Rapture's Slave

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Castor nodded, took the bowl, and left.

  Nero lay back shakily on the bed. “Otho, are you here still?” he asked weakly.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Stay with me and light a lamp, will you? The darkness frightens me.”

  A soft glow warmed the room. Nero saw two, three Othos before him. He closed his eyes and looked again. The images merged.

  “Have I been poisoned, friend?”

  “Otho laughed softly. “Only by the excesses of youth, dear Nero.”

  In the next moment, Nero felt a warm body next to his.

  “Nero, you know I love you, don’t you? I’ve felt it since the first night,” Otho murmured into his ear.

  Nero’s tired body was soothingly stroked and caressed. This wasn’t like the times with Dorph or the fumbling Crispus. This time Nero was the slave—Otho, his master.

  At last, Nero fell asleep in the arms of his new love. The world was still spinning, but it was a much more pleasant sensation now.

  The morning dawned bright and hot. Dust rose like a haze over the city. Would the winter rains never come? For months there had been not even the hint of a cloud to break the monotony of the blue skies.

  Nero held his aching head and closed the shutters against the glaring light. He sat down on the bed and covered his eyes to stop a wave of dizziness. Something had happened last night. Something important—other than the fact that he’d gotten drunk for the first time in his life. Then it came to him—Otho. Otho, with his flashing eyes and muscular body, was now his!

  Nero groaned as the memory returned. “No, Otho isn’t mine,” he muttered, “I am his. Now I know what it’s like to be a slave!”

  He pushed the thought out of his mind. Today was the wedding, and he’d best concentrate on getting ready for that. Nero dragged himself to his feet and headed for the bath.

  As her son soaked his aching body, Agrippina happily prepared herself in her room. The handmaidens, grateful for her rare good mood, dressed her hair meticulously.

  She smiled at her reflection. This was her day, the beginning of the end she sought. For the third time she donned the orange veil of the bride, but this was the time that counted. She’d never wear the wool girdle of the virgin bride again. She laughed aloud, thinking that even when she had worn it, it was hardly appropriate.

  The double knot of her girdle was fixed in place. Claudius would have to make it through a long day of ceremonies, sacrifices, and feasting before he escorted his new empress to the connubial chamber to untie the knot before the gathered throng of witnesses. Agrippina must remember to loosen it when no one was looking to avoid any embarrassment for her new husband.

  When it was all over, they would be man and wife at last. “Emperor and empress,” Agrippina sighed. “I like that better.”

  Claudius paced his room like any impatient bridegroom. Would Agrippina never emerge from her apartment? He had waited so long for her. He thought longingly of her milky skin, her extraordinary eyes, and her fine mind. Messalina could never have equaled his new bride in any way. Agrippina was the jewel of the Empire, and soon she would be all his.

  A centurion snapped to attention at the door of the royal chamber. “My emperor, the daughter of Germanicus awaits your presence.”

  Flanked by guards in dress uniform, Claudius marched to his waiting bride. His step faltered as he caught his first glimpse of her. She stood near the fountain in the atrium, bathed in glowing sunlight. They nodded, but exchanged no words. He offered his arm, and she laid her delicate hand upon it. Then the procession began.

  Crowds cheered as the royal couple appeared together and descended the palace steps. They were carried on open litters of gold to the Temple of Jupiter, where a pure-white ewe was sacrificed. The priest then slit the animal’s belly open to examine the entrails. He pronounced the omens favorable for the union.

  The noisy parade snaked its way for miles through the crowded streets of the city, a gleaming array of the twenty thousand Praetorian guards in scarlet plumes, senators in purple-trimmed togas, and plebs in every manner of dress.

  Arriving back where they had started, Claudius and Agrippina exchanged their vows on the steps of the palace. Then the emperor raised the veil crowned with the traditional orange blossoms and gilded laurel and kissed his bride.

  By the time the royal party entered the palace for the wedding feast, the sun was sinking low, coloring the hills of Rome in a rainbow of shades.

