The Unexpected Spoils (Closed from FromYouToME)

The Unexpected Spoils (Closed for ToYouFromME)

Lucia was not having a good day. She was thankful to now be within the narrow confines of her small bedroom, which also contained the small pleasure of an oblong window near the ceiling. She liked to gaze out of it while she combed out her ashen locks before extinguishing the lamp and finally collapsing into bed.

Of course, she had never collapsed into bed quite this exhausted before. It was maybe her sixth, no maybe seventh--maybe it was only five--fifth day of occupying her new "home." It was a beautiful home, adorned with lithe sculptures and enchanting mosaics. And then there was the garden courtyard where she spent most of her days. How she loved to let the lambent splotches of sunlight lilt on her cheeks, forearms, and shoulders.

Yes, it would be a beautiful, comfortable home if she had not been abruptly enslaved in it. Only a few weeks prior, she had been helping her father Lucius manage his olive oil union of traders. Many years before her birth, her father had been given a small plot of land in Hispania as reward for his many years of faithful and successful service to the Roman army. His colleagues had chuckled when he told them he would raise olive groves. Lucius had been undaunted, and so were his olive trees--and eventually those he enlisted to work and run the farm for him and the now not so small group of oil producers that entrusted him to transport their goods to the Aventine and eventually into well appointed homes--not unlike the one Lucia was inhabiting now.

Yes, just five (was it really five?) days ago, she had been standing on some auction block, still reeling form the news that her father was selling them--his children--to pay off his debts. Something had gone awry. Her father had been guarded about this very last shipment. She knew it was to come from Hispania, then porting somewhere along Northern Africa for more amphorae, and maybe even porting again before finally reaching Rome. How the shipment never made it to Rome, Lucia wasn't sure. She also hadn't known that her father had taken on a merchant's loan whose default would cause her slavery. She remembered just standing stunned on the auction block; maybe her despondency made her appear more docile than she actually felt.

Because today, she did not feel docile at all. She felt like running away. It had been five days (five!) of caring for some snooty patrician's children. Niobe, the haughty Greek handmaiden to the domina of the home, had told her over and over again how the domina liked the children cared for just so and the kinds of games they played and how they should never get too loud lest the master be disturbed. Between Niobe, the small hands, the dirty feet, and the incessant sibling prodding among them, Lucia was exhausted, heartbroken, and alone.

--that is, until she happened to trade glances with the domina while Lucia was out in the courtyard with the youngest of the three. Lucia recognized the domina as someone from her former life. She was the young pretty thing that always had managed to smile so condescendingly whenever her father attempted small talk with the older noble crowd. She was always heatedly whispering in her husband's ear during these events, as if she were a great gnat bothering a war horse. Her husband always appeared unbothered by her and unimpressed by seemingly everyone. They were perfect for each other.

The domina also recognized Lucia, it first appearing as surprise and then as mirth on her brow. And then, did Lucia see even joy tugging at the corner of the domina's lip? She could not be certain as the domina quickly turned and lit off to some other place in the home--and anyway, the child was beginning to have her own ideas about what to do with the pristinely tended foliage. Ugh, the small hands!

Still, throughout the day, and even now as Lucia sat on the trunk of her new belongings, running a still new comb through her hair and gazing up through the window to the black ink of night beyond, Lucia worried. There was a deep pit of anxiety in her stomach that had made eating difficult. She was in his home, was his slave, and the rumors about him (by free men, by nobles, and slaves) were not kind. Pawing at the ends of her hair, she thought almost wistfully that she had been wrong, the domina was not who she had thought. Maybe her master was not who she thought either.

Cassius grinned at the site of the cat playing with the mouse in the courtyard of his estate mansion. He had always enjoyed this game, the power play between hunter and hunted.

As far back as he could remember Cassius had gotten pleasure from feeding mice to the house cat, his father’s estate providing plenty of opportunities for capturing mice for this peculiar entertainment.
It was the power the cat held over its prey that captivated him, it could easily crush the weak creature in its jaws but it preferred to toy with its emotions first.

Quick footsteps approaching from behind interrupted Cassius’ reverie, urgency in the light pattering on the tiled floor. Cassius turned angrily to face whomever it was that dared to interrupt his entertainment. Camilla walked towards him with fast, short steps, her face slightly flushed with excitement. Clearly, she had some little titbit of gossip she couldn’t wait to tell her husband.

She always had her ear to the ground when it came to the social comings and goings of anyone and everyone of importance in the capital, scandals and rumours being the delight of her young mind.
Cassius’ face set in into the hard stare he had perfected over many years of running his household. Although his newest wife had a face and figure that men from every house in the Aventine fought over, her ability to gossip almost without end made him regret the politically beneficial marriage on more than one occasion.
Camilla faltered when she saw his stare, her husband, a few decades her senior, unsettled her somewhat, never kind nor gentle but his knowledge of the dark and gritty secrets of Rome’s social elite drew her to him like a moth to flame.
Diverting her eyes from his, she saw the cat with mouse in its jaws disappear into the inner recesses of the house. Her nose turned up at Cassius’ strange pastime, just another unsettling aspect of her marriage to this imposing man.
“Yes?” Cassius demanded with a calm but confident voice. Camilla shuffled her feet slightly, making a pretence of settling her stola while gathering the courage to look her husband in the face.
“I assume you came here to tell me something?” He spoke again, his tone clipped. Remembering her reason for seeking Cassius out, Camilla overcame her momentary hesitation and spoke.

“Of course I do husband, I would not dare to bother you if I thought you would not be interested in what I have to say.” There was no response that she could decipher in his face, so she continued, “it’s about the nurse maid I asked you for, the one Felix bought from the market a few days ago.” Still Cassius remained unmoved, apparently finding nothing of interest in her story thus far.
Camilla continued, “I did not have the time to inspect her myself, Niobe saw to that, it was only this very day that I saw the girl with my own eyes and…” Cassius tapped his sandaled foot on the tiled floor, a simple movement but one that telegraphed his impatience to Camilla.

“You’ll never guess who she is,” she hurried along with her story, eager to keep his attention, “she’s only the daughter of Lucius. Lucius the plebeian olive oil trader with the estate in Hispania, the very one who lost the large shipment due in from Africa but a few weeks ago.”

Cassius raised an eyebrow at the information, this certainly was interesting news. Camilla prattled on about Lucius’ connections, not that Cassius was unaware of the well-to-do trader’s backstory, he knew all too well of the plebeian’s sudden rise in the Roman social scene.
His increasing influence and connections with Cassius’ most profitable clients was entirely unwelcome, especially considering the brute’s low bred heritage.
Of course, Lucius would not survive in the cut-throat environment of elite Roman society, Cassius was far too experienced and talented a noble for that. A word to an old Legionary friend and in-law in Tripoli would bring about the swift downfall of the plebeian’s trade empire. One really shouldn’t risk everything on trade shipments, they have such a terrible habit of running into trouble with armed bandits.
“I must implore you, husband,” Camilla’s voice brought Cassius’ mind back from his musings, “do not to have this ill-bred girl caring for the children. The very thought of her presence being in this house for the last five days is insulting.”

Cassius shrugged, “A slave is a slave,” he answered, “does it really matter whether she is of low birth? Would you rather a barbarian woman care for the children? Perhaps she could teach them to slit throats and live in log huts in the forest.”
Camilla’s eye twitched in frustration, secretly she hoped to humiliate the poor young woman further by having her work in the kitchens, doing the dirtiest and most exhausting work. Looking after children was too cushy a life for an arrogant plebeian, she deserved to be put in her place.

