He's dead. He's... he's finally dead. In my right hand is the dagger I used to slit his throat, the blade still glistening on its edge with his blood. My left hand slowly moves away from his unbreathing mouth, my fingers trembling. He is dead, yet the bruises and aches on my body feel no better because of it.
It is 822 years now since the founding of Rome, though I am far away from it. Within the grand tent of this dead, elderly general, I am secluded from the cool autumn air that is typical of this part of the Germanic lands near the Elbe river. I pull on a black cloak and pull up the hood to hide my waves of fiery red hair. No other slave in this military camp has hair like mine. I save the dagger after wiping the blood on his sheet, tucking it into my belt in case I need it later. Not bothering with sandals, I slip out of the tent and out into the camp. Everyone is sleeping save for one or two lazy guards, and soon enough I'm away and into the dark woods.
Once past the first few trunks I abandon my silent creep for a full-on sprint. I must get away. Native though I am, the V branded onto the right side of my neck marks me forever as property of the dead general Valerious. It is well known in these lands that only he marks his slaves this way, treating us with little more regard than cattle or horses. My teeth grit as I think about it, the brand in my flesh two years old by now, given that my 18th birthday has just passed. I had been bought as a small child with the purpose of carrying water and wine to the men during meals. When I had grown old enough, however, the general kept me for his bed, the brand burned into my skin to keep others from spoiling his toy.
The dirt and mud beneath my feet is cold and my legs are starting to cramp. A cry goes up in the camp and I hear the baying of dogs. They are looking for me; they know that I'm gone and they know what I've done. My chest burns but I redouble my efforts, my feet and legs clumsy from my terror and the cold. I trip, my foot catching on a gnarled root to send me sliding down a hill into a bog. Cold mud splashes and covers me from head to toe, but at least my scent is gone. I wade to the other side and climb out, shivering and walking away as fast as I can.
But if I don't get clean and dry soon I will grow sick, and who will tend to me? I am alone. I've never been alone; I've never been uncared for. Even as I shudder I stop and look through a gap in the trees. Some two miles away I see a column of lazy smoke, the white coils silvered with moonlight. Maybe it's from a camp fire or the smoke from a stove pipe. I can only hope that whoever tends it will show me mercy, because I can't remain out here alone.
Halfway between the bog and the column of smoke I find a stream and wash my cloak and my body. The water is icily cold but I get almost all of the mud cleaned away. I drape the sodden, woolen robe about me and ring out my hair before I carry on, coming to find that the smoke is emerging from the chimney stack of a ramshackle cottage. Above the door hangs a tattered banner of the legion in red and black. At first I'm reluctant to discover what sort of person lives in here all alone, but the baying of the Roman hounds makes me shore up my courage enough to knock on the door.
"Go away. I need no trade" shouts a gruff male voice from inside. He's speaking in terse but unaccented Latin.
"Please Sir" I say in my best, most proper Latin. "I need help!" I can't help my Semnones accent, try as I might to suppress it.
I hear a stirring inside, and my heart beats in my chest as my breath steams past my lips on the cold air. I can hear the baying of the hounds coming closer and closer - the scouts looking for me must only be half a mile away at most. The door opens quickly and that catches me by surprise, my large brown eyes looking up at an older Roman man for whom time has been remarkably kind. His health seems to have remained with him, as have his wits, his teeth, and his hair. I take this in even as his dark eyes look my frail, girlish body up and down. He then looks out into the woods as the baying grows even nearer.
"What, did you kill someone?" he grunts, scowling down at me.
My head dips with guilt. "My master... I killed him tonight." I can only whisper it. Saying it any louder might make me shatter into pieces.
A long moment passes and I don't look up at him, but soon enough I feel the warmth of his calloused hand on my shoulder as he firmly pulls me inside. "Hide, girl. They are coming."
My robe drips water onto his floor, and before I know it he's taking it off of me. I haven't time to consider the fact that I'd abandoned my tunic and dagger at the stream, blood soaked as they were. I'm naked, and the only place to hide is beneath his cot. My wet, skinny body slips beneath the frame and I curl up, trying to keep my teeth from chattering as I hear the door to the cottage close. A conversation strikes up outside as the loping hounds surround the building, sniffing.
"We are looking for a runaway slave. She murdered general Valerious and we have reason to believe that she came this way." The scout speaking is a man of whom I have dark memories, his hands cruel and his amusements more wretched still.
My savior speaks up after a moment. "She did. Stole some of my supplies from the shed there. Some food and a tunic and sandals are missing. She left this." I hear the wet slap of my sodden cloak hitting the ground. "Catch her; she went east. If you're done dawdling here like mewling temple catamites you might just all manage to hunt down this slave that's escaped you. The might of the legion indeed..." he sneered. "Get out of my sight."
The scouts mutter but move on, heading off into the forest in a different direction than the way they'd come. The dogs head away too, and eventually the resident of the cottage comes back in. The door is locked and barred from the inside and the curtains to the one greasy window are pulled closed. "Get out from there; they're gone."
When I climb out from under his bed I find my fair skin to be smeared with wet dust and grit. The man hands me a damp rag and I clean myself off, keeping my back turned to him out of propriety. Just as I'm about to turn and ask about my cloak a warm, dry blanket lands on my head and shoulders. I pull it around myself for the sake of modesty, my cheeks blushing beneath my freckles. "Thank you, Sir." What else can I say?
The man merely glares at me, then turns away towards his fireplace. "You've probably gone and burned it" he grumbles, and I wrinkle my nose in confusion until I see him sit on a stool and inspect a small cooking pot full of stew. My stomach rumbles at the sight of it, but I don't dare ask for any. I've already demanded more than I ever should have, given what I am and what I've done. "Bah, the fates are bizarrely on your side, girl. Tell me your name, and I'll feed you." He glances at me, then looks at a low stool by the fireplace. "And don't loom. Sit down."
I do as he asks, sitting closer to the fire. I start to warm up again, my eyes threatening to close in spite of my hunger and the breathless terror that had been coursing through my veins moments before. "My name is Alarice, sir."
I soon find a small wooden bowl pushed into my hands, along with a piece of half-stale bread. "I'm no sir, not anymore" he mutters. "I'm just Gaius, now." While I use the bread to eat my stew, I study his features. He must be forty or fifty years old, silver streaks in his pitch-black, wavy hair. His face is clean-shaven, a thing I find odd. The native men grow beards proudly, and non-legion Romans tend to let their beards grow out in these lands due to laziness. He catches me looking, and immediately my eyes drop down to my empty bowl. Hadn't there just been food in it?
