Mistress To The Roman - Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Circus Maximus – Rome AD 79

The stillness of the stables acted as a balm to Marsallas’s raw senses. He had just left the arena, and the noise of the chanting crowd screaming his name over and over had been so loud that his ears were throbbing.

He watched as his four horses, magnificent greys, were rubbed down by four slaves. Like him the horses were quiet and still, allowing the slaves to tend them without any trouble. Marsallas walked over to them and stroked the muzzle of each of them in turn, his touch gentle and soothing. Lampon, the most forward of his horses, nudged him, demanding his reward.

“Hah. You know me too well Lampon,” he said softly, taking a pear from a small cloth sack that he carried. The horse whinnied taking the pear off him, and Marsallas patted his flank before moving to the other horses. When they had all been given their pears, Marsallas moved away, letting the slaves finish their tasks.

They were magnificent animals – he had chosen well – and they had not let him down once in the four years he’d had them. They had raced over two hundred races together, winning over one hundred and fifty of them in that time. A phenomenal feat considering it was one of the most dangerous sports in the Circus Maximus. His quadrigae were considered the best – and when he raced the four horse chariot he was always the favourite to win.

Once the slaves had finished tending to the horses, Marsallas dismissed them with a nod of his head, leaving him alone with his animals. He walked into each of the stalls and stroked his hands over the horses’ flesh, feeling their muscles and ligaments to make sure there were no sprains or bruises. The sheer brutality of the races took its toll on both man and beast, and it was Marsallas’s duty to make sure that his horses were always kept in the best condition. Eventually he finished his rounds, and was closing the last of the doors to the stalls when he saw his team member, and close friend, Fabius Rufus coming towards him.

“Fabius,” he said in greeting, a small smile on his face as his protégé approached. He was secretly proud of the young man. The man he had trained to be as good as him in the Circus. But when he saw the preoccupied look on his face, he frowned slightly before asking, “All is well?”

“There is a young woman here,” Fabius said, by way of explanation, ignoring Marsallas's question. “She wants to see you. She has a slave with her-”

“Fabius,” Marsallas said interrupting, “I am not interested in entertaining the rich patricians of Rome tonight. I am tired, hungry, and I stink. I'm going to bathe, eat and sleep in that order. Besides, even I have standards, and an orgy is just a little too debauched for my tastes!”

Fabius shook his head. “You have the wrong end of the stick Marsallas. The slave is male, and as large as a tree, and apparently the woman just wants to talk to you, not seduce you.”

“They always “just want to talk” Fabius. You should know that by now! We are nothing but studs to these women,” Marsallas grunted, shaking his head in vexation, before he turned and walked towards the rear door of the stables. “By the gods, I’m sure the women of Rome are getting more and more forward these days.”

“I agree with you Marsallas, they are,” Fabius reasoned, raising his voice slightly as Marsallas walked away. “But this time I think the woman is genuine. She says she has news-”

“Enough Fabius,” Marsallas said cutting through his friend’s words without a backwards glance. “Like I said – you have her – all the women love your blonde hair and green eyes – you will have her eating out of your hand in next to no time!”

***

“You were quick. Didn’t she live up to your expectations?” Marsallas asked a short while later, from where he sat at his wooden table in his private quarters, finishing off a meal of bread, meat and olives.

Fabius’s face suffused with colour, as he stepped into Marsallas’s room. “No! I mean…I never…” Fabius stammered, his voice trailing off.

Marsallas raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was unusual for Fabius to be so nervous. Normally he was supremely confident when it came to women...and sex. “What ails you Fabius? You seem out of sorts this evening.”

“The woman. She just wants to see you. To talk to you.”

“Fabius, how many times-”

“Justina.” Fabius interjected quickly, cutting off Marsallas’s words, “She says her name is Justina and she has come from Herculaneum.”

The knife Marsallas had been using to slice some meat was stabbed into the wooden table with such force that the handle wobbled violently. It was the only movement in the room as Marsallas froze. His eyes narrowed in anger as his brain assimilated the implication of Fabius’s words. For several long moments an ominous silence fell until Marsallas stood, the scraping of his chair sounding as loud as a thunderbolt.

