Nero plunged into the cool waters, feeling immediate relief from the heat and dust of the trip. He closed his eyes to drift in peaceful solitude. Then he heard footsteps.
Having ordered Castor to remain in the bedchamber, Nero scowled in anger at the interruption.
“Get out!” He struck the water, splashing it in the intruder’s direction. Then he stopped, his mouth agape in surprise.
There in a pool of water he’d sent flying her way stood a handsome slave woman about his mother’s age. She bowed silently and started to retreat.
Nero caught his breath and shouted, “No! Wait! I thought you were Castor. Come back.”
The woman, dressed in a short tunic which bared one shoulder and breast, lowered her eyes as she returned. Nero took his time to look over her sleek, copper-colored body, visible through the near-transparent cloth. His eyes traveled from her bound hair and serene face down her strong neck and prominently displayed breast. Her waist tapered, but her hips and thighs were large. About her ankle she wore a golden slave chain.
“Your name?”
“I am called Fauna, my lord.”
“And, Fauna, your reason for entering my bath unbidden?”
With eyes still downcast, she answered in a velvet tone, “I was sent by the emperor to cut your hair and offer my services as masseuse.”
Nero eyed her suspiciously. “You are the emperor’s barber?”
“One of them, my lord. He requested that your locks be cut in the style of the Caesars before the banquet tonight. But if it is inconvenient now, I will return at your bidding.”
Nero scrutinized this woman barber. How clever of his mother! To leave Dorph in Baiae and then send to him a tempting morsel of female flesh. Surely there was meant to be more than a haircut and a massage in Fauna’s visit. He swelled with the sight of her, yet he was determined to outwit his mother.
“Please, Fauna, stay. Hand me my robe. The bath has grown chilly.”
Fauna obeyed, still keeping her eyes averted.
Nero snapped, “Is my body so ugly that you can’t look at it? Look! I command you!”
Fauna’s black eyes gazed directly at the boy’s naked body. His legs were short and muscled, but he could benefit from exercise and her skilled fingers. So, too, with his arms and belly. His back grew straight and he was barrel-chested. He would be a strong man when grown, she thought.
“Well, what do you see, woman?”
Fauna lowered her eyes once more. “I see, with my master’s permission, that if we both get to work we can get you into fine shape.”
Nero straightened. He had expected praise, not a subtle criticism. “Then, by all means, let’s get started at once.”
Removing his robe, Nero lay face down on the massage table. He turned his head to see her pouring water over heated rocks to quickly fill the chamber with fragrant steam. Then Fauna came beside him and covered her strong hands with scented oil. She began with his legs and moved upward. Each touch of her fingers made Nero’s flesh tingle with excitement. As she kneaded his buttocks like so much bread dough, Nero moaned with desire.
At the sound Fauna left her work and stood in front of him. “Master, can I relieve you in some other way?” she asked.
Nero reached up to touch her bare breast and then moaned again as she took his hand and guided it beneath her tunic to her warm, moist flesh.
Gritting his teeth and reminding himself of his vow to foil his mother’s plans, Nero jerked his hand away. “No. Go back to your work, Fauna.”
Without a word Fauna returned to the side of the table and poured warm oil on Nero’s shoulders. Taut muscles in his back and neck gave way as her magic hands moved. Then she turned him over gently, and her face showed the first glimmer of emotion—surprise.
Nero looked up into her deep-black eyes and he asked in alarm, “What is it, Fauna? What’s wrong?”
She shook her head before she answered, “Nothing is wrong, my lord. It’s just that—” She seemed reluctant to finish her statement.
“Go on,” Nero prompted.
“It’s just that the emperor told me you were a boy, a mere child. But to see you—aroused—it’s clear he was mistaken.”
Nero beamed in delight as he, too, gazed at his magnificent swelling. “Get on with your task, woman,” he said.
Taking a towel, Fauna covered Nero’s abdomen and finished the massage. He was putting on his robe when his mother entered the bath chamber.
“Well, son, am I in time?”
