He returned his lips from her belly to her breasts. She sighed as he titillated the large nipples. Then before Nero had yet reached the region he most longed to taste, she abruptly rolled away and got up. “Show me the proper use of the swing.”
Maddened by Poppaea’s cool aloofness, Nero grabbed her and crushed her body to his, letting his fingers search out the opening he’d been denied.
She screamed in pain and pleasure as he handled her roughly, “Nero, now, the swing!”
He removed his hand and shoved her down to the pillows once more.
“Do you forget who rules this place? First you must worship my body as I have yours.”
Nero straddled her chest and forced himself into her mouth. He moved until he could hold himself no longer. Withdrawing in time, he found his lady more submissive.
He stood up over her and said, “Now I’ll show you the swing, but it must be done properly.”
Nero went to the door and called in the mute slave as the bewildered Poppaea looked longingly after him. The giant black slave, whose tongue had been slashed long ago for some forgotten offense, entered and bowed.
“Remove your tunic, Lutz. It’s wrong that you should be clothed while we stand naked before you.”
Poppaea’s eyes widened at the sight of what the slave’s tunic had hid. The satyrion flamed through her body. “Nero, let me test the swing with your slave,” she begged. “It wouldn’t do for the ropes to break and injure the emperor.”
Nero smiled at the anxious tone in her voice and the glitter of animal lust in her eyes. His plan was working beautifully. He’d guessed that what he couldn’t arouse in Poppaea the trappings of Lutz surely would.
“No, my pet. Lutz isn’t part of the wager—this time.”
Nero mounted the swing, then spoke to Lutz. “Help the lady into her place.”
Lutz lifted Poppaea’s now-weak body in his hands, and positioned her in Nero’s lap facing the emperor, her legs dangling behind. Once certain that she was securely seated, Lutz placed both of his great hands on her bare buttocks and pushed. The swing kept its motion as Poppaea and Nero pumped in a slow, easy rhythm.
When Nero felt his own urgency rise and Poppaea’s body shiver against him, he commanded, “Now, Lutz.”
The swing halted abruptly. Nero felt himself drain as the slave’s thrust from behind filled the interior of Poppaea’s body, forcing her flesh more closely about him. After her first shock, Poppaea continued to groan, but with pleasure as much as pain. A final shudder went through her body and into Nero’s. He motioned the slave away. Lutz withdrew the faint Poppaea and lay her back on the pillows. Before he retreated from the room, the slave heard her say to Nero, “You have won the prize, my emperor!”
The next day when Otho arrived at the palace to take his bride home, he wasn’t allowed to see her. Neither did he see Nero. He was told that word would be sent to his villa when she was ready to return. Otho shook his head in anger and frustration. How could he have fallen for such a devious trick as a contest of sexual prowess? He’d thought—but what a fool he’d been—that the love and friendship between him and Nero meant something. Now, for the first time, Otho realized that Nero was no longer a lovelorn boy. Nero was emperor and his rule was supreme. Old relationships meant nothing. And Otho had been cheated out of the only woman he’d ever loved.
As Otho turned dejectedly to leave, he heard his name whispered in the great entrance hall. He turned to see Acte motioning to him from a shadowed corner. He looked at her questioningly. Surely she must know that they had each been cheated of their loves, yet she wore a calm smile.
Otho went to her and declared unhappily, “Acte, I am ill!”
She clutched Otho’s arm to support him. “Yes, Otho. I can see that and I know the cause.”
Tears rushed out with his words. “How can I live without her? What will I do? I can’t stand to see them together—to know that he is in her arms where I belong. I’d rather kill myself than endure this torture.”
Acte took him by the shoulders and shook him. “Stop it, Otho! Did you suppose when you made your foolish wager that this situation would be an easy one to bear? You say you love Poppaea. Yet you lent her out to another man for sport.” Her tone turned to scorn. “What kind of husband would do such a thing? You can do nothing now.”
Otho, taken aback by Acte’s accusing words, stood straighter and stared at her for several moments before he spoke. “Perhaps I am powerless, but you have a definite advantage which might bring things back to normal.”
