“You killed her!” she said with a mixture of shock and relief.
Nero was on his feet at once, pacing the floor. “No! I did not kill her,” he stammered. “She’s dead. First it was the boat. Then that failed, and Anicetus had to make the most of timing. Timing! Yes, Mater always said that was the key to success. I loved her, you know! She was everything to me. Why, oh, why did she have to kill herself? I would have deified her. She was a woman above all others—a beauty, a wit, a politician. She didn’t have to do it. She knows that I wished her no ill. Only, I must live, too. Oh, Acte, help me!”
Acte went to him, but he pushed her away.
“Don’t touch me! I won’t allow it while her kisses still linger on my flesh. But now she’s gone. How will I live without her? Why did she have to kill herself?”
He paused for a moment, and Acte asked softly, “Did she really take her own life, Nero?”
His eyes flared with fear. “Of course! Even now Seneca is drafting a speech for me to deliver to the Senate denouncing her as a traitor—one better off dead. It’s public knowledge that she committed suicide. The sailors saw her stab herself just before—but never mind. All of Rome is talking about it, I’m sure. They know, they know! They don’t have to be told what an abomination she was. I’m totally blameless in this matter. Poppaea may share some of the blame—the poisoned oysters, you know. But not I!” Then, looking heavenward, he continued, “You know, Mater, that I had no part in it. Didn’t I bow before you tonight? Didn’t I kiss your ripe breasts and declare my faithful love to you?”
He slumped into a chair and began to toy with Agrippina’s ring. Acte felt sorry for him, but couldn’t think of what to do or say. When she approached him, he rose once more.
“I must be off to the palace. I’ll tell Octavia that dear Mother is dead.”
Acte caught his arm. “Nero, Octavia is here for a visit. Would you like to speak to her now?”
“Here?” His tone was suddenly furious. “How dare my wife leave the palace without my permission! She’ll return tomorrow or I’ll send my guards to arrest her for desertion.”
Acte stood in astonished silence as Nero went to the door. Then he turned and flashed a brilliant smile. “Will you return to Rome too, Acte? Your villa will be ready. I plan games and great festivities to celebrate the death of that wicked woman.”
Before Acte could answer, Nero disappeared into the night. She felt drained, shattered. Nero had lost his mind! Wandering slowly back to the room where the others waited, Acte broke the news.
“Agrippina is dead. I don’t know the details. Nero first spoke of murder and then of suicide. At any rate, he carried positive proof of her death. He was wearing her great pearl ring.
Octavia gasped. “Then I’ll be next!”
Acte put a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder.
“I don’t think so, but he has ordered you back to Rome. I’ll go with you. There’s to be a celebration of Agrippina’s death. Come. We’ll get ready.”
But instead of following Acte up the stairs, Octavia cast a longing gaze at Eucerus. He caught her meaning instantly. This would be their last night together. He excused himself and went to his room to wait for her.
Nike followed Acte to her chambers to help her prepare for her journey. The two women packed in silence. Suddenly Acte caught her breath.
“What is it?” asked Nike.
“The jar with the asp on the lid. It’s gone! But who would steal it?”
Nike shook her head. “Didn’t you send it with Eucerus for the empress?”
“Oh, I’d never part with that. It was a gift from Nero—a special potion for exciting passion.” Then after looking further, Acte said, “Look! Here is the jar Eucerus was supposed to have taken. Oh, no!”
“Don’t worry,” Nike quickly responded. “I’ll go find out from him what happened to the jar.”
As Nike neared Eucerus’s room, her heart swelled at the thought of their upcoming night of lovemaking. Then she stopped when she heard unmistakable sounds coming from inside. Tiptoeing to the curtained door, she pulled the drape slightly aside. In their preoccupation with each other, Octavia and Eucerus didn’t hear Nike’s weak cry. She wanted to scream and run away, but she found herself frozen to the spot, unable to remove her eyes from them. She watched as her lover kissed the peaked nipples of Octavia’s breasts, and her own tingled at the sight. And then he entered her and rode her well.
