She rang for one of the slaves. She was pressing the imperial seal into the order as the runner appeared at the door to her chamber.
Handing him the rolled-up indictment, Agrippina ordered, “Make haste to Burrhus, the head of the Praetorian Guard. Tell him to have this matter taken care of at once.”
The slave bowed and was gone. Agrippina felt a great weight lifted from her shoulders. More than once she had caught a glint of light in her husband’s eyes at the sight of Lollia Paulina’s veiled face and tempting body. It wouldn’t do to have her anywhere in the Empire.
Agrippina, her mind relieved, stretched out on her couch to rest before the night’s festivities in honor of her son’s newfound manhood.
Nero never had his fill of banquets. He longed for the entertainments of the poets and bards. But tonight would be different somehow. No longer a child, he could capture a slave girl and have his way with her just like any other man. Indeed, it was his duty to do so. Wasn’t the reason for the banquet his coming of age?
He smiled as he dressed in a fine new toga. This night would be his. Then his face clouded. What about Acte? How could he carry on with a slave girl in front of her?
He snorted to himself, “It will serve her right! She’s been almost as cold as Octavia since I returned from Puteoli. Perhaps the sight of another woman in my arms will fire her passions once more. By the gods! I’m a starved man! I haven’t felt female flesh against mine since the horrid touch of old Locusta. I’ll know it tonight, or know the reason why!”
Acte, already dressed in a gown of oriental silk, helped Octavia prepare for the banquet. Octavia didn’t want to attend, but her father commanded it.
She complained, “Why does Father do this to me? And what about Britannicus now? Will he ever know his rightful place on the throne?”
Acte wanted to quiet her mistress. “The gods know what’s best for all of us,” she replied. “They’ll determine who will have what. We don’t dare question them.”
Octavia, in a sudden rage, picked up a silver brush and threw it across the room. It smashed the fragile glass of her mirror.
“And I suppose it’s the will of the gods that I commit incest? I now have two brothers and one is to be my husband, or have you forgotten, Acte?”
Acte felt pain shoot through her heart at Octavia’s words. She hadn’t forgotten. How could she forget that her Nero would someday become another woman’s husband? She ached with wanting him, but still she bled from the miscarriage. How long would she have to endure this agony? And how long would he take her lame excuses? He must never know what had happened, never know of the child he’d fathered. Agrippina might have her killed, if she heard of the pregnancy, to keep it from happening again.
Though Acte dreaded to think of the day when Octavia would become Nero’s wife, she wouldn’t feel completely safe accepting his love until then.
“Acte, are you deaf? Hand me my scarf.”
Acte passed the scarf to her. Then gingerly she suggested, “Octavia, you look unusually pale this evening. Why not tint your lips and cheeks with a bit of rouge? Since you insist upon wearing white, you seem to be totally colorless. Why hide your beauty?”
Octavia’s pale eyes glared at Acte. “And why lie to me? We both know I’m no beauty. I refuse to make a fool of myself by using artificial makeups. As for my white gowns, I’ll wear them until the day I die. And, the gods willing, that day will come before I’m old enough to marry my despised cousin-brother-betrothed!”
Acte half smiled. Octavia’s fury had brought the desired touch of color to her alabaster cheeks.
At the banquet that night, Nero and Octavia were forced to sit together with Acte and Otho. Britannicus had fallen ill shortly after the spectacle at the Circus and wasn’t allowed to attend. Nero saw Otho arrive alone instead of escorting Poppaea Sabina as he usually did.
Catching Nero’s eyes boring into him, Otho answered the unspoken question in a low voice. “I have a treat in store for you tonight, my fine gentleman. You remember the night excursion I mentioned to you some time ago? Since you’re a man now, I’ve decided to treat you to some sport after the banquet.”
Nero, taken aback, only stared at Otho.
“Well, are you game?” Otho asked.
