hovel of some goat herder who wanted a slut to slop his pigs and warm his bed.
The bidding was brisk but the prices, as near as Casca could see, were reasonable enough.
A good looking wench was going for an average of fifty denarii or two gold solidii. Actually, not a bad price. Casca watched the women and was tempted to bid a couple of times, but restrained himself.
This suddenly changed, however, when the auctioneer brought his next offering on the block. Casca liked what he saw, even though the female slave was filthy and her hair was hanging in greasy, tangled tendrils. She was almost naked, her back showing the evidence of recent lashings, though none appeared to have been delivered with intent to permanently scar and would fade in a few days. She stood as a caged animal might, twisting and twitching in barely controlled rage. Her head would have scarcely reached Casca's shoulder and her breasts were small, though exceedingly well formed and ripe.
The auctioneer made an effort to get her to move around the block so as to show off more of her charms, but every movement she made was of pure hate and resentment, and the buyers could tell, so bidding had not started.
The auctioneer tried to prod the bidding by claiming that she'd just recently been brought in and hadn't been in care long enough to be properly trained. He pointed with his rod to her legs and breasts, crying out to the noble lords to see how strong the limbs were, and how the high set of her breasts would surely delight any man of sensibility. Holding her face in his hand, he pried her mouth open with his rod, showing that her teeth were not as rotten as her disposition. He nearly lost a finger in the doing.
She stared at the would-be buyers with such open loathing that it was scaring them off.
They wanted a good worker or a willing bed warmer, not some bitch who would stick a knife in them the first time they closed their eyes. And, there was little doubt in their minds that this would be the fateof the unfortunate sucker who could be conned into purchasing her.
Casca bid one silver coin of Darius. The auctioneer tried to raise the ante, crying for another bid. There was silence and Casca thought he'd bought her for the low price, but suddenly from the rear came another bid of two small gold coins. It was an Arab merchant in a turban and burnoose. The bidding between the two men became a contest, the woman was secondary now.
When Casca and the Arab locked eyes there was instant dislike and each knew that the other would go the limit of his wealth, if for no other reason than sheer pigheadedness. The woman was no longer as important as the winning. Arabs were known to be great gamblers and losing at anything ate at their craws. The bidding continued to rise until Casca finally removed his purse and walked directly up to the block. Inside it, there were the last of the gemstones given him by Tzin. He poured them all into the palm of the auctioneer, a rainbow of colors, enough to make the auctioneer a wealthy man for the rest of his life-yet Casca was hoping that the greasy bastard would die before sundown.
The Arab gave up. To go against such a bid, that was even now being tallied by gem experts, would have broken him completely. He left the scene, his robes whipping about him angrily as Casca was handed the title to his new acquisition.
Casca asked the she-savage's name and whence she had come. He learned that she was Anobia and had been picked up on a slaving raid in the mountains of Armenia. That was all they knew of her and the auctioneer wished the foreign lord goodluck with his purchase of the she-wolf. He was surely to need it. He asked Casca if he had a specific mark that he would like her branded with, so as to be more readily found if she should escape. Casca told him no, he wanted no more marks on her skin. Anobia said nothing, watching her new owner with contempt.
When he drew near, the smell of her almost drove him back. The auctioneer apologized, saying the wench refused to do anything and had badly scarred up a couple of his eunuchs when they had attempted to bathe her.
Casca took the rope leash, attached it to the slave ring around her neck, and jerked her from the stage without giving her a chance to do or say anything. Keeping the rope taut, he made his way amid the laughter of the crowd at his senseless purchase, and kept her well behind him so he wouldn't have to smell her. The bodyguards, who normally walked behind him, also moved to the front.
Now that he had her back in his rooms near the palace, he dismissed his guards. She stood in the center of the room, a wary, frightened animal, her eyes darting back and forth as if looking for a weapon. Casca ignored her; he knew what was going on in her mind. He ordered his household servants to draw water for the bath. While they did so, he changed into a more practical costume for the job forthcoming. Clad only in a loincloth, he walked back into the main room where she was still standing, her thighs quivering, a red mark on her neck from the tugging at her leash.
Anobia drew back, half frightened at the sight of the man in front of her, yet fascinated. She'd never seen a body with so many scars, and the body ofher new master was a twisted, knotted mass of muscles in which the many scars left deep channels that made some of them move in manners they had not been designed for.
Casca stood directly in front of her and locked his eyes on hers, the gray-blue against the almond brown. He spoke to her now for the first time.
'Woman, you will wash yourself!'
She brought up some reserve courage, spitting at him. As soon as she'd spat, a hard hand knocked her to her knees, splitting her lip. He repeated his order.
'Woman, you will wash! I am not acastrato that will tolerate your foul manners.'
Anobia rushed at him, fingers like claws going for his eyes, only to find her wrist locked in a steel grip, her body twisted around and Casca's fist wrapped in her hair. He threw her quickly to the floor and dragged her by the greasy locks of her filthy head to where the tub was waiting. Since his slaves were afraid to touch her, he dismissed them as he stripped the few tattered pieces of clothing from her body.
He felt his breath catch as he saw her fully for the first time. She was like a panther, all female, rippling flesh with no trace of fat. Only her breasts bounced when she moved. She came only to his shoulder but all of her was ready to fight. By the hair, Casca raised her clear of the floor, her feet dangling. Now, unable to do anything to resist his efforts, he swung her almost absentmindedly over the side of the tub and into the water.
She immediately started to fight, struggling against his force. He quickly stopped this new effort by forcing her head under the water, holdingher until he saw bubbles, then raising her for breath and repeating the action over and over until she was finally too weak for further resistance.
He washed her then, with his own hands, as he would have a baby, taking no liberties with her. He was sure and methodical as he first scrubbed her hair, rinsing out the grease, then beginning to work on her skin. After he'd removed the grime he rubbed it into a healthy glow.
In spite of herself, she began to relax. She was tired. It had been a long struggle since she'd been captured and she gave in to the unrelenting hands that were now becoming more gentle as she resisted less and let them do their job. Casca's hands kneaded and stroked, gently, with a sense of familiarity. She felt like a babe in these hands and he was treating her as such. Even when he washed her breasts, his heavily scarred hands displayed no feeling that he was enjoying her helplessness and, in a distant corner of her mind, this bothered her.
The bath was done. Casca raised her from the water and called for fresh jars to rinse her off. When this was done, a robe was brought to wrap around her nakedness and Casca showed her to a small side room where a pallet was laid out. He motioned for her to lie down. Again she tensed. This was to be it! He was going to take her now!
Once again, though, the scarred foreign warrior surprised her when he suddenly left the room, leaving her to lie alone on the pallet. From where she lay, she could see that he'd returned to his room and had now closed the curtain behind him.
Anobia was confused. Why had he bought her if he did not desire her? Why would he pay such a great price, then ignore her? Still confused, she wasunaware of the moment when sleep came to her. Her eyes closed; she was tired, very tired. In spite of it all, the bath had taken some of the tension of her past ordeal from her body, and she slept.
Casca called for wine, then for lamps to be lit in the corners and on the table, before which he sat on cushions, trying to answer the same questions to himself that Anobia had previously pondered.
He sat alone all that night thinking and cursing himself. What was there about the woman? He knew she could be more trouble than she was worth. For the amount of money he'd spent on her he could have bought twenty beautiful good-tempered wenches that would have been delighted to serve him. But there was something!
