Love's Blazing Ecstasy (10 page)

“My father attempted to save his wife
, my mother, from being ravished by a drunken soldier, and for that he was punished. When the soldier died of his wounds, my father was beheaded and my mother and I were sold as slaves.”

The story was not an unfamiliar one. Valerian had heard of such things happening before, for
Rome protected its own and felt that the death of a barbarian did not matter.

The girl looked at him again and dried her tears. Something about her reminded Valerian of Wynne. Perhaps it was the full mouth or the shape of the nose or her graceful bearing. What if this were Wynne standing here before a soldier, awaiting her doom?

“Go back to your tent,” he ordered.

“No!” Meghan threw herself at his feet, weeping hysterically. “I do not please you
.  Oh, what can I do? How can I make you want me?  I’ll do anything, only don’t sent me away.  I will be whipped and then given to that brute Gallus.”

Valerian was touched by her plea and lifted her gently from the floor. “You
do
please me. Very much. But you are so young and I would imagine, a virgin.” She nodded. Severus was generous with his gifts, he thought sarcastically. “You deserve better than to be used merely for a man’s lust. Someday you will give your heart to a man and will want to give him your body,” he said, thinking of Wynne again. Until he had met her he had not believed that love existed. Perhaps had he not met her, he would have lain with this girl, like the callous soldiers of his army. But Wynne opened his eyes to what was going on around him, and his deep affection for her had shown him how to know right from wrong—love from lust.

“Then you will not say that you were not pleased with me?” she asked.

“No. I will tell Severus that you pleased me a great deal.”  Valerian shook his head.  He couldn’t turn her back over to Severus.  The next soldier who the tribune decided to give Meghan to might not be as understanding. “As a matter of fact, I intend to buy you, lovely Meghan, to keep you from harm until you grow into the beautiful woman I envision.”

“Buy me?  You?” Her eyes glowed with relief and happiness at th
e thought of belonging to this Roman, who seemed to be a man of honor. He was gentle and pleasing to the eye; not old and cruel and ugly like the tribune Severus. She reached for his hand and rained kisses upon it.  “Thank you…” she breathed.

Valerian was embarrassed by her display of gratitude and gestured for her to rise.  Gently he pushed her away from him. “Go now, Meghan!” he ordered. She ran on silent feet out of the tent, pausing at the opening to look back at him and smile. Then she was gone.

Valerian finished dressing, putting his
cuirass
over his red woolen tunic. It was strange to feel the weight of the gilded overlapping metal scales, to feel the stroke of the leather strips against his thighs. He bent down to lace his white leather boots over his woven hose and slung the baldric of studded leather over his shoulder. Picking up his bronze helmet, he walked toward the opening of the tent. He would talk with Severus this very moment about the slave girl and get her out of his clutches.

On his way out of the tent he noticed a small fire and made his way over to where it crackled. He could smell the odor of burning cloth.

“What are you doing, soldier?” he asked out of curiosity.

“The tribune ordered us to burn the clothing you were wearing when you came here,” the soldier answered.

“No!” Valerian shouted, dashing forward, reaching into the fire. He had a sentimental attachment to the garments, as if in some way these clothes brought him closer to Wynne; that their destruction would injure her in some way. It was as if burning them was a bad omen.

It was too late. The clothes that had belonged to Wynn
e’s father were now no more than ashes. Valerian clutched at his burned hands, but the real pain was in his heart. He had planned to bring these garments back to Wynne when he returned.  And he
would
return.

The two soldiers eyed him warily. One motioned with his finger, moving it in circles around his temple to indicate that he thought the centurion was crazy, but Valerian didn’t care what they thought. He cursed them beneath his breath as fools.

A sudden scream tore through the stillness, sending shivers up and down Valerian’s spine.

“What in the name of the gods was that?” he asked one of the men.

“Nothing. Merely the rantings of our Celtic prisoner. The noble Severus has ordered that the heathen be tortured slowly, so that we can make an example of him for all those who would fight against Rome,” one of the soldiers  answered with less emotion than if he were talking about a dog.

“And we call them heathens!” Valerian exclaimed.  He had not been in this land long, but he was quickly learning. He wondered if Nero in
Rome knew what was happening. Surely this was no way to bring about peace, and yet he remembered hearing of brutalities done to the Israelites and those called Christians. “Does Nero know what is happening here?”

The soldier looked warily at him again. This centurion was a strange one, his expression seemed to say.  The other soldier was more outspoken. “What do you think war is all about—pleasant conversation and marching all day long?” He looked Valerian up and down. “But then, coming from a wealthy family, how could you know what life is all about. Your father has no doubt bought you, his son, into your present position.” He smirked.  “You were probably never even in battle.  At least not yet.” He spat upon the ground.

“You know nothing about me at all,” Valerian answered, though the man’s verbal barb had struck a nerve. “And even less about Severus.” Whom Valerian suspected cared only about his own ambition.

“Severus knows what is best,” the soldier answered coldly, his eyes glinting dangerously.  “
He
is the ruler of this land, not Nero. Why the general himself has left the tribune in charge while he is gone to the North. Severus doesn’t have to answer to anyone!”

The truth of the soldier’s words hit Valerian like a stone. He knew Severus was power hungry but didn’t realize that power was already within his grasp.  It was a dangerous situation..

How could I have been so blind? How could I have so misjudged the circumstances here? How could I have not realized that Severus is not only ambitious but cruel as well
? And dangerous! Valerian wondered what would happen if he himself were to get in the tribune’s way.

He would not hesitate to remov
e me from his path, father or no father
, he thought. Now more than ever, Valerian longed for Wynne and the days they had spent together. With her he had been happy and at peace.

