Rapture's Slave

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  The two guards whispered coarsely to each other. Nike couldn’t catch their words, but she understood the meaning of the conference.

  They turned back to her, smiling, and removed all the jewels from her pockets, then ripped the cloak roughly from her shoulders.

  The first man spoke again. “My friend and I have decided to give you your freedom, but you’ll have to show us some appreciation in return for the favor.”

  The one named Gaius walked around Nike, using his sword to raise the scarlet gown Messalina had worn at dinner and expose Nike’s shapely legs and thighs.

  “A tender pullet, if I ever saw one. Don’t you agree, Balbus?”

  Balbus, the larger and higher-ranking guard, pinched her arms and cheeks and then ran his hand over her full breasts.

  “We won’t know for sure, Gaius, until we’ve tested the meat.” Then he spoke directly to Nike. “Well, girl, what do you say? Do you really want your freedom?”

  Nike slowly nodded her agreement, deciding that life, at all costs, was the most precious thing she owned—the only thing she owned at present.

  Leering at her through the darkness, Balbus ripped off the jeweled clasp of the gown so that it floated like a wisp of fiery mist to the ground. In the moonlight her bare flesh glowed like one of the marble statues in the garden.

  Wasting no time with preliminaries, he threw her to the ground and mounted her. Nike forced her mind to other things, as she had learned to do over the years when being taken by faceless, nameless men. This one was brutal and foul-smelling. It seemed an eternity to Nike before he finished with her and turned her over to the younger, but equally anxious, guard.

  Gaius was different. His ways were gentler and he whispered pretended words of love which aroused her rather than revolting her as had the obscenities Balbus had slobbered into her ears. But still, her body ached with exertion when at last he had satiated his lust.

  Nike decided to take a chance. She spoke to Gaius quietly while he still lay panting on top of her. “I have nothing in the world now. If I return to the villa I’ll be killed, even though I didn’t steal the jewels. You seem kind, Gaius. Won’t you let me have just one piece of jewelry so I can buy food until I find work?”

  A softened voice whispered back to her, “Where are you headed from here?”

  He could see the tears on her cheeks as she answered. “I’d planned to go to Rome and lose myself in the throngs.”

  “You’ll never make it that far and live to tell the tale. If two of the emperor’s soldiers have misused you, think what the bandits and brigands on the road will do to you.”

  There was sincere regret in his voice.

  “Here, take this necklace, but forget about Rome; go to Puteoli, to the house of Fortuna. Tell her that Gaius Lavinius sent you and give her the necklace. She’ll take you in and the jewels will more than pay your room and board until you can find a better place. Now get away quickly, before Balbus changes his mind and decides we should turn you in.”

  Nike touched the cheek of Gaius Lavinius, too overcome with relief and gratitude to speak. Then she vanished into the blue velvet night.

  Claudius stormed about the villa, rousing everyone from sleep. His fury turned in all directions, causing the bravest of his soldiers to cower under his hysterical commands.

  A legion of twenty-five guards on horseback rode south to Puteoli to head off the escaping couple in case they had already left the vicinity of the villa.

  These armed Praetorians didn’t notice the woman hiding in the shadows of the Arco Felice as their horses’ hooves clattered over the cobbled way beneath the arch. They never saw the fear in her eyes or heard the frightened sob escape her lips as they raced so closely past her that she could have reached out and touched them if she had wished.

  Claudius charged about, bellowing commands like a wounded bull.

  At one point, Agrippina caught his arm and cautioned, “Uncle, calm yourself. You’ll have an attack!”

  He spoke in pained tones. “What is this night, dear Agrippina, if it isn’t an attack of the cruelest kind upon my breaking heart?”

  And then he was off again, shouting orders to the confused household.

  Praetorians were everywhere—running in aimless circles, unsure of what they were supposed to do. This was madness! Messalina would escape with Getio simply because of the disorganization.

  Taking up a sword which someone had dropped in his haste, Agrippina left the villa and wound her way through the dark garden toward the cottage near the seashore.

