Child of the Sun

by Kyle Onstott

  “Then he cannot be a depraved ogre, because if he were you could not love him.”

  “No, mother, my beloved is a boy who has but recently passed his seventeenth birthday. He is a boy who has starved for love without ever knowing what love really is and now that he has found my love, he glories in it. He is a boy who has never been taught right from wrong, until I started to teach him. I am proud of my beloved, mother, not because he is Caesar, but because he is mine.”

  “Then I shall try to love him too. Mayhap it will be difficult, but I shall try.”

  “Thank you, mother. Now stand beside me in my chariot and we shall soon enter Rome. This Caesar and his mother, who were yesterday slaves, today have all Rome at their feet. See the crowds lining the streets to see the Lady Dulcilla pass. Lady Dulcilla! That’s you, mater mea! Today you have a little house awaiting you that once belonged to Padilla, the sister of the Emperor Commodus, located on the Esquiline Hill* and connected with the Imperial Palace. There I shall leave you with your new household, but I shall return at the first opportunity. We have much to talk about, dear mother. And now, we enter Rome. Stand straight, Lady Dulcilla. Smile at the people as you pass for if I am an honorary Caesar of Rome, then you are an honorary Augusta. Bow slightly, dear mother, and accept the plaudits of the poor people for now you can afford to smile at the lowly plebs.”

  They drove on through the crowded streets, for although wheeled vehicles were barred from the streets of Rome during the daytime hours, the imperial chariot was an exception. The little house of Fadilla was, as Hierocles had said, charming and Hierocles left his mother there in the care of slaves which had been purchased for her. After he had seen her safely inside and introduced her to her attendants he left her, still somewhat awed by her position, and drove off, urging his charioteer to lose no time in reaching the Golden House. Antoninus was awaiting him, and he knew the boy would be petulant and childish after his absence.

  He leaped from his chariot at the front portico of the palace, ran through the long halls and corridors until he reached the now familiar ebony doors. The guards admitted him without questioning and he burst through the doors, his arms outstretched for Antoninus. The room was empty. There was no Antoninus.

  Hierocles made a hurried tour of the apartments—the big reception room, the bedroom, the adjoining baths and the wardrooms, even the pantries where their meals were prepared when they preferred to dine alone. Antoninus was not in any of them, and Hierocles felt that sudden suffocating clutch of panic that comes from disappointment and fear in not finding a loved one. He returned to the reception room and stood there, puzzled and distressed as to the complete absence not only of his lover but the slaves who were usually in attendance. Antoninus had made him promise—the third hour after midday. He checked the water clock. He was on time! Where was Antoninus?

  A door closed softly in the adjoining room and he ran to where the sound came from. The wardroom door leading off the bedroom was slightly ajar. Whoever had closed it had not closed it tightly. So as not to make any noise, he tiptoed across the floor and opened the door. Once inside he stood quietly in the centre of the room. Nothing stirred. Then he detected a slight movement behind the silken gowns hanging along one wall and he plunged his hand between them. It encountered warm flesh. He took a firm grip and pulled. It was not Antoninus, it was Cleander.

  “Why do you hide from me, Cleander, and where is Antoninus?”

  “I do not know, I do not know.” Cleander’s look of injured innocence was not convincing.

  “Then why are you hiding?”

  “I was but hanging up Caesar’s robes.” Cleander tried to twist out of Hierocles’s grasp, but Hierocles only tightened his hold.

  “You lie, you little bitch.” Hierocles seized his arm and bent it behind his back. “You lie! Something is going on here that I do not understand. Where is Antoninus?”

  “You are hurting me,” Cleander was whimpering. “Oh, but you are hurting me. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know! Oh, you will pull my arm out of the socket. Oh!”

  “I’ll break your arm,” Hierocles applied more pressure. “Where is Antoninus?”

  Cleander screamed in pain. “Stop, oh stop! He will have me crucified if I tell you and you will kill me if I don’t. Stop, stop, Hierocles!”

  “Yes, I’ll kill you and gladly.” In his rage, Hierocles gave the arm a vicious twist and Cleander only screamed the louder. With his other hand, he pulled the sword from his scabbard and held it against Cleander’s throat. “Now tell me, screaming bitch. Tell me, and if you tell me, I shall see to it that you are not punished, but if you don’t, I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear.” He relaxed the pressure enough to stop Cleander’s howling.

  “Loose me and I’ll tell you. But you must promise me, no matter how angry Antoninus is with me, that I shall not be punished. And put away that sword.”

  “It is a promise.” Hierocles sheathed the sword, “Now, where is he?”

  “At the baths.” Cleander rubbed his aching arm. “Yes, at the baths. He paced the floor from the moment you left. Every five minutes I had to run to the water clock to see how much time had passed. To pass the time, I had him try on a new robe, but he tore it to shreds, see.” He pointed to a heap of rags on the floor. “Then he started his pacing again and finally he said he could stand it no longer. First, he said he was going to the Temple of Elah-ga-baal to make a special sacrifice for your return.”

  “My return? I was no more than five milliae from the city.”

  “Yes, but he was frantic with fear and worry over you. A wheel might come off the chariot and you might be killed.”