“Surely you don’t intend…” Camilla started before being interrupted by Cassius in full patriarchal mode.
“I intend to have my house run as I please it, woman. It was you who came pleading to me about the terrible strains of childcare and your desperate need for a nursemaid. Now that you have one, you are not content.” Cassius tapped his foot again to reinforce his statement.

“What’s done is done and I do not want to hear any more of it. Understand?” Camilla nodded in sullen silence, dejected but not yet defeated. Cassius was the unquestioned master of all he owned, and there was no mistaking that he ‘owned’ her, but she was not so easily rejected.

As Camilla left, a grin returned to Cassius’ face, how he enjoyed pushing her buttons. He had feigned annoyance at her visit but the news about Lucius’ daughter had intrigued him. Was it fate that had brought her to his home? Into his domain?
He decided to pay the young slave a visit, knowing Felix had arranged the room overlooking the far side of the courtyard for the new nursemaid’s use. He past the decapitated body of the mouse as he made his way to the upper floor of the house.

It was late, the light was dimming when he reached the door to the slave’s room. The children had been put to bed and only a few servants were still working busily outside to prepare for the next day. Slowly, he opened the door to the small room.
A crumpled form lay on the bed pressed against the wall, illuminated by light emanating from the oblong window high in the courtyard facing wall.
A sudden sensation of power swept over Cassius, the rush he so greatly cherished above all others. He knocked on the open wooden door, waiting for his prey to respond.

Lucia bolted upright.

It was the first time someone had knocked on her door since she had arrived. Niobe had a habit of simply barging in, reminding her that once again she had fallen behind on child care duties. Sextus had had enough of his tutor. Cassia the younger needed coddling. Cassia the elder was brooding in some corner of the estate. Lucia was not entirely unpracticed in handling younger children--she had shepherded her younger step-brothers through early childhood. Maybe the difficulty rested in the girls--aged 4 and 12, birthed by different mothers, guided by different personalities. . .

Anyway, no one had ever knocked on her door. Then again, no one had ever visited her this late--save Cassia the younger, who had started to knock on the door separating Lucia's small bedroom from the young toddler's sprawling cubiculum.

Yet, here he was--at least she thought it was him, making out the frame of some stolid figure that she recognized from some former life. So, he was her master. His frame seemed slightly taller than she had remembered now that it was set against the only exit to her narrow bedroom.

She had been crying, in her bed. Her eyes were wet and reddened. The tears had fallen horizontally across her face, blemished her left temple with a quiet stream of saline. As she sat up, she vaguely wondered if she should wipe her temple or if the wiping would call attention to the fact that she had been crying. For the moment, she let the stream be; the dim light would hide the redness and the wetness anyway.

"Dominus," she edged out, almost automatically. Sons of dis! How she had not meant that. She had never been formally introduced to Cassius, but she could only assume that such a figure would be standing at her door at this late hour. She hadn't meant to be deferential; it was moreso a tic of self-preservation. She intuitively understood where she was and who she was now. And, he had been the first to knock.

She attempted to keep her breath measured, calm, easy.

She bolted upright at the sound of his knock, obviously surprised that anyone should be visiting her at this hour after her duties had finished for the day. Although he could not see her face, Cassius recognised the ashen hair, light in the otherwise dim room.

Yes, she was the daughter of a wealthy man, wasn’t she? He could tell that much simply by the way she held herself with a sort of natural elegance, maintained even when caught off guard. No slave born into their class held themselves in such a manner, with a naturally erect posture without thinking, quite unlike the rigid stance of the slave.

Yes, come to think of it he had seen her before, hadn’t he? At a dinner that Lucius had also attended, bringing a handful of children with him. He had hardly noticed her then, just a plebeian girl, maybe attractive but so were countless women at those sorts of events.

So, Camilla was right. Whether by chance or by fate, the daughter of one of Cassius’ enemies had come into his home, as a slave.

“Dominus,” She spoke the word as a statement, addressing him without question as to his identity. She wasn’t stupid, she clearly recognised him as her master, even in the poor lighting, simply by his presence alone. Perhaps she had recognised him from some past sighting, just as he had her.

Cassius allowed himself a small grin, hidden by the shadows. Maybe she guessed his intent, though he himself did not know just yet what he intended to do with the opportunity presented to him. Nevertheless, the germ of an idea had begun to form in his mind.

“Yes,” he answered her, voice low in the still atmosphere, “I am your Dominus.” He stepped forward into the room. He had determined to not reveal his knowledge of her past to her just yet, preferring to toy with her expectations first, catch her off guard.

“You must excuse the lateness of the hour,” he began with a politeness he would never use for an ordinary slave, “I wished to speak with you. I have been too busy of late to see how my new nursemaid is finding her work with the children.” Cassius took another step, slowly closing the distance between himself and Lucia.

“Come, you can tell your master anything.”

Alert yet poised in her seated position on the bed, she peered at him uncertainly through the dusky light, watching his face for signs that he recognized her. After all, she reasoned, it was possible, though maybe unlikely given her interaction with the domina earlier, that maybe this man did not actually know who she was.

Her father had hoped to marry his children off well and to re-position them despite their low birth. Rome's upper crust was changing--where patricians had designed society and politics as exclusive to their own ranks some centuries ago, enterprising plebians had since left their mark in those upper echelons, even nosed their way into the Senate without quite the same ruffling of feathers (or bloodshed) as had happened in the past.

Where some patricians were eager friends of plebians that had done well for themselves, others--Cassius and men like him--appeared less impressed. At least that was Lucia's experience, both with Cassius and generally. Her interaction with him prior to this had been limited. Out in public, her father did most of the talking, and while Lucius (and Lucia by extension) had been introduced to Cassius by a friendly social benefactor, at the time Cassius seemed unmoved.

Naturally, his simpering wife's facial expression was a little more transparent. Of course, given the way Cassius seemed likewise unmoved by the twitterings of his wife, Lucia was less convinced that Camilla was a reliable translator of the couple's feelings as a pair. As a result, Lucia was left with the feeling that she and her father had basically gone unnoticed by Cassius. Even later, Lucia's interactions with the pair had always been short and of minimal consequence.

In fact, even when helping her father with his business, she was unaware that true ownership of some of her father's competitors rested with Cassius. She always worked behind the scenes and it was never clear whether competitors employed themselves or were agents of someone else who had bought out the business.

Oddly, this was her first interaction with Cassius of any substance. He had certainly never directly engaged her socially. The fact that he was doing so now seemed to suggest that perhaps he had not quite recognized her. Beyond addressing her, he was seemingly being polite. No one in the home had been polite to her yet. Everyone was demanding yet dismissive. His children were probably some of the worst offenders by virtue of their being children. His youngest was particularly demanding, but at least she could be sweet. His son remained uncertain of her, and the eldest simply ignored her, wanting to show Lucia how adult she could be--and the adults around her cared about status, wealth, and showing those two items.

Lucia became acutely aware of the closing distance between herself and Cassius. She felt the impulse to stand up as he neared, to at least bring herself as level as she could with him. Still, she wanted to appear composed, unbothered, and she certainly did not want to overreact or attract his ire if he would simply end up leaving her be.