He looked at her quizzically. Did she expect to oversee his first sexual encounter with a woman? It would be like her. But she would be disappointed on that score. He hadn’t taken her bait—tempting though it was.
“In time for what, Mater?”
“Why, your haircut, my love. Did you think I’d miss such an important event?”
The haircut had slipped Nero’s mind completely.
Fauna said, “I’m ready to begin whenever you wish, my lady.”
Agrippina touched the childhood locks for one last time and sighed. “Be on with it, Fauna. Make my son more of a man than I’m sure you have already.”
Nero nearly laughed aloud. So, her sending Fauna to his bath had been exactly what he’d suspected. Perhaps it was his loss, considering what was offered. But there was great satisfaction in knowing that his mother couldn’t control every area of his life. For once, he had outwitted her.
Fauna cut his hair with the same expertise she had shown him on the table. He sat very still and watched in a mirror as his red-gold locks fell away one by one. A great weight seemed lifted from his head. After the cutting was done, the servant used scented pomade to hold the Caesar-like curls in place on his forehead. Then she stood back to admire her work.
Agrippina nodded and smiled her approval. She brought out a golden box from the folds of her dressing gown. “Please gather up the locks and put them in here, Fauna. Someday my son will be a great man and we’ll want to preserve them as a childhood remembrance.”
When Fauna had gathered all the cuttings and placed them in the box, Agrippina pressed several gold coins into her hand.
“You’ve done well, Fauna. Now leave me alone with my son.”
When the woman’s footsteps faded away, Agrippina placed her hands on her son’s shoulders. Her eyes sparkled and she kissed his forehead, “Oh, Nero, my Nero, now you are truly a man—in every way.” There was the tone of conspiracy in her voice.
“Not in every way, Mater,” he said as he stood up. “I’m still a virgin where women are concerned.” He smiled at her triumphantly, then turned and walked out, leaving Agrippina staring unbelievingly after him.
The triclinium was filled to overflowing that night for the banquet. Senators, generals, patricians—they were all there to honor their emperor and welcome his future bride.
Agrippina sat at the head table with Claudius on his royal couch. She eyed the nearby table where Nero sat with Britannicus, Octavia, Acte, a young patrician noble named Marcus Otho, and Antonia, Claudius’s eldest daughter by a previous marriage.
Nero was hardly recognizable with his short hair and new look of assurance. Why had the beautiful slave failed to seduce him? Agrippina had selected Fauna so carefully for the task. Her son would need an older and experienced woman to lead him in the right ways. At first, Agrippina thought Nero had only goaded her with his remark, but Fauna had confirmed his still-virginal state. Was his preference for boys more serious than she’d imagined?
At the next table Octavia sat colorless and stone-faced—ignoring everyone. Britannicus scowled—the expression never seemed to have left his features since his mother’s death. Agrippina noted with disapproval that the boy-girl-boy-girl seating arrangement had been changed. Nero and Marcus Otho now sat with their heads close together, thoroughly enjoying some private joke. Antonia tried to pretend that she was being included, but it was obvious she wasn’t. Agrippina was further disturbed that Acte was al
so at the table. She had been unable to argue Claudius out of Acte’s acceptance into the royal family. She wondered at his strong attachment to this girl.
“Agrippina, my dearest, you seem miles away. Come back and join us.” The emperor took her hand and kissed it. “I’ve been telling the senators here how grateful we are that the Laws of Augustus could be changed to allow our marriage. After all, the blood flows thin between uncle and niece.”
Agrippina nodded and smiled at the senators. “We both thank you. Love knows no restrictions. The gods would surely have frowned if Claudius and I had been kept apart. I’m certain Grandfather smiles down on this union.”
The senators all nodded their agreement. “Oh, to be sure, my lady,” said one.
It seemed to Agrippina that the evening went on forever. Her face was frozen into a false smile. Now and again she glanced at Nero and Otho. Why must this curse be on her son? He should be married—as soon as possible. But to whom? She brightened as the answer formed in her mind. As soon as her own wedding was over she would arrange Nero’s betrothal. Though he was too young to marry yet, a betrothal, especially to the one she had in mind, would eliminate any doubts others might have about his leanings.