Nero glanced at Acte, who had remained silent throughout the long evening. Her eyes immediately went down to the table. She must have guessed what Otho had whispered to him. He wanted her, but he also wanted to hurt her because of her recent indifference to him.
Nero grabbed a passing slave girl by the arm and pulled her down to his lap. His lips covered hers with wet, smacking kisses as his free hand pulled her tunic down, exposing her breasts. His hand caressed her while his mouth worked its way down her neck. She purred at his attentions. Nero suddenly released her. He gave her a smart smack on the rump and turned to Otho with a broad grin. “Does that answer your question?”
Otho howled with laughter and slapped Nero on the back. “Yes, my man, it does!”
Octavia got up and whirled away from the table. Nero’s eyes met the fire in Acte’s for an instant before she followed Octavia out of the banquet hall. He felt a stabbing pain in his heart, but it was soon overpowered by the ache in his loins.
“Let’s go, Otho!” he said.
The two soon found themselves in the dark Roman night. The air strained with the noises of overburdened animals and wagons bringing the next day’s produce to the city, and the inviting cries of women of the night. Nero felt his blood surge with excitement.
“Here, Nero. Your wig and cloak.”
As Nero adjusted his disguise, Otho donned his own. Each pointed and laughed at the sight of the other.
In minutes, the two adventurers were in a part of Rome unfamiliar to Nero. They groped their way down alleys barely six feet wide. Nero covered his nose against the stench of open sewers. They seemed all alone in the dark, and then suddenly they were surrounded by several women in dark cloaks. Someone raised a lantern and the prostitutes all opened their wraps to let the two men appraise their naked bodies.
Otho nudged Nero. “Well, do you see anything you want? Take your pick. It’s on me tonight. Take them all, if you like.”
Nero made no answer, but continued to gawk at the women.
Otho said to them, “Take us to your house. We’ll make our choices over a glass of wine.”
Otho led Nero to a narrow entranceway down the alley. They entered a dim, smoky place which reeked of unwashed bodies, spirits, and Turkish tobacco. Otho guided his charge to a rough table.
“Bring wine!” Otho shouted.
As Nero sipped the bad vintage, he seemed to come alive again.
“Well, you’ve come out of it at last, have you? And not a moment too soon. It seems we’re about to have a floorshow.”
Nero’s eyes followed the direction of Otho’s pointing finger. On a long, raised platform oil lamps illuminated two figures. The first appeared to be a gladiator by his immense size and rippling muscles. He reminded Nero of his nemesis, Iron Face. The gladiator posed and postured for the crowd of men and women who now surrounded the little stage. Nero recognized many faces in the crowd as guests who had been to the palace. He pulled his cloak closer about his face so he wouldn’t be recognized.
Otho bent toward him. “Don’t worry about it. We’re all strangers in this place. Would anyone tell that he saw you here? To do so would mean that he, too, had to be in this infamous den of frivolities.”
Just then the gladiator pulled the other figure, a young girl, from the shadows.
Ignoring her protests, the gladiator yelled to the crowd, “Bring on however many will come! I’ll satisfy them all. And when there are no more takers, I win the prize—this virgin!”
He indicated the young girl on stage with him. She looked to Nero to be around the age of nine, and very unhappy about the whole situation. He whispered to Otho, “Will he really take one so young, and a virgin at that?”
Nero settled in his seat and sipped the foul wine as he glued his eyes to the stage.
Again the gladiator bellowed, “Who’ll come? I’m ready!”
The man ripped off his girdle to reveal the largest penis Nero had ever seen. It was apparent to all the spectators that he was ready.
A shrill cry came from the circle of customers around the stage. “The first gets the best of you. I’m willing!”
A large, but not unattractive, woman leaped upon the stage, shedding her clothes as she came. To show off his strength, the giant didn’t use the pallet provided for his exhibition. Instead he lifted the naked woman into the air above his head, twirled her around several times, and then plunged into her. Her feet never touched the floor as he stood erect and worked the hefty female up and down until she collapsed against his chest in a screaming, writhing orgasm. She was helped from the stage still muttering of his wonders.
