Slaves to Love - One

by J. P. Bowie

  The past weeks had been hard on all of us. The trek north, through harsh winter conditions, had taxed the strength of all but the strongest men. Disaster was almost upon us at Picenum, when we were faced with the largest army Rome had ever sent against us.

  But the gods were still with us it seemed, for the bad weather that had dogged us for weeks now become our ally. From our vantage point atop a hill, we watched as the driving wind and snow hampered the Roman foot soldiers’ attempts to climb the rocky slopes in any kind of disciplined order. The men became disoriented. The relentless barrage of our arrows and spears decimated their ranks, and forced them into a haphazard retreat. Even more were killed as they fled, but once the weather had cleared, they were back with an even greater force.

  This time, although once more we were victorious, we suffered more losses than at any other time. Spartacus himself was wounded—a sword thrust to his back, just under his left shoulder. Though in excruciating pain, he had fought on until the enemy was again broken. Only then did he take to his bed, putting me in charge of his army until he had recovered. Since his best friend, Crixus, had been killed in battle, he had come to rely on me more and more, knowing that before my capture and enslavement, I had led my own troops into battle against the Roman hordes.

  Now, we were on the move again. Gaul was our ultimate destination. There, Spartacus believed the men and women who had followed him loyally for over a year, would at last find peace and freedom. Such are the dreams of men…

  A week later, we had reached Mutina. Gaul was in sight, and my heart leaped at the thought that soon, this would all be behind us. Freedom lay within our reach, with only one more Roman army to defeat. The Governor of the region had amassed an impressive force, and as Spartacus and I surveyed the massed legions spread out before us, we knew this would be no easy victory.

  Perhaps, I thought, when this is at last over, and the people are settled far from the vengeance of the Roman Senate, perhaps then I can think of a future. And if the gods were willing, a future that included the one I have come to love, and miss more than I thought possible.

  Lucius.

  Night after night, no matter how exhausted I was from the ordeals each day brought, the memory of our time together filled my mind and my dreams. Sometimes when I awoke, I could swear I felt the warmth of his smooth flesh in my arms, and the sweetness of his lips on mine. I would whisper his name, then the reality of his absence would sting my mind with its bittersweet sharpness.

  Lucius had been right, the gods can oft times be cruel. They had brought us together, it seemed, so that I might experience the joy of his touch and the rapture of his kisses. But if now it meant that he was gone from my life forever, it would have been better had we never met. But never would I forget him, and if the Fates decreed that what we had shared was all we would ever have, then I would take the memory of those sweet moments, of him and the love he had shown me, to my grave.

  × × × × ×

  LUCIUS

  The news of yet another defeat for Rome’s legions cast a cloud of fear and depression on the general population. Now, it was rumored, he could not be stopped by normal military strategy. The gods were on the side of the servile army under Spartacus, and the fact that no more legions had been sent against him seemed to support that theory. How could mortal men fight those whom the gods loved?

  In the forum, the news was that Spartacus had reached Cisalpine Gaul, and had defeated Cassius Longinus, the governor of the region, near the town of Mutina. Petronius and Turio saw this as a dire threat to the whole of Italy.

  “I tell you, the man will bring the country to its knees,” Turio moaned as we sat in the garden room of my home. “It has been said that the Senate knows he cannot be beaten on the open field.”

  “So what do they propose?” I asked.

  “Word is,” Petronius said, his voice thick with disgust, “they are going to let him cross over into Gaul, and be rid of him, once and for all.”

  “The mighty armies of Rome beaten by a slave,” I murmured.

  “It’s an outrage!” Turio was red-faced with fury. “They should execute all those so-called generals for sheer ineptitude.”

  “At the very least their possessions should be made forfeit,” said Petronius.

  “What do you suppose he’ll do when he reaches Gaul?” I asked. “Do you think that will satisfy him, will he raise an even bigger army to invade Italy and defeat the Senate?”

