Rapture's Slave

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “Old woman, indeed!” Acte scoffed. “Age is a state of mind, and your love for Eucerus has given you a new youthfulness. And I have a surprise for you. Eucerus will be thirty soon. At that time I plan to give him his freedom as a wedding gift.”

  Nike threw her arms around Acte, knocking her over in the sand. Lucius, seeing the two women rolling about in their glee, ran to them and flung himself on top of Acte, giggling and shouting, “Mater play! Mater play with Lucius!”

  Eucerus entered Octavia’s dark chamber cautiously. Though it was midday, the drapes were drawn and it might have been the middle of the night. Upon the bed, but shrouded by netting draped from the golden canopy, lay the emaciated form of the empress.

  A weak voice whispered in the darkness, “Who’s there? Britannicus? Father, have you come to take me to be with you at last? Please, take me now! I’m so miserable.”

  Eucerus lit a lamp and brought it to the stand beside the bed before he spoke. “It is I, Eucerus, the flute player, my empress. I’ve come to escort you to Lady Acte’s villa.” He parted the netting slightly, and handed her a jar with a silver asp coiled on its lid. “She sends this as a token of her love, and requests that you join her immediately on the shore.”

  A thin hand grasped the jar and opened it, releasing its fragrance into the room. For several moments Eucerus stood in silence while he waited for Octavia’s answer. He shook his head as a dizziness clouded it. His body seemed to tingle all over.

  Her voice came again, but stronger now. “What lovely cream. Acte has always been so thoughtful. Have you brought your flute with you, Eucerus?”

  “Always, my empress.” The huskiness of his own voice surprised him.

  “Then play to give me strength and pleasure,” she commanded softly.

  Trills from the flute mingled in the air with the scent of the cream. Eucerus could see the form in the bed sit up and then sway with the music. Humming softly, Octavia parted the netting to look at the handsome slave. His eyes fastened on her as she rubbed her arms and neck with the cream from Acte’s jar.

  Her voice was a sensuous whisper as she stretched her hand out to Eucerus. “Come and rub my back. I find this potion most restorative.”

  As if moved by some unknown force, Eucerus found himself beside Octavia on the bed. Gently he slipped her night shift from her shoulders and dipped his long fingers into the jar. Her skin felt cool and soft to his touch, and her sighs aroused him. He tried to move away, but Octavia’s arms were around him, pulling him down to the pillows. The empress pressed her lips over his and used her tongue in imitation of the kiss Nero had given her so long ago.

  Clinging to him with new life and urgency, she demanded, “Love me! Now!”

  With no control of his own, Eucerus let himself be undressed by this strange woman. His mind rebelled, but his body wouldn’t be denied. He felt her creamed hands fire his flesh, and he removed her shift. Though her body was thin and unremarkable, the sight of it aroused him beyond endurance. Holding her face in his slender hands, he kissed her forehead, eyelids and mouth, before traveling down her neck to her withered, but tempting, breasts. She urged him on and on. He took more cream from the jar and smeared her body.

  Eucerus ignored her commands for him to take her at once, not wanting the ecstasy to come too soon for either of them. Though he loved Nike beyond any woman in the Empire, and had known the flesh of many others in his time, never had one so enticed him as this pale empress. Goddess or witch, he couldn’t say, but a woman above all others to be sure.

  Octavia lay back panting, her long nails cutting into his back. Finally Eucerus gave way to his desires. He covered her quaking body with his and sought her entrance. His thrust forced a scream from her lips, but the pain brought on a new frenzy of need in her. For precious moments they moved together as one before waves in the sea of pleasure washed over them. Still, it wasn’t enough. After a moment for breath, Eucerus found that he had to have her again, and Octavia, clutching at him wildly, urged him on. All her years of pent-up passion seemed to demand release at this very moment. She couldn’t let him go until she’d drained that deep and sacred well.

  Afterward, in the quiet of the chamber, Octavia poured out her love for Eucerus in words. The slave stood before her, embarrassed, bewildered, ashamed of what he’d done and the pleasure he’d taken from his forbidden actions.

