Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two (22 page)

“Yes, we do,” said Prudes, his face now humorless. “Flavia is the worst kind of serpent, and her evil intentions hold no boundaries. Believe me, we must be vigilant at
all
times.”

He let out a long, tired sigh. It seemed so peaceful here, away from the death and cruel scheming of the city. But he understood what a foul, unwavering creature Flavia was, and he had great faith in his friends’ judgement.

“Very well, you have my word.”

“Good, and don’t frighten Orbiana with it,” said Prudes. He started to walk away, and then looked back over his shoulder wearing one of his infectious smiles. “The knife I mean. . .”

Re-sheathing the blade, Clodian managed a weak smile; a hollow gesture masking the dark inside him.

Entranced, he watched the comb sweep through the dark mass of hair that fell loosely over her slim shoulders. Orbiana looked at him and smiled.

Her eyes were large, beautiful, her skin pale and smooth across her high cheek-bones and her lips moist and inviting. Was there a small cluster of freckles on the bridge of her nose, the product of days in the sun? He wasn’t sure in the subtle candlelight. But he did know that every part of her face seemed to draw him to the dark of her eyes. Precious eyes, revealing little of the thoughts flitting through the dark of her pretty head. Yet, he knew there was wisdom in her. Something older than her years, wrapped in something tender. There was maturity and vulnerability. The thought of her past, her expectations, made him want to protect and care for her. He realized more than anything else, that since the death of his father she’d revived something meaningful in him. Now, he found it difficult to imagine life with her not there.

He’d longed for this time and it had come at last. Neither of them had discussed what was about to happen between them, but he sensed that Orbiana felt the time was right, as he did. Words were not necessary between them.

The night had grown darker through the small window, the last vestiges of twilight having deserted the sky to summon a greater silence and a legion of new shadows into the room. If he listened carefully he could faintly hear the far-off murmur of the tide against the black rocks, a reassuring sound.

Orbiana wetted her thumb and doused one of the room’s two candles. Only the small one by the bed where he lay remained lit. She approached him from the shadows. He’d cleansed his body with oil, scraping away the day’s sweat and grime. Afterwards, he’d splashed his body with cold water, rubbing his skin dry with a rough towel. He wore only a loin cloth and his skin tingled from his earlier ablutions.

Standing over him, Orbiana kissed first his forehead, then his closed eyes and then his lips. Her lips tasted sweet. Her smooth face nestled against his cheek. He opened his eyes, pulling her close, wanting to feel her naked against him. She unfastened the shoulder tie of her dress. It whispered slowly to the floor.

Clodian gasped as she stood naked before him. He encircled her waist with his arms, pressing his face against the warm flesh of her belly. His hands traced down over her firm buttocks and he squeezed them hard, feeling the tight muscles contract beneath the skin. He lowered his face, burying his mouth in her dark mound, breathing in her woman smell and tasting her wetness. His manhood felt like an iron rod and he pulled his loin-cloth down with one hand. Half-rising he cupped one firm breast in his palm, hungrily sucking on the dark red nipple. Orbiana gasped, her fingers entwined in his hair.

Swivelling about, he swung her onto the bed, covering her body with his own. His eager mouth found hers, their kisses frantic. His manhood probed between her legs seeking entrance. Its tip found the moistness and he slid into her.

“Slowly,” she entreated, and he fought his impulse to enter her fully, his breath coming in rapid, shallow gulps.

Orbiana began to moan beneath him as he gradually speared deeper. Her legs now wrapped round his waist she raked his back with her nails, her eyes rolling back in her head. His manhood now deep inside her, she emitted a half cry, half moan, her nails biting deeper.

Like a burst dam his seed was released. His mouth stretched open and his heart felt as if it would pound through his chest.

When the spasms subsided, he lifted his weight off her.

Orbiana’s face was flushed, her eyes closed as she tried to get her breath.

“That was…wonderful,” he managed to confess between great intakes of air.

She turned to face him smiling. “Yes, it was.”

He looked down at the red stain on the bed, clasping her small hand in his own.