Now the takers came in droves to the edge of the stage. He serviced each in her turn, providing a limitless variety of actions and positions for his audience.
When Nero had lost count of the women on stage and was growing painfully anxious himself, a blubbering fat man waddled up. In a high-pitched voice he announced, “I’m willing!”
The gladiator pushed the man away with an angry growl. “But I’m not!”
At this, a woman in a transparent wrapper walked to the stage and helped the fat man up.
“You said ‘anyone,’” she said. “You didn’t specify sex. Take him!”
Otho nudged Nero. “That’s Stellana, the owner of this establishment of higher learning.”
Nero only groaned in response.
The gladiator jerked the fat, pinkish man to the platform and ripped his clothes off, exposing a flabby, overfed body. Bending the man at the waist, the gladiator rammed him from behind, giving a growl of disgust which almost, but not quite, covered the fat man’s scream of exquisite pain. After several thrusts by the gladiator, the man groaned and fell face down on the floor. He had to be carried back to his seat.
“Now the virgin!” the gladiator roared.
“Not quite yet.” Stellana reappeared, leading a ewe. “I have this mutton I’d like seasoned for tomorrow’s dinner.”
The gladiator, obviously duped into the night’s perversions, bellowed with indignity.
Stellana shook her finger in the man’s face. “You said nothing about animals. You’ll have to give up the virgin if you don’t keep your word. Or don’t you think you can satisfy a sheep?”
Drawing up two heads taller and stalking the stage to display his still-swollen member, he declared, “If you had a female elephant, I’m sure I could provide her with pleasure.”
Stellana laughed with her audience. “I’ll see what I can do for your next appearance here. But for the time being, this ewe will have to do.”
“Then I get the virgin?” he asked suspiciously.
Stellana nodded. “Then you get the virgin.”
The next half hour was pure comedy. Nero laughed until his sides ached as the great warrior chased the frightened ewe from one side of the platform to the other. Every time he had her in position, she wriggled out of his grasp. Twice the animal escaped the stage completely and a wild scramble ensued to retrieve her. Even the frightened virgin giggled at the sight of this accomplished lover being daunted by his prey.
Frustrated at last, the gladiator shouted, “I need a strong man to hold this wanton beast!”
An ancient soul stumbled up to the stage to lend a hand.
“Yes, your honor?”
“Hold this damned animal in place so I can be on with my business,” the furious gladiator raged.
The old man got astride the ewe and locked his arms around her neck. Once more flexing his muscles and exhibiting his male prowess to the audience, the gladiator took his position kneeling behind the imprisoned animal. He thrust deeply. As the animal bleated, the great gladiator gave way in an ecstatic frenzy of orgasm to the roaring laughter of the crowd.
Directing the stage, the drained gladiator, and the sheep to be removed from the room, Stellana once more captured the attention of her customers. “It seems we have a virgin on our hands, since our gladiator climaxed prematurely.”
A titter went through the room. She held up her hands for silence.
Otho nudged Nero. “Would you like a go at a virgin?”
Nero answered absently, “I’ve already had a virgin. I’d like a woman of more experience. Perhaps the one called Stellana.”
Otho looked at his young friend with new admiration.
“Well, it’s been a while for me.” Then to Stellana, Otho called out, “I bid as much as it will take to procure the services of the virgin. Name your price!”
At this, Stellana took the girl by the hand and stalked like a hungry cat to the table where Nero and Otho sat.
“Show me your gold,” she demanded.
Otho brought forth a heavy pouch and dumped its gleaming contents on the table. A ripple of amazement went through the crowd.
“Is that enough?”
Stellana smiled as her long fingers gathered up the gold coins and replaced them in the pouch. “Name your pleasure. Would you like an audience for your feat, or perhaps a second girl to make it more interesting?”
