Nero 2

Chapter II – Marriages

(A patrician villa, Rome, in June of the 5th year of the reign of the Emperor Claudius [AD 46])

‘Mother of all the gods,

The mother of mortals.

Sing of her

For me, Muse...

She loves

The clatter of rattles

The din of kettle drums;

And she loves

The wailing of flutes;

And also she loves

The howling of wolves;

And the growling

Of bright-eyed lions.…….’

- Homeric hymn

My new home was a large splendid villa in the most select part of Rome’s patrician quarter, located not far from the Imperial palace, although I was in no state to appreciate these facts when I first arrived. My personal quarters were, however, very modest and confined compared to the spacious ostentatious splendour occupied by my new master and his family. The windowless and doorless basement cell was little bigger than one of the rectangular kitchen pantries in which food was stored although, as I was now a slave without any rights whatsoever, who would be considered by his owners to be only another expendable provision, the similarity was perhaps suitable. It was added to by the fact that I was to rest on what was no more than a wide stone shelf, albeit one provided with clean bedding.

I was carried from my transport to my quiet small cubby-hole by some of my master’s male household slaves. They were attired in matching short dark blue tunics of rich fabric with gold borders, which belied their mean status in life and contrasted with the similar black garments of the litter bearers. They found their way through the gloomy basement by virtue of illumination provided only by wall torches.

I was laid on the down-filled mattress, still naked apart from the rag bandaging covering my agonised groin. Despite the fact that the summer weather outside was scorching, the coolness within the villa’s cellars, to which I would eventually become accustomed, caused me to shiver and develop goose pimples. These symptoms were apparently observed by the youngest servant attending me, a pretty brown haired and eyed boy of similar age, for he later kindly brought a fleece to cover me. Unfortunately, in my delirium, I neglected to thank him, although I was subsequently to make up for this impoliteness.

I slept fitfully for several hours until an elderly man, whom I later discovered was called the ‘major domo’ and was a freeman charged with overseeing the household slaves, came to see me, accompanied by the kind boy. The head servant removed the fleece and my bandaging to inspect the work perpetrated on my genitals. I heard his young companion gasp at the appearance of my recently castrated groin, being presumably unused to viewing fresh geldings.

Previously, such intrusive attention to my privates would have resulted in appalled outrage and resistance but, at that moment, my anguish was such that I was beyond caring about my modesty and pride.

I felt the man lift up my now forever flaccid penis to examine my emptied scrotum. He then spoke but my Latin was still not good enough to appreciate everything he said, although I caught the gist of much of it.

“Hmm, good work, by the look of it,” the man announced initially to the boy, “which shouldn’t take too long to heal if looked after and it’s a job that I want you to undertake.” He then went on to describe to his young underling what precisely he was to do in the days ahead and what the dreadful consequences would be if he lost his patient. The instructions included looking after my cleanliness and feeding, as well as ministering to my genital wound.

The slaveboy, whose name I was to discover was Apollinus and who was of Greek origin, proved very adept at his labours despite his initial shock at observing my surgery and not having carried out such a function previously. My fellow 14 year-old proceeded with almost loving care to ensure the complete healing of my altered genitalia and restoration of my amended body back to full health.

Apollinus exhibited not only the utmost efficiency, no doubt partly out of consideration of the price of failure, but also seemingly genuine intense interest in the changed form of the sexual organs he attended several times a day. I often thought that his inevitable thorough scrutiny of the scene of his work, as he examined every iota before and after his remedial tasks, went beyond the call of duty. However, he always approached his efforts with such gregariously cheerful diplomacy that I not only quickly lost my embarrassment at his ministrations but also came to appreciate his visits to my tiny quarters. They helped to heal both my physical and mental wounds, with the latter achieved by breaking up the lonely tedium of my recovery with interesting chatter, from which both my Latin and knowledge of my new world improved.

It was Apollinus who advised me that it was not the man who had bought me at auction who was my new master but a patrician named Caius Silius, a very rich and important scion of an immensely influential Roman house. It was apparently common for members of the Imperial family itself to be guests at his villa.

