Rapture's Slave

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  First Nike kissed him with all the tenderness of her being. Then she said, “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve two loves in one life. First my dear Gaius, and now suddenly you, Eucerus. I had no idea of your feelings until you declared them to me. But having lain with you, I know I share them. You’re as dear to me now as anyone I’ve ever known. You say you wish to serve me. Would you serve someone else who is dear to me?”

  A puzzled look passed over his dark face. “You want me to love another in your place when my heart is yours?”

  “No, my love. We’ll be together. I’m not foolish enough to think that I could hold you, if I let you love another. This service is of a different kind.”

  His lips sought hers. “Then name the deed and consider it done,” he answered.

  “Could you arrange to visit the palace on some business from time to time? The Lady Acte, my dearest friend, may be in grave danger now that her child has been born. So we need to know all that takes place there.”

  “I already go to the palace frequently. The emperor requires it so he can get news of the Lady Acte.” Eucerus lowered his head. “I’m ashamed to admit that I’m a spy for the emperor.”

  Nike started in surprise. “He doesn’t know of the child and of Sergio, does he?” Suddenly she was afraid.

  “Of course not,” Eucerus chided sweetly. “I wouldn’t betray you and Lady Acte.”

  She was relieved. “Then could you use your eyes and ears for us as well as for the emperor?”

  “I’d gladly do this or anything else you might ask, my love.”

  “Oh, Eucerus, what joy you’ve brought me—such joy that I thought I would surely never know again. How could a woman my age be blessed with such a lover?”

  Touching her breast, still firm and lovely, Eucerus spoke the words she longed to hear. “A woman of your age is a woman of perfection. Your beauty is of a mature and ripened vintage. I would have no other. You are ageless, Lady Nike.”

  The next morning when Nike told Acte of her night with Eucerus and their new love for each other, Acte wept with joy.

  “To be without love so long and then find it! Oh, Nike, I’m so happy that you now have someone other than an unwed mother and a fatherless child to take care of—someone to make you truly happy.”

  Nike, her face beaming with newfound youth and joy, came and sat on the bed beside her friend. Her eyes focused on the copper curls of the suckling child as she spoke in a secretive tone. “You haven’t heard it all yet. Nero has had Eucerus spy on you because he doesn’t want you with another man. He never told him anything about Sergio. Now Eucerus has consented to do the same at the palace for us. Both you and your child will be out of danger. Should Poppaea conceive some plot for your destruction, we’ll know of it in time to save you.”

  Acte laid the child beside her on the bed and threw her arms around Nike’s neck in gratitude and relief.

  “Oh, Nike, how can I ever thank you for coming up with this idea? I’ll feel so much better now knowing that little Lucius is safe.”

  Nike took the baby into her arms and looked down into the tiny, pinched face. His hair was a shade darker than his father’s and his eyes were the color of Acte’s.

  “So you’ve named your son?”

  Acte reached out and let Lucius clutch her finger in his fist.

  “Yes I know it’s the father’s place to name his child, but for now I’ll call him Lucius, Nero’s childhood name. The gods willing, he will never be called Caesar!”

  Quite without warning, Nero appeared at Acte’s villa just a week after his son’s birth.

  Acte lay in bed letting the morning sun warm her while she fed Lucius, unaware that the commotion in the courtyard signaled the arrival of the child’s father.

  Suddenly, the curtains of her chamber parted and a flushed and flustered slave woman hurried in.

  Scooping the baby out of Acte’s arms, she exclaimed, “The Emperor Nero, mistress! He’ll be here in moments!”

  Cold dread worked its force on Acte.

  “Take Lucius and hide him, quickly! The emperor mustn’t know that an infant is in the house.”

  Acte rose from her bed, threw a light wrapper about her shoulders, and took her place at her dressing table. When Nero burst in, he found her performing her morning toilette as if nothing were amiss. She turned and looked at him innocently.

  Nero stood motionless just inside the room, his gaze fixed on her long hair draped about creamy shoulders, her lovely form barely hidden beneath the soft green dressing gown.

