His Tribute

The legion arrived for Camilla at noon. She hid in the woods, bow in hand, and watched the percession. The twelve-man unit rode on horseback. Some of the horses whinnied and shook their manes to and fro, the sun slipping through their healthy hair. Other horses stomped their pointer hooves. Impatient at a standstill in their journey. A stallion, its coat speckled like aged silver, led a wagon designed to be a prison with iron bars and other tributes inside. Five young, strong specimens sat with knees up to their chests, and arms clasped around their ankles but not actually bond. They kept their heads bowed. Shades of gold, auburn, maghoney, and ebony glinting in the sun with the same brilliance as the silky manes of the horses. They'd expected King Metabus to come through the entrance of the villa, but he'd come west from the fields, dressed in the same brown tunic as the four servants at his side. The gray strands in his beard dulled the red of it into a copper patina. He greeted the two commanding soldiers. They wore red paludamentums, a cape fastened to their right shoulder to distinguish their high rank from the ordinary soldiers. The taller of the two took off his helmet. The red plume crowning the helmet stuck out from under the back of his arm. This detail brought her attention to the leather armor stretching across his broad shoulders and back. She could hear them as clearly as if she'd been part of the conversation. An extraordinary hearing was one of the gifts Goddess Diana has bestowed on her throughout the years. Camilla clawed at the bark of the chestnut tree which concealed her. Their conversation was not suprising. Her father had given her the choice to be the tribute; he said that he'd find another way to save their kingdom, rendered destitute by the five years of floods and three droughts. But she knew in her warrior soul this was the only way to save her kingdom, to become a Roman tribute, a plaything to the wealthy and powerful. They discussed the details of the trade and her service contract. During this exchange, a large trunk was taken from the rack atop the cage of tributes. It was opened to her father, and though she could not see the riches inside, the softening of her father's brow and mouth caused her heart to pinch in gratitude. Over the years, the heaviness and worry had set into the lines of his tan skin, trying their best to disfigure his strong face. The expression of hope and solution gave Camilla bravery and she walked out of the forest. The soldiers turned to her. She had eyes only for her father, pushing between the two commanders and offering her bow and arrows to her father. Hot tears spilled from her as she surrendered her beloved bow, made by the forest nymphs at the Goddess Diana's demand. It felt as if she were cutting off a limb, but she loved her father and her kingdom more than her arms or her legs. Her father took the bow reverently in his arms. "Listen to all that they order. Your time of two years will go quicker and easier then. Do you understand, daughter?" Camilla lifted her tear-streaked face to her father, and hugged him. "I will, father. My allegiance is to Rome now. Please do not worry about me, you've raised a capable daughter. Take solace in this." The shorter commander, a man with sloped shoulders and breath like a sulfurred rock, gripped her arm and pushed her to the back of the cage. She did not struggle, and stepped up into the cage-bed with dignity. This enraged the man. He unsheathed his sword and stabbed the hilt into her back so that she fell onto her hands and knees. Camilla looked through the bars at her father. The grotesque shadow of worry washed over him again. She nodded to him, resigned. The taller commander passed the cage, refusing to look at her. She took up the position of the other tributes, noting that none of them had looked up in all this time. Once the shorter commander mounted his horse, the caravan started. Camilla denied herself the desperate longing within her heart to watch her father and home draw into the woods and the purple hills, settling into her past as she moved towards Rome to her future. The journey was lugubrious in many ways. Her father's lands were mostly composed of thick woods. The wagon heaved up and down over rocks and tree roots. Shielding them from the afternoon sun, a golden and red canopy abundant with choirs of birds and echos of other creatures. She closed her eyes to pinpoint the distant noises: the chattering of red squirrels, the gentle bending of branches as a Sardinian deer hides in the bushes, and the scratching of a porcupine's claws on a tree-stump. This game of sounds allowed her to retreat inward, to hunt while being in her cage. It occupied her mind from her sorrows and worries. Nothing seemed to penetrate her, not the lewd comments from the soldiers or the frozen sadness of her fellow tributes. She prayed to her Goddess Diana with such dedication that she slipped into a comatose sleep, where she wasn't fully asleep nor was she completely awake. This in between of consciousness was dazzling in the vibrancy of colors. She noticed the edges of things. The subtle transition of one color into another. The colors developed a taste. Red tasted like iron. Green like the sky after a downpour, sweet. Brown tasted like bitter figs. She began to follow a sparrow through the woods. A glowing trail of dust and sun winding through the forest. Her legs ached to run, a reminder that her body was cramped in a cage and it was only her mind able to explore these open woods. The sparrow took her down to a brook, which was so clear that she could not tell what her reflection was and