  “Empress, forgive me. Demons must have possessed me to force myself on you in such a way.”

  His shock was complete at finding her a virgin after so many years of marriage to the passionate emperor. But he thought it best not to mention it. He’d done enough harm already without adding insult to injury.

  “Nonsense, Eucerus! It was I who forced the act, and I’m glad of it. My husband finds his delights elsewhere these days. I should have at least as much freedom as he. And, Eucerus, I find you a superior lover. You’ve pleased me.”

  He nodded his acceptance of her compliment.

  “Now, if you’ll send for my handmaidens, I’ll prepare to visit Acte. I’ve been in this musty palace too long. Some sea air, and your nearness, will do me a world of good, I’m sure.”

  Eucerus groaned inwardly at the thought of taking the empress to where Nike waited for him. But there was no hope of escaping the situation. He’d have to go to the empress whenever she called and try to hide it from Nike. The position would be a precarious one, but somehow he’d handle it. He had to.

  The gala occasion had been arranged carefully. Not the slightest detail was entrusted to chance. A great feast would be held at Nero’s villa in Baiae to celebrate the Festival of Minerva with Agrippina as his honored guest—a gesture to show the Empire that mother and son were really reconciled at last.

  Nero paced the terrace, tense and anxious. He watched the bay for the first sight of her ship, the special ship designed for a deadly purpose by Anicetus. Torches lit the gardens, and the tables in the triclinium were set with gold. All was ready, but where was she?

  Nero stopped his pacing every few minutes to refill his goblet with wine. When he reached for the decanter once more, a hand covered his. He looked up into eyes the color of summer meadows damp with dew. Poppaea’s smile held assurance and a touch of premature triumph.

  “No more wine, my love. Do you want your mother to find you in a drunken stupor on this night of nights? Come. Your guests await you.”

  “No! I must be here when Mater arrives. Perhaps something’s gone wrong. Perhaps the ship—” He left the sentence hanging. Then he continued, “I mean to spend every minute of these last hours with her. She must know that I love her in spite of everything.”

  Poppaea flashed a sinister smile. “Very well. I won’t be jealous knowing that these will be her final hours with you. To be rid of her, I can endure anything. Stay here so you can see her in private before you join the others.”

  Then, turning, Poppaea left Nero to his vigil and his thoughts. What if Anicetus had made some mistake in the plans of the ship? The test models broke away and sank easily enough in the mock naval battles. But this was no fake battle. Tonight would be the real thing. Nero found himself worrying that the ship might have broken in half on the trip to Baiae, that he might never lay eyes on his beautiful mother again. He couldn’t live with the thought. He had to be with her one more time before—

  Colored lanterns in the bay signaled the arrival of Agrippina’s ship. Nero raced to the dock to meet her. He marveled at the beauty of the craft with its brightly painted hull, golden canopy, and many-colored sails. Anicetus had created a work of art as his instrument of death.

  And then he saw her. Agrippina emerged from beneath the canopy. Next to her the rich beauty of the craft paled. Her temple of golden hair twinkled with a thousand sapphires, while twin stars of unequaled size winked at her ears. The sea breeze rippled through the sheer fabric of her gown—making it seem that she moved amid a silver-blue veil of mist. Her face glowed with the generous and loving smile of a godde
ss.

  As she offered her hand to her son, the lantern light caught the blue glow of her pearl ring.

  Nero barely breathed the word, “Mater.”

  She took him in her arms and pulled his head down to her breasts. He kissed her there and let his tongue taste her sweet flesh. Would it be for the last time? He shivered and clung to her more closely.

  Raising his face to hers, she kissed his lips softly, then asked, “Why so solemn, my love? Isn’t this a night to celebrate our reunion?”

  “I was worried, Mater. When your ship didn’t arrive on time, I was sure that something dreadful had happened.”

  Her tinkling laugh broke over him. “Nero! You know that a lady preparing for a party can’t be rushed. Indeed, it would have seemed in poor taste for me to arrive at exactly the appointed hour. Come now. No more long faces. Tonight will be special—our night!”

