Rapture's Slave

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  The Stoic looked about nervously as he whispered, “My lady, you speak treason! I’m not sure I like your deadly game.”

  Agrippina remained calm. “There’s no treason in my plan. I do not intend to overthrow Claudius. But he can’t live forever.”

  Unconsciously she twisted the ring on her finger, her only sign of being unsettled.

  “Now listen to me, Seneca. We won’t be alone in this. Burrhus will instruct Nero in the ways of battle and strategy. My son’s education must be well rounded. You are to wipe those silly thoughts of poetry and acting from his mind and fill it with sensible ideas. That’s all I ask of you at present. When the time comes, your reward will be great.” Agrippina started toward the doorway. “You may go now, but return with your belongings by nightfall. I want you here so you can oversee Nero through every hour of the day and night. You will, of course, live an exemplary life.” Without waiting for any answer from him, the empress nodded her dismissal and glided out of the room.

  Seneca stared after her. He saw now, for the first time, that she had used him in their affair, not loved him. The scholar had only been, and was now again, a steppingstone to her ends. Nevertheless, he’d never known anyone like her, and felt bound to her as if he were a slave. Even to be used by Agrippina was an honor.

  Agrippina’s meeting with Burrhus, the one-armed warrior, was quite different. She had no personal ties with him and had no need yet to use her charms on him. As head of the Praetorian Guard, he was an ally she had to have. The army’s loyalty went wherever Burrhus’s was, and that was essential to her success. She found out enough about him to know he could be seduced by power. And so she promised it to him if he would cooperate in her plan. Burrhus agreed.

  Nero spent the day after the wedding night wandering about exploring the grounds. He hadn’t seen his mother all day, and wondered if she and her new husband were still in bed. Surely not! Claudius was too aged a man to spend such a prolonged time with his energetic mother.

  As he roamed through the extensive gardens, he caught sight of a figure ahead of him. Nero recognized Acte by the glint of the sun on her blue-black hair. She stood before the gleaming Temple of Venus and prayed aloud. He couldn’t hear all of her words, but he heard his name. His blood rushed at the sound of it on her sweet lips.

  Quietly, he crept up behind her, slipped his arms around her waist and whispered into her ear, “The goddess has answered your prayer. Nero is here.”

  Acte turned in horror and wriggled out of his embrace. She ran from him, but with his strong legs he overtook her. He caught her about the waist once more and they fell to the soft cushion of grass. Nero pinned Acte’s arms above her head and sought her lips.

  His kiss wasn’t bruising, but tender and loving. Acte didn’t fight him or respond. Lifting his face from hers, he looked into her sad, tear-filled eyes.

  “Why do you always run away from me, Acte?”

  She began to sob and couldn’t answer. Nero lifted her gently from the ground. “Did I hurt you?” he asked in genuine concern.

  She wiped away the tears. “It was cruel of you to hide and listen to my prayers. I feel ashamed and degraded.”

  Nero brushed back a stray wisp of hair which clung to her damp cheek.

  “I didn’t mean to spy on you, or to intrude on your private prayers. I only heard my name, not what you asked for. If you were praying for my sake, I thank you most humbly. Surely, I need more than mortal help in my search for love.”

  The tears subsided as she stared into Nero’s anguished eyes.

  “But so many people love you—your mother, the emperor, Marcus Otho, and many others.”

  Nero blushed. “You know about Otho, then?”

  Acte averted her eyes as she answered. “It was impossible not to know after seeing you two at the first banquet. And last night—you got so upset when he left with that woman. I know about love between men. I’m not shocked.”

  Nero’s blush deepened and he couldn’t meet Acte’s gaze. He confessed, “I only know that kind of love. But I have a feeling for you that I’ve never had before. Why did you leave me last night, Acte? I needed someone. I wanted you.”

  The hurt tone in his voice made her unhappy. “Oh, Nero, I wasn’t running away from you last night. I was running away from myself.”

  He looked at her questioningly. “I don’t understand.”

  “I needed you as much as, if not more than, you needed me, but—” she began.

