To be truthful, he did not mix much with the other household slaves. Mostly he spent his days with Poppaea. His room wasn’t even in the slave quarters, it was close to her bedchamber so that she could call on him day or night. And call for him she did, often! She had a voracious sexual appetite.
She was expecting him, so he didn’t bother to knock as he entered her room.
‘Taranis, where have you been?’ she demanded to know, just as she always did when he didn’t appear seconds after she had sent for him.
‘I was outside, exercising,’ he explained, as he walked towards her. She was seated at her dressing table and a maid was combing her long hair. ‘I had to wash, then put on a clean tunic.’ He had many fine garments to choose from now, all provided by his mistress.
‘Fetch me my blue gown, the one with the gold embroidery at the hem,’ Poppaea told the maid. ‘It was being mended by one of the seamstresses as the binding was loose.’ As the girl hurried off, Poppaea turned her head to smile warmly at Taranis. ‘There was no need to wash and change first, you know.’
‘I stank – do you like a man covered in sweat?’ Taranis was careful only to address her so personally when none of the other slaves was present.
‘When it is dripping off a body such as yours, yes,’ she said huskily, as he pulled aside her hair to kiss her neck. ‘Perhaps I should arrange a regular exercise routine for you. I don’t want those glorious muscles turning soft. Speak to my procurator, Eros. He can arrange for you to do exercises and weapons training with my personal guard.’
‘I need to keep very fit to pleasure you, my lady,’ Taranis said, pleased to be allowed this privilege.
He gently massaged her shoulders. ‘That feels good,’ she said with a soft sigh.
Taranis slid his hand down her body to cup her breast. ‘And you look especially lovely this morning.’ His words were genuine. Poppaea did look far more attractive without heavy make-up and with her hair loose around her shoulders.
‘Surely not,’ she protested. ‘My hair is not dressed properly and my face is devoid of cosmetics.’
‘You have no need of such artifices.’ He drew her gently to her feet and pulled her round to face him. This was the first time he had dared to act in quite such a bold and intimately familiar manner towards her when they weren’t having sex. Bed slaves were not expected to form proper personal relationships with their owners.
‘But it is fashionable to have a pale complexion and my eyes are nothing without cosmetics.’
‘In public, of course, if you wish it. But surely you can have no need of such things in the privacy of your bedchamber, alone with me?’
Her olive cheeks flushed and for the first time Taranis felt a genuine liking for this woman who had bid so much money for him and rescued him from the perverted clutches of Gaius Cuspius. He kissed her, gently at first, then with increasing passion. His cock stiffened, a good fuck was the perfect end to heavy exercise and at this moment he desperately wanted Poppaea.
She returned his kiss with equal passion but, when he went to draw the loose robe from her shoulders, she pushed him away. ‘No, Taranis. I have matters to attend to. I am expecting a guest.’ She frowned. ‘Sometimes I let myself forget that you are a slave and that’s dangerous.’
‘Why?’ he asked, hiding the sudden resentment that flared up inside him.
‘Because I might come to genuinely care for you, thus making it much more difficult for me to control you.’ She turned away from him and started sorting through her jewellery box. She pulled out a heavy gold necklace decorated with dark-blue stones. ‘This will go well with the blue gown.’
‘Surely a few moments –’ he started to say as he reached out to touch her.
‘I said no,’ she snapped, slapping his hand away. ‘I’ve no time for sex right now.’
Despite her words, he knew that she was aroused. Her breathing had quickened and through her filmy gown he could see that her nipples had stiffened into firm peaks. Yet she was casually dismissing him, just when he had thought he was getting a little closer to the real Poppaea. ‘As you say, mistress.’ Taranis strode towards the door.
‘Wait!’ she said curtly. ‘I haven’t dismissed you, yet.’
‘Then I’ll not leave.’ He determinedly slid the door bolt in place.
Poppaea’s colour heightened. ‘Draw the bolt back, now, Taranis,’ she said angrily. ‘And get out of my sight.’
