Inside the pediment atop a portico of Corinthian columns, the sun god Ra was carved in the middle, sitting in his barque and surrounded by others. To his left, the Gods of heaven were posed, while to his right, their earthly counterparts. On the flip side of Ra reflected the upended relief of Kish, the lord of the underworld and resurrection, who kept hours coming forth and the Gods separated from their counterparts. A couple of inches below the pediment was laid a frescoed frieze of twelve scenes, each depicting a different coitus for every hour of the night as Ra traveled through the underworld.
Xeator lifted his eyes, admiring the front hall of Lupanar and the Renanian wisdom condensed in its religion. To sanctify the right to pleasure and excess, that's power. And to wield such power as we pleased, covertly, all men wished to be Gods. Until they were struck down and punished for their haughty conceit, men returned to the door of resurrection where Kish's judgment awaited. To rise and fall on account of the same longing to be infinite while we are in truth finite wove the tapestry of history.
A rueful smile narrowed his gaze.
Women's giggles came down the stairs. He swiveled to find among them the hostess, a beautiful meretrix with cascading, golden tresses, and supple skin.
"Moon, darling," she said, sliding a hand around his neck as she stroked his hair. "You know you're always welcome here, but what you asked for is way out of line this time! I can't help you, and that's that! I'm sorry. I can, however, fetch a girl for you and your friend there for half the price." She flicked a glance at Felix, who was gaping at everything around him with stars in his eyes.
Xeator grabbed her wrist, drawing her close, his fingers locking with hers. Lowering his head, he fondled her cheek with his nose. "Cecilia, my love," he crooned, "Just let me in the same room with the man, and whatever he pays me for the night all go to Lupanar. How's that?"
"Don't look at me like that."
"Please?"
"No!" She pulled her hand away. "What if you blow it? Or what if he doesn't like you? What am I supposed to say to the bawd? You've never done this before, and I don't understand why you must do it!" Turning on her heels, she rejoined the others.
Xeator dropped his head back and groaned, trying to think, his patience waning. Amidst the swish of footsteps came the whispers.
"That sick, old creep Ulpius! Every time he's here, he gets a new kink!"
"Yeah, well, smile and don't talk shit about patrons," Cecilia's voice. "If he wishes to peep, he shall be sated."
"But where are we supposed to find a virgin boy? The youngest stud we have here has turned sixteen!"
"Why limit your pool?" Xeator snapped open his eyes. "Besides, why stage a show? A real fuck is voyeuristically more gratifying, no?" Clucking his tongue, he flicked a sideways glance at Cecelia.
She sighed, turning back to him with her arms about the chest. "Still not giving up?"
"Give my friend there a room where this Ulpius can watch and let me be in the same room with Ulpius." He grabbed her both hands, his eyes boring into hers. "That's all I ask. Not only you won't have to pay my friend for his labor, you charge him half the regular price! You're the winner of the day no matter how you look at it."
"And what if I refuse?"
"There're plenty of brothels in Volos. I take the boy away with me, and you let down an important patron. What're you going to say to the bawd then, my love?" Drawing in his chin, he cocked a brow to an easy smile he wore like skin.
Cecilia surveyed the boy loitering by the door. A frown came upon her face. "How old is your friend?"
"Fourteen."
"He looks older."
"He's a virgin. Can't fake that. Where else will you find a burly virgin at this hour?"
She turned her eyes back to Xeator and studied him for a moment as short as a blink. "May I ask why?"
"Why not? Who says I can't have a taste for older men?"
"Moon," she murmured, her head shaking. Candlelight swayed, limning her dark brown iris. "Well then, tell your friend to meet me on the second floor. I have just the girl for him."
He kissed her, a soft peck on the neck.
As she sashayed up the varnished stairs, he turned to the door, beckoning Felix over.
"It's your lucky day," he muttered, grabbing the boy's shoulder. "I've got you a bargain. For half the price, you can lay with the finest girl for sale tonight. You see the hostess I was talking to? Find her upstairs, and she'll take you to your room."
"Really?" Felix widened his eyes. "Thanks, brother! I owe you!" He gave Xeator a clap on the back and spun for the stairs.
