Rapture's Slave

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “Get the emperor to his bed at once,” he said to Acte. “I’ll remove this madwoman. Does he need a doctor?”

  Acte, helping Nero to his bed, replied, “No. I’ve tended his wounds. He only needs rest. Please leave us alone.”

  But Nero pushed Acte away and muttered, “Out! Out! All of you. I don’t want to see a woman’s face. Send Dorph to me.

  Acte looked back at him in surprise.

  Seneca bodily removed the two protesting women, having his hands quite full keeping them from each other’s throats. He gently pushed Acte into her room and ordered her to stay away from Nero. Then he hauled the kicking and screaming Poppaea off to another part of the palace. A guard was placed at her door.

  Dorph entered Nero’s darkened room like a shadow—silently and apprehensively. Though he was always near his master, his services hadn’t been called for in many months. He wondered at this sudden and urgent summons. Hearing the emperor’s muffled moans, Dorph crept closer to the great canopied bed.

  Nero’s trembling hand reached out in the darkness. “Dorph, is that you?” he asked.

  The slave touched his hand to reassure him. “Yes, master.”

  The weak voice commanded, “Light a lamp. I fear the dark.”

  As the glow of the lamp crept over Nero’s body, Dorph gasped at the sight of the naked emperor’s many wounds. Without instructions, the slave brought oil from the table and mixed it with wine before applying it gently to each jagged slash. Between exclamations of pain, Nero told Dorph of his crime.

  When he finished the treatment, Dorph removed his tunic and eased his body onto the bed. Nero made no protest. Dorph kissed and fondled the uninjured parts of Nero’s body.

  “You’re not at fault for this, master,” he whispered. “Women were put upon this land as a plague. We would be so well off if we could live in peace—men among men.”

  Nero warmed to Dorph’s words. “Surely, you speak the truth. You alone, Dorph, have been a faithful lover and friend. Women have no such capacity in them. Mothers manipulate their sons from birth. Wives refuse and taunt their husbands. Mistresses show their favors where they please.”

  Acte, who had crept near the connecting doorway between their chambers, shuddered at Nero’s words. She whispered, though he couldn’t hear, “I was faithful to our love, Nero.”

  Then a scream of agony rent the air. Nero tossed about the bed in a frenzy while Dorph tried vainly to control him.

  His words came tortured. “Is there no way to rid my mind and body of this crime? By all the gods, I’ll die of guilt!”

  “There is a way, master. It’s long been abandoned and was outlawed during the reign of the Emperor Caligula. But the story has been passed down in my family since one of my great-grandfathers is said to have provided this service to the Emperor Tiberius when he suffered ill aftereffects from an incestuous relationship.”

  Nero groaned, “Is it painful, Dorph?”

  “No. Not at all. It’s said to be quite a remarkable sensation. In fact, the Emperor Tiberius found it so much to his liking that he continued it even after his guilt had been taken away. He called the children who worked this magic his ‘little fishes.’”

  “Then do it, Dorph, hurry! I can’t live any longer with this anguish.”

  “By rights, the service should be performed by a suckling babe taken from its mother’s breast. A male child, of course. Innocence is said to drain away the guilt a mother has put on her son.”

  “I don’t know what you have in mind, Dorph, but cure me quickly.”

  Dorph leaped into position and exclaimed, “I’ll be your cleansing babe, my Caesar.”

  Hearing a sucking sound, Acte peered around the curtain to see the naked slave at work between Nero’s thighs. As his lips moved up and down on Nero’s throbbing penis, the emperor’s moans turned to pleasured sighs. Then Nero arched his back in one great and final thrust, and Dorph seemed to swallow him completely.

  Acte watched as Nero closed his eyes in peace at last, murmuring, “You’ve done well, Dorph. Hold me while I sleep.”

  Within minutes Nero and his slave slept.

  When dawn broke, Nero awakened to find Dorph asleep beside him.

  He poked the slave with his toe and said, “Dorph, go and bring Seneca to me.”

  Dorph responded, “Immediately, master.” He got up, pulled on his tunic and left.

