shaft of hard throbbing flesh. Grabbing him by the ears Ayas pumped the child's mouth with his swollen prick.

"Four more to go," Perin said a moment later swallowing hard and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

He rolled over onto his tummy and spreading his legs lifted his bottom, offering it to Ayas.

"It'll hurt," Ayas protested, "doing it like that. Specially when it's your first time and we've no grease or anything."

"I don't care if you hurt me," Perin answered and then added in a determined tone of voice, "I want to be hurt by you Ayas."

"You don't know how much it will hurt," Ayas said sensibly, "but all right. I'll loosen you up a bit first though. Now push your bottom up and push out like you're shitting. It will make it easier for you to get inside me."

Putting his index finger in his mouth he sucked on it. Then he eased it into Perin's hole gently forcing the lips of his anus apart. Perin murmured and stirred uneasily.

"Shall I stop," Ayas asked anxiously.

"No, no please go on," Perin's had pushed his face down into the sacking on which he lay and his voice was muffled.

Meeting resistance Ayas steadily increased the pressure on his finger tip. Very, very slowly Ayas drove his finger deeper into the boy. The nail disappeared inside the child, then his finger was buried up to the first joint. There was resistance and Ayas pushed harder. Perin gasped sharply as his sphincter was forced.

Ayas hesitated again and again Perin's muffled voice begged him to continue while the boy reinforced his pleas with actions, pushing his bottom upwards to welcome the intruding finger. Ayas pressed down feeling the heat of the boy's body as it closed tight around his finger drawing it downwards. Soon his finger was buried upt o its second joint in the boy. Then his knuckles were pressing hard against Perin's rump.

He twisted his finger in the boy as Perin moaned and shivered in excitement.

Ayas himself was by now once again thoroughly aroused. The preparatory work was over. It was time to begin the main course. He eased his finger out of the boy as Perin murmured a protest. The finger came clear with an audible plop. Unthinkingly Ayas wiped it clean on the side of the boy's bottom. He in his time had been treated in this way. It did not occur to him to do otherwise now.

Although his prick was still damp from Perin's mouth Ayas spat on the palm of his hand before liberally smearing it with saliva.

"I will be gentle with him," Ayas told himself as he lowered himself onto Perin and took aim with his cock. "If I find I am hurting him I will stop whatever he says."

Perin forced his bottom up as high as he could and wriggled it invitingly. Guiding his prick with his finger and thumb Ayas rested its tip against the entrance to his hole. He thrust downwards. Ayas's member was not large. It was the normal size for thirteen year old boy but it was somewhat thicker than his finger.

There was resistance and he drove down harder.

The resistance continued. He withdrew and thrust forward.

Perin squealed with pain. Now Ayas, if his resolution about not hurting the boy had meant anything, should have stopped. But resolutions on such matters as these made in advance and in comparative calm tend to be forgotten in the heat of the moment and so it was on this occasion.

Ayas now was oblivious to everything except his own overwhelming lust. With savage thrusts of his hips he hammered his cock into the boy. Perin's cries of pain served only to increase the urgency of his thrusting.

His cock was fully sheathed in the younger boy. His movements became gentler and more regular. Perin's howls of distress sank to soft moans of sexual excitement. Then the tempo of his thrusting once more increased and the muscles in his flanks convulsed as he came deep in the younger boy's guts and Perin enjoyed the piercing ecstasy of a dry orgasm.

They lay panting on top of one another for a long moment. Then Perin spoke.

"Two," he said, "three more to go." Then added, "don't take it out. It will go hard again in a moment."

And so it did.

They never achieved Perin's target of five, both falling asleep just after coming for the fourth time.

Ayas woke to find his cock still lodged in the younger boy. With the benefits of a night's sleep and all the natural resilience of youth he was once again hard. He was just about to wake Perin in the obvious manner when a boot crashed hard into his ribs.

Rolling clear of Perin he saw the trainer and another man looming over him.

"This is the boy you meant Sir?" the trainer asked reaching down and hauling the still very sleepy Perin to his feet by one thin arm.

"Yes that's the one," the other man replied.. I fancied him the instant I saw him tumbled off that horse at the races yesterday, lying on his back with bare legs up in the air."

Thestranger was dressed expensively in a fine linen tunic with a broad belt fastened with a heavy gold clasp. He spoke Greek fluently but with an a slightly different accent from that used by the Spartans. Ayas guessed he was one of the visiting Thebans.

"If I had known Lord you were interested in the little whore I would never have put him in here," the trainer said waking Perin up with a clip to the side of his head.

"It's no matter," the man replied laughing, "I'd have to loosen him up before I could enjoy him and there's no reason why that brat," he nodded carelessly at Ayas crouched on the floor at his feet, "shouldn't have some fun doing it for me. After all he's hardly going to make him too loose with that pathetic little tool of his."

"Now perhaps I might just have a closer look at the slut."

"What's your name boy?" he asked.

"Please Lord, Perin, Lord."

"Very well Perin. Come over here to me. Come along quickly boy."

Released from the trainer's grip Perin moved reluctantly to standing front of the stranger. The man began a detailed and meticulous examination of the boy. There was silence as his hands roamed over his body apart from occasional murmurs from Perin and sharp brief commands from the man.

Having completed an examination of the boy's front the Theban ordered him to turn round. Starting at his head he worked his way down Perin's body, his fingers kneading the back of the boy's neck, his shoulders, down the small of his back until he reached his bottom.

"Have you got a rag or something," the man asked turning to the trainer one hand on the back of the child's neck.

The trainer grabbed Ayas by the hair and dragged him across to where Perin stood. Forcing his head down he pushed Ayas's face into the other boy's bottom.

"You put the mess there. You clean it out," he ordered.

Ayas hesitated.

"Get on with it boy – unless you want another taste of the cane."

That was enough to overcome Ayas' reluctance. He began to lick and suck at Perin's hole as the two men looked on.

Ayas's questing tongue had a similar effect on Perin, as earlier on, Perin's had had on Ayas. Soon the smaller boy's tiny prick was erect and quivering.

"Lively little whore," the man remarked good humouredly flicking its tip with his thumb nail.

"Now let's have a look," and he pulled Ayas roughly away.

"Bend right forward," he ordered Perin.

Perin squeaked in pain and a moment later the man stepped back.

"A little sore," he announced, "but it could hardly fail to be, not torn at all. How much are you asking for him?"

"He's a good boy," the trainer said, "I value him highly, one of the most promising of the younger boy riders," a description that struck both the boys as strange because Perin had never ridden in a race at all and had great difficulty in staying in the saddle of even the quietist horses on the training gallops, "Selling him will leave me with a very big gap in my team of boy riders. I could not think of selling him for less than ten drachma."

"Ten drachma," the man explained in tones of shocked outrage, "ten drachma 3; you're selling a boy not a race horse 3; two and I'm paying over the odds."

The two men, thoroughly enjoying themselves, settled themselves to bargain as Perin stood listening and watching, powerless to intervene, as his fate was determined.

Ayas too listened and was appalled. The boy to whom he had given his heart was being sold in front of him. Being sold what is more to a Theban who would take him away so that they would never see each other again. Perin's emotions mirrored Ayas's. He loved and hero worshipped the older boy with a fierceness that had only been increased by the pain he had suffered when Ayas had penetrated him.

Very quietly Perin edged towards Ayas and put his arms about his waste. The two boys stood locked together in a defiant embrace as the men haggled.

Eventually they agreed a price, five drachma. Both men knew when they started bargaining that the price would be very close to this but the courtesies of life have to be observed.

The men shook hands on the deal.* Turning they saw the two boys holding onto each other radiating defiance. They looked at each other and burst into laughter.

The Theban grabbed Perin and dragged him away while the trainer held Ayas firm. As he wept and struggled the man bound Perin's wrists behind his back with a length of cord that he had hanging from his belt. Ayas squirmed in the trainer's hands but could not break his grip as Perin was dragged from the cell his screams growing fainter in the distance until they could no longer be heard.

The trainer looked down on the naked thirteen year old who had ceased to struggle and was now standing despondently beside him, tears streaming down his face.

"It'll pass boy," he said not unkindly, "there'll be another one along soon just as nice. That Perin was never going to be any good at riding. He wouldn't have lasted a year here before he got killed or crippled. He's a pretty slut and that man fancies him. He got a better chance as a whore than a jockey. Anyway you're a slave. You get what your betters don't want. Just accept it and take your chances as they come along. You had that slut, that the man's just paid five drachma for, for nothing. Just enjoy that thought."

He released his grip on Ayas's arm and walked out of the cell. Ayas threw himself face down on the fragment of sacking and cradling his head in his arms, wept bitterly.

Footnote:

* The ancient Greeks did seal their with a hand shake. There are a plethora of literary references to support this notably Thucydies, The Peleponesian War Bk 2 65.

Chapter 31

Ayas wept bitterly. Perin whom he loved beyond anything else in the world had been brutally taken from him. His ears, even as he cried, rang with Perin's shrill screams as he was dragged away. Even at this moment he was probably being raped by the Theban. Ayas pictured the boy, so beautiful, so fragile being brutally forced. The man sweating and panting as he drove his monstrous prick into the child. He could hear in his mind the man cursing and poor little Perin's broken cries. And he was so weak and so helpless. He had to look on, held by the scruff of his neck by the trainer, as Perin had been dragged away. And now he could do nothing. He was just a slave boy bound to a Spartan master whom he hated.

For a time Ayas lay sunk in a state of total despair. Then the natural resilience and optimism of youth that he retained despite all his sufferings asserted themselves. He would escape and find Perin and rescue the boy and then they would live together for ever and ever in a state of constant happiness. He did not know where Perin had been taken. If he did find him his chances against a grown man and a free man at that, would be small indeed. He had absolutely no idea of how two runaway slave boys would maintain themselves if they did succeed in escaping. However so far as Ayas was concerned these were mere details. Although the obstacles were enormous he would try and he was sure he would succeed.

Comforted by this decision Ayas's sobs diminished in volume and frequency and he slept.

He was woken by the door crashing open. He rolled over on his side to see the Trainer looming over him with a grinning Damos standing close behind him.

The trainer was carrying a heavy wooden log with a length of chain attached to it and Ayas's heart sank. He recognised the object and knew its purpose. He had seen it in use on boys and animals and now it was to be used on him. His plan to rescue Perin was ruined. He knew he was going nowhere.

Wordlessly the trainer dropped the log on the floor near Ayas's foot. It landed with a heavy thud, the chain clanking down beside it. A partly open iron ring was attached to the free end of the chain. Kneeling down the man grabbed hold of Ayas's ankle and fitted the iron band around it. Drawing a hammer from his belt he closed the metal link with a series of heavy blows that jarred Ayas's body.

"There," the trainer said with a grim smile, testing the metal ringing the boy's thin ankle to make sure it could not be slipped off, "that should keep you from getting into further trouble."

"Now let's see how that bottom of yours is getting along."

Briefly the man's finger tips probed Ayas's still burning stripes.

"They're healing nicely," he announced heaving himself back onto his feet, "you'll be back riding by the end of the week and too busy to go looking for that little whore Perin you so fancy. Till then the clog should stop you taking off after the little slut."

"I'd better just check it's fitted right. Up on your feet boy. Pick up the log."

Ayas bent and taking hold of each end of the wooden baulk lifted it from the ground. It was so heavy that it took almost all his strength to do so.

"Right both hands. Lift it again. Up in the air and rest it on the top of your head. Come on boy you can do it."

There was a clink as the heavy chain attaching the log to the boy's ankle was straightened to almost its full length.

"Balance it with one hand and just walk to the door and back."

"All right put the log back on the floor 3; gently don't drop it."

"Fine I'm going to leave the door open now and you and go outside and sit in the sun and move around a bit but you won't be able to stray very far with that attached to you ankle."

"Now Damos I want you back on the yard working before long. I want you out of here before the shadow of the door reaches here," and the trainer drew a line in the dust on the floor of the cell.

"And," he added before striding away, "leave Ayas's bum alone. You can do anything else you like to him but I want that left alone to heal."

He felt he had done all that he could do with Ayas. He was the best jockey he had and the only boy who could manage Vulcan. It was important to the stables and therefore to himself that the boy should be back in the saddle as quickly as possible. His injured bottom was well on the way to being healed. As for the other problem, he was as good a judge of boys as of horses and he knew how intense Ayas's and Perin's feelings for each other were. The clog would stop Ayas running after Perin while Damos might act as a distraction.

