XIX.
Taleena had clung to the horrible post in abject humiliation, presenting
a piteous spectacle as the other recruits had filed past her, while their stares
- some expressing sympathy, some shock, and some prurient satisfaction - cut her
to the quick.
Syphax, the Numidian who had had a taste of the lash himself at the end
of the first week, was the most compassionate of them, while Arminius, the tall
champion who had outclassed her so thoroughly with the sword, gave her a nod of
grudging respect. But Boiorix, his thick-bodied comrade, made not the slightest
attempt to conceal his pleasure, his barbaric eyes feasting upon her
whip-ravaged nudity. His self-satisfied stare added salt to her wounds, and
Taleena knew that if the choice had been his, he would have willingly have
wielded the lash himself to avenge himself upon the young woman who had
disgraced him in the ring.
As the onlookers slowly drifted away, Taleena wanted to curse the lot of
them, for none of them had lifted a hand to prevent her degradation, but in her
heart of hearts she knew that she was being unfair. None of them, save for
Calixtus, perhaps, could have prevented her cruel flogging. Even so, she glared
at the small party of men as they passed her - as if her wild look could cheat
the German brute of his prurient satisfaction, or negate the compassion or
attestation of respect from the others, which had come too late to do her any
good.
Even after all of her fellow-recruits had abandoned the yard en route to
the bath house or their cells, the blood-streaked blonde remained forlornly in
the yard for some time before she was able to summon up the strength to move.
With shivering hands she slipped her wrists free of the ropes which had held
them, noticing that the rough hemp had dug into her flesh while she writhed
under the lash, leaving purplish weals and raw scratches as well. In a rather
vain and useless attempt to cover some of her dreadful welts, she groped for her
dusty loin-cloth and wound it around her hips, leaving her belt where it lay,
and looked around for her breast-wrap, but it was nowhere to be found.
It was only by using the whipping post to support her body that Taleena
was able to rise and begin the process of dragging herself away from the arena
of her ignominious degradation. She had never felt so brutally hurt in her life.
Her ordeal in the sailors' lair in Massilia had been even more degrading, and
her subjugation by the inhumane Scythian Strap more shameful, but the knowledge
that the brute force of the lash had crushed her righteous resistance was almost
worse than the beating itself. Two weeks of ruthless drill had not taken the
fight out of her, but the dreadful flogging had literally left her without a
sound leg to stand on - and it had taken Byrria no more time to decimate her
strength than it would have taken Taleena to complete two laps around the cinder
track.
* * *
Thickening shadows of twilight had descended by the time Taleena limped
across the yard toward the staff building. She almost fell down the steps that
led to the basement, and when she finally made it to her sparse quarters, she
threw herself toward her bed with her last ounce of strength. But she lacked
even enough strength in her legs to accomplish that simple task and her
collapsing motion miscarried. Taleena fell awkwardly to her knees, half
supporting herself by clinging to the edge of the cot, as she heard the door of
her cell closing behind her.
Groaning with strain, the fallen blonde turned her head to realize with
horror that Rutilius had preceded her to her cell. The grinning, pock-marked
youth had been waiting for her arrival, and was leaning indolently against the
wall behind the door which he had just slammed shut. He twirled her flimsy
strophium casually between his fingers - the trophy that he had triumphantly
ripped from her body while she had been tied to the whipping post.
"Have you been looking for this?" he smirked, holding her strophium out
toward her, his eyes leisurely taking in the curves of Taleena's near-naked body
while she tried to catch her breath.
Grimacing in discomfort, Taleena faced the young guard who approached
her menacingly. Her upward glance could not fail to take in the bulge in his
adolescent crotch, thick and threatening and growing by the second.
"Ahh, so now you show courage, you coward!" Taleena spat out
contemptuously through her pain. "When I challenged you the other day, you slunk
from my sight like a beaten dog. But now that the Thracian has torn me apart you
have come to confront me! Is this the nature of your courage, your manhood,
boy?"
"Now is that any way to speak to a man who has done you the favour of
returning something you ... misplaced?" Rutilius snapped derisively, making
clear that he had been angered by Taleena's disparaging words. "I should have
thought that you'd have been pleased to get it back," he continued as he lowered
the cloth that had held Taleena's breasts and stroked it lightly across the
bulge in his crotch.
"Just give it to me, damn you," Taleena hissed, "and get out of here!"
"What do you offer me in return?" he smirked, as his eyes dropped to her
bare legs and the brief loin-cloth which covered their juncture.
Taleena gave the gloating guard a look of undisguised hatred as he
tucked the strophium into the front of his belt.
.
"Come on, don't play the virgin with me, galley whore," Rutilius
snarled. "I'll bet you offered the whipmaster on your ship whatever he wanted
to spare yourself a few lashes, didn't you?"
"I offered him nothing, you pig! And I'll give you even less!"
"Well then, I'll have to take it, then, won't I?" Rutilius snarled,
goaded on by Taleena's continual insults. He took a quick step toward her, and
Taleena lurched painfully to her feet to defend herself. But she was not quick
enough, and he seized her roughly by the right wrist, twisting her arm
painfully. Taleena swung around and kicked at him, but lost her balance,
allowing him to throw her against the rough wooden door.
Taleena grimaced in pain but charged headlong at him, hoping to drive
her shoulder into his mid-section, but Rutilius pivoted quickly, seized her by
her bare shoulders and sent her sprawling across the floor.
"Aaaaaaaahhh," Taleena cried out in agony as her whip-ravaged back
scraped against the terracotta tiles. Grunting furiously, Rutilius threw
himself on top of her, driving a knee aggressively between her thighs while
Taleena thrashed beneath him like a wildcat, her bare legs churning, her arms
pounding at his head and shoulders as she fought to rid herself of her
assailant.
