Tortured Hearts - Twisted Tales of Love - Volume 2
Page 7
It was just a dream.
I glance towards the bedside clock. 3.45am. I doubt whether I’ll be able to get back to sleep, but I close my eyes anyway. My heart is still pounding hard. I can hear it in my ears. My breath is laboured, and I have to open my mouth to force in the shallow gasps.
In the distance, I swear I hear the sound of laughter. Worse still, though, is a new sensation from deep within my gut; an emptiness, a void that I know I will never be able to fill. I shudder. Am I lamenting the loss of my true love, or has my soul truly been ripped from my body?
Ridiculous, my imagination is playing tricks on me. I’m dehydrated from the alcohol; my throat is parched and my lips are dry. I lick them involuntarily, but then this fresh sense of dread begins to grow immeasurably.
For it is then that I recognise the taste of strawberry lip gloss dancing on my tongue.
***
AJ Armitt lives with his wife and three children in Manchester. He currently has one book in circulation ‘Entwined – Tales from the City’ and is writing a sequel. He can be found on twitter @AnthonyJArmitt
The Colony
By Paul Murphy
Puteolis, a small coastal town 170 miles south of Rome, near Neapolis, in the year 66 AD.
The two young lovers stood in the tablinium, the main living room of the villa, talking quietly. Birdsong drifted in through the large windows, accompanying bright shafts of sunlight which spilled across the mosaic floor. The quiet slap of bare feet padding along the paved corridor outside the open door echoed into the room as slaves hurried past, eyes cast down, attending to their chores.
“This is crazy, Domitius, you can’t agree. I will talk with Father, forget this nonsense.”
The two lovers were facing each other, holding hands. The rebuke stung the young man, and he looked down at their feet, away from the beautiful girl before him. “But Fulvia, I can’t... I love you.”
Tears welled in her brown eyes, and fell tumbling down her cheeks. She let go of his hands and grabbed him, pulling him close. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the flood, but her senses drank in his musk, and her deep and passionate love broke the dam. Both were fifteen years old and had been friends since birth, she the daughter of Patrobius, the right hand of the Emperor Nero, and he, the son of Nerena, a palace maid, and too lowly born to be considered for a match.
Destiny had different paths for the two lovers, but they cared not.
“You heard him, if I fight in the arena tomorrow, he will agree to our marriage.” His defiance was a dagger tearing into her heart and the pain of her sorrow grew.
She sobbed into his neck, her hand behind his head gripping his hair, then pulled away to face him. A grim determination bored its way onto her face and she brushed away her tears. She stared into his eyes and placed her hands on his shoulders, holding him firmly. “Oh, Domitius...You can’t win, and you know it. He said it to mock you, to belittle you. You’ve never lifted a sword and he knows it. He sends you to your death for daring to ask.”
Domitius closed his eyes, and pulled her close. He drank in the smell of her, the feel of her breasts heaving on his chest, treasured the tight grip of her arms as she sobbed again. He sighed and then whispered in her ear, “Then I am to die. For without you, sweet Fulvia, what is the reason for life?”
Un-seen, silent, an invisible Orb hovered in the corner of the room. The circular energy life force stayed a moment longer and then it was gone, vanishing upwards, passing through the ceiling and roof at the speed of light.
***
The outer stratosphere of the Earth curved away in every direction, a brilliant sky blue downward with the ink black cold of the universe above. Some thirty miles distant below, lay the footprint of Europe, with the small town of Puteolis not even a pin prick on the shin of the boot of Italy, directly below.
From the pin prick, the Orb shot up, covering the miles in a heartbeat and came to an instant halt.
There the Orb hovered, a three foot diameter globe of invisible energy, and then pulsed out a thought. “I have one.”
Two other Orbs, slightly bigger and hovering nearby, absorbed the pulse.
One pulsed back. “The boy?”
“Yes, he will die for something unobtainable, for love.”
A pulse came back. “He is weak and feeble, all humans are. He will not let go of life so easy.”
“He will die for love tomorrow, to prove his love,” insisted the smaller Orb.
“He will bend the knee to fear. These humans, they always do. When we gave them bodies, we also gave them mortality. We took away the light, and gave them darkness. We gave them fear and death. For you see, he has something to lose... life.”
“This one will no doubt die, but for Love. He will sacrifice himself.”
“Show us,” pulsed the third Orb.
***
The Emperor Nero sat in the royal box surveying the carnage in the arena below. The oval sand was drenched red in places, bodies strewn about. The stands surrounding the arena were full, with citizens cheering and whistling. He gazed at the crowds, gauging their reaction to the display he had endorsed and smiled to himself in satisfaction. Euphoria had swept the stands as the gladiator had carved his way through the convicts, dispatching them to Hades with each swing of his mighty sword. Most were clapping and waving, but some of the younger women were flaunting their breasts to catch the gladiator’s eye, with children and men laughing at the display. The Emperor mopped his brow as the afternoon sun burnt down from the cloudless sky, and blessed the canvas awning above, which shielded the box from the worst of the heat. He clicked his fingers in irritation, a threat to urge the slaves either side of his party to wave their palm fronds harder, creating more of a breeze.
