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Chapter Two

Return to Sender

The incident report stated that the altercation started at eleven thirty but it was past two in the morning by the time I got released from the ER and from the cops taking my statement. My forearm had healed quickly enough after Peri removed the silver tip and drew the poison out so that when EMs got to checking me out they ended up putting butterfly bandages on the not so deep slit that started at my wrist and went to the inside of my elbow.

Frank had helped me earlier by ripping my shirt off at the shoulders while still on the steps of the club. I wrapped it around my arm in an attempt to draw attention to my arm and shoulder. My t-shirt had two puncture wounds in my stomach with a whole lot of unaccounted for blood loss that had seeped into the fabric.

“Shiver a bit, Collector.” Frank whispered in warning. A human would be feeling the cold.

I was wrapped in a thermal blanket as the paramedics began checking me over. Frank used some of his demonic influence allowing them to see what they expected. They ended up putting some sterile gauze over the butterfly bandage it then wrapping it so the injury looked more in keeping with the amount of blood on my shirt. My shoulder was another story. It was ragged deep and still oozing blood.

The EMS took off with the junkie strapped to a gurney to an ER and then off to a psyche ward. I was hustled into the back of the squad car until the next EMS arrived in order to keep me warm. It would have been easier to go back into the club but the other officers were collecting statements. I leaned my head back on the seat but grimaced as that action pulled on my shoulder. I could feel it healing but the amount of silver residue around the lip of the wound from the blade’s blessing was hampering it. Peri would have to lap at it with his tongue to remove all of it. Well, it probably could be sponged off.

I was tired.

I hated lying. The humans had always credited us demons with the creation of it but every demon I have ever known has been truthful. Not honest, truthful. There is a fine line between the two. Yes, the warding Frank had put up had been more than adequate. The number of incidents between me and Usurpers minions had fallen off greatly in the past few years. I thought I could start breathing easy.

I winced as I took a deep breath. This is what you get when you drop your guard.

I knew the warding was down tonight. I should have said something about it to Frank at the beginning of the shift. He couldn’t have done anything about it but hindsight is always 20/20. That junkie had no ill intent when he came into the bar. He was high on something but it was a happy high. It’s easy to read humans. For the most part many of them are without guile. There is no need for it.

That guy was using something because he was trying to drown out things he saw that could not be explained. The sheer strength of his natural talent was amazing considering it had never been explored, much less acknowledged. He had the Sight, others called it the Gift, and still others named it the Calling. He was able to see into the hidden world that walked along side humanity and he had been deemed insane.

In the past, I would have gathered him to me and taken him to a temple for training. He would have made an honored oracle or a high priest. But here, they were taking him to an insane asylum. So much has changed since I returned to the human realm. What I thought of as the norm was now called the Old Way and the it seemed to be the nature of this time and place that the old is discarded. The Old Way would have cherished the child who could see demons and angels.

A child says there’s something under the bed...and there is. Only those non-gifted dismiss it. If the child insists, they are drugged until the gift is submerged. Only some can’t drug their gift out of submission, this guy was one of them. He had paused on the steps of the “Sons of Satyr” when he saw me standing there as the bouncer. My logo t-shirt seemed to put him at ease even though he eyed my black wings. He paid the cover and once more stumbled to a stop to see Frank Ripley is an incubus bartending. I think he might have turned and left the bar at this point but Peri’s set started. Even after being with him for years, watching my Fey move seductively dries my mouth up.

If I had been doing my job instead of watching my boyfriend, I wouldn’t be walking back up the steps to work with my arm in a sling buckled around me to keep my shoulder immobilized. I needed to get these stitches out of my shoulder before my skin started to grow over them. I had no doubt that Peri could do it but he was pissed at Frank right now and if he had to cut me open, well…I still owed Frank.

I had my own key to the “Sons of Satyr” not because I was an employee but I’d been with Frank for almost forty years now. Everything moved so quickly in this world. I’d seen so many changes in short spans of time. I had never spent as much time in the human realm prior to this expatriation. Over the years Frank’s fortunes have been up and down but for the most part up, booze and sex and drugs are always wanted. He had literally hauled me out of the gutter. After my escape to the human realm, I was not doing well. I was weaker than I thought. I had suffered more abuse that I could recall and any thing I could use as a reserve was devoured by my starving body. Frank knew who I was when he found me. The Usurper let be known that there was a huge bounty on my wings at the beginning of. When times were bad, I couldn’t have blamed him if he ripped them off me and sold my ass back to the Usurper. But he didn’t. He protected me and sheltered me knowing I had little to nothing to offer him. Even now, how much benefit did I give him by acting as a bouncer?

I awkwardly pulled the door open, slipped inside and then bolted it again. The inside of the bar was dark except for the red exit signs off at the end of the stage and back towards the washrooms. I didn’t fumble for the light switch. I had lived in near complete darkness all my life and I could see perfectly fine.

The junkie had seen a dark angel, an incubus and a light fey and that didn’t phase him enough to start swinging that twice blessed blade. He didn’t react to us. I moved into the center of the room and allowed my senses to open fully. I had gotten accustomed to both Peri and Frank’s over protectiveness. Usurper didn’t want me dead; he wanted me weak.

I have heard through the demon grapevine that he had turned my escape into his idea. I guess between the new false Lady of the Book and Usurper he was the brains of the duo or at least the spin doctor. It was now proclaimed that I, the former favourite of the last Lord of Death was freed to walk amongst mortals and feel their pain in order to make my decision to become his main Collector of Souls. That bounty he had placed on me when I first ‘set free’ was to make sure that I didn’t head back to the dark. This was his tough love. Having some strange demon rip my wings off my back for what ever glory Usurper offered was to actually toughen me up for living in this new world. Usurper was not a popular Lord of Death. Those had helped him secure his position had fallen victim to various plots, convenient accidents and un-winnable wars. He was solidifying his rule with a heavy hand. If word got out that his sex toy buggered off and took his trophy wings with him, it would be a serious blow to his power structure.

