Child of the Sun

by Kyle Onstott

  But a Caesar of Rome has means of gaining information even about a lowly stable slave. Gordius knew everyone in Rome and particularly everyone in the Circus. Gordius was ordered to bring a list of names of all the slaves who worked in the stables along with their approximate ages. Gordius did so and Antoninus went over the list with Hierocles. Undoubtedly the slave was young, otherwise he would not be friendly with Alexander. Antoninus was sure he would recognize the name.

  Hierocles started to read.

  “Galbus, age forty-five.”

  Antoninus shook his head.

  “Syromones, age thirty. Eutrax, age fifty. Polvero age nineteen.”

  Antoninus held up his hand for Hierocles to stop. “Polvero, nineteen?” The age might be right but the name caused no glimmer of recognition.

  Hierocles continued.

  “Ajax, age twenty. Byonto, age twenty-eight. Mercurio, age twelve. Helefontes, age sixty. Rufus, age seventeen.”

  Antoninus stopped Hierocles again. “Rufus? Age seventeen?” He was sure it was the right one. “How many more are there, carissimus?”

  “Some four, no five, but all of them are over thirty.”

  “Then Rufus it must be. Send Cleander to get Alexander. We shall all go to the Circus together, ostensibly for practice with the chariots. It will be well for us to be seen together. I’ll let Alexander choose the horses he wants and that will take us to the stable. We shall see if there is any sign of recognition between him and any one of the slaves. If so, when we have gone out on the sands, stay behind and ascertain the slave’s name. I’ll wager it will be this Rufus.”

  It worked out exactly as Antoninus had predicted. During, the choosing of the horses, Alexander greeted a young slave, whose name Hierocles discovered to be Rufus. So this was Alexander’s friend and the lover of Flacca’s sister. He was an ordinary type, big and beefy for his years, peasant-handed with a shock of almost white hair, with his pale blue eyes, bespoke his Teutonic origin.

  The lad seemed genuinely glad to see Alexander, and Antoninus noticed that for the first time Alexander seemed to react to another human being. His sullen look disappeared and he smiled during his conversation with Rufus. It was exactly as Antoninus might wish it to be . . . exactly! With Alexander and Hierocles racing each other down the Circus together, Antoninus had an opportunity to confer with Gordius safely out of hearing.

  “The lad Rufus—what could he do to deserve severe punishment?” Antoninus asked.

  “Just lately he has been given charge of Sin, the black stallion that has won so many races for the Greens. He devotes all his time to this one horse. If the stall door should be left open and Sin should wander out and disappear, of course Rufus would be blamed.”

  “And all Rome would clamor for him to be punished?”

  “Crucifixion, no less,” Gordius nodded his head in agreement.

  Antoninus smiled in return and Gordius understood. Antoninus had already condemned the innocent Rufus. “But of course it could be whispered to Rufus that as he has such a good friend in the Consul Alexander, a word to him might mitigate the punishment.”

  “The word will be whispered,” Gordius assured him. The next morning all Rome was agog with the terrible news. The black stallion Sin of the Greens, who carried heavy odds on that afternoon’s races was missing. Some stupid slave had allowed the Blues to steal him. Anxious groups gathered in the Forum and in the wine shops of the Suburra. Millions of sestercii, wagered on the Greens, were already in danger. The tragedy was far greater than the appearance of the direful comet in the skies. A comet was a far-away thing but horse racing was very near to every Roman’s heart.

  Antoninus waited. Sooner or later he felt sure that Alexander would appear. He had not long to wait. An hour before noon, Alexander was announced in the Antonine’s apartment while he and Hierocles were dressing for the afternoon races.

  Alexander entered, respectful for once, with a look of genuine anxiety that erased the look of sullen stupidity which he usually wore. He dropped to one knee.

  “Great Caesar,” he began humbly.

  Antoninus, primed for the interview he knew would follow could afford to be magnanimous.

  “Dear boy, how nice to see you and do get up from your knees. If you must kneel, always choose a rug—the tiles are hard and cold. I would not want you to catch an ague by kneeling on the cold stones. Do you want to see me?”

  “I do, Antoninus, I do. You’ve no reason to grant me any favors. I’ve never granted you any but I’ve come to ask one of you.”

  “And why not, my son? You are now my own beloved son, dearer to me than anyone in my Empire, except perhaps Hierocles who outranks you in that he is already Caesar, and you did not kneel to him.”

  Alexander would have dropped to his knees again before Hierocles, but Antoninus stopped him.

  “No more formality, dear boy. Now what is the favor to be? Let me guess! A new racing chariot, made of pear wood from Britain? A quadriga of black Arabian horses for yourself? Or,” he waved an admonitory finger, “would you like the little Flacca to take up residence in your apartments? But whatever it is, be assured that I am prepared to grant it.”

  “It’s Rufus.”

  Antoninus seemed to search his memory.

  “Rufus? Do I know him?”

  “My friend, the slave at the Circus.”

