Her Roman's Hand Page 3

  The man jostled her against his shoulder, stopping abruptly. Another man lifted her head, bunching several strands of her hair in his fisted hand. He pulled her tresses until his face was in line with hers. Then he looked directly into her eyes.

  His breath smelt foul. The few teeth in his mouth were black and rotted. One of his eyes was shut, a jagged scar crossing his lid down to his right cheek. His gravelly voice held low, menacing tones. “Per, meretricis.”

  The one thing she could decipher from his words was that the people in the marketplace spoke the same way.

  It suddenly didn’t matter.

  The evil glint in that kidnapper’s one, good eye made her grateful she couldn’t understand a damn thing he said.

  Chapter Two

  Time passed lazily.

  Outside, a bright orange ball of sunshine hung in the sky waiting for the second it could dip. Slowly, it started its descent, signalling midday’s end and the start of late afternoon. The glaring rays sought a more western exposure, trickling into a spacious, open courtyard.

  It warmed and nurtured the plants that grew there in clay pots, sheltered from the wind’s hot breath by a canopy. Rooms with doors and latticed windows opened onto the yard. Streams of sunlight slipped through the small, wooden openings of the lattice, seeking their next resting place.

  Soon, the sun’s soft glow settled on a man who lay on the marble floor, his body curled into a foetal position. Heat stroked his face, making tiny sweat beads appear on his forehead.

  He cracked one eye open and looked around.

  Click! Clack!

  It seemed as though animal hooves beat against the pavement yet, he knew that his bedroom adjoined the courtyard. It shielded him from the harsh sounds coming from the outside world.

  Click.

  Clack.

  Again, he heard the sounds, but this time they grew steadily in his brain, until he was forced to place his hands on his head. The din rose. He clamped his hands over his ears, hoping to shut it out completely.

  Sharp pain knifed through his skull. He turned his head slightly, but now, a band of soldiers marched though his brain, their steady footfalls beating a loud, staccato rhythm against his skull.

  The door to his bedroom slid open. Footsteps echoed on the tile.

  “Master, I’ve brought you refreshment. Even though it is late, cook said you should eat and…”

  He cast a furtive glance at the person that just walked in, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s bright glare.

  “Master? Why are you on the floor?”

  I have no idea… He snapped his brows together in thought. Maybe he wound up on the floor because he’d had too much damn wine last evening.

  But I didn’t go out.

  He uncurled his cramped arms and legs and rose on shaky feet.

  Or did I?

  A rank smell drifted by his nose. His stomach roiled, nausea swirling inside his gut. He certainly felt like he had imbibed too much wine.

  A young woman smiled at him. She held out a large, heavy-looking platter. “I’ve brought you a delicacy. Stuffed dormouse.”

  His eyes widened at the sight, bile rising in his throat. He gagged then backed away, but she thrust the serving tray at him.

  He wanted to push it aside, but toppled it to the ground instead. The food landed on the floor in a soggy heap of bread, meat and…

  “That is my meal?” He pointed at the tiny animal carcass on the floor, then screwed his face into a grimace.

  “Cook made it especially for you.” She bent down, then picked up the small rodent the by the tail. “It’s stuffed with pepper and nuts and some mouse meat.”

  He started to gag again. “Get that thing away from me!”

  “Y-yes, Master.”

  She cleaned up the mess on the floor, dumping it back on the tray.

  “M-Master?” Her eyes widened. “Why are you dressed that way?”

  He looked down to see azure coloured material covering him from his waist to his ankles. The heavy material hugged each leg, unlike his usual clothing.

  How did he come to be dressed in such an odd manner?

  Think. Think, damn it!

  His memory stirred. He had pitched headlong through a black void. The dark tunnel seemed to have no end, for he travelled down its long slope, his body bouncing against the stone sides.

  “Master?”

  “What?”

  “Your legs. What is…?”

  The word was on the tip of his tongue. If he could just remember it…

  In the next instant, the proper name for his attire sprang forth.

  “They’re called ‘pants’.” Another word popped from his mouth. “Jeans.”

  She pointed to his chest. Her finger brushed the linen of what he remembered was his ‘shirt’.

  “I’m sorry!” She bowed her head and stepped away, her body shaking. “I-I did not mean to touch you. Please don’t punish me.”

  “For the love of—Appia, stop crying.” He took the empty tray from her hands and placed it on a table, but his hands shook.

  Why can I remember this girl’s name, yet, I cannot recall other events?

  She lifted her eyes to his chest. “What is that?”

  “It is called a ‘T-shirt’.” He looked down at the white cloth covering his chest. “I’m quite sure that’s what it is, a ‘T-shirt’.”

  She nodded and replied, “Tuh shart.”

  “T.” He repeated.

  “Tuh.”

  He shook his head. “No. Look at my mouth. See how my lips are moving? It is teeeeeeeee shirt.”

  “Tuh. Shart.”

  “Just take the platter.” The stench of stuffed dormouse filled his nostrils. “And go.”

  “I will get you an ornator.” She grabbed the large plate.

  He shook his head. “No! I don’t need anyone. Now, go, please.”

