Ashes Under Uricon
Chapter 9. Love (364)
By Mihangel
Neque finis idem, qui meo me corpore,
Et amore laxabit tuo,
Mens quippe, lapsis quae superstes artubus,
De stirpe durat caeliti.
The end which frees me from my body will not be the end that frees me from your love, for the soul which outlives the wasted limbs is heaven-begotten, and endures.
Paulinus of Nola, in Ausonius, Epistles
Bran was fully recovered next morning. It was Lucius who was the worse for wear. He turned up early at our house, bleary-eyed but full of penitence and gratitude. The first thing he wanted was to give an offering to the Mothers in our household shrine. He placed a ring in front of them, a thick gold ring, and stood for a moment in silence with hands raised. Then he asked if I would take him to Mamma's grave. As we walked, still in silence, I wondered what to do about the ring. Usually we only gave our gods little edible offerings. I must ask Tad.
At the cemetery I led Lucius to the grave. Time was when stone tombstones had been the norm. No longer. Old ones were still standing, but nowadays only painted wooden markers were set up. Time was, I understood, when earthly goods -- food, jewellery, money, even pets -- had been placed in the grave to accompany the dead to the otherworld. No longer, or only rarely. What use were earthly goods there? Sometimes tubes had even been built into the grave so that fresh food and drink could be funnelled down to sustain the departed on their journey. But was there a journey? Was there an otherworld at all? Nobody knew, and nobody could know. But I remembered Mamma with pangs of love and grief, while Lucius again stood silent. Then he poured over the grave a flaskful of exotically perfumed and doubtless pricey oil. Why do even that? As a mark of respect, I supposed, a sharing of something personal.
"Thank you," Lucius said soberly as we strolled back. "That makes me feel better. I was very rude about women yesterday. I see that now, and wanted to make amends. And you're right, I wish I had met your Mamma. Back there I could feel her love for you, even though she's dead. And yours for her. She must have been a remarkable lady, to have had a remarkable son like you. Just as your father's a remarkable man."
Good, yes. Kind and wise. The best. But remarkable? And me remarkable? What was remarkable about any of us? But he wanted to talk, and I let him talk.
"You see, Docco, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I want to tell you. Can we stay here, or somewhere where it's quiet?"
We were just outside the walls, and I took him in through the north gate and up to the rampart walk, where we leant on the timber parapet to look over. It wobbled under the pressure, and flakes of crumbling wood fell off.
"This isn't much good, is it?" he said, pulling at more rotten bits. "And the council can barely afford to replace a tiny section of it. I wonder . . ." He paused in thought. "Anyway . . ."
He explained that, on getting home yesterday, he had carried out his promise and asked Drostan if he liked being buggered. The answer, once Drostan had been persuaded that no punishment lay in store, was an emphatic no.
"And when I told him I wouldn't bugger him any more, he said -- at least I think he said, because it isn't easy to understand him -- that if I'd carried on he was going to kill me and then kill himself. If that's true, Docco, then you've saved my life. And his. Thank you."
Good news, on two counts, and moving news.
"And you're not going to do anything about it?" I asked. "About his plan to kill you? Like telling your father, I mean."
"Oh gods, no! He'd flog him. He does flog them, you know. Not personally, of course. Cratinus does it -- he's in charge of the slaves. One died, not long ago. His kidney had been ruptured . . .
"But I've hoisted in what you said, Docco. I hardly slept last night, thinking about it. About respect and justice, and women, and giving and taking. You're quite right. Things have been drilled into my head and I've never thought about them. I'm not sure the Roman way encourages thinking. One just does what one's told. But then you made me think. All the way along you've been making me think, you and Bran and your father. I asked you -- do you remember, was it only the night before last? -- if I was still a prick. And you said I was getting less and less of a prick every day. Well, I hope that's true. And I hope I'm less of a prick than I was yesterday. But I'm probably still a bit of one aren't I?"
That warmed my heart. It cannot have been easy for him, but here was humility and honesty and trust. I loved him more than ever.
