To the Victor Go the Spoils...

Greca smelled the burning before she heard the screams. She stilled in front of the wide stone hearth, confused, glancing to see if an errant bit of cloth had fallen into the cookfire. The acrid smell was thin but strong - lanolin, cypress, cedar. She crossed the dim room, pushing open the shutters, startling a pair of roosting doves into the waning evening light.

A thin grey plume rose from the edge of town below, spreading horizontally across the low buildings; smoke on shadow, imposing on the peace of the low-slung clouds. "Livia!" She called over her shoulder. "Livia, I think there's a fire!" Greca watched in confusion as the rising plume broadened, sending up swells of black and spears of blaze.

Livia rushed to the window, colliding into Greca's back, standing on tiptoe to see over her friend's shoulder. "It's a fire," Greca said again, quietly, confused, wishing for correction from her friend. Both women startled as a scream rang out - sharp and close, much closer than the smoke plume. Sounds of metal clanging, crashing, a cry and the harsh shout of mens voices; muffled sobs, the splintering of wood.

Livia clutched tightly at Greca's arm, shrinking back, her palm damp and warm on Greca's skin. "Invaders...invaders, Greca." She tripped the words in fear, pulling her friend from the window, stumbling over the hem of her tunic. "We have to get out of here!"

Greca stared out the window, immobile. Livia darted nervously around the room, blond braids flailing. It wasn't fear that bloomed in Greca's chest, but resignation. A feeling of utter vulnerability. So this is what's come. Always possible in another village, but never here. Greca was dimly aware of Livia's frantic fluttering behind her. Stoic, Greca pulled the other woman close, holding her by the shoulders, seeking her eyes. Livia stilled and focused on Greca's face, her breathing shaky and short.

"There's no time," Greca said lowly. "They're already here. Best we can do is hide and hope they just take what they want and leave." Livia nodded rapidly, eyes wide, not fully comprehending. Greca led her quickly to a dark corner of the room, storage for rugs and urns, fat sacks of grain, where they wedged their bodies tightly behind. Greca clasped Livia's hand, willing their breathing to slow and soften. As the sounds of shattering clay pots rang from next door, followed by the bark and snarl of hounds, she was aware that any chance of avoiding detection was minute. Greca cursed her husband, so insistent on leaving to hunt; she cursed her small village, unprepared and inept; she crouched with her resignation, anger and fear...and waited.

Arius clapped his friend on the back with a laugh, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath as they strode over the flat stones of the street. Nicolas grinned wryly back, dusting ash from his shaved head. Arius spun and walked backward a few paces, admiring the dark plume of smoke against the blazing orange sunset. The village had been easier than anticipated to take - his men easily overpowering the weak resistance offered at the perimeter of the village. He left them to their work, plundering what goods might be found. He, Nicolas and Orion had pushed into the heart of the still-calm village, anxious for the first claim to what plunder they could find. Food stores, weapons, tools would be gathered by his men; Arius was in search of finer, rarer treasure - gold adornments, caches of precious stones - easy to claim and keep moving.

"Here," called Nicolas, pulling Arius' attention. Nico veered off to a small, well-kept dwelling to their left: decorative tiles and potted lemon trees suggested an inhabitant with income and aesthetics. The three men trotted over, Orion pulling this short sword as he reached the door, testing the handle and throwing his weight against it at the same time. The door crashed open, offering no resistance, ricocheting off the wall behind. Arius and Nicolas swarmed around the tall youth, prepared for a fast fight and quick end to any inhabitants.

Arius did a quick scan of the large room as Nicolas checked the small back room: nothing. Mild disappointment coursed through Arius as his breathing and heartbeat slowed. Violence was tedious...but taking something without a fight lacked a certain satisfaction. He sighed, sheathed his sword, and stepped over to the low fire. Warm food, at least, was welcome. He lifted the lid of the iron pot, sampling gingerly from a ladle. "Lamb," he declared. "Not mutton - good." He pulled the pot off its hook, setting it on the wide plank table behind him. Plunder could wait: some things must be taken immediately. He called out to his comrades who he could hear rifling through the back room. "There's stew here. Hot, if you want it. We've time enough."

"They must have just left," commented Orion, leaving the back room and sitting down across from Arius, who pushed the pot and ladle to him, eyeing the younger man.

