Venator, page 20
The boy sat collecting the dirty discards in his lap, keeping his scowl trained upon the ground.
‘Hello…’ He frowned and pulled out a bronze bulla. He held it up, examining the engraved initials beneath a crude shape that might be a horse. When he finally identified the characters, he whistled. ‘You weren’t kidding, little one. Unless I’m terribly mistaken, this looks like the seal of the primus pilus.’
‘It is!’ Nicomedes stretched a muddy hand upwards. ‘And it’s his property you’re messing with.’
‘Oh, dear. We can’t have that, now, can we?’ Livius curled his fist around the bulla and smiled cruelly. With his gaze locked upon the despondent Greek, he wound his arm back and threw the seal as far as he could. Nicomedes, trying desperately to watch where it landed, lost sight of it partway through its high arc.
Livius tore open the bag of nuts and grabbed a handful to stuff into his mouth. ‘Thanks for this, then.’ He held up the basket and turned away. ‘It was a pleasure doing business with you.’
Livius chuckled and strolled away from Nicomedes. He lifted his head and enjoyed the summer sun peeking through the clouds. The rays particularly accentuated the way his silver torc glinted against his neck and he arched his head proudly as he walked. He rounded the corner of a dilapidated tenement and began his circuitous route back towards the fort.
‘Livius!’
He frowned, snapping his head in the direction of the alley he’d just passed. He backed up a few steps and frowned into the shadows.
To his surprise, he found the tribune, red faced and gasping on the ground with a buxom girl beneath him. His tunic was hitched up around his hips and his loincloth pushed down around his ankles, exposing a throbbing erection. His normally stylish curls lay plastered to his head and his expression had contorted in pain. He’d pinioned his knees overtop those of the girl, whose pale buttocks quivered beneath him. He’d clapped one hand over her mouth to muffle her screams and she was biting his thumb with a force that was making him throw his head back and howl. ‘Help me out here, man!’ He cried.
Livius vaguely remembered her skulking occasionally around The Aurochs and calling the ex-legionary proprietor ‘Pa.’ She couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen years old, though she was quite plump and shapely for her age. Her long black hair had been unpinned and hung lankly about her head in wild disarray. The tribune’s free hand was currently restraining both of her own, though she continued to wrench against his hold. Her teeth sank deep into the flesh of his thumb, her dark eyes glittering with determination. A pail of water she’d drawn from a nearby cistern lay discarded a few feet from the tousling bodies, its contents spilled into the overgrown dirt. She’d no doubt be missed before long by her father.
‘Get her off me before she takes my thumb off!’ Titianus roared.
Livius hastily set the basket down and darted into the alley. He hunched before them and bopped the girl over the top of her head. She immediately released the tribune’s hand and went limp, dropping her face into the dirt.
‘Well done!’ The tribune massaged his bruised finger and spat a gob of phlegm at the slave’s feet. ‘I didn’t want the girl insensible!’
‘Sorry, sir.’ Livius backed up and grabbed the basket. ‘Should I leave you to it, then?’
Titianus looked down. He contemplated his quivering cock and growled in frustration. ‘I have no choice now, do I?!’
Livius stood, hesitant.
‘Bloody leave, why don’t you?!’ Titianus angrily pointed. ‘Stupid man, why don’t you just-,’
The tribune broke off midsentence. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as a fist-sized stone crashed against the back of his skull. He swayed momentarily before sinking to the ground, burying his face in the girl’s neck.
‘Sir!’ Livius darted forward, then suddenly hung back as he caught sight of the tribune’s attacker in the shadows.
The figure stood hunched, another rock curled within his fist. His dark tunic made him difficult to see in the shadows, though the glint of his belt had been what drew Livius’s eye. The assailant’s face was hidden behind what looked like an antique theatre mask, and its soulless expression quickened Livius’s pulse as it slowly drew near.
With a squeak, the slave turned tail and took off in the direction of the fort. He did not see the figure kneel down to shove the insensible tribune aside and begin dragging the girl back towards the caupona.
