Acte ran forward to stop him. “Please don’t hurt him! I’m here and I’ll go with you.”
The guard’s eyes crawled over Acte’s thin night shift, and he smiled his approval. “Dressed as you are you’d be raped before we reached the fifteenth milestone. Wear a slave’s tunic and cover your hair. Hurry!”
With a dark cape over her tunic and her long hair bound up in turbanlike fashion, Acte mounted the great black horse which normally drew her carriage and sped away into the night behind the guard. She could hear Eucerus’s gradually fading voice still protesting.
From miles away Acte could see the fires blazing all over the city. Reaching the Pons Neronianus, they crossed the bridge and headed through the heart of the city. Mobs clogged the narrow streets, and Acte kept her head low on the horse’s neck to avoid being struck by missiles of every sort flying through the air.
A swarm of wild-eyed faces surged in on her steed like waves of an angry sea. Once her horse stumbled. She looked down to see that he had trodden the body of a dead man lying naked in the road. Acte yanked the reins in terror and nearly unseated herself. She regained control of the horse, but lost the turban, releasing her flowing hair.
A shout came from nearby. “Get her! The slave girl has stolen a horse!”
Before she knew what was happening, dozens of rough hands were dragging her from her horse. She screamed for the guard, but he couldn’t hear her above all the furor in the streets. Acte watched as he rode on, unaware of her difficulty.
She was dragged, fighting and kicking, through the muddy street. Her teeth sank deep into someone’s flesh and she tasted blood. A maniacal scream filled the night.
“The bitch bit me! Let me have her, it’s my blood she spilled!”
A dark-faced man ripped the cape from her shoulders and threw Acte to the ground. Her head hit a rock, and for a few moments all was black. She awoke to find a crowd of ragged plebs, men and women, closed in around her. The man, whose hand still streamed blood, stood astride her, glaring down.
“Didn’t want you to miss the fun, dearie.” With that, he fell on her, to the cheers and bawdy encouragement of his fellows.
Acte brought her knee up sharply into the brute’s groin. He fell away screaming in pain and holding himself with his wounded hand.
The crowd guffawed at the man’s anguish. One woman cackled, “Poor old Silvus never could handle the wild ones. You take her, Getio. I’ll sit on her feet for you. You get her arms, Nestor.”
Getio? This must be Nike’s brother! And sure enough it was him. Acte tried to tell Getio she was his sister Nike’s friend. But he didn’t hear her above the wild confusion. She strained to free herself. Getio took a knife and slit the tunic from her. Lying naked now in the mud and filth, Acte was defenseless against this mad scum of humanity.
Without preliminaries, Getio plunged into her. The pain of his pounding was almost more than she could bear. Acte silently begged the gods to let her die. Then suddenly Getio’s body slumped like dead weight on top of her. She opened her eyes to see a sword hilt protruding from his back. Frightened screams filled the air.
Then she realized what was happening. Flashing through the darkness came several mounted swordsmen swinging their weapons in all directions. Most of the attacking mob were slain, their severed heads rolling in the muddy road like boulders dislodged in a landslide.
A cloak came out of nowhere to cover Acte’s nakedness, and she was swept onto a horse by a strong and familiar arm. Sergio had come to her rescue. Leaning back against him, she let her quivering and violated body go limp and her tears flow freely.
With his lips close to her ear and his voice quaking with rage, he demanded, “What are you doing in Rome? I told you to stay away. You might have been killed!”
“Please, Sergio. I was ordered here by Nero. Take me to the palace so that I can be done with it and return to my villa.”
He jerked the reins, causing his horse to rear. “To the palace? Are you mad? After what you’ve been through tonight?”
She sobbed, “I must go. If I don’t, he’ll only send for me again. I’ll feel safe, if you’re with me.”
With a snort of disgust, Sergio turned his horse toward the palace.
Sergio waited out of sight in the hall while Acte entered Nero’s chamber. Nero stared at her with a vacant look in his blue eyes.
“Acte, whatever are you doing out on a night like this? You might have been seriously injured.”
