Venator, page 25
Decimus shifted in his seat uncomfortably. ‘And why is it any of your concern?’
‘Just wondering if our paths shall cross again.’ Titianus smirked. ‘I’ll be heading back to pursue a quaestorship come spring. And my promotion is assured. I don’t have to bother telling you who my connections are. Let’s just say that I would be quite the valuable ally or quite the powerful enemy.’
‘Your connections are too rich for my blood; I think I’ll remain neutral.’
‘I hardly think you can value neutrality when it comes to me, Centurion.’
Decimus impatiently drummed his fingers on the table. ‘You know nothing about the business that interests me,’ he said at last.
‘Hmm…’ Titianus pretended to mull over Decimus’s words. ‘I don’t know about that. I do know that if you want to breed nags for the imperial army, you’re going to need a contract. One taken out with the palace.’
Decimus abruptly stopped drumming his fingers. He eyed the tribune suspiciously. ‘And?’
‘Well, I’m hardly one to brag, but…I do have friends in high places.’ Titianus shrugged. ‘Ones that have the ability to push for or against the success of such a petition.’
Decimus felt a cool chill from the smile Titianus gave him. He forced himself to bark out a laugh. ‘You’re bluffing.’
Titianus picked up his beaker and idly swirled its contents. ‘Find out at your peril, Centurion.’
‘I value my time, Tribune. And you are wasting it.’ Decimus pushed his chair back and stood.
‘Hold on!’ A note of alarm entered Titianus’s voice. He lifted a hand in protest. ‘Aren’t you curious as to what I’ve got to say?’
‘No.’ Decimus picked his helmet off the table and turned to leave. ‘I’ve played in this little farce for long enough!’
‘It concerns the princess.’
Decimus froze. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. ‘What about her?’
Titianus gestured to the vacant seat. He smiled as the centurion reluctantly sat back down. ‘Good, good. Now, let’s discuss this properly.’ He linked his fingers together on the tabletop, twiddling his soft, doughy thumbs. ‘I understand from our quartermaster that you purchased the princess from the legion two months ago for the sum of five hundred denarii. Is that correct?’
Decimus curtly nodded.
Titianus met the centurion’s gaze. He paused for a long moment, leaning over the table. ‘I’ll give you a thousand denarii for her.’
‘I’m sorry, Tribune.’ Decimus quickly stood again. ‘My slave is not for sale.’
‘Twelve hundred denarii!’
‘Not for that price. Not for any price.’ He clapped his helmet back on his head and began making his way towards the door.
Titianus stood and followed him down the hall. ‘Fifteen hundred denarii!’
‘At any price, Tribune!’ Decimus called warningly, refusing to break stride.
‘All right, all right!’ Titianus grabbed at the centurion’s shoulder. Decimus halted and whirled around to face him with a snarl. The tribune backed away, holding his hands up defensively. ‘Eighteen hundred denarii for one night. Just one night with her. Otherwise, she’s yours. Eighteen hundred denarii. One night. My final offer.’
Decimus’s face darkened. He loomed over the cowering tribune and grabbed hold of his neckerchief. ‘Do I look like a pimp to you?’
‘I…I just…’ Titianus choked.
‘Do I look like a pimp to you?!’ Decimus shook Titianus, lifting him onto his toes. With a contemptuous grunt, he tossed him onto the tiled floor. The man skidded roughly against the tesserae before slowing to a halt before his gilded lararium.
‘Stay away from my property, Tribune. Consider this your final warning.’ Decimus turned and stalked out the door.
Livius materialised in the hall and hastened to his master’s side.
‘Get off!’ Titianus kicked at Livius when the slave stooped to help him up. He panted, lifting his head to watch the centurion march away towards the barracks. Hate glistened in his beady dark eyes.
XXXI
D
ecimus stormed into his quarters and stopped short just inside his bedroom doorway. He was immediately greeted by the sight of Luciana’s bare backside. She sat facing away from him, soaking her tunic in a bucket of soapy water. Her long golden mane cascaded down her shoulders and pooled around her shapely bottom. The amber beads in her plaits gleamed in the dim firelight.