  Her words gave Nero new confidence. He clasped Acte to him where they sat and pulled her down into the grassy shade of a giant cedar. In a moment of sudden urgency he covered her face with kisses. He could feel her warm body and at last the supple breasts of a woman pressing against his chest. For a moment she responded to his caresses, but then she struggled to push him away.

  “No, Nero! No! We mustn’t!”

  “But I need you, Acte. I love you!” He looked at her with surprise, then continued, “I want to marry you!”

  She groaned. “Oh, that my prayers to Venus have been answered, only to create an impossible situation which tortures me more than I was tortured before!”

  Nero replied, half angry, “You don’t have to tell me about torture, Acte. How can such soft sweetness bring so much pain? Why is it so impossible for us to love each other?”

  The tears flowed again, but through them she managed, “It’s because of Octavia, Nero.”

  His true anger flared. “I don’t understand any of this. What does Octavia have to do with us?”

  “Not us, Nero, me. Yesterday Octavia’s betrothed killed himself by slitting his throat. I had hoped that soon they’d be married and then I’d be free to do the same. The emperor has told me that I’ll be truly free once his daughter is wed. But now she swears she’ll enter the order of the Vestals. When she enters, as her servant, I must do the same. So Til never marry—never know love. Not yours or any man’s. I’ll be a virgin until the day I die!”

  Nero sat in numbed silence. His Acte a Vestal Virgin?

  “No! I won’t accept that,” he said. “There’s no reason why you should be forced into such a life because of Octavia’s folly. Let her join the Vestals. She belongs there. She has nothing to attract a man. But you, my Acte, are flesh and blood, not icewater and marble like her. I’ll speak to Mater about it. She won’t let the emperor force you to follow Octavia’s whims.”

  Acte shook her head sadly. “Nero, you know your mother would never permit you to marry a freedwoman. We’re separated by more than either of us can overcome. And it’s better that I should become a Vestal Virgin than live out my life with another man, loving you as I do.”

  Acte rose and suddenly raced away toward the palace. Nero sat dumbfounded on the ground and stared after her. Then a shadow fell over him, sending a chill through his body. He sensed, before he knew, who stood behind hin. Had she heard? Did she know? He turned to see his mother smiling down at him.

  “Nero, your tutor, Seneca, is here. He’d like to speak with you.” Her smile remained gentle and relaxed.

  She must not have seen us together, Nero figured. He looked up into his mother’s bright eyes. Had the emperor put that sparkle there? Pushing the thought from his mind, he reached up for his mother’s smooth hand.

  “Mater, before I go see Seneca, can we walk in the garden and talk for a little? You’ve been so busy preparing for your wedding since we arrived in Rome that we’ve had almost no time together. I’ve missed you.”

  In a sudden and uncharacteristic surge of mother love, Agrippina clasped Nero in an embrace. He buried his head between her breasts, feeling the silk of her gown, drinking in the scent of her perfume.

  “Nero, my child, you’ll squeeze the breath from me. Here, take my hand. We’ll walk for a while, if you wish. I hadn’t meant to neglect you, but other matters pressed so. I’ve missed you, too.”

  Several moments passed as they strolled amid the greenery. Nero realized Acte was righ
t. He couldn’t bring up the subject of marriage to a freedwoman with his mother.

  “For one who wanted to talk, you seem wrapped in your own thoughts.” Agrippina laughed. “What did you have on your mind, my dear son?”

  He decided to approach the matter in a different way.

  “Mater,” he said, “I’ve heard it whispered among the slaves this morning that Octavia’s betrothed killed himself yesterday. Is it true?”

  She didn’t lose her smile as she answered. “Yes. It seems the young man cut his throat. A sad affair. He wasn’t quite right in the head. But Octavia won’t suffer long. She’d never laid eyes on him. The betrothal was arranged at her birth.”

  “I’ve also heard—” Nero hesitated.

  His mother’s patient voice prompted him. “Yes, son, what have you heard?”

  He blurted, “That Octavia now intends to enter the order of the Vestals.”