A squad of soldiers was marching out of the gate beside us. Marching is the wrong word: they were straggling and out of step. The officer's cuirass was tarnished. It was already the third hour of daylight and they were only just leaving the comforts of the state hotel. Coming into town was a donkey-cart driven by a smallholder, bringing produce to market. There was plenty of room on the road for the soldiers to pass, but they fanned out and forced the cart off the metalling and on to the soft verge, where it came to rest at a crazy angle with one wheel in the ditch. The soldiers laughed and carried on.
I let Lucius make the first move. Here was a good test, and he passed it with flying colours. He leapt down the back of the rampart and ran out through the gate, with me following. He helped the farmer out of the ditch, asked if he was all right, and brushed him down. Between us we calmed the agitated donkey, heaved the cart back on the road, and rescued the turnips which had fallen out. The farmer thanked us and went on his way.
"Bastards," said Lucius, sitting down on the edge of the ditch.
"Bastards indeed. And you aren't."
"Aren't what?"
"A bit of a prick still. You're totally non-prick. You've grown out of it. "
"Oh!" He blushed. "Thanks."
"Or almost."
"What does that mean?"
"That you haven't said anything yet about being buggered."
"Ah! But I am there too," he said softly, not looking at me. "I'd like to try it."
There was a pause. "That's a very big step," I ventured.
"I've taken lots of big steps since I came here. I'm not sure this is any bigger than the rest. Anyway . . ." There was another long pause, and I saw him square his shoulders. "I've now taken another step that's bigger still."
"What's that?"
He was still not looking at me. "I've fallen in love."
My heart sank. It could not be love for me.
"It's new to me, Docco," he said rapidly. "Plenty of lust, yes. But never love. You can't love slaves, even if you bugger them. I was only allowed to love girls, free girls. But they've never appealed to me. Then I met you and Bran. From that very first day it was lust, for both of you. I kept on lusting for Bran, because I thought he was, um, accessible. The lust for you . . . well, you weren't accessible, or I thought you weren't. So I suppressed it. Whenever we've been in the bath, I could hardly bear to look at your body."
He was almost gabbling now, and my heart was hovering in fearful uncertainty.
"But the more you took me under your wing, the more it turned into love. I knew it was love. But it wasn't on. Not between free-born boys. I couldn't work out what to do. Part of me wanted to drop you. Not to chase Bran instead . . . I lusted for him, and I like him immensely, but I don't love him . . . but to get back to bedding Drostan, which was familiar and safe. At least I thought it was safe. But part of me desperately wanted to be closer to you. Against all my principles . . ."
He had taken out his knife and was jabbing it aimlessly into the earth.
"Well, yesterday you overturned my principles. But I don't know what you really feel about me . . . You did quote that Vergil about Pulcher's body, but that could just be lust. All I know is that I love you. Not lust. Love. I want to love you until, well, until I end up there." He jerked a thumb towards the cemetery. "And even then I'll go on loving you. Nunc scio quid sit amor. Now I know what love is. That's . . . all I've got to say."
Now he did look at me, timidly. Meanwhile my soul had been climbing from the pits to the heavens. My brain in a whirl, I put my arm round him.
"But I do love you, Lucius."
He gasped, and I felt his arm come round me.
"It was the same with me," I mumbled. "Lust first. Then the less of a prick you became, the more it turned into love. Trouble was, you showed no sign of loving me. And it's new to me too. I can do the lust part. But the love part . . . well, I'm like you. All I know is that I want to be with you until I die . . . Lucius, can I kiss you?"
We kissed deeply, our tongues sliding over each other. I had been well taught, he had not. We were still sitting in the ditch, in passionate embrace, in full view of every passer-by. Not one of them turned a hair, except Bishop Viventius who frowned forebodingly and hesitated, but carried on.
"Docco, talking of pricks," said Lucius during an interval, "shall we . . .?"
"Yes," I agreed urgently. Love did not suppress desire. It elevated it. "Where? Not your place, obviously. Better not mine -- Roveta will be doing the cleaning and Bran will be around." I had an obscure feeling of guilt in that direction. "I know! The farm! The cattle are all out in the fields now."
"But what about oil?"
"Is there any left in your flask?"
