It seemed a lifetime ago since she had seen the massing of men preparing for war and battle. Yet she could still remember the smell of it, the dust, the blood, the sounds of battle ringing in her memory as if was yesterday she watched so many die. The mass of men far off in the distance were not hard to miss as they waited to march out towards an unknown fate. Her son was among those men now, waves of emotions roiled through her chest creating a tightness she had not felt in many years. It was so much more different now; she was a mother now, not a just a wife. Now, after all that had happened, she knew the realities of what her son, the joy of her life, would face if he were to face Rome in open battle.
As the years had passed, the lines of age and worry had impressed themselves on Laeta's face. Her burnished red-gold hair had lost none of its luster or beauty; however, it was streaked with grey. Laeta always jokingly admonished her son that the gray in her hair was his doing during his mischievous youth. The wind blew along the high hilltop across the rolling hills of the place she had called home for more than twenty years. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, her feet tucked under the bench, her back straight, her eyes drifted shut as she remembered…the wind blew stronger, whisking her back in time.
Flashes of memories rushed upon her…his eyes; the feel of heated lips upon hers, his voice raised in command…..his face at peace as he entered the afterlife. Her soul called to him in the afterlife, praying he would hear her pray to protect her son; his son. A tear escaped its tenuous grasp and rolled softly down Laeta cheek. Many years it had been since she had allowed herself to remember him. There was always so much going on, so much to be done; she had little time to reflect. Her mind returned to the day that changed her life...only this time it was a blessing.
The days after Spartacus' death were filled with peril. While Crassus had fallen off the survivor's group's trail, Pompey seemed less inclined to do so. The journey out away from the grasp of Rome was slow and arduous for many among their small group. Agron and Nasir admirably kept the group out of harm's way. For Agron, it was the only thing remaining he could do to honor the memory of Spartacus. As the weeks passed, Laeta counted the days and weeks since she had last had her menses. It had been almost six weeks, just before the snowstorm. Laeta came to the realization she may be pregnant with Spartacus' child. It was more than she would have dreamed of. For years, she and her husband had hoped for a child, and now it seemed the gods were either truly merciful, or truly cruel, to allow Spartacus' seed to take hold within her, yet take the father from her grasp. She rejoiced in the knowledge of a child, but feared what would happen if Rome were to uncover this truth. Pompey was still a threat; she would not let her child be in danger.
Laeta thought back to when it could have happened. Her mind scanned the times she and Spartacus had sought each other's arms. The first time was passionate and explosive, as if two people deprived of water for too long, taking huge gulps of that what they so desperately needed. Spartacus' passion was overwhelming. Laeta had never known another man other than her husband. Her husband had been a dutiful and responsible husband, but not the passionate force that was Spartacus. Laeta had assumed the encounter would be just the one time, given his declaration of her still being a Roman in his eyes. She had accepted his comment, for in his eyes despite all Laeta had endured, she was a Roman. Laeta had pressed forward, seeking to assist where she could amongst the rebel army. She found herself taking on the challenge of the orphan slave children who had up until her arrival, run wild amongst the rebel army. Her efforts did not go unnoticed by Spartacus or Agron for that matter. Agron opening engaged Laeta in conversation when time allowed, and she spoke on occasion to Spartacus regarding the children's needs. It helped her to know that she was not being cast sidelong glances of suspicion any longer. On a particularly bright night, when the moon was at its zenith, Laeta had been unable to gain a deep sleep. On nights such as those, she was want to remove herself from the hustle of the rebel camp to seek a moment of quiet solace. Laeta had once again given up her tent to a few of the parentless children who she had taken charge of. He cloak wrapped about her, she climbed the gently sloping hill adjacent to the camp. Nighttime guards greeted her silently as she passed. She found a quiet spot where she could see the entire camp and look across the countryside beyond. She sat silently up against a large tree, wrapping the cloak around her tightly. She did not notice the man who stealthy followed her up the path toward overlooking ledge.
He watched as she paused and sat facing the ledge her back up against the large tree, almost shielding her for sight. He paused as he watched her adjust the cloak to make herself more comfortable. A tick in his cheek twitched as he realized Laeta was planning to stay there for a while, if not all night. Foolish, stubborn woman, Spartacus thought as he continued silently towards Laeta. When Spartacus was parallel with Laeta, he spoke as he looked out over the countryside and the camp.
"Why do you stray so far from the safety of camp?" Spartacus asked, annoyed. Argon had told him of Laeta repeatedly sleeping without benefit of cover over the past week, and finally he had decided to investigate the matter. He came upon Laeta's tent, only to find several children fast asleep within. That is when he saw her ascending the path towards the ledge.
