Faustina and the Barbarians Read Online Free PDF

they invent these creatures just to get money and troops out of me, but I have precious little of either.”
    “The Picts and Saxons and others are very real, Imperator, even on Amorgos I had heard of their depredations in Britain and Gaul.”
    “Really? You know, you strike me as someone I could use here at court. Good advisers are as rare as the Mountain Witch Dove.”
    “I’ll do everything to serve my Imperator and the cause of Rome. But I’m particularly concerned about this plot.”
    “As am I, of course, my dearest Faustina.” He drew close to me and I felt his garlic breath upon the warm, sun-kissed mound of my breasts.  
    “But in my position one gets used to being plotted against—almost. Though I always have a ship ready in the port for a quick evacuation.”
    How utterly craven was this ‘Roman Emperor’!
    “This one does sound serious. I’ll have Publius Clodianus arrested immediately, and have a cull of those buggers of senators while I’m at it.”
    “Arrest Clodianus by all means, Imperator, but as to the cull, be careful not to throw the baby out with the bloody bathwater. Most of the Senate are loyal to you.”
    “‘Baby out with the bloody bathwater,’” Honorius giggled, “that’s good, very very good. Of course, you will join us for dinner tonight, and help me cope with those boorish Brits, won’t you? And of course, you can name your reward for your faithfulness to me, and to Rome.”
    Dinner that night was a resounding success. I was at my dazzling best, cheering up the miserable British so much that they ceased importuning Honorius and his courtiers with pleas for help against the Saxons and Picts and pirates for three whole days afterward. But, as you well know, my dear, Faustina rarely does things by halves. I regaled the whole company so well, with anecdotes and stories, not forgetting my larger-than-life physical assets, spilling like some fleshy cornucopia from out of the tight confines of my evening gown, as I reclined upon my couch, that Honorius insisted I remain at court as his Chief Hostess, entertaining, and wherever necessary, disarming ambassadorial and trading parties. This put me out considerably, for a while. The very last thing I wanted was to extend my stay in that horrible, corrupt, sycophantic hothouse, and particularly so after meeting the divine young Comminilingus, one of the leaders of the British delegation.
    What a beauty he was, Flavia. You know how I adore big men. Comminilingus was one of the most beautifully made members of this category I’ve ever had the luck to come across. Short dark hair in the historic Julian style, cool blue eyes, and a warm, dry, playfully ironic tone of voice, beneath which I could sense the passionate nature held in check within that tall, firm, deep-chested, narrow-waisted, tight-buttocked form.
    The Brits would soon be returning to their beloved, beleagured little island empty handed. I felt very sorry for them, and angry with Honorius for his unimaginative willingness to let this still important province be lost to the Empire. But my pity and anger were instantaneously transmuted into determination to return with them, and do what I could to help, the moment the three leaders, with Comminilingus, came to my apartment to bid me a sad farewell.
    I put my idea to Honorius the next day.
    “Indeed no, Faustina, you can do more for Rome here.” He meant of course more for his coffers as Chief Hostess, though I could also detect, however reluctant, an increasing reliance on my physical proximity. Reluctant? A mere stripling, struggling against Faustina’s presence? Astonishing as it sounds, yes, for I was coming between him and his flapping cloud of true loves: his damned doves. This realisation gave me an idea.
    Honorius spent his afternoons in his most ornate and spacious dovecot in a tree-shaded grove in the palace gardens. The Praetorian Guards posted around it—very unhappy guards, as they felt their masculinity was