Washing Away the Old

Paullus woke to the sound of muffled, soft chanting and prayers coming through the stone wall of his bedroom. Frequently this was the way he was woken up, as the monks of the hermitage never seemed to need sleep, their faint tones both soothing him to sleep and lifting him back into consciousness.

He never took part in their prayers despite their invitations which now came less and less often. He did not share their religion and despite their kindness, Paullus felt an ocean of space between them that kept him from getting too close, despite more than a decade spent here. It was more than religion, though. Paullus had just been a boy when he was foisted onto the monks, and his lofty birth, combined with a generous gift from the Emperor his uncle, gave him an elevated and slightly ostracized position. Given he was part of the royal family, Paullus wouldn't be forced to join a religion that was alien to the Empire. The monks would look after him, but no effort would be made to force him into their position.

The generous gift also added on to the hermitage: a single room so the boy could sleep apart, as was fitting. The hermitage, staffed by 15 monks, only had one other set of sleeping quarters that they all slept in. Such a luxury for Paullus had the side effect of keeping him from bonding with the monks the way they did each other. That was if Paullus even could have bonded with them. Even now, the closest one to him in age was still twice his own. He had little to offer in terms of conversation, his memories of the outside world being so young.

He propped himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he lay in the straw bed. Only a small sliver of light peaked through the window of his room; another luxury. The night had been hot so Paullus had slept nude, still leaving his long hair in the leather thong it was wrapped in. Undoing it to oil and rebind it had become tedious despite Paullus' lack of other activities to occupy his time.

Standing, Paullus took his undyed brown tunic from the wall hook, slipping it on and fastening it with the plain cord that went with it. He looked just like the rest of the monks that populated the hermitage, excluding his youth and the long beard the others wore.

He stepped over to the small table on the other side of the room, reaching out to touch the only item in the whole hermitage that could be considered 'personal'. It was a sun medallion made out of gold, small enough to close up in a fist. He fingered the metallic rays, the points worn dull from years of gentle manipulation. He let it sit in his palm, lifting his hand as if to weigh the little charm that so loudly declared he was not of the church that the monks around him were. The last gift his mother had given him.

"I hope your shade rests easy." He spoke the words softly to himself. The same words as countless other mornings. He wasn't sure if he actually believed his mother was now a shade, or that if she was she could see him, but it was a small comfort. He used to say similar words about his father, brother, and sisters, but they had faded from his memory. His mother hadn't.

He didn't know what compelled him, but today he lifted the little sun up to his lips, pressing it to them. The metal was warm from his palm. He let his eyelids droop for a moment, picturing the moment she handed it to him. He took a deep breath, remembering the smell of lavender that always seemed to emanate from her.

The sound of hooves beating the dirt road leading through the hills toward the hermitage leaked in through the bedroom window. Usually, the supply carts that came in to feed the hermitage made little noise; they didn't move fast and there were never more than two. Paullus noticed the sound of prayers coming through the wall had stopped, too, and moved to the window to see what was coming. His heart dropped out of his chest as he saw.

A line of riders was galloping down the hills towards the monk's residence. They were dressed in green tunics, dark armor visible over the top, with dark cloaks billowing behind them as they advanced. Bright white oval shields hung on the saddle's sides and dyed green plumes of horse hair stuck up over the crown of each helmet. The boy knew without being able to see that their breastplates would have a scorpion emblazoned on them.

They were the Praetorian Guard, the personal bodyguard and attendants to the Emperor, and, by extension, the royal family. Paullus still had vivid memories of them coming to take his father away. His mother had been angry, but she had remained stoic when they led him away. When they came for his older brother, considerably older than himself and already of age, his mother had wailed and screamed. She had not survived long enough to see them take Paullus' two elder sisters.

Paullus' fate was not theirs, though. Even then he knew they hadn't survived their arrests. The slaves and household freeman had been frantic as Praetorians had shown up day after day to arrest a new member of the family, not sparing the fear and speculation of political murders for the young boy. By the time they came for Paullus most of the household had fled with whatever they could take. Being the last of the family to go, Paullus remembered his uncle the Emperor himself coming to look around at what was left of the palatial estate. When he had looked at Paullus the boy could remember seeing real sadness on his face, maybe even tears in his eyes.

