On impulse, she walked quietly to the bed and brushed his brow with a kiss. Though he didn’t wake, he smiled in his sleep.
Agrippina’s party departed from the seaside villa the next morning. Nero felt no joy at the thought of returning to the villa of Crispus in Rome, though it was one of the finest houses in the city. His mother had done well for them both in seducing the wealthy Passenius Crispus from her sister-in-law. His death, expedited by the Death Pearl, had left his mother the richest woman in Rome, next to the ex-Empress Lollia Paulina, the divorced wife of the dead Emperor Caligula. Nero wanted for nothing, though his mother guarded her fortune well in contrast to the mad extravagance of her brother, Caligula.
The early-morning sun danced on the whitecaps in the bay as the party of litters, carriages, chariots, and guards on horseback moved along the coast road.
Looking back, Nero glimpsed the lithe form of Acte standing outside the villa. He’d wanted to tell her goodbye in person, but she hadn’t come out until the entourage moved out of the courtyard. As the sun brought forth blue lights from her long hair, Nero felt a tug at his insides. Why was she always just out of reach?
“Dorph, tie the litter curtains back so we can catch the breeze.”
The eager slave jumped to comply with his young master’s command. Nero chuckled to himself. The enamored slave boy had wept and pleaded to go with Nero. Finally the emperor offered Dorph as a gift to the young lad. With a sigh of resignation, Agrippina had given her permission for Dorph to come along, fearing he might truly commit suicide as he threatened, if left behind.
Nero delighted in such devotion from others. He closed his eyes against the strong Mediterranean light as Dorph fanned him with peacock feathers and wiped his brow with a cool cloth.
Suddenly Dorph leaned forward and touched Nero’s lips with his own—a brief and hesitant gesture. He whispered, “Thank you, master, for allowing me to come.”
Aroused by his visions of the elusive Acte and then Dorph’s soft kiss, Nero glanced ahead to see the curtains of his mother’s litter closed against the dust.
Taking Dorph’s hand and guiding it beneath his tunic, Nero spoke softly. “Close the curtains now.”
The sounds coming from within the dark confines of the litter were muffled by the drawn curtains. Only the litter bearers exchanged knowing and amused glances. Then their attention diverted as the great Iron Face rode by them on his splendid black steed.
The heat of late September lay upon Rome like a pall. Cats stretched themselves out in the shade, while packs of dogs, driven mad by the heat, attacked the children of the poor. It was hardly safe to be out without a club or whip for protection. Many of the dogs were slaughtered, and their skinned carcasses hung in butcher-shop doorways, where black flies feasted on them. What little meat hung from the bones became part of some sorry stew of the poor.
But at the palace of Claudius no one ate the meat of the starving dog. There was feasting and entertainment nightly, the guests being served such delicacies as flamingo, peacock’s tongue and the ever-present roast stuffed pig.
Messalina returned from her mother’s house to find Claudius a new man. She wondered at the change in him. Could he actually believe her tale of the night of her attempted escape with Getio? What could have happened to him? But never mind, she thought. How glad I am that Agrippina’s meddling saved me from my own recklessness. A poor fisherman’s wife! She shuddered at the thought as her eyes wandered to the next table where her present lover, Silius, sat staring longingly at her, his blond curls in alluring disarray.
She formed the silent word with her lips: “Tonight.”
He nodded back his understanding.
Claudius didn’t miss this bit of interplay, drunk as he was. Though he hadn’t definitely decided to use his niece’s outrageous plan of secretly divorcing Messalina and signing her marriage contract to another man, his mind was made up now. And the husband—the handsome and lustful Silius. Yes—when the time was right!
With these thoughts he felt his head drooping lower and lower over his plate. When his cheek struck the table he could still hear voices around him: “The old fool!” This came from a woman near him.
“Warming the throne, that’s all he’s doing!” From a man.
Still semiconscious, Claudius felt himself being pelted by small objects. What? Olive pits? Grapes? Whatever, it didn’t matter to him what they said about him or threw at him. His plan was fixed. He was no “throne warmer”! They would see!