Just before Nike turned her tear-blurred eyes away, she spotted the jar with the silver asp coiled on its top. She raced away down the corridor crying wretchedly and returned to Acte’s room. Nike told Acte, as best she could, what she’d seen, then flung herself to the floor in a limp heap.
Acte knelt beside her to soothe her. “It’s not their fault, Nike. It anyone is to blame, it’s I. I should have remembered there were two jars with silver lids. And the potion Nero gave me makes the body an instrument of love not to be denied. I’ll leave some of it for you so that you can see for yourself its potent powers.” Acte could tell that her words had some effect. Nike’s sobs were softer now. “And remember you said that you’d never deny Eucerus anyone as long as he still loved you? If you had to share him, what better partner could he have chosen than poor Octavia, who’s known no other love in her life? She’s the one who will lose him tomorrow. He’ll be yours for as long as you wish it.”
At last, Nike stopped crying and wiped the tear tracks from her face. Acte helped her friend up from the floor and sent her to her room to sleep.
But later, Acte lay awake in bed thinking of the incredible turn of events. She wondered what Rome and Nero would be like without Agrippina’s overpowering presence.
Without Agrippina to stir up trouble, life in Rome moved on in a smooth stream of unexceptional events. Nero now held full control of his Empire. Octavia remained his unseen wife. Poppaea was still waiting for the first signs of the pregnancy that would secure her future. And Acte led a sheltered life on her hilltop villa—waiting—always waiting. Nero still kept a discreet guard on her to stop her should she take a sudden notion to leave the area. Sergio came when he could, but most of his time was spent in the south. He was making careful plans to smuggle Acte and Lucius out of Italy through the eastern port of Brundisium.
In her villa near the palace in Rome, Acte felt lonely without the company of Nike and Lucius. Lucius, now a strapping lad of six, stayed mostly in the care of servants at Veletri. His resemblance to Nero was too prominent to chance a meeting between father and son. Though she longed for the boy’s constant chatter, his faltering attempts to play the flute and lyre, his loving caresses, she knew it would be dangerous.
One morning at dawn, she awoke to a knock at her door and was surprised to find Nero there. He hurried in so as not to be seen by an early passerby.
Acte pulled her seafoam-colored wrapper more closely about her shoulders and waited for him to speak. But instead of giving her any explanation of his early-morning visit, Nero embraced her. He guided her silently to her bedroom, where he undressed and took the wrapper from her.
Then, as he was about to take his place on her bed, he said, “No. This isn’t right!”
The excitement he could still stir in Acte flooded out of her.
He went on, “We’ll go to the garden and I’ll take you under the waking eye of Apollo so that the gods will know how our love still blooms.”
Acte followed Nero to a sheltered part of the garden, where he spread his cloak on the grass. Lying down, he reached out to her. She came hesitantly. After such an extended absence of Sergio’s love, Acte’s body responded to Nero’s tender touch with new fire. His muscled arms, made hard and strong by his exercise with his chariots, at first held her at a distance. Then, at last, he gave himself to her.
Their bodies glistening with perspiration, Nero and Acte lay back and let the sun warm them.
He smiled. “I love you, Acte. And I bring good news this morning.”<
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The excitement in Nero’s voice infected Acte. “Do tell me, quickly,” she urged.
He raised himself up on one elbow and bent over her. “The time has finally come. I’ve signed the documents to divorce Octavia for barrenness. She’ll leave for a lovely villa in Pandataria within the week. I’ll be free, Acte, free at last!”
Acte’s mind raced with her heart. There was no need to feel sorry for Octavia, for surely she must be rejoicing at her release from the odious marriage she’d endured so long. But what other reason could Nero have for telling Acte of his new freedom in such a loving manner than to tell her as well that he planned to marry her? After all, Poppaea still showed no signs of being pregnant. And though Nero didn’t know about Lucius, Acte had admitted her first pregnancy to him. Had Nero decided to marry her rather than Poppaea? Of course! There could be no other explanation.
She hugged him and smothered his face with kisses. The memory of their childhood love came rushing back over her.