"Get off ... of me ... Roman pig!" Taleena cursed, as Rutilius pressed
his attack, throwing his weight forward and crushing her tender breasts beneath
his chest as he seized her wrists, pinning them to the ground on either side of
her head. Taleena felt the massive bulge in his crotch hard against the flesh
of her bare belly, and tried to rear up and throw off her predator. But her
ordeal at the whipping-post had sapped her of her strength. On the other hand,
Rutilius' incipient lust seemed to infuse the lanky lad with unexpected vigour,
and after a few more vain attempts to wrest herself free Taleena's resistance
subsided somewhat as she tried to conserve her waning energy.
Rutilius, breathing heavily after their brief struggle, let his greedy
eyes wander over the lush, arching expanse of the Avernian's slightly flattened
breasts. The soft, heaving mounds glistened under a thin film of perspiration,
and the fresh welts the whip had left on their outer contours only added to the
fire in his loins.
Poised triumphantly over his vanquished prey, the thrill of conquest
coursed through his veins. He had stalked the luscious Avernian recruit since
the day she had first set foot in the Flavian compound, ogling her marvellous
body from a distance whenever he could. He had watched her suffering under the
cruel training regimen, fighting in the pit, bathed in sweat, nude save for the
flesh-searing Scythian Strap, and he had pictured her in all kinds of even more
compromising scenarios. But aside from his feverish dreams, he had never before
had the opportunity to take a woman's breasts in his hands, much less breasts
the likes of the gorgeous Gaul's.
His hands itched to stroke, to squeeze, to fondle the treasures that
were now within his reach, and sensing Taleena's depleted strength, he put
behind him all of his cowardly inhibitions. He tugged her arms from their
outstretched position and tried to pin them down at her sides by dint of using
his knees, thus freeing his hands to allow them to touch the enticing flesh that
he had worshipped from afar for so long.
But when he neglected to keep the beleaguered blonde's wrists in check
with his hands, Taleena managed to tear one hand free. She struck him squarely
in the jaw, hurting her hand in the process, and as she felt his weight shift
slightly in response, she rose up with a Herculean effort and threw him to one
side.
Rutilius cried out as he rolled over onto his back, but took Taleena
with him. She found herself on top of him as she grappled with him, trying to
get control of his hands. But Rutilius was fresh and strong and she had still
not recovered from being flogged to the brink of unconsciousness. As they
wrestled, Taleena's pendulous breasts hung full and ripe, their proud pink
nipples only a finger's length from his face. Rutilius surged upward like a
fish snapping at a bait, thereby managing to roll her over on to her
whip-ravaged back again. He straddled her midsection, trying to restrain her
flailing arms, while Taleena lashed out at him furiously, landing another
glancing blow to his ear.
"Bitch!" Rutilius growled in pain. Boiling with rage, he
counter-attacked, smashing his fist into the side of Taleena's face, stunning
her and causing her to fall back weakly.
His face still stinging from the second blow Taleena had dealt him, the
raging guard glanced vengefully down at the half-dazed blonde, and was seized by
a sudden inspiration. He dragged her prostrate body closer to the cot, heedless
of the whimpers that were wrenched from Taleena's lips as her ravaged back was
drawn painfully across the terracotta tiles of the floor. He drew the strophium
out of his belt and cut one end of the breast-bandage with his teeth, and then
savagely ripped the fabric in two. Taleena was still struggling to come round as
Rutilius grabbed a hemp-raw wrist, and used one of the strips to tie it quickly
to a post of the plank bed. His duties at the whipping post had not been wasted;
as Taleena fully regained her consciousness, she found that each of her
outstretched wrists had been securely tied to the ends of the bed frame, and
Rutilius was once again between her legs, his weight straddling her upper
thighs, his wild eyes on her heaving breasts.
Taleena's long blonde tresses tossed wildly from side to side, and every
muscle in her arms and sweat-sheened upper body was taut with strain as she
fought frantically to free herself from a bondage that she knew was only a
prelude to more suffering. But the lecherous young guard had done his work well
and the knots held.
"Don't think I haven't been waiting to do this, bitch!" Rutilius
growled, as he positioned himself across her bare thighs. There was a crazed
look on his pock-marked face as the guard reached for Taleena's succulent
breasts, sliding his hands upward across her ribcage. He pressed his thumbs
tentatively into the lower curves of her mounds, mesmerized by their soft
resiliency. Growing bolder, his questing fingers moved to their outer curves and
touched the prominent welts left by the whip. A malevolent smile crossed his
lips as Taleena grimaced in pain, but he pressed harder, pushing her breasts
inward, rubbing his thumbs across her nipples, pleased by the way they began to
harden under his touch.
"You spoke to me like a dog in front of my comrades," Rutilius sneered
as he trapped the stiffening buds between the tips of his index and middle
fingers, and tugged on them, gently at first and then more vigorously. Taleena,
ignoring the raw wounds in her back, thrashed wildly from side to side, but was
unable to free her wrists from her bonds or her breasts from the young guard's
rapacious grasp. "But every dog will have his day," he muttered, as a thin
stream of spittle oozed out of the corner of his mouth, and his eager hands
slid toward the outer curves of Taleena's breasts. "And every kitten shall come
to fear him!" With a bestial growl, Rutilius crushed her soft mounds together
again, enjoying her muted gasps of pain as he drove his sharp thumbnails into
the base of her puckering pink nipples.
"By Jupiter," I wish those bastards could see me now," he crowed,
"Who's the top dog, now, my pretty little pussycat?" he gloated, as he ground
Taleena's tender nipples brutally between his thumb and forefinger as Taleena
squirmed beneath him in pain. "Beg me, wench! Beg me to stop!" he raged as his
fingers tore at her taut breast-buds with barbaric savagery.
"Aaaaaaghhh!" Taleena, worn down by suffering, could no longer suppress
her agony.
