At last Nero and Octavia lay side by side on the wedding couch. Through his blurred vision, Nero saw a sea of faces, and torches seemed to scorch the very air of the room.
Octavia tugged at his sleeve. “The knot, Nero. Untie the knot so that they’ll leave us alone.” Nero noted the urgency in her voice.
As he fumbled with her wool girdle, Nero felt her body tremble at his touch. She urged, “Hurry, husband!”
Strange. He’d never thought to hear the word “husband” from Octavia’s lips. She detested him. Lips. The kiss. He’d almost forgotten. She wanted him after all. And even more surprising, he wanted her.
Freeing Octavia from the knot at last, Nero held it on high for all to see. The guests cheered and then slipped into the night, leaving bride and groom to their business.
When all was quiet and Nero lay panting from exertion, Octavia’s voice met his ear. “Nero, kiss me as you did before.” Her tone was pleading.
Nero struggled out of his toga and searched in the dark for Octavia’s lips. The darkness disoriented him. His head swam. Then just as he found her mouth, lights exploded in his head before total blackness closed in. He slumped like a dead man just short of the kiss. The long night before, the activity of the day, the excitement of the evening and the wine had taken their toll.
Octavia, burning with need, pushed the unconscious Nero aside. She screamed at him, “You pig! You worm! You—you nothing! How could I have thought to love such a thing? To think that I degraded myself by asking for you! It sickens me! Virgin I am and virgin I’ll remain. Your chance has passed. This curse has been brought upon me because I promised the gods I’d always remain pure. Should my mind or my body ever betray me again, let them strike me dead on the spot!”
Octavia passed what remained of the night across the room from Nero’s inert form. She sobbed out her devastation on a cold and lonely couch. When Nero awoke the next morning, Octavia was gone. He had only a hangover fit for a god to remind him of his wedding night.
What had happened? Had he made love to Octavia as he had meant to? A glance at the unrumpled sheets and at his throbbing, aching penis in the throes of morning passion seemed to deny that his mission had been accomplished. Oh well, there would be other nights.
Nero pulled a cord beside the couch to summon a slave, and ordered the services of Fauna in his bath. He groaned in grand agony, slid from the couch and eased his way across the room. Cymbals clashed inside his head and he wondered if he’d live through the day. Indeed, did he even want to?
As the drunken and weary crowd milled about outside the bridal chamber after seeing Nero and Octavia bedded, Sergio slipped his arm about Acte’s waist and swept her away from the others. He hadn’t missed the glitter of tears trembling on her lashes in the torchlight. Bending down to reach her face, he kissed her.
“Don’t be sad, Acte. This is meant to be a happy night. Your mistress wouldn’t want you to weep for her.”
Acte clung to Sergio. She tried to control her emotions as she answered, “Perhaps these tears are for myself. Had you thought of that, dear friend?”
He assumed she pitied herself for being separated for the first time since birth from Octavia. His heart ached with love for her.
“Take me to your room, little one, for a glass of wine. I’ll stay with you until your dreams are peaceful.”
Acte hesitated, her emotions dueling within her. She didn’t want to be alone to think of Nero in another’s arms. Or was she using that as an excuse to soothe her conscience? She’d been near Sergio all evening, had felt his touch, known his kiss. Could it be that she wanted more of him than she was willing to admit to herself?
She brushed aside her own confused thoughts and feelings and slipped her hand into his. “Come,” she said.
They entered Acte’s apartment. She went to the window and opened it up to let in a warm, flower-scented breeze. For several minutes she stood gazing out over the moon-silvered garden, her back to Sergio. He watched the night wind rustle her gown and flutter her dark hair about her bare shoulders. Seeing her in this way, Sergio felt new depths of love for her. He realized also how fragile their current relationship was. What stood between them? Why couldn’t she give herself to him willingly and totally—admitting that she loved him? Everything about her told him that she longed to be loved and cherished.
She turned, seeming suddenly startled to find herself not alone. “Oh, Sergio. Some wine?”
