“I see. Because I require a sculptor of the very greatest talent to capture my own Antinous. Can you believe that a mortal of such outstanding physical perfection lives once again on earth? It’s true. Not long after I arrived in Rome, I sent messengers to scour the empire. Their mission was to find the mortal who possesses the largest organ of generation of any man alive. I did this at the behest of Elagabalus, who instructed me to do so in a dream. My agents finally found the man they sought in the city of Smyrna, competing there as an athlete. I arranged that he should travel to Rome in a grand procession attended by dancers, musicians, and priests of Elagabalus. As he traveled the many hundreds of miles to come here, the excited crowds must have thought they beheld Apollo come down to earth, or perhaps the second coming of Alexander the Great. Imagine my amazement, when at long last I finally beheld this man, to discover that he not only surpasses all other men in the—what shall I call it?—the grandeur of his phallus, but he is also the most beautiful mortal to appear on earth since Antinous. Indeed, I declare that he is more beautiful. And so I have called you here today.”
Gaius frowned. “Called us … for what, Dominus?”
The emperor threw back his head and laughed, and waved his hands so that the bangles clattered. “Think, man! To work your magic in stone. So that mortals can behold his perfection for generations to come, I wish this man to be sculpted, and by the same hand that first captured Antinous, or as close as I can get. And that would be you, would it not? Well? Are you ready to lay eyes upon him? Zoticus, come! Behold!”
Stepping past a curtain that covered a doorway, a young man entered the room.
The newcomer had bright blue eyes, a broad nose, and sensuous lips. His face was deeply tanned and his short, curly black hair glistened with oil. He was very tall and very broad, and dressed in a shimmering blue silk tunic tied at the waist with a golden rope. The emperor, who was much smaller, circled Zoticus as he had circled the statue, gazing up at him, and made a great fuss over him, trailing his fingertips over the youth’s broad shoulders and down the silk-covered expanse of his chest, cooing with delight.
Zoticus was a figure of larger-than-life proportions, extraordinarily well-built and stunningly handsome. He seemed completely relaxed and at ease with the attention being paid to him. Like a fine horse or some other tame beast, he did not mind being exhibited.
“Disrobe, Zoticus,” said the emperor. “The sculptors must see you nude.”
Zoticus smiled. He undid the golden rope and pulled the tunic over his head.
The emperor batted his eyes and swayed, as if he might faint. Gaius and Aulus both looked at the thing revealed, and then at each other. Zoticus’s endowment was as impressive as the emperor had indicated. Indeed, it was almost freakish, like a thing not meant to be attached to a mortal man.
Then, as father and son stood dumbstruck, the emperor, without hesitation or inhibition, dropped to his knees, opened his mouth wide, and fellated Zoticus, who expanded his chest with a deep breath and stood with his arms at his sides. The towering youth narrowed his eyes and parted his lips with pleasure. He looked at the gaping Pinarii with a slight smirk on his face.
It was not long before the emperor drew back, rose to his feet, and stepped to one side. He gesticulated wildly with his hands.
“There! He must be sculpted like that, do you see? Just so, in all his stallion-like glory, with the full power of Elagabalus coursing through his phallus, which points like a spear to the sun! This is the awesome glory of Elagabalus made manifest to mortals! The very sight of it makes me tremble with exaltation.”
For a long moment, Gaius was speechless. When he finally tried to speak, his mouth was dry and his tongue stiff, so that the words emerged only with great effort. “Dominus, there is a practical problem—that is to say, I feel certain that our art can do justice to the beauty of this man, but … to sculpt him … as you suggest … in this manner … would be … highly impractical.”
“How so?”
“The … protrusion, Dominus. It would be … vulnerable to damage. Very vulnerable.”
“Oh.” The emperor tugged at his lower lip. “It might be broken off, you mean. Yes, I see. Oh, oh, oh. Perhaps the statue should be in bronze, then?” He frowned. “But marble is so much more beautiful, more glowing, more like actual flesh, more exciting to touch, more worthy of the subject, don’t you think? And who would dare to break off such a magnificent thing? Well—my husband Hierocles just might, in a fit of anger. He’s a Carian, you know, and very volatile, like a volcano, and terribly jealous of Zoticus, though he needn’t be. The god Elagabalus can take as many spouses as he deems fit, so why should I, as his priest, not have as many as I wish?”
