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NERO
By Pueros Chapter XXXVII – Ambushes (Dacia, Iul. DCCCLIX, in the 8th year of the reign of the Emperor Trajan [July, AD 106]) ‘Quinctilius Varus, give me back my legions!’ - regular exclamation uttered by a weeping Augustus in AD 9 In this chapter of my lengthy saga, I shall reveal to my worthy scribe and you, patient reader, a secret regarding my fellow eunuch, Axenius, who was sadly castrated, like me, by command of the late unlamented Caius Silius. In Rome, the dangerous fact was known only to him and his closest friends, one of whom I am proud to count myself, because it would have been recklessly perilous for the Germanian’s welfare to spread the news wider. During our time, the Romans were still very sensitive about the disaster that had befallen their legions in the Teutoburger Forest, with the 28 year-old responsible for the ambush and annihilation of the XVII, XVIII and XIX legions, accursed numbers never subsequently restored to use, being a particular popular bogeyman. Parents would often scold mischievous offspring by warning “Arminius will come to get you if you don’t behave!” On hearing of the staggering blow to Roman martial pride, the divine Augustus appears to have suffered a form of mental breakdown. He let his hair grow and went unshaven for months. His unkempt form was frequently seen beating his head against a door and crying out for the Roman commander responsible, Publius Quinctilius Varus, to give him back his destroyed legions. It eventually took the Princeps’ adopted son, Tiberius, to restore with great difficulty a semblance of order on the northern borders. Even now, as I record my life in my old age 97 years after the debacle, the day of the disaster is remembered as an official day of mourning by the Romans. However, I believe that enough time has elapsed to enable me to reveal for posterity Axenius’ secret and I shall do so towards the end of this chapter. Meanwhile, I shall, with the aid of my worthy scribe, record some other happenings of the summer and early autumn of the year DCCCIII A.V.C.. As I narrate to my worthy scribe, I am looking at one of my prize possessions, a gold stater of my tribe, the Catuvellauni, which was kindly gifted to me, as I shall describe later in my saga, by a Roman Emperor to remind me of my homeland. The precious coin was minted almost a century ago, during the reign of Caratacus’ father, Cunobelin and at about the time of the dreadful happenings in the Teutoburger Forest.
The coin, a superb example of Celtic art, is inscribed on the obverse with the royal abbreviation 'CVNO' beneath an image of a prancing horse, which to my people was indicative of freedom. On the reverse, the lettering 'CA MV', on either side of an ear of wheat, a symbol of prosperity, indicates that the stater was produced in Camulodunon, now known as Camulodunum. (Colonia Camulodunum, south-east Britannia, 56 years previously, summer DCCCIII A.V.C., in the 9th year of the reign of the Emperor Claudius [summer, AD 50]) ‘M FAVONI M F POL FACILIS C LEG XX VERECVNDVS ET NOVCIVS LIB POSVERVNT H S E’ (‘For Marcus Favonius Facilis, son of Marcus, of the Pollentian voting tribe, centurion of the 20th legion, Verecundus and Noucius, his freedmen, have placed this memorial. He lies here.’) - inscription on a tombstone in Camulodunum Camulodunum, located to the north of the broad tidal estuary known to the conquerors of my homeland as the ‘Tamesa Aestuarium’, is the Romanised name for the location that hosted, before the invasion, the royal enclosure of my tribe, the Catuvellauni. The original Celtic place-name, Camulodunon, meant ‘Fortress of Camulos’. Camulos, meaning ‘powerful’, is the war god of my people and is associated by the Romans with their own deity, Mars. However, at this time, the main divinity being worshipped locally was the Emperor Claudius. A monumental temple dedicated to him had been built just to the east of the new fortress constructed by the invaders, under the orders of the first Governor, Aulus Plautius, to accommodate the XX legion, the Valeria. Two non-Roman, or ‘peregrine’, auxiliary units were also originally based here, both of which comprised 500 troopers, a cavalry wing, or ‘ala’, and a mixed unit of horse and foot soldiers, a ‘cohors equitata’. I believe that the reasoning behind the early construction of the temple was, in addition to obsequiousness towards the Emperor, to remind the natives that they were now vassals of Rome. The local ‘Temple of the Divine Claudius’ was also the first monumental place of worship built by the Romans in my homeland. The local fortification, the first such legionary base in Britannia, was situated in the middle of the large civilian settlement, or ‘canabae’, which had, following common practice throughout the Empire, become quickly established in the environs. Camulodunum also later achieved another first six years after the original invasion, after the XX legion relocated to Glevum in the west, as part of the plan to entrap Caratacus, who was greatly annoying the invaders of my homeland through his expertise at guerrilla warfare, including effective ambush. A ‘colonia’ of army veterans was established, providing the new township with the honour of becoming the initial Roman colony in Britannia. This event had occurred a year before Caratacus and his immediate family returned to the site of their former regal enclosure, now in chains and under the careful personal supervision of the centurion, Marcus Favonius Facilis. However, the familial distress at their capture and current demeaning and worrying circumstances did not prevent them from being awed by the sight of the transformation of their former royal home. From being a tribal settlement, where the biggest construction was the King’s large thatched roundhouse, Camulodunum