Virginia Henley (27 page)

Marcus surreptitiously watched his brother and the plump Nero continuously whisper to each other. He wondered what they spoke of so earnestly, but if he had been able to hear them, he would have been sickened.

“Are you enjoying the games?” Nero asked, twirling the rings on his pudgy fingers.

“I like more bloodletting,” Petrius replied with a gleam. “When a defeated gladiator begs for mercy, the crowd always obliges.”

Nero smirked. “I, too, like to see men die, but I have to be satisfied with the wounding; I cannot go against the masses.”

“You do not realize your full power, Emperor. I wager that if you turn thumbs down on the next man defeated, it
won’t be long before you sway the thousands gathered here.”

The two gladiators before the emperor’s eagle-decorated box fought on and on. They were well matched, but finally the larger man disarmed his opponent and placed a victorious foot on his neck. The crowd went wild, cheering and collecting their wagers. When the fallen man lifted his arm for mercy, Nero suddenly turned thumbs down on him. The collective voice of the crowd protested, and Nero’s hand wavered.

“Courage!” Petrius urged and stretched out his own hand with the thumb turned down.

The victorious gladiator plunged his short sword into the fallen man’s heart. The crowd gasped. When the victor withdrew his weapon and held it on high so that the blood dripped down his arm, the crowd began to cheer.

Nero grinned at Petrius with delight. When the next gladiator fell, the masses turned thumbs down on him and cheered with bloodlust when the victor slashed the defeated man’s throat wide open, so that his lifeblood spurted into the sand.

“It feels good to kill,” Nero whispered, sexually aroused.

“It feels even better when your hand wields the sword.”

“You are a centurion. It is easy for you; difficult for me,” Nero said, placing his pudgy hand on Petrius’ solid thigh.

“Difficult, but not impossible, Emperor.” Petrius’ eyes lingered on Nero’s rouged mouth. “Why don’t we retire to a more private place where I can suggest many things that will appeal to your appetite.”

Nero’s hand squeezed his new favorite’s knee. “Just one more bout?” he whispered avidly.

Marcus Magnus felt a great sadness come over him. He wanted to get his young brother away from the deviate Nero. But it was too late. Petrius was the one doing the
corrupting, and if he could teach depravity to one as evil as Nero, he was beyond redemption. With Petrius it wasn’t about sex, it was about power. Marcus knew he was in his glory manipulating the Emperor of Rome. To see them walk off together after the bouts put a great sadness in his heart.

In Nero’s opulent chamber the air was heavy with perfume sprayed from jets in the high ceiling. At twenty-five, Nero was no longer aroused by women. He had turned to men, but the limp-wristed slaves available by the score did not have much appeal. They abased themselves too easily and could not bear much pain or cruelty, either to themselves or to others.

The young emperor preferred more muscular partners, who were not squeamish when he wished to flagellate them and were also strong enough to hold a victim powerless while he inflicted more inventive tortures. They were ugly devils, both unemotional and insensitive, with bovine intelligence, but their large physical attributes brought him release.

Petrius Magnus was different. Nero hadn’t been this excited about a lover in years. The young man had the beauty of a woman and the hard body of a centurion. He also understood the narcotic of bloodlust. He was that rare being: a beautiful brute.

Nero sprawled upon his purple silk couch while Petrius undressed him. They indulged in arousing talk to keep the emperor erect. “A few weeks ago I decided to experiment with one of those deranged Christians. I had his prick tied with a leather thong, then I made him drink and keep on drinking. I was curious to see what would happen when he became overfilled, but couldn’t relieve himself by pissing.”

“Was it arousing?” asked Petrius, slowly removing his own tunic.

“Not really. I thought his prick would swell to
enormous proportions. It was slightly amusing, though. He became drunk on plain water. When he began to run around, screaming, he kept falling down. But his bladder burst and he died much too quickly.”

