Sold as a slave 1
Virgin's ordeal 2
Debauched friends 3
Greatest Roman of the all 4
Vestal Virgins 5
Oh, Caeser! 6
No woman is free 7
Delirious ecstasy 8
Can't trust a eunuch 9
In bed within an hour 10
Ideal love partner 11
Caesar's triumphant return 12
Shy as a lover 13
Nude slaves 14
Cleopatra's cruel 15
Frenzied feelings 16
Cleopatra's welcome 17
Lesbian pleasures 18
Queen of the Nile 19
Kicking and screaming 20
Blonde bitch 21
Sexual vitality 22
Caesar wept 23
40 virgins 24
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1
The beautiful blonde girl stepped on the block, her hair in wild disarray down her shoulders, her swelling breasts jutting against the soiled white toga she wore, her feet bare and bruised, her eyes sky blue and tearful. The motley crowd of Romans in the slave forum ceased their Latin jabbering and clustered close about this beautiful, virgin-like creature. The dark men of Rome had never before beheld such fair beauty.
"Why," cried a salacious commoner crudely reaching across the platform that separated the human merchandise from those who had come to buy, "she must be a descendant from the gods. Is she a goddess come to mock us here?" He tugged at the girl's ankle length toga, trying to raise the skirt to appraise the bargain.
"What is her name," cried another Roman.
Instantly the auctioneer slapped the commoners arm hard with a leather whip.
"She's human enough" he snorted. "Here, look you Roman citizens!" He ripped the toga from the girl and she was revealed in all her dazzling nakedness to the mob. Her limbs were flawless, long and graceful, her buttocks like the statuary of ancient Greece, her breasts flung out with firm abandon and the nipples delicate, etched in pink luster.
"Whence comes such a fair creature?" cried one old lecher in the mob who customarily bought the young girl slaves for his own sexual play.
"From the far north country of barbarians. She was captured by Caesar's legions and shipped, as you see her, to Rome,' explained the auctioneer his mind already building the pitch for a higher bid.
"Be she taken by Caesar's men, then be she no virgin," cried another in the mob who drooled, nevertheless, at the sight of such female nudity.
"Wrong, Roman brother," declared the auctioneer. "She is Caesar's own captive. Knowing full well how greatly virginity is valued in Rome where it scarcely exists he placed a guard around this girl. Not one of his foot soldiers has raped her, not a Roman hand has touched her. Caesar owns this slave and he wants the highest money for her. Therefore, I can guarantee her virginity on the word of Caesar himself."
The girl wept shamefully and sadly, sobs moving her breasts in quivers, making her even more tempting to the heartless mob.
"What does it matter," replied the auctioneer. "For your purposes, shell be just as pleasant in bed whether she has a Latin name or none at all. But, let's call her Cybele. Now, what am I bid for Cybele?"
The bidding was brisk, many sex-starved Romans reaching deeply into their purses for the pleasure of Cybele's young body, but eventually only two remained in the contest. Both were patrician elders, men in their seventies whose great wealth far exceeded their bedroom capability.
One, Casius Augustus, demanded much more personal inspection before raising the price several thousand. He received preferential treatment from the auctioneer.
"A man of your civic stature and position should be able to handle her a bit before buying her," he agreed. Casius ran his old hands across the girl's breasts and pressed his ancient mouth to her lips. Cybele promptly bit him. This act caused the old man to scream in pain and anger. Seizing the auctioneer's whip, he struck blow after blow on the bare shoulders of the beautiful slave and finally had to be pulled away by the auctioneer.
"Bah," he spat, "keep the damned bitch," and strode off in a huff.
The other remaining bidder, Brutus Rex, laughed uproariously at his competitor's reception. "I'll take the evil creature, beautiful as she is, and I'll break her, you can bet your toga on that." Forthwith old Brutus Rex counted out a sufficient number of gold pieces. He slapped his hands together and two eunuch Nubian slaves, black as the girl was white, strode forward and seized Cybele by her arms and legs. The anguished girl screamed, tugged and fought but the muscular slaves bore her to the rich Roman's carriage. Brutus Rex watched the proceedings with lustful eyes, delighted at the wench's spirit. He rubbed his hands together in erotic anticipation of the fun he would have with her and ordered the carriage away to his villa. Thus began the strange and sex-haunted life of the young Nordic goddess, Cybele, in ancient Rome.
2
The next few days were in pleasant and encouraging contrast to the horrid travail and confinements Cybele had experienced on the torturous travels from Gaul to the Capitol of Caesar's legions. Following her purchase by Brutus Rex at the slave auction and her transport to his sumptuous villa, she had been treated as a princess. Maids-in-waiting had met her, bathed her and applied balm to her sores and abrasions. They had doted on her copious golden hair, braiding it in two long plaits which reached the floor, while on her head a magnificent, jeweled ornament had been placed. A fashionable toga of deepest, silken purple adorned her body and she trod the marble floors in sandals of softest leather studded with pearls.
Cybele could not understand a word of the language but the women who cared for her were kind and sweet, embracing her often and kissing her. It was very strange. The harsh, hardy women of the Anglo-Saxon tribes where she had been raised never lavished such tender affection on one of their own sex nor, indeed had any ever concerned themselves so assiduously with appearance and apparel as these women did. And, although Cybele could not understand the tongue these people spoke, the language of kindness was universal. She felt she was among friends at last. Her hopes and spirits rose.
That awful old man who had bought her at the slave mart had not appeared again. Perhaps, she tearfully hoped, all this might continue and Rome might prove a kind of paradise never dreamed of in the harsh North country from which she came. Since she had no mother or father, it was not too difficult to adjust to her expatriation. An orphan girl, she had been bartered around among families or relatives and had formed no emotional ties which might have caused her to mourn in her present state of captivity and separation.
The worst thoughts were those that took her back to the night of her capture. The tribe had been taken by surprise in their boar skin tents in the dark forests of the Ardennes region. Caesar's dark, hairy men had fallen on the sleeping horde with utter devastation, putting all who resisted to the sword, sparing neither man, woman nor child. True, they had dallied with their female prizes, forcing them to lie down and suffer terrible pains as the soldiers all took turns lying on them many not even removing their steel and iron armor. It was the weight and pressure of this armament which had caused them to scream, the innocent virgin Cybele had believed. Since sex was a taboo passion and a thing to be hidden in this tribe, Cybele knew nothing of the intimate relations of men and women, although a girl of 18. The marriage date for a maiden was 18 and Cybele was to be mated that year to a young warrior in the tribe who would fight for her and defeat all youths his age in sword combat. Then he was to take her as a bride. Cybele knew this much, but no more. She knew that children followed, but just how was a mystery to her.
There was much that was a mystery to her. This terrible slavery, the way the soldiers fondled her body and were about to molest her in the way they had molested all those other women of her tribe. One big, heavy fellow had already kissed her and was forcing her to her knees when suddenly a great Roman on a white horse rode past. At the mere sight of him all the foot soldiers fell prostrate on the ground. Cybele did not know it, but the great Caesar himself was intervening in her behalf. Dismounting from his horse, he had walked over to the defenseless girl and commanded her, by motion, to rise. He inspected her body carefully, smiled agreeably enough and then had motioned to an aide.
"I want you to send this one back to Rome," he commanded. "She should fetch a good price at the auction. Make sure she is a virgin have the women inspect her. If she is, then I will sell her as my personal slave. She will bring many pieces of gold." Caesar had then ridden off. From that moment, however, Cybele never had to fear handling by the soldiers. Indeed, they shrank from her all during her long journey, under heavy guard, back to Rome. Cybele, of course, didn't know Caesar's kindness was purely commercial and she could not relate the slave auction with anything he had inspired. Now, in her confused and fearful thoughts, it was Caesar himself who seemed to her to be the kindest and noblest Roman of them all. She dreamed when he would see her again, and save her from these horrid Romans. Thus was the young beauty lost in reverie one night, lying before a blazing fire on a low divan, her female attendants happily anointing her body, which caused the tender Anglo-Saxon to feel so strangely good and different from any way she had known before. She could not, of course, understand the conversation of the women and that was just as well for her. Because what they were saying would have brought her small comfort. The elder of the two attending her, a heavy, flat-chested woman with a hirsute face was most sympathetic.
"That brute is returning tonight. I hope he doesn't harm this poor dear too much. Men are such scoundrels. To think they'd do something evil to this delicate, beautiful girl." She leaned over and kissed Cybele on the cheek, stroking her bare shoulders. "Poor child," she lamented to herself, "we could make you so much happier here than any man in the world could ever do. But you do not know yet. Wait until Brutus Rex gets through with you. You luckless slave." Again she kissed Cybele, the resting girl smiled gratefully in return.
The other lady-in-waiting was much more attractive than the first. "Yes," she commiserated, "I, too, know the hurt and sorrow she will shortly experience. After all, it happened to me not so very long ago. You were here then and rubbed my body and helped me just as much and in the same manner you now stroke this little barbarian. But I have learned my lesson. I know that men will never understand love as we do. Perhaps when Brutus Rex gets through with her, shell be happy to be with us."
The other woman nodded. "It's not what Brutus will do to her that worries me," she said. "It's what the sexual gladiator will do to her you know, the one he turns loose on a girl when he can't take her virginity. Let's hope for Cybele's sake that she yields easily. Men are such damned beasts!" she exclaimed.
"It's one of those old Greek customs," explained the other, resignedly. "It seems everything the Romans know comes from the Greeks. It's the Greeks who always placed such a high value on virginity. They are the one's who want proof!"
The two women stroked Cybele's fair body with love and sympathy. "Such a lovely creature to be tossed in with those male animals," one remarked, casting a longing eye at the red nipples and the rounded breasts of the Nordic girl.
"Yes," replied her companion. "She is fair enough for anyone to love, isn't she? And speaking of the Greeks, let's not be too harsh. Remember, the kind of love we know for each other came from the Grecian isle of Lesbos."
Thus went the conversation over the head of Cybele, who submitted to the intimate preparations of her body. Nor did she realize that soon old Brutus Rex would have her in the traditional manner of a Roman lord with a slave.
3
For the saturnalia, Brutus Rex had invited all his debauched friends. They came from the noblest families of all Rome and among them they numbered the sins of the world. The exotic practices of India and the Near East had become standard procedures in the avenues of their collective lusts. Now, sated and bored by the customary, their jaded tastes went to the bizarre, the off-beat, the weird. It was a kick for them to see an old man assault a virgin maiden just as it was a kick for old Brutus Rex to try in front of his friends. They ate and feasted royally in preparation for the deflowering, making wagers on the success of Brutus Rex.
"I tell you, Brutus doesn't have a chance," mocked one fat Senator, his belly pushing out his tunic like an inflated balloon.
"At least," replied another Senator, "he doesn't have to make love with a belly like yours in the way." The guests all laughed.
"Oh," answered the pot-bellied Senator, "I have given up that sort of thing a long time ago. For me, sex is purely a spectator sport." No one paid any attention to his remark because now on a raised dais at the head of the table where they dined lavishly, dancing girls with coiling serpents about their necks and loins appeared. They were slave imports from Macedonia and were members of the snake cult made famous a few centuries previously by Olympias, the passionate and demented mother of Alexander The Great. The snakes were brilliant red vipers imported from the lower banks of the Nile. They had been taught many clever tricks in the course of their handling, including some of the most suggestive maneuvers. They coiled about the hips of the naked dancing girls and moved their bulbous heads over the soft flesh of each; they entwined breasts and altogether acted out the roles of serpentine lovers. The act was appreciated by the Roman gentry who momentarily desisted in their wine imbibing and eating. Climax of the act came when one of the vipers sank his fangs into the breast of a comely slave who collapsed instantly the other dancers continuing their barbaric ritual as if nothing had happened.
"My," cried one of the degenerate Senators, "this is better than watching a lion crunch up some heretic at the circus."
"I am impressed with the realism of it all," said another. "The fact that slave died proves these people have a serious act. So many things are being faked these days. You know, sometimes I believe those gladiators fake a lot. Why I saw one fellow deliberately miss a sword thrust the other day. He merely took off his opponent's arm instead of severing his head. Disgusting dishonesty!"
"They tell me Brutus has a lively young thing today, a Nordic girl from Caesar's campaign in Gaul. She's fair and blonde. It should be most interesting."
"Where is old Brutus?" inquired another Patrician, his mouth red from wine and fruit.
"Probably swilling up on stimulant. They tell me the Indians have concocted heady brews that revive the impotent and make the meekest great lovers. As for myself, I wouldn't know! I've never needed anything."
"If that's true," mocked his companion at the table, "then why does your wife frequent the slave marts with an eye for those stalwart 21-year-old youths?"
"My wife is insatiable," replied the guest. "I'm talking about normal women not nymphomaniacs. Sir, do you know what it's like to be married to one of those creatures? It's like trying to bail the ocean dry with a bucket. I gave up a long time ago."
At that moment, a fanfare blared, and into the hall stepped Brutus Rex. He was wearing a shortened toga which left his lower half bare and ready for the performance. At the sight of him in this business-like array, the guests burst into laughter, good-naturedly poking fun at Brutus' wizened body.
"Laugh now," cried the venerable Roman, "I will have the last turn. That young barbarian has never before met up with a true Roman. Age is a state of mind and I have the outlook of a youth." More raucous laughter followed this remark. Then a hush fell over the assemblage as again a fanfare sounded and the beautiful blonde, Cybele, was led, in chains, to the dais.
The effect of her chaste beauty, her fair skin and golden braided hair electrified even the sluggish Romans too often and too long steeped in sex revelry and orgy. The picurean eaters laid down their delicacies, the more wanton ones who toyed with slave girls, all these gaped in admiration of Cybele.
"By the seven hills of Rome," exclaimed one noble-man, "she is a morsel for Jupiter himself!" He rudely pushed aside the half-naked beauty he was toying with to better regard the Anglo-Saxon captive in her fetching chains. In vain did some of the more effeminate aristocracy utter fluttery little derogatory remarks. The allure of Cybele made youngsters of the aged, men of the indecisively sexed.
Old Brutus Rex noted the reaction with pleasure.
"Whatever else has diminished in me," he said, "I see my eye is still accurate. I detect a strong undercurrent of envy among you, my honored guests. She is a luscious top, isn't she. Cheap at the price, too."
The gentry muttered words of agreement. Some of the more hot-blooded arose from their reclining seats and started for Cybele only to be blocked by the huge Nubian slaves who stood guard before her. Brutus Rex laughed.
"None of you shall be first," he chortled in senile glee. "Old Brutus shall do the honors."
"Brutus," cried one of the frustrated noblemen, "why don't you let a young man like myself deflower this goddess. This is work for a man half your years."
Again Brutus laughed.
"That remains to be seen," he said. "You forget, I have been taking the blood-quickening potion imported from India and Persia. It has made me like a youth. My body burns for this Nordic beauty. And gentlemen, by your leave, I shall now assert my rights." He clapped his hands and Cybele's black bodyguard fell respectfully back. Old Brutus advanced and the Romans drew up to watch the sordid spectacle of human debasement so abhorrent today, but so commonplace in the den of iniquity that was ancient Rome.
Cybele, being heavy in chains, found any body movement difficult a circumstance that Brutus had calculated in advance. He remembered well the affair at the slave auction where Cybele had repulsed and bit his competitor, Casius Augustus, when he had made an advance. He had ordered her shackled in such a way that flight and resistance were impossible, her hands and arms tethered firmly behind her, her lower limbs widespread, incapable of movement. She had merely to be placed supine and would be as helpless as a turtle on its back. Deftly Brutus pushed the girl on a waiting spread of cushions and watched, with pleasure, the pearly glow of her nude body. The Romans applauded the mechanicalingenuity of the arrangement, a kind of opposite to a chastity belt. For her part, Cybele lay quite still, having, in her innocence, no idea of Brutus' plans. She merely thought it strange that all these richly clad and aristocratic people would be so interested in watching her simply lying on her back, thus immobilized.
However, a few moments of reprieve still were available to the hapless maid. Crafty old Brutus paved the way for his project with the application of balms and ointments which were administered to the to the girl's body by a bevy of female attendants. While this preparation was taking place, Brutus stood aside, eying with interest and mounting desire, the somewhat clinical spectacle. Thee debauched guests also pressed forward like medical students clustering around some interesting anatomical specimen. The anointing procedure finished, Brutus addressed himself to his erotic task. He threw himself swiftly on the chained girl and, to the accompaniment of lute music, made violent love to the slave.
Cybele writhed in shame and embarrassment, but with absolutely no response nor feeling. To her, old Brutus' actions were insane, inexplicable like all the other customs of these strange Roman people. What was that curious man trying to do to her? The small sensations that flicked through her in response to his caresses were like a tiny scratching, a tingling nothing. Was this what the sweating, gray-haired man felt also? She ceased her struggles and lay quite still while Brutus made those ridiculous convulsions. Her fear turned to sympathy and concern. Was he ill? He had not harmed her as she had at first feared. Per-he was merely trying to be nice, friendly? She would like to have helped him, but how could she with her arms and legs chained in this manner? Perhaps he needed a drink of water or a medicine. If so, then why didn't all of his friends who were clustered around come to his assistance? She looked up into the blood-shot eyes of Brutus and smiled a sweet smile of understanding and companionship and uttered a soft word in her native tongue to convey her concern for the old man's health. She was conscious of the mounting hilarity in the crowd. They began shouting at Brutus as people did at foot races or horse races, then they began laughing and jeering. The more they laughed and jeered, the harder Brutus pressed and twitched. Suddenly it was over.
With a shrieking curse of disappointment, Brutus leaped to his feet, his shaky old legs like jelly, his head throbbing with after effects of his heated effort. He had failed, and failed miserably-publicly. His friends, now turned tormentors, mocked his performance. His frustration and shame mounted.
"Damn it,' he shouted, "I dare any man present storm the formidable redoubt built into this hellion from the North. She's not human. I dare any man present succeed where Brutus has failed."
The assemblage rocked with laughter.
"Let's face it," cried one florid faced Roman, "you aren't the man you used to be Brutus."
"If you're such a man," thundered the stung Brutus, "why don't you master this filly? If you bring it off, I'll give you the barbarian."
"Is that a promise?" cried the eager Roman.
"Yes," declared Brutus, sinking back on a soft cot and fortifying himself with a flagon of wine. "This time, I'll watch."
The florid faced Roman assaulted Cybele. He was younger and more energetic-but his virility floundered as had Brutus' and again the bewildered girl smiled at him, again fearing that he, too, like Brutus, was becoming ill while creating this scratchy feeling in her. These Romans must all be mad she thought. This suspicion was confirmed many times in the next several hours as one Roman after another tried. All failed. Finally, she was left alone, still chained, while the toga clad group withdrew to feasting tables and downed huge draughts of red wine to drown the hurt to their collective male egos.
Brutus, who had watched with fascination as his peers all met failure as he had done, returned to great, good humor. No longer was he a laughing stock any more than those who formerly tormented him.
He rose to his feet swaying with drink and weariness.
"Noble Romans," he cried, "this lass is not mortal. Let us not question our manhood. Rather, let us question this girl's mortality. I submit, gentle nobles, that this girl's goddess-a virgin goddess." He lifted his silver goblet and drained another potion of the brew. The others did--likewise in a mute, good-natured toast to the slave girl with the lovely blond hair and the untakable virginity.
"She should be one of the Vestal Virgins," cried one.
"Wonderful," cried another celebrant. "This girl will probably be the only real virgin in the cult."
"I will use my influence in the Senate to place her among the Vestals," cried another.
"I second the motion," agreed still another patrician. Brutus was intrigued.
"Yes," he cried, "we can all attest to her virginity through this trial by, shall we say, sword? Therefore, I suggest that as our first order of business when the
Senate convenes next week we make this fair barbarian an honored member of the Vestal Virgins." And so it was agreed while the beautiful girl was unchained and led off to her quarters by Brutus' lady slaves.
4
When Cybele awoke the next morning, following her epic frustration of the flower of masculine Roman nobility, she found herself the center of sybaritic attentions that would be unknown again on the face of the earth until a much later time when Hollywood would produce her counterpart in the form of the sex queen.
Her former attendants were withdrawn and a complete new set of ladies-in-waiting cared for her every whim. A skilled instructress in Latin guided her through the difficult syntax of that language, her body was immersed in many scented oils and exotic perfumes were rubbed into her skin. Her magnificent hair was coiled and braided into a crowning tiara-Roman lady style. Cybele welcomed the change and came to love the ladies who cared for her. Each day seemed a dream and the sweetness and solicitation of everyone quickly erased the cruel memories of her past. It puzzled her that no men were ever present, and that the curious thing they did to her was .never tried again. She thought, too, of the great Julius Caesar. In her childish notion, all these wonderful events were somehow produced by him. She longed for him and wondered if she would ever see him again.
As her knowledge of Latin grew, it was of him that she first inquired. Her instructress laughed.
"He is the greatest Roman of them all," she said. "And you are but a slave. Cease thinking of Caesar, child. It is said he is a better soldier than lover, anyway. But, from what I understand, even if he were a great man in the service of Venus, you could have no part of him. Alas, henceforward you shall be a stranger to sexual love. For you are soon to take your place among the Vestal Virgins. Your master, Brutus, is seeing to that. The Senate today will vote you into the Vestal group. It is rumored, indeed, that you are to be their queen because of the imperishable quality of your maidenhead. So you are doubly certain to remain celibate and pure. No, child, the joys of a man's caresses and carnal love are never to be yours." She smiled sweetly at Cybele who listened with the pained expression of one who wants, desperately, to understand, but cannot.
