The Adventures of a Roman Slave

by Lisa Cach

  Mordred, too, had to bow to his host’s judgment if he wished to stay in Horsa’s good graces and have a chance at the hand of Wynnetha. With hands hovering over sword hilts, dirty glares, and muttered curses, we all tromped back to the great hall.

  After each side had laid out his arguments—and arguments they were, with shouting and accusations—and Terix and I were allowed to explain ourselves, we all fell silent and awaited Horsa’s decision on who, if anyone, was to take possession of me.

  Horsa sat in his big wooden chair and scratched at his ear, his brow furrowed. His eyes flicked between his prospective son-in-laws, rested on Fenwig for a long moment of annoyance—one could almost hear his thought, Who invited him?—and then turned on me with a look suggesting he’d rather have a tapeworm in his gut than me in his hall. The tapeworm would be an easier problem to solve. The tapeworm wouldn’t have sung a queer song about his beloved daughter walking over bloody bones and crawling into a cauldron, either.

  Horsa gave off scratching his ear in favor of sucking his upper lip. When it popped free of his teeth, pink and wet, we knew he’d made his decision.

  “You,” he said, pointing to Maerlin and Arthur, “make no claim on the woman?”

  I watched Arthur, seeking some gesture of reassurance, some half-hidden motion that said he was not as blandly unconcerned as he appeared. As in the amphitheater, he avoided my gaze. I knew he’d sworn to wed Wynnetha if she’d have him, but still. His sense of our futures being linked was worth nothing, if this was how quickly he shook it off.

  When both Maerlin and Arthur declined to claim me, Horsa said, “Good.” He moved his gaze to me. “You are not a Frank, you left Gaul of your own choice, you are a free woman, and you have no husband?”

  I nodded.

  “This is true?” he asked Fenwig, who stood with his feet apart, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as if awaiting orders.

  “Yes.”

  Horsa clasped his hands together and nodded in approval of his own thinking. “Then Clovis has no rights here.”

  Fenwig jerked. I started to smile, but then Horsa’s eyes moved to Mordred, and I felt my breath freeze in my throat.

  “You captured Nimia and the man on your own land. They are therefore yours, so long as you wish to keep them. Though Woden only knows why you would. You bring ill fortune upon yourself with one such as she.”

  Mordred bowed to Horsa, his mustache stretching in pleasure even as my innards ran cold. “Your wisdom is as great as your justice.”

  Justice! Wisdom!

  Maybe I should have been wiser myself and claimed to have fled Clovis. Fenwig was only one man, and if given into his hands, we could have escaped from him. Mordred had an army. I cursed my stupidity.

  Mordred went on, “To make amends for the disruption we have brought you, I give you the man, Terix, as an offering to the irminsul.”

  “No!” I cried.

  Terix spluttered a protest and was grabbed from behind by Uern and another of Mordred’s men. They gagged and bound him and dragged him off.

  “No!” I spun and dashed to Maerlin and Arthur. “Help us!” I grabbed Arthur’s arm and forced him to look at me. “Arthur?”

  His jaw tightened, and very carefully, with infinite care, he pried my fingers from his arm. I sucked in a breath like a sob and turned to Maerlin.

  Maerlin held up his hands. “It’s out of our control.”

  “The chalice,” I said in Phannic. “The cauldron that you seek. You won’t get it without me.”

  He smiled softly and shook his head. “My darling, I already have it. No, don’t look so heartbroken! It’ll be safe with me. You wouldn’t want Mordred to get his hands on it, would you?”

  The world seemed to fade around me, and all I could see were his light green eyes, so deceptively like innocent springtime. “But how did you find it? I moved it.”

  “If I could see you had it amongst your things, don’t you think I could also see the only hiding place you knew of to put it?” He smiled boyishly. “Or maybe I had you watched until I saw Terix hide a bundle under the floorboards.”

  He’d taken it. My chalice. He’d pried the information from my mind and stolen it.

  All hope drained away.

