Virginia Henley (14 page)

“Only when you have wooed and won me. Not on demand,” she said softly.

“When will you
allow
me to begin this wooing, my fine lady?” he asked with heavy sarcasm.

She glanced across at him provocatively. “You and I both know your wooing has already begun. … I enjoy it excessively!”

A crack of thunder rent the heavens and the deluge began. There was a sudden commotion in the atrium and then Kell stood at the entrance to the triclinium. “Your brother, Petrius, General.” Kell stepped aside and the handsome
young cohort centurion stood between the pillars, drenched to the skin.

Diana fled across to Marcus’ couch and sank to the floor at his knee.

“Is aught amiss, Petrius?” Marcus demanded.

“I am come to dine, brother. The storm took me unawares.”

Though he had not been invited and though his timing played havoc with Marcus’ plans, he extended his hospitality. “We are finished eating, but there is food in abundance. Bathe and change into dry clothes while your dinner is prepared.”

Petrius swayed on his feet, then advanced into the chamber. “I shall forgo the food and join you for the drinking.” He left a puddle of water with every step.

Marcus frowned. He could see the young devil had already been drinking.

“Don’t worry about the water, brother, you’ve plenty of slaves to clean it up.” He poured himself wine from a flagon, then filled up the two glasses that were half empty. “Drink with me, or is the great general of Aquae Sulis too high and mighty to share his wine with a lowly centurion?”

His tone was so belligerent, Marcus placed his hand on Diana’s shoulder to reassure her that he would control the situation.

“My wine is your wine, Petrius; my food and my villa at your disposal. Be seated, take your ease.”

Petrius reclined on the white and gold couch, soiling everything he touched. He held up his wine. “To Rome, glorious Rome.” He drained his glass, then waited for them to do the same. “You may like this country, but I think it the arsehole of the empire. Even the gods are pissing on it!” Petrius spied Kell on the threshold. “Slave—more wine!”

The eyes of Marcus and Kell met in quiet understanding as Kell brought another flagon of wine and refilled Petrius’ goblet. Once more he drained it, but this time his eyes
roamed over the female who sat quietly beneath his brother’s hand. “Does your hospitality not provide me with a couch slave? Or will we share this one?”

Diana shrank back and Marcus stroked her silken hair. “This slave is my private and exclusive property, Petrius, tonight and every night. Your drunken behavior insults me and brings shame upon you. Tomorrow you will regret the wine you have consumed when you will be required to teach your men to swim the river wearing full gear.”

Diana turned to face Marcus, her eyes filled with admiration. She spoke softly. “May I come and watch you?” Her hand touched his knee in supplication.

She was everything he desired. She had played the slave girl to perfection the moment they were no longer alone. He searched her face; their glances touched and held. “You may come. The bargain is sealed,” he murmured.

Petrius staggered to his feet. “I’m not drunk!” He drew his pugio. “I’ll fight you for the girl.”

Marcus sighed heavily and got to his feet. “Go up to my chamber now,” he directed Diana. “Come on, old man, I think we’d better sweat you until you are sober. Can’t have your men see you in this condition.” He easily disarmed Petrius and threw a brotherly arm about him to keep him upright.

Kell came to the general’s aid. As they walked him toward the baths, Petrius passed out.

“By the gods, he has a skinful. What in Hades prompted this?”

Kell answered silently.
Envy. Envy of you eats him alive.

“We have our work cut out for us,” Marcus said with calm resignation. First, he took him into the cold plunge to revive him. When Petrius regained consciousness, he fought like a young bull. Marcus had him under full control at all times. When he finally hauled him from the cold water, he helped Kell administer an emetic, then held his brother’s head up while he spewed out his guts.

The fight has gone out of him now,
Kell thought with satisfaction.

Marcus took Petrius into a small room that was heated to a high temperature by steam. As sweat poured off Petrius, Marcus made him drink copious amounts of water so that he would not dehydrate. Marcus, too, had to drink so he would not lose body weight in the heat.

After three hours, Petrius was cold sober. Marcus ordered a bath slave to give his brother a massage, then he accompanied him back to the officers’ quarters. As they rode to the fortress in the drizzling rain, Petrius was much subdued. When he left him at the gate, Petrius mumbled, “Thanks.”

Marcus replied, “That is what brothers are for.”