That day, Brutus and his political junta pushed through the Senate a bill which elevated a Nordic barbarian to one of the highest, most sacred offices in all Rome. She was made one of the Vestal Virgins, but not without a fight on the Senate floor. Old
Brutus, with the help of his idealistic nephew, the younger Brutus, carried the day on the strength of oratory. Rising from his marble seat, the elder Brutus excoriated the opposition for failure to understand the true meaning of democracy. For it was around this idea that the controversy centered on Cybele's admittance to the Virgin group. The die-hards said she was not a Roman, and, therefore, could not qualify.
"I tell you," thundered old Brutus, "that the world is shrinking. It is becoming one world. And that world can only live in peace if we offer all its people the rights of Roman citizenship. What better proof can we give the underprivileged peoples of countries over which the Roman standard is raised that we come as friends-not rapists, exploiters, slave hunters? With this young blonde chosen by our august body to membership in our purest institution, the world will take note. It will establish an image of Roman largesse and purity around the world. Think of our image, gentlemen. I daresay appointing Cybele to the Vestal Virgins will conquer more territory and hearts than a million Roman soldiers."
The liberal Senators applauded. Opposition then took a different approach. Sly Cincinnatus from the southern provinces raised the question of Cybele's virginity.
"It would be an affront to the gods," he cautioned, "if this creature were not a virgin. How can we prove this? If it has been proven, I would like to know how." At this, more than 40 Senators leaped to their feet and each spoke at length of his failure to rupture the maiden's hymen. Each pledged his word it was still intact. At that, the opposition wilted and Cybele gained entrance into the hallowed cult.
Of all this momentous debate Cybele remained serenely innocent. Her Latin lessons progressed and her knowledge of the country broadened. She could write verse and sing. Her beauty grew as her understanding broadened. She began to love Rome and things Roman. Then one day at Brutus' summer villa where all this transpired there was a mighty uproar. Chariots by the score pounded up in clouds of dust and Roman soldiers marched in profusion around the place, posting guards and making the villa secure. Finally old Brutus himself showed up in triumph. Walking resolutely despite a bad hangover, he strode up to the new member of the Virgins and caused a fanfare to be made by the trumpeters.
"Hail, child, purest of the pure. Thou art now a servant of the goddesses. Thou art now a Roman among Romans. May Rome's honor remain as tough as your badge of purity. May your example be an inspiration to all the maidens of the city of these seven hills."
Cybele listened, a radiant smile of pleasure upon her lips. She had mastered the tongue sufficiently now to understand a great honor was being accorded her. She liked the old man prattling away before her.
"Sire," she said, "I trust you have recovered from that convulsive seizure you had when you were with me last. Do you remember?" Brutus coughed a few times to cover the embarrassing recollection.
"Enough," he grumbled, motioning to the guards. "Take her away before she says something gauche."
Cybele was on her way to join her sister virgins.
Sadly she bade farewell to the villa and to the nice people there who had been so kind to her and who had taught her so much. The women wept with her and insisted on giving her one farewell bath at which they embraced and kissed her with longing mouths and the tender laying-on of hands which, by this time, the girl had come to like so much. It was wonderful training for the Vestal Virgins, although Cybele could not then know it.
5
Statira, willowy, large bosomed, dark-a Circassian maid from the East where the blood of whites and blacks and Semites had been mixed for centuries, greeted Cybele in the sacred hall of the Vestal Virgins. Statira had made a career of virginity and, in the process, had learned how to love both women and men. Her arts and wiles were copious-many of them learned in Egypt from Cleopatra herself. In fact, it was Cleopatra who had run her out of Egypt and secured her in the Vestal Virgins at Rome. The beauteous Egyptian harlot queen could not stand competition. So, she prevailed on her Roman friends to railroad Statira into that chaste group. The group was never the same after that. Statira initiated policies of twisted love and smuggled male studs into the sacrosanct confines of the Vestal halls.
With the ardor of a cruising lesbian, she now welcomed this newest choice morsel a blonde. She ran her dark eyes hungrily over Cybele.
"Sister, I am happy you have joined us. Was the journey hard?"
"Oh, no," replied the innocent girl. "But I did feel very sad leaving all those nice people at Brutus' villa. Tell me, what are things like here? What is Vestal Virgin supposed to do?"
Statira laughed, a hard throaty laugh. It sounded like a man.
"You sound like a man," said Cybele. Again Statira laughed.
"Well, theoretically, there aren't supposed to be any men here," she answered. "Only, love, I've arranged it all. You will have more men here," she paused a moment for emphasis and added meaningfully, "and better men than you would find anywhere on the outside, if you will be nice to me."
"But of course I will be nice to you," said Cybele, amused at the thought she might be otherwise than nice to this person.
"You do not yet understand, love," replied Statira, delighted at the girl's innocence. "But you will find out swiftly enough. I love your fair skin. Here," she said commandingly, "let me see it." And she snatched off Cybele's tunic with a quick and eager move of her hands. Cybele's nude body glistened smoothly in the soft light of tlie flickering torches. It drew a gasp of appreciation from Statira.
"Why," she exclaimed, "it is more beautiful than Cleopatra's."
"And who might that be?" inquired Cybele.
"Never mind, child," said Statira. "We have much to teach you. Now, you may see my body too. It is a custom we virgins have. We show our nude bodies to each other always particularly when a new virgin comes to us, as you have now."
Cybele stared mutely at the lean, athletic build, the small breasts. It was the body of a woman but it was also the body of a youth. It confused Cybele and gave her an odd sensation for which she had not the proper words. The quizzical look on her face caused Statira to smile knowingly.
"I know what you feel," she said. "Others have felt it too. Then, they have come to know it better. It's really nothing once you accept it. All the girls here do that is, all of us virgins. But you will want a man. And I am the keeper of men here. As I said before, you be nice to me and I will see that many lovers visit your pillow at night."
She gathered Cybele in her arms and kissed her, their two nude bodies swaying, her embrace tight and controlling. Cybele felt nothing and accepted the gesture as she had most everything else in her Roman experience. It was just one more of those bewildering customs of these curious but friendly people.
"I do not want a man," she said when Statira withdrew her lips. "Why should I want a man?"
Statira was beside herself with joy, until she realized Cybele was completely unaware of the implication of her remark.
"Oh," she said, somewhat bitterly, "I can see you will want a man. Then, someday, you will find out that I can offer you something far better. But, child, that is something that will all work out in the future. Now, come. I will introduce you to your new home." gins."
The shrine of Vesta stood in the Roman Forum and was, like the Virgins who tended the sacred flame within, an object of veneration of all the Romans. Cybele had been impressed with the round massive contours of the structure when she entered, but now-inside with Statira-she expressed genuine awe and reverence.
"Are we really goddesses now?" she inquired naively. Again Statira chuckled in her mannish way, squeezing Cybele a bit too intimately to emphasize her point.
"No more than any fashionable whore in Rome," she said. "But, of course, child, all this is Greek to you. You do not even know what a whore is. But let me tell you what the Vestal Virgins are supposed to be-and what they really are." While they talked, they had been walking down a long marble corridor, at the end of which flamed a single yellow flame that danced from a kind of hearth.
"Look, child," said Statira, "that flame is sacred to these stupid Romans. It is a hangover from distant, primitive days when fires were hard to make. The chief, or the head man of those old smelly tribes, made his daughters keep the flame alive. The girls had to make sure it never went out because fires were simply too hard to re-start. Well, like all old customs that originally had some practical merit, this one went into hocum too. It became a tool to round up virgin girls. Those unsullied maidens usually were nothing more than the private sex playthings of the chief or, when in Rome, of the top politicians and Senators."
"And that flame down there is the flame we, the Vestal Virgins, are charged to keep alive?"
"Yes," replied Statira. "And it's a bloody bore. Keeps going out at the most embarrassing times. Really, we don't go near the altar at all. We have the eunuchs watch it for us. And woe to the sexless bastard who lets it go out!"
"And what happens to a Vestal Virgin if she goes out with a man and does this thing that apparently is so bad, which I cannot do?" asked Cybele.
"Oh, these asses here have some terrible punishment they mete out to us. They bury us in a tiny hole in the ground just large enough for a candle and a loaf of bread and ourselves. When we eat the bread and the candle goes out, well, we're supposed to die. But don't worry. We've the answer to that too. The night following the burial, we simply dig out the girl, change her raiment and she rejoins us. No one knows the difference." The girls had finished their walk now and stood before Cybele's room.
"Here is where you will sleep," said Statira, drawing the fair Nordic blonde up close to her again. "I would share your bed with you tonight, but I am afraid you are not ready for me. Besides, some of the Virgins are waiting for me for one of our little ceremonies. Tomorrow you will meet your sisters. Then your real education will begin." She kissed
Cybele longingly again and left her alone in her room. Here, in the silken splendor of her confinement, all alone with the thoughts of her recent past, and the many improbable things that had befallen her, Cybele for the first time began to feel lonely. She wept softly into her pillow and longed for the comfort of someone some man, some kind, strong man, like the great Caesar who had saved her and who had sent her to Rome to become a Vestal Virgin. If only she could find him again, then she was sure she could do this love act. For the first time she wondered what was wrong with her. Why was it that men could not be satisfied with her? From the way Statira and all the rest talked she was missing something wonderful a thrill she now suddenly longed for. She thought about those Roman Senators lying with her and doing that crazy thing which merely bored her. And those rapist soldiers that had captured her and slaughtered her tribe. Virgin though she was, Cybele vowed that she would someday make men love her and be happy. Perhaps she would be happy, too. She fell asleep thinking of Caesar kissing her and then doing that thing that all those other men had done to her. Only in her tender thoughts it seemed strangely exciting and thrilling when Caesar was holding her down.
6
Far to the north of Rome that night, as Cybele slept and dreamed her portentous dreams of loving him, great Caesar also found sleep difficult. In his tent the torch flickered late while guards stood at attention outside. At his feet flowed the Rubicon. In his hand, he held a passionate love letter on scented papyrus from Cleopatra. He perused the missive over and over again. It read:
"Dear Julius, my eagle warrior and ultimate lover:
"Your Nile sweetheart thinks of you by the temple of Isis; she is never without memories of Caesar. I fondle the asp and I am reminded of your body, your sleek, pliant skin. No Roman has loved me as you have. Nor an Egyptian, a Greek or a Nubian. I have tried them all. My scouts and soldiers have roamed the kingdoms of Africa and India for males of prodigious capability. They have had me in the many quaint ways of their countries but even gasping in their arms I think only of one man. Until I believe it is you, great Caesar, I am as impotent as the Nile in drought season. But when I falsify my mind and trick it into believing Caesar has me, then love in heaven. It is like crawling a pyramid of endless rise that leads upward and upward to a distant peak. Then my eyes see the real partner, and I tire, I fall ere the peak is reached. Then, in my anger, I order the poor wretch punished for the crime of incomplete love. The garden of crocodiles round the sacred temple is full of their bodies and the great reptiles are fat from their flesh. Oh, Caesar, I know you will say I am cruel and childish. But it is only you who can make me kind, reasonable.
"I know in my heart you will never come back to Egypt and the queen who loves you. I know that you will become the king of all the Romans and that the great ambition that drives you will separate us always. Therefore, my only love, I will do such a thing as few women are generous enough to do. I will commend you to a special girl in Rome one who knows all the love tricks of the Nile and who will make you happy in my place. Her name is Statira and she is now a Vestal Virgin. So great is her knowledge of the art of love that I have banished her from the Nile to free my country of a rival. She is skilled in all the occult rituals and can, they say, please a man completely while never touching him, nor he touching her. It is devilish and most improper, particularly when she, herself, has no interest in men. . . . "
The letter went on and on. Caesar read as he read all the many letters from the over-sexed Nile queen, with amusement, sadness and boredom. They made him sleepy. How would this creature ever understand his goals, his ambition? Sex was enough for her. But for him there was the glittering, shatteringly tempting climax of the entire world. Emperor of all the Romans! Tomorrow he would cross the river before him and his conquering armies the Rubicon. He would march on Rome itself. Then, he would force the Senators to make him Emperor. Perhaps he would have some frivolous moments to test Statira, as Cleopatra generously suggested. But he was really more interested now in a different kind of woman the peaches and cream, blonde Anglo-Saxon kind. His mind went back to one in particular, the golden-haired virgin he had saved from rape and sent to Rome for the slave marts there. Now, suddenly, he longed for that kind of sweet, pure, barbaric love. He frowned, yawned and stretched out on his cot. Well, he thought, she was in Rome. He could find her there if he wished. Only, curse it, she wouldn't be a virgin anymore. Not after a month or two among all those sex-crazy Patricians and Senators and their lust for fresh young things. Oh well, such was life. Thus did Caesar lull himself to sleep on the night of his most momentous decision. Cybele was in his thoughts while the fateful Rubicon rolled at his feet.
In his destiny was the Anglo-Saxon girl.
7
The following day at Rome, Cybele, too, crossed her Rubicon. She was awakened in the morning by a full gathering of the Vestal Virgins who trooped quietly into her bedroom on their sandaled feet and surrounded her reclining body in silence. Then when their formation was complete they uttered a low chant, a ritual song of pagan brutality, the words of which were lost on Cybele but the meaning of which she was soon to experience.
Awakening gradually to the dulcet tunes she slowly sat up and regarded the stately array of beautiful women collected about her. She recognized Statira who spoke to her.
"It is our custom here," she said speaking in low, tense tones, "to immediately expunge the virginity of any new recruit to our order. Only then is she pure in our eyes. The world outside that values purity so highly is a false world of artificial restraints and unrealistic values. Cruelly they consign us here to compensate through our purity for their own sins. We Vestal Virgins have the last laugh, however. Every time we cohabit with a male we are striking back at the stupid Romans who imprison us here. Sex for us is a symbol of female freedom. No woman is free until she is uninhibitedly aware of sex. We have come to free you from the false notions of purity and prudishness. We will give you a lover who will make you one of us."
Forthwith, a soft, sensual sigh escaped from the lips of the women as a chorus note. Then they prostrated themselves, baring their bodies to the waist so that their breasts were bare and pressed on the cold stone. The sound of distant cymbals crashed and a muted fanfare sounded. Cybele was seized with real fright at the solemnity of the ceremony. Even Statira seemed withdrawn and dedicated to some mystic purpose. Cybele sprang from her bed beseeching her sisters to rise.
"Sisters, Vestal Virgins," she implored, "please do not act so strangely. I regret my virginity. I do not wish it. It is not my fault that I have it. I do not understand these things. Oh, please speak to me. Do not lie there so distant and strange!"
But the silence that now fell across the bedroom thickened. The music ceased and thick drapes, pulled by some unseen hand, shut out the morning sunlight. The torches flared menacingly. Suddenly a grotesque figure bounded into the room, a creature scarcely four feet tall with a tremendous beard that hung to his feet and a nose which sprawled like a yeasty cheese all over his face. His back was deformed and humped by gross spine curvature. Aside from the masking beard the unsightly body was entirely nude. The creature bounded about among the prostrate sisters, pinching and growling and gibbering like some throwback anthropoid. Occasionally he tore the flowing hair of one of the sisters to the accompaniment of hideous laughter. He played leap frog and sang guttural little ditties that Cybele could not understand and which caused her to cringe.
The little monster continued his caper about the room, orbiting its periphery, gradually making the circle smaller on his many traverses until finally he was circling the bed upon which Cybele lay in a cold sweat. She had never seen anything so evil, so repulsive. Her fear mounted until her palms dripped sweat and a kind of freezing paralysis crept into her throat and limbs. She followed the hideous gyrations of the naked creature with his oddly flowing beard as a bird watches the approaching serpent, helpless, yet fascinated and somehow willing to be destroyed. The ugly monster never once looked at Cybele, continuing his insane dance. Then suddenly he leaped upon the bed, gurgling some piercing jargon and bounding up and down like a monkey. Still he did not direct his dancing black eyes toward Cybele who now looked on in total fascination completely hypnotized by this sordid apparition. She trembled in awful expectancy and felt a thrill of terror she had never previously known. It was as if she suddenly longed for his touch, the touch of anything, anyone, who would relieve her of this gathering, yearning, fearful tension. She felt herself wanting even the touch, the love of this monstrosity. Her mind grew giddy as she watched the spinning gnome
-and she felt queerly receptive. Then just as suddenly as he had appeared he was gone. She struggled for calmness in eerie silence, but the spell was too strong. And, she longed for the rough touch of human hands. Quivers raced through her body and she undulated on the bed, hearing herself moan uncontrollably. The moans were picked up and echoed by the Vestal Virgins on the floor-softly, agonizingly.
Then Cybele spoke quietly, firmly-as if another power was directing her speech, as if an evil spirit had gotten into her luxurious body and was working it toward some evil, sensual end.
"I want my virginity destroyed," she said. 'Take me, take me, do anything to me, please sisters-bring me a man." The torches again flared up startlingly and again the strains of music filled the chamber-only this time it was excited, heady with a strong, suggestive beat. Then Cybele felt another presence on the bed, another body. She dared not open her eyes at first but when she felt lips upon her mouth she raised her lids. There was a man-a handsome, powerful man with cruel unsmiling eyes and fierce intent engraved in his craven features. She felt his strong hands rifle her body and hold it as if it were personal possession. She yielded with a glad sigh to his tightening embrace, she felt the thrill of a million centuries throb in her blood. Now, the man was doing the thing that all those poor old Roman Senators had tried to do. But what a difference! Now, she understood. Mysterious storms of nervous feeling exploded in her body that she had never before known and she bent and struggled to contain their force while her lover bent her this way and that and made of her what he willed. Then, with a glad cry of mingled pain and pleasure, she instantly knew she was human, she had arrived she was a woman and had communion with her sisters, still prostrate upon the floor. She sank back in blissful repose and the great weight upon her breasts was lifted. There was the greatest serenity everywhere and sleep came over her eyes and she slept the sound sleep of the sated lover.
8
When Cybele awakened from her long slumber, she stretched her limbs in sensual joy, still feeling sensitive throughout her lissome body. It was a whole new world for her and she longed at once to have that hard bodied man with her again. Such delirious ecstasy, such undreamed of sensations! She leaped from her bed and stepped into her sunken marble bath, slipping off her purple robe and nestling deeply in the amethyst hues of the tepid waters. Her breasts poked through the surface and she noted with satisfaction their firm, rounded character. The rippling liquid bathed her supple limbs in soft lapping waves. Altogether she was enamored of her own body. For many minutes she lay in a torpor of self-adoration until suddenly she was aware of another presence standing above her bath, also admiring her shape. It was Statira.
As though reading Cybele's mind the dark-skinned Vestal Virgin said, "Yes, my dear, you are beautiful." And she knelt beside the blonde girl and played her hands across Cybele's breasts as though she were aiding in the bath.
"Ah, sister Statira, what magnificent love. But who was that man who made me come to my senses last night or whenever it was. Never did I dream what joys I had in my loins until he unlocked the secret. What is he, a God? May I have him play roughly with me again?"
"Sweetheart," replied Statira, "I, too, need cleansing. May I join you in your bath?"
"Pray do," replied Cybele, "only tell me where I might have that love again, that man. Was he a Roman?" Statira shed her gown and slid into the perfumed waters with Cybele, kissing the girl on her ear, tenderly caressing her. Their legs entwined in the warm waters and Statira clasped her young Nordic friend.
"Alas," said Cybele, "when you hold me and fondle my breasts it is not as it was then."
"Child," said Statira, kissing Cybele full upon the lips, "you may see your man lover again. But only if you are kind to me."
"What do you wish?"
Statira laughed again her harsh mannish laugh and rolled over on Cybele.
"Careful," cried the surprised, erstwhile virgin, "you may drown me."
"When I lie upon you, do you not feel some semblance of romance, some elation a twinge, perhaps?" entreated the aroused Statira.
"Alas, nothing," answered Cybele. "Am I supposed to experience the same thrill with a woman as I did with that man? It seems you are shaped differently and are without a man's body."
"But I have a man's love," whispered Statira, darting her tongue into the girl's mouth.
"I feel nothing," answered the untutored Cybele, still unsophisticated in the perverse ways of the Roman. A glint of anger showed in the dark eyes of Statira. She pinched the breasts of the girl and slapped her lightly on the cheek.
"Fool," she hissed, "I will teach you. You will have me or never see your lover man again." Her sudden anger startled Cybele.
"Why, sister," she exclaimed, "you are angry. When you try to love me, it is like old Brutus Rex and all those other men. They simply do not rouse my emotion, they are like someone who has not the strength to open the door and must remain outside."