‘Leave, stay,’ he repeated, walking towards her. ‘Which is it?’ He grabbed hold of her robe and ripped it from her body. ‘Sometimes I let myself forget that I am a slave, and that’s dangerous.’
‘How dare you!’ She slapped him hard across the face.
He gave a cold laugh, as he grabbed hold of her wrist to stop her hitting him again. ‘I dare because I want you to get down on your knees and suck my cock.’ Poppaea stared at him in disbelief, breathing heavily. He placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘Kneel,’ he said pushing down hard until she sank submissively to her knees in front of him. Then he jerked off his tunic and flung it aside. When she didn’t move, he meshed his hands in her hair and forced her face closer to his groin. ‘Do it, Poppaea.’
Taranis knew he was taking an insane chance here, but he had suppressed his own need to be in control of his life for far too long. He’d willingly take whatever punishment she dreamt up for him, he wanted this moment for himself.
It appeared that he knew Poppaea far better than she knew herself, because she didn’t protest or try to rise to her feet. She seemed aroused by his brutality as she took hold of his penis and guided it into her mouth. He drew in his breath sharply as her lips closed around the top of his glans. Her hot moist mouth hungrily swallowed more of his thick shaft, while she cupped his heavy balls in her hand. She used the pressure of her lips to caress his rod, while her tongue stimulated the helmet.
He found it highly arousing to exert such control over his mistress, and Taranis shuddered as she sucked harder, while one of her hands stole between his muscular thighs to gently stroke the strip of sensitive skin between his balls and anus. The sweet pulling sensation and the soft feel of her lips made him gasp with pleasure. When the tip of her finger wriggled its way into his backside, it became almost too much to bear. He felt the pleasure gather inside him, as his climax moved closer, but he was not finished with Poppaea just yet.
‘I don’t want to come in your mouth,’ he growled, forcing her head back away from his sex.
She stared up at him in surprise, saying nothing, still trapped in the servile sexuality of the moment.
Taranis lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, then flung her face down on the mattress. He grabbed a pillow, stuffing it under her stomach, raising her firm little bottom in the air. Then he slapped each cheek hard until her olive skin turned scarlet and she was squirming with pain and pleasure. Digging his fingers into her inflamed skin, he thrust his cock into her, pulling her body towards him until he’d penetrated her as deep as he possibly could. He began to thrust hard and fast, using her in the most brutal fashion, while she begged him for more, her body shuddering submissively beneath him.
Sirona followed the servant girl through any number of fine rooms, most bereft of any furnishings. They walked past a large peristyle surrounded by high Doric columns, then through a couple of small courtyard gardens, the last of which led into an imposing atrium. They emerged on to a wide veranda, which led on to terraced gardens laid out in a formal style with low hedges, flowering plants and small Cyprus trees. They faced a narrow road and in the distance she could see Pompeii. She had been amazed at the size of the senator’s house but this was at least three times bigger. Lucius had brought her here last night but she’d taken little notice of her surroundings. The legate must be a very important man to own such a beautiful property. The magnificence of the villa contributed to her confusion. What did this man, Lucius, want with her? she wondered, as she stepped forwards a few paces into the bright sunlight. The villa was bui
lt on the side of a hill, and in the distance, directly behind the house, she could see the high mountain she had first caught sight of in the harbour. Now she knew that it was called Vesuvius.
‘Sirona.’ He called her name as he appeared from the side of the building. Lucius was wearing just a plain white tunic slashed at the neck to reveal a portion of well-honed chest, and short enough to show the lower half of his muscular thighs. It was the sort of clothing a house slave might wear, apart from the elaborately tooled leather belt around his lean hips.
Sirona smiled awkwardly, not knowing how to greet him as he strode athletically towards her. ‘You slept well, I hope?’ he asked, as he reached her.
His tunic was a little grubby in places, as though he’d been doing some sort of manual work, which was surely unlikely. Lucius looked far less threatening, now that he was no longer wearing his impressive uniform but she was still overcome by the powerful aura of masculinity he projected.
‘Yes, I did sleep well all night and most of the day it seems.’ Judging by the position of the sun, she figured out that it must be late afternoon.
