Gaius and Achilles Read online

  His liaison with one of these actors had recently come to a difficult end: though beautiful and talented, Antyllus was also demanding, endlessly quarrelsome, and unstable. Despite their mutual passion, Gaius realised that he was becoming utterly drained and exhausted by the relationship, the tortuous mind games and the ugly scenes casting a sickening miasma over his existence. For the sake of his sanity, he needed to get out.

  In the midst of the tumultuous final throes of the affair, Gaius received news that his old Uncle Aulus had finally died, leaving him as his sole heir. After the mourning and the elaborate and exhausting funeral preparations came many hours of tedious legal and administrative paperwork, long conversations with earnest freedmen who jabbed insistently at columns of numbers making his eyes swim.

  It was strongly, if respectfully, suggested by these elderly men, loyal former slaves of his uncle, that Gaius ought to go out and inspect his newly inherited country estates, take his position as a major landholder seriously. Ordinarily, Gaius would have found the idea of leaving his beloved city to concern himself with the agricultural source of his wealth an intolerable imposition. However, his relationship with Antyllus had deteriorated to the point that, after some very messy final scenes, inspecting his country property became a surprisingly welcome pretext for getting out of Rome. He’d had it, for now, with tempestuous boys; he’d written a poem on the subject.

  Travelling with Gaius were a couple of slaves who knew his ways and how to keep him comfortable. Geta was driving the carriage and sitting up alongside him was Kleia, a woman of about twenty, who had formerly belonged to Gaius’ uncle and aunt. Her mother, a woman from Corinth and a favourite handmaid of his Aunt Hortensia, had died when Kleia was a small child, and the elderly couple had brought up and cherished the girl almost as a granddaughter. A codicil to his Uncle’s will specifically entrusted her to Gaius’ protection and, accordingly, he kept her close by him.

  From the interior of the equipage, Gaius could hear the pair of them laughing and talking. They had started a relationship fairly soon after Kleia joined his household and it seemed serious. Kleia appeared well and happy, much changed from the tearful and frightened girl who had first been delivered to the villa a couple of months earlier. His foster brother also seemed happy and more settled, less inclined to disappear for the night, turning up some time late the following morning, red-eyed and ill tempered. Together, Geta and Kleia served Gaius well. If overhearing their amorous exchange was making Gaius irritable and on edge it was because he was missing Antyllus.

  They arrived at the villa around lunchtime. The estate was a noted producer of the local Alban wine and the house was set in the midst of vine terraces. It had been a favoured summer residence of his parents and, from its origins as a functional farmhouse, they had transformed it into a luxury rural retreat, modernised and furnished according to the latest styles. Surrounded by cultivated pleasure gardens, the front of the house was shaded by a portico supported on pillars of marble.

  As Gaius climbed out of the carriage and approached the main entrance, a middle-aged woman in a neat woollen gown came hurrying out to welcome him. Gaius recognised her at once; it was Faustia, the housekeeper, of whom he had happy memories from his childhood summer visits. She had been bossy but indulgent, had scolded and fussed over him and fed him sticky cakes. For over twenty years she had been the undisputed authority in the running of the villa.

  Faustia conducted them into the grand atrium with its glinting mosaics showing Dionysus, God of wine revelling amongst maenads, the frenzied women who followed him, and leering, horned satyrs. Very suitable, Gaius supposed, for a country estate centred upon viticulture.

  Quickly, seeing that they were dusty and travel-worn, Faustia offered to show Gaius and his slaves to their new quarters. From the atrium, they went through the tablinum, where Gaius had the unnerving experience of being brought face to face with his ancestors as their busts and statues stared down upon him row upon row. In the centre of the room was an imposing-looking high desk and chair with legs of carved ivory. This was a room in which one could impress the full force of one’s gravitas; power, wealth, and status on one’s dependants or associates in politics or business. It was designed to intimidate. Gaius promised himself he would be spending the minimum of time in here.