Otho thought for a moment before he spoke. “Those pleasures don’t appeal to me tonight. The virgin will suit me.”
Stellana nodded and handed the girl over to Otho. She turned to walk away, motioning for them to follow her.
Otho took the girl on his lap and poured her a cup of wine. As he put it to her lips and she drank, he called out to the retreating Stellana, “Wait!”
She turned, and Nero’s breath caught as her wrapper parted, giving him a better view of her exquisite thigh.
“Yes?” she purred. “What else can I do for one so generous?”
“My friend here hasn’t chosen a woman for the night. But I can tell by the way he pants that his desire is for Stellana herself. Let that be the rest of the bargain.”
Stellana hesitated, and then returned to the table. Nero squirmed uncomfortably as she pressed her leg against his and stroked his cheek with her hand. “Very well. Come along, lover.”
Otho chuckled as he saw the two of them disappear into one of the cribs. “Oh, my Nero! You will truly have a night to remember.” Then, turning to his prize, he whispered, “And you, my little love, your time has come at last!”
As she sat on his lap, a bit foggy with wine, Otho kissed her puckered lips and tested her virginity with his fingers. Satisfied that he had the genuine article, he swept her into his arms and headed in the direction of the cribs, to the wild applause of those still in the room. Otho bowed to them and then disappeared into the small cubicle.
Apollo was spreading his gold upon the marble of the Palatine when Nero and Otho returned to the palace.
As they reached Nero’s apartment by way of a garden window, Otho could no longer contain himself. “Well, how was it with Stellana?”
Nero collapsed on his couch. “You tell me first. Was she really a virgin?”
Otho closed his eyes, remembering. “Ah, yes. As ripe a cherry as I’ve ever picked! But come now—Stellana. Did she please you, my friend?”
Nero blushed as his thoughts went back to his night in the arms of this professional. He sat up suddenly and excitedly. “Otho, by the gods, I never knew there were so many ways for a woman to please a man! I thank you for your gift. What greater gift can a man give another than a woman to love?”
Otho yawned and stretched. “None, my friend, none. And always remember that whatever is mine to giv
e is yours for the asking.”
He climbed upon the couch with Nero, and in moments both were asleep.
Winter turned quickly into spring, and again the palace gardens flowered with oleander, sweet peas, lupine, and lilies. The beauty of the scene outside the palace, however, couldn’t mend the tempers of those within its walls.
Claudius angrily paced up and down Agrippina’s chamber. She sat at her dressing table calmly brushing her silken hair with a silver brush.
He stopped for a moment to look at her. “Agrippina, I did not sign her death warrant! I would remember such a thing. Lollia Paulina was to be banished, no more.”
Agrippina stood up to bring her body close to his. She pulled the emperor’s head down to her shoulder and patted his back as if he were a child.
“Claudius, you mustn’t make that statement to anyone else,” she replied in a protective tone. “I know at times your mind fails you, but it can’t become public knowledge. Naturally, signing her death warrant was painful for you. She was dear to me, too—my own sister-in-law until Caligula divorced her. This pain is probably what chased the memory of your deed from your mind.”
Claudius raised his head to look into his wife’s eyes. Fear trembled in his voice. “Am I really so feeble of mind that I could have ordered such a terrible thing and have no memory of it?”
Agrippina smoothed his temples with her velvety hands as she said quietly, “But, my dear, she was a traitor. You have to remember that. The law must be dealt out equally and fairly. Would another such criminal have escaped her fate?”
He nodded his understanding. “But still—my memory. And I can’t go out there and look at her severed head to make the identification.” Claudius began to tremble at the thought. He closed his eyes tightly as if to open them might mean that he’d be forced into the odious duty.
Agrippina led him to a chair and replied in a soothing, motherly fashion, “My dearest, the identification must be made now. But if you feel so strongly that you can’t, I’ll do it for you.”
Claudius grabbed Agrippina around the waist and buried his face in the folds of her dressing gown. “Oh, thank you, my darling!”
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