Ardens Imperium Ch. 01

Special thanks to DawnJ for helping me with edits. Please don't reprint my stories; writing is hard work!

***

The white war horse's massive hooves slowly rose and fell, wrenching the soft dirt on the narrow forest path that served as a causeway in northern Germania. Each footfall brought the smell of rotting soil to Marcus Drusus Tertius, perched atop the swaying beast's back, half dreaming.

The forest here was old and dark, with moss covering the ground and sunlight barely filtering through the trees. He could smell the turned earth, and he could hear clinking metal and snorting beasts over the muted silence of the forest, telltale sounds of the column on the move.

But as his body rested and his mind wandered, Tertius could also smell crushed jasmine, somehow still lingering around him. The sweet scent flirted with his mind, and he saw her obsidian hair sway and tickle her shoulders as she looked up at him. Eyes like emeralds sparkled as her gaze locked with his, and he shivered in his saddle, recalling the jolt that passed through his body.

Her bright green eyes never left his as she grasped his cock with both hands and took its head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. Tertius shook with pleasure as the olive-skinned beauty pulled back and bobbed her head halfway down his shaft, and then buried his cock deep down her throat on the third beat, and held it. Her tongue rippled along his balls while she hummed in low resonance, and Tertius exhaled sharply. His hands ran through the dark waterfall of her hair, releasing more jasmine. She pulled her head back slowly, her tongue dancing.

"A rider approaching, Drusus. Roman."

Tertius jolted awake, the pleasant remembrance falling away in tatters. The sounds and smells of the legion flooded back. Ahead, a rider with a speck of red uniform was drawing nearer to the column at a trot.

He looked toward the voice at his right and found an austere Roman with thinning steel grey curls dusting his forehead, riding an impressive brown mare. The man, whose sun-creased face crossed with scars read "SOLDIER" as plain as if tattooed there, wore a slightly bemused smile.

"Thank you, Uncle," Tertius said. "Your eyes are still as sharp as ever."

"You should thank the gods you can sleep in the saddle so easily. Or were you up late again last night?"

"Quite," Tertius said flatly. He half-heartedly tried to keep the annoyance in his voice, but the beginnings of his own smile betrayed any real seriousness. "Although sunrise certainly could be considered early."

Tertius turned his attention toward the rider as Lucius fell back a few paces. Even at a trot, the rider was upon the general's knot of cavalry in minutes. The soldier, now clearly decked in Imperial armor and the red of the Eleventh Legion, reined in his horse several meters in front of the approaching column, and thrust his closed fist against his breastplate in salute.

"Hail, General! Caius Velvus Audens sends his compliments, sir, and has asked me to inform you there is a defensible hill and glade ahead that will serve as an excellent camp."

"Hail, solider," Tertius answered loudly. "Excellent news. What is your name?"

"I am Publius Antius Decius, sir. Second Scouts, sir."

"Ride here next to me, Antius, and tell me of the road ahead."

***

Apollonia knelt on a smooth flat rock and lowered the mouth of the amphora to the brook, filling it with water. The running water gurgled pleasantly, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air here was crisp with the first hint of fall. This far north winter would come much sooner.

She pulled the large clay pot from the water, and rested it on the bank next to her. She brought her face down to the brook, cupped her hands and lifted the cold water to her mouth. After a quick drink, she refilled her hands and soaked her dusty face. She quickly splashed water on her arms as she shivered, watching the dust sluice off her ruddy Etruscan skin in little rivulets. Removing her sandals, she dipped her feet and washed her legs.

The refreshing bath seemed to wash away the road's weariness, albeit frigidly. She was not suited for the road, she decided, not for the first time. It was too dusty, and far too long to spend on her feet. She felt like she had spent fully half of her life on her feet, following the legion.

With a sigh, she refastened her sandals and stood. She looped her arm through the double handles at the top of the amphora and hoisted it, resting the base on her hip and the neck in the crook of her elbow. She turned, and carefully picked her way up the embankment.

As she crested the small cliff, the legion's camp came into view. She smiled, despite herself, as her second world unfolded in front of her. Soldiers and camp followers swarmed over the low hill and the green glade the legion was fortifying. The rambling boredom of the column had become pure order.

