Zelamir

Helot

The Adventures of Ayas the Slave-boy

Chapters 23-29

Chapter 23

The trainer stood there holding a fiercely wriggling naked boy in each hand. The two boys, one black the other white struggled desperately to escape his grasp and continue their fight. The trainer banged the two boys' heads together with as much force as he could muster. Then he threw the black boy from him sending the lad once more sprawling in the dirt. Ayas though dizzy from the clash of heads managed to aim a kick at him and received a heavy clout on the side of the head from the trainer as a consequence.

"That's enough of that boy," the man said making no attempt to hide his laughter. "You've done well enough, don't go ruining it by fighting."

Ayas heard the words and looked up into the man's smiling face and then across to where Vulcan stood, ears pricked, dark coat slicked with sweat held by a broadly grinning Damos. It was the first time in his life that someone had told him he had done well and he realised it was true indeed, if anything, it seemed to him it understated the situation. I have he told himself, with some surprise, done very well indeed.

Then the smile faded from the trainer's face. Turning his head Ayas saw Xionedes approaching. The Spartan strode up to him and seizing him by the arm dragged him across to the low wall at the base of the portico. He heaved the boy over it so that he was lying on his stomach across the wall, his feet just clear of the ground.

Ayas felt the Xionedes' thumbs prying his bottom open and knowing that he had no choice pushed back trying his best to ease the man's entry into his body. With heavy thrusts of his pelvis Xionedes hammered his cock into the boy. Ayas squealed in pain as the man's swollen prick pried open his anus. Then the pain and excitement somehow merged as the man drove the full length of his penis into the boy's guts. Ayas, already heated by the excitement of the race, responded enthusiastically as Xionedes took his pleasure, clamping himself tight around the man's member, trying to draw it ever deeper into himself.

Xionedes rape of the boy was nevertheless short and brutal. Once his cock was fully sheathed in the boy's body six short hard thrust brought him to a climax.

For a moment the man stood rigid his head thrown back, his only movements the heaving of his chest as he panted for breath and the convulsive working of his heavily muscled flanks as he shot his seed deep inside the boy.

Xionedes, his appetites sated, stepped back. There was an audible plop as he withdrew his now flaccid cock from his victim's bottom. Ayas tumbled from the wall and lay in the dirt at his feet a nauseous mixture of blood, shit and cum trickling from his hole.

The excitement drained from his body. He felt only shame and despair. The brief moment happiness when he had stood triumphant, the winner of the horse race totally destroyed. He was once more just a helot slave boy, the play thing of his master, without rights, or pride or modesty.

He felt a sharp pain as Xionedes boot thumped into his ribs. Wearily he clambered up onto his knees. He knew what was coming next. It was part of the ritual of humiliation that was enacted whenever Xionedes fucked him.

Xionedes made him wait for a moment kneeling in the dust at his feet. Then, smiling cruelly, he gestured towards his filth stained cock. Blinking back his tears Ayas, obedient as ever, set about licking it clean.

Ayas knew from experience that there was no point in trying to shirk the task and he set to work with his tongue and lips with such vigour that it was not long before Xionedes' began once more to harden. He was just about to take the full length of the man's cock into his mouth when Xionedes drove his knee into his chest knocking him backwards. Leaving Ayas sprawling on his back in the dust Xionedes strode off without a backward glance. He stopped briefly to speak to the trainer before disappearing from sight. Ayas rolled over onto his side and curled up into a ball of naked boy misery. The excitement of the horse race had for a brief moment allowed him to forget the harsh reality of his servitude. Now though the old cruel certainties returned with added force and a future of humiliation and suffering devoid of hope stretched bleakly ahead.

After Damos had fed and watered Vulcan, the horse being many times more valuable than a mere boy obviously got priority, came across and helped Ayas to his feet. He led the younger boy still crying softly across to the water trough and filling a bucket began to sponge him down with a wet rag while Vulcan stood quietly beside them only shifting occasionally when the flies bothered him.

Damos whistled tunelessly between his teeth, as grooms have always done, as he washed the filth and sweat from Ayas' body.

The trainer strolled across to watch.

"Get the paint off his face too," he instructed, "I don't want people thinking the stables are a boy brothel."

He turned and moved off.

Ayas suddenly stopped crying,

"Am I going to work in the stables?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes," Damos answered, "Xionedes said to Horsey (for it was in this disrespectful way that the boys about the stables referred to the trainer, though not to his face) he thought he'd make more money out of you if you rode for him than if he gelded you and sold you."

"You'll ride Vulcan and you won't be Xionedes tart anymore. It'll be great for you being fucked by someone you really like."

"Who would that be?" Ayas asked teasing the older boy.

"Why me of course," Damos said obviously surprised at his friend's obtuseness.

"I'm Vulcan's groom and you will be his jockey and we will both have to sleep next to his loose box. And Horsy don't care what us boys do among ourselves provided we do our work right. Just you wait till tonight. I'll show you how the job should be done," Damos bragged as he pinched Ayas on the bottom.

"What do you want Amcar?" he said spinning round fists clenched to face the black boy jockey who had walked up to them. "If you want a fight I'll give you one now or we'll fix one up between you and Ayas out on the gallops after training tomorrow but he's not fighting you now."

"I saw what Lord Xionedes did to you," the black boy said ignoring Damos and speaking directly to Ayas. "It wasn't fair. You rode a good race for him. He should have rewarded you not fucked you like that. He is a pig." He hesitated and then added in a rush "and I'm sorry I hit you with the whip."

Then without saying another word he turned round and walked quickly away.

"Here boy," the trainer's voice summoned Damos.

He was standing looking down at the injured jockey who lay moaning softly in the shade of the portico his leg as before bent at a crazy angle half way don his left shin, flies now swarming over the spot where the broken bone protruded..

"You'll have to help me Damos," he said kneeling down beside the semi-conscious boy.

Very gently he rested his hand on the lad's forehead. The boy's eyes blinked open.

"I did my best Sir."

The boy's voice was no more than a faint whisper.

"I didn't mean to fall off. You're not going to flog me and put me in the stocks are you Sir?"

"No boy I am not," the trainer replied his voice, usually rough and confident, soft – almost a whisper.

"Thank you Sir…"

The boy closed his eyes and his lips moved silently.

"Hold his hands down by his sides Damos," the trainer ordered still speaking with unaccustomed softness.

"Are you ready boy?" he asked.

"Yes Sir, thank you Sir."

The trainer clamped the palm of his hand over the boy's mouth pinching his nostrils close with his finger and thumb. The boy's body arched and then lay still. The trainer, wooden faced, maintained his grasp for a few moments longer and then stood and walked abruptly away.

He was back a moment later carrying a thin blanket in which he wrapped the small body. Lifting it he carried it over to an ox cart that had just trundled up and gently placed it on its floor.

Only then did he speak.

"Get all the gear loaded up Damos and then you can walk Vulcan back to the stables. Ayas you're still sore from what Xionedes did to you. You ride in the cart."

Ayas sat on the tail board of the cart swinging his bare legs in the cool evening air as the single oxen trudged slowly along the road. He looked back at Damos walking quietly along leading Vulcan. The big black horse seemed to have recovered his energy after the exertions of the race almost danced along, throwing his head up in the air and with pricked ears taking an interest in all that was about him.

Damos catching the other boy looking at him grinned and with his free hand made a circle with his finger and thumb. Ayas grinned back and a second or two later slid off the cart onto the road. He told himself he wasn't feeling that sore any longer.

"What have you boys been up to," the trainer demanded when Damos and Ayas eventually arrived at the stables. "The cart got back a good half hour ago. All right don't bother to tell me any lies. Just get Vulcan settled in his loose box and then get back here for some food."

The two boys were squatting outside the stables two brimming bowls of oatmeal porridge in front of them. Rewards the trainer had said, having pinched the flesh on Ayas' rib cage to heck that he was not too plump for a jockey, for winning the most important race on that day's card. Half way through eating Ayas saw a grey shape flicker at the top of the steps on the opposite of the court yard.

"Where are you going?" Damos shouted after him as he dared across the yard.

Ayas ran down the steps and ducked through the low doorway. He stood there peering into the darkness holding his half empty bowl.

"Mus" he called softly, "Mus."

"I thought," Ayas said in explanation later as he lay in the hay beside Damos, "that I had had quite enough to eat myself and poor Mus lives on scraps."

"Well," the other boy said, "I wouldn't have done it. I like my food too much and that Mus brings nothing but bad luck. Still you can take a mouthful of this to make up for the porridge you gave away," and laughing he guided Ayas's head down into his crutch.

Some months later Ayas was returning from the morning gallops with the other boy jockeys from the stables when he saw Xionedes standing on a small hillock watching them approach. He had seen the man rarely over the few months since he had begun to ride for him. Xionedes did not trouble himself over much with the detailed management of his stables. Like many owners he was interested only in the glory and profit of winning. Ayas had seen him at the races a few times, always seated in his usual place just opposite the finishing post. Even then the mere sight of the man and the memories of his ill treatment by him was enough to frighten him. Seeing Xionedes now standing where he had to pass close by him, obviously watching him, perhaps waiting for him filled him with a feeling of sick foreboding. However there was no way of avoiding him so Ayas rode reluctantly forward fear tightening the muscles of his stomach.

As he drew nearer he could see Xionedes, in addition to the cowed little brat who had taken Ayas' place as his lord's boy slut, was accompanied by a short stocky man with red hair and a bushy red beard. The man did not wear the long cloak and tall conical hat of a Spartan lord but was bare headed and was dressed in the short rough tunic worn by artisans and workmen. Yet by the way he stood straight and foursquare with his head held high it was clear that he at least thought he was the equal of any lord Spartan or otherwise.

Xionedes waited until Ayas had trotted Vulcan opposite him and then raised his hand signalling him to stop.

"That is the horse I wish you to sculpt," he said speaking to the red headed man standing beside him.

"A fine looking animal," the man remarked. "I would like to see it's movement. Get the boy to gallop it."

"You heard boy," Xionedes snapped at Ayas, "do it," and he swept his arm in a broad arc indicating the lengh and direction that he wished the boy to take.

Bending forward Ayas murmured into the horse's ear, "come on Vulcan show them what you can do" and dug his heels into his flanks.

Vulcan responded without hesitation gathering his legs under him and driving forward with all his power. Ayas crouched forward over his neck shouting and laughing in excitement his fear of Xionedes and all his other cares banished momentarily from his mind. The trainer's old cut down chiton that he had given the boy to keep him warm in the chill of the morning air flew up leaving his legs and bottom bare. Horse and boy seemed to merge into one single being full of power, speed and beauty.

Ayas pulled Vulcan up in front of Xionedes in a flurry of dust.

"If you really want to see him go Lord," he said breathlessly forgetting in his excitement his fear and loathing of Xionedes, " you should put him up against another horse Sir. Then he'll really fly Sir," and he lent down and patted the panting horse's neck.

"I'll model both the horse and the boy," the red bearded man said.

"I want you to make a statue of the horse. Don't bother about the brat. There are plenty more where that one came from but there's no better horse than Vulcan," Xionedes snapped.

"The boy and the horse go together, two strong young animals whose beauty compliments each other. I shall sculpt them together."

"There are plenty of sculptors who will do the horse for me if you won't," Xionedes replied hotly.

"That is true Lord," the red bearded man made the word sound like an insult, "but there is only one Lysippus of Sicyon and he will only do the boy and the horse together."

"You have the chance," the man continued calmly as Xionedes struggled to control his anger, "to attain fame and immortality as the patron of Lysippus the sculptor or you can choose to forego that fame. The decision is yours. It is all one to me. I have plenty of other clients eager for me to do work for them," and he made as if to walk away.

"Very well… very well… all right… have your own way then," Xionedes was not used to failing to get his own way and he was not enjoying the experience.

"Thank you Lord," Lysippus said these words in such a way as to make clear he was not at all grateful, "My apprentice will have got my work shop set up by this evening and I will start work on the clay model tomorrow after I have breakfasted. I will require the horse, the boy and a groom to hold the horse to be there."

So the next day after the morning exercise the two boys worked hard together to bring Vulcan to a state of gleaming perfection before hurrying to the sculptors newly erected studio. This was in truth no more than a large open sided shed set in a paddock beside Xionedes' villa.

It seemed though that Lysippus was in no hurry to start work. They could see him lying on an improvised couch at the back of the shed. It was clear he was awake because every now and again he would raise himself on his elbow and take a drink from a large leather flask that stood on the earth floor beside him.

