Текст книги "The Seven Wonders: A Novel of the Ancient World (Novels of Ancient Rome)"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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“Yes, the Colossus. Well, the story of its creation is this: the city of Rhodes had just survived a long siege by Demetrius, king of Macedon, who in his attempt to take the city built enormous weapons of war and metal-plated siege towers on a scale never seen before. But Demetrius at last admitted defeat and abandoned the island. To celebrate their deliverance, the Rhodians melted down all the bronze from the battering rams, catapults, and towers, and sold whatever else remained of the hated weapons to build a gigantic statue of the sun god, a celebration of life and beauty to match the awesome scale of Demetrius’s engines of death and destruction.

“The commission was given to the sculptor Chares, a native Rhodian from Lindos. It took him twelve years to build the Colossus, and no one knows quite how he did it. Some say hoists were used to lift the pieces into place; others say that a succession of spiral ramps were built around the statue as it grew upward, and that each new section was forged, molded, and poured into place atop the previous section. However it was made, when the Colossus was complete, and whatever ramps or scaffolding that surrounded it were cleared away, all who saw the image of Helios were astounded. The statue was by far the tallest ever made—well over a hundred feet, and on its fifty-foot pedestal, it towered even higher. The fame of the statue spread all over the world, from the marshes of Lake Maotis to the Pillars of Hercules, from the upper cataracts of the Nile to…” I tried to remember what regions lay to the uttermost north.

“To Gaul,” suggested Posidonius.

“I was going to say Ultima Thule.”

“Yet I can personally assure you that the Colossus is known in Gaul,” said Posidonius. “Even when pairing hyperboles, a speaker should never choose mere rhetorical flourish when a true example is at hand. But go on.”

“And so the Colossus stood, astounding all who saw it—until, less than sixty years later, a great earthquake shook the island. Many temples and other buildings were damaged, but the most terrible catastrophe was the fall of the Colossus, which broke at the knees and came tumbling down, breaking into pieces as it struck the ground. And there the Colossus remains to this day, and people from all over the world still come to Rhodes to see the ruins, for no one has yet built a monument to match it.”

Posidonius begrudged me a smile. “Very good, Gordianus. Your tutor has taught you well.”

We came to an intersection where Posidonius indicated we should turn to the right. Rhodes is a city of wide streets laid out in a grid pattern, and the thoroughfare before us was the broadest and grandest in the whole city, adorned with splashing fountains and lush gardens. Lining the way were literally hundreds of statues depicting gods and famous heroes. Many were dedicated to the generals and city leaders who had defended Rhodes against the siege of Demetrius.

We passed a succession of splendid altars and temples, then came to the city’s vast public square, which the Greeks call an agora, and crossed it diagonally. I began to smell the sea and to hear the lapping waves and seagull cries of the waterfront. A few blocks beyond the agora we came to the dual harbors bisected by a broad mole, edged with boulders, that projected far into the water. The harbors were crowded with ships moored for the winter, but with no cargo to unload or vessels setting sail, there were few sailors about, and the waterfront had a strangely deserted feel.

A simple rope barrier barred us from proceeding onto the mole. From a nearby hut emerged a little bald-headed man with a grin on his face and his open palm extended.

“Come to see the famous Colossus, have you?” he asked. “You won’t regret it. One of the Wonders of the World, that’s for sure. Is it a guided tour you’ll be wanting, or—oh, but it’s you, master Posidonius. Back again, and bringing more guests? Always good to see you. For such a distinguished citizen as yourself, there’s no charge, of course. Here, let me unhitch the rope for you. No Gauls with you this time? My, how those two savages gawked and gaped when they saw our Colossus. Still, your friends are in for quite a treat, especially this young one. You’ll never have seen anything like the Colossus, my boy. Now watch your step out there—be mindful of the rocks and the sharp bits of metal as you go wandering among the ruins.”

Whether he was charging admission or not, the little man kept his hand out as we passed by, and at a sign from Posidonius I saw Zenas produce a small pouch and drop a few coins onto his open palm.