Lucius was a handsome man with olive skin, patrician features, short cropped black hair and deep-brown eyes. His good looks and muscular body unsettled her even more than her first impressions of this magnificent villa.
‘Not surprising really. I ordered the maid to give you a sleeping draft.’ He smiled warmly at her. ‘It seemed wise in the circumstances, after all that had happened.’
So that was why the drink they’d given her had such a bitter aftertaste. Also the wide bed had been so comfortable it was like floating on air, in comparison to the hard pallet in the tiny room she had shared with two others in the senator’s house. She suddenly realised that they were conversing quite happily in her own language. ‘I am surprised that you speak my language so fluently,’ she said shyly.
‘Perhaps not the exact same dialect as yours, and my recollection is rusty in places,’ he cheerfully conceded. ‘My mother warned me that you did not understand Latin.’
Sirona didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth. In fact, she shouldn’t trust him at all, but she felt drawn to him in a strange way that she just could not explain. ‘You are very kind,’ she said awkwardly. ‘About last night – you must be angry with me for harming the senator, your stepfather?’
‘I might not approve, but I can appreciate why you acted like that in the heat of the moment.’ He shrugged his wide shoulders. ‘He had no right to treat you that way.’
‘Because I am your slave, not his?’
‘You are not my slave.’ He put a hand on her arm and led her back into the atrium. ‘Let’s get out of the sun and relax. It’s well past cenna and I’m hungry.’ He escorted her through one of the smaller gardens and into a dining room. ‘Consider yourself my guest, Sirona. My friend Agricola asked that I care for you. He thought that I would appreciate your beauty as much as he admired your courage. That is why he sent you here to me.’
‘And not to Rome to be executed like my father,’ she said sadly, as he guided her to a couch.
‘Be seated,’ he said, as he slipped off his sandals. Lucius plonked himself down on the opposite couch to hers and lounged back on the cushions.
Sirona sat down, primly perched on the long dining couch, unable to relax herself. She had always found the idea of half-lying down to eat strange and rather uncomfortable. A number of slaves entered the room and placed tasty-looking, but relatively plain dishes of various foods on the table between them.
Once the servants had departed, she followed her host’s lead and dipped her fingers in the bowls of water provided, then dried her hands. ‘As yet I have no news of your father’s fate,’ Lucius said. ‘Things are a little chaotic in Rome after Vespasian’s unexpected death. Titus will soon have full control of everything. Then I’ll contact him and find out if your father is still alive. If he is, I can probably persuade Titus to spare him. The new Emperor is a fair-minded and noble man.’
‘So you have some influence in Rome?’ Sirona paused awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry – it is not my concern. I spoke out of turn.’
‘I told you, Sirona.’ He cut a hunk of fresh white bread. ‘You are not my slave. Ask what you will.’
He began to eat as if he hadn’t seen a decent meal for days, while Sirona just picked at the food on offer. Normally, she had a good appetite but she wasn’t feeling very hungry today.
After he’d eaten what seemed to her a huge amount, Lucius paused. He wiped his hands on a cloth and took a large gulp of his wine. ‘Forgive me. I have been eating soldiers’ fare for far too long. I’m not being a proper host. Why not try the wine?’
She did as he suggested and tasted the wine, finding it sweet and refreshing. ‘I would have thought that a commanding officer, such as you, would have servants to cook and care for him.’
‘I don’t hide myself away in my own tent and expect a life of luxury as most other commanders do. I eat what my men eat, and share their hardships and discomforts. They respect me more for doing so and would follow me into Hades itself if needs be.’
‘Could I ask you how you learnt to speak my language so fluently?’ She was curious about this man, who in many ways appeared very different from the other Romans she had known.
‘I served in Brittania for a number of years when I was younger. For a time, I had a mistress who was of your tribe. It was she who taught me.’ He paused, then added, ‘She was not my slave, Sirona, and she is now married to a rich merchant and is a very happy woman.’
‘Is that where you came to know Agricola? I presume that you and he are friends – why else would he have sent me here?’ she asked curiously.