He turned to his guest on his right, the frown replaced with a smile. “So, Tiridates, have you seen such skill before?”
King Tiridates of Armenia beamed at the Emperor, his teeth still youthfully white. “Your Highness is most gracious with this display of swordsmanship, a most gratifying display indeed. I myself prefer the bow, where every release proves the skill of the archer.”
“Then we shall have an archery display from your good self. Patrobius...” called the Emperor, looking round. A tall thin man strode up to the side of the Emperor and bent low, his eyes cast down. “Arrange for King Tiridates some targets. He wishes to show us the might of his bow arm.”
Patrobius thought for a moment, “We have some strange creatures, water buffalo, Your Highness, would they suffice?”
“Yes, yes, bring them on.” Nero stood. “Come, Tiridates, let us visit upon the arena sand and show these provincials your prowess with a bow.”
They turned and strode to the rear of the box to descend the wooden stairs that led down and through to the arena floor, chatting as they went.
“There is much history around here, Your Highness. Is it not here that the Emperor Caligula built his famous two mile bridge of ships to Baiae? So he could ride his horse across the bay? And your General Sulla died here, I am led to believe?”
Nero smiled and took the King’s arm as they walked down the stairs. “You are well informed, this sand you are about to walk on is the pulvis puteolanus, the dust of Puteolis, which our builders discovered makes concrete, and two miles to the North is the entrance to Hades, near our naval base at Lake Lucrinus.”
“You speak of Virgil’s Aeneid?” asked the King.
Nero laughed as they walked onto the hot sand. “I see you are well read too, Tiridates. Now come, let us see this bow of yours.”
From the far end of the arena a timber gate opened, as the last of the bodies were dragged away by hooks through their heels and roped to horses. Two braying water buffalo were herded onto the sand with sticks, coming to a halt side by side. The King studied the beasts for a moment and then took his bow from an aide. He notched an arrow and then turned toward the buffalo. “Would both beasts with one arrow impress, Your Highness?” he asked the Emperor.
Nero let out a cry of delight. “Remarkable, Tiridates, remarkable.” He turned, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sunlight with one hand, and called Patrobius over again. “The King has shown us something special, and we must return the favour tomorrow. What have you lined up for us?”
Patrobius smiled at his Emperor. “Your Highness, I have prepared a banquet for the afternoon, but in the evening we will return here for something special, something never before seen.”
Nero turned back to Tiridates, a look of mock horror across his face. “Did you hear that, Tiridates? Something special, something never before seen? But maybe we won’t see this special event either, if it’s dark?” The king laughed and they both turned back to Patrobius.
Patrobius smiled, it had taken him months to set up the following day’s events and this display had allowed him to deliver the details with perfect timing and aplomb. “The arena will be lit, Highness, by burning crucified Christians! And their light will allow you firstly, to watch a gladiatrix! Something never before seen.”
The men guffawed. “A female gladiator? Ridiculous...” laughed Nero, “And after that?”
“A young lad, Highness, eager to prove his skill, will pit his ability against black savages from Ethiopia. And to finish, the main event... black savages against each other, one village against another.” Patrobius kept his face neutral, but deep down he was hardly able to conceal his glee, and waited for Nero to reply.
The Emperor’s face hardened and his joviality disappeared in an instant. His eyes bored into the man before him for long moments, and then he spoke in a threatening tone, “... and that is special is it, Patrobius?”
“Oh yes, Highness.” Patrobius could contain himself no more, and a smirk creased his face, as he continued. “Each side is an entire village. It won’t be just the men fighting... it’s their women and their children too... and they fight to the death.”
Nero stood looking at his freedman, taking in this news. His sudden anger vanished at the realization of the coming event and his face lit up again. This was a first for the Empire, women and children in the arena, fighting to the death, and it would be his name that people would remember it by. He let out another laugh and slapped Patrobius on the back. “By all the gods, man, you’ve immortalized me in our glorious history!”
***
The next evening Domitius stood leaning heavily against the cold stone in the arena tunnel. Mounted along the wall, torches burned to light the way to the gates which led onto the sand. Tendrils of smoke floated up to caress the arched ceiling and drift out into the night air. He closed his eyes and thought again about his last brief meeting with Fulvia, shortly before outside, as the sun settled on the horizon. He could still taste that last lingering kiss, and picture her tear stained face, haloed by the pink and orange hue of the sunset. Then their last tender touch before her father had arrived and dragged her away. His final image of her face was imprinted on his memory, just before she was dragged around the corner. Those last sunrays had reflected in her hair and sparkled in the tears on her cheeks as she looked back at him, and she had shook her head and mouthed the word, `don’t’.
Light footsteps interrupted his thoughts and he glanced back down the dark tunnel.
