Love of a Courtesan
By
Tula Neal
(C) Copyright by Tula Neal, May 2011
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
Cover Art by Jenny Dixon, May 2011
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
The loud, firm knock on the door resounded through the atrium startling the yellow songbirds in their cage. They flew off their perch, chirping, their wings fluttering. Chloe’s own heart leapt though she had been expecting this summons, had been waiting for it. Belthus, her longest-serving slave, emerged from a side room but she waved him away and hurried to the heavy door. She knew who it was even before she opened it. A tall, slender man the color of burnt almonds stood in front of her. It was the third time he’d come. The third Monday morning in as many weeks.
“My master sends his greetings and this token of his love.” He extended a small packet to her. A shiver went through her as his fingers touched hers. She wished she could prolong the contact.
“And a letter as well?”
“Yes.” He made to hand the small scroll over to her as well but she stopped him with a shake of her head.
“No, come inside. I want you to read it to me.” That was the plan she’d hit upon just the night before. It would draw the Aethiop courier into the house and keep him there, where she could feast her eyes on the sight of him. Even better, he would read the letter to her and she could pretend that it was he who’d written her the honeyed words of love, that the expressions of the writer, the feelings, were his.
“Do you not prefer to read it yourself, in privacy?” He frowned. “Perhaps it would be better.”
“No,” she said, firmly. “You know your master and know the inflection he would give to certain words. Since he prefers to remain anonymous for now, your voice will have to serve as his.”
“I must be getting back.”
“The letters you’ve brought before have been short. Is this one longer?”
“No.” His tone was amused.
“Then you will be done before he has had time to miss you.” She had out-argued him but he did not seem to mind she noted with satisfaction. A small smile splayed around his full, well-formed lips but he kept his eyes averted as if he didn’t want her to read the expression in them. She turned to show him through the atrium. The songbirds monitored their passing but Chloe’s attention was all on the man.
She watched him carefully to gauge his reaction to the large mosaic on the floor. It had been installed a year ago and depicted a series of love scenes between gods and mortals. In one corner, a swan lay on top of a voluptuous woman, Zeus’s rape of Leda. In another, an ardent Bacchus lay with a naked Ariadne who reclined among flowers, her legs open to receive his very visible and very erect cock. Her guest slowed but she couldn’t tell or even begin to guess what he was thinking. She thoughts his lips twitched but she wasn’t sure and his face was completely neutral. As a slave, he might never have been in the home of a courtesan before. Certainly, few slaves could afford the services of a much sought-after courtesan and had to content themselves with a hurried fuck from a streetwalker in some small hovel near the theatres or outside the city walls. If they had enough money to spare, they might, as a special treat, seek out a fellatrix, those women whose gifts with their tongues could make a man believe he had found paradise.
A few whores moved up from the street to the bordello but few reached her status as owner of her own home, able to choose and refuse clients. Whenever she thought of what she’d achieved since she left North Africa as a teenager to follow Gallus Aemilius, the Roman governor, back to Rome, she felt a sense of pride. He had hired tutors for her to teach her the arts of conversation and literature, how to sing and dance. But Chloe herself had sought out the fellatrix, Cynthia, to teach her the more intimate arts and she had proved an apt pupil. When a stroke nearly felled Gallus Aemilius she had persuaded him to help her set herself up as one of the most stylish courtesans in the city. His patronage had ensured her success and though it was more than a year since he’d died she continued to offer prayers for him every day at her household shrine.
She wondered how much the Aethiop knew of her history, if her home and its explicit decorations had shocked him. Surely, he’d have realized that a courtesan’s home would be no ordinary place, would, in fact, be something of a temple of the seductive arts. Like the garden to which she led him.
The rains of the past couple of days had revived her languishing plants and made her peristyle, once again, an inviting and intimate room for outdoor assignations. Jasmine vines curled around the columns and the leaves of the grape tree were a bright emerald green. Basil, thyme, mint and other herbs flourished alongside violets and nasturtiums while the red and white rosebushes ranged along the far wall released subtle but heady fragrances into the air.
He inhaled deeply and appreciatively.
“Your garden is a perfumerie,” he said, looking admiringly around him.
“I am pleased you like it. Come sit.” She took a seat on one of the three heavy couches and patted the space next to her. “You’ve said your master does not wish his name revealed but will you not tell me yours?”
For a second their eyes met and something hot uncoiled itself in her stomach, tautening her nipples. The Aethiop’s eyes were the color of dark honey glinting in the sun, his lashes as long and silky as an Easterner’s.
“He has instructed me not to reveal that either.”
“Oh.” She tried not to let the disappointment show on her face.
“Are you going to open your present?”
“What? Oh.” She’d forgotten she held it. “No. I’ll look at it later. I want you to read to me now.”
He chuckled then, a low throaty sound.
