Rapture's Slave

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Just as the two finished saying their vows before a priest, the door to the room flew open. A wild-eyed madman burst in. Fortuna recognized him at once. It was Nike’s brother, Getio. The poor man hadn’t been himself since the night he’d fled and left Messalina at Agrippina’s mercy. He still believed that his lover had died that night in spite of what the rest of the world knew to be the truth about her death.

  Getio charged in, ignoring what was going on in the room. He pulled his sword and screamed, “She is here! I’ve seen her and now I go to have my revenge!”

  Getio wheeled about and knocked over a table. A vase which held the wedding laurel fell to the floor and smashed.

  Fortuna muttered in horror under her breath, “The gods be merciful! This is what the augurs foretold—’The sword shall flash and the green shall lie as dead in its own tears.’”

  She looked down to see the laurel lying among the shards of the shattered vase. There was no help for going against fate. Fortuna shook her head sadly.

  The bride, now in tears, pleaded with her crazed brother to stop. Gaius tried to wrestle the sword from Getio’s hand. He received a deep gash across his cheek for his efforts. Then Getio raced out of the door, and Gaius followed a few paces behind.

  Nike threw herself into Fortuna’s waiting arms and cried wretchedly. The baby began to wail loudly as if sensing the anguish all about him. The wedding scene of a few moments earlier was all chaos and misery.

  Nero watched with keen interest as old Locusta sifted fine white powder through a minute funnel into a hidden chamber in the pearl ring’s band. It was the first time he’d ever seen the ring off his mother’s hand.

  Agrippina seemed nervous to be denuded of her weapon, even for a brief time.

  “Are you sure, Locusta, that this poison is as strong as the last?”

  Locusta squinted at her and answered, “Aye, my lady, and don’t you go wasting it on the likes of a slave again. The ingredients are hard come by and too precious for such menial tasks. It should be saved for someone special.” The crone put the deadly ring in Agrippina’s palm.

  “I know,” Agrippina said, nodding. She replaced the ring on her finger with relief.

  “So you’ve already a worthy subject in mind? Good!” Locusta cackled. “I’m glad you appreciate my talents.” She held out her hand and was rewarded with more than her usual fee in sesterces.

  “I thank you, my lady!” She turned to Nero. “And I have a gift for your lover, Lord Nero. Tell her to cover her body with it before she comes to you. You’ll know love as you’ve never experienced it. That I promise.”

  Nero opened the jar and sniffed. The perfume was heady and sensual, causing a stir within him. He’d watched the old crone mixing the unguent and knew that it contained some of the substance she’d forced from him. He wondered how his mother had previously provided that needed ingredient. Did she have a different potion for each lover? Or did the seed of one serve her purpose with all?

  Agrippina put in orders for other preparations to be delivered to the palace and then said her goodbyes. Nero let his eyes roam the cave for what he hoped would be the last time. A black kettle bubbled in the center of the cave, giving off a foul odor. Strung about the walls were lizards, bats, snakes, all waiting to be used in some mystical potion of evil. Clear jars of colored fluids sat on a work table, some steaming over small fires. The air grew quite intoxicating. Nero felt dizzy, and was about to ask his mother if he could wait at the cave entrance with the guards.

  Just then, Agrippina replaced the wig on his head and ordered, “Come, Nero.”

  He followed happily. Even the damp, cold streets of Puteoli were preferable to this depressing cave and the old witch. Nero hoped that since his mother had completed her mission, they would soon return to Rome and to Acte. He thought of his gift for her with keen anticipation. How love with her could possibly be better, he couldn’t imagine. But he was willing to put Queen Cleopatra’s potion to the test.

  They neared the entrance, and the guards turned to salute. At that moment a great commotion broke out in the street. Both guards grabbed the empress and pushed their way to the waiting litter. Nero kept close behind.

  Then, suddenly, he saw Getio’s face—his eyes burning with hatred for his intended victim.

  “Murderess! Murderess! She was all love and beauty and you killed her!”

