Virginia Henley (10 page)

“Every bakery and cookshop owner in Rome now keeps slave girls for sexual purposes to entertain their customers. Females can be had for two pennies.”

“We are behind times here in Aquae Sulis,” Marcus said, silently thanking the gods that it was so, and wondering why it was that Rome was losing her glory as she became more degenerate.

They took a litter to the seamiest street in Aquae Sulis, where Magnus took his brother into a fornice that catered to depraved appetites. He paid five gold sesterces to the whoremaster, then bid Petrius goodnight. He said, grinning, “I must be getting old. The chariot races today used up all my excess energy and dawn comes early.”

“Indulge, brother, you can sleep when you’re dead!” Petrius insisted. “Or could it be your seraglio of female slaves that draws you home? Come to think of it, you have been distracted all evening. I shall return to see what the great attraction is.”

Marcus laughed. “Come anytime, Petrius. My villa is yours while you are in Aquae Sulis.”

“I accept your generosity. I prefer to sleep at the barracks with my men as they need watching, but I just might avail myself of your peristyle and your private bath.”

Relief swept over Marcus as he made his escape. Tomorrow would be a long, hard day, dominated by lessons of vicious swordplay. Then he grimaced. Marcus wasn’t deceiving himself for one minute. The strong lure that drew him home to his villa was a fascinating female who called herself Lady Diana.

Though she dreaded the arrival of the brute whose orders held her captive, Diana was enthralled as she gazed about the general’s sleeping chamber. It was so large it must have taken up one whole side of the villa. The shutters were open to reveal glazed windows, which surprised her. Hadn’t the early castles and watchtowers built centuries after the Romans left Britain used hides to cover arrow slits?

The longest wall boasted a marble hearth. Above it the entire wall was painted in a fresco. Diana went over to study it and saw that the figures depicted on the plaster were Roman gods and goddesses, most of whom were naked! Diana was fascinated; she had never seen nude bodies depicted in art before.

The dominant god at the top, gripping a golden thunderbolt, had to be Jupiter. The female below him and to his right, whose belly was swollen with child, had to be Juno, the goddess of women and childbirth. There were many others Diana did not recognize.

At the lower left of the wall was a feast, a drunken feast by the way the limbs of the bodies were wrapped about each other! Diana blushed and decided the artist was depicting Bacchus; the feast a Bacchanalia. The male bodies were magnificent with broad backs and chests, all heavily
muscled with limbs like treetrunks. The females were grossly overweight with large breasts, bellies, and thighs.

Only one female had a lithe body. She stood in a grove of trees with her hand upon a stag. She had golden hair, long bare legs, and one bared breast. The entire fresco was most disturbing. She lowered her eyes to the marble fireplace, which was black with gold veins. Beside the hearth was a huge saucer-shaped bronze brazier. Diana puzzled over its use.

Then her eyes fell upon the bed, which dominated the room. It was massive and sat high upon a platform with steps up to the dais. She supposed it could be termed a four-poster, except the posts were ceiling-high Roman columns whose tops were decorated by curled rams’ horns. The bed itself was covered with animal skins whose fur was deep-piled and glossy. On top of the furs were a dozen pillows and cushions embroidered in black, gold, and purple. It, too, was disturbing. She deliberately turned her back upon it.

In an alcove toward the back of the chamber was an ebony desk and a massive chair to go with it. There were parchments and papers with what looked and felt like heavy linen content, but the things that filled Diana with awe were the wooden and wax tablets and styluses. She ran her fingers over them reverently. She had read of such things, but never dreamed she would ever actually get to see and touch them.

Behind the desk, maps were displayed upon the wall. Three were of Bath, or Aquae Sulis as it was called. She studied them and saw that one map showed how it used to look, one how it looked at the present time, and the third showed improvements that were planned. She traced her fingertip along the Roman road known as the Fosse Way. Another, larger map, encompassed Northern England and parts of Scotland, while at least four maps depicted Wales.

