Dominus

by Steven Saylor

  The three boys moved away from their elders to another part of the courtyard. Commodus turned to Gaius and gave him a long, hard look. “Father says we two must now be friends,” he said. “What do you think, Cleander?”

  “I suppose he’ll do.”

  “Shall we wrestle, Pinarius?”

  “If you wish,” said Gaius.

  “Let’s all strip, then, the way the Greeks do it. Cleander, you can be gymnasiarch and referee us.” Commodus quickly pulled off his tunic and loincloth and kicked off his sandals. Nestled in the cleft of his chest was the golden fascinum on its necklace. Gaius caught a glimpse of it and lowered his eyes. His father had explicitly told him not to mention the fascinum, and to take no notice if Commodus was wearing it.

  Gaius was a bit awed by the other boys. Cleander was rather skinny and not much to look at, and a slave, but he exuded a worldly self-confidence far beyond his years, while Commodus was strikingly good-looking and had a strong, wiry physique.

  Commodus easily won three matches in a row. Gaius had never met a boy so strong and agile.

  They competed in a footrace, the length of the courtyard and back, which Commodus won by several strides.

  He also beat Gaius at archery. Gaius thought himself fairly competent, having been taught to shoot by his uncle Kaeso, but Commodus’s marksmanship bordered on the uncanny. He hit the center of the target every time.

  While they rested, Gaius asked Commodus about his visit to the front. “My uncle was just telling some amazing stories.”

  “Oh, I have stories to tell. You’ve heard of the Rain Miracle?”

  “Oh, yes! Uncle Kaeso—”

  “You uncle may have observed from a distance, but I was actually nearer to the field of battle. So close, I could smell the barbarians. They exude a very particular stench, you know. Sort of like Cleander.”

  Cleander smirked and made a rude noise with his lips. Clearly, he was used to being the butt of his master’s jokes.

  “Uncle Kaeso says it was Harnouphis—”

  “What, that simpering imbecile? Yes, I know he’s taking the credit, but that story is as fake as his magic spells. It was I who brought about the Rain Miracle.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. With a little help from this.” He reached up to touch the fascinum glittering in the cleft of his sweat-glazed chest. Now that Commodus was inviting him to do so, Gaius took a closer look.

  “I know what that is, of course,” said Gaius cautiously.

  “My father thinks it fends off plague, but I’ve found it useful for all sorts of things.”

  Was it the fascinum that gave Commodus such skill at wrestling, running, and archery? Gaius felt a twinge of jealousy, staring at the little lump of gold.

  “When I realized the dire situation of those thirsty Romans trapped in that fort, I prayed to this talisman to save them. I’m certain that Hercules heard me, and he interceded with his father Jupiter to send the rain.”

  “Hercules?”

  Commodus rolled his eyes. “I see I know more about this amulet than you do, never mind your family’s claim to it! I do listen sometimes when my father speaks, and he says that this fascinum may be one of the oldest—perhaps the oldest—such talisman in all of human history, dating back to the very first Pinarii, who lived amid the Seven Hills before Rome became a city. And what are you Pinarii famous for?”

  “We put up the first altar beside the Tiber,” said Gaius.

  “Yes, the Altar of Hercules. So there must be some link between your family’s talisman and the god whom they were the first to worship, don’t you think?”

  “The fascinum embodies Fascinus,” said Gaius, “a god even older than Hercules—”

  “Yes, quite literally a penis with wings. Did you ever see such a thing?”

  “No. But have you ever seen Hercules?”

  “Only in glimpses, sometimes, when I look in a mirror.” This seemed such an odd remark that Gaius wondered if Commodus had misspoken. He glanced at Cleander, who was standing slightly behind Commodus. The slave’s expression gave no indication that anything unusual had been said. “Anyway, it was Hercules who heard my prayer for rain, and Hercules who answered it.”

  Gaius remained skeptical. “But you weren’t actually present, were you? You weren’t trapped with those soldiers in the fort. Surely your father would never have put you in such danger.”

  “I most certainly was there!” insisted Commodus.

