by Kyle Onstott
Hierocles had never seen Antoninus quite so determined before. He was beginning to learn that the softness of the Syrian boy was only a deceptive covering for the iron will that lay beneath. Usually Antoninus could be cajoled, begged, entreated or bribed out of any idea.
“I’ll make Vesta a part of Elah-ga-baal, even if I have to marry the Virgin Maximus myself!” Antoninus said. “I’ll swear old Aquilla Severa has been dying for a man all these years. Every time she gets near me, she manages to rub her thin shoulders up against mine while she smirks and ogles me.”
“You? Marry Aquilla Severa!” Hierocles howled with laughter. “What could you do for her?”
“Nothing!” Antoninus shuddered. “But methinks the dry and dusty wood of those locked gates would crumble fast enough under a forceful battering-ram.”
“Yours?” Hierocles’s guffaws were even louder.
“Well, I was married once before and they carried poor Julia Paula out the next morning, tom and bleeding.” Antoninus winked at Hierocles.
“Thanks to Zoticus! Do you intend to recall him?”
Antoninus shook his head.
Hierocles pointed an accusing finger at Antoninus. “If you have any idea in that mind of yours that I . . .”
“That I would relinquish you even for one night to thread Aquilla’s rusty needle? Never! Although you were good enough to share me with Zoticus that night at the temple, I am not as generous as you. I will never share you with anyone. But wait! We have five hundred priests at the temple, or rather four hundred and sixty-two, allowing for the thirty-eight who died from their circumcisions, and if the sacred mother of Rome can’t find one of them to satisfy her, she’s harder to please than I am.”
“But there is some merit in your idea,” Hierocles said. “Why not a spiritual marriage between the Sun-God and the Fire Goddess—between Elah-ga-baal and Vesta; exemplified by a similar marriage between you as High Priest of the Sun and Aquilla Severa as Virgin Maxima of the Sacred Fire?”
Antoninus leaped up and threw his arms around Hierocles.
“What would I ever do without you, wise Hierocles? That is the solution! Come, let us go at once to the Temple of Vesta. We’ll propose to Mother Aquilla and offer her two bridegrooms. Elah-ga-baal for Vesta, and myself for her! And if it is to be a spiritual marriage, the old turkey won’t expect me to bed her. But, on the other hand, if there is nothing that will satisfy her itch but a man, I’ll tell her she may have her choice of any of the priests of Elah-ga-baal.”
Antoninus clapped his hands to summon Cleander. When the slave appeared, Antoninus instructed him to lay out his most elaborate priestly robes, order the state litter and proceed immediately to dress him. Hierocles dressed himself in armor—a virile foil for Antoninus’s long flowing feminine robes. When they were ready, they descended the marble stairs to the front of the palace where the gold and gemmed imperial litter was waiting, carried by sixteen bearers instead of the four employed for ordinary litters. They were quickly borne to the Forum, where the circular Temple of Vesta, which housed the sacred fire, occupied a small island of sanctity in the busy centre of Rome.
Having been notified only a few moments before by a lictor who had run all the way from the palace to the temple, Aquilla Severa, the Virgin Maxima, was still in a flutter of adjustment of her white veils, as she stood on the top of the steps to greet Antoninus, not as the Roman Caesar but as Pontifex Maximus. She was a woman of middle age but age had not mellowed her. Instead it had sharpened her features with frustration, hollowed her cheeks with unsatisfied desires and whitened her hair with wakeful nights which she preferred instead of the erotic dreams which peopled her sleep.
Everyone in Rome respected Aquilia Severa but none loved her. Her tongue, sharpened by repressions and her quick temper inflamed by her frustrations, was merciless. Even now, standing to welcome the only person in the world whom she considered her superior, she was resentful and ill-tempered. Why had he not given her sufficient notice of his arrival? What was he corning for? Why didn’t he stop meddling with things he knew nothing about? Why didn’t he leave that handsome chariot driver behind? One glimpse of him, especially the muscled thighs which showed between the hem of his tunic and his thigh-bound sandals was enough to disrupt any virgin’s thoughts.