“What can I do?” Acte sounded disinterested. “We’re all powerless in the face of Nero’s lusts.”
“You occupy the empress’s chamber, don’t you?”
Acte nodded, then added, “But not last night.”
“Well, go back there and stay available for Nero. Don’t let him forget his love for you. In time, he’ll grow weary of Poppaea or she of him. He’ll come back to you and I’ll get my wife back.” He was pleading now. “It’s the only way for all of us. Help me, Acte! You’re the only one who can!”
Before Acte could protest, Otho fled, unable to stay another instant under Nero’s roof.
Acte’s mind churned as she watched his hastily retreating form. Yes, his plan might work. But was she willing to go through with it now that she knew Sergio was coming for her?
Nearly a month passed before Otho received his summons to appear at the palace. He hurriedly dressed in his most resplendent garments, sure that by nightfall Poppaea would return to his arms and bed where she belonged. He could forgive her this month of folly with the emperor. He could forgive her anything just to have her back.
But when Otho entered the great hall, his hopes crumbled. Poppaea was seated beside Nero on the imperial dais. She’d never looked more beautiful, desirable, or unobtainable.
Nero stood and beamed down at his friend. He raised his arms to beckon those assembled in the court more closely about.
“I, Nero, Emperor of Rome, have this day called you here so that you might bear witness to a great honor I wish to confer upon my loyal associate, Marcus Otho.” Then speaking directly to the shattered man, Nero commanded, “You, Marcus Otho, have this day been named to the post of governor of Lusitania. A litter is waiting outside to take you to your villa to pack. Then you will proceed with all haste to your ship at Ostia, which will take you to your new land.”
Applause followed the announcement. Otho stood dumbfounded. Lusitania lay halfway around the world! He would never set eyes upon his Poppaea again.
Nero sat and asked in an injured tone, “Well, have you no thanks for this honor, Otho?”
Otho looked at Poppaea for an instant. Her green eyes dared him to defy his emperor. He looked away.
“I thank you for this appointment, Caesar. I have but one question.”
Nero nodded. “Speak.”
“Will my wife accompany me to Lusitania?”
Nero took Poppaea’s delicate hand in his and smiled as he answered. “I wouldn’t think you’d wish to subject such a fragile flower to the rigors of a long sea voyage and life in a hostile land. Have no fear, Otho, my friend, I’ll take care of her in your absence. Now you must make haste. My congratulations and my best wishes go with you.”
Otho bowed and turned to stalk from the room, not wanting Nero and Poppaea to see the burning fury and frustration in his face. At the entranceway he was stopped by a guard, who handed him a familiar pouch and a note.
Otho stared at the short message written in Poppaea’s hand.
My dear Otho,
Although this aging palace is shabby compared to the shining new villa you built for me, and Nero far misses your height of elegance and charm, no doubt due to his tiresome association with a slave girl, he has won the competition. Accept in return this pouch of gold which you wagered. The emperor wishes me to tell you that he desires your wife, not your gold. Know, too, that I’ve given myself willingly to the Empi
re. May the gods cool your anger for your own well-being.
I remain,
Poppaea Sabina
Otho crushed the note, tossed the pouch of gold aside, and left the palace. Within the hour he boarded his ship for Lusitania, vowing eternal revenge on the two adulterers.
Acte’s attempts to lure Nero away from his athletically inclined lover proved all in vain. She waited in dark hallways to speak to him—to tempt him. But on each encounter, planned or by chance, he brushed past her as if he were dreamwalking. Poppaea had cast a spell over his mind as well as his body.
Acte had done as Otho asked and stayed available. But it seemed that Nero seldom brought Poppaea to his own chamber for their love sessions. There were rumors of a room in an unused part of the palace that was locked at all times except when Nero and Poppaea wished to enter it. Fantastic tales spread of their erotic gymnastics. Some said a huge bath adjoining the room of love had been filled with giant fish to tease Poppaea’s flesh as Nero took her in the water. Mute slaves were purchased, others rendered incapable of speech, for the sole purpose of serving them in various capacities behind locked doors. Acte’s nightmares grew as more and more rumors filtered out, and still Sergio hadn’t come for her. Had she been abandoned by both her lovers?