He was appearing as polite, but she did not trust him. He had no reason to be polite with her. Indeed, he had not really put a question before her--it was part of a command to her to offer information. She did so sparingly and firmly, directing his inquiry away from herself, "They are adjusting. They appear to be fine children." How she wished she had not been crying prior to this knock at her door. The wetness at her temple now seemed to sear the skin there, undermining the firmness of her voice.

She stood as he neared her, her movements quick but composed. If she was unnerved by his visit she wasn’t going to show it. He could see her better now that she stood before him, though the details of her face were somewhat obscured in the poor lighting.

She redirected his question from herself, focusing on his children. A safe ploy, Cassius thought to himself, retaining a certain degree of safety by not offering too direct an opinion about her status. Her tone had been calm but there was the slightest waver that undermined her otherwise courteous response. All was not fine as she intended him to believe by her words.

Cassius was pleased by her reply, he enjoyed these types of encounters, these social and mental dances. What he desired was to unravel her mind, to gather knowledge about this potential prey for the hunt. She was clever enough not to wear her heart on her sleeve, to remain respectful but retain the distance between Cassius and her personal information that he sought.

“Yes, I’m sure the children are adapting quite well to the new arrangements,” he took another step towards her, closing the remaining distance between them. He was now in her personal space, too close for comfort. There was no excusing his closeness, all pretences were cast out the window. He had not come to inquire about his children or their care, he had come to show her his power over her.

The top of her head reached just beneath his nose, he small frame dwarfed by his own. Here, at this distance, he was reminded of his first wife, the wife of his youth. She alone had been fiery enough to resist his appetite for control, to match him in wits and in deed. She died giving birth to his eldest son.
The memory of her lit a fire within Cassius, a burning desire to dominate this young woman completely, to make her entirely his.

Leaning forward, he spoke again, his voice lower and sterner than before, “I asked what you think about your work.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, letting the weight of his arm weigh down on her body.
“What is your name, Slave?”

What is in a name?

Everything.

Funny how a ticket to safety from predation was now a liability to her. Where her father's former wealth had shielded her from the desires of lesser men, it now seriously threatened to expose her. Lucia was obviously the daughter of the now defamed Lucius. She had nothing to gain by revealing, for certain, who she was. No, she determined that she would be withholding that information.

She was mortified by her quick fall. In the past few days, Lucia had thought often about her father. While she wished that he had simply fallen on his own sword after his epic failure, she was not sure that that demise would have resulted in a much different fate for her. As Cassius neared, she felt an anger rise in her--perhaps misdirected away from her father but definitely directed against the more immediate threat she felt now.

She had felt Cassius' heavy hand close the final gap between them--skin touching skin. She also became acutely aware that the wall was a foot or less behind her. She wished she had stood farther forward. Of course, that would have been a step closer to the interloper in her already small room. Even so, his lean forward caused her to step backward. Though he had hold of her, she wanted to maintain whatever space she had with him, and going forward was not an option due to the narrowness of the room. The solid wall behind her, though ultimately a dead end, gave her strength.

It was from her position closer to the wall that she was able to find her voice. Her distrust of him had been correct. The reality, she knew, was that he could do what he chose, but the raw unfairness chafed at her. Maybe it was her acclimation to fine things and respect, maybe it was her embarrassment that the fineries and respect were now gone--either way, she determined to hang on to whatever iota remained of that prestige.

Now, with his face closer to hers, she glared at him, setting her wetted eyes firmly on his. She felt like a serpent, threatened, hissing out, "Masters would not have slaves if they enjoyed doing the drudgery themselves." She paused, still feeling the venom inside her tongue, "Then again, most masters are not slave to the whims of their wives either."

Her harsh reply, filled with defiance and delivered with such force, caught Cassius off guard for a split second. She struck at him with her words like a cornered animal, fighting for its very life against a larger, more powerful predator. A futile struggle for certain but no less dangerous as a result.

He was both infuriated and thrilled by her response to his aggressive encroachment on her personal life. He would not ignore her low insults, he would make certain she suffered for them, but a passive target disappointed him.
This slave, this plebeian girl had presented him with a thrill he had not experienced in longer than he cared to remember.

As if her general appearance reminding him of his first wife wasn’t enough, now she even sounded like her, fearful and less confident, but a fighter none the less.
Cassius did not betray his inner thoughts to her, keeping his face solid and unmoving. He placed more weight on her shoulder, leaning in ever so slightly, “that was a little more than a name, Slave.”
He could see that she had been crying, her eyes still wet from tears. The sudden crisis had clearly shaken her, as would be expected. No doubt her life had been comfortable enough until now. No wonder she would be so daring as to insult her master to his face, a virtual death sentence under any other circumstances.

But these were no normal circumstances, and Cassius was no ordinary master. She would pay for her insolence but not by beating or lashing. No, Cassius had a far worse punishment in mind.

He grinned slightly so that she would see, “funny you should mention my wife, it was on her urgings that I came to see you this night. You see, she believes you aren’t suited to nursemaid work. No, your mistress thinks that you would be better suited for menial tasks.”
Cassius looked into the slave’s eyes to assuage the effects his words were having on her. In his home, menial tasks included back breaking cleaning and scrubbing of every corner of the estate, especially the toilets used by every member of the household.

Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “of course, I cautioned her not to be so hasty. It takes time for a new slave to adjust to their duties. I expect the best of my slaves. That is why I always ensure they are well cared for, that they may be well-equipped to carry out the ‘drudgery’ I own them for.”

Cassius leaned his head right down to her ear, whispering in a low voice, “especially for a slave as expensive as you.”

She had refused to tell him her name, hanging on to the one thread of security left to her in this vulnerable situation. Fine, he would let her have that victory for now.

Before turning to leave he whispered in her ear once more, “your secret is safe for now, but eventually you will tell me your name, slave.”

Despite Cassius' chilling grin, Lucia stood firm, taking his commentary and veiled threats as if she wanted to call his bluff. Of course, she understood that being re-assigned to the worse tasks of the home was well within the master's discretion, at any time. Inside, she was fuming--"not suited?" As if his wife were the she-wolf that had suckled Romulus and Remus.

With that anger, she was also scared and confused. His body was close to hers; she could feel the heat emanating from his upper chest, shoulders, neck, face, and even his breath as he whispered in her ear. She had expected some form of swift retribution for her tongue. In fact, she had steeled herself for it. She had been determined to maintain her dignity in this moment no matter the cost. Nothing could be worse than losing the last sliver that remained. Even if she lost it, she would not lose it so easily.

Given their closeness, she expected a physical response, possibly even a sexual one since he had come to see her so late. She also knew her father to engage her former home's various slaves to sate his sexual desires, particularly as he aged and the space between his marriages became longer.

Yet, Cassius appeared to delay whatever gratification he was seeking from Lucia, she noticed. And, his last whispered words to her did not foreclose sexual advances either. His reference to her expense could have meant that he believed his wife to be foolish to have spent the extra money on a slave that was cultured enough to appreciate her specific needs for child rearing. Perhaps he had meant to inspire her remorse--he alone was standing between Lucia and the whims of his wife as Lucia had put it. On the other hand, it may have been her youth, beauty, and health that fetched such a fair price--specifically because those things were an extra perk for the master of the home who would undoubtedly enjoy her for a different kind of labor beyond her normal duties.

Only after he turned to leave did she let her chest deflate and her shoulders sink. He would be returning--sometime--he made certain that she was aware of that. He had also let her know that he was controlling the small game played between them about the secrecy of her name. For him to even categorize it as a "secret" meant that he knew that Lucia had a reason for withholding.

