by Kyle Onstott
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Gannys agreed.
“Then I will be amused. I certainly will.” He reached out and drew Gannys’s arm ‘around his waist. “Could anyone have a better slave than you, dear, dear Gannys?”
2
The swimming bath was illuminated by an indigo light which filtered through the colored glass inset in the ceiling. It bathed the room in a weird, unearthly light and as Varius swam through the sapphire water, it broke into a blue effervescence that drained the color from his bands, making them ghostly white, despite the coloration of the sun. He dived underwater, leaving a trail of pale blue bubbles behind him and swam under the surface until he came to the white marble coping at the deep end of the pool. With fingers locked over the rim, he looked up at the boy standing on the edge of the pool—the new slave boy which Gannys had only that morning chosen from a new shipment of slaves and purchased in the slave market at Emesa.
Varius inventoried him carefully. He was pleased to see that the boy was of a peasant type, and he could see that Gannys had chosen carefully with his young master’s particular preference in mind. Varius had no liking for willowy, pale Greek boys or the small-boned Arab youths with their airy affectations. This one, he noted, was perhaps eighteen and his eyes followed from the feet, which were broad and flat with thick, curved toes, to the stalwart legs with their bulging calves, then to the fiat stomach and the wide chest with arms which showed the rounded muscles of hard labor. The face was pleasing, and the hair crisply blond. The blue eyes of the slave looked down at Varius, conscious of the careful scrutiny that was being made of him. Until a week ago, he had been a farmer. Now he did not know exactly what he was or what he was to be. He forced a smile to his face and his lips parted tentatively to show a row of strong white teeth. Varius did not return the smile.
“What is your name, slave,” he demanded.
“They call me Threnox.”
“Know you that you are my slave?”
The boy’s smile disappeared. He nodded assent.
“And that you must do everything I ask of you? Everything? Because if you do not, I shall whip you and if I cannot whip you hard enough, I shall send you to the public whip-handler. He’ll raise some fancy welts on your back, won’t he, Gannys?”
“Indeed he will, Threnox.” Gannys shook a warning finger at the youth. “Better do exactly as your new master commands,” Gannys winked at Varius.
“Then come swim with me now,” Varius commanded.
“But I cannot swim, my lord and master. On the farm where I lived there was no water—only a well. So I have never learned.”
“Well, then, I shall teach you. Come, jump in.”
Threnox hesitated. “But it is over my head and I shall drown.”
Varius laughed. “So, you drown! And tomorrow Gannys will buy me another slave and I shall not mourn you. Besides, it will be interesting to see a person drown. I have never seen that happen. Now I desire it. Jump, I tell you, jump in.”
Threnox reached one foot slowly down into the water and withdrew it. He was frightened. Here he was in this strange palace, where he had been bathed and rubbed with sweet-smelling oils. His clothes had been taken away from him and he had nothing wherewith to hide himself. Now he was in this dark room, in this weird light, looking down into the depths of this blue water into which he was supposed to jump. The boy who looked up at him frightened him. He shrank back but Varius reached up, grabbed one of his ankles and pulled. Threnox, with his feet firmly braced, resisted and although Varius exerted all his strength, he could not budge Threnox. Varius became angry. He abandoned his hold on Threnox and swam to the opposite end of the pool which was shallow and climbed out on the marble steps. The whip with which he had lashed Gannys was lying on the floor and as he ran around the pool, he picked it up.
Threnox was still standing on the edge and as Varius approached him, he shrank back from the whip in Varius’s band.
It did not appear to be a formidable weapon—its delicately carved ivory handle held only a single strand of braided silk and leather but its lightness was deceiving. In Varius’s hand it could inflict pain and he had had sufficient practice to assure himself of the results he desired. With the whip in his hand and the ability to make others cower before him, he was able to forget the frustrations of his life, the domination of his mother and the existence which was so carefully charted for him by Gannys. The whip forced those that were stronger than himself to bow to his will and it was always foreordained that they must bow, because they knew if they did not there was a stronger whip, wielded by a more formidable hand which would be mercilessly laid upon them.
Threnox, like a trapped animal, sought a place to run but there was no escape—the pool was bordered by only a narrow gallery on all four sides. Gannys stood threatening on one side—Varius was advancing on the other. Threnox retreated to the wall but even before Varius reached him, he tasted the end of the lash.
Varius was jubilant. “Into the pool, slave! Jump! It will amuse me to see you drown.” Now he was near enough so that the full force of the lash bit into Threnox’s flesh. Again and again it descended and all his attempts to dodge and protect himself with his arms were of no avail. Slowly the sting of the lash forced him to the very edge of the pool. His foot hovered on the marble coping and then slipped and he fell backwards into the water.
Throwing the whip to Gannys, Varius dived in after him, swam underwater until he reached the flailing arms and the thrashing legs, then, just as Threnox managed to reach the surface, Varius pulled him under. Threnox’s strength came to his rescue for he managed to fight Varius off and reach the surface again. He gulped air into his lungs only to have his head pushed under again by Varius. The struggle continued—Threnox fighting to rise and fill his bursting lungs and Varius forcing him down under, until Threnox weakened by lack of air could struggle no more. He went limp in the water, his vain efforts to keep afloat ended.
