The first day she had arrived Tiro had taken her on a tour of the large villa, showing her just about everywhere apart from the senator and his wife’s private quarters. Sirona couldn’t help being impressed by its size and opulence. Tiro had told her that the senator had paid a vast sum to lure an important painter from Rome to do most of the beautiful paintings which decorated the walls of just about every room.
Sirona made her way into the bigger of the two dining rooms. It faced the large peristyle, which was flanked by high stone columns and surrounded by a covered portico where one could relax when the weather was inclement or the sun too hot. Even under the portico, just about every available wall was covered in amazing paintings.
Usually, as the name triculanium suggested, there were only three large couches in this room, but the servants were moving in more couches to accommodate the guests. At least twenty people were expected to dine with the senator.
The walls of the dining room were even more impressive than those in the rest of the villa. Sirona had crept in here earlier to look again at the gold-painted panels surrounded by elaborate borders of deep ochre red. In the centre of each panel was a picture depicting scenes from Greek and Roman mythology: baby Hercules strangling the serpents; the death of Ixion; Ariadne being awakened by Dionysis; all stories that Taranis had told her in the past. Just looking at them reminded her of her lost love.
‘There you are, Sirona.’ Tiro strode into the room. ‘I wondered where you were.’ He turned to watch the slaves positioning the low tables, which would soon be covered in platters of cold food, appetisers to be served before the main meal began.
Sirona had discovered that the household ate much like she had in Brittania. They consumed bread, cheese, roasted meats and plain vegetables. However, the menu planned for tonight contained the strangest of dishes, such as a stew of nightingale livers, cooked mice rolled in honey and poppy seeds and sautéed tongues of stork and flamingo. The elaborately expensive dishes were to be served purely to impress the guests and further display the wealth of their host.
She placed the jug of wine on a table next to a number of exquisite crystal goblets. ‘I was trying to help. Everyone looked so busy,’ she said with an awkward shrug of her shoulders. ‘And I’ve been assigned no particular duties.’ Tiro had been kind to her since she had arrived here and oddly enough he appeared to be trying his best to keep her well away from the senator at all times.
‘Yes, I understand.’ Not surprisingly, he seemed distracted. Entertaining on such a scale needed a lot of organisation and Tiro ran this household very efficiently. Of course, Sirona did not know the extent of the other more personal and intimate duties that he was expected to perform for the senator and there was no way she dared question him about such matters. ‘But remember,’ he added, ‘the guests should arrive any time now.’
‘You would wish me to return to the servants’ quarters straight away?’
‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘You know the senator’s orders.’
For some reason, she knew not what, Aulus Vettius had no wish for anyone, apart from members of the household, to know of her existence.
‘I’ll go at once.’ She turned and made her way back along the corridor to the atrium. Sirona was just passing the stairs leading to the upper floor when she sensed that someone was behind her, even though she had not heard any footsteps. Thinking it must be one of the servants, she didn’t pause to look back. Then she felt a firm hand grab her shoulder and she stiffened anxiously somehow sensing that it was Aulus Vettius.
He swung her round to face him. ‘In such a hurry, slave?’ he said coldly, as his long fingers dug into her flesh. ‘Quite amazing. Now that you are cleaned up, you are startlingly beautiful,’ he continued as he stroked her pale cheek.
Sirona fought the bone-chilling fear that this man managed to arouse in her. Sensibly, she made no attempt to pull away. She just lowered her eyes submissively, as any slave would do in the circumstances, hoping that this encounter would be brief because of the imminent arrival of his guests. That was if they were on time of course.
His fingers slid down her neck to her breastbone, but at that precise moment there was a loud knocking on the street door. Sirona thanked the gods for her salvation and Aulus cursed under his breath, as the doorkeeper hurried through the atrium to greet the first arrivals.
She expected Aulus to release his hold on her, but he didn’t, he just pushed her through an open doorway into the room he used as his office. He slammed the door shut and shoved her against a long carved table that was covered in papyrus scrolls.
‘Tiro has kept you well out of my sight, my beautiful barbarian.’ He fingered the long silken strands of her hair. ‘I’ve no idea why. After all, at present I am still your master.’
At present? Strange words, she thought. Was he planning to sell her to someone else?
His hands were all over her, tracing the curves of her body through the thin fabric of her ankle-length gown. Sirona shuddered and turned her head away from him, fixing her gaze on the opposite wall. She found herself looking at a painting of a naked man lying on a couch, a nude woman astride his hips, obviously copulating with him.
‘So you dare not even look at your master?’ Aulus grated, pulling painfully at her hair as he forced her to turn her head and look up into his cold grey eyes. ‘Or perchance you are admiring my paintings?’ He gave a coarse chuckle. ‘Perhaps they arouse you, barbarian?’
He dragged her over to the wall and made her stare at the picture. It was more crudely executed than most of the other paintings in the house, but that somehow only served to make it even more erotic. ‘Which do you prefer?’ He jerked her round to look at the picture on the adjoining wall. It showed a woman sucking on a man’s cock. ‘Not that one, I wager, judging by your useless attempts when we first met,’ he jibed sarcastically. ‘Perhaps you prefer this?’ He thrust her towards one showing a woman crouched on all fours with a man about to enter her from the rear. Sirona didn’t want to look at the picture but somehow she couldn’t resist the temptation. Despite her fears about what Aulus might do to her, she still found the sight of it oddly arousing.
