Seducing the Roman

by M. K. Chester

  Seducing the Roman

  M.K. Chester

  Published by LBD Media Co, 2021.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SEDUCING THE ROMAN

  First edition. January 20, 2021.

  Copyright © 2021 M.K. Chester.

  ISBN: 978-1393877172

  Written by M.K. Chester.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Seducing the Roman

  THE END

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  Phoenicia, 71 A.D.

  “Next.”

  Sariah waited with a handful of other young women outside the chamber of High Priestess Irrina, her bare feet shuffling against the cool sandstone of the temple. Holding her breath, she glanced at the passive faces around her, pulse quickening as the first in line entered the darkened room.

  Sariah squeezed her eyes shut, a bead of sweat threading down her spine. Sorting would not be delayed. The full moon would not last, of course, and none of them could bypass this intimate examination except by flinging herself off the temple roof and down the side of the mount.

  An option she deeply considered in the still hours of the past night.

  Being in service to the goddess Anath was supposed to be the most exciting time of their lives, a milestone to be celebrated. Yet the thought of transitioning from training to service tied Saria’s stomach in painful knots.

  Long moments passed before the curtain parted and the first of the girls reemerged. Her face flushed, she held her robes together in front of her body as a sly smile emerged behind a wave of dark hair.

  She found favor.

  As the girl beside her was prodded into the chamber, Sariah swallowed around the tightness in her throat and attempted, unsuccessfully, to move her mind to less important matters.

  After today, nothing in their lives would be the same. There would be no escape from fate, no rescue, of which she often daydreamed.

  She strained to hear any sound from inside the chamber. Who, besides the high priestess, sat in judgment of them? What would they be asked to do? Closing her eyes, she resigned herself to whatever they might require.

  Crude grunts and the laughter of men emanated from behind the curtain. She blocked the invasive sounds from her thoughts. When the girl darted from the room, Sariah could not look at her. Instead, she held her breath and waited to hear her name.

  “Sariah, you may now enter.”

  Placing one foot in front of the other, Sariah inched her way into the darkened chamber. Thick clouds of incense assaulted her senses and a haze of smoke clung to the tall walls so she could not clearly see.

  The high priestess stepped forward to embrace her, her kisses landing like air on each cheek. Sariah counted four others in the room, all men, their identities cloaked in silence, smoke and shadow.

  “She is the blessed one,” Irrina stated as she turned Sariah to face these strange judges.

  Her claim hung in the air, unanswered, until one of the shadows spoke. “You say her voice is mature?”

  “As mature as her body,” came the response.

  “We shall see both for ourselves.”

  Irrina looked to Sariah with one eyebrow raised. She was to remove her clothing. Not a terribly difficult task, yet she moved as an old woman with brittle bones.

  “Is she shy?” A wave of laughter chased the question.

  Saria’s gown dropped to the floor and she stepped forward, into a grid of sunlight provided by a single, shuttered window. Her skin prickled in the chill of the room, under their intense scrutiny. Where she would rather have withered, her body flushed and blossomed.

  “Turn, let them see your beauty,” came the instruction. As she followed the command, Irrina crowed, “There is none other like her.”

  “She is unusual. Where is she from?”

  Sariah closed her ears as she pivoted before the nameless, faceless panel. She felt their collective gaze like a living thing, clinging to her skin. Not unpleasant, yet not at all what she desired.

  “She is from north of the sea, her father gifting her to the temple as a child. The man had five daughters, of whom Sariah was youngest. She has been in the temple longer than any other and her knowledge is complete.”

  “She is untouched?”

  “As are they all,” Irrina purred, with a small bow. “And she carries the gift of song. She will sing for you now.”

  Sariah made quick work of answering, a haunting melody floating from her lips despite the lump in her throat. In the silence following her last note, she felt a single moment of peace.

  Until the next request. “Let us see you.”

  Irrina led her to a stool, where she sat and opened her legs for their pleasure. She shut her eyes to avoid seeming either too involved or not interested enough.

  A rough hand slid up her thigh and she gasped at the intrusion. He preceded to fondle her, and disgust fought against the waves of pleasure his experienced touch brought.

  She did not wish to find any good in this arrangement.

  “She is indeed lovely.” When he withdrew, he asked, “She is the one, then?”

  “Sariah is all a favored attendant should be,” Irrina cooed. “She is indeed the one for whom we have waited.”

  “The one who will throw off the Roman noose.”

  Their secret whispers sent a shiver down her spine. She did not miss the ominous undertone in their conversation, even as political intrigue mattered little to her. Her life had been defined many moons ago, despite her wishes she might find another path.

  The man gave Irrina one final instruction. “Proceed as planned.”

  As the priestess bowed, she motioned for Sariah to dress and she scrambled to comply. Irrina escorted her to the doorway with whispers, “Come to my chamber after evening prayers. We have work to do.”

  Nodding, Sariah slipped from her grasp and hurried by the line of girls still waiting their turn. They would know their fates soon enough. Her destiny had been sealed.

