“A lovely face.” His eyes ran over each inch of her countenance for a second time. Then his gaze followed her neck down. “Strip her.”
“No!” She tried to protect herself even as one of his men held her still and the other ripped her clothes off with a single strong swipe. She was shaking, and tears coursed down her cheeks as she tried unsuccessfully to move her hair over her body to cover her. It would have worked much better had she not been pinned against his man.
Volusius smiled, in part at the protestations, in part at the sight before him. Her beauty did not stop at her face. Her breasts were full, firm, her stomach soft and flat, her hips setting off a small waist and leading down to shapely legs. He reached out, noting with a smile that she first shrank away, then halted when she felt the man behind her. She stiffened, closed her eyes, and averted her face. He picked up the jewel cradled between her breasts. “From whom did you steal this, wench?”
“From Titus Asinius.” Her eyes, open again, lashed him with anger. “Why do you not call him in to reclaim it and see how he gratefully rewards you?”
Volusius snorted a laugh and let the amethyst fall back to its place. “I think I will let you keep it, instead. It will be interesting to watch her try to fight off all the other slaves over it, will it not?” He glanced at his men at this, and they both grinned their answer. He turned his attention back on her body. “I trust you are not a virgin.”
Her cheeks flushed. “The Visibullis heir I birthed would testify otherwise.”
Volusius moved with lightning speed, grasping her by the chin and pulling her closer to him, away from the man behind her. “You say that as though it should mean something to me, but let me assure you that the name of your whelp is nothing here. You are nothing. Your stay here will be much more pleasant if you understand that right now. You are nothing but a slave and a wench to reward my gladiators.” He released her as suddenly as he had grabbed her, then took a step back to sweep his eyes over her again. “Get her a tunic and take her down to the other women. There are games today, my fair one, and you will be the prize for the winner.”
One of the men quirked a brow. “But Ares is fighting.”
“And if he wins, then offer her to him.” Volusius walked back across the room. “If he refuses her, then give her to the next best man.” He sat, dismissing them.
*
Abigail found herself being pulled back out the door, and she felt shame wash over her as they led her naked down a corridor. They passed no one, but it did not relieve her discomfort. She covered herself as best she could with her hair, but she was relieved when they led her into a small room and handed her a coarse tunic. Slipping it on, she realized that it had been a long time since she had put on such unrefined cloth.
She had never been more grateful for any garment in her life.
“Hurry,” the second man ordered when she took a bit too long smoothing it over her. “The games will begin soon, and we do not want to miss them.”
“What work can you do?” The first propelled her back into the hallway. “Laundry? Kitchen work? Cleaning?”
“Any of it. I am best in the kitchen.”
“And it would be a shame to ruin those fine hands with lye.” The second flashed a dangerous smile. “The kitchen it is.”
The first snorted. “It is surprising she can do anything at all. The other women we have received from the Asinius house were good for nothing but pleasuring a man.”
“I am not from the Asinius house. I was a guest there, not a slave.” She knew they would not believe her, but still she insisted. Seeing the look the two men exchanged, she sighed. “I am not claiming to have never been a slave. I was. But not there. When I served, it was in the house of Cleopas Visibullis, the prefect for the Tenth Legion. I was his wife’s handmaiden, until their son married me. Now I am the mother of the Visibullis heir.”
This obviously did not phase the second man, but the first stopped and looked at her. “Cleopas Visibullis? I served with a man by that name decades ago, in Jerusalem. I was transferred shortly after he married a Jewess.”
“That is my master and father.” A shard of light fell on her heart. She said a silent prayer of thanksgiving; it may not end up helping her, but having something in common with this man would hopefully not hurt. “Or was, before he was killed in an uprising.”
The man put a hand on his hip and glared at her. “He stole that woman from me, you know.”
Abigail felt her lips turn up. “You are not by any chance Mannas, are you?”
He narrowed his eyes still more. “I am.”
She nodded. “My mistress and mother remembers you with gratitude for being the one to make possible the introduction to the man she loved with all her heart.” She smiled. “She and her husband always remembered you in their prayers.”