My look of confusion actually makes him chuckle, and he takes the bowl from my hands and replaces it with a small cup of water. When I finish it quickly he simply sets the jug near me and I pour myself another cup, trying to finish this one a little more slowly than the first. "Alarice, hmm? And what did you do for this general Valerious?"
"I was his water carrier before I had my first bleeding. After that, I became his..." Having been used for sex for two years, I still can't bring myself to say it.
"...whore?" he offers.
My cheeks flush and I frown, glaring into his eyes. "Slaves are never paid. I was his tent girl, in charge of his pleasure."
Rather than grow angry at my own impertinence, the man chuckles and pours himself a glass of water. "Though only his pleasure counted, I would imagine." I say nothing, still fuming. I'm not fuming at him. Well, perhaps a little. But I'm angrier still at the things my former master wanted me to do. That he made me dress as a boy half the time and took me as such, as he had earlier this night, makes my fingers clasp bloodlessly around my copper cup.
The man across from me says nothing for a time, and we sit in an awkward silence until he pulls the pot off the fire with a rag and sets it on the flag stone. "You can sleep on the floor. I've got a spare bedroll for you to use." I stand up from my stool and set down the cup, probably looking a little unsure. My insecurity is there only because I'm surprised that he wants me sleeping within his cottage at all. I think he's misunderstood me when he chuckles and says "Girl, the only way you can have my bed is to sleep with me in it."
That makes me blush. I can't help but wonder what kind of a lover he is. My old master had been sickly and frail – it had taken a great deal of effort to get him hard and stay that way, his tastes growing more and more perverse. This man? His body looks strong, and I know that his hands are firm but gentle. Would I even want gentle? My fingers tremble as they clasp the edges of my blanket, and soon enough the woolen sheet itself is allowed to fall to the floor as I walk over and perch on the edge of the bed naked, looking up at him with nervous determination.
What am I doing? By the gods, I'm not a whore. I killed my master this very night to be free. But... oh god, I am no longer pure. I like sex, and I want this man. He stands before me, his cool-weather tunic in gray extending down to his knees with a pair of leather trousers on beneath them. My heart beats harder in my chest and I'm certain that the blush on my cheeks is quite visible. "I'm skilled" I say bluntly, wincing at how arrogant that sounds.
He smirks and lifts a brow. "I'm sure you are. But you're also very young. Come now, go set up your bed...roll..." His voice trails off as my hands slide up his thighs, my eyes focused on his still even as my fingers seek out the lacing at his crotch. I can feel his body grow tense, his scowl dark, yet he doesn't tell me to stop. Beneath the leather of his pants I can feel how fit he is, how the muscles of his thighs ripple like iron around his solid bones. His hands are clenched at his sides, the corded muscles beneath the scarred skin of his forearms tensing as his breathing deepens. He's fighting against his own desire out of some sense of decency, and I'm determined then to win this battle.
When my touch finds his manhood behind the leather I can feel that he's already half erect. The laces are easy to untie and I do so slowly, making him wait and stiffen further. Only once the laces are mostly undone do I pull his cock from his leather pants, keeping his warm, solid shaft within my right hand. I leave the tunic draped over it to hide what I'm doing from his sight as a tease, my thumb sliding over his foreskin to encourage it to soften, thin, and roll back to expose his head. Even as I stroke him with both hands I still look up at him, my lips moist, full, and slightly parted.
"Alarice, you don't have to do this" he mutters, his prick pulsing in my grip.
Oh yes I do. I must. "I want to" I breathe, brushing aside the tunic to expose his manhood to the air. "I want to thank you." He has little time to protest before I slide my tongue slowly along his shaft, tracing the meandering, river-like paths of the blood vessels beneath the skin. His musky scent isn't overwhelming – he clearly bathes frequently. Even as my light pink tongue traces his pulse from the base of his cock to the tip, I can feel his meat thicken and harden further in my hand. My brown eyes remain locked on his as my lower lip serves as a pillow for the head of his prick, my eyes almost looking up into his shyly, seeking permission. His head inclines just a fraction, permitting me to proceed, and I still look up into his eyes even as I take his flushed, dark crown into my mouth. I watch his face as my tongue teases beneath his foreskin to lavish attention at his slit, noting how his eyes slowly close. That is my cue.
I sink my mouth down onto his cock, my tongue a hot and eager bed for the underside of his head and shaft while the firm ridges at my hard palate rub over the emerging crown. His hips begin to slowly move, languidly sawing his cock into my mouth. My lips purse around his shaft, the thrusting of his dick gifting a wet, sultry noise to my ears. At first he only thrusts so far into my mouth, not wanting to gag me, but I want him deeper than that. My hands slide from his cock back to his hips and then around to his ass, my slender fingers cupping his tight backside and holding him close as I sink my mouth down onto his shaft further. I slowly, slowly push further, daring my throat to tighten and gag, before I withdraw and bob my head lazily and shallowly before beginning again, each time making it further and further.
As I take him like this I wonder at something. His erection was so easy to achieve, and I'm surprised that he's staying so controlled. Ever since I'd started he hasn't grabbed my head. He hasn't touched me at all, really, allowing me to pleasure him as I see fit. I had thought that all men became beasts when taking a woman, ignoring her thoughts, concerns, and needs in the matter. Every partner I've ever had ignored mine. Much as my old master liked to think he was the only one who'd ever used me, he wasn't. There is a reason I'm skilled with oral seduction.
My mouth slowly slides away from his cock, leaving the entire shaft glistening and my lips, both sets, tingling and wet. Panting softly as I look back up at him, I shift back onto the bed and turn over, getting to my hands and knees to present myself. He deserves this. No man has ever treated me with such kindness. And I can tell that he's eager to accept my gift as he moves to the bed, his knees pressing to the mattress within the harbor of my calves.
I lower my chest to the sheet and rest my cheek upon my folded arms, waiting for his choice. I'm so used to being used as a boy that as his cock teases and rubs at my star I immediately start to relax. I will be loose enough to admit him – I've been trained to be. Yet when his cock head rubs against my sex I gasp and flush, gripping at the sheets with tense fingers. That path is almost virginally tight – I can barely fit two of my own slender fingers within it at the best of times. His left hand cups at my hip as the other guides his cock between my petals and he quickly sheathes himself within in one breathless clap of hips to hips.