Ayas who still felt sore and weak squatted down on the sacking. Damos stood a moment looking down at him.

"I don't know," the boy said cheerfully, "all you do is eat and sleep. I've got another bowl of food for you. If this is what you get for disobeying Horsey. I think I'll try it too."

"Come on shift over and let me sit down on a bit of that sacking – there's more than enough room for two."

It was clear Damos did not share Perin's scruples about helping himself to Ayas's food.

Ayas shifted slightly and the two boys squatted down side by side facing the door, the bowl in front of them.

Damos thrust his hand into the bowl and helped himself largely to its contents.

"Well," he said, "nothing much happened since you've been on your rest cure in here. Your special friend Nixod's walking round a bit splay legged and looking very sorry for himself. I don't think he'll be bothering you again. Vulcan threw Aristides this morning during the early gallop and Horsey beat Cliones again for being lazy. You should have heard him squeal. Oh and that little slut Perin who you tipped off Vulcan's back has been sold to a Theban who took a fancy to him. Best thing that could have happened to him. He was never going to be any good on a horse but I'd say he'd make a good little whore."

Ayas began to say something and then broke down in tears.

Damos twisted round to look at him in amazement.

"You fancy him," he crowed, "you're in love with the tart."

"I just hope he is all right and that that Theban is not hurting him," Ayas sobbed.

"As I hear it," Damos rejoined robustly, "the Theban paid good money for him. He'll look after his investment and I bet you that Perin is fluttering those long eye lashes of his at him now and wriggling his cute little bum and getting thoroughly petted and spoilt. He'll be much happier sharing his master's couch than he ever was in the stables. Come on stop crying 3; The brats gone. There's nothing you can do about it."

Damos put his arm round Ayas's shoulders and hugged him tightly. Ayas turned his head towards the other boy and nuzzled the side of his neck enjoying the comfortable scents of horses and stables and boy.

Damos put his hands on Ayas's shoulders and heaved himself to his feet. Squatting on the ground at his feet Ayas's face was level with the older boy's crutch. He reached up steadying himself with a hand on either side of Damos's hips. He noticed the few wiry dark hairs beginning to sprout around the base of the older boys cock. It seemed to Ayas that the number of these hairs like the size of his cock had grown in the last few days. Certainly his prick now jutting so invitingly a few inches in front of his nose was a good deal more substantial than his own small boy's prick.

Ayas kissed the side of the throbbing tube of gristle and flesh before running his tongue along its full length from its base in Damos's scrotum to its swollen pink tip. He licked the beads of precum welling from the slit with the tip of his tongue savouring the strange rather metallic taste. Opening his lips he took Damos's rod into his mouth.

Ayas had felt sure that he had experienced the peak of sexual ecstasy with Perin. Nothing he thought then could equal let alone exceed the pleasures he had then experienced. Everything thereafter would seem flat and stale. And yet he had to accept that it was strangely comforting and pleasant to have Damos's cock once more in his mouth. It was a nice satisfying mouth full. Not so large as to strain his jaws and to reach right down into his throat and to choke him but big enough to give something for his tongue and lips to work on.

Ayas gave words to that thought once the job had been finished and Damos had released his hold of his ears.

"That," Ayas said, hunkering back on his heels and wiping his mouth clean with the bag of his hand, "was fun."

"Of course, its much more fun for you doing it with a man rather than with a baby like Perin" Damos, who was all of fourteen years old, replied.

He glanced towards the door. Saw that the shadow was almost touching the line drawn in the dust by the trainer and cursed.

"I've got to or I'll be getting a sore bum," he said.

He ran to the door, bending and scooping a handful of porridge from the bowl on the floor as he passed it.

"Damos," Ayas called urgently after him as he shot through the door out into the open air, "Tell Mus I'm here will you and say I'll keep some food for him."

"Mus," Damos said stopping short, "I don't know why you bother with that ugly brute. He only brings bad luck."

"He's my friend," Ayas replied.

If the truth was to be told he would have been hard pressed to explain why he cared for the boy who served in the darkest cellars of the villa and whose tongue had been torn out to stop him telling any secrets and who seemed partly crazed by the horrors he had witnessed. That it was simply because he felt sorry for the boy seemed hardly a convincing explanation in that harsh world.

Fortunately Damos did not press the point.

"Why you want something like that as a friend when you have me I don't know," he said wondering at the weirdness of Ayas's taste, "but all right then, I expect I'll get a chance of passing the message on to him."

Then Damos set off at the run across the courtyard towards the stables. He had great respect for and some experience of, the strength of the trainer's right arm and he did not wish to give him any cause to exercise it on his bottom.

Ayas lifted the beam attached to his ankle by the length of chain two handed and balanced it on his head. Holding it in place with one hand he gave at the knees until he could reach the bowl of porridge. Straightening himself he shuffled cautiously out of the cell. He settled himself in the sun. He fed himself from the bowl, taking care to leave a considerable portion for Mus. He spent the rest of the day dozing in the sun until dusk brought a cooling breeze and he returned to the shelter of his cell.

It was almost completely dark when the cell door swung softly open and a grey shape slid silently through it.

"Mus?" Ayas whispered softly and from the shadows a strange twittering sound announced the presence of the other boy.

"The bowls here by me," Ayas continued, "I've left something for you."

There was a rustling sound and a hunched shape briefly appeared out of the dark. Then shape and bowl merged together and disappeared into the shadows and the only indication of Mus's presence was the sound of his eating.

Peering into the gloom Ayas thought he could just make out Mus's eyes glistening in the darkness. When he woke in the night it seemed to him Mus was still there huddled in the darkest corner of the cell watching over him. But when Ayas eventually woke to the cold grey light of early morning the boy had gone.

At midday Damos again appeared.

"All the Thebans have gone home and we are going to have a war," he announced cheerfully helping himself to a handful of food from the bowl he was carrying and continuing to speak with his mouthful. "Xionides says Vulcan is to be his horse. He is having is having a special harness made for him and I am going to go as his groom."

"Vulcan will make a good war horse," Ayas said loyally, "but I doubt if Xionides will be able to handle him."

He realised that this news meant that he would never see Perin again for Perin would have gone with his new Theban master. The final extinction of any hope of ever seeing the boy he so passionately adored hit him hard but there was no point in making a fuss. There was nothing he could do about it. It was just something a slave like him had to accept.

"He's had a bit of trouble," Damos replied stuffing a further handful of porridge into his mouth, "But he's a man and stronger than any of you boy jockeys so he's got a better chance of controlling him."

"Anyway that's not the important thing. The important thing is that I am to go. It's the chance I've been looking for. I was born free and I'll get myself free again. You don't know what it's like being a slave when you're born free. You were born a slave, your father was a slave, your father's father was a slave. You have been slaves for generations. You don't know anything else. You wouldn't be able to manage freedom."

"But don't worry Ayas," he added comfortingly, "I won't forget you and when I have my freedom I'll come and buy you and then I will be able to fuck you whenever I want."

Ayas resented a great deal of this although he also suspected that there was a small element of truth in it. Damos however could not be described as a sensitive boy and had no idea of the effect of what he had said on his friend. Indeed at that moment one thing was uppermost in his mind and as he only generally thought about one thing at a time and had no idea of reticence he blurted it out.

"Come on," he said grabbing Ayas by the hair and pulling his face into his crutch, "we've only got a few minutes. Get on with it."

Ayas, his lips and tongue busy, did not reply.

The next few days, so far as Ayas was concerned passed quietly.

The days he spent outside the cell prevented from straying far by the timber baulk chained to his ankle. Most of the time he spent just sitting and watching and there was plenty to watch as the Spartan state geared itself up for war and weapons and men were collected and prepared for combat. Spartan hoplites with their plumed helmets and shields manoeuvred in phalanxes practising the use of their spears and short swords. Drafts of lightly armed Helot auxiliaries were drilled and marched. Cavalry soldiers, the preserve of the aristocrats, cantered to and fro. And all the time a steady dribble of new arrivals appeared to swell the army's ranks as Spartans on various missions overseas returned to their home country to play their part in the coming struggle.

As the evening drew in he made his way back into the cell where he slept. Before it was quite dark Mus would creep quietly in and, after eating the food that Ayas was careful to save each day for him, would keep a silent vigil over the sleeping boy until the sky began to lighten to the East.

The trainer visited Ayas daily. He would check the boy's bottom usually remarking on how quickly slave boys healed, pinch the flesh on his ribs and wonder audibly why he was not putting on weight with all the food he was getting and the lack of work.

"Well," he said one day after taking a more than usually thorough look at Ayas, "you're fit to ride again. Indeed your bottom's healed well. The stripes are gone and you wouldn't know you've been torn, not just by looking anyway. So it's back to the stables for you and get a couple of practice gallops on Vulcan. There's a big race coming up and I want to win it. Off you go now boy" and he sent Ayas on his way with a resounding open handed slap on his bare rump.

When the day of the race came round it was clear that it was indeed a big affair. The track was crowded but among the crowd was not a single foreigner. All strangers had left the country at the approach of war and only Spartans and their slaves were present. Two dozen horses competed in the main race and it was a close run thing with Vulcan with young Ayas up on his back coming in half a head in front of a large bay ridden by the coloured boy jockey with whom he had once fought.

This time Ayas grinned and joked with his rival as he slipped off Vulcan's back. Their earlier enmity had matured into mutual respect and friendly rivalry.

"Well done boy," the trainer said hurrying up and taking the reigns from Ayas.

"Xionedes wants you. He's in his usual seat. Hurry up now. You'd best not keep him waiting."

Ayas slid off Vulcan's back and set off towards the stand where Xionedes had his seat just opposite the finishing line. He was excited as he always was after a race, especially if he had ridden a winner. He was a little nervous at being summoned by Xionedes, as indeed any slave boy is when called for no known reason before his master, especially when that master was as cruel and unpredictable as Xionedes. However he was not aware of any recent transgression on his part and assumed that the man probably wanted to use him for sex or lend him to a friend to use for that purpose. In that event, while he was not looking forward to it, he could certainly manage it and the whole thing would be over before too long.

Ayas mounted the steps leading to the part of the stand where Xionedes sat. He turned the right angle corner at their top and came out into the open immediately behind Xionedes' seat.

Ayas stopped abruptly. Sitting beside Xionedes, in deep conversation with him, wearing the long grey cloak of a Spartan noble was Ocytus. Ocytus, Ayas's first lover and youthful hero, who had been brought to work as a slave on the farm before the Spartan murder gang killed his father and one of his brothers and burnt down the hovel in which they all lived. Ayas's elder brother Callias and Ocytus himself both had escaped the murder gang because only a day or two before it struck they were sent to work in the quarries. But what was Ocytus doing here, now, dressed in those clothes? Both he and Calias should both have been long dead. Men did not live long working in the quarries and anyway wasn't he a Theban captive not a Spartan noble.

Chapter 32

The two men continued to talk together unaware of Ayas's presence. He was barefoot and the two men did not hear him approach although standing behind them he could clearly hear what they were saying.

"I would advise you to take the whore as soon as he gets here," Xionedes said drawling his words lazily, "I had him like that once just after he'd ridden and won a race, all sweaty and excited. It was like fucking a wild animal in heat."

"He always was a hot little bitch," Ocytus replied laughing, "I'll be interested to see how the years have changed him."

"I forgot that you have come across him already. That was I think the first mission you undertook for the state?"

"Yes and the worst too. Having to live in that disgusting hovel with a set of filthy Helots. The only thing that made it tolerable was fucking that little tart's arse and he wanted it. Funny thing it was the brat that gave the whole plot away. Told his friend, me, the brave Theban captive, all about it within a fortnight of my arriving there. All I had to do was to pass the information up the line and wait for the right moment to send in the murder squad."

These words struck Ayas like blow in the stomach. Suddenly he realised that it was he who had betrayed his father's plans and brought disaster on his family. He stood petrified as the two men continued chatting.

"I don't suppose all the jobs you've had to do have been as easy as that?"

"No this last one was much more difficult and much more important too. Now we've squared the hill tribes we can strike at Thebes over the mountain passes to the South while their army is waiting for us at the Iron Gates(1) to the North. Their city will be in flames an their wives and children on their way to the slave marts in Corinth before their precious general Epaminondas and his sacred band (2) know a thing about it."