  Getio broke through the startled crowd. Amid the pushing and shoving, Agrippina became separated from the guards and her son. Nero saw her standing alone, defenseless in the face of the madman. Fear clutched his heart as he watched Getio raise his sword to strike. Then out of the throngs, from nowhere, came a Praetorian guard dressed as if for parade.

  “No, Getio!” he screamed.

  Those were his last words. The blade meant for the empress split the skull of the guard. Blood splattered in all directions. Nero pushed the onlookers away and raced to Agrippina’s side. He took her hand as if she were the child and led her to the waiting litter. She was unharmed, but stunned into speechlessness by the attack. Nero looked back in horror at what had been a man, a brave Praetorian guard. Then, glancing about, he saw that Getio had vanished.

  Nero turned to their escorts and ordered, “Take this man’s body and have it returned to Rome tomorrow for burial with honors. Clear this crowd! Litter bearers, on your way! My mother must be taken from here to safety. And when you find the assassin, bring him to me!”

  Once he had his mother inside and out of harm’s way, Nero relaxed. He felt the litter bearers racing through the streets and gave a great sigh. How near death had come to his dear mother! He looked at her staring eyes. She still didn’t comprehend what had happened. Taking the scarf from her head, he wiped the splattered blood from her face.

  Her hand fluttered up to remove the wig from his head and she said uncertainly, “Nero?”

  He took her cold hands in his. “Yes, Mater.”

  “What happened? What was all the commotion?”

  He put his arm around her and whispered, “Never mind. Rest now. All is well. We’ll be home soon.”

  Word was not long in reaching the house of Fortuna. Her slave, Mico, had been in the crowd and had seen everything. He knocked frantically at his mistress’s door. Fortuna let him in and then waited impatiently while he gained his breath.

  Nike rushed in at the sound of the door opening.

  “What’s happened? Where’s Gaius? Please, tell me!”

  Fortuna motioned to her to keep quiet and give Mico a chance to speak.

  At last, he gasped out, “Your husband saved the life of the empress! He’s a hero!”

  Nike’s mouth fell open and she hugged Fortuna.

  “Oh, my Gaius, how exciting! But what about Getio, my brother?”

  Mico drooped his eyes, realizing too late that he’d given Nike the wrong impression.

  He turned and whispered, “Mistress, perhaps we might have a word alone?”

  Fortuna nodded. “Go and see to your child, Nike.”

  “But, Fortuna—”

  “Do as I say, Nike.”

  The girl, still in her wedding dress, went reluctantly up the stairs with the eyes of Fortuna and Mico following her slow progress.

  When he thought Nike was well out of hearing, the servant said, “Getio is now a wanted man—a murderer!”

  Fortuna caught her breath. “The empress?”

  Mico shook his head sadly. “No. He tried, but Gaius stepped in his way. Gaius is dead of his bravery, mistress.”

  There was a scream from the top of the stairs. Mico and Fortuna rushed up the steps to find Nike crumpled on the floor. Fortuna examined her carefully.

  “She’ll be all right physically, but we won’t know what the news has done to her mentally for some time, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry, mistress.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Mico. Carry her to the room with the other sick one. I’ll show you the way. I should check
on Acte anyway.”

  When they arrived in the room, Fortuna was pleased to see Acte’s eyes open, though still filled with pain.

  “Well, my young friend, you are a strong one. Only a few hours ago we never thought you’d last the day.”

  Acte asked weakly, “What’s happened to Nike?”

  Fortuna brushed her question aside. “It’s nothing. She’s fainted from the excitement. I thought it might be wise to bring her up here where it’s quieter for some rest. You’ll have some company when she comes around. I’ll send Maria up to watch over both of you. As soon as Nike comes to, her child must be fed.”

  Acte winced at the mention of Nike’s baby.

  “Mico, go and fetch the cradle.”

  “How long will I have to stay here?” Acte’s voice was pleading.

