Accession Day

"I mean to linger here for a while," Mantabé murmured, carefully holding the wine bottle just above the water's surface. "The wine and the company are just too nice to leave."

Sabinia laughed and took another long draw on her bottle. "I am quite fond of Alami, myself," she joked.

Mantabé dreamily opened his eyes and fixed them on Sabinia's wet breasts, her nipples half concealed just beneath the bath's surface.

"And the view is wonderful," he mumbled, bubbles of water forming and popping in front of his mouth, which now dipped into the water as he sank lower.

Sabinia sat back against the stone rim of the tub, holding her wine bottle in front of her with both hands. She drank in long gulps until at last she emptied the bottle.

"More wine, mistress?" Alami asked, holding another bottle in her hands at the edge of the tub. But Sabinia waved her away.

"No more, girl. I do plan to get out and about again sometime today." She looked at Mantabé in expectation, but the gladiator had his eyes closed and his head faced toward the ceiling in any case. Sabinia prodded him with a bare foot but got no further response.

"After this, how about we go to the theater?" Sabinia asked and Mantabé made a noncommittal moan before playfully raising a toe above the soapy waters.

"They are playing a farce at the Bridge Street Theater," Sabinia continued, "it's supposed to be very good."

"Is there any fucking in it?" Mantabé inquired lazily.

"Oh, of course," Sabinia replied. "Florian could not stop talking about it. He said the lead actress spends the entire second act in the nude."

"Sounds like our kind of play," Mantabé smiled, running a hand down Sabinia's naked leg. "Why, they should have us up on stage."

"You do love an audience," Sabinia retorted with a wicked smile, climbing back onto him. Her wet hair clung to her bare shoulders, darkened by the water and contrasting ever more with her pale skin. Mantabé grabbed two handfuls of her ample ass, feeling his lust return to him once more. He took her big breasts into his mouth, twirling her nipple around with his tongue as he delved her womanly purse with his fingers. Sabinia reached between her legs to grab his cock again. Her stroking returned it to its hardness and Mantabé picked her up to lay her on her back on the stone floor, her hips hanging over the rim. Sabinia giggled in excitement, squeezing her breasts in her soft, white hands, and lifting her legs up.

Taking his hard cock in one hand, he slowly spread her lips with it. Sabinia arched her back and cooed in delight. She clutched the tub's rim as he began to thrust into her. He leaned over her for a bit position and Sabinia looked up into his eyes. Mantabé pinned her knees to the floor, fucking her with an animal intensity. She moaned in delight, loudly enough that Mantabé heard a muffled laugh from someone in the hall, and cried out for him to fuck her harder.

Looking up for just a moment, Mantabé caught sight of Alami watching them intently, one hand up her dress. The slave girl smiled shyly at him and he winked back before returning his attention to Sabinia's heaving breasts.

At last, he climaxed again, spurting his white cum across her bare torso. Some of it landed in her open mouth and she giggled in delight, dabbing at it with a finger which then went into her mouth. More of it clung to her breasts, slowly dripping from nipple to sternum all the while glinting in the candlelight.

They lingered in the bath for some time longer, though Mantabé could not be bothered to know how long. The hypocausts beneath the arena pumped hot air and water through the baths, keeping them delightfully warm and steamy even as they luxuriated in them overlong.

Sabinia rose dripping from the bath at last. Alami brought her her clothes and began to dress her.

"Come on, Mantabé," Sabinia beckoned, "We have lingered long enough in this bath. Let us go out on. I feel like a stroll through the market."

Reluctantly, Mantabé dragged himself from the hot bath and dressed himself in the clothes Didius had left for him. His laurel crown he left for one of the attendants to retrieve for him. When Alami had finished dressing her mistress and retouching her makeup, they left the bath chamber and went into the halls of the arena. In the fighting pit, some bout still raged, judging by the roar of the crowd. But the lower halls were occupied only by the servants laboring to clean up the day's mess.

Reaching the street, Mantabé pulled a dark blue cloak over his head, not out of concern for the late winter sun, but to abide by Florian's wish that he and Sabinia not flaunt their affair in public. They went out into the press of the crowded streets, quickly becoming just another set of people in Torvuls' traffic.