  “Me—a chariot driver who has lost many wheels in the circus?”

  “That matters not. He had worked himself up into such a frenzy, he could no longer contain himself. Then he decided to go to the baths.” Cleander looked up at Hierocles. “You know what it means when Antoninus goes to the baths? It’s his way of forgetting his worries. But this is the first time he has gone since he knew you.”

  Without answering, Hierocles turned and ran from the room. Still running, he retraced his steps through the long halls and out through the front portals. A centurion was dismounting from a horse and Hierocles snatched the reins away from the astonished man and leaped into the saddle, heading for the great new baths which Caracalla had begun and which Antoninus had recently caused to be completed.

  When Hierocles arrived at the baths many recognized the former chariot driver who was now almost Caesar, and made way for him. Some tried to restrain him with greetings, others to plead their cases, but he ignored them all and kept on, straight through the disrobing room where half of Rome seemed to be dressing or undressing. He skirted the caldarium and the tepidarium until he came to the frigidarium with its huge indoor pool, now crowded with men of all ages, for this was the popular hour.

  Beyond the pool were a series of dimly lit, narrow corridors, with curtained booths, each with a couch, where bathers could rest after their baths. There was little rest, however, in these dim corridors. They were the most famous place of assignation in all Rome and the doorways, unless the curtains were drawn, were usually occupied by Roman youths, their bodies freshly oiled from the baths, their hair arranged in elaborate curls and their smiles set on their faces as they shook the curtains and rattled the rings that attached them to the brass poles, in order that they might attract the attention of the passers-by. Men prowled through these corridors, accepting or rejecting as their fancy pleased.

  Hierocles did not slacken his pace as he entered the aisles. There was a great rattling of curtain rings as he strode along. Hands reached out to grab him, softly spoken invitations were whispered to him, nude bodies arched provocatively at him, but he hurried on. In the third corridor, he found that which he was seeking. Antoninus was standing in the doorway of his cubicle, bepainted like a harlot, his hair glistening with gold dust, his hand on the drapery. In the dim light, he did not recognize Hierocles as the
helmet shadowed his face, but he did catch the glint of light on the gold armor and saw that its wearer was tall and strong. He rattled the curtain rings, and when Hierocles was a few steps away, he swung his body out towards him, a smile of invitation on his face.

  “In here, soldier,” he whispered and simpered coyly. “In here, you will find all the delights of Babylon, the entertainment of Egypt, the special arts of Greece. All for you.”

  “And would I find the Jove of Antoninus?” Hierocles asked, trying to control his anger.

  Antoninus recognized him. He stared at him, bewildered. “How did you know . . .”

  “Dress yourself!” Hierocles wasted no words.

  “My clothes are not here, they are in the vestibule.’’

  “Then wrap your sheet around you.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home, if I can call that cursed marble labyrinth of a palace home.”

  “And what are you going to do to me when we get there?”

  “Wait and see. Come. Your sheet looks enough like a toga and we’ll get a public litter at the side entrance.”

  They passed from the dim light out into the sunshine and took a hired litter, whose greasy leather cushions were a far cry from the soft cushions of hare’s fur which upholstered the imperial litters. Antoninus would have spoken during the ride, but Hierocles’s unconcealed anger frightened him and they jogged along in silence. When they arrived at the palace, Hierocles directed the bearers to go around to the small door which led directly to their apartments. They ascended the stairs in silence. The ebony doors opened for them and they entered their own rooms. Cleander was standing there, wringing his hands, but Hierocles dismissed him before Antoninus had a chance to speak to him.

  Hierocles carefully and slowly removed his helmet, unbuckling the strap that held it, taking it off placing it on the table. He was fighting for some degree of calmness for be knew that in his present rage, he might kill Antoninus. To be safe, he took off his sword. With the same deliberation he unbuckled his greaves and his gold cuirass, threw off the cape and removed his heavy sandals. He stood before Antoninus, clad only in the short tunic of white silk. All through the process of removing his armor, he had never taken his eyes from Antoninus.

  He advanced a couple of steps to where Antoninus was standing, the rough sheet still clasped around him. Antoninus shrank back, unaccustomed to the look of anger in Hierocles’s eyes. He would have spoken but Hierocles silenced him with a gesture.

  “Let us understand one thing. In spite of the fact that I hate you at this moment, I love you, Antoninus. That is the most important thing of all. Do you understand that?”

  Antoninus nodded, “And I love you Hierocles—I do.”

  “No, you don’t. Otherwise you would not have taken this love of ours and cheapened it by peddling yourself in the baths today. You love nobody but yourself. You do not care anything about me. I am just another passing fancy like your Zoticus was.”

  Antoninus gathered courage. “If Zoticus were here now, he would kill you. One swipe of Zoticus’s band and you would be on the floor.”

  “I fear not Zoticus nor any other man. I love not Zoticus nor any person in the world but you. Again, I ask you do you understand that?”

  Antoninus was ready to forgive and be forgiven. He dropped the sheet and came towards Hierocles, his eyes lowered in pretty repentance, his underlip protruding in a pretty pout.

