Mistress of Rome, Book Three of The Emperor's Obsession (6 page)

*****

Finding and killing the traitor Varus turned out to be much easier than general Petronius had expected. If anything, it happened
too fast
. Petronius had only been on his march north for less than a day when his scouts came back to announce they had come upon a disorderly column of mountain clansmen heading their way.

Two hours and a couple of skirmishes later, Petronius had the chiefs captured and their ragtag gang of followers surrendered en masse. When the general walked over to meet them, he caught himself wandering how it was that such a foul-smelling group had ever hoped to stay hidden from the imperial troops for more than an afternoon. Their poor discipline and abysmal weapons only completed the picture. Petronius found the atmosphere in the enclosed space of the cramped tent where they were being kept more than overpowering.

"Captain," he snarled, "Unchain these men. And bring them, out in the open." He waited patiently for the surprised chieftains to step out and come over to where he was seated on a small gold-encrusted chair eating grapes and dong his level best to stay upwind from his visitors.

"Milord," the biggest one of them said when he emerged, his head bowed in submission, "Please show us mercy, Milord."

The old general cast the ragtag group of barbarian chiefs an appraising look.
 

"Who are you, tribesman?" he asked, his voice cold as snow.

"Rolf son of Gunther, leader of the Longhorns, Milord," replied the largest of the group who appeared to speak for them all. This simple statement was followed by a long uncomfortable silence during which the general ate a cluster of grapes that he chased down with a generous swallow from his bejeweled cup of wine.

"Very well,
 
Rolf son of Gunther," he stood up and walked over to the kneeling clansmen. "Here is what I can offer you and your people: You are free to return whence you came. You can keep the booty from your raids, but any slaves that are Roman citizens, you'll have to release. However, I will also give you a choice: If you join me and show us the way to where Varus the traitor is encamped, I will allow you to add his loot to the one you already have and keep it all for yourselves," he bent forward to offer his cup of wine to the flabbergasted chieftain.
 

"So what is your decision?"
 

It took the smelly barbarians less than two seconds to switch their allegiance. It turned out that general Varus, during his short time with the clansmen had gone a long way toward alienating and even antagonizing his bearded allies.
 
Over the time of their campaign against the emperor the mutineers had raided many a Roman town and villages up and down Northern Italy.
 

However, much to the annoyance of Rolf and luckily for Petronius, general Varus had kept most of the spoils for himself. The young fool had further antagonized his allies by sending off the barbarian chiefs to mop up and chase down retreating imperial troops rather than allow them time to enjoy the rest and booty they felt they deserved.
 

Amazed that general Petronius had not only not crucified them but actually offered them that which Varus had kept for himself, the chiefs' choice had turned out to be a foregone conclusion: Rolf volunteered to personally lead Petronius' scouts and show them the fastest way to Varus' camp. They marched immediately, the element of surprise being the best weapon in Petronius expert opinion.

The battle against the mutinous general and his four legions started at day break. Petronius saw no need to give his own troops time to rest from the overnight march and opted instead to thrust them into the trick of Varus' camp immediately. By ten that same morning the corpse of General Varus was brought out by one of his personal bodyguards and unceremoniously laid before Petronius. The general sighed. His emperor wouldn't be pleased that they never had the opportunity to question the traitor.
 

The mission having been accomplished, Petronius promptly released the vanquished troops from their oath to their mutinous leaders. They could retain their freedom on the sole condition that they swore their allegiance to him instead.

Later that night, as he lay luxuriating in the embraces of a waifish little thing he had acquired from amongst the slaves of Varus, he wondered about the rapidity of his success those last couple of days.
 

Perhaps his earlier thoughts of retirement had been premature. As he plunged into the hapless girl, almost fifty years his junior, it occurred to General Petronius that maybe the gods had always intended for someone more experienced, more decisive and less emotionally attached than Commodus to take control of the state. Someone more like him.
 

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 should 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.