His thoughts were distracted by Agrippina’s voice. “Uncle Claudius, don’t you think it will soon be time to cut my Nero’s locks? He is, after all, almost a man.”
The blue and gold of her deadly ring gleamed as she ran her fingers through Nero’s shoulder-length hair.
“By all means, Agrippina. I will see to it that my personal barber does the job.”
A prideful Messalina broke in. “Britannicus had his first haircut some months ago. Of course, the son of the emperor comes to manhood much sooner than other boys of less noble lineage. I should think Nero might keep his curls for another year or so.”
The venom of jealous mothers passed between the two, and Claudius caught the tension in the air.
“Nonsense, my dear! Nero has well passed the time for his hair to be cut. We’ll have it done in the style of the Caesars, since that’s the blood that flows through his veins.”
Nike still watched and listened from her hiding place. There was still plenty of time. The main course had not yet been served. She stared intently at the young slave boys with their peacock-feather fans, stationed about the room to circulate the air and cool the diners, at the same time keeping the summer’s swarming flies away. Acte usually held a position behind the Lady Octavia, but she had been excused from her evening duties to continue caring for Iron Face.
The group at the table seemed unbalanced somehow—one man, two lovely women and three silent children. Britannicus and Octavia shared their father’s fair coloring, but their features, seemingly carved by an expert artisan of Parian marble, were inherited from their mother. Nero, while not ruggedly handsome like his great-uncle, was nevertheless a striking youth with his bronze curls and air of intensity.
As Nike studied the boy, he glanced in her direction and for a moment she feared her presence had been detected. It was time to make her move. She hurried down the passageway, losing the sound of the conversation left behind in the dining chamber.
Claudius was speaking. “Agrippina, shouldn’t Nero have tutors? I have several learned men who instruct Britannicus on the law and other matters he’ll need to know as the next emperor of Rome. They would gladly take on the challenge of another student. Britannicus learns so quickly that he hardly gives them time to teach him.”
Nero’s voice cracked the silence, shocking all at the table. “I have my own tutors.”
Agrippina flushed with embarrassment as she fumbled for words. “Excuse him, please, emperor! Nero is not accustomed to such noble company. He will not speak out at your table again. That I promise you!” She gave her outspoken son a withering look.
“It is forgiven, Agrippina. But what of these tutors?”
Agrippina sighed as she answered, “I’m afraid Nero’s regular tutors are both out of the country at present. We’ve been relying on poor substitutes until their return.”
“Then the matter is settled. Nero will attend classes with Britannicus.”
Again Nero broke in. “I will have my own tutors or none at all!”
Agrippina spoke sharply. “You are excused, Nero! Send your boy for a whipping at once!”
Nero lingered just long enough to hear the emperor say, “That won’t be necessary, Agrippina. It is the boy’s first night here. He’ll soon become accustomed to our ways.”
Nero turned a sarcastic smile on the group as he left the dining chamber. He wandered alone down the hall whistling, then stopped.
“By all the gods, Nero, you do need a flogging, and a good one, too. How impudent of you to speak out at the emperor’s table! I’ll see that my boy gets what I deserve!”
The thought of administering his own beating to someone else pleased Nero immensely. He hurried down the outside corridor to his room. Just as he reached the doorway he saw a woman’s figure hurrying through the garden. Distracted for the moment, he decided to follow her. If luck was with him, it might be Acte. How perfect it would be to find her alone in the dark garden—much more satisfying even than flogging Dorph.
As he gained on the figure, he recognized not Acte, but the slave woman Nike, whom he had seen earlier in the day on the terrace with his mother and Messalina. Where could she be going in such haste? Again his mind raced with ideas. He hoped she was going to meet her lover. Then he could watch and learn, though there was little he didn’t know already from spying on his mother and her husband. Somehow, though, he felt that Crispus was not adept at the business of lovemaking—with either women or boys. He had shown Nero no thrills whatsoever after the first time.
Nero saw Nike go into a hut on the seashore. This must be her lover’s house—a freedman, no doubt. He crept close to an open window and listened for the sounds of lust he knew so well. But, to his disappointment, the man and woman were talking instead. Just as he was about to leave, he heard the name of Messalina mentioned. He crept closer, holding his breath to hear every word.
“Getio, you must take me with you!” It was Nike pleading.
“That’s nonsense, little sister! It will be a miracle if Messalina and I can carry this off with just the two of us. To take you along would be suicide. Here, take this gold. It will be enough with what Messalina gave you to buy your freedom.”
Nike began to cry.
“Getio, you know the emperor will never allow me to buy my freedom after you take his wife away. He’ll torture me for my secrets and then kill me when he finds out what he wants to know.”
Getio sounded impatient. “Then take the gold and leave tonight. You can be lost in the crowds of Rome before anyone knows you’re gone. Aren’t you waiting on Messalina now?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then Messalina will simply retire to her chamber early and you will go with her. She can give you something to wear so you won’t be recognized as a runaway.”
