The Perfect Match Chapter 4: Part 4, a gladiator fanfic

The next morning found Quintus and Antonia curled in each others arms once again. The last night they had agreed to lie down together without any embarassment on either part. They were both pratical people and they knew the hut did not offer much protection from the chilling wind.

Quintus woke up first but did not move so as to avoid disturbing Antonia. In the early morning light he could see part of her face and the back of her neck. 'She is so beautiful....´He thought as he watched her sleep. "…and so different from all the other women I have known. A true gem. I wonder if her husband knew how lucky he was....."Somehow he did not believe that her marriage had been a happy one- but of course he was not in the position to ask her. Just at that moment Antonia stretched in his arms, signaling her awakening.

"Good Morning," the legatus whispered.

"Good Morning to you." she replied in the same tone. They both knew it was time to get up, there was no way to predict when they captors would enter the hut and they needed to be prepared, but neither of them wanted to loose the feeling of comfort and connection they were experiencing.

In the end it was Quintus who was the first to get on his feet. He reached out a hand and helped Antonia to stand.

She tried to turn her neck but a sharp pain took her breath away, "Ooh."

"What is it?"

"I think I pulled a muscle in my shoulders....sleeping for two nights on the floor is not something I am used to doing." She smiled apologetically rubbing her neck.

Quintus smiled, "Me either."

"You? A soldier, hardened against all discomforts....?" She teased gently.

"I am sorry to say I am not so 'hardened'...I still prefer the comfort of my cot..."

"And your tub full of warm water...."

"And my barber and razor..." Quintus touched the new stubble on his cheek.

"Well, If you allow me to say so, you like quite good with a beard." Antonia had a joking tone as she slid a delicate finger along his jaw.

"And if you allow me to say so- I hate it!"

Their playful banter was interrupted by a the sound of voices.

"Quick!" ordered Quintus, "Put on the helmet!"

Antonia rushed to the corner where she had deposited her disguise and put the covering on her head just as the door opened and three tribemen appeared. They all had axes in their hands.

"You, out!" shouted one of them in harsh Latin.

Quintus gestured with his head and Antonia followed him out of the hut.

It was clear it had snowed again and now the white coating reached to the Roman officer's midcalf. Quintus scanned the area, hoping to find a way to escape but it was all in vain: ten more men were standing in the immediate surroundings.

"Hands!" shouted again one of the barbarians and then he proceded to tie their wrist together. "Now walk!"

The man pointed to the forest with his axe and the entire group of captors began to move in the snow.

Quintus and Antonia followed their lead, silently wondering where they were going to take them.

Several hours later, Hildegarde laughed as the little pile of sticks they were playing with tumbled to the ground.

"You win again." She said through gritted teeth. She had shown the game- one remembered from childhood- to her guest, and had been astonished at how quickly he had learned to play. Several small, slender twigs were held tightly together then dropped a short distance to the ground. They landed in a pile, and the object of the game was to remove as many sticks as possible without disturbing the others. Disturbing the pile was an automatic loss. Hildegarde didn't want to think of how many times she had lost today. She didn't know if her unsteady hands were the result of a lack of practice, or of the unsettling proximity of Match.

Match smiled and gathered the sticks once more into his broad palm. "Another game?" He asked, still smiling. He had accepted her suggestion that he had gained his skill in the task during childhood. Although it was not a memory, per se, it had pleased him to think that all of his past was, at least, not lost.

"No." She said, waving her hand. "No more for me. Your work is done. You have thoroughly humiliated me."

Match's face fell. "I'm sorry." He said planitively.

"No. No." She softened her lips into a wide smile. "I enjoyed it. I'm just..."

"Tired?"

"Stiff...and dirty." She shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't take my bath this morning."

Match nodded and bit his lip.

"I -"

"We -" they both began speaking at once, and Hildegarde lowered her eyes to indicate that he should continue.

"I could bring you some water." He said slowly. "You could...I could go outside."

"I don't want to throw you out in the snow."

Their eyes drifted toward the loom behind which he had taken to changing his clothes.

"Then I will pull the screen over."

She nodded.

Looking nervous, Match went to the fire to prepare the water while Hidegarde, struggling painfully to her feet, walked across the room to the corner where she would bathe.

Reaching her destination, she settled to the floor. The short journey had taxed her of all her strength. She had learned from her mother that she had bled a lot from her wounds, and that explained the exhaustion. She barely knew how she was going to be able to complete her washing.

"Here." Hildegarde looked up as Match returned with a bowl of steaming liquid. He sat it on the floor and then gave her a rag and soap. "I will be here if you need me." He informed her.

Hildegarde nodded. She waited for him to move away, and then began to strip away her clothes. Reaching to pull the tunic over her head seemed to aggravate the cuts on her back. She felt as though the skin were tearing anew, and had to clench her eyes tightly to fight back the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks. At last, the garment fell to the floor.

"Are you okay?" Match asked.

Hildegarde tensed at the sound of his voice. She was naked now, and the cool air against her skin had left her with an elevated awareness of his closeness...of the fact that only a thin covering of furs stood between them.

"I am fine." Hildegarde answered, biting back a grimace as she knelt and reached for the soapy water. She ran the rough cloth against her skin, trying to concentrate on the matter at hand, but the exertion prooved too great an effort. She did not have the strength to remain on her feet for so long, and when she bent forward again to dip the cloth once more in the basin, she collapsed to the floor.

"What is it?" match as alerted by the sound. "Are you allright?"

"I am fine."Hildegarde lied, placing her hands beneath her shoulders and trying to position herself upright. Slowly she struggled to her knees, but the jarring action of the fall had aggravated the pain in her back again, and hot tears jumped to her eyes.

"Do you need help?" Match asked again, after a moment passed and there was still no sound of her moving.

Hildegarde bit her lip. She was terribly embarrassed, but it was true that she could not get up without help. "Yes." She said in a small voice.

The German girl reached forward for the tunica that she had taken off earlier and held it across her breasts, stretching it against the soft swells of her figure in the hopes of retaining at least a marginal bit of modesty.