The apprentice, a youth of about fifteen, was on the other hand very hard at work fetching water to dampen the large mound of clay that stood ready to use beside the studio. Over and over again he would appear from the villa staggering under the weight of the full amphora. He would tip its contents into the hole he had hollowed out in the middle of the mound of clay before hurrying away again to refill it.

The day was getting warmer as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Ayas pulled off the chiton that was his only covering and spreading it on the ground settled himself down on it to wait. Damos holding Vulcan's reigns squatted beside him. Neither boy showed any signs of impatience. They were slaves and were used to having to waiting till they were needed. After a time Vulcan became a little jittery and Damos stood up and began to lead him slowly to and froe.

The apprentice stripped off his tunic and raising his knees high began to kneed the water and clay together with his feet. It was hard work. Soon his legs were caked with mud and his bare chest and shoulders glistened with sweat.

At last Lysippus roused himself. Somewhat unsteadily he rose from his couch, belching so loudly that the sound could be clearly heard outside the shed. Picking up a thin hazel switch from the floor he staggered across towards where his apprentice laboured. The boy seeing his master approach visibly increased his work rate raising his knees higher and quicker.

It was not enough for Lysippus.

"Faster and higher," he commanded lashing the boy across the rump with the hazel rod.

The lad squealed and redoubled his efforts. Still it was not enough for the red bearded man.

"Faster," he yelled and laid another stinging stripe across the boy's bare bottom. Ayas heard the crack of wood against bare flesh and saw the livid weals scored across the boy's smooth skin by the switch and shuddered in sympathy.

Bending down Lysippus took a handful of clay squeezing it in the palm of his hand.

"It needs more working get on with it," he snarled at the apprentice.

He wiped his hand across the front of the lad's chest leaving a broad streak of dark mud before turning away.

Ayas seeing him approach got quickly to his feet.

"You," Lysippus said grasping Ayas by the ear and twisting it painfully, "you can stop sitting on your arse taking things easy. Get over here and do some work you idle little turd."

He dragged Ayas across to the pile of clay and with a foot up his rump kicked him into it.

"Now dance" he ordered and it was Ayas's to feel the rod laid hard across his bare bottom.

"Higher, faster," Lysippus demanded over and over again as he plied the switch with enthusiasm.

Ayas's chest and legs ached as he pranced and capered ever more frantically under the cruel urgings of the rod. His breath came in short frantic pants, sweat streamed down his face and stung his eyes, half blinding him. He lost his balance and went down in the viscous mud.

"Up, up," Lysippus shouted cutting him across the shoulders with the switch.

Somehow Ayas dragged himself back to his feet his body caked with wet clay.

"Faster, higher," Lysippus screamed and the rod ripped down across his bum yet again.

Ayas saw the boy apprentice his body also liberally slicked with mud facing him holding his hands out to him.

"Grab hold of me by the elbows," the lad panted, "we'll keep each other from falling."

Chapter 24

Ayas felt that the clay had taken on a malevolent life of its own, gripping his feet, clamping its clammy grasp about his ankles, making every step a labour of Hercules. Then just as he though he could go on no longer Lysippus turned stumbled across to the low couch from which he had just risen and throwing himself face down upon it gave one thunderous burp and began to snore loudly.

The two boys dropped to their knees in the wet clay, leaning forward drawing great gulps of air into their aching lungs.

"Come on," the apprentice panted after what seemed to Ayas to be only the briefest of pauses. "It won't be long before he wakes up again and if we don't have the clay covered he'll really tan our hides."

He got to his feet and began to carry great armfuls of cut reeds from a pile just outside the shed and spread them over the mound of clay. Ayas who thought and felt his hide had already been more than sufficiently tanned joined the other boy at his task.

"Now grab an empty amphora and come with me," the apprentice said picking one up himself when they had completely covered the clay with a thick layer of reeds, "we've got to keep the stuff from drying out so he can work it."

The lad led the way into the villa's courtyard and over to the water trough where they filled the amphora.

"What happens next," Ayas asked as he trotted back beside the older boy the full amphora balanced on his shoulder.

"When he wakes up he will rape you and then he will start work. He always gets drunk and then fucks the nearest attractive boy before he starts on a big commission. He says it frees his creative energies."

"Why me?" Ayas protested. "Why not you?"

"Because I'm a free boy and your not. It's against the law to rape a free boy but a slave boy doesn't matter. Nobody cares about them. Lysippus can do what he likes with you and he will."

Ayas recognised the truth of this but that didn't mean he liked it. He only spoke again when they had reached the pile of reed covered clay and were emptying the water from their amphora over it.

"He beats you though," he said.

"It's lawful to beat an apprentice – not to fuck him unless that is he wants to be fucked," the other boy announced.

"Though," he added thoughtfully shouldering his empty amphora and heading back to the water trough for a second load, "I've often thought I wouldn't mind being fucked by Lysippus. He's the best sculptor in the whole of Greece and I know he wants to fuck me. He's told me so plenty of times."

"Tell me, a pretty slave boy like you must have been fucked plenty of times, does it hurt a lot.?"

Walking along beside the other boy Ayas paused to consider his answer.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "it hurts a lot the first few times when he's getting it into you. It's like you're being torn open. And it hurts quite a bit however often its been done to you but once it's really inside you, even the first time, it's funny it still hurts but it's good too. And you'll want it again even though you'll be really sore afterwards."

"Mind you" he added, "you could make it easier for yourself if you got a good lot of goose fat and greased your hole up before hand and you can make him smear it over his cock too or let you do it. It's not like you're a slave boy like me. You can make him do things while I just have to hope he won't want to hurt me too much and I'll get a chance to suck his cock so he doesn't try fucking me dry."

"You're going to make me cry," the apprentice said mockingly, "you're a slave so what do you expect. Anyway I'm certainly not going to let him fuck me when he's half drunk and stinking of stale wine that's a job for a slave slut like you that has no choice in the matter."

They had reached the water tank and Ayas lent against its side while the other boy filled his amphora with water. The sun was hot, his legs were tired and his shoulder ached from the weight of the amphora.

"Maybe," he said hopefully, "I should stay here and clean myself up as your master will be fucking me."

"Lazy little tyke," the older boy said laughing and landing a far from gentle open handed slap on his bare bottom, "and leave me to carry all the water by myself. Not likely. Anyway Lysippus likes his sluts all sweaty and grubby so come on slave, by rights you ought to be doing all the work while I encouraged you with the strap but that way the job would never be done in time and both of us would catch it from Lysippus."

Ayas grinned and bent to fill his amphora. It had been worth the try he thought.

The day wore on, the sun climbed higher in the sky, the two boys maintained their weary tramp in the heat and dust fetching water, Damos patiently walked Vulcan in wide circles, while Lysippus lay on his couch his snores interrupted by the occasional loud burp.

Every time Ayas returned with a fresh load of water to the open sided shed that formed the sculptor's make shift studio he glanced across to the couch. He knew the moment when the man would wake must be approaching and he waited for that moment with a mixture of fear and excitement that tightened his stomach muscles and weakened his legs.

Lysippus was not a prepossessing sight. He was sleeping on his back. Saliva mixed with red wine had dribbled from the corners of his open mouth, staining the side of his face and the pillow on which his head lay. The cloak that served him as a blanket had fallen to the floor and he was quite naked. His body was powerful and thickset and covered from the neck down with a pelt of coarse red hair. It was clear that the man was in a state of advanced sexual excitement and Ayas eyed his swollen prick and heavy balls with respect and some trepidation.

Ayas had lost count of the number of journeys he had made to and from the water trough when Lysippus finally awoke. The man stirred and opened one bleary eye. Twisting his head to one side Lysippus focused his gaze unsteadily on Ayas.

"Come here slut," he commanded, his voice thick and hoarse.

The naked boy moved forward to stand beside the couch.

"Well," Lysippus said grinning lasciviously up at him, "you're a pretty little whore."

"Thank you Lord," Ayas replied giving slightly at the knees in acknowledgement of the compliment and forcing what he hoped was an inviting smile onto his face.

Ayas thought Lysippus with his blood shot eyes, wine stained lips and teeth, and matted hairy body a revolting sight but he knew that that was irrelevant. Lysippus was a freeman and he was a slave boy. If Lysippus wanted him and it was clear that he did, he would have him. To resist or even to show distaste would simply make things worse for himself. So Ayas smiled sweetly and ran the tip of his tongue suggestively between eagerly parted lips.

"What's your name whore?"

As he spoke Lysipppus reached out and taking the boy by the hand drew him nearer the couch on which he lay.

"Ayas Lord."

"Oh I remember now," Lysippus mumbled, he seemed to have some difficulty in speaking and his words were slurred. "Xionedes told me. He said you were an excellent fuck, a hot eager little boy tart. Are you good to fuck Ayas?"

"I hope you'll find me so Lord," Ayas said simpering and smiling and hating the man in his heart.

Lysippus said nothing in reply to this but Ayas's found himself pulled roughly down onto the couch. Lysippus kissed him hard on the mouth. The stench and taste of stale wine almost made Ayas retch but he knew his duty and fighting the nausea back he parted his lips and allowed the man's tongue to enter his mouth. Lysippus clamped one hand on the back of the boy's head allowing him no escape as his tongue shot, snake like, down into the back of his throat. With the other hand the man began to caress and then probe the boy's bottom.

Ayas reached down to the man's crutch his fingers closed round his swollen prick feeling it hard and throbbing to his touch.

Rising excitement made Ayas forget his disgust for the man. Lysippus's fingers explored the cleft of his bottom searching for and finding his hole. Arching his back he invited further invasion.

A sudden sharp twinge of pain made him throw his head back breaking the man's grasp.

Lysippus laughed and placing both hands on Ayas's shoulder's pushed gently downwards. The boy responding, abandoned his hold of the man's rigid cock and began to wriggle slowly downwards caressing the man's body with his tongue and lips. The smell and taste of stale wine was now mixed with that of sweat and unwashed flesh. The man's body hair was coarse against his lips and tickled his nose. As he moved further down Lysippus's body the odours became stronger and more pungent.

He explored the man's belly button with his tongue as he did so feeling the tip of Lysippus's cock pressing hard against his chin.

He felt Lysippus's hand on the top of his head pressing it downwards. He knew further delay would be dangerous. He ran the tip of his tongue along the man's urethra. The man's precum tasted metallic and slightly salty. For a moment Ayas drew back looking at Lysippus's cock a shaft of pale swollen flesh ribbed with knotted purple veins just a few inches from his face. As the man moaned and cursed he bent down and ran his tongue along its full length from its root in the coarse matted forest of pubic hair to its pink quivering tip. Opening his mouth wide he sucked on the man's balls. Reacting to the pleasure Lysippus parted his legs drew his knees slightly upwards giving Ayas the opportunity to get his tongue in behind the man's balls and lick that most delicate area of flesh that lay between them and his anus.

Raising himself on his elbows he returned to the man's cock. Taking it between his lips he quietly nuzzled it before taking the tip into his mouth. For a moment he played with it with his tongue. He felt Lysippus hands grasp him by his ears. He was dragged brutally down the full-length of the man's cock driven down into the back of his throat. Lysippus held him there his nose face pressed hard into the man's crutch. Blood roared in his head, waves of blackness passed before his eyes, his throat worked desperately struggling against the swollen tube of flesh and gristle that blocked it.

Just as it felt as if a black tide would finally envelop him Lysippus pulled his head back. In this all too short moment of respite Ayas dragged air down into his aching chest before the man once more pulled his head forward driving his cock once more down into the boy's throat. Ayas moaned and gagged as Lysippus brutally pumped his throat.

Then just as he was about to finally pass out the man, still maintaining his hold of the boy's ears, pushed him away from him and rising to his feet rolled him over so that he was lying on his back on the couch. Ayas felt his ankles clasped in an iron grip. The next moment the back of his head hit the floor as he was dragged from the couch. Dizzy from the blow on his head he found himself lying on his back Lysippus forcing his legs back so that his knees were pressed to the floor on either side of his head.

Ayas looked up into the man's face only a few inches away from his, seeing the saliva drooling from his half open mouth and his eyes glazed with lust.

He knew what was to come next and that there was no escape from it. Reaching up with his hands he took hold of his shins just below the ankles signalling his submission to the man and offering him his bottom. Lysippus released his hold of the boy's ankles. Ayas felt the man's fingers parting the lips of his anus and then a sharp stab of pain as Lysippus drove into him with his cock. The pain increased in intensity as the man, with a series of heavy downward thrusts, hammered his rock hard tool into the boy's bottom. Ayas felt as though his bottom was being split apart by an iron wedge and then just as he felt he could bear the agony no longer pain and pleasure merged and became one.

