His wedding to Julia Cornelia Paula was a sad, half-hearted affair, though nothing was lacking of ceremony or ritual. The bride, aged twelve, was frightened half out of her wits, and the bridegroom was openly indifferent. But all the most famous lawyers in Rome were present, preening themselves on the honour done to their profession. Paulus swelled with self-importance. The Augusta was delighted, and so was the Clarissima. The lady Mamea looked down her nose, but a Syrian lady cannot but rejoice at the marriage of her nephew; for to any Syrian an increase in the number of her kindred must be a good thing. All the patrician flamines joined in the ceremony, and the pontiffs were present in their official robes. The Emperor, the Pontifex Maximus, alone did not adhere to the set ritual. He chose to wear his vestments as high priest of his sky-stone instead of his Roman gown; and he flatly refused to share the sacred barley-cake with his bride, because, as he frankly explained, that would make divorce more difficult if later he changed his mind. They were married instead by the form customary among plebeians, which binds a couple only until the husband chooses to send back his bride.
Eminent Senators carried the torches. Nobly-born maidens accompanied the bride. The Augusta was matron of honour. Twelve white bulls were sacrificed to the twelve high gods of Olympus, and the chief Vestal offered something secret at a little tripod set apart, where no man could see what she was doing. The happy couple ought to have enjoyed all the luck that devout service of the gods can bring down.
But when the bride was escorted to the nuptial chamber, the Emperor made no move to follow her. Instead, after a very short interval for the usual drinking, he brought the feast to an end by announcing that he must go away and pray before his sky-stone. As he left the banqueting hall he motioned to me and a few others of his intimates to follow.
We trooped down corridors and across dark courtyards until we reached a distant outlying part of the palace. It was in fact a relic of Nero’s Golden House, a tall, vaulted room which had been a garden pavilion when all that quarter of Rome was the Emperor’s private park. The Divine Vespasianus allowed the citizens to build over this park, for with Rome so crowded it seemed a hardship to keep an entire region for the Emperor’s private enjoyment. But some of the outlying pavilions remain, if you know where to look for them; they are still joined to the main block by narrow private passages.
In this room we found the stable boys reclining before their wine, after a supper as good as the wedding feast. The Emperor made sure we had plenty to drink, then left us to change his clothes. When he came back I tasted my wine carefully, to make sure I had not been drugged into seeing visions.
He wore the flame-coloured tunic and stole of a maiden bride. His golden hair, in elaborate curls, hung down his back under the veil of transparent silk. His bare arms, depilated and powdered, were loaded with feminine bracelets. His toes, reddened with henna, peeped from flimsy feminine sandals. A palace freedwoman, wearing the ornaments of a matron of honour, led him by the little finger on his left hand, while he feigned the reluctance of a bashful maiden on her wedding day. Behind him a rout of cleaning women, dressed as bridesmaids, chanted the wedding hymn.
From an opposite door emerged Gordius, wearing the wreath and decorated tunic of a bridegroom. His attendants were children, naked save for the Cupid’s wings fixed to their shoulders. Behind them a group of the priests of Cybele joined their soprano voices in the hymn of the bridesmaids.
The stable boys laughed and cheered and shouted obscene greetings. They treated the whole affair as a boisterous joke, while Gordius continually giggled with embarrassment. But it seemed to me that the Emperor was more than half in earnest; he had so thrown himself into the part he was playing that for the time being he was genuinely a willing but bashful maiden. The business was soon over. The happy couple exchanged their vows before the chief priest of Cybele as officiant; and then immediately retired to a curtained bed in an alcove.
Bridesmaids and cupids bustled about, filling every cup with unmixed wine. I drank eagerly to steady my shaken nerves. Even the toughest stable boys were uncertain how they ought to behave. What seemed on the face of it an obscene joke might be regarded seriously by the Emperor; even his closest friends could never be sure of what he thought in any matter connected with religion. If he caught us mocking at something he believed sacred we might all find ourselves in the wrong part of the amphitheatre when the next Games came round.