Rutilius was thrilled that he had drawn a scream from the proud Gaul,
when Byrria had failed. Spurred on by his success, he released Taleena's
tortured nipples, only to rake his ragged nails across the creamy curves of her
breasts. "Beg me, slut!!"
Taleena, furious with herself for having cried out, glared at her
tormentor with a look of pure hatred, revolted by the sight of the drooling
conqueror and repulsed by the pressure of his erection against her bare belly.
She made as if to spit at his ugly, pock-marked face, but her ordeal at the post
had parched her throat, and even that tiny gesture of defiance was denied her.
Rutilius smirked at her futile effort as he shifted his weight and slid
further down her legs. Reading his lustful intent, Taleena jerked desperately at
her bonds as she made yet another frantic attempt to wriggle free from her
disgusting tormentor, but with her arms immobilized and Rutilius straddling her
legs she could do little to defend herself.
For the second time that day, Rutilius gripped her loin-cloth and tugged
the loose-fitting fabric down over her rounded hips. He cleverly pulled it
halfway down her thighs, limiting her ability to kick with her legs. Taleena's
body surged upward in an attempt to throw him off, but by thrusting out her
pelvis and arching her back, she only added fuel to Rutilius' mounting ardour.
The sight of the blonde-fringed cleft between her tawny thighs only
enhanced the frenzied guard's determination, and he threw himself upon her
again, burying his face into the valley between her breasts, while he wedged his
right hand into the gap between her parted thighs.
Taleena squirmed in revulsion as Rutilius explored the pink-lipped seam
of her vulva with a roughness that he hoped would mask his inexperience. When
she tried to turn her hips away from his groping hand, she felt the coarse
stubble on his chin scrape against the soft upper slope of her left breast.
Rutilius snarled with animalistic pleasure as he felt the warm, sweat-sheened
skin against his face, revelling in the sweaty, salty, sublime softness of her
breast-flesh. Taleena groaned helplessly as he took her nipple between his lips
and sucked it in, mouthing the marvellous morsel of flesh for a moment, before
his crooked teeth trapped the turgid bud, biting at it with painful persistence.
"Unnnghhh!" Taleena moaned miserably as Rutilius' worried her breast
like a jackal stripping meat from a carcass. But it was not until his fingers
invaded her vagina with unrestrained vehemence that she screamed. Squirming
under her brutal conqueror, she gave a howl of outrage as she realized that his
pillaging hand had left her sex to fiddle with his belt, seeking to liberate his
manhood. "Noooo!" she screamed in despair as she felt his engorged,
slimy-tipped phallus pressing against her upper thigh, as he positioned himself
for a first, vicious thrust.
"Rutilius!" The sharp, authoritative command caused both the fallen
blonde and the ungainly youth who was trying to mount her, to stop in their
tracks. Taleena's heart leaped up as she recognized Breaca's voice. The
appearance of the Celtic gladiatrix in the doorway startled the rutting youth -
as if he were a single ravenous jackal feasting on its prey, caught in the act
by the rest of the pack. But he didn't let go off her nipple, and his
head-turning motion distended the tender bud as it tugged at the lush breast in
which it was centred.
"Get off of her!" the Celt snapped at the crazed youth, causing him to
finally release his toothy grip on Taleena's breast tip. "You have no business
being here, and you know it!" And then, being careful not to utter a direct
threat to the red-faced young guard, she added in a stern voice, "I doubt that
Flavius would be pleased to learn that you have ignored his orders. Crawl back
into the hole from which you came!"
"I won't be ordered by you," Rutilius retorted angrily, staggering
clumsily to his feet as he stuffed his rapidly-dwindling erection back into his
loin-cloth, but the quaver in his reedy voice made it clear that he was already
in full retreat. "And don't think I'll forget this!" he hissed. "Flavius will
take my side, not yours, when he learns that the likes of you has been
disrespectful to one of his guards! You haven't seen the last of me!" he
concluded menacingly as he shoved the Celtic warrioress aside before stalking
furiously out the door.
"You a guard? It takes more than a uniform to make a man, you gutless
little bastard!" Breaca called after him contemptuously. "Tell Flavius what
you like, but don't forget to report how his miserable excuse for a guard
scurried away with his tail between his legs! And from where!"
The Celtic gladiatrix stooped down and freed Taleena's wrists from the
bed frame, and the exhausted blonde curled up into a huddled crouch, leaning
against the wooden cot, trying to catch her breath.
When her racing heartbeat had slowed, Taleena muttered grimly, "I'll
kill that filthy bastard!" as Breaca closed the cell door so that they could
speak freely. "I swear I will - after I rip his drooling tongue from his
throat!" Taleena's upper body shuddered at the remembrance of the touch of his
mouth on her breast. "And after I feed him to the pack of dogs that whelped him,
I'll kill that Thracian Harpy for what she has done to me! And to poor Selia!
I'll ..." But then Taleena's hysterical tirade was interrupted by a lament of
anguish that rose up from the depths of her being, a drawn-out wail of pain and
anger that slowly died away into a grief-stricken sob. Once that first sob had
given voice to her despair, it was as if the floodgates of her feelings had
opened, and that first sign of surrender quickly cascaded into a cataract of
emotion, sweeping away the tough pretence that she had maintained for so long.
Deeply moved by the piteous sight, Breca knelt down alongside the
crestfallen girl, gently stroking her hair. "Calm down," she said softly,
"Sssshhhh. It will be all right." She continued to comfort the crying young
woman in a low, soothing voice for a while, and eventually Taleena's sobbing
subsided. It had been a relief for the flaxen-haired girl to rid herself of her
pent-up emotions, but now she felt slightly ashamed at having shown her despair
so openly.