  She laughed softly and released his hand. He turned to face her, and Agrippina placed her delicate hands on his shoulders.

  “And you’re afraid for your lovely cousin, Nero? Don’t worry,” she said soothingly. “The emperor will be the one to say what his daughter does with her life, and I can assure you, he’ll never permit her to enter the order. But say nothing to Octavia about our talk. She’s upset at present. Let her continue to grieve for her unknown lover for the time being. Her father will have little trouble finding a suitable young lord for her to wed at the proper time.”

  Joining hands again, mother and son strolled on. At last, Agrippina led Nero to a marble bench in a shaded arbor. The stone felt cool and welcoming. She put her arm around his shoulder and drew him close. Below them spread all of Rome.

  She gestured broadly. “Look, my son. This beautiful city lies before us like a lady offering her charms to you. She can be all yours one day, if you wish it, and follow what I tell you to do.” Her words ended in a sigh.

  Nero looked, but didn’t see things through his mother’s eyes. Instead of a beautiful city, he saw houses and shops sagging with age, unpaved streets filled with garbage. The stench of the sewers rose to them even from their lofty observation point.

  He spoke more to himself than to his mother. “If Rome were mine to do with as I wished, I’d burn it to the ground and rebuild a truly beautiful lady. She wouldn’t be like this harlot who lies offering herself to any man for a price.”

  Realizing what he’d said, Nero shied away from his mother. But instead of giving him the slap or rebuff he expected, she smiled at him and ran her fingers through his hair.

  “You are becoming a man, my son, much more swiftly than I’d realized.” Then she brushed his forehead with a kiss.

  He wore the touch of her lips for the rest of the day.

  By nightfall winter descended on Rome without warning. Braziers burned brightly throughout the palace, but provided little protection as their warmth was swept into the night by the howling January winds. Extra coverlets of royal purple were piled upon the emperor’s bed. The thick drapes which had been bound up to allow in the cool sea breezes were let down to cover the windows against the pelting rain.

  Roman merchants closed their shops early and scurried home, muttering curses to the gods at this sudden change of weather.

  The priests and Vestal Virgins offered special sacrifices, seeing this drastic change in weather as having direct bearing on the recent royal marriage.

  “An ill omen,” the old Vestal, Vibidia, whispered to one of the younger women, as she lit the altar lamps before the image of Vesta. “Let us pray that there is love between our emperor and his new empress.”

  At the same moment that prayers were being sent up, Agrippina emerged from her well-heated bath in preparation to meet her husband. Sutra wrapped her shimmering body in a warm robe before going to stoke the braziers and pour more scented water on the white-hot rocks. Even the marble slab upon which Agrippina now stretched her perfect body had been warmed for her comfort.

  The hairless eunuch, Eto, hovered about until he was signaled by Sutra to begin work on the body of his mistress.

  Agrippina relaxed as she felt the warm scented oil on her back and then Eto’s skilled fingers massaging it into her skin. Her eyes closed, but her ever-restless mind continued working. Eto turned her gently on the marble slab and asked, “Shall we use the special oil, my lady?”

  Agrippina opened her eyes to stare up at the grinning eunuch who had served her for so many years. The oil he meant was a blend said to have been used first by Cleopatra. Now only her woman Locusta, who also prepared her poisons, retained this precious recipe, and would make it for Agrippina alone. It had special qualities for retaining youth and arousing lovers.

  Agrippina stretched in feline pleasure at the thought of the ointment and the satisfaction she had enjoyed in the past through its use.

  “Yes, Eto. A good idea.”

  The empress gave up her body to the expert fingers of the slave as she closed her eyes once more and breathed in the intoxicating fragrance of the oil. She felt a tingling of her breasts, her belly, and her thighs. Claudius would be willing to offer her anything on this night.

  His job finished, Eto bowed before his mistress and retreated. Sutra helped her into a white silken robe trimmed in silver fringe. She was ready to meet her emperor.

