Roman women did not love Romen men. If they loved at all, they loved their men's commitments to duty, responsibility, self-discipline and self-denial. Romen women were rigorously taught to subordinate feelings for the cold logic of procreation and domestic cultivation. They ruled over the home like their men ruled over Europe, producing as many children as possible; hopefully, as many male children as possible to add to future military rolls. Humility, chastity apart from procreation and disciplined dignity were their stations in life. Feeling and expressing love weakened Rome's male dominated culture. Women kept their men strong. They did not provide pleasure. They did not provide love.
In the year 17 BC, the territory of Hispania, modern Spain, had largely been subjugated after bitter fighting by the Romans and native Celts over a 200 year period. The Celts of Hispania, a collection of different tribal groups, fought long and hard for their freedom against the imperialist aspirations of mighty Rome. Of all the peoples of Europe, they had the greatest reputation as the fiercest, most vicious fighters with the Cantabrian tribe being considered the best of the best. A savage, untamable mountain people, they were noted for their guerilla attacks and, more notably, their practice of allowing their women to fight. The very definition of a swarthy, native people, Cantabrian men made sure their women, like many European Celts, were both admired and feared by the Romans for their tall frames and ability to fight as fiercely as they did. The Romans considered women fighting men to be a perversion but the strong Celtic women could not, and would not, shirk from defending themselves and their families. They fought with their emotions and their passions. A starker contradiction between the sides couldn't be. The Cantabrians fought so fiercely a rare edict was decreed: No prisoners were to be taken. All Cantabrians were to be killed.
Aurelius Decimus Crispus, Praefectus Castrorum (Camp Prefect) of Emperor Augustus Caesar's 4th Legion of Macedonica, perfectly fit the Roman definition of a noble, disciplined, self-sacrificing soldier. A man of ignoble birth but possessing great courage and nerves of steel, he quickly rose through the military ranks from infantryman to Centurion to Praefectus Castrorum by age 35, a tremendous achievement in the Roman military. A strikingly handsome, "pure blooded" Roman from Alba Longa, the town of Caesar's birth, Aurelius Crispus lived up to the meaning of his surname "Crispus" by having thick, curly, brown hair with an occasional wisp of gray, a lean, rock hard body forged through combat, exercise and dietary restrictions and a potent masculinity that drew the attention and respect of his fellow soldiers and made him a natural leader. His chiseled face featured a hard though not prominent nose, sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline.
A man of great Roman character, Aurelius Crispus eschewed lustful sexuality and displays of passionate emotion. A Roman commander's job was to be like a respected father to his men, a leader by example, and not one given to the selfish pursuits and satisfactions of one's own appetites. He had a beautiful wife at home with the perfect Roman female characteristics of humility and dignity and had sired two daughters and a son, all three ideal examples of Roman children. All were respected. All was perfect.
The set pieces were perfect. The front was perfect. The image was perfect. He had truly attained all a noble Roman could attain, all that he desired except...desire. Violence had always displaced sexual passion and now violence had been displaced by boredom. The frontier in Hispana had largely been won and Aurelius's days consisted mostly of reports of routine inspections by his men. He desperately needed something, anything, to happen.
A recent spate of attacks on his camp's northern border sparked Aurelius's instincts for the possibility of fresh excitement. Though completely unnecessary, he'd taken to inspecting the perimeter personally in the hopes of witnessing another pitiful, easily repulsed assault by the decimated Celts and, even more hopefully, taking part in their further decimation. Reports from his soldiers of more and more Celtic women fighting in place of their dead male partners made it even more irresistible. Roman accounts of wild, strong, aggressive barbarian women on the frontiers were infamous throughout the Roman world but Aurelius had never personally witnessed them in battle. What were they really like? Did they fight naked like their men often did? Did the women in Hispania have the long red hair of other northern Celts? Did they have large breasts unlike most Roman women? Did they fight with that animal passion that often borders on sexual ecstasy? The possibilities sent pleasurable sensations cascading through his mind and body and he could barely control the enthusiasm his inspections produced.
