Child of the Sun

by Kyle Onstott

  The old man frowned at the buzz of whispers that were being hissed back and forth among the slaves. Gossip about their masters and mistresses was strictly forbidden, but when their slaves knew more about them than they knew themselves, it was most natural that they should talk whenever they got together and mealtime was one of the few occasions when the opposing factions of the household met on neutral ground.

  Apol, the heavy-handed young slave of Alexianus and his constant hunting companion, leaned forward, his chin thrust out. He made an obscene gesture with his fingers across the table at Gannys.

  “So, your young sissy got his pretty little head banged on the pavement today? Did mama’s boy cry?” Apol shared his young master’s dislike for both Varius and Gannys.

  Gannys made an even dirtier gesture with his fingers. “That to the young bully who is your master. He’ll soon find out who’s in power here. Varius will be High Priest and then your little bastard, Alexianus, had better keep his hands off or he will profane Varius’s sacred body.”

  Metrax, the Thracian slave of Mamaea snorted. “Will his body be so sacred that he’ll have to stop sleeping with soldiers?”

  Young Publius, the legionary, would take no derogatory remarks about the legion. “Every Roman soldier in Emesa today loves and honors Prince Varius. He’s a favorite with the whole legion.”

  “Speak you for yourself, Publius?” Apol laughed. “I suppose you do because you wear the gold medallion Varius gives to all whom he finds satisfactory at stud. How many gold pieces have you already collected from Varius?”

  Publius’s face reddened under his tan. “As a soldier and a free man I will not discuss the matter with slaves.”

  “Hush, hush,” Old Vatron tried to calm the others. “It is forbidden to talk here. You must listen to me.”

  “To you, old man?” Gigex the Nubian chuckled, showing his white teeth. “Who’s going to listen to you? You’ve not been able to get it up for poor old Julia Maesa for the last ten years. Now . . . if you only had something like this,” he hoisted up the front of his tunic and pointed down, “then you’d have something to crow about.”

  Mamaea’s Thracian spat on the floor. “If Soaemias wants that black monstrosity, she’s welcome to it, but big as it is, I suppose it seems like hanging it out of the window to you. ’Tis said your mistress has only to spread her legs and a chariot and four can find shelter for the night. Now my mistress appreciates talent. She says my sergeant-at-arms may not be the biggest in the world but it is the most playful.”

  “After you’ve had three doses of satyrion. That’s the only way you could get it up.”

  “Men, men, you must be quiet. They will be coming soon.” Vatron held up both hands to quiet them.

  “Call you us men, Father Vatron?” Gannys simpered. “Alas we are not men but slaves, except young Publius here.”

  “Men! Ho ho!” Metrax and Apol slapped each other on the back. “Men! Look who’s talking about men! The slut Gannys with his painted face and dyed hair. Men? Ha!”

  “I know more about men than you’ll ever know,” Gannys glared at Apol, “and who are you to talk so high and mighty? What were you and the young Alexianus doing down behind the stable the other day? I caught you.”

  “Nothing more than other boys our age do.” Apol was quick to defend himself. “And certainly nothing like your Varius does. Even tonight, the new slave, Threnox, was talking about him in the kitchens.”

  “Which means the bragging little kern will be sent to the whips tomorrow.” Gannys stopped talking and placed a warning finger on his lips. “Quiet everybody or we’ll all be sent to the whips. They come, our high and mighty owners.”

  There was a prattling of voices on the stairs which resolved into the strained falsetto notes of women who are trying hard to be polite in order to conceal their intense hatred of each other from a guest. The curtain at the head of the stairs parted and the company walked across the comparative obscurity of the roof to ascend the few steps to the brilliantly lighted domed enclosure where the table was set.

