‘An unfortunate metaphor, auntie darling. How can we distinguish you from the herd? Would you like to be known as the chief cow?’ The Emperor hooted with laughter at his own wit.
‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Gannys put in from the corner where he lounged. ‘Elagabalus, you must apologize to your aunt. You don’t want to be known as the boorish Emperor, do you? But we were discussing how to get the sky-stone honourably to Rome, without offending the army. It’s quite simple. There is no need for the Emperor to march with his men. Why don’t we all go by sea?’
Everyone cheered up at the suggestion. It would be much more comfortable for the ladies than bumping over rutted roads in carriages, and we would have all our baggage handy by us. There was the added advantage that the Emperor might install his sky-stone on the poop, and give him command of the flagship, without anyone noticing it except a few sailors. Sailors are despised by the army, and not very highly valued by the Senate, so that no one need mind what they thought.
Our ships voyaged slowly along the Asiatic coast, putting in at every rich port to receive an address of welcome and the customary present. I travelled on a troopship with the bodyguard, so I saw little of my young lord and his extraordinary family. By the time we reached Smyrna the season was growing late; the Emperor changed his mind, and decided to join his army. Then in Nicomedia he changed his mind again, because the autumn was rainy and cold. In October he would celebrate his fourteenth birthday, which would call for lengthy festivities. It was decreed that the court would remain in Nicomedia until spring, lodging in the great palace of the ancient Kings of Bithynia.
On the eve of that fourteenth birthday the Augusta sent for me. I was taken down long corridors to a small room at the very end of the palace, a hot little boudoir crammed with cushions. A slave-girl stood by the door, ready to run errands, and Gannys lounged as usual in a corner; but the Augusta, perched sideways on a tall stool as though she were riding a camel, spoke to me without bothering about eavesdroppers.
‘Tomorrow the Emperor will be fourteen, Duratius,’ she said abruptly. ‘In Syria that makes him a man. Yet in some ways he is still absurdly childish. It’s time he grew up. I want your help in that, for I know he listens to you. He plays at everything. Can you persuade him to be serious? I don’t want him to govern the Empire. Gannys and I can do that, and he’s still too young for it. But he ought to have some adult interests. For example, is he attracted to girls?’
‘I really don’t know, Augusta. He talks to me about war, and about chariot-racing. I can make him work at his drill, if I don’t push him too hard. But I am not his tutor in serious subjects, and if I bore him he won’t listen to me at all.’
‘That’s a dig at me, I suppose,’ drawled Gannys. ‘I never imagined an imperial household would be so catty. Even a hired drillmaster makes sarcastic remarks about the only educated man in this barbarous establishment.’
‘When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it,’ the Augusta snapped. ‘If you spent more time educating my grandson, instead of lolling on cushions in ladies’ boudoirs, the Emperor would be more of a man.’
‘Oh, very well. I’m only a professional scholar, with years of study in Alexandria behind me. When it comes to serious discussion I must leave the field to ladies and centurions.’
Gannys scrambled to his feet and went out in a huff.
‘That man is getting too big for his boots,’ said the Augusta coolly. ‘Take notice, Duratius. You need not try to make the Emperor subservient to his tutor. There would be no harm in encouraging a little independence in that quarter. But to get back to the main problem. Can’t we get the Emperor to take an interest in something more adult than chariot-racing? Do you think it would help him to grow up if he were married to some nice girl? Have you noticed him chasing even a bad girl, which might lead him to appreciate a nice one?’
A bit of gossip clicked into place in my mind. Only this morning a valet had told me, as a funny story, that recently the Augusta had sent for Gannys in the middle of the night; he could not be found because he was in the bed of the lady Soaemias. The morals of these ladies were no concern of mine, yet it might be important to remember that Gannys was on the way out.
But I must answer the Augusta’s question. She was shrewd enough to deserve the truth even though it might not please her.
‘I have never noticed the Emperor chase a girl, madam. It would not be very noticeable, would it? I mean, an Emperor does not have to run very fast to catch any girl, does he?’
