“Something you need never worry about,” said his father, tousling the boy’s hair.
“We Greeks were the first to make bronze and marble statues of the gods, worthy to be put in temples,” said Galen. “When we first encountered you Romans, you were still worshipping crude images made of terra-cotta. Keep in mind that the black stone of the Emesenes was made by no mortal at all, but came directly from the fireball of the sun. Everyone who sees it is rendered speechless with awe—so they say.”
“I want to see the stone,” said Aulus.
“Perhaps you will,” said Galen, “should you visit Emesa one day. Now you’d better hurry, Gaius. You have a meeting at the palace with our Domina.”
“Is that how I’m to address her? As ‘Domina’? As if I were her slave?”
“How else? Ever since Domitian, our rulers have been addressed as ‘Dominus.’ Why should it be different with a woman? As it is, her given name is very close to ‘Domina,’ but only by coincidence. In her native tongue, which derives from Phoenician, ‘Domna’ means ‘black.’”
“And is she?” asked little Aulus.
Galen smiled. “Browner than you, probably, but hardly black; no more so than the emperor’s rival in the East, Pescennius Niger, despite his name.”
“And why does she write in the plural?” asked the boy. “‘We have been reviewing … We realize…’ Has she two heads?”
“I suspect,” said Galen with a laugh, “that the plural implies that she speaks both for herself and for her husband, having been given his full authority to make decisions in his absence. That ‘we’ might even presume a certain equality with him.”
Gaius snorted. “Domna, Domina, whatever. No woman will ever rule Rome! Still, out of respect for her husband, I shall address her as you suggest. But I shall have to disabuse her at once of this crazy notion of changing the sunrays of the Colossus at this late stage of reconstruction. Or is she one of those women impossible to lead to reason?”
Galen suppressed a smile and shrugged. “You’ll soon find out, my boy.”
* * *
Gaius arrived at the palace bringing with him a pair of secretaries to take notes, one skillful at drawing, the other at shorthand. He was shown to a part of the Palatine palace rebuilt since the fire, and unfamiliar to him. Commodus had virtually abandoned the Palatine, living with his gladiators at their barracks. All three emperors since his death had conspicuously chosen to reside at the Palatine, even if some parts remained unfinished, as if the address itself conveyed legitimacy. Some rooms of the palace did in fact date all the way back to Augustus.
Gaius was shown into the audience chamber, where Domna sat on the throne that would usually be occupied by her husband, wrapped in a purple stola that covered her from head to foot. She was younger than Severus, in her thirties, about the same age as Gaius, while Severus was close to fifty. She had a long face, very large eyes, and a small mouth. She was not pretty but plain, and her unblinking gaze was slightly unnerving. Her skin was somewhat dark, but her hairstyle was the most strikingly foreign thing about her. Her hair was parted in the middle and on either side descended in a series of finger-sized waves, covering her ears completely and drawn into a bun at the back of her neck. It was surely a wig, thought Gaius, for what mortal could sit still long enough to have her hair so elaborately styled?
Domna was attended by numerous secretaries and courtiers. Also in the room, seated to one side on the dais, was Domna’s older sister, Maesa. She had a larger nose than Domna, sharper cheekbones, and smaller eyes; her piercing gaze was even more unsettling. Her husband was serving with Severus in the East. According to Galen, Maesa wielded considerable power in the imperial household, essentially acting as her sister’s second-in-command while Severus was away from Rome.
Gaius was announced by a courtier. A secretary handed Domna a wax tablet scribbled with notes. She gazed down at it, reading, then set the tablet aside and cleared her throat. Her Latin had an odd but not unpleasant accent. For a moment Gaius panicked, thinking he would not be able to understand her. It would not do for him to ask her to repeat herself. He concentrated and listened closely.
“I have called you here for three reasons, Senator Pinarius. Firstly, as I indicated in my message, there must be changes to the Colossus of Sol. This is essential and not a matter for discussion. Do you understand?”