  Julia Maesa, her hand resting lightly on the gold bracelets which covered Comazon’s arm, led the little procession. She was a woman nearing fifty who made little or no effort to conceal her age. She had never been a great beauty like her sister, Julia Domna, but she was still a fine looking woman, with iron grey hair, meticulously waved. parted in the middle and drawn back severely. Her long tunic of light grey silk was caught at the waist with a belt of wrought silver, otherwise she wore no jewelry.

  Behind her came Soaemias, puffing slightly from the ascent of the stairs. Her arm was protectingly around the saffron tunicked Varius who exuded an overpowering smell of roses—yellow roses to be sure. Soaemias’s younger sister Mamaea followed behind with Alexianus. In contrast to the elaborate costume and the profusion of jewels which Soaemias wore, Mamaea’s dress was of pleated white linen, gathered at the waist with a plaited girdle of colored cords and her son was dressed in a similar rough tunic to that of the slave Apol who was to wait on him. It was evident that Mamaea and Alexianus were the poor relations, destined always to be eclipsed by Soaemias and the favoured Varius.

  Followed the usual flutter of place seeking, bowing the ladies to their couches, adjusting the pillows and whispering words of instructions to the several slaves. Finally the last pillow was plumped up and bowls of rose water were passed into which the diners dipped their fingers and then dried them on the linen towels which hung over the arms of their slaves.

  At a signal from Vatron, a group of serving slaves appeared from the shadows with bowls of snow, each of which held a goblet of wine. When those on the couches had each been served, Julia Maesa took the wreath and placed it on Comazon’s head, thus crowning him both the guest of honor and the captain of the dinner. It was he who would choose the topics of conversation, regulate the watering of the wine, taste first from the various meats and act as host.

  He rose on his elbow, bowed to Julia Maesa and then to Soaemias and Mamaea. This formality over, he addressed Varius.

  “Noble Varius, do you now propose a toast to the divine Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, Emperor of Rome and your kinsman.” (Caracalla’s real name was as above—the name Caracalla was a nickname from the long cloak which he always wore, but this name was never used in his presence.)

  Varius raised his goblet languidly.

  “To my divine cousin, Caracalla, but first, dear Eutychianus, a libation to the god Elagabalus, whose divinity exceeds even that of my cousin as he would be the first to admit.” He poured a few drops of wine on the table and Comazon discomfited by his omission and his correction, sprinkled an even larger libation which was followed by all at the table.

  “And now to Caracalla,” Varius raised his goblet but whereas the others took only polite sips, he drained his and held out the empty goblet to Gannys to be refilled.

  Soaemias caught Gannys’s eye and nodded her bead. Varius was being indoctrinated into the pleasurable and stultifying effects of alcohol. Comazon caught the look and smiled. Julia Maesa had also seen it but preferred to ignore it. Only Mamaea spoke.

  “Soaemias, the wine is unwatered as yet.”

  She scowled at the interruption. “But Varius likes it better that way.”

  “Yes, I do, Aunt Mamaea.” Varius took another swallow.

  “And what you want you get.”

  Julia Maesa rapped the table. “Our noble guest, Eutychianus Comazon, will lead the conversation. Let not family matters intrude.” She turned to Comazon, “And what shall we discuss, Tribune?”

  “I would not want to bore you with my profession, but I would speak of the army, particularly of a demonstration today at the camp in honor of your grandson, Varius. He is a great favorite of the soldiers and today they showed their love for him in a most remarkable way.”

  Varius sat up on the couch, both arms gracefully outstretched towards Comazon.

  “My dear Tribune, how wonderful! Do tell me what happened.”

&nbs
p; “Well, out of their meager pay each soldier in the Legion contributed something and from the sum total, they have had a suit of armor fashioned for you—the breastplate gilded with an embossed sun in token of your coming elevation to the priesthood of Elagabalus.”

  “Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!” Varius clapped his hands, “And when shall I see this?”

  “Today was the public viewing for the Legion. Now they think to prepare a fete in order to present it to you. ’Twill probably be several weeks before all the details are worked out as it will be a most elaborate affair, to take place after your elevation to the priesthood.”

