The Freeing of Spartacus.
For two long years the slave war had shook Rome to the very core. Although in its all conquering peak, the Roman army had been pushed to the very edge by this huge group of renegade gladiators and slaves. At their head was the Thracian gladiator Spartacus who, though born into slavery had never bowed a knee to his enemy.
Through thirty six years of slavery he had stood rebellious, ignoring the beatings and death threats which came his way. Even his masters had feared him, recognising an undefeatable spirit within a giant hearted man.
After his escape, and during the wars; the Roman Generals sent to defeat him were in awe of his incredible fortitude. Many soldiers died and one name was discussed at Senate more than any other; the name of Spartacus. It was felt he was not human, that he was some kind of re-incarnated God on earth. Much of the Senate were in favour of freeing him and his men, so Rome could limp back into some kind of normality. The wealthy, looked at their own slaves with a different slant. Men they had viewed as domesticated animals now became a concern. So many slaves had escaped to join the rebels that Rome was shaken to its very foundation.
Finally the might of The Roman legions brought the rebels to defeat. The Year was 71 BC and the heroic dissidents lay dead or in chains. The populous of Rome were cock-o-hoop, yet still there was an uncomfortable reality. For the status quo to return, Spartacus himself must be brought to his knees. He must be made to grovel, to abase himself, to accept the rule of his betters.
He was brought to Rome in chains, whipped like an animal and spat at by the throngs. However he remained indignant, defiant and proud. He carried his head high and stared down anyone who looked at him. His army was defeated, but in his heart Spartacus was not.
His captors gaoled him, they whipped him daily, tortured him, but still he refused to submit. After a month of this his name again topped the agenda at The Senate.
The Senate were split, those from a military background demanded he be executed immediately. Those from Patrician stock cried he must be broken and made to grovel.
‘Cut his throat, crucify him! Whatever it takes, just rid us of him!’ insisted Senator Agrilla.
‘No, no, no!’ implored Senator Perasuss, ‘kill him now and he will become a martyr, an icon to the servile races. Make him grovel, make him beg and plead for mercy. Kill him then if it pleases but first he must be brought to his knees!’
Agrilla again rose to his feet, ‘You have no idea what sort of man we are dealing with Senators! This is a man the like of which we have never encountered. No whip can break him, no threats can break him; he is unbreakable!’
The argument went on without resolve. The Senate agreed to meet again in a week’s time to vote on what should become of Spartacus.
That very evening Perasuss visited the object of discussion in his cell. Looking at him through the bars he looked like a defeated man. He slept on the floor covered in straw, a bowl of water beside him. Perasuss ordered him to be whipped. Guards entered his cell and chained his wrists to a sturdy beam.
The Senator stood with a goblet of wine as a guard laid into Spartacus with a heavy bullwhip. After forty strokes the victim began to grunt, but forty more and he still wouldn’t beg or plead.
Perasuss stood against the bars of the cell and spoke to Spartacus, ‘slave, surely you must want this torturous existence to end?’
Spartacus opened his eyes and grunted what sounded like an affirmative.
‘Well, all you have to do is kneel before me and declare Rome your better and I’ll let them slit your throat.’
Spartacus smiled through the pain. What sweet release it would be to die quickly. What a relief it would be to leave this mortal coil, no more pain, no more torture. Yet looking at the Senator he defiantly shook his head.
Perasuss threw the contents of his cup into the captive’s face in anger. He turned to compose himself as a slave nervously approached him and with head bowed low replenished his goblet with wine.
Again he turned to the whipped man. ‘Very well Spartacus. I shall give you one last offer. We shall give you gold and transport you to free Gaul. You shall have your freedom. All you have to do is kneel before The Senate and apologise for your insolence.’
Spartacus looked at the senator and could see he was telling the truth. Freedom, he thought to himself, what he had fought for, for two years, the very thing he had dreamt of for thirty eight years. He looked Perasuss square in the eye and tried to envisage himself kneeling before The Senate. He smiled and so did The Senator. Spartacus drew his breath and forcefully spat in the face of his captor.
Perasuss scurried away in revile. In his anger he ordered the death of the wine slave, for no other reason than he had borne witness to his ordeal. The slave was dragged into a cell and slayed. Perasuss stormed out of the holding gaol and into his awaiting litter. Eight docile slaves carefully carried him home.
That evening Perasuss entertained a few close friends at his luxurious villa. Fellow senator Grabius, nobleman Crassus, The Lady Helena and last but by no means least The Great Lady Julia.
As they ate a splendid supper, their host informed them of the day’s events; he did however omit to telling of the fact Spartacus had spat at him.
The group of aristocrats inevitably went on to discuss the ‘servile uprisings’. Lady Helena commented on how she had lost a dozen slaves, four of which now approached death on crosses along The Apian Way. She recalled how she had had her remaining slaves flogged into submission, but still didn’t feel as comfortable as she once had.