"Now it's just a question of time," Ocytus continued. "We have to get the army together and move a token force up the coast to the North to make the Thebans think we'll attack down the obvious route before striking. Ten more days should do it."

"Talking about time," Xionedes said, "the brat's taking an unconscionable time getting here. Where is he?"

He twisted round in his seat and saw Ayas standing immediately behind him. Ayas started away but Xionedes was too quick for him. His hand snaked out and grabbing Ayas by the wrist he dragged the boy towards him twisting his arm so the he went down on his knees.

"How long has he been standing there," Ocytus demanded anxiously.

"Too long for his own good," Xionedes replied grimly drawing a knife from out of the folds of his cloak, "look at his face. Anyway we can't risk the Thebans hearing our plan. We must kill him. It's no great matter anyway. He's only a Helot boy there are dozens more just like him."

"I'll be sorry not to have him one last time though," Ocytus remarked almost wistfully.

"I could slit his tongue," Xionedes suggested helpfully. "He can neither read or write so that should prevent him passing any information on."

"He was rather good with his tongue as I remember it. It'd be a pity to loose that."

"I could keep him gagged until you want him and have him killed once you've finished with him," Xionedes suggested.

"Yes and if he's any good I could keep him in solitary somewhere until its too late for him to do any damage. It'd only be about ten days or so and knowing his life depends on how he performs would I think make him really try hard."

"Certainly the slut will try hard."

"Listen rat," Xionedes continued pulling Ayas towards him and pressing the point of his dagger against the front of his chest just below the left nipple, "you give Lord Ocytus a good time so he speaks well of you and maybe I'll spare your miserable life. Fail to do so and I'll flay alive. Do you understand?"

"Yes Lord 3; Please Lord 3; I'll do my best Lord 3;" Ayas stammered trying to pull away from the point of the knife which was pressing painfully into his flesh.

"I hope for your sake your best is good enough," Xionedes grated and, smiling coldly, increased the pressure on the knife so that a small bead of red blood formed about its point before welling up and trickling down the front of the boys deeply tanned chest.

"And now just for a taste of what you'll suffer if your best isn't good enough."

Xionedes deliberately drew the blade of the knife slowly across the front of the boy's chest slicing a thin red gash across the tightly drawn skin.

Ayas stared down at the blood seeping from the wound open mouthed with shock.

"Gag and bind the brat," Xionedes commanded and Ayas found himself seized from behind. His wrists were bound tightly behind his back and a gag forced between his jaws.

"What do you want to do with him?" Xionedes asked. "Do you want to take him now or wait till later.

"We may as well stay and see the rest of the races and the delay will give the brat a chance to think about what's coming to him."

"Fine," Xionedes heaved himself to his feet and without warning drove his fist into Ayas's stomach. The boy doubled over and Xionedes punched him hard on the side of the head knocking him to the ground.

"He can hunker down at our feet where we can keep an eye on him," the man continued landing a series of heavy kicks on Ayas's body until the boy was huddled at the base of the low wall in front of their seats.

There Ayas remained for the better part of the next two hours while the two men lounged at their ease above him watching the races and chatting together while ensuring he did not get too comfortable by hacking him occasionally in the ribs or bum.

Eventually he was dragged from the stand. Tied by his wrists to Ocytus's stirrup leather he was forced to run beside his horse back to the villa. It was only when he had him alone in his chamber did the man remove the boy's bonds and gag.

"Why Ayas," Ocytus said laughing as the boy bruised and filthy with sweat and dust stood in front of him trying to ease the muscles in his aching jaw, "you don't look at your best my sweet. I hope for your sake you'll put on a performance that will allow me to speak well of you to Xionedes. I am sure Xionedes is an exacting master and he won't deal kindly with a boy who fails to please a guest of his."

As he spoke Ocytus shed his cloak and unbuckling his belt, pulled his tunic off over his head.

"And it isn't only Xionedes my pet," Ocytus continued unfastening his loincloth, "I have an assistant who specialises in inflicting pain. He has been an invaluable aid in my work for the state and I am sure he will very much enjoy exercising his skills on a pretty little whore like you. So my little Ganymede, for your own sake, you must do your best to please me."

Saying this Ocytus let his loincloth drop to the floor. Ayas eyes flew to his crutch. His cock stood hard and erect, jutting fiercely out of the dark forest of his pubic hair. It seemed to the boy that it had swollen in size from when he had last serviced it. Back then it was a mere youth's now it was a man's and a big man's at that.

"Well sweety," Ocytus sneered, "you've taken a good look at it now you'd better get busy and show me how skilled you are. You'd better get it well wetted with saliva because that's the only lubricant you're going to be allowed."

Placing his hands on the boy's bare shoulders he pushed downwards forcing him to his knees at his feet. Ayas knelt in front of the jeering man the tip of his bloated and cruelly curved cock only inches from his face.

Up until then, from the moment he had discovered Ocytus's true identity he had only felt remorse and fear. Remorse at having betrayed his father and his family to the Spartan spy thus bringing death and ruin on them all. Fear at what the future held for himself with the men's dark threats of torture and death if he failed to please.

His mood changed, he still feel remorse and guilt but the fear was gone replaced by a dark all consuming rage. The man at whose feet he was kneeling, the man whose cock he was to pleasure with his tongue and lips, was the man who had tricked him into betraying his father and who had destroyed his family. He thought of his father harsh and unyielding but his father nevertheless and brave and constant in his struggle against the world. He remembered his mother doing her best in a cruel and hostile universe for her family and his brothers and sisters. All of them destroyed by this jeering tyrant who towered over him. Suddenly he saw his opportunity. He no longer feared for the future. That could look after itself. No doubt he was going to suffer much but that did not matter. What mattered was this man who despised him should suffer more. The Spartans had treated his people and him as animals. He would strike back as animal would. They had given him the opportunity now he would take it.

With the tip of his tongue he licked away the bead of precum that had welled from the slit at the tip of Ocytus's penis. Bending his head to one side he kissed the swollen shaft of gristle and flesh and then getting lower still he sucked on his gross and hairy balls.

Forcing his mouth as wide open as far he could he took the man's balls into it.

Then he clamped his jaws fast, turning his head and pulling as he did so. Ocytus pants of pleasure all at once changed into a sudden frenzied scream. Warm blood filled Ayas's mouth and caused from his lips and down his chin and chest. Fingers frantically tore at his face but still he held tight with his teeth and twisted and tore at what was in his mouth. His teeth met, spitting he emptied his mouth and returned to the attack while Ocytus's frantic screams rang in his head.

At first Ocytus's cries passed unnoticed. It was naturally assumed at first by those who heard them that it was Ayas who was screaming and no one was going to interfere to protect a helot slave boy. It was only after some time had passed that anyone thought it might be wise to investigate what was happening.

The door burst open strong hands grasped Ayas and tried to pull him away from his prey. There was pandemonium, men cursed and swore, Ocytus continued to scream while Ayas, his arms tight round Ocytus's body, continued to tear at him with his teeth. Eventually someone got his fingers in Ayas's eyes, forcing his head back and breaking his hold.

"Don't kill the little brute," Ocytus shouted, "I want to make him suffer before he dies."

Then a massive blow on the side of his head knocked him unconscious.

Ayas was aware of a pain in his foot, an enormous all consuming pain. He tried to move his foot but found he could not. He realised he was chained by his wrists and ankles on his back on a low bench his arms stretched out above his head. The world a dark place with wild flickering lights and shadows swung giddily round him. Two faces, Xionedes and a man he did not recognise, seemed to hover in midair over him.

"He's coming back to us. Give him another touch with the hot iron."

Xionedes voice was faint as though he was speaking from far off. The pain that followed though was far from faint. Originating in the soul of his left foot it caused through his body.

"Yes," Xionedes said raising his voice to be heard over Ayas's wild scream, "our sleeping beauty has returned to us."

"Well we know the brat's alive now," the other man said somewhat impatiently, "we can leave him to be softened up ready for interrogation tomorrow."

"Ayas," Xionedes intervened, "this is King Agesilius (3). Aren't you a lucky boy to meet a real king? He thinks that your attack on Ocytus was part of a Theban plot and he wants you to tell him all about it. I doubt it myself; I think it was just thought up by your natural nasty evil little mind but that doesn't matter. Tomorrow he'll be back and you'll tell him everything you know. And to help make sure you do a nice man is going to do just a little work on you. Enough to make sure you talk, if you have anything to say that is, but not enough to kill you."

"Of course the Thebans are behind it," Agesilius snapped, "a Helot boy would never dare to attack a Spartan Lord in that way. Ocytus is one of the best agents we have. They would say anything or promise anything to get him out of the way. They must have had a spy here to recruit the brat. We have caught the boy and we must make him tell us who that spy is."

"He had private reasons to hate Ocytus as I have explained to you Lord," Xionedes remarked tentatively.

"Because Ocytus was responsible for the death of his father? Don't be ridiculous Helot's don't think like that. They are no more than animals. They don't feel pride or shame or anything like that. The Thebans are behind this as they are behind most of the plots against our state. Sparta will not be safe until Thebes is destroyed. "

"Well whatever," Xionedes sounded suddenly bored and uninterested, "either way my love," he continued brightening, "you are going to suffer. First all the information you may or may not have will be wrung from you and then you will be given to Ocytus. He is dieing you know and in great pain for the wounds you inflicted on him have festered but he swears he will live long enough to pay you back."

"It was really very naughty of you Ayas to bite poor Ocytus like that. We have to make sure you can't do that anything like that again don't we? That's why we are going to pull those pretty white teeth of yours from your jaw. Not all at once but one by one over the next few days. But just so you get an idea of what it will feel like I'll draw one out now."

"Get me the pliers."

From out of the shadows a man stepped into Ayas's field of vision. He recognised with a shock his eldest brother Callias. He remembered how friendly Callias had become with Ocytus, how both of them had been taken for work in the quarries at the same time. Presumably that had been put up job and Callias was the assistant, the 'expert in pain', to which Ocytus had referred when talking to Xionedes at the race track.

"Hold the brat's head still for me and force his jaws open," Xionedes commanded taking the pliers from Callias.

Gripping Ayas's nostrils closed with one hand Callias used the other hand to force the boy's jaws wide apart.

"Let me see 3; which one shall I draw?" Xionedes said leaning forward and peering into Ayas's mouth, "A big one at the back I think."

Xionedes inserted the pliers into Ayas's mouth and taking a grip on one of the boy's molars violently wrenched at it.

"Hold the brat still," Xionedes commanded raising his voice to be heard over Ayas's screams, "it's hard to shift."

"There you see," he said a coupe of minutes later holding the tooth in front of Ayas's face blood still smeared over its roots, "the jobs done I can't imagine why you are making such a fuss over having just one tooth drawn."

"Now Callias we will leave you to play with your long lost brother. We'll be back tomorrow morning. Be sure he is alive and conscious."

He turned and following the limping Agisilius disappeared into the shadows.

"Well little brother there's just you and me now," Callias said gloatingly as the sound of their footsteps faded away in the distance.

"You betrayed us," Ayas snarled fighting back the tears of pain for his jaw, from where the tooth had been pulled, was aching horribly, "you betrayed your own father. How could you Callias?"

"Misinus wasn't my father," Callias replied contemptuously. "I wasn't fathered by a Helot pig like him. My father was a true Spartan Lord. It was my misfortune that he bred me on a Helot whore but I have Spartan blood and a Spartan spirit. Lord Ocytus told me that and promised me he would have me made a Spartan citizen and now he is going to die and he won't be able to keep his promise and its all because of you little brother. You owe me little brother and you're going to pay that debt in full."

Footnotes

1. "Iron Gates" the name given to a pass over the mountains to he North of Thebes the easiest and normal line of attack on that city.
2. "Epaminondas and his sacred band" "Epaminondas" the brave and charismatic leader of the Thebans "his sacred band"
3. "King Agesilius" One of the two Spartan Kings at the time of this story. He was noted for his unreasoning hatred of Thebes. He was slightly deformed and walked with a limp that was seen by some as an omen of coming disaster. (Plutarch - Greek Lives)

Chapter 33

"But little brother," Callias continued softly, "you have hardly changed since I saw you last. I think we ought to help you grow a bit; stretch you a trifle."