The moment Diana saw the book scrolls, all her attention
became focused upon them. Obviously he read the Greek philosophers. Here were Homer and Sophocles translated into Latin by someone called Suetonius. She selected a leather box holding a scroll of Satires by Horace and, unrolling it, read at random.

Diana let the scroll reroll itself. What a disgusting philosophy! She found a history about Julius Caesar when Rome was a republic rather than an empire. She sat down in the great ebony chair and began to read. She became so absorbed, she lost track of time.

Suddenly, she heard a man’s deep voice. My God, he was come!

Marcus’ powerful body filled the doorway as he paused on the threshold. His black eyes swept over her, from her golden hair to her cork-soled sandals, and back up to her silver eyelids. Then he entered his sleeping chamber and secured the door. He came halfway across the room toward her, where the light from the torches illuminated her loveliness.

In contrast, his shadowed face looked dangerously dark. His jet black eyes missed no finest detail. He saw how the magenta silk turned her hair the color of moonbeams. Saw how it molded the globes of her upthrusting breasts, revealing their diamond-hard nipples.

He watched her jump up from the chair, saw her lips part with a tiny gasp, noticed how her delicate hands fluttered as she dropped the scroll she held.
Can she actually read?

When she stood, he watched the clinging material caress her curves. It revealed the place where her navel dipped in, and even more temptingly, where her high pubic bone raised the magenta silk to show off her delicious Mound of Venus.

His ebony eyes traveled down the slit skirt, along her slim leg to her delicate ankle and small foot. Then he
slowly reversed the direction of his gaze, allowing it to trace her body from her toes to her temples.

She was like a rare gift from the gods. Had he done something exceptionally noble and courageous recently to receive such a reward? His arousal was most pleasurable. He could feel the pulsebeat in his shaft match the one in his throat.

“Walk for me,” he said softly.

Diana was startled, both at the request and at the soft tone of his voice. Her chin went up, her eyes blazed violet fire. “Where shall I walk?” her voice dripped with sweet sarcasm. “All the way to your bed?”

“That would be my choice.” His words were direct, but the tone was low and husky. It made her belly and breasts contract with a quiver. His dark eyes saw.

“Well, it wouldn’t be my bloody choice!” she challenged recklessly.

“You
have
no choice. You are my slave,” Marcus said quietly. His look told her he would consume her, devour her. She knew deep in her bones and her belly it was inevitable. She knew in his eyes she was beautiful. She knew he desired her above all other women at that moment and the knowledge was melting her insides to molten hot lava.

It was his total masculinity that did it. He was more male than any man she had ever known or conjured in her fantasies and the innate femaleness at her core cried out for him. He had asked her to walk for him and unbelievably that is what she yearned to do. She began to pace in front of him sinuously, provocatively, sensuously, placing one high-soled foot before the other, undulating her hips, knowing the magenta silk clung to her bottom cheeks, molding them possessively.

Eve-like, she wanted to set his blood on fire. Her wicked juices were bubbling out of control, running like wildfire along her veins, all flowing to her hot woman’s center between her legs. “Your slave? What happened to
your preposterous notion that I was a spy or Druid priestess? Has all your fear of me vanished?”

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “I am a Roman. Romans do not fear women. I care naught for what you were before today. Today, whatever you were, ceased to be. From this day forth you are my slave, my property. You have only one reason for living and that reason is to please Marcus Magnus.”

As she undulated before him, displaying her fire and passion, the glint in his black eyes told her that she pleased him inordinately. The newfound female power within her surged. “Well, Roman, if it pleases you to think me your slave you may do so, but let me disabuse you of any notion that I will be your
willing
slave. Before I submit to your demands, you will have to use your whip.”

The verbal foreplay served only to whet his appetite, making him hungry for her, then ravenous. “I am a Roman. I do not need to whip my chosen slaves.” He climbed the steps to his bed, then sat upon it to remove his shin guards and sandals. The muscles of his powerful calves bulged like lumps of iron. His bare thighs looked even harder.