what she was. An unfamiliar sound, one that didn't belong in her Goddess's forest. The heavy footsteps of a man. A metallic smack... Camilla opened her eyes, and met the sapphire stare of the tall commander, who sheathed his sword, having used it to alert her of their arrival by smacking the cage's bars. Behind him was a shabby cottage laid back in the woods. Smoke snaked up from the chimney. Twilight shimmered above them. They unloaded the tributes. Camilla was the last to step down from the wagon. Her leg muscles twitched as the blood returned to them. The tributes were directed to get into line. Camilla the rear. The short commander smacked her bottom with a thin cane used on willful horses. She lifted onto her toes, angering at the sudden sting in her backside. The man let out a barking laugh. He swung at her again, and she bumped into a male tribute. The man braced his legs so that he would not crash into the line ahead. He didn't look back, but whispered, "They punish you for less." The short commander smacked the back of the man, who started to walk. Camilla hurried behind him, trying to avoid the whipping device. But the commander seemed to take pleasure in the way she galloped onto her tiptoes with each blow to her buttocks, and he continued to spank her until they were in a spacious room warmed by a fire on a hearth. Soldiers went to the bar or to tables. Three tavern maidens came out to pour drinks. A gentleman in a light blue toga greeted the commanders. His gaze briefly landed on the tributes, but he dismissed the miserable faces as quickly as he had noted them. "This way, my lieges." The tributes followed the tall commander into a back room with a round table fitted for eight. The two commanders sat. Camilla gave hesitant glances at the empty chairs. Were they supposed to sit down? But then, a maiden entered with a tray of five bowls and laid them down on the dirt floor. Another maiden filled the goblets of the two commanders. The short commander took a long drink, gaffed and slammed the silver goblet onto the table. The maiden refilled it. He slapped her buttocks. But Camilla's attention was pulled to the stoic, tall commander, who drank from his goblet with a demur of distaste. She studied his tan lean legs up to his sharp face and blue eyes. His blonde hair was pushed back from his forehead, slimy with sweat from the ride. An odd sensation went through her. The residual sting of her buttocks radiated to her s*x as she looked at him. He didn't look at her, he stared into his goblet, and it scared her that he revealed nothing about his character or nature. At least with the shorter man, she knew he was cruel, that he delighted in inflicting pain, and now she understood what to expect from him. To know her predator was an advantage; the unknown predator would devour her. She did not understand why the thought of this man devouring her caused an electrifying current in her. The short commander spoke. "Virgin maiden blessed by the Goddess Diana, come here." Camilla obeyed; albeit, timid in her approach. Most eyes were on her in the small room. An intimacy which made her want to burrow into the bushes in her woods. The tall commander did not look at her. She bowed her head. "Sit on my lap and I will feed you." The short commander said. Camilla's eyes snapped up. Heat grew under her skin. She glanced back at the tributes who were unmoved by this request. "I will not." A smile twisted on the short commander's face. "I am a Cenutrian. I am a commander in this legion. I am a Roman, and you will obey me, tribute." "I will not." The man's small hands balled into fists. The fire crackled somewhere in the room. "You others eat." He ordered In a synchronized descent, the five tributes lowered to their hands and knees and, to Camilla's horror, began to lap up broth from the bowls that the maiden had laid on the floor. "We are not dogs." Camilla's anger boiled. Her body was strong, unshaking, commanding. The taller commander looked at her. His expression was unreadable. She refused to break his stare. Her heart pounded beneath her breast bone. "Girl, come here." The same stinging warmth as before arose in her. She had the desire to ask him to speak to her so she might ride the vibrations of his deep voice. She blushed. An uncontrollable fold, and she grasped for power. They wanted to humiliate her, to separate her from the other tributes, to breed jealousy and resentment. To wit, isolation and throttle uprising. Camilla kept the tall commander's gaze as she walked toward him. But she passed him, and instead, joined the other tributes on hands and knees. She didn't have a bowl, and the others seemed hesitant to share with her. The tribute male who had spoken to her earlier, shook his head as if to say stop. The shorter commander leaped out of his chair with excitement at her insubordination. "You are going to be fun." The tall commander remained unemotive like a statue. "She'll have to be punished." The short commander said to the tall one; clearly, the tall man had supreme authority. The tall commander rubbed his forefinger against his thumb in thought. Camilla's stomach clenched, fear gripping her at what punishment would be given. She'd provoked the unknown predator. He stood, stretching his shoulders down his back, filling the room with his greatness and cool composure. She watched on hands and knees his boots come closer to her until the toes were under her nose. She looked up at his shapely calves, at his strong thighs. "Camilla, stand." A trilling shiver went down her spine at him speaking her name, and her body acted without her consent and rose for her punishment at the commander's hands.