Caius was in his late twenties and had recently been married for the second time, his first wife, from a now diminished lineage, having died suddenly. His new pretty spouse, who was only 15 years old, brought a marital alliance with another important family as her principal dowry. Apollinus whispered to me that there was a rumour that the first marriage had been ended with poison to allow this new familial coalition to be achieved.

Caius had two daughters from his first marriage, aged 11 and 13, both of whom Apollinus suggested, again quietly, were nasty spoiled brats, to be avoided as much as possible. However, he then recognised his mistake and tried to withdraw this view. To me, the reason for his diplomatic shift was obvious, for he did not want to upset me during my recovery. It was the first time that I realised whom my real masters, or rather mistresses, were to be.

Apollinus informed me that Caius’ large complement of slaves was divided into four categories, all assigned different coloured tunics. Those, such as the litter bearers, who were charged with assisting the family in the urban surrounds beyond the confines of the villa in Rome, wore black. Household slaves who toiled in the kitchens and gardens, but kept well away from the master and mistresses, wore dark blue, whereas those who attended directly to them wore white if female and scarlet if male. I wondered whether the latter was because all of the women and girls who formed part of this select retinue were supposedly virginal whilst the men and boys had spilt blood during their gelding.

The fourth slave group comprised those who toiled on the family’s extensive estates outside Rome, whose formal dress consisted of dark green tunics, although their labours often precluded such cover in favour of coarser and possibly sparser garments. I was not myself to meet any of these farm workers for a considerable time.

Apollinus confirmed that eunuchs were confined to the inner household corps of servants, all of whom had to be attractive to the eye to please the master. I did not ask why, fearing the worst, not being ignorant of human lusts.

After a couple of weeks, I eventually coaxed Apollinus, who was rather pleasing to the eye himself, into confessing what he was obviously guiltily but unsuccessfully trying to hide from me. He finally advised me that he had been very relieved that he had not been selected for castration to fill the vacancy for a eunuch in the inner household. This had been created when one of the more youthful of the castrated servants was offered for service in one of the great temples of Rome, one with which I was to become very familiar. My new friend explained that he thought that the major domo had discouraged the notion of securing a replacement from within because the man had taken a fancy to him. I did not enquire at the time how far this liking extended, not wanting to exacerbate the bright red-face and acutely embarrassed demeanour suddenly sported by my fellow 14 year-old.

The temple to which my predecessor had been dispatched was that of the great mother goddess, Cybele. Much of what I now immediately relate did not come from Apollinus but was personally gleaned by me over time. However, it seems appropriate to introduce these facts into my narrative at this point.

Emperor Claudius was liberally reforming religious practice in Rome, so citizens could be free to take a full part in most of the diverse rituals if they wanted. Included was a much more relaxed approach, albeit very short-lived, to foreign faiths such as Judaism and Christianity. However, one cult to gain for much longer, as it was formally incorporated into the official calendar, thereby becoming a state religion, was that of Cybele.

Cybele, closely identified with other goddesses such as Rhea, is the mother of the gods, the Magna Mater. Immortal and eldest of the elder gods, she came forth from the great black rock of Mount Agdus in Phrygia, it having arrived onto an otherwise empty earth from the heavens.

Along with the great rock of Cybele came many other smaller stones and from these the goddess formed Zeus and many of the other gods. However, after his creation, Zeus lusted after the Magna Mater and made advances toward her but she rejected them.

One night, while Cybele lay sleeping, Zeus furtively masturbated at her feet, spilling his semen over her. Ten months later, Cybele gave birth to Agdistis, an androgyne of immense strength, ferocity and passion. Agdistis, uncontrollable and by far the most physically powerful of the gods, went about laying waste and violently wrecking everything in his vicinity.

Fed up with Agdistis’ wild rampages, the other gods gathered to discuss what should be done but arrived at no solution and so, ultimately, Dionysus, the god of wine, took matters into his own hands. After another destructive spree, Agdistis returned to drink deeply from a common spring that Dionysus had turned to wine and fell drunkenly into a deep sleep.