"I am coming around." Match said, his voice full of tension.

"Ok."

Match sucked in his breath. He had intended to avert his eyes when passing behind the barrier, merely helping Hildegarde return to her feet, but his eye had been attracted by the smooth white curve of her back, and he could not help but follow it downward.

She was beautiful.

Hidden beneath the heavy folds of her roughly woven tunica and, most often, a layer of ragged furs, he did not guess that, in addition to her face, she would have such a lovely figure. She seemed very tall and muscular- almost as an athelete, but at the same time, very graceful. Her long hair was damp from the beginning of her washing, and it hung in heavy locks across her battered back.

Match reached forward to touch the reddened skin. The movement of the fall had caused one of the wounds to open, and a trail of blood was moving sluggishly along her spine. "I will get a chair." He said quickly, dissappearing for just a moment behind the makeshift screen, and then returning. "Here." He slid his arm under her shoulder, moving her as carefully as possible so as not to further damage her skin, then he stooped for the basin. "I will wash you." He whispered, his voice very tentative as though he were asking for permission.

Hildegarde closed her eyes as he began. Match dipped the cloth in the basin, wrung it out, and then began the cleaning. He moved in gentle strokes, carefully wiping the blood from her back, and then moving to her shoulder and neck. She could feel his fingertips moving beneath the damp cloth, the light kneading whispering against her body like a caress...

It was almost the sundown when Quintus, Antonia and their captors arrived in a small German village. A bunch of shouting children came to meet them, cheering to their warriors and throwing piece of woods and small stones against the Roman prisoners. Antonia was hit on her face by a branch and her cheek began to bleed, but, still behaving in a stoic manner she refused to aknowledge the pain in front of their captors. Quintus felt his admiration for her increase again. However, once they were alone, closed as the evening before in a hut, she collapsed to the floor like a rag doll. Relieved that their hands had been freed before they had been pushed in the little house, Quintus rushed to the woman and gathered her in his arms. Antonia raised her eyes to his and he could see the toll the long trek had exacted. She was exahusted, lacking even the strenght to speak.

Quintus gently helped her to sit against the wall and then he waited for the Germans to bring their dinner....hoping they were going to do so. Luckily this was the case and Quintus rushed to grab the food. Once more it consisted in dried meat and bread and once more Quintus gave the largest portion to Antonia. But this time she did not refuse it....nor did she accepted it. She did nothing other than stare ahead. Quintus bit his lip. It was clear her nerves were beginning to break under the physical and emotional strain but he could not permit it: if their captors discovered she was a woman her fate would be horrible. However he could not bring himself to shout to her or to give her orders, her pale, bleeding face was breaking his heart. Finally, as he remembered the playful banter of the morning, he got an idea.

"Antonia?" he called softly. "Antonia?"

At the second hail she blinked her eyes and turned to him,"Yes?"

"Would you like a massage to your legs and back? It will help your muscles relax and better absorb the fatigue."

Antonia let the smallest of smile appear of her face and replied, "So you can't have your barber but I can have my personal masseuse?" Then the exahusted expression returned, "I would love it Quintus, thank you."

"No thanks needed, my lady." He used those words hoping to coax another smile and she did not disappoint him. Quintus helped Antonia to lie down on the ground and gently removed her leather cuirass, helmet, cape and boots. Then he sat down near her cross-legged, picked up one of her feet in his lap and began to massage it.

For the next thirty minutes, neither of them said a single word. As the night advanced, Quintus worked on Antonia tired muscles and was rewarded by feeling them relax under his fingers. There was no embarassment between then, even when he touched her back. Of course, Antonia was fully clothed with her tunic and uniform pants, but still it was extremely unusual for a woman to be touched so intimately by a man who was not her husband, a doctor or a trained slave.

At last, Antonia said, "It is enough, Quintus, thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, your hands have performed a miracle, I am feeling human again!" She sat up and before Quintus could react she embraced him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you."

"No need." he replied gruffy, and stood up. The contact had been very brief but his heart was racing. He had no doubt hers had been only a friendly gesture but his heart and his body had reacted to it in a very different way. "I can't let this feeling go too far." He thought. "After what happened years ago she surely does not want to have anything to do with you in that matter...She is only a very affecionate, tired, woman who was trying to thank you. Don't imagine things which aren't there."

Antonia saw his expression change and felt a pang on her chest. He had been upset by her kiss.....Why she had done it? It was clear Quintus cared for her a lot, but it was probably the kind of emotion born from sharing a danger, as brothers- in-arms. She could not let him to believe she was still prey to her childish crush for him....if he wanted a friend, he would get one.

Antonia stood up, feeling much better and walked to the place where they had left the food. She picked it up and offered Quintus his half and they sat down to eat.

"Urgh! It is hard!"exclaimed Antonia, trying to chew the dried meat.

"Wait a minute...give it to me." Quintus pulled out a dagger from his boot, beginning to cut the meat in tiny pieces before handing it back to Antonia.

"Do you have a dagger?" She asked stupified.

"Yes, my right boot has a sort of secret place." Quintus replied putting the blade away.

"Then why you don't use it to free us?"

"Because a dagger is almost useless against a sword or an axe. But don't worry: I am keeping my eyes open and I will use it if the right occasion arrives."

"All right, I trust your judgement." Antonia sighed with resignation before an impish glimmer returned to her eyes. "And beside that, you are the commanding officer here."

They shared a brief chuckle and then returned to their food.

Hildegarde sighed as the rag moved along her sore body. As Match's fingers massaged their way down her flesh, the pain in her back was replaced by something else: a tingling longing that seemed to suffuse her entire body in melting heat. She strained toward his touch, her nerves sighing against the damp rag. She was so bewitched by the sensation, that its sudden cessation- as Match returned the rag to the bowl, brought an involuntary sign of protest.

"Am I hurting you?" He asked, concerned.

Hildegarde could not hide the truth from her voice. "No...."

