“Sergio, I must close your wounds now. I’ll be as gentle as possible with you.”
His voice was a whisper. “Could anyone as lovely as you be anything but gentle?”
Manipulating the torn flesh of the gladiator’s thigh, Acte held the wound together with the fingers of one hand while she carefully covered the slashed area with delicate cobwebs.
Having finished this intricate operation, she spoke. “Now I’m going to seal your wounds with hot tallow. Try to lie perfectly still.”
First melting the animal fat in a metal cup over the flame of the lamp, Acte then poured the hot liquid down the length of the wounds. When Sergio winced and moaned at the searing of his flesh, Acte caught his great hand in hers and all but screamed as he crushed her fingers.
Breathlessly, she spoke. “There. It’s done. You’ll be fine now until the physician arrives.”
Laying the tallow cup aside, Acte tried to rise, but Sergio’s hand held her fast.
“Don’t go, Acte. Let me pay you for your kindness. What would you like? A golden comb for your hair? A jeweled bracelet?” He laughed bitterly. “The emperor’s gladiator is rich, you know. I have all the wealth a man could desire except that which can’t be bought with denarii.”
Acte stared at Sergio, not understanding. Why should he of all men be lonely? He was worshiped by all—almost as a god. Indeed, he looked like a god, with his dark crown of curls, his piercing eyes, his strong and perfect body.
As he squeezed her hand once more, Acte gave a slight cry. Sergio’s eyes clouded.
“I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry, Acte. Sometimes I forget my strength.”
She shook her head so that her long hair fell across his bare chest.
At his sharp intake of breath, Acte leaned closer. “Is the pain bad?”
A smile lit his face for the first time as he answered, “The kind of pain you bring no man should have to live without.”
Confused by his words and her own emotions, Acte moved to leave him. Sergio caught her arm.
“No! Stay with me for just a bit.”
Acte was unaccountably moved by the pleading in his eyes and in his voice. Taking a seat beside him, she smiled into his eyes. “I’ll stay, if you will try to sleep.”
As his eyes closed obediently, Acte felt his hand once more on hers, but his touch was tender now—almost loving.
While Acte sat and watched Sergio’s breathing grow deep and steady in sleep, and the emperor remained in his bath seeking relief from his personal torment, others in the villa had gone to their separate chambers to prepare for the coming dinner hour.
The able Sutra gowned Agrippina in a simple stola of somber hue, as befitted her state of mourning. She would have liked to impress Claudius with a more colorful costume, but for now she must play the saddened widow.
Suddenly, a scream of pain came from the adjoining chamber, which had been alloted to Nero. Before Agrippina could react, Nero’s face, crimson with rage, appeared at her door. The source of the agonized moan which had continued after the scream became apparent. Nero led the copper-skinned slave boy, Doryphorus, into his mother’s chamber. The boy continued to moan in pain as Nero twisted his rather large ear cruelly, jerking him into Agrippina’s presence.
The young Nero raged, “I don’t want this ninny to serve me! He is dull-witted and I can’t even pronounce his name. I want the girl, Acte!”
Agrippina tried a soothing tone. “Release the boy, Nero—please. Now, you say he is dull-witted, but don’t you find him attractive?” She walked around the quivering boy, as if assessing him with her eyes. “You know that Acte belongs to Octavia. And it wouldn’t look right for a young man to have a girl as his body servant. Think about it, Nero. Doryphorus here is clean and strong, and quite pleasing in his form. With gentler treatment, I’m sure he would provide you with much amusement.”
Agrippina used the word “amusement” judiciously. She knew of Nero’s habits of perversion but forced herself to believe that he would grow out of them. Meanwhile, she only hoped he wouldn’t teach Britannicus his “games.” Claudius would never stand for that.
Nero released his grip on the boy’s ear and viewed him in a different light. If he couldn’t have Acte, this effeminate boy might satisfy his desire for her.
Doryphorus shrank back as the grinning Nero reached out to stroke his cheek.