The Emperor settled our doubts by sticking his head through the bed curtains. ‘Drink hearty, boys,’ he said with a wink. ‘ I’m a married woman now, and nothing can shock me. So I can tell you without blushing that the next scene follows immediately. This is my wedding night, by special command of the Augusta. By dawn I shall be most thoroughly married.’
The cupids continued to press wine on us. It might have been the middle of the night, but the windowless hall was a blaze of lamps. I felt that I had been reclining in this hot, mad, closed world for longer than I could remember; and that I would stay here, without seeing the sky, until I was an old man. Since I could expect no rational conversation from the stable boys I set myself to drink copiously enough to drown my uneasiness.
After what seemed a long interval the Emperor entered once more. He must have escaped from the curtained bed by a hidden passage, for he had again changed his dress before he emerged from the side door. Now he was wearing the dancing costume of the sky-stone’s high priest, the queer get-up I had seen in Nicomedia. Once again he was naked below the waist, and his loins were decorated with that great leather phallus.
But a bridegroom’s wreath encircled his mitre, and the young men attending him waved the thyrsus, the Bacchic emblem that is another version of the phallus.
From the opposite door a procession came to meet him, the bridesmaids and matron of honour who had attended him in the first ceremony. Now they escorted another figure, one which at first I failed to recognize. Someone frail and white and slender was encased in the flame-coloured bridal wrappings. It was all very odd. Was the Emperor about to take a second wife, while the mate chosen for him by his grandmother lay in his unused marriage-bed?
Then I recognized the boy Hierocles, looking as shy and frightened as the most virginal bride. If he doesn’t like it why should he do it? was my first thought; until I saw there was another side to the question. I am not among those who hold that slaves are something less than men, though I can see what they mean. A man who accepts slavery when he might die free on the battlefield, by his cowardice diminishes the dignity of the human race. But an infant born into slavery should be judged by more lenient standards. Young Hierocles, slave-born, had never been in a position to disobey his master’s orders. He need not be blamed for his part in tonight’s extraordinary activities.
I don’t like male prostitutes. Nobody does. At the same time nobody objects if a man falls in love with another man, because that has been made respectable by the example of antiquity. Gordius could be excused, for he was genuinely in love with the Emperor; he would have loved him as deeply if they had been slaves together in some Bithynian stable. Perhaps the Emperor could be excused; he was genuinely in love with Gordius, and his feelings for Hierocles had more of affection and admiration for beauty than of mere brute lust. Now I was making excuses for Hierocles, because he was frightened and young and very far from home. A post at court broadens the mind.
It was easier to forgive Hierocles because he looked so very attractive, with the blue of his eyes peeping from under long black lashes and the brown of his healthy skin setting off the bright gold of his hair. His clothing and make-up were so completely feminine that it was easy to forget that he had no right to be a blushing bride. I am a Gaul, with the Celtic distaste for unnatural love; but even I envied the Emperor the possession of so much beauty.
Once again marriage vows were exchanged before the sardonic gaze of the eunuch priest; this time with the Emperor as bridegroom. Once more the happy pair retired to the curtained bed. Once more the naked cupids came round w
ith wine for the company. But they passed the heavy sweet wine that by custom ends a feast, and I realized that at last this odd entertainment was finished. Presently a steward announced that we had leave to depart, and servants began to extinguish the lamps. Many of the stable boys were past rousing; but those of us who could still use our legs were escorted by torchbearers to the main block of the palace. As far as I could see, the Emperor was still in his masculine marriage-bed.
Next morning I suffered from headache and spots before the eyes; but so did many other courtiers. No one remarked on my seedy appearance. At guard-mounting I stood steady, and then hoped that the worst was over and that I might sit about until an early bedtime. To my dismay, I found a note waiting for me in the guard-room after parade. I was to report immediately at the office of the Praetorian Praefect.
A stiff drink gave me confidence, if it did not improve my complexion. Deciding that if my turn-out was good enough for guard-mounting it must be good enough for the Praetorian Praefect, I hurried straight off to his office in the main block of the palace. I was expected. As I arrived a petitioner was ejected with his business half-finished, and the sentry threw open the door for me to enter.