was now a bustling and rapidly growing Romanised town, with many grand structures of concrete and stone. The new, straight, cobbled roads, which connected the settlement to other places of importance to the Romans, were also a wonder in their own right. Caratacus and his family would stay a while in the new town under close guard, whilst the remnants of their supporters were rounded up or neutralised and until preparations were finalised for their safe transport to Rome, the Emperor Claudius and the waiting executioner. In fact the latest Governor of Britannia, Publius Ostorius Scapula, was being especially careful in finalising arrangements for transporting his captives to the Imperial capital, a trip that might take up to three months, particularly during the imminent autumn and winter. Scapula was keen to provide the important captives with a large military escort to eradicate any chance of rescue by fugitive remnants of the Catuvellauni or sympathisers but was currently loathe to spare such a force because of the continuing military operations. He was also wary of despatching them to Rome just as autumn was about to begin in these often harsh northerly climes, when the notorious sea channel that separated the island from Gaul, famed for its often fatal unpredictability even in summer, might prove highly dangerous. He did not want to lose the royal family to the waves and so deprive his Imperial master, Claudius, of the triumphant spectacle of having them paraded through the capital in chains before being publicly executed. In the end, Publius Ostorius Scapula decided to play safe by waiting until the following spring to transport Caratacus and his family to Rome. This circumstance was later to give rise to the falsehood that the King had been captured in that year, when in fact he had been betrayed to the enemy by Queen Cartimandua of the Brigantes in the previous summer. A deeply depressed Caratacus, frightened only for the welfare of his wife, three young sons, Cyllin, Lleyn and Cynon, and two young daughters, Eurgain and Gladys, and the remnants of his tribe, was therefore forced to await his fate in chains for a long time before finally being sent to Rome. As he did so in the new fortress of Camulodunum, he was, of course unaware that, 10 years later, another tribal leader was to provide the township with another first. However, this time, the distinction, bestowed at the hands of a Queen of the Iceni, was to be of the most unwanted, dubious kind.
(Imperial palace, Rome, same time) ‘The materials of action are variable, but the use we make of them should be constant.’ - Epictetus I had just killed Agrippina’s main bodyguard, Sextus Afranius Burrus, a man who had also been a trusted procurator, responsible for the Emperor’s personal purse, of the last three Princeps, including the current incumbent. Fortunately for my welfare, he seemed remarkably happy about his demise. “Excellent, Bicilus,” a grinning Burrus declared, “as you’ve surely just inflicted a fatal wound on me for the first time. Now, let’s see if you can do the deed again!” In line with the man’s instructions, I therefore wielded my wooden sword once more but there was to be no further success that day, as his own similar weapon easily fought off my efforts. Although I was becoming much better at the art, Burrus always appeared capable of improving his own swordsmanship so that it was slightly superior to mine, causing me to think that he had deliberately permitted my success only to help my morale. However, on the next day, I introduced a bit of cunning into my performance and, as a result, I believe that I can truly boast of a genuine victory. I pretended that I was wearying and succumbing quickly to one of Burrus’ efficient offensives when, apparently miraculously reinvigorated, I suddenly launched what proved to be an unexpected lethal counterattack. “Excellent, Bicilus,” my smiling opponent again declared, this time despite the clear expression of surprise on his face, “as it seems that you’ve brought guile to your fighting. You lured me into an ambush by encouraging me to think that you were finished in order to make me become over-confident and careless. You then rightfully punished me for my combat conceit. I thought that I was too old a campaigner to fall into such a trap but you’ve proved me wrong. That’s what too much of the Imperial court as opposed to exposure to frontline service can do for you.” Seemingly in order not to damn me with faint praise, he then generously added “Plus a very able and clever opponent!” My face positively beamed with delight in response. Presumably encouraged by the expression on what I immodestly have to suggest was still a very beautiful young face, adorned by gleaming blue eyes and crowned by a flowery wreath on my long, straight, silky golden hair, Burrus then confessed to me something that I had already appreciated from his eyes and other reactions whenever in my company. “You know, Bicilus,” he advised, “I like you a lot, and not just because of your perfect character. However, I suppose you already have a loyal lover discretely lurking somewhere within the palace.” This rather inelegant phraseology was obviously Burrus’ rather inept attempt to invite me into his bed. Nevertheless, despite the crude approach, it worked. (Near Calagurris, district of Vascones, province of Tarraconensis, Hispania, same time) ‘What is left when honour is lost?’ - Publius Syrus The carpentum driver, or ‘raedarius’, had stopped his coach in a pleasant sunny, grassy, wooded setting on the banks of the River Iberus. It was midday and time for a picnic lunch for him and the three very pleasant and pretty boys he was transporting to Calagurris. Quintilianus’ home city would be reached by mid-afternoon. There, 16 year-old Q expected to be awarded the toga virilis of manhood in the relevant ceremony involving his family. His best friend, the similarly aged Persius, expected somehow to receive a similar honour when he returned to Rome, despite his rather informal estrangement from his own family, natives of Volterra in Etruria, Italia. In keeping with the regular interesting stories the apparently well-informed raedarius had related to his young charges during the lengthy journey from 11 year-old Lucanus’ home city of Corduba in southern Hispania, the carpentum driver now told another tale pertinent to his current surrounds. “I told you about Scipio Aemilianus when we were in Numantia,” the raedarius remarked, “who came to Hispania to defeat the Celtiberians. Well, in order to do so, he had to persuade the Roman Senate to repudiate a peace the previous commander here, a certain Gaius Hostilius Mancinus, had agreed with the local people after allowing his army to fall into an ambush and be surrounded by a smaller native force. This event took place near here.” “Scipio persuaded the Senate,” the raedarius continued, “that the peace was shameful. It was also agreed to surrender Mancinus to the Celtiberians in expiation for subsequently repudiating the treaty. The poor man was then formerly presented in ceremonial fashion, bound and naked, at the gates of Numantia. However, the local people rejected Rome’s ostentatious but hypocritical act of piety in disgust.” “What then happened to Mancinus?” Persius asked. “He returned to Rome,” the raedarius informed, whilst chewing a leg of chicken, “where he regained the status he had previously forfeited.” “I suppose,” an intrigued Quintilianus observed, “that the lesson to be derived from this tale is never to allow yourself to fall into an ambush!” (Imperial palace, Rome, same time) ‘….for it seemed that no day would be free of convictions when, at a season in which custom forbade even an ominous word, sacrifices and prayers were attended by manacles and nooses!’ - Tacitus (referring in ‘Annals’, IV.70, to the demise in AD 28 of Titus Sabinus) Agrippina was also talking of ambushes, but of the more subtle kind. The Empress was a good learner from history, not least that of her own family, several of whose prominent members, including her own mother, had fallen as a result of the guile of Tiberius’ henchman and Praetorian Prefect, Sejanus. Sejanus had developed clever techniques whereby he encouraged potential rivals to his own position to betray critical attitudes towards Tiberius’ principate. For example, his agents provocateurs convinced Agrippina the Elder, the present Empress’ mother, who was also the granddaughter of Augustus and wife of the deceased war hero, Germanicus, brother of Claudius, that the then holder of the purple wanted to poison her. When Tiberius offered Agrippina the Elder an apple at a banquet, she accepted but then handed it to a servant without taking a bite. Just as Sejanus had hoped, the publicly embarrassing incident persuaded his Imperial master that the woman’s obsessive opinions had turned her into an implacable foe. 22 years before Agrippina the Younger’s meeting to discuss similar intrigues, Sejanus then went about undermining Agrippina the Elder’s allies, including her staunchest champion amongst the Roman aristocracy, a certain Titus Sabinus. The henchman formed a verbal ambush for the patrician, whereby more agents provocateurs lured him into voicing at one of their own banquets his criticism of the increasingly brutal and arbitrary nature of Tiberius’ regime. Titus Sabinus’ unwise words were overheard by three of Sejanus’ Senatorial cronies, furtively hidden on the roof of the agent’s domus for just that devious purpose. On the next New Year’s Day, when it was customary to offer sacrifices to the gods to try to secure sacred fortune for the forthcoming 12 months, a letter from Tiberius was read in the Senate, laying forth these private sentiments as evidence of treason. As Titus Sabinus was later sacrilegiously led from the Senate with a noose around his neck, he shouted that he was being offered as a New Year’s Day sacrifice to Sejanus. After subsequent speedy execution without trial, the patrician’s exposed and mutilated body was thrown down the Gemonian Steps, the ‘Stairs of Mourning’, before being cast into the River Tiber. Agrippina the Elder’s eldest son, Nero Julius Caesar Germanicus, brother of Agrippina the Younger, was next to be provoked into unwise words, whilst Sejanus complied a dossier on the prince’s mother. Both were subsequently condemned and exiled to remote islands, where the woman was so badly beaten by guards that she lost an eye and where they were eventually starved to death. Sejanus then turned on Agrippina’s second son, Drusus Julius Caesar Germanicus, who perished in similar circumstances to his mother and older brother, albeit in the dungeons of the Imperial palace in Rome. This left one last male sibling, Gaius Julius Caesar Germanicus, who was universally known by his nickname of 'Caligula', and in respect of whom Tiberius’ brutal henchman had managed to pay little attention to before his own demise. This occurred after his Imperial master had decided that the Praetorian Prefect had become such a monster that he threatened his own position. Tiberius, from his exile on the island of Capreae, astutely turned Sejanus’ own ambush tactics on his henchman. The Praetorian Prefect was lured to the Senate, meeting at that time in the Temple of Apollo on the Palatine, expecting at last to receive the long-sought powers of a Tribune. However, the Emperor’s long-winded letter of supposed appointment instead condemned his creature, who was immediately deserted by his former allies, including his fellow members of the Imperial guard. Sejanus subsequently suffered a similar fate to Titus Sabinus. However, his dead body only