Verpa Domini Ch. 01

Dear reader: a foreword, and a forewarning. Please take a minute to read through it. It might, if nothing, save you a lot of time and frustration - or, potentially, give you something beyond the piece of smut you are about to read.

First and foremost: this is a long read for a piece of low-brow porn. It is very slow and story-heavy. There is also an introduction that comes before it, and should be read first. If you seek a quick and hard-hitting thrill, I'm not the merchant for the job. You see, I am a dirty fetishist. A proper degenerate. To surmise that is not difficult, as one look at the tags should suffice in that regard. But there is a bigger, more perfidious passion at work here. You see, I like the history of Rome.

As a dirty fetishist, I did the unthinkable and defiled one of my favorite countries with fantasy trash like elves and dwarves. Yet this is necessary, in my mind, as I truly think that women of extreme penility have little place in Roma Proper, and thus a more fantastical version of it for this degenerate purpose I devised. But much of it is real. A lot of men and women here described existed, and their fates and happenings are scores more interesting that anything I could myself invent. Rome is a fascinating place, unique, thrilling and exotic to our modern mind, but also vaguely familiar. The legacy of those fascinating people we carry to this day. And if this piece of smut-fantastic in any way shall catch your interest, I strongly, from my heart suggest: give Rome, and her history, a chance.

Read a novel from the Roma Sub Rosa series by Steven Saylor, who inspired me to try this project to begin with. Listen to a podcast by Dan Carlin, or drop a view fow Historia Civilis on Youtube. Reality is stranger than fiction - and often, much more interesting,

For your attention I thank you, and, without a due, I'll start.

The road to Fausta's villa was a narrow one, mostly hidden away from sight by vinaries and little gardens. The soil was not good; but a magos had ways to circumvent the deficiencies of nature, even if it required effort beyond any potential profit. Fausta did not pursue a farmer's profit. But she enjoyed wine.

Any guest, thus, was hidden from sight until he approached the final curve of the road. The sound of the approaching cart was loud, and heard from afar, hinting at old man Festus bringing fresh supplies from Ienua. But perhaps...

Fausta made her way to the portico, where the incline of the road could be observed. A few dolls came also, to meet the guests and tend the horses.

In a minute or so the arrived have become visible. It was a procession. A few on horseback. A few on foot. A large cart, draped with cloth held with rope. They wore cloaks; their horses were tired. To the eye they looked like any other traveler on a Roman road: a citizen with a retinue or a trader.

But Fausta smiled. She knew exactly who her guests were. They were no guests at all.

By the lonely horn of the forwardmost rider, she recognized Arcadia, and felt the first spark of happiness of the last few days.

...

They sat in the large study, where light shone through a wide opening in the ceiling and flowerpots of aurelic sunblooms pleased the eye. Arcadia, not Fausta, ordered food to be served, and the mistress was grateful. She would not admit how much she missed the sound of Arcadia's voice. Stern, with roughness more suited for a decanus in the legions than a woman managing a house, but with such a hidden capability for sultriness...

They ate light and spoke little while they did so. Fausta was old, even if no part of her elfine looks betrayed it. She didn't like to rush things where no such need existed. Arcadia, on the other hand, would not speak until asked to. The days of her slavedom were long past - the iron ring she wore could prove so. But her loyalty and her respect were stronger than chains.

They soon finished the courses. Fruits were brought together with young cheese and biscuits sweetened with honey. Fausta partook in more wine. Arcadia, for now, refused.

"You shouldn't hold back, Arcadia. Today, I'll offer you any wine. My father's stock, if you'd so desire."

"I'm too tired from the road, mistress. Wine would go to my head. I'd rather, to be honest, partake in other sorts of wine."

"Yes?"

"The one served only after sunfall."

She said so calmly, with barely a smile, and yet a note of shyness the pontiff could discern. Fausta smiled, enjoyed a sip. Her own harvest was not at all bad.

"You are a freedwoman, Arcadia. You are no longer the slave girl I purchased twelve years ago. Why do you fidget? Speak like a citizen. Demand what's yours."

Arcadia met her gaze, yet couldn't hold it, and hid her eyes. She was, in a way, Fausta's greatest treasure. Purchased on a whim in the Subura - as a funny rarity, a daemon-girl with just a single horn intact out of a pair. Her people, when enslaved, were normally dehorned; perhaps the slavemaster took pity on the particular daemon as to give her an interesting, asymmetric look, adding to her beauty - and her price.

