The prefect's purse V : Herod Agrippa : Part 1

The Prefect, Valerianus Gratus, left the scene of his games swiftly and entered the corridor outside with his still noisy entourage in tow. I leapt down from my perch to be greeted by a dirty look from my boy Rudio.

‘Master, redo yourself,’ he snapped, pointing at my obvious erection. ‘Swiftly! there are people coming along the corridor. Important people, judging by the commotion.’
‘It’s the Prefect,’ I told him.

Rudio tucked at my short military tunic and straightened my dress cloak before he sidled behind me, adopting the deferential attitude of a humble slave.
As the crowd drew nearer, bodies seemed to emerge from the woodwork on the doorframes along the full length of the corridor. Some handed notes to the entourage, but were given no chance to speak before the Prefect moved on. Others were called forward to give an account, before falling back into their room or joining in with the crowd as it tagged along.

Before I could stand forward to receive the Prefect the occupants of the room after mine came out, and, pushing passed me, they addressed Valerianus Gratus by title, public name and familiar greeting. He scowled at them, as weary parents do at tiresome children, but indicated that they should approach.
‘Good uncle,’ the woman simpered as he leant to give and receive a kiss.

All three who approached the Prefect were younger than their political conversation would have suggested, at least the bits that I had overheard. The young lady was Julia Valeria, a brash figure known in Antioch, and no doubt Rome, for her dislike of family control. The two gentlemen were ambitious tribunes from the Syrian imperial service. Quintus Postumius Albianus, a greedy high-flyer from the forgotten and impoverished side of a noble family, and the aptly named Porcius Blaesus, the youngest son of a sweaty mumbler who bought his way into Roman power through raking the provinces. In other words, three of the very best that Rome had to offer.

I stared in awe as they presented themselves grandly in this shitty backwater.

Postumius Albianus, a good looking lad, except for his permanent sneer, did most of the talking. He handed over credentials from powerful relatives in Antioch and Rome, and nudged Porcius Blaesus into doing the same. ‘We are here to review the antiquities among the Jews,’ Postumius said rather too loudly to be convincing.

After a few pleasantries were exchanged, as the credentials were past on to a slave, the Prefect patted the cheeks of his wild niece Valeria and was about to move on with both her and her cronies in tow. I stepped out fully into the corridor with a smart salute, showing that I too could drop names, only this time my own in the service of our august Caesar Tiberius. 

Another slave whispered in the Prefect’s ear and a sigh of relief seemed to release the sudden tension from from his sweating folds of fat. ‘Ah!’ he cried with an actor’s flourish, ‘it’s about time too.’ He raised his right hand and waggled the fingers at some shadows in the tail of his entourage. ‘Centurion, you witnessed the terrible murder of our good friend, and Rome’s loyal son, Marcus Octavianus Alcibiades.’ He tutted at me. ‘We must do all in our power to stamp out this atrocious lawlessness,’ he said, turning to smile at Stephanus. ‘We have promised all Rome’s loyal subjects among the Jews of Judaea, and beyond,’ he turned now to the crowd, slightly, as emphasis, ‘that this crime will not be let go.’ Then peering at me suspiciously, he said, ‘Do you hear what I say, Centurion! It will not, I say, it will not! The family of my dear friends, represented among us in person by Vibius Octavius Stephanus, will not rest - and neither shall I!’

I remained at attention during the harangue but tried to catch Stephanus’ eye or at least keep track of him. Stephanus did all he could to hide from me, even placing himself on the far side of the Prefect’s massive body. At the end of the speech I made another snappy salute and presented a copy of my interim report. A slave’s hand took it from me, and the whole trail of bodies moved off after the Prefect at an amazing rate. Only the word’s of the Tribune Junius Lollius were left to ring in my ears, ‘What! You again?’

‘This way,’ an imperial service slave barked at me as he hurried back along the corridor. ‘Come!’ He clicked his fingers and number of household slaves issued from alcoves. As he moved he gave one slave a bundle of letters, another some directions, to a third slave he was about to hand over my report. He stopped dead in his tracks. ‘So,’ he said, inspecting me from head to toe with a spirit piercing glance, ‘you are Centurion Lancianus.’

‘At your service,’ I said, trying not to show how uneasy an imperial scrutiny made me feel.
‘Take this to the Prefect’s office,’ he said to the waiting slave. Again he snapped his fingers, but this time we waited in silence as no bodies appeared.
‘Are you the head of the Prefect’s office?’ I asked, but he ignored me, merely tutting into the air at being kept waiting. ‘What’s you name?’ I tried again. This time he stared at me.

