In Thrall to the Enemy Commander

by Greta Gilbert

  She took another step closer, and he wondered how exactly she was going to allow him to touch anything. Did she plan to untie him?

  If that was her plan, then he knew he must try to stop her, for he would not be able to control himself in his current state.

  She was studying his face again—the siren. She was trying to read his thoughts.

  He wondered if she could see that his desire was an invisible monster stretching out of the shadows, begging her to come closer.

  Slowly, he lifted himself off his heels so that he stood on his knees. His desire stiffened. His lips hovered in the air just a hair’s breadth from one of her nipples.

  ‘You may touch my breast if you wish,’ she offered. ‘With your mouth.’

  He could see that this was no longer a lesson for her, but her lesson for him. The objective was to teach him control—how to keep from crying, from dying, from spending himself right there, in the darkest, hottest, most torturous corner of the universe.

  He took the soft brown fruit into his mouth.

  ‘Oh,’ she sighed, as he gently began to suck. His heart hammered and his arms tugged against the strap that confined them. He felt his desire lift the fabric of his toga in a rush of yearning. He wanted to pull her on to his lap and let her feel what she did to him.

  He sucked a little harder. ‘Mmm,’ he said. He moved his tongue in soft circles until he heard her moan with delight.

  ‘Now the other,’ she commanded and placed her other nipple between his lips. She ran her fingers through his hair and brushed her body against his as he kissed and sucked.

  ‘Wen?’ he whispered between kisses. ‘Wen, I want you so badly. Please.’

  She rocked back. ‘I do not know what that means.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘I do not want it, then.’

  ‘You are just afraid. Are you going to spend your whole life that way?’

  ‘I do not wish to, but—’

  ‘Touch me.’

  Perhaps she meant to test herself. Perhaps she meant to test him. Perhaps she was only curious. Whatever the reason, she pulled her toga from his shoulder and placed it at her knees. Then she kneeled down upon it.

  There they were, kneeling face to face in the shadows. They might have been two monks from some far-off land, kneeling to worship their invisible god. They might have been two statues, or two prisoners awaiting their deaths.

  ‘You are trembling,’ she said.

  She wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against him. She took a long, deep breath. He could feel the strong beat of her heart against his chest.

  Then she reached down and touched him. There.

  She wrapped her hand around his desire until he could feel himself pulsing against her grip through the layer of cloth.

  ‘Stroke me,’ he said. ‘Please, cara, I beg you.’ She paused, then moved her hand up the length of him. ‘Yes, that is it.’

  The scent of floral unguents perfumed her hair. He buried his nose between her braided locks and took it in. ‘Squeeze harder. Please.’ She tightened her grip. He could do nothing to aid her. ‘Harder still, cara.’ She squeezed a little more. ‘Now move up and down. That is it.’

  It was all he could do to keep his wits. Her naked breasts pressed against his chest and he imagined releasing himself from his bond and possessing them with his hands, his mouth. She continued to stroke him, but he could do nothing to close the space between them, for his hands remained bound.

  ‘Kiss me, Wen.’

  Obligingly, she lifted her lips to his, and he caught them. It was the most sensuous, delicious kiss he had ever experienced. Her mouth, so warm and wet, her tongue entwined with his. Her desire and his, so perfectly aligned.

  ‘By the gods,’ he breathed. He was already so close. He could feel the tremors, the undulating waves, threatening to crest. ‘Do not cease your stroking. I beg you.’

  His blood roared beneath his skin. He strained to contain his release, knowing that it was too late. He was beyond the point of control. As he thrust himself forward into the tightness of her grip, the bond around his wrist snapped and his arms burst free.

  ‘Stop,’ she cried.

  He wrapped his arms around her body and rammed his desire into her stomach, pushing against her with too much force. His shaft throbbed with impossible need. He found her loincloth with his hands and fumbled to release the knot, desperate to find his home inside of her. Gods, how he wanted her. Needed her.

