Pushing him back amid the pillows, she kissed him, sliding her hands across his hard chest. “I am a clever woman, my lord. I can raise both your children, and your horses. The Celts have a way with horses.”
“You are a shameless wench to wheedle me so,” he said, rolling her beneath him, then sheathing his hardness within her soft body. “How many stallions will you need?” he demanded, moving subtly upon her, pleased to see the look on her face turning to one of passion. How he had missed her!
“I but need this stallion, my sweet lord,” she told him, molding her body tightly to his as he stoked her pleasure, “but two champions should do for the herd of mares we will assemble. Ohhhhhh!” The gods! She had missed him more than she realized!
He ceased his movements and lay easily atop her, his hands carressing the sweet small melons of her breasts. He wanted to prolong this interlude. From the first moment he had taken her, he felt like a young man again. The feeling had never diminished in the months that they were together. With Anna there was respect. With Flacilla there was nothing. But Cailin! With Cailin he had found everything! He had never even dreamed that such love between two people was possible, yet here it was. “You are certain you want to do this?” he asked her. “You have seen the chariot races but once.”
He throbbed within her, making it almost impossible for her to concentrate on anything else. Her breasts ached with sweetness beneath his tender touch. “I am surprised no one thought of it before,” she managed to say. “It is such a logical plan. Ohh, my love, you are driving me wild!”
“Surely no wilder than you are driving me,” he ground out, and then, unable to contain himself any longer, he bent forward, taking her lips, and thrust with deliberate ferocity into her softness until they both attained their mutual release.
When Aspar was capable of speech once more, he told her, “We will go to the autumn games. Observe the races again, and then if you still desire it, we will make preparations to raise chariot horses.”
“But Flacilla’s new husband is sponsoring those games,” Cailin said, surprised. “Should we be seen there?”
“All of Constantinople will be there,” Aspar told her, “including all of Flacilla’s former lovers, you may be certain. Flacilla and Justin Gabras will sit in the imperial box with Leo and Verina. At least we will not be subjected to them, my love.”
“May I ask Casia? She was disappointed that I was not going to these games, and said she would be forced to sit in the stands with the plebes. I will not desert her because I am to be your wife.”
“I would be disappointed in you if you did,” he answered. “Yes, you may invite Casia. There will be gossip, but I care not.”
“I do not want to see the gladiatorial matches,” Cailin told him. “Casia says that they are death matches. I could not bear to see some poor man die because he was not as quick or skilled as his opponent. I think it cruel of Flacilla’s husband to require blood.”
“Blood pleases the plebes,” Aspar said matter-of-factly. “Watch one match, Cailin. You may not be as horrified as you think you will be. If you are truly displeased by it, then you may leave, but it must be done discreetly, my love. We cannot insult our despicable host.”
Cailin sent a messenger to Casia that morning, inviting her to join them in their box on the morrow, when the games would officially begin. Casia’s reply was a delighted acceptance.
The following day Cailin was up early, for the games would begin at nine o’clock of the morning, the races lasting until noon. She had prepared her costume carefully. Her stola, with its round, low neckline and long, tight sleeves, was of the finest, softest white linen. The lower third of the sleeves, and the wide hemline, as well as a broad stripe extending halfway up the skirt, were woven in pure gold and emerald-green silk threads. The stola was belted tightly at the waist with a wide belt of leather layered with beaten gold, and decorated with emeralds that matched the gold and emerald collar about her neck and her elaborate pendant earrings. Because of the time of year, Cailin had known she would need some sort of outer garment, but she did not want to cover her costume. She had cut a semicircular cloak of bright green silk, which she fastened on her right shoulder with a fibula made from a single oval-shaped emerald set in gold. Gold kid slippers shod her feet, and her costume was nicely completed by a jeweled silken band about her head, from which hung a sheer golden veil.
Aspar, in a purple-and-gold-embroidered ceremonial garment of white silk called a tunica palmata, which he wore with a toga picta of finely spun purple wool embroidered with gold, nodded with pleasure when he saw her. “You will cause many tongues to wag today, my love. You look magnificent.”
“As do you, my lord,” she replied. “Are you certain we will not inspire imperial jealousy? I have seen the emperor, and you, my lord, are a far more regal figure than he.”
“A thought you will not share with anyone else but me,” Aspar replied seriously. “Leo is a good administrator. He is precisely the emperor Byzantium needs.”
“Leo may be emperor of Byzantium,” Cailin said candidly, “but you are the ruler of my heart, Flavius Aspar. ‘Tis all I care for, my dear lord.” Then she kissed his mouth sweetly, smiling into his eyes.
He laughed. “Oh, Cailin, you will rule not just my heart, I fear, but my soul as well. What a sweet minx you are, my love.”
Casia and Basilicus were already awaiting them at the Hippodrome. As they entered the silk-hung box belonging to the empire’s First Patrician, the crowds seeing the general began to call his name.
“Aspar! Aspar! Aspar!”
He stepped forward and, saluting them, acknowledged their cheers with a modest smile. Then he retired to the rear of the box, that the populace be allowed to quiet down. To the right of the imperial box the patriarch and his minions sat observing it all.
“He does not encourage them,” the patriarch’s secretary observed.
“Not yet,” the patriarch replied. “Someday, I think, he will. Still, he is a curious man, and may prove me wrong.”
The Hippodrome suddenly exploded in a frenzy of cheers as the emperor and empress, along with the games’ sponsor and their guests, entered the imperial box. Leo and Verina accepted the homage of the crowd with smiling graciousness, and then presented Justin Gabras to the assembled, who cheered noisily as Gabras waved a languid hand.
At the sound of the trumpets Leo stepped forward and performed the ritual that began the festivities. As the mappa fluttered from his fingers, the stable doors of the Hippodrome burst open to allow the chariots in the first race to dash forth. The crowds screamed their encouragement to the four teams.
“Just look at that,” Flacilla fumed. “How dare Aspar and Basilicus bring their whores to our games!”
“The games are for everyone, my dear,” Justin Gabras replied, his eyes taking in Cailin avidly. What a magnificent creature, he thought. How I would like to have her in my power, even for just a few minutes.
“I do not think it right that the empire’s First Patrician flaunt his mistress so publicly,” Flacilla persisted.
“Oh, Flacilla,” Verina said with a light laugh, “your jealousy is astounding to behold, particularly given the fact neither you or Aspar could stand one another during your marriage.”