I Am Livia Read Online Free PDF Page B

ill omen.
    The house had colorful murals on the walls and artfully done floor mosaics. It was the house of a wealthy nobleman, though smaller than the house I had grown up in.
    The sounds of merrymakers outside faded as a servant led me to a room off the atrium. Soon my husband and I were alone. Garlands of flowers bedecked our bedchamber. The wedding couch was covered in red silk. A candle flickered.
    I turned my head and gazed at the pale yellow wall as Tiberius Nero undressed me. Then I felt his greedy mouth, sucking my breast. I reminded myself that he was my husband and I must endeavor to please him. Heat filled the room. I touched his neck with my fingertips. His skin felt moist, and I could smell his sweat.
    He pushed me back on the bed and pawed at my thighs. I thought of what my father had said as we stood before our ancestors’ portrait masks; this was like laying down one’s life in battle. I wanted to push Tiberius Nero away, but I forced myself to go limp. I could feel a battering, but then he withdrew and cursed under his breath.
    “What is wrong?”
    He laughed. “Nothing. It’s because you’re young and small, and so innocent.”
    He shoved a pillow under my buttocks. I looked up at him for a moment, saw his wide shoulders and his hairy chest. I turned my head and watched the shadows on the wall. His shadow rose and fell, rose and fell.
    Tiberius Nero gasped. I felt a sharp pain and clenched my teeth. He heaved himself down beside me, his head on the pillow. I stared up at the ceiling. There was a tiny crack, barely visible in the dim light of the candle, shaped like a bird in flight.
    “How beautiful you are.” He gave a low chuckle. “Wife.”
    “Husband,” I murmured.
    After a while, he said, “Turn over on your belly.”
    I remembered seeing the steward and the maid in the kitchen, and understood. I didn’t look at the shadows on the wall this time. I kept my eyes closed. I told myself that there was a part of me Tiberius Nero could not touch, that my mind was safe from him.

    So I became a married woman. I was mistress of a mansion on the Palatine Hill, attended by well-trained and obedient servants, and given every material thing I asked for. I asked for books—a great many. I asked for a huge oil lamp with gold fittings, so that I could sit up late at night and read sometimes, while Tiberius Nero snored. I asked for some expensive jewelry too, just to prove my power.
    In bed, I early developed the knack of removing mind and spirit, while my body mimed passion. I, who had been prone to blurt out uncomfortable truths, learned to playact adroitly. I think that Tiberius Nero believed that every night he held a loving wife in his arms, a creature of mind and spirit as well as flesh.
    Frequently, in the throes of passion, my husband told me I was beautiful. This did not warm me so much as perplex me. No one had ever called me beautiful before. As my maid dressed my hair in the morning, I sometimes would gaze in the mirror and wonder if there was any truth in what my husband said. My eyes were big and a lustrous dark brown, my hair the color of flame. Perhaps there was something arresting about my features. The stola, which I as a married woman wore, flattered me. Belted beneath my breasts, it made me look more voluptuous and mature than my girl’s tunica had. I was not particularly tall, but the long, straight linen folds falling to my ankles gave me some added height. I looked more like a woman now, less like a mere child.
    At times, when my husband took me, my flesh responded and I felt the beginnings of pleasure. But my mind soon drifted away, and the sensation faded. I suppose the trouble was that deep down I rebelled against the use my body was put to. And yet, because it was my duty as a wife and as my father’s daughter, I gave myself to Tiberius Nero whenever he wanted me, always with pleasant words and outward warmth. I pretended that his desire was a source of joy to me. He was, I