Rapture's Slave

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Nero went to the door and brought in the steaming tray filled with rare delicacies.

  Octavia turned her eyes from the silver salver.

  “Come, you must eat.”

  Octavia shook her head. “No. I’m fasting to purify my body.”

  Nero took a steaming cup of clam broth to Octavia and held it to her lips until she drained the cup.

  “Brides do not fast!” he scolded. “There’ll be no more of this nonsense.”

  The broth made Octavia immediately aware of how hungry she was. She took her share of the breakfast and devoured it ravenously.

  When the meal was over, Nero led Octavia to the private bath where he and Acte had shared such happy hours together in the past two days and nights. The bath was in keeping with the motif of the bridal chamber. Gold-flecked pink marble adorned the room, and murals showed a well-endowed young maiden being chased through woods and over hills by her ardent lover. Nero especially liked the final two panels in which the young man captured his love and then had his way with her, to her obvious satisfaction as well as his. He and Acte had played out the very scenes around the pool with shrieks and laughter.

  “Well?” Nero waited for Octavia to enter the soothing waters.

  She tossed her head defiantly. “Not until you’re out of here.”

  With a shrug, Nero left.

  Later in the day, Nero went in search of Acte and told her everything. She provided some healing ointment to speed Octavia’s recovery.

  With a broad grin on his face, he told Acte, “You’ve been given to me.”

  Acte’s eyes grew wide. “What do you mean, Nero?”

  “In a fit of temper after her bath, Octavia gave you to me. I had pressed her once more on the subject of her wifely duties and our need to produce an heir.

  “She retorted, ‘Acte has always been my whipping girl, so now she should be the one to take this punishment in my place.’”

  “But, Nero, this is too good to be true!” Acte’s eyes glowed at the idea.

  “No. Octavia will still play the role of my wife at official functions, but you are to handle the more intimate duties. She was quite open about it and seemed to think this the perfect solution. I told her I’d have to think about it.” He paused and smiled slyly as he let his finger trace lightly over the thin fabric of her bodice. “I’m a bit choosy when it comes to my bedmates.”

  Acte giggled and pushed his hand away playfully. “What did she say to that?”

  “She said that even though you lacked experience, she felt you would make a pleasing lover. She said Greeks have always been known for their passion.” He pinched her flesh as if she were on the auction block. “I told her I’d test her woman at my first opportunity. She seemed satisfied with that.” Hugging her suddenly and whirling her around, he laughed, “I tell you, Acte, it was all I could do to contain my glee!”

  Acte, turned solemn, touched Nero’s cheek. “So, at last, I’ll be a wife to you, even if you are another’s husband.”

  Nero returned her caress. “In every sense that matters, Acte, I am yours.”

  The news of the rape of the Vestal Virgin horrified the emperor, and so he called for Vibidia to come before him.

  The old Vestal entered his chamber knowing what had really happened, and realizing that she had a choice to make. She could lie to the emperor in one way or another, but she couldn’t tell him that his own daughter was the supposed victim. At the sound of Octavia’s scream, she had hurried up the temple stairs and gone outside. In spite of the disguise, her keen old eyes had recognized Nero. Octavia, she was sure, was by now safely back in the palace with her husband where she belonged.

  Her mind mulled over two alternatives as she hobbled toward the emperor’s throne. Should she name an innocent Vestal and sentence her to being buried alive, or could she make the emperor believe that it had all been a terrible mistake?

  She bowed as she reached the throne.

  “Well, Vibidia, what is all this about a rape this morning?” His expression was one of great concern.

  She shrugged, looked up into his royal countenance, and offered an apologetic smile. “My lord, you know Rome as well as I do. Gossip is a favorite pastime. What occurred this morning wasn’t what it seemed to be.”

  His eyebrows came together in a frown. “Are you telling me that I’ve been lied to? I won’t have it!”

  “Not a lie, sire, but a mistake. If I might explain?” She hesitated, trying to form the right image for her deception.

  “Yes, yes. Be on with it.”