  When Seneca arrived a few moments later, Nero was dressed and pacing his chamber.

  The Stoic took note of the look in Nero’s blue eyes—almost as if a dark cloud had descended over the Mediterranean.

  “My old friend, I have a problem.”

  Seneca smiled calmly as he commented, “After the events of last night, I would say you have several—all female!”

  Nero nodded. “Exactly. And your wise head will be the one to come up with a solution for me.”

  Seneca’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Perhaps you might give me the details of the problem. I could handle it better knowing what it is I’m supposed to deal with.”

  “I gladly hand you ever scrap of my misery,” Nero replied. “First, there’s my mother, who after—after—never mind, who won’t remain under the same roof with the woman I love.”

  “And which woman is that, Acte or Poppaea?”

  “Poppaea, though I do love them both and my mother as well. Why can’t the three of them share me?”

  Seneca shook his head and stroked his pointed beard. “Women aren’t known for their liberality when it comes to the love of a man, Nero. Didn’t I teach you that long ago?”

  Nero looked uncomfortable, but said nothing.

  “Whom do you wish to keep at the palace? The question is as simple as that.”

  Without hesitation, Nero replied, “Poppaea, of course. I intend to marry her.”

  Seneca thought it unwise at the moment to remind Nero that he already had a wife as did Poppaea a husband.

  “So, your mother must go. That won’t be an easy task to accomplish, you know.”

  Nero snapped, “Of course I know. Why do you think I’m laying the problem in your lap?”

  “Very well, Nero. You are the emperor. You have the power to expel anyone from the palace. Agrippina still owns the villa of Crispus, I believe. Just send her there. Then Poppaea will be soothed. Or does she wish Octavia removed also?”

  “No. She knows I don’t love Octavia, but Acte must also be sent away. This hurts me most of all. Though she’s no equal to Poppaea in the game of love, Acte still holds a part of my heart and always will. Her nearness brings comfort to me even though I have Poppaea. Could it be arranged that she move to a villa close by where I might visit her when I need her?”

  Seneca bowed. “For the Emperor of Rome anything can be arranged. I’ll see to it immediately.”

  The rest of the day Nero cowered in his chamber. He couldn’t face his mother when she heard the news. He ordered the guard on Poppaea doubled until Agrippina was removed from the palace, fearing that his mother might try to murder his mistress.

  Acte had missed nothing of the conversation between Nero and Seneca from behind the far side of the curtain. Her heart swelled when she heard Nero’s plan to remove her to a villa of her own. She’d feared that Poppaea would try to kill her again or instigate it through Nero. Never had she dared hope that such a suitable arrangement would be made. Now if Sergio arrived for her, their escape would be an easy matter.

  When silence fell on the other side of the curtain, Acte peered into Nero’s room. He stood alone, his hands clasping and unclasping behind his back as he stared out over the garden.

  Laying aside her caution, Acte slipped in.

  “Nero?”

  He turned, startled. “Acte! I thought you were gone—that is, I didn’t know you were still in that room.”

  She thought she glimpsed pain in his eyes. Was it caused by the sight of her or by the thought of her leaving the palace?

/>   “You put me in that chamber, Nero, and I’ll stay there until you remove me.”

  He reached out to touch her cheek. “You heard, Acte? I’m sorry. But you’ll be safer away from here. Poppaea, for all her divine beauty and expertise at lovemaking, can be a hateful bitch—and dangerous.” He hesitated, trying to form the proper words, then went on. “I don’t need to tell you of my love for you. But I must send you away now. Don’t worry. I’ll visit you often.”

  Acte tried to make her voice sound sad. “No, Nero. Perhaps it would be better if the break was complete. You have Poppaea—and Octavia, if you want her. Your need for me has passed. The bloom of first love fades all too soon.”

  Nero grasped Acte and kissed her like a child about to cast away a well-loved, but worn-out, toy and suddenly realizing he can’t part with it. He stroked her long hair and kissed the perfumed tresses. “We could have made such a beautiful son,” he whispered. “But the gods weren’t willing. Stay as you are, Acte, as you have always been. How I do love my dancing, laughing woman-child.”