  “Then, if you love me Hierocles, forgive me for my foolishness and . . .” His hand reached up to unpin the fibula that held Hierocles’s tunic at the shoulder.

  Hierocles’s hand descended, without mercy and with the full strength of the massive arm that had guided horses around the Circus. It caught Antoninus on the side of the head and jarred it sideways. A stain of white appeared on his cheek which immediately turned scarlet. Hierocles’s other hand, equally strong and equally merciless, crashed against the other side of the boy’s face and another mark appeared. Antoninus sank to his knees, screaming.

  “I’ll have you killed for this. Carian slave that you are! How dare you strike me? Guards! Attend me! Help!”

  His words were choked off by the pressure of Hierocles’s hand against his mouth. Hierocles dragged him squirming and protesting across the room, fell backwards into a low chair and forcibly bent the boy across his lap. The round, pink buttocks were beneath his free hand and he belabored them until they too turned from white to scarlet to purple. Antoninus, gagged and helpless could but thrash his feet as the blows descended. Finally, more because his arm had tired than his anger cooled, Hierocles pushed the boy from him and Antoninus sprawled across the floor.

  Hierocles then walked slowly over to the table and started to fasten the greaves around his legs, put on his sandals and slipped his body into the metal tortoiseshell of the cuirass and buckled it. Finally he put on the helmet and gathered up the purple cape and clasped the gold buckles that held it.

  Antoninus watched him from the floor. “Where are you going?” he mumbled through swollen lips.

  “Back to the barracks of the Greens, if they want to take me back.”

  “You want to be a slave again?”

  “I’d rather be the lowest slave in Rome than be a kept fancy man in this accursed palace. I stayed here because I loved you and in that knowledge I could keep my self-respect. But now I know that in spite of my love for you, I am nothing but a paid stud. Well, get your stud somewhere else. Go back to the baths and find one and bring him here and dress him up and call him Caesar if you wish. I don’t care what you do. I’m finished.” He turned and walked towards the door.

  “Hierocles.” Antoninus managed to put all the love he really felt into the name.

  Hierocles stopped and inch by inch, Antoninus managed to pull himself across the marble tiles.

  “Oh no, Hierocles. Don’t go! Don’t leave me. Stay but five minutes and in these passing moments, perhaps your anger will leave you and you will look down at this wretched person on the floor and you will remember that you once loved him and, regardless of what you think, he still loves you.” Antoninus had reached Hierocles.

  Hierocles looked down at the boy. He was truly a piteous sight. One eye was swelling with a purple-green discoloration. A trickle of blood, mingled with saliva, hung from a corner of his lip. Suddenly Hierocles’s anger left him and his hand, which had been tightly clenched at his side, relaxed and opened. Antoninus came even closer. He lowered his head and kissed the dusty tip of the rough sandal. Hierocles leaned over and the hand which had punished now became tender as it touched the gold-powdered hair.

  Antoninus felt the touch and his sobs exploded. Gently Hierocles lifted him up, cradling him in his arms and walked the length of the room, into the bedroom, where he tenderly deposited Antoninus on the bed.

  “When I was lying here ill, you once told me to punish you if you did aught that displeased me. You did displease me and I have punished you. Now I ask for forgiveness. Will you forgive me for using my strength on you, beloved?”

  “Your beloved deserved it. But it will never happen again.”

  When Antoninus could divorce himself from his official duties—sitting through the long speeches in the Senate, administering justice, receiving ambassadors and signing his name to new laws and decrees—he and Hierocles would steal away through the back entrance of the palace, out to the stables where they would hitch their quadriga of four coalblack horses to a plain, unembellished chariot, and go for long drives alone out into the country. Antoninus loved the rolling hills outside Rome and often they would purchase bread, milk, and cheese from a farmhouse and, leaving the horses, walk across country to a pine-studded pool where they would eat, sleep on the fragrant pine needles, and swim in the clear waters.

  One day, on such a journey, they discovered a most idyllic spot It was a tiny villa, hidden in the hills, inhabited by a kindly old couple who provided them with milk, cooled in the spring; freshly baked, crusty bread; and a stew which the old lady had
made. They begged leave to eat in the little vine-covered courtyard behind the villa, and there, served only by the apple-cheeked old lady, who was entirely ignorant of their identity, they ate, lounged and relaxed for the rest of the afternoon in the dappled shade, with the sound of a brook dropping over a little waterfall into a pool below.

  Later, after the sun had sunk, making sure that the old couple were safely occupied in the front of the house, they slipped off their tunics and swam in the cool, spring-fed waters of the little pool and dried themselves on the rocks, still warm from the sun, reluctantly dressing again and headed over the hills to where they had left the horses.

  “Oh, beloved,” Hierocles held back the bushes as he made a way for them to pass through a hedge, “would that all our days might be spent like this one. The rough stones of that little villa please me more than all the gold and ivory walls of our palace. The savory stew that the old lady prepared tasted better than the imposing dishes of roast ortolans and camels’ hooves which we have in Rome. How wonderful this afternoon—no calls upon you; no cringing, fawning office-seekers; no flattering sycophants; no long-winded senators. Didn’t you enjoy it, beloved?”