Before Lucia could even draw in her next breath, there was another, more familiar faint knocking at the door adjoining her small room with that of the littlest one. Apparently, Cassius' children were as demanding of her as he was.

Cassius had not even left the room before a plan began to formulate in his mind, a plan to punish his insolent slave. He took pleasure in toying with those who ran afoul of him, whether they were members of his own household or his peers.

He remembered the first time he had discovered his love for inducing mental anguish in others. Having convinced his elder brother to let him accompany him while he practiced archery, Cassius accepted the conditional arrow fetching.
Castor, irritated with his young sibling, fired a shot close to Cassius’ arm as he had run to collect arrows stuck in the makeshift target in the fields of their father’s country estate. Although he missed Cassius by a hair’s breadth, the risky shot had been too ample an opportunity. Cassius dropped to the ground clutching his arm, crying in mock pain. As Castor ran to him, he cut his own arm with the broken arrow head he had discovered earlier.

Cassius exploited his brother’s guilty conscience for weeks following the incident, winning many an argument through subtle threats to expose his brother’s reckless act to their parents.

Ever since that day he had perfected his skills in psychological manipulation, seeing him in good stead considering his class and rank in Roman society. There was nothing he enjoyed more than playing mind games, not even a good fuck, though something had to be said for when the two combined.

It was that very combination that he had in mind now. The defiant rich girl would learn her place in the order of things. He, Cassius, had brought down her father, if she was indeed Lucius’ daughter as he suspected. A plebeian had no rightful place cutting in on his market, in his social circle.

Now, this plebeian would be forced to declare that her place was at the bottom of society, confess and accept her role as his slave and whore.

He would own all of her.

Over the next few days he kept his distance, allowing the previous night’s events to settle into the young woman’s mind. He had other work to attend to as well of course. There were plenty of other wealthy patricians whose influence needed to be courted with favours and parties and nearly as many potential foes who needed similar attention to that earned by Lucius.

Before long, he made sure to catch sight of Lucia as she worked with the children. He never engaged with her in conversation, keeping his distance, but let her know he was watching her closely. Seeing her in the daylight, he followed her with his eyes, evaluating her form. She was young, fit and attractive. Although he was not as naturally hot blooded as most other patriarchs, preferring his mind games, he found her to be pleasing enough.

He maintained distance for a few more days, intending to confuse her as to what he had planned for her. Raising and then crushing false hopes was an old and a favourite ploy of his.
Deep down he hoped she would not give in too easily to his machinations, giving him the challenge he so deeply desired.
While he maintained his distance, he continued with his plan to wear her down. Giving his youngest plenty to drink before bed, making night trips to the lavatory a certainty, demanding the children be awake and in their finest early in the morning were just two of his ploys for making life difficult for his slave.

Patient as he was, Cassius could not play this waiting game forever. Camilla’s intended visit to her sister’s presented itself as the perfect opportunity to advance his plan to the next stage. Not only would she be absent, but so too would his older children.

He found her sitting in the courtyard, watching young Cassia as she played at domina. She did not hear him as he approached her from behind, cat-like in his predatory advance.

Closing in behind her, he spoke, “Do you not rise in the presence of your master?”

For Lucia the next days were an admixture of interrupted sleep, early mornings, and one grumpy pre-adolescent. Where Cassia the younger was steadily developing a bond with Lucia due to what seemed like their near constant interaction, the elder had no qualms about making her disdain for Lucia known. Waking early was not something that came naturally to the elder at this stage in her life, nor was she too careful to listen to Lucia, and she insisted on dressing herself as she choose. Only when it came to her hair would she deign to let Lucia help her. Lucia quickly learned to start on the elder earlier than the others, due to her constant delays.

Lucia suspected that the new seemingly unnecessary requirements of the master's children were probably some form of twisted retribution from Cassius or at least from his vindictive wife putting her through some trial to prove her point to her husband. Cassia the elder would whine, "You don't know what you're doing, slave! No one else has ever forced me up this early before." Lucia did not take kindly to this treatment. She offered explanation in the form of education, meeting the pre-teen's angst just a notch down from where a parent would, "You know they are your father's rules. Perhaps someday, when you are domina in your husband's home, you will be allowed to make some of your own rules." Like a typical pre-teen, the elder's smart tongue quickly lost steam after being humbled by veiled sarcasm.

The fact that Lucia was not totally servile with the elder meant that Lucia was slowly gaining respect with her. One morning, after the pair's usual sparring and the elder had finally broken down to having her hair done, she even let Lucia into her musings, "What do you think my husband will be like?" Lucia was a little caught off guard by her question, thinking how unfortunate that the only model for husband the elder had was Cassius, who--as far as Lucia could tell--was extremely controlling, unfair, and even vindictive. While Lucia's own father had had his own egregious failings and foibles, she always considered him fair, somewhat patient, and mostly honest. His greatest sin was attempting to do better for his children and treating Lucia like a son in some ways--taking on pieces of her education himself, asking for her opinions when it came to business (with the exception of the last shipment, which he had probably not shared with her because he knew she would disapprove). Lucia considered the elder's question, and answered carefully, "Hopefully, he will be honest, fair, and kind."

As the days wore on, Lucia noticed Cassius throughout the course of her day. At times, she felt like his eyes were boring holes into her back. No doubt he and the domina noticed how the youngest now frequently took her hand and would--for the most part--oblige Lucia when she led the youngest away for a nap.

Her growing relationships seemed to bother Camilla--even though Lucia had been bought for the purpose of taking Camilla's stead as mother. Camilla had even interrupted and overtook a spinning lesson Lucia was giving to the elder. Though in her former life Lucia had never really needed to actually spin her own thread and weave her own clothes--it was still a skill expected of even noble women, the sign of a good, useful wife. As the elder was already thinking about marriage and would sooner rather than later be married off, Lucia undertook the first lesson. Perhaps it was a bit presumptuous of her, but given her father's short marriages, Lucia herself had been taught by her own maid how to spin. When Camilla discovered the pair working together during Sextus' tutoring and the younger's nap, she abruptly ordered Lucia out of the room. "Have to have your hand in everything, don't you?" she sneered. Lucia was patient, "If the mistress prefers, Cassia will take instruction only from the domina." Camilla seemed to think about the possibility of actually being fully responsible for teaching this skill to her step-daughter, "No, it's just proper that I do her first. You are excused. Now go. I'm sure you have plenty else do to," she simpered.

Whatever was asked of her, Lucia obliged. Her insults to Cassius had been in the privacy of her room. He had entered her personal space and she had needed to set a boundary--just as Cassius had attempted. She reasoned that if she gave him and his wife no reason to complain that she would remain mostly unbothered, her integrity kept in tact notwithstanding the inane regimen Cassius was now forcing on his children and Lucia by extension. Additionally, she felt that she did have something to prove to the domina--"not suited?" What children had the domina raised? She could not even take credit for the elder and Sextus--the pair having been birthed and at least partially raised by another domina before her. No, Lucia knew what she was doing--her younger step-brothers (wherever they were now) were evidence of that.

Yet, she had to admit to herself that the demands being placed on her were beginning to wear on her. Though Lucia had made some in roads in her relationships with the children, her lack of continuous sleep and the early mornings had taken her to the brink of a mental-physical limit. Of course, the thankless and dismissive attitudes of her dual masters had also left her a little worse for wear as well. Even so, she remained hopeful--though Cassius kept a watchful eye on her, he had left her alone both during hours and after. She had even had a few nights during which she did not cry herself to sleep.