  The sun blazed off his golden breastplate, and a scarlet cape hung from his shoulders to his heels. The leather straps at his wrists and the spotless linen of his tunic told Acte that he was on his way to exercise his chariot team.

  Without a word, Nero crossed the room and raised her from her seat. Still silent, he pressed her lips with his. Long-suppressed emotions flamed through Acte’s body at Nero’s touch. Her arms went automatically around his neck.

  Nero stepped away, his face flushed with longing. His expression sent an anxious shudder through Acte. Did he know of Sergio or of his own child? Finally she said, “What is it, Nero? Your look frightens me.”

  He dropped his eyes from her face. Then he took her hand, led her back to her seat and knelt beside her.

  Moments passed before Nero found the words he sought. “Acte, you know I love you—that I’ll always love you. But—but there are circumstances over which I have no control. I’ve longed these past months to come to you, to feel your tender body next to mine, to pour out my thoughts to you. But that wasn’t possible. I am bewitched! I’ve tried to return you to your rightful place at my side, but I’m powerless. Though I love you beyond all understanding, I can’t give that woman up. Poppaea has made her demands. She knows that I love you, though I’ve tried to keep it from her. She also knows that without her body at my beck and call, I’d lose my mind. I tell you she is a witch! She’s cast a spell over me. If only I could send her away, but I can’t. I rue the day that Otho first brought her into my sight. But now it’s done, and I must pay the full price for my lustful folly.”

  He stopped short of explaining what he meant. Had he come this morning to issue Acte a suicide summons demanded by the vengeful Poppaea? But she couldn’t die now! There was Lucius to care for. She would gladly give up her life for her child, but not for the vanity of another woman.

  Her face ashen, her voice trembling, she spoke. “No, Nero! If she wishes my death, you must order it and have it carried out. I won’t take my own life to soothe your conscience or to smooth the way of my rival!”

  With a cry of surprise, Nero clutched Acte to him.

  “Acte, never! Never would I allow anyone to harm you! A suicide invitation isn’t the purpose of my visit this morning. Were Poppaea to mention such a thing, I’d have her destroyed. If you didn’t live, I couldn’t!”

  Relief flooded through her. “Then what, Nero?” she asked still nervously. “What is this grave matter which worries you so?”

  Unable to meet her eyes, Nero mumbled his reply. “I have to marry her, make her empress, or she’ll leave me.”

  For a moment Acte sat in stunned silence. What would be Octavia’s fate? Would she be the one to die for this madwoman’s whim?

  As if sensing Acte’s unspoken question, Nero answered, “There’ll be no deaths to expedite my marriage. Octavia will be exiled to Pandataria after I divorce her for barrenness. She’ll be happy there. Since you left the palace she’s spent all her time with Britannicus. I never see her at all. If she wishes, I’ll allow her brother to accompany her. As for you, my love, I must have you moved from this place. I don’t trust Poppaea. And now that poor old Burrhus has died of quinsy, the Sicilian horse trainer, Tigellinus, has become head of the Praetorian Guard. This may have been a bad move on my part. He and Poppaea have matching personalities. Both are cruel and ruthless. He’ll take her command over mine, though she has no official
power. I fear that she’s won him with her body. If I could prove it, I’d have him put to death. But they’re both clever and discreet. At any rate, you’re no longer safe in Rome. Nor is it wise for me to visit you so openly under the watchful eyes of your enemies.”

  Again terror clutched at Acte. Would she, too, be exiled to some far part of the Empire out of Poppaea’s dangerous reach, and also away from her Sergio?

  Nero stayed her dread. “Do you remember the villa of Augustus near Veletri? It overlooks the Pontine Marshes and the sea beyond.”

  Acte nodded, her eyes wide in amazement. This great villa was one of the most beautiful and luxurious along the coast where magnificent homes shone like jewels for miles.

  “As soon as you can have your belongings ready, I’ll move your household there. Already I’ve staffed the villa with a full complement of slaves, who are there now making it ready for your arrival. I think you’ll find it most comfortable, and I can visit you more often, even after my marriage.”