While scantily dressed slave girls danced for the assembled mob at the palace, three familiar faces were missing. The emperor’s trusted freedmen Narcissus, Pallas and Callistus had supper with the Lady Agrippina at her luxurious villa.
Agrippina didn’t like to think of this quiet dinner among friends as a conspiracy, but had Messalina known of it, she would surely have labeled it that, and death warrants would have been issued immediately for all four. Already Messalina had tricked Claudius into executing his close friend and historical research assistant Polybius on charges of treason. Callistus proved a willing, but not so adept, replacement. The death of Polybius had put Narcissus and Pallas ill at ease around the empress. If she could trick the emperor so easily into doing away with his favorite among them, their heads might be next on the block.
Because of this fear and their open dislike for Messalina, they listened attentively to the Lady Agrippina’s plan for getting rid of the bloodthirsty empress.
Her calm, cool beauty didn’t distract the freedmen from her detailed plot, though they couldn’t help noticing her attributes. Gowned in gold with emeralds flashing their green fire from her ears, throat and arms, Agrippina looked like a goddess as she held court before them. Her glittering elegance contrasted with the tawdry beauty of the empress.
It was whispered about the palace that Messalina used an imported henna from Egypt to color her hair, while the russet highlights of Agrippina’s tresses, now piled high and interwoven with ropes of gold and pearls, were undeniably natural.
“My lady, do you have a time in mind for this action?” Pallas asked.
She nodded, smiling. “First, it’s up to one of you to convince the emperor that the secret divorce is necessary. Narcissus, I think you’d be best for this task. The emperor trusts you and listens to your advice. But he must think that the idea has sprung fresh from your mind.”
“I see your point, my lady,” said the blond freedman. “Should this be done soon?”
“If we value our lives, it must be done immediately! The empress’s spies are everywhere. Should she learn of this plot or even that we four have met in private, she’d have enough for a charge of treason against each of us. My life and that of my son hang in the balance as it is. Have you ever noticed the golden snakeskin my Nero wears on his arm?”
The three men looked at her, wondering what a snakeskin could have to do with their plot or their lives.
“When Nero was a child still in his cradle, Messalina’s henchmen put a snake there to kill him. The snake met its death at the hands of Nero’s faithful nurse, Ecloge, before it could do him harm. I had the viper skinned and plated with gold so that it might always keep him safe.” Shifting her eyes and turning, Agrippina said, “You, Narcissus, are in the most danger. Your dislike for the empress is known to everyone except possibly the emperor. And should Messalina, for whatever reason, decide to accuse you, I’ve no doubt that it would be a triple execution.”
The three men squirmed uncomfortably on their couches, knowing that Agrippina spoke the painful truth.
“As for a time, it would be to our advantage to have the emperor out of Rome when Messalina learns of her divorce and secret remarriage to Silius. The Festival of the Vintage will be soon. I know the emperor plans to be in Ostia to conduct the religious services before the bacchanal begins. This celebration with its wild revelry will work to our advantage. Don’t you agree, gentlemen?”
Their three heads—one blond, o
ne dark, one bald—all nodded agreement and each smiled at Agrippina’s cunning. Narcissus thought to himself, If only this woman were empress!
And so it was concluded. There was no entertainment, for this had been a business meeting. Agrippina saw her guests to the door, but stopping, said, “Pallas, stay a bit. I have other matters to discuss with you.”
Her breathy voice told the handsome keeper of the imperial treasury what she had on her mind. He waved the others away into the night before bolting the door. Without a word, he went into her arms. Weeks had passed since he’d known her touch. She, too, felt the need of his strong arms about her—his body next to hers. The role of the loveless widow wasn’t to her liking.
