Rapture's Slave

by Becky Lee Weyrich

“Be still! You came to me for help. Let me do my work.”

  Minutes later Acte relaxed as she felt the invasion of her body end. Another tear ran down her cheek as she thought of the child which she and Nero had created, but would never share. She started to ease her body back into normal position on the table.

  Fortuna snapped, “Don’t move! Stay as you were.”

  Acte watched through a blur as Fortuna reached for one of the tools, a long-handled contraption which gleamed evilly in the light. She jerked as she felt the foreign object thrust into her, causing pain. Acte bit her lip until she could taste blood in her mouth. Would it never end? Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. Perhaps she was supposed to keep this child for whatever plan fate had in mind. Her brain whirled with uncertainties. She wanted Nero’s child! She couldn’t kill it!

  Then after what seemed an eternity, Fortuna removed her instrument and Acte breathed deeply in relief.

  She whimpered, “Is it done?”

  Fortuna was busy mixing something in a mortar with a pestle. Her words were strained. “No. We’ll have to take more drastic measures. Your body fights me. It holds onto this child like a she-wolf defending her cub.” She held a foul-smelling concoction out to Acte and ordered, “Drink this. You’re a strong one. We’ll have to take a chance on a purge.”

  Acte, her mind fogged with pain and indecision, put the cup to her lips. The foul fumes stung her eyes. The first drop burned her tongue and sent fire through her. In a moment of sudden decision, she dashed the cup to the floor.

  “No!” she cried. “I won’t murder my child! It’s wrong! I know that now. If the child and I must die for my sins sometime in the future, so be it. But I must give it a chance to live before its time for dying comes. I want this child! Fortuna, help—”

  Fortuna hurried to her chest to mix an antidote to counteract the purge. The girl had swallowed only a small amount. There might still be time. She held the cup to Acte’s lips, and she drank it desperately. Slowly, her body relaxed as the antidote began taking effect. In minutes, mother and child slept.

  When Acte awoke several hours later, she looked about the shadowy room, dazed. What had happened? She felt her body cautiously to make sure she still carried the child. Relief flooded her when her fears were allayed.

  Her body ached dully, but the pain was gone. She was still in the same room, though on a cot instead of a cold marble table. Sitting up, she steadied herself for a moment until a wave of dizziness passed. Then she stood and dressed. She had to find Fortuna and thank her for saving the baby.

  She inched her way to the door and opened it. The hallway was dark and quiet. No one used this part of Fortuna’s house for anything other than the dark deed she’d almost committed. She shuddered at the thought.

  At the head of the stairs, Acte clutched at the wall as dizziness again blurred her vision. Below she saw a form and heard it say to her, “No, child! You shouldn’t be up and about yet.”

  Black spots swam before Acte’s eyes and she felt herself slipping. Then down—down—down she fell. New pains wracked her body.

  She was aware of being carried by strong arms, but little more. When she awoke again she was back in the small room.

  She turned her head and saw Fortuna beside her. A stricken look was on the dark woman’s face.

  Acte asked haltingly, “My—my—baby?”

  Fortuna didn’t speak, but shook her head sadly.

  Acte’s scream reverberated through the entire house. She dropped back to her pillow, unconscious.

  Gaius Lavinius raised his curly head from Nike’s fruitful breast as a scream pierced the stillness of the room.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “Nothing, my love,” Nike whispered. “The women of the house often scream and carry on to delight their customers. They say a great show of painful ecstasy beings them higher wages for their night’s work.”

  He returned his lips to her waiting nipple. Nike maneuvered her body so that Gaius could slip into place easily without ceasing his gentle sucking. They moved together in practiced rhythm until interrupted by another cry.

  With a sigh of frustration at her baby’s poor timing, Nike rose from the pallet.

  “It seems another hungers for my breast.”

  Gaius teased, “Were he full-grown, I’d be dangerously jealous. But how can I deny my own son?”

  As Nike reached down to pick up the baby from his cradle, Gaius saw a flicker of emotion come over her face. Was it sadness, doubt, pain? He couldn’t guess. She settled in a chair by the fire and put the baby to her breast.