He waved away my question without answering it, as he shouted, ‘Slave!’
A hapless, dopey-looking young bumbler shuffled toward us humming to himself.
‘Boy!’ The imperial slave growled, low and menacingly. The humming stopped as did the boy. ‘Where is the Perfect’s majordomo?’
The boy quaked and shook his head.
‘How dare the emperor’s business be kept waiting!’ Once more the menace of his low growl struck home. ‘Go, fetch ...’ The imperial slave stopped, turned to look at me briefly, then said to the boy, ‘Show the Centurion out.’ The boy looked puzzled. ‘The back way, boy. And swift about it. No dawdling. Then inform the Heads of Department I want them all in the Prefect’s private office. Go!’ He marched off down a connecting corridor, leaving the boy, Rudio and me totally numb.

‘Do you know the way out?’ I asked the boy.
He shrugged. ‘No. Well,’ he scratched his head, ‘sort of. I know the servants’ way out the back!’ He said, clearly trying to be helpful.
‘That’ll do us fine.’

The noise, smell and heat of the kitchens hit us almost immediately as we followed the slave boy. ‘Who was that man?’ I quizzed the boy.
‘Rhianus?’ he replied in a whisper, checking around for listening ears.
I nodded, encouraging him to give more than the name. ‘Is he the Prefect’s chief slave?’
‘Hades’ mouth, no!’ The boy indicated that we should bend close to hear a secret. ‘He’s from the Governor in Syria, some say he’s the emperor’s personal spy in Judaea.’
‘Boy!’ A woman’s voice split the air and made us jump.
‘Yes, Leah?’ The boy though shaken swiftly regained his composure. 
‘Are these men here for a reason?’ Leah glared at us like slugs on a salad. ‘You know cook hates unannounced visitors.’ 
‘The Prick wants them shown out the back.’

Leah lunged at the slave boy and gave his head a hefty box. ‘Don’t be cheeky, specially not in front of such a grand gentleman.’ She smiled at me coquettishly. ‘Get on with your work, boy. I’ll show these guests out.’

Leah was dressed in a dull slave’s tunic, but the material was fine and she wore it in a loose seductive manner to show off her figure. She flirted with me by adjusting the tunic about her breasts, pinning together the shoulders of her tunic at one side with a decorative brooch. Clearly she was a kitchen slave, but an important one. 
Rudio poked me in the buttocks, so I coughed politely and said, ‘The way out?’
Leah scoured Rudio and me with a look as wholesome as beggar’s spit. ‘Over there.’ She pointed to a dim corridor. 
‘After you,’ I said, giving her a little salute, which won me a smile. ‘So, tell me,’ I tried to capitalise on her good humour, ‘are the Prefecture’s kitchens always this busy, or is there something special on today.’
‘Oh! it’s always busy there. But there is a lot more going on now.’ She cast a glance over her shoulder at me. ‘They say,’ she confided with the same quick look about her that the boy had given, ‘they say it’s all in preparation for someone special!’ Leah winced, as though a skewer had been driven through her shoulder blades. ‘Cook says it’s all nonsense,’ was offered as a correction.
‘What do you say?’
‘I says “look pretty for the boys, gal” that’s what I say.’ Leah winked.

Ahead of us there came the sound of gentle sobs. We looked at each other, stood still to hear better, then walked toward the whimpers, which gradually dried up as we approached.
‘Vilmes!’ I said, almost in shock. The German ex-guard sat shivering on a dark ledge.
‘You know each other?’ Leah asked, surprised by my reaction.
‘Nah! darlin’,’ Vilmes snapped, ‘only seen each other in passing. Right, Centurion?’
‘Right.’ I searched for something else sensible to say, but only came out with, ‘You look like you could do with a drink.’
‘Good, fuckin’ idea, mate,’ Vilmes laughed in false humour as he eased off the alcove ledge, ‘a good scrub, a good drink, and a bloody good fuckin’ shag.’
Leah reached out to Vilmes, as though to clear the straggly, sweat-stained streaks of blond hair from his eyes. 
Vilmes grabbed her arm and held it away from him. His grip was tight, too tight, for Leah wept as he twisted it from him. ‘Keep your filthy paws from me, cunt!’
Leah shrank from him when he let her go. ‘I was just..’ Her words cut short as Vilmes raised his hand to strike her.
Swiftly I took hold of Vilmes wrist, I drew his hand down toward me. We eyeballed each other, ready to fight over the girl. Then Vilmes’ face opened in a broad almost happy grin. I gave a small smile in return, saying, ‘I’ll stand you that drink.’