She wended her way though the camp, amphora on her hip, watching the beehive as it rose up around her. Grooms and farriers saw to horses. The quartermaster and cooks took stock of items in carts, checked lists, and barked orders to messengers, sending them scurrying about the camp.

Soldiers were chopping trees, digging holes, and erecting the stockade with the proficient familiarity of men who had done the same thing in the same way a thousand times.

Soon they would finish the perimeter wall, groom the horses, and prepare the food. Their tents would rise up in neat rows, and they would gather around the stewpot to eat.

She worked her way towards the large tent on the low side of the camp. Ducking her way inside the flap, she saw that Hector's other slaves had set up the tent in the usual configuration. The brazier had been stoked, despite the moderate temperature, and Hector sat reclining on his couch nearby, a cold leg of lamb and some slightly shriveled fruit arranged on the table in front of him.

Hector's heavy, hairy Greek form sagged into the couch. He had worn his gaudy rings, necklaces and bracelets -- all the portable wealth he had -- for so long that his bulging body had grown around most of the jewelry. A young girl poured wine while he gazed at his hand distractedly, wiggling his fingers to make the baubles on his fingers glitter.

Hector looked up as Apollonia approached, sharp beady eyes focusing, and then waved the girl away without looking at her. She bowed, and scurried out of the tent.

A lazy smile slid across Hector's face as he reached for his goblet and tested the wine.

"Not long now before little Sammy joins your ranks, Sunshine," he drawled. "She'll be bleeding soon, and then she'll start to earn."

Apollonia set the amphora down, knelt next to Hector and ladled some water into a basin stashed under the couch. She took a rag, and began to wash his feet.

"Yes, my lord," she said. "She's to be thrown straight into the fire like my others then, my lord."

"Not everyone can have the legion's favorite whore for a mother, Sunshine," he said, pausing mid-sentence to take a long pull from the wine. "Your magnificent upbringing isn't exactly the norm."

"Yet it's made me your top earner, my lord," Apollonia murmured, scrubbing between his sweaty toes.

"You're my top earner because half the Eleventh fucked your mother until the day she died, often at the same time," Hector sighed. "If it weren't for that fucking priestess, they probably would have fucked her for days afterward. Thank the Gods you're her spitting image. If you had half her talent, we'd all be back in Rome and you'd be fucking senators like she did. Besides, the men like raw meat -- I'm sure you remember."

When Apollonia finished with his feet, she rinsed the rag, rose, and dumped the basin outside the tent. She came back and knelt next to Hector, who was now tearing apart the leg of lamb and eating noisily, and waited.

Hector munched for some time before turning his attention back to Apollonia.

"How soon until you can have them ready?" he asked around a mouth full of mutton.

"I do not know, my lord," Apollonia said flatly. "There is a stream across camp; all of the girls could use a bath."

Hector gulped down a mouthful of wine.

"The eager crowd won't care, and that's who's coming tonight," he said, giving a perfunctory wipe of his tunic. "Take the water next door and make sure they're watered. Faces and cunts only, and a little bit to drink."

"They aren't livestock, my lord," Apollonia said, rising. "I don't 'water' them."

Hector plucked a pear from the table, bit off a chunk, and smacked his lips.

"Yet you tend to them as if they were your flock, Shepherd Sunshine," he said around the morsel.

Apollonia hefted the amphora again, and turned to go.

"I tend to you, my lord," she said, her back to Hector.

Hector laughed, spraying pear onto the rest of his little feast.

"Ah yes, so you do. You're a clever girl; why is that, Sunshine?"

"I'm your top earner, my lord, I'm the most popular with the men. Having me serve as your body servant projects decadence, my lord."

"So it does," Hector said, drinking from his goblet while leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes. "It also reminds you that you are just a slave, despite your favored status. I own you, just as I owned your mother, magnificent whore that she was."

Apollonia's face tightened, and her brown eyes smoldered.

"How could I forget, my lord," she said, ducking out of the tent.

"You can't," she heard Hector chortle behind her.

***

Roxolana lay under the surface of the hot water, hooded green eyes watching the dedicant stoke her brazier. Some of the thick-blooded Celts and Germans would quietly scoff at her for requiring the bronze heater this early in the season, but this land was nothing like hers, which only reached this temperature when the sun slipped below the sand in winter.