Acte’s growing unrest over the situation was shared by Agrippina. But while Acte remained silent, Agrippina wouldn’t resign herself to her son’s flagrant escapades.
Finally the confrontation came. Nero was summoned to his mother’s chamber.
When he arrived, he was immediately startled by her appearance. She sat running a silver brush through her red-gold hair, which fell loosely about her bare shoulders. Her full breasts peeked out at him from beneath a transparent silvery wrapper. Agrippina extended her slender hand to take his arm and pull him down next to her on her couch. He closed his eyes and breathed in her exotic perfume as she brushed his lips with her own.
“Nero, my son,” she said softly, “it’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to talk and be alone together. Come closer.”
Nero sat numbly. Though Poppaea made him feel he could conquer the world, his mother could make him feel as weak as an unweaned babe whenever she wished. Being so close to her now both aroused and frightened him.
“Mater,” Nero began to say, but stopped when his mother put her arm about him to press him still nearer to her.
“Nero, you’ve been a naughty boy! If you can’t think of your own dear mother or your wife, at least you must have some concern for Acte. It’s painful to watch how she mourns you. Didn’t I allow you to have her—to install her in the very room where your poor wife should be?” Her voice changed abruptly and took on a scolding tone. “But now you’ve brought this woman, this adulterous whore, into the palace. She’s making you a laughingstock. You, Nero, the emperor of Rome! Why, she’s almost my age! Seven years your senior and eons ahead of you in debauchery.”
Nero’s face flamed at his mother’s words. “I love Poppaea and I’m going to marry her! Even now I’m planning to divorce Octavia and make Poppaea my empress. You can’t stop me!”
He wasn’t going to be convinced easily. But Agrippina had expected such resistance. Without warning, she shoved a silver dagger into Nero’s hand. Then she bared her breasts and closed her eyes.
“Kill me, Nero!” she cried out. “Kill your mother now! I can’t bear to live, if I must share my love for you with such a woman!”
Nero gazed in horror and bewilderment at the weapon. Kill his own mother! Never! He loved her! Killing her would be like killing a part of himself.
When she heard the dagger clatter to the marble floor, Agrippina opened her eyes and smiled at her stricken son. She let her wrapper fall away as she stretched her arms out to him.
“Come to me, Nero. Come lie beside me as you did when you were a child. Let me feel your warmth and love.”
Stunned by her actions and his own turbulent emotions, the child in Nero obeyed his mother’s command. But the man in him was repulsed by what he was bound to do. He felt a searing and uncontrollable lust as his body met that of a woman whom he’d hungered for as long as he could remember. A woman who’d given herself to other men for her pleasure or theirs, but who’d been denied to Nero until now. He swelled with long-suppressed yearning as Agrippina urged him on to his wildest dreams of love. She possessed all the gentleness of Acte, the mature sensuality of Poppaea and the professional knowledge of the prostitute Stellana, who’d taught him so well. Yet there was more. That the fruit was forbidden made it taste all the sweeter.
She held him and crooned a lullaby he remembered from long ago. The manly side of Nero enforced his lusts on her, while the child part suckled at her breast.
When he lay drained and spent beside her, Agrippina toyed with his damp curls and whispered, “You’re one of the greatest lovers I’ve ever known, my son.” She put special emphasis on the last words, making Nero feel a growing pain at this most awful, most wonderful crime he’d committed. He tried to pull away, but Agrippina wouldn’t allow him to move. She held him tightly.
“When you were born, my love, your father insisted on nicknaming you Nero—an ancient Sabine word meaning strength and valiance. Domitius’s words stay with me to this day. He said, ‘Nothing that isn’t an abomination and a public bane could be born by us. Perhaps the name will help him through his pitiful life.’ I never believed that you would be other than strong and valiant, my son. You’ll prove it to me today, further than you have already, by sending that woman away from the palace. And should a child be born of our union, he’ll have the most royal of blood and you will have the proper heir you wish.” She released him.
