Read Online Render Unto Caesar by Gillian Bradshaw - Free Book Online Page A

cakes.”
    â€œWe’re not complaining, sir,” said Phormion in his growling voice.
    â€œMy master never buying cakes for slaves,” Hyakinthos stated in Greek, with more than a touch of bitterness.
    â€œI bet he gives cake to you, though,” said Menestor lightly.
    Hyakinthos turned red again and stopped in the street. “What you mean?”
    â€œWell—you’re his catamite, aren’t you?”
    Hyakinthos looked as though he might hit him. “I never want !” he shouted. “What I do, heh, what? He is the master—I say no ?”
    â€œI didn’t mean—” Menestor began, taken aback.
    â€œI hate it!” screamed Hyakinthos.
    â€œCalm down!” Hermogenes ordered him, in Latin. “Calm down. Menestor was not blaming you for anything, boy. Calm down.”
    â€œI hate it!” Hyakinthos repeated, in Latin this time. He glared at Hermogenes through tears. “Getting away today—that was so good, just getting out in the forum and then swimming and playing ball, I had so much fun—and now I’ve got to go back there and let him fuck me, and I hate it.”
    Hermogenes had no idea what to say. Menestor took the boy’s arm and pulled him over to the side of the road. “Of course you must obey your master,” he said in Greek. “I never said otherwise. Calm down.”
    Hyakinthos took several deep breaths and rubbed his streaming eyes. “I hate it,” he said again.
    â€œDoes he hit you?” Menestor asked seriously. “Hurt you?”
    The boy shuddered. “No,” he said in a low voice. “I … I just never want.” He wiped his eyes again. “He is a good master, everyone say. He…” His Greek ran out, and he went on in Latin, “He keeps his slaves in the household even when they’re damaged. I mean, my father, after the fire lots of people said he should be sold to the mines or at least sent out to the country where people wouldn’t have to look at him, and that would have killed him. The fire hurt his lungs, and he isn’t strong. But the master paid all the doctors’ fees, and then made him doorkeeper so he wouldn’t have to do any heavy work. That was kind. He is kind, even if he never does buy cakes for anyone. And he keeps Stentor, who can’t hardly talk, and he hardly ever has anyone beaten, and then only when they really deserve it. Everyone knows he’s a good master. I do, too, even if … I just don’t like it when he touches me. It makes me feel sick.”
    â€œWhat’s he saying?” Menestor asked anxiously.
    Hermogenes shook his head. “That his master is kind, but he still hates his bed.”
    â€œI’m sorry, sir,” said Hyakinthos. He wiped his eyes again and took another deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said anything in front of you.” He gave Hermogenes a frightened look. “Oh, I shouldn’t have! Sir, you won’t tell him I said … anything?”
    â€œNot if you don’t want me to.”
    â€œI don’t!” the boy said fervently. “I don’t!” He drew another deep, shuddering breath. “Mama says I’ll get used to it—she says probably I’ll even be unhappy when he gets tired of me and finds somebody else. She says it’s something that just happens if you’re young and pretty, and there’s no use hating it. She says I ought to think of all the advantages I’m getting because of it.” He shook himself, and began walking on along the street again. “But I hate it,” he muttered, almost inaudibly. “I hate it!”
    â€œWhat’s he saying?” Menestor asked again.
    â€œThat he hates it, but his mother tells him he must endure it until his master grows tired of him. And that he doesn’t want anyone to tell his master what he said.”
    â€œNo,” agreed Menestor soberly.