It almost hurts, the stretch so sudden that it makes me cry out in surprise. Both of his hands grip at my hips tightly and I can feel him grunt. "Liar! You said your master fucked you!" he growls.
"He... he did! He preferred the other route after the first time." My voice shakes, my hips unable to stay still. He's bigger, so much bigger! This man is everything that my master wasn't, and I'm on fire. I have no chance to say anything else as he begins to roughly take me, his hips clapping against my own fast and hard. The cot frame squeaks and my body adjusts, a welcome sheathe to his sword. Faster than ever before I feel that overwhelming sensation in my flesh, a pressure and a heat that grows more and more intense as it sizzles along my nerves. But before it overtakes me I can feel the man behind me jam his hips against mine and groan. Oh gods, I want to grind back against him and demand more, but it isn't my place to do so. This isn't about me – this is a gift for him. His cock pumps within me several times and I relax, calming myself as the immeasurable pressure abates slowly, leaving my body tingling and sensitive.
"Alarice... gods above... I haven't had a woman in so long." The man seems unwilling to let it end, his softening cock thrust once or twice more into my snug embrace. When he withdraws and begins to undress, I slip out of the cottage to attend to my cleanliness. I'm afraid that if I remain that I will stare at his naked body and be unable to do anything else. The cold air on my skin helps me to calm down, the fever of my excitement high. The wet rag I use to clean between my legs makes me shiver, the cold water exciting me all over again. Yet it's folly to remain out here. What if the scouts come back? Soon enough I'm back inside, closing and locking the door. I rinse out the rag and hang it up over the hearth to dry, and I shyly approach the bed in which my savior is already lying.
Wringing my hands, I say softly. "Um... sir. Gaius. I... I can sleep on the floor if that would be more comfortable. I only wanted to how you my gratitude." I so desperately want to lie in that bed with him, but such a comfort seems to out of reach for a person like me.
To my surprise, however, he grunts "Alarice, come here." He lifts the woolen blanket and shifts back a touch, providing a space for my naked body beside his own. Nervously I slip into the bed, and he guides me to face away from him so that our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. With his strong arm around my middle I drift off to sleep, issued to pleasant dreams by the comforting sound of his breathing. What will happen tomorrow? I could not possibly guess. But this night is not the end of my life as I had feared it would be.
It's the beginning.
Chapter 2Dawn light filters in through a slight partition in the curtains of Gaius's one window. I watch the motes of dust dance in the beam for some time and listen to the song birds greet the new day outside. Within the walls of the cottage it's warm and safe. At my back my savior is still asleep, his arm still draped over my waist. I'm wide awake – I have been for a while now. Yet I just can't make myself stir from his embrace and the feeling of his strong body cupping mine. The smell of our union is still on the air as well and clings to our skin, a comforting scent that still leaves me slightly aroused. The thought of trying to seduce him awake has crossed my mind at least five times by now, but I don't want to abuse his courtesy by demanding what he might not desire.
Yet I can't remain there forever. Not when the sight of chores yet to be done linger within my vision. I carefully move his arm and slip out from beneath the covers. The blanket I'd let fall to the floor the night before is taken up and tied at my waist to make a skirt. It leaves me topless, but I don't mind. Taking up a cleaning cloth and the bowls and stew pot, I carry it all outside to a small brook near the cottage. A bit of scrubbing gets it all clean, my breath fogging the air as my muscles wake up and grow warm from the work. By the time I come back inside my cheeks are just slightly pinked with chill, my nipples tight in the dry autumn air. Gaius is just sitting up in the cot as I set the bowls and pot back where I found them and hang the cloth up to dry, wiping my hands dry on the blanket at my hips.
"Alarice, you didn't have to clean for me" Gaius says, his voice still somewhat thick with sleep. I feel a bit self-conscious and dither by the hearth, unsure of what else to do. I'm not used to having no morning chores. The fire's long since gone out, but the last embers help to warm my feet. My hands lift as I begin to finger comb my fiery hair and braid it, avoiding his eyes. I pause when he grunts and says "That's a good look for you, though."
I blink and look over at him, and realize that I'm still topless with my hair up, more or less. My brown eyes trail over my own body and I frown. He likes how I look? But I'm so slim. "Thank you, Sir" I'm not sure what else to say, or if I should even concern myself with such things today. Last night was wonderful, but it was also last night. Roman men make a clear delineation between carnality and duty.
"We must get you away from here. Those scouts will be back, and they won't take no for an answer next time."
"Yes, I know." My arms wrap around my chest, my chilly fingers clutching my biceps. I have no advice for him – I'm a slave, as the V branded into my neck makes plain. I try not to watch too closely as Gaius gets dressed, contenting myself to putter around his cottage a little more and tidy up things while he heads outside to relieve himself.
Once he's back inside, the man heads over to a trunk in the back corner of the room and opens it. A warm tunic in mulberry red is tossed my way, as are a pair of boots. "Dress yourself. There's a village of your people some miles away and they might take you in. We're going there." I nod and untie the blanket, pulling on the clothing and finding that it's almost a proper size for me. Why he keeps a tunic in my size makes me confused, but I get the impression that it might not be right to ask. The boots fit just as well, and as I'm admiring myself Gaius walks over and fastens a leather belt about my waist.
I blush slightly and remain silent, avoiding his eyes as he adjusts it and the dagger sheathe at my left side. He takes a step back and looks me up and down, and I nervously look up at him. His smile is one of approval, and I smile back up to him before he turns away and heads back to the trunk. Like a shadow I follow him, curiosity drawing me to look into the wooden box. Gaius pulls out a black cloak and hands it to me, though as I pull it on and tie it at my collarbone I notice the glint of metal beneath some other cloth items.
As I crouch, I gently move the cloth aside to see a set of beautiful Roman legion armor. It's in poor condition, neglected and unpolished and looks like its seen quite a bit of action. The man stands next to me and gazes down into the trunk, folding his arms over his chest in silence. "You're a general..." I say in a voice barely above a whisper. Rank and file soldiers don't wear armor so fine.
