patheticus555
01-14-2008, 3:13 AM
Part 1 - Rumblings
Rome. 79 AD.
Well, Pompeii actually.
Senator Flavius Maximus (53) had moved here with his wife Druscilla (39) and daughter Lydia (20) some two years previously. Rome itself was so overcrowded now, and the quality of life in Pompeii was so much better – if you could afford it!
And senator Flavius Maximus certainly could afford it. Not only was he a wealthy member of the Roman Senate, he also owned a series of stone quarries outside Rome – quarries which supplied the materials for the very buildings in Rome itself. So he was not short of a denarius or two, and the villa he had built for himself and his family on the outskirts of Pompeii was an admittedly somewhat ostentatious display of his wealth.
Of course, the senator’s family had several household slaves, like any wealthy Roman family, but our story concentrates on the lowliest of their slaves – slave Patheticus, the family’s ‘servus-provolvo’, which translates loosely as ‘the slave who abases himself at the feet of others’, or ‘footslave’ as we would probably say in today’s parlance.
27 year old slave Patheticus originated from the far North of the Empire, from Britannia. Captured by the Roman army at the age of 20, he had been brought to Rome as a slave and was initially purchased by senator Flavius as a work-slave in one of his stone quarries.
For 5 long years Patheticus had toiled under the hot Roman sun, and the sting of Roman whips, breaking rocks for his Roman masters and mistresses to build their houses with. Although he was young and fit, the work inevitably took its toll. Had he stayed in the quarry, Patheticus would probably have died from exhaustion by now.
However, he was to experience a stroke of remarkable good fortune some two years ago. The senator had been on a visit to the very quarry where slave Patheticus was labouring. He had brought his wife Druscilla and daughter Lydia to the quarry for a nice day out – watching the slaves hard at work as they helped to sustain their Roman masters’ wealthy, aristocratic lifestyle through their blood, sweat and whip-marks.
Lydia, in particular, loved her trips to the quarries. She would sit on a hill overlooking the toiling slaves, shaded from the sun by a parasol held respectfully above her pretty head by the family’s chief slave, Germanicus, and with a refreshing tumbler of water by her side to help quench her thirst. How she loved watching the semi-naked male slaves’ shoulder and arm muscles rippling and glistening with sweat under the hot Roman sun as they engaged in their back breaking toil pounding rocks whilst she relaxed on a couch.
If she was lucky, a lazy or recalcitrant slave would be tied up and flogged by one of the taskmasters. If not, she would simply call one of the whip-wielding taskmasters over to her and demand that a particular slave be whipped for her viewing pleasure.
No wonder the slaves were nervous whenever the senator, his wife and daughter were visiting the quarry!
However, this particular visit, the one that took place some two years ago, was an extra special visit. The Senator’s wife, Lady Druscilla, had decided that they needed a new household slave – a ‘servus-provolvo’ – specifically to take care of her, and her daughter Lydia’s, delicate, aristocratic, feminine feet and footwear in their smart new villa in Pompeii. Al the best families had one – a kind of status symbol, a slave who could not only take care of his mistress’s feet, but also those of her guests.
Senator Flavius was happy to accede to his beloved wife’s request – anything for a quiet life! He was, however, it has to be said, a bit stingy when it came to paying out good money for a new household slave, and had therefore suggested that, rather than purchase a slave at auction, his wife and daughter select their servus-provolvo from amongst his existing work-slaves in the quarry.
And so on that particular hot, summer’s day nearly two years ago, the work-slaves in the stone quarry, Patheticus among them, had received a welcome, temporary break from their hard labour as they were lined up on their knees for the Senator’s wife and (then 18 year old) daughter to inspect.
Young Lydia was in her element – forty or so mostly hunky male slaves all kneeling in a row in front of herself and her mother, their heads respectfully bowed, hoping against hope that they would be the one to be chosen as the ladies’ personal footslave – however humiliating and degrading such a role may be. A servus-provolvo was generally acknowledged to be the lowliest and most demeaning of all slave positions; you had to live your life, literally, on your hands and knees, constantly at the beck and call of capricious and spoilt aristocratic Roman women. But it had to be preferable to the alternative of a short life of agonising toil in a Roman stone quarry!
Slave Patheticus after 5 years labouring in the quarry, was certainly of that opinion. Indeed he was determined to be the one who was selected. Fortunately for him he had his chance – for Senator Flavius made a suggestion to his daughter, who was expressing some concern at the fact that she was rather spoilt for choice:
‘My dear, why don’t you set the slaves a test to help you select? Order them to kiss your feet, one by one. That should help you to get a feel for the slave who will be most docile and compliant at your feet!’
Lydia liked her wise father’s suggestion:
‘Oh yes, Pater! Make them kiss my feet! I want to see what each of them looks like as they place their slave lips on the toes of my sandals!’
The young Roman mistress was, of course, referring to her pretty, open-toed brown leather, ‘sandalia’ which were laced all the way up to the top of her shapely calf muscles. Not that the slaves’ dry and chapped lips would be allowed anywhere near the soft, smooth skin of the haughty young Roman woman’s calf muscles! Their lips would, for the time being at least, only be permitted to touch the dusty, leather toes of her sandals.
Lydia’s mother laughed:
‘Ha! Ha! Like your Pater says, you can order the slaves to kiss your feet yourself, my dear. Believe me, they will obey you! Isn’t that right, Bruttius?’
Druscilla was addressing one of the taskmasters who was holding a particularly nasty looking, dark brown, multi-tailed leather whip called a ‘flagellum’:
‘That’s correct, domina. Any slave who fails to obey the domina-virgo will soon feel the sting of my whip!’ confirmed the burly taskmaster.
Just as the lady Druscilla was addressed by slaves as ‘domina’ (or ‘Mistress’), so her daughter Lydia, as a young unmarried woman, was customarily addressed as ‘domina-virgo’ (or ‘young mistress’).
Domina-virgo Lydia giggled with delight at the feeling of power that now coursed through her young, 18 year old veins – a long line of brutish male slaves all kneeling with their heads humbly bowed and awaiting the privilege of kissing her dusty, sandaled feet. She only had to give the command.
As she stood up to walk over to the line of slaves, followed both by Germanicus, dutifully carrying the parasol above her head, and Bruttius, dutifully carrying his leather whip, the hem of her white, Roman tunic flapped around her pretty, Roman-sandaled ankles.
