Thank you to my wonderful beta-reader, Mary, for her help and encouragement with this story.
Anything to survive
"I congratulate you, Mencius. Your gardens are impressive; you certainly know how to get the most out of your people."
Mencius dipped his head with a pretence of modesty. He knew that the older man's flattery was insincere, but, being well-acquainted with the game, he played along; his guest would be departing soon.
"There." Mencius pointed at a group of five elven men, all stripped to the waist, who were tilling a plot of soil in preparation for laurel trees to be planted. The elves chatted quietly while they worked, and, as they took a short break to draw water from the well, to outward appearances they were a group of friends enjoying a spot of gardening on a sunny evening.
Only, this group of friends were shackled at the ankles and wrists.
"Those are your bodyguards?" asked the older man, noticing that these particular men were muscular and well-nourished, and were obviously treated better than some of their contemporaries. "You put them to work in your gardens?"
"Some, yes," drawled Mencius, ensuring his guest knew that he was not without protection. "My Bellatori are my strongest and most deadly. Being in the sun affords them hardiness and gives them the illusion of freedom for a short time. They are more productive as a result."
The older man nodded distractedly. "You believe that giving them the illusion of freedom is a good idea, then?"
Irritated by the old man's questions, and deciding it was about time for him to depart, Mencius steered him closer to the group of elves. "The one with the black hair."
"That is your finest bodyguard?"
"He is the finest I will permit you to take. You will not have Ursus; we have already agreed upon this."
Suppressing a sigh, Mencius's guest eyed the dark-haired, wiry but muscular slave as he resumed work after taking a drink of water. "How is his temperament?"
"He is a skilled, fearless and vicious killer, and will defend you ferociously. He is also highly intelligent and can be wilful, and may occasionally show signs of independent thought, but a simple threat against his mother or sister will quickly subdue him. Only once did I need to have him beaten; he is a fast learner, and once was enough."
"Mother? Sister?"
A smirk settled over Mencius's features. "Did you not know? They are also in my service, and have been for many years. If you want the best out of him, you had better take them with you, as well."
Angered, the older man crossed his arms and fixed Mencius with a hard look. "Our bargain was for one bodyguard."
"And I have fulfilled my part of the bargain," answered Mencius smoothly. "I give Leto to you. I am merely advising you that taking his family as well will ensure his loyalty. Heed or disregard my advice as you will; I care not."
Determined not to let the newly-appointed upstart see his displeasure, the older man stroked his beard and nodded. "And how are they?"
"Silvestra is a fair cook, but her hip is crook, and I do not use her for heavy labour. She is loyal and true, however. Varania is an adequate bed-warmer; I have taken her once or twice, but there are better. I let her service my bodyguards and perform domestic duties. Neither is outstanding, but then, they are free to you. Leto, however, is outstanding. I will miss him, in a way, I suppose."
"And his father?"
"He died last year. Leto accused me of working him too hard; that was when I had him beaten. He has not questioned me since."
"Very well, I will take them; I will find a use for them. I will speak to Leto now."
"This way." Mencius led his guest to a small outbuilding and snapped his fingers, a shackled elven male immediately arriving beside him and lowering his head. "Bring Leto to me," Mencius commanded without even looking at him.
"Yes, Master."
~o~O~o~
"That's him, Leto-don't be so obvious! Don't stare at them!"
"He has come for me, has he not? Would he not want to take a good look at me?"
The elf quickly turned his friend around and thrust a shovel into his hand. "Don't jeopardise this opportunity, Leto; from what I hear, Danarius treats his slaves well. If you were to become his head bodyguard, you and your family would want for nothing. Don't antagonise him."
A dark eyebrow went up, along with one side of his mouth. "No doubt you are correct, Vionet. Very well; let him look at my posterior, if he so wishes." He bent slightly and began to dig.
"It's your best side."
An amused grunt came from Leto, turning into a quiet laugh. "So, what else do you know about this…Danarius?"
