Patheticus The Roman Slave

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!

Part 2 – Fire and Brimstone

If anyone could have been described as Patheticus’s ‘friend’ in the household of Senator Flavius Maximus, it would have been domina Druscilla’s handmaiden, Julia.

She had much in common with the male footslave. Like him she originated from the province of Britannia; she was about the same age (she believed she was 30, but may have been a few years older); and on top of that she ‘got along’ with Patheticus – quite simply, the two slaves liked one another.

In different circumstances they might have formed an intimate relationship and even married. But, of course, that just wasn’t possible. A footslave, or ‘servus-provolvo’, like Patheticus, was at the very bottom of the social scale – and well below a lady’s handmaiden. No woman would ever consider a servus-provolvo as an equal, let alone as a potential partner. Neither a lady’s handmaiden, nor even a prostitute who plied her trade in and around the Circus Maximus in Rome, would ever dream of sleeping with a humble servus-provolvo.

And so, roman footslaves remained celibate, sublimating their desires and directing them instead towards the service of their mistresses’ feet. It was their only physical contact with women, and it was, by common consent, all they were fit for.

Even though he regarded her as a friend, therefore, slave Patheticus had to acknowledge his inferiority vis-à-vis maidservant Julia and submit to her authority. For her part, handmaiden Julia quite enjoyed her position of power over Patheticus. As he crawled behind her heels towards the front porch of the villa she was looking forward to chaining him up like a dog.

‘Miss’ Julia, as he had to call her, did not have the prettiest of feminine feet. An unkind person might have described her ankles, for example, as being rather rounded and ‘fat’. And the backs of her heels were almost ‘orange’, rather than white, due to patches of rough and dead skin. Nevertheless, as he crawled behind her feet in their servant-girl flip-flops, Patheticus had nothing but feelings of admiration and respect for miss Julia’s feet – for they were the feet of a superior woman, whatever their condition. He would lick away the orangey bits for her if she would but snap her fingers and give him the order to do so.

But she didn’t. Instead, on arrival in the front porch of the opulent Pompeiian villa, she gave her kneeling compatriot the following terse order:

‘Over by the wall.’

Patheticus kept his eyes humbly focussed on miss Julia’s fat ankles and orange heels as he positioned himself on his knees with his back to the wall on the inside of the porch just below where the chain was hanging. He kept his head bowed as miss Julia than attached the metal collar and chain around his neck, securing him in position for the imminent arrival of domina Druscilla’s esteemed guests.

Flavius Maximus himself was away in Rome attending to senatorial business, so domina Druscilla would be the primary host for the evening. The guests were her neighbour, the lady Agrippina, whose husband was also away on business in Rome; Agrippina’s 19 year old daughter, Rowena – a good friend of Lydia’s; Claudia, lady Agrippina’s handmaiden (Rowena did not yet have a handmaiden of her own as there were no plans for her imminent marriage – she was about a year behind Lydia in that respect); and last, but by no means least, lady Agrippina’s son, the 25 year old centurion, Marcus Aurelius, who was engaged to be married to domina-virgo Lydia in about a month’s time. This particular social call was really an excuse for the two young lovers to get together with chaperones present, and, of course, to finalise the arrangements for the wedding.

‘Keep your head low,’ ordered miss Julia to the prostrate Patheticus.

It wasn’t an unfriendly order, however – she hadn’t called him “slave”. She also stretched forward her podgy, right ankle for him to respectfully kiss, followed by her left, before leaving him kneeling in the porch as she went to seek out her mistress. Patheticus was only alone for some 15 minutes, however, as miss Julia soon returned with domina Druscilla, domina-virgo Lydia and Lydia’s maidservant, Fortunata - all ready to greet their guests.