  “My, you’re the anxious one. I’d think that you would be happy to be alive, not giving a thought to moving so soon. Here, eat this. It will build your strength, since you’re in such a hurry.”

  Acte took the offered bread, but then pushed it back into Fortuna’s hand with disgust.

  “It’s moldy!”

  Fortuna pressed it on her.

  “Eat it, mold and all. The bread will give you strength and the mold will ward off any poison which may be lurking in your body.”

  Acte bit down hard on the dry, green bread. She forced herself to finish it in spite of the rancid taste. She didn’t want to displease Fortuna after all the care she had given her. Acte looked at the dark woman gratefully.

  “How can I ever repay you for all you’ve done for me?”

  Fortuna answered, “You owe me nothing. I pass on this favor to you from one who gave it to me many years ago.”

  Acte lapsed back into uneasy rest.

  Nero’s planned departure the next day was delayed. His mother still gazed through seemingly unseeing eyes. Who knew how long her state of shock would last? And his orders to apprehend Getio had borne no fruit for the torture rack, though hundreds of guards were combing the city. No doubt the murderer lurked about on the road to Rome in wait to finish his evil deed.

  The weather, too, worked against him. A deluge had begun as soon as they were back in the villa, and the black skies offered no hope of a sudden lessening in the weather’s ferocity. Runners had been dispatched to Rome to inform the emperor of the delay due to inclement weather. No mention was to be made of the attempted assassination of his wife. Nero didn’t want to give his stepfather any ideas.

  Eight

  “Let it be known to all men that I, Claudius, Emperor of Rome, do this day, February 25, adopt this grandson of Germanicus, the son of the Empress Agrippina, to be blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. Henceforth, his given name of Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus is no more. He is to be called Nero Claudius Caesar Drusus Germanicus. Nero, because he wishes to adopt his childhood name officially, and this will be followed by the names of his illustrious ancestors. May all the gods accept and bless his rebirth.”

  The emperor’s solemn tones faded on the chill winter wind. The roar of the jubilant crowds of Rome rose above its seven hills.

  Nero stepped forward to acknowledge the cheers. He bowed and waved, at the same time scattering gold coins in all directions. Their happy shouts warmed him, and he laughed as the plebs scrambled in the winter’s mud for the coins. In a sudden daydream he saw these people not as the poor of Rome, but as his audience—applauding him on some great stage.

  A hand on his shoulder urged him back to reality.

  “Come, Nero. We must go in now.” Agrippina brushed the top of his bronze hair with her lips as she spoke.

  As a final encore, he tossed a last handful of coins. Nero reluctantly turned away from his admirers to enter the palace with his mother and the rest of his family.

  He sat down in the position of honor at the banquet table.

  At last, he had a legitimate father, and an emperor no less. Octavia could no longer taunt him about his ancestry, since his lineage now was the same as hers.

  What next? Nero wondered.

  Ten months later he got his answer. On December 15, Nero was once more honored by his new father as he received his symbol of true manhood, the toga virilis.

  During the official ceremonies, Nero made his first appearance before the Senate to deliver a speech which Seneca had carefully prepared and drummed into his brain. In return, the senators gave him the title of Princeps Juventutis, the Prince of Youth.

  Afterward, Nero rode at the head of the Praetorian Guard to the Circus Maximus.

  In the royal box above the arena, he wrapped his white wool toga banded with purple more closely about him. Nero glanced back into the shadows at Britannicus and could not help but feel great satisfaction at the sight of his cousin still wearing child’s clothing.

  But as the races began, all thoughts of Britannicus and everything else fled his mind.

  The emperor leaned close to Nero.

  “You see the stalls just there, Nero? Any moment now the flag will be dropped to begin the race. The green, red, blue and white chariots will have to race seven times around the marble barricade down the center of the track.”

  Nero trained his eyes on the marble spina down the middle of the course. Surmounted by statues and an obelisk from Egypt, this barrier could be the death of a charioteer if he swerved too soon on the turn or was forced to ram it by one of his opponents.

