The Glory of Rome - Part 2/3
Title: The Glory of Rome
Author: jaune_chat
Artist: chosenfire28
Word Count: 12,448
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Nathan/Peter, Peter/Sylar, Noah Bennet, Claire, several others in supporting roles, and there’s an orgy at one point, so a whole heaping lot of pairings and threesomes
Warnings Gore, slash, femslash, het, orgy, dub-con, consensual incest, situational racism, situational classism, slavery, blackmail, polytheism, and rampant abuse of the historical record.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Heroes!
Notes: Written for heroes_bigboom. Thanks to brighteyed_jill for betaing!
Summary: (Sequel to Gladiators). An AU where Nathan, Peter, and many other “gods-touched” are part of fighting stable of gladiators in ancient Rome. When Peter and Nathan attract the attention of the mad Emperor Sylar, they hope to distract his attention from Nathan’s daughter Claire, to keep him from taking her gift. But Peter realizes that the price for saving not just his brother’s child, but all of Rome, might be in his hands. And the price is something he isn’t sure he’ll be able to pay.
The floor here in the Emperor’s private grounds was smaller than the arena, but larger than their training area. It was large and tall enough to let Nathan fly, but small enough to provide the intimacy that the Emperor desired. Peter could feel the sand shift under his sandals and regripped his sword carefully. There was no more room in his head or heart for worry from the earlier in the day, because the Emperor had requested his family be the ones to fight alongside him and Nathan. Meredith was at his left hand, her brother next to her. Claire was at Peter’s right, Nathan next to her. Family, blood and bone, birth to death, they’d face this challenge together.
The Emperor gestured, and the gate on the opposite side opened wide. Growls vibrated the air, and three huge cats, nearly as big as horses and striped orange and black, leapt out, tails lashing. Claire admirably stifled a gasp at the sight of the tigers. They were terrible and beautiful, their claws enough to rend flesh from bone with a single strike.
“Fire!” Nathan called, springing to the air. Peter brushed his hand on Meredith’s elbow, absorbing her blessing, and joined her in flinging her golden flames, even as Flint hurled his own hot blue fire. The trained beasts shied away, but didn’t flee. Someone had prepared them for Bennet’s stable, that they should be able to face fire without fear.
Claire gripped her spear and stood strong as Nathan took to the sky. He hurled his net at one beast, tangling the big cat in its weighted folds, while Claire flung her spear at another. It scored, scarlet blood staining the tiger’s magnificent coat and dripping down its shoulder. The third beast screamed at the impact of the flames, and sprang forward. Meredith and Flint ducked and rolled to either side, but Peter was a fraction too slow. He went down soundlessly, his blood flinging across the sands. Claire screamed to match the tiger, and Nathan shouted a wordless plea to the gods. Vulcan’s children turned their fire on the other tiger as Nathan scooped up Claire’s spear and hurled it into the beast crouched over his brother, Peter’s blood staining its claws from where it had torn open his side. The spear hit, lodging deep between the tiger’s ribs, and the cat turned from its prey with a scream. Claire took advantage of its distraction, snatched up Peter’s sword, and jumped on its back.
She landed astride to gasps from the audience, and plunged the blade into the tiger’s neck. Meredith and Flint didn’t let up their assault on their own cat for a moment, and Nathan, holding back from rushing to Peter’s side by a huge act of will, flung a javelin at the netted tiger with deadly accuracy. As the beasts collapsed, everyone rushed to Peter’s side, heaving the dead tiger off his broken body.
“Peter, no!” Claire cried, and grasped his bloody hand. Nathan’s heart was in his throat as his daughter all but willed her power into him. He dared not scream out in denial, not with the Emperor watching, but inside, he felt as his heart was dying.
Peter lay limply on the sands, but slowly his bleeding stopped, even as Meredith and Flint crouched next to him, turned back to back, hands flaming to defend them if the Emperor would be so cruel as to send another horror against them. The rents in Peter’s flesh closed, and with ruthless efficiency, Claire yanked his bones back into place. Moments later, Peter gasped back into life, his body stubbornly healing itself. A moment of breathless silence held sway, and then the small audience erupted in cheers. Dizzy and confused, Peter felt himself tugged to his feet to make his bow to the Emperor, then half-dragged off the sands.
It was only long moment later, when the Emperor’s slaves were stripping him of his bloody clothing and washing the blood from his body, that Peter could begin to think again.
“He was pleased. You alone are to attend him when you are clean,” Bennet said stonily.
----------
The Emperor was “alone” this time, attended only by his cup-bearer and the ever-present Children of Proserpina. He needed no further guards, no additional displays of power. His presence alone, without his Imperial trappings, would have been enough to impress.
Peter walked forward at the Emperor’s crooked finger, feeling a faint, invisible pressure from one of his powers. To move things with will alone was the Emperor’s favorite ability, often displayed to the masses, meant to goad someone less willing than Peter. He paced until he reached the edge of the dais, and halted at the Children’s feet. They eyed him warily, their beautiful dark eyes void of any true feeling.
Peter bowed and found himself straightening as unseen fingers tilted his chin up. The Emperor’s eyes were deep brown, velvet with danger.
“Such skill. Your family fought admirably,” he said.
Peter blushed, the gladiator in him embarrassed that his own performance had been so poor. If young Claire hadn’t gotten to him, he would have been food for tigers: an ignoble end for one who’d been fighting since he’d been six.
“They did well. I am proud of them,” Peter said, trying to keep himself at least looking as calm as Nathan would have. He missed his brother’s presence, his ability to appear as arrogant as a rich man, his confidence and secure manner, even despite what had happened this morning. Peter knew he couldn’t try to match the Emperor.