‘Oh, dear.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘You’ve caught me at a bad time.’ Her lips curled into a sensuous smile.
Decimus fell to his knees behind her. He gently placed his broad hands on her shoulders and buried his nose in her hair. His helmet tumbled over her shoulder and crashed to the floor in front of her. She suddenly stiffened when he brushed against a large bronze hairpin protruding from one of her plaits, then slowly relaxed as he turned to bury his cheek in her soft tresses. The scent of her, potent with hay and horse manure, brought a smile to his lips and a pleased groan from deep within his chest. His whiskered lips trailed down to her neck, seeking her comely flesh.
A small moan escaped Luciana’s throat. Her eyelids fluttered in response to his touch. His searing kisses and soft nibbles pimpled her skin and sent shivers down her spine. Her hands stilled, falling uselessly to her sides.
Decimus trailed farther down her shoulder until he came to her woad-dyed skin. He began tracing his tongue along the tattoo’s intricate design.
Luciana’s smile grew wide. ‘You like it?’
‘Mmm.’ Decimus lifted his head and nuzzled her cheek. ‘It’s exquisite.’ He began running his index finger along the path his tongue had taken, following the interweaving swirls and waves. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It symbolises the mating of Danu and Cernunnos, which created my people.’ Luciana half turned and snuggled against the centurion’s armour. She drew her gaze down demurely. ‘All living things spring from Danu, the Earth Mother. Even you. She’s the most powerful force among us. Cernunnos, our patron god, rules the hunt and all things wild. Their joining created the Cornovii.’
‘It certainly did, my wild goddess.’ Decimus enveloped her in his arms and kissed her golden crown. ‘Though I doubt your Earth Mother had a hand in making Romans.’
‘Why? What were you told about the Roman race?’ Luciana lifted a hand and caressed his wiry, grey-streaked beard.
‘That two twin boys, sired by Mars, were found by a she-wolf beside the Tiber. She nursed them to health. One brother killed his twin and then founded the city of Rome.’
Luciana frowned. ‘So cold and martial. I don’t like it.’ Her fingers drifted up and delicately traced the jagged lines of the scar that marred his cheek. ‘It figures your race believes they sprang from such cruelty.’
He stiffened and guided her fingers around to his neck. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Luciana stroked the base of his neck and sighed. She gazed for an interminable moment into his eyes. ‘You’re a cool brute.’
‘And you, princess, are nothing but fire.’ Decimus lowered his head and kissed her.
Luciana closed her eyes, receiving and returning the passionate urgency of his lips. The desire coursing between them both threatened to carry them away. Decimus tightened his grasp about her waist, cradling her in his arms. He was conscious of her supple skin flinching away from the hard metal of his armour and winced; he didn’t want to hurt her, but he likewise didn’t want to push her away.
In the end, she reluctantly pulled back and gazed up into the centurion’s rueful face. ‘Cassia sends her love, by the way.’
‘Cassia?’ He frowned.
‘Your oldest and dearest friend, remember?’ Luciana tucked in her chin, mimicking the prostitute’s wide-eyed pout. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t find out about her?’
‘Where did you run into Cassia?’
‘At the market.’ She nodded at the pile of purchases she’d heaped on top of his bed.
Decimus lifted his head and eyed them appraisingly. ‘What are all those skins doing there? I thought I sent you out for clothes.’
‘They are clothes, silly!’ Luciana laughed and began to unfasten the straps of his cuirass. ‘And they’ll be far warmer this winter than anything you’d find in Rome.’
He grunted contemptuously, helping her with his straps. ‘As long as one’s fine with looking like a native savage.’
‘I had no idea you took issue with my appearance.’
He harrumphed, admiring her teasing expression. ‘You wear it better than most of your kind.’
She bit back a retort and lowered her eyes. ‘All right, then. Tell me about Rome.’
‘Why?’ Decimus unbuckled his belt and lifted the cuirass over his head.
‘I want to know why you love it so much.’ Luciana reached up and toyed with the ends of his brown neckerchief. One hand fell to caress his broad, solid torso. His strong, tanned arms wrapped themselves back around her shoulders. She squeezed his arms and gazed up at him with an expression of wonder; how had the broad, brawny heap of muscle and gristle beneath her hands ever once been the weedy child of Cassia’s reminisces?
