The Pompeiian Horse

THE POMPEIIAN HORSE

by Gabbo de la Parra

Copyright 2016 Gabbo de la Parra

Published by Kidwell-Lovely

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for purchasing this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

This ebook is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and language, and may be considered offensive by some readers (M/M foreplay and intercourse). All characters in this book are age 18 or older during the narrative.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THANKS

PREAMBLE

PROLOGUE

1. ANIMOSITY

2. BOUNDARIES

3. COMPROMISE

4. DEBT

5. ENCOUNTER

6. FATE

7. GIFT

8. HEIGHTS

9. INTENTIONS

10. KINSHIP

11. LIGHT

12. MEANINGS

13. NERVE

14. OUTCOME

15. PENALTY

16. QUIRK

17. REPENTANCE

18. SACRIFICE

19. TOUCHSTONE

20. VIRTUE

21. XENIUM

EPILOGUE

COMMENTS

GLOSSARY

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

STOP BY AND SAY HI!

BOOKS BY GABBO DE LA PARRA

THANKS

It’s been almost three years since the journey of The Pompeiian Horse began, and because it has been a rocky road I must give a big shout-out to Tomás 7 Colinas Roma for his support during the late efforts of this journey— invaluable help and deep knowledge of Ancient Rome.

Two amazing betas chose to remain anonymous, and I respect their decision. Still, those two know who they are, and my sincere appreciation goes to them with all my heart.

Natalie was so amazing that my only way to give thanks was to give her a part in the story. Even though Natalie is the English version of a Latin name (Natalia), its Latin version wasn’t used until after Christianity became a force within the Roman Empire, long after 79 AD (or CE if you are not into Anno Domini). Therefore, every time you see the name Thalia, know it’s a tribute to this awesome woman.

PREAMBLE

Romans were people ahead of their time, and, precisely because of this, the characters in this book speak as we do today. You will not see many Latin words in this story. They were used when a current equivalent didn’t exist (mostly festivities, titles, and names).

When you see the words kid, boy, or any others that may imply very young age, they do not mean children (unless it is clearly stated at the moment). These words describe a separation of wisdom and knowledge more than actual age. Manhood ceremonies during Ancient Rome were realized between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, and even younger in some other cultures of the time. Regardless of that information, all main and secondary characters in this story are older than 18, even if they may appear younger.

Many things that could be seen as shocking today were common occurrences in Ancient Rome. Remember, these were peoples who enjoyed watching gladiators hack each other to death and accepted slavery as a normal thing. Their moral compass was not the one we use today, even if many of our laws have their roots in their wisdom and philosophy.

Be aware that, except between actual lovers, penetration was an act of domination not of love. Masters saw their (male and female) slaves as property and used them according to that notion. This did not make them villains. Yes, there were brutal masters (as surely as we have brutal bosses today), but this was not a rule, and there were many slaves who did live happily once they accepted their station.

Therefore, the characters might sound and think like us, but we need to understand their culture is not ours. Let’s keep in mind these are peoples from a faraway time with different customs and great valiant hearts.

PROLOGUE

What you are can never be taken. It can only be surrendered.

—Tom Ziglar

THE YEAR OF THE FOUR EMPERORS

Hidden behind the bushes, Janus Vettius Crispus saw the yellow hare protecting something; he wasn’t sure what. The march of his legion to the Rhine border had been hard, and he was ready to eat something fresh. He had come away from camp to take care of some bodily functions, hearing the furry creature as he finished.

Janus was ready to throw his dagger and get that much-needed fresh meat when a large brown eagle swept into the small clearing and caught the hare.

Fuck.

But before the eagle soared too high, it let the hare fall. The chunky yellow thing landed sideways, sprang (cocking its head left and right and sniffing the air) and then scurried away.

There goes my nice stew.

Well, in the end, Janus would have gotten about three spoonfuls after sharing it with his fellow legionnaires. Still, as he headed back to camp, he felt he had just witnessed more than the Circle of Life. Why would an eagle drop a perfectly good meal? Something in his gut told him this was not mere Nature but some kind of omen. Alas, he did not know which god to ask for wisdom. The calls of his brothers in arms quickly made him forget about the incident.

Two days later, while laying waste to a village which had been assisting the legions supporting Vespasian, Janus entered a hut, bloodied and in carnage frenzy. He found a youngling (not truly a boy but surely a man by the standards of Rome and his own people) folded over the body of a dead woman, pounding it and screaming out. His distress gave Janus pause.

The young man lifted his head, saw Janus, and pointed an accusatory finger. Murderers!

You speak our language? It was a really odd thing to say to someone screaming at you. Janus could not think of a good reason for such a silly question amid the sounds of fire and death outside the hut.

Nevertheless, the question also stopped the Barbarian. He cocked his head sideways, a fleeting look of surprise on his face. That motion brought the image of the yellow hare back to Janus. Then, the blond answered. Yes. I was the interpreter between my people and the legionnaires who were here before you.

How old are you?

They were in the middle of a fucking battle, and yet Janus asked the kind of questions you would ask at a friendly gathering. He must have gone crazy before he entered the hut.

I am fifteen winters old. Blond eyebrows knitted together. Why are you asking me these questions if you’re going to kill me? Eyes that had been full of rage and hatred were now wide with confusion and another thing Janus could not quite name.

