Nero kissed her dainty hands. “It’s not for her to decide. As the daughter of the emperor she’ll abide by his decision. The documents for her betrothal were signed by his hand last night. So you’re really free, my love. Nothing stands in the way of our need for each other now. Does it matter that you find your true love a few months sooner than your mistress? You’re no longer bound by the code of the Vestals. The emperor himself has seen to this.”
Acte’s eyes glowed. “Then we’ll be together? My prayers have been answered?”
Nero encircled Acte in a tender embrace. “Yes. And mine as well. Meet me here in the garden tonight when the moon is high. Don’t say a word of this to Octavia. She doesn’t know yet, but she’ll soon be told. Go now! I’ll be here in the arbor. Don’t disappoint me, my love.”
Nero watched Acte’s lithe form disappear into the palace, the fragrance of sweet peas lingering as a reminder of her presence. His body throbbed with passionate anticipation.
Agrippina, gowned in saffron and gold, sent for Pallas as soon as her light morning meal was finished. She nibbled absently on a fig still fresh with the morning’s dew as she waited. Seated on the balcony of her apartment, which overlooked the garden and part of the city she loved, her mind wandered back over the previous night’s events. Her heart swelled as she thought of the document cementing Nero even closer to the throne. When the time came for Claudius to die, Nero would be the natural choice for emperor, since he would be married to the old ruler’s daughter. And this would happen in spite of the cries of the traditionalists who followed the edicts of the Divine Augustus. The new trend from the East made the daughter the natural claimant even though it was her husband who ruled. Only one obstacle now stood in the way of her plans, the meek and sickly Britannicus. Perhaps the gods would take him during one of his terrible fits, solving her problem. But, she mused silently, I’ve most often had to rely on my own wits and ingenuity rather than waiting for the gods to clear an easy path for me. She twisted her ring as thoughts darted in and out of her head like butterflies around a particularly enticing flower.
Her reverie was interrupted by footsteps behind her. She turned to see the mystically handsome Pallas approach. He bent low to touch his lips to her offered hand. For an instant their eyes met, and she could read the longing there. It had been months. Her body tingled, remembering their last night together. If only her emperor were such a lover!
“Please sit, Pallas, and tell me the state of the royal treasury.”
His eyes remained fixed on hers as he began his official report. “All the treasures which were doled out to the former empress’s lovers have been recovered and their temporary owners either executed or put into prison. I’m afraid we lost quite a few senators and patricians in this purge.”
Agrippina waved a delicate hand in the air, dismissing the concern in his voice.
“High or low, all those connected in any way with Messalina must be done away with. I want my people in their places. But that’s not your problem, Pallas. That part will be taken care of by Narcissus. He needs only a word in the emperor’s ear and it is done. Sometimes I believe that Claudius thinks the gods speak to him through the voice of Narcissus. He’s such a superstitious old fool!”
Pallas lowered his eyes. “I didn’t hear that, my lady.”
Agrippina reached out to stroke his dark cheek. “Of course you didn’t. If I couldn’t trust you, would I say such things in your presence?”
He caught her hand in a moment of passion and held it to his lips. Agrippina felt her heart flutter at his touch.
As Pallas kissed the palm of her hand, he whispered, “When, Agrippina?”
She withdrew her hand as warmth crept up her arm to her heart. Her answer was barely audible. “Soon, my love.”
The quiet dinner hour, like every other since Agrippina had taken charge of the palace household, ended quickly. But to Nero it seemed to drag on through an eternity. All of his thoughts were already in the garden, where his body would soon be.
Claudius stayed at the table until the last of the evening’s wine had found its way into his royal stomach. His head lolled over his plate, and he seemed oblivious to everything around him. At this point, the children were excused. Nero knew that the emperor would have to be carried to his bed by two or more hefty slaves. How could his mother stand this brute? He wasted little time pondering the question when he was excused, but rushed to the garden.
