Slaves to Love - One Read online

  “I was about to leave,” he said, his tone sour. He leaned closer and gave me an accusatory stare. “You’ve been drinking at this hour?”

  “I went to see Cassius on the way here,” I explained, with a slightly defensive tone. “He insisted I try some of the honeyed wine his new slave had prepared. He seems quite taken with her.”

  Petronius snorted, dismissing any more talk of Cassius. He did not care for the older man, finding him too opinionated, and at odds with his own philosophy.

  “Let’s strip, and see if the wine has improved your wrestling any.”

  I loved Petronius, but he did have a deprecating way about him that I found insulting at times. He was a good wrestler, and slightly heavier than me, a fact he used to his advantage when pinning me. Now, as he faced me and I could readily admire his smooth olive-hued torso, he grinned, knowing the effect the sight of his naked body had on me. I, for my part, was glad of the strip of linen that covered my genitals, hiding from him, for the moment anyway, my soon to be obvious arousal.

  We locked up, each of us straining for the upper hand, our legs and feet spread for optimum leverage. His arms wrapped around me in a bear hug, and he strained, trying to lift me off my feet. My one free hand I positioned under his chin, pushing hard, trying to break the hold he had on me, but he was dogged and stronger than me. With a clever move, he had me on my back, the wind thoroughly knocked out of me. Smiling, he dropped on top of me, sitting astride my chest, pinning my arms behind my head.

  “You’re getting soft.”

  In times past, after either he or I had conceded defeat, we would find a quiet place and engage in, what I liked to term, love-making—but what for him was, sometimes, no more than a physical release. His hand groped my cock, pulling on it roughly.

  He grinned down at me. “Well, not there, at least…”

  “Stop,” I muttered, throwing him off and sitting upright.

  “What’s the matter?” He sounded genuinely perplexed. “Has the wine soured your mood?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Perhaps a good soak will revive your spirits.” He pulled me to my feet, and kept an arm about my shoulders as we walked to the large pool in the adjacent room. Any other time, I would have been glad of his nearness, but just then, I felt like shrugging off his arm and leaving the gymnasium. I did not give in to the impulse, however, but slipped into the water, glad of the relief that welled in me as I relaxed in the soothing warmth.

  “What’s wrong?” Petronius glowered at me from under his thick eyebrows. “You’re acting strangely.”

  “It’s nothing.” I sighed and closed my eyes to avoid his gaze. Of course, it was my hankering for Callistus, but I couldn’t tell Petronius that. He would no more understand than Turio did. He might give in to the pleasures of the flesh with me, but to feel more than just a friendly affection for another man, was not notionI thought he would ever entertain. Yet, there had been occasions when, after sex, we would lie in each other’s arms, and he would speak tenderly to me, showing a gentler side in contrast to his usual brash and outspoken manner.

  “You can tell me,” he murmured, slipping behind me to massage my shoulders. “Mmm… Your skin is so smooth.”

  I leaned back against him, surrendering myself to the pleasure of his firm, but gentle touch. I could feel his hard cock push against the round swell of my buttocks, and I was oh so tempted to give in to his silent entreaty. We were alone in the pool, and it would have been very easy for us to have sex, right there and then. But a vision of the big Gaul flooded my mind. With startling clarity, I could see his ripe-corn hair framing his noble face, his eyes like blue ice staring back at me. Suddenly, I felt the need to leave, to be alone with my thoughts and desires.

  Irked by my continued silence, Petronius pushed me away, and heaved himself out of the pool.

  “Fine.” He glared at me. “Be a ninny then. I have better things to do than be with someone who acts like a lovesick girl.”

  I looked up at him, startled. “What d’you mean?”

  “It’s really quite obvious, Lucius.” He paused, a sneer curling his lips. “You’ve met someone, haven’t you? Someone, who won’t give you the time of day. You used to act this way around Marcus.”

  “That’s not true,” I protested.