Reaching back over his head Ayas grasped the feet of the couch steadying himself as Lysippus sheathed the full length of his cock in the boy's body. Lysippus grasped Ayas by the waste as he pounded his cock ever deeper into the boy's hole. The rhythmic slap of Lysippus's crutch striking the taughtly drawn flesh of Ayas's bottom as he drove forward mingled with the panting of the man and the moans and whimpers of the boy as the two of them, oblivious to everything else about them, worked themselves to a climax.

Suddenly Lysippus was still, straining forward, his head thrown back. Then the muscles in his buttocks flexed and quivered convulsively as he shot his load deep inside the boy.

For a moment Lysippus slumped forward panting deeply. Then He pulled away from Ayas. Reaching forward he took hold of a handful of the boy's hair. Standing up he pulled Ayas up onto his knees so that the boy's face was level with his crutch.

Ayas knew what was required of him. Unbidden he set about cleaning the filth from the man's cock with his tongue and lips.

It was not only the man's prick that required cleaning. Cum and other dirt had encrusted the pubic hair about its base. It was only after Ayas had sucked the last vestiges of this away that Lysippus spoke.

"Take the slut to the water trough and get him cleaned up Amyntas," he ordered the apprentice, "and be quick about it. It's time I started work."

Ayas found himself grabbed and hustled roughly away. As he left the shed Amyntas stooped and without releasing his hold on Ayas's arm, picked up a short stave from a pile of wood that was lying on the ground.

As soon as they were out of Lysippus's sight Amyntas hurled Ayas away from him.

"You shit, you dirt," the older boy screamed each epithet accompanied by a heavy blow of the stave across Ayas's bare shoulders,

Caught off balance Ayas stumbled to his knees under the weight of the blows. Looking up he saw Amyntas red faced and clearly close to tears raising the length of wood to strike again.

"Please," Ayas whimpered, "I couldn't help it. I had no choice…"

"Whore," Amyntas yelled bringing Ayas's pleas to an abrupt halt end by cracking the staff down on top of his head.

"How could he," Amyntas almost wailed raining blows down on the other boy's head and shoulders, "the finest sculpture in all Greece, with a piece of filth like you. How could he?"

Utterly beside himself he hurled the staff to the ground and forgetting he was bare foot took a running kick at the side of Ayas's head. The force of the blow sent Ayas sprawling flat on the ground. It also brought the beating to an end as Amyntas yelped and began to hop about nursing his bruised foot.

"Oh come on," he said bitterly once the immediate pain had abated, "he'll be wondering where his special little whore is if we're not back soon."

Ayas dragged himself to his feet his head still ringing and his shoulders sore from the blows. Walking unsteadily he made his way into the courtyard and across to the water trough with Amyntas limping painfully after him.

"You know I really didn't have any choice," he pleaded as he bent forward clasping the edge of the trough so that Amyntas could sponge his bottom clean.

"Shut up and get your bum up higher," Amyntas snarled. Reaching between the other boy's legs he caught hold of Ayas by the balls and pulled upwards.

"How could he," he muttered to himself as he sponged, "with filthy little slave whore… the finest artist in Greece… how could he?"

Chapter 25

"You can do the rest whore," Amyntas snarled bitterly. "Come on hurry, up, Lysippus won't be able to do without his boy tart for long."

Ayas scrubbed the caked mud and other dirt from his limbs while Amyntas stood by muttering angrily to himself. Ayas wondered if all the other slave boys whom Lysippus had apparently raped at the beginning of each commission had subsequently experienced as rough handling as he had from Amyntas. One thing he was certain of, he would try his utmost not to be fucked by Lysippus again. It wasn't that the experience itself was all that bad. Indeed it had its pleasurable side. However if every time Lysippus penerated him Amyntas was going to become consumed with jealousy he wanted no part of it. The problem was though how to avoid it. A slave boy certainly couldn't simply say "no." Not if he wanted to avoid a flogging.

"Come on, come on," Amyntas ordered cuffing him hard across the side of the head to hurry him up further. Ayas started back towards Lysippus's studio, his head ringing from the blow, his problem still unresolved.

Lysippus was all business and eager to get to work. He told Ayas to put on his chiton and mount Vulcan For a full hour he watched while the boy rode the horse about in front of him. Then he ordered Ayas to dismount. Amyntas had fixed up a sort of trestle in the shelter of the open sided shed that served as Lysippus's studio. Ayas was made to sit astride this as if he was riding a horse while Lysippus fussed round him.

"Hook the chiton up at the back Amyntas the way it rises when he's galloping. Rise up on your toes and lean forward boy. You've got a nice bottom there's no reason to hide it. Now lift your right hand in front of you as if your holding the reigns. Bring your left arm and hand back and half turn your body to the left. Think you're hitting the horse with your whip and looking back to see where the other horses are."

"Please Lord I never hit Vulcan with the whip. He wouldn't like it and I always know where the other horses are when I'm up on him they're always behind us Lord."

Ayas did not intend to be impertinent he was simply, as he saw it, stating the facts. Unfortunately Lysippus did not recognise this. A hefty clout from his fist on the side of Ayas' head sent the boy sprawling on the floor.

"Am I," Lysippus demanded of the world in general, "the finest sculptor in all Greece to be instructed in my craft by an ignorant stupid," each adjective was reinforced with a hearty kick into Ayas's ribs, "slave brat?"

"I am grateful," a further kick thudded into the boy's body, "for the benefit of your advice but in future I would appreciate it if you kept your comments, valuable," another kick thudded into Ayas's kidneys, "to yourself. Now get back up and shut up or I might really loose my temper with you."

Ayas dragged himself painfully to his feet and scrambled back astride the wooden. bar.

"Now," Lysippus said speaking with elaborate courtesy, "if you would be so good as to condescend to take up the position I told you, up on your toes with your bottom in the air, right hand up holding the reigns, left arm and hand back and twisting your body round to the left as if you were turning in the saddle. Thank you."

"Stay like that until I tell you, you may move. If you move before I tell you, you may," the man's voice suddenly turning savage, " I will flay the flesh from your shoulder blades with the buckle end of my belt."

"Look," he continued undoing he heavy leather belt that he wore around his waste, "this is my belt and this is its buckle. I'll put it down where you can see it. Perhaps the sight of it will encourage you to keep still."

"Perhaps," suggested Amyntas helpfully, "it would be even better Sir if you gave the slut a taste of it. Then he would really know what to expect if he started fidgeting."

"An excellent idea boy," Lysippus said almost jovially, "I sometimes think that after all you may have the makings of a real craftsman."

"Ayas lie down so your chest is flat on the bar."

"Please Lord," Ayas whimpered eyeing the belt in horror and imagining the metal buckle cracking down on his bare shoulders, "I'll stay still Lord just as you tell me. There's no need to hit me Lord. I'll be good and do what you say."

"Of course you'll do what I say Ayas. You're a slave boy. You have to do as your told but I am sure you will try just that little bit harder to be obedient that makes all the difference if you're given a little extra encouragement."

"Now get down on the bar like I said and reach out along it."

"Amyntas take a firm grip of the grat's wrists. We don't want him falling off the bar."

Lysippus carefully pulled the short shirt that was Ayas's only covering up over his head.

"Boy's skin when its torn," he remarked as he did so, "will heal but cloth will not."

He ran his hand appreciatively along Ayas's naked back.

"A pretty little tart," he remarked appreciatively squeezing the back of the whimpering boy's neck.

He stepped back. Stood a moment savouring the boy's terror. Then he brought the buckle end of the belt cracking down across Ayas's narrow shoulders. The boy screamed and bucked as the heavy metal clasp ripped across his bare back, splitting the skin, laying a stripe a of raw flesh oozing blood across his sun tanned shoulders. Amyntas lost his grip on Ayas's wrists and the boy tumbled from the bar and fell sprawling on the ground at Lysippus's feet.

"Get back on the bar," Lysipys commanded. Prodding the boy with his toe.

Ayas dragged himself painfully to his knees.

"Please Lord no Lord… not again Lord…" he begged tearfully clasping the man by his legs.

"Up," Lysippus rapped. "Up back on the bar boy."

He brought his knee up sharply into Ayas's chest knocking him backwards.

"Up," Lysippus ordered grimly pointing to the bar.

Snivelling, Ayas scrambled to his feet.

"Please Lord not again Lord," he pleaded.

Lysippus grabbed him by the ear and twisting it viciously pulled him towards the bar.

"Up," he said giving the ear a further painful twist to reinforce the command.

Now sobbing openly Ayas got back astride the bar and reached forward so his chest was pressed flat against it.

"Now Amyntas hold the brat's wrists tight." Lysippus ordered, "If you let him break loose this time you'll be getting the belt."

"This Ayas is just a taste of what you'll get if you fidget about or otherwise make life difficult for me while I'm working. Now be warned."

Saying this Lysippus whirled the belt back over his head and smashed the buckle down across the boy's defenceless shoulders. Hearing the hiss of the descending strap Ayas screamed shrilly in anticipation of the agony to come. The buckle scored a second bloody stripe across Ayas's back. There was a moment's silence as the pain drove the air from Ayas's chest. Then he began to scream again. Amyntas's bare feet scrabbled in the dust as he fought hard to retain his hold of the boy's wrists.

Lysippus waited until the boy's screams had dwindled to a quiet hopeless sobbing before instructing Amyntas to release his grasp of the boy's wrists.

"Sit up Ayas and listen to me," the man ordered.

Ayas pushed himself up wiping away the snot that dribbled from his nostrils and smeared his lips and chin with the back of his hand before knuckling his eyes.

"Can you hear me boy?"

Ayas nodded wordlessly his shoulders shaking as he tried to fight back his sobs.

"Good now that's a taste, just a taste, of what you'll get if you play me up. I'll put the belt on my work table here where you can see it and where it will be handy if you give me cause to use it.

"Now get back into the position I posed you in earlier. Up on your toes leaning forward, right hand in the air, left back behind you and with your body twisting round to the left – right round – as far as you can go."

"Amyntas pull his chiton back down over his shoulders and raise it behind him so it looks as if the wind is lifting it. Fix it so it stays like that – use a piece of wood and a length of cord."

"His back's still bleeding Sir it will mark his shirt."

"It's none too clean already just do as your told."

"Now mark in chalk the beam where his legs straggle it and put pegs in the ground just in front of his toes."

"Get a couple of rods and fix them in the ground directly under his right and left hands and mark them where his hands are."

"Good that should be enough to ensure that we can get him back in exactly the same position whenever I allow him a rest."

Lysippus walked slowly round the trestle that Ayas straddled, his head cocked to one side, examining the boy with minute attention from every angle. Then he moved to his work bench. From the lump of formless clay that rested there began to emerge, under the rapid deft movements of his fingers, a pair of slim bare legs.

As Lysippus worked he talked.

"You might wonder Amyntas why I do not allow the boy to stand facing forward rather than twisted round from the waste. After all that would be much easier for him for soon the cramp will start and then he will really suffer. But look closely at his legs and thighs. You show the muscles are tensed and stretched. You would not achieve that by being kind to the brat."

"The artist must aim for truth and in truth he will find beauty. That is true even of the most mundane and common objects. Look at what we have here a common little slave boy no different from hundreds of others. A boy jockey fated no doubt to be crushed under the hooves of the races horses on the track or if he survives until he grows too big for the stables destined to die under the overseer's lash labouring in the quarries or fields. Either way something of no account. And yet, I, Lysippus, through my skill and genius will turn him into a thing of beauty that people in a thousand years time will wonder at."

He fell silent for a moment, pausing in his labours to take a gulp from the wine jug.

"Look at this Amyntas," he said swallowing and holding up the bowl, "a common enough object decorated with a few images, done if I mistake not by Euphronios, a not inconsiderable craftsman but not of course to be compared in skill or genius to myself, and yet these images, a forest glade, a boy playing the pipes, a girl running away from the man will excite people's imagination whenever they are seen."

"Why," he added with a laugh "I wouldn't be surprised if some barbarian poet writing in language we do not even know of will be, sometime in the distant future, inspired to write an ode by it."

"Greece," he said turning back to his work," will be remembered and wondered at long after these Spartan brutes have been forgotten except as exemplars of discipline by the less imaginative and more stupid school masters and soldiers."

"Not that the Spartans are going to last very much longer. Sometime soon someone will knock them off their perch. They have ruled too long and have become too arrogant and confident. They ignore the rules that Lycurgus laid down not only those against private wealth and luxury but also on public policy."

"He said they shouldn't keep fighting the same enemy because that might teach them to beat them but they have been quarrelling with Thebes for years and this King Agesilaus of theirs is dead set on having another go at her."

"Thebes has a leader now too, Epaminondas, whose as good a fighter as any Spartan."