Acte hadn’t been at dinner. Since the death of her betrothed, Octavia had stayed in her rooms most of the time and wished only Acte’s company. Nero had missed seeing Acte in the evenings, but tonight he was glad she hadn’t been present. He felt sure that their secret would have been discovered if they had been together at the dinner table.
From the heights of the palace garden Nero could see the lights of the city far below. At night the squalor and ugliness of Rome were hidden and only flickering pinpricks illumined the darkness.
The perfume of flowers in full bloom covered the odor of the city. Nero breathed deeply to fill his lungs with the intoxicating fragrance. His head reeled with the thought of the pleasures to come.
Then from the arbor her voice greeted him—”Nero, is that you?”—sending a sudden wave of panic over him. What was he supposed to do? What if he didn’t prove an adequate lover after all? His throat constricted, and he felt rooted to the ground as if he were some cedar sapling permanently affixed to its place in the garden.
Acte froze for an instant when he didn’t answer. Had he changed his mind—decided, after all, that he preferred some other woman for his first encounter? In sudden fear of being spurned, she turned to flee from the garden.
Nero caught her in midflight, and all her uncertainties gave way to a rush of relief and longing.
Folding his arms around her trembling form, Nero whispered, “By the moonlight you look like some night spirit sent down by the goddess Diana.” He kissed her tentatively, then confessed, “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
Acte answered him without words. For a long time they clung to each other. She sighed as they lingered in the moonlight—tasting, feeling, searching until she grew dizzy from his kisses. At last she took his hand and led him to the arbor, where she had formed a bed of fragrant grasses and flowers for their love.
As Nero took his place beside her, all of Acte’s fears were replaced by longing. She turned demurely away to remove her tunic. When she looked back to Nero, she found him staring. Without a word he reached up to touch her breast.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
Born with the instincts for loving and being loved, Acte guided his hands from her breasts downward. With ease she removed Nero’s tunic, and in the next moment their naked bodies pressed together, crushing the blossoms beneath them and scenting the night with their love.
She lay back and closed her eyes, feeling herself suspended somewhere between the stars and the moon, while Nero explored her virgin body. Each touch, each kiss brought delicious sensations, until fire seemed to consume her. She moved sensuously, trying to slow the progress of her pleasure—never wanting it to end.
At last, in an urgent tone, she begged, “Now, my Nero. Make me yours!”
His first gentle thrust failed to pierce the maidenhead. Digging her fingers into his back, she urged, “Harder, Nero!”
She gasped in pain when he penetrated. For a moment they both lay still, but when she began a slow and rhythmic motion with her hips, she felt no pain, only pleasure.
Suddenly, Nero’s body went into tremors. Acte moaned as she felt a quiver inside her and then a warm flood. Their bodies seemed as one when the final shock wave of ecstasy engulfed them.
It was done! Nero was hers as the oracle had predicted. In an afterglow of love, she covered his face with kisses.
She pulled his head down to her breast as she whispered, “Nero, my Nero! Was there ever another like you?”
Alone in his room, Nero couldn’t sleep.
His head swam with the deliciousness of his lovemaking with this wondrous girl-woman he had found. What a difference between this and the love he shared with Otho!
All night his oil lamp burned as he composed, revised, and rewrote a love poem to Acte. The dawn colored the walls of his chamber in gold as he put away his finished work.
He fell into bed exhausted. His head touched something on the pillow. Turning, Nero found Ovid’s Art of Love there. He smiled to himself. Seneca, dear Seneca. The scholar knew as much about love as he did of philosophy and mathematics. And he was encouraging his student to learn that art as well.
All thoughts of sleep fled from his mind as he became absorbed instead in the poet Ovid. Nero, too, wanted to be a poet someday. The world would acclaim his works. He would travel to distant lands to sing his own compositions before cheering throngs of admirers.
As the household began to awake, Nero finally gave up his weary, but happy, body to sleep. But first, he carefully hid the forbidden manuscript beneath his pillow. This was something to dream on.
Seven
Octavia said nothing when her father told her she was to be betrothed to Nero. She only bowed submissively. However, her conduct once inside her apartment with only Acte as a witness was another matter.