Dionysus, having formed a rope and noose made from fallen strands of Cybele's hair, slipped the tie around the genitals of Agdistis before, screaming in a great voice, he suddenly wakened his fellow deity. Agdistis, startled, jumped up violently, emasculating himself. A great river of blood poured forth from his wound and was absorbed by the earth, from which then sprung forth all manner of flowers and fruit.

Nana, the daughter of the river Sangarius, saw the blossoms and, finding them beautiful, placed some on her bosom. Cybele, transforming herself into the form of Agdistis, then changed them to a seed from which the girl became pregnant. However, her father, believing his daughter to have been evilly licentious, locked her away without food or water, attempting to starve her to death.

Cybele slipped into Nana’s room secretly each night, bringing apples to eat and water to drink and therefore helping her to survive. Upon the birth of the child on the 25th of December, the girl’s father ordered the baby boy to be taken to the river and left among the reeds to die. However, a shepherd found the child and took him home, nurturing him on the milk of a goat that had recently given birth. The local Phrygian name for goat is ‘attagi’, and so the child was called ‘Attis’.

Attis grew into a remarkably beautiful youth, kind with his adopted father's flock. Thus, his parent praised him by calling him ‘the gentle shepherd’. Cybele, observing that the young man was more beautiful than any of the gods, loved Attis above all others and showered him with gifts and favours. Her passion was returned.

Agdistis also loved Attis and seduced the vulnerable young half-god with tales of adventure and the heroic love of men for men, warriors for warriors. He even profanely lied, proclaiming Zeus as first among the gods, to try to undermine the love Attis had for the Magna Mater, Cybele. Confused, Attis succumbed to male seduction.

Meanwhile, Midas, king of Phrygia, scandalised by Attis' relationship with Agdistis, wanted the beautiful half-god to marry his own daughter and Attis, finding the girl comely, eventually agreed to the union. To prevent anyone from breaking in on the couple while they were consummating their nuptials, Midas closed access to his city, Pessinus. However, Cybele, knowing that Attis would never be safe with humans, entered the capital by lifting its walls upon her head to rescue him. This explains why she is often depicted with a crown of towers, ‘corona turrita’.

Cybele informed Attis that he was only safe so long as he did not wed a human. She also told him of the agony he caused her when he left with Agdistis.

When Attis learnt of Cybele's suffering, he grabbed a knife in a fit of anguished passion and, under a pine tree, emasculated himself. As he lay dying, on a day now mourned as ‘Black Friday’, he called out “Oh great mother, forgive me. I never sought to cause you grief and I never will again!”

Violets sprung up from the drops of blood from his genital wound, entwining into the boughs of the tree, and therein entered the spirit of Attis. Upon seeing that her son and lover was repentant and had emasculated himself to atone for hurting her, effectively also committing suicide by doing so, Cybele carried the pine tree, with the youth’s body, to her cave temple. There, the Magna Mater decreed that Attis should be mourned every year by priests who were also eunuchs.

For the three days Attis was dead, he visited the underworld. Then, on the third day, Cybele brought Attis back to life.

Providing Attis with her most glorious raiment, Cybele proclaimed the renascent one both her daughter and her lover, conferring upon the half-deity gifts of mystery equal to her own. In her own words, Cybele declared the transformation. “Rejoice,” she exclaimed, “ my son is gone and in his place a daughter has arisen. Let all of beauty, strength, power, compassion, honour, mirth and reverence be at her service. Let all who would do her harm, pay grievous penalty and, to all who do her tribute, accrue fitting reward.”

I am aware, because I am now one of them, that the followers of Cybele and Attis often chant “As our lord was saved, so are we all saved!” We call Attis, generally depicted wearing a Phrygian cap and long tight trousers that taper to the ankles, and also partly covered by a shoulder cape, the saviour of humanity and the good shepherd.

It is our belief that Cybele is the being from which all life springs but Attis is the creator of that life. He comes down from the heavens, where there is no impulse or passion, to assist procreation. However, he must later be freed again from the mortal ties of recurring life, matter and death and so the Magna Mater recalls him in his emasculated form.