  “But how will you ready yourself?” She gazed at his clothing, a puzzled look on her face. “Is that how you will be dressed?”

  He took her by the upper arm and led her to the door. “I will manage.” While I try to figure out what happened to me!

  She placed a hand on the door, turning her head slightly.

  He noticed the faded purple bruise on her left cheek.

  “Appia,” he said quietly, lifting her chin with his index finger. “What happened to your face?”

  “I, uh, walked into something,” she mumbled.

  “What?”

  She inhaled sharply when he reached out and touched the purplish bruise.

  “Did someone strike you?”

  “N-no.”

  He gripped her shoulders between his hands. “I want the truth.”

  “Servius punished me.”

  Servius…who in hell was Servius?

  “I-I was not fast enough this morning. Your breakfast was ready and I—” She burst into tears. “My leg aches me today. It is not easy to move.”

  He suddenly recalled that she aggravated this Servius person quite frequently, her tardiness a constant complaint. He glanced at the young girl. She was young, her pretty face still forming into a woman’s beautiful countenance.

  While he could push aside this Servius’ constant protests, he could not turn away from the man’s obvious abuse.

  “Servius will not strike you again. I promise.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Put a cold cloth on your face and rest. If anyone questions why you’re not working, tell them to see me.”

  She exited his bedroom. He slid the door closed behind her, turning to lean his back against it. Scrubbing a hand over his face, his fingers slid across something hard and bumpy.

  Glancing into a polished, metal mirror, he noticed that an egg lined his forehead. The bump was the size of a large, gold coin. When he pressed a finger on it, pain sliced through his skull.

  His head spun.

  How did I acquire such a lump?

  A mental veil covered his brain, his
thoughts murky and unsettled. Then the cloak covering his mind lifted bit by bit.

  His memory stirred. He had fallen down a long tunnel, bumping his head against the side. Maybe he had dreamt about that threshold and his journey last night, but the aches and pains blooming in every part of his body made him rethink that.

  He changed into different clothing, something he deemed more appropriate.

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed a small piece of metal on the floor near his bed. Walking towards it, he retrieved what appeared to be a small vessel. Running his finger across the smooth metal tin, he registered a memory.

  His head had ached some time ago. So did his body. He had contracted an illness in a strange land he’d visited.

  The ‘flu’.

  Using his thumbnail, he placed it beneath the tin’s cover. It popped open, revealing the contents. Small, white tablets lined the inside. He remembered placing two white tablets in his mouth when his head and body hurt. A little while later, the pain had vanished.

  “Ty–le–nol,” he read aloud from the words on the vessel. “Temporarily relieves minor aches and pains.”

  The band of marching soldiers still trekked through his head, so he popped two small pills in his mouth, washing them down with water from a nearby pitcher.

  He strode from his bedchamber and walked down a hallway, glad to know that his brain was starting to clear a bit.

  At least he knew where he was going! If he kept walking, he’d wind up in an elegant hallway lined with marble. Everything in this damn place seemed to be constructed with that stone.

  Did I do all that? I don’t remember…but I must have good taste.

  “Good morning, Excellency.” A small man greeted him and bowed. He rose to his full height of five feet, five inches. “Are you all right, Excellency?” He pointed to the egg.

  Desperation filled him.

  Who is this man? Why does he know me?

  In the next instant, his memory came to life. “Decimus!” he shouted. “Decimus.” He grabbed the little man’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “My old friend, Decimus.”

  He shook Decimus’ hand so hard that the little man’s body shook.

  Decimus just stared at him, his eyes wide. “Friend?”

  “Why, yes, I…” Why was Decimus questioning him? They were friends; they had to be. He had such fond feelings for the small fellow.

  “I am your steward, Excellency.” Decimus extricated his hand, took a step back, and bowed.

  “Of course.” His cheeks burned with embarrassment. My steward.

  “Excellency, are you sure you’re not ill?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, Decimus. I took some Tyle—”

  “You did what, Excellency?”

  “Nothing,” he replied, not wanting to go into long-winded explanations. If he couldn’t understand what happened to him, how could he expect Decimus to? Besides, he was glad he remembered who this little old man was—a trusted servant. “Prepare my conveyance, I’m going out.”

  The skin on the back of his neck prickled. That same tingling sensation travelled down his arms. A strange, restless exigency filled him, the need to get out surpassing all others.

  Perhaps he needed fresh air to clear the cobwebs in his mind.

  Maybe then he could remember what happened.

  * * * *

  A little while later, he travelled through the city. The roads teemed with people, slowing his journey.

  What made him leave his home?

  And where should he go?

  A black cloud hovered over his mind. Sadness so profound, so utterly devastating filled him. Perhaps it was that bump on his head. He fingered it again, the swollen, tender spot making him wince. That was probably the reason his emotions swayed from contentment to this edgy gloom.

  He tried to distract himself from his morose thoughts, choosing to think about other words to describe the transports he used when he journeyed in that far-off land he visited.

  One was called an automobile.

  Three words came to the forefront of his mind… “Fully air conditioned,” he said aloud, remembering that it meant ‘cool air’.