‘You know what I mean. Don’t fence with me, Duratius. Is the Emperor a man? It’s hard for a grandmother to see whether her grandson has grown up.’
‘I know what you mean, madam, and still I can’t answer. I have seen him gaze after a pretty slave-girl, but only as he gazes at a fine statue. As you know, he has a horror of ugliness, and won’t have ugly people near him if it can be avoided. But if you really want my candid opinion it’s boys he likes, not girls.’
‘There’s no harm in that, except that one day he must father a family. There’s only little Alexianus to carry on the ancient line of the high priests of Emesa. Soon the Emperor must make a suitable marriage, though it need not interfere with his private amusements. I’ll be frank with you, Duratius. When I think of our entry into Rome I feel nervous. We are foreigners, and utterly alone. The army is on our side, of course; but soldiers are fickle. I don’t understand Romans, and some of their great families wield a lot of influence. As soon as we get to Rome I want the Emperor to marry the daughter of some great house. Then we can fill the magistracies with our own kinsmen. It’s absurd that at present I don’t know a single Consular.’
‘I suppose those old families matter, madam. As a soldier I wouldn’t know. The Emperor must marry, of course, and it would be fitting if he marries the daughter of a great house. I shall do my best to put the idea into his mind.’
‘I want you to do more than that. I want you to teach the Emperor that marriage can be a pleasure. Tomorrow he is fourteen and the day will be filled with celebrations. The day after tomorrow I want you to take him to a smart brothel, and see he has a good time. That’s an order, from the Augusta. Now be off, and don’t chatter about what I have told you.’
The Emperor had himself devised the ritual for his fourteenth birthday, for which precedent was lacking; as a result it turned out to be a festival rather in honour of the sky-stone than of a mortal ruler (that Elagabalus might mean either of them or both was a perpetual stumbling-block to busy courtiers). In the morning the sky-stone was carried into the great Temple of Jupiter. With the rest of the court I was in the procession that followed his litter, and we westerners were shocked to see that the image of Jove, Father of Gods and Men, had been overturned to provide a plinth for the little black phallus. Then the Emperor in person waved incense before his patron, and the whole congregation was pushed into line for a dance. It was not much of a dance; we just hopped and shuffled where we stood for a very few minutes. The Syrians took it all as a matter of course, but again the westerners found it embarrassing. There were a few Praetorian sentries on duty. I had a word with them afterwards to remind them that I had great influence with the Emperor, and that any soldier who told funny stories about a dancing centurion might expect to find his military career beset with misfortune.
Then the Emperor offered a hecatomb, not of bulls but of flamingoes: big birds from Egypt of a striking pink colour. I had never before seen them offered in sacrifice; I believe the Emperor himself thought of the novelty. It was a good idea, all the same. The Parthian War had fallen heavily on the cast, and there was a shortage of horned cattle; nobody would want a hundred bulls to be killed at once, even though the Emperor paid for them honestly. The flamingoes, dead or alive, were of no use to anyone; though I believe the Alexandrians charged a high price for them.
After the sacrifice there were long prayers and even longer hymns; during which the worshippers must remain standing in their places. But it was no worse than
a ceremonial parade, and those of us with a military training endured it fairly well. At long last even the Emperor thought his sky-stone had been sufficiently honoured. The procession formed up again to march back to the palace and settle down to feasting.
Throughout the day the Emperor remained the high priest. I never saw him relax and enjoy himself, even when the most skilled orators in Asia made graceful speeches in his honour. He drank very little, and before he ate anything went through the ritual of offering it to his god. I have nothing against that sky-stone, but I could never take it seriously; to me it will never be more than a smutty joke. The Emperor quite genuinely worshipped it. You might say that he loved it, though love is an odd word to use for the relationship between a worshipper and his god.
The rest of the court had a very gay time, for the food and drink were excellent and plentiful. Our ruler was all that could be desired, beautiful and intelligent and high-spirited and merciful. If he was not yet very wise that hardly mattered. The Emperor leads the army, but we were at peace with all our neighbours. In civil affairs only one policy was possible: to raise enough money to buy the army’s loyalty, and in the process ruin as few civilians as possible. At fourteen Elagabalus could do that as well as the next man.