She decided she would have only the good-looking slaves kiss her feet. There was no point in testing out the ugly ones. After all, an ugly slave wouldn’t be much of a status symbol for a beautiful and superior young woman like domina-virgo Lydia!
She made her way slowly down the line, stopping occasionally for a particular slave to kiss her sandals. Some of the uglier kneeling slaves whom she passed by could be heard sobbing with disappointment. When she reached Patheticus, however, she stopped again, put her hands on her shapely hips, and extended her right foot so that it was directly beneath his kneeling face:
‘You there, slave, kiss the toe of my leather sandal!’ the young woman barked down at him imperiously.
Senator Flavius and his wife smiled. They were so proud of their daughter.
The kneeling slave Patheticus wasted no time in lowering his parched, work-slave lips the few inches or so to the brown leather strap that covered the young mistress’s red-painted, shapely, soft, feminine toes. He placed a respectful kiss onto the dusty, brown leather, feeling the hem of the young woman’s tunic brushing against the top of his head as he did so.
The young woman giggled, and suddenly withdrew her right foot from under his face, replacing it with her left:
‘And my other sandal!’ she barked.
Something hit slave Patheticus at that moment in time – call it a spark of inspiration; or perhaps a prompt from the gods – but he knew he had to do more than the other slaves who would be kissing young mistress Lydia’s feet if he was to make an impression, if he was to ‘kneel out’ from the crowd.
And so, in a moment of potentially fatal madness slave Patheticus effectively disobeyed domina-virgo Lydia. Instead of kissing the leather strap on her left sandal covering her pretty toes, he placed his lips on a tiny, black mole on the side of the young woman’s bare foot.
Domina-virgo Lydia and her mother both audibly gasped at the down-in-the-dirt work-slave’s brazen audaciousness.
Bruttius uncoiled his leather whip and stepped forward:
‘I do apologise on behalf of this dirty slave, domina-virgo! Would you like me to flog him!’ he offered, already raising his right arm behind him ready to strike the kneeling slave across his sweaty, bare back.
‘No!’ interjected domina-virgo Lydia, holding up her hand.
She was still, admittedly, in a state of shock. Never had a slave shown such blatant disrespect towards her before! Disrespect – and yet respect at one and the same time. Yes, the dirty, common-or-garden work-slave had disobeyed her clear orders and kissed her bare footflesh rather than just the toe of her leather sandal. But it had felt like a respectful, loving kiss. It was as if this slave, whom she had never met before, had taken the time to study her pretty, superior Roman foot, in the few seconds he had had available to him, and had deliberately chosen to kiss her foot on the little black mole on the side of her left foot, as if that mole was now the most important thing in the slave’s life. Worth kissing even if it meant a severe flogging – or worse.
Even though he wasn’t the prettiest of the slaves, Lydia was impressed:
‘What is your name, slave?’
Patheticus already knew his gamble was looking like paying off. Now all he had to do was consolidate his lead and demonstrate through his words as well as his actions that he would be a good footslave to the young woman:
‘Oh pray, domina-virgo, if it pleases you, most beautiful domina-virgo, this slave has been given the slave-name of “Patheticus”, if it so pleases you sweet, feminine domina-virgo.’
‘Mmm….”Patheticus”…”One who suffers and arouses contempt”…It is an apt name for a dirty slave such as yourself,’ opined the young woman.
‘Yes, domina-virgo. As it pleases you domina-virgo.’
‘So tell me, slave Patheticus, why did you see fit to touch my bare foot with your dirty slave lips when I expressly ordered you to kiss only the toes of my leather sandals? Tell me why I should not have you flogged for such downright impudence?’
Slave Patheticus knew this really was make or break time. What he said next would determine whether he spent the rest of his miserable life making love to superior women’s feet or breaking rocks in the quarry. There was complete silence all around as everyone – Senator Flavius, his wife Druscilla, domina-virgo Lydia, Germanicus, Bruttius, and even the other work-slaves waited expectantly to hear how Patheticus was going to get out of this one:
‘Oh pray, domina-virgo, this slave truly deserves to be flogged for his impudence, and craves your sweet, feminine indulgence, but believes nevertheless that such a dreadful punishment is worth the privilege of kissing the bare footflesh of such a superior, kind and beautiful, feminine young mistress as yourself, if it so pleases you most respected domina-virgo.’
Domina Druscilla sneered. But, fortunately for slave Patheticus, her daughter was still at an age where flattery worked:
‘I want this one, Mater,’ she declared to her mother.
The latter expressed some concern:
‘What? Are you sure, my darling? After he has shown you such disrespect?’
‘Yes, Mater, I like him. He’s got spirit! It will be fun breaking his spirit!’
Her mother sighed. Like her husband, she doted on her daughter and could deny her nothing:
‘Very well, my dear, but you really must have him punished first. Such impudence in a slave, especially in front of the other slaves, must not go unpunished. You must make an example of him.’
Domina-virgo Lydia pondered the situation for a moment. Her mother was right:
‘Very well, Mater. Bruttius – flog him; and then deliver him to our villa!’
‘As you wish, domina-virgo,’ replied the taskmaster, a broad grin on his face -delighted that at last he had full permission to flog Patheticus, whom he had never liked, across his bare back.
Bruttius by name, Bruttius by nature.
Unusually for her, domina-virgo Lydia didn’t want to stay to watch the flogging.
…………………………………………………………………………………………….
And so, some two years later, slave Patheticus, the servus-provolvo, his back underneath his plain, brown, short slave-tunic still bearing the scars of the flogging he had received those two years previously, was down on his hands and knees busily scrubbing the stone floor of the courtyard of senator Flavius’s opulent villa on the outskirts of Pompeii.
Although he was primarily employed as domina Druscilla and domina-virgo Lydia’s personal footslave, he had to perform all the lowliest, humblest household chores – including scrubbing the floors. But he didn’t mind, for he knew that in scrubbing the floors he was scrubbing away the dirt from the soles of his superior Roman masters’ and mistresses’ shoes and sandals. He therefore saw it as work befitting a servus-provolvo.