  She returned to the chamber she shared with Davisha, a girl still in queue for approval. Anyone deemed unfit would be cast from the temple, destitute, a pitiful sacrifice to the goddess. As she sealed herself inside the room, she wished either she had been found lacking or Davisha would be accepted.

  She did not want to be alone in this misery.

  Sariah paced the room, finding her years sorely lacking. There must be something better for one such as her. More to life than servicing a stone goddess with her body. She envied her nearly-forgotten sisters who would have husbands of their own and children playing at their feet by now.

  The door creaked open and Davisha, a small, dark, and slender girl, slipped inside. When their eyes met, Davisha nodded. Sariah put her arms around her friend.

  At least they would be together.

  TITUS ANTONIUS JUSTUS baked in the summer heat as he paged through the tide of paperwork from Rome. He hated his job. The endless political maneuverings, the infinite dust and grime from this negligible point on the map.

  While he answered only to the Legate and had an acceptable amount of freedom, he should have been the Legate by this point in his career. And not in some hellhole like Phoenicia. This had been the entire point of his demotion, a punishment for his brother’s crime.

  “Sir, this arrived for you.” A centurion saluted and stepped forward to hand him a mail packet sealed with blue wax.

  Local dignitaries used blue. He rose and took the papers. What did they want now? He’d fended off all invitations since his arrival almost a year ago and still these came almost daily.

  “And from the Legate.”


  Another, less prestigious looking packet followed. Titus sighed and dismissed the guard, then opened the second missive. ‘Your presence is required at the Temple of Anath on the next full moon. The invitation has been accepted on your behalf.’

  He turned his attention to the larger packet sealed with blue wax. Shoving his thumb under the edge, he unfolded an elaborate invitation. Apparently, some type of celebration fell when the moon became ripe. He’d heard relatively little about this small, cultish group even after all this time.

  “It’s their new year.” Titus’s second in command, Emmaus, read over his shoulder. “Don’t be surprised, I’ve become quite literate.”

  “This holds no interest for me.” Titus quickly folded the paper. “Would you like to go in my place? I will feign illness.”

  Emmaus chuckled. “No, I suspect the Legate and those he chooses are the only Romans setting foot inside the temple. Ever.”

  “They hate us so much?”

  “Not hate, not quite. Such invitation is unexpected because their religion is not embraced by all in the city. Their practices are beyond ancient, and the newer gods hold more favor with the people.”

  Titus waved off the idea. “Then this is a formality.”

  “You should learn about their goddess.” Emmaus clapped him on the shoulder. “Do you know what goes on inside those walls?”

  He shook his head, then turned to glance at the Temple of Anath, sitting atop a hill overlooking the city. “Do you?”

  “Only rumors, my friend. If you have received invitation, you should experience for yourself. I understand you will be satiated in every possible way.”

  His mind rifled through the possibilities. He knew Roman rituals, full of sacrifices and sex, and had outgrown them, as they were mere tools of politicians and power mongers.

  Besides, the gods, whether pagan or Roman, were not real. “In each of my stations, I have looked for the truth of a power greater than us, Emmaus. Such a being does not exist.”

  “Then live for today! Enjoy the feast the temple will lay out. Have your fill of wine and women. What harm can come?”

  Titus frowned. What harm, indeed? Losing one’s bearings in a foreign land could mean death, dishonor or both. And quickly.

  He bid Emmaus goodnight and packed his saddlebag. After securing his mount and belongings at the barracks, he left camp and let his curiosity lead him up the path to the temple. Emmaus had been right about one thing. If he could not extricate himself, he would know something of these people.

  Light spilled over high walls, marking his steps. A few citizens meandered on the road, casting him wary glances. None of his men had set foot upon this road by explicit order. While their initial entry into this area had been relatively peaceful, they had been ordered to leave the local customs and practices intact.

  The less involvement the better, so long as no opposition emerged.

  Half a league from the gate, he heard the first strains of a haunting melody. Harp, perhaps or lyre. He drew closer, mesmerized by dissonant harmonies ingrained in this culture.

  As he edged toward the gate, he realized those notes came from no instrument or human hand, rather a woman’s voice. The volume increased, accompanied now by pulsating drums.

  He swallowed a sudden wash of desire as his heartbeat quickened to keep time with the rising tempo. The fantastical voice twisted and turned as the melody became more frenzied. Compelled to see what lay beyond the gates, he turned the corner peered inside.

  A stone likeness of the goddess dominated the open forum and a lone, veiled figure in white stood on a platform to the side, lost in song, lit with the orange warmth of firelight.

  His gaze appraised the woman who could make such sounds at such great volume with such ease of control. She raised her hands to the heavens, her unusually fair skin a complement to her pale garments.

  Garments so thin he easily saw through them. He became entranced by the way her body moved in time to the song and found himself aroused, gripping the hilt of his sword to steady himself.