"I was a general. Now I'm just a hermit in the woods." His voice is turning slightly sour, and I take that as my cue to stand up and back away from his past. After a tense moment of silence he sighs and closes the trunk again, locking it shut with a key that he then hangs about his neck. "One last thing, and then we can be on our way." I pluck at my tunic dress, admiring the quality of the wool and the stitching until he comes back with a dagger. Once again I try not to meet his eyes as he sheathes the dagger at my hip, ignoring the careless brush of his hand at my stomach and waist. Oh how I want his touch to linger there, but this morning he is nothing but professional. Perhaps last night was a one-time event. That makes me feel unaccountably sad.
He gently pulls up the hood of the cloak to cover my head and then takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest to once again look me up and down. "Stop staring at me as if I will hit you."
What? I frown and try to think of just how I'm standing, realizing that I'm slouching a little. My back straightens and I try to hold myself like one of the free Roman women at the camp I was raised at. How did they look at me? With contempt and haughty arrogance, so I try to look like that too. I must manage it somehow, because Gaius smiles broadly and claps his hand onto my shoulder. "Wonderful. You mustn't act like a slave when people can see you, or they will suspect that you are one."
"But I am a slave, Sir." My brow knits. Has he lost his senses?
Gaius lifts a brow and shrugs, asking "Are you?" I open my mouth, unsure of what he's getting at. Yet I can't begin to guess and I bite my lip. He smiles indulgently and shifts forward, letting his hand slide from my shoulder to my arm. "Alarice, in Rome you are a slave. But this isn't Rome. When we get to this new tribe you can live with them as a free woman, where you can make your own choices and do whatever you like. I will try to safely get you there however I can."
At first I feel short of breath and dizzy. Free? I could be free there? My face flushes and my breathing grows shallow, my lips and throat growing dry and forcing me to swallow a few times. "Free, Sir? You would do that?" The man simply nods gravely, and I look down while trying to process it all. He pats my shoulder and gives me a few minutes as he packs a traveling bag for me and himself.
Even hours later, out in the forest, I'm still feeling like this is all a dream. Good things shouldn't happen to slaves who kill their masters, should they? Surely a quick trip to Tartarus should be waiting for me, not one to Elysium. But here I am now, walking towards freedom and the chance to be with my own people. Once I am sensible enough to speak again Gaius and I draw up a cover story for our travels, should we be accosted by passing soldiers.
It's good that we made such arrangements early on, for a few miles out we pass by a Roman patrol. To them Gaius is a traveling pottery merchant named Verinus, looking to learn the local craftsmanship. I'm his interpreter, a slave girl named Gracia, and I remain silent as he does all the talking. Luckily the patrol is from another camp altogether and they don't know me. Neither have they heard the rumor of the escaped slave, only that general Valerious is dead. Gaius expresses his regrets, turns down their offers to purchase me for the night, and then we and the patrol part ways.
We stop at a stream a mile or so from the village and make camp there. My feet are aching by now – we left his cottage two days ago, only stopping to camp the previous night. Saying that the nearest village was some miles away was an understatement, though perhaps for him the distance seems short. At the beginning of the trek I could tell that he was annoyed to not be marching at a soldier's pace, though soon he'd tempered himself and the nagging sent my way had eventually ended.
As we finally lay down our things I pull off my boots and rub my feet, soaking them in the little stream. The cold water feels good between my toes, and I wait by the fire as Gaius takes a bow and some arrows to hunt with. Being alone in the woods makes me feel uneasy, and I pull out and examine my dagger nervously until he returns with a few partridges. I'm a fair hand at plucking them, though he takes it upon himself to dress them and cook them. Our meal is modest but filling and he tells me to get as much sleep as I can while he keeps watch. I can tell that he's wary, but I do as he says and manage to sleep for a few hours.
When I'm roused awake the fire is out and we're surrounded by darkness. Steam is hissing up from the smoldering logs, and I blearily grunt as Gaius urges me to get up. "We have work to do" he says sternly, and I have no idea what he's talking about until I look up to see a small group of tribesmen surrounding us.
"Yes, Sir" I say softly, glancing at the other men. They all have blond hair and beards and look intensely watchful, and each carry a bow and a quiver of arrows at their hip. Scouts. Our fire had been spotted.
Gaius nods and gestures to me, and instructs me to tell them about his pottery trade. My skill with the language is fairly good – I'd been purchased as a young girl from one of the Semnones tribes, and I remember enough of their speech to be passably fluent. These men, if I remember my maps correctly, are probably Langobardi. My old master had mentioned a confederation formed between my people and this tribe, among several others, and I can only hope that the peace treaty has persisted since I'd learned of it. The Romans consider the Langobardi to be Germanic people like me, but my own people are afraid of them, for they come from the north and typically have no sense of fealty.
I explain our purpose to the tribesmen, a story Gaius had tried to make clear to them through gestures and what few words he knew. The men seem reluctant to bring us to their village, but eventually they escort us further into the woods towards their king. As we enter into the village, the housing looks like a series of tents. None of the land is cultivated, nor have any trees been felled. The scouts and the other villagers primarily wear furs and leather, though as we pass through I can only see the occasional older woman. There are no children, and most of the people I see are adult men. The people scowl at us and at Gaius in particular – there is no love here for Rome.
Immediately I feel as if I've come from an entirely different world. Was this the culture I was born to? Did my parents look like this? Had I not been bought, would I have grown up as malnourished and haunted as the women I see here? There is little time to linger on that thought as we're ushered into a large semi-permanent structure made of wood. It's large inside, and warmed by a central fire with flames that lick upwards towards a vent in the apex of the ceiling.
Upon a tall throne of shaped branches, horns, antlers, and fur sits a large, blond man with a beard in two long plaits. I linger by Gaius and translate quietly for him, keeping my eyes on the throned king. I can't help but study the man - he's large and weathered by the elements. Muscles cloak his heavy bone structure, and atop that he is bristling with yellow hair. Poor-quality cloth comprises his garb, though to his people... my people... this sort of clothing is probably a tremendous sign of wealth. I close my cloak about me self-consciously, my own woolen tunic far finer than anything these people have likely seen. Their savagery (there is no other term for it) upsets me, though I try to stay quiet. These are the people who I can live freely with? In mud? In huts among the trees, where their 'king' garbs himself in stained linen?