Laeta was startled from her imaginings by Spartacus' low voice. She glanced up at his profile as he continued to stare out over the countryside. Memories of their passionate night together came flooding back. "I sometimes find difficulty in sleep's embrace." She paused as Spartacus turned to face her directly, staring down at her, the shadows created by the moon's light shielding a clear view of his face.
"So you journey to a place where danger has better opportunity to succeed in your death." Spartacus roughly spoke, his annoyance growing, as he knelt to look Laeta squarely. "War is all around us, Laeta. It is not a place for such ill-conceived notions, like wandering about outside the safety of the camp."
"I know we are at war. Do you think I have forgotten?" Laeta snapped back at Spartacus more forcefully than she had planned. She paused staring defiantly into his eyes. Her stance softened as she looked upon his face, seeing his concern was only for her welfare. "I only seek the solace of the moon's light to help me see to the night's embrace."
Spartacus seemingly satisfied with her answer, or just not wanting to argue, turned from Laeta, looking at the full moon. "It is peaceful up here." He noted as he looked over the countryside. Laeta stood quietly and wrapped in her cloak, walked to stand next to Spartacus. She did not say anything as she stood. Spartacus glanced at her from the side, watching her face in profile. The moon highlighted her beauty. He remembered the passionate moment they shared, the comfort and desire he felt during and afterwards. He respected Laeta for many reasons, but one of them was her beauty. It was undeniable. She was a delicate flower among trampling beasts. He wished to protect her from those beasts as best he could.
"Come. If you wish to sleep under the stars, you will need proper blanket in order to shield you from cold." Spartacus turned on his heal and walked swiftly down the path, back towards the camp. Laeta had to rush to catch him to keep up. His strides taking three of hers. As they walked through the camp, Spartacus paused at Laeta's tent, pointing towards it. "I see you once again relinquish your tent to the benefit of others."
"Others who need it more than I." Laeta pointed out, almost running into Spartacus' back due to his sudden stop. Spartacus turned to face Laeta again, peering down at her.
"I thought you fearful of sleeping in the open air?" Spartacus queried, somewhat curiously. Laeta's chin came up slightly in challenge. "One can endure much for the sake of those worthy of need." Spartacus half-smiled in acknowledgement of Laeta's comment. He turned and continue to walk, Laeta fast behind him.
Spartacus marched swiftly toward his large tent, entering it without pause. Laeta hesitated to enter for she had never been there at night. To be sure, she had been in his tent many times to discuss several matters, but she had never been there alone, there always seemed to be someone else around…Argon, Gannicus. Laeta paused at the doorway, still holding her cloak to her. Spartacus was on the far side of the tent, near the place where, clearly, he slept. He pulled a thick blanket from the bed, rolling it loosely, and he walked towards Laeta. It was when their eyes met, when it happened.
Spartacus paused as he folded the thick blanket over his arm, slightly stroking the soft fabric. It had been taken from a Roman villa they had invaded long ago. Mira had love it when she saw it, so when they left he took it. Unfortunately, there had never been chance given for Mira and him to enjoy it before her death, put for some reason he kept it. Spartacus looked into Laeta's eyes as she watched him bring such an obviously personal item to for her use. Laeta moved forward to meet him part of the way, Spartacus paused before her.
"Such an item of value, I cannot take from you." Laeta spoke softly, as she touched the blanket Spartacus held.
"It is of no value unless utilized by one who comprehends it value." Spartacus spoke almost in a whisper, as he looked down at the blanket as Laeta touched it. The words seem to hang in the air between them. Spartacus looked down at Laeta, her beautiful face burnished by the glow of the oil lamp. Her soft lips beckoned him, however he was unsure; he had declared to her he could not hold her to his heart since she was still a Roman; she had shared in kind her feelings that she was not after his heart. Laeta's hand paused very near Spartacus', seemingly hovering in place, unsure as well.
Spartacus gently took Laeta's hand into his own, and quietly stepped backwards, towards the bed the back of the tent. Laeta followed as Spartacus pulled her gently. The thick blanket tossed to the floor by Spartacus, Laeta watched as it landed with a thud next to the bed. Laeta looked back to Spartacus, curious and anxious at what would happen next. Laeta quietly rejoiced at the possibility of another interlude with the Bringer of Rain, a man like no other she had ever met.
