Barbarian Prize

by Deanna Ashford

  6

  TARANIS SAT ON the floor by one of the windows in Poppaea’s bedchamber, after deciding that it would not be wise to just strip and lounge on her bed as he usually did. He wondered how she had explained away his outrageous behaviour to her friends. She was proud of him and had wanted to show him off to them. In some ways, she was very insecure and she needed their envy, as it made her feel superior, and every inch the niece of a former Empress. He didn’t like being thought of as her possession but, if he was brutally honest with himself, he was just that and he had behaved totally inappropriately in front of some of the most influential members of the nobility in Pompeii. He had lost it completely and acted without thinking.

  He was becoming rather uncomfortable, sitting on the hard floor, and his crumpled garment was all but dry by the time she stormed angrily into the room. ‘May Poseidon pierce your entrails with his trident,’ she hissed as she caught sight of him. ‘And stand up when I’m talking to you. After all, you are a slave, although you seem to forget that far too easily of late.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ he replied, as he rose to his feet. ‘I remember it every moment of the day and night. Nevertheless, I should not have acted as I did. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry is not good enough, Taranis,’ she shouted, as she ripped off her dress and threw it at him.

  ‘I don’t expect it is,’ he agreed, as he stepped over the dress and walked towards her. ‘I embarrassed you in front of your friends, even more than you embarrassed me it seems.’

  ‘Embarrassed!’ she repeated furiously. ‘Slaves aren’t allowed to feel embarrassed. If I order you to walk around the city stark naked, your cock strung with jewels, you do it. That’s what slaves do, they follow orders.’

  Acting purely out of instinct, Taranis pulled Poppaea into his arms and held her close. Still shaking with fury, she pressed her cheek against his broad chest as angry tears flowed from her eyes.

  ‘Everyone in the city will be talking about this tomorrow. Corelia is a terrible gossip. They will all laugh at me for being far too indulgent with a slave. I’ll have to hide myself away from polite society for weeks.’

  ‘Send me to the forum to be whipped. Then they’ll all see that you are punishing me,’ he said, as he gently pushed her damp hair away from her face.

  ‘If I do that, your beautiful back will be torn to ribbons.’ She sniffed. ‘You’re worth too much money for that, Taranis. I have to protect my investment.’

  ‘So lash marks would lower my value?’

  ‘You know they would,’ she responded, as he tenderly ran his hands over her bare back. ‘Jupiter defend me.’ She thumped his chest with her clenched fists. ‘I’ll find a way to punish you, Taranis.’

  He nibbled teasingly at her earlobe. ‘And in the meantime?’

  ‘Finish what you started in the pool.’

  He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her gently down among the scattered pillows. She lounged there watching him, angry tearmarks staining her cheeks and smearing her eye make-up. She didn’t look much like the niece of a Roman Empress now, but Taranis didn’t care, he would give her exactly what she wanted.

  He removed the crumpled garment he hated so much and flung it away from him, hoping he would never have to wear it again. Then he moved to the foot of the bed. Poppaea immediately spread her legs for him and he could see her swollen pussy lips guarding the pink slit of her sex. Just looking at her lying there waiting for him aroused him. He felt his erection grow stronger, as he remembered the intense invigoration he had experienced when he’d touched her in the pool. The same angry fire filled his veins, but this time it was tempered by a strange mixture of affection and pity for his mistress.

  ‘I want you so much,’ Poppaea said, her eyes fastened on his cock, which was now standing provocatively out from his groin.

  She sighed as he leant towards her and pressed hot kisses on the insides of her thighs, nibbling teasingly at her soft flesh. All his pent-up feelings came into perfect focus, as he smelt the sexual heat emanating from her pussy. He wondered what her important friends would think of her now, lying there legs spread like a whore waiting for her next customer. Taranis was filled with the sudden urgent need to treat her exactly like that. To jump on top of her and shove his cock inside her, using her brutally as a master would his slave. Nevertheless, he couldn’t do that; he had humiliated Poppaea and, if he wanted to retain his position in her household, he had to play the submissive penitent tonight.