“Your Claire is just as magnificent as when I first saw her. Tell me, what does it feel like to heal?” he asked.
Peter swallowed, not knowing if anything he said could condemn Claire to the Emperor’s clutches. “Uncomfortable,” he said honestly. “It itches, and there is a sick feeling in my flesh when it knits itself back together. My bones ache and my head throbs until it is done.”
“Ah.” The Emperor put a world of meaning into the single syllable. “Not so clean and godly as it would seem from the sidelines.”
“No,” Peter said instantly. “Claire has shown her gift from infancy, and it is anything but clean.” He remembered her toddling across the sands, tugging a javelin from her side where a careless toss had gone astray, much to her parents’ horror. She carried the javelin around for years afterward, sleeping with it cradled in her arms at night.
“Still,” he murmured. “You can know this like no other man can. You can know exactly what the gods have placed in the bodies of their chosen.” He stretched out his hand and beckoned Peter closer. “Touch me.”
Peter clasped the Emperor’s hand, and gasped in shock. Those with gods-touched powers felt to him of their abilities, cool or swift or hot or strong as the case may be. But the Emperor was a whirlwind of possibilities, sensations blooming and dying under Peter’s hand in a dizzying array. His touch was as intoxicating as the best wine. Peter drank in the feeling as his own blessing reached for one of the Emperor’s powers. He broke away gasping, high color in his cheeks.
“Tell me what you felt,” the Emperor demanded, his voice dark and richly amused.
“All, everything.” Peter struggled with the words to describe such a novel sensation. “Endless potential, like I could embrace everything at once. It was…” Peter paused, and took a deep breath. “Incredible.”
“You understand.” The Emperor reached for Peter again, making him close his eyes to better feel the dozens of gifts available to him. It was as if Jove himself had come and given him his pick of anything in the world.
“It is my gift, my blessing, to feel as another does,” Peter said dreamily, feeling half-drunk by the sensation.
“It is mine to understand another. It is that, even more than my blood, that makes me Emperor. I had not thought another gift existed that could sample the powers of the gods, until I learned of you.” The Emperor’s grip firmed. “Even more than Claire, you offer endless possibilities.”
“I am a free man,” Peter protested.
“No.” The Emperor’s grip became possessive. “You are mine. You are my subject, my citizen. You have little power but fame you scarcely use and patronage you all but scorn. You cannot deny me.”
“You won’t consume me, not like you did them,” Peter pointed to the Children.
The Emperor loosed his grip to lay a hand on each of their shoulders. “What do you know of them?”
Peter considered for a moment, and then blundered ahead. “That they are twins, gifted with both poison and its cure. They’re from Spain, and it is said they could not control their gifts. You went to them there, spent a week alone with them, and now they’re as we see them.” He hesitated, and added, “We of the sands call them the Children of Proserpina.”
The Emperor stroked their dark hair as they looked back up at him with quiet adoration. “I like that name. They were called Maya and Alejandro, they are twins, and they are indeed from Spain. All you have said is true. They had lost control due to their passions and devotion to each other.
Peter kept himself from sucking in a breath in shock. They reminded him too much of himself and Nathan.
“I gave them a focus outside themselves, a way to harness their strength through me. I brought them out of a pain and fear-filled life, and they honor me for that.” But it wasn’t honor in the Children’s eyes, it was worship, as pure as if they had been making offerings at a temple.
“As you say,” Peter said, bowing his head.
The Emperor shifted forward to free his hand, catching Peter’s chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. “It is as I say, Peter. Always.” Time seemed to slow. “You seek freedom, do you not? Freedom from poverty, from fear. From me.”
Peter nodded dumbly, the mouse before the serpent.
“What if you were to retire? Your brother and Claire’s mother could wed, her brother and daughter live in the same house, all together as family, with you. What would you do for them? Become a farmer? A horse trainer? A priest?” Peter shook his head, not trusting his voice. “Of course you don’t know. You’ve never had to think about it as a reality before. But you want to, don’t you? You want what all men do. Peace.”
Peter stiffened slightly. “Happiness. Not peace. I have fought too long to enjoy peace, even though I am not a soldier.”
In a time of peace, without the desperation of being gladiators, of gambling with their lives, he and Nathan would have never come to this. Never would Peter have thought to set his own happiness above his brother’s heir. In his heart of hearts, when he thought of happiness, he thought of him and Nathan together, forever. But that couldn’t happen. Should not. Blasphemous, wrong, unfair to Claire, to Meredith…
“I wish for you to serve me, Peter. Instead of Claire, I want you. Join my court, become of use to the Empire, and perhaps your family will have that happiness sooner than you think.”
“My Emperor-.” Peter stopped, knowing he really couldn’t refuse, but not certain if he could agree. Maybe his own gift could stall the Emperor’s excesses; maybe he could divert him from Claire. Maybe the gods were giving him a reprieve for once. For if he were in the Emperor’s court, he could not be with Nathan. Part of his heart cried out in denial, but another held to a vision in his mind of Nathan and Meredith and Claire, safe and happy. That should be the legacy of any man, the life of his heir and the continuation of his bloodline. That was proper in the eyes of the gods.
Also, there was a knowing glint in the Emperor’s eyes that frightened Peter. A shadowed threat that showed he had not forgotten nor dismissed the match between Peter and Nathan. He knew, if not everything, than something. Peter could either join with the Emperor, or suffer the full consequences of his passions.
“I will give you leave to consider my offer during the entertainment to come,” the Emperor said with a thin smile, and clapped his hands. Suddenly a wave of slaves and servants poured into the room, carrying low couches, plump pillows, and trays of food and pitchers of drink. The rest of Bennet’s stable were chivvied into the room by the indefatigable Simone, most of them looking bewildered as musicians appeared and struck up a low and pleasing tune. None of them were prepared for this kind of treatment.