The priesthood of Cybele, or ‘gallae’, the membership preferring this feminine form to the masculine ‘galli’, had consisted before Claudius’ time entirely of eunuchs. These had castrated themselves, originally using such instruments as a sharp stone, potsherd or knife, but now usually with a special decorated clamp, and then adopted feminine dress and lifestyles. Most were foreigners, mainly from the east, as most classes of Roman citizen were banned by a 150 year-old law from these religious practices. The word ‘gallae’, or ‘galli’, comes from the River Gallus in Phyrgia, from where the cult originated, although some suggest it derives from the Latin for a cockerel, ‘gallus’, one of the order’s sacred symbols.

Most Romans, although affording the cult immense respect, had previously actually been unconcerned about the prohibition relating to self-emasculation to join the ranks of feminised priestesses, as the gelded men and youths were subsequently generally termed despite their still inherent, albeit reduced, masculinity. The majority of the general populace felt that such a desire to be unmanned and live like a woman was incomprehensible madness, even if it was in the honour and service of the eldest of the elder deities.

Claudius’ reforms abolished the restrictions on Romans harming themselves to join the order serving Cybele but also opened the priesthood to fully intact citizens and appointed a senior patrician at the head of the organisation, displacing the disgruntled principal eunuch priestess, the ‘Archigallus’, into a subordinate position. There had been much rivalry for the new post, which did not stem from a particular affinity for the cult and its practitioners on the part of most candidates. Instead, the interest arose from the symbolic prestige brought, plus the size of the donations, in cash and kind, made to the temples, by people from all walks of life, in return for the Magna Mater hopefully auspiciously answering their prayers. Substantial portions of such largesse would invariably be creamed off by the new spiritual leader in compensation for the kind occasional ceremonial role he was to play.

The existing emasculated foreign priesthood was unhappy at the changes. The meaning behind their self-sacrifice was to be demeaned, by the introduction of a still-intact Roman leader and similarly whole local transvestites to their number, and the financial rewards of service were to be diluted. However, there was little that the eunuchs could do about it.

Caius, my new master, was apparently one of those trying to secure the Cybele leadership and he had donated his eunuch slave to the temple, to be one of the priesthood’s servants, so that his candidature might be considered more favourably. As is common, an already prominent rich man was still greedy for improved status, or ‘dignitas’, and wealth, not only to boost his already substantial position and finances further but also to increase his future influence. After all, the occupation of prestigious positions and the increasing possession of much money represented accumulating power, which could one day lead anywhere, even to the Imperial purple itself.

Unfortunately for Caius, his gesture proved futile when the Emperor awarded the leadership of the cult to another Senator. My new master, whom Apollinus told me thought a lot of himself, a characteristic undoubtedly encouraged by supposedly being called by many ‘the handsomest man in Rome’, was fatally to resent and not forget this snub.

(The temple of Cybele, Rome, same time)

‘Under your eyes I have been initiated into all the mysteries; you, my pious partner in life, honour in me the priestess of the goddess of Mount Dindymus and of Attis, while you ordained me with the bull's blood..."

- epitaph of a priestess of Cybele, Aconia Fabia Paulina

It was the twenty-eighth day of Thargêliôn in Hellenic tradition (17th June) and time for the ceremony of Plunteria in the temple, over 200 years old, of the Magna Mater on the Palatine. This was located on the other side of the Tiber from the site, close to the Circle of Gaius (Caligula), where the new sanctuary to Cybele and Attis, called the ‘Phrygianum’, was being built on the command of Claudius. The Emperor had ordered its construction to complement the old main temple and to compensate and placate the deities and their servants for his recently introduced reforms. The sanctuary eventually became so famous that I believe others were later built in Gaul and Germania.

I understand that the Romans brought the worship of Cybele to their capital during the last stages of the war with Hannibal and Carthage (in BC 204). The oracle of the Sibylline Books had apparently declared that ‘whenever a foreign enemy invades Italia, he can only be driven away and vanquished if the Mother of Mount Ida is transferred from Pessinus to Rome.’