Breaca cast a worried look over the length of Taleena's prone body,
shivering at the sight. The sensuous, sweat-sheened expanse of the ravaged
beauty's back seemed to glow in the dim light of the cell, from her round and
resilient, welt-ridged buttocks up to her sleek and slender, whip-ravaged
shoulders, as if her heightened body heat was shining through an all-covering
patina of pain.
"Byrria was very skillful," Breaca informed Taleena matter of factly,
doing her best not to yield to an excess of compassion that would have done
neither of them any good. "The cuts, I believe, have only torn the skin. I
don't think that there is any muscular damage. But by the sword of Mars, girl,
what were you thinking when you decided to confront her?" she scolded Taleena
gently. "How many times have I warned you that she had it in for you? She has
been looking for a pretext to punish you for two weeks, and today you offered
her one on a silver platter!"
Breaca's tone had been quiet, not accusing, but in her vulnerable frame
of mind, Taleena took the Celt's remark as an unjust reproach. She had expected
words of comfort, not criticism, and was offended by the frankness of Breaca's
words - although - or because - she knew that there was some truth in them. But
at that moment the last thing she needed to hear was that her own dreadful
suffering was somewhat self-induced, and she felt defiance, unbidden, rise up
within her.
"She killed Selia!" Taleena exclaimed passionately, her eyes still damp
with tears. "Have you forgotten the poor girl who died at that cross already?"
But the instant the words had left her mouth, Taleena realized that it was
unfair to accuse the considerate Celt of indifference.
"I, too, am sorry for the Spaniard's death." Breaca replied rather
coolly. "But once she was dead... Don't you understand, you must learn to come
to terms with those things you cannot change?" Breaca's brusque but not
unsympathetic rejoinder put an end to the tension between them. "But I'm not
here to lecture you," she smiled conciliatorily, "I came here to treat your
back."
"But I'm not allowed to have it treated," Taleena replied weakly, glad
that the Celt had seemingly taken no further offence from her ill-considered
accusations.
"You're not allowed to see the unctores," Breaca corrected her. "It is
splitting hairs, I know, but Byrria rarely attends our quarters, so nobody will
ever learn about what's going on in here if you don't tell them."
Saying this she produced a vial of liquid and a piece of cloth from the
satchel she carried with her and uncorked the flask. A strong smell of lemon and
another acrid substance filled the air, and with a shudder Taleena recognized
the disinfectant that the unctores had applied to her bloodied knees in the
first week.
"This is going to hurt," Breaca warned her compassionately. "But if we
do not clean the wounds, they can become infected by sweat and grime and you'll
be in a fever tomorrow, as I was when Byrria flogged me." With a shudder
Taleena remembered the mosaic of whip-scars that she had seen on Breaca's back
in the baths, and offered a silent prayer that her own wounds would not leave
such a gruesome imprint. "I'll give you a salve," Breaca went on, "that will
numb the pain when we're done with the cleansing."
"Do it, then!" Taleena said tersely, suddenly angry with herself, and
with her own frailty, a frailty which might have encouraged Breaca to treat her
as if she were an ailing child. "I endured the flogging; I shall endure this!"
Breaca was pleased to see the bold spark of defiance back in Taleena's
blue eyes, but she said nothing; she knew only too well the sting of the
wound-cleansing unguent. The naked Avernian pressed her lips together as the
Celt poured some of the lotion on a piece of cloth, and as soon as Taleena felt
the soaked fabric touch her raw shoulders, her sprawled body tightened.
Breaca was pleased to see the bold spark of defiance back in Taleena's
blue eyes, but said nothing; she knew only too well the sting of the
wound-cleansing unguent. The naked Avernian pressed her lips together
apprehensively as the Celt poured some of the lotion on a piece of cloth, and
the moment that she felt the soaked fabric touch her raw shoulders, her sprawled
body stiffened.
"Aagggghhh...!" Taleena gasped in pain, her brave encouragement for
Breaca to begin the cleaning quite forgotten. She clenched her fists so tightly
into her blanket that she could feel her fingernails biting into her palms as
her anguish brought fresh tears to her eyes.
"I know, I know," Breaca said softly, in an empathetic voice that
reminded Taleena that Breaca would wear the grim design that displayed the
Thracian's artistry with the whip until the end of her days. "Believe me," she
whispered, her voice dropping an octave, "I know!" Breaca continued to wipe away
the tendrils of half-congealed blood and grime that covered Taleena's shoulders,
but try though she might, even her most delicate touch stretched the welts, and
the application of the caustic lotion made Taleena's whip-torn back convulse in
agony.
"Do me the kindness," Taleena groaned through clenched teeth as Breaca's
ministrations reached the welts on the side of her left breast, "of wiping that
jackal's foam from my breast. I can't bear the thought of his mouth on my body!"
Breaca hesitated briefly, surprised at first by the Avernian's plea, but
she quickly grasped the meaning it had for her friend. So she carefully turned
Taleena onto her right side, After having soaked the cloth afresh with the
liquid, she cupped the fullness of Taleena's left breast in her slender hand
and wiped at it gently, appalled by the marks Rutilius' fangs had left in the
soft flesh.
Rutilius' crooked teeth had left only the tiniest fissures on her
nipple, but the nerve-rich bud was all excruciatingly more sensitive to the
stinging pain of the disinfectant. Taleena groaned fiercely at the touch of the
fiery liquid, but for once it was a groan of grim satisfaction, for its scalding
touch seemed to purge the revolting reminder of Rutilius from her breast.
Having finished with Taleena's breasts, Breaca turned her beautiful
young patient over onto her belly, and continued her cleansing work silently,
meticulously anointing the irregular gashes which the lash had etched in her
back. Beginning with the livid diagonal weal that had creased Taleena's right
scapula, Breaca worked her way slowly down the planes and hollows of the Gaul's
blood-streaked back, until only the red-edged weals that disturbed the pale
perfection of her rounded buttocks remained untreated.
