Rising from his face, Messalina spoke. “Now that I have marked you as my own, you may make me yours.”
Aroused almost beyond sanity, Silius grasped Messalina viciously and threw her to the cot. Falling upon her, he thrust with all his might—driving deeper and deeper until she screamed in pain. He worked her relentlessly, filling every orifice of her body with tongue, fingers, and his swollen member. One last, delirious scream issued from Messalina’s lips before he went limp on top of her.
Shuddering at his performance, Silius whispered, “I’m sorry.”
She clawed his buttocks to hold him in place. “Sorry for what, my love? Oh, if only you were my husband. Think of these joys each night!”
Silius lay panting, exhausted. What kind of woman was this empress?
On the eve of the Festival of the Vintage, Claudius left the palace for Ostia. When two slaves came to Messalina’s chamber they found her already preparing to receive her lover. The wide-eyed slaves ushered Britannicus and Octavia into their mother’s room.
“Why haven’t the children been sent to my mother’s villa?” she lashed out on seeing them. “That was my order. Who’s responsible for this?”
The empress flamed at the slaves and the children. Britannicus twitched and his eyes rolled. But Octavia stood solemn and unruffled. She glanced at the others and then stepped toward Messalina.
“Mother,” she said, “I have something very important to discuss with you. May I speak?”
Messalina stared at Octavia, trying to read her daughter’s face. What could the child possibly want? “Yes, yes. What is it?” she demanded impatiently.
“I should’ve come to you when I first heard the rumor from Cousin Nero, but I didn’t believe him.”
“Heard what rumor?” Messalina reached out and shook the girl. “Get on with it!”
“Very well,” Octavia said as her mother released her grasp. “Nero said Father has divorced you and married you to another.”
Messalina sat silent, dumbfounded. She shook her head to clear it.
“That’s nonsense! Your cousin only meant to hurt you with such a wild lie. You shouldn’t pay any heed to him. Your father would never do such a thing, you know that.”
Octavia’s young face remained passive. “I thought so too, Mother, until I overheard Narcissus and Pallas talking of the signed documents just a few moments ago. Narcissus had the papers in his hands.”
“What? How dare he do this to me?”
Messalina trembled with rage as she began to understand the meaning of Octavia’s words. “And do you, my daughter, know by any chance to whom I am now wed?”
The girl’s soft voice didn’t change as she continued. “Your new husband is Gaius Silius.”
Messalina’s mouth fell open. Whatever the emperor’s motive in this farce of divorce and marriage, he couldn’t have chosen a mate more to her liking. Reaching for her jewel box, she handed her daughter a pearl bracelet.
“Take this, my dear. You’ve been a faithful daughter. Don’t allow this gossip to worry you. Now run along. Your grandmother will be anxious if you don’t arrive on time.”
She kissed her daughter’s forehead and then that of her trembling son. She hoped his fit wouldn’t come on until he was safely away from the palace. She had no time to deal with him now.
As the children were escorted from her chamber, thoughts both angry and delicious swam in Messalina’s brain. She’d show Claudius! She’d show all of Rome!
She shouted for a slave as she scribbled a hasty note to Silius. “Send me Halotus, the court chef, and have a runner take this note to the house of Gaius Silius.”
She tore through her wardrobe searching for the bridal girdle and the orange veil which had been stored away from her own wedding to Claudius for Octavia’s use in the future.
The slave cook Halotus appeared at her door, but waited for her recognition before he spoke.
She turned in a flurry of excitement. “Halotus, prepare the most sumptuous feast possible. Today there will be a wedding at the palace. And send runners to all the most noble of Rome’s citizens inviting them to the celebration.”
Then Messalina dismissed the bewildered slave and prepared to meet her groom.
Silius was aroused from his sleep after a drinking bout with some of the young men of his circle by the frantic pounding on his door. He wrapped a toga about his naked body, making sure that the healing M on his chest was out of sight before he answered the knock. As his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight he recognized a palace slave on his doorstep.