  Sweat trickled down his chest, the intense heat making his clothing stick to his body. He wouldn’t mind a bit of that ‘air conditioning’ right now.

  As his eyes closed, his mind filled with odd thoughts. He wanted to go back to that fascinating land.

  But how do I get there? I know I can, yet, I can’t remember.

  Frustration made him grind his fist into his thigh, for his brain was still locked behind a closed door in a room filled with memory.

  Slowly, he pushed on the entrance. The door opened, revealing reminiscences of a flaxen-haired woman. She possessed hair the colour of the pale wheat that grew in the fields. His body grew hot, his erection making him uncomfortable. He shifted on the seat, feeling as if he needed to relieve his sudden desire for her.

  His damned cock begged for only her touch.

  He should punish her for doing this to him, for making him want her to the point where no other female would do.

  Damned woman!

  She must be a figment of his imagination, for she resembled a nymph.

  Maybe, he scratched his head, he had lost his mind completely. His head started aching again. He pressed a thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose.

  The flaxen-haired woman crept back into his thoughts, her image crystallising in his brain. She stood by a table, her eyes widening while she viewed the salacious illustrations…

  His eyes snapped open as memories spewed forth, the entrance now widening to the one spot in his brain where recollections were kept.

  He hadn’t been able to stop the catalyst she set in motion. He had followed her in a frantic attempt to stop the fierce energy flow propelling them backwards, but she fell too far down the tunnel for him to grab her.

  It had been no dream nor any demented thinking on his part.

  He slumped in his seat, disturbed that he hadn’t been able to protect her while she made her perilous journey.

  Was she scared? Hurt?

  The idea that she was a living, breathing woman hit him full force, making his head spin. He had to try to find her before someone else did. Who knew what would happen if she were lost in the city.

  He stuck his head through the window and shouted a command. “Subsisto!”

  The vehicle came to a halt.

  He got out and ran into the crowd, the blazing sun beating down on his head. He stopped suddenly, sliding a hand through his hair. Where should he look for her? The city was huge. It would take an eternity to find her, if she was even here.

  Decimus caught up with him. “Excellency, wait!”

  He turned around when he heard Decimus. What could he say without the wily man thinking that he had become deranged?

  Dreams and actuality swirled together in his mind. He was positive he had gone insane, for it was hard to tell the difference between the two.

  He was becoming more like his damn father every day.

  As he ran down the street, hearing Decimus’ call, one thought stayed in his mind. He had to find the woman of his dreams.

  The woman who made them stark raving reality.

  Chapter Three

  Lyla’s abductors carried her through winding streets and narrow alleyways.

  Her captor’s arm banded her thighs, his grip like iron. The more she struggled, the tighter his hold became.

  She had a limited view, and from the little she could see and hear, the small street they were on was deserted, except for them.

  Her heart plummeted. How will I ever retrace their steps or get an idea of a landmark?

  The man’s pointy shoulder dug painfully into her gut. The other men noticed her upturned backside. Their voices rose in crude laughter when one captor slapped her ass.

  She sucked in a breath when her abductor’s hand crept up her shorts, his fingers skimming the juncture between her thighs. She k
icked out her legs and twisted, but all that got her was another stinging slap, this time on the back of her thighs.

  Her kidnappers ran down narrow steps, their sandaled feet clacking on the rough pavement. In the next instant, Lyla’s eyes grew accustomed to near-darkness. She managed to lift her head to see that light flickered softly on the walls. They appeared dirty and stained.

  Perhaps her imagination shifted into overdrive, but she could have sworn the dark smears on the walls resembled dried blood splatters.

  She forced down the bile rising in her throat, but she gagged on her own saliva. Sweat inched down her back. There was no moving air in the narrow corridor.

  A powerful stench, like rotting meat, filled her nostrils.

  She heard a creaking noise then the man carrying her tossed her from his shoulder. Lyla managed to stay upright, but she swayed on her feet.

  When the room stopped spinning, she noticed a man sitting behind a wooden table. He had short-cropped hair and dark, beady eyes, reminding her of a crow or a…

  Snake.

  He rose to his feet and walked around the rough-hewn furniture. She trembled, for he carried a mean-looking whip in his hand. He stood before her, using the lash’s hand to push her chin upwards.

  One man addressed him, hesitation in his voice. “Es vos c-commodo, Corvus?”

  Oh, how she wished she could understand them. The one thing she could discern was that the man with the whip was in charge.

  He released her chin, a smile spreading across his face. He hooked his hand on her tank top, his fingers tugging it down between her breasts.

  She screamed, the shrill sound echoing through the room.

  The men laughed.

  “Stop it.” She pushed and shoved at the hand on her chest, but the man had an iron hold. “Oh, God, someone help me!” Her cries for help made them laugh more.

  She heard a sound like cloth tearing. When she looked down, she realised that he had ripped her tank top from the neckline down to her waist. It gaped open, revealing her skimpy, strapless bra. It barely covered her breasts.

  He stared at her brassiere, confusion lining his pudgy face.