"Mind you," he said moving to end of the bench on which Ayas lay chained, "we must be a little careful with this thing. It's very easy to overdo things. Tighten it too much and your arms and legs will be torn from their sockets. Overdo it just a little bit and it'll dislocate your wrists and ankles. So just a half turn – just enough to make you really feel it."

Raising his head Ayas could see Callias bend and grasp the spokes of a small windlass round which the chain securing his ankles was fastened. Callias kept his eyes fastened on his younger brother's face as he slowly turned the windlass. It felt to Ayas as if his body was being torn apart. He bit his lip to try to stop himself screaming but the pain was too much for him.

Callias applied the brake to the windlass and moved to stand just about opposite Ayas's knees. He stood there smiling slightly, studying Ayas's pain distorted face until the boy's screams fell away to a low moaning.

"What a fuss," he remarked chidingly, "what a fuss Ayas to make about a little pain and I've only just started. There's much, much worse to come I promise you. Now let's see how taught the sinews in your legs are shall we?"

Leaning forward he gripped Ayas's thigh just above the knee driving his thumb and finger tips into the boy's tightly stretched muscles, seeking out his nerve ends. Once again Ayas's body was convulsed with pain. Callias maintained his grip while feasting his eyes on the boy's agony.

"I wonder," Callias said eventually releasing his hold of the boy's thigh and wiping away with the back of his hand the saliva that in his excitement was dribbling down his chin, "if the irons have heated up again after being used on your poor foot."

Raising his head Ayas followed his brother with his eyes as he moved away from the bench to where a brazier stood with the ends of a number of iron rods buried in a bed of glowing charcoal. Wrapping a rag around his hand to protect it from the heat Callias drew one of the rods from the smouldering embers and examined its dully glowing end.

Obviously the thing was not heated enough to satisfy Callias and he plunged it back into the brazier. As he did so Ayas noticed an almost imperceptible movement in the dark shadows at the back of the cellar. A grey bent shape formed and moved silently forward before merging again into the gloom.

"Mus," Ayas thought, Mus he knows these cellars well. This is where he lives and works. It was seeing things like this that made him what he is. He is here but will he help me and anyway what can he do?"

Oblivious to the presence lurking in the shadows Callias turned away from the brazier and returned to stand beside the bench.

He picked up a short wooden staff and tapped it in the palm of his left hand.

Ayas forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on Callias not to give him any hit that there was third person present. Callias cracked the staff down across one knee and then the other before landing a series of vicious blows across the boy's shins. Pain once more coursed through Ayas's body. His scream was part genuine, part an attempt to mask any noise that Mus might make.

Callias turned back to the brazier. Lifting his head again Ayas risked searching the shadows for Mus. He could see him more clearly now. He was much closer, hardly four steps away from the bench, a darker form in the gloom. Ayas saw he seemed to be carrying something heavy between his two hands. He was within a couple of yards of the brazier standing absolutely motionless. Ayas was sure that Callias would spot him but the youth's attention was concentrated on the branding irons and he saw nothing.

Callias turned away from the brazier holding one iron, its heated tip glowing white hot.

"And now little brother to teach you another order of pain," he crowed, "Not the feet this time but the armpits."

Ayas saw Mus moving quickly in behind Callias a heavy stone raised two handed over his head.

"No Callias please no," he screamed as loud as he could to drown any noise that Mus might make, "I'm your brother Callias. Please you can't do this to me 3;"

"Yes I can little brother," Callias chuckled, "yes I can," and he lent forward to place the iron rod's glowing tip against the side of Ayas's chest.

Mus took a step forward and brought the rock down two handed on the back of Callias's head. The rod fell from the youth's hand and clattered to the floor. Straw started to smoulder at the touch of its heated tip. Callais tipped forward on top of Ayas, blood and brains splashing the boy's bare chest, before he slid off him onto the floor where he lay, grey matter oozing from his shattered skull.

Mus dropped the stone and did a brief jig of triumph accompanied by strange twittering. Then he moved quickly to free Ayas from his chains. Ayas found it difficult to stand and his right foot, from where it had been burnt with the iron, was very painful.

Mus though would allow no delay. Grabbing him by the arm he half dragged half carried Ayas as he guided him though a warren of passages. Suddenly they were at the foot of a flight of steps. Helped by Mus, Ayas struggled up these and found himself out in the fresh air.

He was in the main courtyard of the villa and it was night but it was not dark and it was not quiet. Opposite to where they stood flames and smoke rose from the burning stables. All about them was chaos. Horses and boys and men milled about in the yard shouting and jostling each other. Some were tying to fight the fire, some were trying to get the horses clear, others were simply adding to the general chaos. The open gateway to the yard was clogged as people struggled to get horses and fodder away from the fire.

Ayas felt a blast of hot air behind him. Turning he saw fire glow in the passage at the bottom of steps. The straw in which the hot iron had fallen had caught fire and the flames had spread throughout the cellars.

Out of the chaos and darkness in front of him Damos appeared, stark naked as usual a smear of soot across his grinning face, leading Vulcan with a rope bridal.

"Get on him Ayas and get away," he shouted.

Ayas aching and sore though he was from his ordeal needed no second invitation. Placing one hand on the shoulders of the big black stallion he leapt on his back, caught hold of the bridle and turned Vulcan to face the open gateway to the yard. He dug his heels into the flanks of the horse and bursting through the crowd, the smoke and burning embers swirling about him, made a dash from freedom. Men scattered in front of Vulcan's hooves as he crashed through the crowd. One man tried to stop them or perhaps he was just a little too slow in getting out of the way. In either event there was a scream and he went down under Vulcan's hooves.

Then they were clear of the court yard and its noise and smoke, the night air was cool clear and everything was calm and silent except for a farm dog yapping in the distance.

Vulcan, of his own accord, eased his pace down from a gallop to a canter and then to a sharp trot. Behind them the sky was lit up by the glow of the burning villa, mountains loomed ahead of them.

Ayas after the excitement of his wild dash to freedom on Vulcan's back suddenly felt very frightened and very lonely. He wondered what he was going to do next. He knew he had to think and plan ahead but he was not used to doing either. Like any other young slave boy he was simply used to doing what he was told. Now he realised he had to make decisions for himself or rather, as he quickly told himself, for Vulcan and himself.

Trotting briskly along on Vulcan's back he tried to organise his thoughts. First he had to avoid recapture. He had what with one thing and another created more than enough mayhem. If he was caught Xionedes would exact a terrible retribution.

He realised he had to do more than simply avoid getting caught. At the race track he had overheard Ocytus outline the Spartan plan of attack against Thebes, the surprise attack over the Mountains to the North the feint against the 'Iron Gates'. He had no idea of where the mountains or the 'Iron Gates' were but he knew that if he could just pass that information onto the Thebans the Spartan plans would be ruined. The vital importance to the Spartans of keeping these plans secret were clearly shown by the way Ocytus and Xionedes had reacted when they discovered that he had overheard them. His knowledge of them was enough to sentence him to death.

But he had to do something more than pass the information onto the Thebans. Ocytus had said that the Spartan army would be ready to strike in ten days time. One day had already passed since then. Also the Theban army must be given time to react to the warning of a surprise attack. It would be no use to tell them they were to be attacked in the rear at the very moment the attack was delivered. Allow perhaps two days for that. So, and here Ayas released his hold of the bridle letting it fall loose across Vulcan's shoulders as the big black horse trotted steadily on, to allow him to use his fingers to help him in his calculations, he had seven days to deliver his warning. Gripping the flanks of the horse with his bare knees he rechecked his calculations. Yes, he was right the first time, seven days.

Then there was another problem. Where was Thebes? Ayas's world was confined to the few fields about the hovel where he was born, Xionedes's villa and stables and the race course. Of the world away from these places he was almost totally ignorant. Slave boys were not given lessons in geography.

He had however listened to and treasured every word Lysippus the sculptor had said about Thebes when he was acting as a model for his sculpture of a boy jockey. Then he had listened because he remembered Ocytus as a Theban taken in battle and enslaved by the Spartans. He knew now Ocytus was a Spartan spy but he was glad of the information he had gleaned, sparse though it was.

He racked his mind to remember every last thing that Lysippus had said. It wasn't much but Ayas's very ignorance prevented him from seeing immediately quite how little it was. Lysippus had said two things that Ayas remembered. That Thebes had a leader called Epaminondas who was as good a fighter as any Spartan and that the city itself lay North of Sparta on the other side of the Isthmus beyond Corinth. So it was simple, head North first to Corinth then to Thebes and then find Epamimondas and tell him the news.

Then Ayas who, though an ignorant boy, was a far from stupid one began to think. How far North was Corinth, how far beyond that was Thebes and how long would it take him to travel that distance and what if Epaminondas was not there when he arrived? Just as he was eager to get to Epaminondas so would the Spartans be keen to stop him doing so. But the Spartans were behind him at least those who knew he had to be stopped. In the short term they would never catch him up – not mounted on Vulcan. But the longer the journey the more likely they were to do so. Neither he nor Vulcan could go on for ever without a rest and without food but the Spartans pursuing him could ride relays picking up fresh mounts as they went and passing the message on to fresh riders.

That however Ayas quickly realised was not the end of his problems. The mere appearance of a lone naked slave boy on top of a horse many times more valuable than he was would be enough in itself to arouse suspicion. People would start thinking of runaways and horse stealing and then they would try and stop him. Nobody he was sure would hurt Vulcan, he was worth too much for that, and nobody would catch him while he was riding Vulcan but it would be easy to knock him off his back with a sling shot or a well aimed spear. It was clear he would have to avoid people and that would mean travelling by night and resting by day unless that the country was very wild and deserted.

The road now ran upward along a narrow valley the mountains pressing close on either side. There was no question of his abandoning the road and going cross country with Vulcan. Nor could he take to the hills leaving the horse behind for his foot was still very painful from where the hot iron had burnt it.

All he could do was to ride forward and put as much distance as he could between himself and Xionedes while it remained dark. Vulcan had settled down to a steady tireless trot. The stars wheeled slowly overhead as the great black horse bore the boy ever deeper into the mountains. Fields and the occasional sleeping village gave way to dark forests of pine trees as the road climbed ever higher.

The sky to the East began to lighten at the first grey glimmerings of dawn. They were out of the forest now. Ayas could see the road stretching head of them across a bleak deserted upland. He was almost falling asleep on Vulcan's back but the horse showed no sign of fatigue. They had better go on he decided. There was no sign of any human beings and the further they got from Xionedes the better. He forced himself to stay awake. The sun climbed higher in the sky. There was no shade from the sun. Ayas fell forward onto Vulcan's neck. He jerked himself awake. The world swung crazily around him.

"I'm sorry Vulcan," he said, "You're fit for it but I'm not. We'll have to stop."

A shallow stream flowed across the road. Its water was clear and sparkled in the sunlight running over a bed of fine gravel. Ayas turned Vulcan and walked him slowly up the stream. Rounding a bend he found a small area of flat grassland, hidden by a low hillock from the road, where a thorn tree provided some shelter from the sun. Slipping from Vulcan's back he lay on his belly by the stream. Both horse and boy drank thirstily. Then leaving Vulcan grazing quietly he threw himself down in the shade of the tree and slept.

The sun was beginning to dip to the West when he was nudged awake by Vulcan pressing his nose into his ribs. Like a wild animal he was awake and alert in a second. Above the tinkling of the brook he could hear the approaching beat of horses' hooves.

"Stay there Vulcan and don't make a noise," he said

Then bending low and being careful not to show himself against the sky line he ran to the brow of the hillock. Along the road from Sparta three horsemen were approaching at the canter leaving a trail of rising dust behind them. As they rode the three men plied their whips mercilessly intent on extracting the last ounce of strength and speed from their mounts.

Ayas watched as they thundered past on the road only a few hundred yards from where he was hidden until they disappeared in the distance in a cloud of dust.

He walked back thoughtfully to where Vulcan stood by the stream.

"They're ahead of us now Vulcan," he said. "They'll have warned every Spartan they come across to stop us. We'll have to be extra-careful now. We'll wait till dark and we'll have to watch out they haven't set trap for us ahead of us on the road."

He was feeling very lonely again. Vulcan was very good and the very best of horses but he just wished he could talk. It would be nice if Damos was there so they could chat together and encourage each other.

It would be nice too if he could find something to eat. He had had no food for more than twenty four hours and he was very hungry.