Petrius was naked now, except for a black leather sheath he wore over his cock, held in place by a strap about his lithe hips. Some centurions wore them for penile protection in battle. Nero became stiff the moment he laid eyes upon the black obscenity. Petrius, however, wanted Nero aroused to madness before he gave him release. So he described in detail how many bloody wounds could be inflicted and exactly where, and how to hold off death for hours while the blood oozed and seeped.

When Nero was panting with need, Petrius pushed him back upon his couch and fellated him. There was no way he was going to take Nero’s short, fat prick into his body. Nero looked down upon him with adoration as Petrius’ long silken lashes swept his cheeks and his beautiful mouth sucked him dry.

Then Petrius ordered Nero on his knees. The power that surged through Petrius’ body when the Emperor of Rome obeyed his command was like nothing he had ever known before. This was pleasure! And before Petrius was done with him, Nero would obey all his commands, not just for sexual purposes. He would take control of Nero’s very soul. That would be power; that would be glory!

Marcus received official permission to marry before the day was over. He sat down that night to write to Diana and impart his good news. She had been worried that consent would be withheld, which proved that she longed to marry him. An unnamed urgency within him told him to secure her. He reasoned that once she was legally his, she could not go back whence she’d come, nor would the gods snatch her away from him.

He had never written a love letter before and found he could not pour out his heart on the wax tablet. Consequently, it read like a military communique. When he reread it, he grimaced at the authoritative tone and forced himself to add a flowery sentence or two.

He was beginning to see things as Diana saw them. Where once he would have enjoyed gladiatorial games, he could now see that they illustrated completely the pitiless spirit and carelessness of human life, lurking behind the pomp, glitter, and cultural pretention of imperialism.

He and Julius had spent the evening wining and dining certain senators, and tomorrow night would be more of the same. Marcus felt drained. This was far more exhausting than a fourteen-hour day training legionaries to cross a raging river. Petrius had not attended the banquet and Marcus tried to keep his thoughts from how his brother was spending the night.

As it turned out, Petrius was introducing Nero to another of life’s evil pleasures. The streets of Rome were dark and dangerous at night. There were no street lights, and after sundown, silence blanketed the elite avenues that earlier had swarmed with life.

The Subura’s squalid streets and alleys, however, were filled with rumbling carts and wagons bringing in food supplies. They were forbidden from Rome’s congested streets during daylight hours. Ordinary citizens usually did not stir outdoors at night, for in spite of the watch, there were sneak thieves, cutpurses, and open bandits known as
siccarii,
or dagger men.

Wealthier citizens who spent their evenings dining with influential friends were accompanied by slaves with torches. The upper classes could not resist braving the darkness for dinner, which was the crowning event of a Roman’s day. So it had recently become fashionable for lawless young nobles to indulge in the evil pleasures of ranging the dark streets and beating harmless and poorly guarded citizens.

Petrius, Nero, and a select number of the emperor’s Praetorian guards who were also his intimates donned masks and armed themselves with bludgeons, daggers, and other assorted weapons. Petrius promised Nero that when he bloodied his first sword the thrill would be orgasmic. As an added fillip to their game, they would have a treasure hunt. At dawn they would compare the souvenirs they had collected and see who had won. Points would be given for fingers, ears, and noses, with the highest number of points awarded for the ultimate prize: a severed penis!

* * *

Livi and Diana’s other female slaves described to her all the details of a Roman wedding. She would be married in a
tunica recta,
a garment woven in one piece, a robe of extremely good omen. About her waist would be a sash tied with a complicated Knot of Hercules for her bridegroom to untie. She could wear nothing beneath the robe, but would wear a flowing veil over her hair with a garland of flowers to hold it in place that must be picked by her own hand and interspersed with sprigs of the sacred herb verbena.

The ceremony itself was a simple civil affair, with no religious rites required. However, there was always a sacrifice with a soothsayer to examine the entrails to see if the signs were favorable. At the altar, the groom himself, with no priest or official, would put the direct question, “Will you be my
mater familias?”
Then in turn the bride would ask, “Will you be my
pater familias?”
Amid the cries of congratulations, they would place cake and wine upon the altar and dedicate them to Jupiter and Juno.