Having sent the slaves to their quarters after they served the meal, Agrippina and Pallas had no need for caution. The dinner couch, still warm from the gross body of old Callistus, served the purpose well enough as Pallas pressed the willing body of Agrippina back against the silken cushions, loosening his robe as he struggled to free the lady from her gown of gold. The first onslaught of passion came to climax quickly as long-felt desires were answered. Then, wrenching himself from her still-quivering body, Pallas seated himself beside her on the couch.
“Is it over so soon, my love?” Her voice was no longer that of a strong-willed lady of the realm, but the pleading of a maid still aching for her lover’s touch.
Pallas leaned his dark head over to suckle her distended nipples, forcing a moan of pleasure from her. “Not over, dearest, just beginning.”
Taking a golden goblet from the dinner table, Pallas drib-bled its contents over her body. At the touch of each drop, Agrippina gave a little cry. Then, having anointed her body to his satisfaction, Pallas went about the pleasurable task of licking her clean again. His tongue sent fire scorching through her blood, making her thrash about on the couch until it became necessary for Pallas to hold her arms and legs in order to complete his work.
Suddenly letting go of her, Pallas reached for a full goblet and thrust his throbbing penis into the cool wine. Then, turning back to Agrippina, he allowed her to taste the stinging sweetness of his need. As orgasm neared, he thrust deeply into the wetness of her inner depths. At last, they lay spent and satisfied on the couch, unable to move for several minutes.
Nero tiptoed from the hiding place where he had watched and listened to the plot and then the delightfully unexpected love scene between his mother and Pallas. Of all her lovers, Nero enjoyed watching Pallas most of all. Though it pained him as always to see another man possess his mother, the novelty of tonight’s act pleased him. He went in urgent search of Dorph.
Pallas would have stayed the night, slipping out before dawn into the sleeping streets of Rome as he had done often before, if it hadn’t been for the plot. The two conspirators knew that they must not be seen together until the destruction of Messalina was accomplished. So Pallas went out by a side door into an alley, leaving the satisfied Agrippina to her dreams of power.
Narcissus was not surprised the next morning by a summons to appear before the emperor. He entered the chamber to find Claudius in his usual chair. The emperor’s eyes looked somewhat red and tired, but a mischievous expression lit his face.
“Narcissus, how good to see you,” he said, rising with some effort. “I have called you here because you among all of my staff are the one I feel closest to and most trust. You told me of the oracle’s prediction that the husband of Messalina would die within the year.” Then, motioning his freedman closer, he whispered, “I’ve worked out a plan to fool the fates and deliver another to their destruction. Senator Vitellius, the censor of Rome, agrees that my scheme will not go against the laws in any fashion. So he is now drawing up papers which will decree my divorce from Lady Messalina and her secret, paper marriage to one Gaius Silius.”
Claudius paused for a reaction. Narcissus nodded.
“Yes, my emperor, I know the man and he’s most deserving of your transferred fate.”
Delighted, Claudius laughed wildly.
“Don’t you think my plan is perfect? Neither of them will know, of course, and I’ll escape the curse.”
Narcissus smiled back. “Have you chosen a time for this paper transfer, my lord?”
The emperor’s brow formed a bushy bridge above his nose. He didn’t answer immediately.
Narcissus saw his chance. “May I suggest the eve of the Festival of the Vintage? I understand that you are going to Ostia without the empress.” Then with a sly wink he added, “This would be the perfect time to celebrate your newfound bachelorhood.”
Again the emperor roared with laughter. “You’re a man’s man, Narcissus! Of course! That’s a splendid idea! Go tell the courtesans Calpurnia and Cleopatra that they will accompany my party to Ostia. I see no reason why the emperor shouldn’t have some fun during this festival of misbehavior.”
They smiled and winked, as if they were equals—just two normal men plotting a weekend frolic away from home.
Narcissus bowed and left the chamber and the beaming emperor. Now came the best part of Agrippina’s plan—the part she hadn’t told Claudius. It was up to Narcissus to find a way to let Messalina and Silius know what was going on without seeming obvious. A whispered rumor among the palace slaves might be all that was needed to alert the empress.
