Title: A Heaven in Hell's Despair
Author: MJ Lee
E-Mail: mj.lee@chello.se
Archiving: GoingGreek yes, everybody else ask first, please.
Pairing: Q/0
Fandom: TPM
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Series/Sequel: Sequel to 'Pilgrim Soul'
Feedback: Please?
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned something besides debts <g>
Notes: I have a lot of people to thank for ever finishing this story.

First and foremost there is Raven who has my deep and eternal gratitude for
her patient listening while I moaned and whined on IRC, and for great story
suggestions not to mention removing all those pesky misplaced commas <g>.

Warm thanks and some good Irish whisky to Fi for making sure I'm
historically accurate and for a great discussion on ancient Celtic customs -
including superstitions as regard the colour of horses - and the correct
geographical setting and names of Roman settlements and cities.

Hugs and thanks to Res and Eiluned for swift and invaluable betaing!

This is for everyone who wrote and said a) they liked 'Pilgrim Soul' and b)
would there be a sequel. Here it is, and err, I'm afraid that this is not
the end...

Warnings: Can be found after spoiler space.
Summary: Quintus Gaius has to deal with the consequences of his impulsive
gesture and Benion learns of the joys and the perils of his new life.

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Warning: Underage!Obi Non-graphic depiction of rape, sorry but this was not
exactly a gentle time and consent wasn't defined the way we do it today.

        Love seeketh not itself to please
        Nor itself hath any care,
        But for another gives its ease,
        And builds a Heaven in Hell's Despair

                        William Blake

Tribune Xanatos was sitting in his tent writing his monthly letter home. Dipping his pen in the bottle of ink, he wrote in the elegant hand his Greek tutor had beat into him years past.

Tall and athletic with clean, aristocratic features, his paleness accentuated by piercing blue eyes and hair the colour of a raven's wing, Xanatos looked exactly what he was; a Roman noble and officer. His own innate abilities and the backing of his father's political power and money meant that the young Roman had risen fast. At the age of twenty-five, he was a Military Tribune, and an officer serving under the command of the legendary General Quintus Gaius.

He came from a family as rich and powerful, if not quite as old and noble, as General Gaius. As the only son of Senator Cresotius, Xanatos could have had a life of silken luxury and wealth. Yet, since the day he had picked up his first toy wooden sword, all he had ever wanted was to be a soldier.

Since he was old enough to hear the tales, he had wanted above everything else to serve with General Gaius.

For the past two years, his life's ambition had become reality as Xanatos served his commander faithfully, guarded his back, been taught military tactics and how to handle the men under his command. He had listened and learned and followed and, in all that time, his admiration for the man had only grown.

Unnoticed, the pen stopped moving as pale blue eyes grew distant and pensive. General Quintus Gaius. Commander. Friend. Beloved.

Once or twice, Xanatos had tried to determine when exactly the hero-worship of a young, callow officer had metamorphosed into passion and the devotion of a soldier serving a great general had become the love of a man for his lover. He had never discovered the answer, and in truth it did not matter. It was enough to know that he did love Quintus Gaius with all his heart and soul.

Yet, it was a passion that was as hopeless as it was insane because Quintus Gaius would never become involved with any man serving with him. His iron control precluded him even thinking of another officer in that manner.

Lounging comfortably on the terrace outside a villa belonging to one of Xanatos' many relatives during their first leave together, Xanatos had listened in silence as Quintus had told him, "It is the first rule of any wise commander. Never become involved with an officer under your command."

"But why not, General?" He had tried to keep his tone level and his voice free of the frustration clawing inside him.

Quintus had poured some more wine. "Because, Xan," and Gods how he loved to hear the affectionate nickname on Quintus Gaius' lips, "becoming lovers inevitably clouds sound military judgment. Besides, whether it's true or not all the other officers will believe you are favouring your lover. And," Quintus Gaius had smiled a little crookedly, "how can you ever be sure the man in your bed is there because he so desires or because he thinks to gain something from you?"

Across the sun-drenched terrace two pair of blue eyes had met in perfect understanding. "I learned very young, Xan, that most people will use you if you give them a chance."

Popping a dark purple grape into his mouth and enjoying the cool sweetness, Xanatos had asked, "Is that why you go to whores rather than take a lover?" It had been the one thing that made his silent craving bearable, that Quintus Gaius took only the most casual of lovers and otherwise used whores to ease the need of his body.

Quintus had nodded. "I find it more honest to pay for my pleasure." He had added cynically, "At least with a whore you know what the price will be beforehand."

Accepting the price of serving with Quintus, Xanatos carefully leashed his unruly heart, determined to be content with what he had; the friendship and trust of his adored General.

It was a decision that proved harder to keep at some times than others. Dark brows drew together in an unconscious frown as the unwelcome memory of their last leave abruptly intruded.

They had been reclining on a low-slung mattress piled with feathered pillows and silk bed-covers, at the most expensive brothel in Lutetia. Xanatos, already very drunk, had heard a low moan and looked up blearily to see the General, leonine head flung back, spine arched as his long, lean, tanned body tensed in a curve. The play of flickering light had cast dancing shadows of light and dark across powerful muscles. One whore had worked his cock and the other had kissed him, her fingers playing with his nipples.

Watching the tableu, unbearably aroused and yet filled with rage, Xanatos had been forced to restrain a sudden burst of jealousy and anger. He had wanted to storm across the room and tear the soft, pampered hands from Quintus' broad chest. *He* had wanted to the one rubbing against the strong body, sucking on the powerful cock. Yet he had done nothing, knowing that to give in to his desire would lead only to madness and banishment.

So, instead, he had grabbed the young whore beside him and taken the boy brutally, unheeding of the soft moans of pain muffled in the bed as Xanatos closed his eyes and pretended that the body beneath him belonged to his commander.

At least, once they were back in the field, he had his General back. It was the comfort he drew around himself. Here, Quintus Gaius was his in a way that none of the whores or lovers he used could ever share.

"Tribune!" a voice outside the tent called, "The General is approaching."

Xanatos immediately rose. Picking up his cloak he strode from the tent with an eagerness he didn't even try to hide conceal.

The powerful stallion clattered into camp and was pulled to a neat halt just before the young Tribune. Smiling broadly, Xanatos laid a hand on the sweaty black neck. "Welcome back, General."

Quintus smiled back and Xanatos' heart leaped inside. "I see you have taken good care of the men while I've been gone, Tribune."

"I try," Xanatos countered, warmth spreading from the pit of his stomach at the sight of Quintus' smile. "I -- " he froze in shock as Quintus reached behind him and helped a slender boy of about fifteen or sixteen slide to the ground.

The boy was dressed in nothing but a brief tunic, long legs showing below. As he stood barefoot beside the horse, the young stranger gazed around him in wide-eyed wonder with big blue-green eyes. When he turned to look up at the General, the sunlight caught at his hair reflecting off thick, shiny gold and copper strands.

Quintus smiled down at the boy, an unfamiliar tenderness softening the usually austere curve of his mouth. "Xanatos, this is Benion. I, ah, bought him this morning."

The boy's face shifted to look at the Tribune. Sea-coloured eyes studied him carefully, gravely, before the boy bowed low, "Master." His head bent as befitted a proper slave, revealing a slender white neck.

Xanatos found himself staring in complete shock at the exquisite face and graceful, slender body. There was only one reason why the General would bring a boy like this to the camp.

Quintus dismounted and placed a large hand on a slim shoulder and Xanatos watched in sick disbelief as the boy, Benion, nestled into the touch, smiling up at the General, his sober little face lighting up. Again Quintus smiled, and Xanatos had never seen the hooded blue eyes so unguarded and gentle before.

"Come, Xan, I am eager to hear what has happened while I've been away," Quintus said as he started walking towards his tent, his new slave a pace behind and to the left.

In control of himself again, Xanatos allowed no sign of the agitation he felt to show on his face. As he walked away the Tribune could hear the first mutters begin behind his back. No doubt it would soon be all over camp that the General had returned with a bed-slave.

In the cool shade of his tent, Quintus unhooked his cloak and threw it on the bed. "Come here, Benion," he instructed when he noticed that the boy had halted uncertainly, just inside the entrance. Immediately crossing the tent and kneeling before the General, Benion remained unmoving until Quintus motioned for him to rise.

"I want you to go to the commissary," he reached out and snagged a small round bronze disc, "give them this and they'll give you everything you need." He thought for a moment, "get a few changes of clothing." He measured the slender body with his eyes, "I doubt they'll have something to fit you, but they can always cut it down to size. I'll send someone to buy you some more clothes in the nearest town tomorrow." He smiled, tugging lightly on the slim braid. "Then go have something to eat and a bath. Ask for Centurion Panacius, he will explain everything you need to know."

"Yes, Master," Benion said obediently. There was fear in the expressive eyes before he lowered them to the ground, as a proper slave should do.

Catching the fear, Quintus placed a finger beneath his chin, tilting it, thumb caressing the small indentation. "What is it, young one?" he asked softly.

Benion took a deep breath. "Master, I," he hesitated briefly and then whispered, "may I say that I am for your use only?"

Quintus frowned and then his face cleared. "No one would ever dare ask." Calmly, he added, "I promise that you will be perfectly safe. I do not share." He looked past the boy towards Xanatos who had entered quietly and so missed Benion's soundless sigh of relief. "Ah, there you are Xan. I was wondering where you'd gone. Come tell me if the Germanic barbarians have kept to their side of the border." He rose, motioning for the Tribune to come inside as Benion silently bowed and left.

Going over to the table and pouring himself some wine, Quintus turned around to find Xanatos still standing stiffly by the entrance of the tent. The General raised an eyebrow as he drank down some of his wine and said reflectively, "Once, when I was a child, my parents brought me to visit a great-uncle. In his terrarium was a mosaic of Juno watching Jupiter and Danae, you could have been the model."

Xanatos did not share in the wry humour. "General, may I speak frankly?"

Quintus said cordially, "Please. You know I value your opinions, Tribune."

The younger man said stiffly, "Why have you brought that slave here?"

Quintus reached up and untied his hair, shaking it out. "Why do you think?" The glimmer of amusement made it clear he was teasing the young Tribune.

Xanatos said nothing and finally Quintus Gaius sighed. "Quite honestly, Xan, I bought him on a whim. I found him at an inn on my way back from Condatum last night." He shrugged, not certain how to put into words the protective impulse that had caused him to buy a slave he didn't want or need. "His owner had him whoring for the inn's guests."

Xanatos' confusion showed. "Yes, and?"

"I bought him for the night and discovered he was wasted on all those commoners. Besides -- " he broke off suddenly.

Xanatos finally sat down, leaning his elbows against the table, reaching for the wine. "Besides what?"

Quintus grinned. "I felt sorry for him," he admitted a little wryly.

Pale blue eyes widened in sudden understanding as Xanatos muttered something that sounded perilously close to 'another pathetic stray.' The Tribune only stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he recalled the abandoned wolf pup -- that had bitten everyone except Quintus Gaius -- the savage hawk, and not to forget the one-eyed donkey. While Quintus Gaius was perfectly capable of ordering the destruction of an entire city, he had a curious soft spot that expressed itself in strange ways.

Yet, even as Xanatos reassured himself that this was just another of the General's 'projects,' he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the little slave than met the eye.

Quintus shook out the long tangled strands of his unfashionable hair, combing them with his fingers before re-tying the thong. As always the familiar motion clenched the muscles of Xanatos' gut. "Guilty." Midnight blue eyes were distant, as he added softly, "I just knew that I couldn't leave him there."

He did not put into words the impact the boy's quiet courage had had on him. The pride and dignity the young Celt had somehow managed to retain even as a common whore.

Xanatos bit his lip. "It's your decision, General."

"So it is. Now, tell me, what has happened while I was gone. Did you have any problems with raids?"

"No, there was a minor raid two nights ago on one of the border posts, but we suspect it was just some young warriors seeking to steal horses. Nobody was killed although one of the men had his arm broken. That is all."

The two bent over the reports and maps, working in smooth concert, the subject of the little slave, if not forgotten, then temporarily abandoned.

When Quintus Gaius first had taken over command of his army he had decided that in order to protect a very long border he would need to ensure that his main force reached the trouble spots along it swiftly. His solution had been to set up a base camp with his main force a few miles inside the actually border. That had elminated one possible danger; running lines through unsecured territory. He had also built a string of smaller outposts guarding the immediate border. The outposts were sturdily enough built that they could withstand a siege and each outpost was supplied with several relays of the fastest horses money could by. The outposts were manned in rotation, no soldier spending more than a month or so of guard duty to keep everyone sharp and on their toes. Each outpost was within a week's ride or less of the main camp.

The first sight and sound of the large bustling army camp as Benion reluctantly left the peace and quiet of his new master's tent overwhelmed the young Celt. His dazed eyes saw what looked like thousands of soldiers all busy cleaning their weapons, drilling, mending equipment, or simply relaxing and his ears were assaulted by the constant loud noise of a large army at rest.