  Maerlin laid his hand along my cheek and bent close, whispering, even though only we could understand our tongue. “I told you to trust me.”

  I jerked back, but he grabbed the back of my head and held me close as I strained to get away.

  “Your power lies in spreading your thighs. Welcome Mordred’s seed when he spends it within you.”

  I spat in his face.

  Terix. Terix. Terix.

  With each pacing step in my cell, I said his name, seeking to calm the panic that clouded my thoughts and made it impossible to think of a way out of this.

  Terix. Terix. Terix.

  He would be sacrificed to the Saxons’ tree-god image—or whatever an irminsul was—at dawn. And I didn’t know how to save him.

  I was locked up in the ruins of a Roman house, one corner of which still stood, complete with tiled roof. Mordred had sensed that it was better to have me out of Horsa’s sight than in it; and it was also easier to control me in a cage than in the open chaos of the great hall.

  Terix. Terix. Terix.

  I had two guards, on whom I’d already tried the obvious plan: seduce one and in the midst of sex cut his throat with his own knife, hoping any noises of struggle would be mistaken by a listener for wild romping; call in the second guard for the same treatment; run; find where Terix was being held; repeat method.

  Neither of my guards had responded to my invitations to join me in my pen, however, no matter how I cooed to them, promising, in my halting Gaulish, all manner of depravity.

  Maybe the Gaulish was to blame; perhaps I sounded as if I was threatening their mentulas instead of promising to pleasure them.

  Think, Nimia! Think!

  Terix.

  Terix.

  Terix.

  My prison had once had blue walls, though they were chipped and faded now. One wall was decorated with a still-bright mosaic of Daphne turning into a tree, to escape the amorous attentions of Apollo.

  At least Apollo looked like more fun than Mordred.

  I’d been here all afternoon, in three small connecting rooms that had no doors, though there was a rough one, Saxon-made, that blocked the entrance to the rest of the ruin. A pile of empty sacks and traces of wool suggested the rooms were used for storage of the spring fleeces. The cracked cement floor was buried in a fine layer of dirt, with tufts of grass and weeds sprouting along the base of the walls, where the dirt had been blown in small drifts. The windows were too high to reach and too small to crawl through even if I could. I was well and truly stuck.

  Voices murmured outside the door in the outermost room. I was coming through the second room when the door opened on the gray light of late afternoon, and Daella came in, a large basket dragging down one arm. I rushed to her as the door shut, grabbing her shoulders. “What of Terix?”

  She stepped back at my vehemence, eyes wide and blinking. “They tie him up, in a stable.”

  “Is there a guard on him?”

  “Uern. He hits Terix. Kicks. Another guard watches and laughs.”

  I sucked in a breath. I’d kill them. Kill them! “We have to get him out of here. He can’t be sacrificed. He can’t.”

  “I know.” Daella set down the basket and squatted to unload it: a fur, two goblets, a jug of wine, roast pheasant and a wedge of cheese, tallow lamps, and a tinder kit to light them.

  I squatted down beside her. “What is all this?”

  “My excuse to talk to you,” she whispered, casting a look over her shoulder at the door. “Mordred tells Maerlin he makes you scream with pleasure; he makes you his bed slave; he makes you want in your mo
uth his . . . his . . .”

  “I get the idea.”

  “So I ask Mordred if I can bring you the fur, for you and him, tonight. For his comfort. He says yes, looks like—” She mimicked a panting dog. “Says bring wine, lamps, too.”

  “Clever Daella,” I said, though inside I grimaced. Wine, a prison cell, and an angry, lusting warlord. What woman wouldn’t be swooning with delight? I was surprised Mordred would try to take me while still here in Calleva. But then I remembered his face, purple with rage. He was not one to let his revenge grow cold with waiting.

  I tried very hard not to think about it. I’d curl up in a corner if I did.

  Daella lifted out a small ceramic bottle with a wood stopper. “For making the guts run, very bad, very long time. Grandmother gives it to me for Uern, so I can leave him and go to Corinium.”