  The roar of twenty thousand went up as the flag was dropped. Nero jumped to his feet, the excitement of the race filling him with surging passion. He had decided to root for the green charioteer.

  The four matched horses of the red chariot took an immediate lead, followed closely by the green. White and blue closed quickly until they were running four chariots abreast. The thunder of the horses’ hooves as they passed made the earth beneath Nero seem to tremble.

  “Green! Green! Slash him! Throw him to the wall!”

  As if hearing Nero’s shout, the green-clad charioteer suddenly lashed out with his whip, cutting a gaping wound in the neck of the challenging driver.

  For an instant, the red charioteer swayed uncertainly. Then he fell backward into the dust. His team raced ahead, dragging him along by the reins tied to his wrists. Nero watched the body of the man as it bumped and bounced along the ground. Then as the horses swung into the turn around the spina, the charioteer’s head met in a smashing blow with the marble wall. The reins tore away from his wrists and the poor man was left a bleeding mass of flesh at the first turn.

  “Green! Green! Come on!” Nero yelled.

  He couldn’t stay in his seat. His favorite was in the lead—but barely. The twelve horses and three drivers left ran close together, too close. Suddenly, the blades on the wheels of the white chariot shot into the wheel of the green, shearing its spokes. Nero caught his breath. Would his champion be killed?

  The green chariot’s wheel wobbled, but stayed in place. Roaring with the fierceness of some wild beast, green again lashed out with his long and deadly whip. But white charged ahead with a sudden burst of speed and missed contact with green’s weapon. The green driver nearly lost his balance when his vicious blow struck nothing but dust-choked air. Nero again held his breath. The man regained his footing and pushed his matched black horses harder than ever. Green rounded the sixth turn, gaining ground on white. One more turn and the race would be decided. White still held his own ahead of green, and blue was close behind them. Nero sat down in disgust.

  But then the shouting grew. What was this? Some new strategy, or had green’s horses broken their pace? The green driver slowed down, and blue, for the first time, passed him. Now blue and white were neck and neck nearing the finish. With another roar, green came charging from the outside rear and forced the blue chariot in on the white. In an instant, eight horses lay kicking and rearing in the dust. The white charioteer was impaled by one of his own vicious spoke blades, and the blue lay dying beneath his overturned chariot. Green
raced over the chalk line to victory.

  Nero had the honor of presenting the winning driver and only survivor with his laurel wreath and purse of gold.

  After the official presentation, Nero leaned forward and said privately to the man, “I was cheering for you all along.”

  The heavily muscled driver reached into the folds of his tunic and brought out a smooth piece of Egyptian glass. He handed it to Nero.

  “My lord, if you’ll continue to plead with the gods for my victory over my opponents, I will no longer need my goodluck charm. I’d like to present it to you on this, your day.”

  Nero looked through the dark glass, which resembled an emerald. “Aha, it makes everything green, even the blood on the sand. I thank you for this.”

  Nero was still holding the glass before his eye when he followed the emperor’s retinue out of the Circus. The games would go on for the rest of the day, but Claudius felt the need of rest.

  While the men were at the races, Agrippina had returned to the palace on the pretense of feeling ill. In truth, she didn’t feel well, but no illness caused her pain. Threat to her position and that of her son disturbed her. Could she never be rid of her enemies?

  She sat at her dressing table and stared down at the two documents there. The first was a signed confession from Lollia Paulina, her wealthy ex-sister-in-law whom she had managed to prevent Claudius from marrying. It stated that she’d consulted Chaldaean fortune-tellers to disrupt the marriage of Agrippina and Claudius. This had been presented to Claudius. The second document, authorizing banishment, bore his signature and seal.

  Banishment! What kind of punishment was that for a crime so odious? The woman was charged with treason, and her lot should be that of any other traitor. She should be beheaded, her fortune confiscated for the royal treasury, and her head returned to Rome as evidence that the sentence had been carried out.

  Taking a quill and writing materials, Agrippina painstakingly forged the emperor’s signature. Lollia Paulina would pay!