She glided to a table and poured two goblets. Without a word, she offered the wine, and Sergio took it, never removing his eyes from her. She settled herself on her couch a bit nervously, and Sergio took his place beside her. She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“Where were you, Acte?”
Lookingly up questioningly, she asked, “What?”
“As you stood at the windows and looked out into the night, you seemed only a shadow of yourself. It was as if your body was here but your mind had flown to some faraway place.”
“I was here, Sergio. I only took a mental stroll through the gardens.”
“And did you find what you were seeking?”
She whispered, “I may never find it.”
Then laying her goblet aside, she threw herself into Sergio’s arms. “Hold me, Sergio. Kiss me.” Her muffled pleading stirred him anew.
Sergio covered her face with tender kisses as passion throbbed ever stronger within him. She responded to his touch with sighs. As he slipped the silver gown from her shoulders and let his lips travel a fiery trail to her satiny breasts, she embraced him and crooned his name.
He skillfully finished removing her gown with one hand while his other caressed her warm flesh. Sergio pulled himself away for a moment to look upon her perfect nakedness for the first time. The pain in his loins grew as his eyes drank in her loveliness. Though he hadn’t dared hope that he’d have his love this night, Acte’s need seemed as great as his own. He let his hand and then his lips cover the route his eyes had taken. The heat of her body seemed to intensify with his actions.
Quickly shedding his dinner robe, Sergio scooped her into his arms and placed her gently on the bed. At this, Acte’s eyes fluttered open and she seemed to return once more from some distant place.
“No, Sergio. We mustn’t do this thing!” she said suddenly in horror and shame. She pulled up a light coverlet to hide herself from his longing eyes.
Sergio yanked the sheet aside and locked her in his arms.
“‘This thing,’ as you call it, is the sweetest of all things—love. We can’t deny our feelings, Acte.” Then he covered her face with kisses. “Oh, Acte, I’ve waited so long to know your love,” he whispered.
On the verge of giving in to her own needs, Acte suddenly saw the face of Nero before her in the darkness. She couldn’t give herself to Sergio even though she wanted to. But when she tried to push him away, he held her fast.
His tone was edged with anger now. “No, Acte! You don’t lead a man who is dying of thirst to the side of a crystal-clear pool and then deny him the right to drink. I love you, but I won’t allow you to taunt me so.”
At his first thrust, Acte fought, but she couldn’t stop her own responses. She found herself moving in rhythm with his strokes, and felt the deep well of her passion overflowing from its locked hiding place in her heart. Then pleasure washed over her like the sun-warmed waves of a summer sea.
Afterward, they didn’t speak. It seemed that words might break the magical spell of the moment as Sergio held her tenderly and kissed her with new feeling. When Acte’s eyes closed at last in contented sleep, Sergio slipped quietly from her arms and her bed and dressed.
He touched her smiling lips once more and whispered, “I love you, Acte. And I will have you for my own someday.”
Feeling much renewed after his session in the bath, Nero roamed about the palace in search of his bride. But she was nowhere to be found. The palace seemed quiet and deserted after the noise and throngs of the past day.<
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Nero gave up his vain search at length and wandered into the garden to sit under the arbor where he had first known the passion of Acte. Dear Acte! What a prize he had in her. He leaned back and let his head rest on one of the cool marble pillars as the sun warmed his face.
His eyes were closed when a voice brought him out of his reverie of past pleasures.
Agrippina stood tall and shining, the sun at her back giving her that special aura which always seemed to enfold her. All thoughts of Acte vanished as he realized his mother would want to know why he was there, all alone, on the morning after his wedding.
Nero stood and, taking his mother’s hand, led her to a bench and sat down beside her. He continued to hold her hand, but said nothing. Agrippina waited in silence.
Staring down, avoiding her eyes, Nero whispered, “Mater, I’ve failed you.”
Agrippina placed her hand under his chin to look at him. She asked, “My son, whatever do you mean? All is well. You carried off the wedding with Octavia far better than I could ever have hoped. Even your erotic display at the feast last night helped our cause.”