Don't overthink this. Xeator heaved, rubbing his brow. Don't think at all.
He closed his eyes for a moment and went to change.
Wearing nothing but a bronze mask covering his face from above the lips, and gauze around his crotch, he carried brass steins and a flagon of wine on a silver tray.
Behind satiny drapes and wispy smoke of incense, Ulpius Attianus, the prophet and advisor to Lord Lorenzo of House Legidus, was sitting atop a stone carved bed, goggling through a peephole.
"My lord," Xeator addressed.
Ulpius jolted around, regarding Xeator with his dim eyes glaucous from cataract. "You're not Quintus," he observed, straining his neck as he brought forward his pitted face. His lips wrung out a le grin. "You're pretty. How come I've never seen you before?" He gripped Xeator's waist.
"You've seen too many pretty faces to remember me, my lord." Xeator mimed a smile. "But I certainly remember you. It's been a while since your last visit. We've all missed you here."
Ulpius snorted. "You think a prophet should be able to do whatever he wishes? I can only travel where Lorenzo goes! And that celibate teetotaler never goes anywhere! I wouldn't have been able to come had it not been for the Pyrrhic tournament on the morrow!"
"While I appreciate the chance that brought you back, my lord," Xeator kneeled by the bedside and poured the wine. "Excuse my foolishness, but I can't quite fathom why Lord Lorenzo would travel all the miles himself just to watch the fights. It's only a regional tournament, no?"
"Of course you wouldn't fathom, you pretty little fool!" Ulpius took the wine from Xeator but didn't let go of his hand. Pulling him to the bed, "Drink from it first."
Stifling a scoff, Xeator held the stein to his mouth.
A pipping giggle came grating his ears as the wizened man laughed, watching him finish the wine.
"You've got eyes like emeralds," he rasped. "Did you get them from your cunt mother?"
"I wouldn't know, my lord." Xeator shrugged; reaching for the flagon, he poured another. "My cunt mother died birthing me." Wine gurgled out of the spout, splashing the brass.
Ulpius snatched up the stein now he knew was safe to drink from. Spillage drizzled the sheet. Satin quilt slipped off from his waist as he drew a leg up to his chest, laying bare his saggy balls the color of moldy cheese. He took a sip and screwed up his eyes. Splashing the rest over Xeator's chest, he cursed, "I've tasted cum better than this!"
"Apologies, my lord," Xeator bowed low. "I was afraid that our finest might not suffice to slake your thirst, so I brought you this." He tucked a vial of opian from under the gauze around his waist. Pugilists at the League received doses for their injuries to dull the pain, and he had saved his. "Make sure that Lord Attianus has a swell time, the bawd said."
"Is it what I think it is?" Ulpius clutched at the vial and studied it in his sallow hand. Before Xeator could reply, he flipped open the silver top and threw what was in it at his throat. Chucking away the empty vial at the rear of the bed, he husked, "Come here, you pretty skunk."
Xeator sat next by the prophet. "It says that the potion takes one to the Gods. What is it like, my lord, being close to the Gods?" Asking in a whisper, he stroked the geezer's back. His fingers stiffened at the touch; his other hand coiled, gripping the quilt.
"What, you've never tried before?"
He shook his head.
"Infinity," the prophet snorted. Nibbling at Xeator's earlobe, he clawed on his arm, his murky eyes rolling up to the lids. "You wouldn't understand how I've been in want of relief! The terrible burden I carry!"
"I can help with that, my lord," Xeator crooned, his voice soft and measured. "Anything you wish to let off your chest, I'm here to help you put them behind." He cranked up the volume of his smile. "You're the prophet of House Legidus, and Lord Lorenzo's advisor! A noble patrician we all look up to! Who could possibly dare to trouble you?"
Ulpius snickered. "There really is nothing in this pretty head of yours, is there?" He grabbed Xeator's chin, forcing his face downward. "Do you think it's easy getting caught between the Legidus brothers? You think it's all peace and prosperity, eh? Well, think again! It's all me! I've made it appear so!"
"How unfair," Xeator seconded, muscles spasming along his cheekbones. "What you've done for the Legidus, you've done for the country! We ought to have celebrated you! A great man like you needs to be heard and seen!"
