Maevia and her men crossed the Tiber on the Aemilius bridge, but their distance from Clodia and Artair increased. Clodia and Artair kicked downstream as far as their energy would take them.
Then they ran. For two days and three nights, they flew, keeping clear of the towns and roads, resting only for short intervals. They barely spoke. They did not dare touch.
Soon, the rugged Apennines rose up before them. They willed their legs onward, following summer goat trails until they were high enough that not even the best Roman hunters could find them.
On the fourth morning, they found shelter in the shade of a juniper grove, where they collapsed with exhaustion. Clodia slept the sleep of the gods, the clean air of the high country filling her lungs.
When she finally awoke, Artair was nowhere to be found. The sun had already begun its descent. Yet it seemed to beat with more intensity than in Rome.
Flushed with heat, Clodia unstrapped the heavy purse that clung to her side and felt instantly lighter. She would give half of it to Artair, to make a life for himself. And it would still not be enough. What she owed him could never be truly repaid.
Clodia buried the purse beneath a rock, then followed the sounds of the forest to a rocky stream where a sandy pool beckoned. She walked out on to a shallow sandbar and drank her fill. Then she lifted her off her stola and felt relief wash over her as she stepped into the soothing pool.
“She wakes,” said Artair, emerging from the forest.
“There you are,” Clodia said, conscious of her breasts visible through the water. “Where have you been?”
“Fishing,” Artair said. He held out a piece of wood upon which two large trout rested.
Clodia shrieked with joy. “That is wonderful! But how did you do it without a hook?”
“I will never tell you that. For then what reason would you have to stay with me?” Clodia noticed that she enjoyed hearing Artair speak. His strange, rolling accent made his words sound musical somehow.
“I’m sure I can find some use for you,” Clodia said, stroking backward before again becoming self-conscious.
“You seem at home,” said Artair, beaming. “But this is no Roman bath.”
“No, it is much better,” Clodia replied. She smoothed back her hair and looked at Artair. His cloudy eyes seemed to catch her and hold her in their grip.
“It is indeed,” he said, studying her. “Well, I shall go start the fire.”
“Do not go,” said Clodia, suddenly. “I have been thinking about the Tiber.”
“A powerful river.”
“Yet you crossed it so easily.”
“My body remembered what my mind had forgotten. I grew up swimming in the River Udsos as a boy. It is a river in the land where I am from.”
“You saved my life,” said Clodia.
“No, my lady,” said Artair, gravely. “It is you who saved mine.” He stood for a moment, then turned to leave.
“Will you not join me?” Clodia said, impulsively. “It is hot today. The water will revive you.” Artair spun about quickly on his heels, a smile spreading across his lips.
“I thought you would never ask,” he said, then dove down and pulled at her heels playfully. He emerged spouting water.
Clodia laughed and splashed water at him. “I am the monster of the Tiber,” she said. “And you cannot catch me.”
“Oh, yes I can,” Artair responded, gamely. He lunged toward her, but she evaded his capture. Then she disappeared, deep into the pool. Artair plunged down after her.
He caught her lurking in the deepest part of the pool. He pulled her to him and kissed her, and an explosion of bubbles sent them both into fits of underwater laughter.
They surfaced on the sandbar, spewing water from their mouths and laughing together. Then Artair put his arms gently around Clodia. The cool water lapped at their waists. “If we are to be parted again soon, then I would like to kiss you one last time,” he said solemnly, “if you will allow me.”
Then his lips touched gently upon hers and began to move. She moved her mouth in rhythm with his and soon she began to feel the pleasure of it. The sun shone down upon their naked torsos, warming them.
They kissed and kissed. Softly, then playfully, then passionately. He flicked his tongue in her mouth and then pulled it out before she could meet it with her own. He seemed to be teaching her a new language, and with the zeal of Socrates himself. He kissed her neck, sucking in her flesh and sending a thrill through her whole body.
She pushed her wet breasts against his chest. He hesitated, breathing deeply. Then he moved his hands upon them, gently tracing their shape. Soon, she felt the tap of his hard member against her thigh. Its presence startled her. She had heard about the act of coupling, but now, faced with his engorged need, she was unsure of what to do.
His grip on her grew stronger, and his tongue probed her mouth with growing purpose. He pulled her out of the water and onto the dry part of the sand bar, where he angled his body atop hers. Kissing her urgently now, he pressed his hardened member firmly against her thigh, the resistance of her flesh seeming to offer him a kind of relief.
She realized that she would have to stop him now if she was not prepared to continue. Her maidenhood, it occurred to her, could yet be an asset in ensuring her survival. Regardless, a Roman lady would never compromise herself so easily.