Before Peter could open his mouth to ask the Emperor about the entertainment, or even share more than the briefest of glances with Nathan or Bennet or anyone else, the rest of the Emperor’s court began to trickle in. Some few chose places to sit, but most of the others beckoned to slaves against the wall, demanding food, wine, or-. Peter didn’t recognize the long metal stick in the hands of young Gretchen at first, but after he caught of whiff of the smoke coming from the end, he realized what it was. Opium, a dreadfully expensive vice, but one sometimes enjoyed by high-ranking patrons of the sands.
Peter licked his lips as the laughter began and the robes began to come off. The slaves here had been chosen for their graceful forms, the women for their well-formed breasts, and the men for their large penises. They were here to provide any sensual act required for one of the Emperor’s famous orgies. Peter felt blood rushing to his face; he’d only heard rumors, but such rumors tended to be lurid in their details. And by the gods, the details had been far short of reality! In mere moments, the room went from a place of power and danger to a place of pleasure. Bacchus himself would have been pleased.
The other gladiators hesitated only briefly, but rare was the time when they were given an opportunity to indulge themselves without retribution. Bennet flicked his eyes up to the Emperor, and then made a subtle gesture with his hand, freeing his stable to their own wills. But from the iron in Bennet’s eyes, it had less to do with giving his stock a reward and more with not snubbing the Emperor’s “generosity.”
Danger was as thick in the air as the pleasure, and Peter felt a tingle of arousal down his spine. Nathan, he knew, would feel the same. But Nathan didn’t know what the Emperor had asked of him. As in the High Priest’s house, Nathan was taking his strength from ignorance. And this time, Peter could not go to him. He dared not go to anyone, not with the Emperor’s attention burning into his back. And Nathan dared not seek him out, no matter the blithe decadence that surrounded him. Anything they gave the Emperor now was just another weapon for him to use against them, as he had during the fight with the tigers.
The music twined through the writhing crowd as the smoke thickened in the room, carrying both the scents of incense and the headier aroma of opium. Inhibitions loosened as the wine flowed freely, and Peter swallowed dryly as the orgy turned from tentative exploration to excited satiation. Dark Hawkins had found the flaxen-haired Niki, the courtesan who’d enjoyed his favors before, and both were wrapped around each other, half-heard encouragements punctuating their joyous reunion as they sank into silken cushions. That was, perhaps, the very tamest of the action Peter could see.
The High Priest of Jupiter had somehow managed to corner Daphne, despite her speed, and was whispering things in her ear that had her eyes glazing in a way that had nothing to do with the drugs. Color rose to her cheeks as his hands wandered across her body, a hard flush of arousal that Peter had felt once before. The High Priest’s blessing, his ability to see into the mind and manipulate it, could bring any person willingly to his side, or thrust them away from it. Daphne gasped from something he said, and her clothing dropped from her body in the blink of an eye. Another flicker of movement from the far side of the room brought Peter’s attention to Samuel, the Master of Revels. He had brought some of his own gods-blessed stable along, including the painted Lydia, who was a priestess of Fortuna, and the swift knife-master Edgar.
There was an accord between the two free men, Peter could see it, and both were too cautious to expose themselves completely to the Emperor. So they’d chosen slaves to entertain the Emperor, to give themselves the time to watch the others at the orgy. Surely there was significance in who was here and who had absented themselves, who was enjoying themselves and who merely endured, and all of it information that those with power could use in the endless struggle for more power. The slaves were merely tools of convenience. Peter shuddered slightly as Zephyr-fast Daphne was released from the High Priest like an arrow from a bow, meeting Edgar with the fury of a storm. He could barely see their joining, so swift it was, just the vaguest glimpses of images, like pictures in the frescos. A kiss, a flash of hands on flesh, Daphne’s face contorted with pleasure, Edgar burying his face between her breasts, all in rapid succession, dreamlike in their disjointed swiftness.
Peter swallowed, knowing the two, both still slaves, had even less choice than he. Nor did Bennet have any defense against the High Priest of Jupiter interfering with his property. He sought out Bennet in the tableaux of writhing bodies, and found him seated on a couch, wine in his hand, seemingly enjoying the rhythmic music too much to take advantage of the pleasure slaves that thronged the room. But there was anger in the set of his shoulders, the line of his back, a stiffness that if Peter had seen it in another gladiator, would have set him on his guard. Bennet’s anger at Daphne’s casual use gave Peter a little more strength.
Around the room, the members of the Emperor’s court moaned as they directed slaves to attend them, or wore smiles of smug self-satisfaction as they stroked or fondled another to a high peak of pleasure. Others used the decadent excess as cover for what they otherwise would never do. Peter felt a peculiar dread in his stomach as he sought Nathan in the crowd. Back and forth, over swells of buttocks and the grace of flung limbs, the curves of breasts and sweat-slicked manes of the revelers, Peter tried to find Nathan. And it was Meredith who led him to him. Her honey-colored hair was flung across a dark cushion, her tightly-muscled body arcing up into Nathan’s embrace. Peter swallowed dryly as he saw Nathan clutching her shoulders desperately, his heavy arms cradling her with the strength Peter knew so very well. They stared into each other’s eyes, her thighs flexing as she drove up to meet his thrusts in near-perfect harmony. Music carried away any sound they might have made, but their lips moved, whispering words to each other in their intimate embrace.