Suddenly Varius’s mood changed. That which he had lashed, tormented and nearly drowned now became the object of his tenderest solicitations. He lifted Threnox’s body and swam with it to the shallow end of the pool, cradled Threnox’s head in his arms and tenderly brushed the wet hair from the slave’s face. Threnox gasped for air and opened his eyes. His glance of fear was returned with one of affectionate solicitude by Varius.
“Poor boy! Poor, dear boy!” They were now in shallow water and Varius helped Threnox to stand up, then supported him. With his arm around Threnox’s waist, he guided him up the marble steps and through a curtained doorway that led to a small room almost completely filled by a large slab of white marble, supported on bronze legs with a low couch beside it. Still solicitous and gentle, Varius guided the dripping slave to the couch, forced him down and lifted his legs up on the couch. He plumped up the pillow under Threnox’s head, clucking and cooing with sympathetic noises. Gannys followed and looked on indulgently.
“I saved your life, dear boy.” Varius had found a towel and was drying Threnox’s body. “Yes, had it not been for me, you would have drowned in the pool. Oh, at first I wanted you to drown but then I realized you would bring me more pleasure alive than dead, and besides,” his mouth drew down in disgust, “had you drowned in the pool, I would never have wanted to swim there again. I hate dead things. But you are not dead, dear Threnox, and now you must show me how very grateful you are to me for saving your life.”
Threnox managed to speak, “I thank you.”
“My lord and master,” Varius prompted him. “You mustn’t forget that, Threnox, for I am your lord and master.”
“My lord and master.”
Varius motioned Gannys to leave.
“So now, with your heart filled with gratitude for me, Threnox, move over on the couch and let me lie beside you. You are trembling. Ah, you shiver from the cold water but my body will warm you. Oh, how you must love me, Threnox, because now you live and breathe at this moment. Had I forced you to the bottom of the pool and stood on you, you would now
be dead. So you are alive and you must become even more alive that you may show me the depths of this great love you have for me.”
Threnox grudgingly moved over on the couch and Varius accommodated himself to the narrow space that remained. Their damp bodies touched each other, and Varius’s arms drew Threnox’s face close to his own. His lips sought those of the slave, pressing hard to overcome their reluctance. Suddenly Varius sat up. Gannys was still standing in the doorway, the curtain upheld in one hand.
“Out! Oh you vile Gannys! I’ll not have you spying on me. Here is somebody who loves me because I have just saved his life and I’ll not have you gawking at us while he proves it. Out and quickly, for my fingers already tell me that Threnox is ready to demonstrate his love.”
Gannys dropped the curtain but he remained standing on the other side. Slowly and carefully so as not to disturb the hanging folds, his fingers made a small opening between the edge of the curtain and the door jamb. He peeked through it, keeping his eye glued to the aperture for the next hour. At first he measured his breath carefully but after a while, he realized that the two on the couch were entirely oblivious to any outside sounds. Finally he dropped the curtain and smiled to himself. The red welt across his chest had not disappeared and he rubbed it with one hand as though he cherished it.
Varius was so easy to handle, especially if one let him think he was handling himself. His fingers lingered on the welt across his chest. He had enjoyed that. He had taught Varius how to use the whip for his own enjoyment, for Gannys had been brought up by the whip in the bands of his Egyptian master and he still had a fondness for it. He walked along the edge of the pool to another room and sat down before a table of citron wood which was cluttered with bottles, phials and jars. The mirror of polished silver over the table gave a clear reflection of his face. Gannys smiled at his silvered image then frowned as he noted a tell-tale line around his eyes. He opened a jar of ointment and with expert fingers, he re-touched his face, glancing from time to time towards the door, awaiting his summons from the other room. Finally it came—he heard Varius call his name.
He gathered up an armful of towels and a long robe of soft white wool and departed. As he approached the curtain to the rubbing room, he heard Varius’s voice. The words throbbed—hoarse and husky, satisfied and satiated.
“It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, was it Threnox?”
The answer was relaxed and sleepy. “No, my lord and master, but I hope the next time you do not half-drown me to make me prove that I can love you.”
“Oh now, I shall not drown you again, Threnox. I shall have to think of something different. But, dear Threnox, it will be some time before I see you again but I shall tell Gannys not to sell you for I must save your life again. It makes you so grateful.”
Gannys lifted the curtain and walked in. The two figures were still on the couch and from their position, Gannys could see that their roles had changed. Varius was no longer the master. He had become the victim, but the smile of satisfaction on his face assured Gannys that his master was satisfied.
Varius slowly extricated himself from the burden of Threnox.
“You chose wisely, my good Gannys. He performed beautifully. Send him back to the kitchen and bid him await my next call. See to it that he is not sold as I shall desire him again. He is so grateful when I save his life that I must do so often. Dear Threnox!” Varius kissed the slave and climbed to his feet.
“Now, off to the kitchen with you, Threnox.”
Gannys threw the boy a towel to wrap around his waist. Threnox remembered to bow low to Varius before he departed.