“I hope I did not hurt you too much.”

“Only a little, and next time it will be even better for me,” she reassured, her face happy, her eyes earnest.

Relieved, he slipped his hand beneath her head and they drew close, holding each other tight.

A deep sense of contentment had settled upon him. He’d always loved living by the sea and he listened to the ocean waves pause and sigh before the roar when the waters were suddenly confronted with sand and stone again. He felt a real affinity with this place, where the wind and water and sun carried on in their constant cycle, oblivious to the lives of people. It was a place far removed from evil deeds, fear and retribution.

As he listened to Orbiana’s breathing he felt a tear creep from the corner of his eye. He wondered why he would shed a tear at such a time? Perhaps it was because he had discovered something that he had never really known before. He’d found that love can be truly unselfish, and that this woman beside him was not someone that he would use only for his pleasure. She’d become precious to him and he regretted the pain he had just caused her. Her mindful tenderness had drawn him even closer to her. It was a new emotion and he was too unacquainted with it to fully understand it.

After a time he ventured to say what he felt in his heart. “I know you had no choice picking your first man. But, I promise you, that if I had the choice of all the Empire, I’d pick no other.”

Their eyes met and he felt something new, special, stir inside him.

Kissing him gently on the lips, Orbiana replied, “I would make the same choice too.”

Chapter 27

WOLVES ON THE ROAD

It was near evening and the road was quiet. It had been wet for most of the day and the road now cut its way through foothills, forced from its Roman straightness by the lay of the land. The dreary sun was quickly vanishing behind the hills, the shadows transforming into solid darkness. He’d ridden all day halting only briefly at noon to water his horse. He now walked his mount off the Roman road, looking for a resting place. He shivered in his damp cloak, conscious of a gnawing hunger in his belly. The terrain was thankfully heavily wooded and afforded numerous protected sites.

As he watched the Campania night quickly draw in he wondered whether he should have camped earlier in the day on the outskirts of Capua? He’d followed the Via Appia south from Rome as far Capua before diverting onto the Via Popilia, and in two more days he’d reach Pompeii. He was glad, as his arse felt like raw beef after long days in the saddle. He could have travelled by ship but there’d be too many watching eyes in a confined space. He’d skirted all the main towns on route to remain as anonymous as possible, and he’d enjoyed the relative solitude of the stone road.

Guiding his grey mare he headed for a small glade he could make out through the wall of aspen. It was a good sheltered spot to make camp. Dismounting, he straightened his back and stretched out his stiff legs. He hobbled his horse, and after rubbing her down fed her handfuls of grain. Then he set about starting a small fire.

He cursed as he blew the smouldering flames into new life and set water to boil. As was his habit he stripped to the waist despite the chill. He washed then shaved his face and pate with the smaller of his two knives. Still shivering but feeling better he sat down for a meal.

The bread was hard but the cheese and olives tasted good. He took a long swallow of a sharp red from a large wine-skin and leaned back against his travel pack. Pulling his cloak tighter about him, his mind turned to the task ahead.

It would be one of his most dangerous, but nothing he couldn’t handle with careful planning. And, his employer was certainly intriguing in a perverse way. He smiled, recalling his first and only meeting with Flavia Inciatus. She’d visited him in Rome after hiring him to carry out a particularly dirty piece of work for her. She’d come with the Egyptian woman, although there’d been no need for her to soil her fine silks with the filth of the Subura by coming in person. He’d been impressed by her sultry good looks and was familiar with the stories that abounded the city regarding the noble Drusus Inciatus’s daughter. It was said that her sexual appetite was as exotic as it was insatiable, partly born out of the report that she’d fucked the entire
Reds
chariot team after a successful day’s betting at the
Circus
. He wondered if her father knew about his daughter’s lechery? Maybe not the depth of it, but he was wise enough in the ways of Rome’s decadent upper class to know that it was rare for a patrician lady not to take a lover or two, while the men had their closeted kept women,

After she’d left with the Egyptian he’d understood why she came. She’d wanted to see and smell the man who reputedly dealt death without cause or remorse. She’d been haughty, but was unable to hide the pleasure on her face when he’d described how he intended to kill the appointed victim. He believed that he could have fucked her there and then, like a bitch in heat, if the slave wasn’t present. He doubted that he would ever meet her again, yet, he knew it would greatly please him to put his mark on this woman.