Nero had heard enough. This night would turn out to be even more interesting than he had anticipated. He moved silently a little way up toward the villa, but kept the door of the fisherman’s hut in sight. As he waited for Nike to come back out, he bided his time by picking several willow branches from a tree in the garden. Yes, these would do nicely. He began plaiting them into a sort of whip.
It was only minutes before her slender form was silhouetted against the light behind her. Once the door closed, Nero could still see her white tunic as she hurried up the path toward him. He waited until she was a few paces away before he stepped out of the shadows to confront her. She gave a startled cry, her hand going to her heart.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you, Nike.”
Her voice quivered in reply. “Master Nero?”
There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “Yes, it is I. You see, I was a naughty boy at the emperor’s table tonight so I was sent away from the dining chamber. I never even got my supper.”
Nike relaxed in the darkness, thinking Nero an injured and hungry child needing someone to talk to.
“I’m sorry you missed your dinner. Would you like me to sneak you something to your bedchamber?”
Nero turned on her in mock revulsion. “Oh, shame on you, Nike! I know the reason you wish to come to my bedchamber!”
Pretending to run away drew the hoped-for response from Nike. She chased after him in a panic.
“Wait, Master Nero! Where are you going? I only meant I would bring you some food if you want it.”
His tone now imperious, he turned on her. “Save your explanations for my mother. She’s warned me about tarts like you often enough.”
Nero turned and started up the path once more. Truly frightened now that her plan and her life depended on this strange boy, Nike rushed up the path after him, her heart pounding.
“Wait, Master Nero! I have something for you. Look, gold! I’ll give it all to you, if you won’t tell the Lady Agrippina or anyone else that you saw me in the garden.”
She held her breath as he turned to consider her offer. Nero looked at the gold coins in Nike’s outstretched palm—not nearly enough
to buy her freedom, as her brother had said.
“Is that all you have?” His question held accusation.
Nike reached into the folds of her tunic and brought forth a leather pouch which jingled with the sound of gold.
“Here, Master Nero, take it all. Just, please, don’t tell anyone of our conversation here!”
Nero grabbed the bag of coins. He looked up to see tears glistening on Nike’s cheeks.
“Why are you crying, slave? I have made you honest. It isn’t right that a slave should have gold without her master’s knowledge.”
Nike pleaded, “Then you won’t tell anyone that we talked here tonight?”
“No,” Nero answered. “I won’t tell a soul that you gave me your gold or that we talked.”
Nike bowed down before Nero, feeling safe for the moment. Nero flicked her back with his willow whip.
“Go now, slave!”
Nike raced up the garden steps to the villa.
Nero stood flicking his whip and chuckling to himself. “No, Nike, I won’t tell anyone that you gave me your gold or that we talked in the garden. But I made no promise not to tell of your conversation with your brother.”
As he wandered back through the garden to the villa, Nero tested his willow whip on the marble statues. Pleased with his handiwork, he said to the frozen figure of Juno, “Yes, this will do for my whipping, which we both know I richly deserve. Poor Dorph! How he must suffer for me.”
Nero was smiling as he entered his bedchamber. Dorph ran to greet him, falling on his face to kiss Nero’s feet as his young lord had instructed him to do.
Nero raised him gently and smothered his smooth face with kisses, all the while hiding the whip behind his back.
Nero held the slave close as he spoke softly to him. “Dorph, you know I promised I would never hurt you again and I showed you this afternoon how gentle I can be. You did like that, didn’t you?”
Dorph nodded vigorously. “Yes, master!”
Producing the whip and smiling at the horror in Dorph’s eyes, Nero continued, “Well, I’m afraid I must go back on my word. I was out of place at supper tonight and the emperor ordered a thrashing. You being my whipping boy, what else can I do? The emperor commanded it.”
Dorph’s eyes grew wide with fright as he voiced his horror. “But, master, I’ve never been whipped before.”
“Well, unfortunately, you must accept my whippings in order to enjoy the delights of being my boy.”
Without further conversation, Nero tore off the slave’s tunic, and, making strips from it, first gagged Dorph and then tied his hands and feet together. Lying face down on the cold marble, Dorph could only whimper.
“My, my, Dorph, you look like a pig trussed up for market,” Nero mused.
Whistling the whip through the air, Nero thrashed the squirming boy ten times, then stopped.
The weeping slave relaxed, thinking his trial over. But his master didn’t loosen his bonds.
“This is so painful for me, Dorph. But one thing I can do. I promised that with pain there would always be pleasure. So now you will have your pleasure before receiving your other ten lashes. You see, I spoke out twice at supper, so the punishment must be doubled.”
Aroused already, Nero grew more urgent as he oiled himself. Then, parting the cheeks of the quivering Dorph, he penetrated deeply. After several thrusts, he moaned with satisfaction and rolled off the slave. The rest of the thrashing was not nearly so pleasing to the young Nero. His mind was on other business—business pertaining to the emperor’s wife and her lover.
When the full twenty lashes had been administered, Nero untrussed the slave and gently applied salve to the wounds he had inflicted. Then he said, “And now, Dorph, it’s your turn.”
Nero stripped off his tunic quickly and took a position face down on his couch, his knees drawn up beneath him. Dorph picked up the willow whip with a gleeful gleam in his eyes.