Accordingly, after negotiations, Cybele, in the form of a meteoric stone, symbolic of her presence in Pessinus, capital of Phrygia on Mount Agdus, otherwise known as Dindymus or Ida, was brought to the Palatine. However, the Romans were shocked by the eastern rites that accompanied her cult, with their loud chants and wild dances that whipped people up into a frenzy of bloody self-flagellation and self-injury. Consequently, the Pontifex Maximus, responsible for religious matters within the Empire, confined the rituals to the precincts of the temple, apart from processions and public games, the Megalensia. Furthermore, he ordered that the goddess was only to be served by largely foreign priests, a directive which was maintained until the time of Claudius.

Ornaments were now being removed from the image of the goddess. This was so that she could be covered in a white cloth and carried in procession, accompanied by exotically dressed priestly musicians and the sounds of cymbals and flutes, to the Tiber for the ritual cleansing termed ‘lavatio’. This was a public festival celebrated by many by the eating of hêgêtêría, a cake of pressed figs. The statue, in which the goddess was depicted in her usual pose, seated on a throne, wearing splendid long habiliment and a turreted crown, holding her bowl of prophecy in her lap and accompanied by cowed lions, would then be adorned in new outer robes and her jewellery and position restored.

The new Roman leader of the cult, incongruously strongly heterosexual for his position, felt very uncomfortable in the company of the many transvestite priestesses and open lesbian-like lovers but sat impassively as one of them recounted from memory Catullus’ famous 63rd poem (carmina LXIII):-

‘Super alta vectus Attis celere rate maria,

Phrygium ut nemis citato cupide pede tetigit,

adiitque opaca silvis redimita loca deae,

stimulatis ibi furente rabie, vagus animis,

devoluit ile acuto sibi pondere silicis……..’

(‘Carried in a fast ship over profound seas,

Attis, eager and hurried, reached the Phrygian grove,

The goddess's dark places, crowned with woodland.

And there, exalted by amorous rage, his mind gone,

He cut off his testicles with a sharp flint……..

While the ground was still spotted with fresh blood,

Quickly took in her snowy hands a tambourine

Such as serves your initiates, Cybele, instead of a trumpet,

And shaking the hollow calf-hide with delicate fingers,

Quivering, she began to sing to the troop this:

"Go together, votaresses, to the high groves of Cybele.

Go together, wandering herd of the lady of Dindymus.

Quick into exile, you looked for foreign places

And, following me and the rule I had adopted,

You bore with the salt tide and the violence of the high sea

And emasculated your bodies from too much hatred of Venus.

Delight the lady's mind with your errant haste.

Overcome your reluctance: together

Go to the Phrygian shrine of Cybele, to her groves

Where the voice of cymbals sounds, the tambourines rattle,

Where the Phrygian piper sings with the deep curved pipe,

Where Maenads wearing ivy throw back their heads,

Where they practise the sacred rites with sharp yells,

Where they flutter around the goddess's cohort.

It is there we must go with our rapid dances."

As Attis, the counterfeit woman, sang this to her companions,

The choir howled suddenly with tumultuous tongues.

The tambourine bellows, the cymbals clash again;

The swift troop moves off to Ida with hurrying feet.

Crazy, panting, drifting at her last gasp,

Attis with her tambourine leads them through the opaque groves

Like an unbroken heifer refusing the yoke.

The swift votaresses follow their swift-footed leader.

When they reach Cybele's shrine, feeble and worn,

From too much toil they take their rest without bread.

Sleep covers their eyes with a heavy blanket;

Their rabid madness subsides to a girlish quiet.

But when the golden sun with his streaming eyes

Purified the white sky, hard land, wild sea,

And drove away the shadows of night with his thundering horses,

Attis was aroused and sleep went quickly from her

Back to the trembling arms of the goddess Pasithea.

Then, from her girlish quiet, with no hurrying madness,

Attis remembered what she had done

And saw in her lucid mind what was missing and where she was.

Tempestuously she turned back to the shore.

There, looking at the open sea with tearful eyes,

With grief in her voice she addressed her native land:

"Land which begot me, land which brought me forth,

I am abject to abandon you like a runaway slave.