Statira leaped from the bath, water streaming down her slender, hard body. "You little daughter of a she-wolf," she said threateningly. "You will learn who is master here, who is the real queen of the Vestal Virgins. When I am done with you, you will lie panting at my feet, glad for my embraces, my passionate kisses. Mark my words well. Tonight I will have you driven to the villa of old Brutus Rex again. I shall command him to have you loved by the savage African slaves. Then, if that is not enough, and if you do not then lie begging for mercy, they have wild animals skilled in the act who will be committed to assault you. When you he limp and begging for mercy, your tender female flesh torn and battered, then you will be sent back here to the Vestal Virgin palace and I will be here to bathe you and bind your wounds. Then you will see what power I have, and what a friend I can be. Then, when you are recovered, you will seek my bed. And then, and only then, will I furnish you with the man lover who took your virginity."
Cybele recoiled in horror, pleading for mercy and promising to do the thing Statira yearned for.
"It is no use. You must be taught a lesson," cried the vengeful woman.
"But who, who is the man I loved, the man you say you will let me have again if I love you?", implored Cybele.
"Fool, he is a prize, my personal slave whom I found in the land of the Macedonians a heroic creature of such size and capability that some have called him superhuman. I use him as a bargaining agent. When the Virgins are good to me, I allow them to sleep with him. It is a reward."
"I will do anything," sobbed Cybele, "only do not send me back to that fiend Brutus Rex and those Africans." Satira smiled a slow, sadistic smile as she watched the fair-skinned maiden tremble in fear. She almost enjoyed the prospect of the girl's suffering.
"You need a lesson," she snapped, "and you shall have it."
Statira was as good as her word. Swift, mounted couriers bore the word to old Brutus Rex that Cybele was recalcitrant and needed further treatment. The old man was overjoyed. He had not staged an orgy of sadistic pleasures, for some time and his senile brain plotted an extravaganza. Only there had to be a twist to this one.
Brutus would not have Cybele raped by his menagerie, rather he would subject the girl to such scenes of sexual licentiousness that she would scream with lust and desire and gladly accept the most punishing male from his African stable of slaves.
These Nubian stalwarts would also be permitted to watch the proceedings to guarantee a heightened sexual appetite and then they would be led to the eager Anglo-Saxon girl to discharge their lust. It would be a mad ball. He would invite the flower of Boman society to be present. Happily, he arranged final details of the orgy. All would eventually join in the true spirit of Roman fraternity and the devil take the hindermost.
The night of the orgy, Cybele was spirited from the hall of the Vestal Virgins, disguised as a slave girl, in rags. She had been heavily drugged with loaded wines spiked with a musk-like love philtre from Smyrna. She drowsily was aware of the activity around her but offered no resistance in her opiated condition. The carriage that bore her to Brutus Rex' villa thundered across Rome, scattering citizens and slaves live worthless confetti, the iron helmeted horsemen beating their way through the throngs with vicious whips. Secured at last in the villa, Cybele was to be placed on a platform which looked down on a dance arena that would be the theater of Brutus' sensuous show. Cybele was now freshly bathed and divested of her garments, lying naked on a lion skin rug, her lustrous hair mingling alluringly with the tawny hues of the treated skins. Her nails were painted rich red and her feet encased in sheer slippers adorned with pearls. A single strand of gold chain entwined her breasts for a bra, her belly was streaked with roseate stains and a silken belt around her navel suspended a net of filmy metallic cloth which was transparent and enhanced her opulent curves. She was not tied, nor in any way chained, it being old Brutus' wish that she give herself willingly.
Cybele endured the toilet of her preparation with composure. She was accustomed to the attentions of hand-maidens now and the touch of fingers felt good upon her heated flesh. The child was indeed becoming a woman and the potion she had imbibed was seething eagerly in her blood. She remembered the divine love of the man who had taken her back at the Vestal Virgin hall and she longed for him now again.
She began to understand the diabolical ways of these depraved Romans. They were playing games with her. They thought she did not enjoy being ravished. Fools, she thought. She experienced a sudden, new sense of power. She could outwit them all-even the one of the twisted love, Statira. She understood sex at last. With this understanding she could conquer Rome. No longer the slave virgin now she would be the love goddess! She laughed softly to herself. What silly machinations was old Brutus up to now? The idiot, let him bring on his prize male. None could offer more than Statira's, who had taught her the fatal joy of love. Very well, she would play their game. If shyness and virginity were the fillip the
Romans doted on, she would act out the role. Only she wished the elaborate seduction would begin. She was ready. The memory of that hot love was like a dagger stabbing within her, a pleasant pain, not a terror, a delirious joy.
She asked one of the attendant slave girls when the show was to begin and was told it would be several hours yet, since old Brutus had been detained in the Senate.
"What a bore," said the girl, strangely poised and sophisticated. "What shall I do in the meantime?" The slaves, fearful of their master, urged her to be patient.
"Rest assured, child," said one of the elderly ladies, "your turn will come. And when these Romans will have done with you, you will feel like a baked piece of meat turned to a well-done crisp on a skewer."
"I am tired now," replied the crafty Cybele. "Please retire, all of you, and let me rest. Only leave those two black eunuch guards here that none may harm me as I sleep." The slave attendants all withdrew and Cybele was alone with her Nubian guards. The aphrodisiac had been mixed especially potent by the vengeful Statira and Cybele felt her desires rise by the moment.
"Oh," she cried in languorous tones, "if only one of you fellows, so strong, so powerful, were a thing your very strength mocks a man! Then might I take you now and feel your love to the depths of my being!" Cybele spoke to herself, not believing the black slaves knew the Roman tongue. She was pleasantly surprised when one of them answered in guarded, hushed tones.
"Lovely princess, so fair," he said in perfect Latin, "I am such a man. They believe me impotent through the hasty surgery they performed on me. But, fairest girl with the golden hair, I am in every sense a man!"
Cybele regarded him coldly for a moment. Then, intrigued, she replied:
"If that be true, send your helper to the fountain for fresh waters. Bid him be gone five minutes. That should be ample time for our purpose."
The Nubian spoke a few words to his fellow slave and the fellow vanished. Then he advanced on Cybele, peeling off his heavy iron shoulder plates.
"They call me Tarro," he said, unbuckling his sword and laying it beside the raised dais. "For such an act as I am about to commit they will surely cast me into a den of lions if I am caught. You will not tell?"
Cybele enjoyed her power, she was excited by the danger of the situation and the poor black's passion and fright.
"I will only tell if you do not satisfy me," she teased.
Tarro shook his head.
"It is not that that worries me," he said. "Surely a man knows his own prowess in love."
With this the hot-blooded Nubian seized the ivory-hued girl in one mighty arm, drawing her up to his massive face and flaring lips. He kissed her like a savage hunter who has brought down his game and now hungers for the meat. For many minutes he kissed her, until the blonde girl was a soft, pliant, trembling prey for his whims. Cybele could not resist, curving into the lines of his body and meeting his embrace with eager, impassioned response. Tarro now lifted her from her bed of lion pelts, holding her to him while burying his head in the luxury of her breasts. The breathing of both now reverberated through the chamber, Cybele's eyes closed, her red nails digging into the black flesh, her back arched to present her charms more pointedly to the black man.
"You are ready," whispered Tarro. He gently laid Cybele back on the lion skins and quickly pinned her down, fearing that at some last moment she might become afraid and attempt to flee. Then he covered her soft mouth with one huge hand and, fighting the boiling fever in his body as much as the possible escape of the girl, pressed his tapered body to hers. Tighter and tighter became his embrace, and he heard Cybele sigh with surprise and joy and shock as they fused and shuddered together. They were not hurried, but savored the progression of joys and ecstasies which swept trembling over them both. Was it a minute? Was it five minutes? Was it an hour? The floods of sensual joy drowned out the awareness of everything for both of them. They forgot restraint and prudence and their uninhibited cries carried far. Too far.
There was a sudden alarm and when Cybele opened her eyes again it was only to see her unlucky lover dragged away from her warm, moist body by a platoon of Roman soldiers. She saw the brutal guards draw their swords and butcher the luckless Nubian before her eyes. The blood ran slowly from his gaping wounds and a single crimson thread of it made a slow path to her couch, as though some last longing wish of the slain man was reaching for the love it had lost. Cybele swooned.
9
When Brutus Rex was told of Cybele's perfidy, he swore several blood chilling oaths to Jove, considered having the erring Vestal Virgin strangled by a pet python in front of his guests and marveled at the ingenuity of mankind.
"When a man cannot trust a eunuch," he muttered, "things have come to a pretty pass."
Actually, Brutus had been forced to cancel plans for the orgy anyway. Caesar had crossed the Rubicon in northern Italy and now was descending on Rome. The rumors were flying that he intended to have himself crowned Emperor thereby ending the Republic, and Brutus along with all the other Roman Senators feared for his job and his life. Caesar controlled the Army and there was little doubt the
Army would put him on the throne if he so desired. The Senators were in a fit of despair and anxiety. Immediate planning was imperative; no time could be wasted.
Old Brutus, however, still questioned the Anglo Saxon beauty when she revived.
"What a transformation," he scolded. "I sent you to the Vestal Virgins because of your divine maidenhead, thinking it a fitting reward for a mere slave. And in the space of one short day you return a more accomplished lover than most of us Romans who make a life study of the art. Tell me, fair Cybele, whence comes such swift enlightenment? Has that harpie Statira corrupted you so soon? Has she taught you the strange ways to ecstasy?"
"No, sire," replied Cybele, the shock of her recent experience somewhat abated. "Statira's love is not for me. That is why she sent me here tonight. For punishment that would make me glad for her arms by comparison. She is a very wicked woman indeed."
"To each his own," replied the philosophic Brutus. "I personally have never had to extend the horizons of my lust beyond that which a feminine garment encompasses. But who is to blame Statira? In many ways she is more fortunate than we. She may find her pleasure on either side of the street and we must be restricted to merely the opposite sex."
As he spoke thus in fatherly fashion, he noted with growing interest the flaring bosoms of the girl-now re-clad in a toga provided by a servant. It was an ill-fitting robe that left the breasts much exposed and since these were still inordinately large from the recent love play Cybele had performed with the slain Nubian, they were even more fetching than usual.
"Child," said Brutus after studying the lovely contours, "I am an aging man, perhaps vainglorious in my onrushing senility. I know that I cannot possess your body with the power and dash of the dead African. You despised my efforts earlier when I sought to deflower you so unsuccessfully. But cannot you find it in your heart now to take me as a humble lover, one who desires the great beauty of your body but who cannot match his lust with performance?"
It was a rare moment of humility for the debauched old Roman, and Cybele was touched.
"What would you have me do?" she inquired sympathetically.
"Divest yourself of your clothing that I might see clearly your classic beauty. I see you as a Grecian statue, a splendid column of marble, white, strong, supple, warm. Were I an artist instead of a politician, I would mould your flesh in stone for the ages. Venus herself must have shaped your figure, and Cupid, too, was busy with his paint brush-see how the red nipples glow-and the pink flush tinges your rounded curves."
"You may, sire, mould your hands over me now. For I do feel a debt of gratitude to you. It was your act that saved me from the auction block where I might have been sold to some brutish lout instead. And now I am a Vestal Virgin-thanks to you, and you alone."
As she spoke she seized Brutus' hands and pressed their palms upon her breasts in cupping fashion. Then she wiggled out of her flimsy gown and stood naked for the fading old buck.
"Ah," he muttered, "to have 20 years back and to have such a dainty morsel then." He was lost in gloomy reflection of his vanished youth.
"Cheer up, old man," said Cybele. "Come, sit beside me on the couch. We may still coax a thoroughly complete performance from you."
"You are a curious creature," said Brutus. "Not long ago you were the personification of virginity. Now, you have the arts of a whore. But I am pleased." His eyes lighted up a moment, as an idea struck him. "Cybele," he said with an intrigued expression, "I know that I cannot take you to the heights on this couch. But an old man like myself still has his pride. Let us then conspire to create the image of me as a great lover. You must spread the word to the Vestal Virgins, to all Romans you may talk with and encounter, that old Brutus is truly the greatest of lovers."
Cybele smiled. "Pure folly. You know well that loss of chastity means instant death to a Vestal if it should become officially admitted.
"Come, rest with me," she whispered, drawing Brutus again to the couch. "No false tale need be spread. I will make you the greatest of lovers. Look at me, am I not seductive? My things are mathless, my ankles slim, my mouth full and ready for your kiss. Kiss me, Brutus."
"You are the most beautiful temptress I have ever encountered," replied Brutus sincerely, again despondent at the wilted response of his body to this opportunity. "But do not fool me. I know that my love would be as a child's toy compared to the vigorous youths who will assault you."
"But there are none here that I love," protested Cybele. "The one man I could love is far away, although you said he was now on his way to Rome."
"By Jupiter!" exclaimed the excited Brutus, "you must mean Caesar himself. Tis true, it was Caesar who took you captive and sent you to the block here in Rome because of your beauty and virginity. So it is Caesar you love!" Brutus laughed.
"Child," he said, "sooner you should love Jupiter himself. Caesar cares no more for you than for me-and that's very little. This man is a law unto himself in Rome. And when he dreams, woe to those who have opposed his ambition. Alas, I am one of them."
"What ambition has Caesar?" asked Cybele.
"To be the Emperor of Rome," said Brutus. "I envy him. But he has the legions behind him. I have nothing but a few impotent Senators. When he takes the crown, he'll also butcher the lot of us."
"How do you know he wants to be Emperor?"
"Because we all want to be Emperor! Only Caesar has the manpower to make it practical."
"I think that if I could see Caesar when he returns, I could help you," said Cybele thoughtfully. Again Brutus laughed as he sat beside the nude girl.
"Cybele, child, I do not doubt that your beauty can accomplish miracles. But this is one miracle that it must forego. Caesar has no love but the Army. It is said that since he left the arms of Cleopatra in Egypt many years ago he has not been intimate with any woman-not even his wife."
"But I am different," said Cybele. "I must see
Caesar again. When I do I will tell him that you were good and kind to me, that he should not harm you."
'Tell him not to be Emperor," replied Brutus, again forlorn at the prospect of Caesar taking the throne.
"Well, I will do that too," said Cybele.
"There is one thing you might do," old Brutus said oblivious to Cybele's generous offer. His crafty old eyes narrowed at the prospect.
"What is that, pray?" asked Cybele.
"By some means, by love or beguilement, make yourself close to him. Then, find out what he intends to do. If he really wants to be Emperor, we will have a way of handling him before he mounts the throne. Then all our positions will be safe and Rome will remain an exalted Republic. Do you think you might do that if I actually do secure a visit for you to this hero?"
Cybele nodded, unaware of Brutus' grand design-thinking only of meeting this mysterious general who had made such a lasting impression on her on that dark day when she had been captured. As for Brutus, the more he considered the idea, the more captivating it became.
"That's it, that's it," he beamed, "I'll find out his plans by wile, by the seduction that is headquartered in your body. Child, you have hit upon a capital plan. Indeed, you shall meet Caesar. Your beauty might still unthaw him. Then, in the heat of passion and wine, perhaps his tongue might babble and expose his ambitions."
Forthwith, it was agreed that Brutus would arrange for a meeting between the two and Cybele would report her findings. She saw no harm in it but rather a great good. At last, her dream would come true.
"Before I return to the halls of the Vestal Virgins," said Cybele after the two had discussed the plot in greater detail, "I would like to practice my techniques upon you. If, as you say, Caesar is disinterested in women, then I must be doubly proficient in arousing the lover within him." Playfully she melted against him and her arms snared old Brutus between them, drawing him down.
Stimulated as he was by the possibility of espionage against Caesar, Brutus found a new excitement in his body which had seemed so drained of energy earlier.
"I have shed 20 years since talking with you," he said, "and now I will take you. Such a ripe fruit should not go unplucked." He bit the young girl's neck and traced the outline of her ear ridges with his tongue which aroused the Anglo-Saxon unexpectedly.
"You are not extinct, Brutus," said Cybele, pleased and delighted at the surge of warmth.
10
When Cybele returned to the halls of the Vestal Virgins, she was possessed of a new sense of power and authority. She had Brutus' friendship and was soon to meet the mighty Caesar himself. She was now in a position to successfully defy Statira's tyranny over the rest of the Virgins-and the first thing she would do would be to wrest Statira's great lover away from her. Cybele coveted this prodigious male for herself and also for the power he would give her. She, too, like Statira, could gain favors from the other virgins with this male as bait. Cybele had no wish for the bodies of her sisters as Statira did, but she might employ them in other ways-perhaps as concubines for some of Caesar's top lieutenants. This might ingratiate Caesar and consequently add to her own importance in his eyes.
Confronting Statira, Cybele demanded the name of her captive, and access to him immediately.
"His name is Haphaeston," replied Statira with a low laugh. "But what good's a name if you can't have the game?"
"I intend to have him in my bed within the hour," answered the Anglo-Saxon girl coolly.
"Over my dead body," said Statira. She surveyed Cybele as a tigress surveys her kill. Her nostrils flared and her small breasts heaved. She loved to fight, she loved to inflict pain. She even enjoyed having it inflicted on her.
"Remember," said Cybele, "I come from the barbaric north country and my ancestors are famed for their strength and savagery."
"Blonde bitch," sneered Statira, "I did covet your body for carnal pleasures once. Now I covet it in another way. I shall rip your fair skin to shreds with these wicked nails upon my fingers; I shall tear the tawny locks from your scalp. I shall sink my teeth into your flesh. When I am through with you there is not a man who will look upon your disfigured body with interest. Nor will I."
"Talk, vain talk," answered Cybele, not at all alarmed by Statira's bloodthirsty declaration. She knew she was superior physically. The two women took stances much as boxers, each clad in the uniform of the Virgins, a flowing white gown. Statira lashed out first with a stinging slap that caught Cybele on the cheek. Then Cybele closed fast, seizing her surprised adversary in a crushing embrace. She slid her arms around Statira's head and brought great pressure on the large vein of the neck. It was an old trick she had seen practiced by wrestlers in her tribe from earliest girlhood and she knew it would be effective. Statira fought hard, futilely attempting to disengage herself, flailing and scratching ineffectively, ripping the soft gown from Cybele's body so that she was completely naked. The effect of her nudity, plus the growing weakness produced by her being choked, calmed Statira, who now ceased her struggles and was content to fondle Cybele's breasts while darkness gathered before her eyes.
Soon she slumped to the floor, all but lifeless. Cybele let her down gently, knowing she would revive shortly, none the worse for her experience, but a great deal worse off in other ways. While the two had fought, the rest of the Vestals had collected about the female gladiators and watched. They had all seen Cybele establish herself as an unofficial new queen of the Virgins. Statira would not dare complain, thus drawing public and official attention to the secret activities of the group. Investigation would result in her own immediate execution along with the others. They therefore cheered the downfall of the former tyrant queen and hailed Cybele's victory with glad shouts.
"Now we no longer have to accept her unnatural love to cool our ardor," cried one beauty.
"Yes," cried another, "Cybele will doubtless permit us greater frequency with Haphaeston. Cybele, tell us! You will not keep the male from us, or barter favors with us for his body?"
Cybele saw the opportunity at hand. With real control of the Vestal Virgins passing into her hands she could actually become a political power in Rome.
That gave her another trump card in dealing with Caesar. She moved quickly to consolidate her gains.
"Fair Virgins, as I stand here nude before you, concealing nothing, so I intend to be fair and honest with, you all in the future. I shall work up an equitable schedule for Haphaeston. He shall be a stranger to your couches for no more than seven days. And I shall work him to the bone. He will be a busy lover, I can assure you. Now of course, as your queen, I intend to have first choice. Nightly, Haphaeston shall he with me first, ere spending the remainder of the night with one or two of you. I believe this to be fair and in the interest of all. Nor will I exact payments from you of any kind for his services."
As she spoke she was conscious of a licking sensation on her toes and feet. She looked down and saw the now conscious Statira making oriental obeisances and groveling as a conquered slave. Cybele could afford to be generous. She allowed her fallen foe a few moments of happy embraces of her limbs and then spoke again.
"Statira is now my personal slave," she said. "Her power has been broken and she will be in my service as formerly we were all in hers. Is that not so, Statira?"
Statira, her sloe eyes rolling with some inner ecstasy of self-degradation, nodded and continued to kiss Cybele's feet.
"Arise, Statira. Fetch the keys to Haphaeston's cell and deliver him to me. I am weary of combat and would take the man's love to ease my tension."
Statira did she was bid, producing the male prodigy in a few minutes from the cell in the catacombs beneath the Vestal halls where she had kept him hidden.
"Cybele," she said abjectly, "here is Haphaeston and here are the keys to the cell where I have kept him hidden for these many months. He is yours now. As for myself, I shall rejoice in your personal service."
The Virgins and Cybele now all clustered about the mysterious Haphaeston, regarding him with clinical curiosity, seeing him clearly for the first time. For at all times previously when they had gained his favor by first giving Statira her favor, he had come to them in darkened rooms. Only vaguely had they seen his body and his face. He was a handsome scoundrel, clean-shaven, massive through the shoulders, heavily muscled but lithe and tapering through the loins. A cat-like grace exuded from his taut body and his endowments were enormous in every respect. The girls could not contain their glee and cries of joyous anticipation echoed through the room.
"Haphaeston," said Cybele, "we have all known you and felt your thrill. But beyond that we know absolutely nothing of your past. I think all of us would like to hear your story, where you came from, how you got here and what the inner man is like. Is that not correct, girls?"
The Virgins all assented and Haphaeston began his tale.