XXVI
‘
I want Unimanus, Ponticus, and Falto posted to guard duty. I’ve never seen more shiftless men dig a trench in my life!’
‘Yes, sir,’ Tullius murmured, marching in the centurion’s wake.
Decimus stormed on towards the barracks along the via principia, staring straight ahead. He carried his staff at his side, swatting away any debris that crossed his path. His helmet seemed spotless in comparison to the rest of him; his face, arms, and cuirass were caked with British mud. His optio, looking far more presentable at the end of the day’s work, trailed behind him and continued taking down Decimus’s orders on a tablet.
‘Make sure Centurion Persius and the rest of the fifth century obey my orders. If he is not before me in his undergarments when I leave my bed at dawn, I want him flogged and the century put on poor rations!’
‘Mmm,’ Tullius nodded. ‘Duly noted.’
‘That’s all for now. You’re dismissed. The rest of the night is your own.’ Decimus didn’t break stride, forging ahead. He could just make out the orderly red roof of his barracks in the distance. The British woman was there, waiting in his quarters. Decimus felt a tingle at the back of his head. The mere thought of her crafty, alluring face made him grit his teeth; despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to shake the thought of her all day.
‘Decimus.’ Tullius jogged to keep up, pulling even with him. ‘Decimus!’
‘What?’ He ground to a halt, scowling at his friend. ‘I said you were dismissed! Go! Leave!’
‘I just wondered if you might take a drink with me?’ Tullius tentatively extended a hand towards the centurion. ‘We’ve been hard at it today, you especially. I’ve heard tell that Bakari received a shipment of Falernian just yesterday. The real stuff, from a reputable dealer. Not the swill they usually try to pass off as Falernian.’
Decimus shook his head and continued walking. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’m in no mood to drink wine. The only comfort I crave after today is my own bed.’
‘Are you sure that’s wise, sir?’
He whirled around in exasperation. ‘Just what are you implying?’
‘Merely that it would probably be best to visit the baths first?’ Tullius gestured to his mud-spattered front.
Decimus fidgeted in place. His loins had been burning all day; he was pained by the thought of waiting any longer. The veins popped out on his neck as he let loose an angry cry: ‘I don’t have time for that now!’
Tullius winced and watched his friend stomp away. He hesitated for a moment, then called to his retreating back, ‘Remember your training, Decimus! Keep your wits about you in battle! You can ill afford to lose sight of your objective!’
The centurion kept moving, waving a dismissive hand over his shoulder. He knew Tullius was right; he wasn’t behaving rationally. All his senses seemed to have deserted him. The barracks loomed nearer and his stormy gaze hardened. He’d cure himself of his cursed affliction and restore his head tonight, of that he was certain.
Luciana frowned and poked her new tunics with a stick. They sloshed about in the centurion’s wash basin, leaching their muddy marks into the surrounding water. Her hated yellow tunic, a little rumpled and sweaty from being crushed underneath the decurion’s borrowed clothes, clung damply to her body. Luciana swirled the bucket of washing about and sighed. She would have to spend yet another night in this awful, smelly thing.
The door to the centurion’s quarters opened with a crash. Luciana leapt to her feet with a startled squeak when Decimus burst through the bedroom doorway a moment later. She gazed at him curiously. Were it not for his helmet, she’d have struggled to recognise him beneath the layers of dirt. His pale eyes glinted with a cold fury that made her shudder.
‘What in the name of Tartarus is that?!’ He pointed to his filthy basin.
‘Just washing a few purchases.’ Luciana lifted her nose in the air. ‘Did you really think I would take a visit to the vicus as an opportunity to run away?’
He slowly shook his head. ‘I should have known you would disobey me.’
‘And?’ She tilted her head, smiling coyly. ‘Have I disappointed you?’
He glowered at her, silently fuming.
She lifted a finger and pointed in the direction of his office. ‘I left you a little something in there.’
He regarded her for a moment longer. Luciana frowned, trying to determine just what expression might be lurking beneath the mud caking his long face. When he turned and stormed down the hall to his office, she idly followed as far as the doorway.