She met his eyes boldly, letting them speak the things that her lips were not able to utter. "You did not hurt me."

They stared at each other briefly, the soft, uncertain whispers of their breath the only sounds to mar the perfect silence.

A splash.

Hildegarde's eyes darted downward as she saw the rag drop into the basin of water, but her chin was quickly caught by Match's finger and drawn upward again. He forced her to look into his eyes, and then made an inarticulate sound of hunger before he claimed her lips with his own.

Hildegarde moaned appreciatively, parting her lips slightly against him, inviting him to explore her with his warm tongue, thrilling with delight as he made his first, tentative explorations. Her pain was all but forgotten- the sting of his hands on her raw back lost in the thrilling electricity they left in their wake.

Match was conscious of her wounds, but dangerously close to losing control. The helplessness that he had felt watching her face the bear had slowly muted into a longing to protect and possess her absolutely. He had played the tender nursemaid for many hours, now he was ready to claim his reward.

Hildegarde barely knew what to think of the sensations coursing through her body. She was fully a woman- many girls her age had been married for nearly a decade. She knew what was between a woman and a man, and she had even imagined it happening to her before, when she would lie awake on her skins and dream about the Roman general she watched from afar- but she had never felt the longing before. It tortured her now, a palpable ache that radiated from deep within her core, a craving stronger than any hunger begging for a release that she did not fully understand.

Hildegarde was already naked, and there was nothing to stop Match's wandering hands as they moved in ever bolder paths along her flesh. One arm balanced her tenderly against his chest, while the other slipped lower, squeezing her knee, then rubbing the side of her thighs, then slipping between then, drawing a long moan of satisfaction.

The young German leaned her head backwards, and her lover, while not abandoing the ministrations of his hands, claimed her neck with another kiss. He flicked his tongue along her jaw, ending at last at her ear, suckling the lobe between her teeth.

" Match......" Hildegarde's hands moved aimlessly, groping at his tunic, unsure of where to rest. She wanted to give him pleasure, to make his feel like THIS.....

Seeming to read her thoughts, Match gathered her small hand in his larger one and drew it downwards along his chest. She was filled with wonderment as her fingers caressed the well-defined ridges of his abdomen, and the made a little cry of awe as she reached her destination. Through therough wool of his breechs, she felt the prominence of his manhood yearning toward her, betraying a longing as deep as her own.

Match's hands continued to instruct her, cupping her fingers around the bulge of his shaft and drawing them downwards. He showed her how to move- in firm, circular strokes, and he began to move against her, whispering his own grunts of delight.

Between her legs the pressure and the focus of his caress grew more intimate. Hildegarde felt a growing heat and moistness as he found the small bundle of nerves that guarded her opening and massaged them gently between his forefinger and thumb. She arched violently forward, feeling as though she had been shocked, the tightening within her belly growing deeper.

"Mmmmmmmmm." Match moaned again, and then stilled her hand. "I want you." he whispered roughly, the urgency in his voice only stoking her passion. "Now..."

Hildegarde nodded her assent, and in an instant, she was in his arms, being carried toward the fire, then settled gently amidst the furs.

She watched in fascination as Match undressed before her. His movements were bold and unashamed. First he stripped the tunic from his chest, bearing his broad shoulders and powerful forearms, the firelight gleaming against his skin. Then, he removed his breeches and stood motionless above her, watching her reaction to the sight.

Hildegarde's body sang with excitement. She had never seen a man before, never fully imagined what it would be like, but the sight of his hardened flesh made her tremble in anticipation. She raised her hand to draw him to the floor, parting her knees in inviation, murmuring his name....

The offer was quickly accepted, and Match slid to the floor, straddling her between his powerful thighs. His hands began to massage her again, as his mouth moved to claim the rubied tip of her left breast.

Yet another sensation of delight coursed through her veins as he teased her rosy nipple between his teeth. He bit down playfully, growling in satisfaction as she arched her hips in response.

"Need...." he grunted again, and Hildegarde boldly placed her hand on his hips, crushing his body against her.

"Take me." she begged......

Match held himself motionless agianst her for a moment more. His features were drawn, as though he were testing his own restraint. "It will hurt at first." he warned, his wanderings having revealed her virginity.

The Germans girl only nodded, knowing already that there would be no pain.

He hesitated a moment more, leaning forward to give her a soft kiss. Then, like a stone being laid across her chest she felt a heavy pressure as he laid against her and, at last, an incredible fullness as he sheathed his body within her own.

Hildegarde had to blink back tears- not from pain, but from pure sensation. She hardly knew the difference between waking and dreams, the feelings that pervaded her body were so strange that they defied belief.

She was warm and chilled at the same instant. Floating....flying....The heavy pressure continued, Match's chest lay against hers, and then slid upwards as he began to move within her.

She scarcely imagined that the pleasure could increase, but it did. Her tension built as the Roman pressed into her again and again, her body weeping at each tentative withdrawal, and crying out in ecstacy at each answering thrust.

She threaded her fingertips into his short dark hair, drawing him closer against her as their bodies surged together, savoring the intimacy as much as the physical release. She had wanted this for so long.....dreamed of it....Match's speed was increasing, and the look on his face brought another jagged blow of pleasure. He was so nearly beyond control....

The realization of her power was the final push to bring Hildegarde to release. She cried out aloud, her mind overwhelmed with images of color and light as her entire body seemed to tense and relax at the same moment. For an instant, as she felt Match reaching his own completion within her, she felt as though their bodies were fused. They were one.

Inseperable.

Nothing could ever take him away.

Hildegarde lay very still, trying to fix the moment in her mind. Match's weight pressed heavily against her chest, and through the euphoria of their climax was passing, she was still bathed in a sense of fulfillment that she wanted to preserve for as long as possible. She sighed in frustration as her lover finally moved away, lying on his side, his head propped on one arm as he watched her with his cool light eyes.