For Ayas hunger was a familiar companion. Famine was never very far away from a family of Helot share croppers. He was used to getting such food as was available and was not a fussy eater. He had done rather better so far as food was concerned at least when he was with Xionedes although slave boys were never in danger of being over fed. He had done better still after he had become Vulcan's jockey for the trainer rewarded success with extra food and there had been a good deal of success to reward. Although Ayas had often gone hungry himself so that Mus could have something to eat.

Now that period of comparative plenty had clearly gone he would have to revert to foraging. Stooped double he began to comb his way though the roots of the grass along the river bank with his fingers. Every now and again he would pause and lift his hand to his mouth. Slugs, grasshoppers (1) and other such creatures lack substance and a boy has to gather a great many to make an adequate meal. Still Ayas worked doggedly away as the light began to fail.

A fish moved in the brook dimpling its surface as it rose to a fly and then another and then another. Ayas straightened and examined the stream ahead of him. A trout rose under the bank a few yards ahead of where he stood. He moved up the bank until he was just below the place the fish had shown itself. Moving very quietly and slowly he got down on his front and wriggled forward. Peering cautiously down into the water he could see the trout, a nice plump three quarter pounder, swimming just below the surface of the water, its fins and tail moving slightly to maintain its position in the current. He slid his hand into the water just below its tail and began to mover it slowly up the fishes body, not touching it, moving his fingers gently as he did so. Then he closed his hand and flipped the trout out of the stream where it lay behind him wriggling in the grass, a bar of silver and mottled brown.

Ayas was on it in a second. With a thumb in it its mouth he broke his its neck and settled down to eat it. He had time to catch and eat a second trout before it was dark. Then calling Vulcan to him with a low whistle he led him back to the road.

"I wonder if we will make Corinth before dawn," he murmured as he vaulted on the horse's back.

Footnote

1. I have seen grasshoppers eaten in North Africa with every sign of enjoyment by children who were well fed.

Chapter 34

It was dark now with only the fitful light of the moon behind scudding clouds to light the road ahead. Vulcan, apparently as strong and as fresh as when they had first set out, trotted quickly on. Ayas knowing that every rock or turn in the road might conceal a Spartan ambush strained his eyes and ears for any sign of danger. For many hours the road ran through a desolate boulder strewn upland the only vegetation the occasional thorn bush. Then it began to run down hill twisting back on itself as it lost height. Pine trees crowded in on either side, the wind sighing in their tops, the air heavy with the smell of pine needles.

Ayas's nervousness increased. It was dark under the trees. A hundred Spartans could hide there undetected to dash out and seize Vulcan and himself. And hemmed in on the road there would be no escape. A wild cry, a sword flashing in the moon light and that would be the end of him. If that is he was lucky. Ayas began to think of what would be his fate if he was unlucky and was taken alive. The flogging, the hot irons, the nails being driven into his hands and feet and the long slow lingering death, a warning to all who dared to challenge the established order.

He shuddered and tried to force the terrifying images of pain and suffering from his mind.

The road continued to descend. Occasional clear spaces appeared in the forest. They passed through a village, a cluster of small cabins, dark and silent as their inhabitants slept. Then, as the sky began to lighten, there were stone walls on either side of the road and olive groves beyond.

"We'll have to stop in a moment," Ayas murmured to Vulcan.

They topped a rise in the road and ahead of them Ayas could see the sea grey in the early morning light. He checked Vulcan and sitting on the horse's back took in the scene before him. A narrow strip of land, perhaps four miles [6 km] across lay between two arms of the sea. In the distance on the shore to his left stood a considerable town with walls and a citadel. Between the hill on which Ayas and Vulcan stood and the town a large part of the Spartan army was camped ready, once it was fully assembled, to march on Thebes.

Ayas saw the rows of tents, the sentries strung out across the peninsular, the many soldiers just stirring from their slumbers and moaned to himself.

"Well Vulcan," he said, "this must be the Isthmus and that must be Corinth but a lot of good that is to us. I suppose they knew all those soldiers were here and that's why they didn't set a trap for us on the road. Less trouble to let us come to them."

He slipped from the horse's back and stood in the road beside him thinking. He couldn't go back. He had to find a way round or through the Spartan army. To continue on the road was out of the question. He could clearly see the sentries posted on it. He would have to see if there was any where else where he had a reasonable chance of getting past the Spartans and into Corinth.

The road had come out towards the left hand side of the Isthmus and Ayas could see at a glance that his chances on that side were nonexistent. The Spartan camp spread right up to the walls of Corinth with numerous sentries constantly patrolling. His only chance seemed to be to work his way round the side of the hill to his right and to see if there were any gaps in the Spartan cordon on that side.

He could not do that on horse back. The road was bordered by a dry stone wall and beyond that lay a patchwork of olive groves with numerous further stone walls.

And he must not delay. Two nights ago he had six days in which to reach Thebes now he had, he concentrated for a moment wrestling with the arithmetic, four. He had to get on.

"I'm sorry Vulcan," he said, "we've got to part now."

Regretfully he turned Vulcan to face the way they had come. As soon as the Spartans found Vulcan they would know that he himself could not be too far away. Sending the horse back the way they had come should delay this discovery more than if he had sent him straight down the road into the Spartan camp. He pressed his face for a moment into the side of the horses neck smelling his sweet musty scent. He reached up and slipped the bridle clear of his head.

He stepped back slapping Vulcan on the rump and watched with stinging eyes as he began to move very slowly away.

Vulcan he told himself would be all right. He was a famous horse. He would soon be found and taken back to the stables where Damos would look after him. He just hoped that Vulcan understood.

Feeling utterly alone he scrambled over the wall beside the road and began to make his way round the side of the hill. His right foot was still very sore from the where the iron had burnt it and his progress was slow and painful.

Every now and again he would pause both to rest his foot and to see if he could spot any gap in the Spartan defences but there were none. He settled himself with his back against a rock looking despondently down on the Eastern shore of the Isthmus. Below him lay a long sandy bay which stretched the whole length of the Isthmus. Immediately to his right a low rocky point stuck out into the sea. Close in shore rode at anchor a dozen or so triremes, long menacing vessels with gigantic beaks and raised prows and sterns, part of the Spartan war fleet. Less elegant were the numerous high sided broad beamed ships that began to appear over the horizon as the day wore on. Single masted, with a single broad sail, these vessels made their cumbersome way into the bay and crowded round two jetties built out into the sea. There they were unloaded and their cargos transferred to wooden carts that were hauled away by teams of oxen along a stone paved track across the Isthmus.(1)

The quays and the area of foreshore about them was a hive of activity with carts coming and going and piles of merchandize apparently scattered haphazardly about, bales of fabric, sacks of corn, amphora containing wine and oil, great blocks of marble, boxes of fish all lay scattered about.

Not all the cargoes discharged on the quayside required loading onto carts. Corinth was the great centre of the Eastern Mediterranean slave trade. Many of the ships arriving bore human loads, fodder for the slave markets that flourished there. They were driven from the ships with curses and blows to stand dazed and miserable on the quay side before being herded up the ramp past the bored Spartan sentries posted at its head and on to the track leading to Corinth.

Ayas watched glumly as ship after ship tied up at one or other of the jetties and disgorged its cargo of human misery. There were very few men he noticed, women, boys, girls, some naked some clothed some fettered others not but hardly any men. Perhaps some great city had been sacked. That would account for it, the men slaughtered, the city razed, the women and children enslaved.

That would be the fate of Thebes he thought if he did not find someway past the Spartans and manage to warn them of the coming attack. And what chance did he have of that with a Spartan army blocking his way.

And still the hips came and still they unloaded their human cargoes on the quay side under the bored and indifferent gaze of the Spartan guard.

Suddenly a broad grin split Ayas's face. He clapped his hand against his bare thigh and cried aloud "that's it."

He could swim. He could manage, he was fairly sure, the distance between the rocky point immediately below him and the two jetties. Indeed with his injured foot swimming would be easer for him than walking. The jetties were littered with goods providing ample cover for what he had in mind. One naked slave boy looked very like another and anyway it was obvious from the way they behaved that the Spartan sentries were not really bothered. No doubt they expected him to come from the hills to the South not from the sea to the East. An impression that no doubt was reinforced by the discovery of Vulcan on the road to Sparta for by this time the horse would undoubtedly have been found.

So he would get down to the point just below where he sat. He would hide in the rocks there until just before dawn. He would swim across the bay to the jetties. Hide in among the merchandize piled there. Wait until a cargo of slaves had been unloaded onto the quayside and attach himself to them and then walk past the Spartan guards, just one among a number of other slave boys. He would stay with them until they reached Thebes and then take the first opportunity that offered to slip away. After that he had no idea what he would do but he told himself he had managed really well up to now and he was sure something else would turn up. It did not occur to him that it might prove considerably more easy to join a coffle of slaves than to escape from one.

He set off to hobble down the hill side to the point where he planned to hide. The hill was steep and rocky and the sun now much higher in the sky extremely hot. He stopped to drink from a small stream before reaching the sea shore. The little promontory was strew with large jagged boulders that provided both protection from the sun and an excellent place to hide.

He lay down in the shade of a large rock and settled himself down to wait. He was feeling rather pleased with himself. He told himself, having thought out an excellent plan to out wit the Spartans, the really difficult part of his work was done. All he had to do was to put it into effect. With the perennial optimism of youth he was sure that all would go well. He was very tired and he was soon asleep.

When he woke it was just getting dark and a cool breeze was coming in from the sea ruffling the water. He was very thirsty and hungry. He could do something about the thirst and with infinite caution he struggled back to the stream and drank deeply. Food was more difficult. The brook was a mere trickle of water and contained no fish. Darkness made foraging for insects and such difficult. He retreated back to his lair in the rocks and settled down to wait.

It was a long and miserable night for Ayas. Having slept much of the day he found it hard to sleep again. All he could do was huddle in the shelter of his rock cramped and increasingly cold and hungry.

The breeze strengthened through out the night and had risen to a stiff wind raising a heavy chop on the sea. As Ayas climbed stiffly down to the water's edge waves were slapping hard against the rocks of the point sending small showers of spray into the air.

As he lowered himself into the water, the sea, after the chill of the night air, felt warm against his bare flesh. He looked out across the bay, camp fires glowed along its edge where the Spartan sailors camped, away from the cramped quarters of their war galleys riding at anchor close in shore. He could see their shapes, dark against the water, bobbing and rolling in the swell. Somewhere in the distant gloom he knew lay the two jetties. The bay seemed bigger and the distances greater than in the daylight. He hoped he had not overestimated his swimming ability.

He pushed off and struck off across the bay. Swimming was difficult. The chop battered him and the wind seemed to be constantly driving him towards the shore. He struggled to keep well out to sea fearful of being spotted by one of the Spartan sailors. His arms and his legs ached from tiredness. He was in among the galleys now. He had hoped he might have rested there by hanging onto an anchor rope but wallowing in the waves they offered no refuge. Indeed pitching and rolling as they were they were a positive danger, looming over him, threatening to crash down upon him as he struggled against the swell.

His lings were bursting and his arms and legs were leaden. He knew he could not continue. He turned for shore and with the wind and current behind him his feet soon touched bottom. He stood crouched, only his head above water, taking stock of the situation. One advantage he reflected of the rough sea was that it would be very difficult for anyone to spot him which was just as well. For although the night must have been well advanced there were still a great deal of activity on the beach. Some of the Spartans were sleeping, some no doubt were so busy with each other that the whole Theban army could have descended on them without them noticing. Some though were moving about or talking to each other and further down the beach towards the jetties Ayas could vaguely make out a party bathing in the sea.

As Ayas watched two figures detached themselves from a group sitting round a nearby fire. They strolled together to the edge of the sand and stood, one rather taller and broader than the other, side by side looking out to sea. It seemed to Ayas that they were looking straight at him. He froze for a moment his heart beating quickly. After three or four long minutes they turned to face each other and embraced.

There was no way Ayas thought that he could make the jetties walking along the foreshore undetected. He would have to swim for it. Gritting his teeth he turned wearily and breasting the surge struck out to take himself a safe distance from shore before turning and swimming parallel to the coast.

Once again the waves and the wind sapped his energy driving him steadily in shore. He had only made a few hundred yards before he was back among the breakers at the water edge.