Gaius was speechless again. Seeing his father tongue-tied, Aulus cleared his throat and spoke up. “Dominus, no one damages a sacred statue on purpose. And yet, accidents happen.”
“Yes, I see your point. But that’s really your problem, not mine, isn’t it? You’re the sculptors. It’s up to you to work out all the practical details. When can you begin?”
Gaius was silent. Aulus spoke up again. “For a commission directly from you, Dominus, we can start at once, of course. If Zoticus can come to our workshop tomorrow—”
“No, no, no, that is too soon. Over the next several days there are rites at the Temple of Elagabalus that require my participation, and Zoticus must attend, as well. Shall we say ten days from now?”
“Certainly, Dominus,” said Aulus. “In the meantime, we’ll search our inventory for the most suitable piece of marble.”
Gaius, who had been staring into space, suddenly blinked and spoke again. “Dominus, there is another problem. We can hardly expect Zoticus to model for us in a state of excitation, and to maintain his—”
Antoninus laughed and interrupted him. “Oh, don’t worry about that, old man! Zoticus can maintain himself in that state for hours, as upright and hard as the very baetyl of Elagabalus itself, so greatly has he been blessed by the greatest of all gods. Do you not see? There it is before you, showing no sign of faltering. So very … upright. Which makes me think that it’s time for you Pinarii to go. And you, as well, scribe. Shoo! Off with the lot of you!” He extended his slender arms, gestured wildly with his hands, and screamed with laughter.
They took their leave. In the hallway outside, the scribe quickly disappeared, leaving them alone. Gaius saw a couch in a dimly lit corner and headed for it. He sat heavily, as if a great weight was upon him. Aulus sat beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Father, do you see what this means?”
“Yes. The emperor is insane.”
Aulus laughed. “Why do you say that?”
“You saw what he did. Right in front of us! And in front of that scribe, as well. He’s lost his reason, if he ever had any. And this statue he wants us to make…”
“Yes, the statue! That’s what matters. If the emperor finds it pleasing, this could mean endless commissions. He’ll want statues of Zoticus everywhere. Think of the countless statues of Antinous that were commissioned by Hadrian.”
“Antinous was a god. Zoticus is not.”
“Are you sure, Father? He looked a bit godlike to me.”
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m not.”
“Son, we cannot possibly go along with this bizarre idea, to show this young man naked and in a state of arousal…”
“Why not?” Aulus touched the fascinum. “Do I not proudly and piously wear the image of a phallus, as did you, as did our forefathers, and as will my own son in a few years’ time?”
“That’s different. The fascinum is a sacred object.”
“As will be our statue of Zoticus, and his ‘sacred object.’ The emperor seems to believe that Zoticus is some sort of incarnation of Elagabalus, or at least a sacred vessel through which the god manifests himself. We must take this commission every bit as seriously as if we had been asked to sculpt Mars or Mercury, or Jupiter himself.”
“T
o do as the emperor asks flouts every convention of proportion and beauty handed down to us from the Greek sculptors—”
“We will innovate.”
“We shall be laughingstocks.”
“To whom? Your staid friends in the Senate? The old goats who kneel before slaveboys and bend over for gladiators, but wag their fingers and find scandal in everything the emperor does?”
“I was thinking of other artists—or anyone with even a modicum of good taste.”
“The emperor defines taste, Papa. He sets the standards. And we, the Pinarii, are to be the artists privileged to realize his visions in marble and bronze, and to—”
A voice interrupted him. “At the time, he seemed to us the better candidate.”
It was a woman who spoke. They both gave a start, having thought they were alone. The woman had been standing there the whole time, motionless and hidden by shadows, listening to every word. As she stepped into the light, they realized it was the emperor’s grandmother, Maesa. She was heavily made up, wearing an ill-fitting wig in the style made popular by her late sister.
