Child of the Sun

by Kyle Onstott

  But . . . the Palladium was returned, the Sacred Fire relit in the Temple of Vesta, and poor Aegenax, who by this time was thoroughly limp, was permitted a well deserved rest from the consuming embraces of Aquilla, pure again and restored to her virgin status, at least in name.

  Now that the Senate had dared to summon Caesar before them and tell him what to do, the thinly veiled opprobium of the Praetorians became more apparent. No longer was it an honor to guard the emperor’s door by night. Instead the unlucky recipient of that post of duty was reviled and name-called by all his companions on the following morning. The Praetorians had made emperors in the past and they had broken them. They considered it their right and privilege. Now they were embarking on another campaign of evil propaganda.

  Antoninus could not understand why. He had always treated his Praetorians well—every favor they asked had been granted. He began to understand when he heard of the frequent complimentary references made by the Praetorians about his cousin, Alexianus. When the Praetorians erected a gilded marble statue of Alexianus in the middle of their camp, at their own expense, Antoninus understood even better. There was only one answer—Mamaea.

  But she had covered her tracks well. Antoninus’s spies could find nothing against her. They were certain that she was distributing gold to the Praetorians but apart from a sudden acquisition of many new pieces of gold armor among the guards there was nothing to point to Mamaea. Not until Gordius, who had been raised from Praefect of Sports to Praefect of the Night Watch, appeared at Antoninus’s apartment in the palace one night with the newest Praetorian recruit with him. The frightened guard was hardly more than a boy, with a haze of beard which had never been shaven and the callow look of a rustic knight.

  Gordius pushed him into the Presence and the young lout, frightened out of his few remaining wits by Gordius’s severity and now finding himself in the presence of Caesar, became silent and tongue-tied.

  “There’s something afoot here, Great Caesar.” Gordius gave the young Praetorian another push nearer to where Antoninus and Hierocles were seated. “This young bastard, who less than three weeks ago was spreading manure on his father’s farm near Capua, got into the Praetorians because his father happened to be a Roman Eques. Now suddenly the boy blossoms forth in a gold breastplate that must have cost him a thousand sestercii.”

  “The one he’s wearing?” Hierocles asked.

  “The very same! It’s made by Marius, the goldsmith, and you know what his charges are.”

  “He could have a friend—some rich Roman,” Antoninus suggested.

  Gordius looked at the fellow and spat. “With those pimpled cheeks, those puny arms, that hollow chest? And that?” He stepped up to the trembling guard and lifted his tunic. “Who’d pay for that? You couldn’t find it on a dark night. No! There’s no rich Roman buying presents for Dung-Toes here.”

  Antoninus advanced to the guard; whose livid face and trembling lips evinced his fear.

  “Who are you?” Antoninus demanded.

  “Quintus Pamphilus,” the soldier stuttered.

  “Then, Quintus, do you want to live?”

  “Oh yes, Great Caesar.”

  “Then tell me, where did you get the breastplate you are wearing?”

  The soldier hesitated. “My father sent me the money to get it. I wrote him and told him all the other guards had gold breastplates.”

  Antoninus looked at Gordius. “The man lies, does he not?”

  “He does, Great Caesar.”

  “Then Hierocles, strip off his precious armor. And you, Cleander, run below to the freedman who disciplines the palace slaves. Bring his heaviest lash, and you, Gordius, hold the lout still while Hierocles strips him and when Cleander returns, ply the whip.”

  Antoninus watched them as they unbuckled the armor and stripped the tunic from the struggling guard. When he tried to resist, Gordius felled him, then grasped him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him up again. Stripped of his clothes, he bore out Gordius’s prediction. The fellow was impossible with his scrawny legs and his fiat chest. His skin had the color of whey and he was covered with fine black hairs. Antoninus hated him for his very ugliness. He enjoyed watching Gordius mistreat the fellow.

  Cleander returned with the whip and handed it to Gordius.