"Only what I've heard at Mencius's dinner parties." Vionet glanced around and lowered his voice. "Danarius has no idea that he's a joke among his fellow magisters. The things they say about him behind his back…that he is too old, weak, and is losing his touch. Once, he was feared and respected, but now there are many upcoming youngsters ready to take his place. They also say he's ill, but whether it's an illness of the mind or the body, I was unable to determine."
Leto paused, his eyebrow creeping higher, and the sun caught his green eyes as they turned on his friend. "Easily manipulated, then."
"Maybe. Aloisius certainly had him around his little finger; before he was killed in the tournament, he was Danarius's favourite bed-warmer. Danarius gave him his own apartment not far from his private chambers, so he was close by at all times."
Leto's hooded eyes slowly moved to the two magisters, who were talking at the other end of the garden, and he coolly regarded the grey-haired, bearded mage through his lashes. "He's not my usual taste, but I suppose it's better than being beaten. I can always close my eyes, can't I?" The dull timbre of his voice told Vionet that Leto was doing his best to convince himself of his words, but not entirely succeeding.
"You're fortunate, Leto," whispered Vionet. "Danarius is an old fool, and soft, from what I hear. If you please him, he will favour you."
A shadow passed over Leto's face. "So long as my sister and mother are cared for, I will give him whatever he wants. My own comfort is secondary to theirs. I will not have my sister being used as a bedwarmer. Mencius passes her around his guards like a bottle of cheap wine and wonders why I defy him. I would kill him if I could."
Vionet touched Leto's arm, alarmed by his glower and the low, harsh quality to his voice. "Leto, I want you to know that…your sister…I have never-"
"I know, Vionet. Have no fear. I know precisely who has." Leto's eyes moved over to a few of the other elves who were working with them, before – following a nudge from Vionet – he resumed his work.
"Here he comes," whispered Vionet, seeing one of Mencius's low-ranking slaves running over.
"Leto; the Master has sent for you," breathed the lackey. "Be quick."
Leto drove his shovel into the dirt, wiped his brow with his forearm and glared at the slave over his shoulder. "I will go because Mencius has summoned me, not because you order me to be quick. And you will address me in the proper manner."
"I-I meant no disrespect, Bellator," stuttered the elf, his eyes cast to the ground.
"Be off with you," Vionet directed, and watched as the low slave doffed a nod and scurried away.
"Vionet," Leto said quietly, placing his hand on the elf's shoulder, but averting his gaze. "If we do not meet again, it…was an honour to know you, my friend."
Vionet squeezed Leto's hand with his own before quickly releasing it and taking up his shovel. "The honour was mine. Amici aeterni."
"Amici aeterni," repeated Leto as he walked away. "Keep yourself alive. Anything to survive; remember that."
"Yes, anything to survive," sighed Vionet, daring one last glance at his friend's back. "Felicitas, Leto."
~o~O~o~
"I am here, as you commanded, Master." Leto stood before the two magisters, his hands behind his back, his posture straight, and his eyes fixed on the ground; even Mencius's elite Bellatori did not look their master in the eye.
"Leto, this is your new master, Danarius," said Mencius. "You will leave with him immediately."
"Master, may I speak?" Leto asked, his tone respectful and hushed.
"You may," Danarius answered, intrigued by the slave's bravado. His eyes wandered over Leto's bronzed, glistening skin, and, watching a bead of sweat run down Leto's neck, he felt a stirring in his loins he'd not experienced since Aloisius's passing. None of his other slaves had satisfied him since losing his prized warrior, and although he'd never before allowed himself emotional attachments to his servants, he'd been surprised at how much he'd missed Aloisius's company and loyalty.
"Forgive my impertinence, Master, but…what of my mother and sister?"
"They will accompany you," Mencius said impatiently. "Do not trouble Danarius further with inane questions. He requires a demonstration."
Leto's heart stilled momentarily and his breathing slowed; as long as his family were with him he would bear any manner of treatment. Having slumped slightly in relief, he straightened and nodded once. "Whom shall it be, Magister Mencius?" Once again his heart quickened, and he prayed that his friend, Vionet, had not done anything to displease Mencius. The life of a slave, no matter how prized, always hovered on a knife-edge, subject to the whims and fancies of their master.