"You look very much like she did." He remembered him saying, probably referencing his mother, the Emperor's sister. Perhaps that, as much as his young age, had been responsible for his rehousing in the hermitage rather than strangled in a dungeon like he had come to believe the rest of his family had been.

Paullus had lived in fear, always wondering if the next day would bring the guard back to claim him; a change of mind from the Emperor, making up for his mistake of sympathy. Weeks had gone by, though, then months, then years. While the fear may have still been at the back of his mind, it crept further and further back, no longer a day-to-day care. When his age of majority came the fear ramped back up considerably, now being old enough to present a threat as a potential usurper. While it had not been that long in the past, the fear had subsided as it looked as though he had truly been forgotten about. Until today.

Paullus' hands were balled up in front of him in an anxious parody of the position the monks prayed in to their lone God. He had stepped back from the window, no longer watching the strange group of Futa that made the Praetorian Guard descend on the hermitage. A very small section of the population, Futa were naturally taller than their male and female counterparts, seemingly randomly birthed from mothers with male or Futa partners. They were seen as considerably more impetuous, more martial, than men, and naturally made excellent warriors. As such, the Praetorians were staffed exclusively by them. Paullus could remember one of them scooping him up and placing him in her saddle as she bore him to his isolation.

"Paullus, my lord." Paullus nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice next to him. The elderly monk had opened and closed the door, entering without a sound, or at least without Paullus realizing it.

"I am sorry to startle you, lord." The elderly man apologized, a hand nervously fidgeting with the long grey beard hanging from his chin. The monks had never taken to calling him brother as they did for each other. Another small exclusion. "I thought, maybe, that you might like to pray?" His voice was slightly shaky, his tone a combination of nervous energy and haste. It was apparent that the Praetorian's arrival had drawn him to the same conclusion.

"Thank you, Brother Firmin." His voice was barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around the small golden sun, the pointed rays digging into his skin despite being worn down. He didn't even feel them as he hesitated to answer, mouth slightly open as he strained to hear the sounds coming from outside. The brother's hands incessantly stroked his beard.

"Fifty of us. Water for the horses. Quickly." He could hear the muffled yet demanding voice of one of the horsewomen.

"There is still time for your soul's salvation. The afterlife is eternal." Paullus locked eyes with the old man in front of him, his own filled with fear as the moment of his nightmares seemed to draw to an agonizing reality. The monks were scared as well, but the fear was not for himself. He reached out, gripping the much younger man's wrist. "If you-"

The words were cut off and he moved away from Paullus as the door to the outside opened, light pouring into the room. Paullus' eyes winced at the sudden intrusion of light. It was soon dimmed as the tall woman dipped her head under the doorway, not made for someone of her height in mind.

It took a moment for more than her silhouette to become clear to Paullus, but when it did his eyes settled on that scorpion symbol on her chest armor. Day-to-day Praetorians didn't tend to wear armor, merely a tunic and sword belt, but this woman was in her full panoply. Dark riding boots were laced up to just below her knees, the hem of her green tunic just meeting them. Her hips were wider than a typical legionnaire, the black segmented armor cinching just above them, sword belt buckled with the blade sheathed and hanging by her side. Her arms had metal greaves, her heavy chest tightly armored, black pauldrons covered her wide shoulders. One hand rested on the rounded pommel of her sheathed sword, the other was wrapped around the plumed helmet that she had pressed against her hip.

Paullus' face had to tilt up to look at the woman's face: he was of average height and still she towered at least a foot above him. She had a neck thick with muscle and a strong jaw. Her long dark hair fell in ringlets just past her shoulders now that it was no longer concealed by the helmet. She had dark eyes, high cheekbones, a larger aquiline nose, and full lips cast in a slight smirk. Her skin was that of an olive completion combined with obvious time spent out in the sun. She cut an aristocratic figure that wouldn't look out of place made of marble.

"Is this my quarry?" The armed woman's voice was almost playful as she strode imperiously toward Paullus. He didn't move, more out of fear than any misplaced determination, but his body seemed to almost sage into itself. Stopping just in front, the Praetorian towered over him, the young man's eyes tilting to look at her but his head stayed level with her chest. Her hand left the sword, raising slightly to cup the boy's smooth chin, tilting it upward towards her.

