Marcus Agrippa strode to his villa that night with sure steps as the murky phantoms of twilight drew steadily on. A smile was on his predatory face, and the fire of hell shone forth from his onyxian eyes—the fiendish gleam of a tyrannical conqueror. He had won once more, though this was the strangest battle he had yet fought! He had desired and won the woman of another man, had slain the rival, and had subdued the woman's pride to his own will and domination. To man, he thought gleefully as he unfastened the latch upon his door and purposefully entered the villa, no dominion was more desirable!
He wondered where the girl was now, as he made his way towards his bedchambers. Doubtless she had run off the moment she had awakened and found him absent, without question she had gone to find her husband. His eyes lit with glee as he thought of his rival's death…
Though it had not been entirely to his satisfaction. Leander Maximinus had died all too quickly; no cries for mercy, no pleas for the honor of his wife. Agrippa had not even had a chance to inform his detested rival of the pleasant evening before…
"Milord?" Marcus started abruptly at the sound of a voice and turned to see Lavina walking hesitantly towards him, bearing a small goblet of wine balanced precariously on an infinitesimal tray. He frowned; he did not like interruptions while he was thinking.
"Well?" The young woman trembled at the sound of his voice, causing the chalice to wobble and small drops of wine to stain the mosaic floor.
"I just wished to inform you…the woman of last night left the villa this morning." Marcus was surprised to feel his heart sink at her words; he had known she would leave him once her part of the bargain was fulfilled.
"What of it?" he inquired brusquely, as he reached out to take the wine. Lavina drew herself up to her full height then, and even though she appeared still as a small, frightened mouse would to a ravenous lion, a bold look of defiance entered her eyes. She stepped back.
"Before you drink, I feel I must speak to you as I never have before." A dangerous light filled the hawk-eyes of the seasoned soldier.
"Speak then." Lavina stilled her knocking knees against one another as she hearkened to the dangerous threat underscoring his words, a threat as terrifying as the drum-beats heard before one's execution.
"Milord, I was the first to attend to that young woman this morning. Surely you did not mean to wound her so…" As Agrippa laughed harshly, the slave woman felt sure she could hear the dun…dun…dun… of the death-drums of her doom sounding ominously within her own ears.
"She was very disobedient, Slave. I ordered her to submit to me as a slave girl, and there were times she still fought me…"
Dun. Dun. Dun.
"She fought for her honor!" Agrippa's whole face appeared now as midnight, so dark with rage was it.
Dun. Dun. Dun.
"I will not argue with my slave. The wench was disobedient, and she was punished severely for her insolence. As will you be." Lavina stepped back nervously; she had known that some hideous price must be paid for her defense of the maiden…
Dun. Dun. Dun.
"Appius!" Marcus roared, as he cast a haughty glance upon his terrified slave girl. A tall, muscle-bound servant man appeared, a question in his eyes and a tremor in his sure step. The fear of life…such was the only true possession of all who served this man… "Take this girl and see that she is well flogged for her disobedience." Agrippa laughed cruelly at the look of terror that plainly overspread the features of Lavina, and at the look of discomfort that filled the eyes of the slave lad. The wine goblet fell from her hands, and the thin red liquid flowed like the miraculous River Nile over the stone floor.
"Oh spare me, spare me Milord!" the maiden begged as she fell to her knees, not caring in the least that she was now soaked in the wine of her master. With one swift motion, Agrippa reached out, grabbed her by the throat, and hauled her to her feet. He lasciviously nibbled at her ear and thrilled inwardly as he heard her gasp in horror and felt her tremble with displeasure.
"Take heed to whip her carefully; do not make her bleed over-much," he commanded the red-faced Appius, whose labors dealt primarily with manual labor and never before with torturing women. Agrippa turned Lavina's neck so she looked him full in his face. A slow, predatory smile flitted across his features as he saw the stark fear mirrored in her glassy eyes. "For I do not wish my bed to be bloodied." Lavina cried out in horror, and Marcus let her drop to the floor. "Clean this mess up first," he said, gesturing to the spilled wine, "then, Appius, do your duty." He strode away, never pausing to look back. If he had, he would have been filled with a fury so great he would have flogged both of his servants himself.