His wish was finally granted one day near dusk. As he routinely walked the long length of the stone wall that fortified the northern portion of the camp, arrows and dozens of rocks from slings came flying over the walls at a section perfectly in between two guard towers. Aurelius rushed to the point of activity, his short sword called a gladius in hand, as Roman soldiers gathered, their shields mostly blocking the enemy fire with the occasional legionnaire wounded Crude ladders slammed up against the stonewall in numerous places and several Celtic warriors, through attrition, came over the walls into the Roman camp. Most were killed almost instantly by Roman spears but some penetrated deeper into the compound. Aurelius killed two male Celts then noticed with amazement and excitement a small group of Celtic women, indeed fighting naked, attempting to come over the wall at different ladder points, shrieking and screaming like Banshees as they came. Knowing no chivalry, Roman spears mowed down most of them but one, in particular, caught Aurelius's eye as she scaled down the wall into the camp. A Venus smeared with mud, long, jet black hair evident, large breasts with nipples hard in the excitement, she represented everything he had dreamed of in a barbarian woman: Animal poetry in motion, elegant, strongly definable feminine curves shifting to maintain the balance of the wide hips and supple legs on her powerful body as she moved. Frozen to the spot, he watched as she approached a fallen Roman soldier stunned by a slinged rock and slashed at him with a dagger she carried, inflicting cuts on the man's arms. legs, head and groin. Mesmerized, Aurelius couldn't help as the man, probably dead, stopped moving. Seeing Aurelius and marshalling her courage, the female warrior wailed like a vengeful spirit and charged toward the Roman Prefect who, finally snapping out of his hypnosis, raised his sword to meet her. A proud, desperate woman with only her life to lose, not caring about her safety, every bit of energy throbbing for survival, she flew upon him, the only acceptable result of their combat being the death of one of them. Attacking with all her fury, she slashed at him wildly from head to toe. Blocking her attempts, he let her get as close as was safe, smelling her scent, unable to see his sword as anything other than his penis under the intoxicating assault of this amazing, ravishing creature, her grunts and exertions triggering his hard muscles in a brand new experience: Erotic combat. As her energy failed, her grunts came closer to whimpers and his heart went out to her, his arms wanting to embrace her, to hold her and comfort her, to ravish her and allow her to ravish him. Exhausted, she dropped the dagger and went to her knees, gasping heavily. Unable and unwilling to land a killing blow, Aurelius turned his attention to the rest of the battle. The sun had fallen swiftly and his men had lit torches to illuminate the night. Aurelius saw with satisfaction that his soldiers stood in a commanding position, dead male and female Celts littering the compound joined only by the occasional Roman. A Centurion approached and asked Aurelius if they should pursue the Celts beyond their fortifications, to which Aurelius replied in the negative. Noticing the Celtic woman now slowly getting to her feet, the soldier raised his sword to strike her down but was met with the sword of Aurelius which stopped him.
"No! Haec femina captivus est. Igitur placet mihi ut interrogaret de hoc habiturum. Semitam meam veniant." he said in Latin, the translation being: "No! This woman is my prisoner. I intend to question her about this raid. Bring her to my quarters." The Centurion, knowing his Camp Prefect to be fluent in the dialects of the local Celts, thought nothing of it as he took hold of the woman, who began kicking and screaming with renewed energy. Aurelius smacked her hard in the face, stunning her enough to make the trip to his double sized tent.
After placing her, still woozy, on a stool next to a rudimentary vanity with mirror used for basic grooming, the Centurion, ordered by Aurelius, left the tent then returned a few minutes later with two large buckets of scalding hot water, which he put near Aurelius's bath, before exiting again and returning with a bucket of dirt and earth which he placed just inside the tent entrance. Aurelius told the man: "Resumere post te. Ut non moveretur (Resume your post. I am not to be disturbed.)" The Centurion left the tent with a nod, closing the opening on his way out.
