Glorious Enslavement Read online

  Chapter Four

  Slavery, I now realize, can be as much an idea as a state of being.

  Verulamium is quiet, but from beyond the gates come rumors of war. Gaius Antonius refuses to believe any force, no matter how strong, no matter how determined, can overrun the Romans. Some of the wealthy merchants, fearing for their lives and property, are making ready to leave. Gaius Antonius will not even consider the thought.

  Stubbornness, willful blindness, is his master now.

  Many men, his peers, gather at the villa. I pour wine into my master’s goblet as one merchant speaks.

  “What can they do, these barbarians, these Iceni? How can they defeat a Roman Legion?”

  “If there are enough of them,” opines another. “It can be done. Besides, Gaius Suetonius Paulinus has gone north with the Legio XIV Gemina and not yet returned. Without him, and the legionnaires who travel with him, Camulodunum will fall.”

  “And Londinium after.”

  “I do not believe there is anything to fear.” Gaius Antonius’s voice rings with conviction. “The IX Hispana guard Camulodunum, and they will prevail. I myself go to Londinium tomorrow to meet a ship. Would I do that if I thought there was any danger?”

  But his surety means naught in the face of their fear. They argue and shout far into the evening, trading rumors. There are stories of those who have already left and slaves who have taken advantage of the chaos to disappear. For all of Gaius Antonius’s attempts at persuasion, I doubt any are convinced away from their initial decisions.

  Those who planned to leave will leave. Those stubbornly clinging to Rome’s invincibility will stay.

  Gaius Antonius, a slave to his own obstinacy, will remain.

  The house falls quiet, but he does not leave the triclinium. Yanos takes him more wine and then, as I watch, falls asleep before the kitchen fire. In the silence of the culina, a strange breath moves, cold and insidious, negating the warmth from the fireplace. I recognize it, and sadness fills my heart.

  It is the winds of change.

  Goddess, be with us.

  I go to him. Gaius Antonius is almost drunk and his eyes betray the melancholy eating away at his convictions.

  “Tomorrow I go to Londinium. Will you be here when I return?”

  Reaching down, I help him rise from the chair. Putting his arm around my shoulder I guide him to the door.

  “I will be wherever you bid me be.”

  He laughs, but the bitterness bites into my soul. “A slave, even unto the end.”

  “Aye.” I open the door to his bedchamber. “Your slave, even unto the end.”

  Gaius Antonius stumbles and I hardly have time to get him to the bed before he collapses. Kneeling, I undo his sandals, ease them from his feet, tenderly lift his legs onto the bed.

  “I have no wish to run.”

  “I know, Master.”

  And I do know. Here a life has been built, forged by strength and determination. To abandon it would cause this proud man much pain.

  But is death any less of an affront?

  I unclasp the wolf-head pin at his shoulder, unwrap his toga. As I fold it his scent rises from the wool, filling my head, my heart. A quick look to ensure his eyes remain closed and I put my cheek against it.

  Goddess, be with him.

  Having packed it neatly away, I turn to find him watching me. Hawkish eyes gleam beneath heavy lids, but his lips do not smile, do not mock.

  “Tomorrow I go to Londinium. Will you be here when I return?”

  Pondering whether it is the wine that causes his need to question my faithfulness again, I pour water from an amphora, take the goblet to him. I hold it to his lips. My master takes only a sip before pushing it away.

  “Will you?”

  “If you will it. I will not flee without you telling me to go.”

  He makes no reply, only watches with those intent, dark eyes.

  Placing the water within his reach, I turn to leave. With one swift movement, his hand grasps my wrist, tugs.

  “Sit.”

  Sinking to the floor beside his bed puts my head level with his. Silently his gaze wanders over my face. What does he see when he looks at me this way?

  “What is your name?”

  “Laelia.”

  He shakes his head, just once, and I know what he is asking. Perhaps he feels I seek to deny him truth, trust, but in my heart I have but one name: the one given by him.

  “I am Laelia.” I touch the flesh above my heart, and his eyes follow the movement. “That is my name, but once I was known as Cathán.”