Livi told her there was always a wedding procession, where the bride clings to her mother and the groom tears her away and carries her to his house, followed by flute players who lead all the guests after the newlyweds. The custom was a remembrance of the rape of the Sabines.

Titus Magnus asked Diana to describe to him exactly what she wanted in the way of wedding finery and he would have Lucas order it. When the sandalwood boxes arrived and Diana saw how beautiful the garments were, a lump of gratitude came into her throat, and her eyes became liquid with tears. He had told her the veil could be any color she desired, so in a moment of recklessness she chose red, the antithesis of what would be
respectable
for a Georgian bride.

The gauzy, flame-colored silk veil she lifted from the box had been imported from distant China and was worth its weight in gold. The cream-colored tunica recta was indeed
woven in one piece, but it was embroidered with creamy roses that had crystals scattered across the petals like drops of dew. The cream leather slippers were encrusted with pearls.

Diana found Titus in his library, and when he learned how delighted she was with his simple gifts, he longed to see the look upon her face when she received the jewels he had chosen for her. Rome’s most famous jeweler had visited that morning and Titus had chosen diamonds for his new daughter. He wanted a large amethyst added to the center of the necklace to match her lovely eyes and paid extra to have the work done immediately.

The older man and the younger woman found they were most companionable. The library was their favorite room in the villa. When Titus asked her to read to him, she was more flattered than she had ever been in her life. Titus loved a glass of Setinian wine, which Diana poured from the decanter on the library sideboard, rather than call in a slave to disturb their privacy. They repeated this ritual in the afternoons and again in the evenings. It was a poignant reminder of the precious days she had spent with her own father.

“Livi has given me all the details of a Roman wedding. It is amazingly similar to our own in Britannia, except in one detail.” Diana hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Must there be a blood sacrifice?”

“It is a time-honored custom. The guests would be disappointed; the slaves would whisper that it was a bad omen.”

“Life is precious. I don’t wish anything to sacrifice its life because of me,” she said earnestly.

“Do you not eat meat and wear leather shoes, Diana?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, I do.” She smiled apologetically. “I know I’m being irrational.”

“Join me in a glass of Setinian.”

When she poured the wine and handed him his glass,
he took her hand. “If the slaves wish to examine entrails, they will have to do it on the animals slaughtered for the feast. I will not see you unhappy on your wedding day. It should be the happiest day of your life.”

“I hope the guests realize there will be no procession.”

“Of course there will. We’ll have a procession all through the villa and out into the peristyle to the garden suite. The pillars to the entrance will be wound with wool and the door touched with oil, the emblems of plenty. Marcus will lift you over the threshold to avoid an ill-omened stumble, then present you with a cup of water and a glowing firebrand to show that you are entitled to the protection of his family gods.”

She smiled at him. “Marcus is all the protection I shall ever need.”

Marcus’ eyes widened when he saw the transformation that had taken place inside Circus Flavian. It was exactly as Nero had described it, with mountainous caves and a forest. Though no animals had yet been released for the hunt, their growls and roars could be heard all over the arena.

Julius sat between two influential senators, as did Marcus. The emperor’s box was surrounded by Praetorian guards, but Nero and his intimates had not yet arrived. Since the
venatione
was being given in the emperor’s honor, the hunt could not begin until he arrived.

When the crowds became restless, a troupe of musicians brought out dancing apes on long chains. They were trained to do circus tricks and it held the attention of the masses for some time. When this began to pall and the crowds screamed for action, the
bestiarii
gladiators who would hunt the animals were paraded around the arena. The audience began to select their favorites and place bets. Their weapons were varied. Some carried spears, some
bows and arrows, while other gladiators preferred swords or nets and tridents.