Chapter Thirteen

That night just as Severus had promised, there was indeed a banquet to welcome Valerian back. They feasted on wild boar, steaming soup with a pungent herblike odor, pheasant, and even oysters. Rich wines ran to waste as cups were overfilled. Severus had ordered a special tent set up for the festivities, and Valerian could see the remains of the spoils his legion had awarded themselves. Severus lounged on a pillowed couch like royalty, clapping his hands for the slaves to appear and leering boldly at the dancing girls. Like Meghan, these were often mere children who had been abducted from their families for the purpose of quenching the lust of the soldiers and keeping their passions finely tuned with the swaying of their luscious bodies to the music of harp and flute. Valerian was given the seat of honor near his host, and he could not help but wonder if all of this was really for him or for the purpose of Severus ingratiating himself with Valerian’s father, a powerful senator in Rome.

“So you liked the young girl I sent to you, eh?” he asked, grabbing the wrist of one of the dancers, a dark-haired girl with blue eyes. He pressed her close to him for a kiss and then returned his attentions once again to Valerian. “For the right price I might be persuaded to let you have her.”

“What price is that?” Valerian asked cautiously.

“That black stallion of yours. Perhaps I would consider it an even trade. What do you say?” Severus gobbled greedily on a pheasant leg.

Valerian shook his head. “Ask anything else of me, but that. It is not really mine to give.”

Severus was obviously annoyed that his wishes were not to be gratified. “That is my price,” he demanded, then tempered his tone.  “Here, have another cup of wine.”

Valerian frowned. This was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. But already Severus was half-drunk, and perhaps this could work to Valerian’s advantage, if he was careful not to allow himself to drink too much, while all the time making it appear that he, too, was far from sober.

“Wine, wine,” Severus demanded, flinging out his arm and causing the black slave boy to spill the flask all over the tribune. In outrage Severus struck the boy hard across the face, sending him sprawling to the dirt floor. “Take this black dog out and have him flogged within an inch of his life!” His face flushed with rage.

The boy was grabbed from behind by two soldiers and dragged from the tent, much to Valerian’s consternation. He wondered how he could have been so blind to such happenings before. He knew that this was not an unusual occurrence.

“Tribune, are you certain that you want to have such a fine specimen ruined by scars?” he asked, trying hard to save the lad. “If you do so, he will cease to have as much value to you.”

Severus eyed him with half-closed eyes. “Value? Ah, yes, I suppose you are right. However, the dog must be punished.” He motioned the men back. “Turn the slave over to the centurion here for retribution.” Again he turned to Valerian. “I sense that you are changed somehow. I hope that you aren’t getting soft, Valerian. Oh, well, we shall see…we shall see. It will amuse me to see what sort of discipline you can wreck on Ibu.”

Valerian sensed danger in the tribune’s words. He was being tested. It would be difficult to be merciful to the boy and yet appear to be masterful, but somehow he would manage it.

“My father has always taught me that hard work and responsibility are the keys to discipline. Give him to me for a few months to act as my stable boy, and I promise you that his arrogance will turn to worthiness.”

“Agreed, after he receives at least ten lashes.”

Valerian was disappointed, but he let the matter rest. “Now…about the slave girl, Meghan. Is there nothing I can do to convince you that I must have her?”

Severus laughed. “She must be a lusty one in bed. I will have to try her charms myself.”

Valerian nearly choked on his wine, biting his tongue to keep from saying the wrong thing to the tribune. It would take cunning to get the girl out of the old goat’s clutches now. He cursed himself for ten kinds of fool. Seeing several soldiers involved in a game of dice, he had an idea.

“Would you give me a chance to gamble for the girl?” he asked with a wry smile.

Severus chuckled in reply. “Only if your stake in the game is your stallion.”

Wynne, forgive me,
Valerian thought, and answered, “All right.” He said a prayer to the goddess Venus to be with him, knowing that Meghan’s destiny was in his hands now.

Together he and the tribune sauntered over to where the soldiers played their game. Severus walked with the unsteady gait of the intoxicated, which Valerian did his best to imitate. The tribune held out his hands for the ivory cubes and Valerian held his breath. So much rested on his winning. With a confident grin Severus took his turn, swearing beneath his breath at the ill turn of fate. With hands atremble, Valerian took his turn, closing his eyes tightly as if afraid of the outcome.

“Damn your heathen heart, centurion. You have won!” he heard Severus scream in his ear, and only then did he open his eyes to see the truth of those words. “I will have her sent to your tent tonight.”

“The evening progressed with the drunken brawls which always occurred when the soldiers imbibed too much of the grape. Valerian’s stomach started to rebel at all the rich food and wine. As he looked around him at the unconscious bodies of the soldiers, the thought ran through his mind that were they now to be attacked, they would be as helpless as children. Naked bodies of lovers, male and female, sprawled over the floor, and he could not help feeling disgust with his countrymen. At his side Severus kept silent, no doubt still upset over losing to Valerian. But finally the tribune spoke.

“You are a brave and a good soldier, Valerian. You have proved that many times already. I wonder if perhaps you are also ambitious.” In his drunkenness his speech was garbled and slurred.

“I don’t think of myself as ambitious,” Valerian answered cautiously, wondering what Severus had in his devious mind. 
Certainly he was not ruthless in his quest for power.  Not like the tribune,
he thought. “Why?”

Severus laughed. “Come now, Valerian, every man is ambitious. We all want power. It is the only thing that is really important on this earth.”

Valerian did not argue, but he could not help but feel loathing for this man he had once respected, this man who was his father’s close friend. If power was at the cost of a man’s honor and soul it held little meaning, at least to his way of thinking.