The Pinarii both sprang to their feet. “Domina!” said Gaius, swallowing hard and bowing his head apologetically.
She held up a wizened hand to silence him. In the other hand she held a golden goblet studded with jewels. She stank of wine.
“As I was saying: at the time, he seemed to us the better candidate. His cousin was simply too young, still a child—and such a dull child at that. Oh, but we could do with a bit of dullness nowadays! Varius—as we called him then—Varius was not quite so young, and he had no fear. The boy’s never been afraid of anyone or anything. He’s absolutely fearless! The Roman soldiers in Emesa could see that. They adored him. ‘Little Dionysus,’ they used to call him, thinking to flatter him, but he never liked that. He has only ever loved and emulated one god, Elagabalus.”
Maesa raised the goblet, then lowered it and smacked her lips. “Don’t worry, Senator Pinarius. You will keep your precious integrity as an artist. You shall never have to stoop to sculpting that fellow’s ‘sacred object.’”
“No, Domina?” whispered Gaius.
“No! The inexhaustible and ever-ready Zoticus has severely upset the already delicate balance of this household. Something has to be done. Wheels are in motion. Steps are being taken. And so forth. All a great secret, of course!” She waved one hand dramatically. It appeared that the emperor had learned his mannerisms from his grandmother. Maesa laughed without mirth. “Oh, alright, I’ll tell you. But you mustn’t repeat a word. Do you swear? Swear by that amulet of yours, young Pinarius.”
“Yes, Domina,” said Aulus. He reached into his toga, grasped the fascinum, and held it tightly. “By the god Fascinus, we swear to be silent. Don’t we, Father?”
“Yes,” said Gaius, his mouth dry. “I swear by Fascinus, as well.”
“I’m telling you two, because I understand that you both knew the famous physician Galen. Oh, don’t look surprised. I know everything about both of you. I know everything about everybody!” She laughed, sounding uncannily like her grandson. “Anyway, it was in one of Galen’s books that I found the recipe. Not one word! You swore! Yes? Well, then, I have concocted this recipe and tested it on more than one subject, and it seems to be foolproof. The first dose will be administered in his food this very night. And then … poof!”
Gaius was horrified. Had she just informed them of a poison plot against the emperor? “I … don’t follow you, Domina.”
“I think I do,” said Aulus. “The recipe is for Zoticus. It will render him impotent.”
“Exactly!” Maesa giggled. “The young man’s legendary potency will wither away, until his donkey’s member is as limp and useless as a donkey’s tail.”
“The divine favor of Elagabalus will be withdrawn from him,” said Aulus.
“If you like. That is certainly how my grandson will see it. A night or two of that, and we shall soon see the end of Zoticus.”
“The end?” said Gaius. “Do you think the emperor will—”
“No, no, no. I have no desire to see the young man dead. When my grandson’s dissatisfaction comes to a head—after the tantrums and tears are spent—I will offer Zoticus a generous purse and send him scurrying back to Smyrna, where he can resume running races or throwing the discus or whatever it was he did before he came here. Or perhaps he can take up his father’s profession and become a cook. Can you believe that? At this very moment, my grandson is probably down on his knees, worshipping the son of a cook! He thinks the fellow is a god!” She shook her head. “His religious mania we knew about, back in Emesa. He was always very pious, from earliest childhood. How he loves the worship of Elagabalus, every aspect of it—the chanting, the costumes, the ritual. And the god has returned the favor—how else did little Varius Avitus Bassianus from Emesa become Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus, emperor of the whole world?”
Through the scheming of the Emesene women! Gaius longed to say it aloud, but was silent.
Maesa drank more wine. Her speech was now quite slurred. “Varius’s piety paid off. And for his good fortune he is duly thankful to the god. His sole ambition is to return the favor, to make Elagabalus supreme among all the gods of Rome, greater than Jupiter. After a hard day of doing that, our Varius likes to play Venus with the manliest mortals he can find. Your staid, prudish senators don’t like either of his passions. Well, it’s all gotten out of hand.” She shivered and her fingers performed a frantic dance in the air. “His priestly enthusiasm we anticipated. We thought we could channel it to our benefit. But the other thing we did not foresee. All this carrying-on, with one man after another, and making a public spectacle of himself—that all started when we got to Rome. His voice changed. He sprouted hair on his testicles. He showed the first hint of a beard. All the changes that signal a boy is becoming a man—but instead he seems to have become a woman, and a whorish woman at that! He didn’t learn that kind of behavior from me, or my late sister, or from either of my daughters!”