Each tent of the camp was laid out in neat symmetrical rows with each tent the prescribed distance from the one in front, beside and behind. Wondering how to find Centurion Panacius, Benion looked around him in mingled fear and astonishment.

Only yesterday he'd been serving the customers at Talius' inn, like he had done every day for the past two years. He had gone about his duties helping David, the stable slave, to take care of the horses and hoped that none of the travelers wanted a whore.

Tentatively sneaking glances at the soldiers he passed he wondered which of them was Centurion Panacius. Benion suddenly realized that everywhere men were turning and staring after him. He felt horribly conspicuous, as if thousands of eyes were watching him, assessing him. Despite his master's careless words, he expected to feel a large hand on his shoulder or around his arm at any time. The thought made him tremble, before he remembered his new master's words that he would be safe.

General Quintus Gaius.

Unconciously Benion relaxed a little at the thought of the tall, dusty, Roman soldier who had ridden into the yard only yesterday and, although the Celt had not known it at the time, would irrevocably change his life with a single careless command.

He had been the first man to show a young confused slave in a drowsy, warm, sunlit room what passion truly meant, the first man who had not just taken, but had given as well. The first man Benion had ever met who had regarded him as more than just a body, a hole to be used and then forgotten.

When the General had told him to mount he had been filled with wonder and glorious hope. But the long ride had given him time to think, and Benion was suddenly terribly uncertain of what his role was here. Bad as life as a whore at a inn was, it was still to be preferred to life as an army-whore, he was pretty sure. Or perhaps, the General meant him to be reserved for the officers only? That was probably the best he could expect.

Nothing in Benion's life so far had prepared him for General Quintus Gaius. And while he wished desperately to believe in his new master, experience had taught him to always look for an ulterior motive.

Aquamarine eyes shaded into shimmering green as Benion thought pensively that at least he would have a few nights before his new owner wearied of him. That he would tire, the boy knew was inevitable, but at least he would have a short time to experience the wonder of desire. In any case, if there was one thing he had learned during his years as a slave, it was the uselessness of thinking of the future since there was nothing he could do in any case. Live in the here and now. That was the first lesson you learned when you were nothing more than property, worth less than a good milch cow.

Benion was feeling more than a little confused and battered by the happenings of the day as he was finally forced to bow before one of the soldiers. He chose one with a relatively kind face, and approached him tentatively, bowing and said nervously, "Excuse me, master, I am looking for Centurion Panacius?"

The soldier stared at him, and Benion almost cringed wondering if he'd said something wrong. Unconsciously his body tensed in anticipation od the slap he was sure to receive. But the man just said, "You'll find him over there, under the tree. He's the man mending the harness." Then he was gone.

Benion stared after his back, confused and more than a little wary at such an easy answer. Then he saw the man the soldier had been pointing at and immediately hurried over.

He knelt respectfully, "Excuse me, Master? Are you Centurion Panacius? I am the slave of General Quintus Gaius." Softly, he repeated what the General had said about clothing.

The grizzled man, his skin burned dark by a sun far stronger than the one above them, scrutinized him for a moment putting down the worn leather strap he was splicing. He looked to be in his late forties, early fifties, stocky body well muscled and maintained, his age showing more in the lines carved in his face and the grey streaks in his hair.

"Greetings, lad." Panacius rose slowly, stretching and loosening his joints while studying Benion with dark assessing eyes. "So, you're the boy who's caused all the uproar," he said as he started towards a large tent set up on the outskirts of the camp.

"I do not understand?" Benion said hesitantly falling properly into step a little behind him.

Panacius chuckled, giving the boy a quick amused look. "Lad, you could have fair seen the eyes pop out when they watched you ride into camp with the General. Ha!" and then he muttered to himself, "that'll put some noses out of joint, see if it doesn't."

The tent they entered was large and airy with a low well-polished bench running the length and behind it the entire wall was taken up with neatly stacked shelves crammed with tunics, belts, sandals, boots and other supplies. Three or four soldiers were working behind the bench, sharing jokes with the soldiers waiting for replacements or swearing over the torn clothing presented to them.

However, as soon as Panacius folded back the flap and stepped inside, followed by Benion, a silence gradually spread across the formerly so noisy gathering. Forging his way through the men, Panacius seemed completely unaware of the attention. Benion however hunched his shoulders, dearly wishing that the ground would open and swallow him up.

The scene reminded the boy too closely of the last time he'd been sold at the slave market, as the press of tightly packed bodies and the unabashed staring made him tremble.

For a moment Benion wished himself back at the inn. At least there he knew what to expect and there was always a snatched moment or two when he could sneak off to sit by the river, alone with his thoughts.

Not that he'd had any choice in this change. He had been bought and sold and like a good slave he better learn how to adjust and adapt. He only wished he knew what his new owner required of him.

Panacius finally reaching the counter and called out, "Ho! Jarcius!"

A big, grinning man came up to them. "Panacius you old rouge! What can I do for you?" He spoke with an odd, broad lilt.

Panacius pointed at Benion, "Not me, but this boy. He needs clothing."

Jarcius looked the boy up and down and then sniffed reflectively. "Huh, don't think we have anything that small, but let me check." He disappeared and returned five minutes later. "Come in the back," he ordered, "and let's see if they can be altered."

Although Benion obediently followed Panacius again as they went into a smaller room behind the main area, hearing the talk well up behind them, he couldn't repress a shiver of fear.

Because Talius' inn was a good day's ride from the main camp, Benion's only previous experience of Roman soldiers were the men who visited the inn while on leave. Those men were drunk, loud, and very often brutal as they used him, hungry for a body after weeks in the field. He stared warily at the dark man and his friend even as he obeyed the command to get up on the box in the middle of the room and hold his hands out.

Standing docilely while the big man, Jarcius, measured and muttered and told him to take off and put on clothing, Benion sank back into the numb, unhesitating obedience of a slave.

However, the large hands that turned him this way and that, and ran up his legs and down his torso were completely impersonal. Slowly he began to relax a little.

"Well, I guess they'll fit," Jarcius finally said. "The best would be to buy him clothing in town." He gave Benion another look. "This is rough soldier's fabric and it'll scratch that fine skin of his raw. Don't think the General will be much pleased." Benion flushed at the matter-of-fact comment.

Panacius scratched his head, "I guess, but do your best, Jarcius, he has nothing but what he's standing in."

Another nod, another sniff and then Jarcius said, "Come back in an hour and I'll have something for him."

Standing up, Panacius said, "Well, you must be hungry by now. Come on, let's get you fed. A growing boy like you needs his food."

To his embarrassment, Benion could feel his stomach loudly concur, his stomach muscles contracting painfully at the thought of food. He had had nothing to eat since last night's dinner. His duties at the inn had precluded him from eating before the customers, and then Quintus Gaius had swept him away before he'd had time for even a crust of bread.

Once they were outside again, Benion couldn't suppress a slight sigh of relief. His cheerfulness grew as they went to another tent where Panacius gathered up food and then led the way outside to a shaded spot close to the horse-lines, gesturing for his young companion to sit down.

Obediently folding his legs, Benion sank down on the ground and reached for the food. It was rough soldier's fare, dark bread, apples, sharp cheese and a smoked leg of lamb, but it tasted like ambrosia as the boy wolfed it down hungrily.

Once he'd finished eating, his full stomach gave him the courage to smile at Panacius. "Thank you, sir," he said politely. "My master said that you would inform me of my duties."

Panacius eyebrow went up, "He did, did he?" For some reason, the thought made him chuckle. "Ah well, I don't think you'll need much instructing in bed duties."

Benion flushed, his eyes dropping, the food suddenly laying like a led weight in his stomach. "No, sir," he said quietly.

Seeing the blush, Panacius said roughly, "Forgive me, lad, it's not my place to comment, and the General would have my head if he knew what I'd said. Besides," he gave the boy a searching look, "there must be more to you than meets the eye, pretty as you are, or he'd never have brought you here."

Benion looked up, "This is the first time he's brought a whore to the camp?"

Panacius sliced off a sliver of cheese, eating it off his knife's edge. "Aye, usually he just summons one of the camp followers if he wants a body in his bed. Not that it happens often mind you. The General lives like a vestal virgin mostly while he's commanding his army. Although," he chuckled, "he more than makes up for it between times. Quintus Gaius is a wild one when he's on leave. I could tell you stories -- " He broke off, seeing the wide-eyed interest, -- "but I won't." He washed down the cheese with some rough, red solder's wine, which Benion had politely declined, preferring water. "As for your other duties, keep his tent clean and his clothing in order. You won't have to wash it yourself, we've got slaves for that. Do you know anything about weapons?"

Benion shook his head. "No, sir."

"Well, better learn and quickly. I'll show you how to polish his armour and keep it supple; it needs plenty of grease or it'll harden and crack."

Benion nodded seriously, obviously considering Panacius' advice. "Will you teach me how to care properly for his weapons and other things?" he asked.

"Good lad!" Panacius gave him an approving look, pleased that the boy didn't seem to be like most pleasure slaves who would never soil their soft pampered fingers with such hard labour. "You've got your head screwed on right, so you have." He added with a grin, "you won't be young and pretty for eternity, it's good to learn a few other skills as well."

Benion gave him a very strange look, but all he said was, "Thank you." And then he hesitated for a long time before saying very shyly, "Centurion, sir, could you teach me how to use a sword?"

Panacius' eyebrows arched. "You want to learn to fight, boy? Why?"

Benion's smile was very dry as he pulled his knees up to his chest, leaning his elbows against them. "As you said, I will not be young and pretty forever, and knowing how to use a sword is always useful." For some reason, although he was sure the boy meant what he said, Panacius was equally sure it was not the entire truth.

The old soldier considered him in silence for a long while. "We'll see, lad," was all he said in the end. "You must ask the General for permission before I can teach you anything. But if Quintus Gaius agrees," he shrugged, "then I'll do it and gladly."

There ws a sudden blinding smile and suddenly the seasoned Roman soldier began to see why his General had brought this one back with him. Yes, definitely not just a pretty face, he thought. This one had something else.

"Come on," he said a little gruffly, "let's see if Jarcius has finished his stitching yet."

Although Benion obediently got to his feet, the smile left his face and a small strain tensed his shoulders.

Panacius frowned. "What's the matter, boy?"

Benion looked as if he wasn't going to answer at first, but then he muttered something that sounded like, "Don't like soldiers much."

A hearty chuckle was the answer, "Then you better learn how to, and quick enough. General Quintus is a soldier born and bred. You'll spend much of your life in army camps." Suddenly spying the hint of fear, the young'un couldn't quite hide, he sobered. "Why don't you like soldiers, lad?"

Still with his head bent, Benion mumbled, "Big. Won't wait. Don't care if they hurt, and they never listen when you say no."

Once he grasped the cause of Benion's fear, Panacius shook his head. He reached out and ruffled the thick red-gold hair. "Lad, you're safer here than at your mother's breast. Not one of the men would ever dare so much as look at the General's property."

"Really?" That caught the boy's interest.

Panacius nodded, "Really." He added with a clumsy kindness, "he ain't bought you for whoring out if that's what you think, not that anyone'd ever ask. The fact is," he suddenly grinned, "he don't have any slaves, personal ones I mean, when he's in the field."

Blue-green eyes widened even more. This was obviously not something the young Celt had even considered. He had assumed he would be available to other men whenever Quintus Gaius did not want him in his own bed. On the other hand, could he really trust what Panacius said? Looking at the dark, honest face, he almost dared to believe. Then the impact of Panacius' words hit him. "No slaves?"

"None while in the field. The General comes from a rich and powerful family and at home he owns thousands of slaves. Here, he prefers one of the men do servant duties."

"And they don't mind?" Benion asked, incredulous. In his experience, Roman soldiers didn't like being told to do anything. He couldn't imagine one of them humbly serving Quintus Gaius.

Panacius chuckled again, easily following the lad's thoughts. "Why should they? It's a great honour serving the General."

"Master!" Benion rushed into the tent, a smile on his thin face. "I did not mean to be late, but it took a long time to have the clothes altered," he apologised breathlessly.

Quintus Gaius turned around, "Ah, there you are," he said calmly, not letting the rush of pleasure he felt at seeing his new slave show. To his rueful amusement he had actually found himself missing the boy once Benion was gone. He inspected the slender body critically, "Adequate, I suppose," he finally murmured, "but I'll get you some other clothes soon."

Benion bit his lip hesitating and then said quickly, "Master, if it pleases you, I would prefer to wear this," he gestured at the simple brown tunic and pants. "I... it will feel better."

Quintus raised an eyebrow very surprised. "I had thought to get you something in linen or silk."

A shadow of sudden distaste flew across the sensitive face, "Please, Master, this will be more than fine."

Quintus Gaius laughed, motioning for Benion to come closer. No, definitely not your average whore. He shouldn't have been surprised, having realised yesterday that fucking held no allure for the little Celt.