ended up in the Tiber after the Roman mob had spent 3 days devising and carrying out obscene ways in which to abuse his strangled form. Now, 19 years after this particular grizzly event, the daughter of one of Sejanus’ many victims was plotting ambushes of her own to discredit potential rivals to her position and that of her son. Agrippina the Younger, in conclave with her lovers, Faenius Rufus, Aulus Vitellius and Pallas, was also considering how to undermine the positions of Doryphoros and Helius. Agrippina resented the fact that Narcissus had somehow manoeuvred two young members of his staff into positions wherein they looked after the administrative affairs of her son, Nero. The Empress did not want what she considered to be spies playing such a role but had so far and unusually been unable to persuade her husband to change the appointments for nominees of her own choosing. “The w….w….work,” Claudius had declared, whilst accidentally spraying phlegm over his wife, “clearly comes under m….m….my s….s….secretary’s r….r….remit.” However, the Augusta was not prepared to let the matter rest. Rather, she decided to change the annoying situation by subtle means, having quickly dismissed the notion of using her assassin, Didius, or poison to achieve what she wanted. She believed that such devices were best reserved to rectify more important issues. Agrippina instead planned to lure Doryphoros and Helius into a Sejanus-like ambush involving unfortunate personal indiscretions, which would also undermine the Imperial secretary’s position. The Empress was sure that she could soon manipulate matters so that the very handsome 22 and 15 year-old bodies of Narcissus’ assistants were being offered to the Roman mob, to be abused and thrown down the Stairs of Mourning into the Tiber. (Banks of the River Nar, near Narnia, Umbria, same time) ‘Lovely the rose, and yet its beauty time deflowers. Lovely in the spring the violet, but briefs its hours. White is the lily, but fast it falls and fades away. White is the snow, but it melts from earth’s face where it lay. Lovely is the loveliness of youth, yet lives for but a day!’ - Theocritus of Syracuse (‘Idylls’, XXII.28) - As Britannicus had excused him from service for the afternoon, because the 9 year-old prince and his similarly aged best friend, Titus, were spending time with Cornutus and Servius in order to learn about viniculture, Apollinus had accepted an invitation from Rubellius Plautus to return to the pastime of fishing. However, my 18 year-old friend fully appreciated that the 17 year-old great grandson of Tiberius possessed an ulterior motive for the liaison, as otherwise why would someone of such background want to spend time with a mere slave? Rubellius Plautus’ furtive reason was also barely disguised despite his best efforts. As with Burrus in the Imperial palace at the same time, certain expressive facial clues and other excited mannerisms led everyone, not least the recipient of the idolatry, to recognise that the young patrician fancied the young slave enormously. On his part, Apollinus’ relationship with Petronius was such that both expected exclusivity in respect of love but not sex. The 18 year-old slave expected that his 24 year-old lover would undoubtedly seek to satisfy his strong sexual appetites by securing appropriate physical solace with someone else whilst they were parted, and that the ‘elegentiae arbiter’ therefore would not mind if the young Rhodian did the same. The very attractive Rubellius Plautus seemed as good as anyone to fulfil the role to satisfy Apollinus’ own needs. As a result, my friend happily fell into the young patrician’s amorous ambush on the banks of the Nar, and the pair caught no fish on the picturesque riverside during this particular afternoon. Instead, two pairs of orifices were impregnated by copious amounts of young human sperm as the pleasant hours passed, and happily these hours were some of the longest of the year. The Romans divide both daylight and darkness into twelve equal portions. Hence, summer daytime hours, in contrast to those of the night, are longer than those of the winter. However, I am sure that neither Apollinus nor Rubellius Plautus considered chronology much on this particular afternoon, at least until the sun began to set and they reluctantly had to leave each other for their respective holiday residences. (Campania, Italia, same time) ‘Yea, how often have we seen Etna, her furnace-walls asunder riven, In billowy floods boil o'er the Cyclops’ fields, And roll down globes of fire and molten rocks!’ - Virgil (‘Georgics’) Meanwhile, in another holiday residence far to the south, Apollinus’ assumption about Petronius seeking sexual recompense for being separated from his lover by enjoying someone else’s physical attributes was being proved correct. The ‘elegentiae arbiter’ was currently thrusting his substantial cock in and out of the anus of a 19 year-old eunuch slave, punitively castrated three summers before by the estate’s previous vilicus for losing his virginity to a girl on the floor of the estate’s threshing room. Perhaps because of his gelding, the very handsome young man had retained much of the attractiveness of earlier youth, including a chin yet to invite the attentions of a razor. He had also realised that personal sexual pleasure could no longer be gained by being the active partner in a heterosexual relationship but rather by being the passive participant in one of a homosexual nature. He had therefore become something of a male whore around the estate, ready to agree to sodomy by anyone prepared to offer him something, usually in kind, that would make his life a little better. In order to do so, he had to ignore the disdain and abuse he frequently suffered from his fellow farm workers, some of whom were hypocritically secret sexual