A cold lump formed in Peter’s stomach as he watched his brother, fear and jealousy gnawing at him with an almost physical pain. Hadn’t he and Nathan started because Nathan feared fathering another child into slavery? Rarely did Meredith have access to the herbs or compounds to prevent children, so Nathan had stayed away. And Peter had been willing to do anything to spare his brother the pain of keeping his desires at bay. Anything.
Choking, Peter wrenched his gaze away and hunted through the crowd for Claire. Somehow unmindful of the complex welter of emotions that plagued the rest of the stable, or simply able to thrust them aside with the carelessness of youth, Claire had become the center of attention of a small knot of admirers. To his surprise, Elle, the Gaul touched by Jupiter’s lightning, was worshipping his brother’s child, her tongue busy at the portal of Venus. Claire cried out, pushing towards Elle as she reached down to tug at her pale hair, clearly welcoming a familiar and wanted sensation. With a pang, Peter realized that it was not only he and Nathan who were keeping secrets. At Claire’s side was another woman, the dark-haired slave Gretchen that had so admired her. She suckled at Claire’s breasts with frantic devotion, her body twitching as Claire’s strong hand slipped between her thighs. Claire was no more stranger to sex than she was to violence, and was well-accustomed to both. What shame Peter had felt in every intimate moment he’d had for years had never touched her.
The Emperor had been watching his court for long minutes, but suddenly abandoned his throne to loom behind Peter. Heat poured off his naked flesh, and Peter felt his own clothes suddenly unfasten to puddle on the floor beneath him. The Emperor’s arm snaked around Peter’s chest and pulled him flush, his mouth by Peter’s ear. The strength in that arm was irresistibly familiar. Nathan, Peter’s body whispered, and he strangled a whimper as he leaned into the Emperor’s embrace.
“Magnificent, isn’t it? So much beauty and power, in so many ways. I find it soothing.” The Emperor’s voice was soft, rumbling, like that of a contented tiger, one that could, at any moment, turn and rip him apart. Over Peter’s shoulder, the Emperor flicked his eyes from one group to another, taking in the nuances. Though his grip on Peter remained firm, a subtle caress touched Peter’s skin with invisible fingers. Some were firm as the man bouncing a woman effortlessly in his grasp, others tickled and teased as a woman drove her lover to a frenzy of excitement. One by one, the Emperor played out each group’s desires on Peter’s flesh, the too-quick flickers of Daphne and Edgar, the joyful reunion of Hawkins and Niki, Claire’s intensity with her lovers, even Nathan and Meredith’s loving abandon. Peter could hear himself moaning as the pleasure rushed over him in as many different ways as the Emperor’s powers.
“Yes…” The Emperor’s voice caressed Peter’s ear as the invisible touches stopped, leaving Peter bereft of all but his hands. Gasping for stimulation, Peter didn’t even jump when he felt another’s arm slip between them, and soft fingers slicking the entrance to his body. His head lolled, and he twisted to see the Emperor’s cup-bearer, Luke, kneeling at his side. The boy furrowed his brow in concentration as he spread the heavy oils and withdrew his hand, looking back up at the Emperor hopefully.
Peter shuddered as his body relaxed, tingles chasing themselves down his spine. He felt so open now, needy, wanting, the only one not eating at a feast. He let himself indulge in his wantonness, letting every fiber of his body open itself up. He hadn’t missed that the Emperor had noticed Claire, even just a little, and needed to provide the ultimate distraction. The Emperor loomed behind him, his member seeking and then in an instant, filling him fully.
“Yes!” Peter’s cry and his easy welcoming of the Emperor into his body made the Emperor snarl in savage, wanton pleasure. He drove in deep and slow, pulling back on Peter so he was forced to bring his head up and take in all the glory of the orgy. The Emperor’s touch no longer made him feel drunk, but the infinite possibilities of him gave Peter unexpected shocks that broke him out of his pleasure-daze. He watched the others writhing on the cushions and couches, amidst the smoke and music, before the view of the most powerful man in Rome.
Peter watched Nathan’s tenderness with Meredith, Claire’s rare abandon with Elle, who cared for her, and Gretchen, who admired her, and felt something unfamiliar stir in him. A prescient view, almost as if he were an Oracle, seemed to cross his mind’s eye. It was a shocking moment of clarity, and he felt the burst of knowledge and insight with an almost physical pain. The sobbing breath he made only caused the Emperor to tighten his grip, and Peter leaned into the thrusts, crying out in passion to hide his revelation.
There was still love there, between Meredith and Nathan, a love as strong, though different, than what he and Nathan had shared for years. In that cradle of thighs and circle of arms had been soft expressions of care, of trust, a freedom in their pairing that he and Nathan could never have. Should Peter live to be a hundred, he and Nathan would never have that freedom. They could not live together, not like they had wanted in their most private dreams, not, and live any kind of decent existence. Claire would never be truly free of the Emperor as long as she stayed in Rome, and Peter dared not give the Emperor another weapon or weak spot that he could use against her.
Claire’s blessing was still running through his blood, and in that awful moment of clarity, Peter could see something so simple, so fundamental, that he couldn’t believe he’d missed it. And he cried with torment and pleasure as the Emperor filled him, as young Luke suckled his member, as his body spasmed in their grasp, and he realized what was to pass.
The Emperor’s grip around him became possessive, then almost painful as he raced towards his peak. Peter arced to meet him, feeling the endless blessings swelling and flaring through his hand, pressed against the Emperor’s. He growled in triumph as fire and ice, pain and pleasure, impossible strength and invisible touch surged between them, and Peter let himself go, gasping like a dying man as the pleasures of a hundred gods-touched dead poured between him and the ruler of Rome. The Emperor cried out his release as Peter clutched and held onto Claire’s gift, needing her healing as a balm against the pain he knew was coming.