"This one looks to be the worst of them all," the ginger-haired Celt
observed sympathetically, as she ran the tips of her fingers along the edge of
the deepest of the gashes. Byrria's final lash had indeed been the most
vicious, a slicing blow which seemed to have split the firm mounds of Taleena's
bare behind in half. "You had better grab the bedframe with both hands," Breaca
whispered , "and brace yourself!"
As Breaca began to drip the burning liniment into the dimple at the apex
of Taleena's sensuous bottom-cleft, some of the liquid splashed into the deep
laceration. Every muscle in Taleena's long, shapely body seemed to spasm in
sympathy with her gluteal muscles, which had drawn together until her buttocks
were clenched as tight as a tambour. The gash was both long and deep, and
Breaca's pale hands shook when she saw Taleena stuff the edge of the blanket
into her mouth to stifle her screams and sobs. The ginger-haired Celt cleaned
the gaping wound as carefully as she could, but the shudders of anguish that
convulsed the suffering blonde's blood-streaked, sweat-gelaming body at her
every touch forced her to proceed at an agonizingly slow pace. It seemed an
eternity to both women before Breaca finally set the liniment aside signalling
that she had finished.
Breaca reached out to brush a sweat-dampened wisp of hair away from
Taleena's glowing cheek, and the prostrate Avernian reached up to take her hand.
"Thank you," she said under her breath, squeezing the Celt's helpful hand. "It
... hurt so much," she whispered, as the mere thought of the stinging
disinfectant made her voice break, "but I know it had to be done. And I am
grateful that you were the one to do it!" Taleena released Breaca's hand,
before adding in a firmer voice: "And I renew my vow - I swear by Mars and the
pantheon of gods that I will kill the Thracian and that mad dog of a guard for
what they have done to me!
Given her pitiful condition, Taleena realized that her vow must have
sounded rather hollow and theatrical. She regretted the intensity of her
outburst when she saw Breaca raise an eyebrow questioningly.
"Hatred is a powerful emotion," the Celt said calmly, in a voice that
reminded Taleena somehow of her mentor, Eudocles. "Do not let it take the place
of reason. You must have patience, girl - patience to wait for the right moment
to take your revenge." She paused a moment before adding, in a voice tinged
equally with sarcasm and gloom, "But as for Byrria, you may have to go to the
back of the line."
Breaca's sardonic remark dissipated the remaining tension between them,
and after that exchange, both women remained silent for a time while Breaca
fanned Taleena's burning back with the blood-stained cloth. After a while, the
Celt opened her satchel and removed a small jar which contained the soothing
balm Taleena remembered from her visits to the unctores.
Taleena longed for the numbing affect of the healing salve of
Athenodoros, and closed her eyes as Breaca began to rub it gently into her
weals. After a momentary stinging sensation the pain began to diminish as the
curative essences asserted themselves. Breaca performed the unction with the
same care that she had taken on the cleansing and Taleena began to wonder why it
was that her Celtic comrade had treated her so selflessly. Finally she decided
to put an end to her wondering and asked, but was rewarded with an enigmatic
reply.
"One day, perhaps, you will have the chance to do me a good turn,"
Breaca replied.
Taleena pondered the meaning of her words. Was she suggesting that one
day they might find themselves facing each other in the ring? But even if that
unlikely event ever came to pass, surely the Celt could not expect her to lose
the fight out of sheer gratitude? Still puzzled, but reluctant to press her
friend further she left the question hanging in the air, but the Celt made no
move to clarify her statement.
"Leave the food until the morning if you have no appetite now," Breaca
counselled her, referring to the evening meal which the unknown attendant had
left for her on the table earlier. "But you should take some fluids tonight if
you wish to regain your strength."
Only now that Breaca mentioned the small amphora on the table did
Taleena realize how thirsty she was. But the mere attempt to lift herself from
her prone position brought a rekindling of the conflagration in her back that
made her groan with pain. Breaca helped her struggle to her knees on the bed,
and once more her unaccustomed frailty, which prevented her from rising from her
bed on her own, brought tears to Taleena's blue eyes.
But once again, Breaca's matter-of-fact manner helped Taleena not to
sink even further into self-pity. The ginger-haired Celt pretended not to
notice her tears and offered her friend the earthen jug. Taleena took the
amphora from her hands and drank and drank, heedless of the trickles of water
that seeped out of the corners of her mouth, and ran down her throat and into
the valley between her breasts. Breaca smiled gently when Taleena returned the
now-empty amphora to her, and turned to leave.
"Sleep now, Taleena," Breaca said in an almost maternal voice,
addressing Taleena by her name for the first time. "I'll look in on you
tomorrow."
XX.
Taleena sank back down onto the planks of her bed and fell asleep almost
immediately. The deepness of her sleep seemed to pull her downward like a vessel
being sucked into a maelstrom. She sank deeper and deeper into a darker, quieter
place, but as soon as she began to right herself, she found herself in the
throes of a horrible nightmare that made her relive her ordeal in a disturbingly
surrealistic, but no less graphic way.
She hung naked in a room without dimensions or surroundings, suspended
from her wrists by ropes that seemed to lead to nowhere. The ropes stretched her
arms widely apart, and there was no post to which she could cling to shield any
part of her nudity. She saw Byrria cross her field of vision to disappear
noiselessly behind her back, carrying a frightening whip which apparently had
taken on a life of its own, since the slender thong seemed to squirm in Byrria's
grip like a snake caught in the claws of an eagle.