"At least you won't be expensive." He nuzzled the slender white neck, enjoying the yield of the lithe body, as Benion came not dutifully, but eagerly into his arms. "Ah well, perhaps it will be for the best. I admit it will make you melt in better."

Benion smiled brilliantly, tilting his head. "Centurion Panacius also told me everything I should know to serve you," he said shyly. "I will try my best to satisfy."

Ever since Panacius had told him he was to regard himself as the General's personal slave, Benion had been torn between disbelief and hope. He had known of course that there were personal slaves -- he had even met a few of them at the inn when they traveled with their masters, and their descriptions of their lives had always seemed just a little unreal.

For a moment the boy wondered if he dared ask his new master.

Quintus Gaius almost smiled at the earnest tone, "I am sure you will, young one." Taking the red-gold head between his hands and tilting the face up, two large thumbs stroked lazily along the curve of vulnerable lips. "You already please me, Benion," Quintus said huskily.

Sea-green eyes widened in helpless arousal as Benion swayed closer. "Master?" he whispered.

Nothing had ever sounded so erotic to Quintus as that soft, lilting voice.

"Yes, oh yes," he murmured suddenly very hungry as he bent his head and kissed the soft lips that opened so eagerly beneath his. He could feel slim arms around his neck, an eager body pressing against him, rubbing and arching like a small cat, and he swallowed Benion's moans into his mouth, the shudders traveling from the small slender body into the larger one caressing it.

Then, with a deep sigh, Quintus Gaius pulled away. "I wish we had time," he said, watching in amusement as his little Celt couldn't prevent a soft gasp, eyes bright with lingering arousal. He couldn't resist a final kiss, a final stroke across soft hot skin just to see the instinctive sensuality that flowed like honey through the taut body. Although Quintus had never had a virgin fetish, having always preferred experience over innocence, he couldn't deny that there was something special about the boy. The Roman was amazed at his own excitement over teaching his young one about passion. He was looking forward to seeing the fear and dutiful submission replaced with eagerness and desire.

No, Quintus thought with a silent smile, he did not regret his impulse. Some deep-seated instinct murmured to him that this young slave could fill the void in his life he had long felt.

A polite clearing of the throat made them both look up to find Xanatos waiting, dark, intense face watching them expressionlessly.

"Ah, Xan," Quintus said calmly, reluctantly letting go of Benion who immediately stepped away, a flush rising on his cheeks as he smoothed down his tunic. "Do you have the reports I asked for?"

The Tribune bowed with punctilious grace as he placed them on the table. "Of course, General."

The two Romans bent over the scrolls, while Benion watched them, uncertain of what to do. Since he was being ignored, he decided that if his master wanted him for something, he would tell his slave so.

Not daring to sit on the bed, Benion sat down on the ground instead, knees pulled up as he propped his elbows on them, trying not to yawn. It had been a long and eventful day and despite his best intentions he felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. He jerked his head up, forcing himself to stay awake. The fact that he was cold, the evening chill penetrating his thin clothing helped keep him somewhat alert.

Benion was sure his master was unaware of his presence, but suddenly Quintus held out an arm. The boy hesitated, but when Quintus still talking to Xanatos, gestured, he rose obediently and went over to the bench where the Roman sat. Still without breaking off his conversation, Quintus Gaius pulled him close, wrapping the shivering boy in a part of his cloak. Benion curled gratefully against the big warm body. No longer cold, he yawned, snuggling even closer, a smile curving his lips at the feel of a big hand stroking his hair and within moments he was fast asleep.

Xanatos looked at the sleeping boy, his head nestling against Quintus' thigh. The General followed his look and smiled, rubbing a strand of silky hair slowly between his fingers. "Poor little one, he's exhausted and I didn't let him sleep much last night." Eyes softened and turned warm as a large finger stroked along the delicate curve of a chin. Even in sleep, Benion smiled a little at the touch murmuring something under his breath before falling still again.

With a great effort of will, Xanatos schooled his face to immobility. He had never seen that expression in the usually hooded, distant eyes. It wasn't simply lust, he could deal with lust. It was the tenderness, bordering on something perilously close to love that had him curling his hands into fists, fingernails cutting into the skin of his palms.

"Pretty little thing," he said faintly surprised to find his voice calm and steady.

Quintus shook his head, "Beautiful," he corrected softly. "And he's got something else...true quality," he leaned down and pressed a kiss on the temple, "as well as a strange kind of innocence. I don't know how he kept that, living the life he did." Quintus Gaius thought of the shy smile, the wide-eyed wonder that had captivated him, and smiled a little wryly at his own fanciful thoughts.

Bidding the General goodnight, Xanatos left the tent, and when on his way out he happened to glance over his shoulder what he saw was a kick straight to the guts. Quintus had risen, carrying the sleeping boy to the bed and gently put him down. Still kneeling beside the low mattress, he was stroking back long strands of hair, face soft and very tender. The little slave was responding to the touch, waking up and smiling sleepily, eyes glowing with awakening arousal as two slim white arms slid around Quintus' neck and pulled the large head down for a passionate kiss.

Standing outside in the darkness, Xanatos had to take several deep breaths, tasting bile in his mouth. A sudden husky laugh floated through the air from the tent behind him. Flinching at the sound, he all but ran towards his own tent to spend a restless night, tossing and turning, burning with jealousy and hatred.

Benion woke early the next morning. For a moment he wasn't sure where he was, the surface beneath him smooth and soft, not prickly hay digging into his skin. Nor could he hear the restless whinnying and movement of horses waiting to be fed. Instead he was warm, rested and...he turned his head to find Quintus Gaius sleeping beside him, a brawny arm slung heavily across Benion's waist. Blue-green eyes widened as he remembered yesterday's events.

Feeling the reassuring weight of his master's arm on his body, Benion breathed out in a slow shuddering sigh. No, it had not just been a dream. He actually belonged, not to Talius but to Quintus Gaius, a Roman General. And...a smile softened his lips, he was the General's personal servant and slave, no longer to be whored out to any passing guest.

It was a long time since Benion had last allowed himself to hope, but this new life might actually offer him a future he could look forward to. If only he could believe in his new owner. If only he could please his new owner.

Please. Pleasure.

He almost laughed aloud, remembering last night and what his master had done to him. How strange that what had always seemed to him a loathsome duty...

So caught up in his thoughts was he that Benion didn't realise Quintus Gaius had woken until he heard a deep voice say sleepily, "That's a strange smile, little one. What are you thinking about?"

Startled, Benion brought his focus back to heavy-lidded deep blue eyes. Curling closer, he answered honestly, "I was wondering how fucking can be so different with you. I never knew it could be so..."

Quintus stroked his face, "So what?"

Benion's eyes darkened. "So wonderful with you and so awful with everyone else." He pressed a kiss to the strong tanned column of the throat beneath him. "I never knew anyone could ever have their pleasure in giving someone else pleasure."

The tall Roman closed his eyes, a strange ache deep in his chest. Ah, Gods, if he wasn't careful this one could break his heart. "Pleasure shared is always better. You'll learn that soon enough." He kissed the eager mouth, laughing softly in his throat as Benion clung to him, pointed pink tongue twining around his, inviting him inside the moist depths.

Reaching down and encircling the hard cock, Quintus stroked firmly from base to crown, tracing the veins running around the length causing the boy to thrash and arch, gasping.

Raising himself on his elbow, Quintus thought he had never seen such a beautiful sight as Benion's face lost in passion, mouth opened, throat bared and arched. Covering the slender body with his own, thrusting against the smooth friction between two slender thighs. He felt his own climax approaching rapidly, just from watching the young Celt's pleasure. A final groan, beginning deep in his belly and his fingers around the slender cock in his hand tightened as he came, with Benion following him only moments later.

Quintus Gaius looked down at the flushed face taking another kiss. "Did you enjoy that?" he murmured.

Benion laughed softly, "You know I did, Master. How could anyone not?" His eyes met the deep-blue steadily. "Thank you," he whispered, reaching up and kissing Quintus' lips.

Stroking away the long red-gold hair, Quintus said somberly, "No, do not thank me, only remember that this is the way it should be, my young one."

The young Celt nodded, although the wonder did not leave his eyes. As soon as he had recovered his breath a little, Benion slid away from the bed and soon returned with a basin of water and a cloth and gently cleaned Quintus Gaius. Then he left again, after hastily throwing on his pants and tunic and returned with a cup of hot mulled wine and some newly baked bread he offered to his master in bed.

The Roman General chuckled, "You will spoil me," he said lazily, eating the food, more for the pleasure of watching Benion's satisfaction than out of any raging hunger.

"I want to serve you well, Master," Benion said very seriously.

"You already do," Quintus grasped one slender hand, pulling the boy back into bed with him. "You already do, young one."

Although Benion smiled, body fluid and pliant, he also said earnestly, "I do not just want to serve you in bed, but all the time."

Perched on the bed, watching his master eat, Benion decided that he would not ask his new master anything, it would hurt too much to be told he was just a passing whim to be sold on once the General had tired of him.

Instead he set his jaw determinedly as he made a silent vow. He would serve Quintus Gaius so well that the Roman would never sell him.

As time passed, Benion saw the truth of Panacius' words that first confusing day. Slowly, warily at first, the young slave began to believe in his new life. A life without whoring, without the daily vicious slaps and kicks, the burned or half-spoiled pieces of food left from the inn's guest on which he was fed. A life without having to work his fingers to the bone during the day mucking out and scrubbing floors, only to be summoned to the inn's guests at night.

Instead, he slept in his master's bed each night, and lying in Quintus' arms, Benion learned to take joy in his own body, and the true passion that is found between...lovers?

Not to forget the fact that he went to bed each night with a full stomach.

But, more than the food, even more than the pleasure to be found in his master's bed, what made the greatest difference was his new master himself. The tall, stern, Roman was the kindest man Benion had ever met. From the first day his master treated him with a generosity and gentleness his new slave still had difficulties believing in. Quintus Gaius never raised a hand to Benion, but then it was not really necessary. A single flash of blue, a look of disapproval, sliced the young Celt through his heart and soul, and hurt far more than a whipping would have.

Benion flowered beneath Quintus' hand. Gradually he lost his air of whipped dog, no longer lurking in the shadows trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

Panacius had been right in something else as well. Although the young Celt had been fearful at first, jumping whenever someone brushed up against or spoke to him, he relaxed gradually as he saw that no man offered him so much as a lewd comment. Instead he met with nothing but cheerful greetings and the odd teasing joke which he gradually learned to return.

Freed of his fear, serving his master willingly and happily, his duties a pleasure rather than a torment, Benion stepped lightly around the camp, head high, eyes dancing with newfound joy. Plentiful food put some meat on his thin bones and added a new luster to skin turning a pale gold from the hours spent outside.

Two days after their first meeting, Benion came running up to Panacius. "Sir! My master has said I could learn how to use arms if you will train me?"

Panacius stopped and gave him a friendly grin. "Good. I'd hoped he'd say yes so I've already picked up what we need."

Benion fell into pace beside him, eyes alight with excitement. The boy breathed in the fresh air and felt his body thrum with life. He had to fight back not only an answering grin, but also the urge to chatter. Warm-hearted and outgoing by nature, the life he'd been forced into had not encouraged those traits. Now he was almost light-headed with relief and joy and, as always, his thoughts turned to the man responsible for it.

When Benion had finally gathered his courage and asked his master about arms training, he had been prepared for everything from being slapped for his impertinence to a scornful laugh. Instead, Quintus Gaius had seemed mildly amused by the bashful request, but had readily enough given his permission. So now the boy spent at least an hour at day being taught how to use a sword and bow, and shield. Doggedly determined, he was undeterred by the fact that he was trying to cram several years of practice into a few months.

Curiosity drove the General down towards the training grounds a few days later.

It was easy enough to spot the two off to one corner of the field. Benion was listening intently, his face sober and concentrated as Panacius was lecturing him. He was holding the short sword, correctly, Quintus thought in approval, as Panacius obviously was taking him through basic drills.

Watching, unseen by either of the two, Quintus leaned against a tree, thinking of how easily and naturally the little Celt had slipped into his life. The Roman had never shared a bed with anyone since he became too old for his nurse, and he had wondered if after a night or two he wouldn't send his new bed-slave away. To his surprise, nothing had felt more right than the slight body pressed against him, waking up to find Benion in his arms, smiling sleepily. Once or twice the odd thought had struck him that he might not sleep as well if Benion wasn't there.

Nor did the presence of the boy in his tent bother him as he had thought it would.

Being a fiercely independent man, Quintus Gaius had always been more than a little irritated by the constant swarm of slaves while he grew up. It was the reason he preferred to have a soldier or two provide basic servants duties while in the field. Again Benion had surprised him. His presence was never intrusive and he had soon learned how to judge his master's mood from a single glance. Then too....Quintus Gaius shook his head, when he'd bought the boy he had acted on an impulse but in the time since he'd come to realise that despite his lack of education and experience, Benion was extremely intelligent. He learned very fast and he never had to be told anything twice. He also seemed to have an instinct for serving his master, when to be quiet, when to talk, when to keep his distance and, Quintus smiled, when to make his presence felt.