"Does the priestess require anything else?" the young dedicant asked, licking her full, pale pink lips in nervous anticipation. Her sandy hair and fair skin marked her as a Briton; her name was Gwendolyn. Roxolana could see she showed potential.

"Last year's burgundy, I should think, Gwendolyn," Roxolana said, sinking deeper into the copper tub. "It's been a long road. Bring the big jar and two glasses; pour one for yourself, and then go take a warm bath, too."

The dedicant's eyes lit up.

"Thank you, priestess. You are too kind."

"Perhaps. Hurry, and I won't change my mind."

Gwendolyn brought the wine, poured two glasses and left one on a little table next to Roxolana.

The priestess brought the glass to her mouth and took a deep sip, feeling the delicious warmth fill her belly. She sat in the steaming tub and let herself soak. The dust from the road slowly lifted from her dark skin, and she gave a throaty moan as the weariness ebbed from her bones. She began to feel slightly human.

Next to the wine, Gwendolyn had left a bar of soap. Roxolana picked it up and worked the bar into lather; it was infused with jasmine, another remembrance of her distant homeland. She missed the beauty of the High Kingdom, but there was beauty everywhere, she had learned. The Goddess required much of Her followers, but dedication brought satisfaction of all kinds.

She raised her legs out of the steaming water, and began to soap herself. She ran her fingers between her toes, washing out the dirt, and ran her hands up her calves, first the left, then the right.

She let her head fall back and rest against the tub as she scrubbed. After a once-over with the lather she massaged her stiff limbs, rubbing tight muscles to relieve some of the pressure. Her gentle caresses brought back such wonderful memories, the hands of many lovers worshiping her body in prayer to Venus.

But Roxolana was thinking about one pair of strong hands in particular, rough hands accustomed to holding weapons and reins. All soldier had calluses, and he prided himself on setting the example for his men by practicing incessantly, both with the sword and the javelin.

The hands ran up her inner thighs, travelling up the V where her legs met her full hips. They continued up her sides, and cupped her robust breasts, thumbs running circles on her stiffening nipples.

Roxolana arched her back and let her own hands linger on her full breasts, fingertips moving in tiny circles across her areolae, wishing her hands were his. She began to run her tongue across her own lips, first the bottom, then the top, just as he did. She could feel his rough stubble scratching her, his tongue moving from her lips down to the hollow of her neck, just below the jaw line.

She moved her hands down from her breasts slowly, caressing her curves under the warm water, down to her mound. She spread herself with one hand, and began to run her fingers up and down her slit with the other. She moaned as the touch lit her up with pleasure; he would have teased her in just the same way. She was slow at first, deliberately rubbing her clitoris with a light touch before backing off and letting her fingertips run up and down her slit.

Without opening her eyes, she reached out and plucked the wine from the table, and took another deep drink. More warmth; she could feel the Goddess looking down on her, smiling on her prayer, as her mind swam with lust.

She brought her hand back under the water, and she slid a finger into her warm folds. She began to slip two fingers into herself to probe her sensitive inner self, using the other hand to tickle her clit with a renewed urgency. She bit her lip as the pleasure rolled across her body in waves. Her motions started to splash the water audibly, but she only went faster towards her goal, moaning loudly.

Her mind started to fog, orgasm nearing. Suddenly, her eyes shot open, her mind clear.

Venus, her high lady of Love and truth, did not want her to finish like this. There was Prophecy coming; she needed to be with the man who held all their lives in balance when the moment came.

***

Tertius stood over his map table, scratching his sandy beard in thought. He stretched his limbs, sore from the long ride, lean muscles aching. His large frame rose above Caius Velvus Audens, who stood to his left explaining the territory his scouts had covered. Lucius was seated to his right, nodding with approval while listening to the report, eating crusty bread with olive mash.

The early autumn wind started to pick up outside, causing the canvas tent to flap and shudder. A cold night tonight, Tertius thought.

He turned his attention back to Audens, who was nearing the end of his report; the young man had made instinctive decisions, grasping how best to use the landscape around the camp.

"Why so few men watching this approach, Velvus?" Lucius asked, gesturing with a scrap of bread to where the brook ran through camp, winding around the small hill and through a copse to the south.

