Chapter 11

It was a different house this time. Hugh had driven them there, heading out of the city, out into the flat farmland with its ruined churches and dark spinneys of crowded woodland, through one or two tiny villages and then along a series of narrow lanes. They’d left late and now it was truly dark, despite the moon washing the fields with silvery light.

Filled with the dread excitement of adventures unknown, Susie sat in the passenger seat in silence, wishing the cold fingers of apprehension would stop their constant griping in her tummy and leave her with just the warmth of arousal between her legs, even though she knew it was impossible. Fear made her wet, it was that simple. No gripes meant no fear, and that meant no arousal.

Arriving at the house alarmed her still more. The sheer size of the place was intimidating enough, a rambling mansion overlooking a sweeping drive that was probably more than half a mile long. It was, as any estate agent might have said, a secluded location.

But at least she didn’t feel nervous about her costume. She’d been afraid of looking - and feeling - silly, tripping up a suburban drive in full Queen of Egypt garb, but out in the countryside there were no nosey neighbours to see or care.

At the top of the steps leading up to the grand front door Susie was relieved to see two burly Roman soldiers, with helmets shields and spears, standing guard in a welcome confirmation that they’d come to the right place on the right night, and were not about to be greeted by mine host dressed in immaculate dinner suit and black tie. That was a relief, but she was still nervous as her gold sandals slipped a little on steps of granite, weathered by hundreds of years’ service at the family home of the Crispins. Roundheads, cavaliers, Elizabethan courtiers, all had stood there before her, and somehow her unusual attire didn’t seem too out of place now. The history of Mendlesham had at least halved the two thousand year gap between Susie and the queen she was dressed as.

The reception area was capacious and suitably devoid of anything that might have dated it, and the two doors that stood open led into a huge pillared hall, that to Susie seemed Roman in every way; in the interests of authenticity for the night it had in fact been stripped of furniture and decoration, and large swathes of cloth in cream and white disguised the area, so that it might easily have been the Roman palace it was intended to be. And at the far end a large fountain, apparently built from solid marble, filled one corner, with babbling water dribbling from the mouths of tiny angelic figurines. It looked authentic, but was surely made from plastic and specially erected for the party - which on its own spoke volumes about how much cash had been spent in the quest for authenticity.

On either side of the fountain stood an iron cage, and Susie was stunned to see that in each prowled a large black cat. Not a domestic black cat, but a sleek panther or a puma, or something like that. Their eyes were keen, missing nothing, and they occasionally sniffed the air as if ready to eat and hunting the scent of their next meal.

Around the room were low couches, like those she’d seen in history books of actual Roman mosaics, and low tables groaning with food; huge bowls of fruit, large hams, turkeys and roasts, vast choices of cheese and bread and jugs of wine or ale. Susie was lost in admiration for the attention to detail and the overpowering sense of realism the design and layout provided. This was a fancy dress evening like no other she’d ever been to.

‘Ah, there you are.’ It was the host from the other night, the actual Lord Crispin, welcoming them theatrically with open arms. ‘Glad you decided to come. She looks perfect,’ he said to Hugh, ignoring Susie almost completely, except as an object of admiration, just as he had at the photo shoot, just as if she was a fine piece of art or a well trained pedigree bitch of some kind.

Hugh accepted the compliment as his due, and leaned closer as the photo club leader began to speak in lower tones. ‘Everything is as we said,’ he murmured, and Hugh leaned even closer, so the rest of his words were lost to Susie. After a few seconds the man looked searchingly at Susie. Personal authority was a strange enigma, she thought, for he looked every bit as assured in a toga and laurel wreath as he had in his business suit. But then he fitted into his surroundings perfectly; the room was full of men in togas, women in plain white robes and soldiers in short tunics, with swords and sandals and plumed metal helmets. And among the throng, dressed in simple white tunics and carrying jugs of wine and plates of fruit, drifted male and female servants; slaves, she supposed, in the strict obedience to costume, custom and practice Hugh said was a mandatory feature of the evening.

