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Barry Sadler: The War lord

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Barry Sadler The War lord

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Paetius noticed his interest in the girl, sighed deeply as if wounded, then shrugged, as if to say, it's your loss if that's what you like.

Ortius also noticed Casca's wandering eye checking out the tavern wenches. Leaning close to Paetius he whispered in his ear. The Greek giggled delightedly, rose, and weaved his way with tiny steps through the benches and tables out of sight.

Casca watched his departure and the leer on the queer's face. "What the hades is he up to?"

Ortius smiled and replied, "I am just being a man of my word and living up to a promise I made some time back." Saying no more on the matter, they sat back to relax and find their land legs; it still seemed as if the table were swaying slightly. The wine flowed freely and for the first time in more years than he could remember, the Roman tasted again the sweet Falernian, whose grapes grew in the sunny hills of his first home. The wine fumes settled into his brain and the world took on a rosy glow.

Ortius seemed to have an unlimited capacity for the grape and, as the evening wore on, became merely more talkative and cheerful.

After dark settled and the lamps were lit, their oily tendrils mingling with wide columns of smoke from the fireplace, twice men came to try to talk business with Ortius, but were told that it would have to wait until the morrow… this night there were other matters that needed attending to.

The tavern was filled to overflowing with a mixture of humanity: everything from blue-eyed northern Gauls to a couple of Picts who sat in the corner drinking their sour beer, faces painted a fading blue; a dozen tongues spoken and understood, but all had one thing in common-the seas they sailed. To them anyone who lived by choice on land was less than a man.

After an endless number of wine bowls and cups had been emptied, jugs and pots filled and refilled, they had sampled everything even remotely resembling being intoxicating that the inn had to offer. The last bout of drinking the local, homemade beer left a green taste in his mouth and Casca finally pleaded for mercy.

Ortius, pleased at his victory, gave one magnifi-cant fart that Casca swore had a green yeasty tinge to it and said through thick slurred words, "Good enough my friend, now that you have surrendered, your room is ready, though in this place I'm not sure just how much sleep you will get. But never mind, just remember old Ortius is a man of his word, Roman." With this Ortius fell over into a pot of wine gurgling happily.

Casca followed the brown-haired little tavern wench who led him to the rickety stairs to his room. The stairs seemed to be weaving as if he were still on the deck of the ship. The girl giggled constantly. Leaving Casca at the doorway, she fled laughing back to the bottom of the stairs and stopped, waiting.

Casca looked down at her thinking, "What the crap is wrong with that dippy little slut?"

Suddenly he was tripped and thrown to the floor as the door slammed behind him. A feminine laugh, along with a tongue pushing its way into his mouth stopped his automatic counterattack, especially when a soft hand slid under his tunic. An oil lamp was lit in the corner.

Casca froze in shock, Ortius was indeed a man of his word. Ten women from ten countries lay in wait for him, all stark naked and smiling, blondes, redheads and hot-eyed dusky maids from Syria and Egypt.

A brunette with white even teeth and laughter in her eyes stuck a rosy nippled tit in his face and cried out merrily, "Roman, I am going to screw your brains out before you get out of here."

Several of the other girls countered with, "Not if we get him first", and the mele'e was on! Twenty hands grabbed him, throwing him onto the three beds which had been pushed together in anticipation of the event about to take place.

In less time than it takes to flip a denarii, he was as naked as they. The girls yelped in joy. Here was a man.

Instantly he was covered in warm naked bodies, perfumed hair and thighs mingled with pressing breasts and mouths until he felt as if he were drowning in a sea of women. They piled on him, each anxious to get her fair share of the man beneath them. Lips and legs covered him from head to toe and one bitch, the Egyptian, had his big toe in her mouth sucking away. Casca squirmed in pleasure, he had never felt anything like it. The Egyptian, obviously aware of the erotic effect she was having on the scarred Roman, was content to do her part in the night's orgy.

Paetius opened the door a crack and peeked in, just in time to see Casca surface like a porpoise, catching a breath of air and then joyfully plunging back into the quivering mass of women, sinking into the best of all possible oceans. Closing the door quietly, Paetius mumbled wonderingly, "I just don't see what they get out of it." Shaking his head in sad confusion, he went back to the main room in time to break the arm of a Nubian who pulled a knife on a fellow Greek from Thessaly.

"I don't allow that shit in my places" he bellowed and tossed the Nubian into the street, fractured forearm and all, leaving him unconscious for the vigeles to find.

Casca woke to the pounding on his door, thinking for a moment that it was coming from inside his own head. His whole body ached and he hadn't felt this bad when he had been a gladiator in the arena at Rome. The pounding continued, "Just a moment," as he untangled himself from the mass of naked bodies that covered him, moving legs and arms out of the way. Slipping his tunic on he stumbled to the door and upon opening it, the portly form of Ortius stood leering from ear to ear, a pot of wine in his hand which he stuck under Casca's nose.

"My gods, no! Get that shit away from me!" His stomach performed a minor upheaval which he squelched with some difficulty.

"No? Then, I'll drink it myself." Ortius swallowed the cupful in one gulp and tossed the empty vessel into the room where it joined the pile of exhausted whores, who had done such noble duty.

"Come my friend, a good breakfast of cold mutton is just what you need to fix you up."

The idea of eating cold grey mutton was too much for Casca and he barely made it to the chamber pot, having to throw several legs out of the way to get to it.

A couple of hours later, when he felt his heart was beginning to beat with some regularity and the blood had drained from his eyes, he thought he just might make it through the rest of the day.

Ortius showed no effects at all from the night's bout of drinking and took Casca everywhere, constantly retelling the sea battle until their feats began to rival the gods of Holy Olympus. Dubrae was a thriving port and Roman culture was everywhere.

The next few days brought up-to-date the events which had been transpiring in the Empire since he had left Helsfjord and the Hold from which he and his two ships had set sail so long ago… or was it so long. Thinking carefully, he realized with a shock that it had been only four years since they set sail for the unknown and reached the lands of the Teotec where men were sacrificed on the altar to, the gods. Quetza they had called him, the Serpent. Touching the scar on his chest, it seemed so much longer ago, but then time is a matter of happenings and never stays the same. To a man in pain. minutes seem hours; to lovers, there is never time enough.

The day came for Ortius to take ship and again leave the island of Britannia; he would make the long voyage past the Pillars of Hercules to the warmer waters of the Mediterranean. Would Casca sail with him?

The two had grown inordinately fond of each other in their time together and Casca readily agreed. What difference did it make where he spent his time? It must be spent somewhere and it had been too long since the warm winds of Italia had blown in his face.

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