“Yes, Mater, you’re right. His flesh is as soft as a girl’s.
“I shall call you Dorph, and I’m quite sure we’ll get along together well. But you must always remember—I am the master and you will obey me in whatever I command.”
Dorph stared wide-eyeid from Nero to Agrippina and then back to the still-smiling Nero.
“Ye-es, master. I’ll do whatever you say. But, please, don’t kill me. I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt me, master, please!”
Nero placed his hands on the slave’s shoulders, massaged them gently and then began exploring the boy’s near-naked body. Agrippina looked away. A low moan of a new kind escaped the slave boy’s lips.
“Yes, Dorph, you’ll do. I’ve been cruel to you, but no more. If I hurt you in the future, I assure you, the pain will bring with it exquisite pleasure.”
Nero leaned forward and kissed the lips of the surprised Dorph. Taking his new partner by the hand, Nero led him out of Agrippina’s chamber.
Agrippina shook her head sadly. Was this the next Emperor of Rome? The realization struck her that the job of putting Nero on the throne would be hers and hers alone. Nero, with his frivolous penchant for music and poetry and his love for other boys, offered little to commend him for the task. The best she could do was cover up for him and hope the fates would be kindly disposed to her plans.
Meanwhile, in her apartments, an anxious Messalina paced back and forth as if to wear a tread line in the pink marble floor. Already dressed and coiffured in majestic style for the evening, she now had to figure her next move before Claudius made his. If not, she might not live to see the prediction of the Sibyl come to pass.
Somehow she had to alert Getio to the fact that their liaison had been discovered by the emperor. But it would be sheer madness for Messalina herself to go to his cottage on the seashore. Her every move would be shadowed by one of her husband’s spies.
For all she knew, Getio might even now be in custody, accused of treason or some other trumped-up charge against the Empire. Knowing Claudius’s pride, Messalina also realized he would not admit to himself or his subjects that his wife had found the arms of a freedman more enticing than his own.
It was not out of the wish to be the proper hostess that Messalina had offered her personal handmaiden, Sutra, to Agrippina, taking the younger and less experienced Nike to serve her. The girl Nike was the younger sister of Getio. She knew of the love between Messalina and her brother and had covered up in the past for the pair when danger was eminent. Now Messalina and Getio needed Nike’s help more than ever.
Messalina’s mind whirled with possible plans of escape. If Claudius gave her time, her escape to safety could be accomplished. Agrippina’s arrival would help in this area. Claudius had already exhibited his tender feelings for his niece and would not want any unpleasantness to upset the bereaved widow. So there might be time to leave the villa and flee south to the Greek territories. Once there, she and Getio could pass themselves off as a simple fisherman and his freedwoman wife. Yes! The plan might work!
Messalina stopped her pacing and sat at a small writing table. Taking stylus in hand, she pondered her words before she began writing the brief note.
G.— C. knows you as a fine fisherman and more. He wishes fish for his table. Together we will provide his catch this night, one way or another. Have your boat ready at Puteoli at midnight. Pompano are running well to the south, I hear.
M.
Messalina sealed the note with hot wax, then called Nike to her.
“Nike, this message must be delivered into the hands of y
our brother—none other. Our very lives depend on you! Wait until the dinner hour and then slip out quietly. The guards will be busy protecting the emperor, so your departure from the villa should be no problem.”
Nike took the note, concealing it in the folds of her tunic. She knew without reading it that its contents sealed her doom, but she understood as well that Messalina gave no thought to that. Rumors about Messalina and her freedman lover were rampant among the slaves. And, of course, everyone knew of the relationship between Nike and Getio. Her brother frequently bragged that his plan was to save enough gold to buy his sister’s freedom when she was of age. That had been going on for years, and she remained a slave.
If Messalina and Getio did manage to escape, the wrath of the emperor would fall upon the innocent Nike. She was devoted to her mistress and loved her brother. But was she willing to give up her promised freedom, possibly even her life, to help them?