"As reward for your service, you shall choose," replied Mencius. "But you shall not choose from the Bellatori."
"Gratias tibi ago, Magister Mencius." Leto bowed and released his pent-up tension in a long sigh, his eyes moving to another, nearby group of junior bodyguards who were also tending the gardens. Danarius noticed a grim, cold mask settle over Leto's face as his large, green eyes homed in on a red-haired, tattooed elf who was busy pretending not to watch.
"I give you leave to go, Leto," Danarius decreed. "Proceed with your demonstration."
"As you bid, Master." Leto once again bowed and stalked over to the group, who, although aware of Leto's imminent arrival, continued to work; the Bellatori, however, made no such pretence and watched with interest, leaning on their shovels.
"Did you enjoy my sister, Palaemon?" Leto demanded in a snarl as he moved behind the red-haired slave, who stilled his movements. "And did you enjoy her again, even after I warned you off her?"
"Bellator, please…" whispered Palaemon, knowing that his seconds were numbered.
"Have the courage to face me, degenerate," commanded Leto, his voice flat and cold.
His hands trembling as they gripped his shovel, a fleeting insanity took the doomed elf and he whipped around, his heavy implement swinging wildly at Leto's head; Leto had anticipated his move, however, and nimbly ducked, driving his shoulder hard into Palaemon's groin. Winded, Palaemon bent double, and, in less time than it takes one to blink, he was belly-down on the ground, his arms jerked behind his back.
"Think of her now," Leto growled, lowering his mouth to Palaemon's ear. "It will be the last thing you remember." With Leto's hands moving in a blur, Palaemon's neck was snapped quietly and efficiently, and Leto got to his feet, his shoulders and chest heaving as he dashed sweat out of his eyes. Immediately, the nearby slaves hastened to pick up the body and carry it away; such incidents were neither unusual nor unexpected.
"I will not forget any of you, or what you did to her," Leto threatened bitterly, his fists clenched at his sides as he eyed Palaemon's group.
"That will be sufficient," Mencius called over dispassionately, and Leto stood down from his aggressive stance, closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath before returning to the magisters. "As you can see," Mencius said to Danarius, "he is swift, clean and merciless. Does he please you?"
"He does," answered the older magister breathlessly, deeply stirred by such a display of strength and violence.
"Will you fuck him before you depart?" Mencius asked. "A long journey awaits you."
"Yes, I believe I will."
"I will have you shown to a room." Mencius snapped his fingers and one of his faceless, nameless lackeys once again appeared, as Leto halted next to them. "Take Magister Danarius and Leto to the Blue Room. Have a bath drawn for Magister Danarius in one hour's time."
"At once, Master."
"And have Varania brought to my chambers," Mencius ordered, smiling as he noticed Leto's sharp inhalation and stiffened posture. "I may as well get some use out of her while she is still here. Unless, of course, Leto has any objections?"
All eyes turned to Leto, his own eyes settling on Vionet, who stood a short distance away, mouthing, "anything to survive."
With a small nod to his friend, Leto vowed to himself that this would be the last time his sister was defiled. Whatever it took.
"Of course not, Magister Mencius. It is not my place to question."
"No, it isn't." With a wave of his hand, Mencius dismissed his servants. "I will await you in the library, Danarius; we shall take a drink together before you leave. Enjoy him, as I shall enjoy his sister."
Nodding at the younger magister, Danarius followed Mencius's slave, and Leto fell into line, two steps behind his new master.
~o~O~o~
As the door was closed by Mencius's servant, Danarius glided over to one of the large windows and looked out with his hands clasped behind his back. Leto waited by the door, trying not to think about what Mencius was doing with his sister. He watched as Danarius's shoulders rose and fell, and noticed the light tapping of the magister's foot. A sign of nervousness? Surely not?
Were the rumours true? Had Danarius lost his touch? Was he soft on his slaves?
"Mencius speaks well of you," Danarius said, still facing away, and waited for an answer. When none came, he turned his head slightly. "Well?"