Spartacus said nothing; he sat upon the bed, Laeta's hand in his. He reached up and untied the cloak he wore. It feel to the floor silently. He raised Laeta's hand to his lips, kissing it softly. Laeta's breath caught at the gentle action of his kiss, she turned palm against his cheek, stoking the rough beard ever present. Laeta leaned down and touched her soft, sensual lips to Spartacus. His responding kiss seemed to devour her as he pulled her between his legs, and held her body. His hands ran over her dress, up her legs to her buttocks, massaging. Laeta, no stranger to his armor, made quick work of unhooking and unbelting each piece, as Spartacus began running his hands under her dress now. The feeling of his hands on her bare skin was incredibly beautiful and gentle, not unlike their first time together, however this time it was going much slower. Spartacus seemed to be everywhere at once on Laeta's body, his hands continued to stoke underneath Laeta's dress. Laeta, awash with amazing emotions, could no longer stand, her knees buckled under Spartacus' administrations. Straddling his hips as Spartacus sat upon his bed; Laeta kissed him passionately, their tongues mating in an ancient rhythm only they could hear. Laeta's hands began to stroke Spartacus' back and head as he pulled the shoulder of Laeta's dress down, exposing a soft, warm breast, its nipple tight and aching to be touched. Spartacus ran his thumb over the nub, causing Laeta to moan in ecstasy. His lips quickly followed as he sucked and nipped at the bud, causing Laeta to lean back so he could gain access to the other breast.
Agron moved towards Spartacus' tent; he knew the man was up still, the oil lamps still burned. Agron had just come from night watch, and had noticed Laeta missing from her tent. Spartacus had asked Agron to watch over Laeta, for the Roman woman was innocent in the ways of many among the rebel camp, and some may seek to do her harm when his back was turned. Agron moved swiftly, almost entering the tent, but paused as he saw Spartacus and Laeta in each other's arms, in the throes of heavy passion. Agron smiled knowingly; as he turned away towards the tent he shared with his lover, Nasir.
Spartacus never saw Argon's approach, however as he began kissing up Laeta's neck, her dress now at her waist, he did see Argon retreating. It concerned Spartacus that Agron now knew of Laeta and him, causing him to pause as his hands treaded themselves into Laeta's red-gold hair. Laeta, sensing the change in Spartacus, paused as well, thinking Spartacus was having second thoughts about another encounter with her. She had no wish to be any trouble to the man. Spartacus' leaned his head gently against Laeta's collarbone, his breath hot against her skin, his hands continuing to stoke and tread through Laeta's hair. Laeta was unsure what to do; her hands paused in stoking Spartacus's back and came to rest lightly on his shoulders.
"Do not stop." Spartacus spoke, barely above a whisper, against Laeta's neck. Laeta stroked her hands from Spartacus' shoulders to his neck, massaging the muscles there and allowing his cheek to rest against her chest for a few moments.
"What would you have of me?" Laeta whispered back into Spartacus' ear still sensing his hesitation. Spartacus looked up to Laeta's eyes, stoking the lovely hair from her face, realizing he must answer her honestly.
"I would have you in my arms….to find comfort…for whatever time the gods will allow us…" Spartacus declared as he kissed Laeta's lips tenderly as he stood with Laeta's legs wrapped around his waist. The remainder of their clothing tossed to the wind as Spartacus slowly lowered himself and Laeta to his bed. That night their encounter was not the passionate, rushed kind of their first encounter, but slow, deliberate lovemaking, which granted them the time to savor each other. In the afterglow, much later in the evening, Laeta lay within Spartacus' arms, the blanket he had meant to give to her draped across them both. Laeta's eyes drifted slowly closed as Spartacus held her, drawing patterns upon her back as he looked to the ceiling, thinking. Laeta had no wish to invade his musings as they lay there. She was content to say nothing, but it was Spartacus who spoke first.
"You may stay here in my tent if you wish, as we press forward toward the mountains." It was an invitation, not a command. Laeta's head lifted and her chin lean upon her hand as she gazed at the Bringer of Rain.
"And what if I do not wish to?" Laeta spoke stubbornly, eyes sparkling. Spartacus, seeing the sparkle of challenge in Laeta's eyes, half smiled and chuckled softly at her stubbornness. Laeta, seeing her challenge had not shaken the Bringer of Rain, laughed softly as well as they both realized this had changed everything for both of them.
Yes, Laeta thought as she remembered all the times they had shared, not every night, but that had to be when it happened, when she became pregnant. And even if it was not the night, every time they were together afterward was as beautiful as the last.