"With that I struggle, mistress. You ask a taxing act of me."

"Do I?"

The daemon paused, and thought her next few words. She changed, with years. But a part of the Arcadia of yore persisted: a sweet and timid part.

"You do, mistress. There are things... things I cannot do. No matter how I am."

Fausta leaned in. They sat opposing each other, separated only by a small table, where their cups rested. The pontiff gazed at her dear servant in the eyes.

"You are my pearl, Arcadia. My wonder and my gift from the gods. Tonight, I will serve you any wine you'd like."

As they joined in a kiss, a doll silently refilled the pontiff's cup.

...

They moved to the guest room, seldom used other than for mutual pleasantries - be it of the mind or of the body. They drank more wine. The kiss mellowed the tired Arcadia; she changed to her usual tunic, adorned with a silver brooch, and accepted a new cup. They watered it down to savour the feeling and had it sweetened with thrakian sugar-spice. It was bliss.

"Tell me of your travels, Arcadia. Why did you take so long? I expected you a month ago, but got only a letter. Was there so much to do in Rome?"

Arcadia sipped and licked her lips. Like many women of her kind, she was a wild, barbaric beauty; a bit shorter then Fausta herself, but widely built, with an exceptionally strong back and limbs subtly lined with muscle. Her features were soft, but with a sharp jaw; her deeply-set eyes and thick eyebrows gave her an intense gaze even when calm. Her hair was burnt auburn, carefully swept in such a way to hide the wide stubble of her lost horn and accent the one remaining. Her breasts were small, but shapely, with youthful supple and pleasant pertness. She was not the classic vision of Venus. A greek would find her far too crude, too wide. A roman would find her distasteful and foreign.

Fausta found her sublime.

"No. We stayed little in Rome. I've met Lucinius and Felix Junius and inquired."

"Is there talk?"

"Some. The College is interested in your work, mistress. There is talk that not all of your secluded research is of well-spirited nature."

Fausta frowned.

"I hope that Felix was there to shut down such talk."

Arcadia nodded.

"He was. He also tells that whatever rumors of your dealings circulate there now, they soon will be outdated by a more interesting tidbit."

"That being?"

"They say that Quintus Caecilius is getting very old. His position as Pontifex Maximus is under question, and soon, a race will start to take his place. Felix foresees a man named Gaius Julius will win the election."

"I know of him. All the better, then, if he wins."

Arcadia curved her neck.

"Why so, mistress?"

"Because Gaius Julius is a beast of politics and will turn the College into a farce. Within this farce, I'll be free to do my work with little interdiction."

"If so you say, mistress. I know little of this Gaius beyond market talk."

"What else did you learn in the city?"

"Not much. I've pursued your leads, but most of them were cold. Not even in the Suburan closed markets were people willing to deal in this kind of stock."

"Yet you didn't come back empty-handed."

"No. I found a clue in the house of one of your patrons. The wife of Metellus. She held, as it happened, one of her questionable parties, and offered a servant of her client an invitation."

"Unheard of for anyone but her. Did you enjoy yourself?"

Arcadia half-smiled.

"A bit. She is nothing if not the image of decadence. Salts of Eros passed around like flour in a breadshop. But they have nothing on you, my mistress."

Fausta bit into a biscuit, as if unconcerned, but sounded subtly cheered.

"Don't try to appease the appeased, my servant."

"I speak only humble truths."

"You are the image of Roman earnesty, then."

Arcadia, a daemon of roots Iberian, has grinned.

"I would not object. Do you know that they invented a new nickname for the wife of Metellus?"

"No. You will be the first to tell me."

"They call her Lesbia these days."

Fausta chuckled.

"Why? The woman is addicted to the shaft. Half of Rome frequents her mouth."

"She discovered the writings of Sappho and took them to heart. They left a strong impression."

"So now both halves of Rome find release in that insatiable woman. I envy her lifestyle."

"Many do, if the talks are of any indication. But I digress quite strongly, mistress."

"Continue, then."

"When exhaustion took hold of the many guests, I found myself in a chance talk with two men whose names I don't recall. They were equites, one elfine, one human. Both clients of Crassus."

"Surprised to see a daemon in their midsts, no doubt."

"Quite. And one wearing a citizen's ring. They partook in too much wine and were hospitable. We talked."

