Love, Eternally

chapter 6




Awake before dawn, Honorius paced, naked, along his eastern balcony. He looked out over the glimmer of earliest light dancing off the Adriaticum. With his most troublesome senators sent on a mission to the north and his riddlesome sister locked up in her villa, the month had been blissfully peaceful.

Damn them all to fiery hell! he thought sourly. With the calends of Julius fast approaching, the senators were sure to return any day, spoiling his fun.

How bothersome was this Alaric, who fancied himself king of the Visigoths. Brutes and barbarians, they were uncouth and unclean — leaving their hair wild, unplucked, and stinking of foul things like grease and rancid butter — absolutely contrary to the hygiene of civilized men. Why, they even rapped on doors with their filthy knuckles, instead of their feet. Their manners were appalling.

He seethed. Alaric continued to demand Roman honorifics, all the while sending his squatters to live on the south side of the Danubius and pleading for sanctuary from that other vermin race, the Huns. Well, Alaric could also go to hell. He had troubled the Empire for far too long.

May God strike him dead for his impudence!

“Honorius,” a sweet voice called from within. “Come back to bed. I would not see your morning fascinum neglected for all the silks of the Orient.”

Still fuming, he ignored Adriadne’s sultry pleas.

“Mighty warrior of the bedchamber,” she cooed again, “I have become tangled in the bedsheets, and you must help set me free.”

He frowned. “Ask Britomartis.”

“She has gone off to bathe, my lord,” she said, her voice closer now. Soft, white arms encircled his chest from behind. Honorius felt the press of her bare breasts against his shoulder blades, the caress of her mound of Venus against his naked buttocks.

He smiled when she gasped, her hand having found his phallus well engorged and ready for the morning’s sport. He let her play with him, tease him to greater size, fondling his balls and shaft with mounting impatience, evidenced by the mewing sounds she made. He turned abruptly and pushed her against the wall. Seizing her thick, brown hair with one hand, Honorius pulled her head back and kissed her neck. She groaned, her fingers raking his back, and he grabbed her thighs, lifting her up against his hips. He entered her there, on the balcony, driving hard, making her cry out in ecstasy, uncaring that early risers might see his play from afar.

Proud of his imposing fascinum, he closed his eyes in bliss, ramming it home. Adriadne gripped his shoulders, demanding more, and he groaned in return. Then, from the direction of the barracks, he heard the beating of drums and started to pump in rhythm, for it seemed they were playing for him, a tribute to his power, cheering him on. When Germani pipers on their utriculi joined in, signaling the first call to duty, Honorius paused and opened his eyes, suddenly recalling the surly flute player, who had mocked his privy parts in front of everyone. His lust turned to anger, and he renewed his thrusts with vicious force. Adriadne shrieked and slapped his face, rousing him still further. He slapped her back and when she tried to bite him, he pulled out and turned her around, pushing into her rear. He pumped as hard as he could, wicked slams against her, and she started thrashing and grunting, deriving pleasure from her pain.

Closing his eyes, he heard a drum roll, then the pipers playing their finale, and he was brought back to thoughts of the flute-playing whore. What had become of her?

Adriadne began to writhe, to scream in climax, and Honorius smiled, knowing why he had ignored Gigiperrin these many weeks. He’d been too distracted by this little minx and her fair-haired sibling, fraternal twins of oh-so-twisted pleasures.

He pumped harder still, until the floodgates let loose and he bellowed in response. Then, as he stood gasping, collapsing against Adriadne’s beautiful, sweaty body, he decided it was time he summoned the bitch, Gigiperrin.

He would force her to play her music this very afternoon, and then he would take her, over and over, until she begged for the sweet release of death. Today! Before the senators came back, before their watchful, critical eyes returned to Ravenna, before life resumed its dull, drudgery pace.

He pulled away from Adriadne without a word and walked into his bedchamber, dropping onto his bed. When she tried to join him, he pushed her aside, for he needed to think. As she skulked out of the room, he closed his eyes and concentrated, waiting for inspiration, the perfect way to set his trap. Then, with a sudden clarity of mind, he saw Quintus Magnus watching Gigiperrin that day in the throne room, remembering the heartfelt look in her eyes when she pleaded for his help — and Magnus’s answering stare. Honorius was sure his instincts were right and that Magnus was taken with her. What a perfect opportunity to humble them both.

Hmmm.

Honorius wanted the bitch to willingly come to his chambers. But how? He needed to find a way to twist her thoughts with deception. Ah, a trap, he needed a trap. He ran his hand over his face, his mind churning, until the answer came and he grinned.

Oho! He imagined how she would react when she found out — a wondrous moment in itself — but her body would still hold the wet heat of desire from false expectations when he finally ravaged her.

