Mistress of Rome, Book Three of The Emperor's Obsession

by Alex Carlsbad

  By the time the old general came, his initial epiphany had progressed to a full-fledged plan and his mind had already commenced to work out the details that were going to be required to wrest control away from the current emperor.

  Chapter Seven

  THE BEAST

  A prison, somewhere in Italy

  Clang! Myra's eyes shot wide open. A metallic sound reverberated across the tiny cell. A mouse? She smiled at the thought that a creature actually called this dismal place home.

  She shivered as the memories came flooding back: The thunderous WHACK that had accompanied the soul rendering shriek of the wood as it splintered into a thousand pieces. The pirates had accelerated their boat and rammed it straight into the imperial galley.

  She had willed herself to remain hidden, silent, not to cry.

  But then the water came rushing in through a thousand cracks that had opened in the shattered vessel and her legs propelled her across the tiny cabin, up the flight of steps, onto the misty deck.

  She saw him immediately. They were taking him away. Josephus lay dead at his feet, a pool of crimson surrounded them both and looked to be growing bigger by the instant. Heavy chains wrapped the emperor's wrists. Blood trickled down his forehead. She couldn't stop herself.

  "Master!" she screamed. And as everyone turned she saw his sad eyes.

  "Myra!" he mouthed from across the deck.

  And she ran! She dashed around a burly man with a bushy beard, skipped ahead of another that gave chase after her. For an instant, Myra almost imagined that she would make it: Across, the deck, down the sloping gantry, into the boat which had brought her here just the night before. But that thought was rudely interrupted. A hand grabbed her arm and tugged, spinning her in a s circle that ended when a fist slammed into her belly and all became darkness.

  When she first woke up, she thought she was dead — she couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't move. But then, she heard the sound of dripping water and that was followed by the searing pain of metal rubbing against her wrists. She was alive.

  Clang!!! No, not a mouse. Myra suddenly felt movement. Something primal, an instinct buried deep within reared its head and sent a shiver down her spine. There was someone, a human being by the door to her cell. Her eyes strained to part the darkness, to see anything, something. And then she did! Silently the door had swung open and a shadow head entered.

  She heard a sound, like a horse whinnying. Then she realized it came from her. She trembled. Gruff hands grabbed her wrists where they were locked into the manacles of the chains. The man slipped something metal into the lock. A grunt, a twist and the man tugged on the chairs, and they came away. He was setting her free! If not a friend, then an ally perhaps!

  "Thank you..." Myra started to say.

  "Shhh, woman, be quiet!" A voice whispered from the darkness, "Don't make me hurt you."

  Immediately she twisted herself away and crawled to the other side of the tiny cell.

  "A fighter," the shadow chuckled. "I like that. But don't you dare make any noise. I want you to myself. First."

  He walked over and knelt in front of her. Slowly he put out a thick muscled arm and like a python devouring a quivering rabbit, his huge palm enveloped her breast. She gasped as it swallowed it and squeezed making her flesh contort and disappear. Pain lanced through her but she didn't scream. Instead, her eyes cast about the tiny cell. The darkness seemed to have lifted a bit. And then she saw it: The door was ajar.

  Out of nowhere, a calm came over Myra. Somewhere within her soul, a gate had opened and allowed another person through. Hard and determined, that being now took control of Myra.

  "Please...," she whispered. "Be gentle," and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  She felt him smile, and then she saw him sit back, undo his belt and slip off his clothes. All she needed was hope and this beast had delivered it to her. As he approached once again, the shadows parting to reveal a hungry face, Myra focussed her entire being into the rock she felt under her. Small, and round, probably intended to put meager prison rations upon, it was also oval and hard and fit oh-so-perfectly in her palm. She collected her feet, reached for the rock and with one breath propelled her entire body's strength into the point where her fingers clutched the object as she brought it up from bellow in an ark of blurry motion that swung to connect with the burly man's temple.