But she was not a Roman lady—not anymore. She wished only to give herself to this man, this noble stranger, whom she had come to care for so deeply, who made her feel, for the first time, alive—
She moved her arm down and touched him, gliding her fingers up and down his length. Then, impulsively, she surrounded him with her hand and squeezed gently.
“Do you wish me to lose control?” he gasped.
“No, I am sorry,” she whispered, then added, “Yes.”
For a moment, he stopped kissing her. He gazed deeply into her eyes.
Are you sure?
Yes, I am sure.
I promise I will not hurt you.
I know.
He moved his hand down to her entrance and kissed her mouth softly. Then he slid a finger into her. Her whole body clenched at the sensation. Slowly, he began moving his finger rhythmically inside of her, igniting a deep, unfamiliar yearning. She let out a low moan.
He began kissing her with more urgency now. He sucked her neck, sending shivers of pleasure through her limbs. Still, he kept his finger moving, readying her. The sun was lower in the sky, but she felt herself sweating as if still bathed in its brightness.
He moved his lips downward until they were upon her breasts. The feel of his slippery tongue tracing her nipples made her explode with unfulfilled desire. She writhed and heaved, then cried out. He met her cry and smothered it with a rough, passionate kiss.
Then he glided himself into her. “Clodia,” he gasped, pushing gently until she could feel his fullness partially inside of her. The explosion of feeling and pressure took her breath away. The whole world began to spin.
“Do not fear.” He grasped her face in his hands and stared into her eyes, holding himself back, keeping his penetration incomplete.
Gradually, the pain subsided, and her body awakened to an urgent new purpose. She wrapped her arms around his waist, beckoning him with her touch. He stared into her eyes, his expression full of danger.
In a single movement, he rolled backward onto the sand and pulled her atop him. Then he put his hands firmly around her waist and impaled her with his fullness.
She arched backward in pleasure. Then she bent over and kissed him as she began to move up and down upon him. He whispered strange words to her in his language, words she could not understand. And yet she understood them completely. She was closer and closer with each thrust. He matched her movements, his breaths growing shorter, his hands firm
er on her waist. She moved faster, the yearning building inside her until she felt herself upon a precipice.
She cried out in ecstasy. He leaned up and met her lips and together they crashed onto the shore. She felt the throbbing of his member as he spilled inside of her. The rapture of release rippled through her body and he groaned in matching bliss. Then they held each other, breathing together....
That night, the two sat together in the darkness, warming their hands above the crackling flames. Something had changed between them. It was invisible, yet seemed as true as the high wind through the trees. Finally, Artair spoke.
“We’ll follow the mountains north to the Alps,” he explained.
“Where Hannibal crossed,” Clodia said, though the words felt heavy somehow. They fell to the ground like stones.
“Where Hannibal crossed. Yes. We shall cross back. Beyond that are Nearer and Further Gaul—your kin.”
“Yes. I will present them with my dowry and they will surely take me in.” Clodia retrieved the leather pouch from beneath the rock. “They’d be fools not to. My only condition will be that they return you safely to your people,” she said, her eyes lost in the flames.
Then she took the bag and held it out to him. “Here, take half. I cannot ever repay you for what you have done.”
But Artair leaned away from her outstretched hand.
Reluctantly, Clodia set the bag on the ground. The distance between them seemed to stretch as wide as the night sky. Finally, Artair spoke again.
“I cannot say that I do not worry for your safety,” he mused. “The Romans will surely be looking for you in Gaul.”
“I doubt that,” said Clodia. “It is too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“I freed the slaves—all of them. I delivered the scroll to the Atrium Liberatis last nundina. I told Tira the night of the banquet. She will take the familia to the praetor’s court and enroll them in the census. Then their lives will be their own. Maevia will no longer have any claim on them.”
Artair’s heart churned in chaotic emotion. She is safe. She freed the slaves. I will soon be without her.
“You are a noble woman,” he ventured. “You would do well in Brittania.”
“How? They would never accept me. I am a Roman, an enemy.”
“Not if you are with me...as my wife.”
Clodia turned to look into Artair’s eyes. The flames danced in them now. His lips trembled once again.
“What are you saying?”
“I am not saying. I am asking,” said Artair. He took her hand in his. “Clodia, will you grant me the highest honor? Will you be my wife?”
Clodia felt her eyes filling up with tears. This man—the strongest, noblest, kindest man she had ever met—wanted her?
She looked into Artair’s eyes and knew she would never look away.
Yes.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 978-14603-1926-0
MASTERED BY HER SLAVE
Copyright © 2013 by Greta Gilbert
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