mind, I’ve only seen this done on a flute…”
VIX
Sabina. Vibia Sabina.
A pretty name. But I still had trouble using it, no matter how many times she slipped through my door, no matter how many times I held her warm and naked against me.
Sabina.
Even in the darkness of the night it still rolled awkwardly off my tongue.
And Hell’s gates, there were a lot of nights.
There’s nothing like being young and obsessed. There were prettier girls in the world than Sabina—overall I usually liked girls with more breast and fewer questions. But no other girl had ever dragged
me
to bed before and had her way with me. That was usually my line. But Sabina couldn’t get enough of me. Me, Vercingetorix, son of a slave and a gladiator, and soon I couldn’t get enough of her either. There were long hot damp days where I fidgeted at the gate through my guard duties, fidgeted through a dinner too hot and sticky for eating, fidgeted in my bed till the moon went up, and by the time the shadow slipped in and barred the door, half the blood in my veins would be smoking and I’d lunge across the room and pin her up against the wall. Afterward we’d stretch out and talk for hours, and that was something else new for me. I’d never done much talking to girls. Mostly under the blankets it was just giggling, and me trying to get out without being spotted by fathers or brothers. And it wasn’t like I had much to talk about. “You’re sweet, Vix,” the Brigantian girl who had broken me in once said. “But you’re not the brightest, are you?” I couldn’t say she was wrong, but Sabina had me talking anyway.
“Brundisium,” she’d say, propping her chin up on her hand in the dark. “You grew up there, didn’t you? Tell me about it.”
“Don’t you ever get sleepy?” I yawned.
“Not when there’s things to be learned. You grew up so differently from me—tell me something that happened to you when you were a child. Something funny.”
I thought about that for a moment. “When I was seven years old in Brundisium, a bald man in a toga collared me on the street and offered me oysters for dinner. I knew what he really wanted, but I wasn’t about to pass up free oysters.”
“What happened?”
“I went back to his house with him, and as soon as I was done stuffing myself he started edging his hand up my thigh. I took his first two fingers”—demonstrating—“and yanked in opposite directions. While he was screaming and leaping around in agony, I climbed out the window.”
“This is a
funny
story?”
“The way he rolled around on the floor cursing at me was funny. Served him right. I stole a very expensive vase on my way out the window too.”
“You’re a savage.” Sabina’s eyes sparkled. “Tell me more.”
“I stole anything that wasn’t nailed down from everybody I could find—sips of beer from the mugs in taverns, sweets from my master’s kitchens, coins from beggars. And when I was eight and my mother got sold to Rome, I ran away from my master to join her. I got all the way from Brundisium to Rome on my own, hitching rides on wagons and thieving food from vendors.”
“Brundisium,” Sabina said, thoughtful. “I’d like to go there. Could take a ship to Greece after that. Hadrian’s always talking about Greece.”
“Hadrian?” I turned on one side, tugging her into the crook of my chest. “Who cares what that gorbellied bootlicker thinks?”
“He’s not a bootlicker,” Sabina laughed.
“He laps at your heels hard enough,” I grumbled. “Why do you always take so many walks with him?”
“Because if I start turning suitors away, people are going to look for a reason why. When you’re living a lie, Vix,” she instructed, “you have to give people something to look at so they don’t start looking anywhere else.”
“Don’t have to make such a good show of it, though, do you?” I demanded. “Walking arm in arm, always putting your heads together over a
VIX
Sabina. Vibia Sabina.
A pretty name. But I still had trouble using it, no matter how many times she slipped through my door, no matter how many times I held her warm and naked against me.
Sabina.
Even in the darkness of the night it still rolled awkwardly off my tongue.
And Hell’s gates, there were a lot of nights.
There’s nothing like being young and obsessed. There were prettier girls in the world than Sabina—overall I usually liked girls with more breast and fewer questions. But no other girl had ever dragged
me
to bed before and had her way with me. That was usually my line. But Sabina couldn’t get enough of me. Me, Vercingetorix, son of a slave and a gladiator, and soon I couldn’t get enough of her either. There were long hot damp days where I fidgeted at the gate through my guard duties, fidgeted through a dinner too hot and sticky for eating, fidgeted in my bed till the moon went up, and by the time the shadow slipped in and barred the door, half the blood in my veins would be smoking and I’d lunge across the room and pin her up against the wall. Afterward we’d stretch out and talk for hours, and that was something else new for me. I’d never done much talking to girls. Mostly under the blankets it was just giggling, and me trying to get out without being spotted by fathers or brothers. And it wasn’t like I had much to talk about. “You’re sweet, Vix,” the Brigantian girl who had broken me in once said. “But you’re not the brightest, are you?” I couldn’t say she was wrong, but Sabina had me talking anyway.
“Brundisium,” she’d say, propping her chin up on her hand in the dark. “You grew up there, didn’t you? Tell me about it.”
“Don’t you ever get sleepy?” I yawned.
“Not when there’s things to be learned. You grew up so differently from me—tell me something that happened to you when you were a child. Something funny.”
I thought about that for a moment. “When I was seven years old in Brundisium, a bald man in a toga collared me on the street and offered me oysters for dinner. I knew what he really wanted, but I wasn’t about to pass up free oysters.”
“What happened?”
“I went back to his house with him, and as soon as I was done stuffing myself he started edging his hand up my thigh. I took his first two fingers”—demonstrating—“and yanked in opposite directions. While he was screaming and leaping around in agony, I climbed out the window.”
“This is a
funny
story?”
“The way he rolled around on the floor cursing at me was funny. Served him right. I stole a very expensive vase on my way out the window too.”
“You’re a savage.” Sabina’s eyes sparkled. “Tell me more.”
“I stole anything that wasn’t nailed down from everybody I could find—sips of beer from the mugs in taverns, sweets from my master’s kitchens, coins from beggars. And when I was eight and my mother got sold to Rome, I ran away from my master to join her. I got all the way from Brundisium to Rome on my own, hitching rides on wagons and thieving food from vendors.”
“Brundisium,” Sabina said, thoughtful. “I’d like to go there. Could take a ship to Greece after that. Hadrian’s always talking about Greece.”
“Hadrian?” I turned on one side, tugging her into the crook of my chest. “Who cares what that gorbellied bootlicker thinks?”
“He’s not a bootlicker,” Sabina laughed.
“He laps at your heels hard enough,” I grumbled. “Why do you always take so many walks with him?”
“Because if I start turning suitors away, people are going to look for a reason why. When you’re living a lie, Vix,” she instructed, “you have to give people something to look at so they don’t start looking anywhere else.”
“Don’t have to make such a good show of it, though, do you?” I demanded. “Walking arm in arm, always putting your heads together over a
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