  ‘Please stop,’ she said, and he felt the warm wetness of tears upon her cheeks. ‘Just stop.’

  But he could not stop. His need was too great. He hovered at the top of a giant wave, beyond the point of control. He found her hand and placed it around him. ‘Hold me tight,’ he said. His shaft throbbed with an unresolved pain. ‘Hold on,’ he commanded. The wave crested, then crashed, and he spilled himself on to the ground.

  He released her hand and she snatched it away.

  He was panting like a dog. ‘Forgive me,’ he breathed.

  ‘There is nothing to forgive.’ She pulled herself to her feet and reached for her tunic.

  ‘I embraced you with too much force.’

  He had done much more than that. He had lost control. He had broken the promise that he had made to her. For a few dangerous moments she had felt his crushing strength and been unable to escape him.

  ‘I failed you, Wen.’

  ‘You did not fail me.’

  ‘I harmed you.’

  ‘No, you did not.’

  Perhaps not her body, but he had harmed her trust. He buried his face in his hands and a howling sadness overcame him. ‘I am not a dangerous man,’ he muttered, as if trying to convince himself.

  ‘I know that,’ she said. She pulled her tunic over her body and dusted it off. ‘I do not know why I always become so afraid. I wish I could stop my fear, but I do not know how.’

  He stood up, careful not to touch her, though his body longed for nothing more than to hold her close. ‘You must face the very root of your fear in order to overcome it.’

  ‘But how?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  She followed behind him into the street, her mind straining to comprehend what had happened. What had begun as a curious wading into the pool of pleasure had ended in an unnerving plunge.

  A dull disappointment permeated her body, slowing her stride. She had not expected him to break his wrist bond. Nor had she expected him to press himself so violently against her. And when his hands had found the knot of her loincloth, a kind of terror had shot through her. For a moment, she was on the rooftop once again, surrounded by hard fists and stifling limbs and a man who meant her harm.

  But Titus’s actions had done her no harm and she knew no harm was meant. It was as if he had been overtaken in some great storm at sea and she had been his only anchor.

  They came to a street corner. ‘Which way to the palace?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Not yet, my cara. This is our window. We must stop and look out. Do you not agree?’

  She nodded, feeling an unexpected relief. Their parting would not come. Not yet.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said. He turned towards the harbour.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘To help you overcome your fear.’

  ‘We are going to find an evil Roman soldier and vanquish him?’ she chided, though he did not seem to hear the forced jest. He was staring out across the causeway-divided harbour.

  ‘We are going to the Lighthouse.’

  ‘The Lighthouse?’ A dozen different emotions stirred inside her. They were going to the Lighthouse! The great and noble beacon for the world and for her own life. She was thrilled.

  She was also terrified.

  They crossed the Heptastadion in a hired chariot. The l
ong, low causeway seemed to stretch out for ever before them, dividing Alexandria’s vast harbour in two and connecting the city to Pharos, its largest island. They seemed to be floating just above the water, like two birds frozen in their glide.

  She leaned against Titus and wished for him to embrace her, but he kept his arms at his sides. He was clearly punishing himself for his behaviour in the alley.

  ‘You did nothing wrong,’ she offered as she touched his limp hand.

  But he only gave her a sad smile.

  ‘You must not be afraid to live,’ she said, repeating what he had told her.

  She repeated the words to herself, hoping they would make her brave. She was going to the Lighthouse at last. She would finally set foot upon the most sacred place in her world. She could already see the white plume of smoke twisting from its high perch and the sun glinting off its copper plates.

  ‘We will climb as high as you are able,’ said Titus, and they began their march up the long ramp that led to the entrance. ‘I will not force you, but you must try to face your fear. That is the only way you will overcome it. Trust me.’

  They rose gradually as they neared the entrance. There were crowds of pedestrians on either side of them. The chattering people bubbled with energy as they gazed around at the sights. The island faced the Great Harbour and, as they climbed farther up the ramp, the view of the city improved.