You will have gathered that Patheticus was no Spartacus. Not for him the noble ambition of fighting his way to dignity, self-respect and freedom. Over the course of the last two years domina-virgo Lydia had certainly succeeded in ‘breaking his spirit’. Slave Patheticus was now at his most content when he was down on his hands and knees kissing Roman feet.
It was, as ever, a baking hot day in Pompeii. As he knelt on the hot stone paving slabs of the courtyard slave Patheticus had little or no protection from the sun, and his dark brown slave tunic was soon displaying sweat stains as he pushed the wet scrubbing brush repeatedly back and forth over the stone paving. He often wondered if the stone paving slabs had been cut by his own hands in the quarries. As he worked he was getting hotter, and the sound of the white marble water fountain in the middle of the courtyard was only making him more and more thirsty.
Even the nearby Volcano, Vesuvius, seemed to be suffering more than usual that hot, summer’s day. There were occasional rumblings of discontent. But that was nothing unusual. He would pray to the gods tonight and they would placate Vesuvius as usual.
Suddenly, as he continued to scrub, he heard giggling, female voices and the rustle of feminine tunics as two young women ran into the courtyard, hand in hand. It was domina-virgo Lydia, now, of course, 20 years old, and her 18 year old handmaiden, the Nubian slave-girl ‘Fortunata’ – a recent addition to Flavius Maximus’s household, purchased for Lydia in anticipation of her imminent forthcoming marriage to Marcus Aurelius, the son of a neighbouring Senator (every young Roman housewife was expected to have a personal handmaiden).
Patheticus had had little or no dealings with Fortunata thus far. She was beautiful – a Nubian goddess, and rather ‘haughty’ for a slave. That much was obvious. And she was seemingly treated by the master’s family more as a sister to Lydia - a companion rather than a slave. But, other than that, in the two weeks that the fortunate Fortunata had been a part of the household, the pathetic Patheticus had not been permitted to even speak to her, and therefore knew next to nothing about her:
‘Oh look, Fortunata,’ domina-virgo Lydia was saying to her new maidservant, ‘Patheticus is having to scrub the courtyard. Let’s sit down by the fountain under that tree and watch!’
‘Oh yes, my lady. What a good idea! I love to watch slaves hard at work!’ agreed the young, Nubian princes.
Listening to the two girls’ conversation, slave Patheticus couldn’t help feeling a twinge of irony. The Nubian maidservant clearly didn’t think of herself as a slave! But then, why should she? Her duties were light – braiding her mistress’s hair and helping her get dressed and undressed. Moreover, nobody seemed to treat her like a slave.
The two young women giggled and, still clasping hands, moved over to sit on the edge of the fountain:
‘Clean the ground over here where we are sitting, Patheticus!’ demanded domina-virgo Lydia.
‘Yes, domina-virgo. At once, domina-virgo!’
Slave Patheticus actually wanted to scrub the ground under domina-virgo Lydia’s feet as he wanted to see her feet close-up. He always enjoyed looking at his young mistress’s feet, and especially that little black mole on the side of her left foot – the mole that had signalled his escape from the quarries and brought him to where he was now.
As he crawled over towards his superior mistress’s feet, however, he was also, for the first time, in a position to observe close up the beautiful, dark brown feet of the new, Nubian maidservant. Her pretty, brown feet were truly fascinating to him – somewhat larger than domina-virgo Lydia’s pretty, white feet, but then the maidservant was also slightly taller than his mistress. The maidservant’s feet were also a little bit ‘rougher’ than his mistress Lydia’s, with one or two areas of hard skin around her bare heels, and they were clad in cheap, flip-flop style sandals unlike the more expensive lacy sandals of his mistress, just as the maidservant’s tunic was shorter than her mistress’s – it was all about class and status.
If he was in any doubt, however, as to his own position in the social pecking order, domina-virgo Lydia soon enlightened him:
‘Patheticus, I want you to kiss Fortunata’s feet. You are now her footslave as well as mine, for she is my maid. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, domina-virgo. As it pleases you, domina-virgo.’
‘It does please me, Patheticus. Now kneel in front of her and kiss the leather straps on both her sandals.’
Fortunata was giggling nervously, seemingly somewhat embarrassed, and adjusting the hem of her tunic to try to cover her bare, Nubian knees:
‘Ha! Ha! I have never had a man kiss my feet before, my lady!’ she explained.
‘Don’t worry, Fortunata. You’ll soon get used to it! I’ve decided that as soon as I’m married I’m going to set you free and arrange for you to come and live with me and my husband Marcus as my companion. You’ll have slaves of your own – including slave Patheticus here, who will be your footslave as well as mine - for life! Oh, it will be so wonderful, Fortunata!’ pined domina-virgo Lydia wistfully.
These arrangements were all news to Patheticus, but then why would a young Roman mistress feel obliged to consult a lowly servus-provolvo about her future plans?
He humbly knelt forward and lowered his lips to the single, broad, brown leather strap covering the top of ‘mistress’ Fortunata’s bare, black toes on her now outstretched right foot. He could smell her bare foot-skin, although he dare not touch it. His audacious, unsolicited kiss to domina-virgo Lydia’s bare foot those two years previously in the dusty, stone quarry had, thus far, been a one off. He knew his bare back would not sustain another flogging like the one Bruttius had subsequently delivered to him! And so he was now always careful to obey his mistress’s Lydia’s commands to the letter.
Miss Fortunata giggled at the unfamiliar feeling of the slave’s lips on her sandals.
Lydia enjoyed her maidservant’s pleasure:
‘You see! It feels nice, doesn’t it, Fortunata? Doesn’t it make you feel powerful and superior to him?’
‘Ha! Ha! Yes, my lady,’ said the maidservant as she replaced her right sandaled- foot with her left under Patheticus’s nose for respectful kissing.
He noticed some traces of dirt and toe-jam under the Nubian goddess’s bare, unpainted toenails as he kissed the sandal-strap on her left foot.
Domina-virgo Lydia had noticed it too:
‘Oh Fortunata! Your feet are filthy! Ha! Ha! Why don’t we make Patheticus wash them for you?’ she suggested.
‘Oh, yes please, my lady!’ Fortunata clapped her hands in delight.
Domina-virgo Lydia then clapped her hands and summoned slave Germanicus, the family’s chief slave.