Acte stared at him, amazed. “But you sent for me, Nero.”
He cocked his head at an angle as if in deep thought, then answered absently, “So I did. So I did.”
“Nero, are you all right?”
He smiled down at her, his face a strange mask. “You came through the mad streets of Rome on the wickedest of all nights to ask if I’m all right? Of course I am. The palace is safe and the people will have their fill of rebellion by dawn. But it’s comforting to know you can’t deny me anything, Acte.”
She seethed with rage as she realized that the whole horror she’d lived through was a simple test of loyalty Nero had planned for her.
“So you’ve made me prove myself to you! Are you pleased with my response?” The anger showed plainly in her voice.
Again he smiled enigmatically at her and nodded. To Acte he seemed a man teetering on the brink of insanity. And it was Agrippina who had put him there, who was responsible for all the awful things happening.
“Perhaps you’ve controlled me, Nero, and there may be a chance that the people will be subdued by your armies. But what about Agrippina? What are going to do about her? Even now she incites your citizens against you. Her murder of Britannicus was ruthless and calculated.” She paused for breath before giving him her final thrust. “How can you feel that anything will ever be normal while she lives and opposes you?”
Nero moved away as if Acte held a poison snake in her hands. His face took on a confused expression.
“How dare you speak of my dear mother that way? Everything she does is for my good and the good of the Empire. I won’t listen to you, woman. Get out of my house! This instant!”
“You are mad—totally mad!” she cried. She ran from the chamber and into Sergio’s arms.
Acte leaned against Sergio’s broad chest and dozed on the ride home. Her mind was fogged by the events of the terrible night and Nero’s odd behavior. The sun was well up by the time they reached her villa. Nike met them at the door with Lucius.
Acte took the child in her arms and hugged him tightly. Thank the gods she hadn’t told Nero the truth about his son.
Sergio took the child from Acte’s arms and led them into the house. When he’d seen Nike tend Acte’s wounds and knew she was safe and sleeping, he departed once more for Rome, cautioning Nike before he left not to allow Acte away from the villa until he sent word that all was well.
The furor over Britannicus’s death died slowly. But when that crisis finally passed, Agrippina found new flames to fan. Though Nero still hadn’t made his plans to divorce Octavia public, Agrippina spread the news. Outraged anew, the citizens of Rome attacked their emperor once more with ever-growing accusations. They wouldn’t have a whore for empress. Nero had no right to divorce his legal wife.
Nero still refused the advice of his closest advisers to brand Agrippina a traitor and have her out of the way for good. Instead, whenever he could he retired to Baiae to escape the gossip and ill feelings in Rome.
Though no heir was on the way yet, Poppaea had convinced Nero that it was only a matter of time. They would wait out that time away from Rome. The relief from pressure, she assured him, would make it easier for her to conceive.
Agrippina, too, left for her villa on the shore only a few miles away from Nero. Her strategy was to sit quietly now that she had made her feelings known and let history take its course. She, too, had watched the change in her son over the years, and felt threatened by it. When Nero ordered all her personal gu
ards removed, including Fenius Rufus, she decided to seclude herself from the political struggle for a time. Better, she thought, to be alive and powerless than dead before her time. She had her villas, her fortune, her lovers, even if she had lost her son.
But Poppaea felt no comfort in Agrippina’s new docility. This frightened her more than any of Agrippina’s previous acts.
She approached Nero one morning as he enjoyed his repast of sweet melon and thinly sliced ham in the salt air and sunshine. Putting on her most honeyed smile, she asked, “Nero, wouldn’t it be a gesture of truce to invite your mother to dinner here at the villa? She’s made no move to interfere lately. Perhaps she’s changed her mind about us.”
Nero looked up at Poppaea’s voluptuous figure, clearly visible through her silver-threaded wrapper. He would have granted her any request, but to have her suggest a reconciliation with his mother was more than he could have hoped for. He slipped his arms around her waist, pulled her to his lap, and stroked her breasts.