"Oh yes. Hang on." He pulled it out of his pouch, removed the stopper and peered. "Yes, there's enough. But . . . this was meant for your Mamma . . . would she mind?"
"If she knew, she'd laugh herself silly. Come on!"
Hand in hand, we almost ran to the hayloft of the farthest barn. Once there, Lucius wanted to plunge straight in, but I persuaded him to take it slowly. He knew nothing of foreplay. In the light of his past, how could he? Slowly I undressed him and explored each new area as it was bared. We lay down in the rustling hay, regardless of the hard stalks and dried thistles which poked us, and kissed again as erection squirmed against erection, swollen for the first time by something more worthy than lust. He had to enter me first. I was in no doubt about that, not just because he was squealing with urgency -- although I was too -- but because that would be territory familiar to him, except only that I was not a slave but a free man. Being entered for the first time could all too easily, in the face of his long-held principles, prove traumatic.
"You first, Lucius," I insisted. "How would you like me?"
He put me on hands and knees, pushed in easily, and pumped rapidly, even brutally, but I was loose enough to take it. He knew nothing about giving pleasure to the recipient. In the light of his past, how could he? Before long he climaxed, moaning, and pulled straight out. For me, it had not been satisfying. But that was not the point, and in hugging him gratefully and passionately I was not pretending.
"That wasn't so different from a slave, was it?" I asked, ambiguously.
"Better," he said humbly, "much better. Knowing you wanted it. Feeling the love." True, very true. "Your turn now."
Because it was his first time, the next step demanded more love and time and care. Trying to ignore the insistent ache in my groin, I drew on the lessons of my wild-oat days. I had him lie on his back, holding up his legs, while I set about loosening him with my fingers, exploring, locating his sensitive spot and making him yelp in surprised delight. He had not even known it existed. He showed no disgust at my invading what had never been invaded before, but I thought I saw anxiety in his eyes. Yet he put on a brave face.
"Gods! I'm looking forward to this," he said. "You've no idea!"
Perhaps I had. I oiled myself, knelt between his legs, and pushed very carefully. He was tight, and winced, and I paused to let him grow used to it.
"It's all right," he said. "It hurt a bit, but it's better already."
I pushed in gently to my full length, and because it was still all right I began to pump at a slow pace.
And so, in a humble barn whose ingrained stench of cow shit was overlaid by exotic oriental perfume, Lucius Martiannius Pulcher, vir clarissimus of the senatorial order of the eternal city, surrendered his virginity, and his last significant remnant of Romanity, to Docco, just Docco, the Briton.
Face-to-face is the position I like best. It allows eye contact, and kissing, and the best angle for plumbing the sensitive spot. All of those were new to him, and taught him that the reward is just as great for the passive partner as the active. He was groaning in ecstasy, and to my amazement came for a second time within half an hour, even before I did, and in doing so brought me to climax too. I collapsed on his seed-spattered chest and we kissed again. It was a while before we were capable of speech. When at last I flopped out and lowered his legs, he looked up at me with an awed smile.
"Docco . . . I had no idea . . . You were working that for my pleasure, weren't you?"
I nodded, smiling too.
"I said," he went on, "back there by the road, nunc scio quid sit amor, now I know what love is. I was wrong. I didn't then. Not properly. But I do now. Thank you, brother."
"Brother?"
"It's what lovers call each other. Male lovers."
"I didn't know that. How do you know?"
"Papias told me. My tutor."
I liked it.
As we walked home, however, resplendent with glory, awkward questions arose. We were in love, we wanted to live together for the rest of our days, but what in practical terms could we do about it? There was no problem over meeting to copulate, but we needed much more than that. We needed to meld our souls as well as our bodies. Tad, though disappointed in his hope of grandchildren, would surely put no obstacle in our way. The problem was Pulcher senior, that Roman grandee of the old school who, should he hear, would be apoplectic. His authority over Lucius was absolute, and he would forbid him to see me. He might even send him away, out of reach of my contamination. A pretty problem.
My first move must be to consult Tad. And Lucius wanted to speak to his own father: not, emphatically not, on this subject but on some other, he would not say what. A final hug and we went our ways; not unwillingly, strangely enough, but needing to come to terms, alone, with the earth-shattering event that had just happened. As I turned in to our front door Amminus hailed me.