  Poppaea moaned hungrily, as he parted her swollen pussy lips and ran his tongue up and down her rosy slit, flicking it against her clitoris, before sliding it down to delicately probe her vagina. The interior was moist and as smooth as silk and he felt her body tremble with pleasure as his tongue slid deeper. Poppaea’s anger had made her incredibly horny and, when he touched her clitoris again, sucking on it gently, she climaxed almost immediately.

  Taranis knew that he was far from finished yet as he eased himself upwards until he was lying across the lower half of her body. He tweaked her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pulling and squeezing until she started to moan, aroused by sensations that were on a knife-edge between pleasure and pain. Then he sucked on the dark tips, one by one.

  ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Fuck me. I want to feel your cock inside me right now.’

  Taranis was only too happy to oblige. The tension was already building inside him and, when he slid into her moist, slippery warmth, the combination of sensation was so powerful that he almost climaxed immediately. Fighting to control himself, he gently lowered his body on to hers, pressing her down upon the pillows. He lay there for a moment, not moving a muscle, breathing deeply until he’d gained full control of his lust again.

  ‘No one has every filled my cunt like you do,’ Poppaea groaned, wantonly pushing her hips up towards him. ‘Screw me hard.’

  Taranis slid his hands round her narrow hips and dug his fingers into her buttock cheeks. His mouth moved to her breasts again and he sucked hard on her already abused nipples until they were both hugely distended. She gave a small whimper as he began to move his hips, fucking her hard and deep. Soon he was hammering into her like a man possessed. Putting all his weight behind each thrust, as if this would somehow excise both the demons inside him and the hurt he had caused her.

  ‘Yes,’ she screamed, as she twined her legs around his lean flanks.

  Their bodies moved as one, the bed ropes groaning beneath their combined weights. The blood sang in his ears as his body released its load in a deep and prolonged climax, hearing Poppaea gasp and tremble beneath him as she too came.

  They were dining late this evening, a celebration of sorts, Lucius had said. He had been working hard putting the villa to rights and Sirona had been helping him where she could. She had chosen materials: thick heavily embroidered fabrics to cover door openings and light sheer muslins to hang at the windows to help reduce the glare of the sunlight. Lucius had picked out most of the furniture, as Sirona wasn’t that well acquainted with Roman tastes. Mostly he had selected his purchases from drawings and these items were now being made by artisans in Pompeii, while all of the more elaborate pieces were being shipped from Rome. It appeared that money was no object where Lucius was concerned.

  Sirona had arrived here with nothing but Lucius’s cloak wrapped around her naked body. Now she had a plethora of new garments to choose from: dresses made of fine linen, embroidered muslin and brilliantly coloured silk. Also, Lucius had given her a carved box containing cosmetics but she hadn’t yet tried any of these on her face. She knew what each of the many pots contained. There were powders made with white lead or chalk to lighten sallow complexions and black antimony to outline eyes and dye lashes. Also there were tiny boxes containing various shades of pink and red powder to colour cheeks and lips. Lucius had also purchased scented oils for her and perfumes either made from rose petals or a heady mixture of myrrh and other spices.

  Last but definitely no
t least, he had given her jewellery. A number of beautiful necklaces and bracelets made of gold and semi-precious stones, along with matching sets of delicately crafted fibulas.

  Sirona was confused by Lucius. She had come to like, even admire the man, and the sexual attraction was still there, even though she did her best to ignore it. Yet to her amazement he’d not made the slightest attempt to seduce her. He had just been polite and respectful, as he would be with any guest. Nevertheless, after all the gifts and the kind way he had treated her, she had decided that she could not deceive him any longer. A few days earlier, before they had dined, she had admitted, rather awkwardly, that she could speak Latin perfectly well.

  She had expected him to be angry with her, but he had just laughed and called her a devious minx. In fact, he seemed to find it amusing that she had managed to deceive his stepfather all the time she had lived in his house. By now, she had discovered that Lucius did not like Aulus Vettius very much, because of the thoughtless and often cruel way he treated Lucius’s mother and sister.