Watching the boy overextend and stumble he called out as he walked towards the pair, "No, Benion, keep your left leg on the ground all the time, when you're standing on your toes only, it pulls you off balance."

Panacius and Benion both started in surprise at the sight of the General, but Benion obediently put his foot down. "Like this, master?"

Quintus moved behind the boy, adjusting his position and the angle of his elbows. "That's better. Now, try it again."

And then he watched as Benion went through the drill again, flawlessly. Quintus nodded in approval, "Again," he called out. While never leaving the boy with his eyes, the Generals said to Panacius, "How is he doing?"

Panacius who had been chuckling to himself at the sight, said, "Well he's got no training, not even an idea beyond what end to hold a sword. But he's fast and coordinated. I'd say he's got a natural talent for it. Just needs practice and time, General."

Quintus nodded. "I agree. Keep drilling him in the basics, Panacius, and I'll see if I can't find a better sword as well. Do you remember those new-fangled thin blades the traders brought last year? The ones from the far east? I think something like that would suit him better, at least until he's fully grown. Let me know if another trader shows up."

Swallowing down his surprise, those blades cost a minor fortune if he remembered right, Panacius said, "Yes, General."

Benion had finished and was gasping for air, but he was smiling, "This is much harder than it looks, Master!" he said, pushing sweat-soaked hair from his face.

Quintus Gaius laughed, "So it is. I -- " a messenger came up to him, and he frowned listening to the man. "I must leave, Panacius remember what I said." Quintus Gaius strode away.

Benion stared after him, but shifted his attention to Panacius when the old soldier said, "Lad, you have no idea how lucky you are. There are more than one free-born and noble-born too who would give his left arm for the chance to be trained by the General."

"Is he that good?" Benion's eyes widened.

Panacius laughed, "Oh aye, they say if he hadn't been born noble he could have been the greatest gladiator Rome has ever known. He's a bloody marvel with a sword, so he is." But then he sobered again. "Repeat it from the start and this time don't drop your shoulder when you turn."

Obediently, Benion took up the starting position again.

Panacius could report back to his entranced audience of friends that, far from being an isolated incident, the General himself appeared regularly at the training ground, and not only to watch. He would take over the training, drilling the boy mercilessly. No matter how hard he drove Benion, the boy never hesitated or faltered, though Panacius saw his face turn white at times from the effort.

Sitting under a tree, sharing some bread and cheese, and wine, during a break in the day's practice, Panacius glanced over at his young companion, thinking of the difference a few weeks had made. There was little left of the cowed, fearful little whore who'd shivered whenever someone looked or touched him. This boy sitting beside him held his head high and walked confidently. He was also smiling, blue-green eyes wide and lit with humour and life, strong fingers eagerly gesticulating. Benion was talking, as usual, about his master, and the adoration bordering on worship was coming through in every word, every smile.

Panacius almost shook his head, it was dangerous to be so open, so damn vulnerable. He was also a little curious. Although he'd watched the odd pair carefully, he wasn't sure what exactly Quintus Gaius had done to command such devotion. "Lad," he said when Benion finally had to take a breath, "it's good that you're content with the General, but from what I can see he's got a damn good servant in the bargain," he almost hesitated, "day and night," he finished easily.

Benion smiled, winding the thin braid dangling over his left shoulder around his fingers. He'd cut all the long hair soon after his arrival, save for the braid. "No, you don't understand, Panacius," after three days of being 'master'ed and 'sir'ed, Panacius had put his foot down and now Benion by direct command used his name. The easy smile died and was replaced by a pensive look. "Quintus Gaius is my first master." And Panacius heard the unspoken addenum, 'my only master.'

Panacius looked understandably confused. "I thought you said you've been a slave since you were ten?"

The young Celt nodded. "Yes, but you see, after I was captured the pirates sold me to a slave-trader." He said thoughtfully, "I guess you could count him, but I never actually saw him after that day. And then three months or so later I was sold to a dock brothel. And after that another brothel and then Talius bought me." He shrugged, "Talius came closest, but he didn't even know my name, I was always 'boy' to him. And I never even knew who my owners were when I was a whore in the brothels. Quintus Gaius," his eyes softened, "is my first master, do you understand?" Softly he added, "he is so much more than just another owner, I would die for him." A flash of smile, "and after all, Panacius, I'm not the only one worshipping him. Most of the soldiers do as well. So I'm in good company."

Panacius turned away to pour himself some wine, the motion hiding his expression. He could see what had the fascinated all right. So much calm, cheerful courage for someone so young, and with it a warm heart and ready laugh. And he wondered if even the General knew what a prize he had in this young'un.

"Lad, even if that is so, don't ever forget that he *is* your owner. He's a Roman aristocrat, and they're not like you or I." It was the closest Panacius would come to a warning.

Benion nodded and said calmly, "Oh, I know that sooner or later he'll sell me, when I don't amuse him anymore, or," a faint smile reminding Panacius of the first day, "I'm not so pretty any longer."

"You don't care?" Panacius demanded almost angrily.

A quick shrug, as it was Benion's turn to turn away and cut himself a piece of bread he didn't eat. "It doesn't matter whether I care or not, does it? You're right that my master does what he wills, but for as long as he wants me, I will serve him." The Celt's smile was in stark variance with the sudden sorrow that shaded his eyes. "And no matter what happens I will always have the memory of being his."

The old soldier saw then that what he had taken for vulnerability was in truth something far more generous and giving. Benion was expecting that his heart and soul would be trampled on, his body sold when he no longer pleased his owner. Yet, that had not prevented him from giving all three with love and passion.

Reaching out, Panacius, roughly gripped one shoulder, shaking gently. "Benion, you've got more courage than ten soldiers." He felt something hot and burning in his eyes and had to blink once or twice. To conceal his weakness he stood up and said briskly, "come on, enough rest! Back to the training. And this time I want to see your wrists absolutely straight when you do the parry. Any bend and I'll have you run around the field a hundred laps."

Benion groaned, but he got to his feet lightly. "Yes, Panacius," he said obediently, bending down and picking up his sword falling into the correct stance.

Panacius was not the only soldier to notice Benion's devotion. The men would have been quick to resent a spoiled, painted mannequin, but the slender boy that followed their General like a shadow, eyes trained on the broad back, wearing the rough clothing of a common soldier, won their amused respect. As did the boy's quiet tenacity in serving Quintus Gaius. More than one soldier would chuckle when they spied the Celt seated outside the General's tent, pink tongue sticking out between his lips in fierce concentration as he polished the armour and weapons until they shone like never before.

There was much uproarious amusement when Panacius shared his tale of how Benion had gone off to the cooks, berating them for not creating dishes to tempt the General's palate. Still, it did the young slave no disfavour in the eyes of the men.

The officers too soon became used to the slender wistful figure, curled by the General's side, listening silently, eyes wide and intent. They also got used to Quintus Gaius absently reaching out a casual hand and stroking his hair or face even as he discussed the men and troop movements.

Privately there was as much discussion among the officers as there was among the men, but in the end they all agreed that if it pleased the General then it was nobody's business but his. As one of the junior officers said to his friends one night while gathering for some wine and friendly gossip. "Actually, it makes him human, something I for one was beginning to doubt."

His best friend laughed, stretching and yawning lazily. They'd just got back in a few hours ago from hours of field-training and were relaxing. "You've never seen him on leave have you, Marcus?" When the first officer shook his head, his friend laughed, "you wouldn't say that then. The man's got the endurance of Mithras' Bull, and damn near his size."

There was more ribald laughter at that. "Still," Marcus said when it had died down again. "The General would have been the last man I would have thought to take a bed-slave."

"Ah yes, but the Celt isn't an ordinary toy, is he? He's more like a cross between a servant and bed-pleasure."

"Not a bad idea if you think about it," a third, slight dark officer murmured, "Juno knows most bed-slaves are useless for anything else. Lazy, pampered creatures. Especially out here in the wilderness, it's not a bad idea to have a slave who can serve you during day and night."

"Depends how good he is at night," the second officer raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I don't think we have to wonder about that," Marcus said. "Not judging from the General's looks in the morning, or that of his little Celt for that matter. I met the boy one morning going for water and, trust me, the only description for him was fucked to satiation."

"Besides," the dark officer whose name was Andronicus said once the chuckles had died down, "haven't you noticed that the General hasn't gone into a rage once since his return, thank Jupiter." The theatrical shudders of his two friends were not entirely faked. The General angry was something to be feared, officers or not. "Actually, one of my Centurions told me that the men have stared to include the boy in their prayers."

Marcus poured himself some more wine, "Maybe we should do the same thing," he said with a smile.

They all started laughing before his friend added. " And certainly his new bed-toy isn't a nuisance, he's actually rather charming."

"Better not say that in the General's hearing, he might get ideas," Andronicus warned lightly before the subject was closed as they moved on to discuss the latest news from Rome.

Xanatos alone did not share the general benevolent consensus and he kept his opinions strictly to himself.

Every time the young Tribune caught sight of the Celt he tensed, cold hatred simmering inside him. He wasn't sure what he hated most, the pretty, his lip curled derisively remembering Quintus' word, *beautiful*, face and lithe young body, always turned towards his master, or the soft smile Quintus Gaius reserved for his bed-slave alone. A smile, had the General but known it, his aristocratic Tribune would have died for.

The one thing that cemented Xanatos' hatred of Benion was the loss of the treasured evenings with his General. Not often, but regularly, if everything was quiet, Quintus Gaius would invite him alone after the evening meal to his tent. They would sit watching the sun set and the first stars begin to shine against the darkening skies, drinking wine and talking of everything under the sun, debate philosophy, politics, even social gossip. Xanatos had lived for those evenings, alone with the man he loved.

Now, although the custom had not ceased completely, the evenings became fewer and fewer and whenever he was there, so was the bed-slave, curled by the General's feet. Xanatos despised the way Quintus Gaius would constantly touch the boy, playing with the long thin braid, or even pull the little Celt into his lap, while talking to the Tribune. He'd watch the red-gold head nestled against the broad chest of the General and hate with a fierceness unbecoming a Roman when thinking of a slave.

A month later, Xanatos walked into the General's tent hoping to find Quintus Gaius already there. However, he stiffened seeing only a slight figure, neatly putting out the amphora of wine and cups. Hearing the steps behind him, Benion turned, and the welcoming smile died on his lips as he saw Xanatos.

"Tribune," he bowed low, face suddenly expressionless.

Xanatos gave him a cold look. "Where is Quintus Gaius?"

"My Master was delayed, he will be here soon. May I serve you?"

Even his voice was pretty, Xanatos thought viciously. "No," he said brusquely, sitting down and ignoring the boy.

Benion moved around, feeling the dark brooding eyes follow him. He wasn't sure quite why Xanatos made him so uncomfortable, but there was just something in the burning gaze that made his spine crawl.

He stole a glance at the Tribune, wondering at the glower of resentment he'd read in the dark eyes before the Roman had veiled them. What could a man like Tribune Xanatos possibly resent him for? Benion smiled wistfully. He, on the other hand, could very easily come to resent the Tribune.

As time passed, Benion found himself fiercely wishing for more than just the passion that filled Quintus' eyes in the act of taking a young supple body. He hungered for his adored master to look upon his slave with respect, perhaps even friendship, not just want.

It was that yearning which drove the young Celt hour after hour to ignore his aching muscles, and stubbornly keep practicing. The need, to see a swift approving glance, the desire to hear a brief casual, "well done."

The General was not overly generous with his praise and therefore the few words were all the more precious.

The young Celt sighed unconsciously, knowing his secret hope for the impossible fantasy it was. Roman aristocratic Generals did not fall in love with their bed-slaves, even less did they look upon them with true affection and the honour of a friend and equal. Quintus Gaius' friendship and respect was all reserved for his own kind, like the haughty young Roman glowering in his chair at the moment.

His thoughts were interrupted when the tent-flap was pushed aside and Quintus Gaius stepped through it.

Benion immediately went to him, face lighting in a welcoming smile. "Master!" He reached up to take the cloak off broad shoulders. Quintus gave an affectionate tug on the thin braid, that ended with the back of his hand stroking down the side of Benion's face lightly. The Celt laughed softly, rubbing his face against the hand.

Xanatos watched the by-play bitterly. Hades take the boy! Did he have to demonstrate so clearly what he was to Quintus Gaius? He felt the all too familiar tightening of his body and the acid hatred almost choked him. Once again he felt almost dizzy with vertigo. Gods, what he wouldn't give to be in the slave's shoes at this moment. To have the right to kiss the strong jaw and slide his fingers through the short neat beard. To watch Quintus' face soften and his eyes turn hot with need. Xanatos bit his lip until it bled to stop the cry of pain that rose from deep within his soul.

Even as Quintus Gaius sat down and stretched out his legs, the damned slave was buzzing around, serving the General wine, holding out a basin of water for cleaning his hands.

