Child of the Sun

by Kyle Onstott

  “Because only today I arrived from Alexandria.”

  “And your name?”

  “Aurelius Zoticus. And you are Varius Antoninus.”

  “I have been called that but tonight I am the slave Lupus.”

  “The slave Lupus? I do not understand.”

  “The slave Lupus, already the property of one Aurelius Zoticus from Alexandria. You have purchased me with the piece of gold you hold in your hand.”

  Zoticus placed the gold piece in Varius’s palm and his fingers touched the boy’s hot, moist flesh. Varius was trembling, his knees buckled under him. Zoticus picked him up in his strong arms and carried him into the dim shadows of the temple. They embraced each other with a mutuality of desire.

  Varius’s hands sought. He gasped. It was true. All the beauty and strength he had seen in the moonlight was as nothing to what his questing hands now encountered. Surely it must be the god himself for no mere human could be so splendidly accoutered. This was no man. This was the godhead himself. Elah-ga-baal!

  Zoticus would have borne him to the floor but Varius extricated himself from the enveloping embrace.

  “Not here, Zoticus, my lord, master and god,” he panted. “Not here. Let us go back to the palace where a soft bed, bright lights and perfumes await us. Let us reap the full pleasure of this night and not spend ourselves like temple catamites on the hard, cold floor. But first, this gold piece to the treasury and a prayer to Elah-ga-baal for having blessed me by showing himself to me.”

  With Zoticus’s protecting arm around Varius, they walked the long length of the shadowy hall. They passed many couples in strange embraces in the shadows and they stumbled over others on the floor, who stopped their writhings only long enough to curse them for their clumsiness. Varius deposited the gold coin in the box beside the doors leading to the inner shrine. With his hand in Zoticus’s, he knelt on the pavement.

  “Most high and sacred Elah-ga-baal, today I have been lacking in love and respect for you. I scoffed at your rites and I ridiculed your priests and now I am sorry. Tonight I know how great and powerful you are for you have come to me in all your magnificent greatness. From now on, great Elah-ga-baal, I shall serve you and love you. This wonder that you have delivered into my hands this night shall be a sign between us, always reminding me of your magnificence and your love for me.”

  He stood up and once again he sought the warm shelter of Zoticus’s arms.

  “To the palace, my lord Zoticus. Your slave, Lupus, commands it. Get a litter, the fastest you can find. Let us hurry before you vanish from my sight to begin your morning journey across the skies.”

  “Yes, let us hurry little Antonine . . .”

  “Lupus!”

  “Lupus, then, but let us hurry although you need have no fear that I shall vanish. This flesh of mine is all too solid. I am as anxious as you to seek your bed. For over a week I have been traveling, and during that time I have lain with neither man nor woman.”

  “And I, master, have been traveling all my life, waiting to arrive at this moment.” Varius’s hand tightened. “Promise me you will never leave me.”

  “I shall never leave you, little Lupus.”

  “Never? Not even if our path leads to Rome?”

  “Least of all there, little Lupus. You will need me to protect you. See, my arm is strong.”

  Zoticus was jubilant. Things were working out better than he could have dreamed. This would not be a difficult task—’twould be a pleasure. He was as loath to release Varius as Varius was to leave his arms but he bethought himself of the soft bed in the palace. Once in that bed, he would see to it that he never left and besides, it was better than the hard mosaic floor of the temple. If only he could last until they arrived. He plucked Varius’s hand away. Perhaps after all, in spite of his scoffing, there was such a thing as love. Possibly it had come to him. He hoped it would be profitable.

  But to Varius, hurrying through the dark hall beside his god, there was no question. He knew that love had come to him.