  “The woman involved wasn’t one of the Vestal Virgins, but a foreigner who sometimes does menial work for the temple. This morning she was scrubbing the altar when she was accosted by the man.”

  “What man?”

  Vibidia shook her head. “He’s a foreigner also. Her own husband, I believe, though I know little of her private life. I was below in my chamber when I heard the disturbance above. It seems she’d angered him and he meant to take her home for a good thrashing. That caused her screams, which were misconstrued by a passerby. It’s all a matter of little consequence to either of us, since the participants weren’t even citizens of Rome.”

  The emperor nodded. “I see. And I’m much relieved. But in the future, Vibidia, be more selective of those you take on to work for you. As for the matter of the gossip, I’ll send imperial runners about to spread the truth of the incident. That should be sufficient to stop any further waggling of tongues on the subject. You may return to your temple now, Vibidia, and I thank you for answering my summons so quickly.”

  Vibidia bowed and turned to leave, but hesitated. “My lord, might I ask after the well-being of your daughter? Has she taken to married life?”

  A delighted gleam danced in Claudius’s eyes. “I believe she’s accepted it far better than expected.” Leaning forward, he whispered, “Perhaps it’s unsuitable for me to divulge such information to your holy personage, but Octavia hasn’t stirred from her bridal chamber since the night of her wedding.”

  Vibidia smiled in relief. The emperor didn’t know.

  “I’m glad to hear that she’s happy. May Vesta smile on her.”

  And then she was gone, a great weight lifted from her.

  After a few days, Octavia was completely recovered from her purification ordeal. Nero sent a slave to tell the emperor that he and his wife would appear at dinner that night.

  For the rest of the day the palace bustled with excitement, nearly matching that of preparations for the royal wedding.

  Claudius paced Agrippina’s chamber muttering to himself. “I believe the main course tonight should be a fish pie filled with plump, juicy oysters. They say oysters fan the flames of passion. And I believe it, for many is the occasion when upon eating my fill of them I’ve performed extraordinary sexual feats.”

  Agrippina turned a scowl on her husband. “You old fool! Have you no thoughts other than those of your stomach and your fading passions?” With her mission to put Nero in direct line to the throne accomplished by his marriage, Agrippina had no further reason to coddle the emperor. “The menu has already been decided upon, and it doesn’t include oysters in any form. That would be an affront to Octavia’s delicate senses. You’re not the only one who knows of the supposed aphrodisiac powers of oysters, and she would take the serving of them at this first banquet since her marriage as a joke in poor taste. Besides, my Nero can’t abide oysters.”

  The emperor’s face turned as purple as his toga in his rage. “Fool! Fool! How dare you speak to me this way?”

  Agrippina continued her toilette in calm self-assurance. “I call you by the role you play. Don’t I have to guide you every step of the way these days? Your vulgar manners are only slightly better than your sense of judgment. Left to rule alone, you’d no doubt turn every criminal in the Empire loose to loot and murder while you hauled off innocent citizens of Rome to be tortured for your pleasure. Without my cool head besi
de yours on the throne, I doubt you’d last another day. You would be dethroned for the simpering dolt that you are. Take heed, Claudius! I’ll sit close to you tonight to see that you don’t offend anyone by word or deed. You’re called Caesar. Act the part!”

  The heated discussion was interrupted by shouts and scuffling in the corridor. Agrippina swept to the door while Claudius quaked in fright, sure the noise was that of an assassin on his way.

  “Nero, what’s going on? Both of you, come in here at once!” Agrippina’s scolding tone brought an end to the commotion.

  Nero, already dressed for the night’s banquet, entered, his face scarlet with rage. Behind him followed a pale but angry Britannicus. His queer-looking eyes rolled as if a fit might strike him at any moment.

  Claudius put an arm about his shaking son and asked, “What has Nero done to upset you so, lad?”

  Agrippina turned on her husband. “Why is this disagreement instantly Nero’s fault, even before the cause is known?”

  Claudius flared back in defense, “Nero knows full well that Britannicus isn’t to be upset.”

  As the two parents stood glaring at each other, Nero broke in. “He called me Ahenobarbus, Mater, and said I wasn’t of the royal family.”