  “Of course, it’s true. You loved him—don’t deny it. Only he wouldn’t give you even as much as I would. He laughed about it, if you must know.”

  “Stop it, Petronius!” I couldn’t believe he would hurt me like this. “Let me at least keep my fond memories of him. I know he didn’t love me, but he was always sweet and kind.”

  His face clouded, the sneer slipped from him as he gazed at my hurt and angry expression. Then without another word, he turned and strode away, leaving me alone with the words, He laughed about it, ringing in my head.

  All day, my depression increased. Going home was not an option I wanted to entertain. The atmosphere there would only add to my already miserable disposition. Even the thought of seeing the Gaul in action did not lift my spirits. What in Hades did I think I could achieve by my lingering thoughts of him?

  That parting barb from Petronius had upset me more than I cared to admit. Yes, I had loved Marcus, his brother, but I had never, not once, acted on any impulse that would have offended him. I cringed as I thought of him and Petronius laughing over my infatuation for him. I had thought better of Petronius. I imagined that our friendship was based on real affection, but his snide words had shown me his colder side. I could only hope that he now regretted what he had said, and when next we met, he would offer to make amends.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Father’s condition had worsened during the time I had been gone, and my mother had sent for the doctor in the hope he could prescribe a potion to ease his pain. I stood by his bed for a while, looking down at his waxen complexion, wishing that I could muster at least a little compassion for his condition.

  He was still a comparatively young man, but some malignant growth inside him was slowly but surely draining his life from him with each passing day. As I gazed at him, his eyes fluttered open, and he sighed out a long shuddering breath.

  “Lucius,” he murmured.

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Is your mother near?”

  “She’s gone for the doctor.”

  “That fool can do nothing,” he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes sought mine. “I’m dying, Lucius.”

  “I know.”

  “Yet you feel nothing.”

  I knelt by his side and took his hand in mine. It was cold and clammy, but I repressed the shudder of repugnance the touch of him brought me. Strange, I had thought time and many, that this man, though comely in his own way, had never imbued in me feelings of affection for him. All my life, there had been some unseen barrier between us, and even now, knowing that his life was almost over, I could not bring myself to tell him I loved him. Still, I felt I should say something.

  “I feel sadness, of course, Father,” I whispered, not quite hating the lie.

  As I sat with him, his breathing became labored and unsteady. “I charge you with the well-being of your mother and sisters…” He gasped, as if the words were too difficult for him to utter, and it was then that I realized he was slipping away, even as he spoke. His eyes closed, and his breathing stopped. I pried his fingers from mine and stood up. I could hear my mother return with the doctor.

  “He’s dead, I’m afraid,” I said as they both approached. My mother fell on her knees by the bed, keening her grief. I watched as the doctor assured himself that his patient was, for certain, dead, then I escorted him from the house. As best I could, I consoled my mother and sisters while they grieved, and truly, a part of me wished I could share in their obvious distress.

  Before nightfall, I visited the undertaker to procure his services for burial. Now, as head of the family, all responsibilities rested with me, and it was to me that my mother would look for comfort and guidance.
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  The following day, I visited Turio and Dido to tell them of my father’s passing, and of our impending visit to the ludo to watch the gladiators train. Neither of them showed much surprise that I intended to go through with the visit so soon after my father’s death. They were both aware of the tense relationship that had existed between us, and if they thought me callous, they did not say so in words. I did not tell my mother where I was going that afternoon, only to visit with some friends, I said.

  × × × × ×

  Lentullus greeted us personally. He and Cassius were old friends, and our standing in society gave us the status of those who might possibly line his pockets. Not all the slaves were up to the high standards needed for the arena, and those who failed to make the grade he quickly sold. Somehow, I doubted that Callistus would be one to fail.