Best of all, we felt secure. Elagabalus did not turn against his friends, and if he tried to his grandmother would stop him. Throughout the world his rule was accepted; all the pretenders were dead, nowhere did a province rise in arms. During that autumn civilization was at peace.
On the next morning I reported as usual to take the Emperor to his sword exercise. He was still in a very affable mood, and I had no difficulty in introducing the subject of a night out. He answered at once that it would be great fun, but that he did not want sour looks from his grandmother. ‘The Augusta will not object, my lord,’ said I; at which he gave me a shrewd look and at once consented. Every Syrian is quick to take a hint.
The evening had been planned with care. The Augusta had given me a heavy bag of gold, and I had seen to it that we would be expected. There were a few discreet patrols in the low quarter of the town, but I had decided to risk taking no escort.
Alone, the two of us slipped out of a postern. We walked through dark streets to our destination, and no one recognized us. But in a palace these things always leak out, and at the Nine Muses we found Mother Gyges waiting to greet us. She had crowded the doorway with torch-bearers, and turned away all her other customers. I was a little sorry that the Emperor would not see ordinary night life, but at least we could count on a special entertainment.
Mother Gyges had everything under control. She was a mountaineer from the Caucasus, and a most uninhibited woman. The story goes that she was a courtesan of outstanding beauty, until she got mixed up in a brawl that cost her one eye. A remorseful syndicate of past lovers put up the money to buy her a good brothel. She prospered because she knew what men like, never robbed her customers, and would throw out even a policeman, if he became quarrelsome in his cups. In her hands the Emperor would be safe, as well as, I hoped, amused.
As we sat over supper in the main room a dozen girls did the usual dances, which I need not describe in detail. As a matter of fact I was myself a little embarrassed. I was not used to this kind of company. With a companion of my own age I might have been jolly; but the Emperor stared at everything in wonder, and asked awkward questions.
To liven the pace, Mother Gyges announced a fight between a buxom negress and a tall German girl with a very white skin. She called me into a corner to explain the attraction.
‘It’s hard to rouse such a child,’ she said, ‘but this fetches everyone. It’s the speciality of the house. We keep the German in a cellar, so that her skin is always white. Bruises show on it after a few minutes. Of course the fight’s fixed, and she loses. When it’s over they come out to drink with the guests. You can see it as an omen for the new reign. If the Emperor is stern he will pick the strapping black, if he’s kindly he will choose the battered white. But if he’s anything of a man he will take one of them.’
Mother Gyges realized that I was on duty; she did not press me to choose a girl for myself. I enjoy a night out with a party of congenial comrades, but my dignity will not allow me to hire a girl in cold blood.
The wrestling was a very good show; if I had not known it was rehearsed I would have taken it for a desperate struggle. When at last the German was hurled against the wall, to lie as though stunned, everyone in the room clapped with enthusiasm.
Presently the two naked, sweating women knelt before the Emperor, holding out their hands for the expected tip. He gave them a few gold pieces as solemnly as if he were distributing a military donative, and then engaged the German in conversation. After a whispered exchange she led him to a curtained alcove. Grinning, Mother Gyges muttered: ‘I’ve never known it fail.’
Then I had to listen to her complaints about the police, and the even heavier bribes demanded by the officers of the Praetorians while the court was in Nicomedia. I was able to content her without bothering the Emperor. The bag of gold I carried for expenses had been sealed with the imperial signet. A little work with a hot knife transferred the wax to a sheet of parchment; on it we drew up instructions to every police authority in the Empire, informing them that Mother Gyges was a personal friend of the Emperor.
For half an hour I drank very happily with the girls, while the old bawd told stories of her past. Then the Emperor and his German came back to join us; but in answer to my look of inquiry the girl shook her head.
The Emperor, who was a little drunk, talked incessantly. ‘I must free Gunda,’ he babbled. ‘Fancy, she was enslaved as a baby by my father, the Divine Caracalla, so it’s only fair that his son should set her free. What’s her price, Mother Gyges? Hand it over, Duratius. There, my dear, you are free. Where will you go now?’