"There's the giveaway." Her smirk turned into a broad grin as her eyes flitted between Paullus' eyes. It was his most identifying feature and a particularly obvious one at that. Paullus had one eye that was a dark brown, almost exactly like his mother's, but another that was a pale blue bordering on silver. It was a striking feature that had ruled out hiding his identity.

"Legionary, please-" Brother Firmin whined from the corner, silenced by an abrupt shh from the Praetorian.

"Are you Paullus Fabius Saturninus, son of Livia?" Paullus nodded his head slowly against her cupped hand.

"I don't imagine you get much news of the outside world here, do you?" Her eyes briefly turned to the older monk who shook his head. She removed her hand from Paullus' chin, the boy not moving, still staring up at her with fearful doe eyes. She turned and placed her helmet down on the side table next to the bed before turning back to address him.

"I am Tribune Attia Nerva, Commander of the Praetorian Cavalry. In the last few weeks, the capital has seen some... upheaval. I suppose you could say that about the Empire as a whole." She chuckled as she tucked some loose curls behind an ear. "The Senators and Equestrians have been complaining, rioting, and stabbing each other in the back, as per their usual." She shrugged as if this was a normal occurrence.

"Unfortunately, some members of the Senate took advantage of the chaos and assassinated your Uncle, the Emperor." She paused for a moment to let it sink in, the smirk never leaving her face.

Paullus blinked. He had never really known his Uncle outside of being responsible for his life now, and the death of the rest of his family. He had lived in fear of him, but after a while, the man was too distant, too amorphous for him to even feel like a man anymore. Knowing he was dead meant... nothing.

"His death is quite the tragedy." She continued to smirk. Paullus wondered for a moment if she was aware that all the terrible things in his life could be traced back to him. "The Praetorians were overwhelmed trying to keep the rioters in check, and unable to prevent his untimely death. Naturally, the cavalry was not in the city, so unable to play any role in aiding him."

Brother Firmin was beginning to creep to the side, edging for the door. He was not a worldly man, but the knowledge of the Emperor's death combined with the arrival of the Guard could mean trouble for the rest of the hermitage. Nerva didn't even look at him as she continued.

"His death brought on even more violence. The city was soon ablaze, both metaphorically and in some cases literally. It did not take long before each of his three sons had died as well." Paullus didn't know his cousins. There were three boys, or at least had been, all older than him. "Truly a tragedy. When the last son, Mettius, was killed, the city calmed a bit. The realization that a centuries-old bloodline was being extinguished had a cooling effect." She looked about the bare room.

"When the Senate and Assembly convened to try to decide what should be done with this vacuum of authority, they were at a loss." She took a step forward. "Until someone remembered you." She brought her hand up, tapping the boy on the nose for emphasis.

"... me?" Paullus' reaction was muted.

"Indeed. The very last person with a drop of blood from the founder of the Empire. Everyone was very glad that we had still been blessed with the chance at an Emperor with divine blood... and also one not affiliated with another faction." She smiled as if at a private joke. "Tensions have eased with every side agreeing that you should be acclaimed Emperor and the Praetorian Guard Cavalry was dispatched immediately to retrieve you. We wouldn't want anyone wicked getting to you." She winked at him.

It took a moment for Paullus to understand just what this meant. Not only were they not about to take him outside and behead him, but he was going to be made Emperor! The deaths of the rest of his extended family made little difference to him, although he had always thought the Praetorian Guard was practically untouchable. Part of their oath was to be willing to die to protect the Emperor. If he, along with the whole royal family, was dead, how could there be Praetorians left?

"Blessed be the Lord." Brother Firmin whispered as he clasped his hands in front of his head, bringing his forehead down, eyes closed. Still reeling, Nerva sidled around Paullus, her strong arm wrapping around his torso, hand lightly gripping his waist.

"We'll start right away. The capital is a few days' ride; we left before the dawn in the hopes of retrieving you with enough time to continue on." She began to walk towards the open door, effortlessly moving the boy along with her arm while her other reached out to pluck the helmet back up as they went. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground.

"My lord, if you would like to-" Brother Firmin stepped towards Paullus, hands outstretched, only for Nerva to quickly don her helmet and use the now-free hand to push the Brother back, hand to chest. He flopped on his behind, the wind seemingly knocked out of him. Paullus would've recoiled, but the arm around him kept him in place.