  My friends looked at me, frowning, then Turio snorted. “Such a thing is impossible, Lucius!”

  “What he has done was deemed impossible in the beginning. The fact that he has accomplished the impossible would seem to mean that he could do it again.”

  We were interrupted at that moment by the appearance of my friend Cassius. Petronius grunted in annoyance at the man’s unannounced arrival. He thought very little of Cassius.

  “Have you heard the latest news from the north?” Cassius panted, patting his sweating face with the corner of his toga.

  “No,” I replied. “But come sit down and tell us. Would you care for some wine?”

  “Please…” Cassius plopped his large frame next to Petronius who slid to one side, scowling at me. “It is grave news, I’m afraid.” Cassius grabbed the cup of wine from my hand. “The servile army did not cross over into Gaul after all. They are on the march again, southward!”

  “What?” Turio yelled, again enraged.

  “But why?” I wanted to know more before Turio went into another rant about the situation.

  “It appears his forces have split up. Some have indeed left the country, but others, including Spartacus himself, are moving south.”

  My mind raced at the implication. Callistus, being so close to home, surely had not missed the opportunity to return to his family. Or had he felt bound by loyalty to Spartacus, and continued to support him?

  “The gods be praised.” Turio was now smiling happily. “So now he leads a smaller force, and can be defeated, at last!”

  Petronius glanced at me, reading my thoughts. “Your Gaul would be a fool if he has not gone home.”

  Cassius caught his drift. “That would not be possible,” he said. “Callistus died in the last battle.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face at his words. It was as if someone had punched me hard in the pit of my stomach.

  “How do you know this?” Petronius demanded, scorn in his voice.

  “In the forum, they said his name, knowing that many people would remember Callistus, the gladiator.”

  “No, it cannot be,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.

  “You could have given out this news more gently, Cassius!” Turio glared at the older man. “You know how much Lucius admired him.”

  Petronius rose and joined me on my bench, putting his arm around my shoulders. Cassius started an apology, but Petronius silenced him with an angry glare.

  “I don’t believe it,” I muttered. “I will not believe it, until I see his dead body with my own eyes. He cannot be dead. He could overcome ten men set against him. There is no way he could be dead.” I was babbling, and Petronius hugged me to his side to console me, while Cassius rose and left, still mumbling an apology.

  “That old fool.” Petronius kissed my cheek. “He thrives on gossip. Yet, it might be that whoever told this tale was lying.”

  Turio stared at us both. “Lucius, you were not serious about having to see his body with your own eyes, were you?”

  I shook my head in sadness. “Where would I look—on the fields of Cisalpine Gaul? There would be thousands of bodies rotting in the sun.” I shuddered at the thought of his beautiful body, mutilated by sword and spear, left to decompose, unburied, the prey of carrion beasts.

  “Best not to think on it,” Petronius said, gently. “He would have died a valiant death.”

  “Yes…yes he would.” I leaned on his shoulder and gave in to the grief that bore down on me like a heavy weight.

  As the night grew
on, Petronius wanted to stay with me, but I bade them both goodnight, strangely relieved to be alone with my grief. I bathed my flushed face with cold water, then lay down on my bed, knowing that sleep would not come for a long time that night. Visions of him filled my mind. The memory of his face, his form, his touch, and his kisses swept over me like a sorrowful wave of regret and longing.

  If I could have just seen him once more before he… I could not even think the word. If only we could have lain together, caressed, kissed, held one another. If I could have just seen his smile, once more. Now, all my hopes of one day finding him again had been dashed with one short sentence. Six words that numbed my mind and body—Callistus died in the last battle.

  × × × × ×

  Getting through the days and weeks that followed this terrible news was the hardest thing I had ever done. I was thankful that at least I had the school to occupy some of my time. There, the students kept me on my toes with their indolence, their contrived questions, and their general bad behavior.

