Interlude - 2. Chapter 2

He pressed his lips against mine. There was no gentleness in his kiss, no tenderness, no softness—only passion and hunger. My body responded to his hunger, desire rippling through every nerve. There was never enough time for subtleties. No time for whispered words of love. But we both knew that, accepted it as part of our reality. But we also knew the words were felt if never spoken.

He was a slave in my father’s house. Born of a slave taken in a northern raid, his eyes bore the evidence of his heritage. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not an ordinary green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And they were looking into my eyes right now.

“I grow so weary of these stolen moments.” His voice was husky with passion, passion tinged with frustration.

I touched his cheek…so pale by comparison to my own. I ran my hand down his neck, over his bared shoulders. Even the hot summer sun had not managed to bronze his skin. As I undid the clasp at my shoulder and slipped out of my robes, I marveled anew at the contrast of his skin against mine. Compared to him, I resembled a Nubian slave girl. I pressed my body against his. How warm he was.

“Be grateful to the gods that they permit us any moments at all” I whispered against his lips as I pulled him down onto my bed, onto me.

Even rushed, even as we hurried to make the most of our stolen moments, the force of his passion consumed me. The slightest brush of his fingers inflamed my senses. His hot breath seared my skin where his lips touched.

He was not my first lover, nor my only lover. I was no great beauty, but my father’s status made me very desirable. Eventually I would marry and the man whom I chose (for it was widely known that this choice was mine alone) would receive much more than a bride to grace his bed. The gods had not seen fit to bless my father with sons. And I was his only daughter. All of my father’s wealth and property—and the accompanying status—would one day go to my husband. This made me desirable in the extreme. Each man whom I took to my bed had hopes to either capture my heart by demonstrating his prowess and devotion while in my bed, or to plant his seed within me—thus ensuring his place since I would be duty bound to wed the sire of my child.

But neither thought was in his head as he moved within me, his strong, quick thrusts sending hot, rippling waves of heat through my body. I knew this. He wanted me. He wanted ME! Not my father’s wealth. Not my father’s status. He wanted ME. And I knew this, because he never demanded anything of me, never asked for special favors, never asked for more moments than we could steal. To him, each moment with me, however brief, was all that he desired. His eyes spoke those words, as clearly as if they had been shouted from the steps of the temple of Athena!

But we both knew the consequences if he were to be found in my bed. My body was mine. My favors mine to dispense with as I pleased—so long as I dispensed them within my own class. Were he to be found in my bed, he would be castrated then beheaded. If he put a child within me, that child would be cut from my womb and I would be left to die with it. But it was a risk we both accepted—just as we accepted the necessity of brief, hurried encounters when both of us wanted nothing more than to spend forever in each other’s arms.

He pressed his lips against mine. This time there was gentleness in his kiss, tenderness, softness—the passion and hunger were spent. My body lay within his arms, my breath as short and gasping as his. Yet still there was no time for subtleties. No time for whispered words of love. We both knew that, accepted it as part of our reality. But we also knew the words were felt if never spoken. I looked into his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not an ordinary green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. As they looked back at me, they spoke the words his lips dared not.

Even as I stared into his eyes he was rising from me, the warmth of his body’s connection to mine being replaced by the cold of separation. I watched him as he dressed, as he once more donned the tunic that clearly spoke his status. His body was lean, underfed—as was the case with most slaves, even in such a wealthy household as my father’s. But it was strong, muscular. His 18 years looked like more, each of his years twice as hard as one of mine. But when he smiled—a smile that changed his face from sharp planes and angles to soft light and shadows—there was something behind his eyes that made me catch my breath. It was recognition, familiarity… It was as if those eyes had always looked at me, would always look at me—even into the next world.

A chill ran through my body as that thought ran through my head. I felt a sudden strong sense of foreboding. I reached for my robes, but found my hand moved only in slow motion, as if Cronos had suddenly given my body a different rhythm of time from the world around me. I opened my mouth to warn him, to tell him to hurry, to flee by the hidden pass—but my lips barely moved. Yet everything around me moved in the correct time.

The door to my chambers opened suddenly and I saw Nikos enter—followed by two of my father’s guards and the master of slaves. A quick twist of Nikos’ lips confirmed my sense of foreboding. Of all my lovers, past and present, Nikos was the most jealous. He wanted to be my only lover. How many times he had said as much to me, had pressed me to discard the others and take only him to my bed. But though he was a handsome man, a strong and virile lover, he had none of my heart—and he sensed that.

I turned my head—it turned so slowly that I thought I must scream with the impatience of it! I turned my head and looked at the one who did have my heart. His eyes met mine and in that instant I knew—as did he—that it was the last time our eyes would meet in this world. And I drank them in… took in every detail as if I had never seen them before. And I vowed that I would see them again, vowed that my soul would find his in the next life. I vowed that if it took all of eternity I would look into those eyes again and again. Such beautiful eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not an ordinary green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And they spoke the words his lips had never dared speak. They said, “I love you.”


The blackness enveloped me. It was cool, comforting. It erased the cruel images from my eyes, erased the pain from my soul. And I welcomed it, embraced it, surrendered myself to it as I would surrender myself to a lover.