  “T-t-tell th-them wh-what you c-called m-m-me!” Britannicus stammered.

  Nero screwed up his face and imitated his cousin’s speech. “Y-you t-tell th-them, 1-little b-boy!”

  Britannicus began to whimper into his father’s shoulder. “H-he c-called m-me a bas-bas-bastard.”

  “How dare you say such a thing! If you weren’t my daughter’s husband, I’d have you thrashed!” Claudius bristled with rage.

  Agrippina purred, “You forget, dear Claudius, that Nero is also your son. And he isn’t the first to question Britannicus’s parentage, or have you forgotten Messalina’s many lovers so soon?”

  Claudius fought for self-control. “Leave us now, both of you boys. And we’ll have no more name-calling. Am I understood?”

  Britannicus rushed from the room with tears streaking down his cheeks. Nero drew himself up in victory and kissed his mother’s cheek, then left.

  Before Claudius could lash out again, Agrippina seized the advantage. “How could you be so unfeeling, Claudius? To show such preference to Britannicus when Nero is much more of a son to you, not only by adoption, but by our marriage and his to Octavia. I do hope your actions haven’t spoiled the evening for him.”

  Claudius already felt weak from their exchange and clutched at a table for support. To hear the nagging question that had eaten at his heart all these years spoken aloud was almost more than he could bear.

  “Britannicus is my son,” he whispered. “He isn’t the offspring of one of Messalina’s lovers.”

  Twisting the dagger in the open wound, Agrippina replied. “You’ll never know for sure, will you?”

  Without another word, Claudius stumbled from the room.

  Agrippina stood by her word that night and kept a close eye on her husband. Her admonitions seemed all too frequent and overly loud to Claudius. He shuddered as she commanded: “Don’t belch, Claudius, it’s vulgar! Take your elbow out of your plate, everyone is staring!” Then to a servant: “No. Take the vomitorium away. The emperor will retain his supper tonight for a change.”

  Claudius smarted under Agrippina’s stinging barbs. But he had a surprise in store for her and so devoted his attention to the feast. When his wife cried out in horror, “What is that woman doing here?” he beamed inwardly.

  Knowing full well which woman, Claudius answered in a voice slurred with wine, “What woman, my dear?”

  “Domitia Lepida!” The name burst from Agrippina’s lips as if the taste of it in her mouth were rancid.

  Claudius turned unfocused eyes on Agrippina. “But, my dear, she’s your kin, Nero’s natural father’s sister. She’s come to pay her respects to the bridal couple and bring them her gift. It’s only right. She cared for Nero when you were in exile, and he’s almost like a son to her.”

  “She’s also Messalina’s mother. I refuse to remain in the same room with that detestable whore!”

  So saying, Agrippina jumped up from the table and left the banquet.

  Claudius chuckled to himself, then motioned to Lepida. “Come sit beside me. It seems my wife has suddenly taken ill.” He drained his glass and held it up for more.

  Domitia Lepida hurried to accept the seat of honor. In his happy state of drunkenness Claudius could barely make out her greeting. She poured him another goblet of wine and began fluttering her jeweled fingers in the air in animated conversation. But very quickly Lepida realized that Claudius was slipping away in a fog. She turned to look for Nero, who approached with a smile on his face, having already spotted her.

  Nero hugged her affectionately. “Aunt Lepida, it’s been too long! You didn’t even attend—”

  Cutting him off in midsentence, as she had a tendency to do with everyone, she answered, “I know, my dear boy. And how I hated missing your wedding, but you know how your mother feels about me. She’s always been jealous—ever since Caligula turned you over to my care when she was exiled. She still blames me, though I had nothing to do with it. And I thought I was helping you both by taking you in.” She touched his cheek and for a moment blue met blue as they stared into each other’s eyes. “I loved you like my own son—I still love you, Nero.”

  At her age, the red of her hair undoubtedly covered a thatch of gray. Nero noticed that her skin had lost the creaminess he remembered, souring with age to a curdlike hue. But her bright-blue eyes were still lively.