"There's a peace conference planned but its only a trick to gain time. Sparta's aim is a war to destroy Thebes finally but maybe this time the boot will be on the other foot."

"Where is Thebes?" Amyntas asked.

"Where? You boys learn nothing nowadays. North of here, over the other side of the Isthmus, beyond Corinth."

Ayas crouched unmoving on the beam had been listening eagerly to all this. His dreams of freedom had been destroyed but he had not lost his hatred of the Spartans and he was glad to hear that their power was threatened even though there seemed no chance he would benefit from this. And it was made all the more interesting for him because it involved Thebes the place from which his first lover Ocytus had come. Ocytus had disappeared from his life and he assumed the youth was dead but it was still exciting to hear news of the city of his birth.

However the strain of keeping still and maintaining an unnatural pose had begun to take their toll. Cramp gripped him tearing at his muscles plunging his body into a sea of excruciating pain.

"Look," Amyntas exclaimed laughing, "the brat is crying," and indeed tears were streaming down Ayas's cheeks as he fought against the pain, desperate to stay in position and to avoid a further taste of the buckle end of Lysippus's belt.

"Yes," the sculptor replied calmly continuing to work, "it usually doesn't take very long before a brat starts to suffer. That is why I always make a point of flogging the little brute before I began. He knows that the pain he is suffering is nothing to what he'll get if he moves. It's the only argument filth like him understands."

Hour after hour Ayas was forced to remain still, his muscles screaming in protest at the strain placed on them. He lost track of time and indeed as the agony increased it seemed to him that he was somehow divorced from his own body. It was as though he was floating clear, looking down at himself mounted grotesquely twisted on the trestle while Lysippus shaped the clay with his hands and lectured Amyntas.

Then, all of a sudden, Ayas found himself sprawled on the ground, his head ringing from a blow.

"Come on boy," Lysippus snarled kicking him viciously in the ribs, "I've finished with you for the day. It's time for you to make yourself useful."

"Oh Amyntas," he said impatiently landing a final kick on the prone boy before turning away from him, "get the little brute up on his feet and take him up with you to the house. They should have food for our dinner and we need some more water. Get a move on would you."

Ayas saw Amyntas advancing on him grasping a stout baton in his right hand and grinning fiercely. Ayas was stiff from hours of immobility but in the face of this threat he scrambled painfully to his feet and bent almost double began a clumsy run towards the house. He was not quick enough. Amyntas brought the length of wood thudding down across his shoulders and as Ayas stumbled forwards, followed it up with a heavy blow across the boy's buttocks.

"Don't forget the amphora for the water," Lysippus called out, "and mind you don't break it Amyntas with that stick of yours. Little slave boys like Ayas are improved by being beaten. Amphora aren't."

Balancing the empty amphora on his shoulder Ayas made his way at a clumsy trot up towards the house. Amyntas, mindful of his master's warning to be careful not to break the amphora, driving him on with frequent sharp jabs of butt end of his baton into the boy's bottom only half covered by his short shirt, each blow being accompanied by a torrent of abuse.

"I suppose after supper you'll be sucking Lysippus's cock with those soft red lips of yours."

"Covering it with slobber for when he rams it up your arse."

"I suppose your proud to be fucked by the finest artist in Greece?"

"Oh please Amyntas I don't want to be fucked by him…"

"What I suppose you're too good for him."

"Conceited little bitch."

"A worthless little slave brat…"

Each comment was punctuated by a hard thrust of the cudgel by Amyntas and a corresponding squeal of pain from Ayas.

"No please Amyntas I didn't mean that," Ayas cried in desperation, "look if your jealous of me why don't you…"

"Jealous of you," Amyntas roared and in his rage forgetting Lysippus's warning about not breaking the amphora, bringing the length cudgel down hard on the top of Ayas's head.

Ayas tumbled to the ground. The earthenware amphora shattered into a dozen fragments.

"Jealous of a measly, half starved, slave brat," screamed Amyntas showering blows on the younger boy as he rolled on the ground. "The child of some filthy Helot women. Born a slave, die a slave. Jealous of such filth."

"Amyntas please I didn't mean it," Ayas wailed, sitting on the ground in the middle of the broken remains of the amphora, and covering his head with his arms to try to ward off the blows. "I know Lysippus wants you, you said so yourself. If his fucking me makes you unhappy why don't you let him make love to you? I'll help you to make sure it doesn't hurt hardly at all…"

Amyntas paused his baton half raised. Ayas's suggestion clearly appealed to him.

"And look Amyntas we've broken the amphora when Lysippus told us specially to be careful with it we'll both be in for a beating now unless we can find some way of hiding it," Ayas continued raising another point.

"How can we do that?" Amyntas asked brought sharply down to earth by the prospect of a thrashing.

"Well if we got all the bits of the broken amphora together we could roll them up in my shirt and dump them somewhere and maybe we could find another amphora outside one of the store houses there's always a few lying about and I doubt if Lysippus would notice the difference."

"Can you make it so it doesn't hurt?" Amyntas asked as the two boys crouched together collecting fragments of shattered earthenware and placing them on Ayas's shirt spread out on the ground. He seemed to have forgotten his anger and jealousy in the excitement of the prospect of being possessed by Lysippus.

"It'll hurt a bit but not much," Ayas promised, "there's an old woman called Phaedra up at the house who knows all about it. She'll have a jar of goose fat and maybe a pill or something to make things easier. She'll give them to you if we ask her nicely because you're a free boy and shouldn't have to suffer. She wouldn't to me being a slave and not mattering much at all."

Ayas was sore and bruised from the beatings he had received but he took them philosophically. He knew it was the fate of a slave boy like himself to be beaten sometimes for a good cause sometimes for no reason at all. There was no point in complaining.

Chapter 26

"He's got to be really good and stiff and you sort of squat down across him and ease yourself down on him and you guide it in a bit or he does and it's better if you're facing him so you can see his face because then you can tell when he's going to shoot but it doesn't matter if you can't because you can tell by the feel of him inside you."

"How will I tell?"

"Well it sort of jerks inside you but Amyntas you'll know before that he's nearly coming, it gets more swollen and he breaths harder and… anyway you'll know when you're doing it…"

Ayas like any good craftsman was enjoying showing off his expertise and in his excitement was very near forgetting the gulf that divided him from Amyntas, the slave boy from the free. Indeed he was speaking to him as one boy to another and even maybe, despite the rough handling Amyntas had given him, thinking of him as a friend.

They walked under the arch, past the big double wooden gates standing open at this time of day, and into the courtyard. As usual it was a place of noise and bustle. The two boys stood still for a moment taking in the scene. Then Amyntas spotted the storerooms opposite them with a dozen or more empty amphora stacked beside one of the doors.

"Ayas shut up" he ordered grabbing the smaller boy by his bare shoulder, "look over there by the door. Go, get one of those and leave the broken shards you've got in your shirt there in its place. Then they'll just think it is broken and not stolen."

"Wouldn't it be…"

Ayas was going to suggest that it would be more sensible to wait until they had completed their other errands at the house before getting the amphora. After all stealing it now they would have to leave it somewhere until they were ready to go and somebody else could easily help themselves to it while they were busy doing their other tasks. Ayas had had enough experience by then of life in a big house to be very aware of the enormous amount of petty pilfering that characterised such establishments. However he was not given an opportunity to explain himself further.

"Shut up. You're not here to make suggestions. You just do as you're told," Amyntas shouted cracking the stave across Ayas's already badly bruised bottom. It was clear that if Ayas had momentarily forgotten the unbridgeable divide between free and slave Amyntas was still very well aware of it.

Ayas set off at the run across the yard towards the storehouse.

"Come back here," Amyntas shouted.

Ayas stopped turned and reluctantly made his way back to stand in front of the older boy.

"Hands down by your sides," Amyntas commanded hefting the heavy rod menacingly in his right hand as he spoke.

"Stand still while I'm hitting you," he ordered.

Deliberately he smashed the rod four times across the front of Ayas's bare thighs taking his time between each blow.

"In future," Amyntas told the snivelling boy, "remember it's not your place to make suggestions. You just do as your told. Do you understand?"

"Yes Amyntas"

Ayas squealed with pain as the stick cracked down across his shins

"'Yes Sir'. I'll have some respect from you. I've been too lax and it doesn't pay with filth like you. Do you understand boy?"

"Yes Sir," Ayas sobbed.

"That's better now go."

Fighting back his tears Ayas turned and set off in a stumbling run across the yard. It was not only the pain that made him cry though that was bad enough for Amyntas had hit hard. As bad as the pain or perhaps even worse was the feeling of uter hopelessness that gripped him.

He had allowed himself to hope that the gulf between slave and free could for once be forgotten. That now he had persuaded Amyntas that he was not a rival for the affections of Lysippus the two of them could be friends. After all Amyntas had asked his advice about the techniques of pederasty and had listened intently to what he had to say. But now it was all too clear that that hope was a mirage. That Amyntas would never think of him as a friend but as what he was and would remain till the end of his life, a slave. He remembered miserably how Lysippus had described his future, "a boy jockey fated to be crushed under the hooves of the races horses on the track or if he survives until he grows too big for the stables destined to die under the overseer's lash labouring in the quarries or fields" and knew it was true.

No one questioned him when he picked up one of the empty amphora from outside the storerooms. Following Amyntas' instructions Ayas placed it beside the water trough with his shirt rolled up underneath it and then led the way across the courtyard to the kitchen door. Following Amyntas into the low dark room he looked about himself.

Among the crowd of household slaves he spotted the old hag Phaedra huddled on a stool beside the open fire muttering to herself as she stared unseeingly into the embers. He led the way over to her and then stood respectfully to one side. Phaedra rocking on her stool, mouthing noiselessly to herself, seemed oblivious to her surroundings. Amyntas stood close beside her shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

Eventually losing patience he touched her on her shoulder.

Startled, she looked about herself wildly until, her gaze lighting upon the two boys, she grinned baring her toothless gums.

"Mother," Amyntas said addressing the old crone rather nervously, for slave though she was there was an air of evil and menace about her that he sensed, "I am Amyntas apprentice to Lysippus the sculptor. I am told you're a wise woman and I wonder if you would help me."

"Well young Sir, you're a fine handsome boy," Phaedra said leering, wiping a dribble of saliva from her chin with the back of her hand, "and there's that little whore Ayas trying to hide behind you," she continued peering past Amyntas to where the younger boy lurked.

"Come here Ayas child. Come here to Mother Phaedra."

Showing her toothless gums in an evil grin she beckoned Ayas to her. Reluctantly the boy shuffled forward. As soon as he was in reach Phaedra stretched out her hand and taking hold of the back of one bare thigh drew him to her.

"Why Ayas," she crowed in a false sympathy as she ran her hands over his naked body, "you have been in the wars. Look at the bruises on you, you poor little slut. your sweet little bottom all covered in welts, and your shoulders too – the skin ripped and bloody – what a hard time you must have been having you poor little boy. What have you been doing to get yourself in such a state. You must have been being a very bad boy."

As she spoke her old gnarled finger kneaded the boy's bare bottom.

"I didn't mean to do anything wrong Mother," Ayas muttered shifting nervously under the women's harsh caresses.

"That's what all you brats say but you still misbehave. The lash well laid on is the only thing little slave boys understand. You should be grateful for every cut that you get for it's making you a better more obedient child."

"But here I am wasting time on a dirty little slave boy when a fine young free boy is asking for me for help. What is it that you want young Sir?"

It was Amyntas's turn to shift uneasily from foot to foot. He was embarrassed at having to explain to this old woman his needs and his reasons for them. Even more so as a number of household slaves, including in particular a large rather brutal looking oaf, were loitering nearby obviously listening to what was going on.

"I am Amyntas, a free boy, the apprentice of Lysippus the sculpture and I have been sent here by my master with the slave boy Ayas to collect his supper from the kitchen and to take it back to him."

"If what you want is supper you should speak to the cook," the old woman cackled. "It'd be pretty strange meal you'd get from me young man."

"It's not just that I want," Amyntas replied reddening and starting to stutter in embarrassment. "It's… it's just that Ayas said you could help…"

"So little Ayas is in this as well," Phaedra said pinching the little slave's bottom so hard that he squeaked. "I might have guessed the slut is always up to something. But you must tell me what Ayas said I could help with."

"He said you might let me have some goose fat…"

"Goose fat," the crone hooted with laughter, "goose fat. Why Ayas you're getting all delicate and choosy now… You don't need no goose fat to fuck the little whore young master, just bend the brat over and ram it in, if it makes him squeal a bit – what does it matter? He's only a slave. Don't waste your time worrying about hurting him."