She gave him such a fierce look that Gaius abandoned any intention of opposing her demands.
“Yes, Domina.”
“You should understand that my husband, your Dominus, is a very enthusiastic and pious convert to the worship of Elagabalus, who is the one god above all other gods. As our father, the god’s high priest, taught us, ‘He is as high above other gods as those gods are above mortals.’ For political reasons, the emperor chooses to call the god Sol Invictus, a name already known to soldiers all over the empire, and to make images that conform to Roman traditions. So be it. But understand, Senator Pinarius, that when you work on the Colossus, you render worship to Elagabalus Most High.”
“Elagabalus Most High!” cried her sister loudly. She rolled her eyes upward, and raised her hands and shook them in the air. “As high above other gods as those gods are above mortals!”
Gaius was startled by the outburst, but none of the courtiers reacted. No doubt they were accustomed to these affirmations. What was it about these adherents of eastern religions that made them want to worship one god rather than many? Jews, Christians, and now these two sun-worshipping sisters! One of the glories of Rome’s empire had been the addition over the centuries of countless gods and goddesses to her pantheon. As the empire grew, claiming new provinces and new populations, new deities were encountered as well, new priesthoods were assembled, new temples were built, new statues were made. More gods made Rome more pious, more powerful. The worship of more gods, not fewer, was the very hallmark of civilization. It was only the most ignorant, the most unsophisticated, unlearned, untraveled people who thought their local god must be the best and highest and only god worth worshipping. What had Marcus Aurelius called such a person? Paganus, an old Latin word meaning an ignorant rustic, a country bumpkin. Yet here was the most powerful woman on earth, as paganus as you please, apparently leading the emperor down the same narrow path, determined to winnow the delight of worshipping many gods and settle on just one.
But Domna was speaking again. Gaius had to listen closely to decipher her accent.
“… a new commission,” she was saying, “which is to be an equestrian statue of the emperor, based on a dream he had before he came to power. In that dream, he was in the Forum along with a great multitude, and Pertinax appeared riding a very fine steed. But the horse grew restless and threw Pertinax off, then galloped to Septimius and scooped him onto its back, at which the multitude cheered. That dream, sent by Elagabalus, foretold his rise to power, and so it came to be. We have seen the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius that was made by your father, a great masterpiece. You will give form to the dream of Septimius Severus. This statue will be your chance to surpass your father.”
Was he to show poor Pertinax as well, thrown off the horse and lying crumpled on the paving stones off to one side? “I doubt that I could ever surpass my father, Domina, but I shall do my best to equal him.”
“Well said. You are a dutiful son. And finally, the third reason I called you here.” She made a flourish with her hand. A tall figure stepped from the crowd of courtiers. He was young and elegantly dressed in a tunic and cloak proper to a tutor in a great household. Domna now spoke Greek, with no hint of a Syrian accent. Indeed, her Greek was more polished and elegant than Gaius’s. “Let me introduce you to my young friend, Philostratus of Athens. Shall I tell you a secret, Senator Pinarius?” She crooked her finger and leaned forward. Gaius dared to step closer. “He is only twenty-four!” She sat back. “Yet anyone who reads his work would think him a sage of seventy. Precocious is my young friend, Philostratus of Athens. They say he was the brightest student of
Antipater of Hierapolis, until the student surpassed the teacher. Now he teaches Latin and Greek to my two sons. He even ventures to correct my Greek, when I make an error.”
The young man smiled and bowed his head. “Domina, you never do!”
“True. I said that merely to flatter you. But I speak truly when I say that Philostratus is as talented a writer as you are an artist, Senator Pinarius. Have you read his work?”
“I’m sorry to say I have not, Domina.”