  Claudius paced his bedchamber. Where could she be? It seemed that women had kept him waiting all his life. His body ached, as much with the need of wine as from longing for his wife. He had refused the precious liquid at dinner, determined to remember this night, by all the gods!

  Finally Agrippina appeared, some vision from on high, but his—all his. Her crown of golden hair, lovelier than anything wrought by human hands, shone around her. As she entered, the flickering light of the oil lamps alternately illuminated then hid her luscious form beneath her sheer gown. The empress then stood before him smiling seductively. The perfume she wore dizzied him as no wine could have. He was speechless.

  “Well, my husband, I have come,” she whispered.

  Claudius closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. When he opened them again, she was near enough to touch. He reached out trembling hands to slip the loose garment from her shoulders. As each inch of her body was exposed he kissed it with almost religious fervor.

  After some minutes, she stood before him in all her sublime glory—a shining goddess of flesh and blood, reaching out to give herself to him.

  Her flesh felt hot to his touch even though the room was chilly. As she swayed in his arms, a slight moan escaped her pearl-pink lips. He cradled her in his arms and helped her onto the royal bed, carefully fastening back the heavy drapes to have a clear view of her stretched out on the purple satin sheets.

  Agrippina writhed in invitation. When he could wait no longer, he dropped his robe and threw his body on hers.

  She pushed him away gently, sighing, “Dearest, no. Take your time. Savor this moment and remember it. Come lie beside me and let me please my emperor.”

  Agrippina then smothered his craggy face with kisses, flicking her tongue teasingly about his lips and neck. Her hands wandered over his body, touching here, pinching there. His urgent cries rose, but Agrippina persisted.

  When she knew he couldn’t take much more, she put her lips against his ear and whispered, “Claudius, my dearest, don’t you feel the love flowing between us even though our bodies aren’t yet joined?” She waited for his reply before continuing. “It’s such a shame our poor Octavia couldn’t soon feel this same love. But it’s better that that fool meant to be her husband killed himself before he could shame us all.” She fell silent for a moment as her tongue explored his ear and her hand the lower regions of his body to see how much time she had. She went on, “He wasn’t fit for Octavia. Don’t you agree?”

  Claudius agreed—urgently. Then, grasping Agrippina, he turned her body so he could taste her breast. She smiled, glad Cleopatra’s formula had been concentrated there by the knowing Eto.


  Agrippina sighed. “Octavia is so unhappy over the death of her betrothed. I won’t feel right about our lovemaking until her future is assured. I even have a husband in mind, but I hesitate to offer his name.”

  She stopped and at the same time pulled her breast away from Claudius. The withdrawal of her tempting body made her frantic husband grasp her and plead, “Go on, Agrippina, please.”

  She drew back farther and looked uncertain. “Perhaps this isn’t the proper time to bring it up. But I do feel so guilty about the fact that her betrothed chose our wedding day to end his miserable life. She grieves so.”

  “By all the gods, Agrippina, the name!”

  She snuggled close to him and he felt her warm breath in his ear. “Do you think it presumptuous of me to suggest that my Nero might make a suitable husband for Octavia?”

  As his wife said this, she offered herself to him. He entered her with a deep sigh.

  “Dearest?” she pressed.

  “Yes! Yes! Nero it shall be!” Claudius gasped.

  Her own ecstasy came with his answer.

  At last Claudius rolled away from her, exhausted. Agrippina pulled up the coverlets against the cold and dropped the bed drapes. She smiled in the darkness as Claudius began to snore in contented sleep beside her. How well her brother, Caligula, had taught her the artful game of love. There wasn’t a man alive who could refuse her. Long ago she’d learned that man’s weakest spot was in his groin. Claudius was, indeed, hers now.

  Six

  With the winds and rains of winter came the aging emperor’s all too familiar ills and aches. He seldom left the palace and was happy to turn over most of his official duties to his empress. The entertainments he had so enjoyed previously had been discontinued at Agrippina’s order. When he confided to her that he thought some music and gay laughter might take his mind off his arthritic pains, she informed him that such an affair would be costly and the excitement, furthermore, would be harmful to him.