When in Rome

Derek stood on the block of wood, naked and bewildered. A small length of rope tied securely around one ankle and attached to a small brass ring at one edge of the block kept him anchored to the spot. While he could not bring himself to look into the sea of faces surrounding him, he knew that every eye in the crowd was on him. At nineteen his body was lean and athletic. His c**k arched downwards from a bush of thick, black pubic hair and his n*****s sat like two brown berries on his tanned and hairless chest. “What am I bid for this male?” a man shouted in Latin. A group of men draped in togas and wearing leather sandals crowded in around the boy. He could smell their odours, raw and masculine; odours of sweat and skin and s*x. They bantered with each other while running their hands over his bare flesh, caressing his buttocks and letting their hands linger on his c**k made semi-hard by their attentions. “What’s this?” asked a short, squat man as he cupped Derek’s circumcised c**k in his hand. “An accident of birth, I’ll wager,” laughed a taller man with greying hair. Behind him he felt someone spread his arse cheeks apart, felt the puckered, pink flesh of that most private of parts stretched taut. “Such a cosy place to nestle,” said a deep voice. A finger pushed at the entrance, but didn’t penetrate. He felt it trace the corrugations of his sphincter before being removed. Then he heard a sniffing sound. “Ahhh, the aroma of youth and s*x,” said the deep voice. Derek stared over the heads of the assembled men at the bustling market place; at the women filling their woven baskets with fruits, vegetables, and small loaves of bread. An elderly man led a donkey laden with sheaves of wheat through the bustling crowd, while children chased each other around the stalls, upsetting buyers and sellers alike. A pair of men in gladiatorial armour walked by and he caught them eyeing him. One of them turned to the other and spoke before they both burst into laughter, their teeth gleaming white against sun-bronzed skin. Derek felt his cheeks burning. “I ask again. What am I bid for this rarity? Not quite a boy and not yet a man.” Two or perhaps three hands snaked tentatively into the air, but the auctioneer was not content to end the bidding so soon. “I’m wasting my time,” he tut-tutted. “Where have you ever seen such a fine, untouched male ripe for the plucking?” A finger was shoved roughly into his arsehole. Derek gritted his teeth. “Still a virgin I’ll wager!” said the owner of the finger. Suddenly a sea of hands shot into the air. “50 denarii!” “100 denarii!” “200 denarii!” Derek eyes watered, but he blinked the tears back. To remove himself from the humiliation of being bid on, his thoughts turned to his family, far away in the future. He thought of his university mates who were probably wondering where the hell he was. Images of the machine they had found in Professor San Giorgio’s private office wafted across his mind’s eye. No-one had believed that such a machine could exist. The year had been 2029, but such things were still thought of as science fiction. “Let’s try it out,” he’d said. His friends had cautioned him against it, but he would not be told. “Well if you’re gonna go ahead, you’d better put this on,” said Marco, who had worked as Professor San Giorgio’s assistant the previous summer. “What is it?” he had asked, looking at the small gold earring. “A transmitter. You need to wear it if you ever want to return. The energy pulse generated by the time machine tunes into the frequency emitted by a small chip in the earring,” Marco had explained. “We designed it to look like a normal, everyday piece of jewellery, simple and unadorned so it wouldn’t attract attention. And if it’s actually in your ear then there’s less chance of losing it.” He had put the earring on, entered the small, airtight booth, and sat back in the padded metal chair. “Where to?” Tito, another friend, had asked him. “How about Ancient Rome!” In his mind’s eye he could still see himself chuckling at the madness of the whole caper as he waited for something to happen. He’d never expected the damn machine to work. Then Tito had set the co-ordinates and pulled the lever. The next thing he knew he was waking up on some dirt road, in the path of a roaming slave trader returning from an expedition.