“But I am most certainly aware of the work of the famous Pinarii,” said Philostratus. “I have seen a few—too few, alas—of your statues of Commodus that survived, most of them outside Rome, but also of course your father’s remarkable bust of Commodus as Hercules holding a club and wearing a lion’s head for a hood. People will marvel at that statue for as long as Rome exists, I think. And the equestrian statue of Marcus, which our Domina mentioned. And of course, the great Column of Marcus that was so recently dedicated. I sometimes engage in a certain verbal exercise, the description of paintings, which can be most challenging—how to convey in words the colors and shapes our eyes apprehend in an instant, and also the deeper meanings that occur to us when we gaze at a great painting. But how much harder it would be to describe a sculpture, especially a sculpture of such exceeding complexity and size and power as the Column of Marcus, depicting so many stirring episodes! It would take many poems, a whole book of poems, even to begin the task.”
Gaius took an immediate liking to Philostratus, despite a certain fussiness about the young Athenian’s speech and mannerisms.
Domna turned to her sister. “I think these two may hit it off.”
Maesa muttered something in their native language. A few of the courtiers sniggered. (Later, one of them, drawn aside by Gaius and given a small gratuity, would tell him what she said: “Next thing you know, they’ll be sucking each other’s cocks.” Apparently, Maesa slipped into Phoenician dialect whenever she wanted to say something vulgar, which was rather often. “That one curses like a centurion,” said the courtier. “She makes even the emperor blush.”)
Domna wrinkled her nose but otherwise ignored her older sister. “I have a reason for introducing the two of you, beyond the fact that you both have such promising careers ahead of you. At my request, Philostratus has begun work on a book about Apollonius of Tyana. Ah, I see your face light up, Senator Pinarius. It is my understanding that one of your ancestors knew the great wise man, and became one of his most devoted followers here in Rome. It is said that the two of them conspired to outwit the impious emperor Domitian.”
“I think it was Apollonius alone who did the outwitting,” said Gaius.
“There, you see, that is precisely why you must get to know Philostratus, and vice versa, so that you can share with him the exact, authentic details of your family’s dealings with Apollonius, so that Philostratus can weave them into his narrative.”
“This is to be a biography?” asked Gaius. “I thought only emperors and kings were worthy of those.”
“Why not philosophers?” said Domna.
“Indeed,” said Philostratus.
“And perhaps even women?” said Maesa.
This last notion clearly went too far for Philostratus, who ignored it. “Biography, philosophical treatise, novel?” he said. “I’m not sure what posterity will call my book about the sage of Tyana, yet I can see it quite clearly in my mind’s eye, glittering with wit and brimming with wisdom, a book quite unlike any other.”
Domna clucked her tongue. “That is a Platonic ideal of a book, not a real book—which is what I’m paying you to write. Such a book is greatly needed by the world, so that all people everywhere may become acquainted with Apollonius of Tyana.”
“You are a follower, Domina?” asked Gaius.
“I am. Just as Elagabalus—Sol Invictus, if you wish—outshines all other gods, so the guiding light of Apollonius outshines that of any other mortal who ever lived. His every utterance, and every story about him, is more precious than gold. And yet, all I know of Apollonius is a patchwork of legends and secondhand tales. So I think a book is needed, to capture once and for all time the man and his teachings. Such a book might change the world, I think.”
Philostratus nodded.
Domna inclined her head to Gaius. “I am told that you and your family have a shrine to Apollonius in your home, Senator Pinarius.”
“We do.”
“So do my sister and I. In our shrine there is a statue of the sage, and also a staff and a cloak that belonged to him.”
“Precious relics!” cried Maesa, raising her hands. “Sacred relics of the wise man!”
“We brought them all the way from Emesa,” said Domna.
Easier to transport than a giant black rock, thought Gaius.
“Would you like to see the shrine, Senator Pinarius?”
“I would.”
There followed a great deal of ceremony as various courtiers departed from the chamber following some predetermined order of rank, while others formed a cordon to escort the empress and her attendants, including Gaius and Philostratus, out of the room and down a series of hallways. These elaborate proceedings were something new to the palace, at least in Gaius’s experience. Commodus had not bothered with such formalities. Perhaps this was how things were done in Emesa.