As he rubbed his chilled hands together, he heard the sound of a piece of wood cracking, unnaturally loud in the night’s stillness. He was immediately alert, searching.
Hear what you cannot see, see what you cannot hear
, he repeated the mantra. His ears were well tuned to picking out key sounds and rejecting the natural ones. His mare looked up from her grazing, whickering softly.

He heard the dull grate of a sword being slowly drawn and realized someone was nearby in the woods, trying to approach stealthily behind him and making a poor job of it. It was too late for even the most grasping of traders to be on the road, and any local framers would be sat at their hearths. And the sounds were quickly muffled. He had a good idea why…

He rose slowly to his feet, stepping around the fire to stare at the forest wall from whence he gauged his company would emerge.

There was a small movement in the trees. A stocky figure stepped into the glade, another taller man flowing close on his shoulder.

Coluber had his back to the fire and so could be seen only in silhouette, while the visitors were fully in the light. Both were armed; the first with a badly pitted
gladius
and the other with a crudely formed wooden club.

The shorter man looked confidently around the clearing. He was portly with a ragged beard, his skin and clothes filthy. His companion had a mean, hungry expression and looked in better physical condition. His face was covered in boils and he was as equally in need of a bath.
Stinking thieves
, Coluber sneered inwardly
, and unlucky ones.
A vulpine grin stretched across his lips.

The club-man took the initiative and moved closer, positioning himself at Coluber’s right side. The short man levelled his sword at his face, his hand steady. He ordered through rubbery lips that revealed a mouthful of missing teeth, “Give us any money you have without any trouble, and we might leave you with your life. We’ll unburden you of the horse and food, too.”

“That will be difficult,” said Coluber icily.

“Why, fool?” queried the short man, his brow furrowing as he edged forward.

“Because you’ll both soon be dead.”

“Ellios, fucking club–” the short man began, his voice betraying both anger and surprise.

Coluber was already lunging to his right, drawing his long knife in one easy movement. Throwing his left arm around the tall man’s neck, he speared then twisted the sharp blade into his chest below the breast bone, driving the point upwards into the heart. He felt the sour exhalation of pain and shock, the hot blood streaming out over the hilt, tacky on his fingers.

The killing was so quick and clean that the man never cried out, merely slumping into Coluber’s arms like a puppet with its strings cut. He let him drop to the ground.

The other robber had danced back across the clearing, giving himself room to use his sword. Coluber watched him carefully, his long blade held casually at the ready
. He has some courage
,
then
, he thought,
at least I won’t have to chase the bastard.

“Come, bring it if you have it, dog,” Coluber coaxed.

The robber suddenly attacked, slashing at his head and body in great sweeps, evidencing good spirit but little skill. He easily evaded the blows then addressed him when he stepped back to get his breath.

“Your death is going to be a little different, I think.”

“Fuck you!” the man snarled, thrusting for his chest.

He swayed sideways out of harm. His blade darted out, scoring a bloody line down the other man’s cheek. Before he could recover, Coluber kicked the legs from under him.

“You’ll be pleased to know that
you
will have a part to play in the rest of the performance,” Coluber remarked matter of factly.

The robber struggled to his knees.”You’ll kiss my fucking arse in Hades first!”

“We shall see,” stated Coluber.

Grimacing, the man scythed his sword at Coluber’s knees, a crippling blow if successful. He nimbly jumped over the blade, slicing down at the passing wrist. The blow opened up a wide-lipped gash along the length of the robber’s forearm. He dropped his sword. He looked up at Coluber, his eyes now wild, betraying his fear.

“You will now pick up your sword with your other hand,” Coluber directed, “and plunge it into your guts.”