He rested for a moment. This was all he knew taking much longer than he thought it would. However there was no sign yet of the sky to the East lightening so he had probably and very fortunately overestimated the passage of time during the night and therefore set off earlier than he intended. The best thing he thought in the circumstances was to swim up the coast in short hops, swimming straight out to sea then turning and swimming along the coast not fighting the wind or current until driven back in shore, then resting again before repeating the process.

But he recognised with sinking heart that the next hop would have to be a very long one indeed. He was very near now where the party of Spartans swam and sported in the waves. He would have to keep well clear of them and that meant going far out into the sea and making a fair amount of ground along the coast before turning back to land.

However he had no choice. Grimly he struggled out meeting the waves head on, feeling his strength draining away from him by the minute.

He made it – just. Kneeling in the surf, the shouts of the bathing Spartans sounding faintly over the crash of the waves behind him, he could just make out in the darkness the looming bulk of the piers white spray bursting over their ends where they ran far out into the sea.

There were camp fires and the dark shapes of small groups of Spartans moving about on the beach between him and the quays. He would have to swim for it again but at least he did not have to go far out and he could return to the shallows to rest if necessary. It seemed to him the hardest part of his journey that night was over.

His plan had been to find some way of climbing up out of the sea on to the jetty. Once he got near to it he saw that this would be impossible. Its sides were steep and smooth and the surging sea would pound him to pulp against its stone wall if he ventured too close. He turned and headed for the shore. The quay would have been built out over the sand and into the sea. He would swim for the shore and would climb the pier from there, where he could approach the base of the wall without danger.

With the wind and current behind him he made good speed. Swept along by the current the wall of the pier seemed to race past him. The crash of the waves against its wall rang in his head. The roar of the surf seemed to be increasing the nearer inshore he got. A higher wave than usual lifted him and he saw less than fifty yards directly ahead of him a wall stretching away to his left with the sea boiling at its base. He realised with a feeling of sick horror that there was no strip of sand but a sea wall against which he would be dashed in a few minutes if he did not take evasive action.

He turned and began desperately to try to fight his way back out to sea. The wind and current that had previously carried him swiftly towards the shore now forced him back. Using all his failing strength he managed to inch his way very slowly away from land. The rocks of the pier that had earlier flashed past him so effortlessly on his way to shore now passed with painfully slowness. At times indeed, despite struggling hard, he seemed to be almost stationary in the water and he could feel his strength ebbing away by the second. All the time the current seemed to be driving him nearer to the pier itself with the sea surging murderously at its base.

Footnote

1. This was the Diolkos remains of which exist to this day. It was a paved track leading directly across the Isthmus. Its exact purpose and method of operation is matter of some controversy not lessened by the habit of some but not all academics of presenting mere supposition as established fact. It would appear certain that it was used on occasion to carry warships over the Isthmus because this is referred to among others by Thucydides and Polybius. The occasions that this was done however would appear to be limited and would hardly justify the expense and effort of building it. It is therefore suggested that it was also used to transport goods across the Isthmus and possibly also the ships carrying the goods. I find it difficult to think that it would be possible to transport the deeper broader hulled merchant ships in the same way as the warships. The precise nature of the apparatus on which the warships and it is assumed also, goods were loaded is not known nor the method used to draw it. Parallel grooves have exist in part in at least of the track leading to the suggestion it was a very early form of railway with the trolleys drawn by teams of oxen or men.

Chapter 35

Very slowly Ayas fought his way through the waves. Battered by the sea he managed but by bit to work his way past the end of the pier. But his strength was ebbing fast and he knew he could not keep up the struggle much longer. He could not continue to battle his way out to sea. If he tried to swim back down the coast the way he had come he was sure to be swept back to shore and battered against the sea wall. All he could do was to try and swim round the end of the two piers and hope that there was no sea wall on the further side.

He turned broadside to the swell. A wave caught him and swept him landwards. The pier loomed up over him. He was caught in the water that boiled at its base. Thrown this way and that he braced himself expecting at any moment to be dashed against it. He was sucked below the surface and spewed out again. High stone walls towered close on either side of him. He had escaped being smashed against the head of one of the piers but his reprieve was only temporary. Now he was being driven up the narrow strip of water that lay between them. Powerless against the force of the sea he was tossed about like a fragment of drift wood. At any moment a wave would hurl him against the side one of the piers. At the best he would be driven to the landward end of the piers and dashed against the wall there.

He was sucked down under again. He swallowed sea water. There was a great darkness and a roaring in his ears and then a bone shattering crash jerked him back to full consciousness.

Ayas found thrown down upon a steeply rising stone ramp while the ebbing wave tried to draw him back into the seething maelstrom of water from which he had just been cast (1). Instinctively his fingers sought for cracks in the masonry and he dragged himself clear of the water.

He lay there sometime naked and shivering puking salt water. Then suddenly a wave of euphoria struck him. He was alive and what was more he had completed the first and most difficult part of his plan to get past the Spartan cordon. All he had to do now was to hide until dawn and then take the first opportunity that arose to attach himself to a coffle of slaves and walk unnoticed past the guards.

It was still dark. There was no sign of lightening in the sky. He must have wildly overestimated the passage of time while he was waiting to set out on his swim across the bay. Which really was just as well for it gave him plenty of time to hide himself before it was light.

He got himself to his feet and somewhat unsteadily, for he was very tired, limped up the ramp, keeping well into the wall of one of the piers so as not to be outlined against the sea.

Reaching the top of the ramp he saw immediately ahead of him the glow of the guard's watch fire and leaning, dozing on his spear, the Spartan sentry on duty. He turned away from him and made his way along the quay listening to the roar of the sea as the waves were funnelled up between the two piers. Eventually he came across a number of untidily stacked amphora. Inserting himself between them he lay down waiting for the dawn.

Utterly exhausted by his swim the sleep that earlier eluded him soon came and wet and naked as he was he fell asleep curled up on the bare flags.

He was jerked suddenly awake by someone gripping and twisting his ear. Opening his eyes he saw two burly men, their only clothing short lengths of cloth wrapped round their wastes, bending over him grinning.

"Up," the one holding him by the ear commanded twisting and puling it viciously.

"One of the slaves brought in yesterday whose managed to slip his escort and was hoping to make a run for it," he remarked, "we'll have to hand him over to the guards."

Ayas's heart sank. He was sure that the Spartans would recognise him as soon as he was passed to them. To have got so far and to fail at almost the last moment was the hardest of fates. And then Xionedes would not be content simply to kill him. He would make sure that he suffered and that it was a long and pain filled experience. He imagined the nails being driven into his living flesh and being left to hang while the life slowly drained from him (2).

"Please Lord 3;," he began pleading desperately not giving up the struggle even at this late stage when it seemed all hope was gone.

"Shut up," the man said cuffing him hard across the face with his free hand.

"I don't know Bessus," the second man said slowly, "after all what's in it for us?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's in it for us if we hand the boy over to the Spartans. We won't even get a "thank you" from the mean bastards. They'll take the boy, rough him up a bit, take their turns raping him and if he survives that sell him and pay the money into the state treasury."

"Keep it for themselves more likely Tenens."

"Either way we don't get anything out of it."

"So what do we do. How do we make something for ourselves."

"Well," Tenens replied, cocking his head to one side and taking a close look at Ayas, "the little tyke is pretty bedraggled at the moment but he's not a bad looking brat, healthy and well made by the look of him. What if we sold him on our own account. We wouldn't make fortune but it'd be better than nothing and that's what we'd get if we handed him over to the Spartans."

"But how do we do that. We can't take him out past the guards without them seeing him."

"We don't. Once the wind falls and the swell drops away and it's already beginning to, there'll be more ships landing more slaves. We sell him to one of the merchants and he takes him through with the rest of his livestock. We won't get top price of course but like I already said we'll get something."

"Philotas is due in this morning," the Bessus said obviously kindling to the idea, "he'd be up for it."

"Do you know anyone of those dealers who wouldn't. They'll be getting the brat cheap and that's all they care about."

"All right then," Bessus said glancing landwards to check that they were shielded from the view of the Guards by the pile of amphora, "let's get him out in the open and see what we've got."

Twisting Ayas's ear Bessus pried him from his hiding place. Ayas stood shivering and naked in front of the two men.

"Not bad at all," Bessus remarked releasing Ayas's ear and standing back to get a good look at the boy. "hold on though he's favouring one foot. What's the matter there."

"Come on boy," he ordered slapping Ayas hard across the back of his right thigh, "get that foot of yours up so I can look at it."

Bending he grabbed hold of Ayas's ankle and jerked his right foot in the air.

"What's the matter with it?" Tenens, who had moved forward and was holding Ayas by the shoulders to steady the boy, asked anxiously. He knew if there was anything seriously wrong it would diminish his value considerably and even render him unsaleable.

"Looks like it's just someone had a bit of fun with a hot iron across the soul of the brat's foot," Bessus replied. "Nothing to worry about. No permanent damage shouldn't make much difference to his price. Hurts a bit though I expect."

He dug his thumb nail into the burn and Ayas cried out in pain.

"Yes I thought so," he continued releasing his hold of Ayas' ankle and slapping him on the rump.

"Don't make so much fuss boy," he said laughing, "and bend forward we've got something more important to check."

Ayas knowing from past experience what was coming bent forward and shuffled his feet slightly apart forcing himself to relax his anus.

"Well the little whore knows the form anyway," Bessus said chuckling.

The man's fingers pried open the crack in the boy's bottom. Ayas felt Bessus's breath against his bare flesh as the man bent down to make his examination.

"I'd say the slut's been fucked but by another boy or a youth only," Bessus said the surprise in his voice clear as he paid this unconscious tribute to Phaedra's skill as a needlewoman (3).

Sucking the index finger of his right hand he pressed its tip against the lips of Ayas's anus. Increasing the pressure he worked it slowly into the boy. There was a moment of initial resistance but then forcing Ayas's sphincter he pushed until its full length was buried in the boy.

"There's been nothing bigger than a boy's cock up there," Bessus remarked, his satisfaction clear in the tone of his voice, twisting his finger and probing Ayas's hole with it. "Just right for a man now, tight but not too tight."

"And the little whore enjoys it," Tenens crowed flipping the tip of Ayas's prick, that that had hardened and now stood stiffly to attention in response to Bessus's invasion of his body, with his thumb nail.

Using his index and forefinger to lift Ayas's hairless balls he closely examined the skin at the juncture of the boy's legs.

"No sign of ring worm either," he announced.

Gripping Ayas's chin with between the finger and thumb of his right hand he tipped the boy's head back forcing his mouth open.

"Full set of teeth as well," he added after a cursory inspection.

"Should sell well enough," Bessus said, "now let's tie the brat up so that he can't wander off while we're waiting for Philotas to arrive with his cargo of slaves. Find a length of cord would you? And boy you get your hands behind your back."

"How long," he continued as he bound Ayas's wrists together, "do you think it will be before Philotas's ship can land its cargo."

"The wind has dropped away but there's still a fare swell running," Tenens replied, "maybe a couple of hours."

"And no work for us to do till then 3;" Bessus sounded thoughtful as he completed tying Ayas's wrists together.

"Have to find some way to pass the time," he added squeezing the boy's bottom with his hand.

"Better not fuck the brat's bottom," Bessus said regretfully, "not if we mean to sell him. We could rip him open and that would destroy his value. That's a pleasure his new master will pay high for."

"Philotas will take most of the profit," Tenens said gloomily, "he'll only gives us a couple of drachma for the slut."

"He'll give us nothing at all if we produce him with his bottom torn open and bleeding."

"Tell me boy," Tenens asked suddenly, "are you hungry?"

Ayas, standing naked, wrists bound tightly behind his back, on the quay side sandwiched between the two large men who loomed terrifyingly over him, hesitated. He was indeed very hungry. He had nothing much to eat for almost twenty four hours. But he had a very good idea of what sort of 'food' he was going to be given and he had no appetite for it.

There was silence apart from the sough of the waves against the quay side and the cry of a seagull wheeling over head. Then Tenens fist crashed into the side of his head knocking him to his knees.

"I asked you a question slut," the man raged, "answer me you useless lump of dog shit."

"Yes Lord I'm hungry Lord," Ayas whimpered hating and despising himself for doing so but hoping that compliance would, if not ameliorate his suffering and humiliation, at least shorten its duration.

