By the time he was returned to the house by Pietro and Claudio, Logan could feel a dull ache resonating through his entire body. After having been removed from the blocks of solid wax, Logan’s hands had been covered with a soothing ointment and wrapped in damp linens. It seemed as though Pietro wanted to keep him healthy for a little while longer.
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop them from testing his reflexes with a series of battering exercises. It would not have been so bad, though, had they unchained him completely and not left the one around his throat still in its place. Of course, they knew that Logan would attempt to escape and didn’t want to take their chances. From what he could tell, Logan had passed their tests. Surviving the assault with only a few telltale bruises and a split lip. Uncomfortable as it was, Logan had never thought a pile of hay and a scratchy blanket could be so inviting.
True to his word, Pietro had given Logan back the armband once they had left the blacksmith’s. Pietro had placed it on Logan’s wrist himself with the threat that it would be burned should Logan ever act out in any way. Not wanting to test the slim man’s conviction, Logan had done as instructed for the rest of the morning and early afternoon.
“And how is my barbarian?” Flavius inquired as they entered the garden. All of the flowers were in bloom, filling the garden with an aromatic scent that helped to block out the stink of the city. “Is he up to your standards?”
A slight smile playing on his thin lips, Pietro glanced over at Logan and nodded his head. “This one is a born fighter. It will be a pleasure to watch him compete in the games.”
“Good. Good.... Why are his wrists no longer chained?” Flavius demanded, finally noting the lack of restraints on Logan’s wrists.
“They were chafing his wrists,” Pietro said casually. “If he is to use the weapons I have designed for him properly, he needs full use of his hands and wrists. So those particular chains will have to remain off from now on.”
Flavius, however did not look entirely convinced. “Is that safe. Could he not attempt to escape now?”
“The chains were more of threat than anything else. It would have been very easy for him to strangle someone like that,” Pietro said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “As it stands, the barbarian is not likely to escape fettered down the way he is. Have no fear, your barbarian will not escape.”
“That’s what I want to hear. I need him tonight for my dinner,” Flavius announced, steering Pietro into the house. “Magnus and his daughter will be here later tonight and I want to make a presentation....”
The two men were in the house then and Logan could no longer hear what they were saying. If he remembered correctly from what he had heard the night before, Magnus was the father of the goddess. That meant he would be able to see Marie again. Logan allowed a small smile to cross his features at the thought. He knew that he was not worthy but being able to see her was a gift in itself.
Without so much as a word, Claudio pulled on the chain around Logan’s throat and guided him back towards the small building that had temporarily become his home. Logan knew better than to fight the big man. He was, after all, the source of Logan’s split lip and the bruises that were already darkening into a deep purple.
Chained once again within the small confines on the room, Logan simply laid down on the pile of hay that served as his bed and drifted off to sleep. He ached all over and knew that only sleeping would alleviate the pain. If Flavius really needed him for this dinner he was giving, Logan knew that he would be woken in time for it. He had no fears of missing what could very well be the last chance he would have to see his goddess.
The language of birds and the low hum of voices were the sounds that guided Logan to sleep. They were the last things he heard as he drifted off into a peaceful slumber and the first things he heard when a kick to the ribs awoke him.
“Get up, barbarian! The Master wants you cleaned for his dinner,” one of Flavius’s servants said. He was a young man, probably younger than Logan was himself, and no more imposing than a dead leaf.
Still, with a great deal of dignity, Logan pulled himself up and stood before the younger man, dwarfing him with his height. Something that Logan had been quick to learn upon his capture was that most of the Romans were smaller than him in both height and build. They counted on their superior weapons to grant them victory. Were it not for that, Logan was confident that Vercingetorix would not have been defeated by Caesar in Gaul. As it stood, the Fates had ruled in favour of the Romans and the Celts had been destroyed.
“Next time you wake me, do not kick me,” Logan said evenly, glaring down at the boy menacingly. “Next time you might not walk away with your foot.”
Gulping loudly, the boy tugged on the chain and led Logan from the small room and out into the hazy afternoon sun. Once upon a time, Logan had spent afternoons like this lounging at the side of a river, first fighting mock battles with his brothers then later swimming in the crystal waters. Logan heaved a great sigh knowing that his brothers were dead and could not enjoy such an afternoon. Logan still held onto the hope that he would be able to oneday venture to the shores of that same river he had grown from boyhood.
The boy led Logan to a more closed off area of the garden where a pair of female servants were waiting next to a tub of water. Nearby was a tray covered with a small cloth. Logan could see the nervousness on the two girls’ faces and tried to smile reassuringly at them. While one of them looked well and truly terrified, the other gave Logan a slight smile in return.
“Take off your clothes,” the more forthcoming of the two said, gesturing to the leather kilt Logan wore. “Caliope will wash your garment while I bathe you.”