  He lost his balance, tipped sideways and then crumbled not unlike an aqueduct during an earthquake. She didn't know if he was dead. Perhaps not. So she took a deep breath, crouched by him, wrapped her skinny arms around his neck once again, and squeezed. She started counting. At twenty, his entire body started flapping like a fish, by fifty his convulsions had died off and by one-hundred — so had he. She squeezed until her count got to one-hundred and twenty before she released her hold and lay down on the cold floor panting.

  A couple of moments later she turned him over and found his gaoler's keys and a knife. She had to run! What if his companions were already looking for him? She didn't know what time of day it was or where they had taken her. The only thing Myra knew for certain was that the lingering darkness was her only friend right now and the sooner she made a run for it — the greater her hope for success. So gingerly she stepped out of her cell and groping the damp rocks of the dark corridor she came up to a door, big and hard that she then pushed open.

  The sight of a forest meadow, silver with the first rays of morning twilight, greeted her. She counted to three, took a deep breath and ran for the shelter of the trees beyond.

  Chapter Eight

  GENERAL'S PET

  House of Petronius, City of Rome

  One week later

  "You have to help him!" she implored.

  "I don't have to do anything," he growled. He turned toward the guards, "Who is this woman anyway? And why is she in my presence?"

  The praetorians cast uneasy glances at one another. "She was with the emperor, on his ship, general. This is Myra — his favorite concubine," explained Vergilius, his thick heavy voice echoing from the walls.

  "Really?" Petronius stood and walked over to where she stood, flanked by the two enormous legionaries on either side. She could see his dark eyes narrow into a thin gaze as he looked down on her. "Favorite concubine to the emperor? Indeed?”

  She felt his skinny hand grab hold of her chin as his long talon-like fingers dug into her cheek. She tried to step away but his fingers squeezed as his face drew nearer. He moved her head this way and that, like a vulture appraising a catch.

  "So tell me, Myra-favorite-concubine-of-the-emperor, what is it that he sees in you? What makes you so special? Is it something you can do? Are you good in bed?" he hissed.

  "Did you not hear what I just said?" she yelled back as she pushed herself out of his grasp and tripped back a couple of steps. The force of her won move almost sent her reeling all the way to the floor were it not for the bulk of Vergilius into whom she collided. "Your emperor needs you, general. He needs you and his praetorians to march on Naples where he was abducted by pirates."

  "So say you," the general spat back, a thin vale of mockery in his voice. "How do we know you aren't luring us into a trap. Perhaps you're someone else's favorite now. Isn't that what women of your, shall we say, profession are known to do: hop from one man's bed to the next?" Petronius bared his teeth in a wolfish smile.

  "Of my... profession?" Myra gaped "I'm a free woman of Rome, how dare you?" she heard snickers around the room. Myra did her best to gather herself. "Anyway, what is most important now, is that you ride out to help your emperor. He is in trouble. They may kill him, if you don't, assist him," she almost wanted to curl up into a ball and cry out the hopelessness she felt. "Why don't you people believe me?"

  "I'll tell you why," the general resumed his seat and leisurely leaned back. "We don't have to believe you. Let me correct that: In fact, you see, I do believe you. But here is the problem," Petronius chuckled, "You say Commodus got himself caught by pirates. Well, he sho
uld have known better. He's the emperor. If he cannot figure out how to protect himself, what good is he as a leader? Perhaps, we're all better off if he's dead."

  Myra gasped. She couldn't believe it, not after all she had endured to get here, to escape the odious pirates, to find a way to get to where she knew Petronius and the imperial troops were stationed, to warn them.

  "Traitors!" she spat back. "You betray your emperor when he needs you most. You spineless monsters!" She would have continued but the storm of anger she saw gathering in the general's face sent shivers down her spine. She saw him nod at one of the legionaries behind her.

  Strong hands grabbed her wrists and lifted her arms above her head. She was petrified. She stood there, her mind in frozen disbelief as a praetorian grabbed the collar of her tunic and suddenly ripped it right off her body. She would have tried to cover herself were it not for the strong arms that held her hands like in a vice above her head. Cold beads of sweat formed and started meandering slowly down her naked form.