Messalina pressed several gold coins into Nike’s palm. “Go now, girl! Keep yourself well concealed until the dinner hour. And guard what I have given you with your life!”
Nike turned to leave, but hesitated, scarcely daring to ask the question that nagged at her brain. Finally, she lowered her eyes and spoke. “Will I be allowed to accompany my mistress and serve her?”
“I will need no servants once I’m away from this place. My love will serve me well enough.”
Nike easily read the truth in Messalina’s answer. She was to be sacrificed so that her mistress and her brother might flee to safety. She bowed and left the chamber.
Messalina continued her pacing. She could do nothing until after the dinner hour. Thankfully, she thought of the emperor’s custom of having his children dine with him on his first evening at the villa. They might distract his attentions from her. Then, too, there were Agrippina and Nero. Messalina smiled to herself. This niece of Claudius’s had the look of a love-starved virgin in her eye.
She spoke aloud, but quietly, in case some gossip-mongering slave was lurking about. “Well, let her have him! They are well suited for each other—a poisoner of husbands and a husband who needs poisoning! I would do it myself if I had the courage. But let him live out the rest of his promised year. I will be happy just to be rid of him. I will have Getio!”
Getio! The very sound of his name brought waves of desire over her. Filling a goblet half full with wine, she emptied a measure of powder from a vial into it. Then, reclining on her couch, Messalina drained the goblet, closed her eyes and felt the aphrodisiac power of the satyrion begin its work. She would be ready for her Getio when the hour arrived.
She clung to a pillow, her body moving in sensual rhythm, as she saw her lover in her mind—tall, strong, beautiful. His sun-bronzed arms had the power to crush her were he not such a gentle lover. But tonight she would arouse him past all tenderness—urge him to be the bull that he was. Her body tingled as she imagined his manliness driving into the very soul of her being. Her arms stretched out to him as if by their own power, and a moan escaped her lips.
An unexpected voice brought Messalina back to painful reality.
“So, my wife feels the need of me, after all.”
She opened her eyes to see Claudius, standing over her, his face a twisted mask she couldn’t read. Had she in her dreaming called out the name of her lover? She dared not speak.
Feeling his own aroused but unsatisfied passions anew, Claudius spoke to this evil goddess he called his wife. “You seem overcome with longing, my dear. Fear not! We shall make short work of the dinner hour and then I will satisfy your every need.”
For the first time in her life, Messalina truly feared her husband.
“I—I must have fallen asleep, Claudius. I was dreaming—the strangest dream,” she lied.
There was a cutting edge to his voice as he spoke. “If dreams can produce such longing, I look forward to the joys real caresses will bring us tonight.”
Claudius caught Messalina’s wrists and pulled her roughly from her couch. The vise of his arms squeezed the breath from her, and Messalina could taste blood as the force of his kisses pressed her lips against her teeth.
When the strength was all but gone from her, Messalina relaxed and began to respond to the rough caresses. The aphrodisiac she had taken had no man’s name on it.
His hand worked at the shoulder clasp of her gown, freeing it to slide to the marble floor. Claudius stepped away, staring at her naked beauty. His eyes traveled over the fullness of her breasts, their nipples peaked with desire; the smooth curve of her belly; the thatch of gold between her legs.
Aching for him to fill her body, Messalina threw herself into his arms. She closed her eyes and moaned as she felt his fingers crawl between her legs. “Now, Claudius, please! Take me now!”
Claudius picked her up in his arms and unceremoniously dropped her on the couch. She spread her legs wide to receive him, but when he didn’t fall upon her, she opened her eyes to see him standing over her, leering down at her nakedness.
Claudius laughed cruelly at the stunned expression on her face. He reached to the floor and flung her turquoise drape into her face.
“Ah, my little bird now sings to be caged, when for so long she has tried to gain her freedom to fly from nest to nest. But the master will say when it is time to nest with his bird. And I am the master! Think how much sweeter the delight will be if it is denied you a bit longer—as you have denied me in the past. Get dressed! Dinner awaits us.”