‘If you free her, my lord, you must also give her enough money to start her own brothel. It’s the only trade she knows, and of course she can’t marry.’ Before the Emperor freed every girl who caught his fancy I thought it prudent to point out the difficulties.
‘Oh no,’ cried the girl. ‘I like working here, Mother Gyges would never turn me away. But it will be nice to work for proper wages, and keep all my tips.’
‘Then everyone’s happy,’ I said hastily. ‘The girl is free, and the Nine Muses will not have to seek more staff. It’s getting late, my lord. Shall we start back for the palace?’
It was quite easy to get the Emperor away, which I had feared would be the most difficult part of my task. But it was impossible to stop him talking all the way home.
‘I was sorry for poor Gunda, even though she looks so ugly: red bruises on a skin like the belly of a fish, and that horrible female softness that reminds me of my wetnurse. The silly girl seemed to think I might want to caress her. Can you imagine anything more disgusting? There’s a smell about women that turns my stomach. But I gave her a good tip, and her freedom, and I listened patiently to all she had to say. They keep her in the dark, you know, to preserve her pallor; and when she fights that negress she always loses. Isn’t there a law against cruelty to slaves? If not, there ought to be and I shall make one.’
‘There are any number of laws against cruelty to slaves, dating back to the time of the Divine Augustus. Since a slave cannot give evidence in court it’s a little difficult to enforce them. But that German trollop was not ill-used. Now she is free she wants to go on doing for wages what she did as a slave. By the way, my lord, was there no one there who took your fancy? When you went off with Gunda I never guessed it was to listen to the story of her life.’
‘That was a nice little boy who took our cloaks at the door, but all the women were frightful. I know why we made this expedition. The Augusta arranged it, to find out whether I am a man. Well, you can tell my grandmother that I am a man, but that I don’t like women. Never bother me with this kind of thing again. But I am not angry with you. You carried out orders, and you didn’t badger me to
stay in a place that disgusts me. Besides, I have learned how some of my subjects live. It isn’t slavery that does the damage. That’s just as well, because if it was we couldn’t cure it. Civilization rests on slavery, as any philosopher will tell you. No, it isn’t slavery, it’s the hard life of the harlot, whether slave or free.
One day I shall do something for the poor creatures. The really horrible things they must do to please silly men!’
‘Without those horrible things no man would be born, my lord. And it’s a fact that most people enjoy them.’
‘Yes, but I am not most people. I am the high priest of Elagabalus; and when Elagabalus does not need me I am Emperor of the Roman People. I shall never touch a woman for my own pleasure. Tell the Augusta, so that she drops the subject for ever. All the same, now that I am a grown-up man, fourteen years old, I recognize the responsibility laid on me. When the time comes I shall marry, solely to beget heirs. That is a duty which I owe to the sacred line of the priest-kings, which has continued in Emesa since time began.’
I would have to tell the Augusta that the evening had ended in failure; but I could reassure her that the Emperor was willing to face marriage. Since he disliked all women he would not object if the bride chosen for him were personally unattractive.
7. Gannys Drops Out
By midwinter there was a feeling of strain at the palace. The Augusta was making her grandson learn too many things at once. The household of the Divine Caracalla must have been a ramshackle establishment, for the Emperor, who had been reared in it for the first ten years of his life, knew nothing of Roman etiquette or even of Roman daily life. When he was in a good mood he had exquisite manners; but they were Syrian manners, as used in the temple of Emesa. Instead of returning a military salute he would give his hand to be kissed by the sentry; if he was pleased with me he would embrace me on both cheeks. He was ignorant of the sacred constitution bequeathed to us by our ancestors; he mixed up praetors and Consuls, and was surprised to hear they were appointed annually. Though he could read and write with fluency, he had never read the Latin classics. He could not always recall correctly the sphere of influence of an Olympian god; he was capable of asking Minerva to calm the sea, or Neptune to help him with his lessons.
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