Page 27 of Enslaved
Having to adapt to another time and another culture would be an upheaval of all she had ever known. It would be upsetting physically as well as mentally and emotionally. She told herself that she was more intelligent and more highly educated than any of the people who lived in this household, and coming from the modern world made her more civilized than any of the primitive people who lived in this first century.
She must try to go with the flow of life here. She must accept the smaller differences, which were really of little consequence. She would reserve her energy and her strength to protest the larger issues, which she could never accept. Like slavery! Surely it must be abhorrent to all civilized people?
Diana was pleasantly surprised at the feel of the strigil as it smoothed over her body. The bath slaves massaged her with almond oil, then slicked off the excess with the cleansing tool. Then they urged her back into the hot water, where they washed her hair with handfuls of soft soap.
Finally they urged her to leave the bath and submerge herself in the smaller one. The cold plunge took her breath away and the bath slaves laughed with her as gooseflesh arose on her arms and legs. They wrapped her in a large, thirsty bath cloth and rubbed the wetness from her hair until it was a mass of damp curls.
The pair then stripped off their wet tunics and replaced them with identical short dry ones. They ushered her to yet another room of the villa. The floor was rich mosaic tile, the walls painted cream in contrast. Torches in wall brackets made the room bright. They invited her to sit upon a cushioned stool shaped like a throne. It had exquisitely curved cabriole legs and looked as if it had been created by the famous Georgian designer Robert Adam. Then Diana realized that Adam must have borrowed the design from the Romans.
The mirror before her was highly polished pure silver, which would have been almost priceless in modern times. One girl set to work on her hair with combs, brushes, and hot tongs. The other opened a carved box and set out jars of creams, lotions, perfumes, and face paint.
Diana was woman enough to take pleasure in the adornment of her person. She watched fascinated as her face became framed with tiny tendrils made from the paler silver-gilt hair that grew at her brow and temples. The rest fell about her shoulders and back like a cloud of gold. The other slave dusted Diana’s cheeks with color, touched her lips with carmine, and even her eyelids with silver.
Diana gazed at her reflection with bemused pleasure. The bath slaves had worked magic—they had made her beautiful!
Chapter 8
Kell entered the room carrying the robe he had selected for her. Amethyst eyes met gray and held for a long moment. The garment he had chosen was such a vibrant color, Diana lusted for it. He handed it to one of the girls and stood with arms across his chest waiting to see her adorned.
Diana fought down her distaste at having a man watch her dress. She knew no amount of protests would rid her of his presence. She would simply have to think of him as a slave rather than a man. The thought covered her with guilt. Was she already becoming tainted?
The floss silk robe was magenta. Diana had never dared to even hope to own anything in this magnificent shade. It enhanced her coloring a hundredfold, turning her hair to moonlight and her skin to pearl. She wore no undergarments and the irony was not lost upon her. How many times had she wished her body free of restrictive underclothes?
One of the bath slaves bent to her feet and slipped on sandals with high elevated cork soles. When Diana stood up from the stool to see if she could walk in them, she saw the skirt of the magenta silk was slit to the waist on one side to display her leg with each step she took. And an extremely long leg it appeared, atop the high cork soles.
Kell watched with hooded eyes. “The Egyptian musk,” he decided. That particular perfume was so costly the girl brought the alabaster flacon to Kell rather than apply it herself. As he reached out to anoint Diana between her breasts, their eyes locked. His touch was so detached and impersonal that Diana knew they were taking the first tentative steps along the road to understanding.
Diana had managed to keep the words of the general who owned this magnificent villa at bay. Now, however, they came stealing back to her.Have her bathed and sent to my couch.Well, the first order had been carried out. She had been bathed and beautified. No longer would he be able to call her a filthy bundle of rags. She thanked God for it. A woman had much more confidence and power when she knew she looked her loveliest.
Now she would be sent to his couch, wherever that was. Well, she was ready for him! All of a sudden the meaning of couch became clarified. His couch meant his bed! My God, how ignorant she was. That is what all this bathing and anointing had been about. They had turned her into an object of pleasure for his enjoyment!
The pupils of her eyes turned dark purple as she looked furiously at Kell. “You are sadly mistaken if you think I will go docilely to the general’s sleeping chamber! He may order this household of slaves to his black heart’s content, but I am not his slave; I will not obey his orders.” She watched Kell’s hand fall to his whip and deliberately raised her chin. “Not without one hell of a fight, I won’t. I will ruin the tranquillity of this household, I will run riot and cause such pandemonium I will awaken the dead!” She stood defiantly with hands upon hips berating the slave master with her fiery temper. “I will pull this villa down, stone by bloody stone, before I will submit to him.”
Kell had his choice of weapons to make her obey. He chose a subtle one. “What transpires between Marcus Magnus and yourself is your own private business. I recognize your high principles and feel sure you will not drag others to their downfall over this affair. If the bath slaves fail to deliver you to his couch, they will be flogged for their disobedience. As slave master of this household, I will be the one ordered to administer the flogging to these young girls. All the while your own precious skin will go unscathed. You possess an eloquent tongue. I suggest you await the Primus Pilus in his sleeping chamber and tell him yourself that you will pull his villa down, stone by bloody stone.”
Diana swallowed hard. What Kell suggested would take a great deal of courage. Yet the alternative was unthinkable. No one must be flogged because of her, if she could prevent it. She knew full well Kell had used his wits to persuade her to do his bidding, yet she could not help but feel a measure of admiration for his clever tactics.
Diana inclined her head. “Lead on.”
He took her up to the second story of the villa and led her into a large chamber. “After the master dined, he and his brother went to the amphitheatre. It could be hours before he returns. I suggest you rest while you may.”
His advice did nothing for her morale, but she bit back a retort and allowed him to leave.
Marcus Magnus had been looking forward to spending the evening with his younger brother. They had not seen each other for five years. Now his brother’s legion had come here to Britannia and would undergo vigorous training in Aquae Sulis before it ventured into the wilds of Western Britannia, which still lay unconquered.
Marcus waited in the atrium ready to welcome Petrius when he entered the villa. Instead of enfolding him in his arms, he smote him on the shoulder. “By Jupiter, you look fit. You have filled out considerably from the seventeen-year-old I left in Rome.”
Petrius had followed in his brother’s footsteps. Marcus had signed up for twenty-six years of military service at only fourteen years old, becoming a professional soldier for life. Petrius had had to wait until his seventeenth birthday because he did not have the brawn and muscle of Marcus. What he lacked in physique, however, he made up for in ferocity, rising all the way to cohort centurion, commanding over five hundred soldiers.
He ruled his men through fear and would have exchanged his handsome face with Marcus any day of the week. His brother’s visage was both dark and stark. The bridge of his nose and the planes of his cheeks made him look hard, severe, invincible. The scar from temple to cheekbone added a touch of savage violence that Petrius coveted.
As he looked about his brother’s villa, Marcus’ face was not the only thing he coveted. It was almost as grand as their father’s outside Rome. The atrium had a glass roof through which he could gaze at the stars. It also had a marble fountain where gold and silver fishes darted about between the fronds of water plants.
They walked between marble pillars to enter the triclinium, where Marcus could dine alone or entertain his dinner guests. The entire chamber was decorated in gold and white. Marble pillars encircled its walls, white marble tables stood between reclining couches, piled with gold and white pillows and elbow cushions.
“Very grand. How many chambers?” Petrius inquired, determined to keep the envy he felt from his voice.
Magnus shrugged. “A score perhaps.”