11
"Fair Vestal Virgins," began the handsome Haphaeston, "I, too, am glad for the overthrow of Statira's tyranny. Not that I have ever regretted the nature of my work, and each of you that I have known here can attest to that. I am a simple slave from far-off Macedon the province once so mighty under the incomparable Alexander the Great. It was because of Alexander that I am today a Macedonian rather than a Persian. For it is from old noble line Persian blood, a distant offspring of one of King Darius' bastard sons that I am descended. Alexander's soldiers naturally carried my distant forbears home to Macedonia, hence my transplanted origin there.
"But, at heart, I have remained a Persian the luxury and finesse of the East is in my nature. And, the many delicious paths to amorous satisfaction are a matter of heritage with me. True, many of my people have become effete and unmasculine in the practice of these strange arts and in the humility of defeat and subjugation. But I have remained free of these debilitating influences. You look now upon my body and marvel at the size of me, my muscles and my supple lines. This was no accident. From birth I was raised to be the ideal love partner. I was torn from the arms of my mother before I was weaned; harsh soldiers looted the town in which I lived, ravished and murdered my mother before my eyes and cut down my father as he toiled in the fields."
Here a sad cry from Cybele interrupted the man.
"Oh, Haphaeston, your past is so much like my own. What a cruel world we live in." She wept softly and other Virgins too joined in the moist commiseration.
"Your tears are dear to me," said Haphaeston gratefully. "But I do not speak to cause sorrow. It is my mission here to fill a void and I reveal the details of my life now only that when we lie in each other's arms again, our concord and union may be fuller and sweeter because of this added understanding. By your leave, weeping Virgins, I shall continue my tale.
"As a suckling child then, I was placed in a basket on the slave mart and, luckily, was sold to a wealthy and noble Macedonian lady who had just lost a child to the Black Death. Her breasts were heavy with milk and the fever from these sweet accumulated fluids was a mounting pain and pressure in her bounteous mammaries. I was then purchased as a kind of human leech to siphon off the milk and to substitute, as a medical measure, for her own lost child. Of course, all this I do not remember but have been told of it by the lady who, in time, came to love me as the child she had lost. I thrived on my new diet and on the happy acceptance I gained in this household where I grew rapidly and with full freedom. Soon I was taken from the slave quarters and allowed to run in the great house itself. I called my owner "mother" and it was long before I knew that such was not the case. Before puberty she tolerated this innocent affront but, then, as my body suddenly took on the appearance of maturity, even though I, myself, had no knowledge of it nor feeling for a maid, she suddenly changed.
"Haphaeston," she said, "as you see, I am a war widow. My husband is always off on some raid or military caper somewhere. He cares nothing for me-only for the female spoils he collects as booty on the battlefield. You, yourself, see how neglected I am-yet I am still young and fair. Ah, child, soon to be a man, you do not understand my craving. But you soon shall. You have sucked my breasts as a babe and I have loved you as my own. Yet know, Haphaeston, you are not from my womb you are not my child." Again Cybele interrupted.
"Ah, poor slave," she sobbed, "to be so cruelly told and so instantly deprived of childhood and a parent. Let me kiss you to help assuage the memory of such a morbid experience." And she fastened her mouth to Haphaeston's while the Virgins all murmured approval and sympathy.
"Fairest Cybele," said Haphaeston, "true my grief was great and there were many other hard blows that were to befall me before I came here. But such kisses as yours and such arms and lovely breasts and thighs as your now make it all seem worthwhile. Indeed, everything would seem to work out for the best, if I be so trite as to express an ancient cliche."
"There's nothing really new under the sun," agreed Cybele, "but Haphaeston, you poor dear, please tell us the remainder of your life story. How were you first exposed to the arms of a woman? Who was the first?"
"Well, Virgins, I was rapidly coming to that. This lady who reared me as her own and then cast me out her name was Roxanne had a diabolical purpose in mind. It was she who first planned the profession of lover for me. But, first, she had to expel the suggestion of incest. She gladly traded me as a son, for me as a lover although you all see there never really could have been any question of incest. Well, from my twelfth to fourteenth years she sent me into the mountains to toil as a stone cutter. Here I nursed my bruised heart and hurt, for my feelings were exactly those of an orphan. Roxanne never communicated with me and the labors I performed were truly back-breaking. I was always under the eyes of stern task masters and all during this two year period I never saw a maid. Meanwhile, as it does to the sons of the East, maturity burst like an exploding torch in my young body. I sprouted into full manhood almost overnight and became the envy of the other men for my manhood. It was they who first called me stud and when word of my achievement reached back to the city, Roxanne had me recalled at once.
"I should have thrown myself into her arms as a returning son, had she permitted it, even though I knew the sad truth that my blood was not hers. But Roxanne rigidly prevented any such emotional exchange. She was dressed in rich brocade and silks, her hair coiled in a fantastic pile as if composed of a beehive of living serpents. This was in conformity with her religion, which was the occult worship of snakes. She spoke:
" 'Haphaeston, it is not as a family member that I greet you. It is as a woman. Do not approach me as one familiar with my embrace. For it is not the embrace you formerly knew that I crave now. Look, you are a splendid man. I would have you treat me as a woman. Do you understand?'"
"Of course I understand now. After all those many nights around the campfire with the men in the quarry-I had learned all there was to know of sex. And, in truth, I craved it. I burned for a woman with the turbulent lust of a vigorous fourteen-year-old youth. I had never regarded Roxanne in this light, however. And when she made her sexual interest in me plain, I was confused and embarrassed. I had never felt the softness of a woman's body before and I was not even sure how I would go about my task. Roxanne must have surmised my dismay, for she smiled, her eyes narrowing with appraisal of my slim waist. She patted my arm and said that she would make it easy for me in the temple of Olympus, the sacred arena where these snake worshippers met and performed their weird rituals. I was fearful that serpents would be coiling about the place but Roxanne reassured me. We were alone in the private chamber and only the hideous aspect of the pagan carvings of serpents reaching from the walls and ceilings disturbed my composure. Roxanne made several genuflections to the repulsive statuary and then called me to her. She kissed me on the mouth and although it was strange to think of her in that way, I quickly felt my passion mount.
"Her lips were small and tight but I shot my tongue eagerly into her mouth and felt her quiver and loosen in every fiber. I lost my restraint rapidly. Soon I was forcing my hot hands through her coiled locks, destroying her coiffure entirely. I forced her back on a marble slab beneath which, it was said, the high priestesses of the sect were entombed within a pit of living vipers. This thought did not bother me in the slightest now.
"As with all youths, however, my passion outstripped my control and when I tore her still beautiful breasts from her gown and pressed my mouth over them, the chaotic apex of my love swept through my body in spasms of inexperienced joy. Roxanne noted my premature love rapture with a pleased smile. 'A youth such as you has much love to give, and often too,' she said, holding me down upon the pallid marble with her and kissing me with pleasure. Swiftly the heat of my desire rekindled in a matter of moments and Roxanne sighed with happiness and anticipated pleasure. I now laid impatient hands again upon her. So powerful was my attack she seemed slightly frightened. I literally tore her gown from her body and feasted my eyes on the sight of a woman's naked body for the first time in my life. Her sighs echoed through the far reaches of the empty chamber, her moans were wild music to my ears. I bit her in the forgivable ways of lovers and she told me that it had been many months since a man had caressed her body with such mastery. What a glorious thing a woman's body is, I thought, as I slaked my thirst for knowledge of the female anatomy.
Then, at her fevered commands, I felt the ultimate thrill of our bodies seared together in union. It was too much for one of my hot nature to contain and once again my extreme youth raced ahead of my duty as a lover. But again it was a matter of mere moments until my lust was reborn. This time there was a veritable symphony of harmony and inter-play as I began to apply the techniques of love responsibility. Roxanne devoured me with kisses, her mouth was aflame with crazed passion-her restraints were cast aside with new and tumultuous crescendo. I was amazed at her versatile assaults and noted them well. I suppose I became a student of eros from that moment on, for I felt sure I had the most skilled instructress in the world." Haphaeston paused in his narration while one of the Vestal Virgins brought him a draught of cool water. Cybele listened with a growing sense of jealously and lust. She found herself hating Roxanne.
"That loose, immoral bitch," said Cybele. "What a dreadful thing to do to you!"
Haphaeston sighed wearily. "Yes, Cybele," he said, "but I have not gotten to the cruel part yet. For Roxanne, once she had tasted of my passion, would not let me go, nor in any way give me any freedom. She was at me day and night and kept me under guard in her chambers. When I expressed the wish to have a few hours of freedom she upbraided me bitterly, saying that her love was unsatisfactory and that I was the greatest lover in the world.
"One night, however, I did slip out and enjoyed the love of a slave girl I had noticed on previous occasions who lived in a hovel behind Roxanne's palatial quarters. When I returned in the morning Roxanne had me horse-whipped. I was lacerated and torn over every square inch of my body. All the while the beating was in progress, Roxanne looked at me and jeered. She directed the guard to flail me about the loins in particular and scolded that the next dereliction on my part would find her punishment even more drastic that she would emasculate me. Naturally, when I heard this threat, I decided to flee somehow. I achieved this by getting her drunk one night and bribing a guard. I was free of Roxanne but penniless and masterless in a cruel, uncivilized world a wayward slave, fair game for any passing scoundrel to claim or to return for the reward that Roxanne surely would offer.
"I fell in with some Greek merchants, crafty fellows who sought to discover my identity and to inflict the particular kind of strange acts upon me that have become so characteristic of that nation. When they found out I was, indeed, an escaped slave they subjected me to unspeakable acts which have left many scars upon me. But I was forced to comply, fearing they would return me to Roxanne otherwise. Finally, I made my escape from these evil creatures, becoming a sailor on an Egyptian bark by falsifying my name and birth place. I sailed to Alexandria and there my education in eroticism became complete.
"And she, who lies now so humble and strangely loving at your feet, can tell you more of my life in Alexandria." Haphaeston looked accusingly at Statira, still clinging to Cybele's feet, kissing them with adoration. All the Virgins directed their gazes at the dark-skinned woman who now seemed oblivious to all but her blonde conqueror.
"Speak, Statira," commanded Cybele, tearing herself loose from the latter's embrace with disdain.
"Ah, lovely goddess," moaned Statira dreamily, clutching after Cybele's gown, "Haphaeston was known to me in Egypt. I did him no harm. It was I who saved him again from life as a galley slave. In those distant days I was yet a woman who loved only men. Haphaeston was the most appealing man I had ever seen. His beauty now is apparent to all of you. How could I be blamed for wanting him exclusively for myself? I bought him. I dressed him. I clothed him in the richest fabrics and saw that he was anointed and properly introduced to meaningful people in Cleopatra's court. What I did for Haphaeston, I did for love. Sisters, do not blame me. And dear Cybele, most of all, do not exclude me from your love."
The Virgins looked to Haphaeston and he looked at Cybele as if for a sign to proceed.
"Haphaeston, this unfortunate creature of twisted love has much logic in her argument. Is it indeed true that she loved you and cared for you?"
"Love wears many faces," said Haphaeston, "and Statira wears them all. She cared for me, but only as a tool to worm herself into the affections of Cleopatra. Her love was a mixture of passion and opportunity. For it was known by Statiira that the crazed queen of the Egyptians cared only for men she could torture. The more handsome and masculine the male, the more she brandished her cruel whips and laid lashes across his back. In this way was I led to the infamous and beauteous queen, bound securely while she sat upon her throne gazing dreamily out across the muddy Nile. Then with a dart she was at me, terrible metal-tipped leather thongs strapped to each wrist. She attacked me like a maniac and the louder and more piteous my cries, the more she whipped. Statira always stood by, smiling with words of encouragement. When Cleopatra tired, it was she who wiped her brow and offered her refreshing potions. Thus replenished, she fell at me again with her whips until merciful darkness crossed my eyes and I sank back in faint. Then, and only then, was I carted away, back into the dungeon where I was kept by this cruel woman. This practice continued for many weeks, months. Always when the wicked queen had gone too far and the flesh hung in shreds upon my body, I was given special care by Cleopatra's own medical men. Poultices were applied to my lacerations and I was, so to speak, made well again for new punishment. That was the loving care I received from Statira."
"Oh, odious, fiendish woman!" cried Cybele, recoiling in horror from Statira. The Virgins echoed their disgust in a chorus and Haphaeston, his tale concluded, hung his head in bitter meditation of his travail.
"And when Statira was banished by Cleopatra and blasphemously made a Vestal Virgin to keep her from returning again to Egypt, she smuggled you here to once again act as her bait for the new kind of love she had progressed to," commented Cybele. "Virgins," she commanded, "go to your quarters. And drag this wretched Statira with you. I would be alone with Haphaeston. I would make his memories well and stroke his abused body."
Forthwith, the chamber was cleared; only Cybele and Haphaeston remained.
The virile Macedonian went to his labor with energy and skill. His searching, knowing hands moved dexterously to their fair targets and Cybele felt the wild thrill she first experienced when he had taken her maidenhead.
"How is it," she panted in the surging repose that followed her shattering satisfaction, "that I find love better and better?"
Haphaeston smiled wearily. "I do not wish to belittle your charms, love, but amour for me is a waning pleasure. It is as though the horrid tribulations of my early days and the tortures I have suffered have made me into a thing as strange as Statira. The thrill is gone. Perhaps too often have I rifled the charms of fair ladies. It seems there ought to be something more in it for me. Oh, fair creature, do not hate me, pity me!"
"What is it, lover, that you would do or have me do? As you know, it is only a matter of days that I, myself, have known amorous thrill. There are many ways to the bliss, and I would learn them. For, it is properly said, a woman must please her husband in any way that wile and artifice may furnish."
"Alas," replied Haphaeston, "what I would do is something I could never accomplish with you. Yet you, most of all, are the kind of woman a queen in her own way that I desire for my experiment." Haphaeston pressed his mouth over Cybele's breasts. He stroked her thighs and drew his hands slowly over her mouth, an old Macedonian gesture of affection. Cybele felt her body kindle again. This man made every move count each act was pinpointed toward mutually attained ecstasy. Sensuousness sat upon his face and played in his movements. She shivered, her young body torn between wanton desire and weariness from her recent writhing.
"Dear Haphaeston, do not play with me so. I cannot stand more. Surely, you must have some new objective, some new exotic joy in mind toward which you are leading my poor excited being."
Haphaeston looked deeply into her eyes. Cybele was astonished to notice a great transformation in the composition of his strong, handsome face. It had always seemed strongly tender, but now 'a cruelty grew about the large mouth and an almost hungry, evil aspect clouded his features.
"Remember," he said, "what I told you about Cleopatra-how she whipped me?"
"Yes," replied Cybele. Then she smiled. "Poor boy," she murmured, again dissolved in sympathy. "Have you grown addicted to the practice? Ah, yes, you must have been twisted into one of those tragic persons who derive pleasure from pain. Poor Haphaeston." And she stroked her lover again with her jeweled hands, fondling him.
But Haphaeston brushed aside her hands. He seized her roughly.
"Fool," he whispered hoarsely, "it is the other way around. See, it is vengeance I seek. You are a queen. I must beat you as Cleopatra whipped me. Then, and only then, will Eros and justice be served." He twisted her arms behind her, pinning her back on the couch. He searched her eyes, her visage for some indication she would comply. His own passion mounting all the while, he had no thought of how strong he was and how painful his attentions were. Cybele recoiled in anger and fright.
"Idiot," she managed to say as Haphaeston sought to cover her mouth with inflammatory kisses, "I'll have none of that perversity!"
Haphaeston leaped to his feet, snarling and nasty.
"Then, queen of the Vestal Virgins, you shall never feel the power of my love again." He stood over the reclining blonde, his naked body quivering with frustration and anger.
Cybele laughed. She regarded the impudent slave with combined amusement and disgust.
"I am beginning to learn," she said, "that men are more vain than women. Old Brutus and now you. The old man wished to create the image of virility, and now you, who are virile, threaten me with desertion because your pride has been hurt, because you could not heat up my lust enough to accept your outrageous proposition."
Haphaeston folded his arms, staring into the distance-like some quasi-oriental deity, inscrutably contemplating an abstract fate. Again Cybele laughed at him.
"Weird one," she said finally, "get back to your cell. When the day comes that I have to take a lashing to enjoy your favors, then you will be queen of the Vestal Virgins."
She clapped her hands for the ever-waiting servants, ordering the incarceration of the taker-of-her-maidenhead. It was all over between them. Cybele knew she could never be interested in this man again. Why should she? All Rome, and all Roman nobility was at her feet eager for her bed and arms. Why waste time on a slave? Her thoughts reached again to the great Caesar, and her resolve was to have his body.
12
Caesar's return to Rome had been stormy. Facing the armies of his rival, Pompey, he had encountered several defeats on Roman soil before finally crushing his foe at Pharsalus. thus, with his arch political adversary defeated and fled to Egypt, Caesar made a triumphant return to the City of the Seven Hills-Rome. He was master of all he surveyed, the Senate bowed to him, the people loved him. Caesar saw to that with carnivals and parades and the expenditure of much of his personal fortune for circuses and bread for the famished lower classes. He was quickly elected Roman counsul, probably the highest post in Republican Rome, yet the major plum, the thing he desired most, the throne itself-to be Emperor of Rome-eluded him. The time was not right. He must wait. In the meantime he would launch an expedition to Egypt to pursue Pompey and develop his own stature to such an extent that he could return to Rome and be crowned by the Senate itself.
Old Brutus Rex and his nephew, Brutus the Younger, were aware of Caesar's intent and devised every tactic to forestall him. In one sense they wanted him out of Rome, in another they wished him to remain. Caesar was adamant, his wishes all directed toward the Egyptian adventure, but the Brutus' tried to beguile him to stay in Rome. They had evolved a plan to disgrace the popular hero, thereby ruining his political career forever and preserving the power of the Senate.
Central figure in their scheme was Cybele, the queen of the Vestal Virgins. Although it was, as we have seen, common practice for the Virgins to steal away and lie with Romans of all political shapes, still the public-at-large held the Virgins in the highest esteem. They were the Keepers of the Sacred Flame and the masses firmly believed in their purity and virginity. If the Brutus maneuver worked, if they could involve Caesar in a scandal with a Vestal Virgin and reveal it to the citizens of Rome, then they might, forever, crush the budding power of the ambitious general and politician.
Old Brutus convened a caucus of Senators at his villa and outlined his program for the vilification of Caesar.
"I tell you, colleagues, I have the perfect set up for discrediting this man. I have, in my confidence, the queen of the Vestal Virgins. She has often expressed her longing for Caesar. It's a kind of puppy love attachment. Caesar captured her as his personal slave and she feels some kind of slavish adoration for him. She keeps after me to introduce her. What I thought was we could get them together in bed and have them discovered by our police. Then we could either blackmail Caesar into submission to the desires of the Senate, or expose him, thereby assuring his political ruin." The Senators agreed it was a diabolically clever idea and well worth the effort.
"Is this Cybele the blonde slave girl you tried so unsuccessfully to deflower when she first arrived in Rome?" asked one Senator.
Old Brutus blushed. "Yes," he admitted. "But since then I have had this choice morsel many times. I have consummated my love many times with her and she has pronounced me Rome's greatest love master. Oh, you may snicker now. But I will have her tell you this, I will have her confirm it to all of you some night when we have a saturnalia at my place."
"Yes, yes," mocked another Senator, "but first we must disgrace Caesar. Can we arrange this meeting soon-the sooner the better, for it is said that Caesar will sail shortly for Egypt. Once there, our chances of destroying his popular image to the masses is ended."
"True," agreed the idealistic Brutus the Younger. "Senators, I tell you I have not stomach for those sly blackmail deviations. There is only one way to handle a tyrant-a despoiler of our Republican way of government. We must assassinate him."
"That is strange talk coming from you," observed another Senator. "It is said that Caesar loves you well. That he trusts you and thinks you are a very bright young man, indeed." Brutus blushed.
"Caesar loves me, as you say. And my respect for him as a Roman general is genuine and sincere. But I must put aside my personal feelings in this time when the very sacred political institutions of Rome are at stake!"
The Senators applauded. "Yes, we will stab him to death in the Senate," they cried.
"Caution, patience," advised old Brutus. "We may yet deflower his ambition with a Virgin." They worked out details for the meeting of Cybele and Caesar then, cunningly taking into consideration such well-known factors as Caesar's growing impotence and indifference toward women.
"We will, through the ministrations of his servants, manage to fortify him with secret brews in his wine and will stage, in advance of Cybele, an orgy of unsurpassed excess as further stimulus to his waning desire. Then we will lead him to Cybele in a place where discovery will be easy," said the crafty old Brutus.
Forthwith, this plan was put into action. Caesar's servants were bribed and the love potions injected into his drinks at home. Careful notes were taken of Caesar's conversations for several days following these potions, and Senators who consorted with him deliberately engaged him in salacious talk, hoping thus to arouse his blood and to make him agreeable for erotic caper. With satisfaction old Brutus received reports from his Senatorial henchmen during the next several days. Caesar was attentive to their lewd talk and he spoke wonderingly of new interest in the female body-an interest he said he thought he had shed a long time ago.