Slave Patheticus did not really like lady Agrippina, not that his likes or dislikes were of any importance. He thought she was a bit of a snob, and was convinced that she secretly thought her centurion son Marcus was too good for domina-virgo Lydia. Patheticus knew that domina Druscilla also suspected as much of Agrippina – but neither lady could do anything to prevent the forthcoming marriage. Their prospective husbands had given their blessing, albeit for political reasons to do with cementing their alliance in the Senate, and Rome was still, fundamentally, a man’s world. For all their power and authority over a down-at-heel servus-provolvo like Patheticus, the Roman ladies in his life were still subject themselves to the authority of free men. Perhaps that was why the Roman ladies so enjoyed dominating and subjugating their male slaves? The dog chases the cat and so the cat chases the mouse!

Whatever his feelings towards lady Agrippina, however, on her arrival at the villa slave Patheticus dutifully kissed her outstretched foot (just as domina Druscilla felt obliged to greet her guest by kissing her on the cheek) as she was a superior Roman lady, and therefore deserving of his slavish respect.

Having kissed both lady Agrippina’s feet, slave Patheticus uttered the usual words of greeting which protocol dictated:

‘Welcome to the home of my master, Flavius Maximus, most esteemed lady Agrippina.’

The lady Agrippina, of course, ignored the cringing slave chained to the wall at her feet, and merely balanced herself with the aid of her handmaiden, Claudia, as the latter handed down her mistress’s house-sandals for slave Patheticus to put on her lady’s feet.

Most Roman ladies of quality wore closed ‘calcei’ or ‘shoes’ on the streets, changing into open-toed ‘sandalia’ only when they entered a house. It was, therefore, handmaiden Claudia’s responsibility to carry her lady’s sandals to the home of her host. It was not, however, miss Claudia’s role to remove her lady’s shoes or to put her sandals on her feet. Such tasks were, quite literally, beneath a lady’s maid. Such tasks fell to a humble servus-provolvo like Patheticus.

Lady Agrippina was busily engaged in polite conversation with domina Druscilla whilst Patheticus gently raised her right foot a few inches off the ground, removed her dusty streetwear-shoe, and then placed the first open-toed, lace-up sandal on the noble lady’s superior Roman foot. He then repeated the process with her left foot.

When he had laced up both her sandals lady Agrippina continued on into the villa, accompanied by her maid, Claudia, and domina Druscilla, with no words of thanks for the footslave – or even a cursory glance acknowledging his presence.

Why would she? He was, after all, lower down the social scale than the dirt on the soles of her calcei.

Next, slave Patheticus had to kiss domina-virgo Rowena’s feet by way of humble greeting. Domina-virgo Rowena preferred, as did most younger Roman women, not to wear calcei in the summer months even outside in the streets. Her feet were therefore already clad in pretty, lace-up, brown leather, open toed sandals.

If only her feet themselves were as pretty inside their expensive, leather sandals! They were feet with which slave Patheticus had become increasingly familiar during the past few months as lady Agrippina and her family had been visiting his master’s home more and more frequently in the run up to the wedding.

The trouble was that domina-virgo Rowena was a rather ‘spindly’ girl with matching ‘spindly’ feet – long, thin, crooked toes, one of them even sporting a bunion. Moreover, if handmaiden Julia’s ankles were a bit too ‘fat’, domina-virgo Rowena’s ankles could be said to be a bit too ‘bony’ and thin.

Be that as it may, as we’ve already pointed out several times, from the perspective of footslave Patheticus they were the feet and ankles of a superior young woman, and demanded his full attention and respect as if they were the perfect feet of a goddess. And besides, what woman had perfect feet? Apart from miss Julia with her fat ankles, did not the new maidservant, Fortunata, have some areas of hard skin on her heels? And did not domina-virgo Lydia have a tiny, black mole on the side of her otherwise pristine white, left foot? Lady Agrippina, he had noticed, had rather veiny feet – albeit with delicate feminine veins - and even domina Druscilla had a corn on the little toe of her right foot. It was such imperfections that individualised the feet of the women he served, and he admired and respected them all for their very imperfections.

And so slave Patheticus unhesitatingly lowered his lips to kiss the brown leather strap that ran across the top of domina-virgo Rowena’s spindly, crooked, purple-painted toes:

‘Welcome to the home of my master, Flavius Maximus, most esteemed domina-virgo Rowena,’ he fawned.