  His eyes close, but his fingers tighten around my wrist. In silence we sit, buffeted by the chill knowledge of destiny rushing to meet us.

  “Tell me of your life before you came to me.”

  His lips scarcely move, his eyelids flicker but do not rise. Soon wine and sleep may claim him but at this moment he is mine, and I can deny him nothing.

  With whispered words I speak, telling him of the hills and valleys, the standing stones and sacred woods of the place I was born. Searching, as though looking back at a dream, I dredge within myself for a life now gone, but never truly forgotten. My dedication to the Goddess, forged from the moment of my birth, was understood before I gained understanding of anything else. And from that understanding grew faith in Her ability to guide my life.

  Daughter of a prince, I was raised to rule, to fight. Yet although the reins of power flowed easily through my fingers, there was a part of me that yearned to be soft, to submit to a will stronger than my own. There was a marriage, and together we ruled the tribe after raiders killed my father. My husband, Lasair, was a good man but weak in many ways. Discontent marred my days, and I prayed to the Goddess to help me find what I needed to be happy, complete.

  When the raiders returned my husband wanted to run, but I insisted we fight. By the time I recognized my error my husband was dead, along with many other fierce and loyal warriors, and I knew I, too, would either die or be taken. Humbled and heart-sore, I once more appealed to the Goddess. My hubris had cost those men their lives and I did not deserve Her mercy but, magnanimous even then, She gave it—at the cost of my freedom.

  “Do you resent the loss of your autonomy?”

  His soft question pulls me back from the mists of recollection, and I smile ruefully. “At first I did, even though I knew it was punishment for what I had done.”

  “And now?”

  “Many seasons have passed since then. I was sold to an old couple in Caledonia and learned at their hands what it meant to be a slave. Now, it is difficult to remember what it was to be anything else.”

  His eyes search mine, and there is a flash of something indefinable behind his scrutiny.

  “How does a ruler accept such a fall?”

  “With difficulty at times.” I search for the words, but there are still limits to my command of his language, and it is hard to express the journey with accuracy. “I had only faith in the Goddess and the strength I carry inside to guide me. It has not always been easy to bear, but I hoped that one day I would find the place I belonged.”

  The wine seems to overtake him for, with an indistinct murmur, his eyes close once more and Gaius slowly relaxes. Even near sleep his face loses none of its power, only gains a veneer of innocence. His fingers still clutch at my wrist, and I sit quietly, waiting for them to fall away.

  The wood in the brazier crackles and spits, setting red-tinged shadows dancing across the strong, magnificent planes of Gaius’s face. Once, long ago, I had entreated the Goddess for completeness. That prayer set me on a journey that seemed nearing an end the first time I saw this man. Yet happiness eludes me still, as though I try to capture smoke in my hand. I am his, body, heart, soul, but how can I be content when my submission seems to bring him nothing but anger? And how will I bear being without him should he fall in the Iceni uprising?

  His hand has grown lax, releasing its grip, even as ire tightens my chest, clogs my throat. Suddenly I fight
the urge to pummel him awake, shout and scream until he hears and understands. Houses can be rebuilt, fortunes remade, but life once lost cannot be regained. Devastation is coming. Denying will not turn it aside. Would he really rather die than cede stones and mortar—material possessions?

  As swiftly as it arises my rage fades, and a tremor begins in my chest, takes hold and spreads in icy tendrils to encompass my entire body.

  Tomorrow Gaius, full of stubbornness and pride, goes to Londinium and I may never see him again.

  Pain is a living thing, ravaging with talons and fangs, and my tears cannot be held inside. Silently I rise and go to my room, lie on my couch, swallowing the bitter salty drops as they run into my gaping, gasping mouth.

  Yet quietude is found once more in the still of the night, with a soft assurance, a word in the heart. Retrieving my ring from where it is hidden, I go back to find Gaius sleeping much as I left him. Tenderly, gently, I touch his hair, his cheek, the curled fingers of his strong right hand. On his left I place my ring, whispering a prayer to the Goddess who gifted it to me. It looks crude, mean on his long elegant finger.

  “What is that?”

