by men of the Fourth Legion in her native homeland, she had lived with the secret fear of being abused once more. She had almost come to feel safe within this household, for the men were happily indifferent to her. Now she was being used to humour a crippled savage, a man whose deformity would have ensured his death in her own tribe.
She opened the door to the bedroom to see the British prince kneeling by a hot air vent and peering into the dark interior. He looked up and smiled but she did not respond. She walked to the bed and unfastened her simple green dress, a colour that did not match her eyes.
The Briton limped to the bed and sat down. 'What is your name?' 'Helga.'
He nodded. 'I am Prasamaccus.' He gently touched the soft skin of her face, then stood and struggled to free himself from the toga. Once naked, he slipped under the covers and invited her to join him. She did so and lay back across his arm. They stayed motionless for several minutes and then Prasamaccus, feeling her warmth against his body, drifted to sleep. Helga gently raised herself on one elbow, looking down into his face. It was slender and fine-boned, lacking cruelty.
She could still feel the soft touch of his hand on her cheek. She had no idea what to do now. She had been told to make him happy, so that he could rest well. Now that he was resting, she should return to the kitchens. Yet if she did, they would question why she had returned so quickly; they would think he had sent her away and perhaps punish her. She settled down beside him and closed her eyes.
At dawn she awoke to feel a soft hand touching her body. She did not open her eyes and her heart began to hammer within her. The hand slid, so slowly, across her shoulder and down to cup her heavy breast. The thumb circled the nipple, then the touch moved on, up and over the curve of her hip. She opened her eyes and saw the Briton staring at her body, his face lost in a kind of wonderment. He saw that she was awake and flushed deep red, pulling the covers back over her. Then he lay down and moved his body more closely alongside her, softly kissing her brow, then her cheek and finally her lips. Almost without thinking she reached up and curled her arm over his shoulder. He groaned . . . and she knew. In that instant she knew it all, as if she held Prasamaccus' soul under her eyes.
For the first time in her life Helga knew the meaning of power. She could choose; to give, or not to give. The man beside her would accept her choice. Her mind flew back to the brutality of her captors, men she would like to have killed. But they were men unlike this one.
This man left her free to choose, not even understanding that he did so. She looked into his eyes once more and saw that they were wet with tears. Leaning forward she kissed each eye, then drew him to her.
And in giving freely, she received a greater gift.
Her memories of lust and cruelty dissolved and returned to the past devoid of the power ever to haunt her again.
*
For several days Victorinus rose early and returned late, seeing little of his house guest who spent most of the time locked in his room with the kitchen-maid. The Roman had weightier problems on his mind. The Fifth Legion was stationed at Calcaria, auxiliary militia who were allowed home in spring to see to their farms and their families. Now, with Eldared and his Selgovae and Novantae allies ready to invade, and the Saxon King Hengist preparing to ravage the south, there was no way these auxiliaries could be allowed to disband for two months. Tension was running high among the men, many of whom had not seen their wives since the previous September, and Victorinus feared a mutiny.
Aquila had asked him to help build morale by offering coin and salt to the men, but this had not been enough and desertions were increasing daily. The choices were limited. If they allowed the men home, Eboracum and the surrounding countryside would be defended by only one regular legion -
five
She opened the door to the bedroom to see the British prince kneeling by a hot air vent and peering into the dark interior. He looked up and smiled but she did not respond. She walked to the bed and unfastened her simple green dress, a colour that did not match her eyes.
The Briton limped to the bed and sat down. 'What is your name?' 'Helga.'
He nodded. 'I am Prasamaccus.' He gently touched the soft skin of her face, then stood and struggled to free himself from the toga. Once naked, he slipped under the covers and invited her to join him. She did so and lay back across his arm. They stayed motionless for several minutes and then Prasamaccus, feeling her warmth against his body, drifted to sleep. Helga gently raised herself on one elbow, looking down into his face. It was slender and fine-boned, lacking cruelty.
She could still feel the soft touch of his hand on her cheek. She had no idea what to do now. She had been told to make him happy, so that he could rest well. Now that he was resting, she should return to the kitchens. Yet if she did, they would question why she had returned so quickly; they would think he had sent her away and perhaps punish her. She settled down beside him and closed her eyes.
At dawn she awoke to feel a soft hand touching her body. She did not open her eyes and her heart began to hammer within her. The hand slid, so slowly, across her shoulder and down to cup her heavy breast. The thumb circled the nipple, then the touch moved on, up and over the curve of her hip. She opened her eyes and saw the Briton staring at her body, his face lost in a kind of wonderment. He saw that she was awake and flushed deep red, pulling the covers back over her. Then he lay down and moved his body more closely alongside her, softly kissing her brow, then her cheek and finally her lips. Almost without thinking she reached up and curled her arm over his shoulder. He groaned . . . and she knew. In that instant she knew it all, as if she held Prasamaccus' soul under her eyes.
For the first time in her life Helga knew the meaning of power. She could choose; to give, or not to give. The man beside her would accept her choice. Her mind flew back to the brutality of her captors, men she would like to have killed. But they were men unlike this one.
This man left her free to choose, not even understanding that he did so. She looked into his eyes once more and saw that they were wet with tears. Leaning forward she kissed each eye, then drew him to her.
And in giving freely, she received a greater gift.
Her memories of lust and cruelty dissolved and returned to the past devoid of the power ever to haunt her again.
*
For several days Victorinus rose early and returned late, seeing little of his house guest who spent most of the time locked in his room with the kitchen-maid. The Roman had weightier problems on his mind. The Fifth Legion was stationed at Calcaria, auxiliary militia who were allowed home in spring to see to their farms and their families. Now, with Eldared and his Selgovae and Novantae allies ready to invade, and the Saxon King Hengist preparing to ravage the south, there was no way these auxiliaries could be allowed to disband for two months. Tension was running high among the men, many of whom had not seen their wives since the previous September, and Victorinus feared a mutiny.
Aquila had asked him to help build morale by offering coin and salt to the men, but this had not been enough and desertions were increasing daily. The choices were limited. If they allowed the men home, Eboracum and the surrounding countryside would be defended by only one regular legion -
five
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