  All evening Nero stayed within easy reach of his mother. His eyes seldom strayed from her. At times she looked at him oddly. Did she suspect something? To Nero none of the other guests existed. Though he ate and drank, he tasted neither food nor wine. He concentrated on filling his senses with his mother, hanging on her every word, deeply inhaling her fragrance, and touching her soft body at the slightest opportunity.

  Long before he could believe that the evening had come to its close, Agrippina rose to depart.

  Nero grasped her hand and begged in a moment of panic, “Don’t leave, Mater. Stay the night here, please!”

  She touched his anxious face and smiled. “My time has come to depart, but you’re sweet to invite me, Nero.”

  The words she chose stabbed Nero like the blade of a sharp sword. She swept out of the room with him clinging to her.

  On the dock he went into her arms and kissed her deeply. At first she tried to pull away, surprised by his ardor. But then she relaxed in his grasp and responded to his intimate touch, sighing with pleasure when his hand sought out her warm breast. His mouth longed for the taste of her—one last time. What a sad waste of such beauty. The world swam about them as mother and son touched, kissed, caressed.

  The spell shattered when one of the crewmen called, “My lady, we have to cast off now, if we’re to make the tide.”

  Agrippina gave Nero a final kiss and pulled away.

  He stretched out his pleading hand to her. “Don’t go, Mater, don’t go!”

  Sadly he watched her as she stood on the deck of the ill-fated ship sailing off to her death in the black sea of night. Long sifter the vessel vanished from sight, Nero remained where Agrippina had left him. He no longer felt whole, knowing that she would be no more.

  A sharp voice interrupted his thoughts. “Did you get it from her?”

  Nero turned absently to find Poppaea standing behind him.

  “Get what?” His voice was hollow and lifeless.

  “The blue pearl ring! You promised I’d have it.”

  “No, I didn’t think of it.”

  Poppaea fumed, “A fine thing! How am I supposed to recover the ring from the bottom of the sea? When the ship splits apart it will be lost forever.”

  “So will my mother,” he replied flatly.

  Poppaea put her arm around Nero’s shoulders, misinterpreting his meaning. “I suppose you’re right. It will be worth losing one to be rid of the other.”

  The calm sea, the starry night and the good food and wine at the banquet in honor of her and the Festival of Minerva lulled Agrippina into a state of semisleep. She closed her eyes and thought of the pleasures to come now that Nero had forgiven her. All was quiet except for the lapping of the triple row of oars in the trireme as they dipped their way through the waters.

  Without warning, she felt pain shoot through her arm. Agrippina’s eyes shot open to see that she was entangled in the fallen canopy. She screamed for her servant, Acerronia.

  “I’m here, my lady. Are you hurt?” The woman’s voice quivered with fear.

  “My arm, the pole hit it. Stay close to me.”

  At that moment, a seaman came out of nowhere wielding a club. In the dark he mistook Acerronia for the emperor’s mother, and bashed in her skull. “It’s done!” he shouted. “The Lady Agrippina is dead!”

  A dreadful realization closed in on Agrippina. This had all been a plot. Nero meant to do away with her rather than honor her.

  By the torchlight she could see that a wide crack was groaning open down the deck of the ship. The vessel was going under, and everyone aboard would be sucked down with it. Rolling Acerronia’s lifeless body off of her, Agrippina slipped over the side of the boat and into the dark waters when no one was watching.

  She heard the frightened yells of the men and the crunching sound of the vessel breaking apart and sinking.

  A strong swimmer, Agrippina headed in the direction of the lights on the shore. Her injured arm was aching beyond endurance, and when she thought she would surely go under, a small fishing boat appeared and its crew pulled her out of the cold water. Agrippina told the fishermen of the shipwreck. They saw her safely to her villa and spread word of the accident throughout the area.

  Nero, with Anicetus and a group of sailors, waited at the villa. A runner came with welcome news. But he announced there was one survivor—a woman.

  Nero stormed at his admiral, “You said the plan was foolproof! What about this survivor?”

  “It couldn’t be the Lady Agrippina. My crew was given strict orders to kill her even before the ship sank. She’s done, Caesar, rest assured.”