Quintus Gaius nodded amiably at Xanatos, "I was studying the infantry today, you've done a good job, Xan, very good indeed."

Now it was Xanatos' turn to smile, his eyes shining as all his days of hard labour, spitting dust, yelling at the men paid off. "Thank you, Quintus, I think you'll find them very effective the next time we have to go into battle." He had worked day and night, driven himself and the men past the point of exhaustion, all to earn and relish Quintus Gaius' quiet compliment. He knew there would be no more -- nor was it needed.

The General frowned, "That may be sooner than you think, Xan, I've had some disturbing rumours about some of the tribes. They seem to need another lesson," his voice turned cold. "Bah! Barbarians never learn."

Xanatos raised an eyebrow. "Barbarians aren't exactly known for either intelligence or cleanliness, in fact, I rather thought they were famous for the opposite," he murmured languidly as Quintus Gaius laughed at the quip.

Neither of them noticed the silent figure who was placing fruit and bread on a platter to bring it to his master and his friend. Benion bit his lip, looking at the tempting array he had put together. Although he had been only ten years old when pirates had captured him, he had never forgotten his home or his people. And the same barbarians the General and the Tribune were deriding so arrogantly, were his distant kin. No, he told himself, stop it! It is no use hating, hate will only harm yourself, remember what the old druid always said, 'anger leads to hatred, and hatred will wound you deeper than an enemy ever could.'

Xanatos woke slowly the next morning, a smile lingering from sleep as he lay in bed recalling last night. It had been almost like old times. The bloody slave had fallen asleep on the bed, and apart from Quintus' odd glance towards him, it had been just the two of them. They had sat long into the night discussing the brilliantly acid pen of Seneca as Quintus was moved to share a few tales from his youth when he'd actually met the accerbic and arrogant but astute man, and the recent resurgence in Aristotelian philosophy. It had been a long rambling conversation and Xanatos had loved every moment of it. It made him hope that Quintus Gaius' fascination with his slave was beginning to wane, that the day was in sight when the damned little Celt would be nothing but an unpleasant memory.

Rising and washing, Xanatos was feeling decidedly cheerful as he dressed. Coming out from his tent, however, the sight that greeted the Tribune however was straight out of a nightmare.

The young Celtic slave was mounted astride one of the smaller, lighter horses, cantering around the paddock, face alight with laughter and happiness. Leaning against the rails was a smiling Quintus Gaius giving advice and instructions. A few men were lounging around watching idly.

Xanatos smoothed down his hair as he came up beside Quintus Gaius. "General."

"Oh, hello, Xan," Quintus gave him a nod as he called out. "Don't let him get his head in the air, sit deep and keep your hands steady, and if he acts up, give him a good jab in the sides!" He glanced at Xanatos. "Amazing isn't it? Benion tells me he hasn't been on a horse since he was ten, but you wouldn't know it to look at him." There was obvious pride and pleasure in the deep crisp voice.

"Amazing," the Tribune agreed tightly. "Are you sure this is wise?"

Quintus turned and raised an eyebrow, "What are you talking about?"

"He's just a slave, Quintus. You should not indulge him so."

A deep laugh surprised the younger Roman. "Xan, you're being foolish. Trust me, Benion is not spoiled if that's what you're implying." He looked up when the boy brought the horse to a neat halt before the two Romans.

Aquamarine eyes shone with untroubled happiness. "Oh, he's lovely!" the boy exclaimed, throwing his leg over the neck and sliding down. Holding the reins in one hand, he stroked the soft nose with the other and his eyes shone when they looked at the General. "May I try another one, Master?"

Quintus opened his mouth but before he could reply a shout at the other side of camp caught everyone's attention. The man galloped into camp on a lathered horse, and all but fell off his mount.

"General!" he gasped. "The barbarians! They've attacked Ludolum! The garrison there is under attack and will fall unless you can come to their aid swiftly!"

Even before the man had finished speaking, Quintus Gaius was snapping out orders as the entire camp erupted in chaos. But it was organised chaos as men swiftly went to get their arms, picking up already packed and ready field rations.

Quintus Gaius returned to his tent in long angry strides, not noticing the shadow behind him.

Benion swallowed down his fear as he went to get his master's pack. Panacius had taught him what was required and Benion had made sure to always have it ready on a moment's notice.

He was rewarded by an absent nod of thanks even as Quintus Gaius signed orders with one hand and took the sword Benion held out to him with the other.

"I wish I could come with you, Master," Benion said quietly as he knelt and laced up the tall boots Quintus wore. Standing up he picked up the heavy wool cloak, reaching up on tiptoe to hang it on his master's shoulders and then bent down to arrange the folds.

Quintus Gaius adjusted the belt, making sure the sword slid easily from its well-oiled tabard. "I do not, Benion. You would be like a lamb to the slaughter on a battle field." He gently grasped the boy's jaw and looked deep into the shallow-sea water eyes. "Don't be in such a hurry to risk your life, young one," he murmured, feeling an unaccustomed sting of fear at the thought of the boy at his side lying dead or wounded. He bent his head taking a last kiss. It was a gentle touch that changed character as Benion pulled him inside with a desperate desire, shadowed by fear.

"Please, please, Master, come back to me," Benion whispered, his voice muffled as he clung to the strong arms that held him.

Quintus Gaius laughed, gently freeing himself, "Do not fear, I'll not let some barbarian have the pleasure of killing me." A last flick of a long finger along his cheekbone, and then the General was gone, shouting instructions and commands to his men, not looking back to see Benion kneeling on the floor when his trembling legs were unable to carry his weight.

Sleeping alone for the first time since Quintus Gaius had taken him from the little inn, the bed felt too large and very strange. Not even the camp outside sounded the same, the usual cacophony of noises strangely muted and subdued. Finally Benion went up and got one of his master's cloaks and brought it back to bed with him. Breathing in the familiar spicy scent of the large Roman who owned him, body and soul, the young Celt began to relax. In the end he gave up trying to sleep and instead pulled the memories of Quintus Gaius around his mind as he pulled the cloak around his body.

"Master, oh my Master," he whispered softly into the darkness.

For the first time since his capture Benion found himself fearing for someone but himself, and the bone-numbing terror that enveloped him was ten times worse than anything he'd ever experienced before.

To comfort himself he closed his eyes and pictured Quintus Gaius. The tall, commanding body, the severe aristocratic features that could make any man quake in his boots. Unconsciously Benion smiled, he had seen it often enough. Those hooded deep-blue eyes saw everything and showed nothing. Quintus Gaius was all Roman, and there were times still when Benion equally feared and adored his master as he fought to reconcile the complex and paradoxical sides of the General.

Inexorably Benion's mind was pulled back to the first time he had truly seen the contradictions in Quintus Gaius' character. Just days after his arrival, when he was still uncertain of his own fate, three men had been brought before their General accused of stealing, one a belt, the other money and the third a smoked ham. All three had been condemned to 'company punishment.' Although Benion hadn't known at the time what it was, he could see the sudden stark fear on the men's faces as they were dragged away. Then, he had glanced up at his master's face. Quintus Gaius seemed detached and a little bored even as he announced his judgment and just a few moments later he was talking calmly to one of his officers indifferent to the pleadings of the men.

 Although he had seen men hanged before -- it was an inevitable part of city-life -- Benion had never before witnessed a 'company punishment.' What it meant he discovered, was that the guilty soldier had to run a gauntlet between two lines of his fellow soldiers, all carrying whips. One brawny fellow had actually made it almost to the end before he fell, parts of his face literally torn away by the hard leather, his left eye dangling on a slender strip of flesh from the bleeding empty eye socket.

Watching, Benion had been helplessly sick, only just making it behind a tent before he threw up. Yet the same man who had so calmly condemned three men to death had held him, giving him cool sweet water to drink and stroked his sweaty forehead and sharply curbed Tribune Xanatos when the young Roman had laughed and mocked the weak stomachs of whores.

Eyes narrowing, Benion frowned, he definitely did not like the Tribune. Shying away from the disturbing memory of Xanatos' strange looks and cold taunting, he hugged to himself the memory of Quintus Gaius cradling him in strong arms that night, stilling the trembles, and explaining gently that sometimes it was necessary to be harsh so as to maintain discipline. "These are hard men, Benion," Quintus had said, "and they would only despise compassion and gentle handling."

Although he had listened to the words, even nodded, what Benion had truly treasured was the softness of the tone and the warm wide comforting hands. Curled into them, he had felt safe and sheltered. He loved that feeling even more than he loved the passion his master coaxed so effortlessly from his body.

A week later during which he had spent most of his nights awake and increasingly afraid, Benion woke with a gasp, hearing the sound of horses neighing and men talking loudly. Just pausing to throw on his pants, he all but flew from the tent.

The very first thing he saw was Quintus Gaius dismounting.

"Master!" he cried, almost throwing himself in the arms before he remembered his place. Instead he slid to a halt just beside the General, eyes shining as he looked up at the dusty, weary man.

Quintus Gaius laughed and ruffled his hair, "I told you, I am not killed so easily."

Benion smiled, joy and relief filling him. "Come inside, Master, you look tired, are you hungry?"

Quintus Gaius looked around him, "Just a moment, lad," he said looking across to Xanatos. "Xan, do you have everything under control?"

Xanatos nodded, "Go on," he said, "I'll make sure the men are bivouacked."

Quintus raised his hand in thanks, "Oh and, Xan, please let everyone know that we'll feast tonight. I think the men and the officers have all deserved it."

A white-toothed grin slashed across a weary, dusty face. "I'll let everyone know. They'll be overjoyed."

Quintus Gaius walked through his tent and into the adjoining bath, undressing as he walked until he stepped nude into the steaming hot tub of water. It was one of the few indulgences he allowed himself; a true marvel of Roman engineering, a portable heating and piping system. A long slender cooper pipe brought water from the nearest cistern and a wood-fired heater made sure it arrived hot. Another pipe carried the dirty water away when you removed the stopper in the tub. Sinking down in the steaming water, he sighed in pleasure.

Benion knelt by the side of the tub with a sponge and soft glycerin soap scented by lavender.

"You won?" Benion asked quietly as he lathered up and started to clean the grime and dust off the broad back.

Quintus closed his eyes, relaxing, enjoying the sensation of being clean once again. "Oh, yes," he said absently, almost purring at the deft touch, "it was hard, but in the end we sprang an ambush on their main force and got most of the men." He leaned back in the tub, as Benion started on his torso and arms, refilling the bath at regular intervals as the water became dirty. "Then we burned several of the closest villages and brought some of the youngsters back with us. They'll sell for a good price."

Benion bit his lip as he started washing Quintus' long hair. When he raised his eyes again it was to find the General looking at him soberly. "It is not the same thing," Quintus said gently as his thumb traced a path down one slanted cheekbone. "They are innocents, true, but unfortunately they also have to pay the price of their warriors' folly."

"I know," Benion murmured, "but it's still not right."

Quintus smiled cynically, "You will learn soon enough that life is not right."

Benion's eyes were no less cynical, "I know, Master, I know." He rose and left Quintus to soak while he went to fetch clean towels.

Later, standing in the middle of his tent, Quintus watched the little Celt as Benion arranged the folds of the fine linen toga edged in purple that the General seldom wore though he was entitled to it by birth and position. For a moment, watching the bent red-gold head, Quintus wished he didn't have to attend the victory feast but could remain in his tent, alone with his young slave.

Lacing up Quintus Gaius' sandals, Benion looked up and smiled from where he knelt. "You look very nice, Master."

Quintus grimaced, and said dryly, "Ah well, they do say fine feathers will make a fine bird, but I doubt even this will make me look anything but what I am, a scarred old soldier."

Benion laughed, rising, "You look splendid, as you well know, Master, do not fish for compliments." His eyes glittered with mischievous laughter. "With some face paint you could easily be mistaken for Virgilius." He mentioned the name of an extremely histrionic and popular young actor in Rome.

It had come as not a small shock to the young Celt once he realised that his master actually liked an easy informal tone between them, even some gentle, good-humoured teasing. He treasured it in no small part because the General was so formal and aloof with everyone else. It made him feel special and reassured him of his place with his master.

Quintus struck a dramatic pose, "Ah!" he declaimed, "something like this?"

Benion laughed. "Exactly, Master." He rose lightly to his feet, obviously waiting for his master to precede him outside.

Quintus put a hand on his shoulder. "I will go ahead, Benion. I would like you to change. You will find your clothes for tonight on the bed. I asked Panacius to get them weeks ago, but there has been no opportunity for you to wear them yet."

After Quintus had left, Benion had a quick wash and then went over to their bed and found the clothing laid out. He stared at it for a long time and there was a strange look in his eyes when he slowly dressed.

Slipping inside the large tent where the officers were feasting, Benion looked around him, wincing from the level of noise assaulting his ears, eyes widening at the sight unfolding before them.