He appeared almost instantly from inside the house:
‘Germanicus, bring a bowl of water and a towel, please. Patheticus is going to wash Fortunata’s dirty feet!’
A wry smile passed over Germanicus’s lips. How unmanly and demeaning – having to wash the feet of a mere maidservant! Germanicus was so glad he was not a humble servus-provolvo!
Whilst Germanicus went to fetch the bowl of water, domina-virgo Lydia explained to her maid that she was just going to fetch her ‘ferula’, or leather strap – just in case slave Patheticus ‘needed any encouragement’ whilst he was washing Fortunata’s feet. Patheticus, the footslave from Northern Europe, was therefore, momentarily, left alone with the Nubian maidservant-cum-princess from Africa. There was an embarrassed silence, broken only by the sound of the adjacent fountain (for even the birds, for some strange reason, weren’t in song that day), until miss Fortunata suddenly realised that as she was the one in the position of power it fell to her to speak first. A slave like Patheticus, after all, can only speak when spoken to by his betters:
‘Ha! Ha! My mistress says you are my slave!’ she giggled – almost as if she was unable to fully grasp the significance of her own words. She was now so glad she had been captured and transported to Rome!
‘Yes, mistress,’ confirmed Patheticus.
What else could he say? His domina-virgo had decreed it!
‘Ha! Ha! And now you’re going to have to wash my dirty feet, slave!’
‘Yes, mistress.’
‘Do you like my feet, slave?’ she taunted him, wiggling her right foot in its sandal in the air directly under the kneeling footslave’s nose.
‘Yes, mistress.’
Patheticus had learnt that it was best policy for a slave to be a man of few words, especially when having a conversation with a ‘new’ mistress – an ‘unknown quantity’ so to speak. But the timid miss Fortunata was just getting into the swing of verbally humiliating the even more timid male slave at her feet:
‘My feet are very dirty and sweaty, slave. Do you like the way they smell?’
‘Yes, mistress, if it pleases you mistress.’
‘Ha! Ha! Describe the smell to me, slave. Tell me why you like the smell of my sweaty, black feet.’
Slave Patheticus knew he must be ultra-respectful to the superior young woman lest she complain about him to his domina-virgo Lydia when she returned with her ferula:
‘Oh pray, mistress Fortunata, if it pleases you, mistress Fortunata, this slave finds the pungent, vinegary smell of your superior, feminine footsweat fitting for the nostrils of a dirty, humble servus-provolvo such as myself, if it so pleases you sweet and kind goddess-mistress Fortunata.’
The Nubian maidservant clapped her hands in delight. She had never been called a ‘goddess’ before, although she often thought of herself as such:
‘Ha! Ha! Remove my sandals, slave,’ she commanded, helpfully raising her right foot first into the air, just as domina-virgo Lydia was returning with her beloved ferula:
‘Ha! Ha! I’m glad to see you’re learning quickly how to command a slave, Fortunata!’ chirped domina-virgo Lydia. ‘Here, take the strap and bring it down on Patheticus’s shoulders if he fails to do exactly what you say!’
As miss Fortunata ran the thick, brown leather strap eagerly through her Nubian fingers slave Patheticus knew that the flimsy material of his slave tunic would afford him little protection from the stinging power of the strap – a sting he was unfortunately all to familiar with. Domina-virgo Lydia just loved using her strap on him!
At that moment Germanicus also returned with the bowl of water, a towel, and a small sponge.
‘Ha! Ha! Slave Patheticus won’t be requiring the sponge, Germanicus. He can use his tongue to sponge in between Fortunata’s sweaty toes!’ quipped domina-virgo Lydia.
Germanicus smiled wryly once again:
‘Indeed, domina-virgo. Will that be all?’
Domina-virgo Lydia dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
‘So, Patheticus, start licking. Place my maid Fortunata’s dirty, bare feet in the bowl and start using your tongue to remove all the debris and accumulations from under her toenails and in between her toes – like you did last night with my feet!’
‘Yes, domina-virgo. At once, domina-virgo.’
Patheticus duly lifted the young Nubian servant-woman’s feet, cradled them gently, and then respectfully lowered them into the crystal clear, lukewarm water. The water immediately began to turn dirty. He made sure it got even dirtier by then running his slave tongue between the big and second toe on the Nubian goddess’s right foot. Her skin felt sticky and sweaty, even in the water. It also felt deliciously soft. He licked carefully in between each toe.
Suddenly, miss Fortunata raised the leather strap up behind her and brought it cracking down onto the kneeling footslave’s left shoulder:
‘Make sure you lick away all the dirt from under my toenails, slave!’ she barked in her heavy, African accent.
‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, Fortunata! You tell him! And if he doesn’t obey – whip him!’
Fortunata beamed broadly. She was clearly doing well in her mistress’s eyes. Emboldened, she brought the strap down across Patheticus’s right shoulder:
‘Now lick the hard skin on the backs of my heels, slave. Soften them up! Lick away all the dead skin!’
‘Ha! Ha! And swallow it too, slave!’ added domina-virgo Lydia, keen to ensure that every last morsel of her Nubian maidservant’s sweat-covered foot filth and dead foot-skin went down the servus-provolvo’s scrawny throat.
The two girls were really getting into their foot-humiliation of the slave, when Lydia’s mother suddenly appeared in the courtyard, dressed in her best stola and palla (her white, ankle length tunic and purple shawl), and accompanied by her own handmaiden, Julia.
‘Lydia. You’ll have to start getting ready now. Our guests will be here soon. I’m sure you’ll want to look your best for Marcus!’ declared domina Druscilla.
‘Ha! Ha! Coming, Mater. We were just making Patheticus wash Fortunata’s dirty feet!’
‘I’m afraid Patheticus is needed for front-porch duties now,’ replied her mother. ‘Julia, will you please take the bowl away as soon as Patheticus has dried miss Fortunata’s feet, and then chain him up in the porch.’
‘As you wish, my lady,’ replied the handmaiden, Julia.
Front porch duties! Slave Patheticus knew exactly what that meant – kissing the feet of the domina’s guests as they entered the villa, and helping them change out of their street footwear into their house-sandals. It was a core part of his role as a household servus-provolvo. He had done it many times before, and would now be doing it again, as the honoured guests would be arriving very soon.
Mmm. Another rumble in the distance. Vesuvius really is restless this afternoon!