What was he thinking? Hildegarde felt a thousand worries crush in on her at once. Had he wanted it as much as she? Did it mean anything to him other than a physical release? Did he enjoy it? The last thought made her blush, and Match responded, running his hand along her cheek.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked softly, caressing her lightly with his fingertip.

She shook her head.

"I didn't know that you were....were a...."

She silenced him quickly. "Do not speak of it. I am glad that it was you. I will treasure it."

He smiled at her words, letting his hand move toward her ear, and then raking slowly through her chestnut mane. "You love me." He whispered.

She nodded, willing him to return the declaration, but he was silent, lost within himself again...searching for something.

Match saw the look of fear in his lover's eyes, but he could not bring himself to speak the words that he knew she wanted him to say. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it. Yes, he had longed for her body. He has been as lost as she in their pleasure, and for a moment, she had felt "right" in his arms. His loneliness had vanished, but then it had been replaced by something different: a prickling sense of alarm along the back of his neck, warning him of danger...

Trying to shake the feeling, the Roman leaned forward and kissed Hildegarde softly on the forehead, drawing a fur around their bodies. "Rest." He whispered tenderly. In spite of the warning, and his reluctancy to speak his feelings aloud, he could not deny them to himself. He was falling in love with the girl- and he was miserable with the thought that he had caused the look of hurt in her eyes. "Sleep." He whispered again. Reluctantly, Hildegarde obeyed.

Hildegarde awoke very early the next morning. Her first thought was one of confusion. Why was she lying naked in Match's arms? But, of course, the memories returned to her quickly. She was once again filled with heat as she recalled the events of the evening before. She smiled indulgently at her thoughts, and then her eyes widened in alarm. Where was her mother? Did she know what the girl had done?

Extricating herself reluctantly from Match's arms, Hildegarde drew a skin around her shoulders and rose to her knees. Squinting in the faint light, she scanned the outlines of the cottage. Her mother was nowhere to be found. Frowning, Hildegarde rose fully to her feet and looked more closely. She knew that her mother had been very busy, but it was rare for her to be gone for an entire night. Surely she would have sent word....

Without any basis beyond her own worries, Hildegarde nevertheless felt icy fear drip through her veins. Most of the people in the town tolerated the women's presence because of their considerable medical gifts...but would anyone help them if someone turned their rage at the invaders against them? Unable to stop her thoughts, Hildegarde grabbed at her clothes and forced them over hear head.

"Hildegarde?" Match's sleepy voice carried across the little room as he sat up on their furs. The sight of his bare chest and embarrassed smile momentarily distracting her from her panic. "Is something wrong?"

"My mother did not return last night."

Match nodded. "Perhaps she was merely giving us some privacy."

"No. She wouldn't. She doesn't want us to be together."

"Why. Because she hates the-" Hildegarde clapped her hand over her mouth, barely realizing what she was about to say. "...hunters that wander into our wood." She finished lamely.

"And anyhow, I just know that she wouldn't. She was supposed to come home last night."

"Maybe there was another baby?" He offered. He could see how concerned she was and began reaching for his own garments as well. "Sometimes they take many hours...."

"No...the chieftain's wife had her baby days ago...and Godeoc's daughter is not due to deliver until the Summer." Godeoc. The girl's frown deepened.

"What? What is it?" Match struggled into his trousers as he tried to coax her thoughts.

The girl merely chewed her lip in reply. She was working through her suspicions. Her mother had mentioned going to see the man after finishing her rounds in the village. She was going to ask his forgiveness for her daughter's refusal...what if he had reacted badly to her presence? It didn't seem possible- he was so gentle when they had been together...but it was possible. He had sons as well. They were probably off hunting at this time of year- Hildegarde smirked, admitting to herself that *hunting* was really a euphemism for raids against the Romans- but if they had been home and learned of what occurred, they might take out their rage on her mother's head. Pride was, after all, a powerful motivation.

"Godeoc." she mumbled aloud, reaching for her cloak. "I have to go there."

Ignoring Match's puzzled expression, she darted out of the hut.

Match watched helplessly as Hildegarde dashed into the bracing wind of the outdoors. He didn't fully understand her urgency. The village was small, and he doubted that anything could have happened without Rodelind's daughter knowing already...

But perhaps the worry over her mother was merely a symptom of a bigger problem. Guilt stung at him from the words he had refused to say the night before. He had not realised, before they joined, that Hildegarde had been untouched, and the act would have more significance for her than the mere physical release....True, there was an innocence in her nature that he had noticed immediately, but it seemed impossible that a girl- no, a woman, so beautiful and free could have gone so long without tasting the act of love...

He smiled darkly as memories of what they had done sent an aftershock of pleasure along his spine. He had desired her, and the experience of claiming her had been just as satisfying as he anticipated. He enjoyed her company. Respected her. Admired her....then why was he holding back? Once again the memories refused to come.

Match tried to interest himself in making breakfast, but there seemed little point in going to such trouble on his own account. His thigh was nearly healed, the angry pink skin fading now, and he toyed with the idea of entering the woods and practicing with his bow, but with the snows beginning to melt, he doubted his ability to track any game, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to face the humiliation of another fruitless hunt.

Sighing, he stoked the fire and lay down again amongst his furs. It was pleasantly warm, and soon he was asleep once more...

He was in a field. A meadow, perhaps. Instead of towering trees, he was on a rolling hill covered with low,golden tipped grass that moved in shimmering waves in the wind. He was on an incline , beneath a pink stone house, and in the distance he saw the twinkling indigo of the sea....

Home. He sensed it. Even though he could not place the images in his mind, his feet carried him automatically to a little road winding amidst the wheat that would lead him up to the house. A line of tall trees passed on either side. Poplars. He realised in passing....still moving closer to the house.

He closed his eyes and let the warm sun caress his face. He had been cold for so long! It was so pleasant here. The sky was cloudless and blue. The gentle breeze was scented with jasmine and herbs...

"Maximus!" A warm voice seemed to be calling from somewhere in front of him, and he quickened his pace. She was waiting for him just inside the doorway. His heart, weary of lonliness surged with joy.