  His rational mind screamed for him to leave at once, while he stood as if bound by magic until the song reached its climax. As the last note died, a wave of relief washed over the temple, cooling his thoughts and releasing him from her grip.

  He turned his back on the spectacle, hands shaking. This place held much danger for a man who had not released his sexual hunger in many moons. Such base things had not been a priority for him.

  Repairing his tarnished reputation took precedence.

  The Legate would have to understand his inability to attend this event. He would send Emmaus, a man worthy to stand in his place, and beg forgiveness later.

  A cool breeze fanned the back of his neck. Temple patrons hurried past him on their way home. Awash with whatever experience had occurred here tonight, they paid him little attention.

  He looked over his shoulder one last time. The woman on the platform stood motionless with her head bowed and her hands twined together, as if she’d spent every ounce of her energy.

  Perhaps she had. As had he. The long trek back to the barracks reminded him of how early he must rise and how much senseless work awaited him the next day, including extricating himself from this upcoming event.

  He craved a deep and dreamless sleep. He would find no such peace tonight, as his body, at last, had woken from long hibernation.

  “YOU ARE TO BED HIM.”

  Saria’s eyes widened at this news. This was not their way. She dared question Irrina. “Why? Do Romans bring sacrifice to a goddess they know not?”

  “He is our honored guest,” the priestess answered while avoiding eye contact. “He needs not bring sacrifice.”

  Yes, he did. All men who visited the temple brought sacrifice, in the form of coin, to bestow on the attendant of their choice before copulation. “But Priestess—”

  She held up a jeweled hand. “While this is not customary, you are required. Do you make argument?”

  Sariah shook her head and stared at the floor. No words could change the direction of this conversation. She shuddered. Her first man, an invader, a Roman? Was this salacious and short life not burden enough?

  Irrina smoothed Saria’s hair. “Your coupling is important, my daughter. You must be successful in your consummation. He must be bound to the temple, to Anath, even to you. Do you understand?”

  She did not. “You ask much.”

  Irrina frowned. “Anath asks much of all her followers.”

  Her skin prickled. The priestess played some other game. This was not about worship, Anath, or even the sacrifice of her own body. What prompted this strange arrangement?

  She needed to know more. “Who is this man?”

  Irrina pulled jewelry from a small wooden box and placed a long, beaded necklace over Saria’s head with a placating smile. “He is the Legate of Phoenicia, a powerful man who must become our ally. Now, do you know what to do?”

  “Yes.” She bowed her head to hide her confusion.

  “He will have private audience with you following the banquet, at which you will perform.” she instructed. “He will be different from our men in his customs, in the way he approaches you and what he may wish you to do.”

  Her face heated. “Yes, Priestess.”

  “You must accommodate his tastes. No matter the position he prefers, whether he requires certain foreplay. You must please him in every respect.”

  They had all been schooled in certain sexual practices yet unable to actually perform them, as they were to remain untouched by any man until transitioned to service. Her heart and mind rebelled against being placed in such an ambitious situation with no experience and no knowledge of the game being played.

  “Make the coupling last as long as possible. Let him know you enjoy him and entice him to return and become your patron. Your own personal patron. There are far worse fates.”

  “Yes, Priestess,” she agreed, not knowing until this moment one could have such a thing. Then she
asked, “What if he will not have me? What if I do not please him?”

  A flash of anger sparked in the older woman’s eye. “Then you must make him want you. Pretend he is the man for whom you long and your life’s joy is to serve him.”

  She nodded, unsure of how to change a man’s mind in this fashion, not to mention how to demonstrate enjoyment. Her enjoyment had never been necessary in any of the lessons, only mindless service.

  “Go now,” Irrina finished in a softer tone. “I am confident he will be unable to resist your beauty and charm.”

  Sariah could not escape her lesson fast enough. She had only one day before meeting this foreigner and becoming the thing she despised.

  A temple whore.

  “What is it?” Davisha seized upon Saria’s unshed tears when she returned to the room they shared.

  She shunned her friend’s embrace. “Have you no fear of the duty to which we are called?”

  Davisha’s brow furrowed. “This is the purpose we serve. Yes, I fear this change, yet ours is a good life. Would you rather sleep on the street and beg for food?”

  She had forgotten how Davisha had been orphaned and alone when she’d come into the temple of her own free will. Unlike Sariah, who’d had a family she fervently hoped would return to claim her before this day.

  Sariah changed the subject. “Have you ever seen a Roman?”

  “No,” Davisha answered. “I have not been outside these walls since their arrival and none have been inside our gates.”

  “All this is about to change.”

  Davisha’s jaw dropped and Sariah knew what her own face must have looked like. She tried to keep her voice from shaking. “I am to lay with one of them tomorrow night.”

  “What? Such a thing is not possible!”

  Sariah took to her bed, her only solace the warmth of such a familiar place. This scenario did seem incredible, yet given a day, she would be expected to perform.

  Davisha sat beside her. “We know what to do for our countrymen who understand the rituals. The Romans do not. What is expected of you?”