My feet have carried me to the groves of Ida

To be among snow in the cold lairs of wild beasts;

I shall visit their violent haunts.

Where, O my land, can I imagine you are?

My eye desires you and narrows as it turns toward you

In this short interval when my mind is unfrenzied.

Shall I be carried to the forests, from my far-off home,

Away from country, goods, friends, family,

From the Forum, palaestra, racecourse, and gymnasium?

There is nothing for me but misery.

What shape is there that I have not had?

A woman now, I have been man, youth, and boy;

I was athlete, the wrestler.

There were crowds round my door, my fans slept on the doorstep;

There were flowers all over the house

When I left my bed at sunrise.

Shall I be a waiting maid to the gods, the slave of Cybele?

I a Maenad, I a part of myself, I impotent?

Shall I live above the snow line on green Ida?

Shall I pass my life under the rocky peaks of Phrygia,

Where the doe runs in the woods, where the boar mooches in the glade?

I regret now, now, what I have done, I repent of it, now!"

As these words hurried away from her pink lips,

Bringing a new message to the ears of the gods,

Cybele, letting her lions off the leash

And urging forward the beast on the left hand,

Said, "Get on, be fierce, see that he's driven mad;

Make him insane enough to return to the forest.

He has had the impertinence to want to be out of my power.

Come on, lash around with your tail till you hurt yourself.

Make the whole neighbourhood ring with your bellowing roar.

Be fierce, shake the red mane on your muscular neck."

Thus, the threatening Cybele, and she wound the leash round her hand.

The beast stirs up his courage and rouses himself to fury.

He is off, he roars, he breaks up the undergrowth.

When he came to the wet sand on the whitening shore

And saw tender Attis by the waters of the sea,

He charged. Attis, mad, flew into the wild woods.

There, for the rest of her life, she lived as a slave.

Great Goddess, Goddess Cybele, Goddess lady of Dindymus,

May all your fury be far from my house.

Incite the others, go. Drive other men mad.’)

Axenius, the very handsome eunuch slave originally from Germania, given to the priesthood of Cybele by Caius Silius, felt as uncomfortable as his new leader. However, unlike the Roman patrician, dressed in a manly Senatorial toga, who was unhappy with the company, the 16 year-old youth was displeased by appearing in public once more in extravagant feminine garb.

Despite his castration several years earlier, perpetrated like mine shortly after his capture and arrival in Rome in order to serve his new master’s awful daughters, Axenius still considered himself male and did not want to exhibit himself as if he were not. However, he had little choice. He was, after all, still a slave without rights who would be severely punished if not executed for rebellion against the new regime that dominated his existence. Cybele’s priestesses required their universally castrated servants to disport themselves as they did.

Nevertheless, there were considerable compensations for Axenius for, apart from his humiliating apparel, his quality of life had improved immeasurably. No longer was the youth subjected to regular degradation and abuse, mental, physical and sexual, as he had been in the service of Caius Silius, his family and guests. As the 16 year-old told me later, he felt enormous pity for his successor.

Axenius had been placed in the personal entourage of the deposed high priestess, the Altigallus. The latter was invariably dressed in the finest raiment. These usually comprised a long red stola embroidered with golden flowers, with precious gems adorning fingers. The neck of the man/woman would display a temple-shaped necklace amulet, etched with images of Cybele standing between Hermes and Zeus, or in the Roman pantheon, Mercury and Jupiter, with the goddess a head taller than the gods, symbolic of her superior status, and blessing them. A magnificent crown and ornate armlets of gold were also worn. His/her hair was always exquisitely waved, framing a delicately painted face. He/she was still charged with the day-to-day operation of the cult, albeit for considerably less reward than before, with the nominal new leader of the order, considering his post largely a sinecure, happy to maintain this delegation of responsibility. The older eunuch had welcomed the younger eunuch as a pretty fresh face to enlighten his daily routine, particularly as the youth had a sweet soprano singing voice.