"Do not attempt to touch the Emperor." She kept the smirk and her voice was, if anything, haughty. As if the title 'Emperor' was merely an extension of her own power. She didn't slow as he fell, pulling Paullus out of the hermitage and into the warm dawn air.

Around him were the horsewomen of the Guard, mostly still mounted. Some of the monks of the hermitage had brought out bowls full of water for the horses or offered their own cups for water as they ran back and forth refilling the waterskins of the Praetorians. One of them spat their mouthful from a cup, tossing the vessel into the dirt.

"I didn't ask for a cup of your piss." The Praetorian snarled at the monk. "Wine, fool. Give me something with some body."

"Apologies, my lady. We do not drink or store wine here." The monk's voice quavered with fear. The Praetorian spat at his feet in response.

"Here are your loyal Praetorian Cavalry, or at least some of them. The wing of the Praetorians that does the most work." She spread her arm out expansively at the group, the women atop the horses giving him broad grins and smiles but nothing professional that someone would expect from the elite soldiers. Even Paullus knew this wasn't how they would've greeted his uncle when he was Emperor.

Two of the horsewomen cantered over, each leading another horse by the reins. One had a shield and lance attached to the saddle, the other bare. From the way Nerva took the horse, gently petting its mane, he could tell it was hers.

"Have you done much riding?" She asked him without bothering to turn her gaze from the horse. Paullus looked at the other animal. Even for horses, these seemed particularly large. He felt a tug of anxiety at being around such strong, powerful creatures. He thought they seemed fitting for their Futa riders as they brought up much of the same feeling in him.

"Uh, no, never." He was still not over the shock of being told he would be Emperor. He was motionless, bewildered at both what was happening and the speed of it. "The hermitage has no need of horses."

"No riding ever? And no wine?" The woman who had spit at the monk asked incredulously. The boy shook his head. Nerva flicked her wrist and the rider with the other horse pulled it away.

"No matter. You'll ride with me." She turned to him, pulling him up next to the horse's flank, positioning an arm under his armpit.

"Wait! I... I don't even have sandals on! And-"

She didn't bother waiting, placing her other hand under his arm and hoisting him up into the saddle with an 'eep!'. After releasing him she gripped the saddle's pommel, pulling herself up behind him. The saddle was crowded and she pressed him up against the front of it with her body weight.

"You won't need your sandals or anything of this mean clothing for that matter. We're a few hours ride from an actual town. We'll take you there..." One of her fingers touched his hastily tied, oily hair, "and get you a thorough bath. We have clothes that will be more fitting to your new station." She shifted in the saddle, taking the reins as she crowded him even further forward. The back of his head lay pressed against her armored chest. "Decima." She addressed the women who had asked after the wine. "Take two others and ride ahead to Kosa. Make sure the public baths are empty."

She made a small click with her mouth, turning the horse. "Praetorians!" Her voice became a bellow, surprising Paullus as he hunched down. "We have our Emperor!" A hand gripped Paullus' much thinner wrist, lifting it up. Every soldier's fist flew into the air, a loud celebratory cry sending a flock of birds into the air. It didn't seem like they could all be cheering for him. He hadn't done anything, didn't know how to do anything, and these were soldiers. Did they really want a young, inexperienced, know-nothing Emperor in charge?

He didn't get a chance to vocalize it before he felt Nerva flick the reins, tighten her thighs around the horse, and they began to move on at a brisk but moderate pace. Paullus kept his hands on the pommel of the saddle, balancing as best he could, watching the riders she had signaled to head out in front much quicker. As they crested the hill he took one look back at the hermitage. All the monks were outside looking on. He thought to wave, but the jostling of the horse kept him from moving his hands. He swallowed hard before turning his head back forward, toward where the riders were heading.

A few hours later the group rode into a town nestled on a hill not far from the coast. The pair had ridden in silence despite Paullus hearing the many voices of the guards behind them, killing time and making jokes as they rode. He had no interest in attempting to talk to them as he had spent the entire ride after about the first 15 minutes in terrible discomfort. Not used to riding, it had felt like his crotch and bottom were being pounded the entire time. His jaw and neck were tense from the pain, but at the hermitage, the monks had always been of the opinion that suffering should be done in silence. At times it felt like it would knock the breath out of him, and he thought about saying a little prayer as they rode into the town and Nerva said they would be done riding for a while.