  We were shown to a specially raised dais overlooking a small arena where the men trained, but would this afternoon, display their growing skills as fighters. Lentullus supplied us with a platter of figs and grapes, along with some very good local wine. I could feel my heart beating in anticipation of what was to come, almost leaping from my couch when a tall, fair-haired man strode into the center of the arena, and looked up at us. I sank down again, disappointed on realizing it was not my Gaul, but an imposing specimen, nevertheless.

  “The traitor, Spartacus,” Cassius whispered in my ear.

  A moment later, an equally tall individual, but with a bushy black beard and the hairiest chest I had ever seen on any man, joined him on the arena floor. They wore no armor, armed only with short swords and shields. At a signal from Lentullus, they faced off against one another. No one was to die in this display. That would prove too costly, but cuts and bruises were inevitable, and the two men suffered from both as they hammered and struck at each other with considerable verve. It was easy to see that Spartacus was the better swordsman, and considerably more aggressive than his opponent. In a matter of minutes, he had disarmed the other man, and claimed victory.

  We had to sit through three more of these displays, and while Dido and Turio seemed enthralled by the action, I was practically biting my fingers with impatience, waiting for my man to appear. What if he was not being shown off today? Was I going to have enough nerve to ask Lentullus if I might see him?

  Then suddenly he was there, striding into the arena with all the assurance and defiance I remembered from seeing him in his cage. Now free of his shackles, for at least a little while, he looked magnificent. Behind me, I heard Dido gasp, and I smiled as if she had just congratulated me on my impeccable taste.

  He was naked but for a short loincloth of bleached linen, his blond hair tied back behind his neck. The breadth of his shoulders, the expanse of his chest emphasized his slim waist and hips. His legs were long and clean, rippling with muscle, tense as coiled springs. As he waited for his sparring partner, he glanced up at us with curious interest. Our eyes met, and I could swear he started with surprise. He recognized me. That thought made my heart leap, and I leaned forward in my seat, ready to enjoy watching him in his warrior mode. His fellow combatant, a large rough-looking fellow, banged his shield against the Gaul’s to attract his attention.

  It was obvious to me from the start that Callistus knew how to fight. There had long been many complaints from the arena audiences that too many gladiators were lethargic in their approach to the bouts. They were well drilled, technically competent, but lacked fire and drive. No such complaint could ever be leveled against Callistus.

  ‘Captured in battle’ the sign on his cage had read, and it amazed me that he had been taken. He was fast, clever on his feet, limber in limb, and with a power and prowess that had his opponent hard put to keep up with him. For sheer speed, the Gaul could not be equaled. He weaved, he parried, he almost danced on the balls of his feet, completely frustrating the other man who, at one point, roared with rage, and rushed in, hoping to knock Callistus off his feet. But again, he was outsmarted. A clever move, and the larger man was disarmed, flat on his back, and at the mercy of my hero.

  Before I could stop myself, I jumped to my feet, clapping my hands together loudly with delight. He looked up at me, his face split by a broad smile. I think my heart stopped for a full minute.

  “For Jupiter’s sake, sit down, Lucius,” Turio yelled at me, yanking hard on my shoulder, while Dido giggled behind her hand. Flustered, and with my face burning, I sat down hard on my couch, reaching for the goblet of wine, swallowing practically all its contents in one gulp. Lentullus chuckled and cast a knowing look at Cassius who pretended he’d seen nothing amiss.

  “You have excellent taste in gladiators,” the ludo owner said, his voice full of mirth. Then more seriously he added, “That one is going to go far, without a doubt. He and Spartacus are my two best finds this year.”

  “Spartacus?” Dido raised an eyebrow.

  “The tall fair-haired one who fought first,” Lentullus explained. “He has been tested in the arena, already winning favor with the populace. Callistus, the one our friend here found so admirable, fights publicly the day after tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” Cassius asked.

  “He’s ready. The man was a fighter in the Gallic army. It took ten men to hold him.”

  Ten men. In my mind’s eye, I saw him again beating back the soldiers who surrounded him, able only with their vast numbers to finally subjugate him. But they have not broken his spirit, I thought. Today, he proved to all of us that he is still the warrior.

