Empire (18 page)

Unnerved by the way the two of them openly stared at him without speaking, Titus felt obliged to say something. “Domina,” he began, addressing the empress formally, but she cut him off at once.

“Lycisca. That’s my name in this house.”

“Lycisca?”

“I was inspired to take the name when I saw Mnester perform in a play about Actaeon. Did you see that performance, Titus?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you must know the story. Actaeon the hunter with his pack of hounds came upon Diana bathing in a pool in the woods. The virgin
goddess didn’t like having a mortal see her naked, and didn’t want him bragging about it. So, to keep Actaeon quiet, she turned him into stag. She didn’t intend what happened next. In the blink of an eye, the hunter became the hunted. The dogs fell upon Actaeon in a frenzy and tore him to pieces. I always thought that was a bit harsh, that a fellow should be destroyed just because he saw a goddess naked. You’d think Diana might have invited him to bathe with her instead, especially if Actaeon was as young and handsome as all the statues show him to be—or as handsome as Mnester, who drew tears from the audience with his performance. Even my husband wept.”

“And the name Lycisca?” said Titus, trying not to stare at the way Messalina’s breasts rose and fell while she spoke, causing the sheer fabric to appear transparent one moment, opaque the next.

“Lycisca was the leader of Actaeon’s hunting pack, a half-wolf, half-canine bitch. Under this roof, you must call me nothing else.”

“Buy why would you call yourself such a thing?”

“Let’s hope you never find out, Titus Pinarius! Now come here and join us on the couch,” she said, patting a spot between them, “and share some of this fine Falernian wine.”

“I came here to perform an augury.”

Messalina shrugged. “It seemed the best way to get you here. Sorry, but we have no use for your lituus today. Perhaps you possess some other staff that might be of use to me?”

Her intention was all too clear. Titus felt an impulse to turn and leave the room at once. He felt another impulse, equally strong, to pause and consider the opportunity that was being offered to him, curious to see where it might lead. He was not opposed to enjoying a bit of sexual pleasure when it came his way; every man succumbed to temptation now and then, though not usually with the emperor’s wife. Titus stalled for time by asking a question.

“There are others in this house; I heard a lot of moaning and groaning through the doors. What sort of place is this?”

“It’s not a brothel, if that’s what you’re thinking!” Messalina laughed. “And the women here are not prostitutes. Some of the most high-born women in Roma come to this house, to enjoy a degree of freedom they cannot exercise elsewhere.”

“And the men who come here?”

“They are the sort of men whose company gives pleasure to those high-born women. Most of them are young, handsome, virile. Men like you, perhaps.”

“You flatter me, Messalina.”

“Lycisca!”

“Very well: Lycisca. But it occurs to me that if I were to stay here much longer, I might commit an act that could be construed as disloyal, not just to my emperor but to my cousin, a man who has been a good friend to me.”

Mnester snorted. “That means he’s afraid of being caught.”

That was true, but it was not the entire truth. Certainly, Titus felt a quiver of apprehension, considering the consequences that might arise from betraying the emperor’s trust, but he also felt genuinely grateful to Claudius, and even admired him, despite his flaws. As emperor, the old fellow had proven to be a disappointment to many people; he had ordered numerous executions and often showed poor judgment, and was said to be easily led by those around him, most notably Messalina and his trusted freedman Narcissus. But all in all, most people agreed Claudius, doddering as he might be, was an improvement over the cruelties of Tiberius and the madness of Caligula. Certainly Titus thought so; Claudius had done a great deal to help him and his family, and had never harmed them.

“The consequence you should worry about is the consequence of disappointing
me
,” said Messalina. “Does the name Gaius Julius Polybius mean anything to you?”

“The literary scholar and friend of the emperor who was executed for treason?”

“That was the official charge. The fact is, Polybius stood right where you’re standing, and refused to do what I wished. Later, I told my husband he had made unseemly advances and I insisted that he be punished.”

“Surely Polybius protested his innocence?”

“When it comes to a choice between believing me or believing anyone else—including even you, Titus Pinarius—my dear husband will side with me every time. We can put it to the test, if you insist; but do you really want to risk suffering the fate of Actaeon? Think how much more enjoyable it would be to lie beside me on this couch and sip a bit of wine.”

“It’s very good wine,” said Mnester, raising the cup in invitation.

Torn by indecision, Titus continued to hesitate.

Mnester laughed. “I understand your dilemma, friend. I tried to resist her myself, at first—to no avail. Like you, my fear of offending Claudius outweighed my desire for Lycisca, desirable as she is. She made promises; she made threats; she used all her seductive wiles. Still I refused. Then, one day, Claudius summoned me for a private meeting, just the two of us. He told me that his wife was complaining that I had refused to perform for her, and that this had made her very unhappy. He ordered me in no uncertain terms to do whatever she demanded. ‘Must I submit to
anything
she asks?’ I said. ‘Yes, anything!’ So here I am, merely doing my emperor’s bidding.”

“But Claudius couldn’t have known what you were talking about! He couldn’t approve of this.”

“No? Most husbands give themselves the freedom to seek pleasure outside their marriage, and some husbands are enlightened enough to allow their wives the same freedom, especially if the wife is much younger and possessed of strong appetites, and has already produced a healthy heir.”

Little Britannicus would be close to seven years old now, thought Titus. There was nothing maternal in Messalina’s appearance at this moment. “Are you suggesting that Claudius wouldn’t object if I were to join you? I hardly think he would agree to such a thing if I asked him.”