In Marcus’ sleeping chamber, Diana stood before the fire that had been lit against the damp night. All her fine plans had been spoiled by the intrusion of Petrius. She giggled. He had been drunk as a lord. She admitted she wasn’t quite sober herself. By now, Marcus must be furious to have his drunken brother on his hands. His desire had been rampant by the time they finished eating; she could not imagine what state he was in by now!

Diana yawned. It had certainly been a long and event-fill day. The corners of her mouth went up. She had no doubt that Marcus would agree to her terms. She had told him that when they were alone, she would not be his slave. What she hadn’t told him was that slowly but surely, he would become hers.

The amethyst torque was becoming too heavy for her slender neck. She unfastened its clasp and laid it on the table beside his bed. She sat down on the steps that led up to his bed and removed her sandals. She yawned again.

It was amazing, but somehow she had lost all her fear of the Roman. He was the strongest, most powerful man she had ever known, but that strength would protect her not
harm her. She laid her head down upon the furs and smiled sleepily. Marcus thought she was his, but in truth, he was hers!

Kell awaited Marcus in the atrium with a pair of towels. He handed Kell his wet mantle and stripped off his soaking tunic. Then he wrapped one of the towels about his hips and rubbed his black hair vigorously until it was dry.

Kell took a torch from its bracket and lighted Marcus through the dark, silent villa, up to his sleeping chamber. The door swung open to reveal Diana lying on the steps with her golden head resting on the bed. As Marcus gazed with longing at the sleeping beauty he asked, “How many floors did she scrub today?”

“Seven,” Kell replied.

“Seven must be my unlucky number,” Marcus murmured.

Diana came up slowly through the layers of a deep sleep. When she opened her eyes, she saw the tops of the Roman pillars with their curled rams’ horns. She realized immediately that she was in the great pedestal bed of Marcus Magnus.

A thrill of excitement shot through her, curling her toes, then she summoned the courage to turn her head. She was alone in the bed. Did she feel relief or regret? She experienced both at the same time and wondered how that was possible.

Marcus must have found her sleeping and taken her into his bed. Had he awakened her? Had he made love to her? She searched her memory, but recalled little beyond sitting on the steps and laying her head on the bed. She remembered the fur beneath her cheek, the scent of Marcus filling her senses, but nothing beyond.

Diana sat up and saw that she still wore the violet silk. She stretched and then ran her hands lightly down her body. It felt no different than it had yesterday. With a certainty she knew he had not touched her, for once Marcus Magnus made love to a woman, surely her body would never feel the same again!

Sitting up in the bed, she gazed at the place where he had lain beside her, so close and yet so very far away.
Nothing had happened and because of that she knew so much more about him now than she knew before. He had accepted her offer, the bargain was sealed, and he had not violated their agreement. In spite of the fact that this Roman general controlled thousands of men and had the strength and the power to impose his will anytime, anyplace, and in any way he chose, he had not awakened her to demand she yield her body to him. Apparently he was a man of honor; a man of his word. Yet his abstinence told her more. It told her that somewhere, deep within, the Roman had a spot that was soft and kind and gentle. Diana vowed to exploit that tenderness she had discovered.

She felt exultant because she knew the balance of power had tipped her way. She must be very careful to play the role of slave in front of others, even Kell, so that when they were private Marcus would allow her to enjoy the full and complete power of a woman.

Nola brought her breakfast. “May I join you?”

“Oh, please do.”

Nola set the serving tray of crusty rolls, honey, and fruit upon the bed, then perched on the steps. “You are special to him.”

Diana lowered her lashes, not quite knowing how a slave behaved. “How do you know?” she asked shyly.

“He kept you with him all night. He has never done that before.”

Diana realized that in a household of one master and thirty slaves, there could be few secrets.

“The entire villa is buzzing with talk of you.”

She raised her lashes. “Nola, I realize a slave has no right to privacy, but Marcus is a most private man. I am certain he would not want the details of our intimacy in the sleeping chamber gossiped about.”

“You would have more success holding back the tide than keeping slaves from gossip. You will have to have Marcus cut out their tongues.”

“You jest?” Diana asked with apprehension.

“A little,” Nola admitted, “though it is practiced in some Roman households. What I meant was that Marcus is so fervent he would likely do anything you asked of him.”