The cavalry rode through the down, a few villagers peaking out through windows here and there, but mostly the houses were empty or the road to the center of town had been cleared. It was a dirt road but the houses looked nice enough and when they reached the center they came to a beautifully crafted bathhouse, stone columns outside around the entrance, that seemed incongruously well made in comparison to the rest of the town. The Praetorians that had ridden ahead were dismounted now, sitting on the steps outside of it, horses nearby.

The entire group rode up to the stairs of the bath, Decima sauntering down next to Nerva's horse.

"Cleared out?" Nerva turned the horse, preparing to get Paullus off and onto the steps.

"Emptied, although the churls made it a point to complain as we evicted them. Towels laid out." Her eyes were entirely on Paullus. Her skin was dark, scratched, and scarred, her hair cut so close to her head to be little more than peach fuzz. "Goddess, I thought it was just a trick of the light before." She reached a hand out, wrapping it around Paullus' narrow, exposed calf muscle. Her skin was rough. She pulled it up slightly, eyes locked on it.

"So pale! Practically marble." She released it, letting the leg sag back against the horse. "Your face, too. Although it's a little pink right now." She chuckled.

"He is quite pale, isn't he?" Nerva spoke like she had looked at him for the first time. "An Emperor needs a nickname, and why not one given to him by the Praetorian Guard?" She paused, looking at his skinny pale neck. "I think... Alba. Radiant." Decima snickered. White was a more accurate description than radiant.

"Well, shall I help my shining Emperor down from his steed?" She held out her hands. Nerva scooped him up under both arms, easily lifting him straight up so he didn't need to shift his legs to clear the horse. She handed him to Decima who received him much the same way, setting him on his feet on the stairs. He winced, taking a bow-legged step before reaching down to touch his sore thighs, letting out a small groan.

"I believe our Emperor is feeling the effects of his first real ride." Nerva swung her leg over the saddle, dismounting the horse with as much ease as handing off Paullus. "Nothing a hot bath can't fix." She handed the reins to Decima, wrapping an arm around Paullus as she had at the hermitage and guiding him towards the bath's entrance. Each stair felt like needles were shooting into his legs and groin and he made grunts and groans along with them.

"Riding gets easier. You shouldn't have to do much of it, though. I don't think you'll be going much outside the capital, and there you'll be able to ride in a palanquin." She ducked slightly as the two entered into the bath's inner chamber.

"Does the Emperor-" He was interrupted by his own ow from his legs. "Doesn't the Emperor visit the different parts of the Empire? Isn't that part of his... role?"

Nerva led him in further to the male dressing room. Typically the baths were sectioned into male, female, and futa, but since they had emptied it out she was unconcerned with whichever one she chose. Inside the room were benches and small alcoves in the stone walls with wooden pegs meant for hanging clothing. She deposited him in one while she went to the adjacent alcove.

"Have you used a public bath before?" She began, taking off her helmet and sword belt, setting them on the bench beneath the peg and beginning to unlace the leather straps that kept her chest armor together.

"Never." He whispered, attempting to avert his eyes but also trying to watch her through his peripheral vision. An adolescence without seeing the feminine form now did its best to overcome the emotional shock and physical discomfort he was currently in.

"We've cleared it for you, so it's less like a public bath now. No slaves to steal your clothes and valuables, but also no slaves to help you bathe." Paullus felt an intense desire to look over as he heard her armor rattle to the floor, the arm guards quickly coming off along with the boots. "Although you don't have anything you care about losing now. Leave your tunic, you won't need it again."

He hesitated, feeling awkward about undressing for the first time in his life. The monks had changed without heed of each other and so he had learned it as something not to be ashamed of or to care about. He tried to give it the same lack of care as he undid the tunic belt and pulled the outfit up over his head, depositing it on the bench and setting the tucked-away golden sun pendant within it.

"Alba was certainly a good name for you!" He turned his head to see Nerva, fully nude, arm against the wall, leering at him. Or it at least felt like she was leering at him. Her own body was somewhat less tanned where the armor covered her, punctuating her arms and legs with tan lines. Her chest was full, another common trait amongst futa, and while her body was fit her curves still seemed to take precedence when her clothes were off. She looked exceedingly feminine without the armor.

