Guardian of Rome (#2 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Huddled into her horse-drawn carriage, Pompeia was escorted through the streets of Rome.

As always, the sun was shining above her empire but Pompeia’s mood rivalled that of the glowing orb that hung in the sky.

It had been seven days since Pompeia had received the news which could turn the tide on this war and she had not stopped professing her joy at every opportunity.

The people, and the senate, were growing restless of this war which she could see etched upon the glum, angry faces of the crowds that lined the cobbled street.

Their lifeless eyes gazed up at her with a mixture of envy, hate and fear. No one of them were rejoiced to see her.

Pompeia wanted their envy and fear. When Titus had walked the streets leaves and flowers had littered the floor where he walked and the people had rejoiced at his arrival.

But with Titus’s rule came prosperity and prosperity emboldens the peasantry; a dangerous thing to occur within a hierarchy.

It caused the mindless labourers to think they held a substantial place in society that they could enact change. It allowed them to hope.

And whilst there is hope, there is the opportunity for an insurrection.

Pompeia stared straight ahead, not providing the people with any indication that she associated with them.

She was the Empress of the world’s strongest empire and she was about to destroy the one obstacle which kept her from her destiny of domination over the known world.

*  * *

It was a good day to die.

The thought crashed through Frieda’s mind with every thrust the men took inside of her, their bodies stretching her to unimaginable pains.

It was a good day to die. It was a good day to die. It was a good day to die.

Frieda shut her eyes against the assault, her skin itching to run away from their rough touch and her stomach churning like the waves beneath a ship as she smelled their stench staining her body.

Even in her dreams, Frieda would never escape the stench of raw odour and stale fish.

As their nails bit into her flesh and their private parts penetrated hers, Frieda was reminded about the pain.

The first time had been excruciating with the pain crashing over her entire body, ten times worse than being stabbed in the arena.

Her thighs had been slick with blood and her body felt damp where they had touched her.

The soldiers had thrown a wet cloth at her through the holes in her cage, ordering her to clean herself up.

Frieda was horrified to find that the cloth was the same strip which had been wrapped around her head, blinding her of her journey into this level of Tartarus on earth.

Artorius had watched in horror at her treatment but he could not say anything; there was nothing to say.

Biting her bottom lip, Frieda feared she would puncture her lip with her teeth as the man behind her revolting found his pleasure within her body, wrenching her hair back one last time before he released her to the next man.

But worse than all the pain and the humiliation was the defeat.

Frieda had been defeated.

When she refused to reveal anything, she was given up for the day and thrown back into her cage with a bowl of water and a cloth once again.