It was a surprise to find sitting behind the littered desk not only Eutychianus but the three ladies of the imperial household. The Augusta might turn up in any government office at any time; she was trying to rule the Empire, and that meant taking a hand in everything. But Soaemias seldom bothered about anything except food and handsome young soldiers, and Mamea was too busy making friends with respectable Senators to cultivate the powerful but unfashionable Praefect. I thought it prudent to address my salute to the Augusta, though Eutychianus was the only commissioned officer present.
Eutychianus, who looked worried, fussed with his papers as though he did not know how to begin. The Augusta came immediately to the point. ‘You were with my grandson last night. Tell us exactly what he did.’
I told her, in blunt soldierly language. Nothing could shock or embarrass the Augusta, and told simply the events of that night seemed mere childish naughtiness; only those who had felt the atmosphere of that isolated hall could realize that the Emperor had been in deadly earnest.
When I had finished Eutychianus snorted. ‘There’s not a word of truth in your ridiculous tale. Yesterday the Emperor was married. He spent last night with his bride. If you hear rumours that he did anything else you are to deny them. You are to take special pains to make sure that the Praetorians hear the correct version of events. That’s an order.’
‘Sir,’ I answered, with a rigid Praetorian salute. Common legionaries say, ‘Yes sir,’ when acknowledging an order, but it was a fad among the Praetorians to cut the acknowledgement as short as possible.
‘What good will that do?’ asked the Augusta in a tired voice. ‘We have been into this already. The only way to keep the debauch a secret would be to kill all the witnesses. But the Emperor would kill us if we killed Gordius and Hierocles. He won’t let us so much as frighten his stable boys. Probably he would protect Duratius, for that matter. The story is bound to leak out. It will be denied officially. Every Senator and civil servant who wants to keep in with the government will pretend to be convinced by the denial. But this evening all Rome will know how my grandson spent his wedding night.’
‘Of course all Rome will know the truth,’ snapped the Praefect, ‘but if we deny it officially no one will be brave enough to contradict us.’
‘I can’t think what’s come over my dear boy,’ wailed the lady Soaemias. ‘What you tell me he did isn’t natural, and surely he can’t have enjoyed it? That sweet girl Paula, too! So humiliating for her, a virgin after her wedding night! I shall speak to the Emperor.… Oh, do you think that scented young Hierocles could have cast a spell on him?’
‘Now don’t you start making bright suggestions, or I shall break down and scream,’ said the Augusta through set teeth. ‘The Emperor does not care for Paula. But then he has never loved a woman. I don’t know what went wrong with him, but we must admit that he will always prefer boys. Perhaps we can persuade him to treat Paula as a wife, but he will do it only to please his family. We have been thrashing it out all morning, and we need not begin all over again in front of Duratius. This is a practical business meeting, to decide what to do next. The Emperor is the heir of the Divine Caracalla, the heir of the Antonine house who brought peace to the citizens and high pay to the soldiers. Duratius, give us your honest answer. Will the Praetorians remain loyal to the Emperor, bearing in mind his ancestry; or will they overthrow him, and us, because of his disgusting behaviour?’
‘Even if the soldiers still follow him the Senate will be disgusted,’ said the lady Mamea with a sniff. ‘How can we rule Rome if all the gentry despise us?’
‘Oh, be quiet,’ snarled the Augusta. ‘I could govern the civilized world if only my daughters would leave me in peace.… Now, will the soldiers continue to support us?’
I thought hard before I answered. I owed the Augusta an honest opinion, but her question was uncommonly difficult.
‘The Emperor’s behaviour has not strengthened his position,’ I said slowly, ‘ but what he did was done in private. Some of those who admire him may choose to believe the official denials. Anyway, no Emperor was ever overthrown for disgusting behaviour. What the soldiers don’t like is frivolity in serious matters, and especially frivolity in military affairs. Most soldiers don’t regard marriage as a serious matter.’
