The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath)

by Nadia Aidan

  Claudius stood before her, Cyrus just behind him, so that when she pulled off her garment, Claudius did not realize she stared straight at Cyrus, her gaze only for him.

  Did Cyrus know she saw only him?

  Did he realize the naked desire blazing in her eyes was for him, and only him?

  If he did, he did not show it. He stood as rigid and motionless as one of the statues in the garden, his gaze looking, but not seeing. It was as if she was invisible, it was as if she did not exist as he stared through her.

  Aurora looked away in disappointment, her cheeks boiling with humiliation, but she did not have long to dwell upon Cyrus’ rejection because seconds later Cornelia burst into the atrium, her eyes glittering with fury.

  “What is the meaning of this? Clothe yourself, you whore,” she shrieked.

  Aurora was in the middle of tugging on her tunica when Cornelia lunged for her as if she would strike. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cyrus move, but Claudius was the one to stop his crazed wife.

  He stepped between Aurora and Cornelia, his hand catching his wife’s arm before she could hit her.

  “Calm yourself,” thundered Claudius. “You are making a spectacle out of nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Cornelia’s eyes bulged. “Get her out of here,” she commanded Cyrus. “Get her out of my sight this moment.”

  Aurora was all too happy to leave as she let Cyrus usher her from the room. She could hear Cornelia’s shrieking screams all the way down the hall, long after she and Cyrus were gone.

  Cyrus walked beside her, his long strides eating up the distance as if Pluto nipped at his heels. She did not say a word until they passed through the gate to the quarters of the slaves and turned a corner, the shadows of the space affording them a measure of privacy.

  She touched his arm that was bare beneath her fingertips. When he jerked away she let her hand drop to her side where it remained, curled tight into a fist.

  Her touch had stilled him, but when he moved to walk away, she blocked his path.

  His eyes flashed dangerously. She was certain hers did the same as rage, dark and hot, seared her blood.

  “I do not deserve your anger.”

  Cyrus remained silent, every muscle in his body corded with tension, yet he did not move, and his expression was inscrutable.

  Frustration and fury warred for dominance within her. She could not be certain which won out when she spoke again.

  “You nearly kissed me earlier then you asked for my friendship. But now you are solemn and cold.” She jabbed her finger into his chest, punctuating each word. “Well, I do not wish such a person within my life if you can gaze upon me with such disdain. If you can stand there and look upon me and say nothing, feel nothing—”

  She abruptly stopped at the catch in her voice. She realized, with utter mortification, she’d just revealed to him his rejection of her had wounded. It was not that pride made her believe every man desired her, because she believed no such thing.

  It was the knowledge that the man she desired could gaze upon her naked form and remain unmoved, completely detached. It was the knowledge that the man she desired did not desire her in return, that he did not even find her pleasing.

  A lump formed in her throat as she experienced the humiliation she’d felt earlier all over again. She turned to leave, but did not manage a single step when his arm snaked around her waist, dragging her backwards, deep into the shadows.

  He held her imprisoned against him, her back flush against his chest, the swells of her buttocks pressed against his stirring, hardening shaft.

  Every stilted, jagged breath he took trembled through Aurora, the pounding rhythm of his heart, echoing her own. His warmth surrounded her, filling the empty, aching spaces inside her the very ones she’d not known were empty or even aching until this man had touched her.

  When she felt him kiss the top of her head, his face buried in her hair, she closed her eyes and savored him.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered, his voice ragged as he held her tighter. “It is just that I have never felt such strong emotions, such jealousy.”

  Cyrus released her long enough to spin her around and press her back against the wall. His hands found their way to her cheeks, and he cupped them, his thumbs gently stroking her face.

  Her eyes fluttered closed at the same time he dipped his head, and when he touched his lips to hers, his tongue pushing inside and plunging deep, heat curled within her, throbbing in places long neglected, long denied. She wound her arms around him, losing herself in the strength of his embrace, the firm pressure of his lips. His tongue dueled with hers, mimicking the way in which they’d dueled before. Giving, yielding, demanding, thrusting.

  She breathed him in, absorbing him until every part of her was full of him, his essence. The hard bulge of his arousal pressed against her belly, rocking gently at first, then rubbing against her with needs born of desperation. She longed to escape within his embrace, to feel him plowing inside her, his shaft buried deep, forging deeper than any man before him, after him. Aurora knew without a doubt that if Cyrus were to take her, he would surely claim her, brand her, leave her spoiled for any other man.

  She wrenched her lips from his, to gather her breath, to gather her wits. She was not prepared for a man such as Cyrus, who touched her in a place that had nothing to do with the yearnings of her body.

  As she panted, struggling to regain her breath, she feared what was growing between them. Just as she feared what would happen to the both of them if they succumbed to it.

  Cyrus still held her face within his hands, but now he held her gaze as well, his own eyes brimming with a dark, powerful emotion. “It nearly killed me to watch you reveal yourself before Claudius,” he breathed out, the sound tortured to her ears as he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closing shut. “Do you know how that made me feel? Standing there powerless to stop him, powerless to do a thing when all I wanted to do was rip him apart. I was not angry with you, I was never angry with you, I was furious with myself. It makes a man feel less than a man to desire a woman that by law he cannot even have, let alone protect and shield from the lustful attentions of another.”