Under a gray sky and with a brisk wind in our faces, we hiked to the end of the mole. Ahead of us loomed a sight that grew ever stranger as we approached—the fragments of the Colossus, which lay in pieces like the body of a warrior hacked asunder. There were a few other visitors on the mole, wandering amid the ruins, and their presence served to show the scale of the statue. The thing was man-made, but so bizarre, so unearthly, that it evoked a kind of religious wonder. Here was a thumb so huge I could barely wrap my arms around it, and here a finger larger than most full-size statues. Here was an arm, lying athwart the mole like a gigantic serpent, and there a torch the size of a lighthouse that must have been held in one of the statue’s hands. Inside some of the fragments I could see the iron bars and hidden bolts that had secured the structure from within; the lower extremities had apparently been filled with stones to act as ballast. In some places the bronze was as thick as my forearm, but in others as thin as a coin.

A thought occurred to me. “With so much of the Colossus intact, why was it not rebuilt after it fell? Could it not have been reassembled?”

“That idea was debated,” said Posidonius. “Some wanted to rebuild the Colossus. Others proposed that the broken statue should be melted down and the bronze reused or sold, for the earthquake had caused considerable damage all over Rhodes, and money and materials were needed for rebuilding. To settle the question, a delegation was sent to Delphi.”

“What did the oracle of Apollo decree?” I asked.

“That the Colossus should never be rebuilt—but also that the pieces should be left where they lay and never be disturbed. As happens so often with oracles, the answer split the difference and satisfied neither party. Yet the wisdom of Apollo is now manifest, for here lies the Colossus two hundred years after it was made, as famous now as when it stood upright, the pride of Rhodes despite its ruined state.”

Rounding a bit of knee, I was suddenly confronted by the statue’s genitalia, a scrotum and phallus surmounted by stylized whorls of hair. In their original context, these parts were no doubt reasonably proportioned, but seen on their own they were rather disconcerting. Antipater laughed aloud at the sight, but he also paused to touch the phallus for good luck. Many others had apparently done the same thing, for the bronze at that spot was shinier than elsewhere.

Farther on we came to the huge face I had seen from the ship the evening we arrived, with its staring eye. Radiating from the sculpted hair atop the head was a crown of sunbeams. Some were bent and some had broken off entirely, but a couple were intact and projected like gigantic spearheads sharpened to a point.

The massive stone pedestal, to which the feet were still attached, was itself as tall as any tenement tower in Rome. At its base, on a huge bronze plaque, inscribed in letters so large they could have been read from ships in the harbor, was a dedicatory poem. Antipater saw me mouthing the words—my skill at reading Greek lagged behind my ability to speak it—and he commenced reciting the lines in a booming voice, with as much conviction as if he had composed the poem himself:

“O Helios, this image we raise to thy renown.

The spoils of battle become thy crown.

The reek of war is pierced by thy light.

With thy blessing we end the fight.

The people of Rhodes stand proud and free.

Dominion is ours on land and sea.”

Posidonius and I applauded the recitation, and Antipater took a bow.

“Now that you’ve seen the remains of the Colossus with your own eyes,” said Posidonius, “can you imagine what it must have looked like when it stood upright?”

I put my hands on my hips and gazed upward, trying to envision the statue looming above me. “It would appear that Helios was naked, except for a scanty cloak draped over one shoulder—you can see folds of his garment amid the bronze ruins, but they can’t have covered much. He stood with one foot a bit forward and the other back, with the knee bent. One arm was lowered, and in that hand he held a torch. The other arm was raised, with the palm open to greet arriving ships.”

“Would you say he was handsome?”

“Well, yes, I suppose—but his nose is rather long. Probably the whole face was a bit elongated, to compensate for foreshortening when seen from below, and the features a bit exaggerated, so as to give the face more character when seen from a great distance.”

“Very good, Gordianus!” said Antipater. “I don’t recall ever teaching you the principles of perspective.”

I shrugged. “It only stands to reason. Or perhaps Chares’ living model simply had a long nose and strong cheekbones.”

Posidonius smiled. “Antipater told me that you’re an unusually observant young man, and so you are. You’ve looked closely at the face, then, and at the rest of the body?”

“I suppose I have.”

“Very good. Try to keep the image of that face in your mind when we return to my house.”

This request seemed unnecessary; having seen the Colossus at close quarters, who could forget it? But to oblige my host, I stared long and hard at the face of the fallen Colossus.

*   *   *

That evening at dinner, the three of us were joined by Gatamandix. The Druid’s manners were as outlandish as his appearance. Instead of reclining, he insisted on sitting upright to eat, perching on the edge of his dining couch as if it were a chair. He explained that he considered it unnatural for a man to swallow lying on his side. He also had a tendency to speak louder than was necessary, and to do so while chewing his food.