"You disappointed?" Arius asked. "Thinking your captain should be showing you real adventures?" Orion shrugged, mouth full. He swallowed, leaning back.

"Yes," he admitted. "But I won't deny a feast laid before me, either." Arius grinned and called again to the back room.

"Nico - come before the young one enjoys all our feast. Stop your puttering." Nicolas ducked his head, avoiding the low beam between rooms, his tunic a makeshift apron holding his findings. He dumped his plunder on the table, dusting his hands together: rings inset with lapis and carnelian, arm bands of twisted snakes, a golden brooch in the shape of a horse.

"Leave no corner unsearched, Orion," he instructed, as he strode toward the dark corners of the main room. "Our commander may grasp at the obvious, but you never know where a true prize will hide." Arius rolled his eyes and continued eating as his friend began shifting large baskets, urns and grain sacks from their dim corner.

Greca huddled with Livia, listening to the talk of the men, bracing herself for their imminent discovery. She had ceased praying to the gods for a miracle - for the warriors to take their easy plunder and move on. Knees on fire, she crouched, focused only on long, shallow breaths through her nose. She and Livia clutched each other in terror, their heads together, breaths mingling, each silently willing the other to remain frozen in darkness just a bit longer.

And then there was no breath. A tight, bruising heat struck, choking her neck and strangling off air. Greca felt herself unearthed, torn up and out of hiding. Her body twisted and shoved, fingers scrabbling at the choke on her neck, scratching futilely as she sought to regain air. And then the sharp strike of stone as she was released, slammed to the floor, catching herself on her palms, gasping for breath.

Next to her, a low sob ripped from Livia's chest in the otherwise silent room. An iron grip hauled both women to their feet, shoving them roughly forward. "Well, well," came a dark chuckle from the hulking man standing behind. "Two mice in the grain...Captain?" Called Nicolas with a dip of his head to the two struggling women. "With your leave?"

Arius glowered at Nico from his seat at the table, considering the scene before him. The stew had warmed his belly, the fire had warmed his back, and he had little inclination to immediately leave such comforts. He nodded to Nicolas and returned to his stew. "Leave the dark-haired."

Nicolas grinned and shoved Greca forward, then hauled the sobbing Livia up into his arms. "You're in luck, Orion," he said as he pushed past the younger man on his way to the back room. "A blonde." Livia twisted fiercely in the warrior's arms, sobbing as she struggled, pushing with her hands and elbows. Nicolas laughed and held tighter, one thick arm wrapped under her breasts, the other under her buttocks.

Greca stood, frozen. Instincts of brain and body warred: submit stoically, fight or run? She knew she didn't truly have options; running or fighting were impossible - she'd be immediately overpowered. Stoic submission then, survival through whatever these men may desire. Injury, she could withstand. Humiliation, yes...that too. Livia's pleas sounded from the back room and Greca's blood turned to ice. She felt everything she hated to be: trapped, at the mercy of another, and powerless to help her friend.

"Your friend will endure," Arius muttered from his seat by the fire, inclining his head to the back room. "Nico is only interested in her mouth, and Orion...still can't help but treat every woman as a lover." Greca drew a shattered breath. She had no reason to believe this man, this marauder. But a spark of hope for Livia's safety flickered; if Livia could survive, she could too. Livia's moans broke through the stillness of the room, her sobs muffled. Orion's low tones responded and the sobs quieted, slowed.

"Bring that candle," ordered Arius suddenly. "I find I need more light." Greca blinked in confusion then moved to obey, grasping a fat, flickering candle from the end of the table, and slowly, anxiously, approached the man. He didn't look up as she drew close, but picked through the trinkets and jewels tossed on the table by Nicolas. Greca drew close enough to Arius to smell him - the spice of dust and sweat, the faint copper tang of blood. She spied the tiny brass rings threaded through the dreads of his hair, the sides of his head left roughly shaven.

Greca trembled, wrapping both hands around the candle to still it; hot wax dripped slowly, caustically, over her knuckles and through her fingers, binding her hands to the candle. She bit her tongue, eyes tearing at the slow burn, and willed herself to remain silent. She inhaled raggedly; as more wax encapsulated her hands, the burning subsided, trapping her in warm manacles.