She advanced to the edge of the top step and kneeled to the only person in the world to whom she owed obeisance.
“Vesta welcomes you to the home of the Sacred Fire.”
Antoninus allowed her to kiss his hand and then lifted her up. He would have implanted a kiss on the sere cheek, but the thin, dry, dusty smell of her virginity repelled him.
“Praise and honor to Elah-ga-baal, the omnipotent Sun,” he answered, “the one and only God to whom all Rome pays homage, and to his handmaiden, the Goddess Vestal.”
Aquilia glared at him. “A strange greeting, especially from you, my lord, who rule the flame of Vesta. The goddess stands in second place to no other divinity in Rome. Were those words spoken by other than the Pontifex Maximus, I would have the speaker’s tongue torn out!”
Antoninus gently propelled her inside the temple, aware of the stares of the crowd who had congregated around the steps. They continued on through the temple, through the garden behind, then into the Atrium Vestae, the home of the Vestals. Not until they were all three seated in the shady peristylium did Antoninus speak.
“I meant no disrespect to the great goddess, Sacred Mother, when I greeted you. My only desire is to gain greater distinction for both her and yourself. I have come to ask your consent to the removal of the Palladium from your temple to the new Temple of Elah-ga-baal.”
The look of horror on her face was genuine.
“Never!” Her thin lips froze in a straight line only to open reluctantly. “Even as Pontifex Maximus of Rome, you are not even privileged to look on the sacred image, let alone touch it or have it removed. As long as Rome stands, the Palladium will guard the sacred fire and the sacred fire will remain there.” She rose in a floating aura of white veils and pointed her finger dramatically to the nearby temple.
Antoninus motioned her to sit down.
“Either the Paladium is moved to the Temple of Elah-ga-baal or the sacred fire is quenched.”
“You would not dare.”
“I am Pontifex Maximus of Rome. And . . . I am Caesar. I dare anything, Aquilla Severa.”
“But to quench the Sacred Fire. The Senate! The army! The people of Rome! I am not helpless.”
“They will only know one thing: that the Sacred Mother of Rome has been entertaining a man in the Atrium Vestae! That when she was taken ill a month ago and was confined to her bed for two weeks, she had, in fact, given birth to a child, old as she is! That the so-called Virgins of Vesta are no better than the grey-clad whores who accommodate their customers in the alleyways of the Suburra, except that they get paid, whereas the Vestal Virgins pay big money for their studs.”
Aquilia twisted the white veils between her white fingers.
“A lie! Nobody would believe such a monstrous lie! ~
“Yes, a lie, as I well know, but I could buy the testimony of a hundred men who would swear that they had all been here. With a little coaching they would describe in detail how the Sacred Mother entertained them. I could have the body of a newly born infant exhumed from your garden. I could have you and your virgins sealed up in separate tombs with a loaf of bread and a jug of water to die slowly and miserably. And,” he continued to smile, “I shall do just that.”
“But why?” Aquilia realized that she was beaten. The penalty for a Vestal’s loss of virginity was to buried alive.
“Because from now on there can be but one god in all Rome. My God—Elah-ga-baal!”
Aquilia regarded him with frightened eyes.
“As the sun is superior to all else, so is Elah-ga-baal superior to all gods. But, Sacred Mother, although I threatened you a moment ago, I do not intend to carry out my threat. Not if you cooperate. I only wanted you to know
to what extremes I would go if necessary. I have no desire to dishonor you or Vesta. Instead, as I said before, I wish more honor and greater reverence for both of you.”
The priestess slumped forward in her chair.
“Attend her, Hierocles. I believe she is going to faint.” Antoninus did not move from his chair as Hierocles ran to the priestess. He put out his hand to steady her but hesitated.
“I dare not profane the Virgin Maxima by touching her.”