Acte, who had been waiting almost as anxiously as Octavia to hear the name of the chosen one, felt faint as the emperor’s daughter entered and grimaced. “It’s Nero!”
“That can’t be,” Acte gasped.
“It won’t be,” Octavia screamed, “if I have any say in the matter. I will not have him!” Her pale skin and colorless eyes flamed. “Never will that pig-faced son of a slave mingle his flesh with mine! He is disgusting in every way. And his mother—she just uses my father. If he weren’t such a fool, he’d see her plot as plainly as I and many others see it. This is one more of her schemes to further her own ambitions.”
Octavia angrily swept the alabaster jars off her dressing table to the marble floor. The oils and powders scented the room with jasmine, roses, oleander and musk. Acte quickly stooped to clear away the mess and hide the hurt disbelief on her face. Why hadn’t Nero told her?
Turning to her, Octavia yelled, “Let it be! You’re no longer a slave. That’s not your duty.”
Acte stood up, placid in the face of the hurricane, disguising her own inner storm behind a calm exterior. “My lady, this isn’t as terrible a punishment as you might think. You only knew Nero as a child. All you remember is that he hurt me on our first meeting, and that hurt you as well. But he’s changed. He’s grown.”
Octavia interrupted, “Grown, yes, into a greater pig! I tell you, I will not have him!”
Screams gave way to sobs, and Octavia let herself be comforted in Acte’s arms. The thought of her Nero being given to another woman caused her pain which couldn’t be soothed. And Octavia’s ungrateful words stabbed at her aching heart like the thrusts of a dagger.
In an uncommon moment of compassion, Octavia stopped crying when she saw tears in Acte’s eyes. “You’re a dear to weep for me, but there’s nothing that can be done. I’ll have to go through with it, though I swear that if I live to marry him, the marriage will never be consummated! He’ll never know my bed. This I vow before all the gods!”
Hearing this declaration, Acte smiled. It delighted her to know that even after the marriage Nero would be hers alone.
“You’re right, Octavia, not to go against the wishes of your father,” she said. “There’s no help for this hopeless situation. You won’t be of marriageable age for some time anyway. So you’ll only be forced to see him on the day of the betrothal ceremony and never after that, if you choose not to. You never saw your other betrothed. Don’t let the distant future upset you so. All will be as it has been for some time to come.” Acte was reassuring herself as much as Octavia.
Octavia straightened herself and patted her disheveled hair. She was once more the grand lady, all signs of the pampered and angry child gone.
“Of course, you’re right, Acte. I won’t see him. I’ll go through with my father’s contract, but beyond that I’ll have no dealings with Nero.”
Acte smiled at her mistress and breathed a sigh of relief. “You are indeed a lady!”
At this, Octavia broke into unaccustomed laughter. “What a joke this will be for Nero. He will have a Vestal Virgin for a wife! What a shock his wedding night will be!”
As if to make up for the winter’s belated arrival the previous January, the rains came again in October of the year 49. A cold and violent storm engulfed Rome as Octavia and Nero took their places together for the betrothal ceremony.
Octavia was dressed in the virginal white she always wore. She looked totally bloodless, Nero thought to himself as he looked down into the emotionless face of the girl who would someday be his bride.
Agrippina leaned close to Claudius. “A fine-looking couple, don’t you think, my husband?”
He mumbled agreement. His mind wasn’t really on the ceremony, but on the banquet planned for the evening in celebration of this event. It had been many months since Agrippina had allowed entertainment in the palace—many months since he’d known her love. But Claudius knew that when she addressed him as “my husband” he was about to be given the honor of being just that. He looked forward to the night. He’d have no need of Calpurnia, his favorite concubine, and secretly sent word to her by a slave.
Only Acte noticed that when the time came for Nero and his cousin to join hands, Octavia placed hers delicately in the air just above his—not quite touching. So, Acte thought, it would be as her mistress had promised. She would remain untouched by her betrothed and, no doubt, a virgin even after their marriage.