  The peristylium, the enclosed, colonnaded courtyard beyond the tablinum looked much more inviting. Faustia showed them to a suite of three cubicula or small rooms which opened on one side of the colonnade.

  The central chamber was to be Gaius’ bedroom with, on one side, a small private study cum sitting room while the room on the other side was allocated to Kleia and Geta so that he would have them close at hand.

  Faustia left it to Geta and Kleia to unpack Gaius’ personal possessions and prepare the rooms for use. Gaius asked them to leave his books and papers for now; he would supervise their unpacking and placement in his study himself. At Gaius’ request, Faustia called to a passing slave to conduct him to the baths.

  The baths were beautifully decorated with mosaic flooring in deep blues and greens and wall paintings depicting a sea full of frolicking Nereids and in the centre, the majesty of Neptune blowing on his conch shell. On the opposite wall, Venus rose resplendent from the waves.

  Gaius was glad to soak away the dust and ache of the journey from his tired limbs in the hot, tepid, and, finally, the cold pool. Normally, he would have avoided the cold bath. but on a day like this it was refreshing. A young male slave was waiting importantly in a very new-looking, smart white tunic to oil his body, massage him, and scrape him with the strigil. Gaius sensed that the boy was only too ready and willing to reciprocate any interest he might show in him, but he wasn’t really his type though he was attractive enough. His manner was just a little too obsequious and desperate to please. Gaius liked a boy with a bit of an edge to him.

  At lunch, which he took in his personal sitting room, Gaius invited Faustia to sit and eat with him, knowing the elderly freedwoman would appreciate the unconventional courtesy. Faustia remembered his parents, and Gaius felt a sentimental desire to reminisce about his childhood days. Respecting Faustia’s experience and shrewdness, Gaius also wanted to gauge her opinion of how the farm as a whole was being managed. Tomorrow morning would bring the dull task of going over the accounts with the steward, who had held the position for only a couple of years, since the death of Faustia’s husband. Faustia was circumspect, but Gaius gained the distinct impression that she did not favour the new steward’s style of management.

  After lunch, Gaius had the shutters closed in his bedroom and stretched out on his high bed for a siesta. Lying in his tunic on top of the covers as the day was warm, Gaius found that he was not sleepy but rather restless with undirected desire. He slipped his hand under his tunic and let his mind wander.

  Soon, he conjured up for himself the image of a young man, perhaps twenty, like Antyllus, beautiful in the same way, but not Antyllus; a boy with all Antyllus’ charms and none of what made him intolerable.

  Gaius approached the boy and pulled him close, kissing his mouth, tracing the jaw line with his fingers, passing his hands over the strong, slender young body, caressing him through his thin tunic. Stepping back, he took the boy’s chin in his hand and gazed into eyes like dark pools.

  Now Gaius held a many tailed whip. Showing it to the boy, he ordered him to kiss it. The boy obeyed; his expression was solemn, reverent, apprehensive, but not afraid.

  “I’m going to whip you,” he promised him softly.

  “Yes,” whispered the boy, “Yes...”

  Gaius grunted as he came alone in the shuttered bedroom. Through the plaster wall could be heard the unmistakable sounds of Geta and Kleia fucking. Time for some fresh air, he thought. He wiped his spunk off himself with his tunic before unpinning it and throwing it on the floor. For a mean moment, Gaius considered yelling for Geta or Kleia to find him a fresh one then sighed, walked across the room and helped himself from the chest in which his everyday clothes already lay neatly folded.

  Going outside, Gaius strolled the elegant gardens of the peristylium, his memories reawakening as he followed the winding paths between the shrubs and flower beds encountering marble nymphs and satyrs half-covered in ivy and forgetfulness.

  That evening, Gaius took supper in his study, as it seemed silly to open up the triclinium, the grand dining room, and recline there in solitary splendour. He asked Geta and Kleia to dine with him. As an only orphaned child, Gaius had grown up in the country with Geta as his principle companion and didn’t see why, now he was older, he should pretend his company wasn’t preferable to solitude or to being silently waited on. He’d have to invite friends down from Rome soon, or else find out if anyone interesting was staying in one of the nearby villas.