  A second knock at the door sent an electric shock through all the men in the room. What now?

  A servant entered and a horrified Nero instantly recognized him as his mother’s man, Lucius Agerinus.

  The breathless slave bowed and delivered his message. “I come from the Lady Agrippina’s villa with news for the emperor. Her ship was wrecked on her voyage home, with great loss of life. She’s injured slightly, but is alive. She sends her love and regards to her son.”

  Anicetus quickly walked up behind the man and surreptitiously dropped a dagger at the slave’s feet. Then he shouted, “He’s come armed to kill the emperor! Take him!”

  Before Nero could stir or speak, one of the sailors leaped forward and ran the luckless slave through the belly with his sword.

  Still fogged by the dead slave’s message, Nero remained silent when Anicetus ordered, “Go to the villa of Lady Agrippina and finish the job that your shipmates bungled. I’ll follow.”

  When they arrived at Agrippina’s villa, Anicetus and his men were ushered in by the slave Mnester.

  “The Lady Agrippina is resting, sir. She’s in some pain and shouldn’t be disturbed at this time.”

  Anicetus pushed the man aside. He burst in on Agrippina as she lay in bed. She gazed calmly at the intruders.

  Seeing the gleam of hatred in Anicetus’s eyes, she spoke directly to him. “If you’ve come to kill me, I tell you that it isn’t my son who sent you to do so. He’d never order his own mother put to death—”

  Swords and daggers were unsheathed about the room. Agrippina suddenly knew how horribly wrong she was. She grabbed a dagger from under her pillow and slashed herself with it. Then, tearing off her night shift, she screamed, “Strike me here! Strike here, at the womb which bore Nero!”

  One of the sailors clubbed her across the head. Anicetus simultaneously drove his sword home through her heart. The men were still standing in stunned silence around the gory scene when Nero ran into the room. He pushed the others aside and knelt beside the bed. He shuddered. The side of her head was crushed, and the sword which protruded from her breast held her fast to the bed. Her still-warm blood oozed out of her wounds to soak the satin sheets.

  Nero took his mother’s hand in his, kissed it, and said almost inaudibly, “She was so beautiful!”

  Then he slipped the deadly pearl ring from her finger and placed it on his own.

  Sixteen

  As the Death Pe
arl left Agrippina’s bloodstained hand, Rome experienced a series of frightening phenomena. A long-haired star streaked through the night sky. Plebs and patricians alike stared up in awe and wondered what powerful person had died. As the fiery comet disappeared, lightning followed in its wake. Thunder rocked the seven hills, and other ill omens followed.

  A lusty shopkeeper, a bit tipsy with cheap wine he had drunk in celebration of the Festival of Minerva, took his wife to their bed. A blinding light filled the shabby room where they lay and a shock went through his body. With the second flash, he looked upon his wife to see her face seared, her eyes bulging from their sockets. She was only one of fourteen citizens to be killed by lightning that night.

  Across the city in a tenement, it was claimed that a woman gave birth to a snake instead of a child. The midwife dashed the serpent to a bloody mass, but not before it had sunk its deadly fangs into its mother’s womb.

  The frightened Romans waited for dawn. But dawn never came. Dark clouds covered the sun until well past noon. It seemed the end of the world was at hand. People wondered if perhaps the words of the fanatical Christians were about to come to pass. The Christians spoke of their Savior who had died but would come again to kill the unbelievers with fire.

  At Acte’s villa at Veletri everyone huddled together. When a frantic knock came at the door, the slaves refused to answer it. Acte was forced to see who was there. Praying it would be Sergio, she opened the door only a crack. In the darkness it was difficult to distinguish the figure.

  “Acte, please let me in before lightning strikes me dead!”

  She hesitated only a moment, then asked in disbelief, “Nero?”

  In the next instant Nero threw his shivering body into her arms and held her fast to stop his quaking.

  Acte led him into a secluded chamber and poured him a goblet of wine.

  “Nero, what’s happened?”

  Then as he accepted the goblet, Acte saw the blue pearl on his hand and knew the answer.