  Petronius was a frequent visitor, and I began to wonder what Aurelia must have thought of his spending so much time with me, instead of at home with her.

  “She does not mind,” he said when, sitting with him in my room, I questioned him about the matter. “She and her mother chatter like jay-birds all day and night. I sometimes think she does not even notice if I’m there or not.”

  “Are things not good between you?”

  He shrugged. “She does not care for the…um…more intimate part of our marriage.”

  “You mean sex.”

  “Uh…yes.” He moved closer to me, and stroked my arm. “And you, Lucius—how are you?”

  “The same as I was yesterday, and the day before, and the week before,” I replied. “Angry at the world.”

  He leaned forward and kissed my lips. “I could ease some of your anger.” He put his arms around me. I rested my head on his shoulder, and let him kiss my neck. I was lonely, I told myself. I needed this affection, and Petronius had always been there for me, even when he thought I was quite mad for hankering after Callistus.

  Callistus. I pulled myself from Petronius’s arms. “I am sorry. I cannot do this.”

  “Just relax,” he whispered, massaging my shoulders. “Your anger has made your body tense and unreceptive. Just close your eyes, and let me take care of you.”

  His hands did feel good, rubbing away some of the tension that I constantly felt in my neck and shoulders. I leaned against him, and did not resist as he eased me onto my stomach, his fingers manipulating the muscles on my shoulder blades. Nor did I complain when he reached under my tunic to stroke and caress the bare skin on my back. I could feel the tension, the anxiety melt away under his caring touch, and I let myself soak up the sensual sensations he imbued in me.

  His lips touched the nape of my neck, his tongue skimmed the length of my spine. His moist mouth kissed the cleft between my buttocks, and I gasped as he inserted his tongue deep inside me.

  “Petronius,” I murmured, knowing I should stop him before we reached the point of no return. He reached under me, grasping my burgeoning erection in his hand, and at the same time, pushing his cock beyond my resistance. As he entered me, I sighed my acceptance of what we were doing.

  “Ah, Lucius…” His warm breath on my neck was familiar and comforting, and for some time we were content to simply be wrapped in each other’s arms, joined as one. We were not passionate lovers, claiming each other’s body as a prize, but rather two friends, expressing love and companionship; filling the emptiness in our lives we now both acknowledged.

  Afterwards, he seemed loath to leave me, and I knew he was drawing as much comfort from me, as I was from him. We talked in murmurs through the night, and I felt that he finally understood my love for Callistus, a man who moved within a different world from mine, but from whom, even in death, I could never be parted.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Time passed; long weeks became longer months. Then came the most shocking news of all—Spartacus had finally been defeated. His plans to invade Sicily, and take up residence there, had come to naught. The pirates who had promised him ships failed to make good their offer. His army, trapped between the oncoming Roman legions and the sea, had made one last stand, and had been crushed. Spartacus himself, it was said, had died in the battle, but his followers had buried him secretly so that his body could not be abused by his conquerors.

  The Senate’s revenge was terrible. Those who survived the battle were crucified along the Via Appia. Thousands of corpses now hung rotting from wooden posts. A desecration, but a terrible warning to all who would consider future insurrection.

  The Via Appia connects Capua and Rome. Was it mere morbid fascination that drew me to ride Belenus onto that road, and out between the rows of dead men hanging on either side of us? The smell of death permeated the turgid air, causing Belenus to whinny in distress as I urged him on, my stare fastened on the dead faces, some of which were now so disfigured as to be totally unrecognizable. Some form of dread had brought me here, as if to assure myself that Callistus was not among them, but it was an exercise in futility. I doubted that even I could have picked him out from any of these miserable remnants of what had once been young and vital men.

  “Enough,” I muttered, tugging at the reins, turning Belenus away from the road, and out into the wide fields that surrounded him. I gave him his head, letting him gallop to his heart’s content, freeing his nostrils and mine from the stench of death’s corruption.