  Passions spent for the moment, eyes filled to brimming with the sight of his love, Getio blew out the oil lamp, plunging the cottage into darkness except for the few stray moonbeams which found their way in through the small window to turn Messalina’s skin a soft silver-white.

  She lazed in bed, even though she knew they must leave soon.

  Getio whispered to her as he kissed her closed eyelids, “Stay where you are, my little slave. The urge of nature calls. I’ll be back in a moment and then we’ll go.”

  As he slipped out the door, Messalina stretched and purred in feline satisfaction. She kept her eyes closed, reliving the past hour, not wanting it to end.

  As the door squeaked on its hinge, she stretched out her arms and invited, “Come to me just once more, my love.”

  “He will never come again, whore!”

  At the sound of Agrippina’s voice, Messalina’s eyes opened in shock and fear. She clutched at the sheet to cover her nakedness.

  “No need to try to hide yourself, Messalina. It’s too late. You see, your plot’s been exposed. Claudius is at this moment sending guards to arrest you. He’s half mad. I believe he means to send you to his torture rack. You know what enjoyment he gets from watching a lingering death, particularly that of a woman. It usually takes a female longer to die. We have more stamina than men.”

  In her fright and confusion, Messalina heard little of what Agrippina said to her. Her only real fear at the moment was that Getio might be dead already. She knew Claudius would never have the will to kill her, even knowing that she was an adulteress.

  She summoned her courage and spoke. “How dare you come here? Where’s Getio?”

  Agrippina’s response cut like a dagger. “You’ll never see him again.”

  “Is he dead?” Messalina choked.

  Agrippina maintained her poised mastery of the situation. “I think you know the answer to that. As for my daring to come here, I’m here to remove the guilt that Claudius would suffer afterward for killing the mother of his children. If, indeed, they are his children.”

  Seeing the gleam of the steel sword blade for the first time, Messalina grabbed her tunic, but Agrippina flicked it away with the tip of the blade.

  “No, no, my dear! We wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise for our emperor. He’ll find you dead clothed only in your naked beauty which he desired tonight, but you gave to a freedman instead.”

  Agrippina enjoyed toying with her victim.

  “You know, I tried to kill you earlier today. Remember the wine you spilled? I seasoned it with my best poison. Little did I suspect that I’d be provided the perfect opportunity to finish you before the night was over. Then Claudius will be free to marry me and my Nero will be the next Emperor of Rome.”

  Forgetting her own danger, Messalina screamed, “Never! Britannicus will rule!”

  Agrippina moved closer and, tracing the curve of Messalina’s belly and breasts with the tip of the sword, drew a thin trickle of blood, finally bringing the point to rest under Messalina’s chin. She dared not move or speak for fear the blade would pierce her throat.

  “Too bad you won’t be here to see my Nero on the throne.”

  At the sound of approaching guards outside the cottage, Agrippina was distracted from her game for a moment. Before she could deliver the death glow, Messalina grabbed her tunic and leaped out the open window by the bed.

  As the
door burst open, a distraught Agrippina fell into the arms of the emperor.

  “Oh, Claudius, don’t punish me for letting the harlot escape.”

  His voice cut through the night. “Was she here then? Where’s Getio? Where is he?” Then, screaming to his guards, “Find Getio and bring him to me! He’ll plead for the mercy of death before his debt to the Empire is paid!”

  As the Praetorians scattered to search the countryside, Claudius walked slowly to the side of the bed. He stared down at the rumpled coverings, still warm from their recent use—the odor of lust still lingering. His hand moved to touch the spot where his wife had lain in the arms of another man. Calmer now, he stooped to retrieve the bed covering. Only then did he turn to the waiting Agrippina and use her breast as a cushion for his tears.

  Sobs wracked his whole body. “I love her. The gods help me, but I love her in spite of everything. I’ve issued orders not to have her killed. She is to live—to remain my wife, if she will.”

