He ate with the mercenaries and listened to their stories, happy to be treated as an equal while they related the more salacious incidents. He was part of the band, accepted since the death of Toger as one of them, and he was growing up, turning from a boy into a man. Aquila was, at last, part of a family again.
‘Time you dipped your wick, boy,’ said Dedon, a remark which the others greeted with a small amount of ribald comment, accompanied by whistling and cheering. Aquila turned back quickly to look at the table, Dedon having observed his eyes locked on to the swaying hips of Phoebe, the youngest of the slave girls. The hut had a dozen such women, who acted as cooks, maids and concubines. Some, like the object of his attentions, were resigned to their fate, accepting the attention of the mercenaries rather than face the alternative; others had taken to it as if born to the life. All ate better than the other female slaves and if the work was unpleasant, it was less arduous than shifting dust and rocks.
They were sitting in the hut, at a long wooden table strewn with the remains of their supper. Aquila, determined to keep up with his new-found friends in the article of wine, was slightly drunk. They had the hard heads of grown men accustomed to drink; he was still a youth, not yet old enough to don his manly gown, so he treated everyone at the table to a knowing look, meant to convince them that the suggestion was way too late.
‘You’ve got a full bush of hair on your balls now,’ added Charro with an exaggerated wink. Then he looked at his mates and smiled. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve been slipping it to one of the girls when we’re not about.’
Aquila leered at him to confirm the truth of the statement, touching the side of his nose with a slow finger at the chorus of enquiries that followed. Dedon responded, his voice jocular. ‘You say he got hair, Charro. How’d you know that? You been having a peek while he washes?’
‘He don’t just wash himself, brother. That eagle round his neck ain’t the only thing he plays with.’
Dedon pretended to be shocked. ‘Is that right! Found a use for his right hand has he?’
Aquila blushed furiously as they all laughed, making gestures with their own hands to illustrate their meaning. ‘I say we should have a look and see what he’s got.’
The others roared their approval. Aquila was on his feet quickly, but the hands of the two men on either side had already taken hold. Vainly, he struggled to get free as more hands grabbed at him as the rest of the band gathered round. A couple of the men took his legs and he felt himself lifted in the air. They laid him, still squirming as hard as he could, on the table, scattering the plates and goblets. He felt the hands at his small clothes and sought to turn as they were torn off, heard the whoops of joy and the ribald remarks, keeping his eyes tightly closed while he was minutely examined. Rough hands flicked at his private parts, with many a reference to size and function.
‘Let’s set him to a woman,’ whooped Dedon.
Roars greeted this. They had his smock off before he was lifted into the air again. The men carried him bodily to one of the rooms at the end, calling out to all the girls to witness what was happening, and they crowded round for a view of this novel event. Only Phoebe stood back, unwilling to participate.
‘Who’s it to be?’ Dedon leered, his finger pointing at those most eager to see. ‘Come girls, off with your shifts and let our hero have a look.’
Two of the girls threw off their clothes and stood naked, ready for inspection. His captors dropped him to the ground, still holding his arms tightly, and made him face the pair, the roars that greeted the beginning of his erection louder than any that had gone before. He tried, but he could not help himself, having spent a good deal of time fantasising about the very act he was being encouraged to perform.
Dedon pointed at his groin. ‘You’re in for some pleasure girls by the look of that, but we still have to decide who’s going to be lucky.’
They pushed him forward until he was standing by the first of the girls, a rather plump creature with huge breasts. Dedon had appointed himself judge, and he crouched down to see the effect this was having on the boy. ‘By the Gods, lads, it’s twitching. Aquila’s prick has a life of its own.’
He was presented to the next girl, older than the rest, who waggled her hips a little to entice him. Aquila had that sensation in his groin, that mixture of pleasure and pain, and it was becoming unbearable. He shut his eyes and tried to think of something else, an act which Dedon misinterpreted.
‘No. This one’s no good.’ The mercenary raised his head to pick out a third candidate and almost immediately his eyes lit on Phoebe, standing well away from the crowd. ‘We’ve been going about this the wrong way, lads. I started all this ’cause our young cock-sparrow has his eyes on a certain swaying arse.’
Phoebe must have known what was coming, for she shrank back against the wall. That only encouraged Dedon, who jumped across the room to grab her. He hauled the girl close and growled in her ear. ‘You’re lucky you’re still here, the way you carry on. Don’t think I haven’t seen you, making yourself scarce at night. Time you earned your fuckin’ keep.’
He started to laugh, the pun being unintentional, then spun round and dragged her forward, repeating his remark to universal acclaim. ‘This is the one for Aquila. He’ll gain an inch, once he catches sight of Phoebe without her shift.’
The women, who knew which side to take for their own well-being, helped Dedon to pull off Phoebe’s clothing. Aquila was shuffled towards her and he knew, even with his eyes still shut, that he was before the slimmest as well as the youngest of the slave girls, a Macedonian about his own height. Dedon was right. It was her hips he had been watching, moving enticingly under her woollen dress, and, to him, part of the attraction was her reluctance to indulge the others. He had had his eye on her for weeks, trying to pluck up the courage to get her alone, his confidence alternately boosted and crushed by the enquiring looks she gave him.
‘Oooh!’ He felt himself jerk spasmodically as her cool hand brushed against him. He opened his eyes. She was standing very close, deliberately not looking at him, her eyes full of tears. Aquila looked down, to see that Dedon had hold of her wrist, and was pushing her hand, so that it rubbed gently against him. He opened his mouth to protest, to ask the crowd to stop, but Dedon spoke first.
‘We best get them to it, lads,’ cried Dedon, mistaking the sad look in the boy’s eyes. ‘I don’t think our novice can hang on much longer.’
Aquila felt himself lifted bodily once more. Phoebe allowed herself to be led, unresisting, to the straw pallet on the floor. The women laid her down, forcing open her arms and legs to welcome him, as his bearers lowered Aquila into position. Dedon took hold of his gold charm, pushing it out of the way, as he whispered in Phoebe’s ear.
‘You’ve got two choices, girl. Either you see to the boy, an’ show willing, or I’ll wrap a rope around your neck and string you up from the nearest tree.’
‘No, Dedon,’ Aquila gasped. ‘I don’t want this.’
The mercenary spun his head, to look Aquila in the eye. ‘Nonsense, boy. Don’t be soft.’
‘He ain’t soft, an’ that’s for certain,’ said Charro, with a whoop of glee.
Dedon grinned at him. ‘Only goes to prove, friend, that a standing prick ain’t got no conscience.’
He felt their arms on his back, pushing him. They’d taken hold of her legs, which were now encircling his thighs. Female hands put him inside her. Phoebe, encouraged by Dedon’s threats, started to move against him. That feeling, which he fought to suppress, rose quickly; too quickly. His naked buttocks, accompanied by loud cheers, jerked furiously as he came in a woman for the first time, his head buried in the crook of her neck, and he heard the sob in her throat as he stopped moving.