Nero cringed in horror as he cried, “No! No! Not the pain, you ninny! The pleasure!”
Two
Claudius, his wife and his niece lingered over figs, cheese and wine long after the children were excused. The emperor made several unsuccessful attempts to bring the dinner hour to a close, but neither of the women seemed inclined to rise from the table.
His eyes wandered time and again to the revealing gown of flame, which had shocked him in front of his children, but now aroused him. Why had Messalina dressed so provocatively, if not for that very purpose?
Had Claudius been able to read minds, he would have known that each woman was attempting to distract him for her own reasons.
Messalina’s thoughts roamed the seashore as she repeatedly refilled her husband’s goblet. If she could hold him long enough at the table, she might coax him into overindulging and falling asleep early. She longed to flee the villa to race to her waiting lover’s arms.
Agrippina couldn’t miss the amorous eyes of Claudius undressing his wife at the table. Perhaps the rumors in Rome of Messalina’s freedman lover were only stories made up by the many who hated Claudius. Nor had she missed the impact of Messalina’s gown. This, in Agrippina’s mind, was a loving wife’s invitation to her possibly roaming husband to come home to her bed. She cursed the spilled goblet of poisoned wine. She would have to make another attempt—and soon.
At last the emperor rose from the table, stretching and yawning. “My dears, you must excuse me. This day has been too long, too hot and altogether too arousing for a man of my age.
Messalina fluttered to his side like some exotic bird. “But, my husband, you haven’t finished your wine.”
He smiled, obviously pleased by her attentions.
“Dear lady,” he whispered, “do you want to make me drunk and impotent? We have business to finish.”
Agrippina excused herself, leaving the loving pair alone—the last thing Messalina wanted.
As their guest disappeared down the corridor, Claudius embraced his wife and whispered, “It’s been a long time, my dearest. This will be like our first night of love, only better.”
Messalina forced a smile as she broke the embrace.
“Claudius, have you no modesty? There are ears to hear every word you speak in these walls around us.”
Claudius thundered good-naturedly, “They are my walls! Let them listen, if they wish!”
Looking into his eyes convincingly, Messalina commanded her emperor, “Go to bed and rest a bit. I want to bathe and scent my body before I come to you.”
She kissed him with false tenderness and departed, leaving the longing Claudius gazing after her.
As Agrippina returned to her apartment, she heard a cry from Nero’s adjoining rooms. She went to the door to see the naked slave boy straddling Nero from behind. Revulsion filled her.
“Nero, get dressed and come to my chamber immediately!”
Dorph’s eyes widened in fright as he pulled himself free from Nero.
“Does this mean I’ll have to take another whipping for you, master?”
“Not this time, Dorph, my boy. I have some news that will divert Mater’s attention from my wrongdoings.”
Slipping his tunic quickly over his head, Nero went to stand before his outraged mother. She glowered at him. At times, Nero thought, her silence could be more painful than her words.
At length, she calmed herself enough to speak, in an indignant tone. “Nero, you were a medical miracle at birth. Haven’t I told you that you were taken from my body by your feet? You should have suffocated in that position, but by the grace of the gods, you survived. It would have been an evil omen, if the first rays of Apollo’s morning sun hadn’t shone upon your face as it first emerged from my womb. This must have a meaning! You are meant for greatness and, by all the gods, I’ll see that you achieve it!
“In order to do so, you must give up your perversions. You will be properly wed when the time comes, without the slightest blemish on your name, though you’v
e tainted your body already. I know that for the present you’ve been taken away from your friends in Rome, but at least keep quiet at your games so that others won’t know. Am I understood?”
Nero hung his head to hide his smile.
“Answer me!”
Controlling his features, he looked his mother in the eye as he spoke. “But, Mater, what about Crispus? He taught me these things.”
Her eyes blazed as she answered, “And never forget how Crispus met his end! You see this ring? It isn’t called the Death Pearl without reason. I need only press the pearl and a poison of unequaled strength, tasteless and odorless, is released from the band. Should it become necessary, I wouldn’t hesitate to use it on anyone who stands in the way of my goals. Anyone! Do you understand what I’m telling you, Nero?”
Nero squirmed in discomfort. It was time to make his move.
“Mater, do you know that the slave Nike has a brother—a freedman?”
Agrippina stared at her son, making no connection between her warning and his words, but certain he had some direction in mind.
“Go on.”
“After I was dismissed from supper tonight, I wandered out into the garden. I saw Nike there, hurrying to the seashore. Since I had nothing better to do I followed her to her brother’s cottage and listened outside the window. Getio plans to run away with the emperor’s wife tonight. They are lovers. Is that very evil, Mater?”
The innocence in his voice was wasted on the knowing Agrippina. Grabbing Nero by his shoulders, she shook him until his head seemed to bounce up and down.
“Tell me the truth, Nero, and all of it. Our very futures may depend on your words. And, believe me, my young rutting piglet, if the story isn’t pure fact, you’ll pay dearly!”
Nero knew his mother could be tender at times, but he also knew she was true to her threats.
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