Grabius and Crassus confirmed they had both lost human property during the troubles. Crassus stated the wars had cost him some ten percent of his wealth which still left him obscenely rich. This he recounted as he fondled the breasts of the nubile Ethiopian slave girl who was serving wine. She did not understand the conversation taking place, but stood like a dumb animal until her superior had finished feeling her.
Finally the guest of honour, Julia, spoke up; ‘I didn’t really follow the troubles,’ she uttered. ‘I myself didn’t lose any property. The bandits came to my palace once but the slaves joined with my guards to fight them off.’
‘Didn’t one of your kitchen staff lose an arm Great Lady?’ enquired Grabius.
‘Yes indeed,’ she replied as a Syrian slave fed her a grape, ‘actually he fought so ardently I decided to give him his freedom. And yet he begged me not to let him go.’
‘So did you keep him Ma’am?’ asked Crassus.
‘I did, but a one armed dish washer is no good, so I had him sent to my plutonium mine.’
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t mind getting his hand dirty,’ joked Helena bringing laughter from the privileged guests.
Smiling sweetly; Julia spat the skin from her grape onto the floor. Immediately the Syrian stooped to lap up the waste before crawling from view. It was a common task for the slave but the thought of eating something which had just been in the most desirable mouth known to man caused him to tremble with pleasure.
‘It’s one of the mysteries of Rome,’ declared Perusass, ‘Your slaves seem to be so grateful to be such.’
‘Yes I know’ replied The Lady Julia allowing the Ethiopian to replenish her goblet ‘I hardly need to have them whipped.’
‘Yet you do Great Lady,’ interjected Crassus, ‘I’ve witnessed near orgies of floggings in Your palace.’
‘But of course,’ laughed the delectable blonde, ‘I’ll have a slave whipped for the slightest mistake, to improve it. And then of course I’ll have them flogged purely for the spectacle.’
‘Oh yes,’ smiled Helena, ‘I hear you enjoy the entertainment of a whipping.’
‘Certainly,’ asserted Julia, I love the way their faces contort, and their screams are most amusing.’
‘Forgive me Your Magnificence,’ suggested Grabius, ‘but I’m sure many a free man would take a leathering if they thought it would amuse one as fine as You!’
‘Mmm, and they have done.’
The assembled group of nobles smiled at the delicious look on the lady’s face and the certain knowledge that her words were true.
‘But,’ asked Crassus changing the subject, ‘what is to become of this wretch Spartacus?’
Perusass’s brow furrowed, ‘Oh I wish I knew. His three lieutenants are waiting execution; perhaps we should let him join them.’
‘No,’ insisted Helena, ‘I agree with you Perusass, he should be broken to a dog first.’
‘But how?’ asked their host, ‘the man is unbreakable! I’ve never seen such spirit in any man; let alone a slave!’
‘Give him to me!’ stated Julia in a voice which commanded to be obeyed.
‘But Great Lady,’ obsequed the senator, ‘I couldn’t risk anything happening to You.’
‘Arrange it!’ commanded the beauty, ‘arrange it by Saturday!’
‘If you insist Your Ladyship,’ replied her host, still a little worried.
The evening continued pleasantly. Perasass had a couple of slaves flogged for the amusement of his guests, before gifting the beaten Ethiopian to The Lady Julia as a token of his appreciation. Julia had the girl perform delectable cunnilingus on her during the litter ride home, before having her submitted to her kitchens.
Two days later an extraordinary meeting of The Senate was convened. Here Perusass put it to his ilk that Spartacus be given to The Lady Julia. At first there was laughter, followed by two schools of thought. One that it was far too dangerous, Spartacus was a wild animal with nothing to lose. However closely guarded there was always the chance he may break free and attack Julia. Be this sexual or violent it would be disastrous for Rome. Julia was a much loved and even more lusted after Lady.
Over sixty thousand soldiers had died in the last two years, but this would mean nothing compared to even a non-fatal attack on The Great Lady Julia. The morale of Rome would reach an all time low.
The other school of thought was maybe she could break him after all. A body of guards could be sent to protect her and she herself would have no conjunction in having the rebel tortured. Indeed members of this school felt she would become frustrated at his resilience and push him to death as a result.
Others, independently and in the main secretly, had oft fantasised about being Lady Julia’s slave themselves. Some would copulate with their own chattel whilst imagining themselves massaging or waiting on the noble beauty. The young Julius Caesar himself would have two girls of Briton lick and suck his nipples whilst a male slave performed fellatio on him. Throughout this act he would dream he was grovelling at the feet of Julia, begging to kiss a single toe. To level things up in his mind afterwards he would have the three slaves brutally whipped as he snacked on sweetmeats and sipped chilled wine.