Hypnotized by her green-gold eyes, Nero couldn’t tear his gaze away. ‘That’s just it. The display, as you so delicately put it, aroused us both. When we were alone last night, Octavia asked for me, but I failed her and by so doing I failed you as well. Now she’s hiding from me. I know she’ll never come to me again.”
Agrippina laughed softly and ruffled her son’s bronze locks. “Don’t be so sure of that, Nero. If one kiss managed to stir the bloodless Octavia, she’ll be back for more. Believe me!”
“Do you really think so?”
“Am I not a woman? I know of the secret powers some men hold. You’re well endowed with them. Octavia may protest, but in the end you’ll make her yours. I promise you.”
Nero leaned back with a sigh. His mother was so wise and so beautiful. If only he could have her as his wife. The thought instantly shocked him.
He grasped his mother’s hand again and said with urgency, “I do love you, Mater, as a son should.”
Her lips met his as she whispered, “And I love you, my Nero, as only a mother could.”
And then she was gone, leaving Nero quivering all over. He blotted her face from his mind and concentrated all his thoughts on Octavia. His mother had promised. He would have her!
Had mother and son known about the secret ceremony taking place near their meeting spot at that exact time, Agrippina might not have been so free with her promises.
Inside the confines of the Temple of Vesta, the old Vestal Virgin, Vibidia, held the weeping Octavia to her breast.
Vibidia stroked the girl’s pale hair and muttered in soothing tones, “Hush now, child. Whatever is the matter? A new bride should be happy, not in tears.”
Octavia choked back her sobs to speak. “Keeper of the Fire of Purity, please hear my vows so that I might join your sacred order.”
Vibidia drew back in astonishment. “But you’re a married woman! That wouldn’t be possible, even if the emperor would allow it. Your temple has been entered by that forbidden to any Vestal Virgin on pain of death.”
Octavia now prostrated herself before the old nun, kissing her sandals as she sobbed, “No! No! I swear it by all the gods—on the holy name of Vesta! I am still pure. Oh, mother, please protect me from him and from myself.”
Vibidia raised the girl from the floor. “Come with me, my child.”
Octavia followed at a respectful distance, her head lowered in reverence as they descended a narrow stairway into the chambers beneath the temple.
The small office room into which Vibidia led Octavia stood out in stark contrast to the luxury of the chambers of the palace. In place of exotic murals in vibrant colors, white predominated. A desk and two chairs of rough wood furnished the room. Oil lamps and incense burned on an altar below the image of the patron goddess, Vesta, which stood in a niche in the wall.
Vibidia adjusted her long white robes as she took her seat at the desk.
“Be seated, Octavia. Now tell me how you miraculously escaped your husband on your wedding night.”
Octavia’s pale eyes glowed to be allowed into the private chamber of the holy woman. This place meant far more to her than the everyday habitation of the Palace of the Caesars.
“Truly you have chosen the proper word to describe my experience—miraculous—for so it was. As I spoke my wedding vows aloud yesterday, I pledged in my deepest heart of hearts to remain pure, as pure as the Vestal Virgin I’ve always longed to be. But during the wedding feast, by order of the emperor himself, I was forced to submit before thousands to the unwanted caresses of Nero. I weakened and longed for him.” Her voice broke in a sob. “Oh, mother, believe me, I’ve suffered for my weakness. The gods have punished me already for even thinking of breaking my vow of chastity. When we were alone at last and bedded together, my weakness took hold and I begged for him. Oh, the shame of it! But the gods interceded to punish me and save me, both at once. As the pleading words passed my lips, Nero fell unconscious with wine. The gods be thanked, I am still pure.”
Octavia looked through her tears at Vibidia’s troubled countenance. Hope welled in her breast.
“This is a most unusual case,” Vibidia said after a few moments. “Should the sisters of the order vote to accept you, you would be forced to do penance for the crime of your flesh. Do you understand that?”
Octavia cast her eyes down and answered, “Yes, mother. I both understand and welcome this chance to cleanse my soul.”
