“Now, for the last fucking time … “
The sergeant growled. His patience had run out. This peasant moron was wasting their time. All that muscle on the prick .. did he think that let him get away with murder? Shoulders on him from shovelling shit all his life. Plates on his chest you could eat your dinner off. Not that the fucker had eaten much all his life .. not judging by his tight flat belly. Muscled dickhead! Not showing due respect. Parthia was the master now.
“ … shift your stinking arse …. Go back to fucking goats.”
“Get the fuck outta here .. before you regret it!”
Maciste stood his ground. He drew himself up to his full height.
“Prince Menander – can you remember that much …..?” he mocked. “Go and tell the general. …. Prince Menander is here to deal with him. Manage that? MEN-AN-DER! You think you can remember that ….?”
Looking down from the wall at this arsehole, the sergeant had a spiteful thought. A big muscle-brute. Powerful shoulders on him. Strong broad back .. built for endless hard work. So the prick wanted inside the camp, did he? Probably after stealing food. Well, why not ….? He wouldn’t find the way out! The sergeant’s gaze went greedily to those arms. They weren’t just big. The work-power in those upper arms was strikingly thick. Each muscle deeply separated. Bags of hard work to be squeezed out of those!
The thought grew in the sergeant’s head. The muscle-headed ox should be invited in .. coaxed in to work for his grub. The fucker ‘d never leave, though. Do their heavy lifting .. get all their shit-jobs. And get blessed with a Parthian slave-collar .. payment for his lack of respect .. the fucker ‘d get punished for life.
Back home .. again the sergeant looked over the peasant stud .. seeing him in a new light, hearing the chink of coins .. the sergeant knew he’d get a good price for a hard-packed chest like that. That muscled waist only seemed to show off the might of those solid arms. They’d be fighting over the prick. What buyer on the slave-market wouldn’t go for him straightaway? Virile, manly, packed. The muscles in that belly nearly poked you in the eye. Endless punishing hard-work. Just built for a lifetime under the slave-master’s lash. The sergeant congratulated himself. Plunder! Inspired idea. And the arsehole was asking to be taken in …!. Spoils of war. What else was a soldier in this army for?
Next to him, a soldier was angered by the peasant’s sarcasm. How dare the fucker! “You manage to remember that ….?” Fucking cheek! He raised his spear. But the sergeant stopped him.
“Oh, now you’re talking sense. Prince Menander! Sorry. Sir. Didn’t recognise you. Sir. Dressed like that ..”
Snorts from his troops betrayed the sergeant wasn’t being straight.
“Not in your finery and all that …… Sir.”
Maciste had had no time to think about appearances. He’d made his decision, he’d acted promptly. And secretly. He’d come as he was. He and his men had been living rough for weeks, on the run. Not surprising he didn’t look the part. Or that the sergeant was struggling to believe him.
He wasn’t taken in. He’d put up with the sarcasm, though. Now they WERE talking. Now they were getting somewhere.
“Go tell Tiradates ..,” Maciste repeated. “Prince Menander is here to negotiate with him ….”
Maciste stood his ground. He deliberately looked not-too-pleased at being messed around. Like he was here for a serious purpose. Disguising the fact this was just his ploy .. pretending to be their enemy’s prince.
“Go now – before I walk away. And the general has your hide … for being so stupid ….”
The soldiers looked at each other. They frowned at their sergeant for taking this. From local scum like this arsehole. Their army had over-run this kingdom of goat-shaggers .. just a few annoying remnants of resistance left. The Parthian Empire sat top of their shit-pile now. And peasants like this arsehole had to know their place. They hadn’t beaten the shit out of their rulers to be insulted by some dumbass goatherd. Conquered scumbags didn’t answer back at their new masters like that. Not unless they wanted a spear in their guts.
“Just a moment. Sir.”
The sergeant sounded apologetic. Planning on playing the fucker along ….. that muscled hide would be worth the effort.
“We’ll get the gate for you. Sir.”
He turned his back on Maciste. Looked his confused men in the eye. Then he winked.
“You heard me,” he said out loud. “Open the gate.”
Then quietly, “Give it this dickhead.”
“Give it the stupid fucker. Good and hard. Teach this prick some respect.”