Of course, Lucia felt that hope threatened now as she heard a familiar low voice behind her. Her eyes leaving the youngest, she stood to face Cassius, a ball of anxiety growing in her stomach. What could he possibly have to complain about? The other two children were gone, the youngest appeared happy and engaged. She stood to her full height, setting her shoulder blades down her back so that her posture would not appear servile. "My apologies, Dominus. I did not know you were there," she stated matter of factly. He looked different in the light now, slightly less imposing. She was still dwarfed by him but at least he appeared human and not spectral in the daylight. She maintained eye contact with him, searching for his purpose in this interaction.

His words had their intended effect, making Lucia jump up from the bench she had been sitting on. She quickly regained her composure however, a credit to her strong character, easing into an almost regal posture as she apologised to him.

Still the very image of a wealthy lady, Cassius thought to himself eyeing her up and down. There was an air of fatigue about her, the early mornings and disturbed nights were having some effect it seemed. Regardless, her tired eyes still shone with an intelligent spark, cautious and searching his own for any potential threat but filled with a self-confidence and personal freedom.

That spark infuriated him, causing the rage he had barely contained that night in her room to boil to the surface. His temper had cooled in the days following their encounter and her disrespectful remarks but seeing her here now, as defiant as she was when he cornered her previously almost made him lose his cool.

How dare she remain free in his house. Cassius’ arrogance was virtually unparalleled in elite society. In his mind, no one was higher than he, regardless of their title or rank. They could be reduced to nothing by his scheming and the sheer force of his powerful will.

Even dim-witted and rebellious Camilla knew where the authority lay in his house. His children may not love him but they certainly feared him. This plebeian slave could not be allowed to remain free in his home. She must be forced to accept his power over her.

The thought allowed him to keep his emotions in check. He would continue with the plan, seeing how long it would take for her to break. Part of him wished she would put up a decent fight, there was nothing more detestable in his mind than a pushover.

He almost laughed out loud at the plan he had for her but keeping his stern countenance was something Cassius prided himself on, he would not lose control of it in front of the slave girl.
“A slave should always act as if their master was present,” he said ignoring her apology. Walking past her, he made as if to look at young Cassia, dashing to the far side of the courtyard in pretend pursuit of a misbehaving child, before stopping behind Lucia, slightly off to one side.

They were as close now as they had been on the night they met, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her arm against his own. Cassia had been happier in the past few weeks since Lucia had arrived than she had been in all the years of her short life. The slave was faring far too well there, Cassius thought to himself. He could not allow her too much control as far as the children were concerned. At least Cassia the elder seemed to dislike her as much as she did everyone else as far as he could tell.

“I take it your duties must not be so…what was it? Drudgery? Your duties must not be so much like drudgery with the Domina and elder children away.” He angled himself closer to her body so that he was now standing behind her, the back of her head almost flat against his chest.

The warmth of her body against his was exciting, it had been a long time since Cassius had been so physical in his domination. The prospect of taking advantage of her thrilled him, the likelihood of her resistance thrilled him even more.

Cassia was just far away enough for his advances to go unnoticed but within earshot of Lucia’s raised voice if she dared to protest too loudly. Gently, he laid his hands on the slave’s hips, letting them rest there for a moment to evaluate her response.

Lucia could discern nothing from Cassius' stare. The sternness in his face revealed little other than his usual disapproval.

Unsurprised by his dismissal of her apology, Lucia felt Cassius move past her and then felt the tingle of energy between their arms as Cassius continued to comment. Lucia thought she felt that tingle intensify as he spoke, reminding her of her insult to him during their first encounter. Lucia had been under the impression that perhaps Cassius had decided to let the insult go given his distance in recent weeks. Certainly, she understood that he was watching her, but she believed that her dutifulness regarding the children would be enough, perhaps, to undo whatever damage she had done to Cassius' inclinations towards allowing her to live semi-peaceably, if such inclinations ever existed. Of course, Lucia believed that Cassius had been a totally deserving target of her insult.

But no, Cassius had not forgotten. If anything, he had appeared to have ruminated on Lucia's comments to him. She quickly tried to think of a response, but before she could settle on whether to respond with venom or deference, she felt the sprawl of his chest against her back, emanating the same heat that had caused the small hairs on her arms and the back of her neck to bristle when he had whispered in her ear some weeks ago. The same heat now gave her chills.

The ball of anxiety resting in her stomach threatened to overtake her speech as Cassius placed his hands on her hips. She watched Cassia, now far enough away from her to not be a protective shield against unwanted advances. How she wished that she would come closer of her own accord.

Instead, Lucia was left to quietly fend for herself. Now at a loss for words, she let her hands do the speaking. They followed his to her hips, their soft, unworked palms edging against the firmness of his knuckles, the male roughness of his skin. Their quiet order to his was to release her. In Lucia's mind, she also thought that she might forestall further advances if her quiet protest were not enough for him to release her. She attempted to shift her weight away from him, anything to quietly create space between the two of them.

It was done, he had made the first move.
There could be no mistaking his intentions towards her now that he had taken such a brazen step, invading her personal space with intimate touch. Whereas the nature of Cassius' first encounter with the slave could have been explained away innocently enough, this gesture, a signal that he was after more than just conversation, could not be swept aside so easily.

Cassius admired the feel and shape of her hips, his hands ever so slowly gliding down their sides as he waited to see what her response would be. As expected, she attempted to move away from him, to break free from his grasp. Expected, but no less exciting.

Her hands touched his, her message clear, attempting to shake his grasp from her body. Her skin was smooth and soft against his own, a clear indicator of the gentle life she had been so used to before her enslavement.
Cassius smiled to himself, this wasn't the first time he had made unwanted moves on a woman, he had enough experience in these matters to not be thrown of by her weak attempts at forestalling the inevitable. and it would be inevitable.

Cassius firmly pulled her against himself, overcoming the small gains in distance Lucia had made in her attempts at detaching herself from his grasp. The full length of her body pressed against his own, her beating heart reverberating through his own, encouraging him in his attempts to deflower this new conquest.

"Do not resist your master," he whispered in her ear, his voice icy cold, threatening. Resist! Resist! Cassius chanted internally, willing her to challenge him, to fight and draw out the hunt, the game of cat and mouse.

Her hands still pulling at his, he slipped his fingers further down across the front of her body, his finger tips dancing over the top of navel hidden by her clothing. He resisted the urge to bring his hands to her rear, to cup her ass with in his palms. Doing so he would lose the grip he had on her body, letting her break free from his hold.

No, he had to maintain control, of himself and of her. He circled his hands back to their original position on her hips, enjoying the game he was playing with his new found doll.
He didn't speak, words now would simply reduce the effect of his actions. He waited for her struggle, to move.
Resist! Resist!

Lucia felt his strength clearly through the way the seemingly small gesture of his hands brought her even deeper into his grasp. Her back was now securely shoved against his much larger form. Not only could she feel him literally breathing down her neck, she could feel with her back where the air originated in his chest--rising and falling steadily but deeply as if drinking in ambient lust. He was enjoying this, Lucia thought; he was excited by this.