  His lips sought hers in one last kiss of farewell, and then she was gone. Nero took her trembling as emotion at their parting, little suspecting he’d given Acte the gift she’d longed for all her life, but never had—her freedom.

  Thirteen

  Acte’s villa, though more than adequate, couldn’t compare with the luxurious quarters she’d grown accustomed to at the palace.

  Nero, she knew, had taken a hand in choosing it for her. Only he could have known how much the small garden surrounding the villa with its profusion of lupine, sweet peas and roses would mean to her. From a small arbor Acte could sit and watch Nero on the plain below exercising his chariot horses. Had he chosen this spot so that she could see him from a distance? She believed so. Except for these glimpses of him, she hadn’t seen Nero since she had left the palace.

  Among the other comforts were a staff of slaves, including an Egyptian flute player named Eucerus. Every morning Eucerus accompanied Acte to the arbor and played his ethereal tunes for her as she watched the road and waited for Sergio.

  One morning Acte’s slave woman, Numa, came rushing into the garden to inform her that a guest had arrived.

  “Who is it, Numa?”

  Acte’s heart leaped at the thought that it might be Sergio. He’d written from Naples that he would soon come for her.

  “A woman, mistress. She says she’s a friend of yours, but I doubt that. She’s more beggar than lady.”

  Acte frowned. Could this be an assassin sent in disguise by the jealous Poppaea?

  “Did she give you her name?”

  The slave nodded. “Nike, she says it is.”

  Acte jumped up in a rush of disbelief and excitement. Nike! She’d neither seen nor heard from her since her dreadful experience in Puteoli so many years before. Rushing to the gate, Acte stopped abruptly at the sight of the visitor waiting there. If this was Nike, she’d aged far beyond her years. Hard times had surely fallen upon the once beautiful and high-spirited woman. Her tattered clothes hung loosely on her spare frame, and gray hair formed a tangled halo about her sullen face. But the eyes were the same. Acte could never forget those kind and gentle eyes, though now pain and hurt shone out of them.

  Acte hurried through the gate and embraced her old friend.

  “Nike, how good to see you! Come.”

  Acte tried not to show the horror she felt at her friend’s pitiful condition. Nike hesitated for a moment, but allowed herself to be led into the cool atrium of the small villa. Acte called for food and wine.

  As they settled themselves comfortably on a shaded part of the terrace, Nike, at Acte’s urging, began her tale of woe.

  “I’ve come to you out of desperation, Acte. You’re the only friend I have left in the world.”

  “But what about Fortuna?” Acte asked.

  A wry smile twisted Nike’s hollow features.

  “The ‘Lady’ Fortuna, my friend? I once believed that, too. After my husband died at my brother’s hand, I stayed on with my son at Fortuna’s house. The promised reward for my Gaius’s valor never came. For a time, Fortuna let me stay on without paying for room and board. But at last, when all my earthly belongings had been sold to keep us alive, Fortuna pressed me into her service. I became a common whore!” Nike’s laugh held no humor. “I was Fortuna’s prisoner. She told me that if I didn’t stay and work for her, she’d turn me in as a runaway and also say that I’d conspired with my brother to kill the Lady Agrippina. Finally, after more than two years, I escaped from the house with my son one night. I won’t begin to tell you what I went through trying to keep myself and the boy alive. It was too terrible! I now believe that the lot of the slave far surpasses the pitiful existence of the Empire’s poor.”

  Though tears brimmed in Acte’s eyes on hearing the tale, Nike remained dry-eyed and cynical.

  “What about your son?”

  Nike looked down. She answered in a quivering voice, “He’s dead. He was trampled to death by a group of Praetorians’ horses when he failed to hear their approach and make way for them. I watched it all from only a short distance away, powerless to help him. Ironic, isn’t it? That the beautiful son of an honored Praetorian should meet his death in such a way.”

  Acte reached out to touch Nike’s trembling hand.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry, dear Nike.”

  Nike shook her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry about now. At least he’ll never know hunger again.”

  “Nor shall you!” Acte said as a slave appeared with a tray brimming with food and a beaker of wine.