The Roman officers were lounging around the tent on low padded couches, being served by slaves. Most were already drunk and spilling wine and food down their tunics and stolas, having obviously spent some time in celebrating. Others were more interested in fondling and groping slaves and whores from the nearby town obviously brought in for tonight's feasting. Naked flesh gleamed in the soft flickering light of the torches. Dark mouths sucked greedily at revealed nipples and exposed, glistening cocks.

It was an all too familiar scene that catapulted Benion right back into his past. His heart began to beat faster and loudly enough to drown out the sound of drunken revelry. Gods, Gods, please, he begged silently. The memory of the brothel that Talius the inn-keeper had bought him from forced itself from the place in his soul he had carefully locked it away.

Steeling himself, he straightened and moved swiftly up the tent, trying to ignore the sounds and sights around him, not because he had never seen them before, but because they were only too familiar. Hated memories of drunken hands pawing at him, mouths choking him in slobbering kisses, cocks thrust into his body threatened to overwhelm him for a moment.

Finally spying his master, who, thank the Fates, seemed relatively sober and talking to Tribune Xanatos quietly, Benion hurried towards them. Kneeling by the low padded couch, his breath caught at the sight of the tall, commanding sight of his master. His lips curved into a smile remembering that he was safe and protected, no longer just a miserable whore to be taken and used in public by anyone who had the coins to pay.

Quintus Gaius had drunk quite a lot more than was his usual custom. Although he wouldn't admit it to anyone, yesterday's battle had been closer than he wanted to think about. He frowned remembering the vague hints that the Germanic tribes had a new warleader, a young man who was fast making himself a name as a good, even brilliant, commander. It might pay to set his spies at finding out everything possibly. Certainly the tactics employed yesterday were both original and ingenious. Yes...definitely something to consider, but for tonight, Quintus wanted to forget about the dead and celebrate those still living.

"Master?" He looked up at the soft voice and smiled at the sight. Abandoning his simple soldier's clothing for the night as Quintus had commanded, the young Celt was dressed in a deep moss-green silk tunic, embroidered with gold in a simple pattern of leaves along the edges. The briefness of the tunic showed off long slender legs and narrow, elegant feet.

Quintus inspected the slender figure with satisfaction, "I knew that would suit you," he said with a warm smile.

Although Benion said nothing and smiled in return, a shadow of sorrow shaded the green eyes for a moment.

Ordinarily, Quintus Gaius might have inquired, but at the moment he felt urgent need, fueled by the wine he'd drunk, flash through his body. Gesturing for Benion to rise and lie down by his side, he hungrily devoured the tender mouth, one hand sliding up along a muscled thigh, fondling the boy's half-hard cock.

At first Benion was both surprised and dismayed by the crude touch, but then he tasted the wine on his master's breath, the hint of clumsiness in the usually graceful hands, and he grew suddenly frightened. He had never seen Quintus Gaius drunk before, but he knew only too well of the viciousness wine could produce.

Beginning to tremble, the Celt didn't resist when large hands stripped him of his tunic, stroking down his flanks and separating his legs, a finger probing deep inside his body. Biting his lip, he struggled to remain still and unresisting. Oh Gods! He was going to be taken like the whore he had been, the whore he still was, right out here in the open with the avid eyes of the Roman officers watching. Blinking fiercely to stop the tears from falling, Benion resolved that if this was what his master wanted, then it was his slave's duty to submit. It wasn't as if this was the first time he had been in this exact position. Yet, somehow the fact that it was *Quintus Gaius* made it all terrible beyond words.

Even through the haze of the wine he'd consumed, Quintus realised that something was very wrong. The vague sense of trouble bloomed into alarm when he looked down at Benion. Although the young Celt was lying submissive in his arms, body open to the Roman's touch, his eyes were tightly closed and the soft vulnerable lips, when Quintus kissed them trembled in fear beneath his touch. Ceasing his caresses, Quintus Gaius bent his head, long brown and silver hair cocooning them from the rest of the officers, "What is it, young one?" he asked gently.

Benion opened his eyes, and the Roman was shocked by the mute misery he saw in their usually so clear depths. "I...please, Master, please," he hid his face in the broad shoulder, "Please don't take me here, where everyone can see."

The softly stammered words sent a sudden arrow of pain deep inside the General. Listening to the helpless shamed pleading of his 'young 'un,' as Panacius always put it, he silently cursed himself for not remembering the boy's past. "Hush," he murmured, gently covering the quivering body, his throat closing at the silent gratitude in the now more-blue-than-green eyes as Benion fastened his belt with trembling hands.

Quintus Gaius stood up abruptly and, ignoring the drunken cheers and cat-calls, raised his voice, "I bid you all a good night, please do not let my leaving stop you from celebrating." He smiled, blue eyes proud and fierce. "You have certainly deserved it." Without looking at Benion, he strode outside and towards his tent.

Xanatos, reclining and idly caressing with one of his slaves, watched through pale, brooding eyes as the little Celt followed behind his master like a small slender shadow, eyes shining with adoration.

Once in his tent, Quintus yawned as the long day began to catch up with him. He sat down on the bed to begin remove his sandals when Benion stepped through the tent flap. The boy immediately hurried to help his master, removing the sandals and the long stola and toga. "Would you like some more wine, Master?" he asked.

Quintus Gaius smiled, enjoying the return of serenity and joy on the delicate features. "No," he said softly, reaching out and taking Benion in his arms, "I have everything I need right here."

Benion tilted his head, face open and vulnerable as he looked up at the harsh hawk-faced features of the man who owned him. "I am glad," he said simply and rising went into the strong arms willingly and eagerly. He still could hardly believe it. Even drunk and afire with lust, his master had cared enough to stop, to not simply take what was his right. Benion quivered in a mixture of relief, love and complete trust.

Quintus Gaius caught him around the waist as they both tumbled backwards into the bed, a laughing Benion ending up on top of his master. Quintus, still holding him, rolled them both over until Benion was on his back, his master leaning over him.

Bending over the boy, watching the play of emotions on the delicate graceful features, Quintus thought that he had never seen anything more beautiful than the hot, sweet desire that turned shallow-water eyes into slumberous jewels and transformed the exquisite face into a thing of almost otherworldly beauty.

Kissing his way along the jaw and throat, nipping at the sensitive skin just hard enough that the bite of his teeth shuddered along that line dividing pain from pleasure, he felt Benion's reaction travel like lightning along sensitive nerve-endings, ending in a low soundless moan, as sun-kissed arms slid around him, pulling him closer and a slim body arched in need. Ruthlessly Quintus stripped the brief tunic from the young Celt and bent his head again. He tasted the silky-soft skin beneath his lips, sucking, biting, licking, fingers playing with pebble-like nipples.

Catching fire, helplessly twisting in the knowledgeable hands, Benion moaned again, his legs falling open and his cock rising in a stiff arch from between his thighs. He looked the picture of desire as the lone torch illuminating the tent painted his body in strange, twisting, black and crimson shadows. Reaching down, Quintus began stroking the throbbing hard cock already glistening with moisture in the flickering light. Benion moaned again, hips thrusting up rhythmically into the large hand. Very soon his entire body tensed and coiled, but Quintus didn't want him to come yet and a firm grip around velvet soft balls and the base of the hard cock prevented Benion from coming.

Blue-green eyes blinked and Quintus laughed at the dazed, disappointed look as he leaned down and kissed the open moist lips. "Don't be so impatient. We've got all night," he whispered teasingly.

His body was still twitching in thwarted need but Benion was smiling as he raised himself lithely, reaching up and kissing his master again, tongue stroking deep. Small strong hands grasped hard brawny arms, fingers digging into the muscles as Benion slowly kissed his way down the hard bronzed planes of his master, enjoying each shudder his slow, sensuous licking evoked, each involuntary spasm. Quintus' hands in his hair tightened almost convulsively at the first light flick of a pink tongue on the velvet tip of his cock. Slipping the crown easily into his mouth, tasting the slightly bitter, spicy flavor of Quintus, Benion almost laughed, as he crouched between his master's legs and cupped the heavy satiny balls in his hands, playing and stroking, and then slowly moving to the silky softness behind.

The Roman's hips almost levitated off the bed, as Benion began teasing the puckered bud, lightly tracing around it and then rubbing before slipping one finger slowly inside. It took him just a moment to find the right spot and then slowly slide the tip of his finger repeatedly across the spot again and again.

"Oh Gods!" Quintus panted, feeling as if his spine would crack as his hands closed convulsively. "Stop, Benion!" Far from obeying, the boy just laughed, the sound vibrating from his throat right into the pulsating flesh it surrounded. It was too much for already over-stimulated nerve-endings and with a gasp, Quintus came.

With a half-oath, half-moan, Quintus tightened his arms around Benion who had curled himself around his master, as soon as he'd caught his breath a little. "You little monkey," he muttered, nibbling on a tempting lower lip tasting himself and Benion.

Very innocent aquamarine eyes opened wide. "Did I displease you, Master?"

Quintus chuckled and dropped a kiss on a straight little nose. "No, you didn't, as you well know." He ran calloused palms down hot slick sides, enjoyment a too mild word for the emotion he felt as he listened to Benion's soft gasps and small purring murmurs as his body melted and re-formed beneath large skillful hands.

The loveliest sight in the world, he sometimes thought. Benion twisted in his arms, the movement sliding sweat-soaked skin against skin, and began to stroke his master's rapidly hardening cock gently. The contrast between the silent passive submission of the whore he'd bought and this laughing, confident boy. The thought that all Benion's passion and sensual joy was his alone, was more potent than wine.

Then his brain ceased functioning as Benion turned and opened thighs wide, balancing on his knees. Quintus was not slow to accept the silent invitation as he reached for the small bottle by the side of the bed, pouring the scented oil into his hands. He kissed Benion's neck and whispered, "You will need to make some more soon, this is almost finished."

Turning his head over his shoulder, Benion said between gritted teeth, "I will do so tomorrow," even as rounded slender hips thrust up against Quintus' and he begged breathlessly, "Please, Master!"

Quintus laughed, relishing the boy's impatience, the sweat that slicked his skin and the panting moans, as a large hand reached beneath his stomach and stroked the hardness. "Please what?" He steadied the young Celt with his other hand, as the first finger thrust deep. "Please, *this*?" as he found the exact spot to press as Benion arched and screamed. "Or *this*," another slow stroke, blunt fingernail scraping lightly across the surface. Benion's only reply was a low moan as his hips involuntarily jerked again and again, greedy for something besides fingers to fill him.

Then, Benion closed his eyes, breathing out deeply in a shudder of pleasure and a hint of fear as he felt his master slowly slide inside. Quintus began to move in slow, careful strokes, and his cock slid through the tight circle of a large hand in counter-point to the thrusts, Benion let the sensations rule him.

However, even as the young Celt felt his body tighten and shudder in delicious anticipation of orgasm, a small niggling doubt that refused to be silenced, wondered if this was the time his master would hurt not pleasure him. The tiny voice had gained strength after tonight's reminder that the large body covering him, the lips kissing his shoulder the deep voice murmuring in his ear belonged to the man who owned him. Who could do whatever he pleased, when he pleased.

But even that part of him cold with fear was momentarily quenched by the hot red wave that spread through ever part of his body, slowly gaining momentum and then finally crashing down and enveloping him in pure desire.

For a long time afterwards Benion lay exhausted and sated, limp against his master's body, murmuring in drowsy satisfaction when Quintus Gaius shifted so they were on their backs, Benion cuddled like a small pet animal by his side. As the sweat began to dry on his body, Benion's misgivings suddenly returned as he realised the picture he must make, legs still sprawled open, every muscle relaxed and satiated, with his lips red and swollen from the force of Quintus' kisses. Suddenly he felt the flush of shame rise on his body. He had been called a whore many times, but never had he felt so much as one as right now.

The pleasure his master gave him so easily had begun to frighten him, more than the brutality of the men who had bought his body for an hour. He felt helpless, lost, confused... Benion turned his hot face into the strong body beside him, silently willing the doubts, the fears to go away.

Quintus, misunderstanding the cause of the sudden flush murmured indulgently, "How can you still be so shy?"

Benion did not feel able to explain the jumble of emotions that threatened to tear his soul apart. Instead, he nuzzled at Quintus Gaius' throat, lips blind and seeking, licking the sweat from the skin and murmuring in enjoyment at the salty taste. "Not shy, Master."

Stroking his hair slowly, Quintus said, "Tell me."

For a long time there was a silence, and then Benion began speaking in a soft voice, finding it easier to explain about his earlier behaviour than the deeper reason for his shame.

"I've always hated fucking, being taken in public. It feels," Benion searched for the right words, and finally said quietly, "as if I am even less than a slave then, a nothing." He looked up at Quintus. "I did not mean to displease you tonight, Master."

Feeling that strange burning pain again, Quintus Gaius kissed him gently, breathing in the fresh, spicy scent of the young body. "Shhh, I know, little one. You have not displeased me." As Benion melted into his arms trustingly, every part of him open and vulnerable, Quintus had to close his eyes and subdue a sudden hot rage at the faceless men who had hurt and degraded the young Celt. For a moment he felt the temptation to put his sword through any man who had touched the slender body and taken it so brutally and indifferently.