"A man like me?" The geezer grinned, baring his surprisingly straight teeth patched with tartar. "I do like the sound of it." He moved his hand up Xeator's thigh and under the gauze.
An involuntary shudder, Xeator flinched.
"What's wrong?"
"The first time I lay with a man, and he's a lord." He treated Ulpius with a coy smile how working women treated their patrons. "You're having me the first time. How's it feel?"
The scrawny laughed, throwing back his head, his glaucous eyes narrowing.
"Well, I'm about to teach you." He had a hand advance under the gauze, fondling like the scrape of desiccated bark, and the other behind Xeator's head. As he was about to untie the string of the bronze mask, Xeator caught the prophet's spindly arm.
"No, my lord," he crooned. "I mean the opian. What can you see now?"
"The big blue fucking sea," spluttered the lordling as he wheezed. "The sun beating on the lapping waves, buffeting a white shore, sending up spindrifts …"
"Poetic." Stroking the lordling's hirsute chest that reeked of an old man, Xeator spurred him on. "I've heard from the merchants the Southern Sea was the bluest of all. Is that so?"
"You fool!" Ulpius spat, his hand flailing in Xeator's grip, his head dropping. "Did you actually think it means the color of the bloody sea? It's called the bluest because of the southern sapphires and the blue spice incense better than opian!"
Feigning innocence, Xeator nodded with parting lips. "So well versed a man you are, my lord! Any man should feel in debt of gratitude to your counsel!"
"Aren't you a lickspittle?" Ulpius snickered. "But you tell the truth!" His murky eyes hardened at once. "Any man should! But Lorenzo! That ungracious faggot learned with my tidings about his brother housing a legion in the south! It's all me he gets to last this long in a game he's no match for! But does he ever take me seriously? Does he listen when I suggest? Housing a private force without the Praetor's consent is mutiny! And what could be a better chance than reporting this to Marcus Uranus now to put a permanent end to Luke? But no! Not Lorenzo! The indecisive twat had to wait! All his life he waits! What the fuck is he waiting for? No wonder he lost his heirdom!"
What is he waiting for exactly if he isn't bidding his time for a greater ambition? A wry smile tilted Xeator's mouth. "Thank you, my lord." He crooked his thumb, the palm slicing at the vagus nerve in Ulpius' neck.
The prophet conked out in sleep. His body coiled on the bed like shit in a basin.
Xeator retrieved the empty vial from the floor and took the flagon with him when he fled the room, his teeth deep in his lip, his lips shuddering. Heading for the stairs, he came to the hallway. Half-naked women skittered, cavorting with their inebriated patrons. Xeator clove through them and saw only writhing lumps of flesh. A thin hand grabbed his forearm from behind. He jolted around.
"You alright?" asked Cecilia, a ripple of concern in her eyes. "Darling, your lip is bleeding!"
He shook off her grip.
"Moon!"
"Leave me the fuck alone!" he growled, looking daggers as he shoved her to a wall.
Tears bulged, coursing down her supple cheeks. In truth, she looked quite lovely.
Coiling his hand, he lurched a step away. "Sorry," mumbling as he spun on his heel, he took someone else's tunic on the way and exited through the postern.
In a square backyard clammy and dark, he tipped the spout of the flagon at his throat, his hands shaking. His bottom lip burned while he choked. He threw up into the gutter.
Poured. Gagged. Poured.
He emptied the flagon and smashed it at a wall time and again until the handle flew off and the brass container flattened to a sheet.
Behind him, a small stream burbled. He met Cecilia here five winters ago. Returning with buckets of water from the nearest fountain three miles away, she lost her footing. He took the next ten months and dug the stream for the women. With easy access to water, Lupanar became the first brothel to offer services like shaving and bathing that eventually put itself on the map and began to attract important patrons such as Ulpius Attianus.
Rearing his head as he slid down against the wall, he looked upon the pewter clouds behind which the moon hung low.
Lorenzo Legidus, I've got you. He let out a manic laugh, the top of his head tapping on the wall. And I'm sorry, Cecilia. Say no the next time when a boy wants to help you. Nobody wants to help you. You make them.
Beneath his manic laugh, a sob might have gone unnoticed.