  Agrippina, though bristling inwardly, soothed the emperor as if he were a small child. Stroking his hair, she whispered, “I know your pain, Claudius. But it will pass. Time cures all. I’ll be here to help in any way I can, should Messalina not be found. Poor, dear man—how could she do this to you—her husband—her emperor?”

  Agrippina tightened her embrace on Claudius. She kissed the tears from his cheeks and, in moments, his mouth clung to hers in a frenzied hunger to be loved.

  Messalina’s husband began to relax under the tender caresses of his niece.

  When Getio left Messalina alone to go outside, he noticed all the activity in and around the villa. He was about to rush back inside to get Messalina away when he saw a figure hurrying down the path—a woman he had never seen before. She was inside before he could get back to warn Messalina. Creeping to the window on the dark side of the cottage, he could see and hear all that went on without being discovered. His anxiety grew as he listened to the words the unknown woman spoke to Messalina. Then he saw the hidden sword and guessed its bearer’s purpose—murder. And he, apparently, was to be the accused.

  Unable to help his love or watch the death blow, Getio fled in stunned disbelief. He could still taste her mouth, feel her warm body. To think of her dead was too much to bear. And whoever the murderess was, her testimony against him would no doubt carry great weight with the emperor.

  Only one place would be safe for him—an underwater cave below the cliffs of the ancient city of Cumae. He raced to the shore and dived into the waves. The swim to the cave was long, but even if he couldn’t make it, he preferred drowning to what awaited him if he was apprehended by the emperor’s guards.

  Finally, his body aching from exertion, he reached the cave entrance. Taking a deep breath, he dived—down, down and down. His lungs near bursting, he felt blindly along the rocky underwater ledge for the opening. When he thought he would lose consciousness, his hands at last touched a break in the rock. He forced his body down under the overhanging ledge and in seconds his head broke through the water into the air.

  He inched his way along the slimy rocks trying to find footing to hoist himself up. Relief, his first reaction, gave way to abject misery as he huddled wet and naked against the slippery wall of the cave.

  Things slithered about him in the darkness. Shivering in distaste, he pulled a blood-sucking leech away from his genitals. Surely this grotto must be the domain of those cursed by the gods to live perpetually in darkness, crawling about on their bellies. Now he was one of them.

  The total blackness pained his eyes as no bright sun could have. But he dared not close his eyes for the more awful sight of the exquisite Messalina with a sword poised above her defenseless breast.

  His thoughts turned again to the unknown woman, the murderess. He vowed to seek her out and have his revenge. Someone would pay for Messalina’s destruction, but it wouldn’t be Getio!

  In frustrated rage, he grasped a sea snake which had slithered up beside his leg and lashed it against the walls of the cave viciously, seeing it in his mind as a steel-tipped whip, the walls the supposed murderess of his love.

  Having given vent to his fury, he let sleep overtake him.

  Obeying his mother’s orders, Nero sent Dorph into the hallway—a punishment to both of them. Alone, Nero couldn’t sleep. He tossed on the sweat-dampened bed, feeling suffocated by the oppressive heat of the night. Then the commotion began—running feet, shouted orders, the clang of swords and spears. He smiled to himself. His mother had passed his news on to the emperor.

  Creeping to the window of his darkened room, Nero stared out over the garden. The marble statues gleamed like ghosts. Then, to his amazement, one of the statues moved. At Nero’s cry of surprise, Dorph ran into the chamber.

  “Master Nero, what is it?”

  “Look there, Dorph. See that person hurrying through the garden?”

  Dorph nodded. “Who could it be? And what’s all the scurrying about in the villa?”

  At that moment, the figure turned to look back toward the villa. A moonbeam fell across familiar features.

  “By all the gods, Dorph, I do believe it’s my mother!”

  “But why would she be out at this hour?”

  “I’ll soon find out. Get into my bed in case anyone looks in on me. I’ll sneak out and see what’s going on.”

  Nero could see the fear in Dorph’s eyes even in the dark room.

  “Do be careful, master!”

