Rowland, The Senators Son

Chapter 24 Her Men

Ignazia had ordered them to drag Alexia upstairs to one of the bedrooms. The room was large but held little more than a double bed with wrought iron ends and a large chest of draws.

Ignazia had followed them up the stairs, ordered Alexia be stripped to the waist. All could see the stark contrast between the two women. Alexia was all round softness and Ignazia hard lines bordering on a masculine shape.

"Face down on the bed and hold her." Ignazia ordered. Instead of binding her wrists and ankles to the bed, Ignazia had ordered for a man to hold each limb.

Ignazia had obvious need for an audience.

She pulled a thick belt from one of her men's trousers wound its tongue around her wrist and demanded again. "Admit you killed him."

Alexia said nothing only prepared her body and mind; from the moment the first strike connected with her back she knew Ignazia was as insane as Nerio. There was no finesse or elegance in Ignazia's strikes; they were frenetic bordering on totally out of control. Alexia held down as she was, and not even able to move to stop the blows from hitting the soft tissue of her lower back. She allowed the pain to activate her instinctive protective mechanisms.

Alexia buried her head into the sheets and brutally severed her spirit from her body attempting to protect the fragile psyche she had rebuilt after so many years of abuse at the hands of Rossocove.

A hard fought peace that had been achieved through discipline, controlled play, the support and the love offered willingly by her house and by the prime she still mourned. Her mind flew at the memory frantically grasping for the serenity it offered.

Escaping her physical pain Alexia's mind snapped to a happier day some ten years ago. Summer sunshine graced the foyer of The Met on 5th Avenue.
Crossing the Great Hall her target was clear, this was one of those rare occasion she had been let off Rossocove's leash. The exquisite collection of amazingly beautiful objects and art work a true inspiration for any artist but to Alexia she was here for more than just inspiration it was a brief respite of freedom.

Artist journal in hand she started to wonder the galleries, but it was not the spectacular examples of Late Roman and Early Byzantine objects that caught her attention in the North Gallery.

The handsome face seemed transfixed on a gold ring. Something in the way he was staring unseen into the cabinet tugged at her heart, her intuitive mother would say his soul was lost almost as though he was ready to let it go. The man was tall a good head above her with strong broad shoulders that his tailored navy blue woollen suit only emphasised. Strong features that were not diminished by his age which was only given away by the shots of silver in his black hair.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Alexia heard the slight twang of her Australian accent offering the man a smile, as he tilted his head to the side to study her. Putting pencil to journal she started to sketch the piece, not looking at the description plaque she continued "Fourth Century, Celtic."

The man never said a word just listened, "it always has amazed me that such beautiful delicate work was carried out with such crude instruments." Alexia completed the quick sketch.

Knowing she now had the man's attention she added, "If you like that one you will really love this." Gently taking him by the elbow she encouraged him to the next cabinet.

He allowed himself to be led and listened with obvious interest to Alexia as she showed him piece after piece. Objects she loved, occasionally she would stop a little longer to sketch collecting inspiration; he would patiently wait and watch. He continued to allow her to lead him almost seeming grateful for the distraction of her words and company.