  Rough with sleep and suspicion, his voice startles me.

  “My ring, for protection on your journey,” I beseech him now, as I only just beseeched the Goddess. “Please wear it.”

  He lifts his hand, turns it from side to side, looks at the golden band, the runes. For a moment I think he will accept it without argument and relief makes me smile, until he thrusts his hand out to me. “Take it off.”

  I step back, feel the heat in my belly, anger a sudden hot coal searing my obedience, making the edges curl away from the flame. “No. It will keep you safe.”

  Gaius Antonius sits up. In his face is all the anger, the rage, he feels toward me. Why does he hate me so, when all I live for is to serve him?

  “I do not need your barbarous trinkets.” It is a roar, a bellow against the coming catastrophe. “Take it off.”

  I bite my tongue to hold back the words, yet they will not be confined. “For many moons I have been your slave. Everything you demand of me, I have done.” My hands are extended, palms open to him; my breast unprotected should he desire to take my life. “I have asked nothing of you, except this one thing.”

  “You have no right to ask anything of me.” Gaius Antonius rises to grab my arms above the elbows. “Everything you have is mine by right. You are no longer a ruler, disbursing largess to those who surround you. You can gift me nothing.”

  He is wrong, and we both recognize the lie even as it leaves his lips. The ring digs into my flesh, burning, as though set ablaze by the fire between us.

  Gaius snarls, lips pulled back, teeth bared against the truth.

  It is my nature to submit, and glory in that submission, but simply naming me “slave” does not secure that enslavement. Everything I am and have, including my freedom, have not been taken by, but given to, him.

  With a quick gesture of disgust, he pushes me away, and I stumble, fall to the floor. My hair, unbound and free, swirls around my face, over my body. Feet set apart, combative, he stares down at me. The light from the brazier turns his skin to bronze. The ring glows against his finger, a beacon against the darkness ahead.

  Past and present blend to one, flash through the room on the ever-swift wings of time. This could be our last night together and underlying his anger is that knowing, and our overwhelming need.

  I do not wait for his command. The tunic falls to the floor beside me and I lie back, lifting my hands to my breasts. Desire howls, the beast awakening, but tonight it does not stalk but pounces, ravenous, desperate.

  Gaius is upon me, his hands pulling mine aside, forcing them above my head. Wildness gleams in his eyes, the hunter sighting his prey, the wolf intent on devouring the lamb.

  “Do not move,” my master growls. “Do not move until I bid it.”

  I will my body to stillness, yet inside I writhe under the onslaught of his hands. They slide down my arms, linger rough and urgent on my neck, cup my breasts and pinch the nipples. Gaius straddles my hips, the muscles of his thighs embracing me as he tugs off his tunic. Firelight turns his body to a work of perfection, shadows highlighting taut muscles, the beauty of his phallus causing a flood of wetness between my thighs, in my mouth. My hips jerk instinctively.

  “Do not move,” he says again, sliding down my body, parting my thighs with his shoulders. “Do not move.”

  Now I freeze in place, the feathering of his breath on my labia shocking, almost too erotic to be borne. How many times have I seen the longing in his eyes, teased him with the scent and sight of my cunt, desperate for the touch of his lips, his tongue? How many times has he denied me, and himself?

  The pulse of life beats between my thighs. I stiffen, shuddering with need. Each of his rough breaths flood my trembling flesh, causes the drumbeat of desire to escalate, drop lower, become insistent.

  Gaius digs his fingers into my thighs, and growls. The vibration travels through my skin to my clitoris and I cry out. As though hearing a call to arms he cups my bottom, lifts me with my legs over his shoulders to hang open, unguarded before him.

  He advances, attacks, ravishes me with tongue and lips and teeth.

  Instantly I am undone. The rush of my orgasm frightens me, for I am helpless against it. Gaius does not stop. Sucking, licking, invading me with his tongue, he growls and moans, drinks deep of my essence, pushes me into another rush of pleasure, another release as intense as the first.