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Part 3
Part 1
Master Post
Author: jaune_chat
Artist: chosenfire28
Word Count: 12,448
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Nathan/Peter, Peter/Sylar, Noah Bennet, Claire, several others in supporting roles, and there’s an orgy at one point, so a whole heaping lot of pairings and threesomes
Warnings Gore, slash, femslash, het, orgy, dub-con, consensual incest, situational racism, situational classism, slavery, blackmail, polytheism, and rampant abuse of the historical record.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Heroes!
Notes: Written for heroes_bigboom. Thanks to brighteyed_jill for betaing!
Summary: (Sequel to Gladiators). An AU where Nathan, Peter, and many other “gods-touched” are part of fighting stable of gladiators in ancient Rome. When Peter and Nathan attract the attention of the mad Emperor Sylar, they hope to distract his attention from Nathan’s daughter Claire, to keep him from taking her gift. But Peter realizes that the price for saving not just his brother’s child, but all of Rome, might be in his hands. And the price is something he isn’t sure he’ll be able to pay.
The floor here in the Emperor’s private grounds was smaller than the arena, but larger than their training area. It was large and tall enough to let Nathan fly, but small enough to provide the intimacy that the Emperor desired. Peter could feel the sand shift under his sandals and regripped his sword carefully. There was no more room in his head or heart for worry from the earlier in the day, because the Emperor had requested his family be the ones to fight alongside him and Nathan. Meredith was at his left hand, her brother next to her. Claire was at Peter’s right, Nathan next to her. Family, blood and bone, birth to death, they’d face this challenge together.
The Emperor gestured, and the gate on the opposite side opened wide. Growls vibrated the air, and three huge cats, nearly as big as horses and striped orange and black, leapt out, tails lashing. Claire admirably stifled a gasp at the sight of the tigers. They were terrible and beautiful, their claws enough to rend flesh from bone with a single strike.
“Fire!” Nathan called, springing to the air. Peter brushed his hand on Meredith’s elbow, absorbing her blessing, and joined her in flinging her golden flames, even as Flint hurled his own hot blue fire. The trained beasts shied away, but didn’t flee. Someone had prepared them for Bennet’s stable, that they should be able to face fire without fear.
Claire gripped her spear and stood strong as Nathan took to the sky. He hurled his net at one beast, tangling the big cat in its weighted folds, while Claire flung her spear at another. It scored, scarlet blood staining the tiger’s magnificent coat and dripping down its shoulder. The third beast screamed at the impact of the flames, and sprang forward. Meredith and Flint ducked and rolled to either side, but Peter was a fraction too slow. He went down soundlessly, his blood flinging across the sands. Claire screamed to match the tiger, and Nathan shouted a wordless plea to the gods. Vulcan’s children turned their fire on the other tiger as Nathan scooped up Claire’s spear and hurled it into the beast crouched over his brother, Peter’s blood staining its claws from where it had torn open his side. The spear hit, lodging deep between the tiger’s ribs, and the cat turned from its prey with a scream. Claire took advantage of its distraction, snatched up Peter’s sword, and jumped on its back.
She landed astride to gasps from the audience, and plunged the blade into the tiger’s neck. Meredith and Flint didn’t let up their assault on their own cat for a moment, and Nathan, holding back from rushing to Peter’s side by a huge act of will, flung a javelin at the netted tiger with deadly accuracy. As the beasts collapsed, everyone rushed to Peter’s side, heaving the dead tiger off his broken body.
“Peter, no!” Claire cried, and grasped his bloody hand. Nathan’s heart was in his throat as his daughter all but willed her power into him. He dared not scream out in denial, not with the Emperor watching, but inside, he felt as his heart was dying.
Peter lay limply on the sands, but slowly his bleeding stopped, even as Meredith and Flint crouched next to him, turned back to back, hands flaming to defend them if the Emperor would be so cruel as to send another horror against them. The rents in Peter’s flesh closed, and with ruthless efficiency, Claire yanked his bones back into place. Moments later, Peter gasped back into life, his body stubbornly healing itself. A moment of breathless silence held sway, and then the small audience erupted in cheers. Dizzy and confused, Peter felt himself tugged to his feet to make his bow to the Emperor, then half-dragged off the sands.
It was only long moment later, when the Emperor’s slaves were stripping him of his bloody clothing and washing the blood from his body, that Peter could begin to think again.
“He was pleased. You alone are to attend him when you are clean,” Bennet said stonily.
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The Emperor was “alone” this time, attended only by his cup-bearer and the ever-present Children of Proserpina. He needed no further guards, no additional displays of power. His presence alone, without his Imperial trappings, would have been enough to impress.
Peter walked forward at the Emperor’s crooked finger, feeling a faint, invisible pressure from one of his powers. To move things with will alone was the Emperor’s favorite ability, often displayed to the masses, meant to goad someone less willing than Peter. He paced until he reached the edge of the dais, and halted at the Children’s feet. They eyed him warily, their beautiful dark eyes void of any true feeling.
Peter bowed and found himself straightening as unseen fingers tilted his chin up. The Emperor’s eyes were deep brown, velvet with danger.
“Such skill. Your family fought admirably,” he said.
Peter blushed, the gladiator in him embarrassed that his own performance had been so poor. If young Claire hadn’t gotten to him, he would have been food for tigers: an ignoble end for one who’d been fighting since he’d been six.
“They did well. I am proud of them,” Peter said, trying to keep himself at least looking as calm as Nathan would have. He missed his brother’s presence, his ability to appear as arrogant as a rich man, his confidence and secure manner, even despite what had happened this morning. Peter knew he couldn’t try to match the Emperor.