  Nero was touched by her emotions. He knew how unfairly his mother had treated Lepida all these years. Perhaps he could make up for some of the pain Agrippina had caused.

  “Aunt Lepida, I wish you’d come to the palace more often. I’ve missed seeing you.”

  Again her hands fluttered nervously. “Oh, my dear, I’d enjoy that, but would the empress allow it?”

  Nero leaned over the table to the half-drowsing Claudius and asked, “Father, would it be acceptable if Aunt Lepida visited me here whenever she likes?”

  Claudius turned his sagging head toward the sound of Nero’s voice, trying to focus on his bronze curls. He mumbled something, then threw his arm around Lepida. “Come anytime you please, Lepida,” he shouted.

  Then he slumped to the table and slid to the floor.

  On her stormy retreat to her chambers, Agrippina ran into Pallas in the corridor. For a moment they both stopped and stared, exchanging longing looks. Suddenly Agrippina fell into his arms in a rare moment of female weakness.

  She sobbed, “Oh, Pallas, what can I do?”

  Pallas had been waiting for a moment like this for a long time. First he kissed the angry tears of frustration from her cheeks, and then he led her to his private apartment. When he had settled her gently on a lavishly carved olivewood couch covered in rich scarlet brocade, he poured her a glass of wine. But without her knowledge Pallas mixed in a measure of satyrion. He knelt by her side and offered her the goblet.

  “Here, drink this, Agrippina. Then tell me what happened.”

  He held her hand and kissed her fingers as she emptied the goblet. His lips traveled up her arm, inch by inch, until he was seated beside her.

  Her voice came thick with emotion. “It’s Claudius. You won’t believe how he insulted me this evening. He invited Domitia Lepida to the banquet. The mother of a whore and whore herself—at my table! I won’t have it!”

  Pallas nibbled at her shoulder. “You and I can deal with Domitia Lepida later. Don’t we always come up with a solution for such problems? For now, let’s enjoy the freedom of the night. It’s been too long, Agrippina.”

  Pallas released his hold on her to remove his clothing.

  Agrippina’s gaze took in the room for the first time. The golden trappings of the place were far more elegant than even those of the emperor’s chamber. So now she knew whe
re the imperial treasurer stored all the Empire’s most valuable possessions. Her eyes traveled the tapestried walls and came to rest at last on Pallas again. During her preoccupation with her surroundings, she’d forgotten him. But his now-naked body, standing before her in powerful majesty, made her heart flutter, and she felt a burning deep within her.

  She stood on unsteady feet. “Pallas, what are you doing? What about the slaves? And Claudius?”

  He didn’t answer, but went to her and slid her richly jeweled gown down off her shoulders. She pressed her bared breasts against the dark forest of hair on his chest, feeling the warmth between them. Ever so slowly he worked the gown down over her rounded hips until she stood as naked as he.

  He took her hand and said, “Come, I have something to show you.”

  They walked into his private bath of Mediterranean blue marble flecked with mica. Pallas pulled back a wide curtain to reveal a large plate of polished silver. Agrippina stared with wonder at their nude images in the mirrored surface.

  “You have never really experienced love until you’ve watched yourself loving and being loved,” Pallas whispered and wrapped his arms around her.

  As much as she wanted to watch their actions, Agrippina found it difficult to keep her eyes open as her passions rose to a fever pitch. But still, at times, her glance would catch sight of lips upon a breast, hands kneading bare flesh, two bodies joined and in perfect tune with their passions. When, at last, the pleasurable hour was spent, they dived into the pool together and relaxed there in each other’s arms. No words had been spoken between them.

  Pallas suddenly broke the silence. “The answer is very simple,” he said, as if nothing had taken place since the moment Agrippina accepted the goblet of wine from him. “We’ll find a way to have Domitia Lepida branded a traitor, and have her executed.”

  Agrippina gave him a look of surprised admiration.

  Tired as she was after the day’s preparations and then the long evening of the banquet, Acte saw Octavia to her chamber and helped her prepare for bed. As she unbound Octavia’s thin, pale tresses and began brushing them, her mistress’s voice brought her up sharply.