As a favoured servant to the senior priestess endowed with no testicles but with singing talent, Axenius was delegated some ceremonial choral duties at the evening conclusion of the festival of Plunteria. As the youth stepped forward from anonymity into a position of prominence within the temple to perform his task, his face blushed, not with nerves but in abashment of so public an appearance in women’s attire and jewellery. This had been exacerbated when he noticed a smirking chubby 8 year-old boy, named Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, amongst the large Roman audience. The 16 year-old remembered being the subject of the little brute’s cruelly sadistic and degrading games on several occasions but somehow managed to dismiss such painful recall from his mind to convey his hymn perfectly.

Soon Axenius’ sweet melodic voice was echoing around the cavernous interior of the temple.

‘Matri Deum Magnae Idaeae……..’ he sang.

(‘O Divine Mother……..

Creator of all atoms and light,

Thou hast sung the eternal chord

That brought all reality into being,

And sustained it with thy mighty bow.

Huntress, who gives and harvests life,

We praise thee for the festal board

In golden Thargêliôn.

From eternity to eternity,

Thou art ever the Immaculate,

All-perfection, omniscient,

Most brilliant orb of beauty.

Grateful are we, humble handmaidens,

Dependent on thy ever-flowing milk

Of sustenance, matter and spirit.

Thou art the aeon of truth,

Radiant, a fountain of justice.

She who turns the wheel and

Weaves the tapestry of the cosmos.

Envelop us always in your loving

Embrace, to drink of your mercy.

Blessed be!’)

Meanwhile, the watching 8 year-old wondered who Axenius’ successor at the residence of Caius Silius was, as he was looking forward to playing with him in the company of his host’s daughters. I know this because he told me when we first met, an occasion I did not enjoy.

(The Imperial palace, Rome, later that evening)

‘Let her live and be happy with her lovers,

Three-hundred of whom she holds in her embraces,

Loving none truly but again and again rupturing

The loins of them all;

And let her not count on my love, as in the past,

For through her fault it has fallen like a flower

At the meadow's edge, after being lopped

By the passing plough.’

- Catullus

I was to learn about many of the secret happenings in the Imperial palace. I can therefore attest to the fact that such events as I now describe truly occurred.

The lame and awkward Tiberius Claudius Nero, grandson of Anthony, step-grandson of Augustus, nephew of Tiberius and uncle to Gaius Caligula, and known to history by his middle name, was, not uncommonly, drunk. He had as usual just banqueted without guests, preferring his own company to that of fawning courtiers, whom he still suspected of mocking his unfortunate physical mannerisms behind his back. He had dined well, too well, but this had only awakened, albeit very briefly, his sexual appetite. “Where’s my wife?” the Emperor enquired, in his accustomed stammering and slobbering manner, of the adult eunuch attending him, his food taster. “Taken to her chambers unwell,” was the discreet answer. “A….a….again?” the 55, soon-to-be 56, year-old Princeps stuttered before falling into slumbering incoherent semi-consciousness. Meanwhile, his 23 year-old spouse of 8 years’ standing, who was also his cousin, was giggling in her bed.

“Again,” the naked nymphomaniac Valeria Messalina, who represented Claudius’ third marital union, demanded of the Praetorian. However, the young man, as full of masculine stamina and attracted to the beautiful young Empress as any robustly virile heterosexual at his peak, could not rise to the occasion for the fourth time in such quick succession. His lover therefore literally thumped and kicked him off her huge ornate bed and demanded that he find a more qualified replacement.

“I’ll have your useless cock removed if you don’t!” were Messalina’s final words to the Praetorian whilst he departed, quickly picking up his discarded uniform from the floor as he did so. His attire had been torn in several places, so passionately had the Empress originally ripped them off his muscular body. The soldier performed his errand swiftly, not wishing the Imperial nymphet to have cause to carry out her threat, which she was fully capable of doing.

Shortly afterwards, Messalina was in the embrace of another of her elderly husband’s young guards. In nearby chambers, the product of her originally unwanted marriage with Claudius, 7 year-old Octavia and 5 year-old Britannicus, the son named after his father’s triumph in Britannia, slept soundly.