“Where is she?” he hissed, the words forced past tight lips, his face pinched with anger.

“Outside.”

Marsallas said nothing. His mind raced frantically as he stared at the wooden door, as if he could actually see through it. For several long seconds he did nothing as he weighed up the situation. Then he turned slightly and pulled out the knife embedded in the wood, before he carried on slicing another piece of meat. Deliberately he kept his posture relaxed giving nothing away of the inner turmoil he was experiencing. “Tell her to come in. I’ll see her.”

***

Justina laid a hand on Diogenes arm. “I think it would be best if I go in alone. He…he might be annoyed to see you.”

Diogenes stopped short, and frowned down at Justina. For a few moments Justina thought the slave was going to refuse. She knew that Diogenes had once been charged with watching Marsallas’s every move, and then having to report everything back to Quintus, Marsallas's father.

Finally Diogenes nodded, and Justina felt her shoulders relax. Smiling slightly she said with quiet dignity, “I will be fine. If I am not out of the room in five minutes you can knock on the door and it will be a signal for me to leave.”

The slave said nothing, just stood aside as Justina tapped on the door, and without waiting for an answer she pushed it open and entered the dark room.

At first she thought there was no-one there, Fabius having played her false by sending her into an empty room. With only one wall sconce illuminating the room, most of the space was in darkness. But then she saw a slight movement, and as she let her eyes adjust to the dimness, she was able to make out the shadow of a man standing as still as marble to the rear of the room.

Then the shadow spoke. “Justina.”

The emotionless tone of the voice caused Justina to shiver, and almost immediately her heart started to beat rapidly. There was no mistaking who had said her name. His voice was indelibly printed on her mind. Uninvited she walked further into the room, his presence drawing her to him like an invisible bond. She stopped when she approached the edge of a small table, her eyes glancing down at the remains of a meal, then back up to where the shadow stood. Lifting her head towards the shadow she said, as calmly as she could, “Hello Marsallas.”

The shadow stepped forward, and Justina gasped, her hand flying to her throat as her eyes took in the man standing in front of her.

There was no doubting it was Marsallas.

But at the same time she couldn’t believe how much he’d changed; virtually unrecognisable to the young man she had once known – and loved. Gone was the carefree youth of six years ago. Now, in its place stood a virtual stranger, a stranger that looked across at her with total indifference on his face.

He looked even taller than she remembered if that were possible. Broad shoulders tapered down to bare arms, tanned a golden brown. Arms that were crossed over each other so they showed off his powerfully bunched muscles, and of their own free will her eyes tracked down his body. Over the impressive width of his chest that couldn't be disguised by the short green tunic he wore; down past the tautness of his flat stomach.

She felt a quiver of awareness slither down her spine, and like a starving woman she feasted on him. The hard sculpted face, the piercing blue eyes she remembered so well. She drank him in, absorbed him, and her fingers actually itched to caress the hard planes of his face, trace the shape of his eyebrows and the angled hardness of his jaw.

She felt his power. Not just his physical power, but the sheer presence of him. Although he had only said one word, his bearing said it all, and it made her stomach clench, the ache a physical pain. Even now, after all these years, he still had the power to affect her, and without warning a sudden surge of longing, long suppressed, assailed her.

She saw his eyes narrow, harden, and Justina felt a rush of panic hit her.

She was stupid to come here.

She should have gone back to Herculaneum and lied to Quintus. Said she’d tried to gain an audience with Marsallas but he had refused to see her. But she hadn’t, and instead she was standing no more than ten feet from him.

Totally at his mercy.

She wanted to flee, but she held her ground. Instead she straightened her spine, and prepared herself for the ordeal that was to come.

And it would be an ordeal.

She forced a polite smile, desperate to keep to the plan she had mentally prepared whilst standing outside his room, waiting for Fabius to introduce her. Just go in. She had said, over and over again, like a mantra. Be cordial, say what you have to say, and then get out of there as quickly as you can.

