Barbarian Prize

by Deanna Ashford

  Beyond and below the protective ramparts, she could see many dwellings, so it was clear that the occupants of the city no longer feared invasion. The wide terraces were covered in palm and Cyprus trees and a number of the villas were very large, obviously the homes of wealthy and influential citizens. Above the line of flat red roofs she could see a temple with gleaming white pillars, which faced out to sea. In the distance, some way behind the city, was a high mountain. The lower slopes were covered in vegetation but the sharply pointed peak looked grey and forbidding.

  There were ships of all shapes and sizes tied up at the dockside and so many people. The port was crowded, as were the roads leading to the city gates. Some travellers were on foot, some on horseback, while others were in carts or ornate chariots.

  A small group of citizens had gathered to watch the liburnian dock. With Roman military precision, the long oars were shipped and they glided alongside the wharf. Some of the sailors jumped ashore carrying the thick mooring cables, which were then wound tightly around the huge stone bollards lining the dockside. The cables tightened with a sharp snap and the ship jerked wildly. Sirona might have fallen if one of her soldier escorts hadn’t grabbed her arm to steady her.

  The vessel came to rest, parallel to the shore, almost motionless now in the still waters of the harbour. The gangplank was laid in place. Immediately, both soldiers took an even firmer hold on Sirona’s arms and escorted her down to the dockside.

  The two men led her through the small ring of chattering onlookers, who stared at her with evident curiosity, most probably wondering why a pathetic-looking female prisoner needed two soldiers to guard her. However, they did not know that she was an Icene princess, whom Governor Agricola considered his special prize.

  Sirona felt weak from a combination of insufficient food and water, the terrible conditions in the hold and a lack of exercise. She had no wish for this escort but she was glad that they were holding on to her so tightly, otherwise she might have stumbled and fallen. It would not be seemly for the only daughter of King Borus to show weakness of any kind.

  It was a hot afternoon, almost as hot out here as it was in the hold, but Sirona still enjoyed the feel of the warm sun on her skin and fresh air at last to fill her lungs. Her first few breaths were fine, as most ports smelt the same. It was a musty mixture of seawater, the caulk used on the vessels and hot stale bodies – all mingled with the exotic odours of the different cargoes from far-flung lands. Then the faint breeze wafted towards her a foul odour of rotting flesh. She swallowed, willing her stomach not to heave in disgust. She was not aware that the smell came from the fish sauce factory close to the docks. Tons of fish-guts were left to decompose in huge vats, ready to be made into Garum, a favourite Roman condiment.

  The port of Pompeii was a hub of activity, visited by merchant ships from all corners of the ever-expanding Roman Empire and beyond. Practically anything could be purchased here: spices such as Chinese cinnamon, treasures like Egyptian glass and amber and marble from Greece. There were even animals like wolves and bears from Brittania and leopards and monkeys from Africa.

  ‘I hear that there are at least thirty brothels in Pompeii.’ The soldier to Sirona’s left addressed his companion. ‘I’ve a mind to try one tonight.’

  ‘The one off the Via Stabiana, near the baths, is the best,’ the other said with a wide grin, which revealed his lack of four front teeth. ‘Most of the whores there are Orientals and renowned for their exotic foreign tricks.’

  Sirona was curious to hear more. What sexual tricks she wondered? Rich and influential Roman citizens had slaves to serve their every whim and lived a life of indolent, sensual luxury, so perhaps there were many erotic pleasures that she knew nothing about. Also she was curious about this city the soldiers had called Pompeii. She knew little of her captors’ homeland, but she had heard tales of the splendour of Rome. It was said to be a massive, truly awe-inspiring place. Emperor Vespasian resided there and had numerous palaces filled with gold, silver and precious stones. That wasn’t surprising, as the Romans had huge armies and were an incredibly rich, powerful and widely feared nation, which had conquered almost a third of the known world and beyond.

  She had to admit that Pompeii was an interesting city and, for a moment, fear for her own fate receded a little, as she was overwhelmed by the sights and sounds around her. All the citizens looked prosperous and there was an amazing mass of goods piled outside the many warehouses they walked past.