  “And now,” Antoninus came close to the man—so close he could smell the sour perspiration of fear, “do you still insist your father gave you the armor?”

  “He did.” There was an attempt at bravado in the answer. “Is there anything so unusual in that?”

  “Do you question Caesar?” Antoninus struck him across the face. “Gordius!”

  The whip rose and came down on the pimply back. Quintus started to run, but Hierocles tripped him and he fell to the floor. The whip whistled again and as it descended, Quintus raised his head, receiving the lash full across the face. His hands went up to his torn cheeks and he began to blubber.

  Cleander, standing near, delivered a vicious kick to the fellow’s groin and the clutching hands, which were on his cheeks, reached down in a vain effort to assuage the pain.

  “You’ll kill me,” he cried. “Oh, you’ll kill me if I don’t tell you and if I do, the guards will kill me when I return.”

  A third lash caught him around the throat, cutting off his words. He gasped and crawled to Antoninus’s feet.

  “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you all I know, Great Caesar, but don’t let him hit me again.” His lips sought the toe of Antoninus’s sandals and he slavered over them. “No more lashes, Great Caesar, no more! I’ll talk.”

  “Then talk.” Antoninus restrained himself from kicking the slobbering fool in the teeth. “Talk and be quick.”

  Quintus raised his head. “The day before yesterday Hostilanus Herodius, my centurion, called me to his tent. He asked me if I had noticed the armor the other fellows were wearing and if I liked it. All the others in the cohort have gold armor and I did like it and I told him I did. Then he said it would be easy for me to get a breastplate like theirs and if I followed his instructions, I could get myself gilded greaves and a crested helmet too.”

  “And what were those instructions?”

  “That I hate you, Great Caesar, but I was to love your cousin, Alexianus. Whenever you appeared in public I was to revile you, but cheer for Alexianus. Also, that when the Augusta Soaemias appeared, I was to say bad things about her, but when the mother of Alexianus appeared, I was to hail her as Augusta and then tomorrow afternoon, I was to go with a number of the guards and kill you.”

  “Where?”

  “At the Circus Maximus, when you and yon Hierocles are practicing with the chariots.”

  “And do you know why your centurion wants to kill me?” Antoninus threw a napkin down to the man to wipe the blood and slaver from his face.

  “I do, Great Caesar, but I cannot tell you.”

  “The lash again, Gordius.”

  “Spare me that, Great Caesar, but if I were to tell you why the guards want to kill you, you will lash me anyway. It would make you angry.”

  “I am angry now but I shall not hold you responsible for repeating your centurion’s words.”

  “Then,” the fellow looked at Antoninus as if trying to gauge what his reaction might be, “Herodius said—and do not blame me for repeating it, Great Caesar—that Rome did not want a silly catamite for emperor; a prancing he-whore; a dirty priest of a filthy Syrian god. Rome needed a man, like Alexianus, with a noble woman such as his mother behind him, instead of the slut that mothered you. And he said that the noble mother of Alexianus was willing to pay us all well if we would kill you tomorrow at the chariot practice.”

  Hierocles reached for Gordius’s sword. “Shall I kill him, Antoninus?”

  Caesar’s uplifted hand arrested the sword thrust. He walked slowly up and down the room, the eyes of all four upon him. His face betrayed no emotion. Finally he returned to Quintus, who had raised himself to a sitting position on the floor. He spoke to Quintus but his
eyes looked beyond the man on the floor.

  “You live, Quintus. You live because you are stupid but perhaps that’s reason enough. All Rome lives and all Rome is stupid. I’ve given Rome the most peaceful and the most prosperous reign she has ever had. Not one barbarian has crossed our boundaries. Throughout the breadth of Empire there is no war. The harbor of Ostia is filled with ships bringing the produce of the world to Rome. The citizens of Rome grow fat with idleness and satiated with continuous games. The December Saturnalia extends throughout the whole year. For this, they want to kill me and put Alexianus on the throne and, believe me, Quintus, he is even more stupid than you.

