the banks of flowers. So absorbed was Lygdus in his little victory over his mistress that he missed the soothsayer. The aged Thrasyllus still sat where he had been since the wedding, half-hidden by leaves and shadows.
The old man found his mouth filling up with words just as the slave slipped away. The soothsayer wanted to call out and stop him – some of the words concerned Lygdus, after all. But he let him go. Lygdus was not the goddess's intended recipient. The words the Great Mother, Cybele, gave Thrasyllus to impart were meant for another: she who was so long asleep. Thrasyllus closed his eyes and let the words come.
The son with blood, by water's done, the truth is never seen.
The third is hooked by a harpy's look – the rarest of all birds.
The course is cooked by a slave-boy's stroke; the fruit is lost with babes.
The matron's words alone are heard, the addled heart is ringed.
The one near sea falls by a lie that comes from the gelding's tongue.
The doctor's lad will take the stairs, from darkness comes the wronged,
No eyes, no hands and vengeance done, but worthless is the prize.
One would-be queen knows hunger's pangs when Cerberus conducts her.
One brother's crime sees him dine at leisure of his bed.
One would-be queen is one-eyed too until the truth gives comforts.
When tiny shoes a cushion brings, the cuckoo's king rewarded.
Your work is done, it's time to leave – the sword is yours to pass.
Your mother lives within this queen: she who rules beyond you.
The end, the end, your mother says – to deception now depend.
So long asleep, now sleep once more, your Attis is Veiovis.
When Sejanus came to their bed, Apicata had already arranged herself upon the linen, lying on her chest with her arms resting beside her, two cushions placed beneath her loins so that her rump was raised and displayed for him. She said nothing, knowing how deep his despair at the destruction of their plans had been, and she intended saying nothing when he took her – her silence aroused him most. Afterwards, she would begin to soothe him with words, coaxing him back to confidence and hope.
But Sejanus made no move to enter her, and Apicata realised that sodomy would not please him tonight. Leaving the bed, she sank to her knees in front of him, pressing her lips to his thighs. The smell of him was sour – he had not washed – but there was nothing about this man that could repulse her. She took him in her mouth, tasting his dirt and sweat, but his sex wouldn't grow. He lifted her away. Apicata sat next to him at the edge of the bed, and was heartened that when she placed her hand in his he did not let go.
After a time he said, 'They don't deserve my father's love.'
'Who don't?'
'His family. Any of them. They don't love him back. They pretend to love him, but it's false.'
'Only your love is true, husband.'
'It breaks my heart for him.' He wept a little then and Apicata knew simple joy when he placed his head at her breast while the tears flowed. She stroked his hair, placing her lips in the curls. He had a hero's hair, her husband – the hair of Hercules.
When he stopped, she said, 'You will think of a new plan, Sejanus, and I will help you in it.'
He lay back on the cushions.
'My ears are always open. I hear the things no one else can hear.'
He closed his eyes and his breathing grew fainter. Apicata placed her mouth to his thighs and took him again, for her own contentment if not for his. She lost herself in the motion. Her mind was freed from her body, from the shackle of her blindness, as it always was in this pleasure. She remembered what she'd heard in the garden before the banquet hall doors had opened – the conversation between the soothsayer and the noble matron. Apicata played it over in her mind until inspiration came.
Then she said, 'I have a plan of my own, husband. Would you like to hear it?'
But Sejanus was asleep.
'No matter,' she whispered. 'I will enact it on my own account and then
Sally Fallon, Pat Connolly, Phd. Mary G. Enig