"It is as though I were newly wed to Calpurnia again," he remarked in the Senate halls one day. "I cannot explain this reborn passion. I have been at my wife so often that she tires and fends me off with pretenses of the woman's illness. I would seduce my slaves but, fearing public exposure as a man whose blood runs hotter than his devotion to service of Romans, I have abstained. Yet, I long for the knowledgeable arms of a high class prostitute-or a shapely maid whose silence I can rely upon."
Hearing this old Brutus urged his nephew, Brutus the Younger, to act.
"Invite him to a party here," he said. "Caesar trusts you as his own son. If you reassure him that no scandal will result, he'll come. The man is turgid with" desire. Those love potions must be strong, indeed. Perhaps I should get the formula. Mine are not working so well these days."
This was done; Caesar, unsuspecting the trap into which he was being led, readily agreed to attend the orgy at old Brutus' home. Immediately, a chariot was dispatched to the halls of the Vestal Virgins and Cybele was transported in secrecy to the appointed place. She, of course, was ecstatic at the opportunity to meet her legendary lover at last.
Arriving in breathless anticipation at old Brutus' villa, she importuned him for the sight and touch of Caesar.
"Patience, child," counseled old Brutus. "Tonight you shall, at last, fold in your arms the greatest Roman of them all."
Cybele was hustled off into a convenient ante chamber adjacent to but separate from the scene of the impending orgy.
Brutus had arranged an excellent program, encompassing acts and transgressions beyond the boundary lines of mere ordinary orgies. True, there were the usual Nubian giants and whimpering little slave girls, the snake dancers. This was standard fare, seen often by Caesar and consequently not calculated to boost his passion to the ultimate. While all this was going on, Caesar ate and discussed politics with his table companions, glancing now and then at the show.
Finally came the tableau, the scene enacted by players which depicted the exact circumstances of Caesar's conquest in Gaul and his happening upon the scene of the raping soldiers at work upon the townswomen and about to attack this beauteous, note of the performance. The verisimilitude of the natural setting, the vigor of the actor-soldiers as they young blonde Nordic goddess. Caesar sat up and took real-life acted out their conquests, the half real, half contrived screams of the ravished girls on stage, sent vivid memories through his brain. Yes, yes, he thought, this is the rape of that town in the country of the Franks. He recalled the blonde girl he had saved from molestation and had shipped to Rome as a virgin to bring a higher price. It was the same blonde girl lie had recalled inexplicably many times in his lonely nights on the field while brooding in his tent.
He had, indeed, made inquiries of the girl's fate many times since his triumphant return to Rome, but none seemed able to provide the information. He scrutinized the features and the nude body of the girl upon the stage who played the part. Clearly it was not she because he could easily discern her hair had been dyed from black to blonde to better create the illusion. Also, as he watched the actor-soldier upon the stage attacking her, he could tell this woman was no novice, nor adverse to throwing herself wholeheartedly into the role. Nevertheless, the tableau stirred his lust and his longing for Cybele-although, of course, he had no idea that was the name she now bore.
Turning to a Senator seated next to him he mentioned his longing for the girl.
"That woman up there has nothing of the winsome charm and delicacy of the blonde girl I sold into Roman slavery," he said. "Would that I could see her tonight. All this circus upon the stage does not stir me one iota as much as a mere touch of her hand would." The Senator took this information at once to old Brutus. That worthy conspirator smiled greedily. The trap was about to be sprung. He signaled for the sounding of a mighty trumpet its brassy tone resounding through the luxurious chamber caused all to fall silent, the actors freezing in their tracks or even in active embrace upon the stage. An expectant hush settled and even the flaring torches were diminished cleverly with dampers.
Then old Brutus rose to his sandaled feet, and made a little speech, hypocritical, clever.
"O mighty Caesar! Esteemed guest and benefactor of all Rome! The Senators gathered here tonight are humble and honored in your presence. You have given Rome much. For this we are all more than grateful. We are deeply and forever in your debt Therefore, we have felt the heavy obligation of giving you something in return, something which, perhaps, is dearer to you than fame and wealth which you already possess to such an extravagant degree. We have therefore studied Caesar and have tried through forgivable artifice to discover what present might delight him most. Noble Caesar, we have found that present." Brutus paused for dramatic effect. Caesar, with a soldier's instinct for ambush, sat stiffly at attention his practiced eyes scanning the room for potential danger. He was under no illusions about the Senators. They would assassinate him the moment they thought they could safely do it. He did not believe this was that time, but perhaps some more daring and foolhardy members, in their haste to dispose of him, might toss diplomacy to the winds. But the Senators all sat quietly, their attention riveted upon old Brutus. Caesar relaxed a little and listened as that worthy ancient continued his post-orgy speech.
"It remains now for you, O great Caesar, to accept the surprise present. Would you please leave your seat and step up upon the stage?"
All the while old Brutus uttered his flatteries, the stage itself had been thrown into semi-darkness and the men and women actors cleared from its boards. Now, it appeared quite deserted in the dusk. Caesar, who had taken the precaution of strapping a dagger beneath his toga, strode warily toward the stage as old Brutus asked, trying to guess what awaited him there. As he picked his way among the shadows he heard old Brutus calling to him softly:
"There, Caesar, stop there. Your present lies at your feet."
A torch flared up fitfully for an instant and Caesar saw the outlines of a starkly white-skinned girl's body beneath him. Her waist-long blonde hair shimmered bewitchingly in the faint, sulphurous light. Her lips were parted and her lovely blue eyes dilated with joy and expectancy. It was the haunting blonde girl slave from that long ago day in Gaul, the siren of his secret desire. He reached down and caught the girl's upraised hand, drawing her to her feet, shielding her from the others with his toga. A roar of applause burst from the assembled Senators and the torches were relit until the whole scene danced with light.
"Child," said Caesar simply but deeply smitten, "what do they call you?"
"Cybele, dear Caesar."
She kissed the conqueror respectfully on the cheek and pressed her body surrenderingly to his. At this old Brutus arose again.
"May Cupid reward you both," he shouted. "Noble guest, we will withdraw now that you may savor your present. And remember, as thou lovest this maiden, so is the love of the Senate for you." The Senators filed swiftly from the chamber and spun gold drapes were pulled across the stage which now became the enclosure of Cybele and Caesar and gave them privacy for their union.
13
Caesar, bold in battle, had always been somewhat shy as a lover. Now he made sure he was alone with Cybele before he took her. Satisfied no eyes were watching, he pulled Cybele to the couch, lying down, the naked girl sitting beside him, gazing adoringly into his eyes.
"You are growing bald," she said laughing, her fingers playing through his thinning locks.
"It was in the service of my country," he said with a smile. "Tell me, Cybele, how is it that you are here?"
While Cybele narrated the involved story, Caesar kissed her breasts which were screened by the food of golden hair, and felt her fine, warm body. Cybele told of the trying days on the march back to Rome, of her ordeal on the auction block and how old Brutus had outbid the field and made her his. Then she told Caesar of his, ineffectual attempts to ruin her maidenhead and of the many successive attempts to take her virginity that were made by the other Senators.
"And do you still have it, child?" inquired Caesar who had by now pulled Cybele down onto the couch and was half lying over her, gazing at her, kissing her as she spoke.
"Oh, master," said Cybele, "your mouth upon my body excites my flesh and dulls my mind. If you would have me continue, please do not do those coaxing probes with your tongue lest I lose my own." They laughed, Caesar promising not to bring about any further passionate distress so that she might finish her story.
Then in answering his question, Cybele looked sad for a moment. "As for my virginity, alas, no longer do I have it. It was fun losing it, but now I regret it. For it is to you I would surrender it, Caesar-it is to you and you alone that I always dreamed of giving myself."
"I will probe no further with my speech," said Caesar suddenly. "As a commander I have taken a hundred cities. Probably someone else had taken them at one time or another long before I did. Yet each time it was a fresh glory for me, a heady sensation. So it is with women. Now, as a soldier who understands best the importance of all out attack, I will not wait another minute. I must take you now."
Showering a fusillade of kisses on the blonde girl he tightened his hold on her flesh. Cybele spoke soft words of love and closed her eyes in a kind of sweet, secure joy of surrender. Her master was enjoying himself. Caesar, transformed again as if in the field watching for a way to deliver the final blow to an enemy, studied her face, listening intently to the impassioned tones of her voice as she murmured her happiness. It was as though he were on the field of battle with the triumphant Roman sword smiting to the left and the right, thrusting its way to victory. The rhapsodic tangle of their bodies strained the very construction of the couch that bore them.
Then, just short of another Roman victory, a violent sound of ripping and shouting nipped the peaking passion of the lovers at the very brink of satisfaction.
"Ah ha!" cried the joyous old Brutus who led the intruding delegation. "We have you, Caesar, at last. You have gone too far. You have been caught in-flagrante with the queen of the Vestal Virgins!"
"Queen of the Vestal Virgins!" cried the startled, unbelieving Caesar.
"Yes, yes, yes," gloated old Brutus, "and you know what kind of a scandal that would be if the public at large ever found out, don't you Caesar? It wouldn't look good for a consul to debase the sacred institutions of Roman faith, would it?"
Cybele, her hand covering her mouth in horror of the predicament she had plunged her idol into, reached pleadingly after Caesar as he drew away from her.
"And," continued the exultant Brutus, "we have more than fifty Roman Senators here as witness. We've the votes to make a public indictment stick. Then, noble Roman, you will be completely at our mercy. What say you to that?"
Caesar surveyed the circling throng of conspirators with vast contempt. Then he slowly turned his gaze on the naked Cybele, still lying upon the touseled couch. The look in his face turned to one of puzzled sorrow.
"Et tu, Cybele," he said haltingly.
"Dear Caesar, dear lover-my only love, I swear by all the Gods of the Norse and the Franks that I knew nothing of this plot. I am used as a stupid tool by these evil men."
Caesar searched her face. Then, an expression of relief on his features, he replied with a slow nod.
"You tell the truth," he said simply. He turned to the Senators. "It is, doubtless, your intention to use this girl as a witness against me. After that, I know the technique well. A suit of iron armor for her and mortar ballast to case the body, the corpse to lodge then at the bottom of the Tiber. Let me tell you this. If one strand of her yellow hair,is touched, I will call my legions to revolt. You forget, the soldiers of Rome are loyal to me-not the Senate. You forget also, that as consul of Rome, I command the city guard. It lies within my power to place even a Senator under arrest"
"There is no need for violence," soothed old Brutus. "We wish only to let you know that if you press us too hard with your ambition for a crown that we will blackmail you with this incident."
"Fear not," said Cybele, now arising and confronting the accusers with dignity, "I will never testify against you, Caesar." She haughtily swept the venal group with her eyes.
"Spoken like a Roman," said Caesar approvingly. "However, child, these beasts have sordid ways of making even the bravest talk. The tortures they would subject you to pass belief. No, child, it will never come to that. You will not have to testify."
"None need testify," said Brutus the Younger, stepping from die ranks of the Senators, "Caesar, if you renounce any ambition to become Emperor."
"How can I renounce that which I do not have?" asked Caesar enigmatically. "Tomorrow dear Brutus, I will sail for Egypt. Does that seem I possess these ambitions?" He clasped the sincere young man to his breast. "I love thee well," he said. "Most of all, why should you fear me?" , Young Brutus grew red in the face and hung his head. Then Caesar said: "I will take Cybele with me to Egypt. I dare not leave her here at the tender mercies of depraved Rome." Several Senators grumbled their disapproval and seemed on the point of disputing Caesar's departure.
"Fools," admonished the great commander, "did you think I would come here unprepared. This house is right now surrounded by my soldiers. One word from me and you will all be disemboweled. Now, pleast stand aside and let me pass with Cybele."
Caesar and Cybele walked untouched through the august crowd of Senators to his waiting chariot. Together they drove off in the night. Thus did Cybele find herself on the morrow aboard an oared trireme, bound for Alexandria and new adventure in the depraved court of Cleopatra.
14
Caesar shipped Cybele ahead by separate vessel for political reasons not wishing to have himself identified with licentious behavior before his troops. Cybele found the sea an exhilarating experience after her many days in the dimly lit halls of the Vestal Virgins. She felt the movements of the ship and the wonderful breezes that blew warmly and mysteriously from the African continent and succumbed to an indolent relaxation. Looking over the side from her silken tent quarters on the main deck she was fascinated by the rhythmic sweep of the oars manned by hundreds of slaves below decks. Approaching a sergeant, she requested permission to visit the section where the slaves, in manacles, propelled the oars.
"Lady," replied the sergeant, "it is no place for you.
The stench is murderous, the sight piteous." But Cybele insisted and the sergeant, knowing her to be a favorite of Caesar, reluctantly consented. Descending the ship's ladder, Cybele found herself in the' murky darkness. The heat was sweltering and she cupped a scented veil across her nostrils to ease the odor. On both sides the seated, nude slaves bent to their never-ending labors against the time-beat of the galley master. This worthy sat at a raised table which was resonated to convey the sound of his wooden mallets. He held one in each hand, striking the table top to project the rowing rhythm. The vessel moved to the tempo of his beat. Up and down the rows along a center walkway, overseers stalked, lashing the gallery wretches when they thought they were not bending their backs with a will. Cybele had been provided by a secret guard of Roman troops who stood with their swords drawn.
"Why must you attend me," asked the puzzled Cybele. "Those slaves are chained."
"As, yes," replied the sergeant, "but these dogs have not laid eyes on a woman for years. The sight of you might drive them mad with lust."
This was indeed the case. The grimy wretches, peering over their oars, soon discerned the beauteous blonde and agonized cries of suppressed desire welled up in their throats. They dropped the smoothly worn timber shafts from her hands and reached supplicatingly toward Cybele, as starving unfortunates clutch for bread. The overseers ran swiftly down the aisle, hacking and beating all to no avail. The stem beat man picked up the tempo but the galley slaves rebelled. Lashes and profanity could not avail the collective lust of their pent up glands ignored threats and pain. Some actually drooled in feverish heat, erotically transported, oblivious to all but the tantalizing vision before them. Cybele recoiled, but felt stirred in a peculiar way. The mere presence of such a massive desire, all directed toward one goal herself made her at once sympathetic and vaguely aroused sexually. In her heart she felt sympathy combined with erotic power. An odd presentiment came over her that if she were left alone, she would feel it her duty to absorb the chaotic, unrequited love of all these miserable males.
Meanwhile, the ship had come to a halt. It lay wallowing in the swells, all headway lost. At this the beat-man arose from his table, a veritable giant of a man, untutored, illiterate and nearly speechless.
He was conscious of only one goal in life to keep the vessel underway he made himself understood in the only way he knew how. Stepping brusquely between Cybele's Roman guards he picked her up bodily, his mighty hands squeezing her breasts to the size of small fruit, and lifted her up the ladder, propelling her finally with an extended hand on her bare buttocks. It happened so fast the guards were taken by surprise. They drew their swords and would have cut the giant to pieces but Cybele quickly re-descended the ladder and forbade blood-spilling.
"I forgive this imbecile," she said, her breasts still aching from the mighty squeeze he had given them, her buttocks still smarting from the pinching grasp he had administered. "Do not harm him," she said. Then she left with her guard, back up to her silken quarters on the main deck to disrobe and examine her body to see if the brute had marked her in any way. She had never been handled with such forceful mastery in her life, and, whether it was this, or merely the ennui of a luxurious sea voyage, she felt strongly attracted to her rude handler. She hated to admit it to herself, feeling that she was succumbing to perverse Roman vices, but she desired this man's body.
She resolved on a daring plan both to achieve pleasure and to gain redress. She would slip below decks again without a guard and taunt this beast who could not put down his mallets and give up the beat.
That night she slipped away from her quarters undetected, stealthily negotiating the ladder. There in the dark night sat the giant figure of the brute. He was stonily executing the inexorable tempo-first one mallet, then the other. The galley slaves were swallowed in darkness, they could not see, they could only hear. Cybele shrugged out of her gown, spun around in front of the giant, nude. She wiggled her hips and shaped her breasts, then danced like a pagan goddess. The giant stared gloomily into the distance-as if she were not there. She sank to the deck and wriggled suggestively, opening her mouth, her red lips shaping long kisses. Still the brute was faithful to his dutiful obsession. Then she drew very close to him it was a mistake. One mighty arm shot out and crushed her to his lap, squeezing her in a vise formed by lust powerful, naked legs. The entire act' had consumed a second-not enough time to interfere with the beat, which he resumed with both hands at once. Cybele had a feeling of being overpowered and helpless. Never had she experienced such overwhelming mastery. The giant would not talk, and for many minutes he sat bolt upright, Cybele captive between his legs, while he pounded his beat.
Cybele fell under the improbable hypnotic spell of the rhythm. She touched her finger tips to his lips, pushing aside his matted beard. She gently stroked his brow and pressed her hands against the bulging biceps that had been developed over 20 years of servitude. She was conscious of his growing passion, she felt it-a hardening, a quickening of his breath. He was fighting a stupid, slavish devotion to duty, the remnants of his manhood struggling through years of mute suppression for assertion once more. He trembled in every fiber and Cybele felt a small sense of triumph when she heard the beat quicken. As she fondled him, she felt his grip relax-he moved his legs and freed her. Cybele did not understand her liberty, but just as quickly as he had grabbed her at first, he now executed another maneuver. Cybele found herself thrown back across the sounding table. It was like a dream. On each side of her head the mallet swished down with a dull crack while the man fused duty and love in a single act. Faster and faster beat the mallets as the giant's body rhythm over Cybele became synchronized with the mallets. The ship speeded up inexplicably in the night, the slaves in the darkness groaned as the tempo grew savagely fast. Then the giant swung a final savage blow which shattered the mallet completely. Cybele was transported with ecstasy at the same moment. The man settled back implacably on his chair, sustaining the tempo with one hammer, beating it twice as fast.
Cybele slid from the table, put on her gown and shot one last look at the strange man. He was, as before, sitting stone faced, hammering away, no trace of recognition or pleasure in his face. She shook her head, wearily returning to her quarters where she bathed and washed her body. It had been a novel thrill, but she wondered at herself. It was kind of a i degenerate act and she fell asleep wondering if she had gone too far. Was sex really becoming a fetish with her? Did she have to have it regardless of shame and danger involved? Was this being fair Caesar? Troubled, she fell asleep, resolved never again to yield to such nasty temptations. The next day the ship hove into Alexandria, the sin capital of a very wicked world-and a most un--likely place for Cybele or anyone, for that matter, to decide to remain celibate.
15
Escorted by a special guard Cybele was taken to the palace Caesar was to occupy when he came. The palace had been made available by Cleopatra of whom Cybele had heard so much. The Nile flowed beneath its windows and the air was heavy with the perfume of rich tropical plants blooming in the lush gardens that surrounded the establishment. Cybele was immediately shadowed by numerous dark-haired attendant girls who combed their locks straight down with a single flaring curl at the bottom.
"Why do they all wear their coiffure in the same manner?" asked Cybele.
"Because that is the style of Cleopatra," explained one of her attendants. "It is not wise to appear different. She prides herself on setting the style and woe to the non-conformist.
"What does she do to them?"
"She throws them into a pit of crocodiles," replied the attendant. "Cleopatra is very cruel. She is also very kind. She is most kind right now because the love of her life is about to come."
"Who may that be?" asked Cybele.
"None other than the great Caesar himself."
Cybele frowned. It would not do for Cleopatra to think she had a rival. Yet she had no intention of giving up the great Roman either.
"Does Cleopatra know that I am here?" asked Cybele.
"Indeed she does. She knows everything about you."
"How?" asked Cybele.
"Hush, child. It would not be wise to pry too deeply."
Cybele, however, .quickly surmised that nearly all her attendants were spies for the Egyptian queen. They were polite and considerate, but she could not help feeling they were carrying tales to their jealous sovereign. It was not many days before boredom replaced her suspicion, since nothing happened and time was hanging heavy on her hands. At night she dreamed of Haphaeston and his great body. She often awoke from some sweet dream in which he had her supine on the couch, pouring out his love to her-but always the dreams would end just too soon, leaving her gasping and pale, eager for the touch of a man's hands and body. Once she awoke from such a dream and uttered a sad cry of anguish. At once, attendants rushed to her side, inquiringly.
"It is nothing," said Cybele. "I dreamed Caesar was in my bed and lavishing his love upon me, when, suddenly, I awoke and felt only the cold bed." The attendants placed cool poultices upon her breasts.
"That will draw the passion out," they said.
"Alas," replied Cybele, "my breasts ache from want of use, of handling. I must meet a youth." She sank back in restless repose while her servants fanned her with black plumed peacock feathers. But news of Cybele's hot frustration was not long in reaching the Nile queen.
Imperious, spoiled, vain, she perched brooding upon her throne-lithe, feline and stunning, her perfect skin bleached a pure white through the application of magic Nile dyes, her figure delicate but ample in thigh and breast. She pouted like a child and murdered like a misanthrope. She would have poisoned Cybele at once except that Caesar had written her, warning her of the consequences should harm befall the blonde barbarian. Instead, she plotted other ways of ridding Egypt of this curious visitor from the ends of the earth. , When she heard of Cybele's heat she smiled. It was the first sign of life in her frozen features in many days and her court was delighted.
"I will send a youth to her bed and he shall possess her gross body," Cleopatra said, her voice tiny and girlish, its tone not unpleasant but infused with a trance-like quality. Her chief courtier, the High Minister Ikon, bent close to her lips to hear each word clearly.