‘He was my commanding officer when I served in Thrace.’ He smiled in a boyish fashion. ‘I admired him so much and in time got to know him well. I am honoured that he considers me a friend.’
‘Then I also should be happy that he is your friend. Otherwise, what would have happened to me?’ She found herself drawn to Lucius, perhaps she would come to like, maybe even trust him in time. It was likely that he was telling the truth and she was not his slave. However, she was still in a very strange situation: far from home in a strange land, a supposed guest in the home of a very attractive man and totally dependent on him for everything.
‘Perhaps you should,’ he agreed, as he hungrily devoured a large piece of almond cake doused in a sticky honey glaze.
She watched him finish the cake, as she drank the rest of her wine. It was certainly making her feel more at ease. She’d only tried wine a couple of times before and she didn’t recall it tasting as pleasant as this. Wine was imported into Brittania, for the Romanised Britons and their conquerors, not for the barbarian hordes of the north.
‘And the new Emperor, you speak as if you know him quite well?’
‘I’ve known Titus since I was a small child. We are second cousins on my late father’s side. Titus is a good ten years older than me, so when we served together he took it upon himself to watch over me, and we became dose friends. He’s a good man, Sirona. He’ll be good for Rome, perhaps even for Brittania.’ He smiled at her. ‘Perhaps he’ll even bring peace to your land. After all, a large number of your people already live peacefully beside us, enjoying the luxuries we are able to provide.’ He leant forwards, picked up a jug of wine and refilled her silver goblet. ‘Perhaps it is better we do not discuss matters that may lead to dissension between us.’
The divide between her and Lucius was wider than the sea between Brittania and Gaul, she thought, but she dare not say so. ‘As you wish.’
It seemed impolite not to drink more wine since he had refilled her goblet, so she took a couple of large swallows.
‘Have you finished eating? You ate very little.’
‘Enough.’ She smiled at Lucius. The warmth of the wine hitting her almost empty stomach somehow made her respond more warmly to him. ‘I wasn’t hungry. This wine is very good.’
‘The best Falernian, f
rom the lower slopes where the sweetest grapes grow.’ He dabbled his sticky fingers in the bowl of water. ‘I’ve come to prefer some of the Phoenician wines. They are stronger, and a little less sweet.’
‘I’ve never had this, let alone Phone–cian wine before,’ she said, stumbling over the pronunciation. Sirona suddenly wanted to giggle. She had no idea why. Perhaps it was the wine or perhaps it was this bizarre situation she found herself in. Yesterday, she had been a slave, now she was lying on a couch conversing with an important Roman commander about the benefits of various wines. She frowned, her thoughts were becoming a little muddled. ‘I think this wine is affecting me. I feel most strange,’ she said carefully.
‘You should have eaten more before drinking. Mostly we drink wine watered down, but this is not and is a lot stronger than the bitter beer your people brew,’ he said with a teasing grin, as he rose to his feet and slipped on his sandals. ‘Come. I’ll show you around the villa. The walk will help dear your head.’
He held out his hand and she had no choice but to take it as she stood up. When her skin made contact with his, she felt a flicker of sexual arousal. Lucius was a very attractive man, but he was also a Roman general, she reminded herself.
‘Your villa is very large,’ she said, feeling that she had to keep the conversation going, as he led her out of the dining room. By now, she was experiencing a strange light-headedness and her nipples began to tingle as he tightened his grip on her hand.
‘Yes. My stepfather heard a rumour that it would soon be up for sale, just before I left for Judea. So I sent him the necessary funds and had him purchase it for me. I wanted a place of my own to return to. I prefer to avoid the political atmosphere of Rome when I can, and both my mother and sister live here in Pompeii.’
Sirona wondered if the attraction she felt for him was mutual, as he led her across the large peristyle, which was still in a state of some disrepair. ‘This looks as if it needs a lot of work.’ Unable to think straight with him touching her, she pulled away from Lucius and walked to the centre of the garden. The water in the fountain had dried up, the basin was cracked and it was filled with rotting matter.
Barbarian Prize Page 10