Lucia, on the other hand, was not. His icy words sent her into an icy panic. Unlike Cassius, she could feel her breath coming faster, shallower. She felt cold, out-of-body, like she was watching herself struggle from above. Of course, the internal image of a struggle from above reminded her that others in the house could be watching--and, worse, choosing not to interfere. She felt so ashamed. Cassius had been so brazen, so open to the possibility of having other staff discover them--even his own child! If anyone was watching, no one was helping her; no one had anything to gain by doing so.

Cassia--still occupied in some world of her own, no doubt engaged with something in her tiny palms. Internally, Lucia pleaded with Cassia. Look up! Come on, look up! But, there was no Cassia. Instead, her similarly stubborn father engaged his own hands in a lazy, barely there stroking of her navel--despite the stay of her hand on his forearms.

Her panic set her into action as his hands returned to her hips, their dalliance with her navel done and now firmly rooting her to him. She twisted slightly to her right--she was right-handed after all--to use the small but forceful momentum of her right shoulder and elbow to throw him off her back to, again, create more distance. "That's enough!" she forced out under her breath, quiet but fierce--personal even; she was so focused on attempting to mitigate this awful moment. She had to extract herself, finagle her escape without sending out a ripple to the rest of the house. Better to avoid the further embarrassment of being made so small.

Lucia reacted just as Cassius hoped she would.
Her fierce twisting, breaking free from his grasp, and demand that he stop his advances were exhibited her panic. She was frightened by him. No, not so much by him as by her predicament, the humiliating circumstances in which she now found herself.

It was exactly what Cassius had wanted. This slave would learn her place and he would get his thrill as planned. No one would, no one could, stand between him and his quarry. Acting quickly, he grasped her left arm as she made to escape him, swinging her around to face him. Grabbing her right arm and forcibly held her before him at arms length. His vice-like grip on her upper arms securing her in place. There was no escaping him now.

Cassia stood up from where she had been sitting on the other side of the courtyard, dusting her dirty hands all over the front of her clothes. Cassius knew he had only a few short moments before the act was up and he would be forced to let Lucia go.
He would not cause a scene in his home. He still remembered the first time he had been in a very similar situation as a young man with his own nursemaid. She had screamed and run from him, alerting the entire household to his advances.

His father had spat fire at him for harassing the slave, most likely because he himself used her for his own pleasure and Cassius the elder was not one to share.

Cassius bored his eyes into Lucia's skull, forcing her to look at him, "I will decide when enough is enough," he hissed. His eyes looked beyond her to where Cassia had started to make her way over to the two, her face alight with mischief. "See to the child." He shoved her away from him, turning from and storming out of the courtyard.

Lucia was not even sure what had happened, how she ended up facing him, how his hands now gripped her upper arms. She felt his eyes dead set on hers. Though she longed to look away from his stare, she knew that she couldn't. Despite her fear, she met his eyes with hers, attempting to speak the same defiance her hands had spoken only moments ago. Even as he corrected her on her place, she met his stare unflinchingly.

Whatever her eyes might have said, inside, Lucia was petrified. She had not understood the extent of his strength until he actually applied it against her. She was reminded of the time when she and a younger brother of hers had play-fought, how easy it had been to physically beat him when he was younger. But as the pair aged, their play fighting suddenly became inappropriate not only because of their ages but because her brother could now so easily physically overpower her. She remembered the last time he had fought back with her, how easily he had forced her against a nearby wall, still just learning his strength. Their father had witnessed it and chastised her brother furiously about how it was improper to throw a noble woman around like a slave. Lucia thought then her father had been too harsh but, then again, Lucia had been something of a not so secret favorite with her father.

Cassius's barked order to care for the child pulled Lucia from this reverie. Her memory and reality collided as Cassius himself shoved her away from him, apparently done with his slave.

As he stormed off, departing the columned courtyard, Cassia was just as quickly behind her, tugging at her hem with her dirty paws, begging, "Lucia! Lucia!" Regaining her breath, Lucia turned around and picked up the child on her demand. She heaved as she did so--Cassia was really becoming too old to carry. But, Lucia wanted to exit the courtyard quickly and interacting with the child was the easiest way to distract her from the anxiety that still rested in her stomach, the tingle on her arms, her hips, and navel where he had touched her. Holding the child on her hip, she looked at the child's hands, then back at the child's proud face, "Oh my," she cooed, the playfulness in her voice masking the new quiver that had arrived in her throat. "What have you done, little one?" She occupied her nervous mind by fretting playfully over the state of the young one's dress, "And you've gotten your beautiful dress dirty." Cassia giggled, apparently unaffected or perhaps clueless about whatever portion of her father's interaction with Lucia she had witnessed. Exiting the courtyard toward the home's rear where she could first rinse and scrub the child's hands--anything to keep her mind occupied and further distanced from the panic she had just experienced.

Grateful as she was for the small child that had interrupted Cassius' advances, no amount of involvement with the child could fully stop her from perseverating on the coldness of Cassius' voice and his show of strength--and apparent delight at having made her an object to sate some desire of his. She could feel the heat of tears come to her eyes as she realized that she would not be able to defend herself if she were ever alone with him again. While the home was usually abustle with family members and staff, Lucia knew that Cassius could find her alone every night if he wanted. He had already visited her, alone, in her small nook. He could do it again. She would have to sleep with one eye open, do something, anything to keep herself as separate from him as she could.

The slave was on the defensive. Cassius knew that she would be, his brazen advance had signaled his intentions to have her submit mentally and physically had been clear enough. In the days following the incident in the courtyard, she kept a wary eye on Cassius whenever he was in the vicinity, keeping close to the children or other slaves when it looked like he was getting too close.

She was fearful, he could tell by her movements and quick glances over her shoulder. She did not give it away to the others, she was too cautious and clever for that, but Cassius experienced eye noticed the slight tremor in her steps.

He would not make a scene, forcing her out in the open. No, past experience had turned him into a more devious creature when it came to stalking his prey. He was simply biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make his next move, to isolate her and then pounce.

Of course, Camilla returned from her stay at her sister's house, ushering in countless little dramas over nothing upon her return. Her attitude towards the slave girl was worse than it had been before she left. Did she sense something had happened between her husband and the slave during her absence? Regardless, she was making life a misery for the poor girl, adding to the stress she was already enduring due to Cassius' demands for the treatment of the children.

It was through Camilla that the right moment presented itself, an irony considering Camilla's reasons for providing it.
She caught Cassius as he was leaving for the baths, her feet, as always, pattering quickly over the mosaic floor behind him, "Husband, may I have a word?" As always, Cassius rolled his eyes at her, knowing how she would be both infuriated and put in her place. Camilla seemed more irritated than demeaned this time however.

"I must implore you about this slave," she began, voice high as she tried to gain his empathy for her cause, "she really is terrible for the children." Cassius paused, face stoic as ever, waiting to hear her out. He sensed a potential excuse for having contact with Lucia approaching and knew better than to dismiss Camilla when she could be of use.

"What is the matter now?" Camilla composed herself, brushing a stray hair from her face, "she is far too close with Cassia the younger," she began, regaining some control of the emotion in her voice, "I fear that their relationship could become...inappropriate."
Cassius laughed internally, Camilla was lying through her teeth and they both knew it. The Domina had simply taken a disliking to another attractive young woman who was far more capable in the role of a mother and care giver than she herself was. No plebeian whore should be allowed to rival her in her own home.

"I don't think so," Cassius replied in a monotone, "the children seem to like her well enough." He was being truthful, Lucia's hard work was paying off as far his daughters were concerned.

