That this was obviously Claudius Nero’s private chambers did not improve matters.
Morgain knew better than to express innocent confusion-or to presume that the legate meant to give his chambers over to her. Hugging the cloak tightly about her shoulders, she stared wide-eyed at her surroundings.
A servant-girl entered with wine and two wide cups-more plunder from the Roman camp. She was the first woman of this hybrid race Morgain had seen this closely-Morgain excepted Ada, since the witch-woman of Dagon-Moor at least was born in the world of men. The girl returned the Pict’s curious stare with the expressionless gaze of her ophidian blood-neither gloating nor sympathetic. She was a slender creature, small-breasted and with pointed features. While Atla easily passed at first glance as human, there was something about this girl that branded her as inhuman beyond doubt.
She swiftly assisted Claudius Nero with his cuirass and greaves, silently fled when the legate dismissed her. Nero mixed water and wine into the two cups, following the Roman custom. He poured rather more wine than water.
“Here.” He handed her one cup, raised his in salute. “You do seem cold. I hope you haven’t taken a chill.”
Morgain accepted the cup with a shaking hand and greedily drank from it. Nero’s solicitude did not warm her toward him. His tone was that of concern over a new acquisition.
Her cup was empty, and Nero quickly refilled it, as well as his own. Morgain sipped, continued to look about the room. The wine warmed her, but, exhausted and with nothing but river water in her stomach, she felt light-headed despite its dilution.
“You’re very cool, Morgain,” Nero commented. “But then, I expected no less. I like things that are cold and strong. I’m that way.”
“What a wonderful book!” Morgain pounced upon a box of scrolls, one of which was rolled open upon a reading table.
“Caesar’s De Bello Gallico,” Nero informed her proudly. “It belonged to my great-grandfather, Publius Calidius Falco, legate of the Ninth at the massacre here. I’ve read it a hundred times.”
He came up behind her to refill her cup. When he finished, he touched the gold pin at her throat.
“You don’t need my cloak now,” he told her, drawing the woolen wrap from her reluctant grasp.
Morgain forced herself to swallow the wine. Her throat seemed not to work for dryness.
“You’re very lovely, Morgain,” Nero breathed. “I was right not to return you to Ssrhythssaa.”
The last was implied threat. While there might be fates worse than death, she knew the ancient serpent-wizard would spare her in neither. Morgain decided she wanted more wine. Her mind sought dizzily for some means of avoiding the inevitable.
“I promised to tell you of Proserpina, and of Dis,” said Nero huskily.
“Yes! Please do!” Morgain begged, grasping at the wrong straw. Anything to keep him talking…
Claudius Nero took pains to make certain she understood.
Morgain cried out only once, in shock and utter revulsion. But it was at that moment when a maiden often cries out, and Nero only felt his blood roar the fiercer.
21
SWORD’S EDGE
Morgain stirred at last from nightmare-haunted sleep. Even the horror and the shame of Nero’s possessing her had not been able to stave off her exhaustion. Still cold from the shock of it, Morgain had soon slipped into a deep slumber. She dreamed of Proserpina and Dis, and of serpents that performed horrible and obscene acts.
When she awoke, she opened her eyes in the dim hope it might all have been nightmare. The lamplit bedchamber was unchanged, and she knew the worst of her nightmare had been reality. Morgain wondered if she would ever feel clean again.
Angry voices brought her fully alert. Morgain sat up, wincing at the pain of her bruised ribs.
Claudius Nero had already risen. Was it morning? Meaningless. Here it was always night. The flickering lamps cast the same grotesque shadows as before, although Morgain sensed she must have slept through the period of daylight in the world outside.
Beside the sunken bath, the servant-girl towelled the legate dry. A furious Atla railed at him.
“So the Pictish bitch was torn apart by the crawlers! And how does she come to be here in the praetorium of Claudius Nero? You lied to Ssrhythssaa! You fool! What will you say to him when he finds out?”
Nero’s pointed face was dark with anger, and he petulantly brushed the towel away. “The girl somehow eluded the crawlers. I recaptured her only hours ago; she had managed to reach Serpent Gorge and was well on her way to freedom when I intercepted her. I told Ssrhythssaa no lie at the time. As for now, he has no further use for Morgain-and I have as much a claim to her as the Great Old One.”
“Ha! Let me hear you tell that to Ssrhythssaa! He’ll feed you to the Great Old One along with the girl!”
Nero spoke with more confidence than he felt. “Ssrhythssaa would not dare. He has need of me, witch-and that is more than either of us has for you!
Atla gave a strangled cry of rage, broke past him for where Morgain crouched. Nero followed with a shout of menace.
The witch towered over Morgain, eyed the soiled covering with a sneer. “Well, you little slut! Bran Mak Morn will be interested to learn how his sister was robbed of her maidenhood! Now put on your virginal airs and taunt me for lying with Romans! Hell-worm bait! Don’t you wish you’d stayed safe in your cage!”
Anger drove shame from Morgain’s face. She sensed the reason underlying Atla’s fury, and so struck back to preserve her own pride and to wound the witch’s vanity.
“You’re either naive or blind, Atla dear,” she smiled poisonously. “Nero robbed me of nothing. I gave myself to him of my own will. Does it bother you that the lord of the underworld prefers a human maid for his consort?”
Ada’s hand streaked for her dagger, but Nero was quicker. He pinned the furious witch-woman’s arms, flung her away from the bed. Atla broke free and tried to claw past him. Nero struck her an open-handed blow that sent her reeling across the chamber.
There was fierce pride in the legate’s voice. “Well, there’s your answer, witch! Now that you’ve delivered your message to me, it should be obvious that I have no further use for you. Leave us now!”
Atla’s tone breathed hate. “Will you cast aside Atla for this savage whore! You’ll beg me to come back after Ssrhythssaa gives her to the Hell-worm!”
“If you go to Ssrhythssaa with your lies,” Nero warned, “I’ll see that it’s you who ornaments the altar of the Great Old One! Ssrhythssaa needs me to command Legio IX. Your only use to him was to ensnare Bran Mak Morn. You failed, Atla. Do you really want to try Ssrhythssaa’s gratitude?”
Snarling, Atla slunk from the room. At the curtained doorway she paused to scream in spite. “It might interest you, Morgain-that while you play the wanton with his enemy, your brother throws away his life searching for you!”
Nero stepped toward her. Atla fled with a venomous laugh.
“What does she mean?” Morgain asked in alarm. At her last contact with her brother, she assumed Bran would remain a prisoner while Ssrhythssaa sought to coerce him into some sort of evil alliance. Her own strategy now was to play for time until she could find a way to escape and bring help.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Nero said evasively. “She came to inform me that Bran Mak Morn has escaped. Evidently a band of his men somehow slipped past our guards, found the cavern of the Black Stone, released him. Impossible on each count, but nonetheless he’s at large for the moment. They can never escape. It’s only a matter of time.”