We had come to an understanding, Usurper and I, without ever exchanging a word. I say nothing about how I got here. He allows those I claim as my own to continue to live. However, one thing hasn’t changed in the past two decades since he found me again. Once a year he asks his question and waits for my answer.

Tonight is question night.

I had forgotten. Living in the light has made me soft. The junkie didn’t react to us three but he did to… I found him standing off in the darkest corner. A Messenger from the Usurper. He was a demon that could take on humanoid shape but not the details to truly blend in with the world. They were able to use and travel the portals between worlds easily even if they only looked half formed. To the gifted, the Messenger was a glob of grey slime muck oozing in a continuous reformation of limbs.

A Messenger didn’t look dangerous but it pursues its quarry with a single mindedness than makes them very deadly for anyone or anything that stand in the way. It had came for me. The junkie saw it and freaked out. In his panic attack he had crossed in front of its path and became a threat, then the fiasco that this night had turned into started. The junkie became a target. I tried to save his life. He tried to kill me.

And this night was far from over.

I turned toward the deepest shadow. “I am who you seek.”

“You are the Collector?” I heard its voice in my head clearly but the noise it made to pass as human speech was like the static on the radio.

“I have been called so in the past.”

“I smell blood.”

My t-shirt was ruined and wrapped in a paper bag anyways. ER had offered to dispose of it for me because Frank had sent a clean shirt with me but I preferred not to leave questionable samples laying around.. I was going to burn the garment myself later but if my already spilt blood could be useful. I tossed the bag toward the shadow. It was like a massive hand snatched it out of the dark and dragged it back to engulf it in the center mass of its torso.

“Sweet ambrosia. I have tasted your blood before in the Hall of the Death....yes, you are the Collector. It is the appointed time. The Lord of Death demands an answer.”

In the past I was a fury of rage and quick denial. No doubt my rabid refusal was accounted for breath by breath to the Usurper. Today, I was too tired to play along. “My answer is the same as always.”

“Be specific, Collector.”

“I refuse to serve the current Lord of Death as his Collector of Souls.” I expected that to be the end of things. The Messenger would hear my official response and then open a portal back to the darkness and that would be the end of it for the next year. I frowned as I stood before the creature and it did nothing but stare back at me.

“Is that wise, Collector?”

I frowned. This was out of the norm. “Who gave you this message to give to me?”

“The Lord of Death.”

“I have given you my answer, depart.”

“I have more to give to you Collector. Do you wish to hear it now or shall I come to your dwelling?”

I knew that I couldn’t stay hidden forever. I knew that Usurper had found me the first time a Messenger came. After it was sent on its way, Frank was in a panic to sell his business and move to another city. Just for my sake. For his, I refused to keep running. I was basically a parasite on his resources at the time. I was still learning my way in this new world and I was only a quarter of my former self. I couldn’t survive on my own and I wouldn’t allow Frank to disrupt his life again. An incubus when it gets older settles into a territory. The lure of lush and fertile bodies of the young wanes over the decades until an incubus carves out a feeding ground. The “Sons of Satyr” is just the most recent incarnation of Frank’s lure. He provides lusty spectacles guaranteed to spike any man’s desire. After the crowds leave and I lock the door, Frank feeds on the energy. Frank had cleared the land, planted the seeds, nurtured them to fruition and if he abandoned everything before his harvest...well, I made sure that he would reap what he had sown. I knew what the pains of hunger were.

“Deliver the rest of your message here.”

“Oh my love. You have returned to the dark beauty that everyone once coveted when you sat beside Mercy in the Hall. It has taken you this long to recover, Collector.”

I shuddered then winced as it pulled on my shoulder. Sweet nothings from the Usurper. I wanted to be sick.

“This conversation is between us, Collector. Once this has been delivered the Messenger will have no recollection of ever carrying it to you. I already know of your refusal to be a Collector of Souls so I put another offer on the table. Come back as my Dark Consort.”

“Never!” I held him in slight regard up unto this point and his suggestion right now was...unthinkable. Usurper had turned me into the Hall’s entertainment for centuries. I had been raped and debased all on his order and now he comes to me with an offer of consort.

“You decline the Lord of Death’s offer of peace.”

“What your master offers is not peace. I will have no part of it.”

The Messenger reformed into something that could bow. “Collector, you have declined to be the Lord of Death’s Collector of Souls and you have refused his offer of Dark Consort. I will take your answer to my master.”  The Messenger bowed again then held up a dark stone. It was a keystone that called portals between the realms. Mercy had always guarded these trinkets carefully. He had always said that too many demons spoil the plot. Numbers of demons loose on the human world was always kept to a minimum. I always thought it was a good policy but then Usurper was in charge now. The shadows of the corner began to swirl and mix together until there was a messenger sized portal. The lump moved through it and the darkness seemed to collapse on itself then the bar was just a bar once more.

Chapter One: Dane

A human can't kill a demon.  At the best, they can drive one back through a portal and seal it but  that would be after countless years of study and practise.  I haven't met any High Mages here in this time and place.  So this was just a normal human.   No, a human couldn't kill me but he could mess me up pretty bad with a blade of silver.  In this day and age of cheap blades of questionable metal alloy where in the world did this junkie get a Twice Blessed?  A silver blade blessed with holy water -- sterilized water infused with silver particles.

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Nicea's Story - Chapter 3

By the time they reached Lycus' home, Nicea's tears were dry and he had come to some degree of acceptance of what would happen to him.  Lycus kicked at his thigh before he moved to leave the litter.  "Are you ready to behave now?  Or do you need a beating first?"

A beating?  Gods, no.  Not now... Nicea twisted his head to better see the man.  "I will... I will be obedient, sir."  And give you no more problems.

"Be sure you are," Lycus warned him.  "I do not coddle slaves in my household as Orestes did in his."

Coddle... When Lycus simply left him in the litter, and when he heard the slaves that had carried it being taken away, Nicea let his mind drift to his years with Orestes.  He had hardly been coddled the entire time, but neither had he been treated badly.  Not until this final year when Orestes' own dreams had shattered...