  The banquet hall was perfumed with the scent of flowers and vine leaves, and there was plenty of food and drink. Singers, acrobats, and dancing girls provided entertainment for Rome’s most noble citizens.

  As the evening wore on and wine flowed freely, the crowd became boisterous. Nero saw his mother amid her guests, smiling with the happiness of any new bride. She could endure anything for the throne, he thought. He closed his eyes and imagined her in the arms of this old man. The idea sickened him more than the previous night’s wine.

  He looked about for comfort. Otho had deserted him for a patrician’s voluptuous daughter. Nero stared with distaste at the two of them, laughing and drinking from each other’s cups. Jealousy burned within his breast.

  Then he turned and saw Acte sitting near him. He got up and moved closer to her, close enough to smell the almond blossoms scenting her dark hair. He touched her hand, but she didn’t jump with surprise. She’d been watching him, waiting for recognition.

  In her clear, sweet voice, she said, “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Who, Acte?” he asked, reluctant to take his eyes from her.

  She inclined her head toward the nearby table. “The woman with Marcus Otho.”

  Nero cast a glance at the two in disgust. “She’s too beautiful! Such beauty comes from bottles and jars—a false thing. It’s my guess she tints her hair in imitation of my mother’s. They are both frauds and deserve each other!”

  His tone didn’t convince Acte.

  “This is a difficult night for you, isn’t it, Nero?”

  Nero didn’t answer, but continued to stare at Otho and his undeniably lovely companion. “Do you know who she is, Acte?”

  His question crushed her, but she answered dutifully. “Her name is Poppaea Sabina. They say she’s the wittiest and gaudiest woman in all of Rome.” Acte lowered her eyes. “But I shouldn’t speak out of turn. I forget my place.”

  Nero gazed at Acte. “No. You’re not out of turn. Feel free to speak your mind with me. You’re the equal and more of any woman in this room.”

  She lowered her eyes as she felt a blush the color of her rose gown creeping into her cheeks.

  “I am no one’s equal. I’m neither fish nor fowl—slave nor free. But I appreciate the compliment, Nero.”

  Nero felt his blood rushing. In an effort to stifle his pleasant discomfort, he lashed out, “Where’s your keeper tonight?”

  Acte looked puzzled.

  “Octavia—my dear cousin. Where is she? She should be here celebrating her father’s victory in winning my mother’s hand.”

  “You shouldn’t talk about Octavia that way. It’s been a tiring day for her—especially with the marriage coming so soon after her mother’s death. She’s so young, you know.”

  Nero smiled at Acte as he twined a stray curl of her raven hair about his finger. “No younger than you, my goddess. You yourself told me you were born on the same day.” Impulsively he bent forward and touched his lips to hers, still holding fast to the lock of hair.

  Acte pulled away. “Please, don’t make fun of me. I’m no goddess, not even a lady by Roman standards.”

  Nero saw the tears brimming in her eyes. He took her hand in his and kissed it tenderly.

  “In my eyes you are, Acte. There’s something about you I can’t name. But this charm you alone hold over me is something so strong, so dear, so—Will you be my partner for the night?”

  Acte hesitated. Then a great commotion relieved her
from having to answer Nero. Yet another parade had formed to see Claudius and Agrippina safely to their marriage bed. Nero and Acte suddenly found themselves in the midst of coarse jokes and bawdy singing. They were swept away in the throng and separated.

  At the bridal chamber Nero watched with the others as the emperor fumbled with the double knot of Agrippina’s bridal girdle. She didn’t notice her son. The knot finally gave way and the crowd cheered.

  At last the revelers dispersed, leaving the bridal couple to themselves and Nero standing in the hallway. Acte was gone. He felt a hollow ache in his stomach. He’d have to spend this night alone. As he turned away, Nero caught sight of Otho leaving with Poppaea Sabina on his arm.

  Nero ran down the corridor to his bedroom, where he flung himself down on his couch. Never in his life had he so yearned for the release of angry tears. But he’d sworn that he’d never cry again. Holding in his emotions made him feel sick and lonely.