He smiled at her for a long moment. One hand brushed away her hair and cradled her chin in his calloused palm. ‘Rome is the seat of civilisation. It represents knowledge and strength. It is the jewel of the modern world. The gods have favoured Rome with triumph, bountiful treasures, and empire. It is warm and beautiful.’ His affectionate eyes bored into hers. ‘It is home.’
‘Where you court the company of slaves and whores!’ She giggled softly and kissed the end of his patrician nose. ‘Some home!’
‘Don’t hold that against me.’ Decimus rocked the Briton in his arms. ‘After all, you’re a slave yourself.’
‘If I’d known your standards were higher, I wouldn’t have debased myself so!’ Luciana curled against his sweaty red tunic and nestled her head beside his strong, drumming heart.
‘Oh, come, my little viper!’ Decimus kissed her hair. ‘Surely a woman of your beauty has scored many a mark before me.’
She stiffened and Decimus felt a change within her. ‘No…not many.’ She blew out a long, shaky breath. ‘Only one. One who…saw Rome the way you do.’
‘Well, you know my past, so tell me.’ Decimus sat up, pulling away to see her face. ‘Who was this man? Prince or slave?’
Luciana looked down at the floor. ‘A Roman,’ she whispered.
Decimus stiffened. He set his jaw, eyes blazing angrily. ‘I will murder Julianus Titianus in his bed this moment if he’s so much as touched you.’
‘Not Titianus,’ Luciana shook her head. ‘Have you ever heard of a man by the name of Gaius Nerfinius? He lived in these parts not so long ago.’
He drew his severe brows together in a studious frown. After a long pause, he turned back to Luciana. ‘Older chap, short grey hair, the look of a hawk about his face?’
She silently nodded.
‘It’s been a long time since I’ve passed his face in the vicus. I think I’d heard him mentioned in connexion with some school of philosophy in Parthia several years ago.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Luciana spat contemptuously. ‘He left for Parthia quite suddenly, telling everyone he was desperately needed to educate the king’s children! So convenient that this posting occurred right after several British chieftains discovered he’d been courting their daughters at the same time!’
‘And you were one of them?’
Tears welled within Luciana’s eyes. She kept her gaze averted, trained to the wooden floor. ‘I was sent to him after the invasion made clear your lot was here to stay.’ She sniffed and took several shaky breaths before continuing: ‘I was to learn your alphabet; to read it, write it, and speak it. My brother received further lessons in mathematics and rhetoric that are considered wasted on silly girls like me.’
She reached up and palmed furiously at her eyes. ‘That didn’t mean Nerfinius considered my education concluded. It’s just…his lessons followed…a different set of curricula…’
XXXII
Londinium, British Frontier, AD 45
‘
Her chastity melted
In a furnace of desire and she made up her mind.
So first they went to the shrines and sought placation…’
Luciana glanced up from the scroll and felt a thrill race down her spine at the steady look her tutor was giving her. She had no pretence of being his star pupil among the British children, but his attentions didn’t go unnoticed. Every time an approving smile curled across his lips, a shy flush arose in her cheeks.
By attending Nerfinius’s school, Luciana and her brother would be the first of the Cornovii capable of reading and writing the language of the Romans. Luciana had come so far in her lessons that she could speak Latin better than even some of the Romans in Londinium. Her ability to understand these people would likely prove vital in days to come. If the army truly was here for the long haul, such skills would place the Cornovii prince and princess in a very powerful position once they were old enough to partake in tribal politics.
She presently lifted her head and met Nerfinius’s gaze. Luciana took a measure of pride in her accomplished resume, and she had the man seated before her to thank.
Gaius Nerfinius, though younger than her father, was old enough to have fathered her. The soft lines cutting into his chiselled, clean-shaven face lent him an air of wisdom appropriate for his role as an educator. His white hair, cut short into a Roman military crop, emphasized his age and maturity. For reasons she couldn’t explain, these qualities excited her girlish heart. He wore a sombre dark toga over his plain clothes and precious little jewellery, indicative of his lowly status as a teacher. A singular golden band, a Saturnalia present from Luciana’s own teeming jewel box, nestled firmly upon the small finger of his left hand.