  My spirits instantly soared, and I laughed, then held her cheeks and gave her a big kiss on the brow. “You can use it on him and the other guard tonight and free Terix. And on my guards and Mordred, too!”

  But Daella was shaking her head. “Only enough for one man, maybe two.”

  “Oh.” I plopped backward onto my rump, my bright hopes crashing.

  “If I free Terix . . .” Daella said.

  “You can’t free me.”

  She nodded, her eyes big with worry.

  I stroked the fur and caught a tuft of hair between my fingers and twirled it. It was very soft. At least I wouldn’t be lying on dirt when he took me. I looked at the two goblets. Or thirsty. Which made me wonder, did Mordred think he could turn this into a seduction? He couldn’t be that laughably sure of his appeal, could he?

  Yes. Yes, he could.

  “You have to give the potion to Terix’s guards,” I said. “Get him out of here and head for Corinium. Fenwig or Arthur can tell you which direction to go.”

  “They left.”

  “All of them?”

  She nodded.

  “Oh, Daella. You should have gone with them!”

  Daella straightened up, her jaw setting. “No! I have honor. I do not leave my friends when there is trouble.”

  I touched her arm in thanks, although I did wish she had gone with them. It would have meant she was safe. Now I would worry about both her and Terix.

  Arthur and Maerlin were gone. So they really didn’t care. Some part of me hadn’t believed it, had believed it a sham. But no, they had said they would not fight for me, and they were men of their word. I supposed that Fenwig had gone to report to Clovis, as there was little chance of his stealing me away from Mordred.

  That left as my allies a fourteen-year-old girl, a storyteller tied up awaiting sacrifice, and a dog.

  I’d had less and survived. Knowing that Maerlin, Arthur, and Fenwig had all abandoned us to our fate, however, left me feeling achingly alone. Each of them, in his own way, had led me to believe I mattered, and I would have rather never felt the comforting cloak of their care than to have it pulled away like this, as if stripping me bare in the midst of a snowstorm.

  “Take the donkeys and head northwest,” I said. The donkeys were slow, but they were ours. If Daella stole horses, Mordred would be certain to pursue, whereas he might not bother otherwise, especially if they had a long enough head start. He’d never shown interest in Daella, and he’d given Terix away. “Take Bone, if he’ll go with you. You can ask directions along the way. Maybe you can even catch up to Arthur. They might not go too far before stopping for the night.”

  “But you—”

  “Terix will be alive. Nothing else matters.” I pushed to my feet, picked up the fur, and shook it out. I tried to sound unconcerned with anything but practicality. “I’ll keep Mordred busy. If someone notices that you and Terix are gone, they might not think it worth their skin to interrupt his . . . fun and tell him so. And I doubt they’d decide on their own to go after you.”

  Daella stood, and I saw that her brown eyes were pooled with tears. She flung her arms around my waist and hugged me, snuffling into my hair. She was as tall as me, and heavier, but I did what any mother figure would do and murmured soothing sounds while stroking her hair. I was as much comforted by the warm embrace as she likely was.

  “You’ll see; it will all come right,” I said.

  I wondered if she believed it any more than I did.

  My darling, I’m in here,” I called to the shadows beyond the doorway, hoping the tremble in my voice sounded more like desire than fear. I was in the innermost room of my prison, kneeling naked on the fur, the tallow lamps sputtering and stinking of sheep along the base of the wall. I had heard Mordred talk with the guards, then come inside, the door shutting firmly behind him. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  I heard his footsteps in the second room, then saw his broad shape emerging out of the dark, coming toward my doorway. Gods, he was built like a stone fort. This had better work; if he attacked me, there would be precious little I could do to defend myself. No one had ever physically hurt me the way I feared he might; no one had ever forced his way between my thighs in the heat of raging violence.

  Mordred stepped into the meager light, a strutting mass of plaid, leather, and facial hair, and then stopped dead. His hands jerked, his fingers spreading with his surprise, and the leer on his face froze.