  Her green eyes grew wide with astonishment as she spotted a large cage. Inside was a strange, but truly magnificent animal with golden fur and a thick ruff of darker hair around its neck. The lion paced his cage and gave a loud roar, which made Sirona jump nervously, as her escorts hustled her past the noble creature.

  ‘Wonder how long he’ll last in the arena?’ the first soldier commented.

  ‘Probably grow fat on Christians and criminals,’ his companion joked, as they reached the paved road which led to the city gates.

  Further on, to the left of the road, stood a large stone building. It was bigger than the warehouses and had an embellished portico with two stone columns and a large wooden door decorated with thick bronze studs.

  One of the soldiers rapped on the door, which was pulled open by a man with skin as black as pitch.

  ‘We come from Captain Cornelius of the warship Cronus,’ announced her escort.

  ‘You are expected.’ The servant’s voice was deep and he spoke Latin with a strange accent.

  Sirona was hustled inside. Many Roman buildings were constructed around a central open courtyard and had no windows in their outer walls; this place appeared to be designed in a similar manner. After passing through a small entrance chamber, they entered a large paved area, open to the sky, with a raised platform at the far end. All the Roman-style villas she’d seen in her homeland had statues, fountains and plants decorating the central garden, or peristyle as they called it, but this area was totally bare apart from a pile of low benches stacked in one corner.

  An elderly woman hurried forwards. Her grey hair was pulled back in a bun and, although she wore a plain blue tunic, it was made of a fine fabric and she had ornate silver bracelets on both wrists. ‘The master has asked me to attend to the girl,’ she said, taking the small roll of papyrus one of the soldiers handed to her.

  ‘You’re welcome to her,’ one of the soldiers said, pushing Sirona forwards. ‘She doesn’t look much like a princess to me.’ He glanced disparagingly at his charge. ‘I’d much prefer to fuck one of those oriental whores you mentioned,’ he added, turning to grin lewdly at his companion.

  Pointedly ignoring his crude words, the woman said in a dismissive tone, ‘You may go now. Nubius will show you out.’

  She nodded to the black gatekeeper who immediately led the two men towards the door. As they departed, they exchanged very loud, obscene comments about the whorehouse they planned to visit later in the evening.

  ‘Come,’ the woman said to Sirona. She didn’t respond, staring blankly at her as if she did not understand the simple Latin word, even though she spoke the language fluently. Borus had told her that it was wiser to know one’s enemies, but to let them know as little of yourself as possible. When she had been captured by Agricola’s men, it had been presumed that, as a barbarian, who had not experienced the benefits of their civilisation, she would not understand their tongue. So she’d let the Romans believe she was just an ignorant savage. She’d continued this subterfuge when she had discovered that her captors often spoke more freely in front of her, wrongly believing that she could not understand them.

  The woman shook her head in irritation. ‘This way,’ she said in a firm voice, as if talking loudly would help the new arrival understand what she said. She took Sirona’s hand and led her hurriedly through the paved courtyard, then turned left through a small archway into another courtyard. This one had a fountain at its centre surrounded by tall statues and pots of brightly coloured flowers. ‘You’re filthy
, you poor thing,’ the woman chatted on to herself, as she led Sirona into a tiny cubicle, which contained a narrow cot. The only other furniture was a small side table on which reposed a basin filled with warm scented water.

  ‘You smell like you’ve been shut in a foul brothel for weeks.’ The woman wrinkled her nose in disgust. She picked up a damp sponge and began to vigorously wipe the dirt from Sirona’s arms and face. ‘You really need a bath but this will have to do. The senator wants to see you right away.’ She lifted Sirona’s arms, tutting as she saw the cluster of hair in her armpits. ‘A heathen through and through,’ she muttered to herself, rinsing the sponge out in the basin before energetically washing the offending armpits. ‘They should have warned me you would need a change of clothing,’ she said anxiously, as she threw the sponge into the basin of, now filthy, water. ‘I dare not pause to find one. He will become angry if he has to wait any longer.’ She took hold of Sirona’s hand, pulling her towards the door again. ‘Come,’ she said, concern sharpening her tone.

