Child of the Sun

by Kyle Onstott

  Hierocles broke the silence.

  “We must start this love of ours with complete understanding, beloved!”

  Antoninus nodded, waiting for the next words.

  “We must make it endure,” Hierocles was emphatic.

  “I want it to last as much as you, carissimus.”

  “Then I must confess to you, Antoninus, I do not come to you as clean and unsoiled as I would wish. I wish that I could tell you I am a virgin, unspoiled by either man or woman, but that I cannot in all truth do. I have been with one other.”

  “Gordius?” Antoninus hoped the answer would be yes. He did not fear Gordius.

  “Yes, Gordius.”

  Antoninus breathed a sigh of relief. “And only Gordius.”

  “Only Gordius! When the Greens bought me, I was entirely ignorant of life. I had never been separated from my mother before. How I suffered from loneliness. The first night in the Greens’ barracks I wept, alone in the darkness and Gordius, who slept beside me heard my weeping. He left his cot and came to mine and stretched out beside me holding me in his arms throughout the night. I came to love Gordius but not as I love you, more as a father or a brother. But that love was not enough for Gordius, he wanted more.”

  “And did you give him what he wanted?” Antoninus anxiously awaited the answer.

  “The things that Gordius wished me to do, begged me to do, I could not, even though I cared for him. But in the end I accepted certain conditions. Now I wish I had not. I wish I had kept myself for you alone, Antoninus.”

  Antoninus was silent. He saw the long, endless procession of faceless bodies pass before him—bodies that he had used and enjoyed often without looking at the face. Only the bodies! Oh, how countless many to compare with Hierocles’s one timid experience. For the first time he regretted them—the slaves, the priests, the soldiers, the paragons of manhood whom he had caused to be assembled so that he could prostitute himself. Nubians, Egyptians, Arabs, Syrians, Smyrnans, Greeks, Gauls, Britons, Spaniards and every other tribe and nationality. His face burned as he remembered the nights he and Cleander had spent, bewigged and bepainted, in the lowest bordellos in Rome, competing with each other to see who could garner the most denarii from the pot boys, hostlers, sailors and gladiators. How each would brag of his fistful of silver the next morning! He blushed to think of the lusty orgies in the camps when a hundred men had felt his hands in the course of a morning. But even more, he tormented himself with the nights he had given to Zoticus and the manner of things they had invented. He hung his head to hide his shame, trying to control his voice as he spoke.

  “Would that my confession might be so simple, carissimus. Where you regret the lone Gordius, I would have to regret thousands. If you reproach yourself for having been soiled by one, how can you accept the fact that whole armies have sported with this body of mine?”

  “The past is past, Antoninus. Let us have a future where there will be nobody else but you and I.” Hierocles was pleading now.

  “And how I wish I could promise you, Hierocles, but my promises would be written on water. I know not what demon there is inside me that drives me to such horrible excesses, but demon there is and drive me it does. Always I have tried to think it was my god and that what I did was good and necessary in his sight. I felt that I was acting for him, strengthening him, and bringing him daily to life but now I see I was not doing it for my god but only to indulge myself. But,” he lifted his face and looked at Hierocles, “if you will be patient with me, I shall try. I shall not promise you that from this day on, only your body will satisfy me and then break my word to you as I know I most probably shall, but this only will I promise you. I will try and with your help, perhaps I shall succeed.”

  “We shall succeed, beloved.”

  “Then promise me this. Punish me whenever I fail, Hierocles. I have never been punished in my life and perhaps that is what I need. I shall not resent your punishment for I know it will be proof of your love for me. Then, carissimus, after you punish me, forgive me but never leave me. There is much that suddenly needs to be changed and settled now that you have come into my life. It will require patience and understanding on your part. I must dissolve one marriage—my marriage with Zoticus—and enter into another briefly, that with Cornelia. Then that must be dissolved and I shall at length be free for you.”

  “Settle both matters in an hour. Banish Zoticus and refuse to marry Cornelia.”

  “No, Hierocles, I cannot hurt Zoticus; You begged me not to harm Gordius, now I beg your indulgence with Zoticus. True, he must leave me but the parting must be easy and painless for us both. Bear with me, carissimus, and let me handle these matters for I have been raised in a palace and I know all the intricacies of palace diplomacy, whereas you . . .” He turned at the sound of Cleander’s footsteps. The slave entered bearing a tray covered with a napkin. He came over and set it on a table by the bedside.

  “Of all the foods here, I have tasted and prepared them myself. You have nothing to fear.”

  “Then go, Cleander, for I have another errand for you. Somewhere in the slaves’ quarters of this palace there must be a carpenter or mason—someone who makes little repairs when necessary.”

  “Yes. Veio, the Mauretanian slave. You remember, he whom we both had the day he came to fix the hinge on the doors . . .” He stopped suddenly and looked from Antoninus to Hierocles.

  “Your mouth will get you in trouble some time. I do not require this Veio’s services now but seek him out and get me a file from his tool chest, a strong one. Bring it to me and do not dally with Veio or I shall have you whipped. On the way out, give my orders to the new guards who come on duty soon. Nobody, absolutely nobody is to be admitted except on the word of Caesar. Go, Cleander, and hurry.”