Having made her decision, Agrippina feasted with the others on peacock tongue, smoked salmon, black and white olives, unborn octopus, rams’ testicles, and other delicacies before the whole roasted pig was brought out. She devoured the food, washing it down with goblets of the best Falernian wine. Her appetite and carefree attitude proved contagious. Claudius, too, gorged himself, eating a whole platter of mushrooms, and tripling her liberal intake of the Falernian.
Nero knew he was being watched and wanted to provide a great act for his mother’s benefit. It wasn’t that he found Otho unattractive—far from it. But he would have curbed his actions if she hadn’t tried to trick him with Fauna.
Acte’s nearness distracted Nero. But he could do nothing here in public except admire her from a distance. He looked up as a great shadow fell over the table, capturing the group’s attention. There, behind Acte, stood a giant of a man. His dark curls were entwined with vine leaves, and he had a smile for her alone.
He leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. A blush crept over Acte’s cheeks. Nero’s face flamed, too, as he realized by Acte’s expression that whatever the stranger had said pleased her greatly.
From behind his back the man then produced a yellow rosebud, its thorns removed, and presented it to her with a bow.
“For you, my little one. A delicate flower.” His smoke-colored eyes beamed.
Acte’s smile trembled and her gaze seemed locked in his. “Thank you, Sergio. It’s good to see you. I had no idea you were even in Rome. Weren’t you supposed to do combat in Ostia this morning?”
Touching her cheek with a hand that seemed to Nero far too large to be gentle, he answered, “You’ve been following my career! I’m pleased, Acte, and you’re correct. I met my foes in Ostia this day and was victorious over all of them. But you surprise me. I thought you would have forgotten me already.”
Again Acte blushed and looked down. “How could I forget the great Iron Face?”
A murmur of awe circled the table. Without his mask, Sergio Maximus enjoyed a certain degree of anonymity. Acte was about to make introductions around the table when an older woman made up with rice powder and paint came and grasped the gladiator’s arm in her jeweled hands.
“Iron Face, how dare you slip away from me? You promised this night to me alone.” She kissed him with her painted lips and tugged at him to follow her.
Sergio turned back to Acte with a shrug and whispered, “What kind of life is this? I battle the beasts and other gladiators all day and then have to take on unloved wives at night. I must see if I can manage to get myself slightly wounded in the arena soon. Then I’ll need you to protect and take care of me again, little one.”
He kissed Acte quickly on the cheek and then was gone. A chatter of questions followed his departure. Acte tried to explain that she’d nursed Iron Face and he was grateful to her, no more. But Nero’s burning gaze unnerved her.
At last he silenced all discussion of Iron Face by speaking loudly to Otho. “I’ve heard that the gladiators are taught more than combat at the school in Pompeii. They say that love among them is thought to give them strength in the heat of battle. They only make a show of preferring women in order to gain favors and riches. What’s your opinion, Otho?”
Otho laughed heartily. “I’ll tell you the truth, Nero, I wouldn’t mind having that one teach me what he’s learned in school.” His eyes cut around the table to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “And I don’t mean combat!”
Otho, a few years older than Nero, then expounded on all his adventures in the back alleys and brothels of Rome after dark. “You’ll have to come with me some night, Nero. I’ll wager you’ve never known anything like it.”
Nero scowled at Otho in mock disapproval. “Do I look like a child to you, Otho, my friend? Why, this very afternoon I had a slave woman begging for my body. But I turned her away. You’d be shocked at what I could tell you.”
Otho chuckled and raised his goblet. “Ah, but Nero, telling and doing are two entirely different things. You have to experience it for yourself, and I’ll be your teacher.”