  Cleander, still behind Commodus and unseen by him, slowly shook his head and seemed hardly able to keep himself from laughing—a clear denial of what his master was saying. Gaius was confused. His father had told him that the emperor Marcus was the best and most honest of all the mortals on earth, so how could it be that Marcus’s son would lie about something so important? And how could it be that a slave of the imperial household dared to contradict and even mock his master, doing so literally behind his back?

  “But enough about the fascinum,” said Commodus. “Did you bring the collateral, as I asked? Cleander, you did send my message to Gaius ahead of our meeting?”

  Cleander stepped forward and nodded.

  Gaius looked over his shoulder at his uncle and father, who were some distance away. “Yes, I brought it, but Father mustn’t see. He’s told me never to touch it.” He walked to his clothing and reached into a hidden pouch, then returned to Commodus and held forth the diamond.

  “Pretty,” said Commodus, taking it in his left hand. “And heavy!”

  “Are you left-handed?”

  “Of course. Did you not see how I hold the bow? All the best archers shoot left-handed. All the best gladiators are left-handers, too.”

  “Gladiators?” Archery and wrestling were suitable preoccupations for the highborn, but Gaius’s father disdained any interest in gladiators, and so did the emperor Marcus. What could Commodus know about gladiators?

  “Can it do magic?” asked Commodus, staring at the diamond.

  On this subject, Gaius was actually quite knowledgeable, thanks to his father, who had taken an interest in the matter since becoming custodian of the King of Stones. “The diamond prevails over all poisons and renders them powerless,” Gaius said. “It dispels attacks of madness, and drives groundless fears from the mind.”

  Commodus stared at the glittering stone, fascinated. “Yes, someday it shall be mine—my inheritance. But to wish for that would be to wish my father dead. I’ll tell you a secret, Pinarius. That’s the one and only thing I fear—my father’s death. Of course I shall take his place someday—the Fates have seen to that, killing off all my older brothers. But not yet. I’m not ready!”

  “Of course you’re not,” said Gaius with a laugh. “You’re only twelve. Even Nero was sixteen before he succeeded Claudius. It will be years and years before you become emperor. Antoninus Pius lived to be seventy-five. Your father was forty before he became emperor.”

  “Yes, you’re right. It’s a long time away. Still, one day, this pretty thing will be mine!” Commodus held up the stone so that it captured dazzling pieces of sunlight. A bit reluctantly, he gave it back to Gaius. “I worked up a sweat! Shall we go inside and take a cold plunge, and then a hot one?”

  Gaius had already had enough bathing that day, but his father had made it clear that he wanted Gaius to get along with Commodus, so he nodded and followed the two other boys. He would like to have squealed when he jumped into the cold pool, but neither of the others did so, so he stifled the impulse. After the cold plunge, the hot pool provided another shock, and though Commodus and Cleander quickly sat in the steaming water up to their necks, Gaius could not help but hiss and hesitate as he lowered the more delicate parts of his anatomy into the pool.

  Commodus laughed. “Do you think it’s hot, Pinarius? I don’t. Tepid, I would say. Not nearly warm enough to resettle my humors after that cold plunge.” He shook his head and frowned. “My humors feel all out of balance. I’m shivering! What incompetents are running this place? You there!�
�� he called to a nearby slave, who came running. “Bring me the bathkeeper in charge of the furnace. Fetch two of my bodyguards, as well.”

  “I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” said Cleander. “The water’s quite hot enough. I wouldn’t want it to be any hotter.”

  Gaius was thinking the same thing, but he would never have dared to contradict Commodus as boldly as did Cleander. What sort of master was Commodus, to allow a slave to speak that way? There was a great deal he admired about Commodus, but there were other things about the boy that puzzled him.

  The bathkeeper, a paunchy slave with soot on his face, soon arrived, followed by a pair of armed men. The two soldiers were part of Commodus’s traveling retinue, comrades of Kaeso, who had introduced them to Gaius and his father when they first arrived at the palace.