But even as the ghostly image of Byrria disappeared behind her, Taleena
was confronted by the spectre of Rutilius who had suddenly materialized out of
the nothingness in front of her. The eerie-eyed youth probed her naked body
with his lewd stare for a moment, and then pointed toward her breasts, as if he
were selecting targets for the whip. In the murky darkness off to her right
Taleena could make out the corpulent figure of Balbinus ensconced in a throne
which seemed to have been carved from a great wooden cross. One of the fat
merchant's pudgy hands roamed freely under the brief skirt of the nymph-like
Nilea, while the other pressed her docile head down toward his crotch.
But Taleena became distracted from that strange panorama as she felt the
touch of hands on her breasts. She glanced downward, expecting to see the
rough, pale hands of the young guard, but found instead a pair of smooth ebony
fingers, drenched with oil. The dripping, disembodied hands of the Aethiopian
tasker fondled her full breasts roughly, lubricating her shapely mounds as if
preparing them for a duel with a sun that was never to be seen in the darkness
of her dreamworld. Then, after scraping a pair of starkly pink thumbnails
across her tender nipples until they were taut with apprehension or desire, they
were gone.
A moment later the snake-like whip began to hiss behind her, darting out
to torment Taleena, curling around her nude body and slicing into her well-oiled
breast-flesh with the eye-blurring speed of a viper. The shadowy figure of
Balbinus smiled and nodded his head approvingly as the fangs of the jet-black,
serpentine lash etched stripe after scarlet stripe into Taleena's defenceless
breasts, making a mockery of the protective coating the tasker had applied,
spitting its sizzling, flesh-burning venom onto her quivering mounds before
retreating, only to strike again.
Taleena could see herself screeching out her lungs under the biting
lashes, but her screams were strangely soundless. All she could hear were the
resounding, remorseless, relentless cracks of the whip and the unmistakable
excitement in Rutilius' voice as he counted the lashes in a nonsensical order,
his reedy voice reverberating eerily off of walls that she could not see. Each
time the whip drew some blood from her quivering breasts the lashes stopped just
long enough to allow the leering guard to lick the crimson droplets away.
Another figure materialized in the distance and when it drew nearer
Taleena thought she recognized the silhouette of Breaca. But Byrria took no
notice of her approach and continued to sear her throbbing breasts with the
sizzling kiss of the whip. When the withering onslaught of lashes paused for a
moment, the Celtic warrioress stepped forward, coolly surveying the scarlet
striations on Taleena's nude body. 'So you think, you're tough,' Breaca sneered,
producing a flask from her belt. Taleena flinched in her dream when she heard
the Celt speaking in the Thracian's sneering voice. "Well, let's see what you're
made of!" the Breaca look-alike continued, holding the flask menacingly over
Taleena's whip-scalded breasts. Bluish, licking flames seemed to pour from the
neck of the bottle with infinite slowness, even as the Celt's green eyes changed
colour, turning into smouldering coals that narrowed to slanting slits as she
followed the inexorable downward course of the flaming fluid.
When the fiery droplets finally splashed onto her luridly-wealed
breasts, Taleena finally heard herself screaming - a deafening, nightmarish
scream that wrenched her from her uneasy sleep. She awoke bathed in sweat, her
pulse racing wildly as a result of her dreadful dream.
Struggling to get her agitated breathing under control, Taleena sought
to pull herself together, but even after reassuring herself for the third time
that her dream-tormentors had not really left the signs of their savagery on her
heaving breasts, she couldn't fall asleep for quite a while. Her body trembled
with fear, and it was only when she heard the faint notes of a far-away flute
playing the soothing melody that she had heard twice before, that her heart
ceased its furious pounding and she drifted off again into a more restful sleep,
one that lasted until past noon.
* * *
A square of light fell through the barred window onto the middle of the
bed, where Taleena's nude body was curled. She had been sleeping on her left
side, with her face to the wall and her legs slightly drawn up, and the cruel
marks on her back were starkly visible in the bright light of day.
It was an overcast but so far rain-free day, the kind of cool spring
morning which at any other time would have made her feel glad to be alive. But
Taleena's golden hair and the blanket on which she had writhed during her
troubled sleep were dishevelled by restlessness and damp with sweat, rekindling
the memory of her horrible nightmare. The flaxen-haired Gaul lay in bed
trembling for a moment, almost afraid to move, fearful that the slightest
movement might exacerbate her wounds. But she was desperately thirsty, and as
she made the effort to rise, flames of agony seemed to lick at the lash-marks on
her back, drawing a sharp gasp of pain from her lips
The long-legged Gaul crawled gingerly out of her bed by using the wooden
table to support herself, but fresh flames of agony flickered with her every
movement. She fought through the pain and pulled her naked body upright, trying
to brace herself against the tabletop. Her glance fell on her untouched evening
meal and, seized by a sudden craving, she wolfed down the cold meat and stale
bread hungrily, tearing at it with both hands. But the spicy, half-caked sauce
which covered the meat made her even thirstier after than she had been before,
and when she reached for the amphora, its lightness reminded her that she had
drunk its contents last night. She turned it upward, capturing the last few
tepid drops and then stared at the empty pitcher forlornly for a moment or two,
realizing that, whether she liked it or not, she had little choice but to drag
herself to the bathhouse in order to obtain water. Having no fresh clothing, she
covered her nudity by carefully wrapping the clammy blanket around her lacerated
shoulders and set off for the baths.
Taleena was relieved to see that there was no one else around at that
early hour to watch her slow, painful pilgrimage across the yard. Nor, it
seemed, was there anyone in the bath house when she arrived there. She slipped
the sweat-soaked blanket from her shoulders in the changing room and, after
offering a silent prayer of thanks that she was alone, strode naked toward the
great fountain in the tepidarium. Arriving there, she stepped into the basin,
and waded through the knee-deep water until she reached the central pedestal on
which the gloomy war god maintained his perpetual silent guard. She clung to the
rim of the marble bowl, allowing the cascading water to pour over her head, and
the coolness of the water made her gasp as one long wide rivulet ran down her
torn back, stinging what was already sore.