Aurelius Decimus Crispus wanted sex; strong, perhaps even violent sex. The woman covered her crotch, eyes wide, as he slowly removed his clothes until both were naked. She stood and began to backpedal as he smoothly approached like a great panther, she a mouse in a trap, her left hand over her crotch, her right hand over her breasts. He breathed in her animal scent deeply, disregarding the impact of her fear though ever more excited by how it agitated her, her energy drawing his like a magnet. His penis began to swell as he grabbed her strongly by the shoulders, trying to provoke an aggressive reaction, which succeeded. Her savage, warrior blood taking over, her fear displaced, she wriggled free of his grip and returned the slap he had given her earlier followed by several more. Aurelius, near ecstatic with excitement, deflected her blows, backing up to his large bunk bed as she continued her attack, pulling her to him as he flopped back onto the soft cushion, locking her arms to her side with his powerful biceps as she struggled like a wildcat. She scratched at his sides with her fingernails as he forcefully kissed her on the lips. She responded by chomping at him with her teeth as he pulled his face back just in time. He clamped his mouth onto her neck and sucked as hard as he could, his tongue licking her neck in little, quick circles. Her vagina spasmed reflexively; as she dropped her guard for a moment, he unlocked his grip, still maintaining control, and squeezed her butt with his right hand while moving his left hand to her upper back. rubbing it smoothly and strongly. Her arms flexed and her hands went stiff as pleasure rocketed up her spine, unable to prevent this powerful man from taking advantage of her. Realizing this to be what the man wanted and that he would perhaps release her when he got it, she stopped resisting, locking her mouth onto his and finding his tongue with hers as he let her arms free and hugged her back with all his might, her left leg moving up and straddling his upper body as her right leg fully extended. She inserted his penis into her vagina with her left hand and squeezed down onto it with her inner thighs. He let her control their movements, relishing the submissiveness he had never known before as she grabbed and fondled his hard chest with both hands while moving her hips in a variety of motions, moving his penis around at her will. He held himself off as long as he could, completely at the mercy of this physical goddess, his mind engrossed in the idea of the female savage, an animal attacking the gates of the Empire, a defeat he joyfully accepted. She locked her hips as she stared into his eyes and he ejaculated, sending fluid jetting into her body. She sucked at his chin and nibbled it, breathing in his intense masculinity while pulling his hair as his rapid breathing began to ebb, smiling as he came down. Looking deeply into her wide blue eyes, he knew what love was. How could one not love this ravishing creature, dirt still clinging to parts of her body, every pore oozing female strength, vitality and life? Now he knew why Roman soldiers were made to eschew sexual pleasure for, in that moment, he would have done anything for her. Who cared about maintaining an Empire when there were females like this to make love to?
He'd wanted sex. Now he needed love, needed it to flesh out his experience fully, to know what romance beyond the sex act truly was. He motioned to his partner to get off him; she did, standing in suspense, still a filthy mess, both with dirt and now sweat and small amounts of semen from Aurelius's penis. Rising, he went to the two buckets of still very warm water, picked them up and poured the contents of both into his large bath. He grabbed a large bottle of olive oil from a table as she again covered up instinctively. He brushed her hands away with a smile, poured a generous amount of olive oil in both hands and proceeded to rub the oil all over her body, a precursor to cleaning in the Roman world. He rubbed the oil over her beautiful breasts, quickly bringing her back to an aroused state. He oiled her vagina, moving across it in gentle, smooth strokes that elicited barely audible moans from her mouth, her lower lip curled deeply under her teeth as pleasurable sensations swirled through her in waves. He had had his orgasm. Now he greatly wanted to bring her hers.
Once finished, he picked up a cleaning tool called a strigil, a kind of scraper that removed the olive oil and any grime or mud on the body with it. Taking her by his free hand, he moved her to the bath, laid in it first and gently pulled her on top of him, her back on his stomach, the back of her head on his chest. Both revelled in the relaxing warm water, their bodies still fully aware of the physical exertion of the day, both in war and sex. He gripped her left breast with his left hand as he used the strigil to gently scrape off the olive oil on her right side, stopping to wash the strigil in the water after each turn, kissing her on the side of her head and neck as he worked, taking extreme care to remove the olive oil from the right side of her face with the coarse tips of his lingering fingers, allowing her to occasionally suck on them. She took his left hand in her right, interlocking their fingers, lost in the moment, her fear unimportant as he pleasured her. After repeating the process on the other side, he dropped the strigil to the ground, reached both hands over her hips and massaged her vagina with both sets of fingers, inserting a finger of his right hand and massaging her inner walls while rubbing her labia and clitoris with the fingertips of his left. She moaned in increasing intensities, reaching back with her right hand to grab his hair while pressing her left hand over his to increase the motion. He clenched her vagina with his left hand and put his right hand over her mouth as she orgasmed, taking care that none of the soldiers on duty heard it. Her body bucked then slowly relaxed as she turned over on top of him. They kissed passionately, two people, not savage nor civilized, only a man and woman, two human beings in time, one, in desperation, serving the needs of the other who couldn't help feeling intense admiration and affection for her, the physical satisfaction of the moment compensating for a lifetime of staid, emotionless moments in service to his country.