  More and yet more he takes, gives. Closer he pulls me to his face, his tongue slowing, swirling in torturously languid circles, slipping down, laving the entrance to my cunt. Up it rises, to twist around my aching clitoris, exploring the little phallus, sucking it between his lips until it pulses, oversensitized and needy again.

  Pulling away slightly, he groans, “Ah, ah!” and I shudder with delight. When he dips his head back between my thighs, mouth and tongue insistent, unrelenting, I am once more catapulted beyond pleasure into pure ecstasy.

  Slowly he lowers my body to the ground. Kneeling between my legs, he looks down at me lying sated and replete before him. His phallus begins to soften, his seed spilt beneath me on the floor; pleasure found in pleasuring long denied.

  “Who is the master now,” he asks wryly, without heat. “Who the slave?”

  I rise, hold out my hand. Long moments pass before he takes it, gets to his feet and allows me to lead him to the bed. I do not answer the question, for to me there is no question.

  I am his slave—always, forever.

  Unmoving he lies, eyes closed, arms at his sides, palms upward, open. I touch his foot, bend to kiss it. He moves to pull away but stops, and I kneel, cup his heel in my hands.

  “Master,” I whisper against his skin. “Master, may I touch you?”

  There is an involuntary shudder before he replies, “Do as you will.”

  Thus he frees me, and binds me even tighter to him with chains stronger than any metal.

  I kiss his feet, suck each toe in turn, leave no quarter unadored. He makes no sound as my mouth moves higher, exploring his calves, and I bend his legs to tongue behind his knees. But his muscles flex, shiver beneath my hands and lips as my journey takes me higher, to his thighs. His phallus rises before me, erect once more, waiting for my attention.

  Do as you will.

  Bending, I push his thighs up, kiss the tender skin beneath his testes, hear his gasp of surprise. Lower my tongue slips, circling his anus, feeling it tighten, pull in on itself.

  “Ah, Laelia, no, ah!”

  But he makes no move to push me away or stop me and so I continue, flicking and teasing, tickling and prodding. He rocks up, grunting, moaning, and I push my tongue past the resistant outer ring; in as far as I can.

  “Ah! Ah!”

  Shudder after shudder racks his body, and I am almost weeping with desire. Rising, holding his legs up to his chest and pressing my breasts against the back of hi
s thighs, I engulf his phallus with my mouth.

  “Laelia, ah, ah!”

  I am his slave. My sole intent is on his pleasure, for in it lies my own. His engorged cock pulses and jerks as it fills my mouth. The moisture seeping from it mingles with my saliva and I open my lips, allow it to run down his shaft so as to swirl my finger through it. Closing my lips again, I swallow around his glans at the same moment my finger penetrates his anus. He strains up into my mouth and shouts, “Goddess, save me.”

  She is the earth and life and hope—destiny and acceptance. In calling upon Her, Gaius has opened himself to truth, lays himself bare to all She will bestow.

  His phallus grows harder, longer, becomes living marble as I flex my finger within his body. How reluctantly does his flesh release me as I draw back, how eager is the pulsating welcome on each subsequent incursion. Set free from all but desire, pleasure, Gaius is caught between the wet adoration of my mouth, the loving invasion of my finger.

  Shuddering, every muscle in his beautiful body stiff with erotic power, he jerks upward one more time, cries out and releases his seed deep into the back of my throat. It seems to last forever, that moment of ecstasy, wave after wave of his orgasm holding me enthralled.

  As I slip my finger away, gently free him from my lips, his legs fall to the bed and he throws his arm over his eyes, but I know he watches me from beneath it.

  “Laelia, Laelia—” his voice is quiet, deadly as a coiled snake “—how you must delight in my destruction.”

  “I delight in giving you pleasure.” With one finger I trace the curl of his phallus, lying soft upon his belly. “What have I destroyed with my delight, Master? Tell me that it might be repaired.”

  “Do not call me master.” His words lash out, whip across my soul. “Do you think I am unaware of the truth—that I am more your slave than you are mine?”

  I shake my head, willing him to listen, to understand. “I was born to be your slave, to serve you. Nothing I do, no liberties you allow me, will change that purpose. The Goddess has decreed it, and so it shall be.”