He still remembered his joy when Orestes bought him.  A Greek.  A high-ranking one in his city.  So different from Nikos. And he had been happy when Orestes warned him about having sex with others.  Had threatened him with harsh punishment if he ever offered himself to another.  So unnecessary. But Orestes had not known his history.  Had never known it in all their years together.

That first night had been wonderful. Even as Nicea had helped Orestes undress. Even as the rolls of his fat had been unveiled...  It had never occurred to Nicea to be repulsed.  A single man. Only one man to please.  He had counted his blessings.  For a moment, he had almost allowed himself to believe in the gods again.

Orestes had been pleased with him, pleased with his young slender body, pleased with his eagerness.  Pleased with his skilled efforts; efforts that Nicea took such care not to appear skilled.  Orestes had accepted him, simply as a slave boy anxious to please his owner. Never guessing at the harsh years of training that had molded him into what he was.

And when Orestes kept him in bed that night, Nicea had been content to hold to his fat, bloated body, to listen to him snore, to bear his weight when he shifted.

For more than three years, Nicea had been happy with him.  Thankful for his protection.  Devoted to him.

And now that he was gone, in spite of the last year, Nicea could not simply push all those memories aside...

Terrible, debilitating sorrow threatened again, and he fought the feelings away.  His time with Orestes was over.  The brief hope of freedom was gone...  Instead of lamenting what could never be, he thought of what advice Phaelen might give him.

And focused on what he remembered of Lycus.

A man assured of his own importance, confident of his abilities and still hostile to the Romans.  If he wasn't actually cruel, he was thoughtless with his slaves.  His frequent dinner parties almost always ended with orgies.  Unlike Orestes who kept his personal slave personal, Lycus always offered Dacis to whoever might want him.  Everyone had used him often.  Even Orestes.  Dacis was tall and lean and handsome.  And Lycus seemed to take it as an affront if anyone turned down his generosity.

I won't belong to Lycus, Nicea assured himself.  Lady Aida will not allow it. At least there was something to be thankful for...

Time passed and Nicea began to wonder if he'd been forgotten.  Eventually, he dozed and woke to the unexpected feel of hands on his wrists.  Gentle hands, removing the ropes that bound him.  When the man pulled back, Nicea looked up.  In the dark of the enclosed litter, he couldn't be sure.  But maybe Dacis.

The hands reached in again, this time to assist as he stepped to the ground.  Standing outside the litter, surrounded by torches that lit the front courtyard, he could see clearly.  "Thank you, Dacis," he murmured.

Lycus' slave shook his head.  "Don't thank me yet, Nicea.  I have to confine you."

Nicea rubbed his wrists and looked around.  There were guards everywhere.  If he ran, he had no chance of escape.  And nowhere to go. He nodded at Dacis and followed as the tall and graceful slave led the way inside.  Past the public areas Nicea knew from his trips here with Orestes.  Through the kitchen, finally ending in a small and messy store room.  "I'll bring you a pallet," Dacis commented, "so you don't have to sleep on the floor."

Nicea thanked him again and sank to sit on a cleaner area of the floor before the door shut out all the light.  He had no idea how much time passed before the door opened again and Dacis spread out a rough straw pallet.  "Can I have a chamber pot?" he asked softly.

"It's coming," Dacis said as he pushed Nicea onto the pallet and sat beside him.  "I asked for a lamp as well.  And water to drink and wash with."  He brushed at some of the spilled beans on the floor.  "I'm sorry this place is such a mess.  I had only a little while to have somewhere prepared, after Lycus told me... you would be staying."   Finally, he looked at Nicea's face.  "What's happening, Nicea?  Why are you here?"

Nicea rested his head on his knees, not sure what to say.  He had known Dacis for several years now, had learned from him the proper way to behave in small groups of the city's elite, had cared for him when he was hurt at these gatherings.  But they had hardly been close, had never discussed their lives with their masters.  "Orestes is dead, Dacis," he answered at last.  "His mother... his mother and Master Lycus will sell me"

"Ahhh.  So the rumors are true.  Lycus will marry Aida.  And take Orestes' wealth."  Dacis shook his head.  "I should have never doubted it."  He looked at Nicea again, as if just realizing he was upset.  "Are... are you alright?"

Nicea lifted his head and forced a smile.  "My Master is dead, and I will be sold.  I suppose I'm as well as I can be under the circumstances."

"Oh..."  Dacis stood awkwardly and looked toward the door, as if to escape.  But then he turned back.  "I... I don't know what to say, Nicea.  I'm sorry."

Nicea shrugged and looked away.  "It makes no difference."

"No.  I suppose not."  Dacis resumed sitting on the pallet with Nicea, though neither of them spoke again until other slaves brought the remaining supplies.  Dacis stood after everything was placed and lit the small clay lamp before he looked down at Nicea.  "Do you need anything else before I leave you for the night?"

Nicea shook his head and did not look up.  "No.  No, thank you.  I'm fine."

Dacis stared for a few more moments, hardly comprehending what he saw.  "You grieve for Orestes, don't you?" he asked.  Nicea answered with an almost imperceptible nod.  But Dacis saw it.  "I'm sorry," he repeated as he shut the door and locked it closed.

~~

Sorrow. How very insufficient it was.  But it was better than Lady Aida's response - or Lycus'.  Nicea used the chamber pot and set it aside.  Then stared at the lamp.  Orestes' face seemed to dance in front his eyes before he clenched them tight.  He felt like a great fool as the burning sensation built up behind his eyes yet again.  But he absolutely refused to cry.

As he lay on the pallet, the little lamp cast flickering shadows and he saw small dark animals dart across the floor.  Pulling himself into a tight knot, he trembled.  And it was a very long time before he slept.

He woke in darkness to sounds outside the door.  The voices he heard were still too faint for him to understand.  But definitely the household was up and preparing for the day.  And in time, the door opened and Dacis motioned for him to follow.  "Master Lycus wishes to examine you before he goes to Lady Aida's home."