... except for the large, limp cock that lay beneath her legs atop a large pair of balls, a black bush of curly hair around them. Even accounting for the proportionality of it with her large stature she still appeared very well endowed. Paullus eyes, at first drawn to the first pair of breasts he had ever seen bare, now focused in acutely on a cock that barely seemed to be the same species as his own.

"So pale all over." She stepped towards him, apparently not noticing how wide his heterochromatic had gotten and what they were fixed on. She reached out, placing her hand against his chest. "Look! Your body looks like marble compared to my arm." He dutifully looked, mostly agreed, and began to look up at the futa in front of him. She wasn't looking him in the face, instead, her hand slowly trailed off his body, her eyes taking him in. A combination of soreness and intimidation left him anything but aroused despite the obviously gorgeous woman in front of him.

"How are you so hairless?" Her voice betrayed interest, but not concern. Paullus attempted to answer, found that he needed to clear his throat, and tried again.

"The hermitage beds are prone to lice. It really bothered me for a while. There didn't seem to be any way to keep them off me during one summer and a monk suggested that, since they live in hair, I could remove mine. He had heard of men doing it before, although they thought the lice were something like penance for their sins." Nerva wrinkled her nose at that.

"But the monks don't shave; part of their vow is to never use a blade so they don't keep sharp knives. The only thing I could do was pluck. So... I did that."

"I would imagine for it to work it would be very thorough." Paullus' face turned crimson, but he nodded. "How could you reach?" She seemed interested, her eyes still roaming his body as if to look for a missed hair.

"The monks helped where I couldn't reach." She looked back up at him, cocking an eyebrow. He shrugged. "When there's little to do, any task becomes of interest." Her hand reached out to touch his cheek, stroking it with the back of a finger.

"Your cheeks are very smooth. Not even a wisp of hair."

"When you pluck enough it doesn't really grow back." Her hand slid up to touch his eyebrows and he responded before she could ask the question. "The monks advised against doing the eyebrows: sweat will get in your eyes really easy. And the long hair because there's just so much of it and it's especially painful to get rid of."

"Well, that explains why they all had that long hair and those beards." She turned him by pressing against his shoulder, reaching behind his head to undo the thong keeping his hair tied. She put a hand on his lower back, pushing him towards the door to the next chamber.

"Ah!" He whined, again at the soreness.

"The water will take care of it." She didn't slow as they moved into the next room. The temperature was significantly warmer, the room being smaller with stone benches running the length. The first bench had a bottle of oil laid out along with a curved thin bronze tool with a channel running the length of it. "Have you been cleaned with a strigil before?" He shook his head as she prompted him to sit down next to the items.

"I would've thought the monks would at least do that. Disgusting sort." She seemed to speak almost to herself as she picked up the glass bottle of oil, removed the lid, sniffed it, and closed it again. She set it back on the bench, turning to look around the room.

She was at the perfect height that, as Paullus sat, her ample rear was almost directly in his face. He tried to turn out of courtesy, but as she began to walk to the other side of the room he didn't bother to do anything else but stare.

"Normally it would be a slave doing this rather than a tribune of the Praetorian Guard, but it's your lucky day Emperor Alba." She squatted down to pick out a different bottle of oil from a section against the wall. Paullus' eyes, glued to her backside, were quickly reminded of what hung in front as from between her legs from behind her could see her pendulous sack. He brought his gaze back to the floor in front of him.

"I haven't had slaves do anything for me before. The hermitage didn't have any."

"Of course not. No slaves, no wine, nothing to do but make sure the soon-to-be Emperor is as hairless as a doll." She drawled as she turned and walked back, a different bottle of oil in her hand. "What did they do all day?"

"Praying, mostly. They thought that was mostly what their God wanted them to do." He watched as Nerva opened the bottle of oil, setting the lid to the side. "They paid for the hermitage's food and necessary goods by copying books. I guess some church sold their services and they just copied whatever was given to them."

Nerva lifted one of his arms horizontally, dribbling a bit of oil on it and using both hands to quickly rub it over his skin. It had a pleasant floral smell to it and the warmth of the oil and room felt very relaxing after the long ride. Once applied, she picked up the bronze tool, holding his arm in place, and gently but firmly pressed it to his skin at the shoulder, dragging it down his arm and pulling the oil off. She repeated the process in strips until the arm was as oil-free as it would get. She then did the other arm in the same fashion. Paullus was almost lulled to sleep by the warmth and massaging cleaning.

