Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two (20 page)

Ebbe came. He draped a slim arm around Drilgisa’s shoulder, the other holding a small cup filled with a grease to make the coupling easier. He was the same height as Drilgisa and leaned forwards to kiss him firmly on the lips, his tongue parting Drilgisa’s teeth. It tasted of wine and olives. He returned the kiss, his desire at a pitch.

Without warning he gripped Ebbe by the back of his neck and wrist. In one swift movement he bent him forwards over the bed, his knees pushing the backs of the boy’s thighs apart. He ripped away the loin-cloth. Startled, the boy reached back with the cup of grease. Drilgisa slapped it from his hand, sending it smashing to the floor.

With one hand firmly holding him down at the nape of his neck, Drilgisa parted the taught buttocks with the other. Ebbe cried out in German.

For a flashing moment the cry awakened a distant, bitter memory in Drilgisa. He was a boy in the forest. It was the first time that his father took him like a woman, without warning. He pleaded for his father to stop and cried out. There was no one to come to his aid. The pain was terrible and the forest was his only witness. The same forest where he'd taken his father's life.

With a curse, Drilgisa plunged deep.

Chapter 24

PRUDES

In a kind of trance he watched Zamura wash herself after their coupling
. An ass like a young calf and breasts to die for
, he thought, full of admiration for the woman’s figure.

“You get better with age, Zamura,” he teased, reclining on his bed. “No wonder those rich bastards pay through the nose for your company.”

Zamura looked up, anger flashing in her eyes.
She’s beautiful, there’s no doubting that,
he acknowledged
.
She was as tall as him, her body magnificent. Her distinctly Roman nose only added to her sensual good looks and her full lips when employed with practised skill could make a man think he was in paradise. She was by far the most expensive whore in the brothel of Albus and reputed to be the most valuable in all of Pompeii. And, it was likely that the city was unrivalled in all the Empire when it came to brothels and whores.

Prudes quietly observed her as she completed her ablutions. Satisfied, she tied back her mass of wavy black hair with a blood coloured ribbon.

“You should count yourself lucky that you fuck me for free then,” she replied, still looking a little vexed.

“Come, sit by me,” said Prudes, patting the space on the bed next to him, “I only desire you more when there’s fire in your eyes.”

Zamura placed her hands on her hips for a moment, a defiant pose.

Grinning, Prudes tapped the bed again, and a reluctant smile crept onto Zamura’s face. She sauntered towards him, and then sat down, just out of arm’s length. Her breasts were still covered in sheen of sweat, her dark red nipples still erect. Prudes felt his cock grow hard again. He coaxed her closer, kissing her softly on the mouth. She was the only whore that he’d ever kissed on the lips.

Zamura gently pulled way. “I must start work soon, so you’ll need to sheath that weapon until tomorrow.” She inclined her head towards his groin.

“A shame,” said Prudes. “And, how is business at present?”

“There will always be customers, although Albus has been grumbling of late that business has dropped off.” A look of distaste took root on Zamura’s face when she added, “The Dacian’s visits can’t have helped.”

“Drilgisa you mean?”

“The same. He’s a monster and makes my skin crawl when he visits. Albus just shits himself when he turns up.”

“I understand that he likes the Greek way,” said Prudes.

“True, and the pig has ruined more than one of Albus’s best boys,” confirmed Zamura. There was anger in her voice.

“Has he bothered you?” Prudes asked stiffly, feeling his hackles rise.

“No. He stares at me, but says nothing. But you cannot forget those eyes; unfeeling yet piercing like the hawk. It didn’t surprise me when I heard of his wilful cruelty, and his ferocity in the arena.” She grimaced with distaste before going on, describing him. “And his awful skin: white like milk, like death.”

“Sunshine is something he’s not seen much of at Solfatara, but, there’s no doubting that he’s an exceptional fighter, and you’d do well to avoid him,” said Prudes. “Gordeo would not be pleased if I had to part his hair with my blade.”

Zamura flashed a wicked grin. “You would protect me, then?”

“Of course, as I always have. Just remember to steer clear of him when he visits.”