“Thank you for letting me see you. What I have to say won’t take long. I have a message from your father. Quintus-”

She heard his breath hiss, before he cut off her well rehearsed speech with a violent slash of his hand. “Stop!”

She froze. Helpless. Unable to think or do anything, she watched as he lowered his hand, her eyes taking in his long narrow fingers, fingers that Justina remembered so well…

“I do not want to hear about him – ever.”

His words were harsh, and Justina felt a surge of pity for him. She knew how much he hated his father, and secretly she couldn’t blame him. His father had never shown his only son any love-

“You have come a long way Justina, considering I said I never wanted to see you again.”

The words hung between them. Wisely she said nothing. She could see he was holding onto his anger by a thin thread.

“But since you are here, do you want some refreshment?”

The sudden change of tone in his voice unnerved her. Gone was the anger, now there was a mocking edge to it. Justina had to press her lips together to prevent her saying anything. Deliberately she lowered her eyes, in case they showed any hint of defiance. She didn’t want to antagonise him, couldn’t afford to bait him in any way, she knew that.

That would be foolish; and she wasn’t a fool.

She quickly tried to recover her composure, and looked up at him with what she hoped was a neutral expression on her face. “No thank you. I had some refreshment at the inn.”

“Do you mind if I do?”

Justina bit down on her lip in vexation. “Yes,” she wanted to shout, “I do mind.” But she held back her words, trying to hold onto her composure. She knew he was playing some sort of twisted game. Teasing her like a cat teased a mouse.

Shaking her head slightly, she smiled politely, “No of course not.”

But when he moved closer to her, to lean across the table to pour some wine into a goblet, she lost all ability to think clearly. The warm scent of his skin, a mixture of sandalwood and musk, floated over her, enveloping her like a cloak. She closed her eyes briefly. Inhaled him and remembered everything about him, as if the past six years had only been yesterday.

It was only when she opened her eyes and saw him watching her with eyes so fathomless, that she realised he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

Justina blushed in mortification. How could he have affected her so quickly? She should be immune to him after all these years. She told herself to turn and leave, get out of there as fast as possible, but her body was incapable of moving.

Eventually Marsallas broke the tension, raising his goblet in an unspoken mocking salute, before he drowned the contents in one swallow, never once taking his eyes off her.

Justina watched him intently. If she needed proof that coming here was a mistake, then his mocking salute was the final bit of evidence she needed. He wasn’t interested in anything she had to say. She could see that in every hard line of his body, by the coldness radiating out of his eyes.

Whatever emotions he had once felt for her had long gone. Wiped out by six years of bitterness.

She had to leave. Right now! And without a second thought about the actual reason why she was here, she turned and bolted for the door -and hopefully - her escape.

She thought she had succeeded. Her hand was on the rounded wooden door knob, and the door had even opened slightly. But then she saw two hands slam above her head banging the door shut, trapping her between his two outstretched arms.

How had he moved so fast? she thought, panic coursing through her as she tried ineffectually to wrench open the door.

“Don’t go.” The words were whispered in her ear, so intense, so passionate that she felt her own heart break right open.

Swallowing past the lump of emotion in her throat, she whispered, “I have to Marsallas. I shouldn’t have come. It was a mistake. I…I’m sorry.”

Still desperate to escape, and in what she knew to be a futile effort, she tried to pull open the door. But the door didn’t move, and with mounting panic she lifted her hands, her nails digging into the hard muscles and tendons of Marsallas's forearms trying to pull them away.

But the door stayed shut, her strength no match for his, as he leaned his weight against the wood barring her escape. Eventually she stopped, giving up, her hands dropping to her sides, her chest rising and falling with exertion as if she had run for miles.

For several long moments she stood there, her mind racing as to what to do next. She needed to be strong, not let him see how much his presence had affected her, how much she still desired him. To show him would be foolish – suicidal – even. Then suddenly a different feeling took over her, and she realised that she was actually frightened of him.