  9

  Varius was more than willing to leave the diplomatic moves, the involved intrigues and the carefully laid plots which were to bring him closer to the throne, in the able hands of his grandmother, Comazon, and his mother. He was quite uninterested in politics and the methods that were being employed to make him Caesar. Being Caesar meant nothing to him except that it would give him the opportunity to do exactly as he pleased without opposition. Who could oppose Caesar? Not even Caesar’s stem grandmother or fluttery mother, least of all his sour-faced aunt. From now on, he was determined to rule his own life exactly as he pleased. He gave warning to all his family and to Comazon and Gannys. No more restraints! Let them not cross him! He was willing to be Caesar and when that time came they could rule Rome as they pleased but he would rule the palace and himself. His first edict was that Aurelius Zoticus should remain in the palace and receive the highest rank next to himself.

  Julia Maesa scented danger. It was one thing to have Varius amused nightly by a constantly changing procession of soldiers. They came and went and there was neither permanent attachment nor influence, for Varius was all too anxious for the next night to pay much attention to the one who departed in the morning. It was a contact of bodies not of minds. They served a double purpose in that they kept Varius entertained and at the same time were being won over to his side. But, it would never do for Varius to have a permanent lover. Oh no! As time went on he would rise to an ascendancy of power and subordinate Varius to his own will, regardless of what the family desired. It would mean sharing authority over Varius with a stranger and from what Julia Maesa had seen of Zoticus, he seemed a most undesirable stranger. She was not blinded by love. Under the glossy beauty of the man, she saw his cunning, his crafty designs, and his cruelty. No, Aurelius Zoticus must follow the path of the other soldiers—in for a night and out in a morning. Varius thought otherwise. Zoticus must stay.

  Soaemias also was far from happy about the arrangement. She had heard glowing reports of the fabulous Zoticus from Alexandria and. was determined to have him for her own and not share him with her son. Gigex was a poor comparison to this paragon and besides, Gigex was losing his ardor and it was time he was replaced by a fresh recruit. She knew Varius well enough to know that he would not share Zoticus and moreover, she did not want half a loaf. No, far better to get him out of the way for the time being and let Varius forget him. Then, she could get him for herself later. Her suggestions, however, fell on deaf ears. All her hints amounted to nothing. Zoticus must stay.

  Gannys, whose influence over the young Varius had always been paramount, sensed a lessening of his power with Zoticus in such close attendance, and he too used his influence to discourage the permanent installation of this—what he termed—fortune-hunting wrestler in the palace. His propaganda was subtler than that of Maesa or Soaemias who had emphatically forbidden and nothing else. Gannys pointed out to Varius how quickly one could tire of the same person and the far greater thrill of the unknown—that titillating anticipation of something new and different every night and the excitement of variety. Varius would not listen. He was convinced that nothing could possibly exceed what he already had. Varius was far too infatuated, too completely satisfied with what the Sun God had tossed into his bed. Gannys was all for sending Zoticus back to the Legion and finding something better. Varius thought otherwise. Zoticus must stay.

  Zoticus, now sure of his bold on the boy, was as determined to remain as Varius was to have him. He did not find his duties arduous. He too was infatuated, perhaps not as whole-heartedly as Varius, but he found the boy’s beauty compelling, and certainly life with Varius was far pleasanter than his former frequently unhappy encounters with whomever had the money to pay for him. He remembered the fat, unsatisfied wives, the scabrous old men and all the other thrill-seeking undesirables who had to pay to be desired. That had been a labor of constant pretence, a nightly effort which had been slowly wearing him down. With Varius, he did not have t
o pretend. The boy himself was sufficient inspiration. In his own way, Zoticus loved the boy but he loved the ease and luxury of the palace more. More important still was the prospect of the ultimate power and authority that would become his. The pretty little Antonine was to be Emperor of Rome. Everyone said so. And . . . what better position was there in the whole Roman Empire than to share Caesar’s bed permanently.

  So Zoticus remained, although the Tribune Comazon pointed out that Zoticus was a soldier and the penalty for desertion was death. If he did not return he would be a deserter and the cross awaited him. Varius pooh-poohed the silly law. Comazon as Tribune could give Zoticus a leave of absence. The loss of one legionary would not affect the army but the loss of this particular legionary would certainly affect Varius’s happiness and well-being.

