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Juvenalis IX
Lysicles
Mordanticus was overjoyed. No sooner had I entered his office
to hand him my last letter than he rose to embrace and thank me.
“For what?” I asked him. “The Emperor has rewarded
me,” he said, “for contributing so selflessly to your
education.” I was amazed at how quickly it had all happened:
from my utterance, to Hadrian’s secretary, to the pocket of
Mordanticus. I smiled at him and shrugged. “I gave him your
name because he asked who it was that had given me my books. I did
not realize he would be so kind to the provider.” It dawned
on me that Maltinus would very likely have received a gift as well,
and for this I was quite gratified. And to Hadrian himself I was
even more so.
Mordanticus took my letter dutifully and placed it on the accustomed
pile. And then he invited me to sit with him, and share some cheese
and bread. “Unless, of course, you have duties to attend to.”
I smiled and told him of my promotion to Keeper of the Personal
Horse – one of the benefits of which was that I was afforded
considerable more autonomy and time. At this, he clapped his hands
together in triumph. “By the gods, you are making a name for
yourself.” And he thrust the plate of cheese at me. I must
admit, my friend, that it was quite delicious, and as I sat there
across from him, my heart swelled with joy. For I suddenly became
cognizant of my station in life; my accumulating successes, and
the good acquaintances that were burgeoning around me. Mordanticus,
being one of them, gazed at me happily, if not proudly.
“My wife, Glaucia, very nearly fainted when I told her of
the Emperor’s favour. She has demanded to meet you, and wishes
her household to prepare for you a most delectable dinner. Are you
amenable?” I laughed in disbelief at such a silly question,
for how could I not be? “Most gracious Mordanticus,”
I said to him, “I would be very honoured to be a guest in
your home.”
And so it was that the next evening, after ensuring that my duties
were completed and that there was nothing else required of me at
the stables, I quickly bathed myself and dressed in the finest clothes
I possessed – which, to be quite honest, were not very fine.
And then I scampered through the corridors of the palace toward
the office of Mordanticus. Upon seeing me, he closed up his desk
and locked his office door, and bid farewell to the soldiers that
were stationed there.
But a moment later he stopped, and went back to inspect one of
them. “You are a new face here,” he said to the large,
well-built man. “Yes, Sir,” replied the soldier, “I
was posted here this morning, and do believe it shall be a regular
station for me.” He spoke in a thick accent whose origin I
could not determine. But Mordanticus was quick to identify it: “Brittania?”
The soldier smiled and nodded once. “Indeed, Sir. ‘Tis
but four moons since my arrival here.” “And how like
you our Roman sun?” The soldier smiled broadly, and replied,
“It is far warmer, and much less shy, than it is in the place
from which I hail.” Mordanticus laughed loudly and nodded.
“My name is Mordanticus.” Again the soldier nodded,
“Yes, Sir. So was I told.” Mordanticus waited for a
small time, but nothing additional was offered. “And what
is yours, my friend?” The soldier seemed momentarily surprised
by the question, but quickly recovered. “My name is Decentius,
Sir.” Mordanticus smiled at him. “Allow me to introduce
Antinous, who is a page in the palace, and one who is welcome to
enjoy unfettered admittance into my office.” The soldier turned
to look down at me, and it was not a cursory glance. He stared deliberately
into my eyes, as though attempting to evaluate the contents of my
soul. “Very well, Sir. Unfettered admittance for young Antinous.”
Mordanticus nodded approvingly. “It is a pleasure to have
met you, Decentius.” And then he reached into his pocket and
produced a single denarius. He held it up before the soldier’s
face, and then placed it down onto the ground. “Finders keepers,”
he said, and beckoned me to follow him away.