“It is all right, Hierocles. I command you. She will not resent it.”
Hierocles lifted Aquilia and eased her back into the chair, supporting her head on his arm. She opened her eyes and saw the near maleness of him, smelt the musk and sweat of his body, felt the strength of his arm. Her thin hand reached up and clasped his but she did not sit up. Instead she pillowed her head more comfortably on his arm.
“I am sorry, my lord. A touch of faintness.”
“Are you quite recovered?” Antoninus was all gentle solicitation. “Do let Hierocles support you. He is strong.”
“Indeed he is!” Aquilia seemed quite recovered.
“Far stronger than any of the maids who attend you, is he not?” Antoninus closed his eyes slowly and sighed, “Were Praxiteles alive today, how he would have glorified this Hierocles. Such rounded muscles on his chest, such rippling muscles on his belly, such strong, sleek muscles on his thighs. Truly, Sacred Mother, when he steps from the bath, he is another Apollo—a veritable god.” He opened his eyes slowly to see the effect of his words. A faint tinge of pink dyed the white cheeks of the priestess. “Forgive me, Sacred Mother. For a moment I forgot where I was. Are you quite recovered?”
“Quite.” She withdrew her hand reluctantly from that of
Hierocles and sat up straight. “I am quite recovered.” Hierocles resumed his seat.
“You were speaking, my lord, about new honors for both Vesta and myself.”
“Yes. Although I intend that Elah-ga-baal shall be the only god in all Rome, I do not discount the sacred power of Vesta. That these two may survive, it is necessary that they become one. I propose a sacred marriage between the two godheads—a marriage between the Sun and the Flame—a mystic marriage which will unite the two great faiths in Rome. Each will strengthen the other, and Vesta will survive, not as the cold virgin she has always been but as the warm, pulsating bride of the Sun.”
The smell of man still lingered in Aquilia’s nostrils. It was the first time a man had ever touched her—a cold, immaculate virgin in spite of her lascivious dreams. Oh, why not a warm pulsating bride? Her hands gripped the ivory arms of her chair until the knuckles showed whiter than the ivory.
“I begin to understand, my lord. Perhaps your plan has some merit.”
Antoninus rose slowly and walked the few steps that separated them. He reached out a hand and lifted hers which looked strangely white and slender in the moist olive of his palm. He lifted the hand to his mouth and brushed it with his lips. He cringed from the dry, dead-leaf feeling of her skin but he did not allow his distaste to show.
“And Sacred Mother, as the Goddess of Vesta joins with the great god Elah-ga-baal, I propose that you, as Virgin Maxima and I, as head priest of Elah-ga-baal, enter into another spiritual marriage which will be but a human exemplification of the divine union.”
“A purely spiritual marriage, my lord?” Aquilla turned quickly, withdrawing her hand. A look of annoyance drew down the corners of her mouth as she regarded the white-robed Vestal who had just entered.
The intruding virgin stopped in her steps, at a loss for words in the presence of men.
“Well, what is it? Why do you interrupt us?” Aquilla had suddenly been brought back to reality.
“A priest from the Temple of Elah-ga-baal,” the woman stuttered. “At the command of great Caesar. He waits in the anteroom of the temple.”
Antoninus answered. “Conduct him into the garden. Remain near. When I clap my hands, bring him in here.” He nodded in assurance. “It is quite all right. He is a priest and quite as holy as you.”
They waited for the woman to depart. Aquilia slipped back into her dream. “As I was saying—a spiritual marriage, my lord?”
“Between a priest and a priestess it could not be otherwise, could it?”
“But, if Elah-ga-baal is to warm the virgin coldness of Vesta, should not the Priestess of Vesta experience the same?” She smiled hopefully. “With Vesta no longer a virgin, can a virgin priestess serve her?”