  Sirona had a personal maid, a sweet girl from Sicily called Amyria, who was just helping her into one of her new gowns. It was a long silk peplos, the exact same shade of green as her eyes. The long, full tunic had a folded hem at the top, which when it was fastened together at the shoulders draped delicately down over her full bosom.

  ‘Now we need this,’ Amyria said, as she wound a wide gold ribbon around Sirona’s slim waist, criss-crossing it round her body, before fastening it tightly under her breasts. ‘That’s better. Do you like it?’ Amyria asked, as Sirona stared at herself in the mirror.

  The ribbon made the loose garment far more flattering as it held the silk tightly to her upper body, then it flowed gently out from her waist, moulding lightly to her hips and legs as she moved.

  ‘It looks lovely.’ Sirona smiled at her reflection. She felt strange dressed in such fine clothes and with her hair piled atop her head in the very latest style from Rome. Even the bone pins keeping her hair in place were beautiful, each one having a different, cleverly carved head in the shapes of animals and flowers.

  ‘Now this.’ Amyria fastened a necklace around her neck. It was a delicate ring of twisted gold, set with small green stones.

  ‘It doesn’t look like me at all.’

  Sirona might have been a princess but it had always been in name only. She had never lived a life of luxury; most of the time she and her father had been on the run moving from place to place. That was apart from the five years she had spent in Colchester, living with a Romanised family who was sympathetic to her father’s cause. It was there that she had learnt to speak Latin fluently as well as read and write the language.

  ‘It just complements your beauty,’ Amyria said with a warm, very genuine smile.

  ‘If only Taranis could see me like this.’

  ‘My lady?’

  Sirona blushed, for a moment she had not realised that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. ‘I was thinking of a friend – we arrived here together.’

  Amyria probably knew all about her past life. Most household slaves gossiped incessantly about their masters and mistresses.

  ‘I fear that all of those who came with me could well have been sold as slaves,’ she admitted sadly. ‘Taranis, he was one of the leaders of the rebellion in Brittania. I never learnt of his fate.’

  Amyria frowned, then glanced around to make sure no one could hear them. ‘I’m not sure I should tell you this. The master has forbidden us to speak of what happened before you came here. I think he fears that it might upset you.’

  ‘I need to know,’ Sirona said. ‘If you can tell me anything at all, please do.’

  ‘There were stories circulating the city about a magnificent slave. He was said to be tall, blond and very good looking, but he came from Gaul, not Brittania.’

  ‘That’s him.’ Sirona felt her chest suddenly tighten and she could not breathe properly. ‘You know what happened to him?’

  ‘Apparently, he was purchased by Poppaea Abeto, a very rich lady, and a relative of a former Empress, for three hundred and sixty thousand denarii. The highest sum ever paid for a slave in Pompeii –’ Amyria hesitated, clearly not sure if she should continue.

  ‘Go on, tell me all,’ Sirona begged.

  ‘It is said that the slave was very well endowed and the lady in question wanted him for her bed.’

  Sirona knew that she should be relieved that he was safe, but she was filled with a sudden surge of jealousy and pain. She couldn’t imagine the warrior she had known and loved as a pleasure slave, forced to bed his new mistress whenever she desired it.

  ‘Thank you, Amyria,’ she said. ‘I’m pleased to know that he is safe.’

  ‘Do you want to know about the other Britons?’ Amyria asked. ‘I’m sure I could find out if you want me to.’

  ‘No,’ Sirona replied decisively. ‘I have no wish to upset your master. Perhaps it is best that I leave the past where it is – dead and gone.’

  ‘I’m sure that would be wise.’ Amyria gently patted her arm. ‘What is to be is to be. Our fate is in the hands of the gods. The master is a good man and he cares for you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sirona swallowed hard, forcing her thoughts of Taranis to the back of her mind, at least for the time being. ‘I must go, Lucius is expecting me.’

  They were eating for the first time tonight in the newly refurbished main dining room. She hurried through the villa, her leather-soled sandals making no sound on the elaborate mosaic floors. The main peristyle was completed now. She had watched this afternoon, as a bare-chested Lucius had helped a number of slaves move the last statue into position. She had to admit that she had been rather excited by the sight of his naked flesh and the muscles of his back rippling, as he helped lift the heavy marble figure into place.