There is a long and uncomfortable silence then as the king considers the both of us. I look up at Gaius intently and I slowly shake my head. No. Not this place. It cannot be this place. I stand closer to him, feeling the menace radiate from the other people in the long house. The smell of blood is thick in here, and I remember that my people make animal sacrifices. Does this particular king stop at animals? This was indeed the wrong tribe to go to, and that aura of menace and dread only increases as the King sits there in complete silence. "We should go." Gaius whispers to me in Latin, and he takes a step back as if to give a bow and depart. Before he can get very far the king rises from his throne, leveling an accusatory finger at the both of us.
I can just make out what he's saying in his thick accent in Langobardic, though the words and the syntax are understandable. To Gaius, I translate it into Latin: "Roman filth! We know why you come here. You come for more slaves. More demands of tribute. I have seen that mark on your slave. A vile mark. He steals away girls and women for his own pleasure! Capture him!"
Tribesmen bar the entry to the long house and Gaius turns, demanding angrily "What is the meaning of this?!" His short sword is taken from him and given to the king, who looks ready to use it.
Yet before I can do anything I'm seized by a group of women who had, up until this time, been lingering like feral dogs towards the back of the room. I cry out and struggle, but their skinny hands and arms are strong and clutch at me like dead branches and brambles. No, No! I feel those hands gripping at me and pulling me away from the only man who has ever treated me like a person. I fight against my captors and demand that they let me go to no avail. I can only watch from the side lines as the king and his warriors round on Gaius and threaten him.
Enough is enough
I pull out my dagger and cut at the arm of the woman holding me, who screams and begins to level curses upon me. Other clutching fingers grip at my cloak, but I wriggle out of it and dodge between bodies until I've placed myself between the king and Gaius. My bloodied blade is leveled at the huge blond man's face.
"Stand aside, girl. This does not concern you" the king rumbles.
In Latin I cry "You will not touch him. You will NOT touch him!" I cut my own hand on my knife and bloody the weapon further, throwing the dagger blade-first into the dirt at the king's feet. "How DARE you threaten my husband?! He who saved me from a life of servitude and freed me. He is a decent man, and a Roman, and he has done you no wrong! He has done no one here any wrong. And yet you accuse him of kidnapping, and slaving!" I'm bristling with rage, and I draw my unwounded hand up to my hair to brush it aside and reveal my brand. "This was from my old master, and he is dead. This man is good to me. He treats me well." My bloodied hand is held up, and I squeeze it into a tight fist, my blood welling through my fingers. "If you so much as dare to dishonor us further I will bring the GODS down upon you!"
There are some in this room who understand Latin, and I know the king is one of them. He is less cunning than he thinks, for I noticed that he would start considering Gaius's words before I ever translated them. Some of the tribesmen understand, and I can see their shock that I would ever take a Roman husband. Of course Gaius isn't my husband at all, but I know that the marriage bonds are something many tribes hold dear. Behind me I can't hear Gaius struggling or cursing. Perhaps he's shocked at what I've said, or angry, but I can't risk turning to check on his reaction. I am trying to protect him even if he doesn't realize that.
While the king seethes I remain outwardly defiant, though internally I'm panicking. I've already proven myself a liar once within the span of half an hour. I flinch as the king grabs my bleeding hand by the wrist and pulls me forward, glaring down into my face. "You told my scouts that he is your master, and now you tell me that he is your husband. Tell me which is the truth and I might let this man go."
I shiver and flush. "Your men heard a cover story. Romans wouldn't accept our trade if they knew the truth. It was habit." The king's grip tightens and I tense, holding my breath at the pain.
After a protracted silence, the king smiles and says in Langobardic "You have fire in you." A rumbling hum issues from his chest, and he caresses the flat of Gaius's sword along my waist and the curve of my breast. "And you will have a king in you as well. Take him away... to the border, so that he may listen." His free hand maintains its grips at my wrist and he glowers down at me. "Prove you value, whore, and we will let you both go free. Deny me anything, and he dies while I keep you for my own."
I hate him already, my brown eyes wet with fury. Yet I have no choice and I agree to his terms. Gaius growls and struggles. "No! This isn't right!" Before I can turn and say anything to him he is pulled out of the building and I am drawn further in.
The king's sleeping chamber is appointed lavishly with furs, while a small brazier, clearly of Roman make, burns firewood within to warm and light the interior. He bars the door and grabs me by the hair, tilting my head to the side so that he can see the brand on my neck. "Barbaric. Roman pigs ruining the flesh that other, better men might have." My skin crawls to feel the wash of his breath over my skin, but I say nothing, my body tense and seething with anger.
My silence only infuriates him, and he turns me around to face him. "Do you wish me to keep you? I might just do so anyway!" I shake at his terrifying voice, and he grabs my unhurt hand and presses it to his breeches where I feel his erection is already straining against the leather. "You've never had anything like it." My lacerated hand is then guided inside of his pants and I begin to slowly stroke him with the slickness of my own blood while my other hand unlaces the fastening at the front. "There, yes..." he rumbles, the gold in his beard glinting in the firelight as he speaks.
I cannot meet his eyes as my hands continue to pleasure him. It is my guess that he's unwashed, and I try to steel myself for the nauseating task of fellating him, but to my surprise that is not the fate that awaits me. My scalp burns as he suddenly pulls me away and pushes me onto his bed. I land on my side, fully clothed, but clearly he has no intention of waiting. My tunic is pushed up and I'm rolled onto my back, my knees pushed to my shoulders before he spits onto my slit and rubs his saliva between my lips. His fingers are thick and calloused, and somehow he manages to fit one inside of me, feeling for my maidenhead. "Not a virgin. I hadn't guessed you would be" he grunts in disgust, turning me over onto my knees. His fingernails have already made me sore inside, and the animal fat he scoops from a nearby pot only marginally makes the sudden entry of his two fingers into my star bearable.
After he feels I'm prepared, he greases his cock and then roughly pushes himself within my tightest embrace. The perfunctory nature of his mounting hurts and he doesn't let me adjust to his girth. Up until this point I've tried not to struggle; I've tried to do what he wants without complaint. But this is a pain I can't bear, and I scream and cry out for help. The king just laughs and doesn't try to gag me, evidently liking my terror as it adds to his lust. The coppery scent of blood tangs the air, and I grit my teeth and grip at the furs beneath me. I can do nothing but wait for him to find his release, listening to the sharp slap of his hips against mine and the painful sawing of his cock into my backside.