We were also joined by a young Rhodian named Cleobulus, who had escorted the Gauls on their trip to Lindos. Cleobulus was a short, snub-nosed little fellow with mouse-brown hair, and his manners were very prim and proper, in marked contrast to those of the Druid. Posidonius introduced Cleobulus as one of his most outstanding pupils, whose special interest was the history of his native island, about which few men could claim to know more.

The first course, an egg custard with figs, was just being served when we were joined by a final guest, the young Gaul who was traveling with Gatamandix. He made no apology for arriving late, and before he sat down on the dining couch next to the Druid he yawned and stretched, as if he had just awakened from a nap.

“Zoticus, Gordianus, this is Vindovix, of the Segurovi.” Posidonius looked intently at Antipater and me, as if he wished to study our reaction.

Vindovix was certainly a striking young man. His size was his most impressive feature; he was practically a giant. Also notable was his long hair, which was the color of white gold, and quite coarse; later I would learn that he washed it with a lime solution that not only lightened the color but also gave it the texture of a horse’s mane, an affectation much prized by the Gauls. Like Gatamandix, he wore a moustache, though his was not quite as extravagant, reaching only a little past his chin. He had prominent cheekbones, a long nose, and a broad forehead. His eyes were the palest possible shade of blue, like sunlight on the crest of a wave.

His brawny arms were left bare by the peculiar garment he wore, a sort of leather tunic closed by laces in the front; it was so short that when he yawned and stretched, his midriff was exposed. His bottom half was covered by a garment called bracae,or breeches, made of supple leather that fitted him like a second skin around his hips and wrapped separately around each leg, reaching all the way to his ankles, with a sort of pouch where all the seams converged. How a man could wear something so constraining around his private parts, I could not imagine.

Like Gatamandix, he wore odd-looking sandals decorated with tassels and beads. His toes, flecked with golden hair, were uncommonly large.

The conversation was about travel—Posidonius’s travels in Gaul, and the Gauls’ travels to Greece, with observations about differences between the two cultures. Antipater occasionally had something to say, but I was mostly silent, as was Vindovix. Nor did Cleobulus say much. The young scholar seemed to be in a sour mood, and not overly fond of the Gauls.

All through the meal, I felt that our host was observing us with a peculiar and inexplicable intensity. I noticed that his eyes repeatedly traveled from Antipater and me to Vindovix and back, as if he expected us to react in some way to the young Gaul’s presence. At last, over a dish of squid in aniseed sauce, Posidonius could contain himself no longer.

“Zoticus—Gordianus—when you look at Vindovix, what do you see?”

Antipater tilted his head. “He’s a very handsome young man.”

Posidonius nodded. “His fellow Gauls would certainly say so. But would you not agree that his features are a bit—‘strong,’ shall we say, by Greek standards?”

Antipater shrugged. “Ideals of beauty differ from place to place. The young man is certainly fit. And very large.”

“Fit? He has the physique of a god!” declared Posidonius. “As for his size, I’ll grant that he’s bigger than any Greek I know, but he’s actually a bit under average for a Gaul. What did Aristotle say? ‘Beauty resides in a big body; small men may be graceful and well-proportioned, but not beautiful.’ Bad news for us Greeks, eh, Cleobulus?” Posidonius laughed, but his pupil did not. “Yes, Vindovix is a robust specimen, by any standards. But is there nothing else you see when you observe him, Zoticus? No? What about you, Gordianus?”

I wrinkled my brow. “Now that you mention it, he does look a bit familiar, somehow.”

“Does he, indeed? And where might you have seen him before?”

“I can’t imagine. I’ve certainly never been to Gaul. And I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to Rome, have you, Vindovix?”

The Gaul smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth. His eyes were half-shut, as if he were still waking up. His accent was thick and his grammar a bit stilted, but then, so was mine when I spoke Greek, though I liked to think I was getting better. “No, Gordianus, never have I been to Rome.” With a forefinger and thumb he slowly stroked the tips of his moustache. “If I should come, will you let me sleep with you?”

I laughed. “ Staywith me, I think you mean. Of course.”

Posidonius cleared his throat. “Now think, Gordianus,” he said. “Look at Vindovix’s face, and tell me if it reminds you of anything—perhaps something you’ve seen quite recently, here in Rhodes.”

