Chapter XXXVI

 

 

 

Judge then between Aspasia the courtesan and Socrates the sophist, and consider which of them trained the better men. – Alciphron, Letters of Courtesans

 

Seleucia

 

Lucian braces against another jolt to his litter as the bearers stumble on the unfamiliar, rut-worn footpath. “Have a care you bumblers, or your master shall hear of it!” he complains, then leans back into his cushions. “Rentals …”

Equilibrium re-established, the vehicle emerges from beneath a tall stand of willows onto a crossroads flanked by crumbling stone walls that mark the boundaries between the small holdings of Syrian farmers. Dense clumps of millet sway in the fields, their tall spikes showing they will soon be ready to harvest. Nearby a party of peasants struggles to extricate a donkey mired up to its flanks in an irrigation ditch. The animal bleats steadily while its would-be rescuers gesticulate and argue over how best to affect deliverance.

Observing this scene through the curtain Lucian’s eye falls upon the sacred precinct atop Mount Belos. The temple of the Oracle of Zeus Casios dominates the port of Seleucia and watches over the mouth of the Orontes River. "More bloody oracles.” He draws his head back inside the litter. "Another talking snake I’ll wager.”

Thecla’ seems not to have heard him, having grown increasingly pensive as they approach the villa. "What’s on your mind?" he asks.

"You well know,” she says through pursed lips. “Tell the bearers to stop here."

Lucian raps on the side to halt the conveyance, draws back the curtain and once again pokes his head outside. The villa is not large, and has a threadbare aspect, as if the owner is well-to-do but struggling to keep up appearances. Surrounded by a white-washed wall, it is for the most part indistinguishable from the other villas clustered within the labyrinth of streets in this suburb, known as The Orchards. Without a guide, one would wander in vain to find a specific domicile. Presumably, that is why she chose it.

“This one?” He points.

"Yes. What do you intend?"

"You are concerned for her?" She lets the silence speak for her. “Well don’t be. But stay here. If she sees us together, you're out of a job."

"No need to repeat it," she says testily.

This is the first time Lucian has seen Thecla manifest any discomfort with her role as spy, but it comes as little surprise. She has grown to respect the lady whom she serves, perchance there is even something of love. A not unreasonable assumption, for who ho can resist Panthea’s affable charm and intellect, matched with her storied beauty? Lucian’s own wits have been overthrown more than once.

He allows himself a self-deprecatory smile. In a recent declamation before Verus on the subject of Panthea’s beauty Lucian neglected to address its downside—principally that it is utterly disarming. Words that tumble from moist and fulsome lips may be resisted if their tenor is common or coarse. Perfect intellect is far from compelling when conveyed by persons who are vile or decrepit in aspect. But the combination of mind and beauty is irresistible. Man or woman must trip and stagger, and in the end prostrate themselves before its pure intoxication. Thecla has succumbed.

He leaves her to her misgivings, descends from the litter and approaches a heavy wooden gate. To his surprise it is unlocked and unguarded. Inside is a rectangular courtyard with a bright, cheerful air. A façade of rustic stonework with high arching windows overlooks a portico of miniature colonnades. He decides to avoid the villa proper and wends his way around the portico along a path of stepping stones. This leads through a sun-drenched garden, where his attention is captivated briefly by the deep pink and white of a massive growth of oleander and the dazzling reds of well-established clusters of windflowers.

He stops before a row of desiccated shrubs bordering a closely cropped lawn. Here, his attention is arrested by the rapturous squeal of a child. A red ball rolls into view, followed by the tottering steps of a small boy. By his appearance he is about two years of age. The child is what children should be, beautiful of form, radiating the growing life within. Even at this distance, the resemblance to Verus is remarkable. The boy stoops to pick up the ball and cradles it against his chest with hands too small for the purpose. Seeing Lucian his smile becomes pensive. He looks away and with a joyful squeal toddles off to escape the reaching arms of his mother. Panthea’s expression mirrors that of her child, radiant and loving.

Lucian takes in the moment, sensing he might draw sustenance from it for the rest of his life. It passes, all the more precious for its being ephemeral. Life, Lucian observes, is without conscience or moral sense. It makes no distinction between the good, the exceptional, the awful, and the indifferent moments. Take from life’s moments what you will, because they will all be delivered in equal measure.

