Empire - Saylor Steven - Страница 29
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He was left alone in the vestibule for what seemed a long time. At last a female slave arrived, saying she would escort him to her mistress. Titus was almost certain it was the same girl he had seen run across the atrium, now attired in a sleeveless blue tunica that fitted her rather tightly and left most of her legs exposed.
He followed the girl, not sure what to think. They passed through a beautifully furnished room decorated with statues of Eros and Venus. The wall paintings depicted stories of famous lovers, and some of the images were quite explicit. The slave led him down a long hallway, past several closed doors. From the rooms beyond, Titus heard what could only be the sounds of people making love – sighs, groans, whispers, a slap, and a high-pitched giggle.
He had been told that this was a private residence. Could he possibly have arrived by mistake at a brothel?
“This is the house of Lycisca, is it not?” he asked the girl.
“It certainly is,” she said, leading him into a dimly lit room decorated in shades of orange and red. “That is my mistress’s name. And here she is.”
Amid the deep shadows and the amber glow of lamps, reclining on an elegant couch, dressed in a gown so sheer that it appeared to be made of gossamer, was the emperor’s wife.
Titus was speechless. He had seen Messalina occasionally over the years, but always in the presence of her husband and usually at some official event. Claudius’s sudden elevation had been followed a month later by the birth of their son, Britannicus, and since then Messalina had presented herself as a model Roman wife and mother, doting on her child, wearing modest stolas, presiding at the religious rites that celebrated motherhood, and comporting herself at the games and in the circus in a manner above reproach. So restrained was her demeanour that people had ceased to gossip about the difference in age between Claudius and Messalina. Though still in her twenties, she was the exemplar of a staid Roman matron.
The woman who lounged on the couch before Titus seemed to be a very different person. Her face had been made even more beautiful by the application of subtle cosmetics. Her hair was swept into a vortex atop her head, baring completely her long white neck, which was adorned with a silver necklace hung with tiny pearls. Larger pearls hung from the silver clasps on her earlobes, and the silver bangles at her wrists made a kind of music when she picked up a wine cup. Her gown covered her body with a silvery sheen, concealing nothing.
Sharing the couch with Messalina was someone else Titus recognized – indeed, almost anyone in Roma would have recognized Mnester, who had been Caligula’s favourite actor and had continued to enjoy imperial favour under Claudius. The fair-haired Greek was a ubiquitous figure at banquets and public ceremonies. With his bright blue eyes and Apollo-like features, his chiselled torso and long, elegant limbs, Mnester was probably more famous for his good looks than for his theatrical skills, though Titus had once seen him perform a memorable Ajax. On this occasion the actor wore nothing but a loincloth that appeared to be made of the same sheer fabric as Messalina’s gown. The two of them reclined head to head and passed the wine cup back and forth. They both appeared to have drunk quite a bit of wine already.
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 judgement, 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.”
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