They strolled through the serene Temple Gardens of Erchasos, an oasis of greenery in the city's urban landscape, until they reached Market Street on the north side. This they followed to the west until they reached the east edge of The Market, at Palace Street, and Sabinia fell in behind him as they forged a way through the crowd. The city was always packed here, for the market lay at the very heart of Torvuls. On its north end was a cliff thirty feet high, atop which was the city's most famous and luxurious brothel, the Black Lotus. Its legendary pleasures drew patrons from as far away as Parses or the Imperial City. Above the chalky white cliffs, the brothel's walls of sun-bleached plaster were studded with windows and balconies of private suites. The brothel was always busy, though less so midday.

Still, upon one third floor balcony stood a naked man, fat and bearded, flanked by two dark beauties in naught but their gold and jewels, smiling as they took in the view of the city's rooftops. From his own experiences in those suites, most often with Sabinia and a pretty, young, new companion, Mantabé knew those views stretched all the way down to the harbor, the tall ships within it and even to the Isle of Tides on the south side of the bay.

Opposite the Black Lotus on Palace Street was the Palace of Ivory and Roses, Queen Lamira's residence in the city itself. Its white walls were topped with crenellations and guard posts, each shadowed by the boughs of fruit trees in her rich gardens. In carefully polished morions and cuirasses, her guardsmen peered out over the city with confident vigilance. Though her rule had gone unchallenged for all of living memory, the queen demanded nothing less than the utmost dedication of her sentinels.

On the east side was the imposing bulk of Halakar's Auction House, a famed purveyor of goods stolen all over the Devouring Sea. The auction house sold everything from slaves to ancient artifacts dug out of ruins in the sea. If a pirate stole it within a thousand miles of Torvuls, there was a better than even chance that it would pass through Halakar's door as some point. Every captain in the sea wanted to remain on good terms with Halakar, and despite his love of gold, the man was easy to get along with. His position as owner of both arena and auction house made him second in status and wealth only to the queen.

The south side of the market was lined with food vendors, restaurants, and shops such as jewelers, tailors and goldsmiths. Most famous of the establishments here was the Naked Nymph, an inn, wineroom, and gambling parlor popular among the city's mercantile elite as well as its rougher inhabitants. Mantabé was especially fond on their roast chicken platter.

Opposite Halakar's Auction House, on the west side of the market, rose the red stone edifice of the Scarlet Tower Bank. Thanks to the city's reputation for crime, the Bank was among its most valuable institutions. None have ever succeeded in stealing from its deep vaults, and the diligent clerks kept innumerable records of the pirates, great or small, who left their ill-gotten gains in its care. While most in Torvuls would cheat a man as soon as look at him, the Bank zealously protected its reputation for fair dealing. To cross the Bank was to cross Kanaron himself.

But today, they were in between all of these establishments, moving slowly between the brightly colored stalls and merchants' carts in the wide-open market. The markets of Torvuls were famous far and wide not only for Halakar's Auction House, but also for the lesser merchants. Mantabé passed a cart laden with boxes of pearls, black, white, and pink, for sale at a price that would draw suspicious eyes even in the great Imperial City.

Beneath a saffron-colored awning, a sculptor was displaying his life-sized marble statue of the queen, while across from him, a pewter sold idols of the gods. Mantabé and Sabinia examined bolts of brightly colored cloth, trying to ignore the aggressive advertisements of the woman in the stall. Nodding in feigned appreciation, Sabinia graciously extricated them from the encounter and ushered him and Alami down the aisle, out of earshot.

"The way the woman talks, she must have found a way to spin thread with her tongue," Sabinia laughed.

They moved slowly between the market stalls, Sabinia's eyes on the wares and Alami's eyes on the patrons. A loyal bodyslave, she always kept a watch for pickpockets, though Mantabé thought himself adequate deterrence. Even with his identity obscured, few thieves were bold enough to rob a woman in the company of someone of his height and build.

Sabinia stopped at a trinket vendor's stall, plucking a golden necklace adorned with small emeralds from the table. The merchant helped her try it on, babbling away in a foreign accent Mantabé did not recognize. Sabinia spoke back to him Lauratian, her native tongue, and Mantabé found himself unable to understand. Instead, he found his attention drawn away by the scene across from them, where market-goers crowded around cages full of brightly colored songbirds, happily chirping away. Behind them, in a cage of brass, was a large bird with plumage of bright orange and deep red.

