Tim And Abbie 42 Three conversations One topic
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CoriolanusChapter 4 free porn video
“Are the family still held safe? Good. I’ll go and see them now.”
I walked in, armed now with a sword, and dressed better than they had seen before. I saw it wasn’t lost on Gricolus that I was wearing one of his togas; not tied in the Roman way, but more as a tunic. Still, it was better quality than I was used to. It was comfortable. Beneath the tunic I had leggings like the locals wore; I thought it best to fit in to some extent.
“Thank you for waiting.” I couldn’t help being a little sarcastic. This family had once kept three slaves waiting in the snow for an hour until they were ready to deal with some minor problem. “You will be aware that things have changed. Your slaves are now all free, you are the slaves now.” Gricolus made to speak. “If you speak without permission, remember what the consequences are for a slave!” He shut his mouth again; his son did not.
“You cowardly cur! If I had sword I would cut you limb from limb. You are a dog who shall die in his own vomit. You should -”
“Silence! Aren’t you aware there are ladies present?” He looked, momentarily confused. I smiled at him. “I think you should rather say you would try and cut me limb from limb. But then what? Will you defeat the other slaves on your own? The gladiators? The villagers? Everybody hates you. Not just all Romans, but you in particular. You are a vile piece of shit – apology ladies – who will find life uncomfortable now.” I was being excessively polite to the women deliberately, it was confusing to them all. “And if I am gone, who will stop your sisters and you mother from being the pleasure-items of each and every person who wants them? You were always an idiot, you don’t get that from your father, nor your mother I fancy, your birth mother I mean. She was clever; unpleasant, but clever.” He lunged at me and I hit him hard in the stomach. He wasn’t a brawler. He fell to the ground, clutching his stomach and moaning. When you look like me, you learn to survive.
“Now, where was I? Oh yes. You are all slaves. You will help where you are told to help, do what you are told to do; if you don’t do it quickly enough, you will be punished. Clear? We still need to grow food; and I can see the advantage of the heated floors and the flowing water. We shall keep this running. Gricolus? You will help with the crops, you have a head for business and farming I know. Now you can keep the books and advise what to plant where. That way you will eat.
Grantus. Did you truly mean you would like to fight me? I am a cripple, as you see. But if your honour demands it then, in the arena we shall fight. I will give instructions that, if you win the women are to be untouched. Fair?” The fool took it. I knew he had to die, he was arrogant, impetuous and scary. I would not simply kill him though, that was not honourable. I would fight in front of an audience. His father would see his son make an effort, hopefully a foolish one.
His father had, for two years, been setting his son in fights against slaves, even a one-armed gladiator recently. The boy thought he was good. The problem was, he did not realise that the slaves were given a drink before the fight which was laced to slow their reactions, slow them, make them less good. If they’d won, they would have been executed anyway I suppose. But instead Grantus got the idea that he was a brilliant fighter. I’d seen him fight and I was reasonably sure I could beat him.
We all – the family, the slave, the gladiators, and some locals – met at the arena the next day. It would do the gladiators good to see that I was not afraid to fight. I hoped they accepted me as leader already; the locals, too, should see that one of their own who had become Romanised was still able to stand up for himself.
Grantus was given full armour and a sword and shield because that was what he wanted. I opted to be dressed in a loin cloth and have a sword and long dagger. I figured the armour would slow him as much as it protected him. So it proved. The fight was fun, I have to admit. He swung with some skill. Cross cuts and lunges; but I was fitter from much manual labour, he was soft. Each time he lunged, I slid past his defence and banged his helmet with the pommel of my sword. The noise must have been deafening inside the helmet. The crowd laughed at me making a fool of him. Eventually his frustration overcame him and he tore off the helmet; this was what I was waiting for. The next time he came in, my sword beat back his and my dagger sliced off his ear. He screamed. I think he realised then that he was lost.
Libbie
- 31.08.2022
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