In anguish Nero rose to flee. What had she done to him? No. What had he done to himself? That was the question. The thought of his mother giving birth to his son was enough to drive him mad. Nero looked down to find the silver dagger in his hand.
Then he heard her say, “Take it, my dearest, and kill the whore!”
As Nero left her chamber, dagger in hand, Agrippina smiled to herself. There would be no son. But Nero didn’t know she had taken precautions against that. And so for the time being he would have to live with the memory of his deeds and the fear of the outcome. Now she alone possessed him.
Hours passed and the sky over Rome changed from gold to heliotrope before Acte returned to her room after dinner. Agrippina had been there in the dining hall, as had Poppaea, the two setting up an electric atmosphere of hatred. Acte had tried to read the smug look on Agrippina’s face, but she couldn’t fathom what it meant. Had Agrippina finally engineered Poppaea’s removal? Poppaea did look distressed, and Nero was nowhere to be seen. Acte’s senses tingled with the feeling of something about to happen—some climax about to be reached.
Quietly she tiptoed into Nero’s chamber. She heard moans. They grew louder and more pained. Then she saw him. Nero, huddled on the floor in a corner of the dark room, his face to the wall, was muttering incoherently. She felt the pain in his voice shoot through her own body. As she neared him, she saw that he was naked and bleeding from many slashes over his body. In her anxiety Acte knelt and touched his shoulder tenderly.
He reacted as if she’d stabbed him. “Don’t touch this tainted flesh!” he screamed. “Go away! The suffering is mine alone.”
Acte tried to soothe him. “Nero, you needn’t hide your grief from me. Haven’t we always shared the bad times as well as the good? You’ve quieted my tears so often. Let me help—please.”
She put her arms around him, felt the flesh she had known for so long. He came into her arms like a frightened child.
Finally, his trembling subsided and he could speak coherently. But he refused to look at her. “Oh, Acte, I’ve committed the deadliest of sins. There’s no hope for me. If only Jupiter would strike me dead on this spot. I don’t have the courage to do it myself, though I’ve tried.”
Acte saw the dagger beside Nero on the floor. He’d drawn his own b
lood in punishment for lacking the courage to take his life. Numerous cuts covered his body as if some mad physician had tried unsuccessfully to open a vein, torturing his victim in the process. Acte brought a bowl of water and began to clean the many wounds.
She spoke to him calmly, though her heart thundered with fear. “Nero, you are the emperor. You can give yourself divine forgiveness for whatever sin you’ve committed, real or imagined.”
He burst out in fury. “Imagined? Imagined! I’ve imagined the odious deed since my earliest days. I’ve watched other men with her and imagined myself in their places. But today it was real—oh, so real! I can still feel her body next to mine. I can’t stop my mind from seeing her, from taking her over and over again. Nothing else matters now! Only death will give me relief from this nightmare!”
Cold crept into Acte’s heart as she listened to Nero’s ravings. Could Agrippina be capable of seducing her own son? Before she could speak, Nero went on.
“Acte, I’ve committed incest! This day I made love to my own mother! Can any crime be more horrible? I’m fit for no other woman now. I’ve had the one above all others!”
Acte caught her breath at his admission. She held Nero close and rocked him back and forth. She made soothing sounds, though she couldn’t find words to comfort him or dispel her own horror.
Poppaea found them like that—the naked emperor cradled in the arms of his former mistress.
Her lovely face contorted and she shrieked, “Get away from him, you little bitch! Out of here, do you hear me? Or, by all the gods, I’ll yank your greasy Greek head from your shoulders!”
Poppaea’s threats only made Acte clutch Nero closer to her.
Then Poppaea spotted the dagger on the floor. She seized it and with the unearthly screech of a wounded jungle cat raised it high above her head. But before she could deliver her death blow on Acte, strong hands caught her wrists and held them. Seneca, hearing the screams from the emperor’s chamber, had hurried there thinking an assassin was attacking. He now held Poppaea’s arms safely behind her.
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