  A smattering of boats appeared below—elegantly hewn galleys that lifted their oars from the water and raised their sails to the increasing breeze, until the harbour appeared as a pond playing host to fluttering white butterflies.

  Just beyond the water, Wen noticed the tall white buildings of the Royal Quarter, including the elegant columns of what she believed to be the Queen’s palace, all surrounded by the high, protective wall she knew so well.

  She increased her pace, keeping to the middle of the ramp and refusing to look down as the land grew farther and farther away. They had not yet even made it to the entrance of the Lighthouse and already her knees were beginning to tremble.

  There was a line at the entrance and, as they waited, Titus nodded encouragingly. ‘You must not let your fear defeat you,’ he said.

  ‘Am I your wife or your legionnaire?’ she chided.

  ‘You are brave to do this, Wen.’

  She did not feel brave. She felt as if she were made of glass, and that the slightest push would send her shattering upon the concrete. She wiped the sweat from her brow as Titus paid the fee and they were directed through the doorway.

  What she beheld inside sent a shiver of awe through her body. She had expected to see stairs, but instead observed an endlessly spiralling ramp. ‘Three hundred paces to the middle platform,’ explained the attendant.

  The ramp coiled upward in thick concrete spirals crowded with visitors. They were walking and talking excitedly, their voices echoing against the walls. Children shrieked, women cackled, and men boomed their exuberance. Wen thought she heard the bay of a beast.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ she asked Titus. But before he could answer, she spied the lumbering figures of two donkeys being pulled by reins. They carried coal and wood upon their backs.

  ‘Fuel for the eternal fire,’ said Titus. ‘Shall we ascend?’

  She gave a reluctant nod, and he took her hand in his as they started up the terrible ramp. They were only a few paces up when they passed a tall rectangular window and she heard the menacing groan of the sea breeze outside. ‘Speak to me, Titus,’ she said, feeling the needles of fear deep in her belly. ‘Tell me something of the rest of the world.’

  ‘The rest of the world,’ he said, as if recalling an old friend. ‘Well, I can tell you that it is wondrous and also terrible.’

  ‘Why wondrous?’ she asked, despising her obstinate feet.

  ‘There are forests full of fearsome beasts and cities hewn into rock, and trees that would take twenty men to fell. There is an ocean so endless it makes the Roman sea look like a pond. And there are mountains so high, Wen, that they are covered in perennial snows. They can scarcely be traversed.’

  For a moment, her mind filled with wonder and she wished to ask him more. But visions of tall trees and high mountains filled her imagination and she began to feel dizzy. ‘And why is the world terrible?’ she urged.

  ‘The world is terrible because of those who wish to control it. Kings and conquerors, I mean. They want it so badly that they will kill for it.’

  She paused and gripped his arm, searching for some topic to distract her. ‘The night in the labyrinth, why did you not kill the attacking guards?’

  ‘Because I am tired of killing.’

  She stared into his eyes and could see that he spoke truth. ‘But is that not your purpose? As a commander, I mean. To kill?’

  ‘It is Caesar’s purpose, not mine.’

  ‘I thought Caesar said that he was also tired of battle.’

  ‘Caesar lied.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Caesar relishes battle, for it brings him glory. He thinks nothing of killing. I have seen Caesar order the slaughter of whole tribes without any hesitation.’

  The sun shone in the window on to Titus’s face and it seemed as if she were seeing it for the first time. ‘Then why do you follow him?’

  ‘I do not follow him.’

  ‘Then whom do you follow?’

  ‘Come, let us go.’

  They continued in silence. A hundred questions filled her mind, but they seemed to disappear with each faltering step. When they reached the next window, Titus peered placidly out to sea while she doubled over, trying to catch her breath.

  ‘How are you able to do that?’ she asked him. ‘How can you gaze out the window so fearlessly?’

  ‘It is a matter of trust. I trust that I am safe.’