  He uncovered the tray. Cleander had prepared a simple meal of eggs cooked in milk, ripe black figs, warm spiced wine and bread still hot from the bakers’ ovens. Antoninus took a spoonful of the creamy eggs and conveyed them to Hierocles’s mouth but the charioteer pushed the hand away gently.

  “You were saying that you were skilled in palace life but that I . . . and then you stopped. Let me finish your words. You were about to say that I am only a slave and have always been one. Is that true?”

  Antoninus plopped the spoonful of eggs into the open mouth and waited for Hierocles to swallow them.

  “My words do not matter. What if you were a slave? You are no longer.”

  Hierocles’s head came down close to his chest and he caught the thin iron collar in the cleft of his chin. “And this?” he questioned.

  “Why do you think I sent for the file? My fingers, and mine alone shall free you. As the file eats through that iron collar, you will progress through every status that man holds in the empire. At the first bite, you are still a slave, at the second a freedman, at the third a knight, at the fourth a senator, at the fifth,” he hesitated that the full impact of the words might reach Hierocles, “at the fifth, carissimus, you shall be Caesar.” He disengaged the iron collar from Hierocles’s chin and plopped another spoonful of eggs into his mouth. “Yes, you shall be Caesar. The Senate will confer the title on you.”

  “And you? What will you be, beloved?”

  “I shall be Caesar’s wife. The Divine Julius once said that Caesar’s wife should be above suspicion.”

  Hierocles grinned. “Caesar’s wife had better be beyond suspicion or Caesar’s wife shall have two black eyes.”

  Antoninus grinned back. “Hear the man brag! With both his hands bandaged, Caesar’s wife could still have time for playing if she wished!”

  Hierocles stretched his long legs out straight under the sheet. The folds of the thin silk outlined more than his legs.

  “Would that there might be some other pledge you might make to me, some other solemn oath you might swear at this instant, beloved.”

  “You mean . . .”

  “I mean that I think your eastern way of pledging one’s word is most satisfactory, most pleasant, an
d most necessary, particularly to a man whose hands are bandaged.”

  Antoninus relinquished the spoonful of egg he was ready to feed Hierocles. He slipped from the chair and knelt once again on the floor beside the bed.

  “There are a thousand pledges I could give you, carissimus, which one shall I give you first?”

  Cleander entered the room, the file clutched in his hands. The other two neither heard nor saw him. With the file still in his hands, he tiptoed out, closing the door softly behind him.

  14

  The priests of Asclepius were pleased to report progress in the healing of Hierocles’s wounds but advised that the bandages should remain on for another two weeks, which opinion was confirmed by the Greek physician. Gladly would Antoninus have continued his role of slave, nurse, and wife to the convalescing Hierocles but as much as he wished to disregard the fact, he was also Caesar.

  Julia Maesa informed him of that fact when she finally managed to penetrate the guards at his door by bribery. As Caesar, he had certain duties to perform, notably his immediate marriage to Julia Cornelia Paula and its attendant ceremonies. Although Antoninus raged as usual over being forced to do something which he, himself, had not initiated, he remembered the threat that Maesa had made. Few Roman emperors had ever died a natural death, and Antoninus knew that either the knife or poison awaited him if he did not bow to Maesa in certain of her demands. Having won his reluctant consent, Julia Maesa, who had already prepared everything in advance except the bridegroom, announced that the marriage would take place on the morrow.

  She had ignored the recumbent figure on the bed, propped up now with pillows, during her stormy harangue with Antoninus, but once having finished and having gained her point; she allowed herself a glimpse of this new threat to her power. Fortunately, in spite of her fears, Zoticus had never seriously imperiled her position. Zoticus did not care for politics. He was interested primarily in himself, keeping his superb body in condition and hoarding as much money as he could against the day when he would no longer be in favor—a day which he knew to be inevitable.

  Julia Maesa brushed Antoninus aside as she advanced towards the bed and carefully surveyed Hierocles before she spoke to him.

  “So, you are my grandson’s new fancy boy who is going to play Zeus to his Ganymede. Well, you seem to have all the qualifications, except one which is hidden by the sheet. The Antonine chooses well—his Zoticus is a handsome devil but I believe you are even handsomer. Furthermore, you look honest, which is more than I was ever able to say about Zoticus. So, if you make any claims to being a man, and if you should be honest to some degree, see if you can’t make something out of the Antonine instead of the silly, simpering harlot he tries so hard to be.”

  Hierocles did not quail before the stern eyes of the old woman. He recognized her authority and he realized that she, not Antoninus, was the true Caesar, but he also realized that it was she, more than anyone else, who had made Antoninus what he was. Now that the iron collar had disappeared from around his neck, Hierocles felt able to speak freely. He was becoming conditioned to the purple, even an Augusta of Rome did not frighten him.

