Clavius scoffed. “Yeah, right! So, what did you do?”
“I made love.”
He addressed the troops in his usual stern tone, setting ground rules and expectations. The legionaries had expected some spoiled, patrician young man from Rome, and they listened, white-faced, to that tall man, his blue eyes piercing them.
The briefing was over, and they were sent to training. Marius and the officers joined them, spending most of the morning with the men.
In the meantime, Kyle busied himself with household tasks and baking bread. Fortunately, he had spent a lot of time in the kitchens and had learned to cook with Shayla and Tabia. This came in very handy now, and he decided to cook something for dinner.
He had taken some spices and ingredients from Tabia’s kitchen and went to the supply rooms to get meat and vegetables. There were not a lot of slaves in the camp and he stood out a bit, the men eyeing him curiously. He also spent most of the day just walking around and getting to know the large camp, marveling at how the Romans were capable of building complete castles out of nothing.
The fort brought back unexpectedly painful memories of his capture though and his breathing quickened whilst cooking, his heart hammering in his chest, soldiers around him making their own meals, baking their bread. They were bantering and laughing, not paying too much attention to him, but they were close, and he had to brace himself against the stove, dizzy, trying to focus on the food rather than the men around him and their conversations inevitably drifting towards whores, captured women.
“Hey, I still remember that day when the general received that cute girl from the village chief?”
The other men laughed. “Yeah... she was something... didn’t want to have anything to do with the boss...”
“Yeah, we had to hold her down...”
“... and suck her breasts whilst the general fucked her with his fingers... said she would love it, though she had no idea yet...”
They laughed. “Oh, yeah... she cried, but she got sooo wet...”
“Couldn’t help it...”
“He fucked her hard. By the end, she wanted more!”
They howled and Kyle closed his eyes, his hands trembling as he stirred the pot, his vision blurring with tears...Animals...He could hardly wait to get out of there, listening to them relating their nights with camp whores and new recruits.
Finally, the food was ready, and Kyle packed the iron pot, bread, and fruits into his basket, turning to leave.
He came face to face with one of the soldiers, looking him over. “Who are you? I haven’t seen you before.”
One of the men turned to him. “You’re a slave, right?”
Kyle nodded, frozen, the soldier too close, and he stepped back, waiting.
His lips curled into a small smile. “You’re scared? What’s your name, slave?”
He pushed the word out, his throat clutched. “Kyle...”
Another soldier looked up from his baking. “Oh, a Celt!”
There was laughter, and the soldier stepped closer. “Don’t move... so, a Celt? What’s a Celt doing here?”
“We love Celts, don’t we?” Laughter again, and Kyle blanched, his memories flooding in.
The soldier mocked him. “Look at you... all white and trembling...”
Another soldier stepped next to him. “Hey, he’s new, so he probably came with the general... we should leave him alone.”
“Yeah, maybe...” A slight unease settled in the group and they cleared the way for him. “Off you go, slave boy.”
Kyle hurried past them, carrying his basket, his legs barely holding him, his mind on that awful day when his life had been thrown upside down…
The smell of burning wood and flesh, screams of agony, the stench of blood, seeping into the slippery soil, crying, his father’s glassed over eyes as they cut him open, his eyes on him, strong hands holding his shoulders, his voice gone in his throat from howling and screaming. Shut him the fuck up... A hand clasped over his mouth and he bit it, hard, the taste of blood invading his mouth. Howling. The hand torn away, a huge slap that sent him to the ground, dizzy, blood flowing into his eyes, his mouth full of dust. Yanked up again and dragged away, his legs kicking, fighting, shoved face down on a table they used for outdoor meals... Voices above him, two soldiers holding his hands down, his legs kicked apart, his pants cut open. He fought, his voice raw, almost gone... somebody slammed his head into the table and he felt his strength dwindle, swallowed by the blinding pain... through the haze a horse’s prancing legs... tire him out, boys, you know how... laughter... a sharp, agonizing pain... somebody panting in his ear... you’re so tight, boy, we’ll fuck you for hours...
He stopped, unable to go further, and leaned against a wall, heaving, throwing up bile, his back drenched. His whole body trembled with the violence of his memories, and he cried softly, sitting against the wall, his head on his knees.