  Soaemias was willing to bribe Varius with the offer of her own Gigex if he would but relinquish Zoticus but Varius saw through his mother’s transparent generosity and declined. Gannys went into raptures over a slave from the Sudan which he had seen in the market and whom he was sure would be far more satisfactory than Zoticus but Varius was not interested. Finally, Julia Maesa advanced the crowning argument. Zoticus could have no official position in the palace if he remained. He was not a slave—he was a freedman. He was a Plebian. Therefore he could neither mingle with the slaves who were below him nor the Patricians who were above him.

  The Bassianus family was not in the habit of taking a mere freedman into their bosom and now that Varius was an Antoninus in addition to being a Bassianus, there was certainly no place for Zoticus in the palace unless he were to be retained as a servant, and a freedman could not be a servant as he was not a slave.

  The various social classifications seemed so much idle folderol to Varius but he found a way to stop his grandmother’s nagging. He reminded her that according to the stupid Augustan law of Rome, he must eventually marry. What status then would his wife have? Why . . . regardless of whom she was, she would immediately be raised to imperial rank. That satisfied Varius. If the woman whom he married would be raised to imperial rank, the man whom he married would be equally high. Maesa had been unwittingly forced into a corner and she could have bitten off her tongue but the words had been spoken.

  Varius, seeing his advantage, proceeded. Ergo! He would marry Zoticus. The only difference was that Zoticus would be his husband instead of his wife. Once having propounded the idea, Varius was immediately in favor of it and in spite of his family’s vast and tiresome objections, he insisted on going through with it.

  Old Zenotabalus, who saw a chance to regain Varius’s favor was the only one on his side. The old priest delved back into the ancient archives of the Sun God and found that in times past, many of the High Priests of Elah-ga-baal had been married to the godhead. Even the stiff-necked Jews had been known to marry their Jehovah. As Varius insisted that Zoticus was an incarnation of Elah-ga-baal, Varius would only be marrying his god.

  Zenotabalus informed the fuming Maesa that this would indeed be a true marriage and would negate any marriage to a woman which might come later, which marriage was strictly forbidden to a priest of Elah-ga-baal. With Varius first married to Zoticus, and through him to the Sun God, any other marriages would be merely to satisfy the demands of Roman Law. If Zoticus were to be Varius’s first spouse, he would not be tainted by the ensuing marriage to a woman. At length even Julia Maesa had to yield, albeit unwillingly, to the preponderance of sacred authority which Zenotabalus, with an eye to binding Varius more closely to him, either discovered in his musty tomes or invented on the spot.

  So, much to her chagrin, despite Soaemias’s jealousy, Gannys’s annoyance, and Comazon’s better judgment, the marriage was solemnized in the temple, with Varius in the diaphanous red draperies of a bride and Zoticus stalwart in white linen. Having found Zoticus in the temple, and having been indissolubly bound to him there, Varius became more than ever convinced of the power of Elah-ga-baal. Had not the Great God granted him his greatest happiness on earth? From then on, his fanatical love for his God occupied third place in his affections. First, himself, second, his husband Aurelius Zoticus and third his god, Elah-ga-baal! He worshipped all three to excess and he became dominated by his own effete neuroticism for himself, his lover, and his god.

  He was intensely jealous of Zoticus. If the wrestler so much as glanced twice at another person, man or woman, Varius immediately went into a fit of violent anger, dark despondency, or fretful petulance. He would have had Zoticus infibulated but Zoticus had been circumcised in Egypt and there was no foreskin to hold the fibula. He instituted a careful system of espionage throughout the palace whereby every moment that Zoticus spent away from his side was reported back to him. Zoticus belonged to him and he was unwilling to share him with anyone else.

  He did, however, insist that Zoticus keep up his training as a wrestler. His glorious physique could not be endangered by a life of inactivity. One courtyard in the palace was refurbished as a gymnasium for Zoticus’s morning exercises. For a time Varius worked with him, intrigued by the novelty of physical exertion. He found, much to his disgust, that the rounded and feminine softness of his arms and legs was beginning to disappear under a hard coating of muscle and he did not want that to happen. Although he relinquished his attendance, he made sure that Zoticus was well guarded during these long hours of absence away from him.