She was surprised she hadn’t been dressed as a slave girl herself, for it was exactly the sort of thing she’d expect to give Hugh a cheap thrill. Instead she looked and felt regal, her cream wraparound robe made from beautiful silk, the gold chain around her waist holding it in place with a loose knot and a single small pin, and not knowing what arrangements Egyptian women made about underwear, she wore only the briefest white panties.

She was also surprised to find there was no other Cleopatra present; it seemed such an obvious choice.

‘Drink?’ Crispin offered, and one of the slave girls passing by knelt, offering a tray of glasses brimming with wine.

Susie took one and so did Hugh, who immediately turned away from her, speaking to the man again in low tones. Susie was too enthralled to be as annoyed as she would otherwise have been, and instead gazed around the room, letting the tiny camera take in the scene. Because Hugh could point his more accurately and switch it on and off his would be the most vital pictures of the evening, and hers would be there as backup. At least that’s how he explained it. What he really meant was that he expected Susie to be too busy to take pictures of any value, and would instead be featuring prominently in his.

The room was busy, quite full, at least a hundred people, she thought, maybe more, perhaps even double that. She let her gaze wander slowly from one to the next, trying to get faces on camera. But it wasn’t easy to concentrate on work because she felt so much a part of the atmosphere, and was shocked at how easy it was to fall into the mood of the event so quickly.

As the man with Hugh - he’d still not been introduced to Susie by name - led them through the room between the tall pillars and the tables laden with delicacies, she saw the kind of things that probably hadn’t been seen by anybody in two thousand years. On a couch in the far corner a man was feeding a woman grapes with one hand, while his other groped around inside her toga, toying with her ample breasts as his growing arousal tented the front of his short tunic. It looked to Susie like a scene from a film of ancient Rome, or a painting come to life.

Grand double doors led out into the peaceful evening, to an elevated patio with ornate stone balustrades and views across to distant, dark rolling hills. The small grottos around the vast gardens, the illuminated ribbed pillars and the white statues rising elegantly from hedges and shrubs - all of it looked as though it might easily have been there for two thousand years, that nothing had changed in this outpost of an empire synonymous with style, decadence and depravity.

Wondering if the setting and the atmosphere had the same surreal effect on the rest of the assembled company as it did on her, Susie eventually asked, ‘Where are all these guests from?’ She was utterly enthralled by what she’d seen so far, and that fuelled her natural inquisitive nature. ‘Who are they all?’

Crispin looked at her for a while, and then eventually answered, ‘Friends,’ the tone in his voice unable to mask a natural caution. ‘Some are friends who share a mutual interest in the full enjoyment of life, in a similar way to you. In fact,’ he went on, ‘exactly like you, really.’

Susie felt a little embarrassed, remembering how intimately he knew her, as he continued. ‘There’s always one who does and one who watches,’ he said. ‘And it has long been apparent that whilst both of them think they’re getting the most out of the arrangement, in fact there is always one who benefits the most. But as long as neither of them really knows, then they are happy to visit us on these occasions as pleasure seekers.’

‘And the others?’ she asked.

‘The staff.’ He gazed around the terrace at the people quietly milling about, some laughing lightly, some drinking and eating. ‘My family has owned this estate for hundreds of years. Most who work here also live on the estate, and their families have done so for hundreds of years. Their great-grandfathers worked for my great-grandfather and so on back through the generations. In that sense, and in the fact that their loyalty to this house and this family is unquestioning, they are all friends.’

Susie listened politely.

‘I know it seems an anachronism to talk like that these days, and a politically incorrect one at that, but I’m afraid it’s true. The people who live and work on the estate all feel the same sense of loyalty to the family as their relatives have done for many, many years. Let’s be fair, not much has changed in that time - not in this part of Norfolk, at least.’ As if he could see the questions forming in Susie’s mind and on her lips, he swept them away with several more broad strokes of his opinionated brush. ‘Hard for outsiders to believe it, I’m afraid, but nonetheless true. There are some people on the estate who’ve hardly ever left it. Take him, for example,’ he gestured towards a Roman soldier with a weathered face and grey hair, resolutely guarding a table of food from unseen adversaries. ‘Old Marshal’s typical. He went into Norwich on the bus once, in the fifties. Said it was too noisy and he couldn’t walk without bumping into people, so he’s never been back. His wife took his word for it and she’s never been there at all.’

