Invaded by Rome

Thank you to everyone who responded positively to my previous stories, and particularly to horseman68 for comments and encouragement to continue.

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The trireme crunched to a halt on the gravelly beach, and I dropped into the shallow water, already scanning the woods for enemies. But no blue-painted warriors appeared, and I let myself relax a little. "To the top of that hill and make camp," I gave the order.

Barely two hours later I was sitting in my tent, not exactly the opulence of a legate's quarters but comfortable enough, and the tesserarius had remembered a skin of wine, at least. I could hear the regular step of the sentries - they'd been warned often enough to be alert for the stealthy approach of the enemy - and I started to relax. A good night's sleep was what I needed to lead my men deeper into this hostile country.

I drained my cup, and started to unstrap my cuirass, stretching stiff muscles. I sat on the pile of furs that would serve as my bed for the next weeks, until we could set up a more permanent base - at least a palisaded outpost, and the start of a road back to the coast.

Ready for sleep, I cupped a hand round the oil lamp's flame, extinguishing it with a sharp breath. The darkness was almost total, but a sliver of moonlight spilled through the entrance of the tent. I lay back, pulling a fur over me and closing my eyes.

Moments later I tensed as the briefest flicker betrayed something - someone? - crossing the arc of silvery light. I stretched out my hand in the darkness, fingers curling round the hilt of my gladius, and held my breath. The silence was total, but now I was fully alert, and some sixth sense told me that the intruder was drawing closer.

I took a gamble, rolling sideways and reaching out an arm to grapple, my sword raised to present its edge to whatever came within my grasp. I was rewarded with a gasp, a figure smaller than I'd expected struggling in my grip then stilling.

I manhandled my captive towards the tent opening, using my sword arm to widen the gap. Expecting a pierced, painted foe, I blinked in surprise as the light revealed the face of a young woman, her eyes filled with terror. Her hands were empty, and the crisscrossed leather thongs that passed as her clothing seemed to offer scant place to conceal a weapon, but I kept my grip tight, setting the edge of my sword at her bared neck. "What seek you here?" I growled.

To my astonishment she began to cry, tears spilling down her cheeks, her fists clenched. "I was supposed to kill you."

"And how were you going to do that?" I queried. "I see no weapon."

"With your sword." Her voice was a frustrated wail, and instinctively I put my hand over her mouth. "Quiet, or you'll have the sentries on us."

I pulled her back inside, sheathing my weapon and placing it out of reach. I rekindled the oil lamp, and drew my captive towards the bed, giving her no choice but to sit. "So, what is the name of my would-be assassin?"

"Eithne," she conceded, her voice now resigned, her shoulders slumped.

"Well, Eithne, there may be a way you can help your people without the shedding of blood," I ventured.

"How?" she queried, her tone suspicious.

"Despite what you may have heard, the Roman Empire is not simply barbaric or bloodthirsty," I continued. "True, we tolerate no opposition, and we meet force with overwhelming force. But we would prefer to make treaties, and for those who become subject to us, there is advantage - the Pax Romana, and goods and trade in return for what we would otherwise take by force regardless."

Eithne was silent, seeming to consider my words. Finally she looked up. "And my part in this?"

"I would need someone to help negotiate." I looked at her more closely, noticing for the first time the heavy spiral torc at her neck, an elaborate silver pin fastening the thongs which crossed and re-crossed the swell of her breasts. "Tell me, Eithne, are you of high status among your people?"

She raised her head, a hint of pride in her eyes. "My mother is not first in the council, but she is heard."

"Good, then." I chose my next words with care. "There is also the matter of surety, of some guarantee that any agreement will be kept."

Eithne's eyes narrowed. "What sort of guarantee?"

I pressed my lips together in a grim line. "A hostage. Which you seem already to have provided us with."

She seemed to turn in on herself. "I would rather I had died."

"It is not so bad," I reassured her. "You would be well-treated - even in such a camp as this, you would receive what hospitality Rome can provide."

She gave a nod of resignation. "Since it seems I have little choice."

I put a finger under her chin, lifting her head so that her eyes met mine. "There is one more thing. If you are to remain with us, I think you would find my quarters much pleasanter than a bare-floored bivouac guarded by auxiliaries."

Eithne's gaze was defiant. "You have spoken of negotiation. Well, Roman, I can guess the terms of such an offer, and for the sake of my people it may be necessary. But take heed of how you treat me - your sword is still close enough, and what better chance than when you are asleep, having taken what you want from wineskin and woman?"

I leaned closer to her. "Then I will have to trust to my wits, as tonight."

Fear flared in her eyes as I covered her mouth with mine, my hands on her bare shoulders to restrain her. I pushed her down on the bed, my fingers now seeking the silver pin, dropping it to the floor. Crisscross marks of leather on the soft flesh I now cupped in my hand, and a hint of hardness against my palm betraying that perhaps my touch was not so unwelcome after all. I broke the enforced kiss, my mouth moving downwards, finding her nipple and pressing it hard enough between my lips to force a gasp from her. Then softer, suckling, my tongue brushing the hardening tip, and this time a moan. I smiled against her breast, certain that sooner or later I would win an admission of pleasure from her.

My fingers explored lower, down her smoothly-muscled stomach, and she freed a hand to grapple with mine. In response I seized her wrist, pinning her arm above her head, and my fingers continued their quest, frustrated by tightly-laced leather. A sharp tug, and the way was open, fingertips brushing through wiry fur then forced between clenched thighs to warmth and - I felt a surge of triumph - unmistakeable wetness.

But still she resisted, and my own desire was making me impatient. I covered her body with mine, one knee forcing itself between her thighs. Then my hardness pressing against her opening, welcoming or not. Again my mouth on hers, her eyes wild, then a sudden flare of her pupils as I thrust into her. Brief resistance - the added frisson of knowing I was first - then I was through, bone touching bone through skin as I pushed to the full depth of her. Again I released her mouth, tilting my head back to breathe as I yielded to the impulse to thrust, withdraw, thrust again. With each movement of my hips, breath was forced from her, and I allowed myself a sense of triumph as her eyes closed, her head tilted back, gasps turning to moans. Her hands now sought my back, fingers arching to pull me closer, her protested reluctance unable to prevent her hips mirroring my movements.

I felt the moment of my release approaching, and I shifted position, forcing her knees higher, once more pressing my lips around her nipples, tonguing. I moved more insistently, and her eyes opened, fixing on my face. Her expression gave away everything - anger at her powerlessness, frustration at her body's betraying response, then sudden overwhelming surprise at the climax that crashed through her moments before I yielded to my own pleasure, thrusting once, again, releasing myself into her...

I relaxed, letting my weight rest on her. I watched her face, an unmistakeable hint of disappointment there as I softened, slipping from her. I reached out a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, and she turned to kiss my palm. "Well, Roman, even when there is no choice about an alliance, it seems there are advantages. But still you will need your wits about you."

She sat up a little. "If we are to be more together, I will need to know your name?"

I nodded. "I am Timon, centurion of the Ninth Legion."