It occurred to Gaius that the emperor’s mother had in fact declared herself an unfaithful wife by claiming her cousin Caracalla was the boy’s father. He kept his mouth shut.
“He simply will not be controlled, not by his mother and not by me. As I say, he seemed the better choice, at the time. But it was a mistake. Well, just as we have a plan for Zoticus, we have a plan to rectify that error, as well.”
Gaius felt a thrill of alarm. He grabbed his son’s arm, but too late to stop him from speaking.
“A plan, Domina?” asked Aulus.
Maesa snorted. “No, no, no! Oh, the look on your faces! Of course Varius will not be harmed. But he must be convinced to share his throne. Marcus and Verus ruled jointly, did they not? So there is a precedent. His cousin, dull as he is, is almost old enough now to be taken seriously, so why shouldn’t Rome be blessed with not one but two young emperors—one to attend to the state religion, which is all Varius cares about, and the other to tend to wars and taxes and rebuilding the Flavian Amphitheater and all the rest of it? Varius shall be Augustus, his cousin shall be Caesar, and they shall rule jointly. My daughters and I are working out the details even now. First, we’ll get this horrible Zoticus out of the way. Which means that you, Senator Pinarius, will never have to sculpt him. But don’t worry—for your silence I shall see that you are rewarded. I know you did fine work for my dear sister, Domna—I mean to say, for my sister and her husband, of course.” She threw back her head and cackled. “That absurd statue you made, of Septimius sitting on the dream-horse that raised him up! What a great deal of faith that man had in dreams and portents.”
“Perhaps,” said Aulus, his face suddenly bright, “we should make a statue of the young emperor on the horse he rode in Antioch, when he rallied the troops against Macrinus?”
“Oh, no! Absolutely not! I’m afraid my grandson Varius has no interest in being depicted in any warlike fashion. Quite the opposite. He hates the very idea of war. He believes that
the marriage of Elagabalus and Urania will bring universal peace to all mankind. No, you can start by making busts of everyone in the imperial household, beginning with the oldest—myself. You must make me look very stern, so that all who see my statue will fear me.”
That would not be too hard, thought Gaius.
“And you must make my other grandson look very mature and respectable and not nearly as dull as he is. Now that he’s to become Caesar and rule with his cousin, Alexianus wants to be called Alexander—like the conqueror. That shows optimism, at least.”
Or hubris, thought Gaius.
“But repeat not a word of what I’ve told you, do you understand? You swore—by this!” She suddenly reached for the fascinum and clutched it in a clawlike hand, pulling Aulus toward her and giving him a baleful stare. He was startled by her strength. The stench of wine on her breath made him dizzy.
Maesa released him. She gazed into her empty goblet. “I need more wine,” she muttered, and then stepped back into the shadows, vanishing as abruptly as she had appeared.
* * *
It was only when they were well away from the palace that either dared to say a word. Aulus spoke first, sounding exhilarated. “She wouldn’t shut up, would she?”
“That was the wine talking, my son.”
“Maybe she has no one to talk to. And all that white lead on her face—she could learn a thing or two about makeup from her grandson. So, we won’t have to sculpt Zoticus after all—but the thought of having that woman sit for a bust rather terrifies me. She has gorgon eyes!” He shivered. “And soon, Rome shall have two emperors—both of them teenagers!”
“While Maesa and her two daughters are actually in charge. What a curious place we’ve come to. What a long, long way we are from the days of the Divine Marcus!”
“Speaking of whom, can you believe she compared her grandsons to Marcus and Lucius? That’s a bit of a stretch.”
“A stretch? It’s utterly absurd! But let’s hope they’re more like Marcus and Lucius than like … the other pair that comes to mind.”
Dominus Page 27