Enslaved (2 page)

He obeyed, watching her every move as if she might pose a threat. She slowly threaded a needle, wanting to ask him dozens of questions. His one-year mark approached. He would soon confront true killers in the arena. She wondered if he regretted his decision to volunteer. She thought asking if he was scared sounded too dumb. Everyone encountered fear, didn’t they?

She settled on, “You look so different since last we spoke.”

“Am I not a suitable monster?” He removed the rag to expose his laceration. Several smaller scars were visible around his scalp. Though he appeared considerably aged and worn-out, the man she’d befriended was hiding somewhere beyond the hematomas and fractured cheekbones. He was still handsome to her and still caused an amorous prickle in her nether regions.

“You are not monstrous. I have greatly missed your company. Are we not still friends?”

“I am no one’s friend.”

“What about Drusus? You often spoke of him in kind.”

“Your father sent him to the mines yesterday.”

“Apologies. I was not informed.”

“No, you know little of gladiatorial affairs. You stitch our cuts until the wound grows too large and we are thrown away.”

She pinched his gaping flesh together and pierced a needle through the tissue. He grimaced only once while she sewed. She mulled over his insulting statement as she tied the last knot and told herself not to respond. She made it as far as the door. “It was not I who threw you away, nor do I deserve this disrespect. Good day.”

After that conversation, they didn’t speak for five seasons. Then, as years of accumulated grief threatened the foundations of her sanity, and she needed him the most, he was there. That night she’d awakened and found that her brother was not in his bed. Maro had begun sleepwalking after their stepmother died. He would rise and roam around the house, calling out for her. Once he had ventured through the gardens and as far as the empty training field before Canus discovered the boy and carried him back to a frantic Marcella. She stood crying at the edge of the garden. Her sleeping dress and bare feet were filthy from searching the grounds.

Canus wore only a loincloth that covered from waist to groin. His short hair was still damp from a bath and raised scars along his arms shined like ribbons of silk in the moonlight. “The child needs a mother,” he whispered, not wanting to wake Maro who’d passed out on his shoulder.

“Yes, we all do.” She reached out to take her brother and instead found herself collapsing against Canus. She was frightened he would push her away and terrified her father would find them when he didn’t.

He held her as she sobbed, grieving for the loss of her family and the loss of his companionship.

“Why have you forgotten me?” she asked.

“I have not forgotten you. I could never. Things are…different now.”

“Because you killed a man or because of the women who visit the barracks?” Her father rewarded his fighters with prostitutes. She’d seen them enter Canus’ cell more than once.

He waited a long time to answer. “It is different for many reasons.”

“Do you not want me as I want you?” She pressed her body into him. His heart thudded faster, and his skin felt similar to smoldering coals against her face.

“It is scandalous. I can never have you in that way, nor am I worthy. What would you ask of me?”

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “Next time this house is plied with whores, and all the men, including my father, are drunk off wine and passion, you will go unnoticed stealing away to my room.”

“This is very dangerous. Giving a condemned man reason to live.” Canus placed his mouth on hers. She felt a scab on his upper lip and moistened it with her tongue. He chased after hers with his own. His kiss was comfort and warmth against the cold realities of the world, and she was entranced. Night sounds and sensations melted away like snowflakes in summer. Only Canus stayed, with his arm around her, his musky scent wafting into her nose, his velvety tongue exploring her mouth. Her lower aperture begged for his touch.

From then on, each time the compound was distracted with liquor and entertainment, though the occasion was rare, he would sneak into Marcella’s room, teaching her the ways of pleasure. The interval between their trysts lengthened when her father fell too ill for the taste of wine or the company of prostitutes. Her father still allowed those gifts for his gladiators, though seldom partook. Marcella bided her time, sometimes feeding him sleeping herbs so she could abscond to Canus’ cell.

Their love multiplied, as did his number of victories in the arena. He became a slayer of men and beasts, the people’s paladin, and the master of her heart. But their clandestine affair would be castigated should her father become aware of it.