And it suddenly hit Janus with the force of one of those cudgels these Barbarians loved so much; he was the eagle and this boy the yellow hare. He could not kill him— orders be damned. The will of the gods was above the will of his centurion. What? No! I’m not going to kill you, but others might. Run! Run for your life and don’t look back! He waved his bloodied sword and shield. Go!

No! I won’t leave my mother!

"She's dead! Don’t you think she would want you to live and be able to avenge her later? There he went again, saying something completely stupid, considering this boy’s revenge would be against Janus’s people.

Shaking his head in disbelief, the blond gaped at Janus. Five heartbeats later, he seemed to come to a resolution and nodded. He drew a long dagger from the folds of his mother’s dress and stood up.

For a moment that seemed frozen in time, Janus and the blond locked eyes, their weapons raised. The stupidity of his actions slapped Janus across the face. It looked like the boy was about to pounce but then turned to escape through a window. With one leg on the sill, he swiveled round to face Janus. Thank you. May my gods protect you. He disappeared with a quick jump.

Janus took many lives that day, but the only things haunting him that night (and many others after that) were the gray, stormy eyes of the young Barbarian interpreter.

1. ANIMOSITY

MARCH

The guards at the Sea Gate saluted Janus, recognizing his rank. He had been and still was Prime Centurion of the Lucky Flavian Fourth Legion of Dalmatia— sent to Pompeii on a leave of absence by his superiors. He needed a retreat or he would go mad.

Nebulus had a tired gait due to the long journey. Janus dismounted and gave his horse to a groom in a nearby stable to allow the poor animal some rest. He threw a coin to the young man and grunted, Someone from the house of Pompo will come to fetch him.

Spring flowed in the air, and a festive atmosphere enveloped the crowded streets. Janus had never seen any other Roman city with so much red on its walls. He did not like red; it reminded him too much of all the indignities of war.

Two boys with straw in their hairs and yellow straps around their faces in the guise of bears fought with sticks against each other. I’m Equus the Stallion, grr, yelled one. No, no. I am the Stallion, riposted the other, thrashing the first with his stick.

Janus smirked and left the boys to their little battle.

Half a copper for your piss, soldier, said a stout man in front of a laundry house. He had a wicked gleam in his eyes as if he wanted to look at Janus doing the deed more than needing the piss for the cleaning mix. You have to go sometime anyway, he added, waggling his eyebrows.

Snorting, Janus shook his head; yet, Nature did knock at his back door a moment later. He found public latrines to relieve his bowels. The old man sitting next to him appeared to have been there for hours, even dozing off a little. Reading the wall, scratched with many inscriptions, Janus saw the name Equus again. Equus is the olive oil in my ass. Beloved by Apollo and adored by Venus, the Stallion rules. Of course, many other writings assaulted his vision (apparently the people of Pompeii took very long dumps), but the same name was repeated many a time and always with some kind of devotion.

Equus the Stallion.

Equus meant horse, so it was kind of redundant to also call him the Stallion. Which in itself was an odd way to call a regular person; the man was probably a gladiator. Nevertheless, this individual sounded like a local celebrity by the way the kids in the mock fight wanted to be him.

Done with his body’s business, Janus soon discovered Pompeii had never got around putting designations to its streets. He found himself in the need of asking for directions. There were plenty of places serving hot food and drinks in the open. He stopped at the one that looked the cleanest and asked, Where is the house of Pompo, good man?

The man looked up from his steaming pot and smiled at Janus, asking in return, Stew? He stirred his concoction with a metal ladle. It smelled good.

Thanks, but I’m not hungry right now.

Fish? The chubby man grimaced then shrugged when Janus shook his head. Your loss. My garum is to die for.

Once you had tried one fish sauce, they were all the same. Janus grimaced back. I just need directions. Then he noticed a painting, more like a drawing, in the shrine behind the insisting vendor. A blond, bearded man dressed in a white short tunic held a sword and had laurel leaves crowning his long locks. Janus pointed with his chin. Who’s that in the shrine? Because it did not look like any god Janus could recognize.

The Stallion, of course, the owner said as if Janus was dumb for not knowing who was depicted in the almost amateur drawing. He then smiled (the way you do to patronize a slow person) with an open mouth showing a couple of missing teeth.

The idea of rolling his eyes fleetingly crossed Janus’s mind. Pompo’s house, he said with a growl, smacking a coin on the stone counter and making the other customers look at him uneasily.

Straight ahead. After two water pumps turn left. The house is at the end of that street, was the response after the coin had been quickly snatched out of sight; he used the ladle to point the way, narrowly avoiding splashing Janus.

Thanks, Janus grunted and stomped away, leaving the other customers to their gaping mouths and whatever ideas they desired.

The following streets were so crowded it was infuriating; Janus’s scowl was not enough to stop people from bumping into him. The pleasant breeze he had felt while riding Nebulous upon arrival was soon replaced by sweat and the competing odors of man, beast, and labor. Everything seemed designed to forcefully get your attention. The streets were not exactly narrow, but, between the people and the carts and the businesses that seemed to be spewing their ventures onto the passersby, Janus was getting more than a little vexed.

Since the people coming and going would not respect his uniform, Janus started to push and elbow his way just like the rest of them. They were so used to this method— no one even flinched, no matter how rude and snarly he became.

At last, Janus found the house (Pompo’s street was less frantic than those nearby), but he was inexplicably more miffed after hearing two women giggling and bringing the Stallion to his ears for the umpteenth time since his arrival.

It was almost noon, and most villas already had their doors opened for