The senator pulled her round to face him again. ‘Now you know exactly what is required of you, barbarian. Pictures tell everything, don’t they?’
Even if she hadn’t been able to understand Latin, the meaning of his words would have been uncomfortably clear. She froze in terror, as he pulled off her loosely fastened girdle and grabbed hold of her gown, jerking it off over her head. Slaves in his household were not afforded the protection of any undergarments, so she was left totally naked.
She knew she dare not fight him as he roughly fondled her breasts. If she did, she was certain that he would call for some of his male slaves to hold her down, while he did whatever crude thing he wanted to her. She stumbled and only just managed to regain her footing as he pushed her back until her bare buttocks were pressed against the carved side of the table.
Sirona grabbed hold of the edge so tightly that her knuckles turned white as he bent his head and fastened his lips on one of her nipples, while running his hands over the rest of her body. He sucked so hard on her teat that she gave a faint groan, half from discomfort, half from a perverse kind of arousal.
‘So,’ he murmured, as his fingers started to explore her pussy, ‘Tiro did not think to have your body hair removed. Perhaps he translated my instructions concerning the masque a shade too literally. No matter . . .’
His teeth nipped cruelly at her soft flesh, while his finger slid intrusively inside her. Sirona could not contain her gasp of horrified surprise, as to her consternation her sex started to moisten almost immediately. Oh how she despised her body’s unwanted reaction to the attentions of this man.
Aulus gave a lustful grunt as he thrust his fingers deeper. Her legs trembled and she leant back against the table, still gripping it tightly while through strength of will trying to prevent herself from responding to him. He pulled away f
rom her and she thought that she might be saved from further indignities, but it was only so that he could brush his hand across the tabletop to clear a space. The scrolls scattered unheeded in all directions, many falling to the floor as he spun her round and pushed her upper body down on to the hard polished surface. He held her there, the flat of his hand pressing down hard on the small of her back as he fondled her buttock cheeks.
Sirona suddenly heard the sound of the door opening, followed by a soft gasp of surprise.
‘Husband?’ The lady of the house, Livia, had a high-pitched, rather childish voice. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
Sirona slumped against the tabletop, filled with relief. It was common enough for the head of the household to use his slaves for his own sexual pleasure, but surely not in full sight of his wife?
‘Livia, my dear.’ Aulus’s voice was tense with fury.
‘I’m sorry, I should not have disturbed you.’ She sounded nervous, frightened even. ‘I will leave –’
‘No. Wait!’ Aulus jerked Sirona upright and swung her round to face Livia. Judging by the lady’s expression, she was scared witless of her husband. Sirona could not even bear to look at the poor woman so she fastened her gaze on the floor at her feet. ‘I was just making the acquaintance of the new slave from Brittania,’ Aulus said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Would you deny me that pleasure, wife?’
‘No, of course not.’ Livia stared at Sirona in puzzled confusion. ‘But, Aulus, in the circumstances,’ she stuttered, ‘should you not leave this girl –’
‘You question my actions?’ he interjected furiously.
‘In normal circumstances, you know that I would not do so. But if Lucius were to discover. You know how close he is to Titus.’ She spoke in an agitated rush as if forcing the words out, even though she really didn’t want to say them.
‘Your beloved son,’ Aulus said through gritted teeth. ‘Sometimes I wish –’ He paused as he heard a loud voice coming from the atrium. ‘It appears that our most honoured guest, Cnaius, is here, my dear.’ His anger had not decreased but he appeared a little more in control of it as he roughly pushed Sirona away from him. ‘We had better go and greet him, Livia,’ he continued, then turned to look at Sirona who was just reaching down for her tunic. ‘Put that on at once, girl, then remain here until you can leave without bringing yourself to the attention of my guests. Go to your room. I’ve no wish to lay eyes on you again tonight.’
Taranis paced the small room that he’d been confined in since his arrival at Poppaea Abeto’s house. In the past, being locked up like this for three days might well have sent him insane with boredom, but since his capture he had become accustomed to inactivity in far worse conditions than this. At least he was being fed plentiful nourishing food and he could move about freely.
He had tried hard to forget the humiliations he’d endured on the block, thankful at least that he had been purchased by a woman and not by that foul creature Gaius Cuspius. Poppaea was probably a good few years older than him, and she was a little too skinny for his taste, but he didn’t find her unattractive even though she would not be considered conventionally beautiful.
Only a few hours after he’d arrived here, she had strode majestically into this room accompanied by a couple of burly slaves. They’d held him down and she had watched them brand him; not on his arm like other slaves, but on his upper inner thigh, dose to his sex. Purely, she had told him, so that he would be constantly reminded of why she had paid so much money for him.