"Truthfully husband," Camilla pleaded, pitch rising again, " I fear for young Cassia's sake. Who knows what sort of distasteful habits this plebeian girl learned in her father's home. No doubt he left her waiting outside his chamber at the whore house."

Cassius could not help but roll his eyes at that statement. He tapped his foot impatiently, "fine. Send her to me in the Tablinum later this evening. Although he did not let on, he eagerly awaited this next encounter with the slave. This time there would be no sudden interruptions or thinly veiled pretenses. This time he would consummate his plan.

Lucia nearly lost her mind with the Domina's return. The Domina was a woman who did not want to be satisfied; instead, her life was a series of tests she would set for others to unknowingly fail. The demands changed almost daily and the target of her torture was, in the Domina's mind, supposed to intuit the direction of her fickleness as if the target were the chief augur himself.

Divination was not a particular skill of Lucia's. She could never anticipate the direction of the Domina's orders--other than to come to expect that whatever she was doing was wrong. One day, the Domina had her change the younger's clothes no less than three times, finding something lacking or inappropriate for the setting--even though Cassia's social demands were basically nil. Another day, the Domina had insisted on comforting the girl herself only to have Cassia cry for Lucia by name. Much to her chagrin, the Domina had to give in to the child's demands--partly because the child's wailing was horrid, partly because Camilla did not have the patience to deal with it. She did not have anything smart to say to Lucia as she handed off the child--who really was getting too big to carry. Instead, the Domina just sneered silently at Lucia as she set the child down and re-directed her.

Perhaps Lucia could have expected that she would be standing where she was now--her eyes focused on the mosaic tiling of the tablinum. She had entered through the heavy curtain that separated the room from the atrium. The room was usually open during the day, unless Cassius required privacy either for a particularly delicate business transaction or for his concentration. She had seen the kitchen staff come back from the tablinum more than huffed after attempting to serve Cassius when the curtain had been closed. Apparently, the master's palate became more selective when the curtain was closed--stress, pressure, drive, whatever it was drove the kitchen staff crazy. Lucia would hear them speaking about the master's temperament during these times as simply, "one of the master's moods." The others would nod knowingly.

Lucia had been ordered there later in the evening. Cassius was apparently working late on something. Though, his working late was not entirely abnormal, she had noticed. Maybe it was a method of avoiding his wife, she thought idly to herself. Whatever household gossip she was gathering now, it was outpaced by the tingle of anxiety raising the hairs on the back of her neck as the curtain folded closed behind her. She had taken every precaution in last few days, finding strength in her obscurity among the many members of the house. True, she had felt Cassius watching her, but he had stayed away from her small bedroom. She kept the children close, like shields. She kept herself occupied, engaged, focused--tried as best she could to traipse through the traps the Domina set.

Yet, she still found herself here--in one of the two major rooms dedicated to Cassius. He appeared focused on some papers before him, uninterested in her new presence in the room. She looked beyond him to the heavily and intricately latticed folding door facing the courtyard where he had made his intentions known to her just days before. She could see the columns, the upper most part of the garden--the tablinum itself being somewhat recessed, a step below the courtyard and the rear of the home. She noticed the heavy rod near the high ceiling, in front of the latticed door, how it held another similarly heavy curtain that Cassius could draw in the day if the children's antics really bothered him. There were not many days she had noticed it was closed--maybe Cassius preferred to have an ear to the ground when it came to the public spaces in his home. Maybe he just preferred the breezes the courtyard offered.

Whatever noise passed to Cassius from the courtyard, he did not return it. For the most part, the tablinum was a quiet space, even though futures were made and destroyed in that room. Lucia had seen people leave grinning and people near tears. Whatever fate Cassius apparently doled out from that room happened quietly, personally, and always on Cassius' terms.

Lucia re-directed her gaze to the figure seated behind the table apparently invested in the very distinct numerical figures before him. Automatically, Lucia cleared her throat. It was part of her nerves, something about cleansing her psychological palate and being given leave to exit the room.

Cassius ignored the entrance of the slave girl into the tablinum, the space that served as his office, the shifting curtains signalling the presence of another in the room.
He might have ignored altogether considering the mood he was in. Since Camilla's visit earlier that day, he had been to the baths and run into a debtor who had been avoiding him from some time. Despite his best attempts, the plump patrician had managed to give him the slip, aggravating Cassius to no end. He had hoped to catch the fool of guard and push his advantage of surprise. Now he would have actively seek him out at his home or stage some dinner that the debtor could not refuse to attend.

What was worse was the papers Felix presented to him upon his return. They indicated someone along the chain of supply had been pilfering goods into their own hands, there was a considerable loss in the number of the best of the olive oils, wines and silks. That some items would surreptitiously disappear into the storehouses of middle men involved in moving trade was to be expected but this, this was clearly an indication that someone had gotten too greedy.

Altogether, Cassius' mood had fouled considerably since that morning, making him reconsider whether to bother with the slave after all. Her slight cough as she cleared her throat drew his mind back to the present. He had ordered that she be sent to him, hadn't he?
He leaned back in the chair, passing his hand over his face in a tired gesture he hadn't fully intended to make. Unusual, he thought, that he should be almost tempted to let his guard down a little before this young woman.

She was quite attractive as she stood waiting at the entrance of the space in her customary elegant pose. Once again Cassius was reminded fleetingly of his first wife, a thought that he fiercely dashed from his mind.

"Come closer," he ordered in a voice that was softer than he had intended. Perhaps is what the tiredness or simply the extra wine that had taken the edge off his usual harsh attitude. He shook himself mentally, trying to restore the determination he had possessed in their last encounter. Maybe his approach so far would throw her off and confuse her he hoped.

Cassius remained seated, waiting for her to draw closer, scanning her from head to foot, letting her know that he was evaluating her form. He could feel the slight spark within himself as he examined her, a flame that was slower to build than it had been when he was younger but no less powerful when it was fully alight.

"Speak to me," he ordered her, "I wish to know how your work with the children is progressing. And this time, I want more answers."

Lucia watched the tiredness leap across his face as he took his attention from the papers before him. It was true that she had never seen him break character, be anything other than stoic and firm. She looked uncertainly at him as he ordered her closer. The usual edge in his voice was gone. Maybe she could emerge from whatever this encounter was unscathed. Her eyes darted briefly to a cup within reach of Cassius. He certainly did not seem intoxicated--maybe just enough to humanize him, she half-joked internally. Immediately, she thought how wild it was that she could even joke with herself at a time like this. Perhaps it was some instinctual survival technique that inspired her internal humor--anything to make the dire setting seem like it was less so, one that she could escape.

It was not long before she noticed that his eyes scanning her body. He hadn't forgotten, then, about his intentions from the other day when they had been nearly alone in the courtyard. She felt herself shudder a bit, involuntarily, but stood firm, tall.

Then came his next order--for information. As a form of politeness, protection, and distraction to herself, Lucia clasped her hands together loosely in front of her, stepping forward towards the table between the pair only then. She offered commentary as she took thoughtful steps. Oddly, her words came confidently, matter-of-factly, "As I said, they are fine children." She offered more as she took another step, "The eldest is engaged in spinning," she looked to him for approval or at least some hint of his mood, adding, "the domina saw to that." She continued, nearing, "Sextus--well, he is a boy who would rather torment his sisters than sit with a tutor." Finally bringing herself within reach of the table, she offered, "And, the youngest appears to have adjusted to my care; she is starting to mind her manners quite well." She smiled slightly at the last--in part because she was marginally proud of herself for stopping the tantrums for the most part and because it was a small way in which she was seemingly better than Camilla--that woman was such a harpy.