Tenens pulled the cloth away from his waste and dropped it on the ground. Ayas eyes focused on the man's heavy balls and grossly swollen cock jutting from a dense forest of black hair that spread from his crutch to form a thick pelt covering his belly and chest.

Burying one hand in the boy's hair Tenens pulled him forward so his head was buried in his crutch. Ayas's nostrils were filled with the animal odours of stale sweat and faeces. He felt the coarse hair pressing against his nose and lips. He recoiled involuntarily and earned another sharp clout on the side of the head.

"Take it in your mouth slut," Tenens ordered tightening his grip.

Ayas knew he had no choice. Opening his mouth he took the man's prick into it closing his lips around the pulsating rod of flesh and gristle. The metallic rather salty taste of the man's precum filled his mouth. He began to suck on it using his tongue to augment the movement of his lips.

Tenens was savage and impatient. Grabbing Ayas by the ear he brutally pumped the boy's mouth driving the full length of his tumescent cock down into his throat with a series of fierce thrusts.

Mercifully the man's pleasure was as short as it was brutal. Tenens groaned loudly and released his hold of the boy's ears as he ejaculated deep in Ayas's throat. Ayas gagged and spluttered pulling away from the man. Tenens gripping the back of his head with one hand held his penis to his lips with the other spurting large blobs semen into his mouth.

"Eat it you ungrateful little turd," he snarled wiping the last drips of cum from its tip off on the boys lips. "It's the favourite food of boy whores like you."

"My turn now," Bessus said pushing his friend to one side.

He had already stripped and in a few seconds he had his cock thrusting down into Ayas's gullet. Bessus was as brutal and as violent in satisfying his lust as his companion and was just as insistent that Ayas should swallow its product.

Finished he drove his knee into the kneeling boy's chest sending Ayas sprawling on the paving stones. There he lay naked, his wrists bound behind his back, his face and chest smeared with the man's cum unable to clean the filth from his body.

"Better tie his ankles together and get him back out of sight until Philotas arrives," Tenens said, "we don't want the brat wandering off again or anyone else finding him and trying to get a share of the cash."

Dragged back into the shelter of the pile of scattered amphora Ayas lay, bound hand and foot, waiting for the appearance of the slave trader Philotas. It looked he thought as if he was going to escape the Spartans at least for the time being. He saw however that his plan of which he was so proud and of which he had had such high hopes did have certain disadvantages. He was quietly sick. The 'food' on which he had been forced to feast was somewhat too rich.

Philotas, when he eventually came was a tall, and unusually for that part of the world, blond man, a Thracian perhaps or even some one from the savage lands to the far North. He stood looking down at Ayas's huddled form with an expression of puzzled distaste.

"Why," he asked speaking to Tenens and Bessus who were standing deferentially at his side, "are you showing me this?"

"He's not a bad looking boy Lord," Tenens said smiling ingratiatingly, "clean him up a bit he'd sell well. We can't get him out past the guards but you could slip him past them among the rest of the slaves you're taking to market and once in Corinth you could get ten, twenty drachma for him. So you give us say five and you can have him."

"Five drachma for a skinny little runt like that," Philotas exclaimed laughing scornfully, prodding Ayas in his ribs with his foot, "I'd be lucky to get half that on the auction block for him and it'll cost more than that to get him to market what with the cost of feed and the duties I'll be charged."

"Well I suppose I may as well take a look at him now I am here," he continued after a moments silence during which neither Tenens nor Bessus spoke. "Free his ankles and get him to his feet would you."

Philotas's hands roamed over Ayas's naked limbs probing the most sensitive and intimate parts of his body. Forcing the boy's head back he spent sometime looking down into his eyes (4).

Ayas endured the examination patiently. He had no other choice but to do so. Beyond Philotas he could see the slaves that formed his stock in trade being unloaded. A couple of dozen youths and children of both sexes were herded by the crew of the ship on which they had been carried onto the quayside. The air was filled with shouts and curses boots and fists were freely used. Once disembarked they huddled on the quay side in a terrified and apathetic group under the watchful gaze of a massive Negro armed with a heavy whip and two other men carrying staves. Every now and again one of the men would step forward and bring his cudgel cracking down across the head or the bare shoulders of a youth or child who dared to raise its head.

"He's hardly worth the trouble of taking to Corinth," Philotas said the examination completed. "I'll give you a drachma for him and that's probably more than I will get for him."

"One drachma," Tenens exclaimed in disgust, "he's worth more than that. That's simply not fair. We'll let the sea have him rather than let him go for that."

"One drachma fifty obols and that's my final offer." Philotas replied. "if you don't like it you can drown the brat he's hardly worth keeping anyway."

"That'll buy the pair of us good dinner and a enough wine to get drunk on but after a good dinner and a lot of wine a man needs something extra to round the night off with," Bessus said grinning lasciviously. "Give us just the little bit extra we need for that and it's a deal."

"Not an obol more," Philotas replied, "but if you boys will take your little bit extra now in kind but not in cash 3;"

Tenens and Bessus exchanged glances.

"It depends Lord on the quality of what's on offer," Bessus said at the end of this period of silent consultation.

"Nearchus," Philotas shouted, "bring that bitch that I gave you boys to enjoy last night here."

The Negro grinned and raised his hand in acknowledgement of this order. He stepped into the huddled crowd of slaves and grabbing a stocky naked girl of about eighteen years whose dark hair hung in a tangled mess over a grubby and heavily bruised face began dragging her towards his master.

"She's no virgin boys," Philotas continued speaking to Bessus and Tenens, "she wasn't before or I wouldn't have given her to my lads and she certainly isn't now but she's a good strong whore and quite as good quality as any of the drabs your likely to come across in the bars round here."

The Negro kicked the girl's feet away from under her and sent her tumbling to the ground in front of Philotas. There she knelt on all fours not even daring or perhaps bothering to raise her head.

"Well there she is," Philotas said, "is it a deal?"

Bessus was already stripped.

"It's my turn to go first this time," he announced.

"Don't take long now boys," Philotas said, "I want to get this lot to Corinth today to get them ready for sale tomorrow."

Ayas stood watching as the deal was finalised. He was having more and more doubts about the wisdom of his plan.

Footnotes

1. This was the stone ramp up which warships were drawn from the sea before being sent on their way across the Isthmus using the Diolkos – see note to Chapter 34. The ramp lay between the two piers and therefore was invisible except from immediately in front of them.
2. Crucifixion was not an exclusively Roman custom it was also practiced by the Greeks. Alexander the Great for instance crucified 2000 inhabitants of Tyre at the end of his successful siege of that city.
3. It's been a long time ago since I wrote the chapter describing Phaedra sowing up Ayas after his being torn when Nixod raped him so I think perhaps it is sensible of me to put a note here explaining this reference.
4. Aloysius Horn in his book The Ivory Coast in te Earlies published in 1927 describes traders examining slaves "very much after the fashion of a trader examining an animal. The most particular attention was paid toa slaves eyes. Those who had the evil eye were discarded. This disease or fault was called the Devil's Eye." What discarding entailed he did not state but may I think be inferred from the following "Many useless slaves were drowned or done away with after their usefulness as rubber cutters was over. A slaver would often buy a a father son and wife and leave the girl's mother behind and as the old woman was aged she was generally drowned. This practice of drowning kept the crocodiles and fish well supplied with food in the Angani River.
   It must be assumed I think that Philotas being professional slave trader was following a similar practice as his successor's in late 19th century and very early 20th century Africa. If that is o it I fortunate he was satisfied with what he saw in Ayas's eyes or our story would have come to an abrupt end.

Chapter 36

After Tenens and Bessus had finished with her the girl was dragged to her feet. Philotas quickly checked her over for damage as the girl stood quietly in front of him, head bowed her hands hanging loose by her sides, her bruised and tear stained face partly masked by her tumbled hair, the men's cum glistening damply as it trickled down the inside of her thighs. Satisfied that she had not been seriously injured Philotas sent her scuttling back with a boot up her backside to take her place among the other slaves on the quay side.

Untying the strings of the strings of the bulging purse that hung from his belt he carefully counted out the money and handed it to Tenens.

"Nearchus get the boy in among the other slaves," he ordered the Negro, "and get the whole lot of them moving. Drive the scum hard we've got time to make up."

"Move boy move," Nearchus shouted spinning Ayas round and sending him staggering towards the other slaves with a clout across the back of the head.

Shouting and cursing the men kicked the slaves to their feet and drove them with frequent blows from their staffs towards the guards posted at the landward end of the pier.

Jostled by the other slaves Ayas tried to work his way towards the middle of the shambling caravan of human merchandise where he thought he would have a better chance of not being spotted by the Spartan sentries. Keeping his head down he tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

However he could not resist stealing a glance at the guard post as he was driven past it. Two soldiers lounged by the side of the road obviously bored and utterly uninterested in what was passing. One soldier's vacant glance seemed to Ayas's to rest for a few seconds on him as he shuffled past but it was clear the man saw nothing to arouse his suspicions interest in the naked slave boy with the cum stained face and his wrists bound behind his back.

They were halted for a moment beyond the guard post to allow Philotas to hire a mule from the Taverna there. Then with Philotas riding the mule at their head the column of youthful slaves was set in motion along road to Corinth.

It was approaching midday and the sun beat down mercilessly. Dust rose from the track in a choking cloud clogging the slaves' nostrils and throats, caking their naked sweating bodies. Every now and again Philotas would turn in his saddle and yell at his men to get the column moving faster. Then cudgels would be cracked down across bare shoulders and boots would thump into naked rumps, whips would crack and the coffle would briefly be break into a reluctant stumbling run. Only to fall back into shuffling trot when the initial impulse had been spent until it was spurred once more into adopting a faster pace. Tormented by thirst and flies, weakened by hunger and exhaustion Nearchus and his helpers had to work hard to keep the column of slaves moving.

For Ayas with his injured foot the journey was particularly hard and he received more than his fare share of blows and kicks as he limped painfully along among the other slaves.

Mercifully the distance across the Isthmus is not great and it was not long before the column was being herded into a holding pen. This was simply a high walled enclosure with stout gates devoid of any cover providing shelter from the sun or the elements. At one end was a trough with water lapping over its edges and trickling down its sides to form shallow pools of water on the paving stones. The slaves driven desperate by thirst made a dash fir this but Nearchus and his men drove them back with curses and heavy blows from their staves.

The slaves huddled together on the flag stones under the blazing sun had to watch while Nearchus and the men slaked their thirsts and washed the grime from their bodies. The men had experienced a long sea voyage followed by the march across the Isthmus during the heat of the day. They took their time bathing, splashing each other, luxuriating in the feel of the cool water, watched all the time by the thirst tormented slaves.

After they had finished Nearchus grinning broadly urinated in the trough. An example followed by the other men. Only then were the slaves allowed to drink.

The trough was surrounded by a mass of naked struggling young bodies as the desperate slaves fought to get at the water. The smaller children unable to reach the trough grovelled on the paving stones their bare bottoms sticking up in the air as they lapped water from the ground.

The crush around the trough shrank as one by one the slaves, having quenched their thirsts, sought out the few patches of shade provided by the compounds walls and stretched themselves on the ground dozing listlessly. Occasionally one would stir and cry out woken perhaps by the flies that swarmed about them, crawling over their naked bodies or possibly dreaming of a happier time before chance had reduced them to mere chattels.

Time passed and the day dragged slowly by. The man reappeared carrying wooden troughs and supervised by the Negro Nearchus, set them out on the floor of the compound just inside the gate. The slaves stirred, heads were raised, one or two began uncertainly to inch their ways towards the troughs. Nearchus, his whip at the ready, stationed himself between them and the troughs.

The men re-appeared filling them with buckets of swill. A slave bolder than the rest, or perhaps just more desperate from hunger, made a dash at them but was driven back squealing with a cut from the Negro' heavy lash. Directed by the Negro one of the men began to move among the huddled bodies of the slaves picking out the smallest and youngest children and sending them scuttling towards the troughs with a sharp word of command. Nearchus let them past, sending them on their way with a quick kick up the bottom, while keeping a keen eye on the mass of the slaves. Soon four small figures were bent over the troughs greedily shovelling food into their mouths. Judging that they had had enough Nearchus stepped back lowering his whip. At this signal the remaining slaves rushed forward bowling the smaller ones over and sending them sprawling in their rush to get at the swill. Soon the troughs were surrounded by a crowd of struggling naked bodies as the slaves fought each other to get at the food. Occasionally one of the men would wade into the mass of bodies to break up a fight that appeared to be in danger if getting out of hand with kicks and blows. Ayas with his hands bound behind his back had no choice but to bore in among the struggling mass and kneel, naked bottom raised, face thrust down into the trough, gulping down the foul smelling swill.