  “A toast to the Legion.” Varius tossed off the goblet of wine and the others acknowledged with sips. “My soldiers all! Tell them, dear Eutychianus, that I love every one of them, and I love you too, you have been a father to me.”

  Gannys filled his goblet again. The slaves appeared with the first course, and for the next few minutes nothing was said as the diners made their choice from the many delicacies.

  Comazon leaned over and wiped the tips of his fingers on the towel which hung from Publius’s arm.

  “Yes, illustrious Varius, the man who has the love of the Legion is indeed a fortunate man.”

  “Most fortunate,” Julia Maesa agreed. “It was the army that put Caracalla in power and it is the army that keeps him there. Every Emperor of Rome since Nero has ascended to his purple through the strength of the soldiers behind him.” She turned to the Tribune. “Naturally I am glad that the Legion here at Emesa is so attached to my grandson. But, Eutychianus, that is only one legion out of the many which make up the Roman army, scattered throughout the Empire.”

  Comazon smiled with the secret knowledge of a man who has already accomplished something difficult. “The Fifth and Sixteenth, stationed at Antioch have heard of the illustrious Varius. I have an agreement with the Tribunes in Antioch to transfer legionaries from time to time so that more and more soldiers may become acquainted with Varius and the rewards that acquaintance entails. Already the Fifth and the Sixteenth are favorable to Varius. Soon they will be even more favorable.”

  Soaemias looked up quickly. “How?”

  “Apollo is worshipped at Antioch. His temple at Daphne is the largest in the world. Apollo is the Roman God of the Sun, merely another name for Elagabalus. When Varius becomes High Priest of Elagabalus, as he will be soon, he will be invited to appear at the Temple of Apollo in Antioch. Worship at the temple that day will be compulsory for all the soldiers stationed there. We shall make it a festival, with special awards for all who attend. There is nothing a Roman soldier likes more than a few extra denarii. He will have Varius to thank for them and he will cheer Varius to the rooftops.”

  Julia Maesa shook her head, her disbelief written plainly on her face. “But even with one legion at Emesa and two at Antioch, we can hardly hope to change the course of Empire.”

  “Ah, allow me to contradict you, dear Julia Maesa,” Comazon reached out and laid a band on her arm. “Three legions are quite enough. Once they have accepted, others will follow. Look back in history! How many did it take to make Otho Emperor, or Vespasian or Domitian? What starts in one legion spreads like fire to others and remember, we shall have three, not one.”

  Mamaea spoke for the first time. “And what do you expect to gain from all this, Eutychianus, provided the time ever comes for you to act?”

  Comazon recognized the hostility of her tone. “Perhaps nothing, my dear Mamaea, perhaps much. That will be for Julia Maesa to say,” he bowed to the older woman.

  Her glance disapproved of Mamaea’s words. She pushed the food aside on her plate, sipped the rest of the wine in her goblet and signaled to old Vatron to help her from her couch. She noted Varius’s face, flushed with wine, and his nodding head. A move of her fingers signaled Gannys to rouse him. Varius sat up quickly at Gannys’s prodding, opening his eyes wide to disguise the fact that he had been dozing.

  Comazon recognized the signal for dismissal and swung his foot over the edge of the couch. As he did so, he met Varius’s eyes.

  “You will be well guarded tonight, dear lad. I have ordered one of your favorite soldiers to be in attendance.”

  Alexianus slipped from his couch and stood on the floor beside his slave. His tone was polite, his words carefully chosen, his eyes bright and straightforward. “Dear Cousin,” he bowed with mock formality to Varius, “I bid you good night. May you sleep well, and to that end I hope your soldier’s armpits do not stink of sweat as mine do.”

  Varius’s hand was lifting a goblet full of wine to his lips. He flung the contents at Alexianus and the goblet followed to crash on the floor. A purple stain spread down the rough cloth of Alexianus’s tunic.