She heard his voice in her forebrain.
Gladiators are not unlike domesticated animals, useful to us and we may mourn their passing, howbeit they are replaceable
. When asked if the champion, Canus Ateia, was easily replaced, her father explained a woman should focus more on marriage rather than the business of a warmonger.

Soon after, her father seemed suspicious of Marcella, even neglecting sleep, as if keeping a watchful eye on her. She acted unaware, letting many nights pass without visiting Canus until she believed she’d regained her father’s trust.

But tonight, once he and his attendants succumbed to sleep, she would break the cautious routine. She waited, listening and watching, for the right moment. Her impatience manifested itself into jittery movements that pacing across the villa’s balcony seemed to exacerbate. It was time for a relaxing bath.

“Pictrix,” she addressed her servant. The young woman was never far away. She had been purchased as a nurse for Maro and an attendant to Marcella. Over the years, she became a trusted friend and confidant. Only Pictrix knew of the taboo affair.

Marcella descended the inner balcony stairs and called her name again.

Pictrix appeared tying a belt around her wool tunic. Her usually tidy brown tresses were disheveled. “I am here.”

Marcella took her hand. “Accompany me to the bath. I smell Scipio upon you.”

“It was only a few kisses.”

“Kisses that nearly remove your robes. Such a love!”

Pictrix snickered. “He is skilled in the art.”

The cute and cunning Scipio was once used as a body slave for her father and his second bride. With her passing, his sexual favors were hardly requested and he sought the affinity of Pictrix. It was an obvious match. She and Scipio were the few permanent servants kept at the villa. Marcella’s father constantly traded out slaves and guards for imagined grievances.

“I thought you two were over,” Marcella said. “Tell me everything.”

The two strolled hand in hand while Pictrix chattered on about Scipio’s insatiable cravings for sex. Marcella had developed a closeness to her attendant as if they were sisters. They shared secrets of romance and dreams beyond the grandeur of Rome’s walls. She didn’t demand servitude from Pictrix and, only in her father’s presence, did they portray a master/slave relationship.

“Feeding Bestia that valerian has benefited us all,” Pictrix said as they entered the bath.

Marcella removed her shoes and clothes and stepped into the water, still lukewarm from the day’s sun. The stony square tub was three feet deep once she hit the bottom of the stairs. Pictrix followed suit. They sat on the submerged bench and let the water cover them to the neck.

“Yes, father needs sleep, and he would surely be disturbed by our raucous behavior.”

“Speaking of, are you going to Canus tonight?”

“After everything you have just described, my body aches for him. He is all I can think about. My hand is sore from pleasuring myself these last weeks.”

“Is it love or merely lust between you two?”

“I loved him even before we lay together. Do you not love Scipio?”

“No. Though, I welcome his affections even if it is out of convenience. I also wonder what it would be like with a different kind of man, to be certain how love feels. Do you not ever think of trying another?”

She sympathized with her friend who, as a slave, was denied the luxuries of courtship and marriage. “Canus tends to all my needs, why try anyone else?”

“Because, and forgive me, he deals in death. Eventually, he will lose.”

“If he remains a gladiator,” Marcella said. “I intend to change that, once an opportunity presents itself.”

“All the impediments that the gods have placed in front of you, and you still think our fates can be changed. How?”

“I will discuss it with him tonight as soon as all others are asleep.”

“Why would you keep it from me? I would never betray your trust.”

“I know. Only, I have not decided my intentions.”

“Domina,” Scipio called out from the edge of the doorway. “I have towels and fresh clothing.”

“Bring them.”

As he entered, Pictrix whispered to her, “You could try Scipio. He will not disappoint.”

“I do not doubt that.” She’d never admitted to anyone that the idea had crossed her mind. She once surreptitiously watched them fuck and was impressed with Scipio’s stamina. She also felt guilty, as if it was unfaithful to Canus. One day, she might tell him or maybe invite him along to watch and see if he fancied it as much as she.

