by Kyle Onstott
Cleander’s running steps had no sooner died away than Antoninus stripped off his soiled tunic and motioned to Hierocles to do the same. He beckoned to Gordius to follow them into the bath and as the three soaked in the warm water, relaxing after the strenuous day, he outlined to Gordius the plans he had in mind for him.
The little farm, with Hierocles’s name carved in stone over the lintel, was to go to Gordius. In fact, it was not really small now, as Antoninus had bought up all the adjoining farms. There Gordius was to retire for the present, and a most fitting place of retirement it would be, for the name of Hierocles over the doorway would always remind him of his loyalty to the two Caesars. Antoninus would stock the farm with swine—the special breed of Frankish swine which had proved so delicious in Rome. In addition, Antoninus would further stock the farm with slaves, a hundred or more and, even more important, Gordius would be given the exclusive right of supplying the Praetorian Camp and the imperial household with hams, bacon, and sausages which would quickly set him on the road to becoming a very rich man.
But that was not all. Gordius was to engage an overseer to attend to the duties of farm work and allow him to sleep there during the day but his nights would be spent in the palace, in a small room adjoining the imperial apartments where he would be a special guard, watching over both Antoninus and Alexander.
Hierocles marveled at all these well-thought-out plans which Antoninus had made even without consulting him. The boy was thinking for himself these days!
As an additional reward to Gordius, Eubulus, now dispossessed of his duties in Rome, was to start out again on another search of Empire but this time, instead of taking the golden replica of Zoticus’s fame for a yardstick of selection, he was to take a painting of Hierocles with him to find, if possible, that replica of Hierocles which must exist for, as Antoninus pointed out, there were two persons made in every mold, so somewhere there must be another who twinned with Hierocles. Not that he might have Hierocles’s disposition or character, but the physical replica would do much to assuage Gordius’s loneliness. These things, together with the statue of Gordius which was to be erected in the Forum would amply compensate the ex-chariot driver for the loss of the Praefecture. Did Gordius agree? He did.
Well, then, to the more pressing business at hand. Alexander! He must go! Had Gordius located Hardranes? In a deserted tomb along the Via Appia? Then tonight, after the palace had quietened down they would go there, cloaked, masked and disguised. There was no time to be lost.
Cleander reappeared with his tray of ointments and oils, but Antoninus waved them aside. He had neither time nor desire to perfume his body this night. He disdained the silk robes that Cleander had laid out for him. Once again, he donned a simple linen tunic and slipped his feet into leather sandals instead of the high heeled linen shoes he had always favored. Cleander alone served their meal.
Hierocles was well aware what Antoninus was thinking. He thought it best to bring these secret thoughts out into the open.
“This Tribune Agrippa . . .” he began.
Antoninus was startled from his reverie. He had been thinking about the man, comparing the Tribune’s apparent dislike for him at first with his willingness to punish the Praetorian for the scurrilous remark he had made. Had he won the man? He could not get him out of his mind. He was as handsome as Mars.
“Yes, what about the Tribune Agrippa?”
“I fear him.”
Antoninus laughed indulgently.
“Truly, he’s the most jealous person that ever lived, Gordius. I cannot even talk with a man who stands six paces away from me in the presence of all Rome; a man who comes into my life demanding that I change my belief in God, my way of living and my friends; a man who obviously hates me, without Hierocles being possessed with jealousy.”
“But he is handsome,” Hierocles persisted.
“And so are you,” Antoninus replied. “He is as handsome as one of the wolves that fight in the Flavian. His beauty is cruel. But if you think him so handsome, and his face remains with you so strongly in your thoughts, banishing mine, perhaps I am the one to be jealous rather than you. Yes, perhaps I should be, carissimus, for it may be that he favors you more than me because he made no objections to my keeping you with me. But I warn you, keep away from him. His devotion to Mithras girdles him with an iron belt of chastity more effective than those we put on male slaves to keep them from breeding. You do not have the key, Hierocles, and neither do I. Methinks if I were to touch him he would strangle me.”
“I do not think of him because I am jealous of him, and you know me better than that, beloved. His stern face would never appeal to me. I think of him because I fear him. Suddenly he appeared from the crowd today, daring to approach you, daring to make demands on you. He is not a man to be dismissed lightly. Like all worshipers of Mithras he is a fanatic and I fear fanatics.”
“The trouble with the Mithras devotees,” said Gordius, “is that they have no outlet for their pent-up emotions. They sleep alone and sleeping alone does strange things to men’s minds.” Gordius had rarely slept alone but he felt himself an authority on the subject. “The best thing that could happen to them would be a two-sestercii Suburra whore. Bah! The Mithras men bore me.”
“But they are dangerous,” Hierocles persisted. “All dedicated men are dangerous. And the men of Mithras are willing to die for their god. That is why the religion has been fostered by the generals—it teaches men to lose their fear of death. And that is why I fear this man Agrippa.”
“Carissimus, today I twisted him around my little finger.” Antoninus had a lingering regret that he had not been able to do so. “We came to terms.”
“To his advantage,” Hierocles agreed.