"When will Lady Aida's brothers come?"

Dacis shrugged.  "I have no idea.  Regardless, Lycus will stay there until the cremation is done and all affairs have been settled."

"Will you attend him?" Nicea asked softly.

"Perhaps later.  If he needs me, he will send for me."

Outside the grand door that marked the entrance to Lycus' rooms, Dacis tapped quietly and entered.  He bowed low when Lycus looked up, and Nicea followed his example.

"Remove your clothing," Lycus ordered, looking directly at Nicea.  "I want to see what Orestes has been hiding all this time."

As good an excuse as any, Nicea thought and complied immediately, not wanting the man to find him lacking.  He stood straight, his eyes on the floor.  And tried not to let his anxiety show.  He was aware of Lycus approaching and reminded himself not to clench his fists.

"I thought Orestes had decided to let your hair grow," Lycus commented as his hands felt at Nicea's groin.  "We mocked him at the baths, you know?"  Nicea remained silent, not sure what was expected of him.  "Well," Lycus snapped at his continued silence.  "Did Orestes like your naked pubes?"

"Yes, Master," Nicea whispered.  "He never told me to stop plucking my hairs."

Lycus' hand moved to his cheek and over his chin.  "Your face, too?  You pluck that as well?"

"Yes, sir."

Lycus lifted his right arm suddenly, checking his arm pit.  "And here?"

"Yes, Master."

Lycus laughed and called to Dacis.  "Have you ever seen the like?  Do you find him attractive?"

Dacis met Nicea's eyes before he quickly looked back at Lycus.  "I think he's lovely, sir."

Lycus laughed and motioned for Nicea to turn.  "Well, this is not so lovely," he said, his voice lowering.  "Did Orestes beat you himself, boy, or have one of his other slaves do it?" he asked as his fingers traced a long lash mark on Nicea's back.

"My... my master applied my discipline, sir."

"Interesting.  I didn't think the fat old turd would have the energy to strike so hard."  He called Dacis again, his previous amusement gone.  "See to his scars.  I won't get half his value if they don't heal.  And see that he has what he needs to remove his hairs."  With that pronouncement, Lycus turned on his heel and was gone.

"Shit," Dacis muttered as he touched Nicea's back himself.  "I thought Orestes pampered you.  What the fuck did you do?"

Nicea reached for his tunic on the floor and pulled it over his head.  "I couldn't fix his leg."

This time, Dacis only sighed.  "Come, we'll see to your back."

~~

The room had been cleaned by the time they were back.  At least there were no more beans or vermin droppings on the floor.  A small cot had replaced the pallet.  A window, high on the wall, had been revealed.  Not large enough to get out, Nicea quickly assessed, but at least it let in some light.  A table had replaced several bags of the beans that had been removed, holding a bowl and large pitcher of water, a smaller amphora and a cup.  After Nicea took in the changes, he looked up at Dacis.  "Everything looks much better."

"You exaggerate," Dacis smiled.  "But it's better than it was before."  He watched Nicea's eyes, fascinated by their strange color and the thick incongruous lashes.  "I told Lycus last night that you should have a better place.  Unfortunately, the choices were getting this one cleaned or sending you to the basements."

"I am grateful, sir."  Nicea's mouth curved in a small smile.  "I don't like basements."

Dacis grinned.  "At least I chose that right."  Another slave brought in a tray with cloths, a bowl of steaming water and a small jar of cream.  After Dacis had the tray set on the floor, he turned back to Nicea.  "You, my lovely, must undress again and get on the bed."

Nicea very much feared this treatment would be painful, but he remembered Orestes' foolish protests and did as he was told.  Dacis was surprisingly gentle with him.  There was only a little stinging on the rawest spots, and the ointment relieved it almost immediately.

"Are you alright?" Dacis asked as he sat back on his heels.

"Yes, sir," Nicea smiled at him.  "It hardly hurt.  Thank you."

Dacis smiled at the response.  "Now you have to tell me what you need for removing your hair."

"Food.  First I need food."

Dacis laughed out loud and went to fetch it.

~~

Over the following days, the fledgling friendship between Nicea and Dacis continued to grow, although they both knew it would be short-lived and end in sorrow.  They took their meals together; Dacis treated Nicea's back twice a day and watched with interest as he plucked his hair.  When he could, Dacis would bring a game, and he and Nicea played.

They spoke of their childhoods, but seldom touched on how they became slaves.  As the days wore on and Nicea's back healed, he began to suspect Dacis worried for him.  The taller youth's hands would linger as he worked in the ointment, sometimes touching his sides gently and caressing his buttocks.

One night, catching Dacis' eyes watching him as he washed, he finally spoke of it.  "It's alright, Dacis.  Being sold again is not so bad.  I've been through it before."

The conversation was cut short as Dacis stood immediately, pulled Nicea into his arms and claimed his mouth.  Clothing was dispensed of quickly; they ended up together on the small bed.  Nicea resisted for only a moment.  He liked Dacis; he was attracted to Dacis.  And, finally, he gave himself over to Dacis' desires.

~~

On the first day Dacis didn't come, Nicea thought his sale must be eminent.  I lied, he realized.  I am frightened. But as days passed, the level of fear could not be maintained.  Other slaves saw to his needs, but no one spoke to him.  And his confinement in the small room began to wear on him.  He began to think actually serving someone would be preferable.  Even if his new owner beat him...

The first day Dacis returned, Nicea was almost overjoyed.  But Dacis was subdued, even as he helped Nicea bathe in the small tub.  "Orestes has been cremated," he said as he washed between Nicea's buttocks.  "My Master has married Lady Aida."

"You were there?" Nicea asked.  "In my Master's house?"

"Yes," Dacia admitted.  "I watched as his slaves were turned over to dealers."

Dealers? "You mean they were sold?"

Dacis nodded.  "They weren't expecting it, Nicea.  Some of them fought."

Thespis.  Damon. "Noooo," Nicea almost groaned.  "Not all of them were sold," he insisted.  "Surely, some of them were freed."