"It's… it's not for Ayas mother," Amyntas stammered looking as if he wished he was anywhere else than in Xionedes' kitchen talking to the ancient slave woman. "My master Lys…"

The boy's explantion was cut short by a burst of laughter from Phaeda that was echoed by the crowd of idlers who had gathered round her.

"Oh I see it all," she cried still laughing. "It's for you. You're in love with that fine master of yours. I suppose this will be the first time for you being a free boy and all?"

"No… yes… that is… I haven't done… Yes it will be the first time for me."

"Don't take any notice of their laughing," Phaedra consoled him. "There's no need to be ashamed or shy. Everyone has a first time and there's no better a person for a handsome young apprentice like you to fall in love with than his master.

"Now you just wait there and I'll get some things to make it nice and easy for you," and the old woman rose painfuly to her feet and hobbled off into the dark recesses of the room.

She soon returned carrying a small earthenware jar.

"There you are my sweet," she said , "goose fat and a pill to relax you and make you feel even more eager than you are already. Take the pill before supper and get young Ayas to grease your hole up really good before you go back to your Master. You can never know exactly when a lover will try to mount a boy – gentlemen can be so impatient – and I don't wanta fine young free boy like you who came to me for help getting torn."

"Thank you Mother," Amyntas said taking the jar. "Now I had best find the cook and get my master's supper."

"Nixod will fetch the food over here and help Ayas to carry it down to your place. It's a shame for a free boy to have to fetch and carry when there are slaves about to do the work."

So it was that about half an hour later the two boys, Ayas balancing the full amphora on his shoulder together with Nixod carrying a basket full of bowls of steaming food set out from the kitchen.

Half way down the track to Lysippus's make shift studio Amyntas, telling Nixod to continue on his way, ordered Ayas to balance the amphora upright against a rock.

Wordlessly, blushing red, he handed the jar of goose fat to Ayas. The younger boy took it and hesitated.

"Get on," Amyntas said trying to hide his embarrassment under an air of bravado. "You must know how to do it."

"Please Amyntas you'll have to bend forwad and put your feet apart and it's be better if you put your hands on a rock to steady yourself," Ayas said rather hesitantly.

He was fearful of irritating the older boy and drawing down yet another beating on himself. He didn't think there was anything wrong in what he had said but he was often beaten for no reason that he could understand. He just accepted this as one of the routine hazards of being a slave boy.

This time however it seemed that he had not offended for Amyntas just turned round and bending forward placed the palms of his hands on a large boulder standing beside the track. Ayas set to work as gently as he could. First he smeared the fat liberally along the other boy's crack and then he began to work it along and between the lips of his anus. Gingerly Ayas increased the pressure easing his well greased finger tip into Amyntas. The other boy tensed at this intrusion tightening his buttocks.

"Try and relax," Ayas advised, "push out like you were shitting."

Twisting his finger tip in the boy he tried to force it past his sphincter. Amyntas gasped and jerked upright. Swinging round he landed an open handed slap across Ayas's cheek.

"You said it wouldn't hurt you stupid tyke," Amyntas stormed as Ayas cowered away from him.

"It'll hurt much more Amyntas," Ayas whined nursing his stinging cheek, "if I don't loosen it up before Lysippus gets at you."

Amyntas hesitated and then turned back to face the rock.

"Oh all right then," he said bending forward and getting back into position, "get on with it. I suppose you know what you're up to, a pretty little slave boy like you must have been fucked by just about every man in the place."

Ayas once again dipped his index finger into the jar of goose fat. Amyntas yelped as he forced his finger into him but this time he stayed down. Slowly Ayas eased his finger into the other boy's gut. Past the first finger joint, past the second until his knuckles were pressed hard against Amyntas's bottom. He twisted his finger in the boy feeling his body hot and tight around it.

"You really should have two fingers in you Amyntas," he said hesitantly.

"Just do it."

Amyntas's voice sounded oddly strained.

"It's over now Amyntas," Ayas said a few minutes later as he wiped his fingers clean on a clump of dried grass. "I hope I didn't hurt you too much."

"It wasn't too bad," Amyntas replied gruffly.

Ayas saw that he was sporting a full blown erection. which was still in place when a few minutes later they arrived back at the make shift studio.

Lysippus was already seated at the table his wine cup in front of him while Nixod, grinning broadly, was engaged in unpacking the basket of food that he had brought from Xionedes' kitchen. Two things were obvious; that Lyssipus had been drinking and Nixod had been talking.

"Amyntas my sweet," Lysippus crowed as soon as he caught sight of the boy, "come here and play Ganymede to my Zeus. Tonight at last you are to be mine and I will not need an eagle to help me." (in legend Ganymede a beautiful boy prince of Troy was carried off by an eagle so that he could serve as Zeus's cup bearer and lover – alternately Zeus assumed the form of an eagle in order to ravish the child).

As Amyntas hesitated Lysippus started to his feet and with surprising speed grabbed him by his arm pulling him down onto his knees.

"There my love do not be shy with me now. You have teased me long enough."

Grasping the naked boy firmly around the waist with his left arm Lysippus took hold of the lad's chin in his right hand and forcing him to look up into his own face. The man bent forward and fastened his lips on the boy's.

Amyntas struggled for a moment and then visibly relaxed, turning round towards the man and throwing his arms tight around him. Lysippus released his hold of the boy's waste, his left hand caressing his bottom, its fingers plumbing Amyntas's well greased crack.

Nixod gripped Ayas by the back of his neck forcing him down onto his knees in the dust at Lysippus's feet.

Ayas, like a good whore, knew instinctively what was required of him. Pushing his head between Lysippus's knees, beneath Amyntas's bare bottom he buried his head in the man's crutch. There, with Lysippus's's coarse pubic hairs tickling his face and the animal smells of the man and the boy strong in his nostrils, he busied himself with his tongue and lips. Above him he could hear the murmurs, the pants, sounds of the two's lovemaking while he did his best to increase and intensify Lysippus's lust.

All at once Lysippus stood and kicking Ayas out of his way scooped Amyntas into his arms and began to carryhim towards his couch. Ayas began to folow them but found himself held by the arm.

"I claim the reward you promised me Lord," Nixod cried urgently his voice hoarse with excitement.

"Do whatever you want with the slut but don't kill him," Lysippus said as he laid Amyntas on the couch, "I will need him again tomorrow as my model."

Chapter 27

He remembered how Nixod had try to have him mounted by a dog when he first arrived at Xionides' villa and he feared and hated the man.

"Take the slut somewhere where we can't hear his screams," Lysippus ordered from the couch before turning back to Amyntas and placing a resounding kiss on the side of the boy's bare bottom.

"Shut that stupid noise," Nixod ordered clouting Ayas on the ear as he dragged him away.

Nixod kicked Ayas's feet away from under him and sent him tumbling on his face to the ground. He pinned the boy down with one foot on his chest while he pulled of his loin cloth. Ayas trued to wriggle free. Nixod hitching his tunic up about his waste dropped to his knees and grabbed a handful of his hair.

"Lie still and get your legs apart whore," he rasped pulling Ayas's head back before ramming it into the ground.

"Go on and get your arse up," he continued grinding the boy's face in the dirt.

Ayas tasted blood inside his mouth. He knew resistance was pointless. The man was far stronger than he was and there was no point in crying for help. No one would take any notice of the pleas, however frantic, of a slave boy. He could only submit.

His rape was short but brutal. When he had finished Nixod hauled himself to his feet and stood over the boy lying, sobbing, face down on the ground.

"Whore," he said contemptuously kicking Ayas between his spread legs before turning away and striding off towards Xionedes' villa.

Ayas lay huddled on the ground nursing the soreness in his bottom while the darkness drew closer about him. Eventually, mindful of the dangers of the night, he dragged himself painfully back towards Lysippus's studio. The presence of other human beings would at least make him a less attractive prey to a stray wolf or wild dog.

There he lay a long time huddled on the ground in the corner of he shed listening to Lysippus and Amyntes love making. He had never felt more lonely or so hopeless.

He was woken in the morning by Lysippus's foot thudding into his ribs.

"Ayas, Ayas you lazy little sod wake up and come here. Come here when I call you, you useless turd."

"Good you're awake at last. Get up to the villa quick and get that old hag Phaedra down here. I want her to look over Amyntas for me. I am afraid I may have injured him. Get on with it boy – do you have to waddle like a duck."

Ayas dragged himself to his feet and set off at a shambling run towards the villa. His bottom was still sore from the previous night and every step sent shafts of pain shooting through his body. Only the fear of getting another taste of the buckle end of Lysippus's belt across his bare shoulders kept him moving. Without that to drive him on Ayas would have crawled away to some unnoticed corner to nurse his aching body and hide his misery and shame. Especially as, quite apart from the pain he dreaded meeting Nixod again. He knew as a slave boy and without a protector he was fair game and there was nothing to stop the man raping him again if he fancied it. And even if the man didn't want to do that he knew Nixod well enough to be sure that he would take pleasure in jeering at him and humiliating him especially if there was an audience to share the fun.

He hoped Phaedra would be out in the courtyard. She quite often in the morning cool settled herself in the shade by the water tank mumbling to herself or exchanging pleasantries, usually with a malicious edge, with her fellow slaves as they passed by. But there was no sign of her. With a sinking heart Ayas hobbled across the courtyard and tried to slip unnoticed into the kitchen.

Yet again he was out of luck. As he went through the door he was grabbed roughly by the arm.

"You're a hot little bitch," Nixod jeered pulling the boy roughly towards him, "you've come back for some more."

"Look at this," he continued, raising his voice so that the whole room could hear him, "the whore can't get enough of it. I fucked his arse last night and he's back here in the morning panting for another dose. I bet the slut's still got my cum in his guts."

"All right sweetie," Nixod shouted over the gales of laughter that echoed round the room, "give me a second and I'll do my best and then maybe after I've finished with you a few of the others would like to take their turn."

"Nixod, please," Ayas pleaded struggling in the man's grasp, "don't please, Lysippus has sent me up to get Phaedra…"

"Don't tell fibs whore," Nixod crowed, "you came up to see me and to get that pretty little bottom of yours fucked… Come on give me a kiss my sweetie…"

While the crowd of domestic slaves hooted with laughter Nixod pulled the boy round to face him and tried to force his head back so that he could plant a kiss on his lips.

"Please… no…" Ayas screamed again, beating at the man's chest with his closed fists. "I've been sent to get Phaedra… please."

"Whose calling me?" Phaedra alerted by the sound of her name thrust herself into the crowd of grinning slaves. "Oh it's you Ayas. What a fuss. Why can't you just let Nixod have his bit of fun and let an old woman rest in peace. It won't be the first man's cock you've had up that pretty little arse of yours and it won't be the last."

"It's not for me Mother. I've been sent… by Lysippus… He says could you please come down and look at Amyntas… he's hurt…"

"Oh very well, very well, I have no choice I suppose if the Master's friend summons me… Let the slut go Nixod… there are plenty of other slave boys about that you can torment… Ayas you can make yourself useful for once helping me carry my things."

Amyntas was lying face down on the couch his legs spread the bedclothes tumbled under his naked body. Lysippus was sitting beside the boy gently stroking his hair. Seeing Phaedra he started to his feet.

"I am afraid have torn the boy," Lysippus's face was drawn and haggard and his hands shook., "I hope you can do something for him. I have longed for him from the time his father brought him to me to be bound my apprentice and now when at last he yields himself to me I hurt him."

"I'm sore," Amyntas whined, "I'm really sore down there."

"It's that slut's fault the lying little turd," he announced his voice strengthening as he caught sight of Ayas. "He told me it wouldn't hurt. I'd never have let it be done to me if I'd known how much it hurt."

"I'll have you Ayas when I'm back on my feet. I'll rip the hide off your miserable carcass. I'll teach you to lie to me."

"Now now young Sir," Phaedra crooned hobbling forward, "there'll be time enough to flog the little tyke and he surely deserves it, what slave brat wouldn't profit from a good thrashing, but first we must get you fixed up. Let me just clean you up and see how bad you're hurt."

"A bowl of warm water Ayas and a clean piece of rag. Hurry up boy can't you see the young master is hurt."

"Now keep your legs apart and lift your bottom up just a bit young Sir while I sponge it out."

The woman lent over the prone boy and began to swab away at the cleft of his bottom.

"That hurts," Amyntas howled. "Be careful it hurts."

"Be brave dear boy," Lysippus pleaded. "Phaedra is trying to help you."

"Can't," he continued speaking to the old hag, "can't you find some way to do that job without hurting the dear boy so much. Remember you're not dealing with a slave brat like Ayas here whom no one cares about but a free boy and a free boy I love."