  Gaius retired to bed much earlier than he would have in Rome and, after reading a little, enjoyed the novelty of falling asleep in a bedchamber into which the rumble of chariots and carts, shouting, brawling, and huckstering did not intrude throughout the night. He would pass the rest of the summer here, write some poetry, explore the countryside and try to let go of the emotional stresses of the last month or so.

  At some point in the dark depths of the country night, Gaius found himself awake and lay in bed wondering what had disturbed him. He had a vague impression of sounds of scuffling, shouts and cries; just a dream he told himself.

  Chapter Two

  The early morning sun was pouring through the open shutters of the tablinum. Gaius sighed and bit at the end of his stylus as he listened to his steward’s account of his management of the estate. The man, Rufus his name was, seemed confident that Gaius would be very impressed that he had been able to significantly increase profit margins on the estate over the past year through the auctioning of sick and elderly slaves, the sale of old and worn out beasts of burden, and other such mean and cheeseparing measures.

  Gaius was developing a distinct dislike for this fellow; there was an unpleasantly ferret-like look to him, his eyes glittering with a self-satisfaction in which there was a fair admixture of malice. His manner blended pomposity and obsequiousness. Gaius was wondering why this malignant mediocrity had been given such a position of power. Now the man was reporting a more immediate issue.

  “The boy’s been nothing but trouble since we purchased him, three days ago. He’s been defiant, insulting; you know he even dared call me a diseased polecat!”

  Rufus blustered with indignation while Gaius suppressed a smile behind his hand.

  “But matters came to a head late yesterday afternoon when, while he was labouring in the vineyards I chanced to correct him for his laziness and he actually dared strike me in the face and then ran off into the woods. It took us most of last night to track him down, but my men caught up with him not long before dawn. He’d got as far as the Via Appia and would have been in Rome by now, where he’d have been a real nightmare to find.”

  Gaius found himself wishing the boy had made it into the city, but put the frivolous thought aside. He was a responsible landowner now; he must consider his interests.

  “Where is the boy now?” he enquired.

  “In the stables, bound hand and foot and under guard,” said Rufus promptly as if he hoped to be awarded marks for his thoroughness.

  “The point is; he’s unmanageable, he needs breaking. I was all set to give him a good flogging, brand him even, as soon as they dragged him back last night, kicking and screaming. I would have given him something that would have crushed the nonsense right out of him, made him understand what it is to be a slave. Faustia, though, heard his outcry and came bustling out to see what was happening although it wasn’t women’s business. She was most insistent that I consult with you before taking action. I am so sorry to have to bore you with this minor matter.”

  Gaius could tell how much Rufus resented this interference this delay, how he had been relishing the prospect of avenging his wounded dignity. Silently, he thanked Faustia for her intervention. Knowing she stood high in the master’s favour, Rufus, a relative upstart, had not dared ignore her advice.

  “Faustia was quite right,” he responded sharply. “I would very much rather you didn’t ‘break’ my possessions, especially those that have only just been paid for. Send this boy to me; let me see what all this fuss is about.”

  Rufus looked distinctly shifty, laughing nervously before opening his mouth to expostulate.

  “But Sir, he is so wild, so rude; I could not guarantee that even you would be spared his insolence, Master. With respect, it might be better, Sir, if you left it to…”

  “I’m sure I can survive a little insolence.”

  A flick of his hand sent the steward backing reluctantly out of the tablinum. He really doesn’t want me to see the boy, Gaius reflected, interesting.

  A little later, Gaius heard the shouting and the swearing echoing through the atrium and approaching the closed door of the tablinum. Greek and not just any Greek, but the Greek he remembered from the schoolroom, the Greek of Aristophanes and the other bawdy comic poets of ancient Athens; highly obscene but purest Attic.