(The villa of Caius Silius, Rome, same time)

I was woken by the sounds of lovemaking from slave quarters nearby. I was not unaccustomed to such noises, as they were often heard after darkness in the crowded communal family dwellings of my people in Britannia. However, what was unusual for me on this occasion was that they clearly included, amongst groans of adult male passion, some distressed younger masculine tones.

It was not long afterwards that a hand-held torch carried by Apollinus was brought into my tiny dark doorless cell. A richly attired man accompanied my young friend. Both their faces were flushed as a result of their recent exertions.

“Please stand, Bicilus,” Apollinus requested, “for our master, Caius Silius, wants to inspect you!” With my genital wound now almost healed and being fully awake, I had no excuse not to comply instantly but I hesitated, partly through surprise at the late unexpected intrusion and command and partly through some semblance of residual pride and defiance still imbued inside. However, the latter was soon expelled as the man, short temper riled at my momentary delay, grabbed my fair hair and dragged me painfully to my feet off my bed.

Caius, wine pervading his breath, then smacked me harshly across the face before speaking to me for the first time. “You’ll obey instructions conveyed by, or on behalf of, me and my family immediately or you’ll suffer severe punishment,” he announced before asking, whilst delivering another hard smack across my cheek, “Understand, slaveboy?” The shock and anguish rapidly found me answering, in my newly acquired Latin, “Yes, yes, master!”

Caius’ temper seemed to disappear as quickly as it had arisen and his face, distorted by his anger, returned to normalcy. It was then apparent why he was termed ‘the handsomest man in Rome.’ His nobly comely visage and athletically muscular body, the outline of which was clear under the tight sleeveless tunic he was wearing for his nocturnal amorous sojourn, were undoubtedly to be envied by most men, even the gladiators who were the ladies’ favourites and of whom Apollinus had told.

Caius gently grasped my chin and held my own face, red with the smacks and embarrassment, towards the torchlight. “Nice,” he declared, as he examined my facial structure and peered into my blue eyes, “and I dare say that my agent has ensured that the rest of you is equally pleasant. I hope so anyway, given the price I’ve paid.” However, on this occasion, he did not bother checking, perhaps discouraged by not wanting to view a genital wound not quite fully repaired. Instead, he continued “The major domo and Apollinus have advised me that you’ll be ready to be trained for service in another day or two. My family and I will therefore assure ourselves of your suitability then.”

With those words, Caius released my chin and turned towards Apollinus. “Let’s go,” he said before departing with his young guide and obvious occasional nocturnal bedmate. The latter returned soon afterwards, torch still in hand.

“I’m sorry about the surprise visit,” Apollinus informed, “but he came to the slave quarters to……..well, I’m sure you know. His wife’s newly pregnant and, because of her delicacy, he’s been banished by the physicians from her bed, not that he needs an excuse during this or his earlier marriage to mix his marital pleasures with trips to his favourite slave girls and boys. I believe he’s spent time with three of us tonight before he was finally satisfied and decided to come to see you prior to returning upstairs.”

“What did he mean,” I asked Apollinus, “by saying ‘My family and I will therefore assure ourselves of your suitability then’?” My friend cleared his throat before replying “They’ll all want to inspect you before confirming your appointment to the inner household.” “Clothed?” I enquired without much hope. “I’m afraid not,” my fellow 14 year-old sheepishly responded.

The thought of being examined in the nude by my new master, his 15 year-old wife and 13 and 11 year-old daughters caused me to cry myself to sleep after Apollinus had departed for his own bed. Little did I know that such shame would be the least of my sufferings in the years to come.

Mad thoughts of escape or disobedience of commands crossed my mind as I tried to slumber, only to be dismissed by the thought of crucifixion, the penalty another young defiantly rebellious slave in Caius Silius’ service had paid a few years previously, according to Apollinus. I therefore considered suicide as an alternative but knew that, even if I found the wherewithal, I would probably not be able to summon the necessary courage.

Accordingly, I sadly resigned myself to my fate, unappreciative of the fact that another young member of Caius Silius’ household would suffer far worse than me in the days ahead.

(To be continued in chapter 3 – ‘Introductions’)