The following morning, she had visited him again and handed him a small jar of sweet-smelling ointment. He was to put it on the burnt flesh to help it heal, she told him. He’d smiled, shaken his head and returned the jar to her as he pointed out that it was better not to try and numb the discomfort. After all, it served as a permanent painful reminder of the reason she had purchased him.
She’d been angry but he had also detected a glimmer of something like admiration in her eyes, as she had tossed the jar on to his low cot and told him curtly that he could please himself if he used it as it didn’t matter either way to her. Then she had turned and stalked out of the room.
Later, he had decided to try the ointment. It was soothing and had a numbing effect that took away the sting of the burn. It would heal in a few days but whatever happened in the future he knew that it would always be there to remind him of Poppaea.
That morning, he’d been taken to her small but adequate bathhouse, and afterwards he had been given a fresh tunic to wear, which was much softer and of a far finer material than the one provided by Maecenus. Was today the day she would send for him? he wondered. Frankly, he was surprised that it had taken so long, as he’d seen the desire in her eyes every time she’d looked at him. He suspected that Poppaea Abeto was not only very highly sexed, but also a strong and very independent woman.
He ceased his pacing and turned, as the door to his cell opened and a man, one of those who’d been present at his branding, beckoned to him. ‘Come, slave, the mistress wants to see you.’
‘My name is Taranis,’ he said to the man, as he accompanied him from the room.
He received no reply as he was led up a wide staircase to the first floor. Dusk was fast approaching. Through a window, Taranis caught sight of the blue sky, streaked with long ribbons of red and gold, as the sun slowly set.
‘In here.’ The man paused by an elaborately carved door.
Guarding the door was another of Poppaea’s burly servants, who knocked, then cautiously pushed the door open. ‘My lady, the barbarian slave is here.’
Bracing himself, Taranis strode in the room, not entirely sure how best to deal with his new mistress. Her bedchamber was huge with furniture and decorations fit for an empress. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains and a pleasant breeze filled the room.
‘Taranis, come closer.’ Poppaea lay on her wide bed, lounging on a pile of richly embroidered pillows. ‘Salvo, you may leave now.’
‘But, mistress?’ The man looked with suspicion at Taranis.
‘You and Clovis may remain outside. If I have need of you, I have only to call you.’ She seemed amused by his concern.
Taranis didn’t wait for the slave to depart as he walked boldly towards her bed. He looked down at Poppaea. Her hair was elaborately dressed and she was made up as if going out, yet she was stark naked apart from a large filmy scarf arranged artfully over her slim body. He presumed this was carefully staged, almost as if she wanted to try and seduce him. There was no need: if she desired sex she only had to order him to pleasure her and, if he wanted to escape punishment, he would do as he was told. However, if she wanted an illusion then he would give it to her.
‘My lady.’ His words were polite, but his eyes roved her partially concealed body in a frankly sexual manner.
‘Your brand, is it healing well?’
‘Any discomfort is of no importance,’ he said dismissively. ‘I’ve endured far worse in the past.’
‘Battle wounds,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Have you fought many battles, Taranis?’
‘Enough,’ he replied, knowing that the most challenging was yet to come. ‘But surely we digress. It is not my life history you want, is it?’ He pulled off his tunic and dropped it on the floor.
‘I did not order you to strip.’ She rose on one elbow and the covering slid down to reveal one pert breast. Her body was obviously untouched by childbirth and her breast was small and firm.
‘No, you did not,’ he said. ‘But is it not what you want of me? I have no desire to disappoint you. Surely you wish to discover whether I’m worth the exorbitant sum you paid for me?’
‘Slaves are supposed to be submissive,’ she said, looking him up and down. She stared pointedly at his groin and he felt his cock stir unconsciously as the lust of battle suddenly surged through his veins.
‘If you want submission, you can get that from your other slaves.’
He strode to the end of the bed and pulled off t
he filmy scarf that was covering her. Ignoring her gasp of surprise, he grabbed hold of her legs and jerked them apart. She tried to resist but he dug his fingers into her flesh as he held her there, staring at her naked mound. Her breathing quickened; she was angry it appeared but also highly aroused. Sliding his hands upwards, he forced her thighs further apart as he knelt on the bed. Like most high-class Roman women, her pussy had been plucked and her lips were plump and a little pink as if she had already been touching herself there. Taranis could imagine her lying there waiting for him, sliding her finger into the slit and rubbing it hungrily against her clitoris.
Did she expect him to be gentle with her, submissively trying to gauge what excited her, as he slavishly gave in to all her sexual demands. Somehow, he thought not. She’d known that he was a warrior when she’d purchased him, so he’d give her what she expected and far, far more.
He peeled apart her swollen lips and slid his fingers inside her. She was sopping wet and as soft as silk, her flesh hungrily embracing him as he thrust deeper. Poppaea gave a soft, almost submissive whimper, writhing helplessly on the bed, as his fingers plunged in and out of her cunt. A deep-seated need flooded his veins. Damaged pride and resentment were, it appeared, as powerful an aphrodisiac as love at times.
After removing his fingers, he replaced them with his mouth, his tongue delicately circling her clit until she wriggled and writhed beneath him like a woman possessed.
‘Touch it,’ she begged.
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