Panthea lets show no physical reaction to the realization that her secret is secret no longer. She fixes her eyes on Lucian as she picks up the boy, kisses him gently on the top of his head, and hands him over to a young slave girl. The latter regards Lucian with frightened astonishment and hurries away with her charge to the interior of the villa.

Her raven hair is lighter than at their last encounter and the skin on her face and arms lightly tanned. She wears a peplos of summer yellow tied at the waist and again at the shoulders with large golden pins in the image of Aphrodite, a gift no doubt from a grateful Verus.

"Tell the gardener to water the shrubs," Lucian counsels. "Shrubs make an excellent frame for a garden and can hide many things." He attempts a disarming smile but gives up the effort. "Does Verus know?"

"No," she says impassively.

They regard one another with what in different circumstances might have been affection. She motions toward an ornately carved bench. "Would you like something to drink? Some wine?"

"No thank you, not wine. I imbibed quite late last night. You know how it is at court …" his voice trails off.

She arches an eyebrow in the old style. "I do. Lemonade perhaps? We also have some delicious melca."

"That will be fine."

She turns to a pair of slaves hovering in the shadows of the portico. "Melca and fruit for the gentleman."

They sit together as they had once before, a younger time when they had pondered the blue Aegean. She hugs slender arms between her knees, a posture he remembers well. In those days she sought warmth against the chill of the off-shore breeze. Today, comfort against a threatening world.

"When did you find out?"

"A few days ago."

"What do you intend?"

Thecla’s question. "First, tell me how it came about. Then, I’ll tell you how things stand."

She opens her mouth as though to remonstrate against an accusation yet unspoken, but manages only a sigh tinged with resignation. "I will tell you." His arrival must be a shock. He bides his time. "Three years ago Alexander approached my mother," she says at last. "He had heard of my beauty. He proposed to her to assist in my advancement in society."

Lucian wants to contribute that grasping bitch, for the pure pleasure of saying it, but bites back the words. "In exchange for?"

"Introductions in the palace, contact with the elite. He had money, and you know my mother and money. I don’t blame her really. With many children and husband long dead, she did what she had to do.

"I was introduced to Senator Rutilianus, who as you know is influential at court. He approved of me and made the arrangements for my introduction to Lucius. It happened in Canusium, away from the watchful eyes of his brother."

"And you conceived there?"

"Yes. The usual precautions failed. I made my mother’s illness a pretext for leaving Canusium. She was furious of course, and determined that I should have an abortion. I … decided otherwise."

"And Alexander was there to help you and to keep your child secret from your mother and Verus, in exchange for your continuing to facilitate his access at court."

"Something like that." They sit in awkward silence as the slaves arrive with a tray of fruit and a pitcher of melca. Panthea sends the servants away and fills his glass.

"My mother would be so angry if she found out about my son. And then there is Empress Faustina. Alexander said the Empress would take him away from me. I believed him. I still do."

"Yet you have not told Verus, even now. Do you think it wise? How long can you conceal it?"

She stands and walks a few paces, staring out beyond the garden. Her fists are clenched at her sides like a garden statue of the old-style, as they were in the days before the Greeks discovered the grace and symmetry of natural sculpture. "You cannot understand how it is. Lucius is wonderful …"

"You have said so many times." He successfully purges any bitterness from his words.

"He is loving, and he loves me, but he is still in many ways just a boy, and so easily influenced." She looks to him in appeal. "I know you have seen this yourself." He nods. "You know about his betrothal to Lucilla," she continues. "I cannot prevent that from happening. There are too many forces that will come to bear on him. The family will have it, for they want heirs."

"The young twins Antoninus and Commodus yet live."

"But for how long? Verus has told me about his family and it is not always a pretty tale. They have a preoccupation with heirs. Witness the lamentations every time another of Faustina’s children succumbs."

"Personally, I think the Empire has done very well by the adoptive approach," he says, feeling stupid the moment he utters the words.

She turns on him angrily. "The last time I looked, you were not of the Antonine blood-line. They want to secure a dynasty."