"I have my best pair of sentries posted here," Audens said, pointing to a section slightly to the west. "The map doesn't show it, but there is high ground here, and here. Even if someone were to plod up the stream, which is cold even for German standards, they would be hard-pressed to slip past Durias and Baro. Further up stream sit the kennels, so anyone looking to enter our camp would have to avoid them and the hounds, sir."

Lucius leaned back in his chair, grunted, and popped the last bit of bread into his mouth.

"Very well," Tertius said, shooting a glance towards his uncle. "The Second Scouts have performed admirably so far, Velvus. Give them my commendation, and then get yourself some dinner."

Velvus stood at attention proudly, and brought his fist to his heart in salute.

"Yes, General," he said formally, turning on his heel and walking away.

The older pair of officers watched him go. Tertius walked to the sideboard, poured two glasses of uncut merum, and brought one to his still-seated uncle.

"The boy shows much promise, despite his upbringing," Lucius said, taking the strong wine and swirling it in his cup.

"I see that, Uncle," Tertius replied wryly. "You need not set up straw lions for him to slay, either. We both would have set up the sentry pattern as such, bringing the kennels into play."

"I know that, Drusus," Lucius said, taking a deep pull from the heady wine. "But the boy probably didn't. I gave him a chance to show off, and I gave you a chance to praise him and his unit. The Second will walk tall tonight when Audens tell them what you said."

Tertius took a step back and bowed theatrically to the older man.

"We are all just puppets prancing in your grand dance, Uncle," Tertius said, holding his deep gesture. "Forgive me."

Lucius sighed and stood, finishing the merum in a great gulp.

"Great Dis, Drusus, you are a burden," Lucius said with a faint smile. "If I weren't so fond of my sister, I might just leave you to your own pitiful devices up here in the wilderness. My farms could surely use some of my attention."

"And miss all of this great fun?" Tertius laughed. "Your best team of oxen couldn't drag you away from the legion, and you know it."

Lucius grunted, rejoinder ready, when Tertius' attendant poked his head into the tent. A wisp of wind carried the faint scent of jasmine through the opening, and Tertius felt something inside him spark.

"The Priestess Roxolana to see you, General," Septus announced. "Urgent, she said."

"Mmmm, I bet," Lucius said, turning to Tertius with his well-used wry grin. "I'll take my leave so you many attend to this... urgency."

"Thank you, Uncle. Give my best to pious Aeneas and the doomed Brundisii."

"And you give my best to the priestess, if you're up to it," Lucius said.

The old soldier ducked out of the tent, and Tertius could hear him grumble a greeting to the priestess. The general gulped the rest of his merum, steeling himself for the olive-skinned beauty whose mere presence made him tremble with desire.

Septus held the flap open, and in from the dark came the priestess, covered entirely in a great hooded fur cloak held shut by a silver belt and clasp. She brought the hood down to her shoulders, revealing her black hair and beautiful face, and her gaze met his. The emerald brilliance of her eyes shone, ablaze with lust, and Tertius shivered.

"Thank you, Septus," he said, careful to keep his voice steady. "No interruptions, no exceptions."

Septus said something in reply and ducked back out of the tent, but Tertius was focused elsewhere. Roxolana took two steps towards him, reached down to her waist and undid the silver clasp. With an efficient motion, she shrugged out of the cloak and it fell to her feet.

Tertius heard himself breathe in sharply as she stood naked in front of him, all curves and tender beauty. His cock leapt to full attention, straining to break free from under the braccae he wore in northern climes.

Roxolana didn't speak, only strode towards him with confident steps. She reached him quickly, snaking one bare arm behind his head and drew him towards her for a deep, passionate kiss.

The general circled her waist with his right arm, pulling him up towards her, and ran his fingers through her straight black hair with his left hand, tilting her head to reach his mouth. Their tongues danced.

Jasmine filled his nostrils, and Tertius let the kiss go on until his breath expired. He retreated, holding his face just inches from hers, looking into her sparkling eyes.

"Your hair is still wet, Lana," Tertius murmured. "I can't have you catching a fever."

"The fever has been caught, Drusus," the priestess whispered. "And yes, I am still very wet."

Roxolana reached for the soldier's right hand, bringing it from her waist down to her folds. Tertius ran his middle and ring fingers up her slit, feeling her damp warmth. He pushed his two fingers into her and she moaned, grinding herself against him. She was sopping wet, and Tertius stirred his fingers inside her.