He suddenly recalled taking Gigiperrin’s flute and ring, and tossing them into the chest with the rest of his personal treasures. “We must find them,” he vowed, rising from his bed. “We shall dig them out and wear the ring … and use the flute when we take her.”

The trap would be readied, the bait so deliciously obvious. She would come and, afterward, Honorius would be merciless in his vengeance. Indeed, our will be done.

Today!

• • •

Gigi scrubbed the rotisserie prongs with a linen rag and potash. Everyone thought she was odd because she insisted on cleaning the utensils, pots, and pans until they shone. All she needed do, so they said, was burn off the chunks left behind, or wipe away the grease with a bit of cloth. Good as new.

The cook fumed at her elbow. Gigi had never thought she’d find herself longing for rubber gloves, scouring pads, and a big bottle of antibacterial soap. Rinsing, she handed the prongs to the grumbling woman, who snatched them away, turned on her heel, and returned to one of the raised hearths, called a hob.

“You’re welcome, O Mistress Hob … goblin,” Gigi said sweetly in English, “for allowing me to protect everyone from botulism or salmonella or whatever.”

Sighing, she turned back to her stack of dishes. Nearly a month had passed since her encounter with Magnus in the abandoned garden. Having gone through various stages of daydreaming, passion, doubt, guilt, and crushing embarrassment, Gigi finally called a truce with her emotions, counting on the fact he would continue to protect her, and that was good enough.

Or at least he thought her Roman ring would protect her. But why? And how did he even know she had it?

It now hung in a pouch from a leather cord around her waist, out of view from prying eyes. She hadn’t needed it to fend off Honorius, thank goodness. In fact, she hadn’t seen anyone from the royal court, so even her fear of the emperor’s evil had faded with time.

According to a rumor among the slaves, he’d spent the month basking in one long, endless orgy of women, wine, and food. For a time, Gigi worried he would call for music at his parties and remember her, but if there was any music, he hadn’t thought to command her presence. Whatever the case, Gigi figured the rumors were true, because the kitchen workers had been pressed to redouble their workload for weeks on end.

“Gigi!”

Frowning, she turned at the call. What did Silvia want now?

A slim man with a long, narrow face stood nearby, his slave just behind, holding a wrapped package.

Silvia wrung her hands and explained, “You’re summoned to the baths, girl. This fellow’s come for you, says you must accompany him without delay. You’re to have the full treatment — a sweat and a scrape, then a plunge and some primping.”

Gigi could feel a hot blush cross her face as all the kitchen workers turned to gape. Why was she going to the baths? Who — ?

“He says it’s Quintus Magnus who called for you,” Silvia went on.

Overjoyed, Gigi’s fingers touched the hidden ring, wondering what he was planning. Dinner and a movie? Maybe some champagne and caviar? She grinned. As if.

“Gigi, now! Drop the dishrag and follow the man.”

• • •

Gigi hadn’t been to a spa in ages, but none of her visits prepared her for Ravenna’s Roman baths. The building was immense, the entry hall a gorgeous combination of gleaming white marble and a deep purple stone with sparkling golden veins running through it, the floor covered with intricate mosaics of sea creatures, a whole host of shells, seahorses, and starfish.

A tall, red-haired slave woman with broad shoulders, muscular arms — and an upper lip with a five o’clock shadow — appeared and welcomed Gigi and her taciturn escort. After whispering a few words into the woman’s ear, he motioned for his slave to hand over the mysterious package, then turned and left.

Gigi wondered why all the drama, but then realized Magnus had probably taken great pains to make this a surprise. She tried to look blasé as she was led into the women’s section. They passed turquoise pools and rooms billowing with steam, before reaching a corridor of cubicles, the doorways closed off by tasseled curtains of green silk.

Stopping before an open curtain, the woman indicated Gigi should go inside.

“But … ” Gigi hesitated, suddenly unsure.

“Strip everything off. I shall return in a few moments.”

She lumbered away, and Gigi heard her muttering, “Barbarus.”

The room was bare except for a wooden massage table. It didn’t take long for Gigi to pull off her miserable shift and ragged underwear. But what to do with the leather pouch she kept tied at her waist? She didn’t dare leave her gold necklace and Roman ring lying about for someone to find or steal.

She stood there, wondering what to do, when she heard a soft cough, then movement at the curtain. Gigi turned, blushing as the big redhead burst back in with a stoppered bottle and some towels. She curiously eyed Gigi’s pouch and made the sign of the cross. “Ah, praise be to God, you are a Christian lady, then? Worry not, I shall take care to avoid getting oil on your little purse.”

Gigi had no idea what this had to do with being a Christian, but if it allowed her to keep the pouch on, so much the better.

The woman directed Gigi to lie down, then spent delicious, unhurried minutes using her strong hands to ease the knots out of Gigi’s shoulders and neck, coaxing olive oil into her chapped hands and cracked heels, even working it into her scalp, hair, and face.