"I've seen you around with Lucius," he said. "And just now you were holding hands and stuff. Is it what I think it is?"
"Yes, it is."
"Quick work. Congratulations, then, Docco. I enjoyed what we did together, but I don't begrudge you moving on. I'll have to move on too, one day."
"Thanks, Amminus."
He was still pretty wild, I had heard, but his heart was in the right place. Once indoors I gave my thanks, my heartfelt thanks, to the household gods. The ring was now on the head of the central Mother, which it fitted perfectly. Let her wear it as a diadem.
Tad, over lunch, was in cheerful mood. He had received payment for the last cargo of lead, more than he dared hope, and his finances were back where they had been, and better. We still needed to keep an eye on expenditure in case the same happened again, but he would re-hire the hands at the farm and we would return to daily use of the bath. And in thanking the gods, he had seen and wondered at the ring, and put it on the Mother's head.
I was glad for him, and said so, and asked him to be glad for me. I told him where the ring had come from, and why. I told him that Lucius and I were in love. Bran was waiting on us, and I was careful to include him in my telling. He knew my need. We were parallel lines, unmeeting but close, and he would understand. And I told of our problem, not a British problem but a Roman one, and asked Tad if he could see any way forward.
As expected, he was a tower of strength. He did not even hint at disappointment that he would not be a grandfather. Young though I was for this, he said, I was my own master. He thought ever more highly of young Lucius, and he supported us all the way. He had heard of the traditional Roman hang-up about unmanly behaviour, and he saw the point about Pulcher . . . he would have to think about that. It so happened that he had an appointment to meet him that very afternoon. He would not of course mention our problem, but he would learn what kind of man he was, and possibly some solution might emerge. In fact, in fact . . . He fell to musing, and refused to say more.
Bran had been very quiet and, when Tad had gone off to beard Pulcher, I looked at him quizzically. I was on top of the world, problem or no, but where Tad's enthusiasm had boosted me, Bran's silence had not. I almost felt that veil descending again. He looked back and smiled. Was it a slightly wan smile? Then he quoted.
"Di tibi, si qua pios respectant numina, si quid
Usquam iustitia est et mens sibi conscia recti,
Praemia digna ferant.
If the divine powers take any note of the dutiful, if there is justice anywhere and a mind which knows what is right, may the gods bring you your deserved reward."
Good for Bran. He did understand after all, and had said so very graciously. I thanked him, gave him a quick hug, and went to lie down on my bed to review the morning's excitements. I thought first of Lucius. Of course I did. We were in love. But we had fallen in love, I reflected again, remarkably fast. We knew remarkably little about each other. We needed to bond our relationship with the cement of familiarity. We needed a long and uninterrupted spell of communion. But how? Where? Could Tad help? Could Bran? I ran through his bit of Vergil in my head, and was taken aback. It could almost be read, when you thought about it, in two different ways. Rewards were not necessarily good. They could be punishments . . . But Bran couldn't have meant it that way, not possibly. Reassured, I dropped off.
I dimly heard Tad's return. You could usually tell from his footstep whether he was in good mood or bad, and this was unmistakably good. I woke up properly and went out to him. He was beaming.
"Good news, Docco. Some excellent, and some potentially good. I have a plan. But I won't tell you now. It concerns Bran as well, and young Lucius too -- I asked Pulcher to send him round here for dinner. But for your ears, before he comes, yes, Pulcher is indeed a Roman of the old school. Upright. Rigid. Dutiful to the gods. His gods. But he also acknowledges the power of our gods. That's what I'm pinning my hopes on."
"What do you mean?"
"Aha! Wait and see!"
No more could I get from him. Eventually Lucius arrived. I felt curiously shy about him, and curiously shy with him, in these domestic surroundings. But Tad's embrace accepted him as a member of the family.
"Lucius, you know that I've had a chat with your father? He astonished me. He offered, off his own bat, to fund a complete new palisade for the town. All the way round, two miles of it. And new gates. No strings attached. And we'd despaired of being able to replace even a hundred paces. And he went so far as apologising -- he'd have liked to fund a wall, a proper stone wall like most other towns have, but even he couldn't run to that. It's still unbelievably generous! And Lucius . . . He said it wasn't his own idea. He said it was yours, and you talked him into it. We're as much in your debt as we are in his. Thank you!"