He smiled wryly. The supreme irony was, of course, that he could have so easily been one of them. How many years had he frequented the brothels? How many soft supple bodies had submitted to him? They numbered in the thousands at least, and he had never given any of them as much as a second thought once he had slaked his need and left their stuffy perfumed rooms.

Reassured by the words, Benion closed his eyes and nestled further into the strong arms. "I know," he said with a little difficulty, "that I do not have the right to object, but once...once, they discovered the way I felt at the brothel, they would make sure that I was always available to the customers in the main hall. I think they did it to cure me, but it only made me hate it worse." He shuddered burrowing into Quintus Gaius' body. "I was glad when Talius bought me, at least then, it was usually one of the inn's chambers." His voice turned wistful. "And at the inn I helped with the horses. I was never allowed to do that at the brothel."

Quintus looked at the red-gold head resting against his shoulder, glad to change the subject, his voice more than a little gruff to hide his emotion, "I have never met anyone who has a better touch with them."

Benion sighed and smiled, "I've always loved horses," he confessed. "At home we bred the best horses in all the land. My father always said I was born on horseback." His smiled died abruptly.

Not wishing Benion to linger on his past, Quintus murmured, "Shh...don't think of it, love."

Glowing at the casual endearment Benion twisted in the arms until he was facing Quintus Gaius. "I won't," he said kissing the tanned face, sliding his small fingers through the heavy mass of hair. "And it does not matter, not now that I am here with you," he said simply.

Deep-blue eyes darkened to the colour of midnight, and Benion cherished the look knowing only he would ever see it.

The realisation that he had the power to make his aloof, serene master shudder with need was heady indeed. Benion smiled, doubts and fears momentarily gone. Why should he fear Quintus Gaius' hold over him, when it was obvious that he, a slave, possessed the same power? Suddenly feeling a lot more confident and happy, he sought his master's lips.

Closing his eyes, feeling his body once again come alive beneath the deft touch of his master's hands Benion let the memory of Panacius' words reassure him; Quintus Gaius had never before brought a whore to camp. He was the first slave to share the General's bed regularly. Surely it had to mean something?

Although Quintus Gaius would have dismissed the idea that he was feeling guilty as ridiculous, the memory of Benion's fear and shame the night of the victory feast remained etched in his mind. Whatever the reason, when a horse dealer visited the camp a week later, the General spoke to him privately and then sent for Benion.

The young Celt came running up from bathing after his practice, hair still damp. He slid to a halt before the General and bowed low, "Master?"

Quintus examined him, a lurking smile in his eyes. "I can almost see you growing, Benion. That tunic is threatening to tear at the seams."

The boy laughed, taking a deep breath, the stitching across the shoulders almost splitting. "It's all Panacius' drilling and exercise..."

Quintus smiled, reaching out and tugging the thin braid. "True. We'll make a soldier out of you yet. But come," he turned and gestured at the flock of horses nervously pacing around the nearest paddock. "What do you think of them?"

Benion immediately sobered, his eyes intent as he and Quintus Gaius walked to the fence. Climbing up to get a better view, Benion studied the horses in silence for a long time and then he said, "They're quality stock. Excellent conformation and, from what I can see, good clean legs. Don't look as though they've been handled much." He hesitated and then added, "and they are a little too delicate for the cavalry aren't they?"

Quintus nodded, the approval clear in his voice. "That's my judgment as well. Which is why we won't buy any apart for some personal mounts for the officers and..." he paused. "You can pick one."

Benion turned and gasped, eyes blue as the summer skies above them. "Me? I can choose one?"

Quintus smiled, "Yours." He felt a hot flood of pleasure no less profound than the fulfillment of desire that he experienced filling the willing body of the boy in front of him with his seed. How strange, he had never thought to get such enjoyment from just watching the stunned delight, the unshadowed joy.

"Can I take a closer look?" Benion asked eagerly.

"Of course, but be careful, they're wild and unhandled."

The young Celt was already jumping down from the fence and slowly moving among the horses. Although they snorted and shied, his presence did not seem to alarm them unduly.

Realising that Benion would not be hurried, Quintus Gaius leaned against the fence and thought, quite irrationally, that he would give half his fortune to always see that joy in the aquamarine eyes.

Abruptly he realised that Benion had returned. "Have you made your choice already?"

"Yes, Master, I have. That one," Benion said with certainty.

Quintus Gaius followed his pointing finger to a colt with a coat the colour of mists and shadows, the dished delicate head, arched neck and hooves Quintus could take in his hand, bearing testament to his noble ancestors. Carrying his tail like a banner, the colt half-reared, neighing his defiance when another horse came too close. Quintus also noticed the proud, wild look in the dark eyes, and the way the white colt tossed his head and laid his ears back. "He's a beauty, but he'll not be easily tamed."

A brilliant smile was the reply. "I know, that's why I want him," Benion admitted. "He's beautiful, so wild and free..." unconscious wistfulness threaded through his voice. "I want to tame him without breaking his spirit."

The tall Roman listened to the quiet words and wondered what had put the sudden sadness in the voice. He lightly circled the slender nape, thumb stroking the soft skin. "Then he is yours, young one."

"Thank you, Master." Benion was smiling again and his face as he moved towards the colt showed nothing but eagerness and joy.

It was a long hard struggle. Each morning Benion would rise at dawn and go down to the paddocks where he personally fed and watered the grey colt. Then, he would currycomb and brush the long tangled mane and tail until they flowed like silk while the colt tried his best to bite and kick. After that he would spend hours lounging the horse, all the time speaking in a soft patient voice.

The men watched in mingled amusement and admiration for his persistence as he mounted, was promptly bucked off, only to mount again.

Patiently jumping out of the way of the small vicious hooves, Benion was untangling the long mane when he heard someone move up behind him and looked around to find Panacius admiring the colt.

Benion came over to the old soldier and smiled at him. He felt more relaxed with Panacius than his own master. "He's a beauty, isn't he?" he said proudly.

Panacius nodded, "That he is, lad." He spat on the ground. "What are you going to call him?"

Benion was silent and then he murmured, "Ceo."

Dark eyebrows rose. "That's a strange name."

A small smile played on the Celt's lips. "It means fog, in my language, in Gaelic," he said softly. "I named him that because his coat remind me of the mists above the sea at home."

Panacius gave him a long steady look. "Don't know that it's a good idea," he said but his voice was very kind.

Benion gave him a swift look. "What do you mean?"

Panacius crossed his arms on the fence. "No use in looking back, lad. You know you'll never go back home, so why remind yourself of what you've lost?"

Benion shook his head, going over to pick up the brush and began currycombing the colt again. "That's not why, Panacius." And when he turned around his smile was unshadowed. "Ceo was a gift from my master, and I gave him that name to remind me that no matter where I came from, this is where I belong, with him."

Panacius opened his mouth but closed it again, shaking his head and watching in silence as Benion loosened the rope and led Ceo to the middle of the paddock. He had already, patiently, gotten the colt used to his weight and the feel of the light body on his back as well as the rope bridle. However, Ceo, being everything Quintus had warned Benion he would be, did not easily admit the boy his master. With an agnry rather than frightened neigh, the colt reared and kicked out.

That night and every night for weeks, Benion dragged his sore and bruised body to the tent, often falling asleep over his dinner. More than once Quintus found him curled in a small boneless heap when the Roman returned, sleeping so deeply he never noticed when Quintus picked him up and carried him to the bed and gently pulled the covers over the sleeping boy.

Perhaps it was in those days when Benion was too exhausted and sore to do anything but sleep that the first bond was born. Certainly it was the first time that Quintus acknowledged to himself that he felt far more for his bed-slave than desire and a distant affection. He should have been impatient that Benion was unable to carry out his duties, during night and day, and yet all he felt was pride over the boy's persistence and abilities. That and joy as the shadows put there by life lifted from the young face, replaced with contentment and happiness.

A quiet smile lingered on Benion's face as he walked from the paddocks. Ceo had behaved perfectly today and one of the army horse-trainers had promised to show him how to train the colt in the army way, how to rear up and kick out at command. Benion's smile grew as he imagined showing his master in a few weeks.

Someone was coming down the path going in the other direction and he looked up to find Tribune Xanatos striding towards him. Bowing low, but not alarmed, Benion stepped aside to let the Roman officer pass him.

However, instead of doing so, Xanatos halted. "Well, well, what do we have here? Quintus' little whore."

Benion almost winced. He had no idea why Xanatos hated him, but he could no longer doubt the Tribune's emotions. Deciding this was definitely not the time for speaking, he just bowed very low and respectfully again. When he started to move away, he felt a sudden hard hand around his arm.

Startled, and beginning to feel a little apprehensive, he looked up, straight into strange, gleaming pale eyes. "Excuse me, Tribune, may I pass? My master is waiting for me."

Xanatos jerked him closer, and suddenly Benion could smell the sourness of wine and the first real fear flashed through him. His heart started to beat faster.

Trying to break free through violence was not an option. Not only was the Tribune probably stronger, even drunk, but for a slave to hit a Roman freeman was a crime punishable with death, no matter the circumstances. The Celt took a deep breath trying to stay calm. "Please, Tribune, my master will not be pleased." He tried to step back a pace, moving carefully while eyeing Xanatos warily.

Xanatos laughed drunkenly. Reaching out and winding his fingers around the thin braid, his other hand started to fumble with his pants. "He'll spare you for a few moments. Quintus has never been selfish with his toys."

Benion bit his lip. It shouldn't hurt, but it did. "Don't touch me!" he said a little more sharpely, and pulled away. "Or I will tell my master."

"Who do you think he'll believe, little whore, me or his bed-toy?" Xanatos started dragging the young slave away from the path and down the grassy slope.

At the brutal truth, Benion stiffened. No, he didn't have to think of who Quintus Gaius would believe. "Please, Tribune," he tried to keep his voice steady, "don't do this. You don't want me, not really," he pleaded. "You can have anyone you want." Desperately he added, "please, just ask my Master for permission first."

Xanatos' hot breath slobbered across his neck, making him shiver. He could feel clumsy hands tear at his clothing. "Shut up!" Xanatos growled, trying to push him to the ground.

Benion stumbled and half-fell, trying to roll away as Xanatos followed him down. The Tribune was too fast, using the dangling braid to yank him back brutally.

Not able to suppress a sharp exclamation of pain, Benion tried to defend himself without actually striking at the Tribune. He managed to get to his knees, one leg up to run, when Xanatos tackled him from behind and Benion ended up sprawled on his stomach, the Tribune across his hips.

Without realising there were tears slipping down his face, Benion begged again, "Please, please!"

"Shut up!" Dimly he felt another yank on his braid, and then Xanatos used his knee to wedge slender thighs apart. Following a slap on the ass, a blunt finger thrust into him, making him moan and try and crawl away from the pain. From above, he heard Xanatos' lewd voice, "Juno's tits but you've got a sweet little hole. Maybe I can see what Quintus wants you for."

His Master!

Benion went still as a statue. Oh Gods, what would his master say? 'I don't share.' He heard Quintus' calm warning and his tears fell even faster. His master wouldn't want him anymore once he knew what Xanatos had done. It wouldn't matter that Benion claimed rape. "You can't rape a whore," one of his few friends at the brothel had told him once.

In that moment Benion went from defending himself to surviving. Lying limply, not resisting the pawing hands roaming across his body, he turned his head over his shoulder and looked up at the drunken Roman astride him. Hands knotting convulsively, he could smell the sweetness of dewy grass crushed between his fingers rise around him. "Please," he said softly, "I'm not going to resist, just don't mark me."

By now Benion was far more afraid of what his Master would say if he realised what had happened than anything Xanatos could do to him. If the Tribune hit him, then Quintus Gaius would definitely know.

The young Celt closed his eyes and spread his legs, feeling the hot, wine-sodden breath on his neck, the brutal hands tearing at his tunic. He shut his eyes tightly, feeling the moisture dripping slowly to the ground as his face was pressed into the mud.

When the Tribune finally left him in the churned up mud and grass to stumble drunkenly away, Benion remained where he was for a long time. His body was aching and so was his soul. Even in the short time he had been with Quintus Gaius, he had forgotten or blocked much of his past, the strange men who had grunted and plunged into his body.

Curling in a small ball, Benion cried until he had no more tears left. Finally he sat up and scrubbed his cheeks, reaching for his tunic and pulling it over his head. Getting to his feet and wincing slightly at the aches deep inside him, he felt a flash of panic. He couldn't show himself like this to his master.

Sneaking back to camp, Benion sighed in relief as he found the bath adjoining the General's tent was empty. Stripping the mudstained clothes from his body, he filled the large tub with steaming hot water and sank down in it with a sigh of pleasure. After scrubbing himself raw, refilling the water twice, he finally stepped out, wrapping himself in a clean towel and walked into the tent. Dropping the towel he looked over his shoulder anxious to see if Xanatos had left any marks. He breathed a soundless sigh of relief when he realised that apart for some bruises on his hips and ass and scratches across his shoulders he was intact.