To be continued.
Rome. 79 AD.
Well, Pompeii actually.
Senator Flavius Maximus (53) had moved here with his wife Druscilla (39) and daughter Lydia (20) some two years previously. Rome itself was so overcrowded now, and the quality of life in Pompeii was so much better – if you could afford it!
And senator Flavius Maximus certainly could afford it. Not only was he a wealthy member of the Roman Senate, he also owned a series of stone quarries outside Rome – quarries which supplied the materials for the very buildings in Rome itself. So he was not short of a denarius or two, and the villa he had built for himself and his family on the outskirts of Pompeii was an admittedly somewhat ostentatious display of his wealth.
Of course, the senator’s family had several household slaves, like any wealthy Roman family, but our story concentrates on the lowliest of their slaves – slave Patheticus, the family’s ‘servus-provolvo’, which translates loosely as ‘the slave who abases himself at the feet of others’, or ‘footslave’ as we would probably say in today’s parlance.
27 year old slave Patheticus originated from the far North of the Empire, from Britannia. Captured by the Roman army at the age of 20, he had been brought to Rome as a slave and was initially purchased by senator Flavius as a work-slave in one of his stone quarries.
For 5 long years Patheticus had toiled under the hot Roman sun, and the sting of Roman whips, breaking rocks for his Roman masters and mistresses to build their houses with. Although he was young and fit, the work inevitably took its toll. Had he stayed in the quarry, Patheticus would probably have died from exhaustion by now.
However, he was to experience a stroke of remarkable good fortune some two years ago. The senator had been on a visit to the very quarry where slave Patheticus was labouring. He had brought his wife Druscilla and daughter Lydia to the quarry for a nice day out – watching the slaves hard at work as they helped to sustain their Roman masters’ wealthy, aristocratic lifestyle through their blood, sweat and whip-marks.
Lydia, in particular, loved her trips to the quarries. She would sit on a hill overlooking the toiling slaves, shaded from the sun by a parasol held respectfully above her pretty head by the family’s chief slave, Germanicus, and with a refreshing tumbler of water by her side to help quench her thirst. How she loved watching the semi-naked male slaves’ shoulder and arm muscles rippling and glistening with sweat under the hot Roman sun as they engaged in their back breaking toil pounding rocks whilst she relaxed on a couch.
If she was lucky, a lazy or recalcitrant slave would be tied up and flogged by one of the taskmasters. If not, she would simply call one of the whip-wielding taskmasters over to her and demand that a particular slave be whipped for her viewing pleasure.
No wonder the slaves were nervous whenever the senator, his wife and daughter were visiting the quarry!
However, this particular visit, the one that took place some two years ago, was an extra special visit. The Senator’s wife, Lady Druscilla, had decided that they needed a new household slave – a ‘servus-provolvo’ – specifically to take care of her, and her daughter Lydia’s, delicate, aristocratic, feminine feet and footwear in their smart new villa in Pompeii. Al the best families had one – a kind of status symbol, a slave who could not only take care of his mistress’s feet, but also those of her guests.
Senator Flavius was happy to accede to his beloved wife’s request – anything for a quiet life! He was, however, it has to be said, a bit stingy when it came to paying out good money for a new household slave, and had therefore suggested that, rather than purchase a slave at auction, his wife and daughter select their servus-provolvo from amongst his existing work-slaves in the quarry.
And so on that particular hot, summer’s day nearly two years ago, the work-slaves in the stone quarry, Patheticus among them, had received a welcome, temporary break from their hard labour as they were lined up on their knees for the Senator’s wife and (then 18 year old) daughter to inspect.
Young Lydia was in her element – forty or so mostly hunky male slaves all kneeling in a row in front of herself and her mother, their heads respectfully bowed, hoping against hope that they would be the one to be chosen as the ladies’ personal footslave – however humiliating and degrading such a role may be. A servus-provolvo was generally acknowledged to be the lowliest and most demeaning of all slave positions; you had to live your life, literally, on your hands and knees, constantly at the beck and call of capricious and spoilt aristocratic Roman women. But it had to be preferable to the alternative of a short life of agonising toil in a Roman stone quarry!
Slave Patheticus after 5 years labouring in the quarry, was certainly of that opinion. Indeed he was determined to be the one who was selected. Fortunately for him he had his chance – for Senator Flavius made a suggestion to his daughter, who was expressing some concern at the fact that she was rather spoilt for choice:
‘My dear, why don’t you set the slaves a test to help you select? Order them to kiss your feet, one by one. That should help you to get a feel for the slave who will be most docile and compliant at your feet!’
Lydia liked her wise father’s suggestion:
‘Oh yes, Pater! Make them kiss my feet! I want to see what each of them looks like as they place their slave lips on the toes of my sandals!’
The young Roman mistress was, of course, referring to her pretty, open-toed brown leather, ‘sandalia’ which were laced all the way up to the top of her shapely calf muscles. Not that the slaves’ dry and chapped lips would be allowed anywhere near the soft, smooth skin of the haughty young Roman woman’s calf muscles! Their lips would, for the time being at least, only be permitted to touch the dusty, leather toes of her sandals.
Lydia’s mother laughed:
‘Ha! Ha! Like your Pater says, you can order the slaves to kiss your feet yourself, my dear. Believe me, they will obey you! Isn’t that right, Bruttius?’
Druscilla was addressing one of the taskmasters who was holding a particularly nasty looking, dark brown, multi-tailed leather whip called a ‘flagellum’:
‘That’s correct, domina. Any slave who fails to obey the domina-virgo will soon feel the sting of my whip!’ confirmed the burly taskmaster.
Just as the lady Druscilla was addressed by slaves as ‘domina’ (or ‘Mistress’), so her daughter Lydia, as a young unmarried woman, was customarily addressed as ‘domina-virgo’ (or ‘young mistress’).
Domina-virgo Lydia giggled with delight at the feeling of power that now coursed through her young, 18 year old veins – a long line of brutish male slaves all kneeling with their heads humbly bowed and awaiting the privilege of kissing her dusty, sandaled feet. She only had to give the command.
As she stood up to walk over to the line of slaves, followed both by Germanicus, dutifully carrying the parasol above her head, and Bruttius, dutifully carrying his leather whip, the hem of her white, Roman tunic flapped around her pretty, Roman-sandaled ankles.