It doesn't take him long, and he leaves his seed deep within me. The man gets up tiredly and heads into another room to wash his stained cock and thighs, which leaves me time to look around his quarters. He speaks Latin well enough that he must be in regular contact with a native speaker. I've waited for this moment to seek out his correspondence, and when I find a letter and skim it with a dark smile I tuck it far up my tunic's sleeve for safekeeping, clutching the parchment between my arm and side. I don't see the king again; a pair of guards come to fetch me instead.
\\\
Walking is very painful, the small tears within me bleeding afresh with every step. I try not to weep or show my agony because that would be weak, and as I'm thrown to Gaius's feet I don't get up right away. The ex-general watches as his guardsmen and my own walk back to the village together, leaving us back at our camp by the stream. Only when we're alone does Gaius get to his knees beside me.
"Alarice! I'm sorry, I thought this would be a good place for you. I'm so sorry." His eyes have a desperate look about them, as if he's not used to feeling such fear or concern over another. I pull out the letter that I'd taken and show it to him and he calms, a plan already forming.
My throat is hoarse as I quietly say "We must show this to other tribes. We must get them to help us."
Gaius nods, puts on his pack, and carefully picks me up. It hurts, any movement hurts, but it feels good to be cradled in his arms. I feel safe there, and even as he walks through the night towards the next village many miles away I glare out into the darkness, already planning my vengeance on the blond barbarian king. It will not be the sort of blood debt that the tribesman dole out. No. My vengeance will be a calculated thing, devastating and permanent.
That is the Roman way.
Chapter 3The nearest village is several days to the south, and by dawn of the second day I'm able to walk stiffly on my own while still keeping a decent pace. I refuse to be carried over this distance, even if every step aches and makes me narrow my eyes with grim focus. Gaius must know that I don't wish to speak of my abuse, so he keeps my mind on other topics. According to him, our new destination is a tribe of Marcomanni. Generally they live further south than this, but given the confederacy of many of the local peoples there are small representative clans located along the Elbe in this region.
Our welcome there is much warmer than it was in the Langobardic village, and Gaius and I are offered a large and comfortable tent. This time we offer no cover story, considering it more important to convey a sense of honesty than anything else. I still serve as a translator between Gaius and the leader of this village, a large man named Garinand with dark brown hair and green eyes. His clothing, and that of his people, is of a higher quality than anything the Langobards had, and peopling the village are both young and old, men and women. This place feels better, but I still can't shake the unsettled feeling that I have. Even these Marcomanni, prosperous and benevolent as they are... they are still savages to me. How could I feel this way, and why can't I stop?
I try to push such thoughts aside as we present the stolen letter. Luckily our audience with him is a private affair, with only a few of his personal guard present, because to recount how I acquired the letter makes me feel uncomfortable. Gaius can't understand the words I use as I relate the tale, but he can read my face well enough that I can feel his hand resting discretely on my thigh. I'm not sure if his affection is what makes my throat start to grow tight or if it's the memory of that night, but either way I must pause from time to time in the telling of it.
Garinand takes a long while to consider the information we've brought him, but in the meantime we are offered food and drink, and the chance to take our rest in our appointed quarters. What I want more than anything is the chance to wash. While I'd cleaned myself after that terrible night at the stream, I can still smell my own blood on my skin even now. Gaius accompanies me to a small lake nearby, and together we bathe.
For the first time since we'd left his cabin, we're both naked in each others' presence. I'm still hurting, but even so my heart hammers in my narrow chest as his strong hands help to guide clean water over my skin. My bandaged left hand has to be kept dry, which leaves me at the mercy of his touch. Oh gods how I want him to just use me. I need him to undo what that disgusting man has done, but even now Gaius is gentle and platonic. You are a slave in Rome, but this is not Rome. But I wish it was. I don't know how to be anything else, and I don't know how to insist that he take me like he did that first night. I'm so frustrated that by the end of our bath I'm actually angry, and I excuse myself as politely as I can to dress and spend some time alone in the woods surrounding the village.
Only around sundown do I return, my cloak pulled tightly around me as I walk back into a frenzy of activity. Every able-bodied man in the village is strapping on armor and weapons, the lights of the many camp fires gleaming on metal. As I watch, there are groups of armed men riding into the village on horses, and the animals look tired, as if they've been ridden hard. Quickly I make my way to Gaius's tent, pushing open the flap.
"Sir! What's happening?"
Dressed in a dark gray belted tunic and his leather pants and boots, Gaius looks up from where he's sitting at a make-shift writing desk. "Shortly after we were excused, Garinand sent out riders to other local tribes within their confederacy, urging them to gather here. I think they mean to attack the Langobardic village for their crimes." He looks grim, but also disinclined to involve himself. This is justice that cannot be sullied with Roman rules, views, or morality. While he looks oddly detached and calm, though in his eyes I can see the fierce desire to be out there with them.
I nod slowly, glancing out the tent flap as fresh horses are gathered and supplies are collected – casks of oil, arrows, large bows, and many torches. My mind hearkens back to the letter, which looked to be one of many in a long line of correspondence between the Langobardic king and one of the Roman encampments, detailing the payment contract for the sale of Germanic children to local Legion slaver caravans. The uneasy truce between the tribes and the Romans was and is tenuous, but the sale of children into slavery cannot be tolerated.
Slowly I sit on the bed and slide my fingers over my bandaged hand. I had indeed promised the Langobardic king that the fury of the gods would befall him if he hurt me. And now it looks as if that heavenly rage is about to unleash itself upon him and his people. For a long while I search within myself for any feelings of pity or mercy, but I can't find them. I was sold into slavery at an early age, and while I was too young to clearly remember the circumstances of it, I begin to wonder if that king was the first to sell out the children of his people to the Romans. Had I been born to a wretched village like that, or had he been the one to steal me away from my parents in the night as he had accused the Romans of doing?
The thought only makes me angry, and my brown eyes glare down at the floor as I mull over everything that has happened. Suddenly I feel warm hands on my burning cheeks, and I hold my breath as I look up into Gaius's eyes. "The furies will find him, Alarice. As will I." His smile is gentle and understated, and I press my bloodless lips into a line to stay tough and collected. Now is not a time for losing control or weeping.
"Yes sir."
"Alarice..." he chides, sitting next to me on the bed. I look down at my hands and feel ashamed, my eyes watering just a little. "...Talk to me."