She quickly replaced the slight smile with a sincere, searching stare focused on Cassius, hoping that he would find her answers satisfactory enough. Indeed, as far as she could tell, the master and his wife had little to complain about in regard to the children; Lucia had worked her hardest to make it so--mostly to avoid being in this room with Cassius right now. She had to remind herself to keep her breath steady, calm, yet strong. Weakness was something that she couldn't afford to show right now--regardless of how soft Cassius may seem. Though, she had to admit, that the slight softness did give her hope against her better judgment.

Cassius had to nod in agreement, Lucia really had been doing very well with the children, any fool could see that. No wonder Camilla had taken such a disliking to her, a very capable threat in her own home. He had to admire her strength as she confidently reported to him about the children. He took in everything she said, not because he was interested in them particularly, children were largely unimportant to him, but to observe her actions.

No doubt Camilla had been pestering her a lot recently, and his own demands should be taking their toll, but here the slave stood resolutely, uncertain and cautious but confident in herself none the less.
"Good." was all he had to say as she finished her report. Hearing her speak at length had intrigued him, he had only heard he utter a few words until then.
Yes, he could see himself enjoying her, not simply physically but perhaps as entertainment too. Cassius allowed himself to remain comfortable in his chair a little longer, it would be time to move soon enough.
He had determined to take things more slowly than he intended the other day in the courtyard, after all, he was somewhat tired himself. And he was no brute, as much as he enjoyed dominating others, when it came to exerting sexual power he preferred to break down barriers of resistance through slightly subtler methods than beating someone to a pulp.

The curtain moved as another slave entered the room with fresh jug of wine, glancing quickly at Lucia before hurrying over to the table to set the wine before Cassius. Cassius inclined his head in the slave's direction, the only communication he needed for the boy to understand, leaving the room upon command.

Cassius indicated his cup with an easy gesture, "pour," he directed her, "have a sip."

Under any other set of circumstances, Lucia would have been disappointed that her hard work had earned her only a "good" marking. From the time Lucia was a little girl, Lucius had explained to her the necessity of "keeping their name polished"; life was easier for those with the old patrician family names. While plebians, like her father, could indeed become quite wealthy and influential, any misstep could be such a plebian's last. The rules and society were more forgiving of patrician errors. As a result, Lucius had taught Lucia about the deep value of hard and smart work, and he rewarded her with more privileges when she showed these attributes. In other words, Lucia had been conditioned to expect rewards for her hard work. Again, under any other circumstances Lucia would have been upset at earning only middling approval from someone relying on her.

But, this situation was different. She felt herself relax at Cassius' simple praise. In truth, Lucia was exhausted. The demands on her had only gotten worse since the domina's return. She had continued to have interrupted sleep. Probably even worse now--she was actually afraid of Cassius. She slept lightly, her anxiety alerting her to every meaningless noise in the night. On top of that, a not small portion of her energy was directed on watching for him during the day. Confident as she may appear now, Lucia knew that this confidence would be short-lived. She was bracing, stalling--faking it. That faking it was also the result of Lucia's upbringing--she had learned that sometimes she had to feign a status that her family had not quite attained to make it through social events. Part of the game was making people believe your family was better off or more influential than it actually was. Credible lies.

Lucia was surprised--did a double take--when the boy entered the room. She was simultaneously grateful that someone else was there, even temporarily, to witness her situation but also ashamed. Certainly, the boy knew what was going on. It was possible that he even knew better than she did, the boy being accustomed to Cassius, his moods, and his treatment of his slaves. That boy would understand everything; she was not sure if she could bear it.

Cassius invited her to pour wine and drink, from his cup no less. She couldn't hide her incredulity, her wide eyes registering her shock. It was not considered polite for a woman of her (former) status to drink--though her father had allowed it a few times, privately in their own home. Simply put, whores drank, slaves drank, lower women drank--Lucia didn't. Besides, Lucia had barely eaten all day; the domina had been so focused on keeping Lucia busy that she had gotten only a few figs and a handful of bread from the kitchen that morning. At this point, she was running on adrenaline--perhaps the sole reason for her seeming confidence. She was almost too confused and scared to actually really feel her anxiety about being alone with Cassius.

So, Lucia did as Cassius ordered, focusing her attention on the jug, the cup, the wine itself--closing her eyes as she drank. She could feel the alcohol's burn lightly lick her palate, fill her nose--then the aroma of the fruit underlying it. She swallowed the sip reluctantly, setting the cup down, within Cassius' reach, searching his eyes with hers as if to say, "There. There's your sip. Now what?"

Cassius was almost surprised that when she did as he had directed, sipping from his cup that he had only just emptied moments before her arrival. Of course any slave should do what their master told them to no matter how strange, yet his request had been totally against custom.
Maybe he had expected her to refuse, given her rather proud attitude compared with the other slaves. He was pleased, however, it was better for her sake that she had a little to drink.
Upon finishing her sip, she looked him in the eye, almost in challenge, searching for his next move.

Nonplussed by her reaction, Cassius raised an eyebrow, "drain the cup." He ordered, authority returning to his voice. It was much better for her sake if she drank, he thought. Not that he was concerned about her welfare, instead hoping that the drink would instead dull her senses, making his certain his advances would not be as vehemently rejected.

Drink was one of Cassius' favourite tools, it had hardly ever failed him when he implemented it in his little schemes. Hell, the fool he'd spent half the day chasing had only agreed to set such a high security for his debts because Cassius had plied him with drink at dinner one evening.

He waited for Lucia to follow his command, waiting for the right moment to pounce and act on his devious intentions.

There. He had called her bluff, pushing her too far. Drain the cup? Was he insane? Wine and its effects were meant to be enjoyed slowly, over time, with food. It was not something to be drained or gulped. And, even more so, it would be totally improper for Lucia appear intoxicated in polite company--if this could be called polite company. Certainly, in her former life at a social dinner Lucia would have never drunk in front of Cassius nor would he have asked her to. But, times had changed, hadn't they?

Perhaps the thing about his command that pushed her the most was its obvious outcome: he intended for her to stay in that room with him. He would not simply allow her to become drunk and then send her back into the home among other slaves, the domina, the children. It would be seen as a total dereliction of duty, highly punishable, highly irresponsible even for a slave. No, the dominus would not allow something like that. Instead, it was very clear to her that he was intending on wearing her down here in this room--quietly, personally, and on his terms.

There, the ball of anxiety was there, back in her stomach--making its presence known to Lucia (and probably to Cassius), when its growing alarm pulled some of the color from her cheeks. And now, it even beckoned that she speak, her voice now much less confident. Her eyes darting to the cup, she appeared to examine the fullness of the cup, contemplating the full gravity of Cassius' order. Why had she given such a generous pour? And then her eyes trotted back to Cassius, their gaze less steady than before, half not wanting to see his reaction as she spoke. Her mouth paused open for a bit as she chose her words. Stopping herself from starting her protest with the word "Dominus," she left off his title, her voice searching for authority, appealing to the moral one, "I . . . It would be highly improper." She shook her head ever so slightly as she spoke, half in disbelief, half in communicating her refusal.

She felt the familiar chill of dread overtake her body. It pricked the hairs on the back of her neck, her forearms. She felt the forebear of panic's sweat settling at her hairline, her temples.