She didn’t know why he frightened her. Maybe it was because he had changed so much in the intervening years since she had last seen him. Not just physically, but mentally too. The youth she had known had only ever shown her kindness. But now, today, she wasn’t so sure. He looked so hard, indomitable, the coldness of his blue eyes revealing so much more about him than what he’d actually said.

The man that stood behind her was the product of his father’s hatred. Quintus had made him the man he was today. But she knew, deep down, that Marsallas wouldn’t hurt her. He might hate her, but he wouldn't harm her. Marsallas wasn't like his father she was sure of that.

Then thinking of Quintus, and all she had suffered at his hands these past years, she mentally squared her shoulders and turned slightly, as if to convey to Marsallas that she wasn't afraid of him.

But her rational thoughts disappeared instantly, when by turning, she brought herself even closer to him if that were possible. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt Marsallas’s breath on her neck, moist and hot as he leaned in even closer, a soft sigh escaping him.

“Yes!” he whispered softly, as his mouth made contact with the warm skin of her neck. With deliberately slow movements he took hold of her hand and turned her fully so that she now faced him. He was so close, the heady scent of his skin so intoxicating, that she couldn't stop the shiver of arousal that coursed through her. Her eyes closed involuntarily, as feelings long suppressed came back to haunt her.

No more than two minutes had passed since she had entered his quarters, and already her body was reacting to him like it had always done. It was as if her emotions, which she had ruthlessly suppressed all these years, suddenly erupted like some dormant volcano, and her desire for him - her longing for him - burst forth like molten lava, threatening to overwhelm her.

She heard him laugh softly under his breath, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling, what she was going through. He moved even closer until his hips made contact with hers, and Justina groaned silently when she felt the hardness of his arousal nudging her lower belly.

“I want you Justina.”

Justina’s eyes popped open. Had she heard him correctly? Shaking her head in denial she whispered, “No I…” But her words trailed off, when his head bent, his tongue stroking the sensitive area of her neck just under her earlobe.

“You say “no”, but your body screams “yes” Justina. You can deny it all you want but you want me as much as I want you.” The words were soft, a rumbling from deep within his chest as his teeth nipped the soft lobe of her ear, the sensations so intense that she couldn’t stop herself from arching her neck.

Eventually, reality returned, and instinctively she tried to pull away. “Marsallas no! Stop please. Please-”

But he ignored her plea as his mouth closed over hers, his lips bruising as he kissed her with deliberate passion. Justina tried to turn her head away. To escape his mouth. But his fingers burrowed under her long hair, trapping her, forcing her to stay where she was, his hand curving around the back of her neck pulling her towards him.

The kiss intensified, as if he were stamping his presence on her, punishing her for all the years of torment she had put him through.

She moaned softly, hating the rough assault of his mouth on hers, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his forearms, as she tried to pull away.

But her resistance was futile, her strength no match against his, as Marsallas pressed his hips into the softness of her stomach, the gesture blatantly sexual. Again Justina moaned, remembering how it had once been between them. How he had once kissed her so softly, so gently that she had wanted the kiss to go on forever-

Then as quickly as it began, the kiss ended.

Marsallas pulled away from her and Justina's head dropped away. Not daring to look up at him she heard his ragged breathing as he stood there. Then she felt her chin being lifted, her eyes meeting his. Expecting to see hatred reflected there, she was taken aback when she saw the look of torment and pain reflected in the darkness of his eyes.

Justina felt her resistance crumble. Had he hated kissing her like that? Did he remember what it had been like between them?

The questions flew through her mind. She wanted to ask him, but she was incapable of speech. Instead she lifted her hand and laid it along his strong jaw bone. Conveying to him without words what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

The unspoken words were enough, and she closed her eyes as Marsallas’s mouth fused with hers once more.

“Justina,” he breathed into her mouth, and this time he kissed her in a way that sent a sudden fierce sensation of heat along her veins. This time his lips weren't trying to punish – they were gentle, soft, mobile – seducing her, awakening memories of long ago when they shared such sweet kisses together.