"There's one way Master," Phaedra said grabbing Ayas by his hair and forcing his face down so that it was pressed into Amyntas's crack. "There's no gentler and softer tool for the job than a little slave brat's tongue."

"Come on slut," she ordered back handing Ayas across his raised rump, "Lick it clean boy. Or do you think licking out a free boy's hole is beneath you.? If you do I'll soon teach you otherwise."

Ayas knowing he had no choice, fighting back waves of nausea, forced himself to begin licking away the noxious mixture of dried cum, blood and faeces that clogged Amyntas's anus.

"I would have thought," Lysippus, who had risen from the couch and was now standing behind Ayas as the boy slurped assiduously at Amyntas's crack, "that the slut would have taken the trouble to clean himself up before presenting himself for service."

"A Helot brat ?" Phaedra scoffed abandoning her hold of Ayas's hair and moving round behind him. "He wouldn't even think of it. Dirt is natural to him. He was raised in filth and will die in filth and doesn't know any better."

She bent over spreading Ayas's bottom with her fingers to get a better look. The boy started as she probed his soreness.

"Stop that nonsense now," she snapped.

"Nixod's torn the slut," she announced. "That man is always rough with the boys."

"Is that serious?" Lysippus asked anxiously. "He's my model for the statue I'm doing and I'll need him for four more days. He can die after that but if I loose him before then the world will be deprived of a great work of art."

"Don't worry," Phaedra said soothingly, "there's nothing there that I can't fix with a needle and some horse hair and a bit of lotion. It could be serious if it isn't treated but as you need the boy I'll sow him up once I've looked after Amyntas, free boy before slave very time."

"He'll last four days after you've treated him?"

"He'll be as good as new Lord. I don't know how many virgins I've made with my needle and thread." And the old hag cackled with laughter.

"Mind you he'll scream a bit and he'll need holding down while the job is done but we'll manage that between us no doubt."

"Now surely the brat's cleaned up young Amyntas. Get your head out of there boy and let me look."

Amyntas gave a little moan of protest as Ayas ceased his licking.

"Can't he go on doing that?" he asked plaintively, "it was really nice."

"May be later young master," Phaedra said, "but first let me have a look at you and see what needs to be done."

"That hurts," Amyntas protested as Phaedra gently parted the lips of his anus.

"It's not torn," Phaedra announced, "a bit sore but nothing to worry about. I'll just put some ointment on it to ease the pain and then I'll get busy sowing the slut up."

Ayas remembered the last time Phaedra had been called upon to sow up his bottom; being held face down over the bench his legs forced wide apart; the pain of having the tear reopened so that it could be cleaned and then, when he was convinced that no greater pain could ever be inflicted on him, the immeasurably greater agony as the needle stitched the ripped flesh together. Panic gripped him. All he could think of was the horror that was about to be inflicted on him. If he had thought he would have known that no escape was available to him but he was beyond thought.

He turned and ran.

He had not taken three paces before Lysippus was on him. The man grabbed him by the arm and dragged him struggling and weeping back to the couch.

"There my lovely," Phaedra crooned patting Amyntas on his bare bottom, "that's done. By tonight that soreness will be gone and forgotten and you'll be all eager for some more fun."

"Now Lord if you'll just bring that slut over here and bend him over the side of the couch. And take no notice of his weeping. He's just playing up."

"He'll have to be held down," Phaedra continued, "I can't possibly work on him when he's throwing himself about like this. Amyntas can you sit on his shoulders and pin his arms down with your knees and then we can tie each of his ankles to the legs of the couch."

"You can use my belt to secure one ankle," Lysippus said, "and I'll find a length of cord for the other."

Very quickly Ayas found himself bent over the couch, held down by Amyntas's weight on his shoulders, his ankles pulled wide apart and tethered to the legs of the couch.

"What exactly do you do?" Lysippus enquired. raising his voice so that he could be heard over Ayas's hysterical pleas for mercy, with the interest of a craftsman in a new unfamiliar skill.

"Well first I use the blade to freshen the wound up. What a fuss the brat makes and I haven't even started. The flesh needs to be raw or it won't heal cleanly. I'll show you."

Ayas' shrill screams reached a new intensity.

"Amyntas," Lysippus shouted, "push the stupid little brute's face down into the bedding and stop him making that ridiculous noise… Good… But let him up for breath now and again I want him kept alive."

"I think you said something about making virgins?"

"Why yes Lord," Phaedra seemed as eager to show of her skills as Lysppus was to learn about them, "it's quite simple you just sow the brat up tight like he was before his first fucking. Of course you have to have a fresh wound just like with the rip or the flesh won't heal cleanly… so you take the blade and cut there… that always make a brat jump… and there… and sow it up quick and you have a new little virgin slave boy to enjoy or sell."

Phaedra plied her needle deftly and the job was soon done.

"There young Sir," Phaedra said to Amyntas, "you can get down now I've finished."

Ayas lay half on the couch his slight naked body racked with sobs.

"How soon can I get him back on his feet?" Lysippus asked. "I want to get on with my commission and I need him to model for me."

"Give him fifteen minutes to pull himself together and then take the hot iron to the souls of his feet if he shows any reluctance to get to work. Try and leave his bottom alone for the next few days or the stitches might burst and I'd have to do the job all over again."

"I'm not interested in that boy's bottom," Lysippus said glancing at Amyntas and smiling.

For Ayas the next four days were among the worst he ever experienced. During the day he was forced to spend long hours motionless astride the beam posing for Lyssipus. During the rest of his waking hours his lips and tongue were at the service of the man and his young lover.

On the evening of the fourth day. Lysippus stepped back from the bench where he had been working.

"There it is," he announced, "I can do no better and that being so I am sure no one else can. Look Amyntas and wonder. See how the genius of the artist can give life and beauty to the most obscure and sordid objects. I have created out of a dirty smelly common brat a thing of true beauty that countless generations to come will admire. Now all that remains for me to do is to cast this in bronze and Lysippus's statue of the boy jockey will be lasting proof of my genius and the glory of Greece."

"It's strange to think that that brat," he continued gesturing at Ayas, "about whom no one cares and whom nobody will remember or miss when he is dead will live on in my creation."

"Anyway boy I have no further use for you. Get out. Go back to your Lord Xionides."

Ayas got down rather stiffly from the beam. He stood hesitating for a moment. He would have dearly loved to have had a closer look at the statue, it was after all of himself and he had suffered a great deal in its creation. He had hoped he might be asked to look at but niether Lysippus nor Amyntas spoke to him. After a few moments hesitation he quietly slipped away.

It was almost night and the great gates were being swung shut when he reached Xionides' villa. He made his way across the courtyard to the stables. Inside it was quite dark. He moved down the stable counting the stalls till he knew he had reached the right one. Vulcan stirred and whinnied quietly in welcome in the next loose box. Ayas lay down and wriggled into the sweet smelling hay. There was a rustling beside him and a hand brushed his bare thigh.

"I'm glad you're back," Damos said out of the darkness.

Chapter 28

"You're back Ayas," the trainer remarked, "just in time. Vulcan runs in the big race tomorrow and you'll ride him. Get up on his back now boy."

Grinning happily Ayas hurried forward. He was glad to be back although his bottom was still very sore and he knew riding would be painful.

"Hold up. Stop there," the trainer commanded abruptly.

Striding up to the boy he grabbed him by his bare shoulder and swung him round so he was facing away from him. A hand between his shoulders blades forced Ayas to lean forward. He squealed as the trainers fingertips probed the soreness of his bottom.

"I thought so," the man said grimly. "I could see you were moving funny. You won't ride today boy, nor tomorrow."

"Oh Sir," Ayas protested. He had come to enjoy the excitement of the race and he did not like to think of any other boy riding 'his' Vulcan.

"No boy. You could ride tomorrow and very likely win but the state you're in you'd likely split yourself and never ride again. It's my job to provide Lord Xionides with winners not just tomorrow but the day after and many more days after that also. You're a good little jockey and you're young and small for your age. You've got a good two or three years of riding winners in front of you and I'm not loosing those just for the sake of tomorrow's race. You can take it easy and help Damos for the next few days and don't argue unless you want a taste of the strap."

"Oh by the way boy," the trainer asked casually as he turned away from him. "Who did that to you ?"

"Phaedra sowed me up Sir."

"No not that, who did the original damage."

"Nixod Sir."

The trainer nodded and moved off.

Ayas sat perched on the wall under the portico of the hippodrome swinging his bare legs in the air. Before him stretched the long oval race course with its banks of tiered seats rising on either side. The stadium was packed and the noise and excitement was mountig as the time set for the start of the first race drew nearer. He had been told to help Damos and he had done his best to do so but Damos had his own way of doing things. The previous day working in the stables had not been too bad. Damos had had time to explain things and to tell Ayas what to do. But today, the day of the races with Vulcan set to run in the main event it had been all go and Ayas tired of finding himself shouldered to one side whenever he tried to do anything to help had soon quietly slipped away and settled himself on his current vantage point.

From where he sat he had a fine view of the whole course. Always crowded the crush today was greater than ever because of the presence of the Theban delegation and their supporters. They stood out in the crowd of Spartans, their fine clothes and the glittering jewellery that the younger men sported setting them apart.

Ayas scanned the faces of the Thebans closely. Ocytus, the youth who had taken his virginity, had come from Thebes. Ayas had no hope of seeing him. He had been taken to work in the quarries, together with his own eldest brother Callias just days before the Spartan murder gang had burnt down their hovel and killed his father. That was many months ago and workers in the quarries did not last long. Perhaps though there would be among the crowd a brother or an uncle whose family resemblance would betray their relationship. But though Ayas searched hard he could see no one that resembled Ocytus.

"Ayas, Ayas."

It was Damos standing below him holding Vulcan's reigns. The big black horse was entered to run in the main race of the day and that was not due to take place for sometime. Until then Damos was walking him quietly to and fro trying to stop him getting too excited.

"Yes, do you want me to take him for a bit?" Ayas replied preparing to jump down from the wall.

"No stay where you are. I just came to tell you. You know who old Horsey," for it was thus the stable boy's referred to the trainer when he could not hear them, "has said is to ride Vulcan this afternoon? Little Perin."

"Perin he won't last a minute up on him. He hasn't ridden in a proper race before," Ayas replied and then added with all the superiority that a thirteen year old boy naturally feels over one younger than himself, "well he's hardly had a chance being so small."

"Well that's what Horsey says. Perin is to ride Vulcan in the big race. And Perin is down by the start sobbing his eyes out and old Horsey is looking grim and not talking to anyone. You know how he goes sometimes."

What does he think he's doing," Ayas demanded, "it'll be the first and last race Perin rides in. He'll be thrown before they complete the first lap and the number of horses that'll be running with the prize money that's going he'll be mince meat before they can drag him clear."

"I reckon Horsey's decided that you're the only boy who can manage Vulcan and since you can't ride him today he's put up the youngest and least experienced boy he's got cos he's the one that'll be least missed."

Vulcan threw his head up and jittered nervously from foot to foot.

"Well I better be off. Vulcan's in a foul enough temper already," and Damos led the horse away leaving Ayas behind still seated on the wall.

The day wore on, race after race was run. Clouds of dust swirled about the stadium raised by the pounding hooves of the horses as they, a dozen or more at a time, hurled themselves full tilt along the course, jostling for position as they rounded the pila at either end of the two straights, boys and horses tumbling in the dirt. The shouts of the spectators, the screams of the boy riders as they urged on their mounts or fell under the thundering hooves of their mounts contained and reflected back by the tiered seats of the stadium excited and at the same time blunted the senses.

On his perch above the crowd Ayas had an excellent view of the all that was passing but despite this and despite the, for him, unique experience of a holiday the pleasure had gone out of the day. He could not get Perin out of his mind. Sold to pay off his father's debts he had been bought by the trainer only three months or so ago. A pretty nine year old boy with a mop of dark curly hair and a round little bottom that had all the older stable boys slavering with lust he had been at first frightened and tearful. He would have had a harder time than he did if the trainer hadn't got the boys together and told them to leave the child alone and that he would have the balls off anyone of them who didn't. Since then he had come on a bit and had gained in confidence. He was now riding out some of the easier horses at exercise and no doubt would in another six months or so been given his first race on one of them at one of the quieter meetings. Making him ride Vulcan in the main event of the day was almost tantamount to a death sentence. Vulcan would have him off at the first pila if not before and he would be cut to pieces by the hooves of the other horses – killed or maimed for a certainty.

