Mistress of Rome, Book Three of The Emperor's Obsession
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Authors: Alex Carlsbad
Copyright @ 2013 Alex Carlsbad All rights reserved.
No part of this text may be reproduced, in part or in full, without express written consent from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote short passages in a review. All characters depicted are above the age of eighteen. This is a work of fiction and in no way condones acts of violence, sexual or otherwise.
Adult Reading Material
The material contained within this book is for mature audiences only. It contains graphic sexual content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and above.
Except for the historical character of Emperor Commodus, whose real-life persona has been modified to suit the author's needs, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Prologue
Ten days before Saturnalia.
City of Rome, Circus Maximus.
"I find what you are telling me very troubling, Majordomo," the lord of the treasury said. “The Roman people must know that their emperor is ruthless, not a simple boy in love."
"A good emperor, I'm sure you'll agree Julius, is much like a slave-owner: He can only succeed if no one doubts his ability to be decisive and without mercy. I'd say it is a requirement for the position. Don't you think?" For an instant he tore his eyes away from the action in the arena and shot the Majordomo a dark stare. "What does it tell Rome's enemies, when they hear that Commodus has grown soft; that he has developed feelings for some slave woman? A married slave at that!"
Julius, Lord Majordomo to Emperor Commodus, nodded thoughtfully. Perhaps he shouldn't have agreed to meeting here, in the Colosseum. Too many prying eyes and curious ears. He glanced sideways at the people seated nearby. How many of them were on Aviscena's payroll?
Maybe all?
Julius sighed and tried to commit their faces to memory. It never hurt to know at least some of his companion's spies. Lord Aviscena had to have made sure that only trusted minions could be seated within earshot. It simply wouldn't do that their treasonous words fell upon the inquisitive ears of an imperial snitch.
The Majordomo sipped on his wine and feigned interest in the gladiatorial combat down in the arena.
"At first, I considered it simple lust, Milord," said the Majordomo leaning into Aviscena's personal space, "but recently it has started to look like our young master has developed a serious affection for the little slut. He takes her everywhere he goes, even on inspection of the border garrisons. Most troubling of all — he is planning to spend the entire festival of Saturnalia ensconced with the little bitch in a mountain villa. No matter the rumors of barbarian hordes prowling in the north or the terrible situation with this year's lost harvest. Not to mention," he scoffed, "the fact that she is indeed married after all…" He shook his head in disgust.
Truth be told, Majordomo Julius couldn't care less about any of the emperor's so-called sins. He even liked Myra. After all, he was the one that had brought her to the emperor's attention in the first place.
Whether he had done it out of respect for her recently deceased father, or whether because he knew that Myra would never be able to pay him back the debts her family now owed, he wasn't sure. However he did know one thing, the Emperor of Rome always paid his debts, and if she was accepted into the imperial household as a concubine, Julius wouldn't have to worry about collecting.
His plan had worked out better than expected — the emperor had fallen head over heals for the little beauty. The Majordomo had almost felt good about himself. Not only had he secured the outstanding debts that were owed to him, but he had done the unimaginable — an actual good deed. Myra's future was secure — her estate, her sickly brother as well as her young husband would all now be generously provided for.
As far as the Majordomo was concerned all was perfect.
Except that soon after Myra's arrival in Rome, the Majordomo had started hearing rumors.
His elaborate network of spies indicated that Aviscena, the powerful Lord of the Treasury, second only to the emperor, had developed a strong dislike toward young Commodus. The Majordomo suspected it had little to do with any faults of the latter and a lot to do with the financial needs of the former. It appeared that the emperor had somehow come up with novel and meddlesome ideas of reform, and worst of all — had started acting on them. As a result, he was now being watched keenly and closely by men of power and ancient connections. Apparently some of them had even concluded that the time had come for young Commodus to be removed from power.
When, a short time later, the Majordomo learned that general Varus, the famous conqueror of Syria, first cousin to Emperor Commodus and his hated rival, was on his way back to Rome with four entire legions, Julius knew that he had to act. Bitter personal experience had taught the Majordomo that if one didn't get ahead of events, one almost certainly got trampled by them.
In hindsight, the Majordomo later remembered, it had all been a rather straightforward decision —he hadn't really had a choice.
"I'm not sure you're aware, Lord Julius," smiled Aviscena, "but I too didn't grow up rich. In fact I was born in a run-down and forgotten neighborhood of faraway Egypt. In Alexandria to be precise. My childhood was replete with immigrants and scoundrels from all parts of the known and even unknown world. I happen to recall a story that some of my Jewish neighbors once told me. I'm not sure of the exact details. It was about a famous warrior called Samson and a beautiful seductress by the name of Delilah. All I remember is that by the end of the tale, the all-powerful Samson was betrayed and robbed of his strength and fame, while the beautiful concubine was blamed for his downfall."
Aviscena stood up and offered the Majordomo his outstretched hand. "We shall meet again. We have so much to talk about."
Julius remained immobile for some time after Aviscena departed. He gazed without seeing upon the gladiatorial combat beneath his stand. One thing he knew for certain was that he had to find someone that could explain to him the details of that Samson and Delilah tale.