‘Ha! Ha! Welcome Rowena!’ lied domina-virgo Lydia. She was lying because her friend Rowena was not truly welcome on this occasion, but only because she was here in her capacity as chaperone. Rowena’s brother on the other hand, the handsome centurion Marcus Aurelius, was most definitely welcome. Whatever the motives or concerns of their respective parents, Marcus and Lydia were very much in love with each other. Lydia kissed him passionately on the lips.

If there was one good thing in slave Patheticus’s life it was that he was never expected to kiss the feet of another man. He was a servus-provolvo to women only, and that was his one comfort in life. For, however dirty, sweaty or deformed a woman’s feet may be, they are still infinitely more beautiful than a man’s feet. The very thought of having to worship a man’s feet made Patheticus feel sick.

The two younger guests and their host, Lydia, plus Lydia’s Nubian handmaiden Fortunata, now made their way into the villa, leaving only handmaiden Julia in the porch with slave Patheticus. Convention dictated that she remain with Patheticus whilst he lick the street dust and dirt off lady Agrippina’s outdoor shoes.

He therefore, under miss Julia’s supervision, had the honour of tasting where the lady Agrippina had been walking. He tasted grass; he tasted mud; and he tasted something that he had never experienced before on the sole of a lady’s shoe – some kind of bitter ash. Most peculiar! He hoped it wasn’t poisonous, for whatever it was, it was soon residing in his slave stomach – where it belonged.

A soon as he had digested the filth from lady Agrippina’s outdoor shoes, handmaiden Julia unchained his neck from the wall of the front porch and led him behind her orange heels into the main room of the villa were the guests were now reclining and had already started feasting. Germanicus, the chief slave, had already brought in the customary bowl of lukewarm water, the small sponge, and the towel for slave Patheticus to wash the female guests’ feet.

Protocol dictated, needless to say, that the lady Agrippina be the first to have her feet washed, followed by her daughter, Rowena and, if they wished it, lady Agrippina’s maid, Claudia – for she too was a female guest and, of course, Patheticus’s better.

As he knelt at the reclined-on-a-couch lady Agrippina’s feet and, still under the beady supervision of miss Julia, began to undo the aristocratic Roman lady’s sandals, the irony was not lost on slave Patheticus that he was now having to unlace and undo the very same sandals he had just put on her feet a few moments earlier. But he knew he had no cause for complaint. Putting on and taking off ladies’ footwear was a Roman footslave’s bread and butter.

As was washing female feet – softly, gently, respectfully – sponging away all the ingrained sweat and Pompeian street-dirt from between the superior lady’s sticky toes, all whilst being appropriately ignored by the lady concerned.

Germanicus, ever keen to assist Patheticus in his humble ministrations, and still with that wry, superior smile on his face, disposed of the dirty water from the lady Agrippina’s feet and presented Patheticus with a new bowl of clean water for the washing of domina-virgo Rowena’s spindly feet.

The latter was deeply engrossed in conversation with domina-virgo Lydia as, despite being a bit of an unwelcome ‘gooseberry’ in the current social function, she was nevertheless excited to know the details of her friend Lydia’s forthcoming marriage ceremony with her brother. Domina-virgo Rowena was therefore as indifferent as her mother had been to the servus-provolvo as he knelt humbly at her feet and started to unlace her sandals.

Pathetically, Patheticus found himself wishing he could dispense with the sponge and ‘tongue-clean’ domina-virgo Rowena’s spindly, crooked, white toes just as he had tongue-cleaned the much prettier, black toes of the Nubian handmaiden Fortunata earlier that day. He imagined what it would be like to feel domina-virgo Rowena’s rough, purple-painted toenails scraping along the roof of his mouth. The third toe on her right foot even looked long enough to scrape the back of his throat were he to insert her long, thin foot fully into his slave mouth.

But such thoughts, sadly, had to remain the stuff of fantasies, for sucking a lady’s sweaty toes and swallowing her cheesy toe-jam whilst she herself was eating and drinking was too gross a concept even for the Ancient Romans to stomach!