At first I can't. My mouth refuses to open, and my throat is dry and tight. Yet I force myself to try, and I find myself saying "I... I'm ruined, aren't I?" Gaius blinks, his lips parting to say something, but I interrupt him as I squeeze my hands together, the pain of the healing cut on my palm stinging beneath the bandage. "No, I am. I am! My old master used me, as did his men. And now this king. And you, but I liked being with you. But now, now you don't want me anymore because the king used me so grotesquely. And, and I can't blame you, Sir." My words blend together as I speak far too fast, my eyes reddening as my voice shakes.
Gaius sighs and cups his hand to my cheek, his thumb sliding over my tingling, trembling lips to urge me to fall silent. "Alarice... do you truly think that this is how I see you?" I pathetically nod, the tickle of a tear sliding down over my blushing cheek. The man gazes into my eyes sadly before saying softly "I think very highly of you, Alarice. You are very brave, and very beautiful, and Intelligent. You are everything I could ever want in a woman." My heart sinks. I can feel a but coming. Yet... it doesn't. He chuckles and slides his free hand through his close-cropped hair, looking a little self-conscious. "I admit... when you said I was your husband, I was confused. But I liked the thought of it."
I don't understand at first, and for a few moments my brain doesn't seem to process what he's said. "I... um... yes, Sir." My eyes flick down to my hands and I frown, trying to work out every word all over again, passing each one slowly through my memory.
"Oh come now, girl..." he grumbles, and soon enough I feel his lips pressing hotly to mine. The sensation makes me freeze; I've never been kissed before. It's an odd way to be intimate, but soon enough it starts to feel good, especially when he gathers me to him and folds his arms around me. His mouth is well practiced at this, and soon I feel that my body is ready to please him. Well, if he takes me as a woman, in any case.
When he parts from me my vision is a little hazy, and the lantern hanging from the center of the tent ceiling looks extra bright. As I look up at it I can feel myself being guided to lay comfortably on my back, though once I realize what's happening I take in a deep breath to prepare myself for what is probably going to be uncomfortable. Oh, I do want this, but it will come at a price. I watch with half-lidded eyes as he unbuckles his belt and pulls off his tunic, baring his fit, tanned body to the hips. The man kneels on the bed, parting my legs gently around his as he pulls off my boots.
Those articles are tossed onto the floor by the bed, and I just have time to see where they land before Gaius is on all fours, crawling forward towards me. My chin quivers a bit before I grit my teeth, preparing for the inevitable discomfort when I notice that his hand is pushing up my dress to bare my thighs, and then my sex. The air within the tent feels cool on such feverish flesh, and my toes curl into the sheet as he blows gently upon it. I squirm and flush, biting my lip even as he smirks and watches me react, clearly enjoying how this is affecting me.
"I owe you one. For your first night." His smirk flashes the white of his teeth before he dips his head and gently kisses at my mons, one hand sliding slowly along the top of my thigh to encourage me to part my legs further.
Of course I do so, letting that leg hang off the bed until the ball of my foot is just touching the floor. "Owe me what?" He had taken what I'd offered. What was there to owe?
His rumbled voice feels good against my skin as he says "I came, and you did not. I owe you that pleasure."
"Oh... oh no, really sir... it's f..." The word catches on my tongue just as his own catches on my pearl, and I tense and close my eyes. It's such an intense feeling that it makes me squirm, and I'm not sure whether I want to pull away or demand more of it. Again his mouth teases me, and again I whimper and move. Soon enough his tasting of my need acquires a slow rhythm, and my body moves on its own against him. I'm caught in a bizarre universe where I feel so relaxed and so terribly full of energy at the same time.
Soon enough I can feel that slow wave of intensity building up within me. Sometimes, with my former master, it would show itself a little, and with his men a little more. That first night with Gaius that wave had been stronger than ever before, but whatever it had threatened to be had not come to pass. Was that what he meant? The thought of feeling that wave crash and break is almost terrifying – if it's that powerful as it builds, could I stand it at the end?
When Gaius moves away from my legs I feel as if I'm on fire. My skin is tingling and prickling so much that it hurts, and I just can't stay still. Though when I try to sit up and reach for him he only places a palm on my sternum and pins me to the bed. I mewl in protest, my hands clasping to his strong, corded arm as my eyes plead with him. What I want is unclear even to me, but I must pay him back for this. It's felt so good, so...
My mouth hangs open in a silent O as I feel two of his fingers slide up into my body, past my fiery down and my tingling petals. Those digits curl upwards, and his fingertips caress firmly upon something that makes me cry out in surprise. The wave has not yet broken, but it's as if fuel has been splashed onto an already raging fire, making it flare and roar. His hand begins to move, his fingers working and rubbing within me at just that place so that the wave looms closer and closer, its shadow slowly crawling over me. Soon his hand is pistoning his fingers into me firmly, the clap clap clap of his palm on my sex sounding loud to my ears. It's probably a good idea that he's holding me to the bed, or else I might writhe off of it and straight to the floor.
And then the wave finally breaks. It happens by surprise, catching me unaware such that my eyes flare widely and I cry out, my head thrown back and my back slightly arched even with the stern press of his hand on my chest. Every part of me is on fire, my back, hips, stomach, and thighs tense and quivering and I feel my body clamp down upon his fingers and my thighs squeeze at his wrist. Beneath his palm my heart is beating painfully hard, my lungs gasping quietly for air. Slowly, like ice thawing in spring, my body sinks back down to the bed and I stare off into space, blinking dumbly.
Eventually Gaius is able to extricate his hand from between my legs, his face a slight grimace as he stretches out his palm and fingers. I must look concerned, because he only chuckles with a smile and admits "you're... you're very strong, Alarice."
Alarice? What's an Alarice? Oh, gods, right yes! I blink and swallow, trying to remember how to speak. "Thank you, Sir" I mumble, shivering as an extra bolt of lightning shoots up my spine as my legs press together.
The hand on my chest caresses my burning cheek before he gets up to wash his face at the water basin, toweling off before he returns to the bed and takes a seat by my side. I haven't so much as moved, my red hair splayed behind my head on the mattress and my mulberry tunic still shoved up to my stomach. He gently neatens my clothing and slides his hand along my hip affectionately. "Do you still think that I don't want you, Alarice?" I shyly shake my head, and I can't help the little smile that creeps into my lips. Gaius grins and laughs softly, the first time I've seen him actually show such an emotion. "Come on. Wash up and join me outside. I'd like you to see me off."