‘In other words we shall be all right this time, provided the Emperor behaves in future,’ said the Praefect, looking at me sharply. ‘That’s more or less what I said before you gave us your advice. It’s really a matter for the family, not the soldiers. I command the troops, but I cannot control the Emperor’s private life. He may listen to his grandmother and his mother. Make him see that it’s in his own interest to behave like a conventional Roman.’
‘You have left out his aunt,’ said the lady Mamea. ‘But then there is little I can do. His mother is the person to convince him of the pleasure of natural straightforward intercourse between man and woman.’
This downright reference to the notorious adulteries of the Clarissima silenced us all. The Augusta was the first to recover. ‘That will do, Duratius,’ she said coldly, ‘you may go. You know the official story that will go out from the palace. The Emperor is in love with his wife, a charming girl. He is fond of driving four-horse chariots, which proves that he is a youth of courage. Gordius and Hierocles are his friends, though of lowly rank, because they remind him of happy days in Nicomedia. They are freedmen, and therefore they are never seen at public functions. They do not take bribes.’
10. The Sky-Stone Takes Over
The soldiers heard all about the Emperor’s weddings, and believed what they heard in spite of the official denials. Rumour even managed to improve on the truth. The little naked cupids had been hurriedly collected by the unsuitable intimates the Emperor employed in such matters; these men paid top prices without bargaining, and probably took a commission from the slave-dealers. The story got about that the Emperor desperately needed children, and would buy them at any cost. Why should he need them? Obviously, as sacrifices to his outlandish god. You will still meet Romans who know for a fact that Elagabalus daily cut the throat of a young boy and bathed his sky-stone in fresh human blood.
The Emperor’s popularity was in no way diminished, at least among those who had welcomed his advent to power. The soldiers upheld him because, whether he was or was not the grandson of the Divine Severus, he represented the Severan policy of privilege for the army at the expense of the townsmen. The peasants liked him, because he did not increase the taxes and sometimes supported them against town-bred lawyers. The Roman mob was devoted to him, because he enjoyed the fun of being an Emperor and allowed the mob to share his amusements. The Senate, and the educated gentry in general, did not like him; but they would have disliked an Emperor of unblemished Stoic principles unless he were willing to reduce the
Severan scale of military pay.
The Augusta could not see this. She had come to Rome as a stranger when her sister was consort to the reigning Emperor; the arrangements she found then existing had seemed to her, a young girl, part of the immutable Roman constitution. The gentry had been loyal to Severus, grateful because he brought peace after a welter of civil wars. Why should they not be loyal to his successor, who carried on the same policy? She did not understand that the gentry saw the Severan privileges for the army as a temporary stop-gap, an emergency measure which should be abolished now that peace was secure.
She imagined that only decorous behaviour in public was needed to make the Emperor universally beloved. All the pressure of her strong personality bore down on her grandson to make him behave like the Divine Augustus, or at least like the Divine Marcus Aurelius. Her daughters seconded her efforts. Within limits, she was successful.
Throughout that first year of his reign the Emperor performed his public duties correctly and assiduously. He attended the Senate, and occasionally delivered a short speech to the assembled Fathers. The Augusta also attended these meetings, considering it a compliment to the importance of the Senate; for she was the Emperor’s chief minister. But for a female to take part openly in the discussion of public business was a shocking breach of tradition. The Senators were more dismayed at the intrusion of a woman than they were flattered by the attendance of a responsible minister.
Occupation was found for the Clarissima in a revival of the assembly of matrons. This was a venerable institution, once presided over by the consort of the Divine Augustus; the wives of Senators and curule magistrates met together to discuss problems of ritual in the various religious ceremonies which no man may lawfully witness, and the more absorbing subject of court etiquette. The Clarissima knew nothing of Roman ritual, but in matters of court etiquette she held decided views. The Augusta was heard to say that any fool could decide such problems, and that Soaemias was the very fool to do it; an unkind remark, but uncomfortably true. The Clarissima was busy and happy, too busy to interfere in more important affairs.
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