Ayas wasn't an unduly soft hearted boy. He had ridden in many races and seen so many of his fellows come to grieve, their bodies dragged from the course broken and bloodied. In time he knew his luck too would probably run out. Either that or he would grow too big to ride and then what would happen to him. At the best a life of drudgery about the estate. He couldn't imagine life away from the excitement and drama of the race course and the stables. On the whole he would prefer it if sometime he did take a tumble to meet his end under the flashing hooves of the race horses. If only that end was quick.

Of course he felt fear at the beginning of each race. Any boy who said he didn't was in his opinion a liar. But with that fear came the excitement of the race, a powerful horse under him, the crowd roaring him on and very often when he and Vulcan were teamed together the fierce joy of winning.

So generally he didn't spend much time feeling sorry for any of the other boy riders just as he did not waste any time feeling sorry for himself. That was the way things were and that was that.

But with Perin things were somehow different. The boy was being sent to his death. Ayas could not get out of his mind the thought of the boy crying as he waited for the race to begin. At least when he rode in a race he knew he had a good chance, a very good chance if he was up on Vulcan, of coming through it. He tried to imagine what it was like to be Perin at that moment waiting for the race to begin, the fear and the hopelessness. And then the thing was so cold blooded. Perin was being made to ride simply because he was the youngest and most inexperienced boy in the stables and the least valuable. And then, well, and then… the boy was so pretty. Ayas felt at that moment that he was sure there was not a prettier boy in the world with his lithe young body, dark curly hair, sparkling eyes, soft lips and a smile that lit up his face – and the most enticing little round bottom.

Ayas wondered how the trainer felt doing this. He realised the man had to answer to Xionides for the running of the stables and that the Spartan was the sort of man who demanded results but to deliberately sacrifice a boy and such a pretty one. Ayas could see him now standing well away from Vulcan and Damos and the rest of the stable's horses and boys by the side of the race track. Ayas thought he looked very grim and miserable. He was glad he was a boy jockey and only had to ride horses and didn't have to do things and make decisions like the trainer.

That is, he thought, when he was allowed to ride. That was another thing he didn't like; Perin taking his ride. Vulcan was his horse. He always rode him. The trainer said he couldn't ride him this time because his bottom had been torn by Nixod and had to have time to heal. He thought his bottom was fine. It was hardly hurt at all now. He was sure he could ride if he was allowed and then Perin would be spared. Vulcan would like it too. Vulcan liked to win.

Ayas swung his bare legs in the air and sulked.

An expectant hush fell on the stadium. The big race of the day was about to begin. The race horses led by their grooms were beginning to assemble at the back of the portico. The trainer, morose and grim, stood well away from the bustle, looking as though he was trying to disassociate himself from the whole thing.

Once the boy jockeys mounted up the grooms led the horses out onto the track towards the starting line. They passed close by where Ayas was seated. Some boy jockeys, recognising a fellow raised their hands and grinned as they passed. Most were too nervous and busy trying to control their mounts to notice him.

Ayas lent forward peering into the shadows of the portico searching for Perin and Vulcan. The big black horse was one of the last and it was clear he was in a foul mood. His body glistened with sweat. He kept turning and skittering, rolling his eyes and jerking his head from side to side. Ayas could see his ears were laid right back, his teeth bared and white foam had formed about his muzzle.

Damos red in the face with effort and anger was having a difficult time controlling the animal who pulled at his reigns and showed a marked wish to progress sideways like a crab.

"Vulcan," Ayas said sadly to himself, "how can you be so wicked."

At least Ayas, could see as they drew nearer, Perin was not crying. The child had found some reserves of courage and pride within himself and had fought back the tears. His fingers were entwined in Vulcan's main, his knees clenched tight against the horse's flanks. Blood trickled down his chin. Ayas realised that he had bitten into his lip in his efforts to stop himself crying.

It was this detail that perhaps tipped the scale so far as Ayas was concerned. If the younger boy had been weeping with fear he would probably have felt sorry for him but he would have done nothing more. He had seen many boys, even in the short period he had been riding, weeping with fear. It was the ones that wept more often than not were the first to fall. It was just the way things were in the world in which he lived.

What made Perin different was that though terrified he had struggle to put on a brave face. This, and the fact that he was a remarkably pretty child, touched Ayas.

Cat like he launched himself into the air and landed on his hands and feet a few yards from them.

"Damos," he shouted running forward.

Damos stopped and turned. Reaching Vulcan Ayas grabbed hold of Perin's ankle and jerked' tumbling him in the dust in a jumble of naked limbs. As Vulcan shied and pulled away Ayas vaulted onto his back.

The trainer hearing Ayas's cry also turned and saw what was happening.

"Now behave yourself Vulcan," he commanded and the horse hearing his voice and feeling the familiar weight on his back steadied.

He saw the trainer beginning to run towards them.

"Leave go of the reigns Damos," he shouted, "I've got him now."

He kicked his heels into Vulcan's sides urging the horse forward towards where the other horses milled about waiting for the start. As the black horse came into line the gates flew open and they were off.

The trainer abandoning his attempt to catch Ayas turned and went for Damos. The boy seeing him coming set off at a run and then accepting the inevitable stopped and dropped to his knees. There was no where for him to run to and he knew he would have to face old Horsey's wrath sooner or later. He could only hope that submission would mitigate the severity of his punishment.

The trainer reached the spot where the naked boy knelt. Pulling off his belt he began to flog him.

Ayas bent forward, his bottom up in the air, his head only a few inches above Vulcan's as they, together with a dozen other horses thundered down the straight towards the first pila, was oblivious to everything else except the excitement of the race.

They had been the last into line at the start and began at the back of the field. Vulcan though was running hard and strong, his powerful hind legs driving them forward. By the first turn they were already well up the field. At the pila Vulcan went for the inside bulling his way through the ruck of other horses. Ayas heard screams and saw a couple of boys go down. Vulcan burst clear and there were now only two horses ahead of them.

Ayas tried to take the second horse in the next straight but was balked . They reached the next pila just a quarter of a length behind. Vulcan would not give an inch to the other horse. There was a collision, horse and rider went down and now there was only one horse in front of them and four lengths to go.

"We've got it for sure now Vulcan," Ayas cried exultantly.

He knew that with Vulcan's speed and strength the had the beating of lead horse and so it was with Vulcan coming in a good three lengths ahead.

Damos ran out onto the course to take the reigns. Ayas saw that he had a black eye and a swollen lip. The grin faded from his face. In the excitement of the race he had forgotten that there would come a time of reckoning. Damos's battered face was a stark reminder. The elation of winning drained away to be replaced by a feeling of sick dread.

"Get down here now," the trainer, coming up behind Damos, ordered sharply.

Ayas took one glance at his face, frozen and white with rage, and knew he was in deep trouble.

As soon as his feet touched the ground the trainer forced his head forward so that, almost bent double, his face was pressing into Vulcan's sweating flanks.

"Get your legs apart."

Ayas felt the trainer part the cheeks of his buttocks.

"Well at least you haven't burst the stitches in your bum," he remarked a moment later.

Ayas found himself pulled upright and swung round to face the trainer. His hands were grabbed and pulled together in front of him. Taking a short length of rope the man bound his hands together and dragged him roughly across to where the horse were tethered.

"I don't want you running off or trying any more of your clever tricks young man," he grated. "You can stay here till I can get you home and then I'll deal with you as you deserve."

He tied Ayas to the same rail as the horses and strode off leaving the naked boy standing there.

Chapter 29

Boys were always collecting or bringing horses back to the hitching rail or tending to those standing there. They all steered well clear of Ayas, most of them averting their heads as though trying to pretend he was not there. He did not blame them for this although they were all boys he knew very well from the stables. He assumed that they had been forbidden to speak to him and warned that anyone who did would be whipped. There was no point in risking having your shoulders bloodied by the whip in these circumstances. Even so a few managed a quick lift of the hand or a grin of encouragement.

It was now the hottest part of the day. The races had long since ended. The horses stood quietly waiting for the cool of the evening to be led back to the stables. Boys moved among them grooming and watering them.

Ayas felt very frightened and very lonely. The rope about his wrists chafed his flesh and he was tormented by the clouds of the flies that hung in the hot air and crawled over his naked body.

He looked about hoping to see Perin. He had got himself into this mess trying to help the child and surely he at least would risk speaking to him but he was nowhere to be seen.

Damos he had seen earlier on. He had brought Vulcan to the hitching rail and groomed and watered him there. The boy had risked a quick wave and a grin but nothing more. As he went about his tasks Ayas could see his bottom and shoulders were ribbed with welts from the trainer's belt and Damos had only been accessory to his own offence. If Damos got such a flogging for being a mere helper, what sort of treatment could he expect, Ayas wondered uneasily.

Then Damos appeared at the far end of the line of horses, walking towards him, carrying a bowl of water. He squatted down beside Ayas and held the bowl to his lips.

Ayas gulped the water down gratefully.

"Thanks Damos," he said eventually after he had emptied the bowl. "Thanks but you'd better get away from here. If you're caught with me you'll get another flogging."

"No, it's all right. Horsey sent me," Damos said and then added with a sort of gloomy relish. "He said he didn't want you dying of thirst before he had a chance of skinning your bottom with the cane."

"The cane," Ayas muttered unhappily feeling sick.

He had, as did all the other boys about the stables, a healthy respect for the cane when wielded by the trainer. For the usual day to day juvenile faults the trainer maintained discipline by the liberal use of the boot, the back of his hand or, for the more serious cases, a lick or two with the strap He used the cane, a tapered rod about four foot [1.2 m] long, stiff but with the flexibility to curve round a miscreant's bare rump and bite deep into his flanks, when he wanted to make a special point. In his time at the stables Ayas had seen it used only about four times but these occasions were imprinted on his memory. The trainer wooden faced, stripped to the waist, his brawny arms and muscular torso contrasting with the slight frame of his naked victim; the rich hiss of the descending rod ending in the sharp crack of wood against bare boy's flesh; the agonized howls of the brat as the bloody stripes were laid across his tender rump; the crowd of watching stable boys fear and excitement etched on their faces.

Now it was his turn to suffer this. But then he asked himself, as he fought back tears what did he expect. He had been told he was not to ride Vulcan in the race and he had deliberately disobeyed that order. A boy who defied his master like that could easily get a good deal worse than the cane. The quarries or the cross was the likely destination for a slave who behaved like that. Of course he thought miserably it could still come to that. It was quite possible the caning would be the beginning not the end of his punishment. Tears began to stream down his face.

Damos seeing his friends distress slipped an arm round his bare shoulders and hugged him.

"Where's Perin?" Ayas asked through his tears.

He still harboured hopes that the boy would risk coming to see him. After all he had, by taking his place on Vulcan's back, effectively saved his life. A word of thanks from the boy whom he thought so beautiful would be some consolation for the trouble he had got himself into. He pictured to himself Perin, tears of gratitude glinting in his eyes brokenly thanking him for his help while he bravely assured the pretty little slut that it was nothing, nothing of any importance.

"Horsey beat me first and Perin afterwards and then sent him back to the stables in disgrace," Damos explained.

"You should have heard him howl," he added giggling heartlessly.

"Why was he beaten?" Ayas demanded indignantly.

Damos made no reply. To him it was a pointless question. In his experience slave boys could be expected to be beaten from time to time. Sometimes the reason for the beating was obvious, sometimes it was not. Although it had to be said in old Horsey's case more often than not the reason was pretty clear.

After a time Ayas, realising he was not gong to get a reply to his question, spoke again.

"You'd better go Damos. You've given me the water and if Horsey catches you with me now he'll give you another beating."

Damos did not reply but simply stayed where he was his arm resting across the back of Ayas's shoulders. He could do nothing further to help him but he was not going to leave him to wait alone.

A breeze sprang up and the air cooled as the day slowly drew towards its close. There was a bustle of movement as the stable boys hurried to prepare the race horses for the long walk back to the stables.

The trainer appeared at the far end of the hitching rail and began to walk slowly down the line of tethered horses casting an expert and critical eye over each one in turn. From time to time he would stop and speak to a boy groom.

"I'd better go before he gets to Vulcan," Damos said starting to his feet. Crouched low he darted down the line of horses to where Vulcan stood hoping not to be noticed. Alerted by the sudden movement the trainer turned his head and looked straight at him.

"Now I'm in for it again," Damos thought as busied himself about the horse. But when he reached Vulcan the man only bent to check his fetlocks and then walked on.

When he reached Ayas he untied the cord securing the boy's wrists to the hitching rail. He led Ayas over to where bundles of hay and straw were being loaded onto the stable cart.

"I'll deal with you when I get you back home," he promised Ayas as he tied the rope to the back of the cart.