He pulled away, still beaming broadly. “Wait!” Nero said. “There’s more. At long last I’ll have a wife who promises to give an heir. Poppaea is now carrying my child!”
With his words, the blood drained from Acte’s face, and she felt dizzy. Poppaea! He couldn’t have wounded her more if he’d stabbed her through with a rusty sword. Acte leaped up from his side and ran back into the villa. Nero followed. He found her staring blankly into space.
“I thought you’d be happy for me,” he said in an injured tone.
“Please, leave now, Nero.” Her voice was icy. “Go to your future wife.”
“But I wanted you to be the first to know because I love you.”
Acte turned on him, unable to control her rage any longer. She screamed, “Because you love me! What do you know of love? I’ve been through hell for you, and now you come to use my body and tell me of your marriage to another woman. Get out!”
She flew at him. Her fingernails dug into his face, leaving bloody streaks. Nero shoved her away, ran out and slammed the door behind him. Acte slumped to the floor, too hurt and drained to shed her angry tears.
When Sergio arrived later in the day, Acte wouldn’t see him, so shamed was she by her actions.
Acte had no chance to say goodbye to Octavia before she was shipped off to Pandataria under Anicetus’s watchful supervision. But the rumors circulating before and after her departure caused Acte great anxiety.
Poppaea, not satisfied with Nero’s divorce, set Tigellinus to investigating rumors about the palace that Octavia had had an affair with a slave. If this could be proved, Octavia would be killed. There was also another story, probably Poppaea’s fabrication—that Octavia had carried Nero’s child but aborted it.
Word spread of the painful tactics Tigellinus used in gathering damaging information. Witnesses were tortured and then starved, so that many lied in order to escape. The evidence against Octavia mounted daily, to Poppaea’s delight and Acte’s horror. Since Eucerus’s name was now linked with Octavia’s, Acte expected to be arrested at any moment.
But Tigellinus bypassed Acte and instead had Nike arrested. Acte learned of it when one of her slaves arrived in Rome with Lucius. Eucerus had fled at Nike’s insistence. Then only hours later, Nike had been dragged from the villa in chains.
Leaving Lucius in the care of her servants, Acte rushed to the palace. Since Poppaea was at the prison with Tigellinus, Acte was allowed in to see Nero. He sat at a long table alone taking his noon meal.
Acte dropped to her knees before him and pleaded, “Nero, your guards have made a dreadful mistake!”
Nero looked down at her with cool disregard. “My guards don’t make mistakes!” he answered.
“Please! They’ve arrested my friend, Nike. She knows nothing of Octavia’s affair, if Octavia had one.”
“Are you questioning the word of the future empress?”
“No, no! I didn’t mean that,” Acte replied carefully. “But you know Octavia as well as I do. Have you ever known her to show the slightest interest in any man? Don’t you remember her vow to remain a virgin to the day of her death? You yourself dragged her away from the Temple of Vesta. Please, Nero, if you ever loved me, make them free Nike! She knows nothing!”
Nero continued to munch on a fig. After several minutes he said, “She’ll be freed soon enough. Right now she’s undergoing interrogation. I plan to go now to hear her testimony. Would you like to accompany me? Then you can take your friend home.”
With a great sigh of relief, Acte thanked Nero and silently the gods that Nike would soon be safe with her.
The interrogation room lay deep without the bowels of the prison—a dank and airless hole of earth and stone. The emperor’s viewing point was a balcony of carved stone chairs. Acte felt herself go faint as she looked below. All around the walls, naked figures hung in chains, their heads drooping to their chests as they waited for their turn to be questioned by Poppaea and Tigellinus. It took a while for Acte to scan the prisoners before she found Nike.
Like the others, Nike’s head hung down and her hair, tangled and matted with blood, all but hid her face. Acte clutched at her chair as she saw Poppaea and Tigellinus move from a chained dead man to Nike.
Tigellinus raised Nike’s head with one gloved finger. Then he called to one of the guards, “Bring the water bucket. This one is unconscious.”
Three buckets of water were thrown on her before Nike roused and groaned in pain. When she raised her head, Acte could see that her face had been cruelly burned.
