The King’s Hypnotist: Chapter Eight
The news of the death of Marcus Caepio Brutus was in the news three days later. His female slave was take away and tortured but rumors suggested she not only refused to speak but in fact the rumors said she seemed not even ABLE to scream when they used the clamps and hot irons.
The day after he found out about the murder he was visited by Marcus’s fellow agents. They came with the other petitioners, the other ring kissers and bribe carriers. Tiberius, who had finished a breakfast of bread, honey, olives and water (yes, water) was in such a good mood he offered to see them first.
While Tiberius answered the few questions the Roman agents asked he could sense their confusion. All he could do was give them copies of the slave’s papers so they could try to track down where she had come from and why she would feel the need to kill a owner she had never met before.
Much of the populace of the city just assumed that, being Roman, Marcus had done something so kinky and disgusting that the female slave had to defend herself. And of course the hair pin was the nearest weapon…
There were even a few who felt she should be released but they were a silent minority. The King did not wish to have bad relations with Rome and, of course, bent over backwards to help the Romans with their drive to solve the murder mystery.
He was even joyful when Hector came at the end of the morning session. He greeted the Greek with open arms.
“How are you this fine day?” asked the young Roman with a smile.
“No headache? Cheerful?” mumbled the Greek aloud. “Have you found religion?”
“Gods, no,” said the Roman with a laugh.
“I invite you to a visit to the hot baths and join me in a meal,” said Hector looking a tad unbalanced by the warm welcome. “If you wish to go out?”
“Why not?” said Tiberius with a shrug. “Let me splash some cold water on my face, get into a fresh tunic, toss on toga, and meet you outside!”
Tiberius tried not to smile too much. He joked and chatted with his friend during the whole ride in the litter. He tried to complain about the smelly crowds, the trash filled streets, the loud vendors. But in the end, when he finally reached the public baths with Hector, he found himself laughing aloud.
“I have dealt with your little problem,” he said as he drained a cup of chilled wine given to him by a female slave.
“I knew it,” grumbled Hector as he leaned back against the edge of the pool, enjoying the scented warm water that helped his muscles relax. “You know you have just given me even bigger problems?”
“What?” said Tiberius, totally confused.
Hector waited till the female slaves were facing the other way and then hissed, “The Roman agents think I killed him somehow.”
Tiberius sighed to himself. This was going to be harder than he thought. If the investigators did not leave soon they may, by accident, find out about his REAL plotting and spoil it for everybody.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said with a shrug as he pulled one of the slave girls into the hot water. He felt horny and full of energy. He didn’t feel any reason to wait when there were female slaves available. Anyway, no matter how loud he, and his victim got, nobody would come to help her or even complain.
In fact, the public baths seemed very slow that day—almost empty really. The bathhouse’s libraries, lecture halls, and the first class coffee shop all seemed slow that day. Even the normally noisy gym was silent. Freedmen who usually crowded some of the more public areas, such as the state games or the bathhouses were also missing. Which was ok by him. More slaves and wine for the both of them.
In fact Hector was being very generous today. The wine, and the platters of food, were all on Hector. Free wine and free food always helped to make him cheerful. Or in this case, more cheerful.
In fact there was three types of wine waiting in chilled pitchers in easy reach. There platters of boiled eggs, olives, roast game hens in a lobster sauce, freshly baked bread, honey glazed baby rabbits stuffed with carrots, lip-smacking ostrich heads, and even some elephant sausages.
Hector just watched as Tiberius forced the girl to impale her young, tight, cunt onto his manhood. The Greek picked up a game hen, pulled off a leg, and tasted it. He kept his eyes on the Roman the whole time as if waiting for something.
“Oh yes,” moaned Tiberius as he pumped into her, his blood burning with lust, dreams of glory, and wine.
But something was wrong. His manhood was growing soft and his vision was getting hazy. Something was very wrong. He tried to reach for one of the cups of agreeable wine and he missed.
He found himself slipping deeper into the tub. Lucky for him, the female slaves grabbed him by the arms and pulled him out. He was going to thank them but found his tongue felt numb. Also, he decided that thanking them was out of order when the slave girl, who he had been enjoying, kicked him in the balls.
The horrible thing about her slamming his manhood with her foot was the total lack of any reaction from his nervous system. No pain. That scared him. That scared him a lot.
What scared him even more was the smiling Hector looking down at his body as his vision started to grow dim. “You always preferred syrupy wine,” said his friend’s voice.
The next thing he knew, he found himself seated in a humming air car, across from the old Greek trader he had meant weeks ago, while shopping for gifts. The air car was a small one, designed to carry a few passengers with a separate compartment for the drivers. The windows were dark, keeping out whatever view was outside, and the air conditioning was on full blast.
“What?” he babbled. His tongue felt fuzzy and swollen. “Where am I? Who are you? Why am I here?”