Logan arched an eyebrow. “You certainly are very forward. I thought you Romans shied away from nakedness.”
The young girl held her head high, the smile never leaving her face. “That would be true, but I am not Roman. I am from Greece where the human body is worshipped as it was meant to be.”
As she was speaking, the Grecian had removed his kilt and handed it to her partner. There were countless servants milling about the enclosed garden and Logan felt very vulnerable in his present state of undress. He had already handed his armband to the girl and now without his kilt the only articles of clothing Logan had on were his boots. When he noticed a few of the female servants looking his way, it was all that he could do not to cover himself.
“I am fully capable of washing myself,” Logan told the girl as she came towards him with a wet cloth.
The girl’s cheeks reddened slightly as she fumbled with the cloth. “It is my duty to do as my Master commands and it was his wish that I wash you. So I will.”
Logan frowned at that and glanced at the boy who had brought him who tactfully had his eyes turned away, but still had a firm grip on the chain. “Do you think I could at least learn your name? At least that way I would not be quite so vulnerable to you.”
“My name is Karin,” she said in a soft voice. “Is your interrogation finished now?”
Not bothering to wait for his answer, Karin was already sponging his chest with the cloth. Logan noticed that she was very gentle, not pressing hard where the bruises were. Her eyes did not linger in any one place for very long, but examined his entire body with equal measure.
For Logan, the situation was very uncomfortable. He was chained and standing naked in a room with roughly twenty other people all of whom were constantly in motion. Those that passed close enough did not bother to hide the fact that they were looking at him.
It wasn’t that fact that bothered Logan, though. Logan was entirely uncomfortable with having the girl wash him. He was perfectly capable of washing himself and Karin seemed intent on removing every speck of dirt from his body. She covered every inch of him from the top of his head to top of his boots and only stopped there because they could not remove his boots so long as he wore the ankle fetters. Logan noticed that Karin was exceptionally careful when she came to his back, barely applying any pressure on the wounds which Logan could still feel throbbing.
Even that was not enough. Karin insisted on toweling him dry, pampering him as though he were a god and not a simple man who’d had the misfortune of coming across the Roman army.
“If you would sit down on the bench, I will trip your hair and beard,” Karin said softly as she set the damp towels aside.
It annoyed Logan to no end that whenever Flavius wished to show him off, someone would cut his hair short like a Romans and shave off his beard. Logan was most certainly not a Roman and hated to appear like them in any way. Still, knowing that he would lose in the end, Logan sat down on the bench Karin had gestured towards and waited for her to return with her knives.
“You look as though you area about to face an executioner,” Karin said lightly as she set her supplies down next to him on the bench.
“I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did slice my throat with that knife of yours,” Logan said with a nonchalantness that frightened the girl. Karin’s smile disappeared instantly and she nearly dropped one of the knives she was holding. “You might want to be careful with that. I would like to retain the use of those particular parts you nearly just removed.”
This time it was Logan who didn’t wait for her response before shutting his eyes against the afternoon sun. He welcomed the heat’s rays pushing the warmth deep into his body. Were he at home, Logan would have been wading through knee-deep snows and unable to leave the warmth of his home without several furs on. In Rome, however, Logan only felt a slight chill being out of doors in such a state of undress, most of which the sun was able to remove with its glorious heat.
Logan sighed deeply, remembering many winter hunting trips he had taken with the other males in their clan. He had been nine the first time he had killed a boar and, to this day, it was the best meal Logan could ever recall eating.
“You have survived, throat uncut,” Karin said lightly, snatching Logan from his thoughts.
Logan nodded and ran a hand over his hairless chin. “That I have. I thank you for it. Though I would be even more grateful if your friend were to give me back my clothes.”
With a slight blush, Karin whirled around and retrieved his leather armband from the now uncovered tray. She handed it to Logan without a word and went off in search of the other girl, Caliope.
While she was gone, Logan stared at the garden, noting the change it had undergone since his return. A long table had been set up in the center of the garden with couches spread along either side. Logan would never understand why the Romans would recline on a couch to eat rather that sit right up to the tables to get as much food as possible. Odd, dainty creatures they were. Like deer nibbling away at grass. Logan doubted that any of them really liked what they ate since it was all dressed up and mixed with different foodstuffs that should never be mixed together. Braziers had been set up along the perimeter of the table to give light to the diners once the sun had set. It would also encircle them in a blanket of heat, protecting them from the night’s chill.
What caught Logan’s attention was a pedestal near the head of the table. Before there had been a statue of some god standing atop it, but that had been removed. Whatever was now adorning the pedestal was covered by an expensive piece of purple silk. For reasons that he couldn’t determine, Logan instantly feared what lay beneath that cloth.