Taleena raised her head longingly and opened her mouth to drink her
fill, and when she had quenched her thirst she remained standing there in abject
resignation, letting the cool water stream down her burning back, dampening the
fires that still raged there. Then she turned slightly, allowing some of the
water to course down the front of her body. Using her hands to trap leaking
cupfuls of water, she splashed her body with them, and then used her hands to
bathe away the veneer of blood, sweat and grime in which her nude body was
encased.
When she felt reasonably fresh, the blue-eyed Avernian stepped out of
the basin and began to inspect the front of her body for damage. There were some
fine scratches on the insides of her breasts and along the ridge of her
breastbone where the splintery wood of the post had abraded her skin. But those
injuries were minor in comparison to the fiery welts on her flanks that had been
left by the fearful final foot of Byrria's flesh-searing whip.
Taleena straightened to her full height to have a look over her
shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of her back without much success. But her
futile attempt only served to stretch her wounds, causing her to wince with
pain. It mattered little that her eyes could not get a good look at the
devastation the lash had caused, Taleena reasoned. Not when each of the three
dozen fiery lines that the Thracian had scrawled on her tapering back and
rounded buttocks continually announced their presence.
Her attempt to turn her head having caused a sharp pain in her right
breast, Taleena raised her right arm and slowly put that hand behind her head
as she slid the fingers of her left hand under her water-glistening breast, and
then around it with a careful touch, gently weighing its fullness in her hand.
She looked down at the lurid weals which were imprinted on that side of
her chest, one just beneath her armpit and two more a finger's width lower
still. The cruel tip of Byrria's lash had landed just beyond the sensuous crease
where the soft skin of her breast melted into the less sensitive layer of flesh
which was stretched across the side of her ribcage. It had hurt terribly when
the thin end of the thong had delivered its biting kiss, and Taleena could not
bring herself to imagine the result had not the upright post prevented the whip
from wrapping itself fully around her upper body.
She cradled her aching breast like a mother consoling a tearful child,
as her own bitter tears of despair brimmed in her eyes. Misery welled up inside
her as she thought of the prior week and how much she had enjoyed her free day -
what a contrast between that day and this! She felt a tremor run through her
body as the anger rose within her, anger at herself, anger that she was not even
strong enough to cope with her plight without tears. She was alone in the world,
abandoned by the Fates, and persecuted by a vengeful Thracian Fury. She had
resolved never to surrender her life or her quest for freedom without a
struggle, but her vow seemed unconvincing now. It was impossible not to
recognize that her plight seemed worse than ever.
Yesterday in the immediate aftermath of her flogging, her suffering had
prevented her from thinking about the future. But now that the realization
struck her that the resumption of her arduous training regimen was only hours
away, fear gripped her chest in its iron hand and sent waves of nausea through a
stomach already balled into a tight knot. It seemed inconceivable that her body
could long endure in her weakened condition, and stretched and battered as she
was, she did not think she could summon up the fighting spirit that would be
required to face the challenges that the next round of training would surely
bring. 'To what purpose?' she thought bitterly. However much she struggled,
however hard she tried, the hard-hearted Thracian would forgive her neither her
beauty nor her pride, much less her insubordination. What is the value of a
life in which one is denied all dignity, all recognition, all meaning? A life
in which one is treated not as a free citizen, nor even as a slave, no better
than the humblest beast of burden?
As Taleena wrestled with the thought of suicide, she suddenly sensed
Selia's ghostly presence at her side. She drew back in wonder, struck by the
memory of a passage that wise old Eudocles had once recounted to her. Antigone,
the noble daughter who had survived her father, the unlucky Oedipus, had been
condemned to die for honouring the laws of the gods rather than those of a
tyrant. Her beloved sister Ismene had come to her in the prison, hoping to join
her in death rather than live on in an unjust world. Taleena turned toward the
vision of Selia and whispered passionately, even as Ismene had entreated
Antigone at their final meeting, "Oh, sister, let me share your death."
The vision of Selia seemed to smile benignly and Taleena felt a touch on
her golden hair. Had it been Selia's gentle hand or just a sudden gust of wind?
After a moment of silence the vision of the Spanish girl spoke in a voice
stronger, more decisive than it had ever been in life. "You shall not die with
me, sister .... One death is enough." And then the wraith was gone.
The remembered image and voice of the doomed Spaniard struck a chord
within Taleena and the wish to disprove the Thracian's prediction roused a
flicker of defiance that stirred her pride - the pride which she had thought the
brutal flogging had crushed forever.
* * *
Taleena left the tepidarium and took the fresh garments out of her
locker in the changing room, still musing about the next day. As much as she
would have wished to cover her breasts before traversing the yard on her return
to her cell, she couldn't bring herself to wrap the strophium around her chest.
She could not bear the thought of the rough cloth rubbing against her
whip-scarred back.
She put on her loin-cloth, though, pulling the two linen triangles so
high on her hips that they cupped the protruding, half-naked cheeks of her
burning behind in an uncomfortable fashion. She grabbed the blanket and left the
bathhouse, grimacing at each step as the loin-cloth chafed against her bare
bottom, dreading the idea of having to wear her full outfit during the next
training unit. Since even the most ordinary motions entailed so much pain, it
required little imagination to envision how horrible the next few training
sessions might be. She would never be able to fulfil the daily quota of the
daunting exercises. She could almost picture the mockery in Byrria's smile and
the satisfaction the Thracian would take in making her life a living Tartarus.
* * *
Back in her cell, Taleena relieved herself of her skimpy garment and
reclined nude on her bed as she fearfully contemplated the week to come. Breaca
stepped into her room a little later, intent on giving her another treatment,
but this time the Celt's appearance made Taleena feel uneasy.