All too soon Ayas found himself trying to lick the last fragments of food from the bottom of the trough. Then he along with the other slaves was herded away back into one corner of the compound while the troughs were removed and the ground around them swilled clean with buckets of cold water. Exhaustion began to take its toll. Ayas his thirst quenched and his belly at least partly filled was ready for sleep. He seated himself on the ground and leaning his head on his knees dozed quietly.

He was jerked back awake by being dowsed in cold water. Looking up he was just in time to catch full in the face the better part of another bucket of water being thrown by a grinning Nearchus over the huddled slaves.

Then one by one individual slaves were dragged out into the centre of the compound and scrubbed clean of the accumulated filth with cold water and scraps of rag. So tired were many of the slaves that Nearchus had to hold them by the arm to support them as they were washed down for they were falling asleep where they stood.

Philotas took little active part in the washing but stood by watching, sometimes issuing an instruction or very rarely actually intervening to dress a wound.

"You can untie the slut," he said when it was Ayas's turn to be sponged down.

"Let's look at your wrists boy," he continued taking Ayas's hands in his and turning them.

"Stay like that."

He took a jar from a small box at his feet and tipped some of its contents into the palm of his hand. Ayas whimpered at the sting as the man worked the salve into the cuts where the cord had chafed his skin.

Dismissed with an open handed slap on his bare rump Ayas took a few unsteady steps towards the side of the compound before collapsing to the ground. Just before he fell asleep he saw the dark haired girl the use of whose body had formed part of the consideration for his own purchase being led from the compound. She went quietly, as a slave should. He was never to see her again.

Ayas woke next morning to find the early morning sun streaming down. All about him the other slaves were stirring, some making their way to the trough to drink or, in the absence of anywhere else to do the job, into a corner of the compound to stand or squat and relieve themselves. Otherwise they simply sat and waited. There was after all nothing else for them to do.

Eventually Philotas and Nearchus together with the other men appeared. The slaves moved nervously away huddling together for protection as they unlocked the gate and made their way into the compound. The men set up a large cauldron mounted on a tripod, filled it with water from the trough and lit a fire beneath it.

Once the water was warmed the preparation of the slaves for auction began. The washing on this occasion was much more thorough and somewhat more gentle than the rough scrub down of the previous evening. That was simply meant to remove the layers of filth accumulated over days of journeying and confinement. This was designed to present the slaves in the best possible condition to potential purchasers. They were washed in pairs standing beside the steaming cauldron, a man working on each slave while Nearchus kept the livestock in order.

There was more to the process than simple cleanliness. Philotas was an experienced trader in human flesh and skilled in getting the best price he could for his stock. He knew how important it was that at the upper end of the market, to which he was catering, that a young slave should show itself well on the block. A boy who stood sulking, sullen faced, unmoving with drooping shoulders and resentful gaze would sell less well, all other things being equal, than a lively cheerful lad who wriggled his bottom and grinned provocatively at the customers.

Of course it was all a question of balance. There was no point in frittering money away in feeding brats if there was no ultimate benefit to the bottom line and a good through put of stock was necessary to maintain a healthy cash flow. On the other hand it was certainly worth while to put a little extra effort into livening the brats up in the few brief hours that remained before the market opened. It would cost nothing and would deliver a cash benefit.

So Philotas moved about among the slaves pressing a girl's pubenda, cupping a boy's balls, patting bottoms, fondling limbs, ruffling hair, pinching ears and cheeks, telling a child that it was a pretty slut. Mixing this activity with advice on how to behave on the block while always trying to press home the message, in terms they could grasp, the simple economic truth that the more a slave cost its Master the more it would be valued and the better it could be expected to be treated. Soon the mood of listless lethargy that had earlier gripped the slaves was replaced by a potent mix of sexual excitement and acute anxiety.

Ayas himself was not exempt from this change of mood. Philotas had stood close to him while he was being washed. For a long time Philotas had said nothing, just stood there gently kneading the back of Ayas's neck. The mere presence of the man, so close, frightened and at the same time excited the boy. The hand now gently stroking the back of his neck could so easily tighten its grip and choke the life out of him. He felt the power and strength of the man and his own complete helplessness. The man's power over him was total and that was both terrifying and strangely arousing.

Ayas could stand the excitement no longer. He pushed his head back against Philotas's hand.

"Master," he breathed, "Master."

"You've got the slut going," the man interrupted his swabbing between Ayas's legs with a laugh. "His pricks as hard as iron."

"That's because he's a good little whore," Philotas said softly continuing to squeeze Ayas's neck.

"A good little whore," he repeated in almost a singsong voice, "whose going to sell well for me. Whose going to wriggle that sweet bottom of his at all the rich lords bidding for the chance to fuck it. Whose not going to go all shy and bashful on the block because he knows rich lords like to see and to touch and he wants to please the rich lords and he wants to please me 3; don't you boy?"

"Master yes Master," Ayas whimpered and at that moment naked, aroused and helpless he meant it.

"Good boy," Philotas said, squeezing his bottom.

But he was not so pleased when he checked Ayas's foot.

"That should have healed up much more than that," he remarked grumpily and showed his displeasure by jabbing his thumb nail into it making Ayas cry out at the sharp pain.

The slave market like the slave pens was set outside the city walls. The journey from holding pen to market was not a long one and the slaves were walked there at a gentle pace. That early in the morning there were few people about apart from other traders driving their merchandise to market. Corinth being the great entrepot of the Eastern Mediterranean slave trade the street was full of strings of slaves being driven to market. It was oddly quiet, there were no shouts of defiance or cries of despair, by the time a slave had journeyed this far it had learnt that either was pointless; just the shuffle of bare feet on the road, the occasional clink of iron fetters and the shouted orders of the traders and their men. Very occasionally there would be the sharp crack of a whip followed by a shrill howl of pain but that was rare indeed. Slaves by the time they reached the market place had generally been well schooled in the servile virtue of obedience.

Ayas limped along oblivious to his surroundings. Away from the overweening presence of Philotas he was once again trying to figure things out in his mind. This was made more difficult as in the rush of events he had rather lost track of time. However he was fairly certain that he had set out on his swim the night before last and that the he had calculated he had four days left in which to warn the Thebans of Sparta's coming attack. If that was so and here he had to concentrate very hard, then a day and a two nights had passed he had 3; trying to work this abstruse sum out he stopped dead and was immediately bumped into by the boy behind him. He started again looking at it in another way. Two nights of four had gone so there must be, he thought hard and counted on his fingers, two nights remaining to him to get to Thebes.

He had no idea how far away Thebes was or, beyond the fact that it lay to the North of Corinth, where it was. His foot was becoming more and more painful so that he could hardly walk. He was just about to be sold at auction to a new and necessarily unknown master. Reviewing these facts he could see he was facing certain difficulties. I will, he told himself, have to get a move on.

Philotas's pitch was a prime one situated by the East Gate beside the main thoroughfare next to the city walls. It consisted of an area of bare ground and a simple raised wooden stage supported on trestles with a ladder at one end to allow access. In the centre of the platform stood a low sturdy wooden box, the block, on which each slave in turn would in the course of the day be displayed and sold.

The slaves were herded together at the base of the ladder. For a long time very little happened. The slaves sat on the ground while Nearchus and his men lounged about keeping an eye on them and chatting.

Philotas meanwhile strode up and down along the side of the street loudly extolling the quality of his merchandise to the passers-by trying to persuade them to take a look for themselves. Occasionally he would be successful and then he would bring the prospective customer to stand with him looking down on the huddled crowd of naked young slaves while he talked animatedly. Every now and again he would point out an individual slave or even wade in among them to grab one by the arm or ear and to drag it out for closer inspection.

Ayas more than once was singled out in this way. He had to stand quietly as Philotas drew attention to such attributes the softness of his lips, the firmness of his tight young bottom and dwelt on the unending hours of sexual ecstasy promised his eventual purchaser.

Nor was Philotas sales technique confined to the purely verbal. He favoured a hands on approach and encouraged his customers to do likewise. In the course of the morning Ayas in common with the other slaves was pinched and patted and prodded by a succession of men. Ayas would stand with his hands down by his sides as the man looked him over, discussing him with Philotas as he did so. At a gesture he would clasp his hands behind his neck. Another gesture would make him turn round. A sharp command and a hand pressed on the back of his neck bent him forward. It became almost a ritual and in doing so it became easier to endure. Ayas bore patiently the strangers' hands pawing his body, the sharp pain of the intrusive finger forcing his sphincter, the indignity of being handled and discussed as though he was an animal.

Ayas had one further trial to endure. Philotas as he could not disguise the injury to his foot chose deliberately to draw attention to it. He presented it as an opportunity to acquire a quality brat at a bargain price while stressing the its temporary nature. Gripping Ayas by the ankle he would pull his foot back to show that it was a recent wound rather than a long standing injury. He would assert it was a clean wound and that it was already beginning to heal.

Then, while still holding Ayas's ankle, he would press his thumb into the open wound causing the boy to cry out and hop frantically on his one good foot until, finally loosing his balance, he tumbled onto his hands and knees. Ayas's cries and wild gyrations attracted the attention of passers-by and one or two turned aside to see what Philotas had on offer that day – which was the very reason why he chose to torment Ayas in that way.

As the day wore on the street running past Philotas's pitch became ever busier. The time came closer to when the actual auction would begin. Nearchus began to move among the crowd of youths and children crouched on the ground selecting the first batch to be sold. Occasionally he would kick one to its feet and order it to climb up the ladder onto the stage where they were lined up along its length by Philotas.

Ayas was the fifth or sixth to be selected. He stood on the platform looking out over the heads of crowd that had now swollen to couple of dozen or so individuals, some serious customers looking to make a purchase ,others curious onlookers hoping for some amusement. There were a number of the latter for Philotas had a reputation for being something of an entertainer and could usually be relied upon to enliven the business of the day with some trick or other.

There were about a dozen slaves exhibited on the stage at a time, lined up, facing the crowd. Ayas stood naked his head bowed, careful, as he had been told to do, to keep his hands down by his sides. He felt the eyes of the crowd upon him. He found it frightening and just a little exciting to be displayed as merchandise for sale in this way. Nor did the examinations cease. They were now carried on in full view of the assembled crowd as prospective purchasers climbed the ladder to take a close look at the slaves before they went under the hammer.

A father and son searching for a personal slave for the boy came to have a look at Ayas. Philotas sensing money and a profitable sale hurried over to extol Ayas's qualities as the pair of them looked him over, the father taking the opportunity to instruct the son on what to look for in a slave.

Finally the auction was underway. Ayas was the fourth slave up on the auction block with Philotas standing close beside him his hand resting on his naked rump. The bidding was slow. Philotas had difficulty in finding a bidder at two drachma and thereafter was obliged to take rises of fifty obols.

"Turn round and show the lords your bottom boy and give it a wriggle so they can see you know what it's for," he instructed.

There was a roar of laughter from the crowd as Ayas obediently did as he was told followed by a lewd cheer when he turned round to face them again and it was seen he was sporting an erection.

The bidding went up to four drachma and stuck.

"Come on, come on Lords," Philotas adjured the crowd, "a prime slut like this and your only prepared to pay four drachma. Just look at that bottom ripe for his Master's cock and those lips imagine them round your prick 3; Perhaps you're worried by the fact he's favouring one foot. Just a recent injury and it'll soon be healed. If you don't believe me look at it."

"Turn round again boy and lift your foot so the Lords can see it."

Feeling suddenly sick for he knew from experience what this order presaged Ayas turned and lifted his foot.

"There you are Lords," Philotas continued seizing hold of Ayas's ankle, "you can see it's recently done and it's beginning to heal already."

He knew the crowd could see nothing of the sort but that did not matter. He had decided that they needed livening up if the auction was to be a success and Ayas's foot provided a means of doing that and also of attracting further attention. Once again he ground his thumb into the wound as Ayas howled in pain.

The crowd laughed and Philotas encouraged by that, again pressed his thumb into the raw flesh.

"Eight drachma," a furious voice from the crowd shouted out.

NEXT PART