Arius ignored her, idly fingering the bracelets of gold and silver, tossing aside the brooches for stolas. He paused at a heavy ring: a single gold serpent, its head a diamond-shaped garnet, its fangs sunk into a tiny, jeweled pomegranate. Her husband's ring, Greca realized. She watched, as violated by this intimate perusal as by a physical touch.

Arius glanced up at her now, frowning. She met the dark granite of his eyes before she realized what she was doing - then quickly dropped her gaze to her waxen hands. Arius looked now, too; the dripping candle, the wax cuffed hands, held out as if in offering or supplication. He brought a thick, scarred finger to stroke the hardened wax. Greca flinched, but the contact was muted, distant.

"At home," he muttered as if to himself, "I am a sculptor." Arius looked back up at Greca, eyes traveling over her face, her lips. He fingered a lock of her dark hair and appraised her stola-draped figure. He frowned in thought, then took both her wrists in his hands. Greca flinched at the possession. Carefully he released the wax seal, pulling free first one hand off the shaft of the candle, then the other. The pillar had softened, now warped and waved by the grip of her fingers. He cracked a few of the larger pieces of wax off the backs of her hands, ignoring the rest. His rough fingers trailed slowly up Greca's bare arms, raising goosebumps in their wake. As delicately as with the wax, he slid two fingers under the fabric on each shoulder, sliding it slowly down, tugging over the soft swells of Greca's breasts.

Hands wrapped around her ribs, his thumbs teased the warm mounds. He paused, then dipped his head and nipped her left breast: half bite, half kiss. A frightening mix of heat and panic swirled low in Greca's stomach. "Endure," she reminded herself, echoing the man's words. "Livia endures, as will I." She focused her breathing even as her head tipped back, intent on shutting down physical sensation. Her hands twisted in the skirt of her stola, clinging fiercely to the material as Arius continued to tug downward, paring away the intricate folds.

Greca clenched her eyes shut, fighting the leak of tears. She prayed the man could not see the glint at the corner of each eye. She didn't want his derision: she wished to show him nothing - no emotion, no submission. She stood before him, mute as his hands explored the ridge of muscle along either side of her spine, the bony dip of her pelvis, the firm lift of her buttocks. She sensed his gaze appraising her body, wandering with the consideration of an artist and his muse.

He stood suddenly, forcing Greca backward. "On the table," he commanded gruffly, and Greca opened her eyes in confusion. "On the table," he repeated, gesturing. "Lie down. Face the fire." Greca moved, trying to acquiesce without truly understanding. Impatient, Arius lifted her up so she was seated on the edge of the table like a child. Before he could touch her again, Greca slid herself backward, laying the length of the smooth planks.

"Turn," he ordered, his hand resting possessively on her ankle. She turned obediently to face the fire, her bare skin warmed by the heat, illuminated to Arius' view, her backside cold but shadowed. She slid her arm beneath her head, attempting to find some comfort. From her new vantage point she could see the entrance to the back room, and she remembered to worry for her friend. She heard no cries, only the low voices of the two soldiers, which both relieved and disquieted her.

Arius rubbed her ankle bone, making her flinch. "Hold still," he demanded. Greca didn't know whether to tense, holding all her muscles taut, or to try to relax. Relaxed submission felt impossible; breathing evenly was taking all her concentration, leaving the rest of her body to fend for itself.

Arius' large hand began to explore her calf, pushing his thumb into the muscle, absorbed in his study. His fingers spread, their warm, rough tips following the tendons of her knee, the flat of his hand pressing smooth along her flank. The pressure was was oddly calming to Greca; it was an impersonal exploration of bone and muscle, a scientific study...and yet, it was touch, human warmth. Greca had no doubt her body was confusing physical possession with care, with affection; but her mind and body were not fully communicating at the moment. Something inside her chest crumpled and split - a pain of sadness escaping with the realization that touch - comfort - had been desperately lacking...and this stranger's invasion felt like a kindness. Her thoughts muddled, she prayed his touch would remain so: an artisan's appraisal and not the violation she presumed must follow.

His hands traveled, over the swell of her hip, the valley of her side, the fingers of her ribs. Greca felt rather than saw this; she knew her body and did not want the double humiliation of observing his assessment. She cursed the betraying thud of her heart and the rise and fall of her breast. She could hide her tears, but the struggle for breath betrayed her.