Susie considered the possibility that in this modern day there could be entire villages of people who had never expanded their horizons beyond the one that was physically visible, and found it hard to accept.

‘I know, I know.’ The man smiled his superior smile. ‘But there it is.’

‘And the guests?’

‘Like yourself, my dear,’ he said, somewhat condescendingly. ‘They range from friends and acquaintances, to people with a common interest, something to offer, something to give in exchange for a taste of the good life, however brief.’ He saw the look on Susie’s face. ‘Oh yes, we have no illusions here. We have a certain style, a certain level of luxury and people want to be a part of it, they want to belong, to enjoy. And most of them will do anything in exchange. Anything.’ He’d chosen the word carefully, she could see. ‘They’ll abandon their principles, their morals, they’ll set aside discomfort, displeasure and even disgust, if it gets them what they want. Greed is a far more powerful motivator than those not in a position to exploit it would believe.’

Even if Susie hadn’t seen enough of life already to know that most people were capable of most things, his casually assured manner would have convinced her he was speaking the truth - and speaking from experience.

‘Take Rosanna, there,’ he continued, waving a languid finger in the direction of a pretty girl drifting towards them. ‘She’s the daughter of a business acquaintance. The family is financially comfortable but not, well, not excessively rich.’ He smiled confidently to indicate that he himself was indeed, well, excessively rich. ‘Certainly not rich enough for her tastes,’ he went on. ‘She wants the lifestyle, the parties, the yachts, the holidays, the fit young polo players, but she hasn’t the money to partake. On the other hand, she does have a certain... currency. Everything has a price, and so does everybody.’ He smiled as the girl brushed past them with a sparkle in her eyes and an inscrutable smile dancing on her lips, that suggested an awareness of being talked about, and loving it.

‘My dear,’ he said, and she paused and smiled angelically at him. ‘This is Caroline.’ His inflection had Susie concerned that he knew it wasn’t her real name, but Rosanna clearly read it differently, apparently assuming Susie to be competition, for she cast a fierce glare back at Susie as she smoothly, arrogantly moved on towards another chattering group... and straight into a Roman soldier, knocking the silver tray of drinks he was holding clanging and crashing to the flagstones.

‘Stupid man!’ Rosanna hissed at the poor individual as he instinctively started to bend towards the carnage of wine and glass. ‘Look what you’ve done!’ Her hand lashed out, landing flat across the side of his face with a slap that silenced any conversation that lingered following the clatter of the tray hitting stone. ‘Don’t just stand there like an idiot, you great ox! Clear it up!’ Her hand lashed out again and the soldier stood impassive as her hand struck across his face again.

‘Tie her,’ someone calmly interceded. It was an urbane, silver-haired man of evident authority, and the burly soldier immediately grabbed the indignant girl’s arms, another swiftly moving to assist him, Susie barely able to believe it was the same haughty female she was watching, her snooty expression and demeanour evaporating dramatically. Cringing away from the two soldiers as if afraid of having her slaps returned, she was unable to conceal genuine trepidation or the tears that threatened to spill forth, the high and mighty exterior visibly melting.

‘Tie her,’ the man calmly repeated, and the soldiers obeyed, manhandling her against a large pillar, facing it. She was sobbing quite openly now, desperately straining to look over her shoulder for help or support or a friendly face, but finding none in the crowd that gathered, muttering and nodding sagely with a strange look in their eyes and a slightly ragged edge to their muted comments.

The two soldiers pulled her arms around the pillar and tied her wrists with a leather strap, which appeared to be part of their uniforms. Her cheek was against the column of stone, her pale face turned towards the side where Susie was standing. Her eyes were screwed shut and she was sobbing gently.