After several minutes of embrace passed, he motioned for her to leave the bath and followed after she rose. As she stretched with proud, feminine elation, he looked to his clothes on a nearby stool and at his pugio, a holstered dagger, dangling from his belt. All Cantabrians were to be killed and Aurelius Decimus Crispus, distinguished officer of Augustus Caesar's peerless 4th Legion of Macedonica, father and husband, noble Roman in every respect, had never had any intention of letting the Celtic woman he'd taken to his bed and bath leave his tent alive. After he'd had his pleasure, which included the bath, he'd planned on using the bucket of earth to cake on the woman after he'd killed her under the pretense that the filthy barbarian had attacked him under questioning. All neat and clean and no one would ever know. He stepped to his clothes, the Celtic woman unaware of his eyes on the thick, sharp pugio. Inches from taking the weapon in hand, he stopped. He looked to her, this amazing woman whose people had been all but exterminated by Roman might, his might, yet faced death and fought like a tigress as well as any man, faced him as well as any man on the field of battle, and loved him as well as he imagined any woman could. She smiled nervously, hoping for a positive next step from Aurelius. He breathed deeply and frowned, unable to follow through on his plan but uncertain how to smuggle her out of camp.
"Nescio quo modo me liberare de castris in zelo meo et immolabo et si necesse fuerit ut (I do not know how to free you from this camp but I, on my honor, will sacrifice myself if need be to make it so)," he said to her. Near tears, she embraced him and he returned it. He loved her. Stupidly, he loved her, a development he could not have envisioned. Duty fails with love. Empires fall from love. Would Aurelius Decimus Crispus fall the same way? He looked to the bucket of earth. He would cake the mud on as when she entered, hiding their lovemaking as best he could, then try to find some way to honor her his promise of freedom.
Thank you for reading. All comments are welcome.
A recent spate of attacks on his camp's northern border sparked Aurelius's instincts for the possibility of fresh excitement. Though completely unnecessary, he'd taken to inspecting the perimeter personally in the hopes of witnessing another pitiful, easily repulsed assault by the decimated Celts and, even more hopefully, taking part in their further decimation. Reports from his soldiers of more and more Celtic women fighting in place of their dead male partners made it even more irresistible. Roman accounts of wild, strong, aggressive barbarian women on the frontiers were infamous throughout the Roman world but Aurelius had never personally witnessed them in battle. What were they really like? Did they fight naked like their men often did? Did the women in Hispania have the long red hair of other northern Celts? Did they have large breasts unlike most Roman women? Did they fight with that animal passion that often borders on sexual ecstasy? The possibilities sent pleasurable sensations cascading through his mind and body and he could barely control the enthusiasm his inspections produced.
His wish was finally granted one day near dusk. As he routinely walked the long length of the stone wall that fortified the northern portion of the camp, arrows and dozens of rocks from slings came flying over the walls at a section perfectly in between two guard towers. Aurelius rushed to the point of activity, his short sword called a gladius in hand, as Roman soldiers gathered, their shields mostly blocking the enemy fire with the occasional legionnaire wounded Crude ladders slammed up against the stonewall in numerous places and several Celtic warriors, through attrition, came over the walls into the Roman camp. Most were killed almost instantly by Roman spears but some penetrated deeper into the compound. Aurelius killed two male Celts then noticed with amazement and excitement a small group of Celtic women, indeed fighting naked, attempting to come over the wall at different ladder points, shrieking and screaming like Banshees as they came. Knowing no chivalry, Roman spears mowed down most of them but one, in particular, caught Aurelius's eye as she scaled down the wall into the camp. A Venus smeared with mud, long, jet black hair evident, large breasts with nipples hard in the excitement, she represented everything he had dreamed of in a barbarian woman: Animal poetry in motion, elegant, strongly definable feminine curves shifting to maintain the balance of the wide hips and supple legs on her powerful body as she moved. Frozen to the spot, he watched as she approached a fallen Roman soldier stunned by a slinged rock and slashed at him with a dagger she carried, inflicting cuts on the man's arms. legs, head and groin. Mesmerized, Aurelius couldn't help as the man, probably dead, stopped moving. Seeing Aurelius and marshalling her courage, the female warrior wailed like a vengeful spirit and charged toward the Roman Prefect who, finally snapping out of his hypnosis, raised his sword to meet her. A proud, desperate woman with only her life to lose, not caring about her safety, every bit of energy throbbing for survival, she flew upon him, the only acceptable result of their combat being the death of one of them. Attacking with all her fury, she slashed at him wildly from head to toe. Blocking her attempts, he let her get as close as was safe, smelling her scent, unable to see his sword as anything other than his penis under the intoxicating assault of this amazing, ravishing creature, her grunts and exertions triggering his hard muscles in a brand new experience: Erotic combat. As her energy failed, her grunts came closer to whimpers and his heart went out to her, his arms wanting to embrace her, to hold her and comfort her, to ravish her and allow her to ravish him. Exhausted, she dropped the dagger and went to her knees, gasping heavily. Unable and unwilling to land a killing blow, Aurelius turned his attention to the rest of the battle. The sun had fallen swiftly and his men had lit torches to illuminate the night. Aurelius saw with satisfaction that his soldiers stood in a commanding position, dead male and female Celts littering the compound joined only by the occasional Roman. A Centurion approached and asked Aurelius if they should pursue the Celts beyond their fortifications, to which Aurelius replied in the negative. Noticing the Celtic woman now slowly getting to her feet, the soldier raised his sword to strike her down but was met with the sword of Aurelius which stopped him.