Fearing defeat in a vote, Perusass offered that if Lady Julia could not break Spartacus, then he would gladly vote for the beast’s execution. This satisfied any waverers and the Senate vote was strongly in favour of giving the slave to Julia.
And so it came to pass that Spartacus was taken in chains to the dungeon of his new ‘owner’ The Great Lady Julia. She wasn’t there to greet her new possession but asked Perusass to see to it that the three lieutenants were not crucified for another three weeks. Perusass presumed the fair Lady had given herself this time to break the will of Spartacus. ‘I wonder what vile tortures she has in mind’ wondered the Senator with a cruel smile.
In fact Julia didn’t come anywhere near her captive for the full three weeks. Also he was not whipped or tortured whatsoever. He was well watered and reasonably fed. His body was given the opportunity to heal and his mind became strong. He had been told he was now the property of a woman and this made him laugh out loud. ‘When shall I meet her?’ he would ask.
‘Soon enough,’ he was told.
Spartacus had given up on life. He had fought as hard as he could to win his freedom, but that dream was now over. There was no way he would be a slave for even a moment. He now looked forward to death; it would be a release of sorts. All that mattered now was not submitting to his enemy. He would continue to spit in their faces, to laugh at them. With the strength the food and water had given him, he knew he was now invincible.
He presumed he would be well guarded when he met this bitch the Julia. If he could break loose he would attack her, beat her around the head until he was slain. Of course if she were attractive he might try to ravage her, rape her even. He smiled to himself as he realised the last sight he would have on earth would be a wealthy Roman Lady sobbing with pain and fear. Perhaps, if the guards were slow to kill him he would hear her beg for mercy. These thoughts pleased him mightily and he slept well, growing stronger by the day.
On the last Saturday of the month, at noon, Spartacus’s three right hand men were nailed and tied to crosses. They were set for crucifixion in a triangle. Crixus, David and Antoninus were close enough to speak to each other. They were brave men and their words were defiant. They had fought and lost, but anything was better than submitting to their enemy, even death. They spoke of Spartacus, of his bravery and his legacy.
‘Men will speak his name a thousand years from now!’ declared Antoninus.
‘Two thousand years!’ cried David, ‘His bravery and resistance will always be remembered!’
‘Having fought with a man as brave and defiant as Spartacus’ insisted Crixus, ‘How can I possibly fear death!’
A handful of Romans observed them. Their words worried them greatly; it was obvious these men were so brave. Would the memory of Spartacus one day bring the might and rule of Rome to an end?
One hour later The Lady Julia was ready to meet her new slave Spartacus. She reclined on a sumptuous couch of gold, silk and fur. At her feet knelt a beautiful teenage slave girl from The Orient. She gently massaged, caressed, kissed and licked her owner’s feet. Julia enjoyed such ministrations; the girl absolutely loved the honour of pleasing her Mistress in this way.
Behind the Julia’s couch stood a huge Nubian eunuch who fanned his Mistress with a gigantic feather fan. He had been purchased and castrated three years previously. The castration had hurt a lot, but he had soon come to realise the loss of his genitilia was a tiny price to pay for such a privileged existence. Day in, day out he would stand just a few yards from this glorious woman. He could smell her delectable perfume. He could hear her beautiful voice. And best of all he could see the back of her lovely head. The long blonde hair somehow brought a tingle to the part of his body which was no longer there!
In front of her couch, knelt a slaveboy from Gaul. He held aloft a gold bejewelled platter on which lay a bunch of separated black grapes. The boy was careful to keep his head bowed lower than the tray. Next to him were his Mistress’s golden sandals which stood straight and tidy.
The only other slave in attendance was a small Jew who stood to attention with his head bowed low.
Into this vast room was led Spartacus. He was chained and blindfolded and accompanied closely by four sturdy guards.
As they approached The Julia’s couch she exclaimed, ‘ah, my new slave!’
Spartacus bristled, but he couldn’t help but notice the charming lilt in the soft sexy voice of this bitch who thought she owned him.
Julia snapped her fingers, waved her hand and told the guards, ‘you may go, I don’t require you.’
Shocked, one of the guards stuttered, ‘but’.
But wasn’t a word Julia was used to. She raised one perfect eyebrow and all four guards bowed and left immediately. Spartacus couldn’t believe his luck; this was going to be so easy, though the chains restricted him terribly.
Julia ordered the Jewish slave, ‘unbind him!’
The slave began his task of removing the chains. First from around Spartacus’s ankles, then from his wrists. The ‘enemy of Rome’ now stood free. After three weeks of food, water and rest he felt as strong as he ever had. All that counted now was to pick the right moment to launch an attack on this woman.
‘Take off his blindfold!’ commanded the Roman Lady. The Jew did so.