‘Hold this,’ said the man, passing his wine to the soldier beside him, who had already unbuckled his sword belt and was offering the leather strap in exchange.

Taking it in a determined grip he moved closer and lifted the hem of the girl’s short dress, revealing a pair of firm, naked, perfectly rounded buttocks.

The men in the growing crowd murmured with appreciation, but their whispers were silenced by the whistle of the leather belt through the air and the flat crack as it licked across the exposed buttocks, making them quiver as the girl squealed in shock and surprise. The blotchy red line had only just started to appear when the belt lashed down again, making her wail once more, and the man paused, waiting for the next welt to appear while the girl sobbed, biting her lip against the pain she felt and the sting she expected.

The man raised his arm and lashed out again, using all his strength. Fortunately for her he was quite elderly and his blows were not as powerful as they could have been, but it was still a cruel blow, landing straight across both buttocks and making the hapless girl wail for the third time.

Chest heaving from the exertion, the man surveyed his handiwork with obvious relish before turning to the soldier beside him and holding out the borrowed belt. Susie battled to control her thundering heart and rapid breathing, provoked by the sudden eroticism of the scene. The instant dispensing of punishment, the lovely naked bottom whipped mercilessly, and the growing marks that signalled the sentence had been expedited, all left her breathless with excitement.

‘Take her,’ the man said between ragged breaths, and the girl tugged on her bonds, shaking her head when she heard the words. Puzzled, Susie watched as the two soldiers released the girl and dragged her away.

The host’s face was an implacable mask as he watched everything, and Susie struggled to control the butterfly dog-fight in her stomach and the molten heat between her legs, stoked to new intensity by the look on the girl’s face, who clearly knew what sort of fate awaited her. Susie could only guess what that might be, but the anguished expression left her in little doubt about the nature of the punishment that awaited the poor girl.

And though Susie had fought for self-control she knew her bright eyes and flushed cheeks revealed to all who cared to look that the scene had affected her considerably.

‘Another enthusiastic guest playing her role to the full,’ the host mused as he led Susie back inside. ‘And loving every moment she was too.’

But Susie, who’d interpreted the reaction of the girl differently, didn’t believe him even slightly. Which was probably a good thing, because it meant she and Hugh might very well be on to something. On the other hand, if they were on to something they would have to be extremely careful not to let their guard slip.

Without a watch to measure the passing time, Susie didn’t know if her camera was still sending its pictures to the recorder outside in the car, but she hoped so, because so far nothing truly exciting had occurred, and what they needed was a collection of genuinely scurrilous pictures, preferably of known people doing things they shouldn’t. But her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the clapping of hands and the host calling for silence and close attention from everyone, which he received immediately, the bustle and murmur dying away quickly to leave a tense air of expectation.

Politely he thanked one and all for their attendance and participation, reminding them that taking part to the full was what made the evening such a success. ‘I hope you will continue to enjoy yourselves for the rest of the night.’ His smile left no doubt about the meaning of his words and induced a few knowing mumbles, bawdy sniggers, and raised glasses. ‘So with that in mind,’ he continued, ‘it’s time for the games to begin.’ Again he clapped his hands, twice, and the partygoers looked around eagerly to see where and how the entertainment would commence.

‘No feast would be complete without a sporting contest,’ he said, ‘and we begin with the traditional entertainment of our time. Two males will now demonstrate their strength and agility as they wrestle for us.’ As he spoke two lean young men appeared by his side, and Susie joined in the collective gasp that was almost exclusively drawn from the women in the room, for the two men were handsome, glistening with oil, and utterly naked.