And so he gently sponged goddess-mistress Rowena’s far from perfect feet. When he had finished, domina Druscilla made the customary offer to her guest, lady Agrippina:

‘My dear, would you like the servus-provolvo to clean your maid’s feet?’

Lady Agrippina looked over at her maid, Claudia, who was standing submissively in a corner of the room ready to do her mistress’s bidding at the snap of a finger:

‘Well, Claudia, my dear, would you like to have your feet washed?’

A flicker of excitement crossed the handmaiden’s pretty face:

‘Yes please, my lady, if it pleases you, my lady!’

The host, domina Druscilla, laughed:

‘Very good, my dear. Come forward and sit beside your mistress.’

She then clicked her fingers:

‘Patheticus, approach the maid and wash her feet.’

Miss Julia, domina Druscilla’s own maid, escorted slave Patheticus on his hands and knees over to where her fellow-maidservant was now seated expectantly. She gave her an encouraging smile. Being a lady’s maid wasn’t so bad, not when you got to have your feet washed by a lowly, male slave!

As usual, the maid was wearing a cheap pair of single-strapped, servant-girl brown leather sandals on her feet. As Patheticus gently raised her right foot off the floor in order to remove the sandal, there was a loud rumbling noise outside.

‘Was that thunder?’ he heard domina Druscilla ask.

‘Ha! Ha! No, I think Vesuvius is just restless again today!’ laughed lady Agrippina.

The conversations about wedding preparations and other banalities quickly resumed.

Maidservant Claudia’s feet were, not surprisingly, not as well kept as her mistress’s aristocratic feet. But unlike the feet of her mistress’s daughter they were petite and shapely. Even though her toenails were chipped and unpainted, they still looked more beautiful than the purple-varnished toenails of domina-virgo Rowena.

Because the maidservant’s tunic was also shorter than domina-virgo Rowena’s, slave Patheticus could be more liberal in scooping the water over the maid’s pretty feet – less chance of splashing the hem of her tunic. Indeed, he very much appreciated the view of the maid Claudia’s shapely, smooth, lower calf muscles.

Her feet did smell though - at least before he had applied the soothing water to them. Again, hardly surprising when you consider that a maidservant would probably only bathe once a week – unlike her mistress who would undoubtedly bathe every day and would certainly have her feet washed by a servus-provolvo every day.

Slave Patheticus estimated that maid Claudia was only slighter younger than himself – perhaps in her mid twenties, and certainly a bit older than the two domina-virgos. She sat in silence as the humble, male footslave removed all the grot and grime from her maidservant feet and the water in the bowl turned dirty.

Just as he was drying the young maidservant’s feet, and Germanicus was about to take away the bowl of dirty foot-water, domina Druscilla made a helpful suggestion:

‘Claudia, darling, would you like the footslave to drink your dirty foot-water? I’m sure it would be an honour for him to drink the dirt and filth from a maidservant’s feet!’

‘Oh really, Druscilla, you are too kind to her!’ protested lady Agrippina.

‘Not at all, my dear. As I said it would be an honour for my servus-provolvo to drink your handmaiden’s dirty foot water!’ replied the ever-attentive host, domina Druscilla. ‘Patheticus, beg the young lady for the privilege of drinking the filth and sweat from her superior, servant-girl feet!’

All the other conversations in the room had temporarily stopped as everyone wanted to enjoy Patheticus’s humiliation at the feet of the visiting maidservant.

He stole himself, and with his head suitably bowed over maidservant Claudia’s feet, he duly begged:

‘Oh pray, superior mistress-handmaiden Claudia, if it pleases you, superior mistress-handmaiden Claudia, this dirty footslave humbly begs your permission to drink the dirty water containing your toenail dirt, your dead foot skin and your precious foot sweat, if you would be so kind, sweet and superior mistress-handmaiden Claudia.’

Everyone, including ‘superior mistress-handmaiden Claudia’ laughed at the slave.

‘Ha! Ha! Well, what do you say, Claudia darling?’ prompted her mistress Agrippina.