"You knew."  After a moment, Dacis nodded.  "Six were freed.  One of them - Damon - I think, asked how you were."

"A friend," Nicea agreed.  "He's alright?  And Thespis?"

"I thought you'd be upset," Dacis commented as he poured clean water over Nicea's hair.  "But you knew."

"I knew some would be freed.  I... I didn't think of the others."

"They didn't think of you either."  Dacis took a deep breath before he continued rinsing Nicea's body.  "None of us think of it.  We all like to think nothing will change."

~~

Back in the small room, Nicea worked up his courage to question again.  "Did you see any of the ceremonies, Dacis?"

"Only as Lycus' slave," Dacis smiled sadly.  "I got to watch when I wasn't afraid to look up."

"Were there many people with Orestes?"

"All the important people of Thebes.  More than Lycus had expected."  Dacis began working the comb through Nicea's hair.  "There were many more people than will ever care that you or I am dead."

Nicea said nothing for some moments, but then turned to face Dacis.  "If it's any consolation... in twenty years, no one will remember Orestes, either.  Or Lycus for that matter."

Slowly, Dacis nodded in agreement.  "I don't think I will tell Lycus you said so."

Nicea smiled.  And Dacis embraced him.

~~

Nicea stared at the door after Dacis left, then slumped on his bed and waited for the sunlight to enter his window.  He was startled when the door opened again - and Lycus entered.  "Get up.  Let me look at you."  Nicea stood as Dacis and another slave came in, holding torches for light.  Lycus motioned them closer and felt the skin on Nicea's back and buttocks.  "You're probably as healed as you'll get.  I think you can go to the slave market tomorrow."

Tomorrow? "Where, sir?"

Lycus frowned as the other slave left, taking both torches with him.  "Did I give you permission to speak, boy?"

Nicea dropped his head immediately.  "No, sir.  I'm sorry, sir."

Lycus smiled at the easy submission.  "Remember your manners when you get to the slaver tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

When Lycus left, taking Dacis with him, Nicea sat on the bed again.   He thought he should have been better prepared.   He had even been hoping for this.  To get out of the small dingy room.  To have something to do and someone to relate to.

When the sun entered the window, he shook himself and picked up the tweezers.  Diligently, he removed every hair.  From his face, from his groin, even from under his arms.  When tears filled his eyes, he told himself it was the pain.

And not the fear of being sold that almost overwhelmed him.

~~

By dawn, Nicea was composed again and he walked calmly outside with the man who came for him.  For a few moments, he looked for Dacis but when his handler barked for him to get in the small cart, he did so.

The trip was short.  The sun was not fully overhead when they arrived at the facility, and Nicea recognized it immediately as the same place where he had been sold to both Nikos and Orestes.

When he was shoved from the cart, he stood quietly while his guardian spoke with the slave dealer.  When ordered to, he removed his tunic and loincloth without complaint.  The dealer handled his body roughly and laughed when he held his ball-sac.  "You should have castrated him," he called out.  "A real eunuch would sell for a better price."

"The Head Councilor didn't want to risk his death," Lycus' man answered.  "But if you're willing to give me 300 drachma for him now, you can do what you want."

The dealer apparently considered it, weighing Nicea's balls in his hand another time before refusing.  "He's too old.  A few years younger and I'd take you up on the offer."  A halter was slipped around Nicea's neck and he was handed off to someone else who walked him into the main yard, while the two men continued to talk.

Nicea was still trembling when they arrived at an empty post.  The slaver laughed as Nicea fitted the shackle around his ankle, noticing how his hands shook.  "I've never understood why you boys are so afraid of the knife," he grinned as he removed the halter.  "What difference would it make to you?"

Nicea did not reply.  And apparently the man didn't expect him to; he walked away as soon as he'd checked that the chain around his ankle was secure.  Nicea slumped to the ground, clasped his legs close to his body and just tried to catch his breath.  The slaver was right, he thought.  It would make no difference. But the very thought of it terrified him...

His breathing was almost normal when a whip handle prodded his chest roughly.  "Pay attention, you piece of shit," a gruff voice demanded.  "Get to your damn feet.  Let me see what we have here."

Nicea stumbled to obey, not wanting to anger the man more.  He was examined again, even more thoroughly, fingers roughly pulling at his anus and feeling at his rectum.  He clamped his teeth together, determined not to make a sound, no matter what was done to him.

"Not bad," the man announced when he was finished.  "Obviously not a virgin, but not all that loose."  He lifted Nicea's chin, turning it from side to side and studying his face.  "The eyes," the man finally said.  "I've seen you before."  He stepped back.  "A few years ago.  You got sold to an official of the city.  Some big, fat man."

Nicea nodded when the man continued to stare at him.  "Yes, sir.  My... my master died."

The slaver just shrugged.  "Everyone does.  Turn around.  I need better light to see your back."  Nicea shuffled around the chain and waited for the reaction.  It was not long in coming.  "Gods, boy - what the fuck did you do?"

Nicea's heart almost stopped as he wondered if he should try to explain.  But he knew it would be useless and he answered simply.  "I... I disobeyed my master, sir."

The slaver clucked his tongue several times, sounding almost as if he sympathized.  "That's a shame for all of us.  The scars will eliminate some buyers, you know?  Probably diminish your price."

Nicea clenched his eyes tight not to cry.  "Yes, sir, I know."

The dealer shook his head.  "A shame boy.  A real shame.  Other than your back, you ain't bad looking."  The man ran his hands over Nicea's scars.  "They don't feel all that bad, though.  Maybe a few will overlook them."  He sighed and asked a last question.  "What do you want on your sign?"

Nicea turned around and met his eyes.  My only chance. "I read and write, sir.  In Greek and in Latin.  I can do numbers and work with an abacus."

The slaver shook his head.  "You're still too young and too pretty for anyone to believe that - or want you for it.  And no one looking a helper in his business will consider a boy who's been so disobedient."  He looked at Nicea almost disdainfully.  "You'd do best to emphasize your sexual talents."

