A Gifted Tongue (Closed)

A hot, sticky summer's day was nearing its end. Over the country house of Cnaeus Clodius Iustinus, a slight breeze hinted at the approaching night. The master of the house himself was sitting in the Atrium, reading correspondence from a friend about the day's debates in the Senate. He was not a politician or even particularly interested in politics - the veteran military man had quite a personal motive for this sudden bout of civic-mindedness: After his recent victory on the remote Island of Britannia, it was now up to the senate to grant him a triumph. Normally, this was a formality after a victory as glorious as this one, but you never knew with politicians, did you?
Ah yes. There it was, and to his great satisfaction, everything had gone smoothly, and the honor granted. Cheering crowds, the purple toga of the Triumphator, and, of course, an endless parade of slaves. He had taken in an amazing number of them: Strong, sturdy barbarians for the fields, fierce warriors for the arena - and some exceptionally beautiful women. The slaves alone would make him a fortune! Not all of them would be sold, of course. His majordomo - an old slave himself - was currently combing through them with a detailed list to choose a few of them for his master: Two cooks, a new blacksmith, a translator (for he planned to return to that island very soon) and some miscellaneous field and house slaves.
As he waited for the new slaves, he reclined and drank some wine - heavily watered, of course. He despised drunkenness and other civilian habits, applying military discipline even to civilian life. This extended even to his body, which was in very good shape for a man in his early fifties, and was kept wiry and slim by the exhaustions of life on the campaign. Another gift of this life was a large, diagonal scar from below his left eye to his mouth, across an otherwise ruggedly handsome face. It served as a monument to a young celtic warrior many years ago, who had burried his sword deep in Cnaeus' face, and who now rested on some field with a spear through his throat.
A young male slave entered and waited respectfully until his master gave him a sign that he could approach. "Master, may I inform you that the new slaves have arrived?", he said, and Cnaeus dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He rose from his bench and went to personally inspect the haul. After so many days fighting these barbarians, he was eager to see what they were like when they were not trying to kill him. He was also eager to meet some barbarian women; he found them much more exciting than Roman women. Of course, one particular Roman woman would likely become much too exciting if she found out about that, so he had to be particularly careful...

Meara’s father had spent his rule amassing treasures. He traded the bronze mined from his lands for stones and metals. He employed the best smiths. He brought in traders from all over. That is how his only daughter Meara had learned so many languages. She had an ear for it. Her father heard her speaking in Norse with a traveller when she was a little girl, and from then on, he made sure she got the opportunity to pick up languages. She became his translator and his trusted advisor.

But those days seemed like a lifetime in the past. The Roman soldiers had come. Her father was gone. Her betrothed was gone. She hoped that they both had been laid to rest, but she didn’t know. She had been captured along with many of her father’s people. She watched as the soldiers collected her father’s treasures. For the first time in her life, she felt the bite of shackles on her wrists.

She travelled by wagon and boat and then by foot to the home of her new master. She had tried to keep quiet. She had tried to go unnoticed. But her fine clothing and jewelry had given her away as high born. And her father’s servants had told the man in charge of them about her abilities with languages. She supposed she should be thankful that she wasn’t headed for the fields or a brothel. However, the man bringing them to the master had smirked when he told her that the master would have many a use for her.

So that is how Meara found herself waiting to be lead into the presence of this Roman conqueror. They had been told to keep their eyes lowered, but Meara couldn’t keep her curiosity bridled. She blew at an errant lock of her long red hair, trying to get it out of her face so that she could see.

She watched Cnaeus walk out to the courtyard to inspect them. He did seem as fierce as his men described him. She noticed the jagged scar on his cheek. It must have been a brutal battle and long ago, since it was obviously well healed. She ran her tongue on the inside of her cheek, feeling the sore flesh there. She had earned herself a hard smack when she had mouthed off to one of this Roman’s men. She knew she had a mark there, and she wished that it had faded. She didn’t want this man knowing that she was willful.
She didn’t want him to know anything about her at all. She longed for her clothes from home. She wasn’t used to the light weight and simple dress she had been given to wear. She felt like it did nothing to hide the curves of her body. She bit her lip as Cnaeus made his way down the line. She was at the very end. She tried to see and hear what him as he made his way, but she was a head shorter than the man in front of her and she could only lean forward a little to see without being noticed.