“What is so funny?”
“I think you must always get what you want, when you want it. Isn’t that so?”
No, she could have told him. It wasn’t so. She could have told him that she’d wanted him from the minute she’d first seen him, could have described for him each and every dream she’d had of him, and how on some nights she woke up wet and panting for his touch. She could have told him that, last night, she’d turned away her clients so she’d be fresh and well-rested for him, that she’d woken especially early in order to have more time at the Baths to cleanse herself. But she said none of those things.
“Please, read the letter to me.”
He unrolled the scroll.
“Dearest Chloe, you are the most beautiful of women to me. Your skin is more golden than the dawn, than honey, than the finest olive oil. When I watch you promenading through the streets of Rome, strolling through the Gardens of Lucullus, or enjoying yourself at the theater, I think to myself that surely Mount Olympus is missing a goddess. Or do you come from another pantheon altogether? Are you an Aethiopian Aphrodite sent to tantalize us poor Roman men? For what do you search? Is it love? I can give that to you, my dearest. I can give you that and more if you would love me and only me for all eternity.”
Here the courier glanced at her, his eyes dark, filled with a look she couldn’t read.
“Chloe, Chloe,” he continued. “How I love to whisper your name into the air. How I wish that every breath I took could bring me the scent of you. The sight of you drives me crazy with longing.” The courier’s voice deepened. She wondered if it was because of embarrassment or something else? “In the night, thoughts of you awake my sleeping snake and allow it no rest until I have given it satisfaction. Love me, Chloe. Love me or I must surely go insane. Love, forever, your greatest admirer. ”
He clasped his hands over the scroll and looked off to the far side of the peristyle.
“That is the end.”
Chloe didn’t know what to say. She should not have been surprised by the letter’s eloquence, the previous two had been just as articulate, clearly her suitor was a learned man, but this one had an urgency to it, a heartfelt tone she didn’t really remember hearing in the other two. It was also more graphic than the previous missives. Not that she minded. She rather liked knowing she had that effect on men.
“Do you have an answer?” the Aethiop asked, still not looking at her.
“I…I…No…I don’t.” She stopped, thought some more. “Will you not tell me something about him? Tell me if he’s old or young, handsome or ugly, strong and fit or decrepit? Does he have a lot of money? Does he own country-houses? Is he a senator? How can he really expect me to give up my independence without knowing anything of him?”
“Do looks and wealth matter so much to you? They are things that vanish with age. You should not let them influence your response to him.”
“Shouldn’t I? But you are mistaken if you believe my anxiety about his identity or his possessions is why I’m reluctant to fall for his entreaties.”
“You have other reasons?” He cocked an eyebrow at her and she had to will herself to calmness to keep from betraying a hint of the effect he had on her.
Instead, she shrugged, not wanting to say more. For several months she had been turning her retirement over and over in her head. Two less famous courtesans, both women with whom she was friendly, had given up the life and married long-time lovers. A month ago one of them had given birth to a boy. Chloe had participated in the name-day celebrations, happy for her friend, but she’d watched Livia and wondered if she, herself, would ever know the same happiness.
Not that the kind of settled life her friend now had didn’t have its disadvantages. Despite her past or perhaps because of it, Livia’s husband gave her no latitude and expected her to abide by all the rules that governed married women. She rarely went out of the house. All the riches she’d brought to the marriage were now his by law. Worst of all, Livia had told her he often reminded her that if he ever caught her cheating he could kill her with impunity. The law offered no protection to adulterous wives.
Chloe, on the other hand, remained free – able to go where she pleased, when she pleased, and to spend her own money or not as she liked. True she could not go to certain public events and was forbidden from wearing the stola but what of it? By and large, she had her independence. If, and it was a big if, she found a man prepared to give her at least some measure of freedom and if he had the qualities she liked in a man – if he was kind, gentle, able to carry on a conversation and a capable lover – she would consider him. She’d have the best of both worlds then – a family and her freedom. What more could a woman want? She didn’t mind too much about his looks. Every man couldn’t be as handsome as the courier beside her.
“I will tell him that you have no answer for him.”
“Tell him I wish to know who he is, that I can give no answer until I do. You don’t really think I’m unreasonable, do you?”
“It is not what I think that matters.”
“You are like a walking statue then, just going about your master’s business with no thoughts or feelings of your own?” She laughed harshly. Didn’t he like her even a little bit?
“Is that what you believe?” He got to his feet but his gaze remained on her.
“It’s what you’re showing me,” she said, struggling to be as unemotional as he was.
“Are you a slave?” she asked. “I wish I knew something about you.” She rose, put her hand on his arm. Did she imagine it or did his flesh tremble?
“I am that I am. You need not concern yourself with me.” He jerked away from her and strode back to the atrium.