  ‘I do not know how to do that.’

  ‘Then lie to yourself.’

  ‘Lie so that I may trust?’

  ‘So it is. Come, you must see this.’

  She shuffled to his side, keeping her eyes upon the concrete floor. When she finally braved a glance out the window, she saw white clouds bubbling high in the northern sky. Closer to the horizon, they coalesced into a menacing grey. ‘It is a storm. It appears to be nearing us,’ he said.

  ‘The first storm of peret,’ she muttered. A cool breeze buffeted her face, and she closed her eyes and tried to breathe.

  ‘The augurs of Rome would call it a sign.’

  ‘And what does it portend?’ she managed, keeping her eyes shut. The wind seemed to be getting stronger.

  ‘There is a war coming. I fear that our time together has almost run out.’

  There was the sudden shriek of a child. Just paces down from where they stood, a little girl had fallen and was sliding down the ramp, her legs greased with donkey dung. Time seemed to slow as Wen watched her small body flailing towards the edge, then pitch beneath the low fence and reach the bar.

  ‘Hold on!’ Wen screamed. Startled, the girl’s mother noticed the girl dangling over the edge, her small hand gripping on the iron bar.

  The girl’s mother lunged, grasping her tiny hand just as it was releasing from the bar. In a sweep of motherly strength, she pulled the young girl to safety.

  Wen collapsed to her knees. She could not speak, or move, or even breathe. The world had begun to spin. There was a strong gust of wind and she felt the building begin to sway. There was nowhere to go. No escape. She stared down the ramp and imagined it covered in slippery dung. She felt a man’s hands on her wrists, trying to pull her to her feet. ‘No!’ she screamed. Then she was falling, falling.

  * * *

  ‘You are all right, Wen,’ Titus whispered. ‘You are going to be all right.’ He might as well have been speaking to himself, for she gave no sign of hearing. ‘Please, be all right.’

  She was l
ifeless in his arms. Her feet hung limp. Her long black braid swept along the ramp like a broom. The people eyed him with alarm as he made his way downwards. ‘What did he do to her?’ they whispered.

  What had he done to her? He had broken her, that was what he had done. Her fear of heights was like a sickness. He had been a fool to think that climbing a steep ramp could provide a cure.

  And she, in her pride, had been unable to refuse him. She had wanted to meet his challenge—to please him and show him her strength.

  Had he not seen the colour leave her face? Had he not noticed how she clung so irrationally to the wall? Had he not witnessed the way she had choked for breath, as if she were drowning in the air?

  It had been a terrible idea. He had goaded her into doing something she was not ready to do. Worse, he had wasted their last moments together.

  He delivered her to Apollodorus just as the storm clouds extinguished the sun. ‘Please tell the Queen that we visited the Lighthouse. Wen suffered an attack of nerves. I believe the Queen will understand and will know what to do.’

  Apollodorus did not ask any questions. He only took Wen in his arms and began to walk away. ‘Wait,’ said Titus. A strange emptiness was invading him. ‘Let me say goodbye.’ He crossed to Apollodorus and took her whole body into his arms one last time. He placed his lips on hers and kissed her, and their window closed. ‘Please forgive me, Wen,’ he whispered. ‘I will not bother you again.’

  * * *

  Caesar was yawning when Titus entered the General’s chamber, having just awoken from the previous night’s festivities. He was fondling an Egyptian wig and wore an odd grin on his face. ‘Look at this, Titus!’ he said. ‘The Queen says it suits me.’ Caesar placed the wig atop his head and laughed. ‘What do you think?’

  You look like a man in love, Titus thought.

  ‘You look...like a man of the world,’ Titus said.

  ‘Ha! Good answer.’ Caesar walked to his northern window and gazed out at the sea. ‘A storm is coming,’ he observed.

  ‘General, I fear the storm is already here.’

  ‘Speak plainly, Titus.

  ‘Ptolemy’s army marches for Alexandria.’