"My plan is this, foul Ikon. How I loathe you! There is not enough scented perfume in all the valley of the Nile to make you clean. Do not come close to me."
"Yes, yes," agreed the cringing official, "I am foul, I am dirty. There is not a scent in Egypt that will make me clean. But what, my Queen, is your plan? Tell me, that I may demonstrate my love for you."
Cleopatra continued as though she had never noticed Ikon.
"Oh goddesses of my mother, deity of the Nile! Why have you given your daughter only this one girl body to know love? I feel cheated. I tire of simple love, I tire of youths who pant and sicken in their surfeit, fainting when I scream for more-more-more, more of what a puny man can offer. Is there no other thrill left?"
A chant of woe and commiseration arose from the prostrate court followers. "I regret my inadequacy," said Cleopatra with startling abruptness. "I have all. I have every man in Egypt and half the world. But I cannot have enough. Why? Because I am only one woman. A queen like me and I am like every other mortal, chained to the anemic rewards of a single, solitary body."
"The fairest body in all the world," reassured Ikon, worming his way again close to the throne. "What worming you have Ikon do? Kill that bitch from the North that Caesar has deposited on the banks of the Nile?"
"Nay, loyal Ikon. That is not the way to Caesar's heart." She mused for a long moment. "But," she added, "Cybele must die. And it must seem that her dying was none of Cleopatra's work. Therefore, I have devised a master plan. It was an inspiration that came to me last night as I prayed to Isis. Fetch me the youth Rhodes." This was performed as if by magic. The young man was thrust into the throne room where he instantly threw himself on his belly before the queen.
"Arise, Rhodes. Fear not. You will not have to make love to Cleopatra. You fear for your life. You know that Cleopatra slays every male dog who touches her after she has taken him as a lover. Well, such is not your mission. Stand up. Let me look at you."
Guards promptly dragged the youth to his feet and revealed him to their queen. Cleopatra gazed with absent-minded concentration, a sad, enigmatic Sphinx smile twitching her lips.
"They tell me this Cybele has heat. She will find dalliance with you a medicine and a comfort." With a slight wave of her hand she dismissed the cringing youth and resumed her inscrutable expression while the High Minister Ikon pressed forward again for a sign, a word of command from her.
"Ikon, I learned a trick of love-death once. An ancient witch from India taught me. I have the potion. Rhodes will administer it. It is a diabolical vengeance I shall have on this girl with the long blonde hair. Upon the eager body of Rhodes, the invisible bitter juices of a lethal berry will be poured. It will then be transmitted by him to this Cybele person as he holds her close. Both will perish, locked in a last embrace. There to remain and in damning circumstances for Caesar to see so that he might not blame me, nor hold me responsible. Lovers have often thus died in their frantic excesses. Caesar will come, he will see, he will believe. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," said Ikon, "perfectly, O Goddess queen."
It was then swiftly arranged, the killer berry juice was pressed and daubed on Rhodes, needing only the warmth of another close-pressed body to become lethally active. The unsuspecting youth willingly complied with the administrations, not knowing its purpose or Cleopatra's intent. He was then driven to Cybele's quarters and presented to her as a gift from Cleopatra.
Cybele was astounded and pleased. That Rhodes was another Haphaeston she could tell at a glance. Until Caesar arrived he would help her pass the time nicely. Quickly dismissing her attendants she drew the hapless youth into her boudoir, eager for his attentions.
"Your name is Rhodes and they tell me you are an Egyptian. You are a personal slave from your queen. Do you know why you are here?"
"I can guess," replied the youth, still uncertain of his fate even though his duty was clear.
"Cleopatra made that apparent to you, did she?"
"No," answered Rhodes truthfully, "she merely dragged me before her, looked me over and then dismissed me. Her High Minister informed me that I was to make love to you. Nothing more. And, he added with a warm smile, "I do not think that is a hard thing to do. Never have I beheld such a paragon of beauty. Why, you are more beautiful than Cleopatra!" lave you ever lain with her?" inquired Cybele, anxious to have herself compared with the symbol of sexual perfection that had spread throughout the entire world.
"No," said Rhodes shuddering. "If I had I would not be here. She kills every man who takes her."
"Perhaps that is why she enjoys this legend" said Cybele thoughtfully. "It is very clever. She may actually be very bad in bed."
"None will ever know. At least none who will ever tell," said Rhodes.
"But she pines for Caesar. Certainly she cannot kill him after he has been with her."
"But Caesar will never tell," observed Rhodes thoughtfully.
"That is true. But why do you suppose she sent you to me? Certainly she has no concern for my well-being. After all, I am a rival."
"That stumps me too," answered Rhodes.
"What do you do in her court?"
"Very little except eat. You see, I am an official taster. I taste everything she will eat. If I do not die, the food is safe. Cleopatra will eat it."
Cybele, by now sophisticated in the devious ways of the corrupt world she found herself in, was quick to draw an analogy. She suspected the wicked queen somehow plotted her undoing in this youth. But just how she could not quite see.
"Tell me," she said, "before you came here did they give you any poison to some how work upon me?"
"Upon my honor, no," said Rhodes.
"Well then, did they do anything to you. Were you prepared for me in any special or unusual manner?"
"Only one. They bathed me and rubbed a juice or ointment where it was sure to be carried to you. Only I can see no sign of it now. So I assume that must be merely a stimulant lotion of some kind."
Cybele cried aloud in glee. 'That's it, my dear fellow," she cried. "I have read and studied of these slow and deadly poisons. Cleopatra must know them all. I daresay, dear youth, I should exercise caution. Someone should sample you before I do. As you try food for Cleopatra, so I will have someone try you before our union." She clapped her hands and ordered an attendant to fetch a kitchen maid.
"Pick the most attractive lass in the scullery. Let's give Rhodes a pleasant trial. He's a handsome youth and if he survives this experiment, then may he sample the body of a Nordic beauty."
Forthwith, a slave from the kitchen was produced. Cybele inspected her, asking Rhodes his opinion.
"She is not as fair as you," replied Rhodes, "but lovely." The little slave girl, meanwhile, stood trembling, fearful of displeasing anyone.
"You shall have my very own bed," commanded Cybele. "And while you make love, I shall study the waters of the Nile. The moon is full tonight. It is intoxicating to sit here and dream of Caesar."
She withdrew to a balcony while Rhodes carried the tiny slave girl bodily and greedily into Cybele's bed room. Cybele was amused and excited at the passionate cries and love sounds, the hot breathing she heard. Rhodes would be good, she thought. And then her nagging loneliness returned. If only Caesar would come. All would then be well. There would be no need to fear Cleopatra, nor to require the services of a Rhodes. Her reverie deepened and it was many minutes before she was aware of the silence that emanated from her bed room. She smiled. Probably the lovers were too weary to stir, she thought. Ah, well. That was good. She did not wish for Rhodes to exhaust himself. He was handsome and very virile. She would give them a few more minutes before interrupting. It would not do to permit them too long a period of recuperation lest Rhodes renew his assault and deplete his energy further. So Cybele again returned her gaze to the sluggish Nile and the shimmering moonlight reflected from it like a string of glittering fractured diamonds. With a start she recalled herself from her reverie. Still there was no sound from the bedroom.
Thinking they had enjoyed themselves quite enough, Cybele petulantly strode into the room. There, upon the bed, frozen in mutual embrace, were the rigid bodies of the lovers stiff in death. The nightmarish scheme of Cleopatra had worked well, but on the wrong partners.
Cybele uttered a cry of horror. She recalled in a flash the purpose of this test and, weak in the knees, gave thanks for her escape. Then, her resolute Nordic nature stiffened her character. If Cleopatra could play such vile games, so could she. She would match her wits with this kitten-tigress of the Nile. Her education in Rome would now be useful. She summoned her most trusted aide, a shriveled, devoted, elderly woman and with her aid, pulled the tragic lovers apart from their death embrace. Cybele commanded the aide to toss the body of the dead girl into the Nile. Then she lay upon the bed beside the dead Rhodes, with this advice to the elderly aide:
"I want you to spread the word to the other attendants now that I have been in the bedroom a long time with Rhodes and that you, yourself, can attest to the fact that he has possessed me. These paid spies of Cleopatra will soon come sneaking to see if the poison has worked. I will feign death and they will joyously and prematurely report my demise to Cleopatra. Then I will emerge, alive again."
Cybele knew the great effect this would have on the superstitious Egyptians. Her ability to withstand this touch of death would establish her as a demigoddess and win a measure of power and security for her that would intimidate even the haughty Cleopatra.
Thus it was that Cleopatra's espionage agents reported the facts and thus it was that on the following morning Cybele achieved macabre revenge on the queen when she appeared radiant and alive in public.
16
Cleopatra's frenzied feelings when she discovered the wily Nordic beauty had out-tricked her, were lost in the breathless excitement that gripped the city the next day. Caesar's galleys arrived at last and the vaunted Roman hero stepped ashore. Surprised, also, was Cybele who hurried to the wharf to greet her august lover.
Caesar leaped from the ship to embrace her, ordering a chariot which transported the couple to their palace.
"I shall not recount the history of my campaign here," said Caesar, unbuckling his armor. "Suffice it to say that my arch enemy, Ptolemy, is dead and all of Egypt is mine."
"Cleopatra awaits you here," teased Cybele, unwilling to tell him of her near unfaithful tryst the previous night which had ended so fatally for Rhodes and Cybele's substitute.
'That oversexed hellion can wait," replied Caesar. "I must first complete what we started in Rome when we were interrupted by old Brutus and those debauched Senators."
He took his sword and slit Cybele's gown from the neck line to the hem. "I have thirsted for you through these hot days at sea. Now I will quench my thirst," he said. He forced Cybele to the floor and sucked her lips as if they were ripened fruits; he pulled her blonde locks urgently and devoured her breasts, lingering long upon each nipple.
"Now I understand," sighed Cybele, "why you have conquered all."
Caesar's ears were stopped. It was not flattery he wanted. Forcing Cybele's arms back over her head, he pinned them down with one masterful hand, the other employed to feel her breasts and body, his lips and mouth busy in the headlong itinerary of love. His showering preliminary attentions drained Cybele of any trace of restraint.
"Please Caesar, free my arms and allow me to kiss you as you have kissed me, that I may have your flesh with the extensive ardor you have spent on me." This Caesar did while Cybele knew his body in the unrestrained way of kissing, reckless lovers. Then when she had gratified her whims she flung herself again at Caesar's side and lay whimpering, awaiting his final attack.
"Cybele, dear," moaned Caesar, "forgive me if I linger in my play. It is delicious dalliance that an aging man dotes upon. Seldom does such an exquisite woman come along; to culminate this too soon would be a desecration of Venus and the laws of love."
"Anything, anything, dear Caesar, only ravish me, ravish me, when your teasing has ended." Tears of desire and joy welled in her eyes.
"I have you so helpless, so sodden with the heat of your emotion that you radiate surrender, sublime, serene, compliant to my merest wish."
"I will do anything, anything only let me have the blunt force of your passion. I must have it soon or I will explode with voluptuous surges that course my breasts, my whole body. Take me now, please do not keep me waiting!"
Caesar settled over the panting woman, slowly savoring the moment of surrender, the fevered embraces of her trembling arms, the unceasing activity of her pleading hands. It was an activity that gripped the very essence of Caesar and melted away his control. As he had plunged into the wilds of Gaul and the province of Spain, mastering whatever opposition lay in his way, so too he now mastered Cybele and so too was he now rewarded with another victory.
Cybele screamed, bit and scratched trifling trinkets of ecstasy that bruised Caesar but fell harmlessly upon his passionate armor. Gazing into each other's eyes, the couple read the living story of life's major joy together in one supreme moment when the two were as one. It was final, complete, splintering. There was nothing left of either, the chemistry of humanity came to a halt they hung like things held together by a sweet magnetism and then they drifted slowly apart, back to unwelcome reality.
Finally, Caesar spoke.
"Never has it been so good," he whispered.
"Conqueror, thou hast carved a new empire upon my body," said Cybele hoarsely but softly.
"This alone was worth a trip to Egypt," said Caesar.
Cybele shook her head sadly. Her thoughts returned to the competitive world and the problems that she would confront on the morrow.
"Caesar, they say you burn for Cleopatra. Is that true?"
"If I burn for her now," replied Caesar, again in charge of his wits, "the flame is not enough. You have extinguished my care. No other woman could arouse Caesar now not even Cleopatra."
"Yes, but after a bath and a good night's rest," continued Cybele, "Cleopatra might again look attractive."
"There is only one Cybele. Besides, Cleopatra is a brunette. I prefer blondes."
"Do not joke, Caesar. You know how I love you. I cannot bear the thought of that woman sleeping with you. Caesar, promise me. If you should lust, let me provide you with some comely slave girl, some inconsequential plaything that will absorb your wayward pleasure and be forgotten."
Caesar arose, put on his tunic and tapped his shoulder armor which had been piled beside them as they lay on the floor.
"Darling," he said, "politics makes strange bedfellows. I am Rome's most important leader. I am here to exact tributes, riches and slaves from this capricious ruler of the Nile. I must see Cleopatra, I must have these things with minimum loss of Roman blood. If I can achieve these ends in bed, is it not better than on the field of battle?"
"A Roman has many weapons," said Cybele reflectively. "And Caesar uses them alh"
He laughed. "Well spoken, my dear," he said. "Let me tell you this, however. I love you not for conquest, for you are already mine. Think how distressing it must be to the Nile queen to suspect I love her only for her gifts."
"That is true, Caesar. Oh, how can I argue with you? And who wants to argue? Only tell me this. Tell me that I am better than she in bed." Cybele was surprised to hear this jealous request from her own lips. Was she becoming completely depraved like old Brutus who was concerned only with vanity?
Caesar bent over and kissed the blonde beauty. "I must go now," he said. "The majesty and the degenerate splendor of Cleopatra's court awaits the great Roman envoy. I will return tomorrow and we will continue our delights of today."
17
Caesar was accustomed to pageantry and showmanship in the courts of many nations. But never was there anything like the carnival extravaganza that Cleopatra staged to welcome him. For miles along the way, throngs collected as the Roman hero sped by on a chariot drawn by four milk white steeds in pounded gold harnesses and purple sheeting. The people all prostrated themselves in the dust as he rode past, calling his name aloud in reverential idolatry as if he were, indeed, a god.
Inside Cleopatra's magnificent palace with its acres of high columns and brilliant banners, dancing girls blocked his every step with graceful ballets and suggestive movements of supplication and wantonness. Dwarfs did acrobatic acts, freaks pinheads and fat women were ensconced on impromptu stages for his inspection and amusement. Snake charmers played their flutes and brought deadly vipers up from baskets, their frightfully graceful bodies swaying hypnotically to the wild music. Fakirs walked on spikes and paraded imperturbably on burning coals on their bare feet. Gladiators fought skirmishes to the death whenever he paused to look. This latter attraction captured most of Caesar's attention. Two huge, half-naked swordsmen battled for 10 minutes as he watched, one finally ripping the entrails out of the other who died worshipfully at Caesar's feet, crying "Hail, great Caesar." The victor was rewarded by Caesar with an offer to join his own personal body guard. Thus, did the savage display continue even up the long walk that Caesar took toward Cleopatra's throne room.
Arriving at this sacred chamber, Caesar paused as one hundred gilded trumpeters raised their enormous horns to their lips and blew a piercing blast. Then, gold-framed doors swung open and, down a long, richly carpeted aisle, Caesar made out the slender figure of the ruling girl, seated haughtily on a mighty jeweled throne.
He strode forward, erect, proud an emissary of conquest, not of humility.
Cleopatra eyed him narrowly as he approached. By her side, nude slave girls fanned her, flanking the throne. A score of warriors stood with drawn, gleaming swords.
"Arrogant Roman," she said sullenly, "you realize a mere gesture to my guards would result in your being cut to ribbons. What glory then is Rome's or Caesar's?"
"Still the little vixen, aren't you?" laughed Caesar. "Do you think you can frighten me?"
Cleopatra put up a brave front. For several long moments she remained rigid, expressionless. Then, just as suddenly as a tropical sunrise, she burst into childish laughter.
"I do not prefer Caesar in many pieces. I prefer him in one piece," she giggled.
Defiantly, Caesar tossed his helmet on the floor. "I would bow to you, noble queen," he said, "but a Roman bows only to Rome."
"Insolent Caesar," said Cleopatra, not at all offended by her visitor's arrogance, "I care nothing for Rome. It is only for you that Cleopatra cares."
"It is only for Egypt that Rome cares," countered Caesar.
"And Caesar? What does he care for?"
"Caesar is unimportant."
"Does Caesar care for another girl?"
"Caesar cares for no girl."
"Not even that blonde bitch, Cybele?"
Caesar laughed. "What makes you think of that?"
"I know everything. I know about last night. My spies live in walls here. You can do nothing that I do not know."
"Do you not have enough lovers?"
"There is only one Caesar."
'There is only one Cleopatra."
The raven-haired beauty with the alabaster skin smiled agreeably.
"Then Caesar loves me?"
"Caesar loves Cleopatra," he replied.
"Then we are wasting time. Come, let us depart from this vast hall. I don't like it here anyway. Let's go to my room and discuss things." Caesar assented with a nod. Straightway, Cleopatra and her throne were raised by a dozen stalwart bearers while Caesar walked beside. They proceeded down many long halls to the apartment of the queen. Once inside, Cleopatra rose and confronted Caesar.
"We are alone here. There are no spies." She stood eager, ready for his embrace. But Caesar demurred.
"Can't we take care of business first?" he suggested.
"Afterward."
She wore a brassiere studded with emeralds and pearls, her belly naked, a low-slung skirt of sheer gold linen reaching to her ankles and weighted on the bottom by a fringe of pounded gold. Her feet were bare, the nails painted a dull orange.
"Do you not like my body?" she asked.
"It is a work of art," replied Caesar, "but I really have some very important business to transact. Let us get these details out of the way quickly."
Cleopatra unbuttoned her skirt. It fell heavily to the marble floor. "I am ready for you from the breasts down," she said. "I will remove their covering if you desire, though my breasts are not as large as I would have them. As, perhaps, Caesar would have them?"
Caesar scanned her figure, the swell of her small bosom, the milky tones of her flesh, the fragile but firm lines of the girlish thighs. She was a thoroughbred, a blooded, spirited filly.
"If you remove your upper raiment, then I shall find it even more difficult to concentrate on business," he said, but his tone was disinterested.
"You like Cybele because she has large breasts!" said Cleopatra. She slapped Caesar on the cheek, her black eyes flaming. "I shall have her ugly, big, monstrous breasts cut off. Then will you like Cybele? Then will you crawl into bed with her? Maybe then you will love Cleopatra!"
The high-strung queen stamped her naked foot on the floor and burst into tears. Caesar smiled forgivingly at this mere slip of a girl who wielded her power with such cupidity.
"Let me see your breasts," he coaxed.
"Oh, thank you, thank you, noble Caesar. Then you will make love to me?"
"Only let me see your breasts," replied Caesar.
Cleopatra tore the flimsy top off and two perfectly pointed breasts with roseate nipples and rare upsweep confronted Caesar.
"Why they are quite perfect," he said, amazed that she should feel them to be inferior.
"But you do not hold them, you do not kiss them," the petulant girl protested. "And I know why. It is because you have spent all your love on the horrible Cybele woman last night. You have nothing left for Cleopatra!"
Caesar placed a warm hand over each breast, squeezing slightly.
"These are my jewels," he said. "If you can offer Rome no more than these by way of tribute, then Rome is already wealthy."
Cleopatra smiled broadly.
"Oh, Caesar, do you mean it?" She kissed his hands, replaced them on her breasts. "Many hands have held these," she said, "but none thrill me as yours. Do you suppose you can make love to me right away? I shall respond in a wink of the eye. My desire is so great, Oh Caesar, I do believe you could, with mere words, bring me to heel and make me know utter bliss. Others have labored for hours without success with all the means at their command." She drew Caesar by the hand to her lavish couch and rested her head in his lap. "Talk to me, Caesar. I will let you rest for awhile yet. Then perhaps your manhood will recoup what it lost last night while you lay in the embrace of that blonde girl."
She intermittently kissed Caesar as she talked. He spoke of his mission, of how Rome would provide her troops to subjugate and consolidate her nation in return for gold and slaves and tribute. Cleopatra listened as if in a dream, kissing and stroking Caesar with delicate pale hands apparently unheeding the exact demands he was making.
"Cleopatra, your touches and kisses make it difficult for me to make myself clear," said Caesar at last when the attentions of the queen became more and more ardent. He felt himself slipping from the role of diplomat. He had always prided himself on his ability to put business before pleasure, but now he felt himself weakening.
"Lie down, Caesar, lie down. I will give you anything as the queen of Egypt if you will only grant me this hour." Her busy mouth now brought hotter and more shameless kisses to bear on the distraught Roman who relaxed and began to enjoy it.
"Where have you learned all these succulent love modes?" inquired Caesar. "Such artful kissing must have first been learned in the libidinous courts of Darius and the effete Persians. Though, I must confess, I like it."
"I am pleased," replied Cleopatra simply and with majesty.
"Careful, careful," cautioned Caesar, "lest your kissing drive me to unrestrained violence."