I'm not disobedient. Nicea looked down in shame, realizing he should have tried to explain.   "I don't want such things on my sign."

The slaver frowned at the refusal, but then his face suddenly broke into a smile.  "I remember when you were here before.  Those strange blue eyes.  We all gave you a tumble.  A very talented mouth as I recall."

Nicea's head dropped even further and he repeated, "I don't want such things on my sign."

The dealer's humor disappeared.  "You're older now, boy.  You may still be hairless and you still have looks, but you don't have a little boy's ass anymore.  You'd best do all you can to make yourself appealing to a good family man.  Without something special to recommend you, you'll end up in some third class brothel."

Oh, Gods. Nicea suddenly feared the man was right. "As you wish, sir," he murmured submissively.   The dealer laughed, slapped the slave's ass and walked away.  When he was gone, Nicea sat and looked around.  He remembered the last time he was here - when he'd only been fifteen.  Gang raped by the guards. This time, no one paid him any special attention.

He was grateful to be ignored... until he thought buyers would feel the same.  He felt at the sparse hair on his legs and arms.  And thought he should have plucked them, too.

By the time the sun was setting, he'd decided his problem was the scars.  These men who worked the flesh markets, had their choice of bodies to use.  And they don't want me.

Realizing the absurdity of his thoughts, he almost laughed.  But his life was at stake...  He curled tightly into himself and fought not to weep.

~~

Food was brought the next morning and Nicea knew the sale would not be today.  After he ate, Nicea looked around again and leaned to talk to the man next to him.  "When is the auction?"

"Tomorrow.  Today is for preparation."  The man examined him more closely.  "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," Nicea answered automatically.  And then realized he'd had two more birthdays.  He was nineteen now.  Old.

"You don't look it.  You could still pass for sixteen, maybe even fifteen.  Buyers always prefer the young ones."

Nicea nodded - and realized the comment almost made him happy.  He felt like a fool.   "How old are you, sir?"

His neighbor inclined his head at the small show of respect.  "Twenty-eight.  I'll probably be sent to the mines."

"Surely not," Nicea replied quickly.  "You're attractive.  You... you seem intelligent."

The man smiled.  "Seem intelligent? I doubt that will get me far.  I don't read or write."

One of the guards approached them, after listening to the conversation.  "Don't worry, old man," he joked.  "I'll try to steer you to a good home.  Looks and house manners matter most.  You still have them both."  His grin widened.  "Just try not to outlive your next owner."  He handed the man a key and when he was unshackled, led him away to be bathed.

Nicea sat quietly and thought of the brief conversation.  This other slave was also being sold because his master had died, and Nicea found it somewhat comforting that he was not the only one.  At least, he wasn't tempted to cry at the news.

Nicea was one of the last to be taken to be cleaned.  His hair was cut first and then he was given three enemas before he was finally led to the tub to be washed.  And when the bath was complete, there was another step.  He was oiled thoroughly and buffed until his skin almost shined.  He was given a blanket before he was fastened to the post again - and warned not to get dirty.

His neighbor spoke when the guards were gone.  "It would seem the dealer plans to place you with a brothel."

"Why do you say that?" Nicea asked quickly, looking the other slave full in the face.

"Why else would he oil your skin?  It's the sign of a professional whore."  He continued to study Nicea until the boy looked down.  "Who was your last owner?"

Orestes. But he would not mention his Master's name in this place.  "A Theban nobleman."

The other man knew he had upset the pretty boy and tried to soften his prediction.  "Then perhaps there are other possibilities."  He lay down and shut his eyes.

In time, Nicea did the same.  He was never aware that he slept.

~~

The dealer moved among the slaves soon after dawn, handing them the placards they were to wear around their necks.  Nicea held his up and read it.  Athenian.  Sixteen years.  Reads/writes Greek/Latin. Skilled in house service/ pleasuring a master with his mouth. Nicea looked at the dealer gratefully.  It was as good as he could hope for.  He lowered it to his chest and tried not to worry.

The yards were open to perspective buyers soon afterwards.  Nicea immediately had several men interested in him - but as many turned away after seeing his back.  Two brothel owners questioned him extensively about his disobedience, trying to determine if he was violent.  He answered them honestly, without disparaging Orestes.  When they left, he thought they were still interested.  And he remembered what Phaelen had told him.  There is always hope as long as you live.  Even in a brothel...

He looked up in surprise when he heard Latin being spoken.  Three young men were approaching.  One of them, the palest, lifted his placard and read.  "Is it true, boy?" he asked in Latin.  "Do you understand me?"

Nicea pulled himself a little straighter.  "Yes, sir.  I understand."

The tallest one, with the darkest hair, commented on his accent, but seemed more amused than offended.  "Too easy, Bessus.  He needs more of a challenge."  This man confronted Nicea next.  "My horse has gone lame.  Do you know what to do for him?"

Nicea looked at the man with a puzzled expression.  "I know nothing of horses, Master.  But... but there are stables in the city that should be able to help you, sir."

The young man laughed.   "My horse is fine.  I was testing you."

"He passed, Trestus," the third man commented.  "What else do you need to know?"

"Shut up, Glaucus.  I want to know about his behavior.  Are you chronically disobedient, boy?  To have so many scars on your back?"

"They're not that bad, Trestus," Glaucus interrupted.  "I doubt there's a slave in your household with fewer marks."

"Perhaps.  But a boy with looks like his should have avoided most punishments."

"Not with you," Glaucus laughed.  "You enjoy inflicting pain on the slaves you fuck."

Trestus frowned.  "Not on boys like him.  Unless they disobey me."

Bessus ignored both his friends and handled the placard again.  "This says you're a good cock-sucker.  Is it true?"

Nicea looked down as he felt the flush cover his body.  He knew the placard said no such thing, though it could surely be deduced.  He struggled to respond calmly.  "I have been told I'm competent, sir."

Glaucus approached directly for the first time.  "That's not all that important, Bessus.  You can teach him if he doesn't suit you.  What I want to know," he said, facing Nicea directly, "is if he can pack and unpack on a journey.  Can you, boy?"