"Lie on your back." Her tone was pleasant, but certainly a command to her new Emperor. Paullus dutifully transitioned to his back, heat creeping back into his cheeks as his small limp cock flopped. She rubbed the oil into his chest and abs. As her fingers brushed his nipples he couldn't help but feel a stir between his legs, aware that it moved a bit at her touching him. He switched to closing his eyes, not able to do anything about it but at least hoping to avoid any reaction from her.

She didn't say anything, just smirked as she pulled the strigil down the young man's torso. He was very slight, the food available to the hermitage not in the quantity a growing man would need. Setting the tool aside he applied more oil to her hands, now running it down his thighs and lower legs. This time the reaction between his legs was more obvious, more immediate. He was obviously not an especially endowed boy but his slight frame did give it a somewhat more impressive look. Nerva didn't comment on it or touch it, instead working down his legs bit by bit. She could hear the boy's quickened breathing when he had become aroused and also how it slowed down the further she moved from it.

"Flip over. We'll do your back and the other half of your legs before we head into the bath." He moved quickly, eager to hide the hardness between his legs. He sighed as she rubbed the aromatic oil into his back, the tension in his muscles pulled out by the cleaning.

When she got past his back, though, she seemed to apply more oil than before. Rather than the swift single stroke she had used everywhere else to apply the oil, instead her hands worked his glutes, fingers squeezing the pliable flesh. He felt one thumb slide further, daring to go between the cheeks slightly, then he gasped as that hand squeezed his ass cheek and pulled it to the side.

"Those monks certainly were thorough." Paullus could hear the smile as she spoke. She released the cheek after a moment, bringing the tool up to clean him. When she did his thighs it felt more painful than helpful, but by the time she was done with them and his calves, he felt slightly better. He heard her set the tool and bottle aside.

"On to the next room." She waited as he rolled off the bench and stood up. The time pressed against the stone and momentary embarrassment had worked to soften Paullus, although he couldn't help but notice as he got up that Nerva's cock had plumped up a bit, no longer quite hanging limp as much as at an angle.

They walked into the steaming bathing room, a large pool of water out before them. It was empty of people and possessions except for a small scented soap ball that was in a dish close to the entrance to the bath. Nerva guided him forward, at his side as they took steps down into the water. It was hot but not so much that they had to go in slowly.

They stepped down on underwater seats around the rim of the bath. All but Paullus' head and neck were submerged, while Nerva spread her arms out along the pool's lip, head tilted back, her breasts just above the water's steaming surface. They relaxed in silence for a bit, Paullus doing little other than gawking at Nerva's nudity laid out in front of him.

That could only last for so long, though, and eventually, the heat helped relax Paullus. His muscles felt like they were half-melted and he leaned his own head back against the pool wall, his long hair floating around him like a blooming flower. His mind felt more at ease, or perhaps merely less guarded.

"Tribune Nerva?" His voice seemed to echo in the mosaic-tiled walls of the bath.

"Yes?"

"How is it that my uncle and all three of his sons died?"

She was quiet for a while, the only sound in the bath was the dripping of water. As he stared at the ceiling, a mosaic of the sun god rising a chariot pulled by bulls, he wondered if she had fallen asleep or maybe even just chosen not to answer him. Eventually, she sucked in a deep breath, the water sloshing as she moved from her relaxed position.

"That's a question for Prefect Sertoria. When we get you back to the capital you can ask her. The cavalry and I weren't within the city walls when it happened." He stayed motionless as he heard her moving, the water rippling against his face as her large body displaced it. She stood next to him, reaching over to grab the soap. "Sit up and I'll wash your hair."

He lifted his head out of the water as far as he could and Nerva would a small lather of the soap into her hands before massaging it into his scalp. The monks hadn't cared much for their hair so neither had Paullus, but the feeling of hands and nails working his head sent a shiver down his spine.

"You'll be the first Emperor with long hair that I'm aware of, but you should keep it. It's very distinguished." He peeked an eye open to see if she was mocking him. She had that same smirk on her face but it seemed so consistent with her that it had stopped seeming to give off any signals to him.