"How strong you are," praised Cleopatra. "You will make Cleopatra poor, weak Cleopatra happy and secure. She stretched out, thrusting up her breasts with her torso undulating a sign of her craving and desire.
"If you have a mouth with such artful wiles, what must the rest of you be like?" asked Caesar in genuine amazement. He kissed the queen for the first time, her lips taking his with a glad sigh.
"As I take your lips, so I take Caesar." said the Nile queen as she eagerly yielded to the Roman the curves of her lush body, a prize that would be hers always and that no conqueror could take back to Rome except as a searing memory.
Caesar found himself in cyclonic deliriums of rampant and giddy passion, the--likes of which he had never encountered. This girl of the Nile was as liquid as the famous river and as coiling n her serpentine embrace. It was not the hasty, pulsating search for quick thrill that typified the behavior of most nymphomaniacs. Rather, it was a sustained, space-out tugging and parrying that made the passage of time stumble and stop. It might have been forever, it might have been a moment. But whatever it was, he was caught in the twisting, clutching, throbbing fury of it and could not escape. Nor would he have had the choice been his. He had met the enemy, and he was captive.
In her frenetic zeal, Cleopatra began to babble in her native Egyptian tongue, a deep, harsh, almost guttural incantation a kind of chant to mysterious, cruel love gods of the sin-saturated East. Her eyes were closed fast and her body strained in catatonic quest of the elusive moment. When it came, it was as though all the hurricanes of history swept through her so mighty a reaction that Caesar's was swept into the role of understudy. She swooned away, sleeping deeply and peacefully, and no amount of talk or shaking by Caesar could arouse her. Caesar had come, he had conquered. But now was not the time to consolidate his gain.
Buckling on his iron armor, he smote a gong for attendants. Leaving the queen asleep, he remounted his chariot and drove back to Cybele and his own quarters. There would be plenty of time to work out diplomatic and political details with Cleopatra later. In the meantime, he would have to concoct a pretty good excuse for the jealous Cybele.
18
Meanwhile, back in Rome, all was not well with the Vestal Virgins. Cybele's departure had left a big hole in their morale. Statira had once more taken over and re-instituted her tyrannical practices using Haphaeston in the same old way to extract her lesbian pleasures from the girls. But, most grieving of all the Virgins was Statira herself. Her attachment to Cybele had grown neurotically stronger in the blonde girl's absence and she pined to join Cybele in Egypt. Just how to get there was another matter, however.
Finally her clever, scheming mind devised a way. She was, of course, completely aware of the political situation in Rome and understood perfectly the desire of the Senators to do away with Caesar. It was this angle she proposed to old Brutus. She put forth the proposition that she could, through her acquaintance with Cleopatra, manage to have Caesar assassinated in Alexandria.
Old Brutus liked the idea and arranged for her transportation to that Egyptian city. She traveled disguised as a sailor a ruse that necessitated her donning the garb of a man, something she welcomed. Entering Alexandria by stealth, she made her way to Cleopatra's palace and, through her friendship with the guards, found herself admitted to the apartment of the queen. She was told that the great Caesar had been there and that Cleopatra was resting-sound asleep following his attentions to her. Statira, her blazing love for Cybele now all that mattered, bided her time in an anteroom, scheming of ways to see Cybele as soon as possible.
Her pretended plan to have Caesar done in was completely forgotten. All that mattered were the lips of the blonde girl who had so inexplicably won her heart. At length, Cleopatra, once again aroused and ready for callers, received Statira. Statira made some lams excuse for her presence which the yawning Cleopatra accepted without apparent interest. She did inquire into the nature of the lives the Vestal Virgins led and was amused at the high degree of sexual activity that characterized their virginal lives. Statira also reassured her that no longer was she a competitor for masculine attention as she once had been a circumstance which had earlier forced Cleopatra to banish her to Rome.
"Alas, Cleopatra, now I have crossed over the line. It is the female that I covet. And of all women, one in particular. I do not think you know her. If you did, perhaps you, too, might change sexes and desire her as I do. She is a ravishing creature but so cruel to me. I am here because of her."
"Do you mean she is in Alexandria?" asked Cleopatra.
'The same," said Statira. "Were she at the end of the earth, I should journey there. For no man hath greater love for maid than I. She is an irresistible blonde from the barbaric North country."
Cleopatra gave a great start.
"Is her name Cybele?"
"Then you know her! How wonderful. Is she not fair? Has she not tempted you?"
"She has tempted me to cut her throat," replied
Cleopatra with fervor. "But come, you know this wench. We can do business together. This opens up a whole new avenue of possibilities. Does this Cybele love women like you?"
"Alas, no. She is still unilateral in her feelings as indeed you are, fair Cleopatra. Come to think of it, my dear, it is only because of your queenly cast that my mind does not soar to those dark desires that beset me when I see a fair maiden."
"Statira, you bore me. Besides, as long as there is a lover like Caesar, Cleopatra need experiment no more. Caesar has the key to Cleopatra's lock. He, and only he. I will annihilate any woman who stands between."
"Do you mean Cybele?"
"Yes, the same Cybele who is the object of your twisted affections. Now, Statira, I can use you. Perhaps I can get rid of Cybele through you. I have tried before, but this blonde witch is crafty. She is not easy to reach."
"But, you cannot harm Cybele, Cleopatra. I beg you. Leave her to me. I will make sure she and Caesar are not together. But, please, do not harm a hair on that pretty head."
"How do you intend to accomplish this? Remember, if Caesar suspects I have anything to do with it, he'll be furious. I'll lose him."
"Where is Cybele now?"
"She lives with Caesar."
"Only give me a chance," pleaded Statira. "I have a scheme that will return your Caesar to you and unite me with my true love, Cybele."
Statira's plan involved sorcery. Disguised as a soothsayer she would induce Caesar to have her tell information that might mean his very life. I have his fortune. Then she would elicit from him a promise.
"I will ask him to give up Cybele in exchange for such information, believe me, my dear Cleopatra, and, once Caesar pledges his word, like a Roman he never goes back on it. You can rest assured of that."
"How will you meet Caesar? How will it be managed?"
"That's simple, Cleopatra. You may introduce me as your trusted soothsayer a denizen of the upper Nile who has predicted many strange events, all of which have come to pass. Caesar is no superstitious idiot. But when I prime him with some of the knowledge I have of Rome, he will listen. Then, I will get his promise before revealing an assassination attempt the Senate is plotting."
At this intelligence, Cleopatra snapped from her lethargy.
'They want to kill my Caesar."
"Yes," replied Statira, "they even sent me here to do the job."
This was too much for the now thoroughly frightened queen. She leaped to her feet and commanded guards at once, and was about to have the notorious lesbian placed under arrest before that unfortunate woman could prevail upon her to hear the rest of her story.
"Cleopatra, you must not be foolish," she chided. "I have no more intention of slaying Caesar than you have. But, you see, I was commissioned to do so. I will warn Caesar of this homicidal temperament of the Senate and prove it with my person, then he will be grateful and grant me Cybele. In turn, you will have Caesar unencumbered by this blonde girl."
Cleopatra thought it an excellent idea. They would try the move the following night when Caesar would again visit Cleopatra. The queen would arrange for the fortune telling.
19
Caesar found himself much beset between Cybele and Cleopatra. When he had arrived home from his exhausting visit with Cleopatra, Cybele had insisted on making love again. Only in that way was she satisfied that he had not had an affair with the Nile queen. It was most taxing and he had carried it off only by great summation of will-power and the last reserves of his strength. Even then, Cybele was not completely at ease. All during the night she had attempted to excite him to further adventure.
"Only by keeping you absolutely exhausted can I be sure," she admonished. This day she had nagged him constantly since she knew he must visit Cleopatra again, urging new and repeated dalliance. Caesar, once or twice had rallied, but now as he departed for the palace of the queen he was a shaken, blanched, debilitated and beaten man. His legs shook from nervous depletion and his head spun. There was absolutely nothing left for Cleopatra. As he was driven to the palace he resolved in his own mind that something must be done. He was not capable of loving two such women at once and still conducting a strenuous military and political campaign. With pragmatic Roman common-sense, he decided to ship Cybele back to Rome. He did not know how he would accomplish this gracefully, but he would find some way. Cleopatra would be less of a problem then. Besides, soon he would be leaving Egypt to pursue his ambition and destiny elsewhere. But for now, he had had enough. The women were killing him.
He was properly appreciative of Cleopatra's restraint that night in light of his weakened condition. The sexy queen seemed very subdued, arranging a quiet dinner in her chamber and then calling for sweets and wine for an hour or two of conversation. Caesar could not understand this change in character, but he was very glad for it. Maybe the added rest would renew his capability. If it took sex to conquer Egypt, then he would use sex. While he sipped wine, Cleopatra strummed a Nile harp softly.
'Tell me, love," she said, "do you believe in fortune tellers?"
"No," said Caesar. "But I like to listen to them."
"Wonderful," said Cleopatra. "I have the most marvelous creature here. She is uncanny. She has predicted like a goddess for me. Why only a fortnight ago, she told me that in less than two weeks I would be in your arms experiencing thrills I had never dreamed possible before."
"Where is this fabulous charlatan?" asked Caesar. Cleopatra then produced Statira, properly disguised in the vestments of a seeress.
"I will leave you two alone until this mysterious diviner of the future has consulted the stars and revealed their secret story to you."
Caesar regarded the soothsayer lazily as she peered into her crystal ball and made squares and diagrams upon the table. He noticed a sudden, worried expression come over her face and then a sad shaking of the head.
"Ah, master," she said portentously, "you have many enemies in high and powerful places."
"Why, quite true," replied Caesar, his curiosity aroused.
Statira returned her searching glance to the crystal ball. Again a horrified and shocked look animated her masculine features.
"Ah, master," she enjoined, "I would not tell the grim thing I see lest I be treated like the courier who, bearing bad news to his chief, forfeits his life because he is not the conveyer of glad tidings."
"Do not fear," said Caesar with a smile. "Here are a few gold coins. Say on."
"This I will tell for the coins. But for the great, dark thing I see beyond these superficial facts, I would have something more precious. But wait I will tell these things first. Your greatest enemy is an august body of men the Senate of Rome. One Senator in particular, old Brutus Rex, is to be watched."
Caesars mouth fell open in frank surprise. "Well spoken," he admitted. 'Tell me, soothsayer, how did you know about old Brutus?"
"It is here, all here in the ball. There is much more, too. I see a throne, a mighty throne, the greatest throne in all the world and I see you climbing the stairs toward it, there to wear a crown of laurel."
"Yes, yes," cried Caesar, "you are indeed a capital fortune teller. You say I am making my way toward the throne? It is the throne of Rome! Now, wise soothsayer, tell me, tell me, do I make it there? Do I finally wear the laurel wreath?" Caesar was surprised at his rapture. Not in the least superstitious, he now discovered himself like any other dupe, eager to peer into the future, believing in spite of himself, made irrational by his overpowering ambition to become Rome's Emperor.
Statira pretended a long, perceptive look into the glass.
"Ah," she said, "it is not all clear. I see blood, I see a mass of figures with daggers. Caesar, beware the Senate. Beware Brutus. That is all I can say."
Caesar sat back, thunderstruck. This witch was clairvoyant. Certainly the Senate was his major stumbling block. Against his better judgment, he found himself a complete believer in this strange seer.
'There is one thing more I would tell you," said Statira. "But this will cost you dearly."
"Speak on, venerable sage," said Caesar. "There is no price too great for the kind of information you give."
"No price?" inquired Statira cunningly. "Ask it," commanded Caesar.
"You have a beauteous blonde girl Cybele is her name. Is that correct?" Once more Caesar was dumbfounded.
"True," he replied. "You continue to amaze me."
"Then, on the word of a Roman, on your sacred honor, will you surrender this girl to me as my slave if I tell you something that will mean life or death for you?"
For a moment Caesar was torn. He had to get rid of Cybele, at least while he was having an affair with Cleopatra, but he did not wish her any harm. Statira studied his face knowingly as he deliberated. She knew that once he gave his oath as a Roman he would never go back on his word. She tried to make the decision easier for him.
"She is fair, she is lovely, Caesar, but she is too young for you. She takes too much out of you physically. Particularly with Cleopatra also demanding your attentions. It would be wise and good for you both to have a respite from each other."
Caesar frowned. Sometimes this uncanny witch trod too close to business that was not hers.
Why do you want Cybele?" he demanded. "Because I love her. I love her in the way of a lesbian. But that is not totally bad for you, Caesar. I shall keep her from harm, from diseased and rapacious men, from pregnancy. Then, when you want her back, I shall send her pure and untouched by man-back to you for your desire and despoilment. That is not too hard a bargain, is it?"
"Very well," said Caesar. "We can work out the details later. I give you my word as a Roman that Cybele shall be yours for safe keeping until I leave Egypt. Now, tell me this great secret for which I have bartered this luscious girl."
"Caesar, old Brutus has sent an emissary to Egypt to kill you." Caesar directed his gaze across the Nile, out the open window.
'That is indeed valuable information," he admitted. "But it is not complete. You must tell me who this emissary is?"
Statira faced him squarely. "It is I," she said. Instinctively Caesar reached for his sword and directed its point at Statira's throat. "If that is true," he said, "then I need but thrust this blade into your body and the threat ends."
"True," replied the unshrinking lesbian. "But, Caesar, never have I entertained such a dastardly thought.-I bluffed old Brutus into this venture for one reason-and one reason alone. To get to Egypt and to be near Cybele, whom I love more than man can ever love maid." Caesar regarded her closely. Then he sheathed his sword, silent, weighing the woman's words.
"Do you not think I could have plunged a dagger into your heart as we sat here, you unsuspecting and vulnerable, had I been serious about my business? Of course, I could. And you know it, great Caesar. No, in me, you have a friend, an ally. There is much good I can do for you with my contacts in the Senate. There is nothing they can plot against you that I cannot inform you of."
"So be it," replied Caesar. "Take Cybele. I will give you passage back to Rome. Protect her. See that no harm befalls her. Guard her. I will be in touch with you in Rome. There is much profit in this arrangement for both of us. But when I return to Rome, Cybele comes back to me." Statira agreed and the arrangement was settled.
20
So it came to pass the following day that Cybele, kicking and screaming, was carried aboard a vessel bound for Rome, calling pathetically for Caesar and shouting vilifications to Cleopatra whose work she believed this to be. Aboard the ship she was restrained by silver chains and quieted with slumber potions until her struggles ceased and she slept the deep sleep of the near dead. It was then, and only then, that Statira approached the girl, gently disrobing her tantalizing figure, sponging it with cool waters, kissing the nude form with passionate love, and, finally, tucking her beneath sumptuous sheets. Statira was very happy, but she was also concerned. When Cybele awoke and discovered her, divining that this was all her work, what would her reaction be? Statira would have to prepare a very believable story. It was a story, however, that Statira would never tell.
The next day, while Cybele still slept, the vessel was attacked by pirates and grounded upon the shores of a Grecian Isle where the bloodthirsty group made its headquarters. Valiantly, Statira died in defense of the sleeping beauty she loved a swarthy cut-throat hacking her to pieces with an ax as she sought to bar the way to Cybele's quarters. What happened to Cybele next was something that, mercifully, she never would remember. Still in deep slumber from the powerful drug, she was assailed and raped, perhaps a hundred times, by the pirate gang. When she awoke she found herself in a crude hut-like shelter lying on mangy goat skins. She was bound hand and foot, a tattered, blood-stained garment of roughly woven cloth her only attire.
She ached in every niche of her body and livid black and blue marks dotted her neck, her shoulders and breasts where the uncivilized ruffians had kissed and tormented her unknowing body. She could only guess at her fate. Her bruised lips were caked and dry, her throat parched.
"Water, water," she cried weakly. She was aware of a motion nearby. Looking up, she a fierce, bearded man with a black patch over one eye and a scar down the side of his face. Somehow, he looked familiar. With clumsy kindness he offered her a drink from the rim of a goat's horn.
"Who are you?" asked Cybele. "It seems we have met before, but so much is a mystery to me. How did I get here?"
"I am well-known to you," said the man. "My name is Cletus. Do you remember the voyage to Egypt? Do you remember the galley master who took you on the table while pounding out the beat of the rowing slaves?"
Cybele remembered. "Yes," she repeated weakly. "It was you? But why are you here?"
'That is a long story," said Cletus. "But first of all, let me thank you. For it was you who made me rejoin the ranks of men. Until I took you on the table, I was unaware of what I was missing. Then, when I explored your warmth and felt the pulse of a woman's body, it was as though I was reborn. I determined to escape and become a free man. I determined to experience the glories of love like a normal man. Always before me, as I fought my way to freedom, I had the burning vision of your naked, pliant body in front of me for inspiration."
"Why are you here? Why am I here?" asked Cybele with a faint moan.
"Fear not, blonde child," answered Cletus. "I am the king here on this island. I am a pirate king. I despoil the plunder-laden Roman galleys. The living is easy and the loot is magnificent."
He explained how his crew had overwhelmed the vessel that bore Cybele, and how his deck hands had all raped her, before he was aware of her identity or presence. "Now," he said, "I will make amends for all that. You shall enjoy my protection. None shall harm you."
"Not even you?" asked Cybele.
"Not until you have sufficiently recovered from the cruel rape of my crew. Then, when healthy and sound again, perhaps you will consent."
"Maybe," said Cybele wearily. "Not many months ago I was a virgin. Now, how many hundreds have known me?"
"It does not matter," replied Cletus. 'To me, you are a pure goddess."
The pirate king was as good as his word. For many days Cybele recuperated and rested. Cletus never bothered her. Often he and his pirate crew were gone for several days at a time. When they returned Cybele would hear the sounds of merriment and debauchery from the village below, the piteous screams of women raped and abused, the harsh sounds of brawling, knifing rouglinecks, finishing each other off in bloody duels over the division of loot. But none came near her only Cletus.
Cletus apparently never participated in the orgies of his drunken sailors. Rather he would return to the hut, where Cybele lay recuperating, and gaze soulfully with his one good eye at the shapely girl. One night, following capture of a rich prize, Cletus returned to the hut while his villainous crew savored the bodies of fresh females from the luckless vessel. Their cries filled the night and Cletus listened.
Cybele was combing her locks, a goat skin barely wrapping her heavy, pointed breasts nor concealing her generously rounded buttocks. Cletus warmed, his face took on a scarlet cast. Screams, and sometimes delighted moans, of ravished captive women continued to provide a backdrop to his gathering thunderheads of passion. Cybele felt the heat and desire of his body as she did her rough toilet. She, too, was stirred strangely by the sounds of rape and lusty fun. She shifted her legs, revealing more of her graceful, curved thighs. She recalled the maniacal performance of Cletus when he had taken her so violently on the Roman ship. No other man had ever given her that kind of thrill. Now she was ready for it again. But, she was also a little afraid of this huge, hulking man afraid of the excesses of passion he might have. Cletus' burning eye devoured Cybele's charms. He reached out his hand and pulled one of Cybele's breasts from under the goat skin sheath. Cybele made no movement, but kept combing her hair, her fabulous pink breast glistening in the firelight. Cletus slunk back again and surveyed the tidbit. Then he pulled the goat skin up from her thighs. The girl did not interfere; Cletus was beyond the point of caring now. Even if she had, he would have ridden rough-shod over her small ability to resist. It was a oat and mouse game. He would play, play and then take. Out came Cybele's other breast, then off came her skimpy goat-skin. Still she sat and Cletus watched. Both man and maid now breathed in a lustful, quiet union each longing for the act, each determined to build teasingly toward it.
Finally, Cletus got up, produced a large bag from a recess in the rear of the hut, and poured from it a veritable blanket of rubies, emeralds, diamonds and precious stones on the ground around Cybele.
"If I he upon you, then you shall he upon jewels," he said.
"But they will prickle my back," said Cybele with a laugh, pleased by the cavalier spirit of this rough-hewn lover. Cybele lolled back in the bath of wealth, running her fingers through the precious stones in sensuous pleasure. Cletus descended upon her, raised upon his elbows, showering a cascade of pearls over her breasts.
"I give you all these in exchange for your jewel," he said.
"But these jewels you offer me have been taken in pain and rape and murder. How do you intend to take my jewel? By the same cruel techniques?"
"Nay, girl, do you feel anything cruel now'? "
"It is delicious," muttered Cybele, yielding to the common spasm that gripped their bodies. "I do not remember you so gentle," she whispered.
Cletus, however, was beyond words. The medium of his communication was that of the primary expression of all mankind. Cybele knew it, she felt it, she got the message, and it was good.
21
Even as Cletus seduced Cybele that night, in far off Alexandria, Caesar fretted. In the arms of Cleopatra he could not dispel the fretful mood induced when he learned that Cybele had been taken captive by Grecian pirates. He made love to the Nile queen with all the enthusiasm of a man making a payment to the tax collector. Finally, the jealous queen could stand it no longer.
"Julius," she hissed, their relationship now having reached the fully intimate stage, "I do believe that you imagine I am Cybele when you make love to me. I notice you close your eyes. Is this so you can better imagine I am that blonde bitch?"
Caesar laughed. "You leave nothing to the imagination," he mocked.
"Alas, you tire of me," stormed Cleopatra.