Cnaeus was once again satisfied with his majordomo's work. He really had selected a fine crop of slaves for him there, sure to do their work well. Then he reached the end of the line, and a smile flashed across his stony face: This was the translator? Her beauty could have melted a heart of stone! She was quite short, but she had the curves and marble skin of a statue of Venus, and large eyes in a shade of green that would have put gemstones to shame! His heart pounded as he reached out to lightly touch her arm. It was no vision: She stood there before him, as real as he was... and now he was her owner!

He took one step closer and let his fingertips run along her upper arms, to her shackled Hands. Elegant and strong, slightly rough on the insides - clearly she had not spent all her time knitting, like a Roman girl. The slavers had clad her in only a simple, light dress that clung to her body and hid very little of her firm, round breasts and shapely rear. He looked into her eyes and saw a face that seemed unsure whether to snarl or blush. A barbarian princess, no doubt, a war prize worthy of a conqueror.

It took all his self-control to put on a commanding voice and order the slaves to be taken away for branding. He followed, much to the surprise of the four burly slaves who had brought in the newcomers. Never before had he taken such an interest in his slaves. Yet his pounding heart made him follow, eager to see more of this woman, to see how she would take the Branding. Pain was a great judge of character, so what would it reveal about her? Would she prove to be as strong as she was beautiful?

As he walked along, he talked to her in Latin - he had not forgotten that she was officially supposed to be his translator, and had to be tested on this: "I am Cnaeus Clodius Iustinus, your new master. You are to accompany me and translate your barbarian tongue for me when I return to your Island. Do you speak any other languages besides your own and Latin? You will see that if you are useful to me, I will be a just master and treat you as well as any slave would wish to be treated. However, I never hesitate to punish useless or disobedient slaves. Harshness has shaped my men into great conquerors, and my slaves into very useful tools. And even a worthless slave has one purpose: To serve as an example to others."

Meara followed the other slaves as they were escorted to another area. The master walked alongside her and asked her about her languages. She tried to hold herself with dignity as she spoke. She tried to pretend that he was a visitor to her home and her hands were not shackled.

“My land has several languages and I speak many of them. I also speak Norse, Greek and a little Coptic. My father had me learn from any travellers that came through our keep. I pick up languages quickly. I have a gifted tongue.” She offered with innocence, not realizing that her statement might have more than one meaning.

The were brought to the fires of the forge. Meara recognized the smell of fire, her father employed the most gifted smiths on the island. But it didn’t take long to see that they weren’t there to watch the smiths work. She shivered when she saw a smith pull the brand from the fire for the first time. It was white hot.

Meara heard the other slaves whimpering and whispering. She turned to Cnaeus.

“If I go first, perhaps they won’t be as scared. They have known me my whole life.” Her Latin was flawless.

One of the burly men looked to Cnaeus for his approval. He saw the almost imperceptible nod. He took Meara by the arm and lead her inside the smith’s forge. The smith had two of the guards hold her in place. They outstretched her arm. She shivered and bit her lip. She willed herself not to cry. She blinked hard. She cried out softly when the brand hit her skin, but she clamped her mouth closed. A soft mewling sound was in the back of her throat. She gasped in relief when the hot metal left her skin. Silent tears streamed down her flame red cheeks, but she did her best to stifle them as she took her place back in line.

The hot iron hissed and a cloud of white smoke rose from her skin. Even in the suffocating air that seemed to be made of soot and sweat, he could smell burnt flesh. And yet, she did not allow herself to scream! He could tell her whole body wanted to, wanted nothing more than let the pain out. It was shaking her Body and leaking from her eyes, but she was determined not to show it. Now he was not merely struck by her beauty - he was in love. He had looked under the surface of this statue of Venus, and found the heart of Hercules. As the next slave was prepared to be branded, he left. Turning to one of the attendant slaves, he said: "When you are done here, bring the translator to my office."

He stepped out of the strangling cave that was the forge and took a few breaths of fresh summer air. He was in love! She had withstood the pain, but more importantly, she had spoken out of turn without fear, as if she was not talking to her master. New slaves, even the ones who had not been taught manners yet, were normally at least too frightened and exhausted to speak like that. Yet she had talked to her owner as if he was a fellow warrior she was suggesting a battle plan to. It had not even occured to her to be frightened. And it had not occured to him to punish her for this insolence. Why? Had her beauty dazed him? Her boldness shocked him? Either way, he had just nodded. What was going on with him? Why was he so soft on her?