"This," a garishly costumed man in a plumed hat and silken cape declared, "is a firebird! I captured it myself in the deserts of Zahir. The tale is long in telling, but I will tell it if you wish to hear."

His audience seemed more interested in inspecting his birds, but one man leaned forward to listen and so the bird merchant launched into his tale all the same.

"I was afield in the deserts of Zahir. The sands were blinding, the wind hot and stinging, but I had come in search of the rarest of birds. From the Wild Isle to the Ghostwood, I have always hunted the most exotic birds for sale and display. This time was no different. I had dined with the emir of Raqaba a fortnight before, and it was his personal sorcerer who told me of the firebirds' aerie, deep in the desert.

"He gave me an escort of his own men to guide me and shield against bandits in the desert. It was a perilous journey, for the men of the Black Tower are sometimes seen in the northern deserts and in any case there are all manner of other dangers, from quicksand to vipers. But our party was fortunate to encounter none but the harsh climate on our journey. We came at last to an oasis beneath a high rock outcropping, where the sorcerer told me the firebirds nested.

"However, it was no easy task. The oasis was the lair of a djinn, as are so many such remote locations in Zahir. These birds were its pets, and only through bargaining with the spirit might be take one and leave alive. One might have thought to find the djinn, but my experienced guides knew that such a foolish act would be rewarded only with death. Instead, it was my smooth words and the offer of a golden trinket to assuage its vanity that won me the prize."

Already tiring of the man's story, Mantabé turned back to Sabinia, who was stepping away from the trinket vendor's stall, stowing a new trinket in her bags.

"Look at this," he exclaimed, cutting her off as she tried to speak, "a firebird! Why, Didius would love to add such a creature to his collection. He has been so glum about the menagerie since the psychai sale didn't work out."

She looked past him at the bird's cage.

"That's no real firebird," she said confidently. "I've seen a real one, in the possession of a mage of the Collegium. They flame like a candle. That is a Zahiri firebird, a mundane bird, though still quite beautiful."

"You're sure?" Mantabé asked with disappointment.

"Quite sure, dear. Someday I'll ask one of them to show you. You'll love it."

"Perhaps your friend, the sorcerer Calyran has one?" Mantabé asked hopefully, but he saw that Sabinia's attention was drawn away, toward a crowd gathering at the south end of the market, where the Slaver's Walk met the market square. Mantabé stopped talking as he realized, and the three of them crossed the market to join the crowd.

The crowd had already gathered for what was a regular occurrence in Torvuls. It was an age-old ritual in the city and one Mantabé remembered well. Watching from windows, balconies and the crowded street level they waited as the procession of slaves was driven up the street from the harbor. At the procession's head came the male slaves, most bound for plantations or mines where they would be driven by the lash until dead. They were a wretched lot, stripped naked and roped together at the neck, they made their way up the street with their wrists bound together and their heads bowed despair. Their backs showed the slave driver's marks and their feet were dusted with the street's filth. Usually, the priests of Askallon cleaned the Slaver's Walk before such a march, but for whatever reason they were elsewhere today. However, dirty feet were the least of their concerns.

Onlookers taunted and jeered from doorways, balconies and the Naked Nymph's dining patio, but their full attention was reserved for the latter half of the procession, for next came the women. Some cast frightened and bewildered looks at the crowd while others kept their faces downcast as they marched. From rooftops, the cityfolk called out to them, either mocking or ogling their bared bodies. Mantabé saw some men pointing out those women they wished to buy at auction. He saw a few faces that he would not mind buying for himself. Most of them were pretty, no doubt bound for brothels or private harems. For a man who spent most of his life as another man's property, the thought of owning a slave of his own was as attractive as gaining his freedom. Though he tried not to, he could not help but see some of himself in the tear-streaked faces marching up the hill.

At the end of the Slaver's Walk, the captives reached the market, where guards waited to usher them between the stalls. Merchants and patrons who had not waited on the Walk now caught close up looks as the captives walked by. Here again, some pointed out the slaves they hoped to bid on. One young man stepped between the guards and grabbed a young slave girl by her pale buttocks. The girl yelped in surprise and the youth darted back into the crowd before the guards could seize and beat him. Mantabé knew the game well. It was a favorite dare for rowdy sailors, bored youth, and drunken louts alike. One point for a handful of ass, two for a titty, and five for a kiss, the old chant echoed in his mind.