The runner handed him a note with a familiar M impressed in the wax seal. He waited while Silius read the message to see if there would be an answer.
Puzzled by Messalina’s announcing that they would be wed at the palace before sunset, Silius merely nodded to the runner.
“Tell the empress that I’ll be there within the hour.”
He dressed quickly, mounted his fastest horse and raced through the mingling throngs in the streets of Rome. What was it all about? The strange note explained little.
Arriving at the palace, Silius was ushered at once to Messalina’s apartment to find her already gowned in the bridal costume with gilt laurel and orange blossoms in her hair. She didn’t speak as he entered, but walked up to him and kissed him passionately. He broke away nervously.
“Messalina, have you gone mad? Do you mean to commit bigamy on top of adultery? The emperor will stand just so much. If we go through with this, we may find ourselves minus our heads by tomorrow!”
She replied coyly, “Don’t you want to marry me? There’s no danger, believe me. The emperor has given me to you. Won’t you accept his gift?” Silius hesitated, searching for any hint of deception on Messalina’s face. Finding none, he went into her waiting arms. “Gladly! Surely it’s the emperor who’s gone mad to give away such a prize.”
On the other side of Rome, Narcissus had just arrived at the villa of Crispus, his face reddened with excitement and the heat of the day. Agrippina admitted him into the cool sanctuary of her atrium.
“Well, you have news?” she asked tenuously.
Narcissus caught his breath before the words came tumbling out of his mouth. “It’s done, and better than we could have hoped for. Messalina is preparing now for her public wedding, which will take place tonight at the palace. Silius arrived there just as I was leaving. He’s flushed with his good fortune at having his lover handed over to him by the emperor himself. It seems even young Nero helped our plot along. The rumor went from his lips to the ears of Octavia and Britannicus and then on to their mother. He must have been listening when we plotted this move.”
Agrippina frowned, remembering that night and especially her time with Pallas after the other guests had left. Had Nero spied on them as he had in the past? But no matter. If his spying had helped the cause along, she could forgive him the vicarious pleasure of watching her lovemaking.
“You must hurry now, Narcissus, to Ostia. Let Claudius know everything—except how Messalina found out about the divorce. Tell him she’s made him a laughingstock before all of Rome. He’ll have no choice other than to issue a suicide command. But make sure that you give Messalina time to go through with her plans and seal this already consummated match.”
“Your servant, my lady.” Narcissus bent to kiss Agrippina’s offered hand and then he was gone.
All of Rome, it seemed, wished to see their whore empress wed in public. No doubt some expected to have the added pleasure of seeing their emperor return from Ostia to bathe the wedding couple in blood.
The wedding ceremony an accomplished fact, complete with the sealing of marriage deeds, words from the augurs, and sacrifices to the gods to ensure that the union might prove long and fruitful, the bride entertained with a wedding banquet beyond anything Rome had ever seen. Combining the celebration of her marriage with the Festival of the Vintage, a time when misbehavior and drunken lust of every manner were condo
ned and encouraged, Messalina had ordered wine presses set up in the gardens on the Palatine.
As was the custom, the most handsome of the young palace slaves were led to the great troughs of grapes to caper naked upon them, squeezing out their flavorful juices. Around them danced scantily dressed girls and women working themselves into a sexual frenzy until, maddened by wine, they gave way to their lusts and were satisfied on the spot by the nearest able man, to cheers and encouragement from all.
Messalina’s eyes glowed as she watched one of her own handmaidens, a fair-haired beauty in her teens, tear off her garment and throw herself to the ground to be quickly leaped upon by one of Messalina’s ex-lovers. As their bodies worked together in rhythm to the clapping of hands, Messalina could stand it no longer. She had to participate in the merrymaking, not just be a longing spectator. With her hair flying loose, and waving the thyrsus, the wreathed staff of Bacchus, she ripped off her bridal gown and joined in. She whirled and sang out bawdy songs to the rhythmic beat of tambourines as her body was splashed with wine.