“Not if you asked him explicitly, and performed the deed under his nose, giving him no way to retain his dignity. That’s not how the game is played. It all happens with a wink and a nod, and out of sight, don’t you see? The important thing is that Messalina should be happy. Don’t you want to make her happy, Titus?” Mnester moved closer to Messalina and slipped his fingers inside the sheer gown, cupping his hand around one breast, squeezing it so that the nipple pressed against the fabric. Messalina sighed. “She’s very responsive,” whispered Mnester. “I’ve never made love to another woman like her. You really owe it yourself to join us, Titus.”

The last of Titus’s resistance faded. They were both young and beautiful and appeared to be completely without inhibitions. The duty would hardly be onerous, as long as Titus could keep his thoughts from leaping
to the all the fearsome outcomes that might ensue. He was suddenly extremely aroused. Could it be that the element of danger, even more than Messalina, was exciting to him?

“Well, if I really have no choice,” he muttered, taking a step forward. “And if Claudius does not object,” he added, not believing this lie for a moment. He soon found himself between the two of them, no longer standing but horizontal. The couch was firm, the cushions soft. They took turns refilling the cup with wine and putting it to his lips. They pulled off his shoes and his trabea, and undid the loincloth underneath. Warm hands stroked his flesh. Someone was kissing him—he was not sure which, but the lips were soft and pliant, the tongue eager. It was Messalina who kissed him. Mnester was doing something with his mouth elsewhere. Messalina pulled back so that Titus could see.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” she whispered. “I love him and I hate him for the same reason—because he’s prettier than I am!” From somewhere she produced a thin leather whip with an ivory handle. With a crack that made Titus jump, she wielded it with surprising strength against Mnester’s broad shoulders. He moaned but did not stop what he was doing. If anything, he performed more avidly, making Titus writhe with pleasure.

“Mnester is so pretty, even Claudius has been known to kiss him after a particularly fine performance,” said Messalina. “Do you know, I think he’s the only man my husband has ever kissed. Claudius has no interest in either men or boys, the silly old fool!”

Messalina kissed Titus again, taking his breath away. “And what interests you, Titus Pinarius? No, don’t answer. Between the two of us, Mnester and I will discover everything that gives you pleasure.”

After everyone had been satisfied, and satisfied again, there was a long, languid hour of utter indolence as the three of them lay close together, naked and silent and drained of desire.

It Messalina who finally spoke. “Don’t you have a brother, Titus?”

He was almost dozing. It took him a moment to answer. “Yes.”

“A twin brother?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. I remember meeting the two of you when you first came to Roma. I could tell you apart, though. I knew
you
were the playful one.”

“You were certainly right about that!” said Mnester sleepily. Titus smiled, enjoying the praise.

“But one never sees him about. He’s still alive, isn’t he, your twin brother?”

“Yes.”

“And still in the city?”

“Yes.” Titus shifted uneasily. He was wide awake now.

“Then where are you hiding him, Titus? You must bring him to meet me. One of you is delightful; two of you would be divine. Can you imagine, Mnester? Identical twins.”

Mnester made a growling sound.

Titus squirmed a bit, not liking the drift of the conversation. “Actually, we’re not as alike as we used to be. Kaeso . . . doesn’t look after his appearance. He’s rather unkempt these days.”

“A wild man? All the better!” Messalina purred. “I can catalog the differences and similarities between the two of you.”

Titus was now acutely uncomfortable, reminded for the second time that day of his long-ago audience with Caligula. That occasion had been a torment, the stuff of nightmares. Today’s tryst, equally unexpected and to some extent coerced, had delivered him to a state of bliss. It was a curious thing, how the same acts, resulting in the same physical release, could bring either misery or joy, depending on the circumstances and the people involved.

Messalina was quiet for the moment, and Titus deliberately tried to think of other things.

“At the Secular Games,” he said, “That’s where it was.”

“What are you talking about?” said Messalina.

“That’s where I saw Mnester play Ajax, at one of the plays put on during the Secular Games last summer. I’ve been trying to remember ever since I stepped into this room and recognized him. I could remember the performance, but not the venue.”

“At least I was memorable,” murmured Mnester.

“More than memorable,” said Titus. “You were brilliant. I believed every moment that you were the world’s greatest warrior, wearing that
magnificent armor. When Athena put you under a spell, I really thought you were sleepwalking. And when you woke up covered in blood and realized you’d killed a herd of sheep instead of your enemies, well, I had to laugh and shudder at the same time. And your suicide scene—truly, you had me in tears.”

Mnester made a contented noise.

“Now that I think of it,” Titus went on, “the whole festival was remarkable. Everything about the Secular Games was first-rate—the gladiator matches, the races, the plays, the banquets, the concerts in the temples. The panther-hunt in the Circus Maximus—that was spectacular! Though I think I was even more impressed by the Thessalian horsemen, the way they drove that herd of bulls in a stampede around the track, then dismounted and wrestled them to the ground. Amazing stuff! I think those games were the highlight of Claudius’s reign so far. And why not? They say the Secular Games are held only once in a lifetime, and these marked the eight hundredth anniversary of the founding of the city, quite a grand occasion—”

He stopped abruptly. Mnester was kicking him under the thin coverlet. He turned to see that Mnester was frowning and shaking his head, as if to warn Titus away from the subject.

But it was too late. Messalina sat upright and crossed her arms. Her pretty face was twisted by a vexed expression. “The Secular Games—that was where
she
made her move!”

“She?” said Titus.

“Agrippina, Claudius’s niece. The bitch!”

Mnester cringed and shifted toward the far side of the couch. “Now you’ve set her off,” he whispered.

“It was during the Troy Pageant,” Messalina said. “Were you there that afternoon in the Circus Maximus, Titus? Did you see?”

“The Troy Pageant? No, I missed that.” Watching patrician boys dressed up as Trojan warriors perform maneuvers on horseback was a pastime he considered more suitable for doting mothers and grandparents.