"I'm sure it doesn't feel real yet coming from that dung heap of a place you were in, but being Emperor is due to divinity. The Empire is ruled by one with divine blood, and you should remember that when you deal with others. The senate, the equestrians, the plebs, all of them are beneath you. You have a holy duty to be and act above them." His skin rippled with goose bumps again, this time at her words and tone more than the physical sensations he was feeling.

"Remember that you have dominion over all the other people of the world." His hair lathered, she slipped a hand under his chin and tilted his face up to hers. "You are righteously Emperor, but remember that you are only one person. Your will needs an extension just like your head needs its arm. Without others to enact your will, you would be just like your armless head. We Praetorians are your arms, your legs, your body. So, remember that while it is you who rule Empire..." The smirk turned into a wicked grin as her hand slipped to the nape of Paullus' neck, the other to the top of his head.

"... you need us." She pushed down hard, unceremoniously dunking the boy's head, fully submerging the soapy hair. He had clamped his eyes shut, could hear her laughing from underwater at her action, her joke. Then, after a heartbeat, he realized the pressure was still there. He tried to push up to come out of the water but he couldn't budge at all. Was she going to drown him?! He immediately began to thrash, arms flailing in and out of the water. She moved forward a bit or he did, Paullus was in no position to tell, and he barely noticed her large cock, or maybe her balls, press into his face. She pushed off after a moment and released him, his head coming out like a breaching whale.

"Oh, look at that clean hair." She laughed as he sucked in air, standing now with it wet and clinging to his shoulders. "It looks like you're nice and clean. Let's move to the cold room and dry you off." She turned away, not bothering to confront his outrage, or fear, or confusion, or whatever emotion Paullus had let mask his face. He was naive, but he wasn't an idiot. He recognized a threat for what it was.

He followed, arms crossed against his torso, following his naked guide. He panted a little, more shaken than actually out of breath. He was no longer interested in being alone with Nerva.

The cold room was not actually cold but held none of the heat of the other rooms. Towels were laid out and Nerva didn't bother helping Paullus to dry himself off. His hair was still wet, though, and there was neither oil nor a tie around for him.

"Nerva, is there something around to put my hair up?"

"You should keep it down. Like I said, very distinguished." He took that to mean there was nothing. He took another towel, doing his best to dry his hair off.

"We brought you some special clothes." She picked a bag up off a bench, took out the first item, and handed it to him. Essentially a loincloth which Paullus was happy to put on. He began to wish Nerva would put on one of her own.

The second item was a tunic, perfectly white and surpassingly both well-fitted and comfortable. It was a far cry from the baggy, scratchy, undyed tunic the monks had worn. Next came a cloth-of-gold belt which widened Paullus' eyes. It shimmered in the dim light of the room and he held it reverently for a moment before tying it around his waist. Next came sandals of a fine quality that fit his feet well.

Finally, Nerva pulled from the bag a toga made entirely of purple, save for a stripe on the outer edge of golden suns woven into it. She held it out, a heavy garment of considerable size nearly folded up.

"Shall I help you put it on?" She asked as she already began unfolding part of it, wrapping it around him, draping it over him, positioning his arms and shoulders to bear it just so. After getting it on she spent a moment, this large, beautiful muscular futa as naked as the day she was born, making sure her boy Emperor looked the perfect peacock in his luxurious finery.

"You look quite the Emperor." She said as she finished. "Guards!" The same bellow she used before roared out making Paullus jump, and two fully armored Praetorians from just outside the exterior door slipped in. "The young Emperor Alba is sore from the day's ride. We'll be staying here the remainder of the day and heading out tomorrow. Find some accommodations for him." She turned back to Paullus.

"I have to go retrieve my armor, I hope you won't begrudge me leaving you to the others." She winked at him, heading back towards where they came.

"Wait!" He blurted out. Nerva slowed but did not stop walking entirely as she looked at him. "I left a small sun amulet in my robes in the front room. Could you retrieve it for me?" She smiled at him.

"I live to serve, Your Majesty." She inclined her head slightly, continuing back.

Paullus turned towards the others, looking only mildly interested.

"Our runner is going ahead to secure your mansion. You may come with us, Majesty." The nearest guard gestured toward the door.

"Alright." He said meekly, failing to embody the gravitas that his clothing and rank called for. He did not glance back as he headed out into the street with the Praetorians.