"Maximus!"

Abandoning the appearance of dignity, he quickened his pace, running now, up the final rise that led to the house, nodding to a pale, burden-laden slave that called to him as he passed.

"Maximus...!!!"

Only a few feet more. His hand was on the doorway now.

"Maximus!"

"Selene!"

"Match!"

Selene.

Hildegarde felt tears jump to her eyes as the single word struck fear into her heart.

No, not a word, a name. A woman's name.

Hildegarde couldn't state the provinence of her certainty, but it existed nevertheless. She bit her lip, trying to blink away the drops of moisture before urging Match more fully awake.

She couldn't deal with it now.

There had been too many shocks in the last few hours.

Hildegarde let her mind wander back over her actions since she had first left the hut, marveling at how much had changed in a few short days.

Her first stop had been tat the hut of the chieftain, to follow-up on Match's suspicion that the new baby had fallen ill. He was wrong. She was turned away with not more than two curt words, and finally turned to the hut which belonged to Godeoc, the last place that her mother had planned to go.

There had been no response to her knocking, and she wasn't bold enough to go inside alone, so Hildegarde had looked for the hut that the warrior's daughter shared with her husband. The girl was unhappy to see her, and the expression only deepened when she learned the reason for Hildegarde's appearance.

"I don't know where he is." She spat. "He was with the witch the last time I saw him." Hildegarde felt her spine stiffen at the word- it was often employed to describe Hildegarde and her mother, but rarely in their presence. "I don't know what spell the two of you have cast over him." The girl continued. "But you had better leave him alone. My brother's will be home soon...and my husband."

The girl had straightened her posture, proudly displaying the swelling curved of her stomach and the child that nestled within. The meaning behind her words was clear- when the men returned to the village, they would put an end to her foolish father's dalliance with the little family of healers- and not a moment too soon.

Feeling frustrated, Hildegarde had wandered in the woods at the edge of the village, hoping for a trace that her mother had passed in that direction, but it was futile. At last. She had returned to her intended fiancé's hut.

Like most of the houses in the village, the structure's stone walls had heavily shuttered windows that could be opened to let in the light or, on warm summer days, a cross-breeze to cool the house. It was winter now, and most of the windows were tightly shut, but she noticed that one of them was cracked slightly and pulled some logs from a woodpile to raise herself so that she could peer within.

It was very dark inside. Only a little light streamed in from beneath the windows on the otherside of the house. After staring for a long time, Hildegarde was able to make out shapes near the floor. With concentration, the shapes slowly resoved into recognizable forms.

Her mother was lying limply on the floor. Hildegarde could not make out her expression, but something seemed very odd. Was she dead? It was the first thought that sprung to the girl's mind, and the only one that made sense after all of her worry.

"Mother!" She yelled without really thinking. She jumped down from the woodpile and burst into the house.

The sight which had greeted her was so shocking that it had nearly made her scream again.

Her mother, blinking in confusion, was just rising from the furs beside the fire. Beside her, lay Godeoc and, much to Hildegarde's disbelief, it was obvious that the pair of them had spent the evening precisely as she and Match had- making love.

Hildegarde was speechless, her lower lips trembling as she waivered between laughter and tears.

"Shut the door, Hildegarde." her mother said calmly, drawing the coverings more tightly around her body. "There's no reason for the entire village to know."

Her daughter nodded numbly, flushing crimson as, turning her head toward the door, she caught a glance of Godeoc's bare chest. It involuntarily recalled images of Match- which only made her embarassment deepen.

"I....I should go home." She stammered, backing toward the door, and before the other woman could stop her, she dashed outside again.

Hildegarde had not run home. She had gone, instead, to a rock overlooking the stream- the same rock that she had visited with Godeoc- and tried to sort through her feelings. Was she jealous? No. She was happy for her mother- at least, she should be happy, but she had somehow counted, in the back of her mind, on always having the older man as a 'fall back' when- if - Match went away.

For as long as she could remember, her mother had never had a friend besides her daughter. Hildegarde assumed, perhaps rashly, that this was how it would always be. The sudden loss of two things that she depended on so implicitly was unsettling.

Finally feeling calmer, Hildegarde rose to her feet and headed back home. Match should be awake, and probably hungry. Perhaps, wrapped in his arms, she would feel normal again.

It was not to be. When she had found him, he was twisting in his bed as though caught in the throes of a nightmare. Although the smile on his face did not match that explanation, the strange sounds coming from his lips induced her to wake him, but she had not been fast enough. She had not been able to stop him from speaking the name....

Selene.

In the first terrible moments after he had spoken the word, she had been certain that his memory had returned. Just as her mother had warned her, he was about to awaken from his dreams and return to his old self- to the fearsome warrior of the tribe that hunted her people night and day. "Selene?" She asked, trying to hide the pain in her voice, and then she felt her whole being fill with joy as he merely stared at her and tilted his head.

He didn't remember.

She was safe.

Hildegarde explained about her mother as calmly as she could manage. Doing so, she noted palpable relief on Match's features as well. Could he actually be jealous? The thought amused her so thoroughly that her worries were temporarily forgotten.

The next days seemed to pass in a haze of happiness. Hildegarde's mother had returned only briefly, to collect some medicines from her basket and then darted away again. Revelling in her own happiness, she seemed to willing to leave her daughter to seek her own. Hildegarde wondered, distantly, if Godeoc had wanted her mother all along. Searching her memory, she recalled the wistful tones that Rodelind had always used to praise him....could it be that she was actually relieved that her plans had gone awry? Although she was uncomfortable with the relationship- as any child, used to seeing a person as a parent, rather than a human being is apt to do- she was happy as well. Godeoc was a good man, strong and honorable. She had been reluctant to hurt him for this very reason, and found pleasure in his promise of happiness.

