Enslaved (3 page)

There was always a moment when the tide of horror rushed over her—a dread that his thirst for blood outweighed his hunger for her and that their love couldn’t keep him sane. His fingers constricted around her mane. His free hand moved to her neck. Breaking it would take little strength for a practiced executioner.

She fought back by slipping the tunic down her arms and shimmying her hips until it sank to her ankles. “I am yours.” She kicked away the dress, baring her naked flesh.

“I know.” His callused index finger traced her collarbone, edging closer to her breasts. He slowly circled the areola, then gave a delicate pinch to her nipple.

She shivered. A drop of wet desire trickled down her leg.

“Venus has blessed us both.” He drew her close and kissed her, forcefully at first, then softly, as Marcella parted her lips and mingled her tongue with his. She briefly tasted the metallic, salty tang of blood, common to his violent profession.

She tugged at his breechcloth until the wool fabric unwrapped and fell to the floor. She stroked the head of his cock with her fingertips as she guided the foreskin back. He grew as rigid as the stones behind her.

Canus raised one of her thighs, widening the moist passage to her cunt. “Freshly shaved. Such a treat.” He knelt and rested her leg over his shoulder. “Shall I show my gratitude?”

His warm breath against her skin ignited a ferocious carnal appetite. She could wait no longer to be satisfied. She pulled his mouth closer, feeling the scruff of his cheek brush her inner thigh.

He nuzzled at her lower lips, as if savoring her perfumed aroma, before burying his tongue deep into her pussy.

“Oh, yes,” she gasped. “Oh, Canus.”

He splayed the creamy folds with his fingers and fervently licked her clit. Her receptive bulb swelled as he stoked the fiery tingles rising from her erogenous zone, sending out concentric ripples of pleasure.

She stabbed her nails into his scalp. “Right there!”

He whirled his tongue round and round her sweet spot until Marcella reached her sensual apex. Her body quaked under continual waves of luscious rapture. She came so intensely that her arms fell limply to her sides and her standing knee buckled.

Canus gripped her ass to save her from falling. With both hands, he hoisted her up to straddle his waist. She held on to his broad shoulders, cringing as he entered her.

“Apologies.” He paused halfway into her balmy sheath, letting her adjust to his large size. “I forgot more than a week has passed since we were last together.” A day without her was too long. She was his beacon, lighting his path from near madness to serene lucidity, and he always came back. Now he would make her come, in his way.

“I grow tighter with anticipation of our meetings. Do not stop.”

She seemed to enjoy the brief discomfort, saying it gave way to a heightened euphoria. He enjoyed showing he was in charge. He could hurt her or please her because she belonged to him.

He delayed his full entry until she gnawed her lip and bucked her hips for him to proceed. He smiled and eased her onto the remaining length of his pulsating shaft. He bounced her to and fro, causing the veins along each of his biceps to stick out like ropes as he thrived inside her weeping cunt.

Her muscles clamped around him, and she panted harder and louder in a chorus of blissful din. He covered her mouth with one hand, muffling her cries. “Shh, you will wake the dead.”

He slowed their pace until Marcella stifled her moans. He raised her hips higher so only the tip of his cock was inside. With a flurry of vertical jerks, growing bigger at each pump, the joyous pressure reached critical mass, and he burst within her.

His body relaxed, followed by a slight shudder from the amount of muscular energy he expelled when he climaxed. She possessed the power to make him, a gladiator, quiver. It was a boastful victory and a win for both.

“Ahh,” he expressed between labored inhales and exhales. “I needed that.”

“Yes. I do not know what I would do without you. If you perish in the games, my heart will explode from my chest.”

“Pity to ruin such a lovely pair of breasts.” He pulled out and moved them to lie on the cot.

“Do not jest when you know I have a right to be afraid.”

“I promise, I will not die in the games. I only fight in the smaller arenas, Capua, Liternum, Atella. Those men are not fit to be called gladiators. They are untrained slaves and criminals who pose no challenge. The Coliseum is the real hazard. Skilled warriors and wild animals are released there. Your father rarely sends us.”