clients, attitudes to which he had eventually philosophically become immune. Petronius, who, given his dissolute past, was experienced in securing the services of both male and female whores, quickly established who on the Campanian rural estate would be prepared voluntarily to satisfy the eager needs of his cock in the absence in Umbria of Apollinus. A night with the handsome 19 year-old eunuch only cost one copper ‘as’. This sum represented a quarter of a brass ‘sestertius’, or an eighth of the average cost for the favours of a tavern boy or girl, at a time when the common working man earned about 400 sestertii a year. Naturally, Petronius believed that he was literally enjoying quite a bargain. He was also free to do so without fear of neglecting his supervisory duty towards Nero and Suffuscus, or being interrupted by the boys. He had been persuaded to allow them to go on a walking expedition, which would take them away from the estate’s luxurious villa for a couple of days. In fact, at that very moment, 12 year-old Nero and 13 year-old Suffuscus were sitting by a camp fire in a grove surrounded by vines. The boys were looking at the shadowy shape of a large mountain looming above them in the starry moonlit sky. Although they had been walking from just after breakfast, they were still on land pertaining to the Imperial estate, requisitioned from the late Caius Silius. “I believe,” Suffuscus, who was remarkably well informed about recent Roman history given his tender age, and whilst referring to the mountain he and Nero intended to climb on the next day, “that Spartacus and his fellow rebel gladiators took refuge on Vesuvius. They did so just after they had run away from their ludus [school] at Capua. Boosted in numbers by other escaped slaves, they defeated, using daring out-flanking and ambush tactics, several military forces sent to recapture them, one comprising 3000 soldiers. I believe that they originally encamped in a crater on top of the mountain.” “Why does this mountain have a crater, as others don’t?” a genuinely interested Nero asked of his slightly older friend. “Well,” Suffuscus answered, with deliberate and mischievous but also well-meant intent to scare, “I believe that at least two do but, unlike Vesuvius here, both have fire breathing monsters trapped inside.” As the 13 year-old had hoped, the intrigued and now wide-eyed 12 year-old responded by asking for more details. “Well,” Suffuscus replied, “according to the Greeks, the angry monster Typhon, who’s the son of the earth goddess, Gaia, is supposed to have been trapped for thousands of years inside the towering Aetna Mons on the eastern coast of Sicilia. The creature periodically loses his temper and spurts out spectacular columns of fire from one of its 100 heads. I believe that the mountain’s name stems from the Hellenic word ‘aitho’, meaning ‘I burn’." “The place,” Suffuscus informed, spurred on by Nero’s obvious keen interest in his story, “is also reputed to house the workshop of Hephaestus, known to us Romans as Vulcan, the god of fire and metalwork. According to Homer, it’s additionally the home of the giant one-eyed monster, Polyphemus, the Cyclops, who captured Odysseus and his comrades on Etna’s slopes.” “Another similar fire-breathing mountain,” Suffuscus continued, “exists on Strongyle in the Liparaeae Insulae, north of Sicilia, but I’m not familiar with the legends surrounding that particular island. However, as far as I’m aware, Vesuvius, despite having a crater summit, like Aetna and Strongyle, isn’t prone to blowing its top, although it has been said that the peak did once spew out the local soil, which, as you can see, is particularly fertile for Italia.” “I therefore don’t think that we’ll be in any danger,” Suffuscus finally summarised, “when we climb up Vesuvius tomorrow, from fire-breathing monsters or any other creepy creatures lurking in ambush, as long as we avoid falling off the mountain!” Both boys now laughed at the latter idea, although the climb would be potentially dangerous if they strayed off the path to the summit. However, Petronius had supplied them not only with several competent slaves, including 18 year-old Epaphroditus, Nero’s personal servant, but also proficient guides to ensure their welfare. Petronius knew that he should really have either accompanied his very important young charges or banned the expedition. However, the former option was ruled out by the dislike of the ‘elegentiae arbiter’ for strenuous exercise, heights and the particular mountain involved, and the latter by Suffuscus’ beautiful face. The boy’s sensuously pleading gorgeous brown eyes had ensured success for his entreaties to be allowed to climb Vesuvius with his new friend.
Petronius could not explain why he was disturbed, as I had been, by Vesuvius, readily visible across the local bay from the villa in which he, Nero and Suffuscus were holidaying. The peculiar shape of the mountain, which rested between the seaside communities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, seemed ominous for some unknown reason, despite the fact that the slopes were particularly verdant because of the many vineyards that flourished there. As I have mentioned previously, the shape and size of the mountain would actually change radically in my lifetime, as would the very nature of the view from the promontory on which the villa was located. Unfortunately, Petronius would never see the revised scenery. (Imperial palace, Rome, same time) ‘How could Romulus have acted with more divine wisdom than by placing his city on the banks of a river which flows with a never-failing current towards the sea, having all the advantages of being near the sea but none of the drawbacks? That which the city lacks, it can import from the sea, and it can export back there that which it has in excess. But yet the city depends not only on what it gets from the sea but also the land can be cultivated to maximum effect. To me then, it appears that Romulus had from the outset the divine inspiration to make his city the seat of a mighty empire. No city placed in any other part of Italia could so easily have maintained our power and dominion.’ - Cicero (‘De Republica’, 2.10) The Emperor was again dining alone, apart from me, his loyal food taster, whom, as was now common, he engaged in conversation. I actually acquired a lot of my knowledge of Rome from Claudius, despite the difficulty he had in putting a sentence together without stammering. In fact, by now, I was no longer disturbed by or even noticed the infliction, so accustomed had I become to my Imperial master’s particular variety of verbal communication. On this occasion, Claudius, proving that his renown for being a decent historian was not mere flattery, described to me some of the background to the location on which rested the luxurious Imperial residence we inhabited, the Palatine Hill alongside the River Tiber. The Emperor advised me that the locale was probably the site of the first Roman settlement. Legend even suggested that Remus, the twin brother of Romulus, was killed when he mockingly leapt over the fortifications his sibling was building there, after arguing about which of the seven local hills should be the site for their city. Later, the second King, Numa, was said to have communed with a nymph at one of the springs on the hill’s southern side. Later still, the temples of Victory and the Magner Mater were constructed, with the divine Augustus adding another dedicated to Apollo. Claudius described how the hill eventually became one of the most sought-after addresses for the city’s elite, and provided a long list of famous historical names who once lived locally, including Cicero, Crassus and Mark Antony. The divine Augustus himself eventually made his home on the Palatine, a domus that gradually grew into the ‘palace’ that was the seat of Imperial government. I am afraid that curiosity now overtook me and I asked Claudius to tell me about the legend of Romulus and Remus more fully. The person who had been responsible for most of my Roman education, my beloved Gaius, who was immensely sceptical of all mythology, had politely declined to elaborate the tale, declaring that my “wise brain” in my “beautiful head should not be bothered with such nonsense.” However, the currently rather lonely Emperor, after recovering from his shock that I was unaware of the tradition, was apparently delighted to rectify the gap in my knowledge. This was apparent from the fact that he now spent many hours to remedy my sad situation, beginning by telling me about events that occurred some 400 years or so before the immortal pair lived. By the time that he had finished, I have to confess that my weary mind regretted making my request in the first place, not so much as a result of the copious information gained but rather because the dawn sun had long since risen. Claudius first advised me that the Trojan War had ended 431 years before the foundation of Rome. I then made the mistake of enquiring how he could be so precise. The Emperor took an hour to answer this question. Claudius then when on to tell me the lengthy legend of the Trojan hero, Aeneas, who was a member of a junior branch of his city’s royal house, being the son of a certain Anchises and the goddess Venus. Having rescued his father from Troy and the death and destruction the victorious Greeks heaped on it, the young man apparently began wandering the known world, protected during his travels by his divine mother and other deities, supposedly because they wanted him to become the forebear of the Roman race. Claudius described the full legend, including Aeneas’ love affair with the Carthaginian Queen, Dido, whom he eventually abandoned to follow his destiny and who was so distraught that she killed herself. This story was supposed to explain the subsequent enmity between Rome and Carthage, which culminated in three Punic Wars and the ultimate eradication from the face of the earth of the latter city. Aeneas eventually settled in Italia and married a local princess. The hero’s son, Iulus, subsequently founded the city of Alba Longa, from where, 400 years later, his descendants, Romulus and Remus, set out to found Rome. Iulus gave his name to Julius Caesar’s clan, the Julii, who claimed descent from not only the founder of Alba Longa but also from his divine grandmother. Romulus and Remus were the twin sons of Rhea Silvia, daughter of Numitor, who had been usurped as King of Alba Longa by his brother, Amulius. The latter had insisted that his niece became a Vestal Virgin to prevent her from having royal children, as such priestesses were supposed to remain chaste. The punishment for failing to do so, which would be blatantly evident from a pregnancy, was to be buried alive. Rhea Silvia therefore produced an ingenious excuse for bearing twins. She claimed that the god, Mars, had ambushed and seduced her, divine seduction being almost the only defence that it was possible to offer. Amulius unsurprisingly did not believe her but the people did and their influence saved her life. However, an outraged King ordered her new-born sons flung into the flooded River Tiber. Fortunately, the children were subsequently washed up on the riverbank, still in their cradle, and a passing she-wolf, who had lost her cubs in the flood, came to investigate and eventually to suckle them until they were found by a local shepherd. The boys later grew up with this man and other humble country peasantry, unaware of their royal and divine ancestry. One day, following a skirmish involving some stolen cattle, the grown-up Remus was arrested and taken for judgement before his own real