He whimpered. He was starting to feel a pain. A throbbing pain down there, between his legs. Uh oh. He knew he was going to start feeling whatever damage the girl had done very soon. And very likely pee red for a few days too.
“We are flying over the desert,” said the old man as he stroked his beard. “I am a leader of a certain cult. And you are going to die.”
“YOU’RE THE REASON THE AGENTS CAME!” shouted Tiberius as he tried to leap across the small space to attack the old man. And found his hands were not only tied together but attached to the back of the seat.
The old man chuckled. “Yes. I have to say, you should have figured that out. Your Roman agents are not stupid. Do you think they would come all the way here for nothing?”
“Eh…” said Tiberius.
“They knew that, me and my men, the Followers of Christ, were trying to bring down the Republic,” stated the old man while stroking his beard. “My name is Nabataea.”
“Christ?” said Tiberius.
“The man the Jews said would free them slavery,” stated the Greek with some annoyance.
“So you are Jews.”
“No, we follow Christ. He was the Son of God.”
“Which God?” asked Tiberius.
“The One True God,” answered the Greek trader, rubbing his forehead.
“But Christ was a Jew?” asked Tiberius.
“Yes,” sighed the fake merchant, foreseeing where the direction of this discussion was going.
“If he was a Jew,” said the Roman, “how can you follow him and NOT follow his religious views?”
“His views were different than those of the Jews at the time,” explained Nabataea.
“So you plan to bring down the Republic?”
“Yes,” said Nabataea, feeling more comfortable talking abut plots than trying to explain Christianity. “Using your mind control equipment. We plan to insert it into the interplanetary communications network. As only military or government leaders us it, we can brain wash those at the top, bringing peace and harmony to the universe.”
Nabataea sighed, waiting for his Roman prisoner to stop laughing.
“YOU were going to do the same thing to this PLANET,” he remarked as Tiberius stopped to catch his breath.
“One planet,” the Roman panted, “is not the same as the whole Roman Republic.”
“We have men and women in place all over the empire,” said Nabataea. “Slaves within the government. Wives of important leaders....STOP LAUGHING!”
“Slaves and women,” chuckled Tiberius as he tried not to shake and move too much as whatever was holding him cut into his wrists when he moved too much. “Your religion is popular with slaves and women?”
“They are promised paradise after death,” said Nabataea pulling out a small rod from under his brown robe. “Now, if you excuse me, I grow tired of this discussion.”
Tiberius barely had enough time to scream as the old man hit him with an elephant stun rod. It was set on a level far too high for a normal human being.
Tiberius woke up, feeling the heat on his back, his skin almost seeming to crack under the weight of the horrible atmosphere. Sand ground against his face and hands, as he tried to get up, his eyes flicking open to shades of oranges and reds.
“Ready?” said the voice of Nabataea from above his head. “This is where we part company.”
He felt hands grab his shoulders. As he was forced to his feet he tried to struggle. He was being manhandled by slaves! Big, strong slaves, who could have been hired out as bodyguards or maybe trained as gladiators. In fact there were few of them, sweating in the unnatural heat under the pink sky, watching him as they fingered their small clubs.
“I feel so dangerous,” mumbled Tiberius as the two slaves at his flanks held him up by his arms.
“Do you have any last words?”
“You plan to kill me in the dunes?” said, with a shiver. He truly did not wish to die. Not like this. In bed, sure, with lots of wine and women. Not in the middle of nowhere.
“Hector was part of this, right?” he asked as they started to move up the nearest rocky hill. the rock looked twisted and burnt, free of any life, baked under the hot unforgiving sun.
Behind them, resting on the sands, was a large air car, with a shiny reflected hull. Even Tiberius could hear the machine inside the flying litter, humming away, as it tried to keep the insides cold.
“Of course,” said Nabataea. “So was the King.”
Tiberius was too busy staring at the top of the hill. He started to whimper and tried to kick the two slaves holding him. More slaves moved forward and soon he was being carried by his four limbs. he kicked and wiggled and tried to bite them.
“We needed somebody to test out your equipment,” said the Greek over the Roman’s screams. “The King was more than happy to help us. He never trusted you Romans. Well, to be honest, even Romans do not trust Romans.”
Tiberius was screaming loud and high, as the approached the wooden structures on top of the hill. His eyes were wide open and full of fear. Blind, uncontrolled, animalize fear.
“Sometimes we took from you Romans,” said one of the slaves, nodding with his head towards the crosses that seemed to cover the top of the hill. Each one had a corpse, brown and wind blasted, all the moister removed long ago by the hostile atmosphere. Some of the bodies had fallen, their flesh pulled down by gravity, the nails naked and stained black.
In the center of the circle of crosses was a small hut where other slaves were already bringing out two new pieces of wood, tool kits, and a large oversized hammer.
“We will show you mercy,” said the Greek with a serious voice. “We will break your legs after we nail you to the cross.”