Leah left us among the kitchen waste, beggars and dogs outside the back entrance to the Prefect’s HQ. The beggars scattered on seeing me, but the dogs came up for a friendly sniff. I looked along the wide alley, trying to orientate myself ‘Do you fancy a drink or a scrub down?’ I asked Vilmes.
‘Herod’s baths are down this way, off to the right,’ Vilmes said as his broad smile returned.
‘You been up to much?’ I said, trying to strike up a noncommittal conversation as we went.
‘This and that.’ Vilmes cast me a look laden with suspicions.
‘You’re in the Prefect’s office now,’ I looked at his new and rather expensive looking tunic. ‘They say he’s a good employer, generous, if you serve him as he asks.’
‘As he orders,’ Vilmes corrected me with a bitter sneer.
‘It’s that bad?’
‘Bad?’ Vilmes nearly exploded with mirth. ‘I get well paid, it’s regular, and the occasional chance to make powerful contacts. It’s neat!’ Vilmes patted me on the backside. He kept his hand there rather longer than necessary, and gave me a sidelong stare to gauge my reaction.
‘You look good, really good on it.’ I grinned, genuinely too, he really did look good.

He slid his hand between my dress cloak and my tunic, his fingers toyed across my buttocks, and encouraged my tense response with a firm grip.
‘Rudio will stay to guard our things,’ I told Vilmes as we claimed spaces for our possessions in the changing area of Herod’s baths. I had noticed Vilmes scanning the facilities and how he adjusted around his neck the bag of coins the Prefect had tossed to him after the wrestling match with the black slave.
‘You had him long?’ Vilmes leered at Rudio.
‘A few years,’ I said, giving Rudio a hug.

Vilmes spoke to Rudio in some guttural Rhineland tongue, he laughed as Rudio blushed.
‘I get great pleasure from being my master’s “boy”,’ Rudio answered cryptically.

We decided to go without bathhouse slaves to scrub us down, instead we took up phials of good olive oil, strigils to scrap off the dirt, and warm soft towels for sheer comfort. Dressed only in modesty slips, we lounged around the athletics rest room for a while, both of us enjoying the sights and sounds of youths showing off for older patrons. Then we headed for the Warm Room. Before we entered the moist heat antechamber Vilmes went to a vacant alcove and sat on an empty bench, his legs draped on either side. With a chuckle he undid the slip at his hips and patted the bench top for me to join him. I pushed his shoulders forward playfully and hopped on the bench behind him.

The warm scent of faded late night perfumes and early morning exertion mingled as I leaned into his neck and whispered in his ear, ‘You want a rub?’
He turned his face to me, drawing my head to him so he could nibble my ear. 

There was something deeply attractive and sexually appealing about Vilmes. He had a good face and a fine body too, but it was more than that. Of course he knew how handsome he could be, and clearly played on that with both men and women. But what seemed to draw me was a visible desire to enjoy life, as and when it presented itself - and to Hades with the all consequences.
To stop him licking my ear I pinched his bum hard. He leapt with a light girly squeal, then elbowed me. ‘Sit at peace, will you!’ I giggled like a schoolboy, ‘I’ll drop the oil.’

His body was still engraved with the marks of his severe whipping. Finger-breadth welds stretched across the full length of his back, from armpit to armpit and from shoulder to hip. Taking the oil I rubbed it into my hands and smeared it across his neck then down his back. At first he tensed, almost pulling away from my touch, but soon he relaxed into giving soft groans as I worked the oil into him. He moaned more low growls as I drew the strigil along his back and wiped off the the dirt smears on a small towel. 

‘The rest?’ I leaned forward again to whisper to him.
Vilmes eased off the bench and stood before me, naked, like the statue of a Greek god or athlete ready to be worshipped. I set to him with delight, and he relished every passing minute.
‘You like?’ He asked me, easing his groin in closer to me as I nodded. ‘Up!’ He said, almost as a snap of command. Then gently he held me under my arms and drew me up, ‘See, it’s my turn’
The brutal strength of the man was obvious. A bearhug from him would squeeze the breath out of any man, even me. It might even squeeze the life out of some. Yet as he sat on the bench before me, lathering oil on my body and scrapping it off with loving precision, he was the gentlest of souls. Not faint about it, but careful, ensuring that he pleased. 

And as he pleased me, he also took his own pleasure. He positioned himself so that I was screened from the passing bathers, he bid me set one leg on the bench, and moved me close into him. With simple animal passion he seemed to breath in my groin as he stroked my cock and balls.

To be continued...