The procession was driven through the market and into Halakar's Auction House, where they would be confined in cells until sale. Mantabé remembered his own trip up this street many years ago, and the long wait in the bare cells until he had mounted the block and been sold to Didius.

The crowd began to disperse as the slaves disappeared into the tall stone auction house.

"The grab boy was brave," Sabinia said as the throng around them scattered, "most of the guards are quicker than that one."

"My group favored a spot lower down on the Walk, between the Gull Inn and Cenbar's courtyard. We could lurk behind the door and then dart flee through The Buckets. If we were feeling brave, we would double back and have another go at Potter's Street. But never the market. There's just too many people here. Too likely someone will trip you up as a favor to Halakar's men. The guards love to catch a grabber. They'll beat them something fierce."

"Were you ever caught?" Sabinia asked.

"Of course not," Mantabé laughed, "I'm too quick for that. I was a champion at that game. No one had ever scored ten points in a day before me. Both of the girls ended up in brothels later, where I found them."

"I'm surprised you remembered them. You were a terror in your youth," Sabinia said with a chuckle. "Come now, we've finished our shopping. Let us make our way east towards the theater and find some place to eat."

Arm in arm with Alami, Sabinia led the way down Bridge Street towards the theater as the day grew long. They strolled lazily through the Temple Gardens of Erchasos, across from the arena, before doubling back to the Three Queens' Hall where they ate a sumptuous dinner of shellfish, grilled vegetables, and a green salad. Once finished, they walked back up the street to the Bridge Street Theater where the night's crowd was beginning to flood its steps.

The play was an Auric farce about a man caught between his wealthy wife and his nubile, but demanding, mistress. Through a series of welcome contrivances, the cast spent all but a few scenes of the play nude. The crowd laughed and cheered as the man fucked his wife while his mistress hid under the bed, then his mistress while his wife hid under the bed. In the third act, his wife and mistress fucked each other while he hid under the bed before the happy ending where they settled into a happy three-person marriage.

Mantabé and Sabinia walked up Palace Hill together, separating at the northern edge of Quene Lamira's Palace, he going west to Didius' house and she returning to her own home to the northeast.

"I will miss your fight tomorrow," Sabinia said as they parted. "I am sorry, but Florian demands that I meet with some merchants in the afternoon."

"I will put on less of a show if you are not watching," Mantabé replied. "You will be there the day after?"

"Yes, I will." She kissed him goodbye. "See you soon," she called as she and Alami vanished into the crowd. Mantabé turned and headed for Didius' house.

Mantabé rose early the next morning, just after dawn. From observing the movement of the house's servants, he knew that Didius was still asleep. He ate his breakfast of fried eggs, cheese and pork, served over a thick slice of rye bread, then made prayers and sacrifices to Arvoran, Lord of Battle, and Enki, Master of Fate. The burning incense and goat's flesh still in his nostrils, he went about his morning exercises in the courtyard.

Agilos entered as he reached the middle of his routine, and sat down on a bench under a lemon tree.

"The schedule for today has been set," the half-elf said, running a whetstone along his sword. "You are to fight in the last bout of the afternoon, against Sweyn, the tall Northman."

Mantabé grunted in disinterest, continuing to focus on his exercises. "Who does he fight for?" he asked.

"Sweyn, the tall Northman," Agilos answered. "He is a freeman, come down from wherever he is from to win his fortune in Torvuls."

Mantabé grunted again. A hundred other men had come from a hundred other locales to seek their fortunes in Torvuls. Most ended up destitute or dead in the gutters.

"He has done well so far," Agilos continued. "He slew a thunder lizard in his first fight, then defeated the visling Inaris and yesterday he slew a minotaur patronized by the Shipwright's Guild."

"All of which are nothing compared to my accomplishments," Mantabé replied, picking up his sparring sword. "How does he fight?"

Agilos rose from the bench and sheathed his steel saber and picking up a wooden sword of his own.

"The way you would expect. He wields an axe in both hands and exploits his long reach to keep men away. He prefers to hack away, but is not averse to a wrestling match if the enemy closes in. He has little of the flair of a true gladiator, but has learned to fight without a shield since he came here. You could beat him blade to blade, but you will have a greater edge at wrestling."