  He really was a very good-looking man, she thought, as she caught sight of him waiting for her in the triculanium. He was lying on a couch, but when she entered he politely rose to his feet.

  ‘Sirona.’ His dark eyes slid admiringly over her shapely form. ‘You look so beautiful.’

  ‘Like a princess?’ she replied with a wry smile.

  She felt unsettled, just as she always did when she saw him again. She found it difficult to ignore the fact that she was very attracted to him. Yet her emotions were tempered with guilt because she felt that she was betraying Taranis. However, now she knew that her former lover spent his days pleasuring another woman, maybe willingly, maybe not, and it was highly likely she would never lay eyes on him again.

  ‘Sit down,’ Lucius said. ‘Now that you look like a Roman lady, you must dine like one,’ he added teasingly, as he grinned at her. ‘Lie down as I do, don’t sit there looking as if you are going to run away at any moment.’

  They ate together every evening and so far she’d not even tried to recline on her couch. ‘As you wish.’ She positioned herself properly, propped up on her left elbow, so that she could eat with her right hand.

  She looked at Lucius relaxing on the couch opposite hers. Tonight, for the first time, he wore a toga to dine in, but he wore no undertunic. The fine white fabric was draped over one shoulder, so that half his chest and one muscular arm were on view to her. For a moment she could not tear her eyes from the expanse of bare tanned flesh.

  ‘Here, try the wine.’ He pointed to her goblet. Instead of a pale-straw colour, the contents were a rich ruby red. ‘It arrived in port this morning.’

  ‘Phoenician wine?’

  ‘Yes, try it but be careful. It would be ruined if I had it watered down, so it is very strong.’

  Sirona had fortunately suffered no ill effects from the first occasions that she had imbibed a little too much and she was now quite accustomed to drinking wine. However, when she tried this, she discovered that it was far richer with a strong fruity taste. ‘It’s delicious.’

  A gentle breeze drifted in through the opening facing the peristyle. The torches flickered briefly and Sirona felt the cool air
brush her flesh. She could hear the cicadas singing outside in the greenery. She felt as if she were trapped in some strange dream, living a life that did not truly belong to her.

  She watched Lucius eating as he usually did, like the military man he was: consuming his food quickly and efficiently as if he wasn’t expecting to eat again for some time. He suddenly paused. ‘You’re not eating?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ She put down her goblet and picked up a slice of rolled beef stuffed with chopped eggs and olives. ‘I was just thinking of your life as a soldier. Do you find it hard to always be on the move, Lucius?’

  ‘Easier for a man like me than you, Sirona. You are far too beautiful to live life as a warrior. Beauty such as yours needs to be cherished not wasted on the battlefield.’

  For a moment she was overcome by the sensual way he was looking at her and her heart gave an uneasy somersault. ‘Women in Brittania are not pampered as they are here,’ she replied, unsettled by the intensity of his stare. ‘We are simple people. We fight as we live in a wild rather uncontrolled fashion.’ She bit into the beef, chewed it and swallowed it quickly. It slid down to her stomach as though it were made of lead.

  ‘Is that why your father employed a mercenary from Gaul to lead his army.’

  Sirona forced herself to eat more of the beef, even though she now did not have the slightest desire for food. She was filled with desire for something far more powerful, as she stared at Lucius’s handsome face. ‘My father was no fool.’ She took a large gulp of wine to help force down the food. ‘The mercenary was a Roman citizen,’ she said, somehow not wanting to speak Taranis’s name to Lucius. ‘He was well versed in your ways and in your methods of fighting.’

  ‘Agricola wrote to me. He said that, if your father had managed to find more men like that mercenary, his legions might well have been defeated.’

  ‘It is too late to think of that now.’ She had no wish to speak of the past with Lucius; she needed to concentrate on the present. She had to accept the fact that Taranis was lost to her and make the best of her new life. ‘Tell me about Rome. What is the city really like?’