Hildegarde did not enquire as to whether Godeoc, or any of the town knew of Match's presence. Acutely conscious of his true identity, she assumed a need for secrecy in the matter, but, of course, there was none. Rodelind had told Godeoc, Godeoc had mentioned it to his daughter, and soon the entire tribe was pointing, whispering, and giggling as Hildegarde and her warrior walked through the town. The young girls, who had laughed with such amusement at the older man's courtship were now reduced to staring with envy as Hildegarde, the *witch's* daughter walked hand in hand with the most handsome stranger they had ever seen.

In the following days life went on in almost identical patterns for Quintus and Antonia. In the early morning they were awaken, tied and led to the woods for a day-long march. In the evening they would be closed in a hut, fed and let alone. Quintus' massage to Antonia's legs and back had become a ritual, the only way to assure her a good night of rest which would enable her to bear the following day march. Luckily for them, the early snow had melted, enabling them to walk with less fatigue but for Antonia it was becoming increasily difficult to press through the days. She was not used to walking so much, to eating only once a day,or to being pushed, shoved and sometimes beaten when on of her feet slipped along the way. Quintus wanted desperately to help her, but he could not so, lest the reveal her true nature to the barbarians. His admiration for her continued to grow because she never complained or cried under the abuse, gritting her teeth and flashing her eyes with a fire which meant she was not going to admit defeat. Seeing this, Quintus sometimes wondered at what a great soldier she might have been if she had been born a male-but then he would remember the soft curves of her body and her warmth when she sleeped pressed against him, and would push such thoughts away. Antonia was born to be a woman.....

On the other side, Antonia's admiration for the legatus was building too. He was everything she hoped to find in a man. He was strong and unyielding, but also gentle and considerate; he was serious, but tried hard to raise her spirits during their lonely nights by telling her funny stories about his life in the army; he was supportive of her, encouraging her with his eyes during their march and smiling approvingly when she soldiered on.

In spite of her determination to press on, Antonia knew she was reaching the limit of her endurance.....if only the barbarians would grant them a day of rest! She was puzzled by the fact they were kept in costant move and one evening she asked Quintus about it.

"I think they are staying on the move because our people are on their tracks. If I know Caesar and Valerius, they are turning the forest up-down, searching for us. Maybe they have even found Maximus- and you know he is more obstinate than a deerhound when he puts his heart or mind on something. I don't doubt that given enough time they will find us....Our task is to remain alive until then."

Quintus' convinction gave new hope to Antonia. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so. They will find us." He squeezed her hand and she smiled.

In that moment the door of the hut swung open and a German they had never seen before, appeared with their food and a wooden bucket. "You wash." the man said in bad Latin before going away.

Quintus and Antonia exchanged a puzzled look. it was the first time anyone had offered them water to wash and they did not know what to think. The legatus said, "Maybe they have decided to hold us for ramson and want to care for their hostages. Or maybe this village is simply more civilized than the others. Anyway, judging by the steam I see, that water is hot.....you'd better use it while it is still warm. Here," He took of his scarf, use this as sponge."

Antonia took the offered piece of cloth and said, "you are a true gentleman, Legatus Quintus Clarus. Your wife will be a lucky woman indeed."

Speaking thus, Antonia picked up the bucket and walked to the far end of the hut, while Quintus turned his back to her, resolutely deciding to keep his eyes fixed on the door and ignore what was happening behind him.

After Antonia finished her bath-washing quickly so the water did not become too cold- it was her turn to stare at the door and try to block out the noise of Quintus washing, but she failed miserably. In the semi- darkness her mind conjured up for the sounds she was hearing. The rustling of clothes made her think about the legatus removing his tunic and baring his chest. The splash of water made her envision him washing him self with few, precised strokes. His sighs of satisfation at feeling clean again made her imagine him uttering another kind of satisfied sound......Antonia almost jumped when she felt his hand on her shoulder and his voice in her ears, "I have finished. We can eat now."

The young woman nodded; she had been so wrapped in her daydreaming she had not heard him walk behind her. Antonia followed Quintus, relieved he could not see her crimson face.

They sat down and began to eat. Feeling clean again had worked a small magic on Antonia and the usually tasteless meat seemed the finest food she had ever eat. She said so to her companion and Quintus replied by declaring the water he was drinking to the best beverage he had ever tasted. They burst into laughter, but the relaxed atmosphere of easy camaderie they were sharing was brutally interrupted when the door opened again. In a flash Antonia put on her helmet, while Quintus covered her with his body.

A big German they had never seen before walked in front of them and heavily accented but clear Latin said, "Romans, I want to know your army's plans for this area. Tell me what I want to hear and nothing bad will happen to you. Stay silent and I will make you. It is your choice. You have the night to decide and don't try to lie because I will know it." The barbarian smiled cruelly, making Quintus shiver, then walked away.

As soon as they were alone Antonia exclaimed, "What we do now?" Quintus turned to her and she gasped seeing his pale face. "Quintus?" she asked with a small voice. "What is it now?"

The legatus felt his heart constrict in his chest. How could he tell Antonia what the man's words had really meant? That they would be tortured in any event even if they did tell the truth -- which of course they could not do…? That the man was lusting for blood? And that, more terryfing for her, the barbarians would surely discover her true nature and treat her as men often do with captured women? Quintus closed his eyes, trying to block out the terrible images his thoughts had conjured up but it was impossible.

"Quintus?" Antonia's voice had a frantic note. "Please, Quintus, speak to me."

The officer slowly turned and sat near her. Without speaking he picked up her hands and kissed them both. Then he forced himself to meet her frightened eyes.

"Antonia....I...don't know how to tell you this....but...but...I am afraid we will not survive tomorrow."

"What? But he said we will be all right if we speak....."

"It is only a ruse- a way to push us to tell the truth on our own choice but it wont be the end of it. Oh Antonia, you did not see how full of hate his eyes were! He as interested in our information as he is in making us pay for what the Empire is doing to his lands...."

"How could you be so sure?" Antonia was trying desperately to make Quintus deny his own words even if in her heart she knew it was right. It made no sense to alert the captives that they were going to be interrogated, and then leave them together for an entire night to agree on a common false story, if they intended to let them go. The barbarians might have been uncivilized but they were not stupid.