“Well…” I stared openly at Vindovix, and was a little unnerved at the way he stared back at me, smiling, with his eyes half-shut. “He does look a bit like … but it’s hard to say, because of the moustache.…”

Posidonius raised an eyebrow. “It’s as I’ve told you, Vindovix, you’ll have to shave that thing if you want anyone to see the resemblance.”

The young Gaul sighed. “Vindovix without his moustache—hard to imagine. So many girls back in Gaul would weep if they should hear of such a thing. But very well—perhaps I shave it off tomorrow. You will help me, Cleobulus?” He looked sidelong at the little Rhodian.

Cleobulus made a face. “I am not a barber,” he said. “We have slaves to do that sort of thing.”

Vindovix laughed softly. He seemed to enjoy teasing Cleobulus. “Or maybe, if I just cover my mouth with one hand, like this, and lean to one side, and turn my face away a bit…”

Vindovix stared at me with one pale blue eye, and suddenly I was seeing the face of the Colossus as I first glimpsed it when I sailed into the harbor, with its one eye staring back at me.

“Uncanny!” I whispered.

Antipater leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “He has the face of the Colossus! How can that be?”

Cleobulus grimaced and shook his head. “Ridiculous,” the young Rhodian muttered. “They’re not the least bit alike.”

But our host was pleased. He clapped his hands and laughed.

“Posidonius, please explain,” said Antipater.

“Very well. Now that my little experiment is concluded, I will share the tale. When I was staying with Gatamandix in Gaul, he often asked about the other places I had seen in my travels, and about my home in Rhodes. I was the first Greek who had ever visited the tribe, you see, and none of them had ever traveled beyond Gaul. Imagine my surprise when, as I began to describe to him the landmark for which Rhodes is most famous, it turned out that he knew about the Colossus already. He even knew that it was called the Colossus, and the fact that it represented the sun god. About some things he was mistaken—he didn’t know the Colossus had fallen, for example, and he had a rather exaggerated idea of its actual height, thinking it literally bestrode the harbor, with a foot on each side; well, no statue could be that large. But such garbled details invariably occur when a tale travels a great distance. What amazed me was that he knew anything about the Colossus at all.”

“How had he heard of it?” said Antipater.

“Perhaps I should allow Gatamandix himself to explain.”

The Druid nodded. “As I told Posidonius, the existence of the great Colossus has been known among the Segurovi for many generations—because it was an ancestor of Vindovix who posed for the statue.”

My jaw dropped. I stared at Vindovix, who laughed and slapped his leather-clad knee. “Yes, it was my great-great-great-great-grandfather. He also was named Vindovix.”

“But how is such a thing possible?” I said.

“It’s not,” said Cleobulus, clenching his teeth. “At the time the Colossus was made, no Gaul had ever set foot in Rhodes.”

“Actually,” said Posidonius, “it is justpossible. The fact is, the Gauls first became known to most Greeks when a Gallic chieftain called Cimbaules made an incursion against the Macedonians, a little over two hundred years ago—at exactly the time when Chares began working on the Colossus.”

“I thought the Gauls first invaded Greece some twenty years later than that, when they swept all the way down to Delphi,” said Antipater.

“That was the secondGallic incursion,” said Posidonius. “Everyone’s heard of it, because the Gauls caused so much terror and destruction. But there was an earlier invasion—or attempted invasion, I should say, because Cimbaules was soundly repelled by the Macedonians and never reached the Aegean Sea.”

“And was this Cimbaules of the same tribe as Gatamandix and Vindovix?” said Antipater.

“As a matter of fact, he was not,” said Gatamandix. “But among his warriors it seems there was at least one Segurovi, called Vindovix. And when Cimbaules was defeated, this Vindovix was captured and made a slave—”

“But he didn’t die a slave,” said Vindovix. “He was still young and strong when he returned to Gaul—young enough to marry and have a son, my great-great-great-grandfather. That Vindovix had many stories to tell of his time among the Greeks, stories that were passed down from generation to generation, until my father told them to me. The most amazing of those stories was about his time on a great island that he called Rodos,where a maker of statues used him as the model for the most gigantic statue ever made, which the Greeks called the Colosso. For many days he was made to stand naked, with a crown of sunbeams on his head and a torch in one hand, while the sculptor made a small version of the statue, which was then used to make the big one. My ancestor never forgot the day the Colossowas dedicated, and he saw his own image tower above the people of Rodos. He realized then and there that he was never meant to be a slave, so he jumped in the water, swam to the mainland, and fought his way home to Gaul.”