Claudius turned on his heel and departed the chamber. Furious, Messalina grabbed an alabaster scent bottle and hurled it after him.
“So, Claudius, you want to play games. Well, this bird will nest tonight, but not with her ‘master’!”
Nike hid herself in a shadowed nook of the hallway leading to the dining room. She clutched at her breast, making sure that Messalina’s note was still in its place. The wait for the dinner hour seemed interminable. At last, the emperor entered the chamber. Nike wondered at the odd smile on his lips. Had he already found out about her mission from someone else in the household who might have been eavesdropping outside her mistress’s chambers? She prayed not. Her survival depended upon no one’s knowing.
Messalina was next to enter. Nike wondered why her mistress had changed the turquoise gown in which she had dressed earlier for a flaming drape of much more revealing lines. The filmy gown left almost nothing to the imagination, and its color clashed violently with Messalina’s present hair color.
The emperor also noticed the gown. He pulled his wife to one side as the others entered and spoke to her harshly. “Must you dress like a whore in front of my children?”
She hissed back at him, “I will dress as I am treated!”
The emperor then moved away from his wife to welcome Agrippina and the children to the dining chamber.
“Ah, my dear niece, how lovely you look! I hope you don’t mind that I haven’t ordered an extensive banquet tonight. We’re both tired from traveling in the heat, and, besides, I have other matters to attend to before I can sleep.”
He threw a glance at Messalina, who pretended not to hear his words.
Agrippina, looking every bit the sad and beautiful widow in her flowing gown of midnight blue, smiled at Claudius.
“Any meal, even if it were dry crusts of bread and water, would be a feast at the table of the emperor.”
Claudius beamed, accepting Agrippina’s broad compliment and offering his own. “I think we’ll be served a bit more than that tonight, but if we were dining on bread and water, your presence, my dear, would make even that palatable.”
Messalina glanced at one and then the other in disgust. He was the emperor! He could carry on a flirtation with his niece or a grand passion with any woman he chose and never be brought to task for it. She knew of his favored slave girls—here and in Rome. Even her own Sophia had been taken from her service to his bed. Though Claudius was, at least, discreet enough not to keep a known concubine in the palace
as other men did in their villas.
But she, Messalina, was only a woman! And women, unless they were lowborn or prostitutes by profession, were bound by a different code. The outdated Laws of Augustus, written thirty years earlier, were still in effect. Under the lex de adulteriis, martial law was proclaimed in the family. By her liaison with Getio, Messalina knew that both she and her lover risked being banished from the Empire and having their holdings confiscated, though in Messalina’s case, as the wife of the emperor, her punishment would be far more severe.
Men could use the same law to rid themselves of unwanted wives as easily as shedding an old pair of sandals. It was a simple matter of charging the wife with adultery and paying one witness to testify to the falsehood. Then the divorce came quickly and often profitably for the philandering husband.
Yes, it would serve Messalina’s purposes well to turn the tables on her husband. Once she was safely out of his reach she would make sure that the details of her affair and successful escape were made public. She smiled to herself.
“Ah, Messalina, my wife, share your amusing secret with us.”
She turned her smile on Claudius as she spoke. “Please, my darling, don’t force me to reveal my thoughts of you in front of the children. Their ears are too tender.”
Claudius stared at his wife, wondering at the seductive timbre in her voice. Could it be possible that she actually thought he meant to make love to her later? Could she be looking forward to his attentions? If so, it would be for the first time since Britannicus’s birth. She had repulsed his amorous advances at every turn, claiming fear of another pregnancy sifter her difficult delivery.
Her feelings for him must have turned. He glanced at the beautiful Agrippina, her eyes glowing like amber fire in the night. Yes! That could be the answer to this sudden change. Perhaps Messalina now desired him because she felt a threat from Agrippina. Slave girls were not equals in his wife’s eyes. She had never even begrudged him the love of his lost Sophia. But Agrippina was Messalina’s equal and more. Perhaps he would take his wife to his nest this evening, after all. Hadn’t she begged for what he had to give?
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