She leant against the wall and smirked, studying her dirty cuticles. The centurion likely had no idea that she could acquit herself in a kitchen. He was probably so unused to properly cooked meals that the radish stew and fresh barley loaf she’d left sitting on his dining table would no doubt take him by surprise.
The roar of dismay that finally dislodged her, however, had not been the reaction she expected.
‘What is the meaning of all this?!’ He reappeared in the hall, holding up the stack of grimy chits she’d discarded on his desk.
She frowned, shrugging. ‘Did you expect me to steal for you, too? I doubt you’d have approved of that!’
‘I thought you just wanted to buy food!’ He flicked through the chits, eyes widening at the amounts owed. ‘What did you go picking up clothes and jewels for?!’
‘Why does it matter?! You’ve given me next to nothing!’ Luciana pointed at her barren cupboard, her other hand balling into a fist. ‘Besides, it isn’t as if you can’t afford it! Your credit is so good in the vicus, people were practically throwing their wares at me!’
‘Have you any idea what it’s taken to earn that sort of trust?!’ He angrily kicked the wall. ‘You own more as my slave than I ever did before joining the army! And I am freeborn!’
‘So am I!’ She retorted, folding her arms.
He loomed close, scowling down at her. ‘If this is your idea of earning my trust, I should have let the tribune have you. You spoiled, selfish, stuck-up little bitch!’
She threw up an arm to strike him and he caught her wrist, holding it aloft between them. He marched forward, backing Luciana up into his bedroom. Her eyes grew round as she studied the rage glittering within his hazel depths.
‘You’d be far better suited to his idea of comfort. You’d have your own suite of rooms in the praetorium. Your own dining couch. Your own toilette. All the precious little fripperies and dresses your arms could hold. A full nine-course meal every night, in exchange for shared idle pleasures with a future senator. That’s more your style, isn’t it?’
She shook her head. ‘No…No…I’d rather-,’
‘Stop lying!’ He backed her against the bed and shook her. ‘You are trying to bankrupt me, woman! I ought to recoup my losses and sell you now!’
‘No!’ She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘No, I won’t…I won’t let…’
‘You don’t control me!’ He cried before releasing her and turning away. He slumped onto the bench before his cold hearth and buried his head in his hands.
She sat down on the edge of his bed, marvelling at how soft the mattress felt beneath her. She studied him, taking several long breaths. If she scurried away to the safety of her bed now, she knew he wouldn’t follow. He was intentionally turning his back to her. She couldn’t understand his anger, but she recognised that stubborn, remote note to his voice. How much damage had she just done to her own cause?
She lifted her head and studied the bow of his muddy shoulders. Just moments before, they’d hemmed her in. The power of his grip, the strength of his response, was frightening. Too frightening.
What did she expect? This wasn’t some violent bull she was goading. He was a trained killer in the employ of the most powerful man in the world. An entire, bottomless gulf existed between him and the brutish warriors she’d chosen to bed. It was a gulf fraught with danger.
She panted, twisting her hands about in her lap as she studied the centurion’s huddled form. Did she really want to do this?
The thought of her mother, clad in rags and curled up beside the remaining women and children of her tribe on a dirty cell floor, suddenly leapt into her mind. Her father’s words rang through her head:
‘There are other ways to live! Use your head!’
She sat up and squared her shoulders, focusing her gaze upon the centurion. She reached up and quickly flicked her tears away, arranging her expression into a seductive pout. ‘What…’ She cleared her throat, ‘what if…I wanted you to control me?’
A strangled moan rattled in the back of his throat. ‘Stop playing games with me, princess!’
‘I’m not.’ She stood and slowly sauntered over to gaze down at him. She twisted a foot idly, smiling down at the top of his bowed helmet. ‘I’m sorry you’re displeased. All I wanted was to make you happy, my lord.’
‘Fuck off!’ He leapt to his feet, meeting her gaze once more.