Diana licked the honey from her fingers. “In that case I should have asked for clothes. I have nothing to wear.”

“Before he left this morning, he asked me if I would take charge of your wardrobe. I was never so surprised in my life that he, of all men, would take such an interest in dressing a female.”

“What sort of interest?”

“A fervent interest, filled with detail. He wants you in robes that will bring him pleasure, garments that will enhance your delicate beauty.”

Diana wanted to curse. Always, someone had chosen her clothes for her. Had she escaped from Prudence only to find she still had no choice in what she wore? She was about to protest, vehemently, when she remembered that she was his slave. He could dress her any way he chose!

Diana made a token protest. “I know best what colors suit me.”

“Marcus is more interested in style and texture. He desires only the costliest materials for you. There will be much leeway for you to select things that please you too.”

“Will I be fitted here in the villa?”

“Yes, but we shall buy outside as well. A profusion of shops spreads itself along the streets of Aquae Sulis. Merchandise spills out onto the colonnaded walkways. Shopping is one of life’s pleasures for a female. There are perfumers, jewelers, goldsmiths, floras, cookshops, ornatrices—”

“Ornatrices?”

“They fashion and arrange the hair,” Nola explained.

“One of the female slaves has been dressing my hair. She is most talented.”

“That is Sylla. You may take her for your personal slave to do your hair and makeup.” When Nola saw Diana hesitate, she said, “It will elevate her to a higher status in the
household, and if you choose her to serve you, it would please her so much.”

“Then I would love to have her,” Diana said, accepting her first slave.

“Have your bath, then you can be fitted for some new stolae and robes.”

On her way to the bathing suite, Diana sought out Kell. Before she told him she wished to watch Marcus instruct the men at the river, he said to her, “The general left orders for me to take you to him after lunch.”

“I will obey,” she said softly. Diana was delighted that Marcus had remembered her request. He must have wanted it too, or he would have forgotten it. It would be a thrill to be taken to him before all the legionaries under his command. It showed how much he valued her, and how much he wished to show her off. It also showed that he needed to see her at some point in his day and that night was too long a time to wait.

She must wear something to make her beautiful. Something that would heighten his desire for her!

After her bath, Nola took her into the solarium. She had never been in this chamber before, but it was as lovely as all the rest of the villa. One entire wall from floor to ceiling was windows. On impulse she asked Nola, “How is the glass made?”

“It is made by casting in flat molds. It is one of the many Roman skills that they have taught the Britons.”

The decorative floor was spectacular. It depicted a life-size Bengal tigress lying amid tall grasses. It was made from pieces of brilliant orange, black, and green marble. The couches in the room were covered with fine linen, interwoven with gold thread and dyed to pick up the colors in the floor.

Two merchants awaited them and each had female slaves to assist them because their customer was female. They had brought their wares in large trunks made of basketweave
so they would be light to transport. The first was a cloth merchant, the second a jeweler.

One by one the baskets were opened and the lengths of cloth within were displayed before her. Every color, every texture, every material, some from as far away as Egypt and China, were spread about the couches. As Diana caressed the silks and stroked the fine wool, Nola ordered the garments Marcus had requested.

“I need something to wear when I go out today. Can it be made in time?”

“Of course,” Nola replied. “The toga is simply a length of material, draped in various ways and fastened with a brooch. A mantle, even a hooded one, takes little more than draping and fastening. A simple stola and matching palla can be sewn in minutes by an experienced cloth slave.”

“I would love a scarlet mantle like Marcus wears,” Diana decided. “This white silk would make a lovely classical toga. A garment we imagine a goddess would wear,” Diana said wistfully, rubbing the heavy silk between her thumb and forefinger. She drew in her breath as the lid of another basket was lifted to reveal lustrous material in a shade she could not begin to describe. “What color is this?”

“It is ultramarine. The vivid blue pigment comes from powdered lapis lazuli.”

“May I have a stola made of this?” she asked Nola.

“Of course you may. The cloth merchant has recorded everything you have ordered.”

“Ah Nola, look at this. The design is copied from the skin of a tigress, but it is as fine as a spider’s web.” She draped the transparent material across the marble floor and seemingly it disappeared.

“Exotic animal prints are the very latest fashion. There is much demand for them in Rome,” the merchant told them proudly.