‘The bout ends when one of the contestants is unable to continue for any reason,’ announced the host, explaining the rules. ‘They may not use any weapon, but they can use hands and feet in any way they choose. The loser gets only the accolade of taking part. The winner, as always, receives a prize, and tonight I’m glad to say that our members have donated a total of five thousand pounds.’ Nods of heads, comments of approval and a ripple of restrained applause, which Susie joined in with, accompanied this news. But five thousand pounds! This was no demonstration contest, this was going to be a real battle and she felt a little clutch of nervous fear in her tummy - and warmth radiating between her thighs, reminding her that she was still simmering with arousal.

Everyone moved out to the gardens, Susie going with them, and formed a circle on the perfectly manicured, sheltered lawn. They separated to create a narrow path to let Crispin through, and he took his place on a small platform overlooking the small arena the encircled bodies created.

Susie looked around for Hugh but there was no sign of him, and now she thought about it, she couldn’t really recall the last time she had seen him. But there was no time to worry because the crowd was cheering as the wrestlers faced each other, prowling warily before they rushed together, grappling for a hold on oiled muscle and flesh, slipping and falling, and an animalistic roar of enthusiasm marked first blood, a fine spray from an assaulted nose, smearing over both glistening bodies in their sweaty embrace.

As the two young men rocked and punched and kicked the crowd yelled and cheered and clapped, many of the women more animated than the men, screaming louder, waving their arms as they encouraged the fighters, whose combat grew increasingly vicious and bloody. Susie had never been a fan of boxing or wrestling, but she’d seen women by the ringside and knew the carnal effect that violence could have on even the most refined of them, and she was seeing it now as the veneer slipped away and passions quickly surfaced. Encouraged, no doubt by the whole escapist atmosphere of the evening, modern standards of behaviour vanished and Susie was looking at scenes that hadn’t been observed since the days of the Roman circus, when the poorer boys of the city would make it a point to sit next to a woman of wealth and breeding, in the hope of being able to touch them when the bloodlust created near hysteria. They were successful more often than not, and many were rewarded with fiercely quick couplings under the dark colonnades. Now, in modern England, it was just the same, hands everywhere, the older men fondling the young slave girls and the young men making free with whichever woman was near - in some cases two, Susie noticed, one young man with a hand thrust into the togas of the women on either side of him as they cheered the battle raging in the small grass arena. The host seemed not to notice, eyes watching the fighters intently, completely absorbed.

Then a powerful kick landed on a jaw and sent one of the fighters tumbling backwards, spraying blood from nose and mouth, spattering the women nearest him, but they apparently neither noticed nor cared. Caught up in the frenzied moment Susie cheered as well, and then stopped, feeling foolish, but no one was paying attention to her. There were more cheers as the victim rose unsteadily to his feet, the rabid crowd clearly delighted the fight was not yet over, clearly aroused at the prospect of more blood and more violence. One of those, an attractive woman, was leaning forward slightly, and Susie realised her toga was rucked up at the back and an enterprising male was screwing her from behind, clinging on desperately, trying to stay inside her until he finished what he’d started.

And he was not the only one, Susie realised. Over in some bushes, away from the light of the small arena and only partly visible in the dark, a male bottom rose and fell and clearly there was a supine female beneath it, though it was hard to discern features in the tangle of robes and undergrowth. And there was a woman on her knees, head beneath the tunic of a soldier who stood impassively on guard by one of the elaborate statues, trying to remain stoic and conceal his delight as the head below his waist bobbed faster and faster.

Everyone was so totally absorbed in the violence of the fight or the indulgence of sexual gratification that Susie was sure she’d not be missed, so she began to slip slowly backwards through the debauched throng and headed back inside, relieved to see that the large hall was deserted; she’d worried that she’d been too involved outside and left it too late, that there would be too many people milling about. But luckily there weren’t.

If anyone asked she was searching for the toilet, but really she was looking for the girl who’d been whipped earlier, to see if she had truly been an enthusiastic guest or if - as Susie suspected - something more sinister was going on. The girl’s tears had been real, Susie was certain, as had her whole reaction to the punishment, but more significant was her reaction to what was going to happen out of sight of the gathered guests and servants. She’d been genuinely frightened by that threat, Susie knew.

And Susie was determined to find out why.