"No! Haec femina captivus est. Igitur placet mihi ut interrogaret de hoc habiturum. Semitam meam veniant." he said in Latin, the translation being: "No! This woman is my prisoner. I intend to question her about this raid. Bring her to my quarters." The Centurion, knowing his Camp Prefect to be fluent in the dialects of the local Celts, thought nothing of it as he took hold of the woman, who began kicking and screaming with renewed energy. Aurelius smacked her hard in the face, stunning her enough to make the trip to his double sized tent.
After placing her, still woozy, on a stool next to a rudimentary vanity with mirror used for basic grooming, the Centurion, ordered by Aurelius, left the tent then returned a few minutes later with two large buckets of scalding hot water, which he put near Aurelius's bath, before exiting again and returning with a bucket of dirt and earth which he placed just inside the tent entrance. Aurelius told the man: "Resumere post te. Ut non moveretur (Resume your post. I am not to be disturbed.)" The Centurion left the tent with a nod, closing the opening on his way out.
Aurelius Decimus Crispus wanted sex; strong, perhaps even violent sex. The woman covered her crotch, eyes wide, as he slowly removed his clothes until both were naked. She stood and began to backpedal as he smoothly approached like a great panther, she a mouse in a trap, her left hand over her crotch, her right hand over her breasts. He breathed in her animal scent deeply, disregarding the impact of her fear though ever more excited by how it agitated her, her energy drawing his like a magnet. His penis began to swell as he grabbed her strongly by the shoulders, trying to provoke an aggressive reaction, which succeeded. Her savage, warrior blood taking over, her fear displaced, she wriggled free of his grip and returned the slap he had given her earlier followed by several more. Aurelius, near ecstatic with excitement, deflected her blows, backing up to his large bunk bed as she continued her attack, pulling her to him as he flopped back onto the soft cushion, locking her arms to her side with his powerful biceps as she struggled like a wildcat. She scratched at his sides with her fingernails as he forcefully kissed her on the lips. She responded by chomping at him with her teeth as he pulled his face back just in time. He clamped his mouth onto her neck and sucked as hard as he could, his tongue licking her neck in little, quick circles. Her vagina spasmed reflexively; as she dropped her guard for a moment, he unlocked his grip, still maintaining control, and squeezed her butt with his right hand while moving his left hand to her upper back. rubbing it smoothly and strongly. Her arms flexed and her hands went stiff as pleasure rocketed up her spine, unable to prevent this powerful man from taking advantage of her. Realizing this to be what the man wanted and that he would perhaps release her when he got it, she stopped resisting, locking her mouth onto his and finding his tongue with hers as he let her arms free and hugged her back with all his might, her left leg moving up and straddling his upper body as her right leg fully extended. She inserted his penis into her vagina with her left hand and squeezed down onto it with her inner thighs. He let her control their movements, relishing the submissiveness he had never known before as she grabbed and fondled his hard chest with both hands while moving her hips in a variety of motions, moving his penis around at her will. He held himself off as long as he could, completely at the mercy of this physical goddess, his mind engrossed in the idea of the female savage, an animal attacking the gates of the Empire, a defeat he joyfully accepted. She locked her hips as she stared into his eyes and he ejaculated, sending fluid jetting into her body. She sucked at his chin and nibbled it, breathing in his intense masculinity while pulling his hair as his rapid breathing began to ebb, smiling as he came down. Looking deeply into her wide blue eyes, he knew what love was. How could one not love this ravishing creature, dirt still clinging to parts of her body, every pore oozing female strength, vitality and life? Now he knew why Roman soldiers were made to eschew sexual pleasure for, in that moment, he would have done anything for her. Who cared about maintaining an Empire when there were females like this to make love to?