"But Marcus is not a vindictive man. From what I know of him, he is mild and wise. He would not harm your child."

"Faustina might. My mother might." She struggles to suppress her emotions. "Others as well. The family want Lucius and Lucilla to produce heirs, and they will have it. Lucius is not strong. He will acquiesce eventually, and they will not permit a courtesan, or the bastard child of a courtesan, to get in the way."

"Panthea, you are more than a mere …"

"Am I?" she spits. "You are the great realist, Lucian. You know how things stand. Courtesans and gladiators! They want us, they celebrate and adore us, they place us high up on great fat pedestals, they live their vicarious thrills through us, and they heap presents on us. But there is no room for us on the family shelf. They will not have us for their equals."

Panthea is no fool. Had he not helped to shape the self-possession and clarity of her mind? She did what she had to do. She would protect her child, as any mother would. "What now then, Lucian?" She rounds on him, hands on her hips, eyes fixed, a lioness defending her cub against a rogue hyena. "What do the dark forces of espionage decree?"

"I’ll tell you," he says, "but you must speak to me about Libo. When did you know about the poison?"

"I didn’t know. Alexander came to me. He said that one of Libo’s spies had discovered this villa and knew about my child. Libo was at that moment preparing to report the information and we would need to placate and negotiate with him."

"How was it to be done?"

"The wine was a peace offering. It was meant to be the beginning of a dialogue, Alexander said. He said that Libo could be bribed, and I persuaded Verus to sign the card. When I went there Libo told me that he knew about the child. I begged him, but he spoke only of his duty. Later I went back to see Libo again, to implore him not to reveal my secret. He was on the bed, paralysed … his eyes pleading. Oh Lucian, it was horrible! I was cowardly. I searched his office for any trace of my secret. I found nothing and fled."

Lucian ponders her story. It is exactly as Alexander had described it, except that the priest is the killer and Panthea his unwitting tool. By concealing it, Lucian would be complicit in their act.

"Before the revelation of your particular circumstances I was en route to having the golden-haired Alexander crucified for the murder of the late Governor of Syria."

"Lucian, I swear I did not know about the poison."

"I know you didn’t." He holds up one hand like a solemn jurist. "But Alexander has at least one slave who will testify that you delivered the killing draught. He may have others willing to implicate you. Alexander’s acolytes are profoundly dedicated. Some, I reckon, would perjure themselves or even die under torture if he asked them too. It is the power of religion over minds too weak and too gullible to resist. In the hands of the right prosecutor, you could be found guilty.

"I’d rather not see you exposed to such circumstances. And I don't think Verus would be able to protect you, at least not entirely. Some damage would be done."

He rubs his hands together. "So now to the heart of it. I have an arrangement with Alexander. He will leave the court and return to his lair in Abonuteichos. He is to have no further contact with you. In short, he will live, and in exchange will trouble you no further."

She takes in a breath, as though weighing her hopes against all the contingencies. "Why should he agree to leave the court?"

"I am acquainted with an agent of considerable physical prowess, a violent man whose most fervent wish is to have that golden scalp hanging from his barbarian saddle. I have persuaded the Prophet that this passionate man is mine to control … or not. No," Lucian muses, "Alexander will be a good prophet and go back to fleecing obols from the unwashed. He knows where his interest lies, and it is in remaining among the living.”

He takes a long sip of the thick liquid and stands. "You are right. This is excellent melca."

From the fruit tray on the table he picks up a pair of apples and tosses them alternately with one hand. Gingerly he brings a third one into play and, getting into the rhythm juggles them like a street performer. It was a trick he once shared with a younger Panthea, and he shares in the moment as she laughs delightedly, even now. When he stops he takes a bite of one. "For the road?"

"Of course."

They walk arm in arm back to the gate, where he pauses with his hand on the handle. "My Egyptian has an excellent collection of very colourful lizards. They are playful and harmless. Do you think your son would enjoy such a thing?" She nods and offers the old smile. In the warmth of the Mediterranean sunshine, it warms him further still.

He kisses her hand in farewell. "I think you should tell Verus, Panthea. In the end he is an emperor even if he is not the Emperor."

"One day," she answers. "Perhaps."