  Gaius studied her expression.

  “What’s troubling you, Nike?”

  By the firelight he could see a tear making a trail down her cheek. For a time she didn’t reply. He waited. Whatever was bothering her was difficult to put into words.

  Then softly she asked, “Gaius, have you ever wondered whether or not this child is truly of your seed?”

  Gaius sat up on the bed, shocked. “What do you mean?”

  “His birth came nine months to the day from the night I fled the emperor’s villa,” she continued. “Surely you remember what happened that night.”

  “I remember that I found you—that you’ve been on my mind ever since. What else is there to remember?”

  Her voice was plaintive. “You found me, Gaius, yes. But there was also your friend that night. What if this child is his and not yours? Will you hate me in later years, if this child doesn’t grow to have your features?”

  She began to cry, upsetting the baby, who then added his wails to the night. Gaius got up and put his arms soothingly around them both.

  “You are my love and will soon be my wife. This child is ours. Never speak of this again! There’s no need to torture yourself so. The choice wasn’t yours to make. I want this child and his mother as well. Now dry your tears and come back to my arms.”

  Nike wiped her eyes. Her son was already dropping off to sleep, and she carefully laid him in his blankets. Then she let Gaius lead her back to the pallet.

  As Nike found her way back into her Gaius’s arms, she felt her love for him grow. All doubts, all fears were calmed. She gave him everything she had to give.

  Nero fretted at his mother’s delay in Puteoli. When was she going to see the old woman, Locusta, and get the poison? He wanted to go home and back to Acte. From his window in the somewhat drab villa in which they had chosen to stay, Nero stared down on the people drifting about the square.

  Puteoli, a gay and bright city in the summer, was the end of the world once the gales of winter set in. Traffic in the harbor came to a near standstill. The marketplace in the center of town, close by the quays, still offered the treasures of thieves and the wares of craftsmen. But the crowd at this time of year was thin.

  As Nero continued watching the sparse crowd below a man caught his attention. Something about him was familiar, Nero thought. As if drawn by the inquisitive eyes boring into him, the man suddenly turned his face upward to the window. With shock, Nero realized it was none other than Messalina’s lover, Getio.

  As if sensing danger, the darkly clad figure hurried from the square and disappeared down a narrow alley. Nero’s mind was whirling. Should he tell his mother? No. He couldn’t. For to do so would be to give himself away. His mother didn’t know that he’d seen Getio with Messalina and then the empress escape his mother’s sword. Still, she did know that he’d spied on Getio and Nike that evening. He might mention his name in passing to see her reaction to the information that this criminal shared the town with them. The news could frighten her enough to spur her back to Rome—back to his Acte. He ached at the thought of how much he missed her.

  “Are you still dawdling, son? Please, hurry so that we may be away and back before this drizzle turns into a howling storm.”

  At the sound of his mother’s voice, Nero turned from the window in puzzlement. On seeing her, his expression turned to disbelief.


  Agrippina’s golden hair was hidden beneath a ragged scarf, the rest of her body wrapped in a heavy cloak of a nondescript color. No jewels adorned her except the ever-present blue pearl. She could have been taken for any country woman out on a morning’s errand. Only two guards accompanied her, and they were disguised as simple tradesmen—even to the point of carrying tool boxes of rough-hewn wood.

  Thrusting a wig, a bundle of rags, and a cane toward her son, Agrippina urged, “Now dress quickly. We must be off to Locusta’s. And mind you hide every lock of your copper hair. No one must know who we are.” Without another word, she and the guards marched out.

  Nero stared with surprise at the articles in his hands. He hadn’t thought he’d be allowed to meet the mysterious Locusta. Perhaps this trip would not be such a bore after all.

  When he finished dressing, Nero smiled at his image in the polished metal which served as a looking glass. How Otho would roar if he could see his young friend now! This was just the type of disguise Otho had proposed for Nero so that they might sneak through the back alleys of Rome after dark unrecognized. Nero still looked forward to that experience. But for now, his mind was on this adventure. He hurried out of the room.