“I will,” she said, still grinning and obviously enjoying his concern.

“And talking of work, I’ll be away for a while,” said Prudes, seizing the opportunity.

“Doing what?”

“Work, and that’s all you need to know.”

“You’d better not be seeing some slut that you’ve tucked away somewhere!” Zamura rose to her feet, the colour rising to her cheeks. She pointed to Prudes’ sword propped against the wall close by. “Or I swear I’ll hack off that tool of yours!”

“Calm yourself,” said Prudes, his face now serious. “And sit down.”

Appearing to recognise the rare sternness in his look, Zamura sat, her lips forming into a pout.

He held her hand. “I want you to listen this once without asking a hundred questions. It’s very important that you take my advice…important for us both. Understand?”

She nodded.

“I’ll be away until just after the Parentalia Games. I want you also to leave the city while I’m away. Tell Albus you are visiting a sick aunt in Capua, and then find somewhere else, somewhere busy to stay until I return.”

“But, why?-“

“Please, just do this…for me.”

“Very well,” said Zamura, unable to hide the concern she felt. “You will come back, won’t you?” A tear had formed in the corner of one of her eyes.

“Nothing will stop me returning, I promise.” He raised his hand to stroke her cheek and saw some of the worry ease away.

Zamura sniffed then looked around the room. He knew she was trying not to cry.

“At least your lodgings are now clean,” she stated, trying to compose herself. “Better than that pig pen you were in, before you…”

“Had my arm cut off?” He finished for her. He recognised the awkward expression on her face, and he knew she would not deliberately hurt him with words. She cared for him too much.

“Can I touch it?” she asked, pointing to his puckered stump.

“Of course, it won’t bite you.”

She softly traced the ragged scar, then bent forward and kissed it.

Prudes swallowed hard, touched by her tenderness.

“You are still more of a man with one arm than any man I know with two,” she said, looking deeply into his eyes.

“You are very kind,” he replied with an exaggerated bow of his head.

“Have you enough money?” she asked

“Thank you, yes,” he confirmed, a little embarrassed by the question.

Zamura was a free woman, a resident of Pompeii, who’d been forced into her trade following the sudden death of her parents from the lung fever. Such was a beauty and talented in what she did. She could be very choosy about her patrons. There’d been a time when that greasy bastard Albus had tried to bully her into lowering her standards and upping his own cut. Accompanied by Belua they’d paid him a visit. He quickly saw the error of his plan.

He knew that she was quite a wealthy lady, perhaps wealthier than that tight bastard, Gordeo. Then, maybe not? He’d often wondered why she hadn’t quit her life as a whore? When they spoke of it, she’d simply answer, “One day soon.” It left him puzzled, but he knew better than to try to work out any woman’s mind. And, he’d never taken advantage of her wealth, because he cared for her too, probably more than was good for him.

“You’ve never talked to me about your past, or your upbringing?” Zamura plucked the statement out of the air. “You never talk about your life before the arena?”

“What would you like to know?” enquired Prudes, unperturbed.

“Everything.”

“How did someone as nosy as you live so long?”

“By my looks,” said Zamura, smiling provocatively.

“Very well, but there’s not a great deal to tell.” Prudes pursed his lips before continuing. “My home was in the eastern land of Cilicia.”

“I’ve heard people speak of it,” said Zamura attentively.

“My people have a reputation for being hot blooded and cruel, but I let others make up their own minds about that. Cilicia is a beautiful but harsh place. There are great mountain ranges and vast desserts so hot that the very stones sweat. I grew up in a town on the coast called Sebaste. Many ships visit there and my father earned his living by sending trading caravans to the east. He owned fifty camels and was regarded as a wealthy man in our town.” He paused to take a sip of wine. He offered a drink to Zamura, who shook her head, keen for him to continue.

“My mother was my father’s second wife, and I was his second son. She was a kind, quiet woman, and my brother was a very serious man whose goal in life was to earn a fortune. We were very different.” Prudes grinned wryly. “My father was a good sort, and he understood that the merchant’s life was not for his youngest son. He recognised my fighting spirit and employed an ex-soldier to teach me the way of the sword and spear, and I loved it! When I’d seen eighteen summers, I told my family I was leaving.”