“You say it as if you miss those battles.”

“I miss the roar of the crowd and the applause so loud your ears ache. I am happy to have those memories because my career is ending. My ribs have never healed right since my last fight there.” He poked at his side. “It sometimes hurts to swing my sword. I think the head trainer senses it and means to name me his second in command.”

“Lurco means to retire, I mean, promote you?”

He weighed both words. Either was almost the equivalent to a stay of execution.

“It is an honor to be chosen. I have always hoped to emulate my father, a great teacher to be feared and respected. After he died, mother took another husband and relocated us to be close to his family. I could not live far from this place and you. This is my home, whether I fight or teach.”

“After we marry, this ludus will be ours and I will not have to leave your side to sleep in my own bed.” She got up to find her clothing. The weak lamp light showed a crumpled pile on the dirt floor she guessed must be her tunic.

Canus studied her body as she dressed. “I long for that tomorrow.”

“As do I.” She kissed him goodbye before exiting the cell.

The compound was dark and soundless as Marcella trekked across the grounds inferring what it would mean if Canus became head trainer. His contract as a gladiator would end, he would retain his freed man status, and his reputation as a revered champion might help sway Bestia to allow them to wed. One impediment was Lurco. He may not be so ready to relinquish his position without encouragement.

How could he be persuaded?
As she traversed through the garden, she found an answer. She spotted a two-foot tall belladonna plant with its distinct bell-shaped flowers. She sniffed the purple petals. They emitted a nauseating odor, a clue that it was baneful and bore poisonous fruit. She carefully picked a few of the black berries. She could sneak small amounts of the toxic juice into Lurco’s food or drink to keep him sick and make him name a replacement.

She abandoned the plan as hastily as it formed. She didn’t know if prolonged doses would be fatal, and the illness itself was surely painful. She wasn’t cruel nor was she a murderer. She was a healer. Her love for Canus and the desperation to keep him clouded her judgment. Such bad thoughts, even without action, were almost enough to secure a place for her in the flaming pits of Tartarus. She threw down the berries and squished them into the ground with her shoe.

She hurried back to her room and lit a candle by the bed.

“Where were you?” a groggy voice asked.

“Julius Caesar!” She jumped with surprise.

The gray-haired patriarch sat wearily in a chair. The herbs were losing effect. The disease was worsening, robbing him of sleep, and Marcella was caught.

“You startled me. I could not fall asleep so I went for a walk.”

“Absent your attendant? I think not. I know you were with Canus.”

“Father, I—”

“Do not interrupt. Your excuses are shit pouring from an asshole. I will not be the wiping rag that absorbs them. When your mother died, I indulged you with far too many freedoms. I needed you here for Maro’s sake, so I never pressed you to find a husband. This stops now. A proper Roman woman does not lie with gladiators, at least where others are aware, and especially not the daughter of Bestia Calpurnia!” He pounded his chest. “Certainly not when she is promised to another man.”

She was still reeling from the simile comparing her to either feces or a rectum. “What?”

“I am not ignorant. I have suspected this for months, and to see you sneaking in here turns my stomach.” He paused to cough and steady his respiration. “I am not getting better from this illness. I worry what will happen when I am gone. I have no choice but to intervene now, before you get pregnant with a bastard child, and marry you off to a gentleman of decent standing.”

Marcella knelt by his side. “With respect, father, as a lanista, you are judged as good as a butcher or a pimp. I will never be referred to as proper, and I shall be damned before I wed someone I do not know.”

“Suspend your damnation for now. You are familiar with the Licinia family.”

Her brain didn’t process his statement, as if her head were submersed in water and her eardrums heard muffled syllables strung together. “Father, I love Canus. He is a good man, not a common servant, and he is the champion of the entire Campania region. Does that count for nothing?”

“Not in this respect. You will do as I say, otherwise I shall trade him or make sure the next fight is his last. Unless you prefer that I sell Pictrix?”

A sinking sensation in her chest forced all air from her lungs. Pictrix was her best and closest friend. She could barely muster the word, “No.”