  The boy was dragged in between two sturdy farm hands, each of them grasping one of the arms that had been bound behind his back. They flung him to the ground in front of Gaius’ desk. Immediately, the boy struggled into an upright position and glared at his master.

  Zeus, the boy was beautiful: Gaius was put in mind of the sculptures he had seen a few years ago, when he had toured Greece as part of the education of a cultivated Roman gentleman. This was an Apollo, a Hermes with his taut, well-muscled alabaster body. Thick curling hair, the colour of midnight, wreathed his temples, framing the face with its high cheekbones, full sensual mouth, and wide, dark brown eyes set off by long lashes. His glory was hardly diminished by the fact that he was filthy, stripped almost naked and covered in cuts and bruises. He was furiously angry and struggling not to cry.

  “Rufus bought this to work in the fields?” enquired Gaius incredulously.

  “How much did he pay for him or, rather, how much did I pay for him?” He addressed the questions to Tiro, the older of the two farm hands, who worked in the stables, a man in his fifties with a greying beard. Gaius remembered this man teaching him to ride; he trusted his good sense and integrity.

  “He paid 7, 000 sesterces for him,” Tiro provided the requested information blandly, but his expression, a slight lifting of the brows, hinted that he would be glad to spill more if questioned further.

  “Wait, Rufus, who boasted about making savings by selling on a seventy five year old woman for a few coppers, has spent a small fortune on this Adonis and has him sweating in the vineyards? What’s going on here?”

  “He wanted to keep the boy tucked out of your sight to use him for his own purposes, if you understand me, but the boy was not co-operative.”

  “Now it becomes clear,” said Gaius, his anger rising.

  Behind the smarminess and the head-ducking, Rufus must take him for a young fool.

  “Tell Rufus I want to see him, not now, tomorrow morning.”

  He liked to think of keeping Rufus waiting for this interview, sweating and biting his nails, but, also, he didn’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the day.

  When Gaius turned to the boy, he could tell from his face that he had understood nothing of the conversation that had been going on above his head. He addressed him in his own language, which got his attention.

  “You must be very uncomfortable. If I tell them to loose your arms, will you sit quiet and not do anything stupid?”

  The boy considered his options and then nodded warily, sullenly.

  “Untie him,” Gaius ordered.

  Tiro raised his eyebrows once again as if to question the wisdom of this, but obeyed without argument.

  When his arms were freed, the boy gasped with relief, but then curled in on himself groaning, experiencing excruciating cramps as the blood flooded back into his benumbed extremities. He’d better not have sustained permanent damage from being kept tied up for hours, or I’ll make Rufus regret the day he was born, thought Gaius angrily. Some people had no idea how to treat luxury goods.

  “Thank you. Now leave us. Don’t worry, my personal slaves are at hand if there is any problem.”

  The men left, shooting the boy doubtful warning looks as they did so. Clearly, the new slave had not inspired confidence in anyone.

  “Are your arms working properly? Do they bend where they’re supposed to?” asked Gaius once they were alone.

  “Good, now your wrists, each of your fingers; let me see.”

  Instinctively concerned for his own well-being, the boy obeyed, despite himself, bending and flexing all his joints from the shoulders to the fingertips.

  “Well, you seem to still be in good working order, but you’re very lucky. You can’t act like this as a slave; striking your taskmaster, being disobedient, running away. These things all carry very serious consequences, you must see that.”

  “That bastard tried to rape me, more than once; was I just supposed to take it?”

  “Realistically, yes—you’re a slave.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Gaius saw the boy’s eyes fill up with equal parts fear and defiance after this almost involuntary outburst as he realised he’d crossed another line. He also heard the croak in his voice and wondered when he’d last had anything to drink.

  “Kleia!” he called, and the young woman appeared in the doorway; she stared curiously at the dishevelled boy crouched on the floor.

  “Bring me a cup of water.”