Nearly asleep from the massage, Gigi was barely aware of the sounds in the room: someone opening the curtain, footsteps, whispering.

Gigi felt a touch on her shoulder and started.

The masseuse cleared her throat. “Forgive me, my lady.” She handed her a clean towel. “Please wrap yourself, and follow me.”

Gigi got up and looked around. “Where are my things?”

“They will be washed and returned to the kitchens. The master has requested you be given a new gown.”

Feeling a surge of anticipation, Gigi smiled. New clothes? Thank you, Magnus!

The woman led her to a steam room, where she shared marble benches with several ladies. They eyed her with curiosity through the steamy air, but otherwise ignored her.

Soon, sweat and oil were pouring off Gigi’s skin. Absolutely gross. Just when she didn’t think she could stand it anymore, her masseuse returned and motioned for her to follow.

The next hour’s attentions were a combination of embarrassment and enjoyment: the scraping of Gigi’s sticky skin with a metal wand, followed by the shaving and plucking of her body hair — at least as much as she allowed. “Brazilians” weren’t for her, no matter how much they insisted her benefactor would prefer her that way. Afterward, she was immersed in a steaming-hot pool — so hot, in fact, she worried she’d be scalded. After a few horrible moments, Gigi hauled herself out of the water, her skin stinging and lobster-red. Next, the woman vigorously rubbed her down with a towel, then led her to another, smaller pool, where water cascaded through the gaping mouths of several bronze fish.

“No more swimming,” Gigi protested. “May I have something to drink?”

“That shall come later, my lady. This is spring-fed water, much cooler.”

Gigi looked forward to a more enjoyable swim and dove in. Cold exploded through her body, and she shot to the surface, gasping. After leaping out, she was toweled off once more and taken to yet another room, where the woman rubbed her with oil that filled the room with the sweet, heady scent of lavender.

Her hair was coifed and makeup applied. Her nails — what remained of them — were filed and buffed. Finally, she was dressed in a Grecian-style gown of yellow silk and guessed that was what had been in the package. Beautiful golden sandals and a long wrap of lightweight, red wool completed her outfit, except for one final touch: a tiny, golden mesh bag to replace her leather pouch, which was now a soggy mess.

Magnus had thought of everything.

Smiling, Gigi took the little bag. She had never felt so pampered, so beautifully relaxed. The makeup girl handed her a polished bronze mirror, and Gigi stared at her blurry, undulating reflection. She wore lustrous green eye shadow and her lips were a darker, more brilliant red than she’d ever dared to wear. Her blood pulsed as she gazed at her exotic image. Would Magnus like how she looked?

A smile crept across Gigi’s painted lips as she placed her ring and necklace in the golden bag. Yes, she would make sure he liked her new style.

She reentered the spa’s foyer several minutes later. To her surprise, the narrow-faced fellow who’d brought her stood in exactly the same spot, his slave absent. Such dedication to duty.

Expressionless, he motioned for her to follow. Racing after him, Gigi fumbled with her wrap, trying to settle its drapes and folds: over her left shoulder, under the other arm, back over the first shoulder. Annoying, but the slave girls had insisted she wear it over her gown — only whores went outdoors uncovered.

The slim man led her to the palace complex and across its grounds, onto a broad veranda, down corridors and up ornate stairways, through vast marbled halls standing empty and unused. The size and configuration of the palace was mind-boggling, and she wondered if she could find her way out, if given the chance. Finally, on the top floor, they followed a long hallway that led to a single pair of doors, guarded by a few of the bearded behemoths who usually surrounded Honorius.

These guys work for Magnus, too? Gigi wondered. She hated them, no matter who they worked for. “You are taking me to Senator Magnus’s chambers?” she warily asked her escort.

The man smiled and nodded. The soldiers opened the doors for them without question, and they passed into a large room filled with art: marble and bronze statues on pedestals, walls covered with woodland frescoes. They headed for another pair of doors, and Gigi’s heart began to thump. Okay, calm down. You know him. You know he’s a good guy. He’ll be nice — oh crap, this is going to be awkward. How’s it going to start? A late lunch with a couple of bottles of wine, maybe some nice conversation? How was your massage? Tell me about your parents. What’s your sign? Where are you from?

Gigi took a deep breath, wondering how she would answer that last question.

“Give me your palla,” her escort said, indicating her wrap.

“Er, all right.” Gigi slipped it off and handed it to him.

Folding it over his arm, he gently tapped his foot on the door, waited a moment, then called out, “The slave, Gigiperrin, Your Majesty.”

Your Majesty?

“Come in.”

Gigi shrank back at the sound of the hated voice. “No, no — ”

The man grabbed her arm, opened the door, and shoved her inside.

• • •

Honorius smiled at the bitch as the door closed behind her, relishing the look of fear etched into her features. She was beautiful! The therma slaves had worked miracles on her, and the gown he’d provided exposed, by its supple undulations, her exquisite peaks, and hinted broadly at each luscious valley.

