Title: The Beggar
Author: Anon
Rating: R-ish
Archive: DivaVexa, Laure's site, and anyone else who wants it, with permission.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made. Ridley, couldn't you have come up with a better ending to that epic? We'd all be a lot happier.
Category: Cic/OFC

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It is strange that out of all the men I have known, this man I remember so well. Sometimes it feels like he's only just left me, but more than a year has passed. I still look for him in the square, but he does not appear there, nor does he call at my door. I wish I could spend another night in his arms and listen to his strange sweet voice, feel his hands on my body, and run my fingers through his hair. I do not know why he was so special, perhaps it was his sincerity or naivete. Perhaps I found him as exotic as he may have found me. Perhaps it was just the fleetingness of our encounter…

****************

I first saw him from where I stood at the fruitier's stall. He was taller than those around him. His skin was tanned; a body used to being in the sun, or perhaps he came from the southern reaches of the Empire. He did not appear to be Roman, but then, the cosmopolitan nature of this city was one of the things I cherished about it.

"Are you buying that or just fondling it?" the stall owner asked me and I jerked my head around, dumbly staring down at the cantaloupe in my hand.

I laughed, as did my companion. We paid for our purchases and idled in the square. My eyes returned to the tall man by the wall.

"He's a beggar, look at his clothes, look at his face," Cornelia said, following my line of sight.

"But his bearing suggests otherwise," I countered, noticing that the stature of this man implied anything but a soul that was beaten and downtrodden. He was watching the actors perform their farce on a makeshift stage, but kept glancing in our direction, as if looking for someone. I smiled at him, but he did not appear to notice me.

Perhaps he, like the actors, was keeping a wary eye out for the Praetorian Guard. They would not take kindly to the good-natured mocking that the actors were engaged in. I watched him laugh at the drama.

What beautiful eyes.

For a moment it seemed he stared straight at me and I smiled back at him again, but those eyes, it seemed, were not for me. They were trained on the litter that was approaching the entrance to the square from behind me. The "beggar" quickly pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and moved toward me and the approaching litter.

"It's the Emperor's sister," Cornelia remarked. "He's off to weasel a coin from her. I told you, Claudia, he's a beggar."

"And I say he's not," I replied, a smile playing on my lips. I watched him gain the lady's attention and carefully marked her warm response to his entreaty. The exchange was brief and by the time he stood, Cornelia had pulled me into the crowd and toward our dwelling.

***************

Ours was a small establishment, only five of us and our two slaves. We did not need to scour the city for custom. We were well known, being located close to the Imperial Square. Most of our clients were senators or merchants. The nature of our services was passed by word of mouth.

We were whores, yes, but we were clean, educated, and discreet, else our clients would not pay as lavishly as we demanded they do. We were also highly prized for our exotic features and customs, as we were all from foreign lands. We had been six until Senator Gaius had become enamoured with Diana and had taken her for his own.

We all took Roman names; they were easier for our clients to remember. Cornelia had come to this city from her homeland far in the northeast. Samatia, she called it- the Steppes. My family had come to Rome from the Parthian Empire. My ancestors had fled there many centuries ago from the foothills of Jerusalem. My mother used to whimsically assure us we were descendants of Queen Esther.

****************

I handed the fruit to the kitchen slave and walked into the house. I liked to shop, it gave me a chance to gossip and observe the people who frequented the markets. I thought of the dark-eyed man I had seen that afternoon, and wondered what had become of him.

"Claudia," Alexandra said, walking through the arched door into the kitchen. "There is a soldier here to see you."

Odd. Soldiers were not regular customers of ours. They traveled in different circles than most of our regular clients. "Did he ask for me?" Whoever he was, he must have shown his money to the slave guarding the gate or he would not have gained entrance to the dwelling.

"No," said Alexandra. "But he described you." I frowned. We were not in the habit of accepting clients without referrals. "Cornelia said you knew him."

I walked to the foyer and found my "beggar" standing there speaking with Cornelia. I halted and looked from one to the other. Cornelia smiled at me and then turned to the man. "Is this the woman? She was the one with me at the market."

"Yes," he said, smiling at me. I stared at him. He was no longer wearing the frayed brown cloak I had seen him in earlier. He wore a tunic of burgundy over tan leggings. The scars upon his face now looked less like a disfigurement from birth, but rather wounds from war.

"I thought you looked past me," I said, as Cornelia walked back toward the kitchen.

"I did, but I saw you smile at me." His accent was peculiar. I had never heard it before. He truly was foreign, therefore unlikely to be a Praetorian. A soldier of a foreign war, then. A runaway army slave captured in a campaign, perhaps. I was curious to know his business with the Emperor's sister, but it was not my place to ask. Why also would he approach her as a vagrant, rather than as he was adorned now?

I remembered myself and asked him to enter and sit in the ornate salon. "You know where you are?" He nodded. "Would you like some wine?" He nodded again. I turned and called to the kitchen slave. He appeared, bearing a tray with a pitcher and two cups. My "beggar" sat and looked around at the room.

I could hear Margo greeting one of her senators at the front entrance. My guest and I sat in silence for a time, drinking our wine. At length, I set aside my cup and looked at him squarely. "You have money?" He nodded, not speaking. "Show me," I said, rising and walking to him. He placed a gold coin in my hand. I closed my fist around it and reached for his cup. I set it on the inlaid table next to the pitcher and took his hand. "Come." He stood and I led him from the room.

********************

The light from the lamps in my room cast a gold sheen on all it touched. Our bodies, slick with perspiration, moved as burnished figures upon my bed. He was lean and tall, different from the rounder, softer wealthy men I normally entertained. I enjoyed the sensation of the hard planes of his body, and reveled in it, smiling often and sharing with him what pleasure he brought me.

Deep into the night, after the lamps had burned down, we lay talking- he about his homeland, I about my family. As I surmised, he had come from a distant land and I learned that he was manservant to a general. He learned that my real name was Chana.

Later, I awoke with him once again pressed against me, his hands reaching around my shoulders and tracing my jaw and shoulder. I turned my face to him and he leaned down, smiling at me. I kissed his cheek, his eyelids, his lips. We moved again together as the first rays of sunlight shown through the window of my room.

He left just after the sun had risen fully. He made no promise to return and I did not request that he do so; I understood the army could transfer men without preamble. Wrapped only in my cloak, I walked with him to the gate and stood on tiptoes to kiss him goodbye. I reached for his hand and placed his gold coin in it. After brushing his lips against mine, he whispered his name in my ear. Then he turned and walked through the gate.

*********************

The following days were chaos as the city reeled from the news of the Emperor's death. I thought of little else aside from our business and the political impact of current events.

I never saw my "beggar" again. But I remember his face so clearly that it might have been yesterday that I last looked upon it. And I remember his name.

End.