“Now, you will tell us all you know of the affair between Octavia and the slave Eucerus,” Poppaea commanded.
Nike’s reply was hardly audible. “Nothing—know nothing.”
“Help her remember,” Tigellinus ordered.
Two giant slaves moved in and took turns applying their steel-tipped whips to Nike’s naked body. She screamed, and blood flowed from her wounds down her legs.
Acte felt sick. Grabbing Nero’s arm, she begged, “Make them stop! They’re killing her!”
He only shook his head. “I never meddle in these affairs. They’ll be finished with her soon.”
Nike still muttered weakly, “Nothing—I know nothing.”
Tigellinus turned to two gloved slaves who stood in the center of the room tending a fire. They grasped the handles of a large, white-hot metal plate from the fire and advanced slowly under the weight of it. Then the men turned the nearly melted plate upright and pressed it to Nike’s bare chest. She let out a scream of agony and lost consciousness. The odor of charred flesh filled the air. Acte fainted to the floor next to Nero’s chair.
Tigellinus shouted disgustedly, “Cut her down! We’re wasting our time on this one.”
Poppaea interrupted, “Is she still alive?”
“Yes, but just barely,” he answered.
Poppaea smiled.
Acte was allowed to take what Tigellinus and Poppaea had left of Nike to her villa. All through the long night she sat beside her delirious friend. At dawn Nike died.
Acte covered her. “You told them nothing, Nike,” she whispered through her tears. “Octavia is safe.”
But before Nike was on her funeral pyre, news reached Rome that Octavia had seduced Anicetus on the trip to Pandataria and admitted to him that her slave lover had been very real. Immediately upon her arrival at her new home, a physician awaited to attend to the opening of her veins. Octavia, too, was dead. Nike’s ordeal had been for nothing.
Even while Rome still protested Octavia’s death, Nero and the vicious Poppaea were wed. Mobs surged through the streets pulling down the statues of the new empress and crowning those of Octavia with flowers and wreaths of mourning.
Watching from her terrace above the city, Acte felt that the whole world had gone as mad as Nero. Was there no hope for any of them—even little Lucius?
As if her question had been voiced aloud, she heard an answer.
“There is always hope.
Don’t look so sad.”
Turning in surprise at the unfamiliar voice, Acte saw a strange man at her gate. Though dressed like a Roman citizen, he had the look of the East about him. Acte gazed at his dark hair and beard, his swarthy complexion, but most of all, his serious eyes, nearly as black as her own.
“Who are you?”
“In my homeland, I was called Saul. But it’s been many years since I’ve seen that place. Here my friends call me Paulus. I’ve been sent by two of your friends, Eucerus and Sergio. They are with us.”
“Us? What do you mean?”
“I am one of the Christians, as are Eucerus and Sergio.”
Acte backed away in fear. The man reached out his hand to her. “Don’t run away. We’re people of peace and love. I’ve come to help, not harm you.”
“But the Christians say they’ll destroy the world with fire!”
“That’s not true. We’re much misunderstood.”
Reassured by his manner and his mention of Sergio and Eucerus, Acte finally said, “Won’t you come in and have some refreshments? The day’s been warm and the road dusty.”
Paulus nodded. Acte escorted him into the atrium. Several of her slaves bowed and nodded as if they knew the man. Acte looked about her in puzzlement. She had had no idea that anyone in her household was a Christian. Acte motioned to Paulus to sit and placed a glass of wine in front of him.
Looking at Paulus suspiciously, she asked, “And did you know Nike as well?”
“Did I know her?” Surprise registered in his face and voice. “You speak of her as if she’s dead.”
Acte’s eyes misted. “She died a few days ago.”
Paulus placed a firm hand on Acte’s shoulder. With quiet conviction he said, “Then she now lives a better life in the court of our Lord.”
Acte understood nothing of what this strange man said, but his words gave her hope—something she’d thought was gone forever.
Paulus paused to sip his wine.
Acte asked in a trembling voice, “Have you any news of Sergio? I foolishly sent him away. Where is he now?”
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