“Not entirely, Carissimus. You sit here beside me tonight with no fear of banishment. But come, let us abandon the grim-visaged Agrippa to his lonely bed. Cleander! Long cloaks for the three of us and go to the armory and fetch three gladiators’ helmets with visors that close. Tonight we must not be recognized. We shall go on foot to the Circus and there take a racing chariot which will not mark us as from the palace. Gordius, leave your armor here and put on one of Hierocles’s tunics. Hierocles, bid the guards at the door admit no one. Tell them that Caesar is sleeping after a tiring day. I would that Aegenax were here to guard the brat Alexander, but if I know my mother she is already tasting the delights of this Egyptian-Persian hybrid. But Alexander is safe tonight. He has probably slipped out to meet his Flacca. Well, let him, it may be his last night of pleasure for some time.”
Shortly after, three cloaked and helmeted figures crept out of the private door of the imperial apartments and sought the shadowed side of the narrow streets leading to the Circus Maximus. When they arrived there, Antoninus and Hierocles waited outside while Gordius entered. He was well accustomed to the place and without waking the grooms, he harnessed a quadriga to a chariot and drove out to where the two cloaked figures awaited him. As they neared the city gates, Gordius unfastened the grating of his helmet, gave the guard a brief glimpse of his face and the guard, recognizing the former Praefect of the Night Watch and evidently not knowing that he had been removed from duty, allowed them to pass through.
A dim moon shone wanly through scudding clouds as they passed the white marble tombs along the way. Antoninus shuddered. He disliked the aura of death and desolation, the black cypresses, the spectral tombs, the darkened sky. He disliked even more his decision to murder his cousin but he was now convinced of its necessity. Bereft of Alexander there would be no further plotting, at least in his own family, and if Alexander died what appeared to be a natural death, he would not be blamed nor would Alexander be worshiped as a martyr. His father, Caracalla, had killed his uncle Geta.
Antoninus had always regretted that, for the few busts that remained of Geta showed him to have been a handsome fellow. And now he regretted Alexander. He would have preferred his cousin as a brother. Their lives had been lived in common, they should have shared much bu
t there had never been the slightest bond of sympathy between them. Well, the decision was made! Alexander must go! To that end Antoninus had dismissed the Senate. There would be none to question why Alexander did not appear in his role of Consul or his newly acquired role of Pontifex Maximus.
As they drove farther and farther away from the city, the tombs became less pretentious, with here and there one fallen into disrepair and ruins. By a thick clump of black cypresses, Gordius turned off the paved road and halted the horses in the shadow of the trees. He whispered to Antoninus to dismount and they made their way over fragments of marble and broken columns to where a tomb, ghostly white in the fitful moonlight, reared two marble walls. There were two other walls of wattle and daub and a thatched roof replaced the tiles that had fallen in. The yawning blackness of the doorway showed them the only entrance.
Gordius entered first. Antoninus followed with Hierocles and they encountered complete blackness except for the circle of watery moonlight at the doorway.
“Hardranes,” Gordius spoke softly. “Get up, you have visitors.”
There was a rustle of movement in the far corner—a rustle which turned to soft footsteps on the dirt floor. Antoninus was aware of a presence in the room and as the footsteps neared the faint circle of light, he saw the outline of a foot and above it an ankle and hairy calf.
“Who calls for Hardranes?” Antoninus had expected the voice of an old man but this one was vigorous, almost youthful.
“Three citizens of Rome, who will pay you well for your services.”
“And what would those three citizens of Rome consider by paying me well?”
“This bag of gold.” Antoninus proffered a weighty leather pouch in the direction of the voice.
“It is indeed ample,” Hardranes replied, “if I can be assured that it contains gold, not lead.”
“Open it and see.”
Two hands appeared in the light. One pulled the drawstring of the pouch and emptied the contents into the other. The gold glinted palely in the moonlight.
“It is not lead. How can I serve you?”
“You are skilled in poisons,” Gordius answered, “so much so you were banished from Rome. You are supposed to be somewhere in the deserts of Egypt.”
“Your information is correct, my lords and masters. I am skilled in poisons and I was banished from Rome, but I am here.”
“It happens that there is another citizen of Rome who has already lived too long,” Antoninus whispered although he did not know why he lowered his voice. “He must die but he must seem to die naturally—of some disease. It must not appear that he has been poisoned. Do you know of such a poison? Have you such a potion?”
“I do and I have. But before I give it to you, I should draw up the horoscope of the one to whom it is to be given. Sometimes even the strongest poison will have no effect if the stars will otherwise. Know you the birthday of this person?”
Alexander’s natal day had never been over celebrated except by his mother, but fortunately Antoninus remembered the date. “He was born three days after the Ides of July. He is now in his fifteenth year.”
“Three days after the Ides of July and in his fifteenth year? Then I shall not need to draw up his horoscope for it coincides exactly with that of a very well known personage— the Consul of Rome, Alexander, the adopted son of the Emperor Antoninus. I have already drawn up his horoscope. It is interesting to see how the stars rule the lives of important people.”