*****
From where he was seated, at the other end of the colosseum, general Petronius couldn't hope to make out the topic of their discussion. Between the Imperial Majordomo and the Lord of the Treasury lay centuries of rivalry. It was rare indeed for them to be seen together, let alone engaged in what appeared to be a friendly conversation. It could only mean intrigue and trouble.
The good general couldn't help but notice the strain in each man's posture and the furtive glances they both cast about. A keen instinct for self-preservation led him to conclude that whatever it was they were talking about, it was secret and important. So much so, that he made himself a mental note to record it in his diary later that evening.
Chapter One
SCULPTOR
Two days before Saturnalia. Imperial Palace, City of Rome
"Whereas other senators may have been millionaires, the Emperor was a billionaire."
Ray Laurence
"Roman Passions, A History of Pleasure in Imperial Rome"
Myra sat and silently observed as the sculptor worked on the statue. He would look at Commodus, his eyes squinting as if mesmerized by the very presence of the emperor, and just when it seemed like the silence couldn't possibly drag on any longer, his arm would swing and deliver a practiced blow to the slab of stone causing a cloud of dust and flakes to chip away.
Myra could see the chest and shoulders of the sculpture peek out from amidst the rough rock.
It was as if he had always been there, ensconced within the marble, waiting for the sculptor to liberate him from the confines of the stone. It was beautiful.
“I'm getting tired, Arianus," the emperor growled. "I'm not sure I will have the time or patience for you to finish the entire project. Not unless you speed things up. Or you'll just need to find a stand-in. I can always come back when you get to the head."
"I'm so very sorry, your excellence…," the sculptor bowed deeply.
Such a pity.
Myra hated the thought of a model standing in for the emperor's superb body. It would never be the same. Commodus exuded a sense of raw power that she had not seen in any other man before. More than the relief of the muscles or the form of his massive shoulders, or the sinews of the knees — there was something ominous and stately in his proportions. It was as if his very posture proclaimed him to be a ruler. No majestic toga, or embroidered garments were required for anyone to see that the man before them owned the world.
Myra gazed at his semi-naked splendor, a white silken cloth haphazardly cast about his waist. She felt the room grow warm. How she missed him. It was almost ten days and nights now since they had last been together.
"It is best we not meet again until the festival," Commodus had said. A cruel little smile curling his exquisite lips.
"Festival? What festival," she had blurted incredulous, almost offended.
"Saturnalia, the celebration of the winter solstice," he had explained. "It is in ten days. It would perhaps be best not to offend the gods..." he smiled and his dark brown eyes flicked to the disordered bed.
"Good," Myra had then replied, her voice tight, controlled. She knew it had surprised him. He'd probably expected at least some protest from the little peasant girl, anything but cool detachment. Well, she could at least act like she didn't care.
Myra looked up and realized that the afternoon sculpting seance had ended. She could clearly see his muscles ripple as he stood to look closer at the artist's work. Why did it feel so wrong that she craved to personally explore the delectable birthmark she could clearly see peaking from underneath the toga casually draped around his middle.
Snap out of it, girl!
"That will have to do, at least for now until I return,” the emperor told the artist, "I expect to be back approximately ten days from now."
Then he turned around and for the first time in ten days locked eyes with Myra. His hand let go of his toga and as he stepped forward, it fell away revealing him in all his svelte glory. Myra reminded herself to close her gaping mouth. He walked over to where she stood and hugged her around the waist.
"Happy last afternoon before Saturnalia, my little slave," he whispered. She gasped and felt herself grow week.
"You can always say no to me, remember that, Myra," he whispered in her ear. "In here, with me, you are what you were always born to be — a free woman of Rome."
His icy stare bore into her as his arm tightened around her waist. "I can barely wait to have you, I cannot resist your pull. I will not stop unless you tell me to... Do you still want to do this; be here with me?"
Images from their last encounter came flooding back.
She had gasped with pleasure as he had picked her up in his arms and laid her gently onto the plush carpet. Her thighs had opened of their own accord, her body taking complete control over her mind. The thought that she was at his mercy, that he wanted her, that he owned her, intoxicated her beyond anything that the strongest wine ever could. She had felt herself moisten. He had bitten her collar bone gently first and then sucked in the delicate skin of her throat... It had hurt so good.
Myra shook her head clearing her memory. She saw him looking at her. An expression of bemused bewilderment playing across his features. Gods, had he asked her a question?
"What happened, did the cat get your tongue?" he asked clearly vexed. "I at the very least expect you to answer my questions."
Seeing her blush deepen but her lips remain sealed, the emperor turned to a servant.
"Valius?"
"Yes, Master," the man stepped forward.
"Find me that cat that was here just a minute ago. Bring it so that we can check if it happens to have eaten sweet Myra's tongue."
"Yes, Master," the servant made to leave.
"No," Myra couldn't help but giggle. She looked to the servant. "Don't kill the cat."
"Ah, she speaks," Commodus' eyes twinkled. "So will you answer my question?"
"Yes," she looked up at him and this time squared her shoulders, bringing her lithe little form to full attention.
She smiled into his eyes.