He hugged him again. Lucius' face was bright red, and I was brimming with pride for him.
Over dinner Tad unfolded his plan. In a few weeks' time the annual meeting of the Provincial Council was taking place at Corinium. It was largely a formality which would not occupy a day, but Pulcher, as a senator, was obliged to attend. So too was Tad, as one of this year's elected delegates from the Cornovii. Corinium was the best part of three days away on horseback, but Pulcher intended to put in a few days beforehand relaxing at the hot springs of Aquae Sulis, which lay a day beyond Corinium. Tad intended to travel by way of Abonae, not far from Aquae Sulis, to receive the next load of lead to be barged down-river and to see it shipped to Gaul. He proposed that Lucius and I go with him, along with Bran to look after us, and combine holiday with business; I ought to know the ins and outs of warehousing and of chartering ships. He further proposed that we meet up with Pulcher for a couple of nights at Aquae Sulis -- "that'll be a real eye-opener for you" -- and that we return together to Corinium. We youngsters could easily fill our time there while the meeting was in progress, and Tad wanted me to meet his banker and the Count of the Mines, against the day when I would be Procurator.
"So there you are. What do you think of that?"
"Great! But what's it got to do with our, um, problem?"
"Ah! That's the beauty of it! Between Aquae Sulis and Corinium there's a temple of Maponus. I don't know if you know," he said to Lucius, "that Maponus is our god of hunting and music, rather like Apollo. And because your father's so avid a huntsman, he's interested in dropping in there. What I did not tell him is that this temple has nothing to do with hunting, or with music. There, Maponus is in his other role."
"What's that?" I knew of no other role for Maponus.
"He gives his blessing to young men who're in love with each other. And not only to them, but to anyone who's with them. Assuming that Maponus approves your love, he will tell Pulcher that there's nothing whatever wrong with it."
"Oh, my word!" said Lucius, again aglow. "But, um, isn't that pinning a lot of trust on . . ."
"On a mere god? You need more faith in our gods, young man. I've never had to ask for Maponus' help myself, but they say that he's infallible, provided one goes to him in love. So how about it? Bran?"
"Yes, sir. Of course." He sounded thoughtful.
"Lucius?"
"Yes!"
"And Docco?"
"Yes! But Tad, there's something else." It was a golden opportunity. "Lucius and I would like some time together. Just the two of us. Could we go down on the boat? And meet up with you at Abonae? It would save," I added craftily, "on hotel bills."
"True. But it's . . ." He cut himself short. "Yes, all right," he said after a pause. "It wouldn't be just you, of course. You'd be slumming it with the boatmen. They're rough characters, but good-hearted. And it would mean forgoing decent cooking and baths, though there's always the river. But if you're happy with that, why not? It takes seven or eight days to Abonae at this time of year, so the boat'll be leaving three days before we do. I'll check with Pulcher that it's all right by him."
So it was agreed. Lucius, being short of sleep, did not stay long. But before he left he took Bran and me to one side. He had gifts for us. For me, a solid gold crossbow brooch inscribed AMOR, love.
"It's the one you were looking at in the goldsmith's, that day we first met."
I had never owned anything like it, not even the two great gold coins of Carausius. I hugged him, beyond words and at the same time ashamed that I had nothing to give in return. But he forestalled me.
"Don't think of reciprocating, brother. I've got more money than you, a lot more. Anyway, this is by way of repayment, in love, for all you've done for me."
Out of his pouch he produced another brooch, inscribed AMICITIA, friendship.
"And this is by way of repayment to you, Bran, in friendship, for all you've done for me. I commissioned it as the twin of Docco's."
The Pulchers were truly in a different league. As the front door closed behind Lucius, Bran and I looked at each other wonderingly.
"I'm so glad, Bran," I said, "that he treated you the same as me. Because without your help I couldn't have got where I've got. We are equals, you know, in every way but one."
He smiled his inscrutable smile.
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