Finally Nero arrived, and when he stepped to the front of his imperial box and raised his arms, die crowd went wild. Petrius sat down behind Marcus and leaned forward to whisper to his brother.

“The fat swine thinks they worship him, when in reality they are in a frenzy for the bloodsport to begin.”

When Marcus turned to look at his brother, the pupils of Petrius’ eyes told him he had taken a heavy dose of narcotic and wondered if he had taken it for pain.

“How is your arm?” Marcus asked.

Petrius made a fist. “I can’t feel a thing. Don’t look so worried.” He let his fingers fall open. “I have him in the palm of my hand.”

And that was exactly what was beginning to worry Marcus. Petrius was unstable. Perhaps he should speak to Julius about him. The young son-of-a-bitch needed locking up somewhere before he did irreparable damage. Marcus decided to take him aside and have a word with him after the games.

Suddenly, a deafening cheer reverberated about the arena as the animals were released. Pandemonium reigned as lions, leopards, and bears began attacking each other. Male lions fought each other, huge bears tore into leopards and tossed them across the arena floor. Cunning female lions hunted the bears in packs and the carnage was horrific. The gladiators had an easy job slaughtering the wild animals while all their instincts were focused on surviving attacks from the other species of animals.

Marcus was disgusted. He had expected an exhilarating hunt where man was pitted against prey and survival depended upon courage, quickness, strength, and intelligence.

Julius and the senators with Marcus seemed to find this appalling spectacle as distasteful as he did. Marcus could not help voicing his disapproval.

“I think we’ve seen enough,” Julius said as they filed down to the front of the box to take leave of the emperor.

He seemed displeased at their departure.

“Surely you are not leaving? Midday is reserved for executions. I have devised some spectacular tortures for the enemies of Rome.”

One of the senators from an old patrician family spoke up. “The Senate is sitting this afternoon, Emperor. We are on our way to the Curia now.”

Nero knew better than to object when a venerable senator spoke. Though he was emperor, the senate enjoyed such prestige and moral authority that Nero paid them lip-service. They could depose him if they so chose. Though the army and the emperor were powerful, the supreme power of the empire rested with the Senate.

When Marcus saw that Petrius intended to stay on with Nero to enjoy the executions, he fixed his brother with an intense look of authority. When Marcus jerked his head, indicating that Petrius attend him, he obeyed immediately.

Marcus walked Petrius a distance away from Julius and the senators before he vilified him. “I covered for you when you deserted your military post, and if you wish to prostitute yourself for Nero, that is your affair, but do not bring shame upon the House of Magnus or bring sorrow to our father by feeding your narcotic addiction in his villa. Get yourself clean before you dare to enter his house again!”

When Petrius returned to the emperor’s side, Nero saw that he was shaken. “What troubles you, my love? Tell Nero, so he may put it right.”

“My brother, Marcus, and I are very close. He is to be married soon to a Briton and he fears she has betrayed him. He has heard a rumor that she is a Christian spy working for the Celtae tribes, sent to seduce him. Marcus fears for our father while he is absent with the procurator and the senators. He begs me to return to our father’s villa to watch the traitorous bitch until he can deal with her himself.”

“Stay by me. I’ll send a Praetorian guard to arrest her,” Nero urged.

“Nay, he has no proof of her perfidy yet, but it is comforting to know that you are ready to help and will personally mete out a fitting punishment if she lifts a hand against the House of Magnus.”

“At least stay for the executions. I have devised what I call a
living torch.
It is quite spectacular!”

Diana spent the morning in the garden learning how to make a bridal wreath of flowers and verbena, then she had a delicious lunch in the pool. On her way to the library to read to Titus, Tor stopped her to plead for a respite from his unexpected duties. “Lady Diana, please find duties for Livi and the other girls. They won’t leave me alone.”

“You look exhausted. Didn’t you get any sleep last night?”

Tor shook his head. “When you are in the library with the general’s father, I am at their mercy.”