“If you have dared to make the horoscope of the Consul Alexander, have you also dared draw up the horoscope of Caesar himself?”
“No, that would be against the law. It is forbidden to look into Caesar’s future.”
“Liar!” Antoninus reached out into the darkness and grabbed the man’s hand. “You know! You know how
Caesar will die. Tell us!”
“I know not! I know not!” Hardranes was frightened. He had already guessed the identity of his visitors. “I cannot tell you.”
Antoninus released him. Suddenly he did not want to know his own future.
“Then give us the poison. You have been paid. Are you sure that it will cause death only ~lowly, and it will not be apparent that the victim has died of poison?”
“Yes, certain. Here.” There was a sound of rummaging in the back of the hut. A vial was placed in Antoninus’s hand. “This vial contains a coarse powder. Only one grain a day. When dissolved in wine or water it is tasteless. After three days the victim will weaken. He will be overcome by a severe lassitude. The learned doctors of the courts . . .”
“Why do you say court?” Antoninus was quick to catch the word.
“It was merely an expression, my lord and master, merely an expression. As I was saying the learned doctors will diagnose it as a flux of the bowels. They will administer their nostrums which will do no good. The poison is accumulative and at the end of a week, the victim will be confined to his bed. During the second week, he will become weaker and weaker. The third week will find him wasting away and the fourth week should see him dead. I say should, but I am not sure.”
“You are not sure? Are you not certain that the poison will kill?”
“It cannot work against the stars. The planets say that the Consul Alexander will die by the sword, so poison will have no effect on him, unless . . .”
“Unless what?” Antoninus questioned.
“Unless something happens to change the very stars themselves.”
“Nothing could do that.”
Hardranes’s feet appeared in the circle of light. An arm went up and he pointed through the doorway.
“That could.”
Antoninus followed the direction of the pointing finger. Low on the horizon, scarcely discernible through the fast moving clouds, a wan star appeared. From it there was a path of light, a trail of star dust that seemed to be drawn through the heavens behind it.
“The comet.” Hardranes dropped his hand. “My calculations were right. It has appeared. It plunges the heavens into confusion. Yes, my lords, the poison may work now.”
“But doesn’t a comet signify the end of one reign and the beginning of another?” Antoninus drew in his breath sharply.
“So it is said, Great Caesar. So it is said.” Hardranes disappeared into the blackness of the sagging hut.
Silently, without speaking to each other, they left. The clouds had now hidden both the comet and the moon and they found the path difficult. The clouds parted and before them they could see the black outlines of the cypresses and hear the animal noises of the horses.
“Do you have your sword, Gordius?” Antoninus was whispering again.
“Of course. I would not go out at night without it.”
“This man Hardranes! He recognized us and he knows the poison is for Alexander.”
“Wait for me in the chariot. I shall be back in a moment.” Gordius turned and started back to the ruined tomb.
Antoninus and Hierocles waited by the chariot. In a few minutes, Gordius returned.
“He died, but before he died he spoke.”
“And what did he say?” Antoninus dreaded the answer.
“He said that as he died by steel, so would Caesar.”
Gordius handed the pouch of gold to Antoninus.
“There is no need to waste this.”
Antoninus took it, but when he felt the warm stickiness of the blood on it he dropped it on the floor of the chariot.
Hierocles reached a protecting arm around Antoninus.
“Believe him not, beloved. He was half demented as all these magicians are. But I would wish that this night you had dispatched the Tribune Agrippa rather than this half-witted Hardranes.”
25
The vial, filled with a coarse-grained white powder that resembled salt, remained locked in a secret closet in Antoninus’s apartment for over a week after it was obtained. Great as was his desire to use it, he hesitated. The taking of any life was abhorrent to him yet he knew that the boy must die. He must d
estroy Alexander or eventually Alexander would destroy him.
The week, however, was not misspent. Cleander, the pockets in his tunic well lined with gold, established an elaborate system of espionage throughout the palace that successfully reported every breath drawn by Mamaea, Julia Maesa, or Alexander. That there was little or nothing to report was sufficient evidence that for the present, they were lying low.
Julia Maesa was the instigator and the brains that directed all operations and she now appeared to be quite content to bask in Antoninus’s sudden new popularity, and his hitherto unrevealed ability to be Caesar. Until he crossed her, she would favor him. Although apparently free in all their movements, the three were under constant surveillance. Antoninus was taking no chances.
But he faced possible danger in administering the poison. Who could do it? Those whom he could trust were so few—Hierocles, Soaemias, Cleander, Gordius and Aegenax—and each one of them too closely identified with himself. It must be someone who had been close to Alexander—someone in whom Alexander had confidence. But outside his mother and grandmother, there was nobody. Yes, he had once mentioned a friend. Antoninus struggled to recall the situation. A friend? Alexander had desired a certain girl by the name of Flacca who had a sister. That much Antoninus recalled. Alexander was enamored of this Flacca—and his friend, whoever he was, was interested in her sister. Oh yes, the friend was a hostler, a slave working in the stables of the Circus. And the friend’s name? Here Antoninus’s memory went blank.