Bessus and Trestus were laughing in the background.  But Nicea felt encouraged by such a question.  "Yes, sir," he answered earnestly, looking into a handsome young face with dark hair and eyes.  "I packed and unpacked for my last master, sir, on his last trip."

Glaucus actually smiled at him.  "Where was this trip?"

Bessus interrupted.  "Who cares where he went, Glaucus?  If he can do the packing and suck our cocks, what else matters?"  The three young men laughed loudly, and then, seeming to lose interest, sauntered away, checking other slaves as they went.  Nicea watched them until he felt a finger enter his ass.  Then his world narrowed to the man prodding his body.

~~

In time, the period of examination was over and Nicea was lined up with others for the auction block.  When it was his turn, he stepped up calmly.  There were not as many bidders as before, the bids were low, and Nicea felt shamed that he would be sold for so little.  As near as he could tell, the brothel owner was in the lead.  And the three young Romans had not bid at all; they were only watching.  Nicea watched them in turn, silently urging them to want him.

But someone else had entered a bid and he looked to see who it might be.  A middle-aged man, dressed in fine clothing, the one who had examined his body so thoroughly.  Probably Greek. The brothel owner bid again.  The price was no longer shameful.  300 drachma. Less than Orestes had paid for him, but well above the price for a common worker.  The unknown man and the brothel owner traded bids a few more times, before the well-dressed man turned away.  Nicea was sure now the Roman youths did not want him and that he was destined for the brothel; the owner leered at him confidently.

Will I see Ptah? he wondered, trying to push aside his disappointment in the Romans.  He was so caught in his thoughts at first that he didn't realize the Romans had entered the fray.  But the brothel owner cursed and Nicea jerked his head up.

The dark haired Roman was walking closer.  Glaucus. His step was assured and he confidently upped the bid again.  The brothel owner turned his back, indicating he would bid no higher.  The auctioneer attempted to interest the older Greek man again, but soon gave up and acknowledged the Roman's winning bid.  Nicea was pulled quickly from the block and ushered from the stage.

All three of the Romans were waiting.  Nicea glanced at Glaucus and, without consciously meaning to, he smiled.  The young Roman returned his smile and took the rope around his neck from the slaver's hand.

Inexplicably, Nicea's heart lifted as the Roman took possession of him.  Only three men.  Not a brothel. Almost happily, he followed the Romans from the staging area.

Trestus began asking the slavers for clothing for him, his voice loud and offensive.  The worker in the yard clearly did not understand what was said and Nicea spoke softly to tell him.  A rough, dirty brown tunic was thrown at him and he caught it.  But he couldn't get it over his head unless Glaucus released the rope, and he dared look up at him.  To his surprise, the Roman removed the rope entirely.  "Go ahead, put it on."

Nicea slipped the tunic over his head, grateful just to be covered.  "Thank you, sir."

Bessus looked at the tunic critically.  "It's disgusting, Glaucus.  It won't do for our slave.  He needs something better that reflects our station."  His eyes drifted to Nicea's feet.  "And he must have shoes."  Bessus turned to the slaver again.  "Where can we find something decent?"

The man was obviously not comfortable with Latin.  "Shops," he mumbled.  "In city."

"Where?" Bessus asked impatiently.  "We can't be traipsing around the city with him looking like this."

The slaver looked at Nicea in frustration.  "If they wanted you dressed better, they should have thought about it earlier.  Tell them they can leave you here while they buy what they want."

Glaucus understood his words and stepped forward speaking in Greek.  "We need something now."

The slaver's eyes opened wider and his frown lines softened.  "There are stalls outside this enclosure, sir.  Better goods are found in the city forum, but I'm sure you can find something acceptable there."

Trestus, the tallest of the three, approached Glaucus angrily when he turned to leave the slave yard.  "Damn it, Glaucus.  We already spent more on the slave than we intended.  It's ridiculous we have to buy him anything."

"Do you want him to go naked, Trestus?  Are you content to be served by a naked slave?"

"No," Trestus admitted, backing down somewhat.  "But you're the one who had to have a slave.  You can buy his damn clothes."

Glaucus laughed at his friend good-naturedly.  "Fine, Trestus.  I'll buy his clothes.  Does that mean I'm the only one who can fuck him, too?"

"You wish," Trestus answered.  "We all paid for him.  We all get to fuck him."  But his anger was gone.  "Come on, let's get it over with."  He turned toward the open gates.

Bessus held back.  "I need to speak with that brothel owner.  See if he wants to buy the boy when we're done with him."

"I hope he understands you," Trestus joked.

Bessus frowned.  "Your Greek is better than mine.  Come with me."

Eventually, after good-natured joking, Nicea was left alone with Glaucus.  He glanced up and was surprised when the young Roman cupped his cheek.  Without thinking, he pressed his face against the Roman's hand, suddenly yearning for such soft contact.

Glaucus quickly withdrew his hand and spoke harshly.  "Are you playing the slut, boy?  Are you sorry you're not going to the brothel, after all?"

"No, Master Glaucus," Nicea whispered as he straightened himself.  "I'm sorry, sir."  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"How do you know my name?" Glaucus asked sharply.

"I... I heard you talk," Nicea answered him nervously, afraid he had already displeased this new master.  "I mean... you and the others, sir."

"And we called each other by name," Glaucus realized.  His scowl melted away.  "Intelligent, then."  He canted his head to look at Nicea's face more closely, and then tilted his chin up.  "In truth, it's just as well that you be a bit of a slut," he said, meeting Nicea's eyes.  "The three of us will appreciate it."

Nicea schooled his expression to show no fear or distaste.  "I hope that I may be pleasing, sir."

Glaucus laughed and released his hold of the boy's chin.  "Tell me, little slave, do I need to tether you again?  Will you try to escape us?"

Nicea dropped his head.  Escape...  Where? He couldn't go home as an escaped slave.  He couldn't endanger his family.  Harden was gone...  "I will not try to run, sir."