“And now, dear, kind, thoughtful Gannys,” Varius scrubbed himself with the towel, “what shall I wear tonight; with what delightful scent will I perfume myself and,” he indicated the still moving folds of the curtain, “whom have you arranged for me to sleep with tonight?”
Gannys lifted the curtain to see if Threnox had gone.
“One question at a time, Varius. As to what you shall wear tonight, there is a new tunic of saffron colored silk, embroidered with gold phoenixes which just arrived this afternoon from the seamstress.”
“Wonderful! It will become my dark hair.”
“And with it, attar of roses.”
Varius shook his head. “Never! I only wear that perfume with rose color. With yellow, I prefer mimosa.”
Gannys smiled knowingly.
“Ah, but this is attar of yellow roses.”
Varius embraced him. “Dear Gannys, how thoughtful you are. Yellow roses! But of course.”
“And as for your bed companion for the night . . .”
“Yes, yes, go on, Gannys.”
“Remember the soldier that the Tribune Gaius Vitronius sent here for guard duty about a month ago. The Tribune was sure that he would please you and he did—so much so that you gave the man a hundred gold pieces.”
Varius clasped his hands together. “Oh, Gannys, the one I have been asking for every night.” Varius closed his eyes the better to envision the bulky young German, bursting with blond vitality.
“The same! And at my orders, Gaius has kept him in close confinement for a month, during the which he has seen neither man nor woman, preparing himself for this night.”
Varius was in raptures. “You are good to me. First Threnox, then the saffron robe and the attar of yellow roses and now the German whom I have been dying to see for so long. I must reward you, Gannys. What would you like?”
Gannys picked up the slender whip and handed it to Varius.
“A good beating, my lord and master, so that I shall never forget that I am slave to the world’s best master.”
Varius took a firm grip on the whip as Gannys stripped off his tunic and turned his back.
“But not too hard, dear Varius.”
“Yet hard enough for you to enjoy it, what?”
3
The formal triclinium of the Emesa Palace was used as seldom as possible and only on state occasions because its frescoed walls kept it hot and airless. At all other times the evening meal was served on the roof, where an occasional breeze from the river wafted up a fiat smell of muddy bottoms and brackish water. With the canopy of the stars overhead there was an illusion of coolness, if not the actuality.
Tonight, with only Eutychianus Comazon, the local Tribune of the Roman Army for a guest, the occasion was not considered sufficiently formal to warrant the family abandoning the coolness of the roof for the stifling heat of the indoor triclinium. Comazon was an old friend of the family—more than an old friend many said when speaking of his relationship with Soaemias. Comazon had been quick to use his charm and take advantage of Soaemias’s near relationship to the Emperor Caracalla and, if she preferred to share her couch with him, he was not loath to use such means of obtaining advancement. Soaemias was interested in men and she had been flattered by the attentions of the handsome young soldier. The affair had begun shortly after her widowhood in Rome, even before Caracalla had banished his immediate family, with the exception of his mother Julia Domna, to Emesa. Emesa was a small, quite unimportant city in Syria, whose only claim to fame was that it contained the main temple of the Sun God Elagabalus.
Of late, Comazon’s ardor for Soaemias had cooled considerably. At thirty-five, she had become stout and was already losing the beauty which had made her famous. More important still, Comazon’s long association with her had gained him nothing better than the tribuneship of the legion at Emesa. With the Emperor’s cousin for his mistress, he felt he should have advanced higher, but consoled himself that the easy post at Emesa was better than being an obscure soldier on the fighting front, freezing with the cold in Gaul or perishing with the heat in Libya. Comazon was still a young man, some five years younger than Soaemias, and he did not confine all his nights to her. Naturally, as he carefully explained to her, he had to put in many evenings at the barracks. Soaemias understood and minded very little. Among the retinue of palace slaves there was always one whose embrace
s pleased her more than those of Comazon, of which she had long grown weary, but Comazon represented the army and the army was necessary to her plans. So, the outward appearance of their long dead affection was maintained for mutual advantage.
Six couches were laid at three sides of the long table—on the roof and beside each of the couches, six slaves, or rather five slaves and a Roman soldier were standing, awaiting the entry of the diners. By one of the couches in the center, an elderly man with carefully combed white hair and beard awaited the arrival of the matriarch, Julia Maesa, whose sister, Julia Domna was the mother of the Emperor Caracalla. Maesa’s daughters, Soaemias and Mamaea were both widows, each with one son, Varius and Alexianus.
The Roman soldier, orderly to the Tribune Eutychianus Comazon, stood beside the next couch, a wreath of roses and laurel in his hand for his commander. Around the corner from him, a tall, well-built young Nubian moved his doe eyes in the direction of the stairway, awaiting the arrival of his mistress, Soaemias. At the next couch stood the elegant Gannys, whose apparel put that of the other slaves to shame. Across the table, at the other end, Mamaea’s favorite Thracian slave was adjusting his already too short tunic and beside him a sunbronzed lad with clumsy hands and plain white cotton tunic awaited the entrance of his master, Alexianus.