  “What do you think you’re playing at, you old fool?” demanded Commodus. “Can you not see that we’re freezing in this pool?”

  “But Dominus, this is the hot pool,” said the bathkeeper cautiously.

  “Is it? Then why am I so cold? Don’t just stand there, you idiot. Stick your hand into the water and test it!”

  The bathkeeper dropped to one knee and reached into the pool. Before he could speak, Commodus lunged toward him and splashed him in the face. There was nothing playful about the gesture. Commodus looked furious. The bathkeeper instinctively skittered back, then went rigid, not sure what to do, but ready to be splashed again if that was what Commodus wanted.

  Gaius looked at Cleander for some indication of how to react. The other boy kept his mouth shut and moved out of range, so Gaius did likewise.

  “Guards!” shouted Commodus. “Take this useless slave and throw him into the furnace.”

  The two guards looked dumbfounded for a moment, then moved in unison to seize the sodden, sputtering bathkeeper by the arms and pull him to his feet.

  “If he lacks enough fuel to stoke the furnace, then let his body fuel the fire instead. Do as I tell you, at once! In a few moments, I expect to smell roasting flesh!”

  The bodyguards dutifully removed the bathkeeper, who began to wail and blubber but was too timid to resist.

  Commodus stepped out of the pool. He clutched himself and shivered, even though steam rose from his glowing flesh. “Cleander, fetch a cloth—no, one of those sheepskins from the pile over there. Dry me off, at once! Rub me until I’m warm again!”

  Cleander brought the sheepskin and wrapped it around Commodus, whose teeth were chattering. “And where are you off to, Pinarius?” he asked.

  “I need to … to relieve myself.”

  “Then piss in the pool, like everyone else.”

  “No, I have to…”

  “Whatever! Off with you, then. Cleander, wrap another sheepskin around me.”

  As Gaius left the chamber, he grabbed a sheepskin from the pile, then hurried after the two guards and the bathkeeper.

  “Publius,” he called, keeping his voice low. “Isn’t that your name?”

  The guard stopped and looked over his shoulder. “What do you want, young Pinarius?”

  “You can’t burn the man alive.”

  Both guards looked at Gaius, and then at each other. “We don’t really have a choice,” said Publius. “In the absence of his father, Commodus has full authority to—”

  “Burn this, instead!” Gaius thrust the sheepskin at them. “It will smell like burning flesh, or close enough. Commodus is ill, can’t you see? He needs a physician. He won’t follow you all the way to the furnace room.”

  “And if he does?”

  “I’ll see that he doesn’t.”

  The guards looked dubious.

  “I know! I’ll fetch my uncle Kaeso. He knows how to handle Commodus, doesn’t he? And I’ll have my father send for the physician.”

  The soldier looked at him shrewdly. “You take after your uncle, boy. Hard as nails, that one, but he has a soft spot, like you. Alright, then. We shall burn the sheepskin … and hope for the best.”

  “But there’ll be no screaming,” objected the other soldier.

  “We’ll say we throttled the slave first, and then burned his corpse.” Publius smiled. “And that is why I am a rank above you.” He tapped his skull. “Quick thinking! As for you,” he said, releasing his grip on the weeping slave, “go very far away, very quickly, and do not come back.”

  * * *

  As it turned out, the slave had only to hide for a short while, because Commodus became delirious with fever and later remembered nothing of the incident. The onset of such a fever, so quickly, was alarming to everyone, not least Galen, who was summoned to deal with the matter. The fever explained why Commodus had behaved so viciously, or so Galen said. Gaius was not convinced.

  Whatever cure was prescribed by Galen, it must have worked, for Commodus was almost entirely recovered, if still a bit weak, within a few days. At the behest of his father, Gaius paid a visit to the patient, who remained bedridden at Galen’s insistence. As always, Cleander was also present.

  “I think I was hallucinating that day,” said Commodus. “I’m almost certain that you had the head of a fish, Pinarius.”

  Cleander laughed, but Commodus seemed quite serious.

  “It’s a good thing Galen was here to look after you,” said Gaius. “My father says he’s the best physician in the world.”