“What did they say?” asked Zamura.

“My mother cried and kissed me. My father shook my hand and gave me a pouch of gold. He wished me good luck and told me that I always had a home in Sebaste. My brother said nothing…we were never close.”

“Did you then travel straight to Campania?” she asked, seeming engrossed by his tale.

“No,” he said. “I gained employment as a caravan guard, and later as a paid sword for local rulers in Thrace and Moesia. They were exciting times, but I was always drawn westwards, towards Rome. Eventually, I arrived in Campania in one piece, and quickly learned that there was good pay to be earned in the arena, doing what I liked best. I joined a gladiator troupe in Capua, and after winning the
rudis
gained employ as an instructor in Ludus Gordeo. The rest you know.”

After a while, Zamura said, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“You’re welcome,” Prudes responded, before suggesting, “Could you give work a miss today? I’m sure Albus won’t object.”

“Because you’re feeling horny again?” she queried, raising one eye-brow.

“No, because I’ll miss you,” he flashed one of his broadest smiles.

“If you marry me, I could be with you as much as you desired.” Her voice was sober and her face suddenly looked very young, vulnerable.

“One day, my beauty, one day.”

“I’ll be an old crone by that time,” said Zamura, the look now gone.

“You’ll never be old,” he cajoled.

Zamura stretched up her arms, the muscles moving sleekly beneath her skin. “So what did you have in mind for the rest of the day then? If I stay that is.”

“I thought a stroll by the harbour would be good. We could have some food and there’s a particular amber necklace that I’ve spotted there. One that I propose to buy for a very special woman I know…”

Zamura jumped onto him, leaving him winded. She kissed him fiercely on the lips, and then stated, “I suppose Albus won’t miss me for a few hours.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” said Prudes, deftly flipping her giggling onto her back.

Chapter 25

ROME – THE SUBURA

A coarse voice rang out above her head, warning passers-by that human waste was about to be dumped into the narrow street. Akana instinctively looked up, at the same time skipping smartly to one side. The night soil splashed amongst the accumulated filth in the street.

She’d forgotten in her short time away how Rome was a place of extremes. The city’s open forums
,
its grand patrician houses and cool colonnades were a marked contrast to the life here in the Subura
.
One could easily get lost in the warren of chaotic, suffocating avenues that were so constricted that the upper floors of the
insulae
touched heads. The houses themselves were mostly built from cob and wattle and were so rickety that they only remained erect by leaning against each other for support. As a result they regularly collapsed or burnt down when a fire spread rapidly from building to building.

Her former master, Titus, had lived here. It was the time before Flavia had spotted her in the forum, and had bought her there and then, making her master an offer he couldn’t, daren’t refuse. The memory of her time with Titus – the repulsive pig made her flinch. She’d been one of the many residents crowded into an attic in the
insulae
.

She looked up at the housing blocks rising shakily to the skyline. Rapacious landlords built cheap and cramped lodgings in the
insulae
. The higher you went, the more dangerous was your life. Your bleak room would be lit by candles or smoky oil lamps.

Windows would let in some light but also the cold too. Residents choked on the thick air. Cooking was usually done on an open stove and no matter how careful you were there was always the danger that a drunken neighbour below would set the building alight. High up, there was no way to escape and the cheap buildings burned like summer grass.

As there was no room for kitchens in the cheap lodgings, activities spread onto the streets with the numerous bars and eateries heaving with people of every race, creed and disposition. A riot of activity took place against a background of constant noise from carts, wagons, litters and horses. And there were those less fortunate than herself, who had no master to pay the rent and as result set up home in the nooks and crannies of public buildings, under stairs and even in the larger tombs. The Subura smelled of poverty, of garlic, rancid oil and unwashed clothes and bodies. Here in the maze of dirty streets the refuse of the Empire congregated to fuck and eat, to beg and steal, to curse, work and die. The air they breathed was foul. Up on the rich heights of Rome’s hills with their Greek monuments, fine temples and palaces the air was fresh and clean.