Household Gods

The Germans were shouting and singing, convivial as a gang of frat boys in a campus bar. But, as could happen in a bar, their good cheer turned abruptly to anger. Antonina’s husband, that weedy little man whose name Nicole had never got around to learning, appeared from somewhere – the back of his house, maybe, or down the street – and sprang on them, flailing about him with a length of firewood. The barbarian who’d seized Antonina stepped back leisurely from a wild swing, lifted his sword with the same air of unhurried ease, and swept it around in a deadly blur. It slammed the side of the little man’s head with a noise like a Nolan Ryan fastball slamming into a watermelon. Blood sprayed, the same explosion of scarlet as Nicole had seen a while ago, when the legionary fell. As the legionary had done, Antonina’s husband dropped bonelessly to the ground. The only mercy, as far as Nicole could see, was that he never knew what hit him. Not like the legionary, who had seen his death coming at him in a sweep of bloodied steel.

Antonina screamed on a new note. The Germans holding her down laughed and cheered, not even slightly discommoded by her renewed struggles. The man who’d slain her husband strutted and preened. He was proud of himself. And the rest were proud of him. The one who held Antonina’s left arm set his knee on it for a moment and beckoned with his freed hand, as if to say, Here, you go first.

The killer grinned. He swaggered back toward the huddle of men and the lone, suddenly very quiet woman. He squatted between her legs and ripped off her drawers. The others laughed with a note of incredulity, and let out a spatter of exclamations. The way they pointed and stared, Nicole knew all too well what had set them off. Their women didn’t shave down there – and if they hadn’t known that women here did, then this was their first rape in Carnuntum. Right here, in front of Nicole. Who couldn’t move a muscle to intervene.

The German yanked down his breeches with a grunt, as if to say, Enough of that. Without further ado, he thrust his great red club between Antonina’s legs, and ground deep.

Nicole turned her face away. Even with her fingers in her ears, she couldn’t banish Antonina’s cries. They went on and on, as if she’d lost all control over her voice.

Even through that shrill keening, Nicole heard the second, deeper grunt as the barbarian hammered himself to climax and pulled free. He sounded like a pig, a big, self-satisfied boar.

That wasn’t the end of it. Not by a long, ugly shot. They took turns, every one, and a handful of others who happened by and stopped to join the fun. After a while, Antonina stopped screaming. Her mouth was open; her voice was gone. Several of the Germans took advantage of that, too, roaring with laughter as they spent themselves down her throat. Bite him, Nicole thought fiercely when the first one started. Bite it right off him. But Antonina didn’t. Maybe she was too far gone. For her sake, Nicole hoped so.

After Frank walked out, Nicole had taken self-defense classes. She’d learned all about what to do if a rapist accosted her.

Or so she’d thought. Knee him in the nuts and scream for the police, and he’d stagger off groaning and clutching at himself. Wouldn’t he?

Sure, and if he came back with a dozen burly bastards just like him, each one toting a sword, and they were the police – what then?

In California, liberated or not, she’d felt insecure without a man in the house. Even as miserable a specimen as Frank was still male, and therefore, somehow, a deterrent.

There wasn’t anyone here but Lucius. The fuller and dyer’s shop across the way was empty; Gaius Calidius Severus was God knew where. Julia was worse than useless. Her ripe body was incentive to rape even at the best of times. Now…

One of the Germans who’d just finished his round with Antonina came ambling toward the tavern, adjusting himself inside his trousers. He took his time about that. Go away, Nicole willed him. God damn you, go away!

If God heard, He wasn’t paying attention. The barbarian cupped his hands to shield his eyes from the sun, and peered into the gloom of the tavern. Nicole tried to shrink into invisibility. Lucius had already managed it so well she couldn’t see him unless she actively looked for him.

But Julia couldn’t bear to sit still any longer. She backed away from the window, pressing against the wall.

The German caught the movement. His eyes gleamed under his heavy brows. He drew back, only to turn and pound on the door.

17

Nicole wasn’t terrified, she’d gone past that, into an eerie, brittle calm. Julia was shivering so hard, her teeth rattled. She was completely out of her mind with fear. Lucius had crawled under a table, which seemed a good idea to Nicole.

The pounding came again, loud, peremptory. Nicole stayed where she was. If she didn’t do anything, if nobody moved, maybe – maybe -