Silius, his crown of ivy leaves fallen askew in his drunkenness, clapped and called out encouragement to his new wife until she gave herself to one of the naked youths in the trough. The two rolled among the grapes before a crowd of onlookers.
At the height of the orgy, one of Messalina’s many ex-lovers, Dr. Vectius Valens, climbed to the top of a tree to get a better view of the proceedings.
Silius called up to him, “What can you see from up there, my good man?”
The drunken doctor, teetering precariously on a small limb shouted down with a great guffaw, “A hurricane from the direction of Ostia.”
Almost at the same moment, breathless runners came into the garden announcing that the emperor was approaching from Ostia bent on revenge. The revelers quickly dispersed, hoping to escape Claudius’s wrath.
Silius, abandoning his drunken bride, hurried to the Forum hoping to establish an alibi for himself. Meanwhile, Messalina managed to escape to her mother’s villa before Claudius reached Rome.
When the emperor finally arrived to view the ruins of the garden feast, he could find no one. But within hours lists were drawn up, and the two names at the top were Silius and Messalina. Guards went door to door to round up the wedding guests. Claudius would have his revenge!
At the Horti Luculliani, Messalina found shelter for the moment with her mother and children. Visiting the villa was the elderly Vibidia, “mother superior” of the Vestal Virgins. Perhaps she could save the doomed ex-empress.
Messalina stumbled into her mother’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “He divorced me—gave me to another—and now he means to murder me. He’s insane! Oh, Mother, save me! Please!”
Domitia Lepida remained calm. First sending Octavia and Britannicus to a different part of the villa to be watched over by slave nurses, she handed her wild-eyed daughter over to the waiting Vibidia. Going to a cupboard, Lepida brought out a sharp sword. She handed it to Messalina.
“There’s no hope for you now, daughter, but to die like a lady. Suicide is your only means of saving face. You’ve scandalized the Empire with your flagrant affairs, and now you’ve mocked your husband and emperor and made a fool of yourself and your family. I beg you! Take your life honorably before the soldiers arrive with a warrant.”
Messalina screamed and threw herself to the marble floor, rolling and tossing as if in a fit.
“No! No! I won’t kill myself! I can’t!”
The quiet Vestal Vibidia spoke at last. “Perhaps if you went to meet your husband on the road and took your children with you, he might relent.”
Messalina threw her arms around the neck of the old priestess, sobbing. “Oh, thank you. Thank you! And you must come with us. Surely the emperor won’t murder his wife in front of his children and such a sacred person as you, Vibidia.”
Messalina, gowned in a fresh white stola, departed the villa in a vegetable cart with her little group. The streets were deserted, a strange sight at this hour of the day. Most of Rome’s citizens were hiding behind bolted doors, fearing arrest, justified or not. The city’s panic was nearly as frantic as Messalina’s own.
Outside the city gates, seeing the emperor and his party approaching, Messalina ran to beg for leniency. But the guards brushed her aside, and she received neither a word nor a glance from her husband. Still, no one moved to arrest her. Her hopes grew as she rode back to her mother’s villa.
When they returned to the villa, Lepida was waiting. She shook her head sadly, then had the children taken from the room before again handing Messalina the sword.
“It’s only a matter of time, Messalina. Do it yourself, before they come for you.”
Messalina, sobbing, took the sword from her mother’s hands. “I can’t. I can’t.”
Then the doors burst open. Messalina’s scream of terror shattered the stillness inside the villa as she was handed an order signed by Claudius commanding her to take her own life. Looking pleadingly from the guard to her mother and then back at the guard, she lashed at herself with the sword—once, twice, and then again. Her screams intensified as blood gushed from her wounds. Then to have it done quickly, one of the guards rushed forward and ran his own sword through her belly.