Must I move ever again? It seems such an unfair thing to ask. Yet I do as he says, gulping as I slowly sit up. The inner caress of my still-enthusiastic flesh almost makes my knees buckle, but I still manage to pull on my boots and braid my hair. Gaius pulls on his tunic once more and chuckles as I splash water on my heated face, and I just give him a look as I dry it off on a towel. Meanwhile Gaius has pulled on some of his armor and has strapped a short sword to his hip. Buckling my dagger and sheathe to my hip, I accompany Gaius outside.
After the men leave, the older villagers, the young, and the women wait around fires outside, all of their eyes directed towards the north. I can just hear the sounds of screams from miles away, and the glint of moonlight on smoke rising up through the trees. We all wait in stony silence until the sound of running horses can be heard approaching the village. These are the forward riders, coming to bear tidings of the attack. I anxiously wait for Gaius to come back, and when I finally see him, sweaty and tired, I move to him as quickly as I can.
The assault on the Langobardic village was a narrow venture, given that most of the inhabitants were men of fighting age. Only a few prisoners were taken, including the king himself, though most of the people were slain. There were a few casualties on our side, but such is the cost of war. All of us who had waited help tend to the horses as a favor to the men that have worked so hard this night. More and more riders come back to the Marcomanni village at a more sedate pace, some wounded but most unharmed. A captive group of old women and elderly men are led with their hands bound with rope, their hateful eyes glittering in the lights of our camp fires.
Yet the figure that captures all of my attention is the Langobardic king himself. I feel my entire body tense, and he's brought to a central post in the village and made to kneel with his back against it. There is but one thought in my head as I push through the gathering crowd, and I'm finally mere feet from him, staring down at him with cold eyes. Garinand has the king stripped of his finery, though when he sees me there is a moment when he considers. He orders his men to finish their task and then move away from the king, and then the leader of the Marcomanni says to me "He is yours."
My fingers feel cold as I stare at the man. Perhaps he was the one who stole me away and sold me into slavery, or perhaps it was another man like him. But he will pay for the lives he's ruined, and I know the appropriate way to do such a thing. The pole to which the king is bound is narrow, and I walk around it, my hands moving forward to guide the man's long, blond beard to the side with my left, bandaged hand. I grip the base of it firmly and lift, pulling his head up and to the right to bare his throat to the gathered crowd, and my right hand seeks out my dagger and slowly unsheathes it.
In the language of my people I intone "You betray your people, Langobard. You betray the land, and you betray the gods. The blood of another is not a sufficient sacrifice, not for your crimes..."
There are others in the crowd, men with bright red hair and features like mine. They all smile slowly and grimly, giving me their approval, and I realize for the first time that I'm looking at my people. As my eyes meet theirs they nod, telling me to go on. Permitting me to do this.
My right hand firms on the grip of my dagger as I kiss the edge of it against the left side of the king's neck. "...The gods deserve better than you. No bonfire will receive your body, and no hallowed lodge of warrior kings will have you. Be gone from this world and lost to the mists." My blade sings through his flesh, just beneath his jaw, severing the strings of his life. Only the ropes binding him to the pole support his limp body as I release him and let his head fall until his chin rests on his chest.
My hands are shaking as I move to the side, letting a few older men carry the body away into the woods to be hung and left for the animals. The blood of a king crusts on my hands and arms, and I just stare at it in the light of the fire as I feel my heart slowly beat within my chest. I have killed a general and a king, and yet I am still alive. How can such a thing be?
Before I realize it, a group of men and women guide me to a private place by the lake, and I am washed clean. Two of the men have red hair, and one of them holds my hands as he murmurs a prayer to me. His lips kiss my forehead, and I feel a warmth there flow through my chilled skin and bring me back to life. I'm asked if I wish to learn the secret ways of the gods and become a priestess, and I'm not sure how to answer. I feel my blood tingle – my people made sacrifices to the gods. We were the first in the land, and we know it better than any other. It feels right to say yes, but would I be parted from Gaius?
I beg for a night to consider, and the Semnones man agrees. The group leads me back to the camp, and Gaius leads me back into the tent so that we might talk about what had transpired. I'm so tired by everything that has happened, but I still dutifully explain what I had done. He quietly listens and nods, his Roman sensibilities not put off by the concept of appeasing one's gods with blood. And then I tell him of the man's offer to train me to be a priestess. Gaius looks concerned, and I worry that I've angered him.
There is a long and tense silence before he finally admits "Alarice... I brought you here so that you might be free and live your own life." His eyes don't meet mine, and I grow more confused than worried. Is he feeling shy? Gaius? Shy? I've only known the man for a few days, but he doesn't strike me as being prone to such things. "And I'm a man of my word. You may do as you like here. But..." Now his eyes meet mine, and I can't look away from them. "...Alarice, please stay with me. Come with me. Come to Rome."
I was not expecting that. My eyes look down for a moment as I think, needing to be freed of his intense and beautiful gaze so that I can concentrate. "You said..." I begin slowly "...that I am a slave in Rome. Here I would be free." Again my eyes lift to his, and I can see him wilt a little.
"Yes, I said that" he says softly, a few moments of silence stretching between us until he closes the distance and places his hands lightly on my arms. "But records have a way of disappearing within the libraries Alarice. If they had ever made it there at all."
Gulping down a nervous throat, I softly say "But... if I'm not to be your slave, then who shall I be?"
Gaius smiles a little, his gruff exterior softened. "I try not to rush into things, so perhaps if we...started our relationship more appropriately, we might see how compatible we are." That softness hardens a little as he clears his throat and lets his hands slip from my arms. "Of course, you may choose at any time to part company with me. I have no hold over you. Perhaps as a translator, and then an emissary for the tribes in Rome. That work might please you. Meanwhile I will endeavor to get reinstated to my old rank in the military, or perhaps enter politics, as is fitting for a Roman citizen."
The sudden bit of emotional distance makes me blink, and then I realize that he's actually afraid that I will reject his feelings. I smile slowly, the expression maybe just a little devilish as I ask "Are generals and senators allowed to consort with foreign emissaries?"
I can see his insecurity start to dissipate as his smile slowly returns. "They have been known to, from time to time."
Standing primly, I nod my head gravely. "Then I will take the position under advisement..." I nibble my lip a little as I offhandedly note "...and I may be persuaded if you use your hand like that again."
Gaius laughs and turns to blow out the flame in the lantern. In the dark I'm guided back to the bed we share, and needless to say the ex-general is very persuasive.