  She led Sirona out of the cubicle, whereupon they turned left and entered a larger room, which had elaborately painted walls and, like most Roman houses, was sparingly but elegantly furnished. All Sirona’s attention was immediately drawn to a man seated on a chair in the centre of the room. She knew that he was important because he was wearing the purple-bordered toga of a Roman senator. His much younger companion was wearing a short blue tunic, which told her that he was most probably a slave or a servant.

  The senator’s cold grey eyes examined her thoughtfully and Sirona repressed an unconscious shiver as a trickle of fear slid down her spine. She couldn’t explain her instinctive reaction as his expression wasn’t unkind, just thoughtful and there was nothing repellent about him. On the contrary, although he was well into middle age, he was still good-looking. His angular features and long straight, slightly overlarge nose were softened by the short iron-grey hair carefully arranged in curls either side of his face, a style favoured by the late Emperor Nero.

  ‘So this is the barbarian princess.’ His tone was harsh. ‘Bring her closer.’

  The woman led Sirona forwards until she was standing in front of him, barely an arm’s breadth away. ‘She appears not to understand what I say to her, my lord,’ she explained nervously, then she bowed her head fearfully, as if she might be punished for speaking out of turn.

  ‘You may go,’ he said and the woman immediately scurried from the room. The man glanced back at his young companion. ‘A savage, Tiro. And she stinks,’ he added in disgust, as he lifted an ampoule of scented oil to his nose.

  ‘You wanted to see her immediately, Senator,’ the young man cautiously reminded him. ‘There was no time to have her properly bathed and perfumed.’

  Sirona hoped that she was managing to appear quite unafraid as the senator stared at her. He took another sniff of the perfumed ampoule. ‘You’re from Brittania, Tiro, have you ever taken one of these savages to your bed?’

  ‘No, Senator,’ Tiro replied.

  The Romans had ruled southern Brittania for over thirty years, but their efforts to conquer the rest of the large island were slow and hampered by resistance from many of the individual Celtic tribes. Governor Agricola had yet to begin his advance further north towards Caledonia.

  ‘Fucking her might prove interesting,’ the older man said thoughtfully. His narrow lips curved in a cold hard smile that turned Sirona’s blood to water. She had been raised as a warrior, taught to fear nothing, yet all her instincts told her to fear this man. ‘As you can speak her barbarian tongue, you can tell her to take off that filthy rag.’

  Fighting the urge to stiffen defensively, Sirona stared blankly at her captor.

  ‘Remove your tunic, girl.’ Tiro spoke her language haltingly, but well enough for her to understand. ‘You must obey Senator Aulus Vettius at all times.’

  ‘I’m no girl,’ Sirona spat proudly. ‘I’m Sirona, Princess of the Icene.’

  ‘The Icene, the Brigantes – all the remnants of the tribes that fought under your father’s command have now surrendered to Governor Agricola,’ Tiro reminded Sirona as he stepped towards her. ‘Rome is now your master as it is mine.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Aulus snapped, clearly irritated by the fact that he could not understand what was being said.

  ‘Nothing, master,’ Tiro replied rather anxiously in Latin. He tugged at Sirona’s filthy tunic. ‘Take it off now or you’ll be punished.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Aulus asked angrily.

  ‘I told her to strip,’ Tiro nervously explained.

  ‘Is she stupid?’ Aulus growled. ‘If she doesn’t obey immediately, make her!’

  Having no wish to be forcibly stripped, Sirona angrily pulled off her tunic and with a proud toss of her head flung it at the senator’s feet.

  ‘She has spirit.’ Aulus gave a harsh laugh as he stared at her naked body. ‘Good tits too and nice legs.’

  Like most of her tribe Sirona was naturally fair skinned and, since her capture, she’d grown even paler, as she’d barely seen the sunlight. The male prisoners had been forced to march across Gaul, but she’d been almost permanently confined in the baggage wagon. She was unaware that her ivory skin would be envied by most Roman women who plastered their faces with creams containing white lead to lighten their sallow complexions.

  ‘Her hair colour is unusual.’ Aulus wasn’t looking at her hair, which, when clean, was the colour of burnished copper, he was staring at her pubes.

  ‘All shades of red hair are common in her land,’ Tiro told his master.