  His mother was waiting with the guards at the end of the long corridor. Taking the cane Agrippina had provided, Nero tiptoed down the hall. When he was just a few steps behind her, he poked the end of the cane into the small of his mother’s back. In a low voice he demanded, “Your purse or your life, woman!”

  Agrippina screamed. The two guards were on Nero at once, wrestling him to the floor with rough hands.

  He didn’t see the glint of amusement in his mother’s eyes as she ordered, “Take the brigand to the fort and have him put to a slow death. I think the ancient form of Roman execution will do him.”

  The two guards lifted him off the floor and started down the corridor.

  “Mater, would you kill your only child?” Nero’s moan was pitiful.

  Agrippina smiled and responded, “Guards, unhand him at once! It seems that this one is more mischief maker than thief and assassin.”

  The guards released him.

  “And now, my son,” she continued, “if your games are quite over, we’ll proceed to Locusta’s.”

  The guards looked at each other in amazement. They bowed to Nero and muttered, “Our apologies, Lord Nero.”

  Agrippina said sharply, “Your apologies to my son are quite unnecessary. You obeyed my orders. That’s what counts. See that you protect me as well in the streets and back alleys of this evil town.”

  Four slaves awaited them outside the villa. But the litter they attended wasn’t even as fine as one a freedman would use. Agrippina was handed in by one of the guards and motioned for Nero to follow.

  When mother and son sat safely secreted inside the curtained conveyance, Nero at last had a chance to question his mother.

  “Why are traveling incognito, Mater?”

  Her eyes darted through a crack in the curtain.

  “We’re venturing into a dangerous part of Puteoli,” she answered. “If it were known that the empress and her son were here, there would be grave danger to our lives. This is the garbage heap of the Roman Empire, where prostitutes roam naked in the alleys to trap their prey, and thieves, murderers and pickpockets find sanctuary. Rome, too, has a seamy side, but nothing to compare to the riffraff who lurk in every shadow of the port.”

  Suddenly, the face he’d seen earlier in the square loomed in Nero’s mind.

  “Mater, do you remember a man named Getio?”

  Agrippina turned and shot a cold glance at him.

  “Yes. But why do you ask?”

  “I saw him this morning below my window.”

  Agrippina’s eyes now glittered with a ruthless fire.

  “Getio here? Why, he is an enemy of the Empire.” She thought for a moment. “The ancient form of Roman execution may yet find a wanting subject before the sun sets upon this day. You have done well, my son, to alert me to this.”

  The litter swayed to a halt. The curtains parted as the hand of one of the guards reached inside to assist his empress.

  “Come, Nero,” Agrippina said. “Follow close and limp a bit, as if you were crippled.”

  Nero did as instructed and enjoyed his chance to act immensely. He even called out in a weak voice, “Alms, alms for the helpless,” until his mother shushed him.

  In a few paces, they were almost within the confines of a cave which opened directly onto the street. Before entering it, he glanced in both directions and saw that a whole series of caves in the side of a hill were used either as shops or dwelling places for the poor.

  With one guard in advance of them and the other bringing up the rear, Agrippina and Nero wound their way into the black recesses of the tunnel. After many minutes, a light flickered ahead.

  Agrippina removed the scarf from her head and prodded Nero to do likewise with his black wig. “Otherwise, Locusta might not recognize us and put an instant spell on us both for invading her inner sanctum,” she warned.

  They moved into the circle of light provided by sputtering torches on the walls.

  An old crone appeared before them. She squinted to see who the trespassers were. On recognizing her empress, she bowed low and croaked, “Ah, my lady, how can Locusta be of service to your royal personage? Is it more of the recipe of Queen Cleopatra I can make for you?” She winked grotesquely. “Or is your love life in full bloom now that you’re no longer a grieving widow?”