When we were out of the soldier’s earshot, I asked him why
he had done that. “It is forbidden,” he said, “for
a private citizen to pay a public soldier directly.” I laughed,
thinking it a joke, “Surely a single silver shall not transform
him into a mercenary!” Mordanticus smiled at me: “Surely?”
he asked. “How sure are you?” And I was momentarily
dazzled by the thought that, perhaps, it could. I smiled slyly at
him: “Are you planning to overthrow the Emperor?” He
laughed at that, and explained: “I have always made it a point,
in my tenure upon the Palatine, to befriend the guards who work
here. I consider it a form of insurance: should there ever be an
uprising, I shall have a certain number of allies, or, at the very
least, acquaintances, among those that wield the truest form of
power. Although it is a strategy that may prove little able to assist
me, it could very well save my life. No one can say for sure. Let
us hope, however, it forever remains but a theory which needs never
to be tested.” And with that we emerged upon the bustling
streets, and he guided me toward his home.
Can you guess, Lysicles, in which direction we traveled? Right
back up the Caelian! Past the elementary school, in fact, and toward
an enclave of beautiful villas that I had often gazed at, wondering
who might live there. And now I knew. Glaucia, the spirited young
wife of Mordanticus, greeted me warmly at the front gate to their
home, and commanded her servants to make a great fuss over me. I
was shown into the atrium, where a table had been set with all manner
of fruits and vegetables, olives both black and green, breads and
cheeses. A jug of wine was brought forth, the libations were poured,
and before I knew it I was seated upon a couch, sipping from a goblet
made of silver. Glaucia sat happily beside me, and bade Mordanticus
to sit across. But he said that he wished to refresh himself for
dinner, and would take a quick bath. Glaucia gave him his leave
– commanding him nevertheless to hurry for she was very hungry.
Off went Mordanticus and I was suddenly alone with his wife.
She asked me all manner of questions about my duties in the palace,
and wanted to know how it was that I had achieved such familiarity
with the Emperor. I told her of my history: of the earthquake in
Bithynia, of my discovery by Gryllus, of my time at the elementary
school. She was delighted by the fact that I had spent two years
in such proximity to the villa, and only now were we making acquaintance.
She was very forthright in her admiration of my beauty, and reached
out often to touch my curls and marvel at the richness of their
black.
It wasn’t too long before Mordanticus returned, dressed
now in his dinner robes. He sat down on the couch across from us
and gazed at both his wife and guest with a bemused smile upon his
face. The slaves were ordered to begin serving, and my goblet was
refreshed with wine. I was given a plate of silver, and a procession
of three stout servants took turns presenting me with the dishes
of produce, olives, cheeses, and breads. I ate of it greedily, for
it was far more delectable than the porridge we were often served
at the Gelotiana. A third helping of wine was then accompanied by
a large dish which was brought forth from the kitchen, containing
three delicious-smelling quails. I was given one for my plate, and
my hosts received their own. My first bite into the flesh of the
bird was astonishing to me. It was tender and juicy and utterly
delightful. Glaucia was very pleased with how well I was enjoying
the meal.
All the while, we talked. I learned of Glaucia’s family,
and of their beautiful wedding several years before. I learned of
Mordanticus’ career; how he had spent some time in Corinth
before returning to Rome and establishing himself at the palace.
When I asked him how it was he could identify the soldier’s
accent, he told me that he often worked closely with the other dispatch
offices, and the clerk for Brittania was a native of that province.
Thus he knew the accent well, for it was very distinctive.
And
then the conversation turned to books. “Have you been reading
from Juvenalis?” Mordanticus asked me. I nodded. “Well?”
he pressed, “what think you of him?” I swallowed my
food before responding, “I think that he is a very upright
person.” Both Mordanticus and his wife laughed, and he looked
at me intently. “And by his uprightness; by his condemnation
of all that he despises, has he persuaded you to live as uprightly?”
I considered my words carefully before answering. “It is not
Juvenalis who persuades me to live uprightly: it is myself. Juvenalis
merely shows me the example of others who have chosen not to seek
that which is moral, and in seeing myself against them contrasted,
my choices are merely affirmed.” He stared at me then for
a long time, “That, Antinous, is a very mature perspective.”
I thanked him for saying so. “And yet,” he continued,
“surely you are not so perfect as to find his every illustration
so abhorrent as he claims it to be. For despite thy affirmed morality,
I should hope you are also capable of reading his words amid the
pleasurable company of laughter within a boisterous theatre of comedy.”
I considered his words and acknowledged them to be true.