Chapter Two

Three stone walls flanked the open practice arena and barracks, which faced the backside of the villa. Marcella watched from her window as more lights went out around the compound. Once all was quiet in the house and the adjoining gladiatorial school, she put on her sandals and tiptoed down the hall to her father’s room. The old man’s chest rose and fell at a steady rate as he snored. He wouldn’t know she was gone.

With the full moon lighting her way, she crept through the villa’s courtyard en route to the home’s rear portico. She paused at the door, heard nothing, and continued onward through the gardens and across the soggy training grounds. Her shoes sank a little at each step as she arrived at the barracks of the gladiators. Two guards, comfortable in knowing that the fighters were locked up, napped on each end of the building.

Canus, as a volunteer, was different. He had his own private, unlocked cell. She knocked lightly on the door. No response. She slowly pushed it open.

“Canus,” she called out as she entered. He didn’t answer, even when the door squeaked closed. An olive oil lamp illuminated one corner of the room. She saw the man sleeping on his cot. He lay as still as a bronze statue.

She moved beside him. “Wake up,” she whispered, leaning over his body. A lose strand from her braid tickled his tanned cheek.

He bolted upright and grabbed her throat. His eyes were glazed over, lost in a dream. His square jaw clenched in rage as his hand choked an imaginary foe.

“Canus.” She slapped him until he was fully awake and released his grip.

“Marcella, forgive me.” He pulled her to his bare chest, apologizing. His large frame dwarfed her as she nuzzled against him and recollected back during the times of drought when food was less plentiful for all. She’d secretly shared half her meals with him then, giving him strength over his weaker opponents. Now she was as slender as a long-stemmed rose in the hands of her titan, ready to be plucked.

“Nightmares again?” she asked between dry coughs.

“I do not recall. I was not expecting you tonight. You are taking a chance coming to my room.”

“I could wait no more. Are we not worth it?”

Canus kissed the top of her head. “Marcella, you mean everything to me, but if your father finds out about us, he will send you away, and that is the
best
outcome. The worst is—”

“He will not discover us. Besides, you are not a slave. You volunteered. My father is smart enough to know that you would leave with me. He would not risk losing one of his best warriors. And with his failing health and mother gone, father needs me here to care for Maro while he runs this ludus.”

Canus offered a frustrated sigh. “Even as a volunteer, I forfeited certain rights when I took the oath. I swore allegiance to this house. Bestia would have to agree to let me buy myself out of the contract, which in order to keep us apart, he would not do. You are a fool if you think the level of your father’s embarrassment would not trump his goal of having a prized gladiator.”

Marcella shrugged out of his embrace and turned away. She disliked his speaking of their situation as if hope was futile. “I shall go then.”

“No, no. Tarry a while with me.”

“You called me a fool. I suppose I must be for loving you. I should wise up and go to my own bed.”

“As if I would allow it. The mere scent of you has roused me.” He took her by the wrist and slipped her fingers beneath his breechcloth. His cock stiffened further at her touch. His massive erection rivaled that of Priapus, the fertility god.

She retracted her hand. “How unfortunate for you that I must leave.” She rose and sauntered toward the door, knowing Canus appreciated a chase.

“Marcella, wait.” He leapt off the bed and blocked her exit. “I did not mean you are foolish. Do not leave angry.” He stood over six feet tall, a barrier of pure muscle between her and the door.

She looked up at her lover and smiled. “I am not mad. I know we should be more discreet.”

“Ah, I see. You think you can come here, flashing your amber eyes, teasing me, and then not deliver.” He shoved her enough that she stepped backward.

She slapped at him to further her pretense of disinterest. In truth, she craved him as much as he yearned for her. She deliberately ran for the thrill of being captured.

He caught her forearms and continued nudging her until she was sandwiched betwixt the stone wall and his body, all brawn and sinew and sweat. Only two pieces of cloth shielded his thick phallus pressing against her stomach. “Such a beautiful little temptress.”

She abandoned her resistance, wanting nothing more than to be taken. A coy, one-sided grin emerged on his face. It was the same grin shown to his opponents once they were bested, only this time, it wouldn’t be a sword he slid inside her. He snaked his hand through her hair and yanked her head back. Menacing shadows flickered across his face.