Acte stared at her rose and tried to ignore Nero and Otho. The two were oblivious to the others at their table, and indeed to all the others in the banquet hall. Nero stared into Otho’s brown eyes and thought again of Dorph. But Dorph was only a slave. Otho was a real man of the world. As Otho continued to whisper some of his more lewd escapades, Nero felt a touch on his knee under the table. The hand, sweaty and expert, explored beneath Nero’s tunic. Nero found it difficult to concentrate on Otho’s words. Then suddenly the entertainment began.
A robed singer took the floor to sing of ancient Troy, accompanying himself on the lyre. As his voice filled the triclinium, Nero felt himself transported back through the centuries. With each rise and fall of the singer’s voice, Nero’s feelings rose and fell as well. He forgot where he was. He forgot his mother’s attempted trickery and his longing for Dorph. He no longer felt Acte’s great longing eyes upon him. He even pushed aside the hand beneath his tunic.
This was what he wanted more than anything in life—to sing, to act, to stir the emotions of a throng until they fell silent before him. He would be adored, rewarded, satisfied.
The room remained in rapt silence as the singer finished his last verse. Nero sprang to his feet to lead the cheers. “Bravo! Bravo!”
When the diners finally settled back into their seats, Nero turned to Otho, and said in a voice strangled with emotion, “I’m going to be the greatest singer and poet of our age. This is my destiny!”
Otho stared in amazement.
“Nero, you look like a man now, why not act the part even though you are a fool?” Octavia suddenly said sarcastically. “You’ll be a great singer the day your mother joins the order of the Vestals!”
Nero, in his rage, couldn’t bring himself to answer. He only stared in cold contempt at his cousin.
Then he started to turn away and run from the triclinium. But before he could rise, he caught the soft gaze of Acte. In his attentions to Otho, he’d barely given her a glance in the past hour. But now he saw her face, radiant with warmth. She, too, had been stirred by the music. Her look showed she understood his wish to be like the songster.
He watched as she formed words with her lips. She made no sound, but he read her message clearly: “You will be great, Nero!”
Five
The royal marriage was to take place two days after the banquet. Custom dictated that until the morning of the wedding, the emperor would not see his intended. It was thought an evil omen for the bridegroom to gaze upon his bride just before the ceremony.
Agrippina could not leave her apartments or see any man during the waiting period. These days were meant for preparat
ion and silent contemplation of the great step she was about to take. At the temples of Vesta and Juno sacrifices were offered on her behalf by the Vestal Virgins, and incense was burned before the palace shrines.
The emperor’s time, on the other hand, was to be spent in revelry and feasting. But because of his age and position, Claudius left the dancing girls and wild partying to the young bloods of the court.
Nero, finding himself out from under his mother’s yoke for the first time in his life, made the most of his freedom. At the celebration on the eve of the wedding, he drank too much Falernian. Otho, who had been fondling a scantily dressed slave girl on his lap, suddenly noticed the glazed look in his young companion’s eyes. He dropped his charming playmate unceremoniously to the floor and went to Nero.
“Old friend, you don’t look well. Are you all right?”
Nero tried to raise his head from the table, but the room was a spinning kaleidoscope of color, sound, and light.
“Otho—” He reached out a hand. “Is that you, Otho?”
With a boisterous laugh, Otho replied, “Yes, my prince of debauchery. It’s your faithful servant, Otho.”
Nero went pale and clutched the wavering form in front of him. “Take me to my quarters. I can’t make it alone.”
Otho led him slowly down the torch-lit corridor to his apartment. He guided Nero inside and gently sat him on the bed. Otho then brought out a large water bowl and called Castor to bring him a feather. The servant did as he was told.
Nero suddenly began to lean to the left. Otho, feather in hand, steadied the youth with an firm around his shoulders. “Open your mouth, Nero—wide,” he commanded.
Nero obeyed and immediately gagged on the feather thrust down his throat. Otho quickly retracted it and pushed Nero’s head into the large bowl.
“Now up with it, my boy,” he said, “or suffer the consequences in the morning. You don’t want to spoil your dear mother’s wedding, now do you?”
He held Nero’s head until nothing more came up. Otho then called for Castor again. “Take this away. And don’t disturb the young lord for the rest of the night.”
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