"I know it. I have spent too many years at war not to know it, and I can recognize a sadistic when I see one."

Antonia nodded mutely and retreated to a corner, sitting with her arms hugging her bent knees. Quintus watched her, wondering if she had grasped all the implications of his words....

After some moments of heavy silence, he heard a muffled sob, then another, louder. In a flash he went to her and dragged her into his arms. Antonia accepted the embrace greedily and pressed her face in his shoulder. The tension that had accumulated over the past few days was finally free and she cried miserably. Quintus wanted to comfort her but he respected her too much to lie to her. So he simply cradled her against his body, caressing her hair, while he felt his heart break.

The pair did not know how much time they spent in each other arms, but gradually Antonia's sobs decreased. Finally, they stopped. She brushed her tears away and then looked into the legatus' eyes. Quintus gasped at her glance. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying, but were determined and hard as iron. "Quintus, I want you to promise something." she said.

"What?"

"First, promise me."

Quintus looked at her with alarm; what did she mean? "I don't understand...."

"Promise me!" She almost shouted.

"All right, all right, stay calm." he did not want her to became too agitated. "I promise."

"On the memory of your ancestors?"

"Antonia...."

"SAY IT!"

"I promise on the memory of my ancestors." Quintus was nearly frantic.

"I want you to kill me" her voice was chilling with determination.

"ANTONIA! You could not ask me to kill you! Anything else-- but not this!"

"I am not asking. I am ordering you to do so. I want to have a clean, honorable death. I don't want to meet my father and my mother….tainted….. by the barbarians. I think this is a desire every soldier has: to meet his- or her- ancestors proudly, and I am begging you to enable me to do so. Please." The convinction in her eyes had not wavered during all her speech passionate speech but her voice had betrayed her deep emotions. "If they discover me, they will….will…."

Quintus looked throught her tears into her steely eyes. What she was asking was not unusual in the Roman culture....he knew that he would ask the same if their roles were reversed, but how he could fulfill such promise? How could he even think of plunging his dagger into her slender neck...?

He began to shake, "I can't Antonia,.....I won't."

"You have promised...."

"Antonia...."

"Do it for my sake....I know you ….care for me...Please not let me suffer through…through that...please." Antonia's eyes were again full of tears.

"I don't care for you, Antonia.." Quintus said firmly. "I love you! -And this is why I cannot fulfill your request..." Under the strain of his boiling emotion Quintus' resolve had finally broken and his lips had finally admitted the truth his mind had not wanted to accept:

He loved Antonia.

Deeply, totally, absolutely.

"You…you love me....." Antonia whispered, her voice full of wonder..

"Yes...from the first day the spent together in the woods." There was no reason to deny it anymore.

Antonia seemed to ponder this for a moment, her features softening in happiness and then, as if an image of the future had passed through her mind again, tightened again."Then show me! Kill me!"

"No!" Quintus choked, "I will show my love in another way."

Quintus reached forward for Antonia in the darkness, drawing his finger tenderly along her face, relishing its beauty, rendered somehow more perfect in the uncertainty that they faced.

Antonia closed her eyes at his touch, and he moved his finger across her cheek and lashes, gingerly brushing away the little pools of moisture that lingered there. Oh, why had they wasted so much time? Why hadn't he taken the opportunity to show her how he felt before? Why had he pretended that his feelings for her had ever been demanded by duty to something other than his own heart? He was a brave man on the battlefield, facing fearsome odds

without a twinge of fright, but he had no courage in love, content to dab his feet in the shoals of shallow emotion, rather than risk the tumultuous waves of feelings like those he held for Antonia.

Caressing her cheek again, he leaned forward to kiss the tip of her nose, then her forehead, then each eyelid, his lips pressing urgently againt her skin like a brand, claiming her, if only for this night, as his own.

"Oh,Quintus...." Antonia breathed, as his kisses moved nearer and nearer her own, petal lips, "I love you too...you made me so furiously angry, but...."

He silenced her, their mouths joining at last, and he placed a hand on her back, pressing her against him as the other raked through the still-damp tendrils of her hair.

"But...?" he encouraged her to supply this disclaimer as he drew away. He did not need

to complete the sentence, because they both knew that at least part of the attraction was in finding someone, at last, who would not cower to their own impulsive bouts of pride and ill-humor, in discovering an equal, in temperment and ability.

"But....."Antonia began, and then abandoned the train of thought, more interested in other forms of communication. "But- kiss me again."

Her voice was soft, and husky, coaxing him forward, and the officer readily capitulated to the inducement. He was pleased to feel that the muscles in her back relax. For these few stolen moments, tomorrow did not exist.

Quintus fulfilled her request, grazing her lips with his own, and then sliding his tongue along the same path, coaxing her to part her teeth so that hecould explore the warm recesses of her mouth.

Antonia sighed at the touch, answering with a shy foray of her own.

Quintus encouraged her actions, sucking her deeper, nearly stealing her breath.

Antonia felt a wave of longing grip her body, and she pulled away in surprise, astonished at the strength of her feelings. She was no naive girl. She had been married for five years and had lain with her husband many times, but it had never been LIKE THIS...evey fiber of her being seemed homed to him, caring for nothing but pleasure and release.

Quintus waited for her nervousness to pass, and then moved forward again. He slid his hands beneath her cuirass, deftly lossing the buckles, and pulling its bulk away from her chest. He tossed it indifferently toward the pile where his own armor had lain since his bath, and then drew her very tightly against him, reveling in the feel of her lovely breasts pressed

against him through the wool of their tunicas.

Antonia reacted to their closeness as well, releasing her hands to roam the spare, muscular outline of his body, excited by the freedom to study his form. She moved he hands firmly along his sides to his hips, and then slid them boldly forward, touching the erection that already pressed urgently through the cloth.

Another tremor.