  “Have your brat keep a civil tongue in his head,” Soaemias glared at her sister.

  Julia Maesa held up a hand for silence. “Alexianus’s words were ill chosen. So was Varius’s action. He has broken one of my murrhine goblets. Mamaea, I charge you to see that your son does not provoke Varius after this.” She turned to Comazon, “Come, old friend, you and I have much to discuss in private and you, Soaemias, accompany me. Bid your black man wait here, and you, Comazon, dismiss your soldier. What we have to discuss is not for the ears of slaves or common soldiers. My nephew Caracalla is in Antioch. I have received a courier just today. Macrinus is fomenting a revolt against Caracalla. Unwittingly the fool is playing into our hands. Come Eutychianus, come Soaemias, we have many things to talk about.”

  The three walked across the dark roof, talking in low tones. Gannys helped Varius to sit up and get his feet on the floor. He swayed slightly in the slave’s arms. Alexianus had not moved. Mamaea was still on the couch.

  “They are trying to make you Emperor of Rome, Varius, and I hope they do.” Mamaea’s voice had lost its bitterness. There was even a trace of pity in it. “As Emperor you will not last long.”

  “Then I suppose it will be Alexianus’s turn. But that will never happen, dear Aunt. You heard tonight how the soldiers love me. You know that I am soon to be High Priest. I shall reign a long time for my person will be sacred and I shall have the protection of my dear soldiers.”

  “At least you will be protected tonight,” Alexianus mocked him.

  “Thank you, dear cousin, and that you may sleep without further worry about me. Let me tell you that Gannys will anoint the German’s armpits so they will not stink like yours.”

  Somewhat unsteadily Varius took Gannys’s arm. Julia Maesa, Comazon and Soaemias were waiting for him at the head of the stairs. They were swallowed up in the darkness.

  Mamaea laid a restraining hand on Alexianus. “You have a hard lesson to learn, my son, but you must start learning it tonight. Play up to Varius. Flatter him, pretend to like him. Never antagonize him again. Your grandmother, together with Comazon and Soaemias are plotting to put him on the imperial throne. It is better that he be your friend than your enemy. Do not blame Varius too much for what he is.”

  “But he is such a sniveling sissy, mama.”

  “Blame him not. His grandmother, his own mother, Comazon, the priest Zenotabalus and that debauched Gannys are all conspiring to make him as evil as possible in order to gain their own ends. Varius could have been as fine a person as you are but he has been taught to think of nothing but the pleasures of his own young body.” She sighed. “Perhaps it is as well. Your chances will be better in the end. But, swear one thing, Alexianus. Swear on the love you have for your mother. Never, never, never follow your cousin in any of his ways. Guide your own life by choosing exactly the opposite path. Whatever he does, shun it. Whatever he does not do, make it your own.”

  She leaned over and kissed her son and led him away.

  They had spoken too low for the slaves to hear but now that they were gone, the hum of conversation started. Gigex, the Nubian, raised his voice above the others.

  “Looks to me as though we should all start packing for Rome.”

  “Bah, what have you to pack?�
� Metrax, Mamaea’s Thracian grinned.

  Once again the black man raised his tunic and pointed down. “I carry my most precious possession always with me,” he grinned too. “ ’Tis a heavy weight, I vow, but it will make my fortune.”

  “And one cut of the knife could deprive you of all your worldly goods.”

  4

  Julia Maesa led the way down the dark and rather narrow flight of steps which led from the roof to the second floor. Varius, leaning heavily on the arm of Gannys, followed behind her and Soaemias and Comazon came last. As Maesa paused to lift the drapery that covered the doorway at the foot of the stairs, she looked back up their dim length. Soaemias and Comazon were locked in a tight embrace and Maesa smiled to herself as she realized how perfunctory it probably was. Neither cared anything for the other but both needed the other. So, they kept up the pretence of love. Who was fooling whom? At least neither of them were fooling Maesa.