One With the Darkness (5 page)

“Let me get your property, my lady,” the trader said. They turned to the back of the stall. The three men clustered round the straining barbarian, laughing as he tried to twist away. Blood dripped from his wrists where he had pulled against his shackles. They had him fully erect and one was still jerking on his rod. He spat at them. It was his only means of defiance.

Graccus wiped his face and laughed. “Oh, he’ll be a joy to break.”

“I agree,” she said. The three yanked their gazes up, as did the barbarian. He flushed in shame. “Now unhand my new slave, sirs, so I may begin.”

“What? But I am buying him for my brothel!”

She waved the receipt scroll. “Too late.” Her bodyguards stepped up behind her. She turned to the trader. “For the price I just paid, you can throw in a pair of shackles.”

The trader nodded and clapped his hands. Slaves appeared with the required bindings. They unlocked the barbarian’s wrists from the poles and chained them behind his back before they released his feet. His ankles, too, were bloodied. Those green eyes stared at her, burning with intensity, as though he was still not sure what had just happened to him. Excitement churned inside her. This was the start of something—she didn’t know quite what. “Come
quietly, slave,” she ordered, putting all the force of her personality behind her words, just shy of raising her Companion for compulsion. “You two—see that he does.” Two of Titus’s bodyguards nodded. Each took one of the slave’s arms and dragged him forward while Graccus remonstrated with the trader.

“You knew I wanted him,” Graccus was saying. The trader only shrugged. He couldn’t have gotten two thousand dinars for a slave bound for a brothel.

“Let’s find your master,” she said to the bodyguards. They pushed into the market throng.

“There you are,” Titus called, hurrying over. Livia saw him frown as he registered the barbarian. “Livia Quintus, what is this? You’ve never purchased this creature!”

“I have, Titus. He was a soldier, therefore skilled in martial arts. He even speaks Latin.”

“Livia, return him at once. This is no slave for a woman.”

Livia turned to her new purchase, seeing him through Titus’s eyes. His rod was still full, if not erect. Bloody and sweating, he looked fierce, with those intense green eyes and all that hair. But he was the one she wanted. She knew that as certainly as she knew her own name. “Once we clean him up you won’t recognize him.”

“He needs more than a bath to make him suitable.”

“You were the one who suggested a slave, and now that I’ve meekly done as you ask, you rail at me.”

Titus rolled his eyes. “Meek? I would welcome meek.”

Livia gestured her entourage forward. Titus sighed and fell in step. “I just hope you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew.”

“If I have, I shall sell him. Now, to my litter.”

3

H
E’D BEEN BOUGHT
by a woman. This did not bode well. Jergan had hoped he’d be bought for his strong back and sent to labor in some Roman’s fields or to pull an oar on a galley. Those things he understood. It would be painful never to see Centii, his home, again, but he would bear it. Instead a woman had bought him for who knew what purposes.

Rome loomed around him. Huge stone buildings everywhere, triumphal arches. The place was like no other he had ever seen. He’d been marched naked through the streets yesterday,
paved
streets, along with the other captives and wagons holding an astounding number of seashells. The soldiers who had captured him were not happy about the seashells, but he put it down to the insanity of Rome. Rome was insane. Word of its indulgence in orgies and cruel games had spread across the world. Those brutes who had raised his cock in the slave market were no doubt just the beginning of his ordeal. The thought of their touch still made him squirm. If not for them, the woman might not have noticed him.

Or maybe he could not escape notice. He was a clear head taller than any Roman man. He had not seen light eyes except on other captives. If the woman had not noticed him,
he might be in a brothel, being raped and beaten. Could anything be worse than that? In Rome, perhaps the answer was “yes.”

He was hurried out to a litter. It was all he could do not to limp. But he wouldn’t let these Romans see him weak. The woman stepped inside and closed the veils of her litter while the men shackled him to one of the poles. The richly dressed man walked round to the other side. She did not treat him with the submission required of a woman to a husband or father in his homeland. And what man would let his wife or daughter buy a slave like Jergan? He must be a friend. The bearers lifted the poles and started out of the market.