  “Ah, yes, the one who smells of horses;”

  “They say that it is his fault that Sin has escaped. But I know better. Rufus loves that horse. He even sleeps in the stall with it.”

  “No wonder the boy has a smell, sleeping with a horse,” Antoninus chuckled.

  “They’re torturing Rufus at the Mamertine Prison now, trying to make him confess that he was hired by the Blues to let Sin out. And when they finish torturing him, they are going to crucify him. Oh, Antoninus, don’t Jet them. He’s a good boy, and he’s my friend, the only friend I have.”

  Antoninus saw real consternation in his cousin’s face.

  “You could have had me for a friend. Perhaps it would have been better for you to have Caesar for a friend than a hostler slave. But the question is, how can you save Rufus, is that right?”

  “A word from you will do it.”

  “This really means a lot to you, Alexander?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Then I shall. Hierocles, hurry and finish dressing. We’ll order our litter to stop at the Mamertine on our way to the Circus. And, Hierocles, be sure to cancel our bets on the Greens this afternoon.”

  Alexander was impatient. “If you don’t get there soon, they will have broken his arms and legs. The gaoler that brought me the message from him said they were ready to stretch him on the rack. Hurry, Antoninus.”

  Antoninus took him by the arm and led him to the door. When Alexander was gone, he turned to Hierocles with a smile of complete satisfaction.

  “It’s working out, carissimus.”

  Hierocles grinned. “But if they do stretch him on the rack before you get there, he won’t be of much use to you.”

  “Then let us take Alexander’s advice and hurry.”

  Never before had Antoninus stepped inside the dark confines of the grim Mamertine Prison. The guards at the entrance and the whole staff were thrown into consternation, particularly when Antoninus demanded that he be taken at once to the torture chambers. A mere slave was being tortured—a worthless little son of a bitch who had sold out the hopes of the Greens so that the Blues would win. Now Caesar himself had come. What a day for the Mamertine!

  Antoninus shuddered as a jailer guide lighted them down the dark stairs, cut out of the living rock upon which Rome was built. The torch cast a flickering red stain on the greasy walls and their sandals slipped on the slimy stairs. Antoninus shrieked as a rat, startled by the light, reared up on his hind legs, bared its teeth, then scuttled to darkness and safety between Antoninus’s feet. What he thought was an echo of his own shriek was prolonged into a series of agonized screams.

  “
Hurry, Hierocles, tell the jailer to go faster. If they kill Rufus before we get there or even maim him, we shall be too late.”

  The jailer with the torch heard Antoninus and turned around.

  “They’ve only given him one or two turns. ’Twon’t hurt him none. There’s them that have been on the rack for an hour and walked away. They’s just a-stretching him but only a little because they be knowing he’s a friend of the Consul’s.”

  When they reached a heavy door of oaken planks, the screams from within were even louder and more prolonged. The jailer called through the iron grating set into the door, and a flat, Mongoloid face with curiously slanted eyes appeared. They heard the clatter of iron bars inside and the door swung inward. It opened to a cavernous room, lighted by torches, its raw rock walls roughly groined into a vaulted ceiling. At the far end a group of nude torsos were clustered around a machine. The torches highlighted their sweaty bodies which surrounded the screamer. Antoninus quickened his steps, holding Hierocles’s arm. Those around the machine did not look up until they heard him call.

  “Stop.” His single word echoed between the vaults.

  “Who says stop?” The same flat face with broken nose and slanting eyes peered out of the semi-darkness.

  “Caesar.” Hierocles was abrupt.

  “Caesar? Here?” The flat face laughed but as the jailer guide with Antoninus lowered his torch, the better to light their faces, the laugh died in the brute’s throat. He motioned to the other men—there were three of them—and they left the iron wheels to stand at attention.

  Flat face came forward into the circle of light. He was a squat mountain of a man, with huge pads of muscles extending from his thick neck over his arms and chest, down to a flat belly which was lost in a wide belt and greasy leather rags of trousers. He put out a hand to help Antoninus and the strength of the hand guided Antoninus across the floor, avoiding strange looking contraptions of metal and straps. Once Antoninus’s foot slipped and he saw a puddle of congealed blood, still wet on the floor. He signaled to the guide to hold his torch even higher so that when he approached the strange machine, he could look down at the body, spreadeagled between its four supports.

  He recognized Rufus. Each foot was tied at the ankle and each hand at the wrist, with braided leather thongs which ran to the four wheels at each corner. The boy’s body was stretched out between them, taut, stiff and unyielding. Only his head was relaxed and that fell back from his shoulders, the line of the neck stretched in an agonized curve, the long hair hanging down in lank, sweaty locks. The body, white where the tunic had shielded it from the sun gleamed red in the torchlight and the blond patch of hair at his groin was bronzed by the light. The lad was circumcised, which was rare for a German.

  The sobbing subsided into a labored breathing.

