Virgin Slave, Barbarian King. Louise Allen

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      Courage and strength, Julia mocked herself bitterly as she gripped Berig’s belt and fought for balance on the horse’s rump. And what opportunities do you ever have for exercising those, Julia Livia? Do you even possess them? When had she ever had to stand up for herself and use her own initiative?

      Shop here, wear this, go to this party, not to that one. Be friends with those girls, that one is unsuitable…Marry Antonius Justus Celsus. Yes, Father, yes, Mother. Whatever you say. He is boring and smug and he’ll have two chins in five years, but it is the right thing to do to marry him. So suitable.

      Being carried off as a slave by a golden giant with a wolf and a boy at his heels was not suitable. But how do you learn to fight if you have never had to before?

      ‘This one?’ Berig’s voice snapped her out of her whirling thoughts. They had halted in front of the plain high wall and closed doors of what she guessed must be a prosperous merchant’s house. ‘It looks a poor place.’

      ‘With these walls and those locks?’ Wulfric leaned over and hammered on the unyielding planks. ‘I don’t think they want to let us in. Why do you think that is?’ Julia smiled inwardly; her own home had doors and walls that were even better than these.

      Wulfric edged the ugly grey horse up to the wall, and stood up on its back with a smoothness that had her gaping. He reached high, grasped the top of the wall and hauled himself up, muscles bulging with effort. With a grunt he straddled the wall, then vanished.

      ‘You are thieves, all of you,’ Julia spat at Berig’s back, fury at her own reaction to that display of brute strength lending venom to her words.

      The boy shifted in the saddle and half turned. Focusing on him, she saw he had a snub nose, blonder hair than Wulfric, vivid blue eyes. ‘We keep our word, all of us. Your emperor is an oath-breaker.’ He put loathing into the words. ‘There is nothing worse. If you cannot trust a man’s word, what can you trust? He is less than a man, he is not fit to lead.’

      ‘It is politics. Honorius must do what is right for the state,’ Julia protested. What am I doing, debating politics with a barbarian youth while the city burns around us?

      The boy stared at her as though she had sprouted two heads. ‘Do Roman women understand nothing of honour? Your emperor gave his word. He broke it, now he must pay.’

      She was saved from answering him by the doors swinging open and Wulfric appearing on the threshold. ‘They have fled and abandoned their slaves, let’s see what else they left behind.’ He whistled and the grey followed him, Berig’s mount behind. Hooves cracked sharply on the expensive mosaics of the entrance.

      ‘Where would you hide the family treasure, Julia?’ Wulfric enquired, his eyes scanning the empty peristyle. There was a muted scuffle from the shadows; the whites of wide eyes were just visible.

      ‘You! Come out, I will not hurt you.’ To Julia’s amazement the slaves shuffled out of hiding, their eyes fixed on the big man like mice in front of a fox. ‘Your master does not treat you well.’ It was a statement, not a question. The group were thin, bruises showed. ‘Perhaps you saw where he hid his gold before he ran and left you.’

      They shook their heads, silent. Then their gazes slid furtively towards the big urn standing in the open space. A drooping laurel bush stuck out of the top.

      ‘Not a good time of year to be transplanting shrubs,’ Wulfric observed, strolling over and giving the urn a push. It was rock solid, taller than he was. ‘Fetch me a rope, a long, strong one.’

      The oldest slave, the steward perhaps, grinned suddenly and hurried off, returning with a hefty coil of hemp in his hands. Wulfric tied it round the urn, fed it round the nearest pillar, then tossed the end up to Berig before remounting. The two riders looped the rope on their pommels and began to back the horses. Craning round Berig’s shoulder, Julia saw the urn rock. The grey’s hooves slithered on the mosaic, there was a lurch and the marble vessel toppled over to smash on the paving.

      No wonder the shrub had been drooping! It was planted in pure gold, a mass of coins that spun and flashed on the paving. The slaves hurried forward and began to scoop up the money, stuffing it into the saddle-bags that Wulfric gave them with an enthusiasm that said everything about their feelings for their master.

      When the bags were full, one woman ran off and found more. ‘Keep the rest.’ Wulfric secured the gold behind his saddle. ‘And run.’

      ‘One of them is sure to be able to cook better than I can and they are slaves already,’ Julia protested.

      ‘Yes, but I want you.’ Wulfric smiled. It was not an indication of weakness—even in her desperate state she was all too aware of that—but it held a touch more warmth again.

      Something cold settled in Julia’s stomach. She tried to tell herself he had meant it when he said he did not believe in ravishing women. Surely he did not think he would not have to? That she would willingly…Oh, no, my arrogant barbarian, if you think that broad shoulders and big muscles are going to seduce Julia Livia Rufa, you are in for a major disappointment.

      They stopped again further down the street in front of an arched doorway. ‘No!’ she protested. ‘Don’t you dare, you thieving pagans! That is a church, it is sacred…’

      ‘Yes, I know.’ Wulfric swung down from the saddle. ‘I want to check they have had no trouble.’ He disappeared inside, leaving Julia gaping after him.

      ‘We are Christians,’ Berig said angrily. ‘Don’t you Romans know anything about anyone else?’

      ‘I…I didn’t think. But you haven’t been Christians very long, have you? Some of you still worship the old gods?’

      ‘A few, perhaps,’ the lad conceded. ‘It doesn’t mean we would smash up a church. And I will wager some Romans still worship your old gods as well.’

      Grandmother for one. Julia knew her father’s mother kept the shrine to the household gods tended, despite her son’s displeasure. She bit her lip. What else did she not know about these people? She recalled seeing Wulfric’s lips move as he had laid the slave girl down in the burning shop. Had he been praying over her? And she, Julia, had not even thought to do so. Ashamed, she tried to fashion the words, but her mind was too muddled to find them.

      Wulfric emerged. ‘They are all right, Theofrid passed this way two hours ago and gave them a password.’

      Julia looked about her, puzzled. This was not at all what she had expected the sacking of a city to be like. True, there was panic and confusion, smoke was rising everywhere she looked and she was with two men whose saddle-bags bulged with looted gold. But she had expected blood to be running in the street, churches and palaces to be burning, savage men, painted with strange symbols, to be dragging women off by their hair for unspeakable purposes. This was more like a particularly forceful form of tax collecting. With human coin.

      ‘We will go to the Forum, see who else is there.’ Julia’s spirits rose—surely there would be soldiers, surely some resistance to this invasion was being organised? By going to the Forum they would be walking right into the hands of the emperor’s men and she would be saved.

      But they were moving against the tide of people streaming away from the heart of the city and her confidence began to ebb. Why were people fleeing, unless the Goths had overrun the Forum itself? Other riders, dressed like Wulfric, their hair long СКАЧАТЬ