  Acte’s eyes filled with tears as she thought of her new home. Her mind rushed ahead to her freedom in the spacious villa with its gardens, baths and lavish apartments. And what a perfect place for little Lucius to grow.

  As if on cue, the baby’s cry drifted in from the next room. Nero looked up with surprise in his face.

  “Whose child is that?”

  Silently, Acte’s heart screamed out, Yours, Nero, yours! But she knew that this was hardly the time to let him know that. With his marriage to Poppaea imminent, it could prove disastrous.

  Before Acte could voice an answer, Nero went to the drape separating the nursery from Acte’s room. He returned carrying the tiny image of himself tenderly cradled in his arms, his eyes glowing with love.

  “Acte, why didn’t you tell me? We have a son!”

  Flustered and terrified, Acte shook her head furiously as she cast about in her mind for some other origin of the infant.

  “No, Nero, you’re mistaken. The child isn’t mine!”

  “But, of course.” He paused and looked thoughtful as he calculated times and dates. “The afternoon in the garden with Terpnus. And this is a newborn by the looks of him. And a wet newborn at that!”

  Nero laughed as Lucius soaked the front of his spotless tunic.

  “I tell you, you’re mistaken, Nero. Wouldn’t I have told you before I left the palace if I’d been carrying your child? He belongs to one of the slave women.”

  Nero shook his head. “I don’t know the reason for your deception, but it’s failed. Look at the color of his hair. Isn’t it the same shade as mine?”

  “But his eyes are dark,” Acte argued. “Isn’t it a fact that in your line all offspring have blue eyes?”

  Nero brought the baby close to Acte. He answered, “But never have any in my family mated with such a dark beauty as you, my Acte. His eyes are his mother’s.”

  Torn by her emotions—wanting to tell Nero the truth, but not daring to—Acte sat silent and disturbed.

  At that moment, the curtains parted and a red-haired woman entered the room. She bowed before them as Acte looked on in amazement. Who was she?

  And then she spoke. “My pardon, mistress, but the child cries out for my breast.”

  Nero only stared, disappointment in his face as the woman took the baby from his arms.

  Recognizing Nike, though she’d colored her hair to match the child’s, Acte said with relief in her voice, “Of course, take him. We didn’t mean to disturb him, but he was whimpering in his cradle. He can tell his grandchildren that he was once held by the great poet and emperor, Nero.”

  Still not satisfied, Nero stopped Nike before she departed. “You’re this child’s mother?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And the father? Your eyes are blue, not dark like the child’s.”

  Acte responded to Nero’s question. “Your own flute player, Eucerus, the Egyptian, is the father. If you remember, his eyes are as black as night on the desert.”

  “Of course,” Nero mumbled, “a red-haired mother and an Egyptian father. But how I wish he could have been ours, Acte.”

  Acte’s heart wrenched at the longing tone in his voice.

  Nero came and hugged her for a moment, and once more tasted her lips. Then he straightened to leave. “My horses await. I wish I had time to love you, but I fear the eyes and tongues of spies as long as you remain in Rome. Hurry to the villa at Veletri. I’ll come to you there as soon as possible.”

  Then he turned and left.

  Acte sat in stunned silence for several moments until Nike reentered, carrying the hungry Lucius.

  Handing him to Acte, she said with a sigh, “It’s not my breast this one cries for.”

  Acte settled the child to suckling.

  “You look so different, Nike,” she said, staring at her now younger-looking friend. “I hardly recognized you. But you couldn’t have chosen a better time to change your hair color. And it’s quite becoming.”

  Nike laughed. “It wasn’t by accident that I decided to flame my hair today. Eucerus does his job well. He warned me last night while he held me in his arms that Nero might visit today. You were asleep and I saw no reason to disturb you. But I knew that Nero wouldn’t mistake the bronze curls for other than his own son’s. Do you think he was deceived?”

  “Yes. And my heart broke to see the pleasure taken away from him by our falsehoods. But he mustn’t know yet. Perhaps when we’re safely away from Rome and that witch Poppaea. What kind of woman could so possess a man’s will with her body? It’s beyond me!”