  Nero studied this strange creature as she went on and on offering his mother this preparation or that poison. The woman stooped, and her bent figure was about his own height. Her long gray hair flew about wildly as she jerked from one position to another. Her mouth puckered inward, showing a lack of teeth. But most amazing to Nero were her eyes. They glowed in the semidarkness like those of a cat. Perhaps, he thought, it’s merely the reflection of the torches there.

  “Locusta, this is my son, Nero.” Agrippina pushed him forward.

  The hag ran her bony fingers over his body—pinching here, prodding there. Nero turned his head as she cackled into his face.

  “A likely lad. So he’s the one, eh?”

  Nero looked at his mother, not understanding Locusta’s question. Agrippina smiled and nodded.

  Then Nero froze as he felt Locusta’s sharp-nailed hands fumbling beneath his tunic. He couldn’t pull away, for she held him fast by his most vulnerable parts. In spite of his distaste for the old woman, Nero felt himself swelling at her touch. His face burned in embarrassment as his mother looked on in apparent approval.

  Locusta held a cup under his tunic and encouraged him. “Don’t be stingy, my boy. Fill Locusta’s cup. It’s needed for a special potion.”

  Nero closed his eyes and concentrated on Acte so that he could empty himself and be done with this degradation. At the thought of his love, his body filled with warmth. He granted Locusta’s request, and she released him. Quickly, Nero stepped back out of her reach. He glanced back to see if the guards had witnessed these humiliating proceedings. To his great relief, they both stood near the entrance of the cave with their backs to the interior.

  The old woman stirred the steaming contents of the cup and laughed in toothless glee. “Ah, my empress, you’ll have no trouble with this one. He’s found a lover, right enough. And, I’d judge, his first mate is one who’s carried the calf, so she’ll be well ready to handle the bull. And a bull he’ll be very soon.”

  Agrippina nodded, still smiling. “Perhaps we should reward him with a gift for his lover. Do you think the recipe of Cleopatra might please her?”

  Locusta’s laugh echoed off the earthen walls, and the fire in her strange eyes flared.

  “Would pleasure them both, for sure!”

  For two days Acte lay unconscious after the physical strain of the miscarriage and the mental shock of losing the child she’d carried and loved. She tossed on
a damp pallet in feverish pain, only semiconscious.

  She saw fleeting glimpses of the worried faces of Fortuna and Nike. From time to time voices drifted into her brain.

  “We’ll have to take drastic steps or she’ll die.”

  Acte tried to open her eyes, to speak and reassure Fortuna that she would live. But her efforts failed.

  “She may not want to live,” Fortuna said, then asked in a concerned tone, “Is she still breathing, Maria?”

  Acte felt the other woman put her head to her chest. There was a silence in the room for a moment.

  “The heartbeat is weak, but there,” Maria answered. “This is a strong one. She may survive, if poison doesn’t set in.”

  Nike slipped into the room in time to hear Maria’s words. She leaned close to Acte.

  “Acte,” she whispered, “I’m getting married today. I’m sorry I couldn’t postpone my wedding to stay with you, but Gaius and I have waited so long. I hope you understand.”

  Acte opened her eyes for a moment, smiled at her dear friend and then closed them again.

  Fortuna took Nike by the arm. “Come along and let her rest. Watch over her, Maria, and let me know if there’s any change.” Then to Nike she scolded, “Why did you and Gaius have to choose today for your wedding? I warned you that the omens weren’t good. There’s just no accounting for the whims of the young!”

  As the two women started from the room, Fortuna called back, “I’ll just be downstairs, if you need me.”

  The older woman, Maria, nodded and began sponging Acte’s body as the door closed behind Fortuna.

  Fortuna almost had to laugh at the idea of a wedding being held in a brothel. But, she thought, at least they picked the finest whorehouse in all of Puteoli.

  All was ready when she reached the large dining room.

  Nike wore a simple white tunic. Her face glowed with love and anticipation. Gaius stood proudly beside her in his gleaming dress uniform of the Praetorian Guard. Their son’s cradle had been moved downstairs for the occasion. Inside he lay with his eyes wide and bright as he flailed the air with his tiny fists.