He sat down at his desk in his dark, cool office and had another cup of wine brought. His throat felt as if it was covered with soot, and when the cup was brought, he drained it quickly. Now it was his turn to muster his willpower as he waited for her to be brought to him. "I am now the owner of a goddess", he caught himself thinking blasphemously, but was it blasphemy? Surely the gods would not mind being compared to her? Ridiculous! Why was he having these confused thoughts like a schoolboy?

There was a heavy knock at his office door.

"The translator." A thick voice boomed. The door was opened and Meara walked inside. Her bare footsteps were almost silent on the marble floor.

Meara stood stock still once she passed through the thresh hold.

"I was told you asked for me." Her voice shook just a little, she sipped in a deep breath and did her best to stay calm.

She looked at Cneaus. It was very clear to her in that moment, that he was the reason that her father was dead. He was the reason that her love, Riccus, was laid across his shield and not in her arms. She looked around the room. She wondered if she could lay her hands on a blade and take justice for her father, her love and her people.

If she only had her bow, she would show him how she had earned the callouses on her hands.

"You spoke out of turn."

His voice was strict and cold, yet still mixed with a hint of surprise at her boldness. The other slave removed her shackles and left the room. Still looking at her, Cnaeus stood up from his desk and went over to a chest where he kept the keepsakes from his campaigns. He did not have to rummage for long before he found what he had been looking for: A centurion's cane, a thick, sturdy piece of wood to keep the soldiers in line. Holding the cane, he walked over to his slave and touched the fresh brand. Brave little slave! He could feel her tremble a little, but none of that showed on her face. He took one step back and readied the cane.

"You must learn your place, slave. You are new, which is why I am punishing you in private. The next time you are a bad example to the other slaves, I will have you whipped in full view of the others. Remember: Even a worthless slave has a use as an example. Now bend over and grasp your knees so that you can receive your punishment."

She saw a glimmer of metal on the edge of his desk. In two quick steps she had the blade in her hand. She thought of him as an old man, not a soldier. She figured he sat in his tent and drank wine as his young soldiers won him victory.

She lunged at him with the blade. She gasped when she felt his mighty hand clamp around her wrist. She moaned softly, when he squeezed her wrist so hard that she heard the bones crack and the blade clatter to the floor.

It was soon very clear to her, that he was twice her size and she should be afraid of his strength.

It happened so fast he did not even have time to think: A flash of metal was all he saw before his hand shot forward on its own. Suddenly, it was clamped around the slave's wrist, and a blade was on the floor. His voice was now full of cold fury: "Slaves who try to murder their master die on the cross. You could have had such a good life, but now you are going to spend your last hours writhing as your life slowly leaves your body."

In reality, she was far too beautiful to just kill, but she was in for a world of pain, and he would make sure the next few days would be the worst she had ever had.

Meera still tried to untangle herself from his grasp. She twisted and pulled. the pain in her wrist was almost blinding.

“You killed my father and my love. You took my people and stole our crops and our land. What kind of woman would I be if I didn’t try to escape you?” Her green eyes were sparkling with tears.

He was so much taller than she that he had her up on her tiptoes. Her sleek body stretched before him.

“I am already dead. You took my heart weeks ago.” Her Latin was flawless but her voice cracked with emotion.

Still holding on to her hand, he took the dagger and put it to her chest before calling for a slave to come in. "You are not dead! A dead woman does not do such things. I am impressed, I truly am, but I can not allow you to live after you did this. You must die, naked, exhausted, struggling for air. It is the only reward you will get for your stupid bravery."

The heavy door creaked open and the slave he had called for hurried in. Over his shoulder, Cnaeus called: "Get some rope and the shackles we took off her. Run!"

He pressed the dagger forward a little and made a small slit in her light dress. "You are strong. You will probably last for days."

Meera tried to push her body against the blade, the tip just barely knicked her skin. She closed her eyes, hoping the blade would find her heart.

"So to kill a woman you need rope and shackles? You can't do it now? With your bare hands?" She looked at him with as much disdain as she could muster. "The Romans are not as mighty as we had heard."

He was holding her so tightly that her tiptoes were barely touching the floor.