  "There is no need for me to keep pretending, sweet girl," the general laughed. "Now that I have done what the emperor asked me — killed or captured all his enemies, imprisoned that traitorous son of a dog Aviscena, I realized that I might as well rid Rome of its emperor as well. I never believed in half measures. I'm certain even you'll agree I'm the more effective commander, the better leader."

  A gentle cough interrupted him and everybody turned to look at the back of the room. The curtains parted and revealed the massive whale-like figure of the smiling Majordomo who strode across and the plush rugs.

  "You started the fun without me I see," the Majordomo wagged a finger at Petronius in mock admonition.

  "Milord, not at all," replied the general laughing. "On the contrary — just preparing the girl for your pleasures. Something tells me you two have already met. I'm sure you'll be truly delighted."

  The two men embraced and then kissed one another on the cheeks.

  Myra's eyes became big as saucers. For a minute she had to remind herself to breathe. Majordomo Julius, her oldest acquaintance in Rome, the emperor's trusted ally, her father's best friend, had changed sides too!

  "Traitor! You dog, how could you..." Her voice was cut off when a guard slammed a beefy hand across her face. It sent her ears ringing.

  "Careful, slave!" A legionary growled. "Know your place."

  Myra felt the soldier's grip tighten around her arm. And then she felt her hands grow numb.

  The two men hardly acknowledged her from the other side of the the room. The general moved over to a table upon which little figurines of men and horses represented the positions of the armies as they lay situated around Rome. The Majordomo made a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue, as if complimenting a plate of delicious food.

  "Exemplary work, my general," the fat man smiled.

  "Or perhaps I must start getting used to calling you, Your Grace?"

  "You flatter me, Majordomo," the general nodded. "Rest assured your position in Rome is secure." He put his arm up on the taller fat man's shoulder.

  The Majordomo nodded slowly as if in humble submission. Then without so much as averting his stare from the figurines on the table, he moved like a lightning; he wrapped one bejeweled sausage-like hand around the scrawny general's forehead and with the other rapidly sliced across his exposed neck.

  Even from the opposite end of the hall where she was still held naked by the hearth, Myra could see the glint of steel in the Majordomo's fingers.

  Slowly, like in a dream, the general looked first down at the rivers of blood as they cascaded from the deep slits in his throat onto his formerly immaculate toga. Then he looked up in silent incomprehension at the sparkling eyes of the Majordomo.

  "The emperor sends his best. May you rot in hell, general!" and the fat man wiggled with surprising dexterity out and away from the limp arm that general Petronius still had draped across his shoulder. The body slithered down and crumpled into a heap by his feet.

  The Majordomo turned and for the first time met Myra's wide open eyes.

  "Vergilius, release the girl, and make sure she gets some decent clothes to wear," he bellowed.

  "Yes, Milord," replied the praetorian.

  Myra found pressing herself back against the hearth, her heart in her throat as she began to understand.

  The bulky man walked over, undid the thick mantle from around his shoulders and gently laid it across the girl's naked form as her legs gave way and she slid to the ground.

  "Get some rest, child. The emperor is on his way back," the Majordomo smiled.

  Epilogue

  Three days later.

  City of Rome. Imperial Palace.

  "You took your sweet time, Majordomo Julius," the emperor said as they made their way back from the plaza in front of the palace. Behind their backs, upon a cross, firmly embedded in the dry ground, writhed in grotesque agony the pale body of Aviscena, former Lord of the Treasury. Around that single cross upon heaps of parched wood and timber, were erected beams of wood, to which stood chained dozens of co-conspirators, their moans and supplications joining those of their leader in a chorus of agony as one by one their pyres were set ablaze.

  "For a moment there, I almost believed you betrayed me for real," the emperor stopped and stared at his Majordomo, his eyes scanning across the old man's fat cheeks.