  His words came out hoarse and raw as if they’d been cleaved from his soul, and Aurora stroked his face with the lightest of touches, her fingertips smoothing the lines from his brow until he opened his eyes and met her gaze.

  “Claudius will never have me, I promise you this.”

  Aurora blinked, wide eyed. What had possessed her to say such a thing? If Claudius wished her in his bed then she would go to him because it would earn her his trust, it would earn her his favor.

  “If Claudius wants you to share his bed, then he will have you within it,” Cyrus said quietly, to which Aurora shook her head.

  “Cornelia’s mad jealousy will see to it that he doesn’t, and I will never willing go to him.” With an inward sigh, Aurora resigned herself to the fact that she’d just made her mission that much harder for herself, and all for what? A man?

  She stared up at Cyrus. He was not just any man. The way Cyrus looked upon her, touched her, spoke to her with words as tender as his fingers against her skin. She’d never known such a man. She could not go to Claudius’ bed, she would simply have to find another way to accomplish her mission. The sound of footsteps forced them apart, and before they could be discovered, she left the shadows with Cyrus and let him lead her to her chambers.

  As they passed the bathing pools, Aurora stared longingly into the room. She doubted the object was even still there, but she’d hoped to return that eve to retrieve whatever Cornelia had dropped.

  Cyrus mistook her expression, however. “The hour is late and the guards cannot leave their posts for just you, but if you rise early before the rest of the slaves, you may be able to convince one to allow you a moment to bathe. That is if you can wake the lot of them. They all sleep until dawn when the house begins to stir.”

  Aurora perked up at that.


  She smiled at Cyrus as they came to a stop before her quarters. He nodded at the guard who opened her door, but before she stepped inside she turned to Cyrus.

  “Thank you,” she said, because she owed him a debt of gratitude for the information he’d unknowingly furnished.

  He nodded in response, his lips curving into a crooked smile, which caused a warm stirring within her belly. Aurora held back a sigh at her predicament. Without even trying, Cyrus was crumbling her resolve, and slowly, steadily worming his way past her defenses.

  When Cyrus turned to leave, the door to her quarters was closed, then locked.

  Aurora was careful not to wake Artemisia as she found her pallet and stretched out upon it. She closed her eyes and soon drifted off to sleep, but not before she determined she would rise early on the morrow to bathe—when the house was asleep and the guards were few.

  * * * *

  It was not unusual that long before the break of day her eyes snapped open. No sunlight penetrated the cavernous tunnels beneath Claudius’ villa, no sunlight pierced the dark quarters of the slaves. Yet, Aurora knew it was well before dawn. Her body had accustomed itself to the inner workings of Claudius’ home, its sounds. She recognized the quiet stillness that came just before the House of Norbanus came to life.

  There were rumors that the Order could trace its origins back to the time of the Spartans, and so it was believed by the members that when an acolyte was recruited into The Order, their training was modeled after that of the Spartan agoge—intense and rigid, brutal and merciless.

  Aurora had spent seven years as an acolyte, from the time of her seventeenth year. Subjected to endless hours of rigorous training, Aurora had endured many days and nights when she’d not earned the peace of sleep. Years later she’d learned the purpose of depriving the acolytes of sleep was so they’d never grow accustomed to slumbering soundly.

  Aurora crawled off her mat to her feet and peeked through the small iron grill window within her door. Her quarters were situated in the middle of a long tunnel. Eight rooms, four on either side held as many as four female slaves each. A single guard kept watch at one end of every tunnel, so within each vestibule there were two guards. In a household of little more than a hundred slaves, Aurora had counted sixteen guards for the slave quarters—that did not include the two dozen or so that kept watch over the abode proper.

  “Petricles.” Aurora quietly rasped the name of the guard who was closest to her. She’d learned the names of the soldiers who guarded the slave quarters from Artemisia. One of the lessons learned from her years of training was that familiarity bred trust. That she recognized their faces and called them by their names would endear her to the guards.

  When Petricles did not move from his position, she called his name again. He jerked in response, so suddenly that she realized he must have fallen asleep as he stood against the wall.

  He looked in her direction and with her hand through the bars, she beckoned him to her. When he stood before her door, she could see his eyes were still rheumy with sleep.

  She smiled, her eyes glowing, her full lips puckering. Her expression was flirtatious, but not overly so. She did not wish for him to mistake her purpose, and overstep his position as guards were known to do with slaves.

  “I am sorry for disturbing you,” she began. “But the hour was late when I returned from training and I have not yet bathed.” She glanced down at herself, still dirty and disheveled. “I do not wish our dominus to be displeased upon seeing me in this state.”

  Petricles nodded. Her position as Claudius’ newly acquired pet had not gone unnoticed to any. Thus far, she was entitled to certain privileges, which Aurora would take advantage of until they were no more. As was the way of the whims of the wealthy, such privileges could disappear without provocation or notice.

  Petricles opened the door. And just before she left, she glanced over at Artemisia, who did not stir, for which she was grateful. The girl had shown herself to be quite inquisitive. Aurora did not wish for others to know she’d left her quarters before dawn, no matter that it was under the guise of bathing.