Domna was at the head of the party, followed by her sister, with Gaius and Philostratus close behind them. Suddenly, ahead of them, two little boys, screaming with laughter, careened around a corner and came racing toward them. Gaius thought they looked about the same age as little Aulus. They skidded to a halt, barely avoiding a collision with Domna, who abruptly stopped, as did everyone else in the party.
The two little boys were red-faced from laughing. “Mother!” cried one of them, looking up at Domna, so that Gaius realized they were the emperor’s two sons.
The rowdy boys were followed by two flustered, angry teenaged girls who looked so alike, and so much like their sharp-featured mother, that Gaius knows at once they must be Domna’s nieces, the two daughters of Maesa. The two sets of siblings were first cousins, and they clearly did not get along. This was not surprising. Even the imperial family was, after all, a family, with many of the same dynamics that existed in households everywhere.
“What is going on?” demanded Maesa of her daughters.
“They’re behaving like monsters, Mother,” said one of the girls.
“Malicious little monsters!” said the other. “They were rooting through my jewelry box and stole a very delicate brooch with pieces of colored glass and copper, the one that’s shaped like a peacock. I told them to give it back, but they say they’ll break it before they let me have it.”
“But you can’t touch us!” said the bigger of the boys, clutching the brooch to his chest. “We’re the sons of Severus, and no one on earth has the right to touch us except the emperor himself!”
“And your mother!” said Domna, so sternly that the boy’s stubborn lower lip began to tremble. “You will return the brooch to your cousin at once.”
“You’d better do it!” said the smaller of the boys. An array of rebellious, sulky expressions played across the face of his older brother, who at last seemed ready to obey as he turned toward his cousin and held forth the brooch. With a triumphant smile, the girl reached out to take it, but at the last moment the boy threw it against the floor, where bits of colored glass shattered against the polished marble.
The girl let out a scream, and then began to weep. Her sister moved to comfort her. Their distress seemed only to encourage the little boy, who proceeded to stamp his foot on what remained of the brooch.
“Now you’ve done it!” said his little brother.
“Because I’m not a coward, like you.”
“I am not a coward!”
“You’re both little monsters!” said the girl comforting her sister.
“You mustn’t call them that,” said Maesa.
“But it’s what they are, Mot
her. Horrible little monsters good for nothing but making us miserable.”
“Boys, you will apologize,” said Domna.
“But I’m not the one who took it,” said the smaller boy.
“But it was your idea,” said his older brother.
Suddenly all the members of the imperial family seemed to be talking at once—the boys squabbling, the girls expressing outrage, their mothers demanding order. Finally Domna clapped her hands and they all fell silent. She turned to a pair of courtiers and ordered them to escort the children away. The boys were taken in one direction and the girls in another.
“And find someone to sweep up this mess,” she ordered, pointing the end of her elegant sandal at a bit of shattered glass.
As they proceeded toward the shrine of Apollonius, Gaius attempted to assume a properly pious demeanor, but he could hardly keep from laughing.
* * *
Later, at the house of the Pinarii, Galen arrived as a dinner guest. While they relaxed in the garden, drinking wine and nibbling roasted pine nuts, Gaius told him everything about his imperial audience.
“To think, that a woman with such lofty philosophical pretensions should have produced two such ill-behaved children!” Gaius shook his head.
“But they’re only little boys, after all,” said Galen.
“So is Aulus, but I would be appalled if he ever behaved in such a way, especially in front of other people.”
“Yes, but Aulus is not an emperor’s son.”
“All the more reason one might expect those two boys to be better behaved, to have more self-control, even if they’re only five or six. Marcus Aurelius was never like that, not even as a child. So my father always told me.”
“I think that Marcus Aurelius must have been as exceptional among boys as he was among men. And we are now ruled not by Marcus, but by Septimius Severus. Considering his political canniness, and his skill on the battlefield, Severus is likely to be our emperor for quite some time—long enough, perhaps, for one of those little boys to grow up to succeed him.”
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