  “Most gracious Augusta,” he inclined his head as far as he could to make a courteous obeisance, “I ask of Caesar only one thing. That he has already pledged me. I want neither position, money nor power. I am not interested in politics, intrigue, or conquest. I desire neither gold, jewels nor proconsulships. Perhaps you will understand when I say that I love Antoninus and not Caesar. Antoninus, not Caesar, loves me. I am not qualified to instruct anyone. I was born a Carian slave and I have been a chariot driver. However, there is much in Antoninus’s life that we both regret.”

  “Then you know of his disgraceful escapades?”

  “I know that suddenly great power was placed on the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old boy who was ill-equipped to handle this power. I know that from his youngest days, he was taught to indulge himself in every sensual passion that could be taught him. I know that nobody has ever loved Antoninus for himself alone. You never loved him, Augusta. To you he was a means of power. His mother never loved him, as her love had been squandered on almost as many men as his has been. This Zoticus whom you mention has never loved him—he was only interested in feathering his own nest. Now, Augusta, Antoninus has someone who loves him, someone who would die for him if he but ask. Perhaps you will see a new Antonine. Who knows? Eros can work miracles. At least, he can be no worse than what you have already made him.”

  Maesa bristled. “Hold your tongue, young man. No ex-slave speaks so to the Augusta of Rome.” Her mood seemed to soften and her words lost their bitterness in the ghost of a smile. “Hola, the youth has spirit! Spirit can be dangerous, young man, but if what you say is true—that you will curb this young scamp—then I shall not oppose you. Make something that looks like a man out of the Antonine if you can, but keep him and yourself out of politics. That is my province. And, if you can persuade him to dress like a man and keep him from playing the whore in the Suburra, I shall be grateful.”

  Antoninus was jubilant. “You conquered grandmother! And I promise you, Hierocles, I shall go no more to Apollonia’s or such places. I’ll do more than promise you, I’ll even pledge my word in the eastern manner.”

  “Not so,” Hierocles grinned and moved his bandaged arms to cover himself. “I know what your pledges lead to, and we but finished one of those sessions less than an hour ago. Remember, I’m a man and not an army.”

  “So Zoticus always reminded me and now, I am reminded that I must see Zoticus. We have much to discuss, and I think it better that I discuss it alone. My palace diplomacy has been at work and the painless parting is imminent. However, carissimus, if you do not desire, I shall not see Zoticus alone.”

  Hierocles considered the matter carefully before he answered. “It has been some weeks since you saw this Zoticus. Perhaps when you see him, the fascination which he has always exerted over you will return and you will forget your Hierocles.”

  “Have no fear,” Antoninus’s lips brushed those of Hierocles. “I shall never forget you. The conversation that we shall have will be concerned with business only. Two people must be eliminated from my life—Zoticus and this lump of dough which they call Cornelia. I have made my plans very cunningly for one to remove the other. Zoticus will depart from my life willingly and painlessly, but Cornelia’s departure will not be so painless. I am dismissing Zoticus for only one reason—because I love you. I go now to Zoticus’s apartments. Fear not that I shall not return.” He brushed Hierocles’s lips again. “Do you play draughts with Cleander until this afternoon, when, if you are willing, we shall renew our pledge.”

  Antoninus walked across the floor without his usual mincing steps, opened the doors himself, and stepped out into the corridor where, as usual, his litter was waiting. Today the glistening ebony limbs of the litter bearers had no fascination for him.

  “To the apartments of the Pro-Consul Zoticus.”

  Zoticus was pleased to see him and inwardly congratulated himself that Antoninus had not come a half-hour earlier. He glanced quickly towards the bed to check its appearance. The covering had been carefully smoothed and its unwrinkled surface did not betray the frustrated struggle which had so recently taken place there. The sweating slave had given up in despair and left, and probably even now was spreading the word that the mighty Zoticus was impotent—a dead and lifeless behemoth that resisted every effort and could not be revived.

  Zoticus was aware of what had been happening in Antoninus’s apartments. At first he had not feared the results but now he knew he was on the way out. His one claim to Antoninus’s love had disappeared. Yet he was relieved. Living in Nero’s Golden House reminded him of the old fable of Damocles who had lived under a sword, suspended by a single horsehair. Zoticus had always been conscious of the sword over his head and now the frail horsehair that had held it had snapped. However, he still cared for Antoninus even though he knew he had lost him. He spread his arms wide
in greeting.

  “My Lupus! Life begins anew for me at this moment.”

  Much of Zoticus’s magnetic charm still remained for Antoninus and it made the part he was to play easier. He rushed into the open arms and as always, his hands deliberately sought that which he had always marveled at, but in spite of forceful administration, the greatness of Zoticus remained limp.

  Zoticus shook his head sadly. “I do not know what has happened to me, little Lupus. I’ve tried male and female slaves but neither has been able to rouse me. The one claim I had to fame has departed. I shall never be able to satisfy you again, little Lupus. I must leave you.”

  Antoninus appeared to be weeping. He was a facile actor and now he put all his talents to work. “Did you try drinking satyrion?”

  “Goblets and goblets!”