  Petricles escorted her to the baths in silence. When they arrived, he nodded for her to enter and he took his position just outside the open archway.

  Aurora had suspected Petricles held no passionate interest in women from her last time in the baths alone. He’d stood guard outside the baths, not once taking advantage that she was naked and alone. She suspected many, if not all the guards who stood watch over the female slaves, did not prefer women, so she was not surprised when Petricles took up his post just beyond the entryway, affording her a measure of privacy.

  Aurora removed her tunic and slipped into the warm water, splashing about loudly as she cleansed herself. She imagined only a few minutes must have passed before the sound she’d been waiting for came.

  Gentle snores.

  Petricles had fallen asleep again as she’d known he would. Aurora moved quickly and quietly. She did not have much time before he would awaken, and the rest of the house with him.

  Wading over to the corner where she’d left the object, she felt around for it with her foot. Light from the lamps filtered through the darkness, but Aurora could not see the bottom clearly. Filling her lungs with air, she slipped beneath the surface, searching through the murky water.

  Crawling along the bottom of the pool, she peered through the shadowed waters, but nothing shimmered before her, nothing reflected the muted light. She surfaced slowly, her lips twisting with disappointment as she drew in air until her breathing evened.

  It was gone.

  Another slave probably found it, maybe Cornelia herself had returned to retrieve it.

  Aurora listened for Petricles. He still snored deeply as he slept just outside.

  She had minutes, maybe less, to finish her task. She climbed from the pool, careful to remain as quiet as possible.

  Tiptoeing across the smooth tiles, she crept over to the back wall. Her eyes were alert as she searched for what she was certain had to be there. Most wealthy Roman homes were littered with hidden passageways and catacombs. It was only a matter of—

  Aurora stilled.

  The bathhouse walls were constructed with facings of mortared brickwork so that straight lines were a common pattern. But this one was too straight, too even. Nestled between two lamps hanging from the westward facing wall, ran a long line of more than half a body length that came to her shoulders. She’d missed it because she’d been searching for a doorway in one of the corners. Instead it was almost in plain view, except one could easily miss it, thinking it just another pattern in the brick layout.

  Aurora studied it closely. The layered network of bricks formed a coded puzzle. When certain bricks along the door were pressed inward and according to the prescribed sequence, the hidden door would open. Aurora had seen many such entrances before, and each one had a unique code, usually involving three bricks so the owner would not forget it, but she did not have enough time to try a sequence.

  The low hum of voices echoing within the tunnels signaled the household was beginning to rise for the day. She would have to return later to solve the puzzle.

  She made her way back over to the pool and slid into the water, barely making a sound. Almost as soon as her nude body was submerged, Petricles entered the chambers.

  “It is time for you to return to your quarters. I must let the others out to begin their duties for the day.”

  “Thank you,” she said, waiting until Petricles turned his back discreetly, while she climbed out of the pool and tugged on her garment.

  By the time he returned her to her chambers, the tunnels were alive with the sounds of people rising, ready to begin another day, including Artemisia.

  The door closed behind Aurora with a solid thud, and the girl looked at her through shrewd eyes.

  “You had Petricles escort you to the baths.”

  Aurora had hoped to return before Artemisia wakened. That she hadn’t, meant she�
��d be faced with a barrage of questions until Petricles returned to release them for the day.

  “I did,” Aurora replied. “I missed the opportunity to bathe yesterve.”

  “I heard of what happened.”

  “That I did not bathe?”

  “No, of how you beat Primus within a hairsbreadth of his life.” The ordinarily fresh faced and sweet Artemisia, smirked. “I wager he deserved it, didn’t he? He has not been here long so I do not know him well, but from the times I’ve encountered him, he has not been pleasant. I wish I could have seen his face when you pummeled him.”

  Aurora frowned. “No you do not. It was not a pretty sight to see.”

  “That ghastly, was it?”

  “Artemisia!” Aurora was startled by the bloodlust now gathering in the girl’s eyes.

  “It was nothing that I have not seen before, I am sure.” Artemisia shrugged.

  Aurora did not know if that was true or not, although she could imagine the young woman had probably seen more than her sweet natured face would lead one to believe.

  The sound of keys jangling told Aurora that Petricles was returning for them. Both women whipped their heads in the direction of the metal grille, and the sudden movement caused a small necklace made of bronze to slip from beneath Artemisia’s tunica.

  Aurora stilled, seemingly mesmerized by the small ornament hanging from the girl’s neck that appeared to be the depiction of a winged serpent. She realized then why Artemisia had questioned her about her tattoo in the baths, although it was obvious the girl had no idea what the symbol meant, or else she would never have queried Aurora in the first place.

  As if she could feel the weight of Aurora’s stare upon her, Artemisia glanced down, following Aurora’s gaze.

  “What is that?” Aurora asked, keeping her tone light, appearing only mildly inquisitive, despite her rapt interest in the young woman’s answer. Artemisia quickly covered the charm with her hand and stuffed it back inside her tunic.

  “Nothing, just a token given to me long ago.”