She decided she would have only the good-looking slaves kiss her feet. There was no point in testing out the ugly ones. After all, an ugly slave wouldn’t be much of a status symbol for a beautiful and superior young woman like domina-virgo Lydia!
She made her way slowly down the line, stopping occasionally for a particular slave to kiss her sandals. Some of the uglier kneeling slaves whom she passed by could be heard sobbing with disappointment. When she reached Patheticus, however, she stopped again, put her hands on her shapely hips, and extended her right foot so that it was directly beneath his kneeling face:
‘You there, slave, kiss the toe of my leather sandal!’ the young woman barked down at him imperiously.
Senator Flavius and his wife smiled. They were so proud of their daughter.
The kneeling slave Patheticus wasted no time in lowering his parched, work-slave lips the few inches or so to the brown leather strap that covered the young mistress’s red-painted, shapely, soft, feminine toes. He placed a respectful kiss onto the dusty, brown leather, feeling the hem of the young woman’s tunic brushing against the top of his head as he did so.
The young woman giggled, and suddenly withdrew her right foot from under his face, replacing it with her left:
‘And my other sandal!’ she barked.
Something hit slave Patheticus at that moment in time – call it a spark of inspiration; or perhaps a prompt from the gods – but he knew he had to do more than the other slaves who would be kissing young mistress Lydia’s feet if he was to make an impression, if he was to ‘kneel out’ from the crowd.
And so, in a moment of potentially fatal madness slave Patheticus effectively disobeyed domina-virgo Lydia. Instead of kissing the leather strap on her left sandal covering her pretty toes, he placed his lips on a tiny, black mole on the side of the young woman’s bare foot.
Domina-virgo Lydia and her mother both audibly gasped at the down-in-the-dirt work-slave’s brazen audaciousness.
Bruttius uncoiled his leather whip and stepped forward:
‘I do apologise on behalf of this dirty slave, domina-virgo! Would you like me to flog him!’ he offered, already raising his right arm behind him ready to strike the kneeling slave across his sweaty, bare back.
‘No!’ interjected domina-virgo Lydia, holding up her hand.
She was still, admittedly, in a state of shock. Never had a slave shown such blatant disrespect towards her before! Disrespect – and yet respect at one and the same time. Yes, the dirty, common-or-garden work-slave had disobeyed her clear orders and kissed her bare footflesh rather than just the toe of her leather sandal. But it had felt like a respectful, loving kiss. It was as if this slave, whom she had never met before, had taken the time to study her pretty, superior Roman foot, in the few seconds he had had available to him, and had deliberately chosen to kiss her foot on the little black mole on the side of her left foot, as if that mole was now the most important thing in the slave’s life. Worth kissing even if it meant a severe flogging – or worse.
Even though he wasn’t the prettiest of the slaves, Lydia was impressed:
‘What is your name, slave?’
Patheticus already knew his gamble was looking like paying off. Now all he had to do was consolidate his lead and demonstrate through his words as well as his actions that he would be a good footslave to the young woman:
‘Oh pray, domina-virgo, if it pleases you, most beautiful domina-virgo, this slave has been given the slave-name of “Patheticus”, if it so pleases you sweet, feminine domina-virgo.’
‘Mmm….”Patheticus”…”One who suffers and arouses contempt”…It is an apt name for a dirty slave such as yourself,’ opined the young woman.
‘Yes, domina-virgo. As it pleases you domina-virgo.’
‘So tell me, slave Patheticus, why did you see fit to touch my bare foot with your dirty slave lips when I expressly ordered you to kiss only the toes of my leather sandals? Tell me why I should not have you flogged for such downright impudence?’
Slave Patheticus knew this really was make or break time. What he said next would determine whether he spent the rest of his miserable life making love to superior women’s feet or breaking rocks in the quarry. There was complete silence all around as everyone – Senator Flavius, his wife Druscilla, domina-virgo Lydia, Germanicus, Bruttius, and even the other work-slaves waited expectantly to hear how Patheticus was going to get out of this one:
‘Oh pray, domina-virgo, this slave truly deserves to be flogged for his impudence, and craves your sweet, feminine indulgence, but believes nevertheless that such a dreadful punishment is worth the privilege of kissing the bare footflesh of such a superior, kind and beautiful, feminine young mistress as yourself, if it so pleases you most respected domina-virgo.’
Domina Druscilla sneered. But, fortunately for slave Patheticus, her daughter was still at an age where flattery worked:
‘I want this one, Mater,’ she declared to her mother.
The latter expressed some concern:
‘What? Are you sure, my darling? After he has shown you such disrespect?’
‘Yes, Mater, I like him. He’s got spirit! It will be fun breaking his spirit!’
Her mother sighed. Like her husband, she doted on her daughter and could deny her nothing:
‘Very well, my dear, but you really must have him punished first. Such impudence in a slave, especially in front of the other slaves, must not go unpunished. You must make an example of him.’
Domina-virgo Lydia pondered the situation for a moment. Her mother was right:
‘Very well, Mater. Bruttius – flog him; and then deliver him to our villa!’
‘As you wish, domina-virgo,’ replied the taskmaster, a broad grin on his face -delighted that at last he had full permission to flog Patheticus, whom he had never liked, across his bare back.
Bruttius by name, Bruttius by nature.
Unusually for her, domina-virgo Lydia didn’t want to stay to watch the flogging.
…………………………………………………………………………………………….
And so, some two years later, slave Patheticus, the servus-provolvo, his back underneath his plain, brown, short slave-tunic still bearing the scars of the flogging he had received those two years previously, was down on his hands and knees busily scrubbing the stone floor of the courtyard of senator Flavius’s opulent villa on the outskirts of Pompeii.
Although he was primarily employed as domina Druscilla and domina-virgo Lydia’s personal footslave, he had to perform all the lowliest, humblest household chores – including scrubbing the floors. But he didn’t mind, for he knew that in scrubbing the floors he was scrubbing away the dirt from the soles of his superior Roman masters’ and mistresses’ shoes and sandals. He therefore saw it as work befitting a servus-provolvo.
