Marcius
Tribune
The slow warm wind wafted through the open tavern door, carrying the faint strains of martial music from the legionary fortress of Durostorum. Muciana finished cleaning yet another table and paused to wipe the moisture off her forehead. She wanted to quench the thirst with a cup of watered red wine, but she knew well that Dutoboris the tavern-keeper wouldn’t stand for that. Not that early, not on the busiest day of the year.
Muciana looked at two of her fellow barmaids, busy washing the cups, at Dutoboris, a heavyset man in his late forties, his hair greying and retreating, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them Faustus was there, darkening the doorway.
‘Greetings, Dutoboris. Hey girls,’ Faustus strode in. The girls chorused welcome, Dutoboris nodded. ‘Getting ready?’
‘We are, Faustus. What do you want?’ Dutoboris looked at the younger man, half his age, taller and better dressed, with more than a dash of resentment.
‘Who do you want, Faustus?’ one of the barmaids, Dorcas, piped in.
‘Missed me, girl?’ Faustus looked straight into Muciana’s large, dark eyes. Mouthing a vigorous denial, she knew she was lost—that burning desire she had always felt when she was near Faustus was washing over her.
‘I’m off while they are on parade,’ Faustus smiled. ‘I thought I'd drop by and see you before the whole legion comes here to celebrate the eagle’s birthday.’
‘And now that you've seen me, now what?’ Muciana crossed her arms, tattooed in the Thracian manner with wavy lines, deer and stars. In a heartbeat she was aware that the thin fabric of her tunic was now pulled taut over her breasts, so that the outline of her hardened nipples was easily distinguished. Her face flushed.
‘Why don’t we talk everything over in the back?’ Faustus murmured.
‘You shouldn’t be here, lad. And you, silly slut, you know you’re playing with fire,’ Dutoboris snarled at the couple. ‘You’ve been warned to stay away from him, Muciana!’
‘I’m taking a break!’ Muciana flounced past Dutoboris, beckoned Faustus to follow her.
Which he did, while Dutoboris grumbled.
Once the door of an ill-lit back room slammed shut behind them, there wasn’t much talking.
Waves of pleasure rippled through the body of Muciana. Their sweat-slick bodies slid against each other in a perfect rhythm, every thrust of Faustus eliciting a loud moan from her, drawing her closer to the peak of lust. She clung to him, her long legs wrapped round the backs of his thighs…
Then the door crashed open.
‘What the—’ Faustus pushed off Muciana, who yelped indignantly. ‘What does it mean?’
‘You know it perfectly well, Faustus,’ said the first of two important-looking men entering the room. ‘You’re fucking her again, so—’
‘Bugger off!’ screamed Muciana, frustrated and now terrified.
The man looked at her.
‘On the contrary, girl, it is you who are well and truly buggered—and face-fucked into the bargain. You have been officially warned by the narrow-stripe tribune of the Eleventh to cease carnal relations with this Faustus, and yet you so craved his cock that you gave up your freedom for it.’ The man looked at Faustus. ‘Get dressed, you fucker, you’re coming with us.’
‘As for you, girl,’ the second man told Muciana who cowered on the bed, still naked, ‘you are now summoned before the legate of Eleventh to answer the senatus consultum Claudianum case against you, to be heard tomorrow morning.’
‘You brought it on yourself, you slut,’ Dutoboris hissed from behind the two men. ‘Get dressed, Muciana—tomorrow is tomorrow, today you serve drinks!’
Muciana wept.
TBC
Muciana looked at two of her fellow barmaids, busy washing the cups, at Dutoboris, a heavyset man in his late forties, his hair greying and retreating, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them Faustus was there, darkening the doorway.
‘Greetings, Dutoboris. Hey girls,’ Faustus strode in. The girls chorused welcome, Dutoboris nodded. ‘Getting ready?’
‘We are, Faustus. What do you want?’ Dutoboris looked at the younger man, half his age, taller and better dressed, with more than a dash of resentment.
‘Who do you want, Faustus?’ one of the barmaids, Dorcas, piped in.
‘Missed me, girl?’ Faustus looked straight into Muciana’s large, dark eyes. Mouthing a vigorous denial, she knew she was lost—that burning desire she had always felt when she was near Faustus was washing over her.
‘I’m off while they are on parade,’ Faustus smiled. ‘I thought I'd drop by and see you before the whole legion comes here to celebrate the eagle’s birthday.’
‘And now that you've seen me, now what?’ Muciana crossed her arms, tattooed in the Thracian manner with wavy lines, deer and stars. In a heartbeat she was aware that the thin fabric of her tunic was now pulled taut over her breasts, so that the outline of her hardened nipples was easily distinguished. Her face flushed.
‘Why don’t we talk everything over in the back?’ Faustus murmured.
‘You shouldn’t be here, lad. And you, silly slut, you know you’re playing with fire,’ Dutoboris snarled at the couple. ‘You’ve been warned to stay away from him, Muciana!’
‘I’m taking a break!’ Muciana flounced past Dutoboris, beckoned Faustus to follow her.
Which he did, while Dutoboris grumbled.
Once the door of an ill-lit back room slammed shut behind them, there wasn’t much talking.
***********
Waves of pleasure rippled through the body of Muciana. Their sweat-slick bodies slid against each other in a perfect rhythm, every thrust of Faustus eliciting a loud moan from her, drawing her closer to the peak of lust. She clung to him, her long legs wrapped round the backs of his thighs…
Then the door crashed open.
‘What the—’ Faustus pushed off Muciana, who yelped indignantly. ‘What does it mean?’
‘You know it perfectly well, Faustus,’ said the first of two important-looking men entering the room. ‘You’re fucking her again, so—’
‘Bugger off!’ screamed Muciana, frustrated and now terrified.
The man looked at her.
‘On the contrary, girl, it is you who are well and truly buggered—and face-fucked into the bargain. You have been officially warned by the narrow-stripe tribune of the Eleventh to cease carnal relations with this Faustus, and yet you so craved his cock that you gave up your freedom for it.’ The man looked at Faustus. ‘Get dressed, you fucker, you’re coming with us.’
‘As for you, girl,’ the second man told Muciana who cowered on the bed, still naked, ‘you are now summoned before the legate of Eleventh to answer the senatus consultum Claudianum case against you, to be heard tomorrow morning.’
‘You brought it on yourself, you slut,’ Dutoboris hissed from behind the two men. ‘Get dressed, Muciana—tomorrow is tomorrow, today you serve drinks!’
Muciana wept.
TBC