"Admiring yourself?" Benion jumped, not having heard Quintus Gaius enter.

It was beyond him to smile in return, so he just said quietly, "No, I -- " The breath hitched in his throat as Quintus came closer bending to inspect a bruise on his left hip. Just in time, he stopped himself from flinching at the touch.

However, some of the tension must have been communicated to Quintus because he frowned and asked, "What happened, did you take a tumble?"

Grasping at the excuse, pathetically grateful for the explanation, Benion nodded. "Ceo shied and dumped me, Master," he forced a rueful smile into his voice, "and it took a few tries before he agreed on being cooperative."

Quintus laughed and shook his head. "That colt's going to break your neck one of these days. I don't suppose I could persuade you to trade him in?" And at Benion's emphatic shake of the head, "I didn't think so. All right, you've already had a soak?" Benion nodded. "Then straight to bed with you."

"Yes, Master," Benion murmured, not sure whether to feel relief or crushing disappointment when Quintus Gaius sat down at the table and started writing instead of joining him,. Although he wasn't sure he could stand even his master's hands on him tonight, he badly needed the comfort of the large body beside him.

Benion fell asleep to the comforting sight of Quintus writing, occasionally looking across and smiling at him.

The next morning when he woke stiff and bruised, he was definitely relieved he was alone. Stretching, trying to work some of the kinks out of his joints he padded into the bath for another long soak. Feeling more than a little guilty that his master apparently had woken long before him, Benion resolved to work harder now that Ceo was behaving. He was uneasily aware that he had neglected his duties taming the colt. But, he tried to comfort himself, his master had said nothing and actually seemed pleased by his preoccupation and Ceo, beautiful wild Ceo, was worth any amount of hard work he would have to do to catch up.

His smile died as he stepped out of the tub again, thoughts of Ceo led to the memory of last night and he felt cold fear whisper through him. What he could not understand was why the Tribune had taken him. Some deep-seated instinct made the boy sure that Xanatos did not truly want him. As he dressed, Benion wished fiercely that he need never see the Tribune ever again.

Inevitably, the first man the young Celt saw when emerging from the tent was Xanatos coming from his own quarters. From the looks of it, the Tribune was suffering badly from a hangover, and for one wild moment of hope, Benion thought the Roman might be too drunk to remember. Their eyes met and Xanatos' vicious smile withered that hope.

Taking a deep breath, Benion knew he had to know what the Tribune had decided. Crossing the dusty ground he stopped and bowed low before the young Roman.

Xanatos glared at the boy, although he was feeling more than a little uneasy. If the damned whore had told Quintus about last night the world was about to fall on his head. Of course the way he felt, the world already *had*. "What do you want?" he snapped cursing his throbbing head as he almost winced from the sound of his own voice.

"What are you going to tell my Master?" Benion asked quietly.

Xanatos raised a haughty eyebrow. "That is not your place to ask, *slave*." Once more he regretted last night's decision to drown his sorrows in wine. He had listened to Quintus Gaius praising his little slave until he'd been ready to scream, and once he was alone he had to drown the memory in sweet Iberian wine. The attempt had failed and he'd been brooding about everything he had lost when he'd looked up and the little whore had been right in front of him looking far too pleased with himself. His judgment clouded by the wine, Xanatos had felt his hatred rise and struck back the only way he, in his befuddled state, could think of, by treating the slave like the whore he was.

Benion met the pale eyes of the Tribune, his own suddenly filled with hatred. "I know what I am. But I'm not *your* slave. You had no right to do what you did last night. You had no right to take me without the permission of my Master."

Xanatos gave him a haughty look, wishing his head didn't feel like exploding. "If you think so, little slave, why don't you tell your master what I did?"

Benion's eyes fell and the anger abruptly died leaving only desolation behind. "He will not believe me if I tell him the truth and you deny it."

"Not so sure of yourself as you pretend to be, are you, whore?" Xanatos spat, and though he didn't show it, his mind quivered in terrible relief that the boy hadn't told Quintus Gaius.

A red-gold head lifted and blue-green eyes faced the cold, sneering face, steadily. "I am whore yes, but at least I'm not a thief and a liar."

Benion watched stoically as the hand descended and slapped him, hard. He staggered and almost fell before recovering from the blow, one hand holding his cheek.

Across the field, Quintus looked up and frowned, then, as he watched Xanatos' hand rise and connect he started walking towards the pair with large, angry strides.

"Jupiter's balls! What's going on here?!" he demanded angrily.

Xanatos said, carelessly, "Your slave was being insolent and a liar."

Benion bit his lip until it bled, but said not a word.

Quintus' looked from one to the other and then his face turned cold and hard. "Xanatos is a Roman noble and an officer under my command. Remember your place, boy."

"Yes, Master." Benion's face was white as snow, apart from the red mark where Xanatos had hit him.

Quintus sighed, reaching out to touch the side of his face. Benion just managed to stop from flinching away physically, but his eyes were dark, enormous wounds.

"I am sorry, Master," he whispered, bowing very low before retreating.

Quintus looked after him, shaking his head. "By the Gods, Xan, what was that about?"

Xanatos shrugged, "You should teach your slaves better manners, General. That one has been indulged far too much."

His friend and commander turned back and gave him a very cold look. "That may be, but next time, you will leave his punishment to me, do you understand, Xan?" When the young Roman didn't answer immediately a thread of pure steel entered his voice. "Do you understand me, Tribune?"

"Yes, General, I understand," Xanatos said evenly, hating the Celt all the more for putting this distance between himself and Quintus.

When Quintus Gaius entered the tent that evening, Benion immediately knelt, bowing low until his forehead touched the ground. "Please, forgive me, Master," he said quietly.

Quintus sighed heavily, crossing the tent and gathering the boy in his arms. "You're a little fool," he chided gently, kissing the top of a bent head. "You know that I could not repudiate Xanatos in public."

"I know, I'm sorry," Benion whispered. There was no way he could tell his master of the fear that had all but paralysed him: the fear that Xanatos would slant the truth. Quintus Gaius' casual warning spoken that first morning once again echoed in his head... *I do not share.* What would happen if the General learned of what his trusted friend and Tribune had done?

All the fears and doubts that had been silenced ever since Quintus Gaius had gifted him with Ceo were back, ten times stronger. Awaiting his master in the tent all day, Benion had been filled with a blinding terror and his hands had trembled and fumbled as he worked.

In the young Celt's experience, the slave was always blamed, even when it wasn't his fault. If his master ever discovered the truth, the Roman would undoubtedly be furious and take his anger out on his slave, not on his friend. What had happened earlier today just confirmed that. Unconsciously, slender shoulders drooped. If he'd ever had the slightest thought of telling his master the truth, it was no longer an option.

Benion knew with an icy certainty, that, at best, he would get away with a severe beating; at worst Quintus would sell him, or send him off to serve in one of the camp-brothels which provided entertainment and relief for the common soldiers.

Gently putting his burden down on their bed, Quintus Gaius stood for a moment and looked down at the small miserable figure and then he swiftly undressed and, lying down, gathered the slender body in his arms. Benion didn't try to pull back or resist, he hid his face in Quintus' throat and simply shivered.

They lay in silence for a long time, Quintus gently caressed the trembling boy, and as the shudders gradually ceased Quintus Gaius' touching became less soothing and more teasing. Finally, when Benion was relaxing bonelessly against him, he gently tugged the braid until Benion looked up. "Did he hurt you?" Quintus asked softly, gently touching the bruise flowering across one cheekbone.

Eyes wide and vulnerable, Benion shook his head, "It doesn't hurt much," he said softly. Taking one of Quintus' large hands, he grasped it and held it to the side of his face. "Nothing hurts, Master, as long as I'm here, with you," he whispered, scattering small kisses along a broad tanned chest. Arms and legs wrapped themselves around Quintus as though they never wanted to let go. The Roman could feel that the body of the Celt was already hard and eager.

Closing his eyes, Benion abandoned himself to the touch of large hands that moulded and caressed, touched and probed. He badly needed the re-assurance that Quintus Gaius wanted him; he needed to pretend that last night, Xanatos' brutality hadn't happened.

However, although his body, as it always did, melted and sighed in pleasure at his master's possession, it failed to heal the wounds in his soul.

After Quintus had fallen asleep, Benion remained awake, trying not to disturb his master by tossing and turning. Finally, he carefully slid out of bed and padded barefoot out of the tent, after a last look at his sleeping master.

Once outside, Benion found himself heading towards the horse-lines. Pricking his ears, Ceo greeted him with a quiet snort and soft nose whuffling around for the piece of bread Benion usually carried. The boy buried his face in the long mane of his horse and let hot tears fall into the silky softness. He cried for a long time, until finally exhausted, he scrubbed his face and sat down cross-legged leaning his head against Ceo's withers. He had to think.

What the Tribune had done to him was not the true problem. Last night, while unpleasant and hurtful, he could dismiss. It was not, after all, something to which he had been unaccustomed. What truly frightened him was what had happened today. The rude awakening had hurt far more than the Tribune's hand. The young Celt realised now that he *had* expected his master to at least ask why Xanatos had struck him. Benion smiled bitterly knowing the fool's dream he had been living in. He had forgotten who he was and, more importantly, who his master was. Panacius warning whispered through his memory.

*...don't ever forget that he *is* your owner. He's a Roman aristocrat, and they're not like you or I...*

How could he have forgotten that his only purpose here was to serve General Quintus Gaius?

Standing up, he gave Ceo a last absent pat, and began walking towards the camp again, shoulders bowed. He would not forget again. He would serve and obey without hesitation or question. He would not expect something from his master that was not Quintus Gaius' desire to give.

He would pray that Tribune Xanatos say nothing.

Something changed after that day. Quintus Gaius first realized it the next morning when, instead of waking up to the feel of a slender young body pressed against him and the sleepy smile of a small upturned face, he was alone in the bed when he opened his eyes.

However, as soon as he stirred, he heard the soft padding of bare feet and Benion appeared, carrying a basin of hot water and a towel. "Good morning, Master," he said, placing the basin beside the bed and standing back, hands crossed before him, head bent.

Quintus smiled, "Good morning," he sat up and yawned and stretched lazily, watching as Benion returned with his breakfast. Instead of perching on the bed watching his master eat, talking about Ceo and Panacius' training, Benion remained beside the bed, silently waiting for Quintus to finish.

Although he wondered at the odd behavior, Quintus thought the boy might be embarrassed that the colt had managed to buck him off so many times after Benion had sworn he had calmed down. Smiling at the thought, the Roman dressed, and left for the day's duties.

However, when he returned at dinner, Benion was still subdued and silent. That night, although he came willingly into Quintus' arms, there was something missing...

At first Quintus Gaius thought the boy was sulking. Sulking he could and would have dealt with swiftly enough. Yet, it was not long before he realised that it was something far deeper. The light in the sea-coloured eyes had died, so had the lilting laughter and the wry humour. Instead, Benion served in subdued silence, obeying each command with alacrity and skill, but his face was distant and all the spontaneous warmth and life that once animated it was gone. Even his sword-practices with Panacius suffered as Benion listlessly went through the motions with none of his old zest and enthusiasm.

It was in bed that the change became most apparent. The shy wide-eyed sensuality that had so captured Quintus Gaius ceased. Instead Benion performed his duties flawlessly, moving and moaning as required. Yet, he never left his owner in doubt that even as the lithe young body reacted to the tactile stimulus of hands and mouth and body, it was the submission of a dutiful slave.

When he first noticed the change, Quintus Gaius was puzzled, but asking Benion what was wrong produced no result as the young Celt assured his master he was fine. The Roman finally grew impatient and then angry, beginning to believe it was a deliberate attempt to defy him. But neither the increased duties nor the harsh commands elicited rebellion or resentment, only an increased anxiety to please, and an almost frantic submission that puzzled and ultimately defeated him.

It was only when riding his colt that a little of the young Celt's joy seemed to return, only then that the tension let go of his body.

Benion was cantering around the paddock, Ceo accepting the bit, neck arched and one ear flicking back as he listened and obeyed. Quintus Gaius leaned his arms against the rails watching the boy and horse move as one.

"Master!" Benion had seen him and Quintus Gaius watched in regret as all ease left his face, body abruptly stiff with apprehension as the young Celt immediately jerked to a halt. Ceo snorted and tossed his head in displeasure at the suddenly clumsy hands. The slave slid to the ground, coming over and bowing low. "I did not realise that you were here, Master," he said, adding anxiously, "Did you want me, Master?"

Quintus Gaius shook his head, hating the soft submissive tone, the bent head. "No, I wanted to see how you and Ceo were getting on." He ducked his head and stepped through the fence.

Benion gave him a nervous look, fingers unconsciously plaiting the reins. "He is getting better, Master."

Trying to