  Lentullus stood, indicating that our time there was at an end, but oh how I wanted to follow Callistus into his quarters, and if only for a brief time, be able to tell him how much I admired his daring and fierceness of spirit. Of course, that was impossible. Such a request would be viewed as unseemly.

  I was already planning to attend his debut in the arena. Nothing, not even my father’s funeral, would keep me away from that.

  × × × × ×

  Turio, Cassius and Dido accompanied me home in order to pay their respects to my mother. She’d had the servants drape the house in mourning colors, and the all-pervading smell of death hung about us as we sat with her and my sisters, Julia and Lucia, in the garden room. She offered refreshments, but my friends said they could not stay. I was left alone with my family, and the only thing that stopped me from being crushed by depression, was my very private memory of the afternoon.

  He had looked at me, had known me, had smiled at me. By the gods, I would never forget that moment, even if it never happened again. There was little possibility that he would see me among the hundreds of spectators that thronged the arena on a regular basis. I would be lost, one of many. But I would see him—and that would have to be enough. Right then, I determined that I would see him every time I knew he was to fight. Each time I would give a fervent prayer to Jupiter to keep him safe, and make him stronger than any foe that might be sent against him.

  × × × × ×

  We buried my father’s ashes in the family mausoleum. The funeral was well attended, for my father was known for his wealth and influence in the city. It all felt unreal to me in a way, as if I were standing on the outside, looking in. Even though I knew the majority of people who attended, I still felt as if I did not belong there. I longed for the ritual to be over so that I could escape, and be on my own.

  My close friends tried to draw me into their inner circle, to comfort me despite the fact that they all knew my true feelings. Dido whispered an invitation to visit with her and Turio later, and I nodded my agreement, even though I had no intentions of going. I just wanted to be alone. Knowing that the many visitors would stay in attendance until almost sunset, I slipped away without anyone seeing my departure. I found a secluded place in a nearby orchard, where I lay at the base of a tall tree, content to stare up through the thick, fruit-laden branches at the darkening sky above me.

  Petronius found me. Lying beside me, he silently gave me his hand to hold, and his warm chest upon which I could rest
my head. Our earlier quarrel forgotten, I whispered my thanks for his friendship. I knew he thought my sadness was, in part, because of my father’s passing, and I was not about to tell him the true reason. As he gently stroked my hair, I kissed his neck and hugged his hard, lithe body to me. His hand strayed under my tunic, finding my engorged cock. “Ah, Lucius,” he murmured. “Always ready...”

  I let all thoughts of Callistus fade away as Petronius took me in his mouth, his tongue swirling around my hardened flesh. I reached between his legs, and he gave a little grunt of pleasure as my hand closed around his erection. I had not realized just how much I needed this intimacy, this closeness, and if our sexual union did not bring me ecstasy, his kisses and the familiar feel of his warm body brought me comfort when it was needed.

  Afterwards, we lay in each other’s arms until the night air grew chill.

  “Better go back,” Petronius said finally, his lips touching my ear. We rose, and smiling, straightened each other’s tunics, and brushed the leaves from our hair. We embraced again, then started back toward my home. I would always treasure his friendship—always.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CALLISTUS

  From his defensive stance, Spartacus appraised me with a steady eye. I could tell immediately he was a trained fighter, trained the Roman way, but with an instinct to spot the other man’s weakness quickly, and play on it. I had been trained in the same mode, though not by Romans, and his keen eye told him that in addition to my height and reach, I would be a cunning adversary.

  For my part, I had already come to admire Spartacus. Without a doubt, he was a born leader; displaying his strength of character and natural tendency to take charge with ease. His prowess in the arena had, in the short time he had been fighting, become so widely talked about that he was the man to come and watch. Away from the arena, he had a quiet, friendly manner that ingratiated him with almost all his fellow gladiators. The Romans might call him a traitor, but we who trained with him knew the truth.