  When I returned home, my mother and sisters had already dined, having despaired of my returning at a decent hour. My mother had long since given up asking me where I had been, or what ailed me. Innately she knew I needed time alone to calm the demons she was sure tormented me. In her mind, I was going through a phase from which I would eventually shake myself free. After helping myself to a light supper, I took to my room, where I ran my bath, and sank gratefully into its warm soothing waters.

  Like a thousand times before, my mind filled with thoughts of Callistus. Good thoughts at first. Memories of our lovemaking, of his tenderness in the aftermath, of the hunger in his kisses. But, as always, my thoughts would eventually turn to his last moments on this earth, and how he might have met his end. It was an almost physical anguish I suffered as I imagined the extent of the massive wounds he must have endured before he fell. This night it proved to be too much, and I sat up in the bath, gasping from the shock my lurid visions had brought me.

  Cursing, I rose from the bath. After hastily drying myself, I flung on a robe and walked outside into the warm night air. I stood in the garden trying to calm my mind that seethed with unsettling emotions.

  Perhaps a cup of wine…

  From the stables came the sound of a soft whinny. Belenus. Was he also in distress? Frowning, I made my way across the yard to the darkened stables. Pushing open the door, I walked toward his stall.

  “Belenus, my fine steed, what ails you?” I called. “Do you also grieve for your lost master?”

  My heart froze in my chest, for in the moonlit shadows I made out the shape of a tall figure standing by the horse’s side.

  “Step away, thief!” I yelled, my hand going instinctively to my belt for my knife, which of course, I was not carrying.

  “Lucius…” The voice was hoarse and weary, yet unmistakable.

  “Callistus!” Delirious joy made me clumsy as I stumbled forward into his arms. “The gods be praised. I thought you dead. In the forum, they said you had died at Mutina. I knew you could not be dead. I willed it so—”

  His mouth on mine stilled my babbling. His arms crushed me to him in an embrace that threatened to break every rib in my body. I clung to him, my heart pounding in my chest as I reveled in the feel of his strong, hard body pressed against mine. The roughness of his beard and the stale smell of his clothes told me he had been on the road for many days. Despite my exhilaration, I knew he needed caring for.

  “Come,” I whispered. “
Let me take you inside. You need to rest….”

  Gratefully, he nodded, letting me lead him from the stable back to my room, where I quietly closed the door, in case my mother or one of the servants overheard us. In the light cast by the lamp near my bed, he looked gaunt and exhausted. His clothes hung about him in tatters, his hair was dull and matted, and his eyes held a melancholy I could not bear to see.

  “Oh, Callistus.” I laid my head on his chest and held him close. His hands stroked my hair, and then he raised my face to his and kissed me again, and again. “How I have longed for this moment,” I mumbled against his lips. “I have prayed every day for the chance to see you again.”

  His smile was grim. “And I come to you like this,” he said, his voice still hoarse. “Hardly the fearless warrior you once admired.”

  “Hush.” I pulled at his ragged tunic. “You must bathe, and I will fetch you food and wine.” He stood still as I undressed him, my hands straying over his naked chest and muscular back. There were scars on his body I had not seen before, a bad one across his lower back. “You are injured…”

  “It is healing, but the coward who dealt the blow was not so lucky.”

  “I will put some salve on it once you have bathed.” I led him to the bath and he let out a long sigh as he settled into the warm water. He closed his eyes for a moment, an expression of bliss flickering on his face. I turned to go, but his hand on mine stayed me.

  “You must tell me if this is not convenient for you.”

  “Not convenient?” I sat on the edge of the bath and kissed his lips. “It is everything I have longed for, my love.”

  I crept into the kitchen, silently piling some bread, cheese and olives onto a plate, then filled a jug with wine. When I returned he was washing his hair. He leaned back in the bath and studied me, a half smile on his noble face.

  “You look well,” he said. “And as handsome as ever.”