You will have gathered that Patheticus was no Spartacus. Not for him the noble ambition of fighting his way to dignity, self-respect and freedom. Over the course of the last two years domina-virgo Lydia had certainly succeeded in ‘breaking his spirit’. Slave Patheticus was now at his most content when he was down on his hands and knees kissing Roman feet.
It was, as ever, a baking hot day in Pompeii. As he knelt on the hot stone paving slabs of the courtyard slave Patheticus had little or no protection from the sun, and his dark brown slave tunic was soon displaying sweat stains as he pushed the wet scrubbing brush repeatedly back and forth over the stone paving. He often wondered if the stone paving slabs had been cut by his own hands in the quarries. As he worked he was getting hotter, and the sound of the white marble water fountain in the middle of the courtyard was only making him more and more thirsty.
Even the nearby Volcano, Vesuvius, seemed to be suffering more than usual that hot, summer’s day. There were occasional rumblings of discontent. But that was nothing unusual. He would pray to the gods tonight and they would placate Vesuvius as usual.
Suddenly, as he continued to scrub, he heard giggling, female voices and the rustle of feminine tunics as two young women ran into the courtyard, hand in hand. It was domina-virgo Lydia, now, of course, 20 years old, and her 18 year old handmaiden, the Nubian slave-girl ‘Fortunata’ – a recent addition to Flavius Maximus’s household, purchased for Lydia in anticipation of her imminent forthcoming marriage to Marcus Aurelius, the son of a neighbouring Senator (every young Roman housewife was expected to have a personal handmaiden).
Patheticus had had little or no dealings with Fortunata thus far. She was beautiful – a Nubian goddess, and rather ‘haughty’ for a slave. That much was obvious. And she was seemingly treated by the master’s family more as a sister to Lydia - a companion rather than a slave. But, other than that, in the two weeks that the fortunate Fortunata had been a part of the household, the pathetic Patheticus had not been permitted to even speak to her, and therefore knew next to nothing about her:
‘Oh look, Fortunata,’ domina-virgo Lydia was saying to her new maidservant, ‘Patheticus is having to scrub the courtyard. Let’s sit down by the fountain under that tree and watch!’
‘Oh yes, my lady. What a good idea! I love to watch slaves hard at work!’ agreed the young, Nubian princes.
Listening to the two girls’ conversation, slave Patheticus couldn’t help feeling a twinge of irony. The Nubian maidservant clearly didn’t think of herself as a slave! But then, why should she? Her duties were light – braiding her mistress’s hair and helping her get dressed and undressed. Moreover, nobody seemed to treat her like a slave.
The two young women giggled and, still clasping hands, moved over to sit on the edge of the fountain:
‘Clean the ground over here where we are sitting, Patheticus!’ demanded domina-virgo Lydia.
‘Yes, domina-virgo. At once, domina-virgo!’
Slave Patheticus actually wanted to scrub the ground under domina-virgo Lydia’s feet as he wanted to see her feet close-up. He always enjoyed looking at his young mistress’s feet, and especially that little black mole on the side of her left foot – the mole that had signalled his escape from the quarries and brought him to where he was now.
As he crawled over towards his superior mistress’s feet, however, he was also, for the first time, in a position to observe close up the beautiful, dark brown feet of the new, Nubian maidservant. Her pretty, brown feet were truly fascinating to him – somewhat larger than domina-virgo Lydia’s pretty, white feet, but then the maidservant was also slightly taller than his mistress. The maidservant’s feet were also a little bit ‘rougher’ than his mistress Lydia’s, with one or two areas of hard skin around her bare heels, and they were clad in cheap, flip-flop style sandals unlike the more expensive lacy sandals of his mistress, just as the maidservant’s tunic was shorter than her mistress’s – it was all about class and status.
If he was in any doubt, however, as to his own position in the social pecking order, domina-virgo Lydia soon enlightened him:
‘Patheticus, I want you to kiss Fortunata’s feet. You are now her footslave as well as mine, for she is my maid. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, domina-virgo. As it pleases you, domina-virgo.’
‘It does please me, Patheticus. Now kneel in front of her and kiss the leather straps on both her sandals.’
Fortunata was giggling nervously, seemingly somewhat embarrassed, and adjusting the hem of her tunic to try to cover her bare, Nubian knees:
‘Ha! Ha! I have never had a man kiss my feet before, my lady!’ she explained.
‘Don’t worry, Fortunata. You’ll soon get used to it! I’ve decided that as soon as I’m married I’m going to set you free and arrange for you to come and live with me and my husband Marcus as my companion. You’ll have slaves of your own – including slave Patheticus here, who will be your footslave as well as mine - for life! Oh, it will be so wonderful, Fortunata!’ pined domina-virgo Lydia wistfully.
These arrangements were all news to Patheticus, but then why would a young Roman mistress feel obliged to consult a lowly servus-provolvo about her future plans?
He humbly knelt forward and lowered his lips to the single, broad, brown leather strap covering the top of ‘mistress’ Fortunata’s bare, black toes on her now outstretched right foot. He could smell her bare foot-skin, although he dare not touch it. His audacious, unsolicited kiss to domina-virgo Lydia’s bare foot those two years previously in the dusty, stone quarry had, thus far, been a one off. He knew his bare back would not sustain another flogging like the one Bruttius had subsequently delivered to him! And so he was now always careful to obey his mistress’s Lydia’s commands to the letter.
Miss Fortunata giggled at the unfamiliar feeling of the slave’s lips on her sandals.
Lydia enjoyed her maidservant’s pleasure:
‘You see! It feels nice, doesn’t it, Fortunata? Doesn’t it make you feel powerful and superior to him?’
‘Ha! Ha! Yes, my lady,’ said the maidservant as she replaced her right sandaled- foot with her left under Patheticus’s nose for respectful kissing.
He noticed some traces of dirt and toe-jam under the Nubian goddess’s bare, unpainted toenails as he kissed the sandal-strap on her left foot.
Domina-virgo Lydia had noticed it too:
‘Oh Fortunata! Your feet are filthy! Ha! Ha! Why don’t we make Patheticus wash them for you?’ she suggested.
‘Oh, yes please, my lady!’ Fortunata clapped her hands in delight.
Domina-virgo Lydia then clapped her hands and summoned slave Germanicus, the family’s chief slave.
He appeared almost instantly from inside the house:
‘Germanicus, bring a bowl of water and a towel, please. Patheticus is going to wash Fortunata’s dirty feet!’