“More likely,” said Posidonius quietly, “the sculptor Chares realized it would never do for the fellow to remain on Rhodes. What would people think, if they realized a barbarian slave had been the model for Helios, rather than some famous, freeborn athlete of good Rhodian blood? I suspect Chares gave the slave his freedom and a bit of silver, put him on a ship, and told him never to come back.”

“But, even if we grant that this fantastic story could be true,” said Antipater, “we have no way of knowing what Vindovix’s ancestor looked like.”

“Unless he looked exactly like his descendant, who sits before us,” said Posidonius. “Certain features, and combinations of features, recur in a given bloodline, generation after generation; like begets like. Can it be a coincidence that Vindovix claims his ancestor was the model for the Colossus, and that both you and Gordianus saw Vindovix’s resemblance to the statue?”

“Only after you prompted them,” said Cleobulus. “If this was an experiment, Teacher, your methodology was deeply flawed.”

“To be sure, the outcome of my little experiment was merely suggestive, not conclusive.” Posidonius pressed his fingertips together. “Perhaps we shall learn more when my precious cargo arrives tomorrow.”

“Yes, what is this treasure that Gatamandix and Vindovix went seeking down in Lindos?” said Antipater.

“Now that you’ve seen both the Colossus and Vindovix, and judged the resemblance for yourself, I suppose I can tell you,” said Posidonius. “Gatamandix came with me to Rhodes so that he might learn from his travels, but Vindovix came for a more singular purpose—so that he might see the remains of the Colossus with his own eyes. The story of his ancestor’s role in its creation has been in his family for two hundred years, and when Fate brought a visitor from Rhodes into his life, it seemed to him that he must be destined to come here.

“And then, my brilliant pupil Cleobulus—whose studies include the history of the Colossus—got word of a life-sized statue made of plaster that closely resembles the Colossus, down in Lindos. Might it be a scale model created by Chares himself? No such model has ever been found before. The thing was said to be housed in a farmer’s shed, along with some of Chares’ tools. The farmer apparently had no idea what such artifacts would be worth to a scholar like myself, though I daresay I made a fair offer when I sent Cleobulus down to Lindos to ascertain their authenticity and condition. It seemed only fitting that Vindovix should go with him, along with Gatamandix.”

“And was the plaster statue authentic?” said Antipater.

Cleobulus cleared his throat. “I have every reason to think so. The statue didn’t bear Chares’ mark, but then, he wouldn’t have bothered to put that on a plaster cast, would he? However, tools stamped with the mark of Chares’ workshop were found in the same shed, and also a scroll in a leather case. The document is very faded and brittle, but it clearly shows diagrams and mathematical calculations for enlarging the model to the scale of the Colossus.”

“Marvelous!” said Antipater. “What was the statue’s condition?”

“Except for a few nicks here and there,” said Cleobulus, “and patches of mold and other discolorations on the white plaster, it was in remarkably good shape, considering its age and fragility. It was in a corner of the shed, surrounded by moth-eaten rugs. The old farmer said it had been there since he was a child.”

“But did it look like Vindovix?” I asked.

Cleobulus exchanged a look with the two Gauls. His nostrils flared. Gatamandix’s face was inscrutable. Vindovix looked amused.

“On that, we had a difference of opinion,” said Cleobulus.

“No matter,” said Posidonius. “Barring a storm at sea or some other catastrophe, the ship should arrive in the harbor tomorrow. When the statue is brought here and uncrated, we can stand it side by side with Vindovix, and each of us can judge for himself.”

“What a splendid occasion that will be!” declared Antipater. “A suitable subject for a poem.…

“Thus was the method of Chares revealed,

When upon his model we gazed, eyes peeled—”

Cleobulus glumly shook his head.

*   *   *

After dinner, Posidonius retired to his library. It was his habit to stay up late, reading and writing. Antipater went directly to bed. The two Gauls retired to their guest quarters. Cleobulus, who lived with his parents in a house not far away but was in no hurry to go home, suggested that he and I share some wine and play a few rounds of a Rhodian board game. Away from the Gauls, and after a cup or two of wine, he turned out to be an amiable enough companion, and very good at tossing dice. When I finally won a round, I suspected it was only because he let me.

After conclusively thrashing me in the final round, Cleobulus took his leave and headed home. I visited the latrina at the far corner of the house—Posidonius’s plumbing was as modern as any in Rome—and was heading to my bedroom when I encountered a hulking silhouette.