“Let us talk about the ninth,” said Mordanticus, “for
it is a story that demands our attention.” I tried to remember
the details of the satire to which Mordanticus was referring, but
could not. I had of late read many passages, not only of Juvenalis
but Martialis and Epictetus as well, and that third goblet of wine
was beginning to swirl their words together. “Remind me of
it,” I said, just as a slave brought forth a basket filled
with desserts. I reached in and took one of the morsels: it was
bread, fried in oil and drizzled with honey. Delicious. And just
as my eyes lit up at the succulence of it, my goblet was filled
again – this time with mulsum: boiled wine stirred in with
honey. You can well imagine how happily my tongue swam amid the
sweetness. Both Mordanticus and Glaucia watched as I licked my fingers
clean and reached for another morsel of bread.
“You will recall that the ninth,” said Mordanticus,
“tells the tale of Naevolus, a beautiful and virile young
man who is hired by his patron, Virro, to penetrate both himself
and his wife, thus fathering Virro’s children.”
It suddenly dawned on me that Mordanticus had not spoken of any
children. I set my goblet down on the table before me and tried
hard to steady my brain. Was this why I had been invited? I looked
up Mordanticus, whose face was expressionless. And then I turned
to face Glaucia, who kissed the space between us. “Darling
Antinous,” she purred, “you are so very handsome.”
And she leaned over then to place her hand upon my groin. I looked
again at Mordanticus, expecting to see his instant rage, and yet
found only a steady, inscrutable gaze as he watched his wife make
me hard. “This is not right,” I protested, although
with not so much conviction as I should have. Mordanticus smiled,
“Don’t you mean, Antinous, that it is not Up-right?”
Glaucia leaned in to bring her face closer to my lap. She pushed
back my tunic, pulled down my loincloth, and up I sprang toward
her. “But it most certainly is!” she exclaimed, and
then she laughed happily, and Mordanticus laughed too, and I could
not help but smile at the joke. She exhaled sensuously, and then
gripped me with her fingers, sliding my foreskin down to reveal
the shiny tip of my manhood. And then she took me into her mouth
with a groan, and I could do nothing but permit the warmth of her
lips to embrace me. I looked at Mordanticus, who raised his eyes
to meet my gaze, and for a long time he but stared at me silently.
At last he dropped them again to watch as his wife bobbed up and
down upon me.
After a while she raised herself and brought her face close to
mine. “You taste far better than anything we have just eaten.”
She lifted up her peplos and mounted me, thrusting her chest into
my face and reaching around behind herself to grip me. I marvelled
then as she sank her warm flesh down on top of me, using her fingers
to guide me all the way in. It was a strange and wondrous sensation,
Lysicles, and I found myself utterly mesmerized by her presence
before me.
“Have you ever been with a woman?” she whispered down
to me. I looked up into her hungry eyes and shook my head. She sighed
in delight, and continued to bounce upon me. I could no longer see
Mordanticus, for Glaucia’s body completely obscured my view
of the world. It was but the woman and her breasts, her breathing,
her long hair dancing recklessly upon my forehead. It did not take
me long to attain my release, and I confess it to have been one
of the more enjoyable I have experienced in a long time. Whether
this is owing to the fact that it was a woman with whom I had partnered,
or that the meal I had imbibed was particularly satisfying, or that
the situation itself was so utterly unexpected, I cannot tell.
At last Glaucia climbed off me and plopped back down onto the
couch. She was breathing very hard. She gazed at her husband, who
gazed back at her. They both smiled, yet both said nothing. Until
Mordanticus finally turned to face me directly. “I thank you,
Antinous, for your generosity of spirit.” Glaucia giggled,
and he bade her to be quiet. “Would you like something more
to drink?” he asked. I reached for my loincloth and pulled
it up about me. “No thank you, Sir,” I said.
“May we trust in your discretion, Antinous?” He was
looking at me intently now, and I sensed that it was as much a command
as a request. “Of course,” I answered, for what alternate
answer could I possibly give? It was clear to me that to expose
him would be utterly foolish, and would likely compromise my own
career far quicker than it would his. Besides, I needed him: his
access to the port of Byzantium. And how strange that we should
be thinking the very same thought: “Not even to your friend,
Lysicles. Agreed?” I nodded, making to him a promise that
I am now in the process of breaking.