People and litters still crowded the streets. Did Romans never sleep? Jergan was conscious that he was naked. He jutted his chin up. He refused to be ashamed.

Two women whispered together, then hurried up to him and … and touched him. He growled to frighten them away. It didn’t work. Soon he had a small, clucking crowd following him, touching biceps and shoulder, buttocks—even his privates. The guards only grinned. He stopped ducking away from his tormentors and resolved to ignore them. He would think of Centii: the rich fields, his family eating under the trees of the orchard in the summertime. He couldn’t hold the image. He felt his cock rising. Curse the life of a soldier. If he had been relieving his needs regularly with a woman, they would not be able to tease him so. He strode ahead, gaze stony, willing himself flaccid. It wasn’t working.

“Halt,” her voice barked out from inside the litter.

The bearers lurched to a stop. That only gave the chattering leeches clinging to him a better target for their foul caresses. His owner poked her head out from among the
veils. This close he noticed that she had a vitality, a force of life that almost hummed about her. A scent of something exotic, spicy and sweet hung around her.

“Get back, whores,” she said, low but so intensely her words seemed to echo in the air around her. “He belongs to me.” To his amazement the women stepped back, shock in their eyes.

“You three, keep them away from him,” she ordered the guards. Her head disappeared inside the hangings. “Proceed.”

The men around him, chastised, drew their swords. The women backed off, murmuring epithets. Several spat upon Jergan.

Before they could start forward again, a litter squeezing through the narrow street from the opposite direction halted their progress. This litter was wide, its gauzy hangings bordered in purple and embroidered with gold thread. It took eight burly Nubians to bear it by the ornately carved double poles that sat on their shoulders. As it squeezed past, a female voice called on the bearers to halt. A woman with a long nose and close-set eyes pulled back the hangings and raked her gaze over Jergan. Her smile made him feel unclean.

“Agrippina, look.” The woman beckoned to a companion. Another woman leaned forward and peered at him. She must be nearsighted. Their features said clearly they were related.

“Oh, my!” the second woman exclaimed.

“My humble slave draws the attention of the imperial sisters. I am honored.” His new owner’s voice behind him was not obsequious, no matter these women’s status. It held the faintest hint of sarcasm and more, contempt. “How good to meet you, Julia Lavilla, Julia Agrippina.”

The sisters had the same first name? Ahhhh. They were
named for the first dictator of Rome, no doubt to display their lineage.

“We were on the way to the night market to see if there were any slaves left from the victory parade. The one we bought didn’t last, and we have need of new fodder for our … attentions.” They only glanced to his owner. Their eyes drifted back to his naked body.

“You have saved us the trouble of the market, Livia Quintus. This one suits our needs.”

“I am desolated, exalted ones.” Her voice was too sorrowful to be truly sorry. “He is not for sale.”

“Nonsense,” Julia Lavilla snorted. “Name your price.”

“A thousand apologies,” his new owner mourned. “I cannot think of a sum that would mean more to me than the anticipation breaking this slave raises in my breast.”

Breaking.
The second time she had spoken of it. He ground his teeth together. Whatever lay ahead, he would bear it. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t frightened, somewhere down inside.

“But Agrippina, how can she…?” the other sister sputtered. She must be called Agrippina to distinguish her from her sister.

“Livia Quintus Lucellus withholds that pleasure from us, Julia. Well, perhaps we will see you and your slave at a victory banquet. Once you have been sated by him, you may be in the mood to share.”

The curtain dropped and his owner gave the signal to move on.

He stared straight ahead and concentrated on not limping. The full horror of being a woman’s slave in decadent Rome came home to him. He wondered if he could hold out without submitting to her. He’d at least make her work for it. No matter the tortures she employed. He swallowed, his mouth dry. He was a warrior. His troop had joined the
rebelling Gauls to face the overwhelming Roman legions with valor.

He only hoped he could face what lay ahead.