The passage was lit only by pale moonlight, but there was no mistaking the figure before me. Who else was that big, and had such a mane of coarse hair? Though I could see him only dimly, it appeared that Vindovix was no longer dressed in his strange Gallic costume. Indeed, he appeared to be wearing nothing at all. Perhaps that was how Gauls slept, I thought. Presuming he was on his way to the latrina, I stepped aside to let him pass, but he didn’t move.

“Can you not sleep, either, my Roman friend?” he said.

“I was just going to bed.”

“Alone?”

I shrugged. “Posidonius’s house is very large. I have my own room.”

“So do I. Perhaps you would like to join me?”

“Oh, no, my room is quite comfortable.”

He sighed, sounding exasperated. “At dinner, you said I could sleep with you if I should ever come to Rome.”

“Well, that’s not exactly—”

“Why wait? We can sleep together tonight.”

His meaning at last became clear to me. I looked at the figure before me—more than a head taller than I, and almost twice as broad—and laughed a bit nervously.

“Is it my moustache?” he said. He shook his head. “How you Greeks seem to hate it! I can’t understand. In Gaul, a fine moustache is a mark of manhood. It’s quite an honor, to be allowed to touch another man’s moustache. Here, Gordianus, see for yourself.” He took my hand and raised it to his face.

For an instant, my fingertips made contact with the silky hair above his lip, then I snatched my hand away. I mumbled something about heading to my room. He did not yield at all, and I had to squeeze past him. He snorted, sounding quite disgusted.

I hurried down the passage and around a corner—where I ran into our host, vaguely lit from behind by the glow from his library.

“I fear you’ve offended him, Gordianus,” Posidonius whispered.

“Offended him? I don’t see how. If anything—”

“The Gauls are not like the Greeks, Gordianus, and certainly not like the Romans. They have their own customs about this sort of thing. He was doing you an honor by inviting you to join him.”

“Yes, perhaps, but—”

“And you gave him great offense when you refused. I don’t think he’s used to that.”

“Perhaps not in Gaul, but—”

“Here, step into the library, where we can talk properly.” He led the way. Once there, he offered me a cup of wine, and I did not refuse.

“It’s a curious thing,” he said, taking a sip. “In my opinion, the Gallic women are the most comely of all barbarian females, yet the Gallic men hardly seem to notice them. They’re all mad for each other. They even have a form of marriage between men, but that doesn’t stop them from being wildly promiscuous. Now among the Greeks, there is a long and venerated tradition of intimate relations between comrades in arms, or between an older man and a younger whom he chooses to mentor. But among the Gauls—well, anything goes! Often they sleep in groups at night, rolling around on fur skins until all hours, the more the merrier. The best-looking young men strut about, flaunting their moustaches and brazenly offering themselves to anyone who might be interested. They have no standards at all.”

I frowned, feeling vaguely insulted.

“And if anyone shouldturn him down, a young Gaul takes such rejection as a terrible affront to his dignity. Vindovix is a very proud young fellow. As I say, I don’t think he’s used to being rebuffed.”

I grunted. “How do you know all this about the Gauls?”

Posidonius raised an eyebrow. “A traveler must be open to new experiences, Gordianus, or what is the use of travel? But I was not entirely surprised to find such customs among the Gauls. Aristotle commented on the relations between Gallic men. How he knew, I’m not sure, since Aristotle lived long before the invasion of Cimbaules—”

“Are you saying I should apologize to Vindovix?”

He smiled. “The two of you are set to spend the winter together under my roof. Do try to remember that Vindovix is a very long way from home, and he’s not much older than you are.”

I shook my head. “I must admit, I don’t know much about the world beyond Rome. This journey with Antipater is certainly opening my eyes. As for … touching Vindovix’s moustache … my father taught me that, while the Greeks may take a different view, among Romans carnal relations between males are acceptable only between a master and his slave, and only if the master plays the conqueror, and only if no one ever talks about it. My father frowns on such relations.”

“Why is that?”

“He says it’s unseemly to subject any slave, male or female, to unwanted advances.”

“What if the desire is mutual?”

“I asked him that. Between master and slave, he says, there inevitably exists some element of coercion.”

“I think your father is a bit of a philosopher, Gordianus.”

“I suppose he is.”

“Clearly, you’ve given some thought to these questions of human behavior. I’m sure things will work out between you and Vindovix, one way or another. Tell me, was your rejection of his advances predicated on your reaction to his primary or secondary substance?”