'Yeah, but in the scene, this very expensive scene, does it really have that much impact? I mean, does it freaking matter, Connor?'

The director was not a happy bunny. The take was going well, the huge Roman bath set looked fab, the naked actors and extras (so many bloody extras!) oiled and gleaming, sure to titivate the great British public, all was groovy� Until this prat kept interrupting his freaking shoot!

'The whole point, actually, the whole point of the scene, the whole point of the story, isn't bums and boobs. Trust me. That the whole point of the years I've spent studying the classics, you know, degrees, Masters, research fellowship, that kind of dull academic stuff that's helped me write a number one best seller, is that the small stuff matters!

And, in this pivotal scene. . . what freaking matters. . . as you so elegantly put it, is that Claudius is so irate at the slave girl using the strigil with her left hand, that he orders them all killed, every single attendant, just because he believes the lefty to be unlucky!

Furious he was, you should've seen his face! I mean. . . I guess that would've made him furious, really superstitious back then, so yes, it is freaking important that she uses it left-handed. Thank you.'

'OK, reset, take ten, everybody! Oh and Kate, can I have a quick word my lovely? It's about the scraper thingy. . . '

Connor left the set at seven, content that his vision for the scene would be met. Not his vision really, more like his memories. Jeez, Claudius had been a bloody legend, quite literally.

Two years he'd spent researching the governor's, or 'legatus Augusti pro praetore' nephew and his antics in the north.

His uncle, Clodius Albinus, attempting to become Emperor, had left the garrison at Deva, and placed his villa in the care of the wayward Claudius.

Two years of private, and very, very, tedious, spoken Latin lessons, a bloody fortune paid to some of the country's leading language scholars, just so he could get close to his main character (although Claudius had eventually told him that he spoke as fluently as a Brigante goat!)

Claud was certainly a character, but one who had mostly escaped historical infamy, barring a few minor footnotes in the conquest of Britannia. He was recorded as having an interim political posting, badly suited to governing, and relieved after a mere six months, probably after his uncle had been defeated by Septimius Severus.

Little more was known about his public life.

But the governor's hedonistic private life would've made Nero, or even Tiberius, blush!

Connor just needed to keep a close eye on the crew, especially the director, he needed his account to be as accurate as possible, make all those wonderfully painful trips worthwhile.

Before the book, and now the screenplay, Connor, disillusioned with academia, had scraped a living peddling erotica. Risqu� literature for those with the same interests as himself, and had built up a small following online, but he longed for his work to be recognised by the mainstream, not just his dubious fan base.

It was one of these fans that had introduced him to the Council of Scribes. She was a lady as fascinated with the excesses of Roman life as he was, and a lady to whom many favours were owed by the rich and famous.

Although nearly four decades his senior, Connor and Anne had become real life friends, sharing their thoughts, experiences and fantasies. Connor had been introduced to the Japanese art of kinbaku by her, but this practice, based on consent, respect and aesthetics, wasn't enough for Connor.

His fanbase dwindled as his writing became more extreme, the community shunning anything that ignored their ethos based on consent, respect and communication. Their pleasure had strict limits, and Connor was merely emphasising the misconceptions the public had about the lifestyle.

Anne, however, encouraged his excesses, seemingly thrilled at the turn his thoughts were taking, encouraging him to even greater depravities.

He confided in her that his fantasies often revolved around pain and cruelty. Often imagining he was a Roman Emperor with the power of life and death over his playthings, his property.

So naturally he was fascinated with her knowledge of that era, knowledge that he had never stumbled upon, even given his very extensive education.

How she knew these things was beyond him. Maybe she just had a very good, very cruel imagination? Either way, Connor always welcomed their time together, always learned new things in her presence.

The fortress at Deva, for example, reportedly had the largest bath house in Europe. Several eminent archaeologists had discovered buildings that simply should not have been in a military garrison. Even now the elite room and the ellipse rooms defied explanation. Even more baffling was the fact these structures had been built at great expense, used for a very short time, then abandoned. Historians proposed that the materials were transported to bolster the great wall in the far north, to be used in the conquest of Scotland. Their original purpose was lost in time.

But Anne seemed to know exactly what purpose those rooms had served. Claudius, drunk on power, had demanded fitting surroundings for his increasing depravities.

She had told him of rumoured accounts of Claudius's gatherings. On one wild evening, in the bathhouse at the Elite rooms in Deva, the young politician had allegedly put three dozen slaves to death. This merely because one of the attendants had begun to scrape off the scented oils on his body with her left hand. Claud's temper flared, carnage ensued. Once his bloodlust had abated, he'd forced his guests to continue the orgy he was hosting amongst the corpses on the beds and those floating in the bloody red water. Claudius had quickly grown bored of the game, the dead feeling no pain, and had ordered the rooms to be demolished, a tomb for the slaves who had disappointed him and a warning for those who would come after them.

Anne had given Connor the means to experience the delightful madness of Claudius. She'd introduced him to a friend who needed a favour, a favour that she thought would suit Connor down to the ground.

She had then further helped him, coaching him in how to act, how to look, how to speak. She'd even supplied a purse containing coins from the era, in order Connor could pose as a freeman, a Briton seeking to experience the delights of the Empire.

His first trip to the country villa between Mancunium and Deva had been a delightfully inspiring event.

Anne (once again baffling him with her knowledge) had told him that Claudius frequented a particular brothel within the walls of Deva Victrix. Giving him exact times and dates. Connor, never doubting the accuracy of Anne's wisdom, had arranged to be there on one of his visits.

Choosing to tempt Claudius with the offer of something different, he'd bound a young man, utilising his kinbaku and shibari rope skills, certain his target's interest would be peaked by the new thrill.

He was careful not to use the terms, not to discuss the origins, not to even mention the word Japan. Claudius presumed this was a previously unseen aspect of the Britons, and was delighted by the novelty. Spending the night enthralled at Connor's obvious grasp of the beauty of pain.

The plan to ingratiate himself with Claudius had worked, Connor became a regular at the villa.

Each subsequent trip had given him just as much pleasure. He licked his lips, salivating at the memories. He closed his eyes, recalling all that he'd seen, all he'd experienced.

Finally being granted the invitation to attend Deva on that infamous night.

No matter how accurate his screenplay was, he knew it could never be as vividly carnal as the actual event. An event he had revisited over and over, never tiring of the carnage.

He'd be eternally grateful, (even without the bestseller Bloodbath and the upcoming film), for the chance to go back to a time and place where his appetites were not just accepted, but encouraged.

Maybe an hour or two before bed?

He unconsciously touched his jacket lining, reassured by the outline of the pocket watch.

His car pulled up, the driver opening the door for him.

'Thank you, Frank, straight home tonight, it's been a bloody long day!'

Manchester city streets gave way to suburbia, then to Cheshire countryside, as Connor dozed his way through most of the ride home, dreaming of the thrills he'd revisit, bathed in crimson, serenaded by screams.

A polite cough from Frank, 'Home, sir, same time tomorrow?'

'That'd be fine, thanks, goodnight, Frank, see you in the morning.'

'Goodnight, sir, I'll be here for seven.'

Connor watched the Mercedes drive away before reaching for his keys. As he opened the door he was vaguely aware of something moving in the shadows.

Then everything went black.

FWR

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