Appius had knelt beside the weeping Lavina, and was tenderly assisting her in washing the soiled floor. "I will do my best not to hurt you, Woman," he said gently, thinking inwardly how much he hated to cause pain to such a pretty young creature, "and I am indeed sorry for what I must do." Lavina attempted to still the beating of her heart.
"It is his punishment that causes me the greatest grief," she whispered, as she wiped at the spilled wine with the edge of her stola. Appius felt a surge of hate course through his veins…how he despised his master!
"I will pray that you are not harmed too greatly. If there is anything that I might do…" Lavina did not answer, she focused instead on sponging the wine away from the tiled floor.
She could not help but notice as she did so that the wine had fallen on a mosaic depiction of a lovely, half-naked maiden. Her white skin was marred with the red drink, as was her blushing face. As Lavina contemplated her own torment that night, she felt as though she was sponging away the tears of the pictured maiden.
Tears of blood.
The heart of Mara was bitter over the arrival of her new mistress. It had been bad enough when the girl Aemilia had been a simple servant woman, such as herself…but now, now for reasons unknown, she was treated as the guest of Sylvia herself! Through whispered conversations with the other servants, Mara had come to learn that the name of the mysterious maiden was not Aemilia, but Calliliana Maximinus—the widow of a wealthy man. The slave woman had ground her teeth in fury when she discovered this; her status only made her that much more favorable to young Antonius! Mara knew then, as she stared at the beautiful woman day by day, made lovelier still by her richer adornments, that she could cheerfully slay her.
Calliliana, for her part, was blissfully unaware of the feelings of hatred she had aroused in her former rival. She and Sylvia had become fast friends; indeed, the older woman felt as though Calliliana were her blood-sister. The Grecian beauty had pleaded for a time to be allowed to do some work with the other girls, but Sylvia insisted that she stay in their villa as a guest. She had spoken to her brother not long after Calliliana had shared her terrible secrets with her; the velvety brown eyes of the soldier had never blazed with such bright hatred as they did when his sister told him of the girl's violation.
"And yet this beast roams our nation freely, masquerading as a General even!" Antonius had roared, his hand straying ever so slightly towards his sword hilt. Sylvia had hushed him with a glance.
"Be still, my brother. The girl was harmed, yes, but the death of her husband is that which causes her the greatest grief. I think that the only lasting marks Agrippa made upon her are within her heart and her mind—not within her body."
But she was wrong.
Several moons waxed and waned in the household of Antonius and Sylvia, and still Calliliana resided with them. On more than one occasion, the girl had pleaded with her kind friends to allow her to leave and find work somewhere if they would not themselves allow her to work. "Nonsense," Sylvia had told her brightly, as the three reclined in the garden one afternoon. "We think of you as an addition to our family—not as a burden. You are another sister to us, now—am I not right, Antonius?"
The young man did not answer at first. His rich eyes were perusing the luxurious wealth of Calliliana's golden tresses, the modest blush upon her cheek, the delicate emerald of her shining eyes, the delicious curves beneath her robe…
"Antonius did you not hear me?" The young man started in surprise.
"Wha…I…no, no, Sister. Forgive me—what is it that you spoke of?" Sylvia smiled knowingly, as only a woman can.
"I said that Calliliana is just like another sister to us now…is she not?" The tall young woman had to stifle a laugh as he watched a scarlet flush overspread the bronzed countenance of her brother.
"I…um…well…of course. You are just like one of the family." He said this aloud, but whispered to himself, almost as an afterthought, "Mei Amor."
No one, of course, was close enough to hear his whispered words. No one, that is except a slave girl who was tending the garden nearby. A slave girl whose lean, brown corpse-face resembled something out of a nightmare as the words of her master settled upon her ears.
A slave girl whose cat-eyes gleamed a little more ferociously as their import clove its way through her venomous mind.