“Yes, Pontifex Maximus.”
“That’s better. Would you not agree, Virgo Maxima, that the traditional penalty makes for a powerful deterrent? The man is stripped naked, hung on a cross, and publicly beaten with rods, while the violated Vestal watches, until he is dead. I’m told that can take quite a while, depending on the man’s general health. A man with a weak heart might die after the first blow. Others remain alive for hours. The beating can become quite tedious to administer, not to say tiring. Sometimes the lictors charged with the beating become so exhausted that new lictors have to be brought in to continue the punishment.”
It seemed to Lucius that the plate of delicacies held before him by his cup-bearer contained not fungi but a mixture of viscera and organs, swimming in a nameless fluid. He began to feel nauseated.
Black figs were served next, to all except Domitian. The servers brought him a single apple, together with a silver knife. Domitian set about peeling the apple very slowly and methodically, cutting away thin strips of the skin. He handed these to the small-headed attendant, who gobbled them up as a dog might eat scraps from its master’s table. When Domitian bit into the apple, the noise was startling, like the cracking of bones.
Lucius again saw spots before his eyes. He heard a low noise. It was Domitian, whispering to the small- headed creature, who whispered back. The two of them laughed.
“We were wondering how it is, Catullus, that a man who is blind can burn with lust for another. Beauty inspires passion, but how can beauty be perceived without sight?”
Catullus turned his face to Cornelia. “A blind man may possess memories of beauty. A blind man has imagination.”
“Ah, but beauty fades, Catullus; it is as short-lived as it is intoxicating. Your memories are surely out-of- date.” Domitian stared at Cornelia, who lowered her face. “Beauty exists only in the moment. That is why I asked Earinus to entertain us tonight. Although you cannot see him, Catullus, I assure you that he is beautiful.”
The eunuch entered the room, dressed in black. He was small and delicate and moved with such grace that he seemed to float across the floor. His pale hair, the subject of poets, was startlingly bright in the dark room; it seemed to glow with a light of its own. His skin was creamy white.
In the shadowy room, Earinus seemed to be an ethereal being from a realm of dreams. He stood in the centre of the room and began to sing. The notes were pure and sweet, but also unsettling; his voice had an uncanny quality, impossible to categorize. The song, like the singer, seemed to emerge from some realm beyond ordinary experience.
What has death to frighten man,
If souls can die as bodies can?
When mortal frame shall be disbanded,
This lump of flesh from life unhanded,
From grief and pain we shall be free -
We shall not feel, for we shall not be.
But suppose that after meeting Fate
The soul still feels in its divided state.
Whats that to us? For we are only we
While body and soul in one frame agree.
And if our atoms should revolve by chance
And our cast-off matter rejoin the dance
What gain to us would all this bring?
This new-made man would be a new-made thing.
We, dead and gone, would play no part
In all the pleasures, nor feel the smart
Which to that new man shall accrue
Whom of our matter Time moulds anew.
Take heart then, listen and hear:
What is there left in death to fear?
After the pause of life has come between,
All ’s just the same had we never been.
The last note of the song was followed by a long silence. Watching the eunuch and listening to him, Lucius thought of Sporus. A tear ran down his cheek. Before he could wipe it away, he realized that Domitian had risen from his couch and was walking slowly to him.
The emperor’s eyes emerged from the shadows and glittered, reflecting the lamplight. His unblinking gaze was fixed on Lucius’s face. As a hunter, Lucius had often wondered at the tendency of certain prey, such as rabbits, to freeze rather than to flee when observed by the hunter. Now he understood. He felt as the rabbit must feel, unable to move a muscle, frantically willing himself to vanish into the darkness around him. It was as if he had turned to stone. Even his heart seemed to stop beating.
Domitian stepped closer. He stared at Lucius intently, his small mouth compressed in an unreadable expression. He stopped directly in front of Lucius and reached out to him. Frozen as he was, Lucius nevertheless feared that he would cry out if Domitian touched his face. He struggled not to flinch, and only a stifled gasp escaped his lips.
Domitian used his forefinger to wipe the moisture from Lucius’s cheek. He furrowed his brow, gazed at his finger, then turned and very gently brushed his finger against the parted lips of Earinus.
“Does it taste of salt?” he whispered.
Earinus touched his tongue to his lips. “Yes, Dominus.”
“A tear!” said Domitian. “Was it the words of the poet Lucretius that made you weep, Lucius Pinarius?”
Lucius open his mouth, afraid he had forgotten how to speak, then found his voice. “I’m not sure I heard the words, Dominus. I only know that I heard Earinus sing, and then I felt the tear on my cheek.”
Domitian slowly nodded. “I, too, wept the first time I heard Earinus sing.” He stared at Lucius for a long time, then turned to Catullus. “The dinner is over,” he said.
The emperor left the room without another word. The small-headed creature followed him, as did Earinus.
Lucius stood. He looked at Cornelia across the room and felt an urge to run to her. She raised one hand, beseeching him to keep his distance. As they stared into each other’s eyes, with all the power of his will he tried to show her what she meant to him. He had never loved her more.
The serving boy took Cornelia’s hand, gently pulled her to her feet, and led her from the room.
The room became even darker. Lucius looked around and saw that all the lamps but one had been extinguished. Catullus had vanished. Except for his cup-bearer, Lucius was alone.
The boy led him though a doorway. He was hardly aware of his surroundings, though he sensed that each turning brought him to a hallway that was larger and more brightly lit than the last. Finally he arrived at the vast reception room dominated by the statue of the emperor. He looked up at the statue’s face. The sculptor had captured the terrible power of Domitian’s gaze. Lucius shut his eyes and reached for the cup-bearer, letting the boy lead him like a blind man.
He opened his eyes only when he felt fresh air on his face and realized that they were outside, under a dark and moonless sky. A flight of steps led down to the sedan that had brought him. The boy helped him step inside. Bearers lifted him aloft. Next to him on the seat were the clothes he had changed out of earlier.
The trip to his house was short. He stepped from the sedan. The bearers turned and vanished without a word.
Lucius rapped on the door. Hilarion opened it. His knowing grin vanished when he saw the look on Lucius’s face.
“What do you see, Hilarion? No, don’t speak. You see a dead man before you.”
In the days that followed, Lucius expected Praetorians to arrive at his house at any moment to arrest him. Moving sometimes in a stupor, sometimes in a frantic rush, he put his affairs in order. He wore the fascinum always, so that he would not be without it when they came for him.
Confronted by oblivion, he tried to think about the gods and his ancestors and all the other things a man was supposed to think about in the face of death, but he drew a blank. In the end, did he believe in nothing at all? This
