Free Defender of Rome by Douglas Jackson Page B

set by the manner in which they had been introduced, a manner which tolerated no shyness or embarrassment on either side. They were of a similar age, when giggling girlhood was long past, but the first true challenges of the passing years still lay in the future. As they studied each other they knew they would never appear more beautiful. Had circumstances been different it might have been Fabia who shared an Emperor’s bed and Poppaea who endured any rich man’s company, but circumstances were not and neither of them would ever mention it.
    ‘It is such a pleasure to be able to speak freely and enjoy another’s companionship just for the sake of it,’ Poppaea sighed. ‘I think palace servants were born with flapping ears. Even when they are not spies they are gossips for whom no secret is sacred.’
    ‘Even your ladies in waiting?’
    ‘ Particularly my ladies in waiting.’
    ‘Then your husband will be told of my visit. I hope it won’t cause you any difficulty.’
    Poppaea laughed at her friend’s naivety. ‘Has it ever before? The very thought of our friendship has my husband panting like a little bull at the sight of a tethered cow. He understands that he profits in the bedroom from each little secret you impart.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I even give you the credit for some of the more interesting ideas I introduce myself, because it arouses him to imagine us discussing them together and rehearsing them for his pleasure.’
    ‘I thought …’
    ‘Because you are no longer summoned to join us?’
    Fabia nodded. It had been months now. At first she had been relieved, but relief had turned to concern and then to outright fear. She had known it could not last, but the rewards of the relationship had been beyond her imagination and it could be dangerous to be discarded by the Emperor. And the truth was that Poppaea created physical desires in her that were just as intense as any inspired by a man. She was certain she aroused the same feelings in the dark-haired woman. She studied her now, long slim legs peeping from the crimson shift as she lay languidly on her side, and imagined her naked and wide-eyed on a bed. The thought produced a liquid sensation and she shifted slightly. She saw a look of understanding in Poppaea’s eyes, resignation too, for without Nero’s sanction there would be no more such encounters. The Emperor’s jealousy extended to anyone, male or female, who took their pleasures where he did not and his retribution would be swift and final.
    Poppaea’s tone changed and she lowered her voice. ‘Let this be entirely between us, Fabia. You should regard yourself as fortunate that you do not share his bed. His appetites grow ever more dangerous. Even with your experience and inventiveness I think you would be hard put to it to keep him interested for long. Sometimes, more often than I would like, his passions do not satisfy my needs and I must watch as he plays with his squealing boys and lisping geldings.’
    Fabia risked a glance around to ensure no one was within hearing distance. This was dangerous territory. Nero had agents everywhere and she had experience enough of spyholes and listening tubes to know that they were not confined to brothels.
    Poppaea saw the look. ‘Do not think me such a fool, Fabia. We are so far away that not even the trees can hear us and I have checked every inch of the grass. Unless the dandelions have ears we may say what we like and that man will never get to hear it.’
    That man . Poppaea had harboured an almost irrational fear of Torquatus since Octavia, Nero’s first wife, had been first banished then killed. The conspiracy had cemented the Praetorian prefect’s power on the Palatine. Now he saw Poppaea as his rival for Nero’s affections and trust, and any rival of Torquatus must necessarily check beneath the bed for vipers. Outwardly, Poppaea was like any other rich, spoiled Roman matron – only interested in the latest fashions,