Glaucus seemed to accept his word and led the way from the slave yard, expecting his new slave to follow.  Nicea did.

Glaucus fumbled through a few tables of cheap goods and finally looked at Nicea again.  "These are little better than what the dealer gave you.  There must be better shops in the damn city."

"I'm sure there are, sir," Nicea nodded, "but I do not know of them."

The keeper of the closest stall cleared his throat and motioned Glaucus over.  "I have some better clothing," he said in stumbling Latin.  "Those who buy slaves at auction don't often care.  Shall I show you, sir?"

Glaucus thought barely a moment before agreeing, and the man pulled out a different basket, stored below his main display.  It contained both loincloths and belted tunics in various colors.  Glaucus immediately selected two of the loincloths and handed them to Nicea.  Then he held up the tunics, examining their quality.  "Hardly fitting for me," he mumbled.  "But sufficient for you," he said, looking at Nicea again.  When the slave did not acknowledge him, he chose a pale brown tunic, and held a blue one to Nicea's face.  This time, the slave looked up.  "It matches your eyes," Glaucus smiled, choosing it as well.

Two pairs of heavy sandals were thrown on the ground and Nicea tried them on.  One pair was too small, probably made for a child.  The other was larger, made of rough, stiff leather.  When he got them on his feet, Glaucus told him to keep them on.

There was haggling with the dealer over the price, but eventually, they came to agreement and Glaucus paid from the pouch at his waist.  "Put on a loincloth," he instructed Nicea, "and then the brown tunic."  As soon as the old tunic was off, Glaucus threw it toward the stall owner.  And then watched as Nicea dressed.  "Very nice," he said softly as Nicea tied off the loincloth.

Nicea looked at him, blushing to be under such close scrutiny in this public place.  He pulled on the new tunic as quickly as he could and stood silently, his head lowered.

It was only a few minutes before Bessus and Trestus found them.  And they both paused to take in the slave's new look.  "Much better," Trestus remarked.  "I suppose proper clothing was necessary after all," he admitted.

"What happened with the brothel owner?" Glaucus asked.  "Does he want the boy back?"

Bessus was the one to reply.  "He gave me his name and said that if the boy is not substantially damaged by the time we're done with him, he'd take him off our hands."

"He also said we'd probably do better if we just sold him wherever we were when we're done with him," Trestus added.

"I told you," Glaucus grinned.  "Why in the world would we bother to ship a slave back to another province?"

Bessus shrugged.  "It was worth checking.  The man was eager enough to buy him."

Glaucus let it pass.  And Trestus was soon taking the lead, guiding them to what seemed to be some sort of smithy.  Smoke swirled in the air over the small establishment.  He pulled Nicea's arms out and twisted them to see both sides.  "We should mark him," he pronounced.  "He carries no sign of slavery.  Especially in his new clothes, he could slip into the crowds too easily.  This place can brand him."

Brand? Nicea almost balked.  He was horrified as he saw the red hot metals in the heavy bowl of glowing fire.  He looked quickly to Glaucus, hoping for a reprieve.

But Glaucus was grinning at his friend.  "Fine, Trestus.  But if you want to decorate him with a brand, you pay for it."

Nicea wanted to object.  To beg.  But Nikos had destroyed his ability to disagree with a master long ago.  He could only watch.  And when Trestus ordered him forward, he went.   The smell of burned flesh was in the air.  A slave girl had fainted after her breast was marked.  Her master was propping her up and slapping her face to wake her.

Nicea was appalled at the ugly sight, and the smell.  He stood silently with his head down as the sobbing girl was taken away.  The stall's dealer approached and took his arm to force him to sit.  "Where do you want him marked?" he asked, looking at Glaucus.

Trestus almost pushed Glaucus aside.  "I'm paying for this.  It is my decision."

"Of course, young sir."  The dealer bowed almost contemptuously.  "Where would you like the boy branded?"

Trestus knew he was being mocked and his anger was apparent.  He jerked Nicea's right arm up and held it out.  "Here," he demanded.  "Low enough to be seen whenever he serves us."

"We could do multiples," the dealer suggested with a twisted smile.  "One on each arm.  Maybe another on his cheek?"

Glaucus could see the terror on the slave's face and stepped forward again.  "You're just trying to empty our purses," he said firmly to the stall owner.   "One mark only.  Trestus, you choose where it goes."

Trestus considered, rubbing his fingers on Nicea's cheek.  But he felt the boy shaking and for some reason, he was moved.  "The right arm, where I told you the first time."

The dealer shrugged as he realized these young men would not be so easily led as he first hoped.  "Fine with me."  He twisted his piece of metal in the glowing coals.  "One of you may want to hold him still."

Trestus stepped closer and grasped Nicea's arm with both hands.  He could see the boy's fear in his eyes - and feel it in the way his body trembled.  "Just do it," he told the dealer sharply.  "Get it over with."

The flat of the blade touched Nicea's tender skin.  And he screamed.  Oh, gods...After Nikos, he had been sure he could handle anything.  He had been raped by men who tore him when he was only a child.  His feet had been beaten until they were bloody.  But this... oh, gods, this was unbearable.  He did not faint, like the girl had, but he slumped against Trestus' body, trying desperately to breathe.  He was vaguely aware of Glaucus' pulling him away from Trestus, of an arm going around his waist.  But he did not open his eyes until he was removed from the stool.  The world seemed to be spinning and he held tightly to Glaucus' arm just to keep on his feet.

In time, the world steadied again and he was able to stand on his own.  But he could not bring himself to break contact with Glaucus.  At least, not until Trestus jerked his arm to better see the brand.  When he touched the mark, Nicea tensed and almost screamed again.  Nothing Nikos or Orestes had done to him had prepared him for such pain...

Glaucus moved his hands to Nicea's shoulders while Trestus handled his arm.  He squeezed them gently.  "The pain will pass," he whispered.  "Just hold on."  Nicea could do no more than nod.

And follow where these new masters led him.

~*~