From the jeweler, Nola and Diana selected brooches,
clasps, hair ornaments, and a wide golden girdle to define the waist and emphasize the breasts. When she admired a pair of amulets fashioned after snakes with ruby eyes, Nola nodded to the jeweler. Then he opened a cypress box holding things Diana had never before seen. There was a set of rings attached by fine chains to matching bracelets. There were anklets, some with bells, and finally there were toe rings set with jewels. To Diana the jewelry was so exotic it seemed decadent and she absolutely lusted for all of it.

“The general asks that you leave your goods so he may select what appeals to him in particular. We will need one of the stolae and a fine wool mantle in about two hours,” Nola told the cloth merchant.

As they walked through the villa, Diana asked Nola, “As a slave of this household, what are my duties?”

“Your sole duty is to obey and please Magnus. Your day should be spent at leisure doing pleasurable things so that you are in a receptive mood to spend your evening entertaining the general. He has a heavy workload and crushing responsibilities and needs diversion from constant duty. I myself am going to have a relaxing body massage before lunch. I’ll send Sylla to your chamber so she can do your face and hair.”

When Diana stepped into Kell’s chariot, she drew the scarlet wool mantle about her closely. She was glad that it had been fashioned with a hood, for today a chill wind was blowing in from the coast. Up on these heights she could tell that autumn approached. Perhaps the storm last night had signaled the end of summer. For Diana it also signaled the end of innocence. She did not regret it. She felt more alive than she ever had. Life was filled with challenge and excitement, all centered on that driving force known as Marcus Magnus.

“Am I ordered to the fortress?” she asked Kell.

“Nay, we go straight to the river.”

Diana shivered. “The weather has turned cold. Surely they won’t go into the water today?”

“Inclement weather never stopped the general.”

She glanced at Kell from beneath her lashes. “What would stop him?” she asked lightly.

“Naught in this world, lady.”

Diana shivered just thinking of him.

“He’s been waiting for a storm to swell the river. He’ll be in his glory, never fear!”

Kell stopped the chariot in a meadow that looked down upon the River Avon. The banks of the river, about forty feet below them, were lined with more than a thousand legionary soldiers, each wearing full armor, bearing a full complement of weapons, and carrying a backpack of supplies. Across every soldier’s back was slung his shield and a pack of provisions for making camp.

Diana’s eyes easily picked out the powerful form of Marcus. He was about to give the men a demonstration of how to cross the river. She watched him secure his weapons, hang his shield across his back, then hold up his two javelins together in one hand.

Diana caught her breath as she watched him wade into the water, using the javelins as a staff, then when the water was deep enough to close about his breastplate, he used the javelins to push himself away from the bank, out into the river’s swift current. He began to swim using only one arm to stroke. His other arm held the javelins parallel with his body so they would aid, rather than impede, his sidestroke.

Diana was terrified that the heavy armor and the bronze and iron helmet would drag him beneath the raging waters. “Why is he risking his life?” Diana cried out to Kell.

“He must set the example,” Kell told her.

“He is attempting the impossible!” She pulled the wool mantle close about her, to try to keep from shivering.

Kell shook his head. “To Marcus Magnus nothing is impossible.”

Diana did not dare take her eyes from the helmeted head that bobbed up and down in the raging torrent. All her thoughts and concentration were focused upon him as he battled the current, and she realized by the shouts of the men that they, too, were eager for him to win against the odds.

He was more than halfway now, and she realized he would beat the river. How much strength and determination such a feat must require! When he reached the far bank, her heart was pounding with joy for his victory. A great cheer arose from the throats of the legionaries and their centurion officers. Then, incredibly, Marcus Magnus waded back into the water to recross the river.

He was all brute strength. Watching him made Diana weak at the knees. Her mouth went dry remembering his powerful hands on her body. He must have taken her in his arms last night and lifted her into his bed, then stretched his magnificent body alongside hers as he watched her sleep. Watching him was like an aphrodisiac. Now she wished with all her heart that he had awakened her last night.

Marcus was once more successful in crossing the river. He waded out and handed his javelins to an officer.
Does he know I watch him?
The moment she asked herself the question, Marcus Magnus turned and looked up at her. Her heart overflowed with pride. She threw back the hood of her scarlet mantle and let the wind blow through her gilt tresses until it was in wild disarray. He was laughing and he lifted his arm to hail her. She waved back, then threw him a kiss.