“This is her room,” he whispered, indicating the only door along the rear wall. “Be careful.”
“Don’t worry about…”
Before I could finish, a candle flickered around the corner and a man dressed in legionary armor came face to face with the three of us. No longer confined to the pomerium, the sacred boundary around the original borders of Rome, the Praetorian before us was allowed to wear full combat armor — gladius and all.
His face expressed shock and hesitation, but Santino’s did not. Acting on pure instinct, he leapt on the man, just as he had done Varus minutes ago, and wrapped his arm around the Praetorian’s throat. Santino’s face was intense as he choked the man unconscious, dropping him to the ground when the man’s struggle ceased.
He brushed himself off, smiling.
“Barbarian,” Varus muttered.
I looked over at him. “Marcus, I’m very, very sorry about this.”
“About what?” He asked in confusion.
Before he had time to wrap his large brain around what I meant, I pulled out my air pistol and shot him in the thigh with a tranquilizer dart. I caught him as he fell, his legs buckling underneath him.
“Like I said. You’ll thank me later.”
His eyes glazed over and his eyebrows narrowed, but he’d figure it out in a few hours when he recovered. The Praetorian saw him working with two people who clearly didn’t belong onboard. If he wakes up and discovers Varus was working with us, Agrippina might crucify the poor guy. Instead, by shooting him, hopefully the Praetorian will think Varus was working against his will.
I rested my friend on the ground gently and quietly reloaded the air pistol and shot the Praetorian in the arm, reloading again. Santino smirked at me. “Varus is not going to be happy.”
“He’s a smart guy. He’ll deal with it.”
“You really are a sadistic bastard aren’t you? I bet Helena has a real good time with you in bed.”
I looked from the snoozing Praetorian to Santino. “Shut it.”
He chuckled. “Let’s get these two inside.”
I nodded and gently opened the door leading into Agrippina’s room. Removing the dart from Varus’ leg, I pulled him into the room and set him down next to the entrance. Santino did the same with the Praetorian. Shutting the door, I turned around and took in Agrippina’s room in a glance, which wasn’t nearly enough time.
Her room was decorated like an art museum, with sculptures, paintings and murals arrayed all throughout its interior. There were red and purple fabrics draped across the walls and furniture, oriental style rugs on the ground, and enough window space to allow natural light to brighten up the room. I pulled off my goggles, letting my eyes’ natural night vision develop, and took a closer look around.
I looked specifically at the displayed art, quickly noting a common theme. Every piece seemed to prominently feature the same character: Venus, the Roman version of the Greek goddess Aphrodite. As to see why Agrippina would choose her, I had not a doubt in my mind. Of every classical deity, Venus was the only one I could see Agrippina relating with. She was seductive, vane, prone to anger and was a rash decision maker, personality quirks she shared with Agrippina. I wasn’t an art history major, but I recognized many of the paintings and sculptures from mythological context alone.
I saw a painting of Venus emerging from the sea upon her birth, naked and riding an open sea shell. It was eerily similar to the painting by Botticelli, but completely original in of itself. Another depicted the event where Vulcan, Venus’ husband, learned she was having an affair with the god of war, Mars. Intending to catch them in the act, her husband trapped the pair in an inescapable net during one of their sexual encounters. The story continues when Vulcan called all the gods and goddesses to view the spectacle, hoping they would take his side and punish Mars. Unfortunately for the lame-footed and gimped Vulcan, all the goddesses were too in awe of Venus’ beauty to look upon them, while all the male gods simply joked and laughed at Vulcan’s expense, wishing they could take Mars’ place, naked and entangled with the loveliest creature that ever existed.
I always found that story amusing.
One piece depicted of the judgment of Paris, where he chose Venus’s gift over Minerva’s and Juno’s, sparking the Trojan War. Another showed Pygmalion sculpting a model of Venus to create an image of the perfect woman, only to fall in love with the sculpture. Yet another displayed Venus’ rescuing of either Aeneas or Paris at the hands of either Diomedes or Menelaos respectfully during the Trojan War. The final painting was another naked image of her wearing nothing but the cestus, a girdle forged by Vulcan that made her even more irresistible to humans and gods alike.
Her cestus always seemed redundant to me, since she was already supposed to be the most beautiful woman, mortal or god, in the eyes of all people, both male and female. It was always my impression that those who looked upon Venus saw in her what they considered perfect beauty. She was supposed to resemble the pinnacle woman, a paradigm, a true ten on any bar hoppers scale, and since every person’s opinion of beauty was different, so would she have to be as well.
I squinted at the closest picture, the one with Venus wearing the cestus and noticed two things. First, was that in each piece of art, Venus was always completely naked, hiding no shame, not that a goddess would have any to speak of. There were plenty of art pieces I remember from home that portrayed her naked, but most tried to maintain some semblance of dignity by covering up her goods with a fig leaf or something. The artists of these works were unaware of any such concept and left nothing to the imagination.
The second thing I noticed was that Venus’ face looked familiar, and it didn’t take long before I realized the model for these pieces was none other than Agrippina herself. I almost laughed at the vanity of the woman. By using herself as the model for the goddess of love, the most beautiful woman the world will ever know, she was practically claiming that mantel for herself.
But I had to admit, she made for a pretty convincing model.
“Are you seeing all this?” Santino asked, his eyes wide like a kid’s in a candy store.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“That’s Aphrodite isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I replied, pleased at his insight, even though since we were technically in the Roman era, Venus was probably more appropriate.
“She’s… naked, and… smoking hot.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, still drinking in the details.
“Think I can…”
“No,” I said sharply, playing the part of his mother refusing to buy him something from the store. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Damn,” he replied, disappointment obvious in his voice. “That sculpture over there would go great in my bathroom, right next to my gold plated toilet.”
I looked at the sculpture in question. It was an image of Venus, wielding a sword and wearing armor fit for an Amazon. Some Amazonian armor allowed their breasts to hang out over them, so as not to constrict their movement, but according to at least one ancient writer, mothers of new born girls would use a special tool to cauterize the area where the girl’s right breast would grow, preventing its development completely. The absence of a right breast was thought to enhance the strength of the right arm and shoulder, making them more formidable warriors. While it was an interesting story, something told me modern science could probably disprove that theory.
Venus had never really been portrayed as a war-like goddess. That was more Minerva or Diana’s territory, but according to Homer, she had fought in the Trojan War, and was even wounded by the Greek king Diomedes after he was divinely influenced by Minerva’s powerful touch.