"I am honoured by his kind words, Master," answered Leto.
"If I ask you a question, you may reply without waiting for my leave. I know that Mencius does not permit this, but I am your Master, now, and you may reply freely."
"As you say, Master."
Danarius slowly turned around, his hands still folded behind his back. Leto, who was determined to test his new master, did not avert his gaze as the magister stepped closer to him. Such a bold action would have invited severe punishment from Mencius, but Leto wanted to see what Danarius was about. If Leto was beaten, at least he would know where he stood.
If he wasn't beaten, however…
"You would look your master in the eye?" asked Danarius, his voice gruff.
"Would you have a wolf or a sheep as your protector?" asked Leto, bracing himself to be struck.
To his utter shock, however, Danarius grinned slowly, a deep, quiet laugh rumbling through him. "Mencius was right; you are wilful. Only one other slave I have known has dared to look me directly in the eye. Up until last month, he was my head bodyguard, and he served me well for six years."
"I will do my best to serve you as well as my predecessor, Master," said Leto with a dip of his head.
"You presume much," Danarius replied, a hard edge entering his voice. "I said nothing of your role. You will serve me in whichever capacity I see fit."
The blow came from nowhere and forced the air out of Leto's lungs as pain spread through the left side of his face. Drawing a shaky breath, he straightened his posture and once again met Danarius's gaze. "Of course, Master; forgive my insolence," he said with a steady dignity.
"You're a proud one," Danarius said, his smile returning as he rubbed his knuckles. "There is nothing more despicable than a simpering, pusillanimous slave. Do you know what pusillanimous means?"
"Yes, Master; it means cowardly."
Danarius's eyes narrowed slightly, and he nodded. "As much as I detest cowardice, let there be no mistake that you will know your place, Leto. I am your master. If you respect that, then there is no reason why we cannot have an amicable relationship, where you are free to speak your mind. Within reason, of course."
Leto bowed and then stood up straight. "I know my place, Master. May I presume to speak my mind now?"
Danarius cocked an eyebrow and folded his arms. "Do."
"My sister," Leto began. "Her name is Varania. I humbly make one request of you, Master, and I will never again impinge upon your generosity. I ask that you do not use her as a bed-warmer; for you, or for anyone else."
"And why should I grant such an impudent request?"
"If you do, Master, then I will serve you with unwavering loyalty and will protect you without thought or question."
"I expect you to do that, anyway," answered Danarius, his voice once again taking on a harsh quality.
His heart thumping, Leto decided to take another risk. "If you do not, then you might as well kill me now. I will do nothing you ask of me, and you will be forced to beat, torture or kill me. You will have wasted your trip here today and you will lose out on a fine and loyal bodyguard. Master."
Taken aback for a second, Danarius quickly recovered his composure. "A fine bodyguard? That remains to be seen. If you please me, then I may consider it. Strip and lie on the bed."
"Gladly, Master," Leto replied huskily, a lascivious gleam in his eyes. Years of servitude had made Leto an accomplished actor, and he suspected that if he played his cards right, he could rise to a prominent position in Danarius's household. He moved to the bed, his eyes never leaving the magister's, and slowly and gracefully removed his trousers, not easy to do while manacled. "How do you want me, Master?" he asked as he clambered onto the bed and got onto all fours, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment when Danarius could not see his face.
Hearing a heavy robe drop to the floor, he felt the bed shift as Danarius knelt upon it and heard the magister's heavy breathing, which matched his own. A large hand grabbed his wrist and he was flipped over onto his back. His knees were forced up against his chest, and he quickly took in the myriad scars that were etched across Danarius's flabby body as the magister bore down upon him, his cloudy blue eyes alight with lust and power.
"You do have something of the wolf about you," grunted Danarius, and Leto felt the mage's erection press against his entrance. "I am your master. You will be my wolf, and you will look me in the eyes as I take you."
"I will, Master," groaned Leto, his eyes rolling back in his head as he arched his back, feigning arousal. "I will be your wolf."
Anything to survive.
