..”100 SESTERCIES IS BID!
” he cries, and harangues the crowd, who takes it in good humour, laughing at his jokes: “100 SESTERCIES! 100 SESTERCIES! IS THAT ALL I AM BID?
IT WOULD BE A GOOD PRICE FOR A ONE LEGGED, BLIND MESSENGER SLAVE WITH PILES! BUT FOR THIS SWEET, EXQUISITE DELIGHT, THIS LITTLE CHERRY TO BE PICKED AND EATEN AND SWALLOWED AND ENJOYED..
…
I ASK YOU, GENTLEMEN, ARE YOU ALL MEN WHO PREFER BEARDLESS YOUTHS LOITERING AROUND THE BATHS HERE, SINCE YOU CANNOT COME UP WITH A DECENT BID?” And then, and only then, she becomes aware of the disturbance..
At first a mere change in the constant murmur, like a differing accent joining in the conversation, but then she hears the noise rising, the sound of trumpets, the rippling thunder of marching feet, voices raised in argument, in orders, in shouts of dismay. And like a ship cleaving the waves a covered palanquin, carried by eight big nubians, is carried into the square, surrounded by troops, proceeded by trumpeters, forcing its way through the crowd with no unnecessary kindness, more like an invading army than a friendly visit. And she hears the voices, from the brutes holding her, from the slack mouth of the slave trader, from the crowd close to the platform, speaking in fear, in loathing, in envy, in worship, in wonder: “The emperor?
The emperor! The emperor..
..”And she remembers what they say, what she has overheard, of the gossip even the lowest of slaves hear: “He is mad, he is bad, he is dangerous to know, he worships dark gods, he believes he is a god, he is a dark and evil god, he has wild, depraved and pervert orgies in the palace.
..”and she shivers at being so close to him, to be within reach of what must be a slavering beast in human flesh if half of what she has heard is within hailing distance of the truth.
And the covers of the palanquin part, and a slim, pale hand beckons, and the slave trader runs down and prostrates himself, the body guards of the emperor frisking him, and giving him a kick in the face on general principles for treating civilians. And from behind the covers the emperor asks: “What is bid for that naked girl, wriggling so enticingly on the platform..
.?” “150 sestercies, your divine majesty” the slavetrader says, quietly and humbly upping the price 50 %.
. There is a pause, and it lasts.Then the emperor asks: “How old is she?
Is she a virgin?” “She is 15, your divine, august majesty, and a virgin. Most assuredly a virgin.
I sell only the best of merchandise!” A pause. A long pause, and in the presence of the emperor and his bodyguards, any pause is too long a pause.
” I bid 300 sestercies” says the emperor “Does anyone bid against me?”No one in square felt suicidal enough to move a finger. “SOLD!
” said the slavetrader “SOLD TO HIS DIVINITY, THE AUGUST BENEVOLENT IMPERIAL MAJESTY! And the slim hand reach out again, and point at the girl: “Tonight We are having a small garden party, and We thought the forcible defloration of a virgin might make for some light entertainment. Bring the girl to the palace, and don´t bother to put on those rags again, have her bathed, perfumed, do something with that hair, get her dressed for her task and her fate, and bring her to the garden at dusk.
Chop, chop, somebody, get going, you don´t want to get me mad, do you?” And she is passed from the handlers on the platform to the strong iron hands of imperial soldiers, walking her quickly naked through the streets of Rome, every man, every youth, every boy with his voice cracking calling out what he would like to do to her, with her, for her..
…
.But she is held at arms length, the soldiers suffering no interruption, no impingement on the piece of imperial property she has become. And in the eyes of these men, of men who have seen cities burning, tribes slaughtered, men, women and children killed in brutal border wars, who have taken part in the worst of atrocities during civil wars, rapists, killers all, they look at her, their charge, and she can see the pity in their eyes.
For they know what the emperor likes for his amusement…
And at the palace she sees the pity again, in the eyes of the slave girls bathing her, lathering her with natural sponges and scented soaps , running their hands all over her, cleaning her body so exquisitely, so intimately she have never experienced anything like it before, so soft, so tingling, so disquietingly strange, but in their eyes she sees a pity , a fear so strong they seem on the verge of tears the whole while, so sad as they look at and feel her brittle innocent beauty. And she sees the pity in the eyes of the girl brushing her hair, cleaning it, setting it up as if she was a lady at the court. And she sees her face reflected in the features of the girl brushing her hair, beautiful, attractive, everywhere but in her broken, sad eyes.
And she sees the pity in the eyes of the tall, bony seamstress dressing her in translucent linen, her guard watching her the whole while, at every intimate moment of cleaning, of preparing. And she feels the soft, light cloth caressing the naked body underneath, her body clean for once, the soles of her bare feel cold on the marble as she is rushed through the large sprawling palace by her guards.And suddenly she is out of the place,in a pleasant, green garden, flowers and braziers lit with aromatic woods scenting the air, and a company of men and woman lies around on benches, the emperor´s cronies and parasites, freed slaves and senators, depraved youths and old lechers, kinky whores and nymphomaniac noble ladies, drinking ,talking, slightly tipsy, their minds set on the evenings pleasures of all and any kind.
And on a marble throne, in the middle of it all, sits a non-descript, slightly puffy faced man, laurel wreath at an angle on his brow, his toga striped with imperial purple and spotted with falernian wine, and he lifts his head, and look at the girl, and his eyes are like reptiles stirring, they have the dull golden madness of the male lion, and the brazier’s fire is reflected in the unholy fires bleeding from them like venom from from a vipers fangs. And the emperor smiles, and claps his hand: “She is here! The new talent!
Our entertainment!Look sharp, everybody, the evenings little clou is here.” And he looks her deep into her eyes, and whisper for her ears only: “And do We have ideas for you, little one.
…
..!
“The emperor claps his hands: “Put her in the stocks!” he cries. And now she sees the stocks, black, set on a low pole, and behind them a horizontal bar on two, all poles set deep in the ground.
And she is bent over the horizontal bar, keeping her hips up, as her wrists and neck is placed in the stocks, and they are shut and closed, and as she kicks out at the guards, not thinking clearly, just reacting to the fears shivering through her, the emperor gives a new command, and plugs are pounded into the soil, and her legs spread and her ankles tied to the plugs, keeping her immobile, helpless, totally at the disposal of the emperor and his party, now growing rowdier as the wine flows. The emperor strokes her flanks, her shoulders, now her hips, he put his hands through the openings in the gown for her arms and absentmindedly fondles her breasts, weighing them in his palms, now twirling her nipples roughly, now pulping them, as he speaks: “Ladies and gentlemen, and all the rest of you as well, my friends, lend me your ears..