Claudia smiled at her Roman superiors before looking down at the inferior footslave:

‘You may do as you ask, slave, but you must lap up the water like a dog!’ she kindly acceded.

Agrippina clapped her aristocratic hands with delight:

‘Well said, Claudia darling!’

Everyone, including the ever-grinning slave Germanicus, then watched as slave Patheticus lapped up his luxury drink consisting of a Roman slave-girl’s footsweat mixed with her toe-jam and dead foot skin.

Perhaps the Roman ladies weren’t so squeamish after all!

The bizarre thing was that it did, actually, help to quench Patheticus’s thirst for he still hadn’t had a drink since he had been toiling away scrubbing the stone paving slabs of the courtyard under the hot, midday sun.

After the guests and their hosts had all had their fill of fine wine and food, domina-virgo Lydia managed to slip out into the courtyard with her fiancé, Marcus Aurelius, for some private moments together. We say ‘private’ but, of course, the couple were accompanied, as always, by Lydia’s Nubian handmaiden, Fortunata, and Lydia had also instructed slave Patheticus to follow at her feet on his hands and knees out into the courtyard. Servants and slaves didn’t really count as people in Ancient Rome, so Roman masters and mistresses were quite unabashed about courting, or even making love, in the presence of their slaves.

The main thing was that the happy couple had managed to give their chaperone, Marcus’s sister Rowena, the slip. And so, with handmaiden Fortunata standing discreetly to one side in a corner of the courtyard, and slave Patheticus in turn kneeling discreetly at her Nubian feet, domina-virgo Lydia and master Marcus Aurelius made love by the fountain.

As he listened to the sounds of the young couple’s lovemaking, slave Patheticus found himself slipping into ever deeper admiration of the Nubian girl’s pretty, black feet. He admired the faint lines in her brown footskin; he admired the way her feet turned a lighter shade of brown on the soles; he even admired the rough skin on her chapped heels. As the sounds of nearby lovemaking grew more and more passionate, he ached to kiss the Nubian maidservant’s pretty feet in their brown, leather, serving-girl sandals. Yet Patheticus, unlike domina-virgo Lydia and master Marcus Aurelius, was a slave, and was not free to do as he wished. He could only dream of such freedom.

After they had finished their surreptitious love-making , the perhaps no longer aptly entitled ‘domina-virgo’ Lydia summoned her maidservant and footslave over to the edge of the courtyard-fountain where she was now seated on her fiancé’s lap. With her trusty companion and maidservant Fortunata standing by her side, and her footslave Patheticus kneeling in front of her feet, domina-virgo Lydia then repeated to them all her hopes and dreams for the future:

‘Marcus and I shall buy a villa on the other side of Pompeii and you, Fortunata, shall live with us as my companion. You shall be a free woman, and shall have your own slaves, and we shall be like sisters! Oh it will be so wonderful, Fortunata!’

Fortunata smiled broadly:

‘Yes, my lady!’

‘And you, Patheticus, you shall come and live with us as my personal footslave. You shall have the honour of abasing yourself at not only my feet, but also at Fortunata’s feet and the feet of all my female guests and friends. Is that not what you too desire?’

‘Yes, domina-virgo,’ replied Patheticus, truthfully, as, overcome with gratitude, he once again boldly lowered his lips to touch the tiny, black mole on the side of domina-virgo Lydia’s left foot.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

Death fell suddenly upon the hapless citizens of Pompeii. It rained down from the sky – sulphurous ash enveloping them as they innocently worked, rested and played, freezing them in stone for all eternity.

It took domina-virgo Lydia, her fiancé Marcus, her companion, Fortunata, and her footslave, Patheticus also.

It is, of course, terribly sad that so many young lives should have been so suddenly and cruelly ended by the angry gods. But at least domina-virgo Lydia had her dying wish – resting forever in the arms of her handsome lover, her faithful female companion by her side, and her devoted male footslave kneeling at her feet with his lips pressed humbly on her left foot in a gesture of perpetual adoration and submission, an example to us all.

The End