“Your Claire is just as magnificent as when I first saw her. Tell me, what does it feel like to heal?” he asked.
Peter swallowed, not knowing if anything he said could condemn Claire to the Emperor’s clutches. “Uncomfortable,” he said honestly. “It itches, and there is a sick feeling in my flesh when it knits itself back together. My bones ache and my head throbs until it is done.”
“Ah.” The Emperor put a world of meaning into the single syllable. “Not so clean and godly as it would seem from the sidelines.”
“No,” Peter said instantly. “Claire has shown her gift from infancy, and it is anything but clean.” He remembered her toddling across the sands, tugging a javelin from her side where a careless toss had gone astray, much to her parents’ horror. She carried the javelin around for years afterward, sleeping with it cradled in her arms at night.
“Still,” he murmured. “You can know this like no other man can. You can know exactly what the gods have placed in the bodies of their chosen.” He stretched out his hand and beckoned Peter closer. “Touch me.”
Peter clasped the Emperor’s hand, and gasped in shock. Those with gods-touched powers felt to him of their abilities, cool or swift or hot or strong as the case may be. But the Emperor was a whirlwind of possibilities, sensations blooming and dying under Peter’s hand in a dizzying array. His touch was as intoxicating as the best wine. Peter drank in the feeling as his own blessing reached for one of the Emperor’s powers. He broke away gasping, high color in his cheeks.
“Tell me what you felt,” the Emperor demanded, his voice dark and richly amused.
“All, everything.” Peter struggled with the words to describe such a novel sensation. “Endless potential, like I could embrace everything at once. It was…” Peter paused, and took a deep breath. “Incredible.”
“You understand.” The Emperor reached for Peter again, making him close his eyes to better feel the dozens of gifts available to him. It was as if Jove himself had come and given him his pick of anything in the world.
“It is my gift, my blessing, to feel as another does,” Peter said dreamily, feeling half-drunk by the sensation.
“It is mine to understand another. It is that, even more than my blood, that makes me Emperor. I had not thought another gift existed that could sample the powers of the gods, until I learned of you.” The Emperor’s grip firmed. “Even more than Claire, you offer endless possibilities.”
“I am a free man,” Peter protested.
“No.” The Emperor’s grip became possessive. “You are mine. You are my subject, my citizen. You have little power but fame you scarcely use and patronage you all but scorn. You cannot deny me.”
“You won’t consume me, not like you did them,” Peter pointed to the Children.
The Emperor loosed his grip to lay a hand on each of their shoulders. “What do you know of them?”
Peter considered for a moment, and then blundered ahead. “That they are twins, gifted with both poison and its cure. They’re from Spain, and it is said they could not control their gifts. You went to them there, spent a week alone with them, and now they’re as we see them.” He hesitated, and added, “We of the sands call them the Children of Proserpina.”
The Emperor stroked their dark hair as they looked back up at him with quiet adoration. “I like that name. They were called Maya and Alejandro, they are twins, and they are indeed from Spain. All you have said is true. They had lost control due to their passions and devotion to each other.
Peter kept himself from sucking in a breath in shock. They reminded him too much of himself and Nathan.
“I gave them a focus outside themselves, a way to harness their strength through me. I brought them out of a pain and fear-filled life, and they honor me for that.” But it wasn’t honor in the Children’s eyes, it was worship, as pure as if they had been making offerings at a temple.
“As you say,” Peter said, bowing his head.
The Emperor shifted forward to free his hand, catching Peter’s chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. “It is as I say, Peter. Always.” Time seemed to slow. “You seek freedom, do you not? Freedom from poverty, from fear. From me.”
Peter nodded dumbly, the mouse before the serpent.
“What if you were to retire? Your brother and Claire’s mother could wed, her brother and daughter live in the same house, all together as family, with you. What would you do for them? Become a farmer? A horse trainer? A priest?” Peter shook his head, not trusting his voice. “Of course you don’t know. You’ve never had to think about it as a reality before. But you want to, don’t you? You want what all men do. Peace.”
Peter stiffened slightly. “Happiness. Not peace. I have fought too long to enjoy peace, even though I am not a soldier.”
In a time of peace, without the desperation of being gladiators, of gambling with their lives, he and Nathan would have never come to this. Never would Peter have thought to set his own happiness above his brother’s heir. In his heart of hearts, when he thought of happiness, he thought of him and Nathan together, forever. But that couldn’t happen. Should not. Blasphemous, wrong, unfair to Claire, to Meredith…
“I wish for you to serve me, Peter. Instead of Claire, I want you. Join my court, become of use to the Empire, and perhaps your family will have that happiness sooner than you think.”
“My Emperor-.” Peter stopped, knowing he really couldn’t refuse, but not certain if he could agree. Maybe his own gift could stall the Emperor’s excesses; maybe he could divert him from Claire. Maybe the gods were giving him a reprieve for once. For if he were in the Emperor’s court, he could not be with Nathan. Part of his heart cried out in denial, but another held to a vision in his mind of Nathan and Meredith and Claire, safe and happy. That should be the legacy of any man, the life of his heir and the continuation of his bloodline. That was proper in the eyes of the gods.
Also, there was a knowing glint in the Emperor’s eyes that frightened Peter. A shadowed threat that showed he had not forgotten nor dismissed the match between Peter and Nathan. He knew, if not everything, than something. Peter could either join with the Emperor, or suffer the full consequences of his passions.
“I will give you leave to consider my offer during the entertainment to come,” the Emperor said with a thin smile, and clapped his hands. Suddenly a wave of slaves and servants poured into the room, carrying low couches, plump pillows, and trays of food and pitchers of drink. The rest of Bennet’s stable were chivvied into the room by the indefatigable Simone, most of them looking bewildered as musicians appeared and struck up a low and pleasing tune. None of them were prepared for this kind of treatment.