grandfather, Numitor. The latter somehow recognised his grandson and, sensing the chance to reassert his own family line's claim to the throne, initiated a rebellion against his brother. Meanwhile, Romulus had gathered a mass of countrymen and marched on Alba Longa to rescue his twin. A surprised Amulius had no time to organise a defence against these risings and was killed, allowing Numitor to resume his throne. However, having tasted power, his twin grandsons set out to found their own city, which became Rome. I vaguely knew that, at this point, the tale of the rape of the Sabine women somehow came into the legend about the foundation of Rome. However, having used the whole night to progress this far with the saga, I refrained from asking for an explanation of the circumstances of the loss of honour of these particular females. I preferred instead to creep to my bed, despite the fact that the morning summer sun was dominant in the sky above. Fortunately, Claudius was also ready to sleep off his overnight copious consumption of wine, which had nevertheless not constrained him from providing me with a lucid historical commentary in response to my original request for information, many hours previously. Nevertheless, on the following night, when we were again alone together, Claudius declared “Bicilus, I m….m….must tell you about the r….r….rape of the Sabine w….w….women!” (Mare Ionium, near the promontory of Ichthys, western Peloponnese coast, several weeks later, September DCCCIII A.V.C., in the 9th year of the reign of the Emperor Claudius [AD 50]) ‘Sing, goddess, of the anger of Achilleus, son of Peleus, the accursed anger which brought uncounted anguish on the Achaeans and hurled down to Hades many mighty souls of heroes, making their bodies the prey to dogs and birds feasting; and this was the work of Zeus’ will!’ - opening lines of Homer’s ‘Iliad’ Most Romans preferred to travel by road, even though conveyance by sea might be much quicker. Many people considered that the weather, even in the Mare Internum, was simply too unpredictably changeable to feel safe when plying the waves in a ship. However, my beloved Gaius was less fearful of the oceans and more adventurous. Accordingly, having spent longer that anticipated in Athenodorus’ home city of Aigion in Achaea, as a guest of the champion athlete, he and Hylas had set off in a merchant vessel to continue his ‘tour’. Gaius had agreed to meet up again with Athenodorus later in the year in Halicarnassus in Caria, the home city of the 17 year-old athlete’s older lover, Melankomas. My beloved wanted to fulfil the suggestion of the latter to see the local tomb of King Mausolus and to use the metropolis as a base from which to go to view the huge Temple of Artemis at nearby Ephesus, as well as the 300 year-old ruins of the Colossus on Rhodus. The small ship on which Gaius and Hylas were travelling was propelled by one mainsail, with another located on a small stub mast just behind the bowsprit. For centuries, such boats had been plying the waters of the Mare Internum, carrying the likes of wheat, lumber, exotic animals, pottery, glassware, olive oil and wine, with the liquid cargoes carried in tall sealed amphorae placed on wooden racks in the holds. The latter often sported pointed bottoms to make the loading of such jars onto the shelving easier. The small ship was heading for a tiny port at the mouth of the River Alpheus, where the cargo, including that of the human kind, would be unloaded onto barges for upriver transport towards Olympia, where the young tourists wanted to view the sights. However, as the vessel passed around the promontory of Ichthys, just north of its destination, it encountered a problem as bad as, if not worse than, dangerously inclement weather, one that had plagued the Mare Internum for hundreds of years and continues to do so. Piracy has been endemic in the Mare Internum from the earliest times, being a menace to most of the area’s civilisations, not least that of the Romans. The latter are particularly handicapped in suppressing the threat because their military expertise is really on land as opposed to sea, where, with only a few exceptions, they are always uncomfortable. The coastlines also contain too many convenient hiding-places for their tormentors to conceal themselves to make hunting them easy. Even the divine Julius Caesar was once captured and held for ransom by pirates. The problem of piracy had, however, lessened somewhat about century prior to my beloved Gaius’ voyage from Aigion. The practice was once so well organised that it threatened Rome’s vital wheat supplies from Aegyptia, but this ultimately proved an unwise move on the part of the perpetrators. The danger to the capital’s food lifeline stimulated Pompey to assemble a large military force and station it on an immense fleet of 500 ships, which, making a great sweep of the Mare Internum from west to east, cleared much of the sea of most pirates in 40 days. The cornered pirates tended to surrender meekly, with the only hard fighting taking place for possession of the last piracy strongholds on the rocky coast of Asia Minor. Unlike Crassus, who had been responsible for crushing Spartacus’ revolt and had crucified thousands of male slaves along the Via Appia in the aftermath, Pompey then proved remarkably lenient to his captives, with many resettled peacefully in different areas and less problematical professions. Pompey’s attitude also contrasted starkly with that of his other great rival, Julius Caesar. The latter, having been ransomed and released, returned to arrest his kidnappers, who then suffered the same fate, albeit in a different location, to Spartacus’ men. Such history was, however, currently not at the forefront of my beloved lover’s mind, as the bigger and faster pirate vessel, which had hidden on the southern shore of the promontory of Ichthys, waiting to ambush passing shipping, came alongside the merchant boat. Evil-looking ruffians, armed to the teeth, had then begun to board the smaller transport. “Gaius,” 8 year-old Hylas screamed, as he clutched his 20 year-old master’s slim form in terror, “are they going to kill us?” My beloved lover for once did not know how to answer. (Germania Inferior, same time) ‘When the fighting had stopped, one could see that where they had attacked each other the earth was stained with blood. The corpses of friends and enemies lay next to each other; shields were shattered, spears were broken into pieces and daggers were unsheathed, some on the ground, others thrust into bodies, and some even still gripped in hands, ready to strike.’ - Xenophon (‘Life of Agesilaus’, 2.14) The first that Palaemon and Axenius knew about their own subjection to ambush was hearing the thud of arrows, as they hit flesh and wood, followed by the worrying and eerily high-pitched sound of the customary yelling of Germanic warriors as they entered battle. The renowned teacher was the first to poke his head out of his carpentum window, originally covered by a leather integument as protection from the autumnal chill, to notice the Chatti emerge from nearby trees, carrying swords and spears. Axenius was not long in doing the same on his side of the coach, where he observed a similar worrying scene, as well as the facts that their raedarius appeared to be dead, with an arrow protruding from his forehead, and several of their escorts were also similarly deceased. The carpentum itself had been peppered by arrows. The only weapon that Palaemon and Axenius possessed between them was the knife that the latter customary carried as both a practical tool and defensive safeguard. However, the blade no longer seemed to possess much protective purpose in their current desperate circumstances. Palaemon and Axenius looked at each other. No words had to be exchanged, as their facial expressions, especially that displayed in their eyes, said all that needed to be said, which was a mixture of deep mutual love and best wishes for the fight to come, tinged with a pessimistic hint of farewell. The renowned teacher and his young heir then opened their respective carpentum doors and leapt outside to face the universally long-haired, extravagantly moustached and bearded enemy. Somehow avoiding more arrows and thrown spears, Axenius, small knife in hand, rushed to the other side of the coach to stand with Palaemon. The latter had managed to pick up a sword discarded by one of his hired veteran soldier escorts, slain during the initial fusillade. As the pair of lovers stood nobly side-by-side to confront the numerous enemy, Palaemon saw a closing Chatti warrior launch his spear at Axenius. The renowned teacher instinctively pushed his young companion aside and onto the ground. The horrified Axenius then observed the spear meant for him pierce Palaemon in the chest, causing blood to gush from the resultant terrible wound. The 20 year-old instantly appreciated that the dreadful blow was fatal. However, he had little time to consider the awful event further because one of the Chatti was now upon him, ready to use his sword to despatch my friend to the afterlife. (Mare Ionium, near the promontory of Ichthys, western Peloponnese coast, same time) ‘We put our trust in the fortune that the gods will send and which has saved us up to now, and in the help of men….’ - Thucydides in his history of the Peloponnesean War The fight for possession of the small merchant ship and its cargo, including the human variety, was quickly over, with the proficient raiders rapidly overcoming all opposition. The surviving crew and passengers, thankfully including Gaius and Hylas and whose hands were all tied behind their backs, were lined up for inspection by the pirate leader, a dirty, scar-faced, foul-mouthed Sardinian. “You should fetch a good ransom,” the leader remarked in coarse Latin, as his eyes ran over Gaius’ immaculately and richly dressed young equestrian form.” “Meanwhile, as we wait for our reward, your very pretty bumboy here,” he then continued, whilst inaccurately referring to the visibly quaking Hylas, “can keep the cocks of me and my associates happy!” Hylas immediately and tremulously recalled his appalling earlier life as a 4 year-old Bacchanalian eunuch catamite, before Gaius had come to rescue him from that atrocious existence. (Germania Inferior, same time) ‘But if he escapes the fate of death that brings long woe, and victorious wins the glorious boast of his spear, all honour him, young and old alike, and he after much contentment goes to Hades.’ - the Spartan general Tyrtaeus (‘Martial songs’, 12.35, as taught to boys training to be Spartan hoplites) Axenius knew that he could do little with his tiny knife or anything else before the deathblow struck him, and so instinctively closed his eyes, expecting quickly to join Palaemon in Hades. However, the sword strike never landed and so he eventually reopened his eyelids. The 20 year-old now saw that the sword of the original fierce warrior had been manually restrained by a much older but far more impressive man, one whose copious hair, moustache and beard was silvery white. Axenius had not spoken his native tongue since he had been captured by Romans who had raided Chatti territory a decade earlier. However, he now somehow remembered the correct words to say “Hello, grandfather!” The tall silvery-haired man, who had thought that he had recognised the beautiful smooth face of the supposed youthful Roman, stimulating him to restrain his fellow warrior from killing the young man, answered in accented Latin. “Ave, Axenius,” Arminius replied. (To be continued in chapter XXXVIII – ‘Wonders’)
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