“How right you are, Sacred Mother, and how logically you reason.” Antoninus noticed her eyes straying from him to the bulk of Hierocles. “Naturally, the Priestess of Vesta must emulate the goddess in all things. While the goddess was a virgin, it was unthinkable that aught but a virgin should serve her. Now that the goddess is to be married, you should be also, in fact as well as name.”
“I think I am going to faint again.” Aquilia leaned back in her chair. “Then you mean that you, as the priest of the Sun would . . . ?”
Antoninus shook his head. “I am but a boy, Sacred Mother. I have just passed my seventeenth birthday. Surely in my young body there is not the power and vigor of the sun.” He clapped his hands sharply. “No, I do not feel worthy to consummate this great and holy union. We must find one truly representative of the God.”
Aquilla’s hands fluttered among her veils.
“It shall be as you wish, my lord. The Palladium shall be moved to the Temple of the Sun. The Sacred Fire shall gild the holy stone of Elah-ga-baal. Your god will marry my goddess, and I shall marry you.”
“With this handsome Aegenax as my proxy.” Antoninus pointed to the youth who strode across the peristylium, his thin silk robe moulded to his body as he walked. He was indeed all that Antoninus had painted—sloe-eyes, sinuous as a leopard, virilely handsome, exuding maleness.
Aquilla took one look at him and fell back in her chair.
Antoninus looked down at the crumpled figure.
“This time she has really fainted. Aegenax was too much for her. Summon her women and let us get away from here before she comes to and changes her mind. Come, Hierocles!”
19
The marriage between Elah-ga-baal and Vesta, manifested by the marriage between Antoninus and the Virgin Maxima, was celebrated between an expectant bride with the exciting image of Aegenax for inspiration and a bored bridegroom. After the ceremony the Palladium was moved from the Penus Vestae to be displayed in the wings of the Sun God’s temple, along with the Sacred Fire which was placed directly in front of the stone phallus. During the elaborate rites, with the large donative which Antoninus made to everyone in Rome, the people were willing to be amused and interested.
He provided spectacles such as they loved—elaborate processions, clouds of precious incense, the sacrifice of hecatombs of oxen, with all the general licentiousness that accompanied the holiday mood of celebration. Antoninus caused thousands of wild beasts to be killed in the arena, fountains of wine to flow in the streets, and suspended all charges for the services of the priests of Elah-ga-baal, to whom had now been added an equal number of hastily gathered prostitutes who were initiated into the service of Vesta and attended the temple as priestesses.
But, like most drunken orgies, there was a sad morning-after and then the whole weight of adverse public opinion fell upon Antoninus. The most sacred shrine in all Rome had been despoiled. Those who had most enjoyed the orgy were the first to raise their bands in outraged horror. The revered Palladium was now hung as a trophy along with other sacred relics on the walls of the Sun God’s temple. The great Virgin Maxima of Rome was no longer a virgin. The very backbone of Rome’s awe and veneration had been broken, and Antoninus was blamed.
The August Fathers of the Senate, who had hitherto been subservient to Antoninus and granted his every request, now that the tide of public opinion was beginning to go against him, had the temerity to demand his presence in the Senate Chamber. The Senate thundered, Rome seethed, the Praetorians were surly, and A
ntoninus raged at the failure of his carefully laid plans, but for once he had to admit defeat. He, Emperor of all Rome, Caesar and Pontifex Maximus, was to be summoned before the Senate. He, the divine Caesar was commanded—yes commanded, to appear before the Senate.
He rebelled at their audacity but he went—his face stormy with anger and his apparel the most effeminate he could find. He knew it would anger the venerable Romans and he was right. The high golden network of his tiara sparkled with gems; the flowing embroidered robes were full and diaphanous; the dainty high-heeled linen shoes were mincingly feminine, and the jewels which hung from his neck, dripped from his ears and encrusted his fingers, caused just the amount of disgust he planned that they would. He entered the Senate Chamber, languidly supported by Hierocles, listened to the speeches with an air of utter boredom, replied in his highest falsetto, then gathered his draperies and flounced out again.