"I wonder what about."

"The party, and other things. The elfine inquired whether the rumour that a daemon's snatch is strong enough to snap a man's thing is true or not."

Fausta laughed, heartily.

"I've heard that one. What did you answer?"

"I offered to demonstrate."

"Did he agree?"

"Oh, yes. But he overindulged on wine and couldn't get it up."

The pontiff smirked into her winecup and shifted her weight on the settee.

"Shame! What clue could these upstart citizens offer, though?"

"Tidbits. But telling. However... mistress..."

Fausta reclined and set her cheek on her palm. She bit from a dried apple, eyes fixed on Arcadia.

"Yes?"

"Would you not prefer to check on the elfine yourself, first? The story can wait. I know how long you sought this prize, and how many leads you pursued with no reward. It must be unbearable for you to hold this talk while what you sought is right here, in your..."

The pontiff held up her palm. Arcadia went silent, watching her mistress intently. In her face was, though concealed, a shred of guilt of a sudden realisation - the one you might expect from a loyal slave too late to catch a cue, or a young man failing in amourous conquests. This time, Fausta failed to conceal her smile, and pulled herself closer to her servant, her features subtly accentuated by the dim light.

"Did I say such a thing?"

"No, mistress. But..."

"But you rush to please me, my dear Arcadia. Know that, then, that it is getting dark, and the cruel chills of the Alps make my thinking sluggish in the evenings. I prefer my projects to begin on dawns, when the humours of the mind are the freshest. You should know that."

Arcadia shifted on her settee, uncomfortable, and lowered her gaze while pressing her lips. The daemon's hands held her winecup with a strong, uncomfortable grip.

"I do know this. But I assumed..."

"You assumed wrong. I will not exchange the pleasure of an evening talk with a dear person for professional curiosity. I will examine my new stock tomorrow, after a brief, light ientaculum - and you, as always, will assist me. But this evening I will not work or care about work. And nor will you, Arcadia."

A subtle streak of red hit the daemons face. She braved the Fates and looked up, where she met her mistress' gaze. How sweet she was, Fausta thought: how delicate the concealed emotion in her eyes, how demure the language of her body.

"I... will try my best to do so, mistress. Yet even now, you tease me."

"For months I was a roman matron with no household to terrorize. I am pent up in many ways."

Arcadia suppressed a chuckle, but barely.

"As you say, mistress. Shall I continue my tale? It is not as long as you might expect, nor as full of tribulation as I might've led you to believe."

"And I will hear it to the end. More wine."

"Of course."

A new jug was offered, along with ice-cold water from the indoor well. Fausta favoured young wine. She found it best to drink it watered down to barely a third, but flavoured and sweetened to strengthen the taste; the ethyl would thus arrive in shallow, pleasant waves - and never gather strong enough to wrestle reason away from the mind.

"We were talking of a pair of citizens..."

"Yes. Equites in servitude of Crassus."

"And a clue they somehow provided."

Arcadia nodded.

"They didn't mean to. They were gossiping: jumping from topic to topic with no goal or strict reason. They spoke of the circus and of betting, then of women and tradition. The elfine told with feeling that the women of Rome lost their shame, and that they idolize whatever fad a ship may bring from Egypt or from Asia; that he said that while naked at a private orgy bothered him little."

"Why not? What is done behind closed doors, and paid for by Lesbia, is not the same as what goes on the roman street."

"I suppose. They spoke for a long time. I found it rude to leave them; they were also much too drunk to engage in the pleasures of the body, which suited me."

"To abstain from the erotic while carousing on an orgy?"

"I came in search of leads, not of carnal satisfaction. I took my part; it was enough."

Fausta nodded.

"Fair."

"In any way, after a while past they talked of a trip they shared to Sicily, an odd year ago. By this point, in all honesty, I was tired; I started with meek interest and descended into apathy. But in their drunken recount I heard a snippet that peaked my interest."

"All of a sudden?"

"Quite. They talked about a visit to Syracuse; of a man who hosted them, a noble of the Aurii, who lived there all the way since the time of the Dictator."

"I know of his family. Marians, but indecisive and weak-willed. Were they not extinguished by the Proscriptions?"

"What strength of will they didn't show in politics, my mistress, they showed in their decisive retreat. They escaped the carnage to Sicily, where they live to this day."