When he saw what she was doing, he quickly dropped the blade. It fell to the ground with a metallic sound, and he smiled, his hand caressing her throat. "Oh, I could easily strangle you. But I do not want to kill you - I want to make use of you. What would you teach the others if I killed you that quickly? That attacking your master gets you a fast, painless death? No. They will learn from you what it will get them, and they will never forget what you taught them."

The door opened again, and the slave re-entered. At the general's orders, he bent down to bind Meera's legs while Cnaeus himself took the shackles and fit them tightly around her wrists.

The slaves hands were rough on her skin as he bound her tightly. The ropes were so taut that they creaked when she tried to move. She bit the inside of her lip, trying to will herself to be quiet.

She whispered a prayer to Brenna the goddess of warriors to protect her or to deliver her to the after life quickly. She could join her father and her beloved Richie there.

“Should I remove her dress, Master?” The slave asked when he saw the tear from the blade and the drops of blood.

He shot a glare at the slave for speaking without being asked - his back would hate him for that later - but nodded. As the Young woman's Dress was roughly torn to pieces, Cnaeus took a few steps back and watched. The last few pieces of Cloth fell to the ground, and he gave a very undignified gasp: Perfect curves, round breasts, a hint of muscle under soft, pale skin. She was perfect! With a dry throat and a pounding heart, he approached her and touched her left breast, as if to make sure she really was made of flesh and not chiseled by a master sculptor.

Meara glared at him as he devoured her body with his eyes. Her skin was flawless except for the ritual scarring on her belly from the night she had become a woman.

She hated that he was touching her and looking at her. He reminded her of s hungry wolf as he looked at her. Then his heavy hand caressed her breast and she whimpered in shame when her nipple hardened under his touch.

When he heard her whimper, he smiled at her and hastily cleared everything off his desk, then gripped her shackles. "Take her feet", he ordered; she was lifted onto the desk and set down quite gently on her back. He sat down in his chair.

She struggled against her bonds but it was no use. She couldn’t move. Her red curls spilled around her when she was laid on the desk. Her green eyes were full of fear, arousal and shame. Her cheeks were flushed red.


She turned her face away from Cnaeus. She tried to ignore his presence but she could feel his gaze on her skin.

His eager hands moved along her sides and down to her legs. He could feel her struggle and squirm under his grip and tightened it a little to hold her down. His right hand moved from her thigh inward a little; he stopped and asked "Are you a virgin?"

Meara refused to answer him. She didn't want him to know that she was untouched by a man. She had been waiting to bed her love until the Goddess blessed their union.

His fingers bit into her flesh. She kept her mouth closed. Her body arching from the desk. She glared at him, refusing to speak.

"No answer, then", he said matter-of factly and stood up; the tip of his right index finger brushed along the tender lips between her legs, but did not enter...yet. With his other hand, he stroked her cheek: "It would really be good for you to do as you are told... I might be moved to show you some mercy."

Meara worked hard to blink back the tears that threatened to spill over in her eyes.

"You have already told me I am going to die naked, exhausted and afraid. There is no room for mercy in that. Why should I make that easy for you?" Her voice shook as she spoke. She tried to hide her fear but her body began to shiver. She bit her lip, trying to hide her fear.

Her whole body shivered and shook under his hand.

"Please...." Tumbled out of her pretty, perfect mouth. And a few tears slipped down her cheeks.

He brushed away her tears almost gently, his other hand resting on her thigh. "It is not too late for mercy", he said to the shivering woman. "So, I ask you again: Are you a virgin?"

As he waited for an answer, he gestured for the other slave to leave, then took off his clothes. Years of campaigning had granted him a body that was all muscle and sinew, with the light gray hairs on it the only signs of its true age. He began undoing the rope around her ankles without haste. "Please do not do anything foolish when your legs are free. Fools get no mercy."

When he was done, he gently untied and spread her legs and climbed onto the desk, kneeling between them.

Meara held her breath as he untied her.

“I am a virgin. The seer said the union between my betrothed and me would seal our families together. So we were waiting for the solstice.” She closed her eyes as he spread her legs wider.

"The waiting is over", he said and bent down to kiss her below her breasts. He could feel her heart beat wildly against his lips as his tongue slowly worked its way downwards to her navel. His Hands were on her chest, the thumbs gently brushing over her nipples.