Spartacus blinked hard, now was his moment, he was free and ready to leap on this woman who considered him her slave.
Then he looked at her for the first time. She was beautiful, more beautiful than he had ever imagined a woman could be. She reclined on the couch resting her angelic head on the palm of her right hand. Calmly she picked a grape from the platter in front of her and popped it into her impossibly gorgeous mouth.
Spartacus felt his strength drain away from his body. He could not believe such an incredible sight existed. Thoughts of attacking her simply faded away.
Julia pointed to the floor in front of her couch, ‘get down on your knees slave,’ she coolly ordered. Spartacus tried to summon up the strength to resist but could not.
Utterly transfixed, he fell to his knees.
‘Bow your head animal,’ she quietly insisted.
Spartacus bowed his head towards the floor.
‘Now slave,’ spoke Julia, ‘crawl and kiss my shoes.’
‘With self control having deserted him, Spartacus crawled and tenderly kissed each of Julia’s sandals. He was no longer a man, but a slave. In fact he was a slave whose heart thudded in gratitude to be owned by this Great Lady.
She smiled and spoke again, ‘look at me slave.’
Spartacus gingerly raised his head until his once proud eyes met her’s. They were a piercing blue, clearer and more incredible than The Mediterranean. He was totally lost in those beautiful eyes. He was her abject slave.
‘Now slave,’ she said smiling confidently, ‘I want you to bark like a dog, a cur at my feet.’
The man who had shaken an Empire opened his mouth and began barking like a dog, a big dog.
‘No, no no,’ laughed his Mistress, ‘I want you to yelp like a little dog!’
In an instant, this rebel of rebels began yelping in a perfect imitation of a small dog. His pitch was so high he sounded like a little female dog, ‘yelp, yelp, yelp.’
The Lady Julia laughed out loud. Spartacus knew he had become a figure of absolute ridicule but he didn’t care. He was amusing this fantastic woman, his Mistress, a Goddess on earth. His Mistress smiled, it had taken all of two minutes to turn this uncontrollable rebel into a grovelling slave.
Two hours later Julia’s litter arrived at the crucifixion triangle. The three lieutenants who were burning in the afternoon sun heard her gay laughter. She stood before them with a goblet of chilled wine in her lovely hand. In attendance were just three slaves; the Nubian eunuch to fan her, a Syrian to hold a sombrero over her head and Spartacus.
His brothers in arms strained to recognise their leader as he stood there unchained. To ensure they were in no doubt The Noble Lady spoke to them, ‘I have here the slave you once called Spartacus!’
Crixus murmured to the others, ‘it is he.’
Julia spoke again, ‘he is my slave now, and I’ve changed his name to Trixie.’ With that she snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground at her feet, ‘knees.’
The slave formerly known as Spartacus threw himself to the ground as his former comrades watched in horror. ‘Bark Trixie!’ commanded his owner.
There for all to see, this once proud warrior scurried round yelping like a little dog. Julia smiled as she saw the disgust on the dying men’s faces. She then did something uncharacteristically unladylike. She spat a large piece of phlegm to the ground. Again she snapped her fingers and pointed to the spittle, ‘lick it up Trixie!’
Without hesitation, ‘Trixie’ crawled to the spot where his owner’s spit had landed and licked it up with utmost gratitude.
Julia smiled victoriously and snapped, ‘come along slave we’re going home!’
Trixie stood up but kept his head bowed low as he followed his owner to her litter.
As the party departed the three men undergoing crucifixion hung their heads in shame. Antoninus spoke solemnly, ‘Now I know we shall die in vain, there never will be an end to slavery.’ The other two murmured in agreement as the trio waited for death.
The Lady Julia soon began to tire of the sport she was having with her new slave. He was completely broken and therefore just one of many slaves. She decided to assign him to her cleaning staff. Most of these slaves were women whose lives were to clean every room in the palace on a daily basis. They also had to ensure they were never in the presence of their rightful owner. This was achievable given the size of the palace and a shrewdly listed schedule. Lady Julia never gave a thought to such creatures.
This meant Trixie never again set eyes upon his beloved Mistress. This did not deter him one little bit though. He laboured from dawn ‘til midnight, usually on his knees, scrubbing, wiping and polishing. The overseer had never known a slave to work so hard. What drove him on was the heartfelt belief that his owner should never have to tread on a trace of dust.
He would work at full pace for sixteen to eighteen hours and beg for the chance to carry on cleaning floors which were already spotless. At night as he lay on the floor of the slave quarters he would worry himself sick that his wonderful Mistress could have her beautiful blue eyes offended by anything less than perfection.
Then he would sleep for two or three hours when he would dream of his reason for living. For 38 years he had fought for freedom from slavery. He now knew in his heart that to be the property of The Great Lady Julia, was indeed the only true freedom!
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