Such was not the case with Acte. Her hand went unconsciously to her abdomen. Even now she suspected that she was carrying Nero’s child. Her time hadn’t come for three moons and she often awoke in the morning feeling dizzy and ill. She wasn’t sure what to do. Soon it would be obvious to everyone that she was pregnant.
Acte glanced at Nero and then quickly away. Above all he mustn’t know. He asked her often if his seed had taken hold. He insisted that a child would cement their relationship. But she knew better, and the knowledge terrified her.
Quite by accident she’d overheard the conversation between Nero and Agrippina a few weeks back. She was passing through the hall outside the empress’s apartment when she’d heard Nero’s flippant comment: “Mater, if you’re so anxious to have a grandson, I’ll see what I can manage.”
Agrippina’s tone had been deadly serious: “Watch yourself, Nero. I don’t joke about such matters. You are to father a child by Octavia after your marriage. If I so much as suspect that you’ve sown your seed elsewhere, both mother and child will be disposed of. I’ll have no bastards about in years to come attempting to usurp our power. After Octavia has given you a son, your will is your own.”
The memory of Nero’s cruel laugh and taunting words made Acte shiver. “Have no fear, Mater. I hardly think my affair with Otho will prove fruitful!”
Acte’s thoughts were still on her plight as the ceremony ended.
The crowd swept Acte along with them to the triclinium for the celebration. To her delight, but discomfort as well, she was seated with Nero and Octavia for dinner. Octavia had ordered this, for she didn’t want to be alone with Nero. Nero didn’t know the cause of this pleasurable arrangement, but he showed in every word and look that he was happy to have Acte near. His attitude both pleased and alarmed Acte. What if someone should notice his special attention to her? Now that he and Octavia were betrothed officially, the situation would be more delicate. She must do something about the baby at once.
Claudius smiled broadly as he surveyed the banquet scene before him. The noblest of Rome reclined on their couches, enjoying the company of their ladies, who sat on the steps at their feet. For so long Claudius had missed all of this—the music, the dancing girls, the laughter and gaiety all about him.
<
br /> He gazed at his glittering empress. The rubies banding her throat and arms brought out the fiery color of her lips. How perfect his life would be, he thought, if only—if only he were a decade younger, a bit less infirm. But even as he stared at Agrippina so lovingly, she turned cold eyes on him.
Claudius called for more wine. Immediately, two beautiful slave girls, one fair and the other dark, came up to serve him. He clasped each by a hand as they knelt before him.
“What can we do to please you, Caesar?” the blonde asked.
Agrippina stared in revulsion as her husband’s eyes crawled over their near-naked bodies. The fair one, she thought, must be from Brittany or the lands to the north. The other, with her sun-darkened skin as smooth as a black pearl, came from some conquered nation far to the south. She watched as the emperor stroked their bare arms and then fondled them, to their delight and her disgust.
Even though he whispered, she heard his words. “What are you called, you of flaxen hair and creamy breasts?”
The fair slave blushed as the emperor slipped the filmy fabric from her soft shoulders.
She lowered her eyes and answered in a gentle, musical voice, “I am Gerta, my Caesar.”
At this, the exotic and sensuous slave on his right thrust herself forward with a look of contempt in her flashing black eyes. Claudius laughed uproariously as she pushed the meeker girl aside and pulled down the top of her flaming tunic to present her best points to her emperor.
She said invitingly, Test my flesh, Caesar. I’m called Ebony and come from the desert land where the fire of the sun darkens the skin and boils the blood.” Then she drew nearer to his ear and whispered, “Give no thought to the child Gerta. She’s nothing. If you want a couchmate of unequaled passion, call only for Ebony. As the color of my skin is deep, so is the depth of my capacity to please.”
Agrippina couldn’t hear the black slave’s words, but there was no escaping their meaning judging from her husband’s leering eyes and the woman’s dazzling smile. Agrippina called for Eto, who was always nearby.
Rapture's Slave Page 17