  He lay on his bed and stared up at the dark ceiling. Under his roof, the emperor was now taking his mother. And out in the night, Otho would find his way into Poppaea’s arms and heart. But for Nero there was no one. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep eluded him. Acte, he thought, where is she now?

  In her room, Acte wept into her pillow. She felt ashamed and yet cheated. Nero had asked for her and she’d run away. Why did she feel honor-bound to remain a virgin while other girls gave up their maidenheads gladly by age seven? It was Octavia’s fault. The emperor had said on many occasions that he expected Acte to set the example for his daughter. So Acte felt she couldn’t accept the love of a man until her mistress chose to do so first. But when would that be? Not for years, probably. Octavia hated men—even her father. It was like a disease eating away at her from the inside out. Even her betrothal was a joke. She would never set a time to wed the man who’d been marked for her at birth. She had refused even to meet him. Octavia considered herself too good for any man.

  Acte whispered a prayer to Venus before her eyes closed in troubled sleep. “Dear goddess of love, please, let me have Nero. I do love him so.”

  In the royal bedchamber Agrippina sat smiling down at her unconscious husband. After loosening the double knot of his bride, the Emperor Claudius had lapsed almost immediately into a comalike sleep. Alone, she basked in her new role as Empress of Rome. Her wifely duties would be demanded, she knew. But for tonight, she was happy to lie in the royal bed and enjoy her new sense of power.

  The next morning she breakfasted quietly on figs and cheese before her handmaiden dressed her for her daily duties. Claudius was still in bed snoring.

  As she sat patiently while Sutra wove and piled her golden tresses, Agrippina mentally went over the details of her next step. Seneca had been recalled from exile on Corsica at her request immediately upon Messalina’s death. He was in Rome now, but she hadn’t seen him yet. She must have him and Burrhus, the head of the Praetorian Guard, installed in the palace at once to begin instructing Nero. There was much her son had to learn in little time.

  Beckoning to the guard outside her door, she ordered, “Go to Seneca’s villa and have him here for an audience at noon. Also, tell Burrhus to come from headquarters. I wish to see him as soon as possible.”

  The soldier bowed and backed out of the chamber. “Yes, my empress, at once.”

  Agrippina glowed at his words.

  When her hair was styled to her liking, Agrippina chose a simple blue silk gown which gleamed with a jewel-like iridescence. Satisfied with her appearance, she then swept out of her chamber and down the hallway to the bedroom.

  Claudius had risen already and was in his bath. Boldly ignoring the protests of the emperor’s manservant, Agrippina entered his gold-and-black marble sanctuary. He didn’t notice her for several moments as she watched him float about, soothing his aching head.

  “Claudius, my dearest, have you no attention to give your wife of only one night?”

  The emperor whirled around in the water. “Agrippina! You shouldn’t be here! What will the slaves say about a lady invading my private bath?”

  She laughed aloud, and moved forward so that the sunlight filtered through her filmy gown to show her figure to full advantage.

  “Not just a lady, my husband, but the empress. Or have you forgotten so soon? And I don’t care what the slaves think or say. I’ll see my husband whenever and wherever I choose!”

  Claudius swam to the side of the pool and climbed out. He came to her with his arms outstretched to enfold her in a damp embrace.

  Agrippina moved back. “Oh, no! You’ll ruin my gown. Here, take your robe.”

  After covering himself, Claudius took his bride into his arms and kissed her. “Can you ever forgive me for last night, my sweet? What a fool I was—to wait for you so long and then fall asleep early on our wedding night. Why don’t we make up for it now?”

  His groping hands fondled her with urgency.

  Agrippina, with other business on her mind, stepped back quickly. “I assure you, Claudius, there’s nothing to make up for. I only regret that the wine has removed the sweetness of our lovemaking so quickly from your mind. I must plead lover’s fatigue this morning, but I assure you I’ll be completely recovered by tonight.”

  Claudius stared at his wife’s smiling countenance in complete surprise. “Then I didn’t disappoint you last night?”