I have thought a great deal about whether or not to send this
letter off into the world – through the very hands of Mordanticus
himself. It has occurred to me that, if he finds me scribbling so
soon after that evening, he may become suspicious and open this,
thus ending forever his faith in me and severing the one and only
tie to you, my beloved Lysicles, that I have left. But how much
time shall I wait? And might he not at any time hence become suspicious
of my words? Must I now, and from this point forward, forever curtail
my honest thoughts to you as a result of having stupidly compromised
my integrity? I must think on this.
* * *
It is now one week after the events I have described, and I have
returned to this letter with the final decision that it shall indeed
be sent. Perhaps it is a stupid course of action; one that shall,
twenty years from now, suddenly find these words revealed at a most
inopportune time in my career. And yet, my friend, I have a desperate
need to reach out to you; to share with you my every thought and
feeling.
You will smile to learn, if ever you receive this, that Mordanticus
sought me out in the stables a few days ago and expressed his hope
that my friendship with him would not be compromised as a result
of what transpired. He encouraged me to continue writing to you,
and to continue coming to him with my letters. I assured him that
I would. “You may trust in me, Antinous, as greatly as I trust
in you.” He was very ardent in his desire to have me understand
that Juvenalis, despite all his boisterous claims, was not the alpha
and omega of Roman morality, and that people must be allowed to
follow their own course in matters of their personal happiness.
I told him that I agreed with him, and yet confessed that I could
not help but feel shamed by what had happened. Mordanticus smiled
warmly at me. “You will learn, my dear, that shame is a wasted
emotion, for it is a state that we impose upon ourselves when we
sense that others must look upon us with disapproval. And yet, what
is the gaze of others? It is, when all is done, but the gaze of
others, and should never become so powerful that it affects how
we live and laugh, or gaze upon ourselves.” And as he departed,
leaving me again to my duties, I heard myself admit to my own mind
that he was indeed correct.
But the feeling did not last long. Alas, for all the philosophers
I have read, both here at the Gelotiana, and when I was in the company
of Maltinus, I confess to be still in a state of utter confusion
and turmoil in my attempts to understand and accept what I have
done. I awake each morning with an overwhelming sense of transgression;
a feeling that I have strayed from the path of the virtuous. It
has occurred to me that, should I ever again claim in public or
private company to subscribe to the strictures of Juvenalis, that
I shall become instantly a hypocrite – something for which
even I, without the help of the satirist, can claim to be abhorrent.
Thus I am trapped now by my own history, condemned to live a life
that is less than my vision for it. And yet, am I so different from
the thousands of Romans who everyday live not according to the strictures
of Juvenalis, but to their own, self-directed desires? If I, who
know in my heart that I am not an evil person, can act as I did,
does that not exonerate the many others who Juvenalis claims to
be evil? Has Juvenalis himself never transgressed the propriety
of Roman fashion? I must wonder if he is not perhaps the biggest
hypocrite of them all!
Yet this is all but speculation, and I am writing now without
intent or tale. By the gods, I feel like a fool.
* * *
A fortnight has passed, and still I have not sent this. Here is
what I have decided: Philosophy is delightful, yet it is but a confection
for the mind. Social intercourse is important, yet it is but the
means to move through the world from day to day. Whatever gossip
or consequence arises from the result of one’s social intercourse
is irrelevant. All that matters, from the first instant of wakefulness
to the final moment before sleep, is that one remains powerfully
attuned to his own mind, and to the state of his own being. This
is the key to peace and tranquility.
* * *
Or is it? Gods! For I am hardly a philosopher! Where are you,
Lysicles? I am lost. Today I shall seal this up, take it unto Mordanticus,
and be done with it. There are other stories unfolding, and I am
tired of fretting over my virtuousness, when indeed it is but a
word that must come to stand for nothing more than the ability to
restrain my cock. May you read this and laugh lovingly at my idiocy.
A.
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