Before Peter could open his mouth to ask the Emperor about the entertainment, or even share more than the briefest of glances with Nathan or Bennet or anyone else, the rest of the Emperor’s court began to trickle in. Some few chose places to sit, but most of the others beckoned to slaves against the wall, demanding food, wine, or-. Peter didn’t recognize the long metal stick in the hands of young Gretchen at first, but after he caught of whiff of the smoke coming from the end, he realized what it was. Opium, a dreadfully expensive vice, but one sometimes enjoyed by high-ranking patrons of the sands.
Peter licked his lips as the laughter began and the robes began to come off. The slaves here had been chosen for their graceful forms, the women for their well-formed breasts, and the men for their large penises. They were here to provide any sensual act required for one of the Emperor’s famous orgies. Peter felt blood rushing to his face; he’d only heard rumors, but such rumors tended to be lurid in their details. And by the gods, the details had been far short of reality! In mere moments, the room went from a place of power and danger to a place of pleasure. Bacchus himself would have been pleased.
The other gladiators hesitated only briefly, but rare was the time when they were given an opportunity to indulge themselves without retribution. Bennet flicked his eyes up to the Emperor, and then made a subtle gesture with his hand, freeing his stable to their own wills. But from the iron in Bennet’s eyes, it had less to do with giving his stock a reward and more with not snubbing the Emperor’s “generosity.”
Danger was as thick in the air as the pleasure, and Peter felt a tingle of arousal down his spine. Nathan, he knew, would feel the same. But Nathan didn’t know what the Emperor had asked of him. As in the High Priest’s house, Nathan was taking his strength from ignorance. And this time, Peter could not go to him. He dared not go to anyone, not with the Emperor’s attention burning into his back. And Nathan dared not seek him out, no matter the blithe decadence that surrounded him. Anything they gave the Emperor now was just another weapon for him to use against them, as he had during the fight with the tigers.
The music twined through the writhing crowd as the smoke thickened in the room, carrying both the scents of incense and the headier aroma of opium. Inhibitions loosened as the wine flowed freely, and Peter swallowed dryly as the orgy turned from tentative exploration to excited satiation. Dark Hawkins had found the flaxen-haired Niki, the courtesan who’d enjoyed his favors before, and both were wrapped around each other, half-heard encouragements punctuating their joyous reunion as they sank into silken cushions. That was, perhaps, the very tamest of the action Peter could see.
The High Priest of Jupiter had somehow managed to corner Daphne, despite her speed, and was whispering things in her ear that had her eyes glazing in a way that had nothing to do with the drugs. Color rose to her cheeks as his hands wandered across her body, a hard flush of arousal that Peter had felt once before. The High Priest’s blessing, his ability to see into the mind and manipulate it, could bring any person willingly to his side, or thrust them away from it. Daphne gasped from something he said, and her clothing dropped from her body in the blink of an eye. Another flicker of movement from the far side of the room brought Peter’s attention to Samuel, the Master of Revels. He had brought some of his own gods-blessed stable along, including the painted Lydia, who was a priestess of Fortuna, and the swift knife-master Edgar.
There was an accord between the two free men, Peter could see it, and both were too cautious to expose themselves completely to the Emperor. So they’d chosen slaves to entertain the Emperor, to give themselves the time to watch the others at the orgy. Surely there was significance in who was here and who had absented themselves, who was enjoying themselves and who merely endured, and all of it information that those with power could use in the endless struggle for more power. The slaves were merely tools of convenience. Peter shuddered slightly as Zephyr-fast Daphne was released from the High Priest like an arrow from a bow, meeting Edgar with the fury of a storm. He could barely see their joining, so swift it was, just the vaguest glimpses of images, like pictures in the frescos. A kiss, a flash of hands on flesh, Daphne’s face contorted with pleasure, Edgar burying his face between her breasts, all in rapid succession, dreamlike in their disjointed swiftness.
Peter swallowed, knowing the two, both still slaves, had even less choice than he. Nor did Bennet have any defense against the High Priest of Jupiter interfering with his property. He sought out Bennet in the tableaux of writhing bodies, and found him seated on a couch, wine in his hand, seemingly enjoying the rhythmic music too much to take advantage of the pleasure slaves that thronged the room. But there was anger in the set of his shoulders, the line of his back, a stiffness that if Peter had seen it in another gladiator, would have set him on his guard. Bennet’s anger at Daphne’s casual use gave Peter a little more strength.
Around the room, the members of the Emperor’s court moaned as they directed slaves to attend them, or wore smiles of smug self-satisfaction as they stroked or fondled another to a high peak of pleasure. Others used the decadent excess as cover for what they otherwise would never do. Peter felt a peculiar dread in his stomach as he sought Nathan in the crowd. Back and forth, over swells of buttocks and the grace of flung limbs, the curves of breasts and sweat-slicked manes of the revelers, Peter tried to find Nathan. And it was Meredith who led him to him. Her honey-colored hair was flung across a dark cushion, her tightly-muscled body arcing up into Nathan’s embrace. Peter swallowed dryly as he saw Nathan clutching her shoulders desperately, his heavy arms cradling her with the strength Peter knew so very well. They stared into each other’s eyes, her thighs flexing as she drove up to meet his thrusts in near-perfect harmony. Music carried away any sound they might have made, but their lips moved, whispering words to each other in their intimate embrace.
