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Deep in the heart of wild Germania one would think to find nothing but unwashed, blood thirsty, naked barbarians. However Cornelia found that there was something of beauty to the savage dark forests and animal-like people. She looked upon the brawny rough warriors with their long braids, scratchy beards and painted muscular bodies and found them something to appreciate. Rome was still trying to pursue a peace with most of the territory which was why Cornelia and her husband Lucien were meeting with the king of one of the Northern tribes known as the Saxons.
Rome was still unpopular among the Germanic tribes. Unlike most of the civilized world, the Saxons and the Celts were stubborn, proud people. Normally the Legions had no problem with bringing down an iron fist to crush them, however, the Germanic tribes had proven that their will matched the children of the wolf. Still fresh in Rome's mind was the horrific massacre of three Roman Legions by Germanic warriors in the dark Teutoburg Forest. Soldiers, disciplined capable fighters, wiped out by a few tribes in the malicious, mysterious shadows of the forest. It was enough to send a chill down every Roman's spine. Since then, Rome has tried a more diplomatic approach. Words proved mightier than the Roman gladius.
Cornelia sat in her golden chair that she brought all the way from Rome along with other comforts to lessen the home sickness. Her female slaves attended to her hair which was the envy of all Patrician females. Long, silken locks so black it had a blue sheen. She was considered a natural beauty with her perfect olive skin, lush lips, long black lashes that fanned round cheeks, a dainty yet proud royal nose and eyes like indigo stones.
After putting her hair in the latest curling style bun, modest yet adorned with golden pins studded with blood red rubies, the slave girl took one of the loose strands around her round face and wrapped it around the long hot metal piece to curl it. Cornelia had just that morning plucked and burned off most of her offensive body hair. A long painful beauty process that wealthy Romans (male and female) endured for the sake of fashion. Though Lucien preferred to keep most of his hair. Being hairless was for effeminate boys and lazy youths, he would often say. That was fine. Cornelia preferred hair on a man.
"Ow!" Cornelia rounded on her slave girl to reprimand her. "Careful, you clumsy cow! If one hair is pulled from my scalp I shall have your hair burned off!" The slave girl made her humble apologies demurely, eyes respectfully cast down.
Cornelia "humphed" then turned back to the bronze mirror another slave girl was holding. The Matrona will admit, this slave girl doing her hair had more courage than the last one. The last one was a clumsy mouse who was far too pretty. This girl, Andromeda, was plain with pretty hair of gold. She withstood her mistress's temperament well and knew when to keep her mouth shut.
"That's enough, Andromeda," Cornelia felt satisfied with her appearance. Another slave girl added wood to the braziers aligning her room. Germania was so cold during winter. This frost was not good for her complexion. She had Lucien buy her extra furs to help keep her warm. She was wearing a saffron synthesis lined inside with rabbit skin. The sun was setting and the feast of Lupercalia would begin shortly followed by ceremony at the temple.
"Are you finished yet, my love?" Lucien walked into his wife's room barely announcing his presence. "I do not want us to make the chieftain wait."
"How like a man to rush," Cornelia teased in her smoky voice as she attached dangling gold earrings studded with rubies to her ear lobes. "War is far more easily won than the battle to obtain Beauty."
"As always you are a natural Venus, dear wife," Lucien smiled. Despite his 40 years he was still a handsome man. Cornelia could still be aroused by him unlike most Roman wives who's husbands were often much older grew fat and complacent once they retired from military life and joined the Senate. She was 21 years old and even though they had three children in the great city, two sons and a daughter, they still found themselves sharing a night once a week together.
"Often I wonder if your tongue is made of pure silver," her lush lips spread over into a winning smile, accentuating the sensuality etched in her face.
"These Saxons prefer gold coins to my silver tongue," Lucien chuckled, taking his wife's hand in his and brushing a kiss along it's back.
"The chieftain will give you an auxiliary force of Saxon warriors before winter has melted into spring," Cornelia glowed with pride in her husband. Lucien kissed his wife's temple with husbandly affection, his gaze drawing to the fruitful mounds of her breasts, a ruby and pearl pendant cradled in the silken valley.
"Only if my wife keeps flashing her stunning breasts at him," Lucien fingered the pendant, letting his fingers rest on the soft swell. "Last time his tongue almost fell out of his mouth." As the air sparked with their sexual tension, her husband allowed his eyes to stray. He cast a quick glance at the slave girl attending the braziers around her chamber, a hungry gleam in his eyes before he turned them back to her. He felt his wife shiver and he brimmed with masculine pride that he could arouse her still.
"Is that why you drag me to every banquet?" Cornelia didn't miss the glance he shot towards one of her slaves. She mentally shrugged. Not as if she hadn't sampled a few of his handsome male slaves. They were a typical Roman couple where love and sexual pleasure were never mutually exclusive. So as a present sometimes Cornelia bought a beautiful slave girl for her husband's erotic appetites. Not too beautiful as she still had her vanity.
"No, my love," he kissed her lips lightly with a soft brush. "You also light up these dismal mud halls with your cajoling smiles."
"Argentum Lingua, Lucien."
Tonight when the banquet was over she would send the brazier girl and the girl holding her bronze mirror to her husband's chambers. Tomorrow he would thank her generously with another gold necklace and that special talent he had with his tongue.
"If you are ready," Lucien offered her his arm not sparing the other slave girls another glance. "We shall be on our way."
The shadows of dusk danced about the Saxon chieftain's hall. The air was thick with incense, roasted meats, and laughing voices. So many Roman delicacies that tantalized and amazed the locals' eyes and tastebuds, the exotic aroma alone made the mouth water. Whatever their thoughts of Romans they knew the people from the south loved a good presentation.
Image was everything. The table was weighed down with roasted hare, doves, snails marinated in honey, pheasants glazed in fish sauce on a plate of baked apples and small thrushes for every guest. Exotic fruits such as pears, pomegranates, dates, oranges and lemons, many of which Germans had never seen before because of their unforgiving climate languished in fine glass bowls. It was a shame they didn't have any door mice, an expensive delicacy, but they did have goose eggs to compensate; also a luxury food.
Cornelia only wished they had served roasted peacock, her favorite luxury that she often had crown her table at banquets she hosted for the Emperor the rare occasions he visited. She reclined on the couch as her husband and the chieftain were deep in discussion. With the delicate sophistication of a Matrona she sipped at her watered wine watching the guests enjoy the decadent foreign delights her people had brought.
Meanwhile she lounged on a couch like some divine goddess gracing the Saxon hall with her presence. Wearing her synthesis of the deepest saffron edged with gold she dripped with rubies and pearls, golden earrings depicting Nike goddess of Victory dangled delicately from her earlobes, swaying at each gentle movement of her head. She had noticed the many admiring male gazes upon her as she lounged on the couch. Her breasts drawing the eye to a her lovely bounty. The women were envious of course but Cornelia ignored them.