"I'd capture you as a sybil in stone," Arius muttered to himself, hands rounding her shoulder blades, traveling to her neck where he caressed, rubbing his thumb softly behind her ear. And then, his hands left her. The blanket of warmth his touch had spread faded. Greca felt him move away, and she cautiously peeked open her eyes. His broad back was to her, his silhouette illuminated by the low fire. Her eyes shifted, catching on the cache of jewelry on the table, their stones and metals winking in the firelight.

"Take them," she whispered hoarsely, before she knew what she was saying. Arius stilled at her voice and half turned to her. She avoided his eyes. "I know you don't ask permission, but take them. Take the gems, the brass, the weavings, the grain..." Without fully forming the thought, Greca realized she wanted to punish her husband for his absence, for his impotence, his inability to protect her. He was all she had, and he had failed her.

Arius turned fully toward her. "And you, madam?" Greca met his glance now, confused by his question. Locking eyes with this man, looking fully into his hard grey gaze was to stand on a dangerous precipice. She was naked, defenseless, spread before him...was he asking for permission or simply mocking her?

She lifted her chin infinitesimally, holding his gaze. "I am at your mercy," she said with an edge of contempt. "Do with me what you will."

Arius cocked an eyebrow at this, half in surprise, half in scorn. He stared wordlessly at her until her gaze finally dropped in submission. Glancing back at the mantle, he took an unlit pillar candle and lit it from the fire. He held it steady in his hand, patient as the flame grew wide, tilting the candle slightly to grow the shallow pool of wax melted by the flame. Arius could feel the woman's gaze now - calmer, as if the fight but also the fear had left her.

He turned back to the table, one hand holding the candle while the other claimed Greca's hip. She flinched again, but slighter this time. "Look at me," he commanded, stilling his hand until Greca's eyes met his; wary at first, and wavering, then with a breath he felt course through her, steady. His hand continued its exploration, curving around the cleft of her buttocks, skimming lightly down the back of her thighs and and back up to her hipbone. Slowly, he carved a path from her hip to her pubic bone, low across her belly.

Arius was lost, transfixed by the alabaster flesh. He looked back up to Greca, catching her watchful gaze and holding it as he brought the candle nearer, tilting it slowly over her stomach, releasing a drop of molten wax onto her skin. Greca winced at the sharp heat, panic flaring then subsiding just as quickly with the realization that there was no pain, only sensation. She stilled. Arius rotated the candle, heating the wax, releasing another drip over her ribs and blowing gently to speed its cooling. His fingers traced the wax, captivated.

His hand moved higher, brushing the curve of her breast where it met rib. Greca followed his fingers, waiting. Arius palmed her breast, squeezing gently. His thumb slowly teased her soft nipple, rubbing in soft circles until it stiffened to a peak. He glanced again up at Greca's face - her eyes cool and dispassionate to his gaze, nostrils flaring as she controlled her body's response to his touch. His hand moved from her breast to neck, strong fingers tangling softly into the hair at the base of her skull. Arius tightened his grip; Greca's gaze stuttered, by she said nothing.

Silently pushing Greca to her back, Arius bent over her, taking the stiff nipple in his mouth, exploring the areola with his tongue, nipping the ivory flesh. He pulled away, the cool air puckering the wet nipple further. Steady of hand, Arius tipped the candle again, guiding a drop of wax to fall over the pink crest. Greca swallowed a gasp, her hips rising involuntarily off the table at the jolt of sensation. She inhaled deeply, sparks of heat igniting in her chest, her belly, her cunt.

Greca's brain roared, and she hated herself in that moment. She hated this physical assault, her powerlessness. Hated the conflicting sensations of terror and arousal. Why was she stuck in this limbo? Why not succumb fully to either pleasure or mindless subservience?

She twisted angrily under Arius' grasp, back arching, head shaking off his caress. "Just fuck me already," she spat at him. "Or kill me, bind me, whatever you plan to do. Yours is the only hand that can finish this." His dark eyes lightened in surprise at her admonishment. She glared back, still twisting beneath his grasp.

"Is that was you expect?" He responded, calmly, amusement and condescension lacing the question. As he spoke, he claimed both her wrists, stretching them above her head, held against the table by the fierce grip of his hand. "Is that what you want?"

Greca's cheeks flushed and she glared at Arius. "Not what I want, of course not. What woman would want that...?" Her accusation trailed off meekly as she realized she didn't have the faintest idea what she was saying, let alone any idea what it would be like to be fucked by him.