A cold lump formed in Peter’s stomach as he watched his brother, fear and jealousy gnawing at him with an almost physical pain. Hadn’t he and Nathan started because Nathan feared fathering another child into slavery? Rarely did Meredith have access to the herbs or compounds to prevent children, so Nathan had stayed away. And Peter had been willing to do anything to spare his brother the pain of keeping his desires at bay. Anything.
Choking, Peter wrenched his gaze away and hunted through the crowd for Claire. Somehow unmindful of the complex welter of emotions that plagued the rest of the stable, or simply able to thrust them aside with the carelessness of youth, Claire had become the center of attention of a small knot of admirers. To his surprise, Elle, the Gaul touched by Jupiter’s lightning, was worshipping his brother’s child, her tongue busy at the portal of Venus. Claire cried out, pushing towards Elle as she reached down to tug at her pale hair, clearly welcoming a familiar and wanted sensation. With a pang, Peter realized that it was not only he and Nathan who were keeping secrets. At Claire’s side was another woman, the dark-haired slave Gretchen that had so admired her. She suckled at Claire’s breasts with frantic devotion, her body twitching as Claire’s strong hand slipped between her thighs. Claire was no more stranger to sex than she was to violence, and was well-accustomed to both. What shame Peter had felt in every intimate moment he’d had for years had never touched her.
The Emperor had been watching his court for long minutes, but suddenly abandoned his throne to loom behind Peter. Heat poured off his naked flesh, and Peter felt his own clothes suddenly unfasten to puddle on the floor beneath him. The Emperor’s arm snaked around Peter’s chest and pulled him flush, his mouth by Peter’s ear. The strength in that arm was irresistibly familiar. Nathan, Peter’s body whispered, and he strangled a whimper as he leaned into the Emperor’s embrace.
“Magnificent, isn’t it? So much beauty and power, in so many ways. I find it soothing.” The Emperor’s voice was soft, rumbling, like that of a contented tiger, one that could, at any moment, turn and rip him apart. Over Peter’s shoulder, the Emperor flicked his eyes from one group to another, taking in the nuances. Though his grip on Peter remained firm, a subtle caress touched Peter’s skin with invisible fingers. Some were firm as the man bouncing a woman effortlessly in his grasp, others tickled and teased as a woman drove her lover to a frenzy of excitement. One by one, the Emperor played out each group’s desires on Peter’s flesh, the too-quick flickers of Daphne and Edgar, the joyful reunion of Hawkins and Niki, Claire’s intensity with her lovers, even Nathan and Meredith’s loving abandon. Peter could hear himself moaning as the pleasure rushed over him in as many different ways as the Emperor’s powers.
“Yes…” The Emperor’s voice caressed Peter’s ear as the invisible touches stopped, leaving Peter bereft of all but his hands. Gasping for stimulation, Peter didn’t even jump when he felt another’s arm slip between them, and soft fingers slicking the entrance to his body. His head lolled, and he twisted to see the Emperor’s cup-bearer, Luke, kneeling at his side. The boy furrowed his brow in concentration as he spread the heavy oils and withdrew his hand, looking back up at the Emperor hopefully.
Peter shuddered as his body relaxed, tingles chasing themselves down his spine. He felt so open now, needy, wanting, the only one not eating at a feast. He let himself indulge in his wantonness, letting every fiber of his body open itself up. He hadn’t missed that the Emperor had noticed Claire, even just a little, and needed to provide the ultimate distraction. The Emperor loomed behind him, his member seeking and then in an instant, filling him fully.
“Yes!” Peter’s cry and his easy welcoming of the Emperor into his body made the Emperor snarl in savage, wanton pleasure. He drove in deep and slow, pulling back on Peter so he was forced to bring his head up and take in all the glory of the orgy. The Emperor’s touch no longer made him feel drunk, but the infinite possibilities of him gave Peter unexpected shocks that broke him out of his pleasure-daze. He watched the others writhing on the cushions and couches, amidst the smoke and music, before the view of the most powerful man in Rome.
Peter watched Nathan’s tenderness with Meredith, Claire’s rare abandon with Elle, who cared for her, and Gretchen, who admired her, and felt something unfamiliar stir in him. A prescient view, almost as if he were an Oracle, seemed to cross his mind’s eye. It was a shocking moment of clarity, and he felt the burst of knowledge and insight with an almost physical pain. The sobbing breath he made only caused the Emperor to tighten his grip, and Peter leaned into the thrusts, crying out in passion to hide his revelation.
There was still love there, between Meredith and Nathan, a love as strong, though different, than what he and Nathan had shared for years. In that cradle of thighs and circle of arms had been soft expressions of care, of trust, a freedom in their pairing that he and Nathan could never have. Should Peter live to be a hundred, he and Nathan would never have that freedom. They could not live together, not like they had wanted in their most private dreams, not, and live any kind of decent existence. Claire would never be truly free of the Emperor as long as she stayed in Rome, and Peter dared not give the Emperor another weapon or weak spot that he could use against her.
Claire’s blessing was still running through his blood, and in that awful moment of clarity, Peter could see something so simple, so fundamental, that he couldn’t believe he’d missed it. And he cried with torment and pleasure as the Emperor filled him, as young Luke suckled his member, as his body spasmed in their grasp, and he realized what was to pass.
The Emperor’s grip around him became possessive, then almost painful as he raced towards his peak. Peter arced to meet him, feeling the endless blessings swelling and flaring through his hand, pressed against the Emperor’s. He growled in triumph as fire and ice, pain and pleasure, impossible strength and invisible touch surged between them, and Peter let himself go, gasping like a dying man as the pleasures of a hundred gods-touched dead poured between him and the ruler of Rome. The Emperor cried out his release as Peter clutched and held onto Claire’s gift, needing her healing as a balm against the pain he knew was coming.
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Part 3
Part 1
Master Post