Messalina and her lover, Silius, had thrown all caution aside and were flaunting their affair. Claudius seemed to close his eyes to her adulterous ways. And since the empress, rather than the emperor, made most of the decisions on issuing death warrants, she felt Silius was in no danger. If Claudius dared question her, she would claim that Gaius Silius had offered his services as her bodyguard against the many enemies of the throne and she had accepted, not feeling safe without a personal escort at all times.
Their one problem was a meeting place. Silius lived with his family. Messalina’s mother would hardly sanction such an affair under her roof, unless it was one of her choosing. And Messalina couldn’t bring her lover to the palace. So it was arranged with the owner of a brothel in Rome, which Silius had frequented, that a private room would be reserved for them every night. It was here that the two met, little suspecting Claudius’s plan.
Messalina, dressed in an outlandish black wig, slipped in a side entrance which led directly to the room where her lover awaited her. The tall blond aristocrat broke into gales of laughter at the sight of her. He ran to her, snatching the wig away.
“My darling Messalina, what you go through for a bit of love!”
“I didn’t sneak through filthy back alleys to a whorehouse for just ‘a bit of love,’” she snapped. “I demand more than that from you!”
Silius fell to his knees before her, as if in worship, but instead, he grabbed her around the waist, burying his face in the folds of her ragged gown. Pushing aside the flimsy fabric which only partially covered her legs, he found her thatch of silken down, not nearly the exotic color of her henna-rinsed hair. Then his tongue was there—licking, teasing—and his teeth—nipping, but not hurting.
Messalina moaned and swayed, but he held her fast. Using his hands only to keep her quivering body upright, he worked her expertly with his mouth, finally forcing her to groan loudly. At last, he let her go and stood as her limp and burning body slumped against his chest.
Through teeth clenched in mock disfavor, she growled, “You’ll pay for this—this mutilation of my purity!”
After a few moments, Messalina took off her ragged disguise and began removing Silius’s clothing. She worked slowly—biting, taunting and clawing. When he seemed about to lunge and take her, she pushed his wondrously naked form onto the cot. With a smooth motion she then pulled a knife from the folds of her discarded cloak. She held its razor edge dangerously close to his most prized part.
On seeing it Silius screamed. Had the empress gone mad? He stared at the knife’s shiny metal and dared not move, nor even breathe too deeply. “Messalina, my love, what are you doing?” he gasped.
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She suddenly laughed and moved the knife away an inch or so from his cringing flesh.
“Do you really think I would castrate the best lover I’ve ever had?” she asked. Silius made no answer as great beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Messalina leaned menacingly closer. “Well, I would, if I should ever hear the slightest hint of your appetite for other flesh. But for now, let my dagger serve only as a reminder of my claim to your love. And I warn you, dear Silius, not to take my threats lightly. Now lie still,” she ordered.
Silius held his breath and tried to keep every muscle motionless, having no idea what Messalina would do to him next. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on something other than the shining blade. At first he felt nothing, but suddenly there was stinging pain. His eyes shot open to find Messalina plucking out his pubic hairs one by one.
At his sudden movement and shocked expression, Messalina smiled and whispered softly, “Be a good boy now so I won’t have to hurt you. That’s it. Close your eyes. Relax.”
Messalina, knife still in hand, then continued her work of lovingly torturing him. As Claudius often went to the prison to enjoy the slow death of criminals, so Messalina enjoyed this lingering punishment of her lovers. This was the first time Silius had seen this side of her. It both aroused and terrified him.
He moaned in exquisite agony as she searched the interior of his ears with her tongue, then he jerked in startled pain as he felt her long-nailed fingers probe their way into his anus. As his mind adjusted to this sensation and Silius began to relax, she dug her fingers deeper. Then she fell upon his breast and worked his paps with her teeth and tongue. When he thought he could take no more, she straddled his face to let her juices flow into his waiting mouth, while at the same time carving her initial on his chest with her knife. Pleased with her bloody M, she threw the knife across the room, where it clattered to the floor in the corner.
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