His hands drifted down, over the slimness of her shoulders until they rested on the sides of her ribcage. Slowly they moved until Justina jerked with shock as his hands cupped the fullness of her breasts. She could feel the sensitive flesh swelling, her nipples pebbling with desire as he rubbed them through the thinness of her silk gown. Long suppressed sensations flushed into life as she gloried in the feel of his hands on her body.

“Marsallas,” she groaned against his lips, unable, and unwilling for him to stop.

“You want me don't you?” he whispered.

“Yes. Oh yes-”

Then reality hit her as she realised what she was saying, what she was doing, and this time it was she who pulled away. Staring up at him in shock, time was suspended as Marsallas's hooded eyes gazed down into hers, his face giving nothing away.

Justina felt shaken to the core by what had just happened, both of them caught up in the past and the present. Then, mercifully, the tension was broken by a loud rap on the door. Justina jumped in fright, the noise as loud as a clap of thunder in the stillness of the room.

Diogenes! Of course! She realised belatedly. Her allotted time with Marsallas was up. The interruption broke the tension between them, and silently she mourned the loss of his body next to hers when he stepped away from her.

“I…I have to go.” She whispered, “Quintus-”

She realised her mistake as soon as she’d uttered Quintus’s name, when she saw Marsallas’s face darken, his eyes dark slits of anger as he stared down at her. Then he turned abruptly, and walked away from her, returning to the table to pour another goblet of wine.

“Yes. Go now while you can Justina. I'm sure my father has need of you.” The words were hissed past tight lips as he turned to her once again, his face closed.

Justina said nothing. She wanted to run over to him, beg his forgiveness, explain everything.

But she didn’t.

Instead she turned, and wrenched open the door, leaving the room with as much dignity as she could, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

It was only when she heard a loud smash come from Marsallas’s quarters that her step faltered. Marsallas must have thrown his wine goblet on the floor in anger or frustration – or both...

***

Marsallas tapped the table with his index finger in silent demand, looking up with bloodshot eyes to where Fabius sat opposite him.

Fabius raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Doing as Marsallas asked he refilled his goblet with wine once more.

“You have three races tomorrow, Marsallas. Is it wise to get so drunk?”

Marsallas pulled a wry smile, looking up at his friend, “Are you my mother now Fabius?” he asked, his words slurred. Not waiting for an answer he lifted the goblet and drowned the contents in one giant gulp.

“No not your mother,” laughed Fabius, “But maybe your conscience. You, my friend, are going to have a mighty sore head in the morning.” And this time, without being asked, Fabius filled the goblet once more.

But this time instead of drinking the wine, Marsallas merely stared down at the rich liquid, his mouth twisting, his mind racing. A long silence fell between the two men, both of them lost in their own thoughts until Marsallas broke it by muttering, “She is as slim and beautiful as I remember. It would have been something if she had gone to fat!”

Marsallas looked up at Fabius seeing the small smile on the young man's face. He grunted slightly, his own face breaking into a smile of sorts. “I’ve said that before haven’t I?”

“Aye. A few times this evening.”

Then as quickly as it came, Marsallas’s smile vanished. “I wanted to hate her Fabius. But instead I kissed her,” he said his voice thick with emotion. He saw Fabius’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his words. “See I have shocked you now ehh?”

Fabius nodded, before he leaned forward, “She told me she is staying at the inn near the Forum. She leaves tomorrow, after the Seventh Hour.”

Marsallas assimilated that bit of news without responding. Another silence fell between them, both of them oblivious to the raucous laughter behind them as they sat at their table in the drinking den.

“Was she your lover Marsallas? In…in Herculaneum? Is that why she came here to see you?” Fabius finally asked, several minutes later.

For several long seconds Marsallas said nothing, his eyes fixed on the goblet of red wine in front of him.

He desperately wanted to say “yes” to Fabius, tell him that Justina had once been his lover. But did one evening’s lovemaking – a few snatched hours at most - make her a “lover” in the true sense of the word?

Probably not.

Then he lifted his head, meeting Fabius’s curious gaze. “You couldn’t be further from the truth if you tried my friend,” he finally said. “Justina is my father’s mistress!”