He strode off leaving Ayas far from reassured by the prospect.

A single oxen drew the cart so the journey back to the stables was a long slow wearisome plod for Ayas. A naked slave boy tied to the back of a cart was not an unusual sight in those days so Ayas attracted little attention beyond a few bawdy comments as he trudged along in the dust. Nevertheless it was not a pleasant experience for him. His wrists were sore from the chafing of the rope and although the cart was slow it was still difficult, with his hands tied in front of him, to match his pace with its. He kept on either going too fast and bumping into the back of the cart or going too slow and getting painful tugs on the cord about his wrists. Then the road was more a rough track than anything else and he was half blinded by the dust in his eyes. He stumbled often, bruising his feet, barking his knees and on each occasion suffering agonies from the cord cutting into his wrists.

He limped wearily into the yard behind the cart. The trainer stood waiting for him the heavy cane ready in his hand. A gaggle of naked stable boys obviously assembled to profit from the spectacle of his coming punishment huddled nervously in the background.

The cart came to a halt a few yards from where the trainer stood. He shrugged off his tunic and walked forwards wearing only his loin cloth hefting the cane experimentally in his hand. Ayas eyed apprehensively the trainers broad shoulders and well muscled arms.

He heard a noise behind him. Glancing round he saw Xionedes with a face like thunder striding towards him. He felt even more terrified.

"I thought I heard the cart come back," the Spartan growled. "Now I'll teach the little turd a lesson."

"Master please…" Ayas whimpered cowering away from the furious man who towered over him.

Xionedes smashed a fist into the side of his head knocking him sideways. Looseing his balance Ayas fell to his knees. He saw Damos start out towards him from the crowd of boys standing behind the trainer. He tried to cry out to him, telling him to stay where he was, not to be a fool, if he interfered he would only get himself into trouble but Xionedes kicked him in the face silencing him before he could utter a word. As his head cleared from the blow he saw the trainer had grabbed Damos and was keeping a firm grip of the back of the desperately wriggling boy's neck.

"You told me," Xionedes snarled at the trainer, "that Vulcan would not win the race. I had a wager on that. You told that he would not finish the race. I had a wager on that. You told me that the brat on his back would not stay there past the first pila. I had a wager on that. You told me the brat would be either maimed or killed and I had a wager on that."

"And what happened?" His voice had risen to a scream and his lips were flecked with froth. "The horse won the race; I lost all my money and this lump of dog's shit," he kicked once again this time in the ribs, "was the cause of all this."

"Lord I am sorry," the trainer said placatingly, "the boy was told he was not to ride. I was just about to thrash him for his disobedience. And if Sir you have finished with him I will do it now."

"A mere caning is not enough for the brute," Xionedes raged. "I'll smash his knee caps and elbows and he can lie in the yard here and starve, a warning to all the other brats of what will happen to them if they dare to cross me. Get me a hammer."

"Yes Lord, immediately Lord," the trainer said quickly.

"You boy," he continued releasing his hold of Damos and giving him a shove, "run and go and fetch a hammer for the master."

Lying on the ground dazed from the blows and kicks that had been rained on him Ayas was vaguely puzzled by the way the trainer seemed to be urging Damos towards the yard gate away from the black smith's shop where there would be any number of hammers. He considered calling out, telling him he was going the wrong way but he was so weak and confused and anyway his mouth was full of blood… Damos too seemed to be confused by the trainers orders. He hesitated and was beginning to turn when the trainer landed a well aimed kick up his bottom that drove him even further away from the blacksmith's shop.

"Do as you are told you stupid boy," he shouted. "Go and don't come back until you've found a hammer for the master."

"Lord," the trainer said ingratiatingly as Damos scuttled out of the yard, "the boy certainly deserves to have his limbs smashed and seeing him starve to death would be a warning to the other brats not to disobey their betters but he is the only boy we have who can manage Vulcan and Vulcan is the fastest and strongest horse in your stables and in my opinion in Lacedaemia. Vulcan with the brat on his back will in a short time win more money for you than you lost today."

"Why, you stupid oaf, if the boy is so good did you not put him up on the horses back today? If you'd done that none of the is would have happened and I would not have lost my money," Xionedes grumbled.

"Lord he would have ridden Vulcan today but unfortunately he had been raped a few days ago and badly torn. He had been stitched up by Phaedra but I feared if he rode he would split himself and never be able to ride again. I thought it well Lord to loose one race today so that we can win many races in the future."

"Who raped the boy? Do you know? The brat is my property and if he is damaged I am entitled to compensation. Maybe I could even persuade the courts to make whoever did it cover some of my losses today."

"I am afraid Lord you will get nothing in damages for the man has nothing to give you. It was your slave Nixod who raped him." The trainers voice was quiet and totally expressionless as he named the man.

"Nixod," Xionedes said, his disappointment and disgust apparent in the tone of his voice, slamming his boot once again into Ayas's ribs, "There are surely enough brats about the kitchens without him having to go raping my stable boys. I'll fix him so he won't be able to fuck anything in future."

Xionedes stood for a moment deep in thought, moodily spurning Ayas's naked body with his foot.

"How long before this filth will be able to ride?" he asked giving the boy a further heavy kick in the face.

"About seven days Lord," the trainer replied, "he's a healthy young brute and young flesh heels fast."

"All right," Xionedes said, "I won't maim him this time but after the seven days is up work him hard. I want my money back. I don't care if the slut is killed in the process. And meanwhile flay him with that cane of yours. I want to hear his screams in the house. Now get on with it."

Xionedes took a final kick at Ayas and strode off.

The trainer hauled Ayas roughly to his feet. He quickly checked the boy over as Ayas stood unsteadily, blood streaming from his nose and cut lips.

"Well," he said as he ran his hands over his rib cage, "He doesn't seem to have broken anything. Your badly bruised and will be very sore for a few days but that's no more than you deserve and you know it don't you boy?"

"Yes Sir," Ayas muttered through swollen and cut lips and he did know it. He had been deliberately disobedient. A slave boy did what he was told and if he didn't he was whipped. Of course he was going to be punished.

"One of you boys go and find Damos and bring him back here." the trainer ordered as he trainer fumbled with the knot securing the rope around Ayas' wrists. "He'll be skulking about somewhere close. He won't have gone far."

Perin shot out of the crowd of boys and ran off in the direction taken by Damos.

Undoing the rope the trainer led the boy across to the mounting block standing just outside the main door of the stables. Ayas went quietly. There was no point in struggling and anyway he accepted the essential justice of what was going to be done to him.

The mounting block, a substantial stone structure stood slightly higher than Ayas's waist. He had seen other boys suffer on the block and he knew what was required of him. Placing his two hands flat on its top he heaved himself so that he was lying bent over it, his feet hanging clear of the ground.

The trainer slipped his hand between the boy's legs and pushed upwards, lifting him further up the block. Ayas lay, the stone cold against his chest, his bare bottom raised ready for the cane, feeling exposed and utterly helpless.

"Damos," the trainer said from behind him, "you're back, good. Get the other side of the block and get hold of him. By the hands not the wrists boy, his wrists have been cut by the cord. And keep hold of him. If you let him go it'll be you on the block having your back side striped by the cane."

Ayas lifted his head and forced a weak smile as he reached out to Damos. The other boy took a firm grip of his hands. He could hear the trainer moving behind him, no doubt getting himself in position to begin his work. He tensed himself as he felt the touch of the cane as it was laid gently across the curve of his rump as the trainer checked, like the good craftsman he was, that he had got distance and swing right. The cane was withdrawn. Now the thrashing was about to begin. Ayas lay there knowing that at any moment he would hear the hiss of the descending rod that would end in an explosion of pain that would convulse his whole body as the cane cut down across his tender flesh.

The trainer paused, towering over the fragile form of the naked boy, the cane raised ready to strike, deliberately letting the fear and tension rise. The seconds dragged slowly by each. To Ayas each seemed an hour long. Loosing the battle against his tears he began to whimper quietly. Still the trainer delayed. The crowd of stable boys, usually as active and as noisy as a flock of starlings, stood statue still in frozen immobility. Apart from the sobbing of the terrified boy there was total silence. Amber fluid seeped from under Ayas's naked body and dribbled steaming down the sides of the stone mounting block. Ayas had lost control of his bladder and had peed himself.

Then at last the trainer struck, bringing the rod whistling down with all his considerable strength and plenty of follow through across Ayas's upraised rump. The boy jerked convulsively as the cane bit into his tender flesh and etched a livid welt across the smooth tightly drawn skin of his rump. The crack of wood against bare flesh was followed by a moment of complete silence as pain emptied Ayas's lungs of air. Then Ayas screamed shrilly.

The trainer set to work methodically flogging Ayas as the naked boy writhed and screamed under the rod. Again and again the man brought the cane slashing down, laying a series of parallel vermilion stripes across the smooth curve of his bottom. This done he deliberately aimed four cuts one after the other into the crease at the base of the boy's bum, where the pain would be greatest and linger longest, splitting the skin and cutting deep into the boy's flesh. Then shifting his position slightly he laid a series of cross stripes over the existing welts until Ayas's bottom was reduced to a lump of bloody raw meat.

At last the trainer paused, out of breath and panting, and bent down to examine his handiwork.

"All right," he said apparently satisfied, "that'll do. Let go of his hands Damos."

Grabbing Ayas by the arm he pulled him from the block. Partly supported by the man's grip of his arm Ayas stood unsteadily facing the block.

"Now you boys come up here one by one and have a good look at what you can expect if you are disobedient and then go and get on with your work."

Silently the crowd of naked boy's filed past while Ayas stood sobbing loudly, blood flowing down the back of his legs from his lacerated bottom, held fast by the trainer. Pale faced and subdued most of them sported considerable erections, evidence that fear was not the only emotion generated by the spectacle of Ayas's savage flogging.

After the last boy had shuffled past the trainer half led, half carried Ayas across to a low doorway set in the wall of the stables. Pushing it open he dragged the boy into a small cell like room its only light a small window set high up in the outer wall. He eased the boy face down onto a single piece of sacking on the otherwise bare floor.

"I'll be back to look at that bottom of yours later," the trainer said and turned on his heels.

Ayas heard the door close behind him and the sound of a bolt being shot home and he was alone in his pain and misery. He lay face down on the sacking. Slowly his sobs abated in volume and frequency. He couldn't sleep, the pain was too intense for that, but he lapsed into a state of semi-consciousness. How long he lay there with his bottom burning fiercely he had no idea. It could not have been all that long because when the trainer returned it was still light.

The man was carrying a bowl of steaming liquid that smelt slightly astringent. Placing it on the floor he knelt beside the sacking on which Ayas lay.

Dipping a cloth in the bowl he began to gently swab at Ayas's bruised and bloodied bottom. The boy cried out and as the warm liquid stung the open welts left by the cane. Pinning Ayas to the floor with his left hand pressed into the small of his back the trainer and continued bathing his cuts.

"Lie still now," he said, "its got to be done to make sure you heal cleanly."

The job done the trainer hunkered back on his heels beside the naked boy lying face down on the sacking his body racked with sobs.. He placed a hand on one of Ayas's heaving shoulders.

"I had to do it you know," he said almost apologetically, "I couldn't allow you to get away with disobeying a direct order."

"I know Sir," Ayas sobbed weakly. "I won't ever do it again Sir."

"Well, well," the man said gruffly, "that's the end of it. There's no more to be said about that. But I like my boys to know where they are with me. If a boy is disobedient he can expect a beating. If a boy rides a winner for me he knows he will get double rations as a reward."

You were disobedient Ayas so you were beaten. You won the race so you get double rations."

"Thank you Sir but I couldn't eat it. Share it between Damos and Muss Sir both of them are always hungry."

"It wasn't them who won the race."

"Now where is the boy. I sent him across to the kitchen to get the bowl filled before I even came in here. He can't ride a horse and he doesn't seem to be able to run a simple errand either."

"Boy, boy," the trainer shouted, "where are you. Get a move on and get in here you useless little tyke."

Ayas, as were all the boys in the stables, was expert in judging the trainers moods. He could tell now that for all his shouting and bluster he was not really angry. But there was something odd in his voice, certainly not anger, that made Ayas raise his head from the floor and turn to look towards the door of the cell.

It opened and Perin appeared carrying a gently steaming bowl, his gaze modestly fixed on the floor, his little boy's cock most immodestly stiff and erect, it's pink helmet bobbing in the air a couple of inches below his belly button.

"Here you are at last boy," the trainer said getting to his feet. "Well I've got work to do. You'll have to stay the night in here."

He walked out of the cell slamming the door behind him. Ayas heard the bolts shoot home.

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