  “Maybe,” said Commodus. “But I don’t think it was Galen who cured my fever. I think it was this.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out the fascinum. “I’ve grown rather fond of it. I like it better than that diamond. What diamond ever cured an emperor’s son, or caused anything like the Rain Miracle?”

  Gaius looked at the shiny little nugget of gold for just an instant, and then looked elsewhere, and decided it would be best not to repeat to his father what Commodus had just said.

  A.D. 180

  At almost fifty-nine, Lucius was feeling his age on this chilly March day as he left a special meeting at the Senate House. His son awaited him in the vestibule. Lucius wore his senator’s toga, and Gaius, now nineteen, wore the armor of an officer in the legions and sported a thin but neatly trimmed beard.

  Lucius paused at the Altar of Victory to light a bit of incense. He looked up at the statue of Victory. Black wreaths hung from her shoulders. From the assembly chamber, the whispering of the senators was like the sighing of the sea, pierced by the sound of men openly weeping.

  The grim news had arrived that day from Vindobona on the Danube River. Marcus Aurelius was dead.

  By force of old habit, as he had done so often in times of anxiety or stress, Lucius reached up to touch the fascinum at his neck—but it was not there. Nor was Gaius wearing it, despite the fact that he had come of age some years ago. Commodus was still in possession of the Pinarii’s amulet. Even after more than ten years, Lucius sometimes still found himself searching for it with his fingers, and finding only a void.

  On the way home, walking through the Forum, they ran into Galen. Before anyone spoke a word, the looks they exchanged made it clear they had all heard the terrible news.

  “Of course, I can’t help but wonder,” said Galen, “if I had been there, could I have saved him?”

  Lucius tilted an eyebrow. How many times over the years had Galen said such a thing? If only Galen could be present everywhere at once, it seemed, no mortal would ever have to die.

  “The messengers dispatched to the Senate say he grew very ill very suddenly and died the next day,” said Lucius. “At least the Fates granted him a speedy death.”

  “As we were leaving the Senate House,” said Gaius, “I overheard a couple of senators saying he might have been poisoned.”

  “They should keep their mouths shut!” snapped his father. “And so should you, young man. That kind of talk is dangerous. And completely unfounded.”

  “But inevitable,” noted Galen. “There are always such rumors, when any rich and powerful man dies. But who in this case would have had a motive? Certainly not Commodus.
The lad’s barely nineteen and hardly champing at the bit to take his father’s place—though now he must find the strength to do so.”

  “Let’s hope he proves ready for the challenge,” said Lucius. The thought made him uneasy. Again he reached for the fascinum that was not there.

  “Oh, but I almost forgot!” said Galen. “The first copies of my new book are ready at the shop, on the Street of the Sandalmakers, and one of them is reserved for you, as always. Do you have time to go there with me? Of course you do! Come along and I shall inscribe a copy to you and your family, with all best wishes for perfect health—in which case you will never need to read the book.”

  In the years since his return to Rome, Galen had written and published a great many works. This important and time-consuming labor was one of the ways he justified himself when asked why he had never gone to war with the emperor, or followed Commodus when he went to serve under his father. “No one can say I’ve wasted my time,” he would say. “There’s so much to recount, so many cases to discuss, so much scientific knowledge to record—and so much nonsense to debunk!”

  His latest was titled On Prognosis, in which he looked back on his first arrival in Rome and recorded a number of his more memorable cases, including his treatment of both Marcus Aurelius and Commodus.

  The proprietor of the bookshop gave Galen an effusive welcome and told him that requests for copies of the new work were flooding in.

  “Is the demand greater than usual for one of Galen’s works?” asked Lucius.

  “Yes, indeed, Senator Pinarius. It’s because the author mentions his dealings with the late Marcus, blessed be his memory, and with Commodus, blessed be his reign. Anything to do with the imperial family is always guaranteed to sell, and with today’s awful news, people are hungry to read anything to do with the beloved Marcus. Any memory of him is precious, since there shall be no more.”