  She touched his cheek in reassurance. “Far from it! You were like a young bull seeking his first conquest.”

  His face brightened but then changed to an expression of concern. “I didn’t hurt you?” he asked.

  “You were the tenderest of lovers,” she lied, “seeking only to please me. And you did that, my husband.”

  His face lit up again. “Yes! Yes! Now it begins to come back to me. That must be the reason for my great fatigue this morning. You’re right. We should wait and save our energies for tonight. But, see how I swell with wanting you.”

  He laughed as he opened his robe to show her. “A young bull, indeed!”

  Agrippina turned her eyes away in an appearance of modesty, but actually to hide the glow of triumph on her face. If she could make Claudius remember an evening of love which never took place, she could make him believe anything!

  “You must go and dress now, my darling. We both have important things to attend to today. I’ll be interviewing Nero’s tutors, Seneca and Burrhus, to explain to them their duties. I must make sure that they both understand their roles. I won’t have Nero wasting his time on frivolous things like music and poetry.”

  Claudius nodded absently. “Yes. I suppose these things are important. Seneca—isn’t he the philosopher I banished some time ago? Why did I send him away? The matter of his crime escapes me.”

  Agrippina caressed his cheek once more. “It was some folly of Messalina’s to send him into exile. His crime, if there was one, has long been forgotten. At any rate, the emperor shouldn’t worry himself with such trivial matters. You have far more important things to do.”

  She paused. “I was thinking that it might be advisable to have the treasurer, Pallas, called in for an accounting. You’ve been away for some time and there’s been talk that Messalina gave personal gifts to her lovers from the palace treasury. I’ve given Pallas a list of these men. I’m not altogether sure that the man is reliable. But, of course, that’s for you to judge. I have no mind for figures and finances. In any case, the gifts should be returned.”

  Agrippina then smiled alluringly at her husband. “So we’ll handle our separate tasks and discuss them over dinner this evening, before—” She left her sentence hanging suggestively.

  Eagerly, Claudius answered, “By all means, let’s get on with the day’s work.”

  Seneca arrived at the appointed hour. He was escorted to a private chamber which would serve as a classroom. As he entered, he saw Agrippina standing by the window looking out over the rooftops of Rome. The bearded Stoic, wearing the robe of the scholar, walke
d up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He turned her gently to face him.

  “My dearest Agrippina, you sent for me, at last.”

  He leaned forward to taste her ruby-colored lips, but was met with a stinging slap. Seneca stepped back, stunned.

  “Never! Never take such liberties with me again!” Agrippina glared at him angrily. “I am the empress, no longer a mere woman to be loved by any man. The emperor has forgotten for the moment that he had you exiled for tampering with his niece. But if you take the same liberties with his wife, the penalty will be far more severe.”

  His beard couldn’t hide Seneca’s cunning smile. “So—I wasn’t called to the palace for her majesty’s royal pleasure. A shame—I was looking forward to it. But why then?”

  “First, we have to get a few things straight,” she said as she turned back to the window. “As far as anyone knows, you and I were never lovers. Claudius’s mind is old and weak. As long as I remain the pure and aristocratic daughter of Germanicus, he won’t call up unpleasant memories. That situation is to remain the same. Am I fully understood?”

  Seneca shook his head sadly. “I should have known I could never possess you. Power is your only master, and I have little enough of that. Only as much as you now choose to allow me.”

  “You’ll have more than you can handle, if we come to an agreement.”

  “Your proposition, my lady.” The scholar’s eyebrows arched in interest.

  She looked at him directly now. “You’ll tutor Nero and Britannicus. But it’s through Nero that you’ll gain power. Put into his head all the knowledge of law and morals that you have. Steer him carefully away from the foolish ways of the Greeks. He has to learn to be a traditionalist in the ways of the Divine Augustus.

  “Britannicus may grasp what he will under your tutelage,” she continued. “But he isn’t to be pressed to learn. I have plans for the Empire which I hope to achieve through my son. You can aid me and share in what is to come.”