  “Is it any worse that I bed myself with legionaries than that he does with tavern wenches. Would that make him more of an emperor? Does it make me less of one? No, do not answer me,” Antoninus silenced the protesting Quintus. “Don’t answer me, for I already know the answer. The Praetorians desire Alexianus for only one reason. Mamaea’s gold is the answer. That is all. Little they care who is Emperor of Rome as long as their pockets are filled with sestercii and as long as they are able to sport golden armor. I brought peace and prosperity to Rome after wars and conflicts and famines. I tried to introduce one supreme god to Rome who would replace all her impotent divinities. But Mamaea has undone all this with a few gold pieces.”

  Antoninus looked down at Quintus as though seeing him for the first time.

  “Stand up, Quintus. Tell me more about this plot to murder me.”

  Quintus carefully outlined all that he knew of the Praetorians’ plans. He was not acquainted with the details but he said that the next day, when Hierocles and Antoninus repaired to the Circus to practice with the chariots, as was their custom, a group of Praetorians would take them by surprise. They were aware that no soldiers guarded them at that time. As they dismounted from their chariots at the end of a practice race, the guards would set upon them and slay them both.

  Antoninus listened carefully and when Quintus had finished, Antoninus summoned Gordius to him.

  “This Quintus has done me a favor tonight—perhaps he has saved my life. If he returns to the camp, the guards may discover that he has betrayed them. I have promised him his life. See that he does not return to the barracks. Have him held under protective arrest but treat him with every consideration. Transfer him to the garrison at Antioch and give him the rank of centurion. See that no harm comes to him.”

  Antoninus rummaged through a jewel chest and brought a heavy bracelet of gold set with rubies which he handed to Quintus.

  Quintus started to deliver a speech of gratitude but Antoninus silenced him, bade Gordius take him away and then return. The two left, Antoninus dismissed Cleander and was alone with Hierocles.

  “They seek to kill us, Hierocles.”

  “Yes, little Antonine, perhaps they are jealous of us. And now I shall prove my love to you. I shall leave you. Rather that you be alone without me than dead. I fear not for my own life, but I fear for yours.”

  “Did I not know you better, Hierocles, I would say that you were thinking first of your own safety, but I know that is not true. No, Hierocles, you shall not leave me. I need one friend—one person in the world whom I can trust. Rome has turned against me and my family also, for I doubt not but Maesa is privy to Mamaea’s schemes. You are all I have but if you wish to go, you are free to leave, although I beg you to stay.”

  “Then stay I shall, even if it brings added hatred to you.”

  “That is unimportant. It is Mamaea’s gold that we must fight against. She is ambitious for her brat. When Gordius returns, we shall make plans to outwit the murderers tomorrow and then I shall settle with Mamaea.”

  “Then you intend to kill Mamaea and Alexianus.”

  “I will not kill, Hierocles. I would not have their blood on my hands, even though they wish mine. No, we shall compromise. We shall give Mamaea enough to keep her quiet. I think, Hierocles, I am growing up. I am now eighteen. Perhaps it is time for me to be a man—a Roman instead of a Syrian. These robes, these jewels, these cosmetics, I tire of them. And my excursions to the baths and the countless ways I have tried to deceive you, Hierocles—I tire of them too.”

  20

  It was well that Antoninus and Hierocles had been forewarned, for the plot to assassinate them had been cleverly conceived and would no doubt have been carried out successfully, had they been taken by surprise. As it was, they repaired to the Circus Maximus as usual, soon after their midday meal. At this time the huge Circus was usually deserted except for the hostlers and stablemen and the few charioteers who acted as instructors to the imperial pair. But this day, Gordius, disguised with a leather helmet that covered his face was among the instructors and all the hostlers in their patched and ragged tunics were members of Antoninus’s own household guard.