“Very well then.” Ringing a bell on the desk, Vibidia summoned another of the Vestals. “Take this virgin to the baths while we meet in conference.”
Octavia rose and followed the silent Vestal down a narrow corridor. As they neared an open door, the odor of sour olive oil assaulted Octavia’s nostrils. The smell became overpowering as they entered the cramped cubicle. Almost the entire room was taken up by a large tub of carved stone under which a fire blazed. Octavia stared in wonder.
For the first time, the Vestal spoke. “Remove your clothing and cast the tainted garments into the fire.”
Octavia did as ordered and stood naked, shivering in spite of the extreme heat in the room.
Taking Octavia’s hand, the Vestal led her to the far side of the rough tub, where three stone steps led up to the brim of the steaming oil bath.
When Octavia hesitated, the Vestal ordered, “Let your body be cleansed of all impurities by the oil.”
Octavia clenched her teeth to stifle a moan as she eased her body into the hot liquid. She closed her eyes and concentrated on prayers to Vesta to withstand the heat and the rough interior of the tub, which clawed into her bare flesh. As her body slowly became accustomed to the bubbling oil, Octavia opened her eyes to see the Vestal standing before her.
She reached out and grabbed Octavia by the hair. “Don’t breathe,” she ordered.
Before Octavia had a chance to anticipate what was about to happen, the Vestal plunged her head beneath the surface. Pain shot through her body again as the oil stung her eyes and filled her nostrils and mouth, which had been open in surprise at the sudden action. Then, after an eternity, the Vestal raised her head. Octavia gulped for air, swallowing a large quantity of hot oil at the same time.
When she started to rise from the tub, thinking her cleansing process over, the Vestal stopped her.
“Stay!” She indicated a large pile of wood in the corner.
Octavia understood the gesture. She wouldn’t be cleansed until all the wood was burned. Bracing herself for a long and trying ordeal, Octavia once again closed her eyes and prayed to Vesta.
With ever-increasing concern, Nero searched the palace, but had no luck in finding Octavia. Dark was coming on and his worst fears nagged at him—that she was abroad in the city. But why? It was his responsibility now that he was her husband to cover her absence. Nero caught one of the slaves in a corridor of the palace.
“My wife and I will dine alone tonight in our chambers,” he said. “Have our supper brought and placed outside the door.”
The slave nodded knowingly and hurried on.
Nero then went in search of Acte. If anyone knew where Octavia was, she would know.
He found her in Octavia’s old room staring out the window over the garden. She didn’t hear him enter. Nero stood still, stunned by the sight of her. With her chin propped on her hand, she sat staring out into the night sky as if counting the stars. Her thin dressing gown of white, a color he had learned to hate on Octavia, allowed her olive skin to shine through and showed off her high, firm breasts, her long legs, and her soft shoulders. Her midnight tresses flowed down her back and past her tiny waist. Nero felt the stirring in his blood. Suddenly, Octavia was wiped from his mind.
He crept up to her silently. Slipping his arms around her, he cupped her breasts and pulled her up from the window seat and out of her dream world.
A surprised cry escaped her lips only to be stifled as he turned her gently and cut off the sound with a kiss. He felt a surge of warmth rise between them. But Acte pushed him away.
“No, Nero! We mustn’t act this way with you a groom of only one night. What if one of the slaves should see us? The word would surely reach the emperor’s ears. Your head may be safeguarded by your wife, but I have no such protection.”
Her mention of his wife brought his mission back to mind.
Staring into her night-colored eyes so as to detect any fabrication to protect her friend, Nero asked her, “Where is my wife?”
Acte looked away. “She’s safe. No more than that can I tell you, Nero.”
His cruel laugh frightened her. “Ah, and should the emperor ask of his daughter’s welfare, I am to say, ‘She’s safe, sire, no more can I tell you.’ I’m not so foolish as that. He’d have my head as quickly as that of another for concealing her!”
Acte whispered, “But I promised I wouldn’t tell—not for at least—”
Rapture's Slave Page 24