“You’re a wondrous woman, Poppaea. How generous of you to suggest it. I’ll send a runner to Bauli immediately to invite Mater to dine with us tonight. Will that give the chef enough time to prepare?”
Poppaea’s green eyes glittered like emeralds. She kissed Nero’s forehead and answered, “Your chef is prepared to entertain thousands on an hour’s notice, my love. So tonight it shall be.”
While Nero went to the shore during the morning to cast his golden fish nets for sport, Poppaea made an unaccustomed visit to the kitchen to prepare a special dish for Agrippina. Though not endowed with the services of the skilled Locusta, Poppaea had her own source of death potions. Carefully she mixed a white powder into a dish of oysters in cream sauce, smiling at the thought of the evening to come.
She called for the chef, Halotus, to give him instructions. “I’ve prepared this dish especially for Lady Agrippina. Do not serve any portion of it to anyone else tonight. You know that the emperor can’t abide oysters in any form.”
Old Halotus sniffed his indignance. “Yes, my lady.”
Her nerve disgusted him. How dare she tell him the emperor disliked oysters when he’d been catering to the young man’s tastes for years? And what kind of lady would intrude into his kitchen in the first place?
Dinner that night was strained in the beginning. Though Agrippina obviously appreciated the invitation, which she thought was her son’s idea, she had some difficulty containing her dislike for Poppaea, gowned as she was in a wisp of flame with diamonds in her hair and ears.
But as the wine flowed freely, the conversation became more relaxed.
“Mater, do you have everything you need at Bauli?” Nero asked sweetly.
“Yes, son. How thoughtful of you to inquire.”
Poppaea couldn’t resist. “Has the handsome Pallas been able to tear himself away from Rome to visit you?”
An unperturbed Agrippina matched venom for venom. “More often than poor Octavia has been let out of her palace prison. You really should invite your wife for a visit here on the shore, Nero. The poor child has hardly been out of her room since her brother’s unfortunate death. She still grieves for him after all this time.”
Nero shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Octavia’s name. Poppaea shot him a meaningful look. His mother’s comment would no doubt bring on another tirade from his mistress later. But he meant to stick to his word—no heir, no divorce and marriage.
Agrippina continued on delicate ground. “What do you hear from dear Acte these days, Nero? I’m surprised she hasn’t escaped you entirely, stuck away in Veletri where you put her. I do hope you visit her occasionally.” Then, glancing at Poppaea, she added, “I’m sure she never comes here.”
Before thinking, Nero answered, “I see her from time to time. She’s asked to leave the country, but I’ve forbidden it.”
Poppaea had heard enough. Bristling with inner rage, she clapped her hands. “Bring on the special dish for Lady Agrippina, Halotus,” she ordered smoothly.
Agrippina exclaimed her approval of the steaming dish of creamed oysters set before her. Daintily, but with gusto, she began her special feast. Poppaea looked on in anxious anticipation, awaiting the moment when Agrippina’s face would begin to discolor and her fork clatter to the floor. But a frown crossed Poppaea’s lovely face as Agrippina finished the oysters with no apparent ill effects.
“Those were quite the best oysters I’ve ever eaten, Nero. I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
Nero looked a bit surprised. He answered, “I’m glad you enjoyed them, Mater, but I had no idea they’d be served. Halotus, I suppose, remembered your taste for them.”
The slave chef, who was standing nearby, wished to cast an unfavorable light on Poppaea for daring to invade his kitchen. “I can take no credit, my emperor. The Lady Poppaea prepared the dish with her own hands.”
Agrippina turned a false smile on her hostess. “How accomplished of you, my dear. I myself never set foot in a kitchen.” Then to Nero, “You’re lucky, my son, to have a concubine who can cook as well as take care of her other required duties.”
After a few awkward moments, Agrippina rose to say her goodbyes. She embraced Nero, kissed him tenderly, and said, “This has been a lovely evening. We must do it again soon.”
Out of Nero’s hearing, she said goodnight to Poppaea. ‘It was kind of you to prepare my special dish yourself. But did you think that I would come to dine with a viper without first taking an antidote for her poison? You have much to learn.”