  Antoninus came closer and the four men made way for him. He laid his hand on the hard, taut flesh. Strange thoughts flashed through his mind. He saw the Tribune Agrippa stretched out as this lad was.

  “Rufus.” Antoninus reached one hand under the boy’s head and lifted it so that he could look into the glazed eyes. “Your friend, the Consul Alexander, has asked me to save you not only from the torture but from crucifixion. Do you recognize me?”

  “Caesar.” The word emerged through a bubble of phlegm.

  “Yes, Caesar.” Antoninus smoothed back the damp hair tenderly. “The Consul can beg for your life but only Caesar can save it.”

  “Mercy, Great Caesar, they are killing me.”

  “No, Rufus, merely making you confess that you accepted money from the Blues to let Sin out. After you have confessed, they will nail you to a cross-nail through your hands and feet. And you’ll hang there until you’re dead. Sometimes it takes three days to die on the cross, but that will be better because it will be a longer holiday for all Rome. They’ll flock to see you dying and the adherents of the Greens will pelt you with fishheads and rotten vegetables and vile offal. Yes, Rufus, it will be a holiday in Rome while you moan on the cross.”

  “Save me, Great Caesar.” With an effort he lifted his head higher than Antoninus’s hand supported. “I swear by Elah-ga-baal that I never left the door of Sin’s stall open. Somebody else did it.”

  Now Antoninus understood the circumcision. This boy had become a convert to the Sun God. When he spoke again his tone was tender.

  “Caesar will save you from the torture, Rufus, and Caesar will save you from death. But Caesar must be paid. Will you pay for your life?” He turned to the four men who were craning to hear every word. “Retire to the other end of the room.” He waited for them to go. His left hand still supported Rufus’s head, his right wandered over the straining chest, pinched the two nipples lightly then wandered down over the concave stomach. Again the thought of the Tribune Agrippa entered his mind.

  “You will be released, Rufus, if you promise to do as I tell you.”

  “Anything, Great Caesar, anything.”

  “Then swear by the great God Elah-ga-baal whom we both worship.”

  “I swear, Great Caesar.”

  Antoninus released the ratchet on one of the wheels and it spun violently around. The braided thong fell slack and one of Rufus’s legs dropped to the floor.

  “Support him, Hierocles, otherwise he will fall.” He walked to the other wheel and released the ratchet. Again the wheel spun and the legs dropped limply. Hierocles caught the boy’s body as Antoninus released the wheels which held the hands. At Antoninus’s signal the four men came running back.

  “Do you have a litter or something here?’’

  “ ’Twon’t go up the stairs. We’ll have to carry him. He ain’t hurt. We didn’t put enough pressure on him. Ain’t hurt a bit, that one ain’t. Just scared. Course he may be stretched a little but he can walk.” It was the jailer with the flat face speaking.

  “Then a man can be put on that thing and stretched to a certain point without being injured? How do you know how far to go?”

  Flat face grinned at Antoninus.

  “Experience, Great Caesar. The rack has seldom a chance to get cold. When we take one off there’s another waiting to be put on. Slaves mostly, because the law says that any confession a slave makes must be made under torture. But sometimes we get freedmen too and once in a while a Patrician but there’s been few of them under your reign, Great Caesar. Nobody’s wanted to put you off the throne. You’re the best emperor Rome ever had.”

  “You know, I believe you mean that.” Antoninus scanned the flat face which had a certain sensuous attraction despite the broken nose and the slanting eyes. His eyes traversed the thick neck and the broad shoulders. “What’s your name, man?”

  “Glamus, slave here in the Mamertine since I was picked up half dead on the battlefield in Parthia four years ago.”

  “Carry him, Glamus, and accompany us. Today you are a free man on Caesar’s orders. I have need of men who think I am the best emperor Rome ever had. You shall attend me at the palace!”

  With Glamus and Rufus following in a hired litter, they returned to the palace. Rufus was able to walk, but Glamus picked him up like a sack of meal and carried him through the halls to Caesar’s apartments. Once there, Antoninus told Glamus to wait outside and he and Hierocles assisted Rufus. Antoninus took a quick survey of the room to see that nobody was there. The apartments were deserted—even Cleander was missing.

  He poured undiluted wine into a silver cup and handed it to Rufus, bade him be seated and drink, which he did with some difficulty although he was now moving more freely and with less pain. Antoninus could see that he had not been harmed and apart from a stiffness of the muscles would soon recover.

  Rufus gulped the wine and looked up at Antoninus who was standing over him.

  “I didn’t do it, Great Caesar. I didn’t. The door of Sin’s stall was secure when I went to sleep and I was sleeping in the stall with Sin.”

  “I believe you. You are free now, thanks to Alexander’s intercession and mine. You owe your lives to both
of us. Therefore you will serve us here in the palace instead of remaining in the Circus as a hostler. Will you do that? Will you be the Consul’s slave—to remain with him at all times and never leave him? Will you give him the devotion you owe him for saving your life—and me too? Agreed?”