  Nike nodded. “The kind of woman you could never be, Acte. Nor should you wish to be like her. Nero has loved you as he will never love that scheming female. Be happy in that knowledge.”

  Acte tearfully replied, “But my love for Nero and his for me have brought such pain over the years. Why should it be so hard? The gods frown on me, I’m afraid.”

  Nike put a comforting arm about Acte’s shoulders. “You have something that Nero has given no other woman—his child. When the time comes that it’s safe to let him know the truth, no other woman will be able to contain his love. Take heart, dear one. That time will come.”

  Acte shook her head sadly. “But do I want that time to come? Sergio fills my heart and mind now. My love for Nero was another time—another place. I’m not the same person I was then. But when I see him, all the old feelings and longings come rushing back to torture me.”

  All unhappy thoughts of Nero fled as a slave arrived carrying an armload of yellow roses with a note.

  Acte, my dearest,

  I send a kiss with each blossom, a caress with each petal.

  The next son you bear will be ours, my love.

  I’ll come for you soon. I count the moments, but must stay away for now. Your villa is being watched. Take care!

  Your own forever,

  Sergio

  Acte hastily scrawled a reply telling Sergio of her approaching move to the villa at Veletri, and pleading with him to come to her there.

  Only his presence could wipe the shadow of Nero’s love from her mind.

  Fourteen

  Nero returned to the palace a shaken man after his visit with Acte. His joy had been so great at thinking the child his that the blow of finding out otherwise drove all thoughts of exercising his chariot horses from his mind. More than laurels for his singing, more than gold for his coffers, more than Poppaea’s body, almost more than life itself, he wanted a son.

  He found Poppaea and Tigellinus in serious discussion on the terrace. Nero sent the handsome leader of the Praetorians away and ordered Poppaea to his chamber. In disgust he watched her uncoil from the couch where she’d entertained her Sicilian confidant. Gowned only in a shimmering bit of transparency, she was as shameless as she was demanding.

  When she entered Nero’s room, she gave him a defiant look and spat, “Who do you think you are, ordering m
e about so?”

  In a moment of uncontrollable rage, Nero lashed out, leaving a red welt across Poppaea’s perfect face. Surprised by his anger and force, but stirred by it, too, she smiled and touched her face. She let her robe slip to expose her nude beauty.

  Nero pretended not to notice, though fires blazed within him as always at the sight of her.

  His voice rose in the quiet room. “I’ll tell you who I am in case you’ve forgotten. I am Emperor of Rome and not to be toyed with!”

  Poppaea swayed toward him seductively. She was sure she could subdue his anger with her body and turn his attention to setting a time for his divorce and their marriage. But he pushed her away, sending her sprawling over a couch.

  “Now, my beauty, you’ll remain where you are and listen to what I have to say.”

  Poppaea gazed up at him with startled eyes.

  “I have a new condition for our marriage. You will give me an heir and then I’ll marry you. That is my demand. No longer will you turn away my seed. I will have an heir!”

  Poppaea jumped up from the couch, anger flashing in her eyes. “No! Never!” she screamed. “Do you think that I’d ruin my body, have it misshapened, just to give you a child? I don’t want children. I refuse!”

  Nero’s anger went past all reason. He raised his driving whip and brought it down sharply across Poppaea’s bare back.

  Her scream of pain cut through the air, but still she managed to shout at him, “Never! Never!”

  With each negative exclamation Nero applied another lash of his whip. His hand seemed to continue its motion with a will of its own. He couldn’t stop the beating once he’d begun. At last, Poppaea’s cries ceased and Nero dropped the whip. Quickly undressing, he flung himself over her bleeding flesh. As in the past, the inflicting of pain had aroused him beyond control.

  Poppaea gasped as Nero pressed her wounded back against the couch. She kicked and clawed, inciting him all the more. He would have her! Ripping the ties from the bed’s canopy drapery, he tied her wrists together and secured the other end of the rope to a column. Then he parted her legs and tied each ankle to the posts of the couch. When she could neither kick nor fight, he stood back to observe his handiwork. Poppaea moaned and writhed, smearing the couch with her blood.