Diana ran her tongue over lips gone suddenly dry. She stopped pacing. She stood before him with hands on hips and mimicked him. “‘I am a Roman!’ Such bloody arrogance. You are less civilized than a savage!”

He unfastened his wide leather belt, then laid aside his short, wide gladius sword and his dagger. “Is that what you are hoping?” he asked softly. His quiet question was more menacing than if he had shouted, promising that he could be more savage than any man alive.

“My God, no,” she whispered, showing a vulnerability that deeply thrilled him, making his cock pulse savagely.

He unfastened his ornamental breastplate and the segmented bronze girdle of his cuirass, then removed them. He wore only a short white linen tunic now. He spread his knees wide, then rested his elbows upon them as he leaned toward her. “Come to me,” he ordered softly.

Marcus Magnus sat upon the high bed covered with furs as if it were a throne and he, Emperor of the World.

“No, I cannot.” Diana trembled slightly. Her refusal was no longer defiant, but it was firm.

“Give me a reason why you cannot,” he said, his eyes caressing each trembling curve.

“I am a virgin,” she blurted.

He stared at her in disbelief. “Now you are telling me you are a vestal virgin?” His voice was incredulous.

“No, not a vestal virgin—just a, virgin.”

He smote his thigh and laughed. “Impossible!” His laughter ceased. She looked as if she were serious. “You have known no man before me?” The thought that it might be possible did strange and glorious things to him.

“No, I have never known a man.”

“But that is ridiculous. It makes no sense. You are female; a female’s only purpose is to give pleasure to the male. Why are you not experienced in the ways of Venus?”

“Because I am unmarried,” she explained.

“So?” he asked, still not comprehending.

“Where I come from, a girl must remain virgin until she becomes a bride.” Diana’s cheeks were flushed with the intimacy of the subject.

“Why?” Marcus demanded. “It serves no purpose to preserve a hymen. There is no logic, no benefit.”
If that is true, why does the possibility that she is virgin drive you to the edge of madness? Why is your manroot ready to burst?

“I don’t know,” Diana whispered. “I only know that in my culture no man would take you for his wife if you were not intact. If an unmarried female is physically ruined, she is worthless and disgraced. It is the single most important thing in a young woman’s existence,”

It angered him when she spoke of her culture and her previous life. “Have I not told you that from today your past existence is wiped away? From this day—this night, you are mine. Your sole purpose in life is to pleasure me. Come!”

His voice was imperious; his face as proud as a Roman eagle.

Her anger flared immediately. “And have I not told you that I will not willingly become your slave!”

He stood up and pointed to her. “You
are
my slave, as you will soon learn!”

“Perhaps I am your slave, Roman”—she lifted her chin defiantly—“but I am not your
bed
slave. Not without a flogging! Are you savage enough to enjoy me after you have whipped me bloody?”

He descended the steps to her. Though she knew not how, Diana did not retreat from him. Marcus Magnus came so close, they were almost touching. “I shall bloody you, but my weapon will not be my whip.” His black eyes bored into hers, mastering her with his dominant presence.

Pick me up and carry me to your bed,
a wicked voice inside her cried.

He could smell the Egyptian musk and something else, far headier. His mouth descended upon hers in a kiss that was brutal in its intensity, designed to prove to her that he was the master, she the slave.

Her mouth was deliciously soft and compliant beneath his, then suddenly she fastened her sharp little teeth into his bottom lip. He had to give her golden hair a vicious tug to force her to let go.

She drew back panting, a victorious light glittering in her amethyst eyes. “’Tis I who bloodied you, Roman.”

He drew back his arm to knock her to the floor. Then it was as if the gods held back his fist to prevent him from felling her. Marcus realized with a sickening twist of his gut that if his blow had connected, he would have smashed the delicate bones of her face. He strode to the portal, flung it open, and bellowed, “Kell!”