Feeling the shudder in her back only increased the legatus' urgency. His

hands moved now to the apron of leather straps that hung around her waist,and then, moving of their own accord, twined them in the sodden rope of her hair, freeing it from its braid and letting it fall in wild, shimmering curls around her shoulders.

"So lovely..." He pulled back a moment merely to admire her form.

Antonia watched his reaction carefully, and then rocked forward on her knees, tugging impatiently at the hem of her dress. Quintus eyed her hungrily as she hitched the fabric upwards along her knees and thighs, finally wresting it over her head. With an imptient jerk, she pulled away the band that bound her breasts, and stood before him, completely and gloriously

naked.

Quintus wanted to reach everywhere at once- to gorge himself on the exquisite curves of her body, and since he could not reach a decision of where to start, he merely stared at her awestruck, motionless until Antonia moved toward his own coverings.

In a few, efficient motions, the legatus was exposed as well, and Caesar's niece boldned her assault, grasping his flesh tightly and moving her hand in a way that hinted at delights still to come. Groaning in approval, Quintus rocked forward into her caress, matching her rythmn until his breathing grew ragged and deep.

Abruptly, he stilled his hips and pressed Antonia's hand away. Though he hated to surrender the delicious sensations, he wanted to share so much more before he found

release. Grasping Antonia's shoulders, he lowered her to the ground, padding her bottom with the softness of their discarded clothes. He covered her with his own body, the heat of skin- against-skin a shocking contrast to the icy wind that seeped between the stones. He began to kiss her neck again, and then let his other hand wander between her thighs, caressing her in the

intimate way that she had gratified him.

"More...." she gasped.

Quintus moaned in satisfaction at the unselfconscious manner with which she

accepted his touch. They were intoxicated...drunk on each other.

"Please..." Antonia begged again, and Quintus tipped his pelvis forward, pressiong his

swollen manhood against her stomach in demonstration of his eagerness to comply. He slid a probing finger into her sheath, finding her hot and wet-as ready for him as he was for her....

Shifting his weight to his knees, Quintus positioned himself above her, nearly breathless with anticipation for the ecstacy he knew would follow. He glanced downwards, wanting to look into her eyes and seal their connection emotionally as well as physically- but he gasped in shock at what he saw. Her petulant lips were set in a firm, hard line as though she were bracing herself.

"Anotina?" he asked with concern. The soldier touched her cheek, instructing her

to open her eyes as he struggled to contain his own urgent desires.

When the light orbs opened, he was shocked to find tears at their rims.

"What is wrong? " He asked hoarsely.

"It..." she blushed and looked away. "The pain..." she whispered, "I do not

want to cry out."

Quintus frowned in confusion. Antonia was not a virgin being brought to her

wedding bed, what was the explanation?

When the answer came, he found it hard to contain his astonishment. Antonia's husband had been a fool. Clearly, he had not made love to her- he had rutted on her like a whore. Quitus' jaw clenched as anger mingled with his desire, only stoking the flame. "It will

not hurt with me." He promised hoarsely, and then, sealing the promise with

a kiss, he proved his claim.

The sound that came from Antonia's lips as he entered her was not a moan

of pain, but a sigh of bone-deep fulfillment. She could barely undertand the intensity of her feelings, of the permeating satisfaction and sense of completion as their flesh became one. THIS was why she had been born a woman- for this one moment, for this one man...Antonia arched toward Quintus eagerly, anxious to share with him the wondorous feelings that suffused her flesh.

Quintus began very slowly, teasing her with shallow thrusts, still training her to accept her girth. Finally, her hands moving insistantly on his thighs, he took her harder, grinding their bodies into the soft dirt of the hut floor. Hearing her murmurs of satisfaction, Quintus intensified his ministrations, touching the place where their bodies joined, drawing Antonia to climax as he

stroked her most secret flesh.

The woman began to cry out, so lost in passion that she was heedless of their captors and Quintus leaned forward, smothering the sound with his shoulder, shuddering at the display of his conquest. He buried his own mouth in Antonia's hair as an echoing release claimed him. It began deep within his body, and then radiated outward, rendering him helpless as he came, his warm seed spilling freely between her thighs.

For several long moments, only the sound of their shuddering breaths broke the perfect stillness. Quintus thought that Antonia might be asleep, and then he realised, with a start, that he was still smothering her. He raised his shouler quickly, relieved to be greeted by a shy smile.

Antonia was, if anything, more beautful than before. Her hair fanned around her like a shining halo, and her features were enhanced by her rosy cheeks and passion-bruised lips.

Quintus could hardly contain his smile as he compared the woman who lay so obligingly beneath him with was the same prim, obstinate girl who had driven him crazy a few fays before.

"How do you feel?" He enquired, brushing the wild tendrils away from her

face with his hand.

"Like I need another bath." She answered playfully, and Quintus gave her another grin.

They shared the look for a few moments, and then, reluctantly, Quintus rocked back to his knees. "We have to redress." He said simply. "There is no way to know when they will be back." Antonia nodded, and did as she was told. When the task was complete, they stared at each other in silence, trying to savor the happy memory of what had just occurred, and avoid

reflecting on the uncertainty that was to come.

At last, Antonia broke the silence. "Quintus..I haven't changed my mind."She said softly.

His jaw trembled, stricken that she could still ask such a terrible favor. "I haven't changed mine either."

The girl's face screwed into another threat of tears. "How can you deny me?

How can you let those...creaturs do...what we did....." Her voice died in a whimper.

Quintus hugged her tightly, ignoring her feeble attempts to pull free. "I don't want to kill you, Antonia. I don't want to die with you.....I want to live with you...In Rome..." he closed his eyes, almost able to picture the scene. "I want to father your children." He said, reverently. "please, Antonia, don't ask me to kill the dream..as long as we are breathing, there

is hope..."

She looked at him uncertainly, understanding that she had put him in a

difficult position. She would not press the issue. She was a soldier. She would endure."Hold me." She said softly, her slumped posture admiting defeat. Quintus tightened their embrace, drawing them both to the floor of the hut as they tried to sleep- and wondered what was to come..