"I tire of women," replied Caesar ruefully. "I am not a young man anymore, you know. Besides, who can keep up with your demands?"
"Lies, lies. You really lust for your Cybele. Well, don't waste your time. You know what happens when those sex-crazed pirates lay hands on a woman. There isn't a chance she's alive any more. Or if she is, who would want her now? I daresay her charms have been pulled and bent out of shape. You probably would not even recognize her."
"Nevertheless, I must find out," said Caesar.
"And leave me?"
'And leave the great Nile queen," repeated Caesar. "I will go with you," threatened Cleopatra. Caesar shrugged.
"I will provide you with ships and men," said Cleopatra eagerly. "We will travel together on my palatial vessel and watch the rout and slaughter of the pirates from the comfort of my quarters."
"Ridiculous," said Caesar. "This is a job for Romans. Your cowardly Egyptians would fail. I have the ships, I have the men. I will punish these cut-throats, I will exterminate them. Then the seas will be safe again."
"Rubbish. What you are after is Cybele. Why do you lust for that Nordic whore so much?"
"Because it is my fault she is where she is now. I sent her off to Rome on that ship against her wishes."
"Very well," said Cleopatra, "I will go with you. You will take me, or I will call my people to revolt against Roman arms. Which will you have, revolution or Cleopatra?"
Caesar laughed again. "Cleopatra," he said.
In a few days Caesar had outfitted a mighty armada of Roman vessels alive with soldiers. His plan was to systematically investigate all the islands in the Aegean
Sea where the pirates plied their trade. He would put them all to the sword. If he were lucky, he might find Cybele alive somewhere in the process. With him on his flagship was Cleopatra, to make sure his only conquest would be the pirates.
On the third day of their voyage, the Roman fleet gave chase to a squadron of pirate vessels which scurried swiftly and safely out of range in the narrow passes and rocky shoreline of the treacherous coast areas. Caesar acted at once. He decided to disembark his troops at each island. All inhabitants would be put to the sword or sold into slavery. Thus it went. Island after island fell victim to the Roman investiture. Finally, Caesar's legions approached the place of Cybele's confinement. Cletus gazed from a promontory toward the vast, circling Roman fleet.
"They have come for you," he said to Cybele.
"Caesar has come," replied Cybele, understanding full well the Roman ways of dealing with such situations. "But I will save this island for you."
"How?" answered Cletus. "This island, most of all, is the one he wishes. By now, he has doubtless learned that you are a prisoner here."
"I will go to his ship and beg clemency. He will not harm you or your people."
"But I cannot give you up," cried Cletus. "Rather, I will die."
"And all your people too?" asked Cybele pointedly. Cletus hung his head. "So be it," he said. "But first, before the Romans land, let us have our love one last time."
Cybele, who had come to respect Cletus and to hold him in real affection, readily consented. There, on a high, mossy rock above the blue Aegean, Cletus tenderly laid the blonde girl on his cloak. The circling hawks saw the tender revel and had Caesar watched with the eyes of a hawk, he, too, might have seen. When it was over Cletus, crestfallen and sobbing, gave Cybele a limitless treasure in rubies and diamonds. Several barrels held the precious loot. Then, placing her on a skiff, under a flag of truce, he had her rowed to the Roman flagship. Caesar met her on deck with a display of joy and emotion that belied his usual stoicism. He embraced the Nordic girl and kissed her countless times. Cybele wept for joy and sorrow, for it was with a heavy heart she was abandoning the kindly pirate, Cletus.
While this heart-felt greeting was in progress, Cleopatra eyed the scene with narrow eyes that smoldered in jealous hate.
"Caesar," pleaded Cybele, "do not harm that island nor the people upon it." The surprised Roman demanded to know the reason why.
'They have been kind to me," replied Cybele simply.
At this, Cleopatra thrust herself between the two. "I have never met you face to face before," she said coldly to Cybele. "But these islands lie under my jurisdiction. I appreciate the hold you exercise over our mutual love, Caesar, but neither you nor Caesar can prevent me from ordering the destruction of these people."
"I am prepared to pay the price for their freedom," replied Cybele, and she had the barrels of jewels opened and poured on the deck. Cleopatra's eyes opened wide with avarice and appreciation. Caesar noted her absorption.
'The budget of Egypt could stand some financing," he remarked. "I think Cleopatra will take the jewels and spare the island." The giddy queen had already forgotten her dire resolve as she gathered up precious stones and laughingly watched them sparkle in the sun. Caesar gave the order for the fleet to set sail for Alexandria and the island was spared.
Cleopatra's interest in the jewels, however, lasted only momentarily. The trip back was stormy for Caesar, although the seas were calm. Cleopatra insisted he spend the nights with her in her exotic stateroom, while Cybele was equally adamant that Caesar make love to her.
"You may be the queen of Egypt," cried Cybele to the headstrong Cleopatra, "but I am also a queen-and, in my own way, hold a more powerful position than you. I am queen of the Vestal Virgins of Rome!"
'Then we can meet as equals," sneered Cleopatra.
"As equals, we will either share Caesar or neither of us will have him."
"And how can that be arranged?" demanded the Nile queen.
'Tonight, and as long as we are on this vessel, Caesar will sleep between us. In that way, we might intercept him, should he turn to the left or the right in bed."
"Never will I share my royal couch with an uncouth, Nordic barbarian," Cleopatra said.
Caesar had been listening to the squabbling beauties for many hours. Finally he acted. "Ladies," he said, "neither of you will have me. I am leaving this vessel for another one in the fleet. When we get back to Alexandria we will settle this thing once and for all." And such was the case. Caesar enjoyed several peaceful nights of rest on an accompanying ship while Cybele and Cleopatra stared icily at each other on theirs.
22
Back in Alexandria, Caesar had a plan for the disposal of his sexual vitality. He proposed a contest between Cybele and Cleopatra. Blindfolded, or in a room completely darkened, he would make love to 'both of them not knowing who either was at the time. This would be difficult to arrange since the breast sizes of the two women varied so greatly. So, over Cybele's protests she having the more copious bust line it was decided that the love making would have to be judged strictly on the basis of more elemental endowments with contact limited to minimal basic sex bridge. From that alone Caesar was to judge who the most excellent partner was.
The contest was to be staged on two successive nights. Cleopatra and Cybele were to draw lots on which would be first. Cleopatra won. Immediately she set in motion the mechanics of a vast fraudulent scheme that ranged into every mud hovel along the Nile river for a thousand miles. She would, through the advise and expertise of thousands of pimps and amorous adventurers whose brains she would pick on the matter, find the girl with the most built-in sexual virtuosity who would be her substitute in the darkened room. The search was launched, and, in a week's time, her agents produced a very obese Semitic woman who was supposed to have the greatest natural action in the entire Eastern world.
Cleopatra took one look at the huge, shapeless woman and recoiled, as from the plague.
"Surely," she raged, "you must be mistaken. This woman is a dolt, a hideous, fat dolt. How dare you send her here as a substitute for me!"
"But, my queen," reassured her High Minister Ikon, "I have it on the word of hundreds of sexual connoisseurs that Fatima here is without peer in the department in question. What will it matter? Caesar will never see her, nor touch her. Except in one area. That one contact he will have is the basis of judgment. In that area, this woman is the sister of Venus."
"I am sure she is not so gifted as I am," replied Cleopatra sulkily. "But, since I have not allowed half my country to sample my love, plumb my depths, I must take the word of the majority. But, woe to you, Ikon, if Caesar finds her less satisfying than that Cybele woman. I'll have your eyes burned out, your tongue pulled from the roof of your mouth, your children sold into slavery. Now, tell me of the mechanics of this strange test."
"Fear not, O sensual queen of the Nile. You are supreme. But, also, have no fear that this woman-she is called, "The Vise", by all who know her well, will surpass this Cybele person.
"The mechanics are as fool proof as a chastity belt that has no key for the lock. Our cleverest iron smiths have fashioned a casing that fits the body snugly, completely. There is one, shall we call it, aperture for the bridge of love provided by Caesar. Should he attempt to follow his thrust with kisses or feels of the body, they shall be turned away by the armor metal surrounding the woman. Behind this barrier no touch can go, nor can sounds readily traverse, lest in breathing or sighing the woman may make an audible signature of her name. It is so artfully contrived that, indeed, it would be possible to substitute a mere animal for the human and none would be the wiser."
Cleopatra stamped her foot. "So be it," she said. "We will put Caesar to the test. He will enjoy Fatima here. He will also take on Cybele here, since the locale in each instance must be identical. There must be no way he can know which is Cleopatra and which is Cybele."
It was then arranged and Caesar, after several days of rest to sharpen his sensitivities was conducted to the room of quaint assignation. Blindfolded he was led to the site where massages by handmaidens and tender administrations emboldened that significant part of his flesh that was to conduct the test. Thence, it was coupled, the chamber kept in total darkness while the Roman conqueror sampled the Fatima's fabulous wares. When he had finished, he was whisked from the chamber and returned to his quarters.
The next night Cybele was enclosed in the iron basket and made to present herself in the fashion of the test. She was truly embarrassed by the awkward discomfiture of her slanted position, but otherwise eager and ready for the member of Caesar, confident of her virtuosity and the nimbleness of her love part. Little did she realize, however, that clever Cleopatra, unethical as any woman in a love duel, had managed an artifice which quite destroyed her snugness and inner mobility. Into Cybele's food, for two days, copious quantities of a tasteless ointment was mixed, which acted as a great relaxer of interior muscles, robbing them of their elasticity and tone. Not knowing this, Cybele underwent the rigors of Caesar's probes almost flippantly scornful of Cleopatra and the competition she offered. For his part, Caesar was baffled. It was like neither Cleopatra nor Cybele and he wondered in the dark whether he were mated to some incongruous thing that might make him the object of laughter and derision afterward. It was, therefore, with some distaste that he finished up, glad to quit the chamber and cast his vote.
That was to be ceremonized on the morrow in a private rendezvous, at which both Cleopatra and Cybele would be present. Caesar would then tell them which he preferred. The initial intercourse was termed simply, Case A, and the second was similarly designated, Case B. There was no doubt in Caesar's mind which he preferred. But he was, nonetheless, puzzled. Case B was un-like either woman.
Confronting the two tigresses, who paced at opposite ends of the appointed room in Cleopatra's palace, neither looking at the other, but both tense and eager for his verdict, Caesar blanched. For one of the few times in his life he knew fear. He regarded both semi-nude beauties with great circumspection, preferring to delay an answer until he screwed up enough courage.
"Ladies, never in my life have I envied a eunuch before. But tonight I do. Because the choice before me is as painful as mortal man ever made. It is not that I have failed to make up my mind. It is only that one of you is Case A and the other is Case B, and, in either case, one of you is bound to lose. A eunuch would never have to make a decision like this." He paused in his harangue, stalling for time, hoping for some last minute intervention that would spare him the ordeal.
"Come, come," interrupted Cleopatra testily, "you stammer and digress like a school boy. Which is it? Case A or Case B?"
"And, what would you do, Cleopatra, if you were to lose? Would you incite your countrymen to riot arid overthrow the standards of Rome? As for you, Cybele, you have no queendom, no henchman to fall back upon. What could you do to harm Caesar, except to fix him with your sea-blue eyes?"
"Do not delay," said Cybele. "I am confident I am a better woman than this Nile brunette."
"It is understood, then, that my verdict is final. That whoever loses the contest, will withdraw peaceably and abide by my decision?"
"Yes," chorused the impatient women.
"Then," said Caesar, "it is Case A."
Cybele could not forbear a wounded shriek which made a discordant counterpoint to Cleopatra's cry of triumphant joy. Caesar stood immobile, head hung in sadness, pondering the fate which drove him to such curious destinies.
After a short moment of choked anger, Cybele regained her composure.
"Very well, Caesar," she said resignedly, "if that is your verdict. I cannot see how you could prefer this anemic wench, but if you do, then I shall not interfere, nor make a scene. I shall return to Rome where, in truth, I will become a virgin among the Vestal Virgins. I shall await the return of Caesar. Then, and only then, will I open my thighs to a man again. For it is certain you will tire of this bony creature and lust for my opulent charms,"
"Do not heed the graceless hussy," coaxed Cleopatra, "but come and enjoy my body with no barrier of metal between. We have separated the girls from the women."
"There will be no sex tonight," said Caesar sternly. "Rather, we will all retire and contemplate the ways of fate that divide us so. Tomorrow, we shall send Cybele off to Rome and, who knows for how long our goodbye will last? I do not believe I have seen the last of my blonde captive, my dear Cybele."
23
Cybele's leave-taking was marked as a state occasion, Cleopatra gladly cooperating with the Roman leader in staging a colorful sailing ceremony. Caesar nearly wept as Cybele bade him farewell.
"I weep for you now as a daughter," he said, hiding his tears, that his soldiers would not see this manifestation of manly weakness. "I cannot bear that you leave with anger in your heart. The wound I have placed there is, I know, grievous I have slighted your womanhood. Yet I swear by Jupiter, Cybele, you did not seem yourself behind that iron curtain. I cannot believe it was you. Nor could I quite believe my first exposure was to Cleopatra. There is something of a mystery to all this."
"Noble Caesar, do not fear for my vanity. The clever Cleopatra may well have worked some black magic upon us. But that is all over now. I sail to Rome knowing that you will come after me someday, knowing that you will tire of this Nile whore," Cybele said with dignity.
"You are more queen-like than she," allowed Caesar. "I will protect you even in Rome. I have written Marc Anthony, my dearest friend and champion there and a man of great power. He will see to it that you are well cared for. Now, go, and may Juno bless you."
The Roman warship slid into the Nile, Cybele standing on the afterdeck, waving her silken hand piece to the man she loved more than any other, the setting sun glancing off the blades of the oarsmen, scattering the crimson and burnt oranges of fading light in all directions. Cybele soon retired, her eyes moist, her thoughts of Caesar and her eternal female curiosity already reaching ahead to Rome and Marc Anthony.
After all, there must be other men in the world who would find her offering desirable. She looked at her body, so swollen with the fruits of grace and sculpted with exquisite finesse, the breasts burstingly ripe, the nipples like pink sunrises, hips curved like the hemispheres of Olympus surely Anthony would take these, even if the great Caesar found them second-rate. She beguiled herself with the thought of revenge. She would make Anthony mad for her. Then, perhaps, Caesar would open his eys and see what a fool he had been. These sweet dreams of vengeance came like a balm upon her and she smoothed her breasts and thighs with her hands longingly, imagining that already Anthony was at work upon her.
24
Cybele returned to Rome to find herself something of a celebrity. Caesar had prepared the way with his messengers. Poets wrote odes to her and the Senate took the opportunity to recess for half a day that she might enjoy a public fete. Old Brutus offered to stage an orgy in her behalf in the mode of the Egyptians.
Worming his way up to her in the forum, while the citizens of Rome applauded her, for Caesar had said it was she who, single-handedly and with great cleverness, had done in the Greek pirates, old Brutus got in his licks.
"How is Caesar?" he inquired sweetly. "I trust he is well." When Cybele told him Caesar never looked better, old Brutus' face fell.
"Well, well," he said, "all of us in the Senate are glad."
"Don't lie to me," replied Cybele, all the while smiling graciously to the crowd, "I know you want to assassinate him."
Old Brutus feigned shock. "My dear," he said, "what ever gave you that idea? Now, just to make you feel at home, how would you like to attend an orgy tonight at my place? I have a colossal spectacle planned involving the simultaneous rape of 40 virgins and, for a follow-up, a ringside view of seven hungry lions devouring some rebellious slaves. It's really going to be a big show. Really big."
"I am not interested," replied Cybele. "I want to meet Marc Anthony."
As she spoke, a muscular, energetic fellow forced his way through the throng on a grinding chariot. It was Anthony.
"Hail," he saluted, "Caesar has made me your guardian." Leaping to the forum stage, he lifted Cybele boldly to his chariot and with a flick of his whip, drove the spirited horses off through the crowd. It was a masterful maneuver that left Cybele breathless. They raced pell-mell to Anthony's villa where the headstrong young man again lifted the blonde beauty from the chariot with the air of a man carrying a bride across the threshold.
"Did Caesar tell you to handle me in this fashion?" chided Cybele.
"Lady," replied Anthony, "J am a man of eloquent words and famous for long speeches. But tonight, I would put my mouth and lips to better use."
"Would Caesar approve of that?"
"Caesar trusts me," said Anthony. "Now, I beg you change your dress, refresh yourself. My slaves will provide for you. You will dine with me and, then we shall see." He was gone in a flash while Cybele, her eyes following him warmly, was led off by servants for fresh raiment.
She wondered if it were a trap of some kind was Caesar putting her to a fidelity test? Very well, she would hold out although, this fellow, Anthony, seemed pretty determined. Just to make sure, she donned a chastity belt which one of the servants provided left-over from one of Anthony's previous lady visitors who had discarded it in a short time under Anthony's persuasive assault.
Alone with Anthony at the dinner table they feasted on canary bird tongues and honeyed lamb. Anthony, eating heartily, inquiring all the while of Caesar and the political situation in Egypt. When Cybele spoke of Cleopatra, he nodded.
"Yes," he said, "Caesar says she is too much for him. He wants me to go there, saying I am the only man he knows who could satisfy the queen."
"He thinks that of you?"
"Lady," replied Anthony, "I am the greatest." Cybele could not conceal a smile at this boyish boast.
"Are you greater than Caesar?"
"According to his own admission. I have satisfied every woman and slave I have slept with."
"Is that your intention with me?"
"Yes," said Anthony, downing a mighty slug of wine. "We will rest a short time now and then I will have you." Cybele patted her chastity belt and smiled to herself.
"Very well," she said. "You may take me when you are ready."
Anthony nodded in a business-like manner, polishing off a bunch of grapes. "An honest, sensible attitude," he remarked. Finishing his fruit, he wiped his large mouth and lay down beside Cybele, who, as if to accommodate him, also lay back waiting for his attentions. , "I would like a little resistance," he said, a slight frown upon his features.
"You shall have it," replied Cybele serenely.
The brash young Roman straightway shed all his clothing and paraded like a cock up and down for her appraisal, strutting and doing calisthenics.
"I must say," Cybele agreed, "your body has points. It is younger than Caesar's, but muscles do not the lover make."
"Agreed," replied Anthony. "My purpose is twofold. Most women become erotically aroused when I do this. On the other hand, limbering up my body in this way makes me more agile when I commence."
"And, when do you intend to commence?"
"Now," said Anthony. He flung himself without preliminaries on Cybele, routinely executing the gamut of kisses and breast fondling.
"Youth," said Cybele faking boredom, "do you think a girl who has been handled by experts, including the great Caesar, will respond to this crude technique?"
"When my technique fails, I rape" muttered Anthony, now quite carried away with the prospect of such fair game. His intensity began to titillate Cybele who found it increasingly difficult to eschew her own mounting feelings. He was crude, he was unoriginal, but he was fresh and totally dedicated.
"Do you find my breasts fair?" she asked, slipping for a moment in her resolve to appear indifferent.
In the traditional manner, Anthony's mouth closed over her breasts. She could feel the heat of his tongue, the tips of his sharp teeth, hurting.
Angrily, she shoved him off, only to feel a stinging slap across her face. She looked up in surprise at the flushed, vein-streaked features of the hot young man. She had been beaten and scratched before in love bouts, but never struck in such a wild manner. Anthony was quite out of his mind with passion.
T will have you if I have to use the sword to unlock you," he growled.
"And that's exactly what you will have to do," taunted the blonde. She grabbed Anthony's hand and placed it over her groin upon the hard outlines of the leather chastity belt.
Anthony sprang to his feet like a raging bull.
"Where's the key to iit?" he shouted.
"There is no key," said Cybele. "I threw it away."
"There are other ways," threatened Anthony, seizing Cybele's golden hair and drawing her face toward his body. With great effort Cybele turned her head away.
"I will not." she cried, "I will not."
"Then, by Jupiter," vowed Anthony, "I'll cut the darned girdle off if I have to saw you in half."
He threw Cybele back on the couch, pointing the sword at her abdomen until the girl froze in fear. She felt the cold blade of the cutting edge deftly inserted between her flesh and the brick-hard leather. Anthony worked like a mad man, Cybele fearing to move, almost helping him with the movements of her hips. The movements were those of the sex act itself. It was as though Anthony were achieving his end with a naked sword.
A sudden thrill gripped Cybele's emotion-wracked body and, all at once, she cried out, in passionate surrender.
"Cut it off, cut it off," she screamed. Anthony gave one last, great turning thrust and the chastity belt split away. He lunged at Cybele, frantically parting her willing thighs. Then, together, they swam in the gathering waves of their urgent passion. There was no art, only brutal precision and a crashing, thundering tidal wave at the climax.
Cybele was contented. Anthony glowed with pride and pleasure.
"Cybele," he said, "none can be greater than you."
Cybele smiled gratefully. "I am destined to entertain the great men of Rome," she said.
"Will you give me more?" pleaded Anthony, completely enthralled, and somewhat humble, before this devastating female.
"Only on one condition," replied Cybele, with a faraway look in her eyes.
"Name it, and I shall do it," protested Anthony.
"Write to Caesar. Tell him I am the greatest," said Cybele.
Then she closed her eyes in happy contemplation of this the only just revenge a woman can take on the man she truly loves.