“If you truly love them, you will make the right decision.” Her father stormed from Marcella’s room, leaving her to cry silently on her bed. He’d allocated her few options and all of them meant losing Canus.

Chapter Three

At morning meal, Marcella sat in silence. She had no appetite. Her father scowled from across the table, sometimes shifting his view from her to Pictrix as if to say, choose.

Maro finished his food and was excused from the table.

“Find your tongue, Marcella,” her father said. “I have much to do today.”

“May I speak freely?”

He nodded.

“Who is the man you wish for me to wed?”

“Macer Licinia. You two have always been friendly. He is doing well for himself in the army and his entire clan is of superb breeding.”

She recalled Macer’s wealthy parents. They were fond of the games and invested in a gladiator of their own. The whole family visited the Calpurnias to see their man train. The two oldest children, bloated with notions of their pedigree, turned their noses up at Marcella, but not Macer. He was always kind. Anytime she passed him in town, he acknowledged her with a smile and waved her over for a chat. He wasn’t ugly either, and had she not been in love with Canus, the coupling wouldn’t be unthinkable.

“Yes, I know him, and I have heard of the senior Licinia as well. He is known for his vast land ownership and funding of his brother’s military enterprises. Macer is a soldier. What do either of them know of running a school for gladiators? You are too ill to teach them, and once you are gone, the Licinias will sell this place to the highest bidder. Then what will happen to your legacy for Maro? He will be shipped to distant relatives and probably sold off as a slave. Is that what you want for your son?”

“Do not change the subject. I have arranged a meeting for you and Macer. Opinions could waver. Perhaps he wants to move from the shadow of his father and inherit this business for himself. Maybe you can be the one who persuades him.”

“I beg of you, do not make me marry him.”

“Would you rather it be one you do not know, perhaps the spoiled grandson of a senator? I have one in mind.”

“Well, why not Naso of the Ovidia clan?” She had no true interest in him. Her goal was to strike a nerve with her father.

“The Ovidias have been our rivals in the gladiatorial games for years. What a daft suggestion.”

“Oh, I rather favor him. I bet he would love to inherit this ludus, do you not?”

“You would not dare attempt an elopement out of spite.”

“Care to wager on it?”

He rubbed his temples. “Macer is a friend. Why not give him a chance?”

“Because I love Canus. See him elevated to a higher position and allow us to become husband and wife. This ludus is all he has known. He would never part from it. He would never send away Maro.” She held a knife from the table. “I will die by my own hand before I am separated from either.”

“You make valid points, yet defer your suicide. This drama is unnecessary. I will ponder all options and give you a decision later.” He rose from his chair. “Until then, do not mention a word to Canus. I do not want his training affected.”

Marcella nodded. Secretly, she intended to tell Canus once her father left for the market. He planned to inspect the newest batch of slaves, and in his absence, Marcella would have extensive time to inform her lover.

As if sensing her thoughts, however, her father lingered in the house. He sat on the terrace, watching his gladiators exercise. With their assigned weapons, some were paired off to duel. Others lifted heavy wooden beams to build their strength. The head trainer snapped his whip to signal rotations.

Although Canus was within shouting distance, Marcella dared not speak. She lounged near her father, fanning herself and trying to conceal her impatience. The dark clouds of desperation skulked into her psyche again. She debated whether overdosing her sick father on valerian root would be murder or a mercy killing. But the light of her humanity shined through, rendering the verdict inconsequential.

The day wore on. The sun burned hotter. The wooden swords endlessly clacking at each other grew annoying.

“Father, how many gladiators are we down to now?”

“Nineteen. No, wait.” He stood and craned his torso over the banister as he pointed his index finger toward the distant field and counted. “Twenty, until the fresh stock arrives. That reminds me. I must go to market. I will not return in time for lunch. I am supping with the senior Licinia to talk business. Ensure that dinner this evening has an extra plate for Macer. Set aside arguments and make yourself presentable for introductions tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” She had so often taken advantage of her father’s lethargy and forgetfulness that his renewed determination was shocking. His promises of punishment usually faded with time.