Courted (8 page)

Torr was unconcerned. He had been purchased
by Pollus for the gladiatorial school when he was just 16 years
old. If Pollus had been the type to try to take advantage of an
unwilling partner, he could have done so any one of the thirteen
years he had owned Torr. There would have been no way that as a
slave Torr could refuse his master. Nevertheless, Pollus desired
neither adolescents nor reluctant lovers in his bed, which was more
than could be said of many masters in Rome.

“And there is more thing, darling.” Pollus
leaned forward and lowered his voice confidentially. “One of her
slaves told a little birdie, who then told me, that she was
actually asking for you on behalf of her friend Lady Octavia Ulpina
Claudia Valeria Aurelia.”

Torr was profoundly
skeptical that such was the case. Octavia Aurelia was not only a
daughter of one of the most powerful families in the Empire, she
was the widow of Symmachus Gaius Aurelius, who had been a famously
honorable Senator. Aurelius had been a champion of the common
Roman, and the capite censi had revered him for it. His wife had
been renowned for her incorruptible devotion to her husband and
loved for her acts of public charity. Because of their respect for
her, the capite censi tended to vote for those of whom she spoke
well. Therefore Lady Octavia was fêted
and
petted by those who had political aspirations, which meant her ass
was kissed by almost every male citizen in Rome.

It was ridiculous to think a woman like Lady
Octavia Aurelia wanted a sordid rendezvous with a man like him.

“Pollus, your little birdie had been drinking
too much wine with too little water in it.”

“Bah!” Pollus waved away any such idea. “Lady
Aurelia has needs just like the rest of us. Why shouldn’t she get
her itch scratched by a warrior instead of some wishy-washy actor
or some mushy man-child of her own class?”

“You have to admit it is unlikely, though”
Torr pointed out.

“Maybe,” Pollus conceded. “But do you still
want to take the job even if it is only Aemilia Squaminga?”

It was true that Torr had humped more than
his fair share of rich wives, divorcées, and widows. He had needed
some way to earn money for a peculium, a nest egg he could use to
buy his freedom, and prostituting his body was one of the fastest
ways to accumulate the silver. Nevertheless, he had stopped
servicing wealthy women as soon as he had achieved his objective.
His income from the arena was sufficient for his needs and to cache
away a few denarii for a rainy day. He would never again have to
fake passion in return for lucre.

Someone like Aemilia Squaminga, however, was
a different kettle of fish. She could give him something better
than money.

Torr was now a free man, but
that was not his end goal. When he had purchased his freedom he had
become a Latin, but he wanted to become a cives, a citizen of Rome.
Even if he was a lesser citizen, a
cives
non optimo jure
,
he
could not be tortured, whipped, or put to death for minor crimes.
Having lived under the threat of death and torture all his life
like other slaves, Torr wanted those rights and he wanted them
badly.

His only real hope to get
his citizenship was to find someone willing to help him in his
quest. Ironically, since important and valuable slaves, usually
house slaves or administrative slaves, were thought to have gotten
their freedom “free” from their owner as a reward for their
personal merit, the slaves that had to buy their own freedom were
thought of as somehow lacking in worth or integrity. Therefore the
freedmen who needed sponsorship the most were the ones who had a
more difficult time finding patrons to help them. Gladiators were
already considered scum of the earth; a gladiator who had bought
his freedom was the scummiest of the lot. This was a bitter pill
for Torr swallow. It seemed to him both irrational and unfair to
penalize the man who had scraped the funds together to pay for
himself.
Of course, as a slave he had grown
accustomed to the sting of irrational and unfair penalties, so he
would just have to bear this one as well.

Without manumission or someone with the
political clout to help him bribe the right people, Torr was doomed
to remain merely a Latin.

Torr sighed. “Why not?”

“Wonderful,” Pollus gushed, “you won’t regret
it! The task is simplicity itself, dearest boy. You need only go to
the Squamingae domus tomorrow evening, around the second hour of
the night, and fill Aemilia Squaminga’s cunna until she is limp.
And maybe even Lady Octavia’s, too; who knows? It’s nothing you
haven’t done before, and — guessing from the graffiti in the baths
-- nothing you haven’t done well.”

Torr grimaced slightly.
There were some men who would strut if phrases such as
“
Tu es felix mulierem cum ursus futuit
vos
” and “
ursus est
piparus incarnatus
” were written on walls
to celebrate their sexual prowess, but not him. He personally
thought that assuring women that, “You are a lucky girl if the bear
fucks you” or that he was “Piparus reborn” simply gave him a
reputation only a god could back up. In fact, Torr doubted the all
the Erotes themselves, working together, could match the rumors
regarding his skill at coupling.

“Does she have any special requests?” He was
already tired of the assignation and it hadn’t even begun.

“Lady Squaminga’s slave didn’t say anything,
but she did leave word that you should visit this evening to “talk”
to the matron first. I was to send her a message only if you didn’t
agreed to come. If she hears nothing from me, then her mistress
will expect you around the fifth hour of the night. Squaminga has
agreed to pay your full fee my love, every last single denarii of
it, and says she will give you a generous tip, if she thinks your
efforts have been heroic enough.”

“If it will help me achieve citizenship, I
will be Himeros incarnate.” Torr bowed facetiously to the elderly
fight instructor, then headed to his barracks room. He needed to
gather up a few things before he headed out to find supper and a
good bathhouse.