“L
EAVE US
,” L
IVIA
said to Lucius Lucellus, the freedman who ran her household, and the two maids who normally attended her. The three bowed themselves out of her chambers doubtfully, but there was no arguing with her tone. Livia turned to the barbarian, standing naked, his wrists chained behind him, in the middle of her chamber. The lamplight glowed on intricately woven tapestries in vibrant colors and marble busts on pedestals. A delicate bronze figure of Pan sat on a carved wooden sideboard. She could command the elegances of Roman culture, next to which the giant naked barbarian seemed even more out of place. The wound in his shoulder stood out lividly, and he had fading bruises over his ribs and his right hip. But these wounds were not his first taste of combat. Old scars on thigh and chest gave tribute to his history as a soldier. He stood, green eyes glaring at her, not like a slave at all in spite of the chains.

Perhaps Titus was right. This might be difficult. What had she been thinking to buy a slave like this? He would be nothing but trouble. She should have Lucius take him right back down to the market and dispose of him for whatever price he would bring.

But somehow, she had no intention of doing that.

She tapped a finger to her chin, studying him. “How well do you speak Latin?”

“Well enough,” he grunted, not bothering with any term of respect. Not promising. She could compel the slave of course. The Companion in her blood gave her control over human minds if she called up its power. But one couldn’t compel a human constantly. It took effort and energy. She
must sleep. Her attention would inevitably wander. Then, of course, using the power of her Companion in public would reveal that her eyes went red. So she needed this barbarian willing, or at least inured to being a slave, if he was to be of any use as a pretense of a bodyguard. It was time to see if he was intelligent. She had a theory about slaves and she meant to test it. Romans considered that slaves were not truly men, that they had no animus or spirit, and therefore no honor. But Livia didn’t believe it.

“Let us come to an understanding, then.” She paused. “How did you become slave?” She knew what must have happened.

He swallowed. “I was given into slavery by the general of the Gauls when his army was defeated.” The man’s eyes were hard.

“So you are not of the Gauls?” That was strange.

“I had a troop of two hundred Cantiaci only. We crossed the channel from Centii, our homeland, to scout out the Roman numbers. We expected the Romans to attack Britannia. I joined my troop with the Gauls who were rebelling against the Romans when we were cut off from our ship.”

So he was Celt. No wonder he looked so fierce. “And in defeat that general gave your men to the Romans as part of the truce.” It was the way of the Romans. They decimated their enemy’s army at the same time they filled the city with slaves, among other tribute. She wished his own commander had given him as a slave, though. That would have been a stronger obligation.

“He gave only me and my two lieutenants to the Romans. My men were spared by agreement. He was an honorable man.”

Unlike the Romans. That’s what he wanted to say. It didn’t matter. She had what she wanted. This man spoke easily of honor. He valued it. He had made an agreement
with the Gaulish general that spared his men. He had given his word. Her ability to keep him depended on his having a good portion of honor himself.

“And what happens if you try to escape? I mean besides the fact that you will be hunted down and crucified?”

He took a breath. “I will have dishonored my people and myself by breaking both my troth to the general who spared my men slavery and his promise to the Roman general.”

“So, let us be clear. Your choices are to be sold to a brothel for men where you will be drugged, beaten, and raped routinely, or possibly to Agrippina and her sister Julia, where I assure you, the result would be much the same. Or to try to escape, thus dishonoring your pledge and guaranteeing your death by crucifixion. Or to serve me. Does that sum it up?”

He glared at her. A muscle in his jaw worked. Then he nodded, once.

“You will want to know what I require, so you may measure your choice. After all, you might still choose the brothel or Caesar’s sisters. If you do, I will return you to the market, without punishment for your choice.”

Now he was wary. He nodded again.

“You will address me as Mistress. You will speak civilly when spoken to. Which has not been the case thus far,” she noted. “I expect obedience, honesty, and ungrudging service.” She cleared her throat. “And one more thing.” How did one ask for this? “I will use you as a bodyguard. You will be given a weapon and I expect you to protect my person at the cost of your own.” He was examining her, his judgment reserved. “Not so different from serving in the army.” Would he see it as similar? Or did protecting a woman who was his people’s enemy seem a betrayal of his honor? “Do you … do you have questions? You may ask them now.”