  For a long time Acte sipped her wine in silence and watched as the half-starved Nike gorged herself on the first food she must have had in days.

  “How did you find me, Nike?”

  Still nibbling on the breast of capon, Nike replied, “I’ve been in Rome for some months. You know the gossips here. Nothing that goes on in the palace escapes notice. I couldn’t reach you there, but when word spread that Nero had expelled his mother and his mistress, I only needed to find out where he had placed you. I’ve watched the house for days to make sure there was no one here who might recognize me as Lady Messalina’s runaway before I got up the courage to show myself this morning.”

  Acte took her friend’s hands in hers.

  “I’m glad you’ve come. This is a lonely life for me. I’d grown so accustomed to the crowds at the palace. But having you here will make the coming event so much easier for me.”

  Nike looked into Acte’s beaming face.

  “What event?”

  Whispering so that the slaves wouldn’t hear, Acte divulged her secret to Nike. “I’m going away to Greece with my true love.”

  A look of total shock came over Nike’s face.

  “Nero is leaving Rome?”

  Acte smiled. “No. That’s over. I’ll soon belong to another, but as his wife, not his slave.”

  “But who is he?” Nike’s eyes sparkled with interest.

  “I told you about him before. You knew him as the gladiator Iron Face. I know him as Sergio Maximus, the kindest and most loving of all men. He’s a freedman of some wealth now.”

  Nike threw her arms around Acte. “Oh, I’m so happy for you! Nero could never have given you the love you deserve. When do you leave?”

  Acte shrugged her dainty shoulders. “That I don’t know. Sergio is on his way from Naples now, but I don’t have any way of knowing the exact day he’ll arrive. I’ll be ready when he comes.”

  The two women talked well into the night, catching up on all that had happened in the time they’d been apart. When a damp chill crept into the air, Acte led Nike to a lovely room near hers and they said their goodnights.

  Before the sun filled the villa with its first light the next morning, Nike was awakened by a coughing, retching sound coming from Acte’s room. She rushed to her friend’s bedside to find Acte with her head held over a vomitorium.
/>   Clutching at her shaking shoulders, Nike exclaimed, “Acte, you’re ill!”

  Acte shook her head. “It’s nothing. I often awake before dawn with dizziness and a weakness in the stomach. I think it must be the change in the water from the palace.” Even as she said the words she knew the real cause.

  “Let me look at you.” Nike eased the night shift from Acte’s body to see her breasts grown heavier than normal and her belly slightly rounded.

  Nike’s voice held a chill which radiated from deep within her heart as she remembered Acte’s ordeal at Puteoli. “You are pregnant with Nero’s child, aren’t you?”

  “No! I can’t be—not now!” Acte’s scream reverberated about the room. Then she broke into hysterical sobs and buried her face against Nike’s shoulder.

  “Hush, child, hush,” Nike soothed. “Will it be so terrible a fate to be a mother? I found it much to my liking.”

  Choking back her tears, Acte sobbed, “But why now? And why Nero’s child? Just when my life was my own—when Sergio was coming for me. It’s too much—to remain shackled to Nero though he no longer wants me.”

  “But won’t Sergio marry you anyway? If he loves you, perhaps he might even think the child his own.”

  Acte shook her head furiously. “No! Sergio would know that he couldn’t be the father. It’s been months since we’ve been together. And I couldn’t lie to him. I must tell him the truth and then give him up. There’s no other way.”

  Nike felt as hopeless as Acte sounded. “Does the emperor know?”

  Acte shook her head.

  “But why not tell him, Acte, if you plan to send Sergio away? Nero would surely reinstall you at the palace and send his new mistress away.”

  “I don’t dare tell him. Poppaea is an evil woman. She’d have me murdered. I’ll keep my secret to save myself and my child.”

  Nike nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Still, if the baby was born in Greece, you’d both be safe from Poppaea and from Nero. Give Sergio a chance, Acte. Let him prove that he loves you truly—enough to accept another man’s child as his own.” Nike thought back to how her Gaius had claimed their son, even though he wasn’t sure if he was the father.