"I see. What made the man worthy of a mention?"

"Not much. Himself he is of little note. They talked in length of his house and tastes, especially the food he served, which they highly praised. But what interested me was a description of his bodyguard."

Fausta reclined and nodded. A rogue breeze grazed her, announcing the arrival of a cold evening. For now it was ignored.

"They spoke of this bodyguard with a sincere awe - the kind you hear from a speaker who feels his own word insufficient to describe an experience. They told me - referring to me as "Rolon", by this point, perhaps confusing me with a friend - that this bodyguard was a woman who stood taller than any man. Their host lavished her in each description: he told that she was an amazon, a gladiatrix without equal in the Roman world."

"But you do not believe in amazons."

"I am yet to see one, mistress."

Fausta smiled.

"By now, I was attentive." - Arcadia continued. - "This bodyguard of Lucius Auris bewitched the men. They talked of her weak-voiced, with dreamy stutters. They said her body was a work of art."

"And her face?"

"It was never shown. The bodyguard of Lucius Auris wears, or wore, a helmet at all times. Nobody but him has ever witnessed her visage."

Fausta chuckled.

"A giveaway to those who know for what they look. I suppose that this has all but confirmed your suspicions, or gave them weight, at least."

"I felt the spirits releasing me from their grasp, indeed. I asked them more of that bodyguard. As much as it seemed unlikely - to stumble on a lead through a chance talk with a pair of drunkards - it felt too fitting to refuse a further inquiry."

"You made your way to Sicily?"

"Not immediately. I asked around. I found more rumours of that awe-inspiring female bodyguard. Tales of lust - and of fear. Allegedly she was obscenely strong, having killed, in the year of the Dictator, an assassin."

"And where's the obscenity?"

"She killed the man by strangulation - with a single hand."

...

The rest of the story was straightforward. Arcadia decided to pursue the lead; while surely ghastly and barely reliable, it was the best she had. Clodia's purse and patronage acquired her a boat - a military two-row, straight from the arsenals of Crassus. The way to Sicily was short.

Syracuse was welcoming, but Lucius Paullus Auris was not. He would not trust a daemon, even bearing an iron ring. Perhaps the ring was the exact reason for his distrust. It was the Sullan reforms that allowed a pontifical servant-scribe, male or female, to bear such a symbol; the connection must have spurred his slight. He refused to see Arcadia, blaming business and other time-consuming dealings.

"Hmm." - Fausta murmured. - "To refuse a pontifical scribe is condemning. Did you press him?"

"Yes. My unofficial requests were denied. An official request could not be abstained from with ease. I used that approach."

"What were your findings?"

"Numerous. Many banal. But the Fates were smiling on me."

Lucius Auris was indeed in possession of the tale-inspiring bodyguard. That he evaded attention from the City until now was a peculiar joke of the Gods, for he did very little to hide his treasured slave-guardian.

"The greeks of Syracuse cared little for an amazon, I'd guess." - Fausta shrugged. - "They never fought the Teutones and the Cimbri. For them, it was an Italian affair; the stuff of traders telling tales and soldier-drunkards lavishing their pay. They didn't suspect."

"They didn't. You're right, mistress. While in Sicily, I asked around. Most knew of the event, of course. The many consulships of Marius were not unnoticed, even there. But all they knew of the invaders were rumours and white lies. They did not make the connection between an old war and the bizarre slave of Lucius Auris. They considered him their peer and granted him the benefit of doubt."

"How did you acquire this gladiatrix, then? I doubt the man had the will to part with such a treasure."

"He wasn't willing, that's for sure. But Sicily is Roman land. To keep the slave was in objection with Roman law. The ruling of Marius has no place for argument or Rostran talk. To hold a Teuton or a Cimbri, even as a slave, to not give them the death Marius proscribed was to break a law. I had no proof that this slave was indeed of those two tribes; but Lucius Auris gave himself away."

"I hope you paid. I could do without another enemy."

"You didn't get one. I was subtle. I did not threaten, but described potential consequences."

"A threat in all but form. Did he agree right then?"

"No. It took a few days. Money broke the stalemate. I asked Lesbia for funds to bribe the man."

Fausta sighed and hid her eyes behind a palm.

"I'll have to visit the infernal woman and explain myself, then. How much did she provide?"

"A tiny fortune. I sent a letter with an allerine pidgeon, and got the sum from a trustee."