She was not ashamed of her nakedness in Breaca's presence, but it
reminded her all too well of her battered body and how pitiful her sight must
appear to the Celt. In an attempt to prove that her strength was returning,
Taleena forced herself to rise from her bed without help, and straddled the
chair to receive Breaca's treatment in an upright posture which would make her
feel less vulnerable.
But as soon as Taleena sat astride the chair, tightly gripping its back,
the smouldering pain that position brought to her stretched, welt-streaked,
buttocks brought fresh tears to her eyes. She visualized herself at the dining
area, crying into her meal in front of her comrades - or even worse, kneeling to
avoid the discomfort her pain-racked behind caused her.
Breaca could not help but notice Taleena's dejection. "Despair not
about tomorrow," Breaca began, but when she paused to think of any comfort she
could offer to her friend, Taleena cut her short.
"How should I not despair?!" she exclaimed bitterly. "Look at me! I'm
not even able to rise from my bed without pain, and I can hardly sit down
without crying!"
"I do look at you, Taleena," Breaca replied sympathetically as her green
eyes met the watery blue of the Avernian's. "And of course I see the welts on
your body, as well as the tears in your eyes. But through those tears I can also
see your will gleaming with unbroken pride. The will that made you defy the
Thracian even when the whip had forced you to your knees. The same will that
made you endure a flogging fierce enough to fell a farmhorse. I do not wish to
speak ill of your friend, but if she had had half of your spirit, she would
still be alive."
The thought of the slender Spaniard was painful, but somehow it helped
Taleena to pull herself back from the edge of resignation. She remembered
Selia's ghostly visitation in the bath house earlier in the day, and once more
she vowed to prevail over the Thracian's malice, if only to honour her fallen
comrade.
As Breaca's words nurtured her friend's soul, encouraging her not to
despair, her hands tended to Taleena's body. The cuts on Taleena's back had not
yet scabbed over, but the ointment burned less than it had on the day before,
and soon Taleena began to feel faint sensations beyond mere pain. Breaca's
skilful fingers worked the salve so lovingly into the welts that Taleena began
to wonder whether her treatment meant more to the Celt than simple medical care,
but she dismissed those thoughts as pure imagination.
"Don't let the shadows of despair cloud your spirit," Breaca insisted,
and her firm voice roused Taleena from her musing. "I'm not going to lie to you
- Byrria will enjoy giving you a hard time; but you must - and will -- survive!
Even if the exercises break you physically, they cannot break your spirit -
unless you let them. As long as you refuse to quit, Flavius will never allow
Byrria to finish you off! His maxim is treat them rough, make them tough - but
he's always been just in his decisions."
She paused, and when she saw Taleena's doubtful look she went on
explaining her assertion. "You're talented with the sword, and what is more you
have the fighting spirit which is required in our profession!" she reasoned.
"You have made greater progress than you could ever have been expected to make
in such a short time! And notwithstanding your present condition your
constitution is far above the female average! Last but not least, you are a
beautiful woman - those of us who combine these virtues are very rare. Flavius
is a business man who's out for a profit. A big profit. Believe me, he knows
very well that he stands to make a fortune from your appearances if you are
successful in the ring. He would have to be a fool to let you fall victim to
Byrria's vindictiveness!"
Taleena had noticed the pride in the Celt's voice when she had spoken of
herself as an exquisite specimen of the gladiatorial guild, and the fact that
Breaca had included her in that select circle of attractive women did not fail
to lighten her spirits. But she had been puzzled by an enigmatic glint in
Breaca's eye when she had commented on her beauty. There had been pride there,
and comradeship, to be sure. But had there been something more?
"Promise me that you will not falter, no matter what the Thracian does!"
Breaca said in an impassioned voice. "Don't let that Thracian slut have the
satisfaction of seeing you fail! If you can but survive this week, all will be
well. The second half of the training is always far easier than the first!
The good-hearted Celt left a few moments later, leaving Taleena to
consider her encouraging words. The compliments had indeed cheered the Gaul,
since they were very nearly the only recognition she had won so far, and her
comments about Flavius Autronius sounded plausible. Taleena puzzled over
Flavius' seeming lack of interest in the training to date, but the persuaded
herself that a man of his substance and position surely had many concerns
besides the training of a single class of recruits. With that realization,
though, the dark thoughts returned, and she was glad when weariness overtook her
and released her from her worries.
* * *
Taleena slept restlessly, waking several times during the night with a
start, panic-stricken for a moment that it was time for the training to begin
again, until the darkness in her cell made her realize that it was still some
time till dawn. She drifted in and out of sleep, and when the attendant who
unlocked the cell doors in the morning finally made his tour of the barracks to
rouse the recruits, she had already got out of her bed, and was about to put on
her ankle-weights.
She put on the uncomfortably tight-fitting loin-cloth, and even forced
herself to wrap the strophium around her chest. Her back and shoulders throbbed
with pain with her every movement, and she winced each time she moved so much as
an arm, because the stretching movement caused the tissue under the half-formed
scabs to twitch as if aflame.
But fighting topless in the pit and against Arminius had taught her what
suffering was involved in competing without breast support, and that memory made
her prefer to wear the strophium, even though it was far from comfortable on her
raw back. Moreover she didn't want to give Byrria an opportunity to chastise
for her wearing (or rather not wearing) improper attire for training. So,
having decided on her uniform, Taleena quickly plaited her hair into golden
braids before leaving her cell en route to the training area.
The thought of the forthcoming encounter with the Thracian caused her
stomach to churn with anxiety, but she strove to focus on Breaca's most
insistent encouragement. 'Byrria will never be able to break your spirit unless
you let her,' the Celt had said, and Taleena was fiercely determined to prove to
her friend that her courage would be a match for the Thracian's malevolence.