  While Gordius and Antoninus in one chariot, and Hierocles and a guard, disguised as a charioteer, were rounding the spina at the far end of the Circus, a cohort of Praetorians arrived. They forced the gates of the Circus without opposition and as the chariots thundered down the last stretch, the Praetorians formed a tight little group where they would stop. But, instead of stopping, the twelve frenzied horses tore through the group of soldiers, scattering them, trampling them and killing some six outright. Those who escaped the fury of the horses were rounded up by the ragged hostlers, now miraculously fully armed soldiers, and quickly dispatched. All except Hostilanus, the commander, who had survived the onslaught of the horses and was being held by the hostlers while Gordius and Hierocles managed to calm the horses sufficiently to turn them and drive them back to the scene of carnage. Hostilanus, even though protected from torture by his status as an Equestrian Knight and a centurion in the Praetorians, was immediately hustled to a room under the Circus and there put to the torture until he confessed Mamaea’s part in the attempted assassination.

  Antoninus watched the entire proceedings impassively, which was unusual for him as any form of physical suffering was repugnant to him. Hostilanus had been a hard man to break and had uttered no word on the rack or with his feet encased in the boot. However, when the guards stretched him for the second time on the rack and proceeded to break his bones one by one with iron rods, he broke down and confessed. Antoninus gave Hierocles the welcome task of dispatching the traitor with his sword and, with twenty dead Praetorians left behind in the Circus, Antoninus, and Hierocles, accompanied by a strong guard under the command of Gordius, returned to the palace.

  Antoninus summoned Mamaea and Maesa to appear before him. With Gordius and Hierocles behind him, he sat on the ivory curule throne, still dressed in the sweaty tunic of a charioteer. The walls of the presence chamber were lined, man by man, with the Palace Guards, each with sword in hand. Julia Maesa and Mamaea entered under heavy guard and were forced to walk the entire distance of the vast room, unaccompanied and alone. When they approached the throne, Antoninus demanded in a loud voice that they abase themselves before him. Old Julia Maesa’s bones creaked as she sought her knees and Mamaea’s face was dark and vindictive, but kneel they did and they remained on their knees throughout the entire audience.

  “I have a deposition here,” Antoninus motioned to Hierocles to hand him the wax tablets, “taken down by scribes from one Hostilanus Herodius, before his death by torture an hour ago, a centurion of the Praetorian Guards. Would you, my dear aunt and you, my venerated grandmother, desire me to read it to you aloud?”

  Julia Maesa started to rise but Antoninus’s finger pointed scornfully at her caused her to sink to her knees again.

  “I know no Hostilanus Herodius, Antoninus . . .”

  “You will address me as Caesar, and not only as Caesar but Great Caesar for that is what I am.”

  “I know no Hostilanus Herodius, Great Caesar,” Julia Maesa repeated. “Why should this deposition interest me?”

  “And you, dear aunt, do you find the name of this centurion familiar?” Antoninus was having difficulty in curbing his anger. His voice trembled in spit
e of himself.

  “I do not.” Mamaea’s answer was quietly decisive but Antoninus’s warning finger caused her to add, “Great Caesar.”

  “Then I shall refresh your memory.” Antoninus now had full control of his voice. “On the Kalends of last month, you, Mamaea, summoned this Hostilanus Herodius to your apartments. He had previously been detailed with a cohort of men to guard you on a recent trip you made to Capua. I know that you wanted to murder me. I know that you connived with Hostilanus to do it. I know that in addition to giving him your body, you paid out vast sums of money to subvert certain of the Praetorians. Why did you want to do it? Do you hate me so?”

  Mamaea lifted her bead and glared at him. “Rome needs a man to rule her.”

  “But it is you and not your stupid son who wants to rule Rome and you are a woman. But come, dear aunt, I have a forgiving heart. The one god teaches mercy to all men and even though you desire my death, I can find it possible to forgive you. I could have you killed at this moment. One word from me and fifty guards would fall upon you with fifty swords and then they would slit your precious Alexianus’s throat. But let us compromise, dear aunt, and let us both live. I shall bear you no ill will. Bear me none. I have always had every intention of making my cousin my heir. His blood is probably as imperial as mine.”