Chloe didn’t try to stop him. Had she offended him? She hadn’t meant to, she was just curious about him, about his family, where he came from, everything. The man was as big a mystery as his master. Couldn’t he tell how she felt about him? Couldn’t he read a woman’s heart?
She tore open the present. A gold brooch set with carnelians. Pretty but she would have preferred knowing the Aethiop’s name to any gift.
Chapter Two
The next day, Chloe was emerging from one of the fabric shops near the Forum when she saw a crippled man limping across the street.
“Nomus Oranius,” she called out.
The man turned, a smile breaking over his face as she walked over to him.
“Chloe, darling.” He landed two quick kisses on each cheek. “How are you? A little birdie tells me you’ve closed up shop or as near as. Are you in love, my dear?”
Chloe laughed. Gallus Aemillius had introduced her to Nomus who had made it his business to sharpen her skills at witty repartee and innuendo, must-have talents for any courtesan but they had quickly gone beyond the relationship of tutor and student and become good friends. She looked at his ugly face with its reddened, bulbous nose and deeply scored lines and felt sorry she had made no effort to see him in recent weeks.
“No,” she said. “At least,” she thought it over, “I don’t know.” Did she know the Aethiop well enough to love him or was what she felt merely desire? Whatever it was, she knew she had never felt the same about anyone else, not even Gallus Aemillius.
Nomus Oranius raised caterpillar eyebrows at her. “Cupid’s arrows may strike true but their effect is sometimes like a slow-acting poison that takes over your system almost without your noticing.” He smiled. “Or so the poets say. Speaking of which, my lovely have you read any of the poems of Quintus Velius?”
“Who?” Over his shoulder, Chloe caught a glimpse of a tall, dark man. Her heart skipped a beat, lurched. She craned her head to see better but the man turned aside and disappeared. Her heart resumed its normal rhythm but every fiber of her being quivered with alertness.
“A poet, my bewildered sweetcake. Listen.” He pulled a small scroll from the folds of his toga. “’My love, I want to fall upon you like the darkest night and cover your body with my kisses.’” Chloe listened to Nomus with only half an ear. Her eyes searched the crowd. “Think no more of those who have gone before for my love will be a cloak surrounding you with my warmth, demanding your complete surrender. Let me lay claim to your soft lips and hold your sweet form. I will pleasure you as Bacchus pleasured Ariadne and you will be the only star in my firmament.”
Chloe felt her cheeks warm. The poet certainly had a way with words.
“Who did you say he is?”
“That’s the thing, my curious dove, nobody knows. The poems started appearing early this year, circulating first only among a small circle but now all of Rome is reading Quintus Velius and wondering who he is.”
Chloe started. The black man had emerged from the tavern and she caught a brief glimpse of his face, it was him, her Aethiop.
“Nomus, I must go.”
“Oh?”
“I’m sorry. I will come see you soon.” She clasped his hands in hers.
“Why the hurry?” He turned around to peer around the market. “You saw somebody.” His voice rippled with curiosity.
“Yes.” Chloe’s lips twitched. Nomus’ nosiness was legendary though it could sometimes be matched by his discretion but she wasn’t ready to confide in him just yet. “I did. Good-bye, Nomus. Keep well.” She gave him a final little wave and plunged into the crowd, almost running to catch up to the Aethiop, worried she would lose him. But the crowd made haste as difficult for him as for her and she soon had him in her sights again.
The courier was walking fairly briskly but he was still taking the time to look at the different products on sale – silver from Spain, spices from India, grain from Africa, perfumes from Persia. The streets near the Forum held the largest concentration of shops in the city and, while only the rich could afford many of the items, it was the place to see and be seen. She, herself, came there at least twice a month. She wondered if he knew that. His master had seen her in Lucullus’s Gardens and at the theater. Was it possible that the man had followed her to those places or just a coincidence? Whatever, she wasn’t going to allow the mysterious courier to disappear on her. Perhaps he would lead her to where he lived. She might even catch a glimpse of his master.
Tuesday was a busy shopping day, but she was still able to easily follow the tall, dark figure through the crowds. He turned down a narrow side street, then crossed over to duck through an alley. Chloe hurried after him. She kept as far behind as she could without risking losing sight of him altogether. The courier headed downhill and picked up speed. She had to break into a near jog to keep up. Even so she almost lost him as they passed the old city walls and entered the narrow busy roads of the ancient quarter. For one panicked second she could not see him and then there he was, pushing his way past the people on the narrow sidewalks. Chloe hurried after him. The Aethiop turned down a road which she thought led past the Baths of Titus but then he made a quick right turn and vanished. Chloe ran to the entrance and looked down the dim alley. The man was nowhere in sight. He couldn’t have reached the end of the alley so quickly. She looked wildly around, checking that she hadn’t been mistaken and he was still on the main road but there was no sign of him. Sighing in exasperation, she headed down the alley.