Messalina’s blue eyes gave one last startled look at the world before she crumpled in a bloodstained heap to the white marble floor.
Agrippina, fearing possible complications in the plot, had left Rome for the emperor’s villa at Baiae after speaking with Narcissus. There she awaited news from Rome. She breathed a sigh of relief when the message arrived that Messalina was dead, as was her husband-lover, Silius. She was happy to be away from the bloodbath engulfing the city. Claudius, not satisfied with the deaths of the bride and groom, had issued orders that every wedding guest be sent an invitation to commit suicide.
Looking in on the sleeping Nero, Agrippina smiled. She visualized the golden wreath of laurel on his copper curls. Unconsciously, she twisted the great pearl on her finger as she thought of the months and years to come. The Death Pearl would soon be called upon again, but first—
Her thoughts were interrupted by a great disturbance outside. A carriage and many horses came storming into the courtyard. Rushing to the door, Agrippina met several guards and slaves escorting Octavia and Britannicus. Narcissus, too, was with them. She pulled him aside after greeting the children.
“Do they know of their mother’s death?”
“No. The emperor has asked that you break the news to them—gently. Tell them their mother died at the hands of an assassin. He doesn’t want them to know any of the details.”
“And the emperor?”
“He follows close behind with the body. He plans to bury her here, out of sight of the curious. The funeral will take place tomorrow. Her statues are already being struck down in Rome.”
“Then all is well?”
“All is well, my lady.” There was a quivering triumph in his voice.
Tiptoeing back into Nero’s room, Agrippina touched his cheek.
He roused. “Mater?”
“Be still, my son. Go back to sleep.”
“But what’s all the noise?”
“Octavia and Britannicus have just arrived. The emperor will soon be bringing their mother’s body here for burial tomorrow.”
Nero made no comment other than to say, “Goodnight, Mater.”
As he heard her whisper out of his bedchamber, he smiled to himself. Staring up at the twinkling ceiling, he picked out one especially bright tile-star and spoke to it. “So, Mater, the whore is dead. And you’ll be the new empress. Well done!”
Nero awoke to the sound of weeping. The villa seemed filled with it. Disgust washed over him in waves.
Dressing himself quickly, he went out to find the source of the commotion. Octavia and Britannicus had just been told of their mother’s death. Of course, the details were withheld from them. They knew only that they would never lay eyes o
n her again except on her funeral pyre.
Nero watched as Octavia was carried from the room, limp with grief. Britannicus came toward Nero, tears making rivers down bis pale cheeks. He tried to enfold Nero in his trembling arms as he mumbled the tragic news to his cousin. Nero pushed him away.
“Stop your sniveling, Britannicus! You’ll be emperor one day, and the emperor doesn’t cry. Besides, you have no need to shed tears over the woman you called Mater. She was nothing but a whore!”
Nero, though unsure of the meaning of the word, smiled at its effectiveness as Britannicus fled from the room.
Agrippina entered just in time to hear the exchange between Nero and Britannicus and observe the smirk of satisfaction on her son’s face. She went to him coldly.
“Nero, have you no respect? Don’t you know that you were being cruel to your cousin?”
Her voice seemed overly severe to Nero, considering the circumstances. His smile didn’t fade as he answered simply, “I know.”
“Then why did you taunt him so? Where did you hear such a word, and why did you use it? Do you even know its meaning?”
Nero stared straight into his mother’s eyes, feeling new power in knowing that she would be the next empress.
“Britannicus will be emperor one day. You told me the emperor is divine. He shouldn’t be crying! You’d think Britannicus was still on the teat, the way he’s carrying on!”
Agrippina’s face darkened.
“You haven’t answered me. Where did you hear that word?”
Nero felt panic setting in. His mother was not to be put off by flippant answers.
“I heard it from the slaves.”
Her anger deepened.
“What slaves? I’ll have them thrashed for speaking such language in front of a child!”
“Not the slaves here. Some in Rome.”
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