She spun around and desperately tried to work the door handle, to no avail. He grew hard gazing at her shapely bottom, and the result was obvious as it pushed against his tunic.

“There is no way out until we give our royal permission, Gigiperrin.”

She turned and glared at him, hatred flashing in her green eyes.

He noticed then she did not wear a slave collar. It enraged him no one had followed protocol and affixed one to her neck, but then he realized he was glad her body was unmarred, her throat white and smooth, and beckoning for his attentions. He grinned at the thought of having a collar forced on her later that day, after he finished using her.

“We have been thinking about you recently,” he purred, as he raised his hand, her diamond ring twinkling on his pinkie, “and have decided that you must be brought to account for your refusal to play your flute, your rudeness before our ministers, and your defiant, haughty attitude. Do you still have no appreciation for the Great Emperor who stands before you? Have you learned humility in our kitchens?”

“I have learned some Latin,” she snapped, the sound of her fear audible. “That is all. Nothing else was worth learning.”

Honorius grinned at her attempted insult, relishing the idea of bringing her low. “Ah, and you are still a bitch, but perhaps not for long.”

She frowned, fists balling. “No one calls me that.”

“We do, slave.” He stepped to the bed, picked up her golden flute and was pleased when he heard her sharp intake of breath. Chuckling, he tossed it aside and grabbed a leather whip instead, letting its many lashes fall lazily through his fingers. He looked forward to her struggle.

“Bitch, we see your dread.” He laughed as she shrank away from him. The thought of what was coming made him feel positively jovial. “In the throne room, the day of your audience with us, you spoke of our royal fascinum — in front of everyone.” Honorius drew his tunic up, exposing himself. “It was an embarrassment at the time, but understandable. Most women long to see our great pride.”

Honorius saw her glance at him with horror, and the ache it caused in his loins was almost too much to bear. He needed to take her now. Sport, toying with her, whipping her, all that could come later.

He moved quickly across the room and grabbed her wrist, but she screamed and wrenched free. He grappled with her flailing arms and got a firm grip, then pinned them behind her in such a way that she was immobilized by the pain shooting through her body.

She cried out and he leaned forward, licking her skin from the opening of her gown between her breasts, up to her sweet throat, then to her earlobe. The taste of her was divine, and he used his teeth to pull the gown off one shoulder.

There! Her breast — by God! Glorious! Salivating to taste more of her, he lowered his mouth, the tip of his tongue reaching, flicking …

Pain seared his being, and Honorius hardly realized he’d released her, that he was falling, so intense was the agony emanating from his balls.

• • •

She’d kneed the bastard, but it wasn’t enough. Once Honorius was on the floor, Gigi kicked him — hard. His eyes rolled back in his head, his contortions redoubling as he writhed and shuddered.

How do I get out of here? If he starts screaming, I’m dead.

She focused on the sheer, billowing curtains.

Gigi started for the balcony, then remembered her flute on the bed. She lurched, grabbed it, and ran.

• • •

The pain was more than Honorius could bear. He couldn’t catch his breath. He tried to cry out, but could only produce the tiniest of squeaks, whimpering like a wounded animal. Had she burst open his balls?

F*cking whore! He rolled around, holding himself, wondering why his guards hadn’t come in, the idiots. Groaning, he suddenly realized they must think the sounds sexual, the result of his play. He tried again to call for help, but couldn’t, couldn’t force out a sound.

More moans, then, finally, he managed a pitiful, strangled, “B — bitch!” Tears filled his eyes. He shuddered, convulsed … and hoped someone would find him soon.

• • •

Panicked, Gigi clutched her flute as she rushed from one end of the large balcony to the other, desperately searching for a way down. She looked over the balustrade. The drop was too far, and she knew she’d break something if she tried to jump, but then she saw a possibility.

One branch of a gnarled, umbrella pine stretched toward her, about three feet lower than the balcony itself, and two feet distant. She swallowed, nervous, her hands sweaty. Why couldn’t the branch be closer? Uncertain she’d be able to make the leap, her reluctance vanished when Honorius moaned her name. Someone was going to check on him soon. She had no other choice.

Gigi removed her sandals, then dropped them and her flute onto the bed of pine needles below. Gathering her skirt, she swung one leg over the balustrade, then the other, toes gripping precariously at what tiny foothold she could find along the outer edge. Twisting into position, she stretched her free arm toward the branch and leapt.

The bark was rough and hard to hold, but the branch didn’t give way as she dangled ten feet above the ground. Hand over hand, she worked her way to the trunk, then, wrapping her arms and legs around it, shimmied down. She could feel the stinging of splinters and scrapes, but she ignored the pain. As her feet touched ground, she gathered her things and dashed off.