Within a minute the slave master entered the sleeping chamber. He lowered his eyelids so that the general would not see the light of admiration that he felt for the new slave. He knew instantly that Diana had not yielded to him. Knew
also that she had kindled a towering desire in Marcus that he had never experienced for another woman. His enormous arousal lifted his linen tunic. He seethed with anger and lust, a fatal combination.

“This
lady
thinks she is too fine to come to my bed. She is not convinced that she is my slave. I am sure that between the two of us, we can persuade her to the truth that I own her. Together I know we can prevail upon her to accept her fate.”

“I will do my best, General,” Kell said. His hand fell upon the handle of his flagellum, but before he could brandish it, he was surprised to see Marcus Magnus blanch at the punishment he threatened.
He wants her desperately and he wants her unmarked. I wonder if she knows how much power that gives her?

Marcus Magnus’ face was a bronze mask. “Replace her fine silk with an ugly brown toga and cover her fancy hair with a plain head cloth. Scrub her face so that it is free of flattering lip salve and eye paint. Give her only bread and water.”

“I’ve worn ugly clothes all my life,” she cried defiantly. “It matters not one whit to me!”

“Ah, but now that you have had a taste of looking exquisite, your female vanity will not put up with ugly rags for long.”

Damn you, damn you, Marcus Magnus, you know exactly how to attack my pride.

“At five tomorrow morning put her to work scrubbing my tile floors. I believe there are at least a score in my villa. It should take her until nightfall to make every last one spotless. Then you will bring her once more to my couch and we will see if the
lady
has had a change of heart.”

Her chin went up with the hauteur of a goddess. “I shall deny you throughout eternity.”

His black eyes blazed into hers. “One way or another, I will have you on your knees to me!”

* * *

If I do not put space between them, their sparks will set the villa ablaze,
Kell thought.

Diana followed the slave master down an upper hall. He selected a small airy sleeping chamber for her and took her inside. Blazing torches showed her it was plastered in an apricot color with a terra-cotta tiled floor. A design of the Celtic Sun God, Sul, was at its center. The head of the bed was made from wrought iron, painted gold with a design of a many-rayed sun upon it. The covers were cloth of gold that looked like woven sateen and brocade.

There was a corner hearth with the same sort of oval dish atop a brazier that she had seen in the general’s chamber. There was also a dressing table with a mirror of highly polished bronze. All in all, it did not look like the room of a slave.

Kell summoned house slaves, who appeared immediately even though the hour approached midnight. In a low voice he issued his orders. When they returned, one carried in scented water and towels; another brought a plain brown linen toga and matching head cloth. A female slave stripped the bed of its fine covers while another remade it with coarse-fibered sheets. The slave set down the water bowl and stood waiting with the towel.

Kell said, “Wash your face.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Diana obeyed him.

Kell thought her skin so fine, she was lovely without the aid of paint.

A slave held out the toga. “Remove the magenta silk,” Kell said quietly.

Diana bent to remove the cork-soled sandals, then she flung them across the room. They thudded into the wall with a crash. Then she snatched up the ugly brown toga and flung it after the sandals.

Kell’s hooded gray eyes showed no emotion. He turned
to a female slave. “Remove the magenta silk.” The slave obeyed him immediately.

Diana stood tall and proud while she was deprived of her finery. Then like a prideful cat she walked to the bed and slipped between the coarse sheets.

“Leave us,” Kell ordered the house slaves. When they were alone, he spoke low. “Do not be a fool. Give him what he desires. He prides himself on his self-control. I have never seen him lust so for a woman before. Give him what he asks—it is so little. He will be more than generous to you.”

“I cannot,” she replied.

“Will not, you mean. You were so exquisitely lovely tonight, you could have seduced him with the flutter of an eyelash.” When she made no reply, Kell extinguished the torches and withdrew.

Diana lay in the darkness reflecting upon her encounter with the Primus Pilus and then Kell’s words of advice. Cleopatra had gone down as one of the greatest women in history because she had conquered Caesar and seduced the Roman general, Mark Antony. Marcus Antonius—Marcus Magnus. If she were willing, perhaps she could rival Cleopatra!