  However, great as his passion for Zoticus was, Zoticus could not entirely satisfy him for Varius was an insatiable little satyr. He began to miss both the variety and thrill of the unknown, exactly as Gannys had predicted. Although he was determined that Zoticus would have eyes for nobody but himself, he saw no reason why he could not add a little variety to his own life by resuming his adventures with the army, unknown to his husband. These, however, would have to take place during Zoticus’s morning practice instead of at night, which he was willing to devote to his spouse, as any legitimate wife should. Other married women took lovers, why not he? It would only make him more sure that he was truly married, if he were to carry on some interesting intrigue, hidden from his husband. All wives did.

  To have a legitimate excuse to absent himself from the palace, he decided to devote these free hours to the service of Elah-ga-baal, and as soon as Zoticus was off to his practice, Varius hied himself to the temple to dance before his god. Attendance by the soldiers was encouraged, and after the ritualistic dance, which was obscene enough before Varius embroidered the steps with further obscenities, there was always the private room behind the altar where Varius could entertain those who had been chosen from the audience by Gannys. As time went on and news of the rewards that awaited promising and cooperative young legionaries spread through the camp, a line of ten to twenty would form before the door of the private room, to be called in singly, in pairs or in dozens depending on Varius’s idea of entertainment for the day.

  Zoticus, sweating at his practice, knew nothing about these morning gambols and believed, as he had every reason to believe from Varius’s impassioned lovemaking at night, that he was the only one. He was secure in the knowledge that he could not be replaced. There was none other in the Empire so equipped as to replace him. He was secure in Varius’s affections and he was supreme in the palace. His assumption of the incarnation of Elah-ga-baal and the sacred rites that bound him to Varius were such strong ties they could not be broken.

  While Varius was conducting his petty intrigues, keeping his jealous watch over Zoticus and arranging for his outside revels in the temple, Julia Maesa, with the help of Comazon was slowly pulling the necessary strings to get Varius on the throne. In this she found her ablest ally to be the utter stupidity of Opellius Macrinus who now called himself Caesar, confirmed as such by the Senate and upheld by his own legions.

  Egged on by Maesa and Comazon, King Artabanus had declared war on Rome and Opellius Macrinus was forced to accept the challenge. He was so ignominiously beaten that he had to meet the strict terms that Artabanus laid down—complete freedom for Parthi
a and a huge indemnity of money. The Roman Legions were not accustomed to defeat, nor were they accustomed to the half pay and half rations under limited service which Macrinus imposed upon them to gain the wherewithal to pay the stiff demands of Artabanus. Discontent had become rife in the legions. If they were to be idle, they wanted to be home, not quartered in Syria. Their adored Caracalla had been murdered and they were left at the mercy of his murderer, the penny-pinching Macrinus.

  Then, having so foolishly stirred up discontent and near mutiny in the army, Macrinus made his fatal move. He sent two of the legions to Emesa to go into winter quarters there. This was playing directly into Maesa’s hands. She already possessed one legion faithful to Varius, now she would have two more to work on and once again her coffers of gold were thrown open, and the line outside Varius’s door in the temple lengthened. The soldiers were never allowed to forget from whom their bounty came. It was given to them by Antoninus, the son of their beloved Caracalla.

  To these men, loveless, half-fed, discontented, homesick and bored with the grey monotony of camp life, the exotic figure of the beautiful boy, dancing to the lascivious measures of flute and harp in the sensuous beauty of his own face and his transparent robes, became a constant reminder that this was Antoninus, the son of their Caracalla. The thin silks and bright jewels of the boy were a colorful contrast to their drab tunics. The beauty of his painted face and the clean lines of his young body were far more enticing than the scrawny, stinking whores who followed the camp.