  I was sitting on my heels, my knees wide apart, my tattooed sex exposed. My hair fell loose down my back, brushing my buttocks. I took my nipples between thumbs and forefingers and rolled them. “Look how hard they are for you,” I cooed. “They ache for your lips.”

  Mordred creaked and swayed, blown by the shock of my behavior. I lowered one hand slowly, caressingly, down my body. His blue eyes followed, wide as an owlet’s.

  “And here,” I said, tracing my fingertips over the petals of my sex. “I cannot forget how you touched me here.” I closed my eyes, threw my head back, and stroked myself. It was easier not to look at him, less embarrassing. I could pretend he wasn’t there, watching me try to pleasure myself. “Every night as I pet myself, I imagine it is you touching me with your strong hands.” Supporting myself on my other arm, I arched my back upward and plunged my middle finger into my depths. “Your cock inside me.” I rocked my hips to meet my own thrusting hand and hoped the blush I felt heating my chest would be mistaken for arousal.

  Guttural Brittonic words rumbled from Mordred’s throat.

  I eased off the thrusting and pulled my finger out, then dragged it up my folds. Thank the gods I had so much practice dancing before an audience; I could almost pretend this was the same. I rose from the fur and slithered toward him. His face, even in the faint light, was losing its color. He drew his head back as I came closely up to him, my body only a hand’s breadth from his. I raised my damp finger to his lips and pressed it against them. “Taste me.”

  I’d gotten this idea from the wine and goblets, speaking as they did of seduction. Mordred had shown time and again that he loved to be in control and to have power over women, especially. How, I’d wondered, would he react to being the target of seduction, the pursued rather than the pursuer? Flirtation might feed his confidence, but what if a woman he half thought a sorceress were to stalk him as if he were a rabbit and she a starving wildcat?

  His meaty hand locked onto my wrist and jerked my arm down. “Spells!”

  Yes!

  “Only the spell of your body on mine.” I reached under the hem of his tunic and laid my free hand against his rod through his breeches. It was semirigid, and I rubbed the heel of my palm against its head until I felt it thickening. I whimpered in hunger. “You cast the spell when you touched me. Now I must have you. All of you. I must make you mine.” I wrapped my hand around his cock and held tight as I pressed my body against his and growled. I scraped my teeth against the base of his neck and whispered, “Mine forever.”

  His reaction was so strong and sudden I didn’t even know what
was happening until I found my hand pried loose and my body tumbling to the fur, flung there by Mordred. I brushed black strands of hair out of my eyes and saw him turned sideways to me, arms bent and one knee raised, his eyes showing white like those of a horse shying from a snake.

  “Mordred, my love,” I complained, reaching for him.

  “Back!” He held his palms out at me.

  “But I want you.” I crawled a step toward him. “Please, my darling. My passage aches for you.” Two more crawled steps. “My cunny needs to swallow you.”

  He backed up, through the doorway.

  It was working!

  I shoved up onto my feet and launched myself at him. He let out a girlish shriek and stumbled backward until he came up against a wall. He spread his hands against it as if he could push through, then fumbled for his knife—which wasn’t there. He must have disarmed before coming in, for fear of my laying hands on a weapon at a vulnerable moment.

  “Hush, my darling,” I said, moving slowly toward him, using my dancer’s training to undulate my body in what was—according to Terix—a disturbing, unnatural way belonging more to a lizard than a woman. I flicked my tongue out, as if tasting the air.

  His eyes rolled, and his hands fisted. I realized just in time that I was pushing him too far, too fast. He was cornered and in his desperation might spring at me, and I had no desire to be pummeled by those meaty fists. Neither did I want him to flee my prison; I wanted him here, where he could not foul up Daella and Terix’s escape.

  This wasn’t quite how I’d pictured things going. I’d thought to unnerve and thus tame him and then to spend half the night letting him get his courage back up. He was not unattractive in face or body, much as I despised the man within. I’d thought that if I could be the one in control, I might be able to bear coupling with him; I might even find a way to enjoy it. Better to use his body for my meager pleasure than to be used by him for his.