That hand currently sat upon his crooked knee, propped up from where he reclined in learned grace upon the floor. The fingers gestured encouragingly for her to continue as he flashed her a brilliant, toothy smile.
Luciana bit her lip and steadied the scroll in her hands.
‘How beautiful Dido was, the cup in her right hand
As she poured the libation down between the horns
Of a milk-white cow – before the gods were alive
To their heaped altars, she had hallowed the day
With gifts, and into the riven breasts of the beasts
She peered with parted lips in divination
Of the quivering live-yet entrails.’
She steadied her breath and risked a glance at Nerfinius’s warm grin again. ‘Sir, I…I didn’t think Virgil’s wording would be quite so…so…’
He cocked his head. ‘Sensual?’
She nodded.
‘I expect, young Luciana, that Virgil couldn’t help but code the queen in such a way. You see, Dido was a beautiful, exotic, emotional, and powerful young ruler.’ He balled his tongue into the corner of one cheek, raking his eyes up and down his young charge. ‘She naturally suggests…sensuality.’
Luciana squirmed, trying to smile and failing as her shyness overwhelmed her. She put down the scroll and studied her feet.
To her surprise, the old tutor’s bony fingers stretched out and gently caressed her ankle. He brushed up against the bangle she’d purchased at a market stall just the day before, letting his touch linger.
Luciana frowned and looked up at Nerfinius’s face.
‘I think you’ve perhaps exposed a staggering shortcoming in the education I’ve thus far provided.’ He continued languidly stroking her foot before gradually letting his hand creep up her leg. It stopped and fastened itself about her knee. ‘I can’t in good conscience let you go without a proper understanding of the word “sensual.”’ He studied her for a long moment, searching her face. ‘What sort of a tutor would I be?’
‘I don’t know,’ she squeaked. ‘What sort of a tutor are you?’
He abruptly stood and held out his hand to her. Luciana tentatively took it and let herself be hauled upright. He led her across the atrium and paused at the doorway to a crudely fenced courtyard. There, Luciana could see her brother still hard at work upon a series of wood panels, dabbing at them with a delicate horsehair brush. His instructor frowned over his shoulder, pointing out mistakes and murmuring corrections in the boy’s ear. To Timoteo’s right, a dark-haired Silure boy sat with arms folded over his knees, pointedly ignoring his sketchbook.
Nerfinius smirked and pulled her back into the atrium. They ducked up a ladder that led to a series of sparse, simple bedrooms. He guided her into one sitting in the far corner and locked the heavy privacy door behind them.
Viroconium, British Frontier, AD 49
Luciana buried her face within the filly’s neck and sighed contentedly. ‘Oh, thank you, Father!’
‘Think nothing of it.’ Gruffydd leant upon his staff and smiled. ‘You are more than old enough and know what you need to try your hand. It will take the trials of experience to finish teaching you what you wish to learn about raising and training a horse.’
‘I understand the responsibility.’ Luciana stroked her hand along the chubby foal’s back and laughed when the filly bolted out of her arms. ‘You set such a store by our herd.’
He studied the youngster’s jerky gambol through the grass. ‘That one looks like she has speed to spare. If you train her properly, perhaps someday she’ll be capable of beating an Iceni horse in the Beltaine races.’ A small smile pulled at his thin lips. ‘How I’d love to see Prasutagus toppled from his perch!’
‘There’s more than one man who knows how to breed a horse, Father.’ Luciana placed a hand on his arm. ‘And I’m going to help you prove it.’
They both followed the muddy brown filly’s progress across the field. Her little legs pounded the earth in large strides that jerked her compact body forward. Her tiny ears lay flat against her head, the black tuft of a mane she’d been born with the day before stood entirely on end. When she reached the herd of calmly grazing horses, she let out a high-pitched squeal and reared, tucking her forelegs neatly underneath her. As soon as she crashed to the ground, she trotted up to her mother’s distended belly and poked her mealy nose up at the mare’s udder, seeking her next meal.