  "My humblest apologies, Master," the Majordomo bowed his head in genuine submission. Behind him stood the silent form of the giant praetorian guard Vergilius. "I'm loathe to admit that this last little surprise that general Petronius sprung on us, really caught me unprepared. Before I confronted him, I had to make sure the praetorians still held their allegiance to us."

  "We almost lost the girl, Julius," growled the emperor. "You're lucky you interceded in time. If she had been harmed in any way..." his voice trailed off. "Let us just say, I would have hated to lose such an adept ally as yourself, Majordomo."

  In the background a particularly wicked scream echoed off of the stone walls. The Majordomo fell to his knees and grotesquely started kissing the emperor's feet.

  "Thank you, Milord, thank you... You are too generous," the Majordomo said.

  "Get up, Julius," the emperor grabbed the man by the shoulder and tugged him up to his feet. "You're a good Roman, Julius. We thank you," he smiled. The Majordomo used the sleeve of his toga to wipe off the tears and sweat that caked his face.

  "May I ask you a question, Milord?"

  "Go on."

  "How did you know that he would turn on you like that, the general?" the Majordomo asked.

  "I happened to remember what my dad had taught me of human nature," Commodus said. "That I can't trust anyone and should account for every possible treachery. But I was also lucky, lucky to have trusted friends in the right places." The emperor looked at Vergilius who bowed imperceptibly in the darkness of the room.

  *****

  Gods, she could feel him.

  His hands — enormous, warm, their skin rough from daily use of his heavy sword pulled her across the silken bed covers until her breasts flattened against the solid muscle of his chest. Her heart threatened to explode out of her ribcage. They were naked — gone were the togas, the belts, the shirts and the sandals. Nothing but skin rubbing against skin. Heat and muscle sliding against softness and sweat. He stroked her temple, her chin, then gently he pressed her head to his chest. She whimpered.

  His size excited her. She was tiny — a little morsel of energy, her father used to call her. But the emperor was huge, enormous, towering even above some of his own guards. His muscles pillowed her cheek and rippled beneath her body as she lay herself atop him. She felt his other arm flex across her back, holding her, soothing her. He smelled of cleanliness and soap, of fresh mountain lavender and something else that she guessed was just him.

  Myra didn't know what surprised her more — that the most powerful man in the world loved her, or that she had stopped worrying. She felt at home. And yet she knew, there w
as still something she needed to tell him. She looked up from his chest.

  "Master, I have to..." His mouth captured hers with a soft, strong heat and Myra felt herself surrender to his kiss. She never had a chance to protest, the slow, long, confident, devastating motion of his tongue robbed her mind of the ability to think. He tasted of wine and promise, of power and strength, of tenderness she had never thought possible in a man of such power. She felt him angle his head and heard herself make a small sound in the back of her throat. It surprised her, she had never made a cry like that before, it sounded like a plea. Her hands found his ribs and brushed along his corded muscles, mesmerized by their angles and hardness.

  She couldn't stop herself. She let her body go. Her arms slid around his back and she found herself holding him as much as he was holding her. He turned and now he was on top, sliding his fingertips over her hair, her temples, her neck. And then lower...

  Myra closed her eyes as he kissed the bared hollow of her throat, inhaling deeply the lavender and jasmine lingering there from her morning bath.

  He felt his breath catch in his throat. Had any chief, any emperor ever possessed such a treasure? The sweet innocence of her voice, the heat of her fires that blazed under her skin which pale as snow was more intoxicating than wine, more invigorating than cold mountain air.

  He lifted himself up on his elbows and gazed upon this treasure of treasures that lay in such exquisite bliss by him. His Myra. She was not beautiful — she was glorious. Her breasts lolled before him, full and taught, dusk aureolas moving into hardness before his own eyes. He could see the shimmer of her sweat break across her sultry skin.

  He longed to have her, to taste her, to lose himself as he suckled on those proud peaks, to hear her gasps and cries of pleasure.