  Nero touched the boy’s face tenderly as he spoke. “Don’t worry, Dorph, my love. I can move through the night like a cat.”

  Nero slipped out of the window and Dorph watched, trembling, as his master vanished into the darkness.

  Though Agrippina had no idea she was being shadowed, Nero, keeping himself well concealed, stayed only a few paces behind her. When she entered the cottage, he guessed her mission. Stationing himself at the same post he had used earlier when spying on Nike and Getio, he watched his mother raise the sword above Messalina. He had the same feeling he’d had as he watched his mother’s poisoned breast take its toll of Crispus. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed a great mission would be accomplished by this woman’s death.

  But then he watched as she escaped his mother’s hand. Seldom did Agrippina lose one of her victims. It would be only a matter of time, he thought.

  Still concealed behind a thick bush, Nero saw the emperor and his men enter, heard his mother’s accusation of Getio. It wasn’t until the guards cleared the room and his mother put her arms around the weeping Emperor that Nero became ill. He vomited onto the ground and himself. Then, stumbling away, he went back to the villa.

  “Well, master, what did you see?” Dorph’s voice quivered in anticipation.

  Nero hesitated, feeling sick again as he spoke the words. “I saw a grown man weep.”

  Dorph, though not understanding, stroked Nero’s quaking shoulders in compassion. Nero pushed him away in disgust.

  “Go to your post, slave! And don’t ever touch me again unless I give you permission!”

  Dorph crept back to his place in the hallway.

  Throwing himself on his bed, Nero stared up at the silver tiles on the ceiling which twinkled like stars in the night. He could smell the sour odor of vomit on his body, but had no strength left to get up and wash himself.

  His mother’s words came back to him, a message he’d heard over and over: “The Emperor of Rome is the strongest, most feared man in all the world. He never shows weakness because he had no weakness in his soul. He is on earth the only divine being!”

  So the emperor was no more than mortal after all. This “divine being” had tears and could shed them like any child.

  Nero wiped his eyes in anger and spoke to the twinkling ceiling. “Never again will I shed a tear for anyone or anything. It’s disgusting for a man to cry. For an emperor, it should be impossible. Claudius is no emperor—no man!”

  From the back of Nero’s mind unbidden cam
e the bitter image of the last thing he’d seen before fleeing Getio’s cottage. His mother had taken Claudius into her arms to comfort him, when she had never done the same to her own son. Even as a child, Nero had been scolded or slapped for crying. She allowed no weakness in her son, yet seemed to accept it readily in the emperor.

  Revenge beat in Nero’s breast. He’d make them pay—both of them. Plots, outrageous schemes, swam through his mind as he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  Acte, drawn back to her window by all the commotion in and around the villa after the departure of Nike, watched the same figure Nero had seen dart through the trees—pausing now and again to hide behind a statue. She had no idea who it could be.

  So many strange things were happening suddenly. Her keen senses tingled with the unreal atmosphere of the night.

  As she stared up at the stars trying to read a meaning there, she saw Agrippina plainly, sword in hand. Moments later her heart lurched as she discerned Nero following his mother. She longed to leap through her window and run to him, but the omens weren’t favorable for such a bold display of truth and love. The misty ring around the moon warned her of danger.

  Acte shivered and closed her drapes against the evil of the night. She lay on her couch praying for the dawn and an end to the fearful premonitions which clouded her mind.

  From Octavia’s nearby chamber Acte could hear her moaning and occasionally crying out.

  With the first tints of dawn in the sky, Acte gave herself up to rest.

  “Claudius, you must go back to bed and rest. The night’s events have aroused you far too much for the good of your health.”

  Agrippina led the emperor through the corridors of the villa to his apartments. He protests were weak at best.

  “How can I sleep when I don’t know what has happened to my wife? Oh, Agrippina, she asked me to come to her earlier this evening and I responded with cruelty. I tried to hurt her. If I had the chance to make this up to her, I’d crawl on my hands and knees begging for her forgiveness.”