He'd wanted sex. Now he needed love, needed it to flesh out his experience fully, to know what romance beyond the sex act truly was. He motioned to his partner to get off him; she did, standing in suspense, still a filthy mess, both with dirt and now sweat and small amounts of semen from Aurelius's penis. Rising, he went to the two buckets of still very warm water, picked them up and poured the contents of both into his large bath. He grabbed a large bottle of olive oil from a table as she again covered up instinctively. He brushed her hands away with a smile, poured a generous amount of olive oil in both hands and proceeded to rub the oil all over her body, a precursor to cleaning in the Roman world. He rubbed the oil over her beautiful breasts, quickly bringing her back to an aroused state. He oiled her vagina, moving across it in gentle, smooth strokes that elicited barely audible moans from her mouth, her lower lip curled deeply under her teeth as pleasurable sensations swirled through her in waves. He had had his orgasm. Now he greatly wanted to bring her hers.
Once finished, he picked up a cleaning tool called a strigil, a kind of scraper that removed the olive oil and any grime or mud on the body with it. Taking her by his free hand, he moved her to the bath, laid in it first and gently pulled her on top of him, her back on his stomach, the back of her head on his chest. Both revelled in the relaxing warm water, their bodies still fully aware of the physical exertion of the day, both in war and sex. He gripped her left breast with his left hand as he used the strigil to gently scrape off the olive oil on her right side, stopping to wash the strigil in the water after each turn, kissing her on the side of her head and neck as he worked, taking extreme care to remove the olive oil from the right side of her face with the coarse tips of his lingering fingers, allowing her to occasionally suck on them. She took his left hand in her right, interlocking their fingers, lost in the moment, her fear unimportant as he pleasured her. After repeating the process on the other side, he dropped the strigil to the ground, reached both hands over her hips and massaged her vagina with both sets of fingers, inserting a finger of his right hand and massaging her inner walls while rubbing her labia and clitoris with the fingertips of his left. She moaned in increasing intensities, reaching back with her right hand to grab his hair while pressing her left hand over his to increase the motion. He clenched her vagina with his left hand and put his right hand over her mouth as she orgasmed, taking care that none of the soldiers on duty heard it. Her body bucked then slowly relaxed as she turned over on top of him. They kissed passionately, two people, not savage nor civilized, only a man and woman, two human beings in time, one, in desperation, serving the needs of the other who couldn't help feeling intense admiration and affection for her, the physical satisfaction of the moment compensating for a lifetime of staid, emotionless moments in service to his country.
After several minutes of embrace passed, he motioned for her to leave the bath and followed after she rose. As she stretched with proud, feminine elation, he looked to his clothes on a nearby stool and at his pugio, a holstered dagger, dangling from his belt. All Cantabrians were to be killed and Aurelius Decimus Crispus, distinguished officer of Augustus Caesar's peerless 4th Legion of Macedonica, father and husband, noble Roman in every respect, had never had any intention of letting the Celtic woman he'd taken to his bed and bath leave his tent alive. After he'd had his pleasure, which included the bath, he'd planned on using the bucket of earth to cake on the woman after he'd killed her under the pretense that the filthy barbarian had attacked him under questioning. All neat and clean and no one would ever know. He stepped to his clothes, the Celtic woman unaware of his eyes on the thick, sharp pugio. Inches from taking the weapon in hand, he stopped. He looked to her, this amazing woman whose people had been all but exterminated by Roman might, his might, yet faced death and fought like a tigress as well as any man, faced him as well as any man on the field of battle, and loved him as well as he imagined any woman could. She smiled nervously, hoping for a positive next step from Aurelius. He breathed deeply and frowned, unable to follow through on his plan but uncertain how to smuggle her out of camp.
"Nescio quo modo me liberare de castris in zelo meo et immolabo et si necesse fuerit ut (I do not know how to free you from this camp but I, on my honor, will sacrifice myself if need be to make it so)," he said to her. Near tears, she embraced him and he returned it. He loved her. Stupidly, he loved her, a development he could not have envisioned. Duty fails with love. Empires fall from love. Would Aurelius Decimus Crispus fall the same way? He looked to the bucket of earth. He would cake the mud on as when she entered, hiding their lovemaking as best he could, then try to find some way to honor her his promise of freedom.
Thank you for reading. All comments are welcome.
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