She shrugged, a playful smile tugging at her lips. ‘But I am your slave. And I am yours to command.’
Decimus took one look at her fine, delicate face, aglow from the light of the window’s dying rays, and closed the distance between them. He roughly grabbed her shoulders and planted his lips over hers.
She moaned and shut her eyes, feeling her body come alive at his touch. A warmth ignited within her core and coursed through her limbs, alighting all her nerves. She savoured the feel of his stiff muddy whiskers against her face. Luciana leant into him and stretched her arms up to link them around his neck.
As soon as he felt her touch, Decimus wrenched his mouth away. ‘No.’ He pulled her arms down and held them at her sides. ‘We do this my way.’
He shuffled her over to his trunk, maintaining his firm grip. Luciana suddenly gasped when his hands travelled up her shoulders, took hold of her sleeves, and shucked the yellow tunic from her body in one powerful, sweeping motion. She trembled, gazing up at him as he took in her nakedness for the very first time.
She felt Decimus’s eyes travel down her fine form. He saw she was every bit as beautiful as her figure had suggested. Her toned, supple limbs and limber spine testified to her strength and agility. Her small, gentle curves gave way to a sloping hip and sensuous waist. The golden tuft between her legs, tumbling from her core in unruly curls, quivered in expectation. Gooseflesh had pimpled her small breasts; they stood pertly at attention. A large, intricate woad tattoo criss-crossed and spiralled over her left shoulder. Even her face, marred by his muddy kiss, looked lovelier than before. Her cagey green eyes were softened by lowered lids; her pillowed lips, streaked with dirt, had gently parted. She panted, studying his gaze in satisfaction.
Decimus shuddered and swayed on his buckling knees. A high whine strained at the back of his throat. Oh, Luciana. No sculptor or painter has ever done the divine Venus such favours as the gods have seen fit to bestow upon you.
She smiled, reading the fatuous desire in Decimus’s fascinating pale eyes. ‘Do I please you?’ she murmured.
Decimus quickly shook his head, remembering himself. He reached down into his trunk and pulled out a long coil of rope. He noisily cleared his throat. ‘I will take no chances with your charms tonight.’
She sighed and held up her wrists, allowing them to be bound once more. She frowned while he worked; he was using a far longer cord than he had previously. Once her hands were firmly restrained, the centurion held them down in front of her and began to wind the remaining rope around her torso.
Decimus gathered her long, thick hair up in one of his hands and held it out of the way as he ran the rope around and around her, criss-crossing her arms and shoulders. Her breasts were left exposed, expertly rigged up and apart with his weaving. His mouth curled in satisfaction as he noticed Luciana suddenly stand up straighter.
A small moan escaped her throat. His sure, deft touch, his handling of her mane, the feel of the bonds around and between her breasts had turned her into a shuddering, sensitive wreck. She closed her eyes and swayed slightly on her feet. For a man so cold and distant, he certainly knew his way around a woman’s body. A small voice in the back of her mind chided her for succumbing so easily to the centurion’s roughly defined lovemaking, but she couldn’t make herself care. So what if he was a Roman? She wanted him to want her. And, if she was being honest with herself, she desperately craved his touch.
‘Walk.’ He prodded her firmly in the back. Luciana obligingly stumbled forward until she came to the foot of his bed. Decimus placed his palm between her shoulders and shoved her face down onto the sheets.
She cried out when her breasts, hardened from the stimulation, broke her fall. Her head fell forwards onto the musty blankets and she inhaled the stale, acrid odour of the centurion’s sweat. Suddenly, she froze as she felt the rope begin to wind its way down her right leg.
Decimus was silently focused on his task, carefully weaving the bonds so that they caused no unnecessary discomfort. He took hold of her thin calf and stretched it out to the side before bending it back at the knee. He snaked the rope over it and wrapped it down about her ankle, which he secured to the ties crisscrossing her back. He stood back and studied his work, giving Luciana a moment to consider how thoroughly he’d contained her. Trussed up as she was, she would not be able to work her alluring magicks on him; her body was his to command.