A feminine silhouette appeared slowly from the darkness, firstly her bare feet and shins entered the torch light, and then her naked thighs. As she came closer he saw her flat navel, tanned and oiled, her hips swaying slightly as she walked. He gulped as her breasts appeared from the gloom and then her face, framed with dark hair held in place with a narrow leather thong. Domitius swallowed hard as the beautiful young woman walked up to him, appearing like a goddess from the gloom. She wore only a narrow loin cloth, to hide her most intimate parts, but the rest of her svelte body was oiled and glistening in the torch light. He tried and failed not to look down at her firm breasts and narrow waist, jerking his head up with great effort.
She smiled at him as she came to a stop. “Hello, Boy, are you fighting after me?”
Domitius nodded, feeling his cheeks redden.
“I’m Mevia, I’m on first.”
“I... I’m Domitius...”
“I know who you are, everyone does. I hear you fight for love tonight, to win a hand in marriage?”
Domitius nodded, struggling to keep eye contact.
Her smile faded as she studied him. “Look at them, Boy, if you want to... fill your eyes.” She lifted her hands, cupping her breasts. “Have a feel if you must.”
Domitius squeezed his eyes closed and turned his head away, as Mevia laughed. “So it’s true? I’m sorry, but I had to know.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice softening, “Please forgive me, truly, I am sorry.”
She squeezed his shoulder as he turned his head toward her, and she continued. “They say you don’t know how to fight? Is this true also?”
Domitius nodded, “Yes it’s true, I’ve never even lifted a sword.”
She sighed and shook her head slowly, as the gates up ahead swung open. “Listen to me, Boy, your life depends on what you do next. You are here as a free man, so forget this foolishness. You will die out there... walk away, run, and never look back.”
She dropped her hand from his shoulder and walked towards the gates, grabbing a spear propped against the wall. She paused before the arena and turned back to him. “Live, young Domitius, it is what your love would want. I know, I am a woman, and I loved too, once.” She turned and walked out onto the sand, fading into the darkness of the arena.
Domitius watched her disappear, and then ran to the gates as they closed. He curled his fingers around the slats and whispered into the darkness, “I... I can’t... I love her.”
***
Nero belched loudly as he slumped into his seat, the wine having taken its effect. He watched as King Tiridates sat to his left, followed by the remainder of the guests. “Patrobius, let the games begin, and more wine, we need more wine.” He turned to Tiridates and smiled. “And now it is time for the amusements, for tonight we make history!”
Both men turned and watched, peering into the darkness as torches appeared in a line at the far end of the oval arena. The flickering flames jumped and danced, and then hissed and flattened as they started to move, bobbing around the perimeter. Within moments the torches were evenly spaced around the circumference of the arena. Then the flames were lowered as one, and shoved into piles of brush. The brush ignited swiftly and revealed a wooden cross rising out of each pile, with a moaning body nailed in crucifixion above.
Nero stood and raised his goblet of wine, and then called out into the fading darkness. “Bless these Christians, for they have found the light!” A roar of laughter erupted around the arena as the fires took hold. The flames licked the stout base of each cross, slowly taking hold, and from the gloom the arena appeared; the stands full of citizens, lit by an eerie orange glow, shouting and cheering.
As the darkness slowly fled the centre of the arena, a female figure emerged, Mevia, standing naked but for her thong and with a spear planted by her side.
Nero roared with laughter. “Tits... By the gods, I see tits in the arena!”
The screams of the Christians grew louder as the flames licked their feet and legs, the faint smell of burning flesh growing stronger. Within moments body hair singed and the flames crept up the torsos of the Christians; their screams reaching new heights. The crowds jeered them, laughing at their excruciating pain and started throwing insults to their one god, questioning his whereabouts. The flames grew ever higher, curling around the stout crosses and engulfing the dying men and women nailed in place. The arena and stands were now lit brightly, and the heat from the fires chasing away the growing eveni
ng chill.
From a side door two huge wild boars were released onto the sand and both charged away from the fires towards Mevia in the centre. A collective hush fell around the arena as the crowd watched the lone female figure, the erotic sight of her nakedness and nearby danger holding them spellbound.
Mevia skipped away from the two charging animals, holding her spear to the front. The beasts ignored her, infuriated by the entrapment of the confined arena and fearful of the fires, and they came to a halt and stood side by side in the centre, snorting and stamping their short forelegs and turning slowly.
Mevia shot forward, her spear raised, and drove the point into the ribcage of the nearest beast. It squealed and lunged away but its legs gave out as blood foamed from its snout. She had pierced the beast’s heart. The other boar turned and charged at Mevia, as she tried to pull her spear free. It charged around its mate and dropped its tusks, as it tried to ram Mevia’s legs. Using the spear she vaulted over the dying animal and landed on the other side. Within seconds the boar was charging round, sand flying from its pounding hooves, and she vaulted back pulling hard to free the spear. With a final surge of effort it came away and she had a heart beat to turn it on the maddened boar.