  ‘Then we should import more female slaves from Brittania – the brothels here need to provide more variety.’ Aulus pointed at her groin, curling his lips in disgust. ‘The body hair is quite offensive, is it not?’

  Aulus had all his body hair removed by regular plucking, an uncomfortable procedure considered a necessity by most high-ranking citizens.

  ‘That is no problem,’ Tiro said quickly. ‘I’ll have her sent to the Venus baths with the other female slaves.’

  ‘No.’ Aulus shook his head. ‘She’ll use my household baths. I’ve no wish for anyone to lay eyes on her just yet. Bring her nearer, so that I can examine her more closely.’

  Tiro pushed Sirona forwards until she was close enough to the senator to smell the rose oil that scented his skin, and see the pulse beating in his neck. She wished she was holding the bone-handled knife her father had given her when she reached womanhood, then she could have leant forwards and slit his throat. However, she could do nothing and she was forced to endure his long fingers probing and pinching her flesh. She tried not to flinch as he touched her breasts, pulled at her nipples and then stroked her flat belly.

  ‘Too muscular for a woman – but then she is a barbarian.’ He pushed his fingers between her thighs.

  Tiro stared at Sirona as if he felt some kinship for her and pitied her plight. They were both from Brittania but there the likeness ended. To her, he was as much a Roman as this vile senator, Aulus Vettius, was. ‘I think that a well-schooled whore would prove to be far more enjoyable for you, master,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘Whorish tricks bore me, as do the simpering attentions of sex-starved Roman matrons,’ Aulus snapped, cruelly thrusting his finger inside Sirona.

  She tensed and bit her lip. The brutal probing was both painful and demeaning. Yet, suddenly and ashamedly, she felt another darker emotion arise within her, almost akin to sexual arousal, an incomprehensible reaction she could not even begin to explain, especially when the only man that had ever touched her so intimately before was Taranis.

  ‘She’s barely moist.’ Aulus removed his finger and delicately sniffed it. ‘Yet she stinks of sex.’

  ‘That’s unlikely,’ Tiro quickly replied. ‘The captain of the Cronus had orders to keep her confined apart from the other prisoners.’

  ‘Do you think Captain Cornelius fucked her?’ Aulus grinned. ‘I confess I would be surprised as he’s said to be onl
y interested in young boys.’

  Tiro glanced at the papyrus the soldiers had delivered, which Aulus had left unrolled on a nearby table. ‘I would not think he would dare to. It is written here that Governor Agricola issued specific orders to deliver her here untouched and unharmed.’

  ‘She must be at least nineteen or twenty,’ Aulus commented thoughtfully, as he continued to run his hands over Sirona’s body. ‘So I doubt she’ll be a virgin . . . more’s the pity.’ He pinched and squeezed her buttocks, feeling them tense at his touch. ‘I’ve a mind to test her skill.’ Aulus looked at Tiro. ‘Tell her to kneel and pleasure me. Even a barbarian should know how to do that.’

  Sirona had to force herself not to react with horror to his words, as Tiro stepped behind her and placed a firm hand on each of her shoulders. ‘Kneel and take my master’s cock in your mouth,’ he ordered curtly. ‘He desires you to pleasure him.’

  Her instinctive response was to refuse but she knew how unwise that would be. Fearfully, she watched Aulus part his legs and lean his head back against the chair. He stared expectantly at her. When Sirona made no move to follow his instructions, Tiro roughly shoved her forwards until she was standing between the senator’s wide-spread thighs.

  ‘Kneel,’ Tiro hissed in her ear, as he pressed his hands down hard on her shoulders. He was stronger than he looked and easily forced her to sink to her knees. ‘Touch him, pleasure him with your mouth, any fool can do that, girl.’

  Sirona knelt on the cold floor staring fixedly at the lower folds of the pure white toga, unable to bring herself to do as she’d been ordered.

  Sighing anxiously, Tiro pulled aside the folds of the heavy fabric and lifted the senator’s short tunic. Aulus wore no undergarments, and Sirona found herself facing a surprisingly well-honed form with a flat muscular stomach. She’d expected a sagging, flabby body but Aulus looked strong and firm. His flaccid cock lay there on his hairless groin, curled up like a pale sleeping snake. She found it both repulsive and yet oddly fascinating.