A wry smile passed over Germanicus’s lips. How unmanly and demeaning – having to wash the feet of a mere maidservant! Germanicus was so glad he was not a humble servus-provolvo!
Whilst Germanicus went to fetch the bowl of water, domina-virgo Lydia explained to her maid that she was just going to fetch her ‘ferula’, or leather strap – just in case slave Patheticus ‘needed any encouragement’ whilst he was washing Fortunata’s feet. Patheticus, the footslave from Northern Europe, was therefore, momentarily, left alone with the Nubian maidservant-cum-princess from Africa. There was an embarrassed silence, broken only by the sound of the adjacent fountain (for even the birds, for some strange reason, weren’t in song that day), until miss Fortunata suddenly realised that as she was the one in the position of power it fell to her to speak first. A slave like Patheticus, after all, can only speak when spoken to by his betters:
‘Ha! Ha! My mistress says you are my slave!’ she giggled – almost as if she was unable to fully grasp the significance of her own words. She was now so glad she had been captured and transported to Rome!
‘Yes, mistress,’ confirmed Patheticus.
What else could he say? His domina-virgo had decreed it!
‘Ha! Ha! And now you’re going to have to wash my dirty feet, slave!’
‘Yes, mistress.’
‘Do you like my feet, slave?’ she taunted him, wiggling her right foot in its sandal in the air directly under the kneeling footslave’s nose.
‘Yes, mistress.’
Patheticus had learnt that it was best policy for a slave to be a man of few words, especially when having a conversation with a ‘new’ mistress – an ‘unknown quantity’ so to speak. But the timid miss Fortunata was just getting into the swing of verbally humiliating the even more timid male slave at her feet:
‘My feet are very dirty and sweaty, slave. Do you like the way they smell?’
‘Yes, mistress, if it pleases you mistress.’
‘Ha! Ha! Describe the smell to me, slave. Tell me why you like the smell of my sweaty, black feet.’
Slave Patheticus knew he must be ultra-respectful to the superior young woman lest she complain about him to his domina-virgo Lydia when she returned with her ferula:
‘Oh pray, mistress Fortunata, if it pleases you, mistress Fortunata, this slave finds the pungent, vinegary smell of your superior, feminine footsweat fitting for the nostrils of a dirty, humble servus-provolvo such as myself, if it so pleases you sweet and kind goddess-mistress Fortunata.’
The Nubian maidservant clapped her hands in delight. She had never been called a ‘goddess’ before, although she often thought of herself as such:
‘Ha! Ha! Remove my sandals, slave,’ she commanded, helpfully raising her right foot first into the air, just as domina-virgo Lydia was returning with her beloved ferula:
‘Ha! Ha! I’m glad to see you’re learning quickly how to command a slave, Fortunata!’ chirped domina-virgo Lydia. ‘Here, take the strap and bring it down on Patheticus’s shoulders if he fails to do exactly what you say!’
As miss Fortunata ran the thick, brown leather strap eagerly through her Nubian fingers slave Patheticus knew that the flimsy material of his slave tunic would afford him little protection from the stinging power of the strap – a sting he was unfortunately all to familiar with. Domina-virgo Lydia just loved using her strap on him!
At that moment Germanicus also returned with the bowl of water, a towel, and a small sponge.
‘Ha! Ha! Slave Patheticus won’t be requiring the sponge, Germanicus. He can use his tongue to sponge in between Fortunata’s sweaty toes!’ quipped domina-virgo Lydia.
Germanicus smiled wryly once again:
‘Indeed, domina-virgo. Will that be all?’
Domina-virgo Lydia dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
‘So, Patheticus, start licking. Place my maid Fortunata’s dirty, bare feet in the bowl and start using your tongue to remove all the debris and accumulations from under her toenails and in between her toes – like you did last night with my feet!’
‘Yes, domina-virgo. At once, domina-virgo.’
Patheticus duly lifted the young Nubian servant-woman’s feet, cradled them gently, and then respectfully lowered them into the crystal clear, lukewarm water. The water immediately began to turn dirty. He made sure it got even dirtier by then running his slave tongue between the big and second toe on the Nubian goddess’s right foot. Her skin felt sticky and sweaty, even in the water. It also felt deliciously soft. He licked carefully in between each toe.
Suddenly, miss Fortunata raised the leather strap up behind her and brought it cracking down onto the kneeling footslave’s left shoulder:
‘Make sure you lick away all the dirt from under my toenails, slave!’ she barked in her heavy, African accent.
‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, Fortunata! You tell him! And if he doesn’t obey – whip him!’
Fortunata beamed broadly. She was clearly doing well in her mistress’s eyes. Emboldened, she brought the strap down across Patheticus’s right shoulder:
‘Now lick the hard skin on the backs of my heels, slave. Soften them up! Lick away all the dead skin!’
‘Ha! Ha! And swallow it too, slave!’ added domina-virgo Lydia, keen to ensure that every last morsel of her Nubian maidservant’s sweat-covered foot filth and dead foot-skin went down the servus-provolvo’s scrawny throat.
The two girls were really getting into their foot-humiliation of the slave, when Lydia’s mother suddenly appeared in the courtyard, dressed in her best stola and palla (her white, ankle length tunic and purple shawl), and accompanied by her own handmaiden, Julia.
‘Lydia. You’ll have to start getting ready now. Our guests will be here soon. I’m sure you’ll want to look your best for Marcus!’ declared domina Druscilla.
‘Ha! Ha! Coming, Mater. We were just making Patheticus wash Fortunata’s dirty feet!’
‘I’m afraid Patheticus is needed for front-porch duties now,’ replied her mother. ‘Julia, will you please take the bowl away as soon as Patheticus has dried miss Fortunata’s feet, and then chain him up in the porch.’
‘As you wish, my lady,’ replied the handmaiden, Julia.
Front porch duties! Slave Patheticus knew exactly what that meant – kissing the feet of the domina’s guests as they entered the villa, and helping them change out of their street footwear into their house-sandals. It was a core part of his role as a household servus-provolvo. He had done it many times before, and would now be doing it again, as the honoured guests would be arriving very soon.
Mmm. Another rumble in the distance. Vesuvius really is restless this afternoon!
To be continued.