The disappointment in Poppaea’s face was unmistakable even to Nero.
When Agrippina departed, he asked, “What’s wrong, my dear? I thought the evening went exceptionally well. Mater had a fine time, and I did, too. I’m glad we’re no longer fighting.”
Poppaea picked up a wine decanter from the table and hurled it across the room. It crashed into a mural of the ancient city of Troy.
Screaming uncontrollably, she pounded her fists on the marble top of the table until her hands were bruised and bleeding. Alarmed, Nero grabbed her arms to stop any further damage she might do to herself.
“What’s the matter? Why this sudden outburst?”
A voice cold with hate answered him. “That bitch! I would have put an end to her tonight, but she tricked me. Now she’ll do her best to destroy me.”
Nero only looked on in dumb silence.
“The oysters!” Poppaea screamed at him. “I put poison in them! But she guessed a plot ahead of time and took the antidote before she came. What kind of woman would take an antidote against poison before coming to dine with her own son?”
Now the cold rage was Nero’s. “What kind of monster would poison a mother at her own son’s table? This is unforgivable, Poppaea!”
“In that, at least, you’re correct, Nero. Agrippina won’t forgive either of us for this night. Our lives are in certain danger. You have no choice now. The only way out is for you to kill her before she has a chance to do away with us. I’ve pleaded with you on this matter before and you’ve refused. But now it’s out of your hands. If you value your life and mine, you’ll make the proper arrangements immediately!”
Nero stalked out of the triclinium, but didn’t sleep that night. Poppaea spoke the truth, though the thought of killing his mother pained him beyond anything he had ever had to do. By morning he’d already sent a runner to Rome to Seneca and the aged Anicetus, admiral of the navies and an enemy of Agrippina ever since she’d dismissed him as Nero’s tutor. He would heed their counsel.
Life at Acte’s villa at Veletri proved quiet and restful, removed as it was from all the horrors of Rome. She spent sunny days on the shore with Lucius and Nike, and Sergio when he could get away from duty.
Nero seldom put in an appearance any more and only sent word occasionally to remind her that she was not to leave the country without his permission. How much longer would she and Sergio have to wait?
It pained Acte, too, that h
er last words with Nero had been spoken in anger. After her accusation of Agrippina, Nero seemed to take a different tack with her. He left her alone, but refused her any freedom. Did he hate her now because she’d warned him of the coming trouble with his mother?
She sat in the sun and watched young Lucius, the tiny image of his father, dig in the sand. Eucerus came running from the villa. He shouted at Nike, who ran to meet him. Acte felt a tug at her heart as she watched them embrace. They were still arm in arm when they joined her on the beach.
“What news from Rome, Eucerus?”
He shrugged. “All is quiet with the emperor at Baiae. I’ve seen the Empress Octavia, however.”
Acte smiled. “And how is my good friend?”
Shaking his head, Eucerus replied, “Much distressed. She lives alone in the palace now with only the servants and a few guards. Hers is a sad lot. She knows of her impending divorce, but lives in limbo, not knowing when it will take place or what will happen to her afterward.”
A thought crossed Acte’s mind. “Eucerus, why not invite her here? The sea air would do her a world of good, and she’d enjoyed the company. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
Nike agreed. “A splendid idea, Acte! Go now, Eucerus, and bring her back to us immediately.”
The handsome Egyptian slave bowed. “As you wish, ladies.”
“Oh, wait, Eucerus! Take the empress a gift for me. Go to my room and you’ll find a jar with a silver lid. It contains a new essence of sea flowers which I think might please her. Give it to her with my fondest love, and then hurry her here.”
“As you command, Lady Acte.”
The two women watched Eucerus’s retreating form. Nike beamed her love after him.
“Why don’t you marry him, Nike?”
Nike looked surprised. “He’s a slave, Acte. You know it wouldn’t be allowed. Besides, he’s so young and full of life. I wouldn’t want to tie him to an old woman. I’ll love him as long as he’ll let me. But beyond that point I wouldn’t hold him.”
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