Spartacus, page 32
“Little by little,” Gracchus thought. “A whole world comes to an end, but we never stop to wonder at it. And why should we? It happens so slowly and man’s life is so short!”
Here and there he paused to watch one of the dice games. He could remember rolling dice when he was a lad. You couldn’t very well live on the dole then, and there were certain matters of ethics which made a proud man refuse the dole then, even if it meant starvation.
Now he walked on to the baths. He had planned it carefully. The odds were three to one that Crassus would be at the baths today, and that he would arrive at just about this time. And sure enough, when Gracchus entered the apodyteria, as the dressing rooms were called, Crassus was already there, stripped down and pausing a moment to admire his long, lean body in the tall mirrors. The rooms were filling up. Here was an interesting section of city life, a political mixing pot, few of the idle bluebloods, but enough political power to rock the city from its foundations, bankers and powerful merchants, ward bosses, slave importers, vote manipulators, a gallery of petty heelers and gang leaders, an important senatorial caucus, even a lanista or two, a trio of former consuls, a magistrate, one or two actors, and a round dozen of consequential military men. Interspersed with them were sufficient men of no particular importance to bear out the democracy of the baths—of which Rome boasted so importantly. Kings and satraps from the Eastern lands could never get over the fact that the rulers of Rome—which meant the rulers of the world—mingled so casually with the rank and file of the city and walked so indifferently upon the city streets.
Keeping an intermittent watch on Crassus, Gracchus sat down on a bench and let a slave undo his boots. Meanwhile he received greetings, nodded and smiled, let a word drop here, a word there. He gave advice when it was asked, briefly and decisively. He offered, also when asked, brief and certain opinions on the trouble in Spain, the African situation, the necessity of Egyptian neutrality—that eternal breadbasket of the city—and the problem of what to do with the incessant Jewish provocation in Palestine. He reassured dealers who were whimpering that the price of slaves would continue to fall until it wrecked the economy, and he squashed a rumor that the army in Gaul was planning a coup. But all the time, he watched Crassus, until finally the millionaire, still naked and displaying his lean fitness, ambled over and passed the time of day. Crassus could not resist standing there in public comparison as Gracchus undressed. When the slaves removed the politician’s toga, the mountain of the man was revealed, but still impressive. When the tunic followed, the pathos of a very fat man was worse than any simple nakedness. Strangely, Gracchus had never before been ashamed of his body.
They walked together into the tepidarium, the lounging room and clubhouse of the baths. Here were benches and mats upon which one could stretch out and relax, but the general practice was to stroll back and forth between plunges. From this broad and handsome gallery, marble-paved, decorated with mosaics and statuary, one could go to the cold outdoor pool, the warm pool, the hot baths, the steam rooms, and through each of those to the various exercise and massage rooms. Then, wrapped in a cool sheet, one could indulge in the garden promenades, the libraries—a part of the baths—and the sitting rooms, the solariums. The whole routine was for those who had hours to spend at the baths. Gracchus usually satisfied himself with a cold plunge, a half hour in the steam room, and then a massage.
But now he tempered himself to Crassus. Harsh words and harsh feelings were evidently forgotten. Naked, fat and loose, he walked alongside the general, being charming and attentive—which he was most skillful at.
“Building bridges,” people remarked who looked at them, and wondered what new political alliances were in the making here, since Crassus and Gracchus were not known for this kind of comradeship. Crassus, however, waited patiently. “Whatever he’s up to,” he said to himself, “it’s bound to out.” He became slightly insulting and asked the politician,
“Since when are you an authority on Egypt as well as other things?”
“You mean what I said before? Well, a few general words fill in a gap. It’s a matter of reputation.” This was a new Gracchus indeed.
“A reputation for knowing everything?”
Gracchus laughed. “You’ve been to Egypt haven’t you?”
“No. And I don’t pretend at it.”
“Well—well. I don’t know, Crassus. We snap and snarl at each other. We could be friends. Each of us is a friend well worth having.”
“I think so. I am also cynical. There is a price on friendship.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, indeed. What have I got that makes my friendship so precious? Money? You have almost as much.”
“I don’t care about money.”
“I do. What then?”
“I want to buy a slave from you,” Gracchus blurted out. There it was. Done.
“My cook, no doubt. If you had hair, Gracchus, I’d say you wanted my hair dresser. A set of litter-bearers? Or possibly a woman. I hear you have nothing but women in your household.”
“God damn it, you know who I want!” Gracchus cried. “I want Varinia.”
“Who?”
“Varinia. Let’s not play games with each other.”
“My dear Gracchus, you’re playing the games. Who has been peddling information to you?”
“I keep informed.” The fat man stopped and faced the other. “Look—look, Crassus. No beating about the bush. No haggling. No bargaining. I’ll put it to you straight. I will pay you the highest price ever paid for a slave in Rome. I will pay you one million sesterces. I will pay you that in gold coin, and turn over every bit of it to you immediately, if you will give me Varinia.”
Crassus folded his arms and whistled softly. “Now, that is a price. That’s a handsome price. They could write poems about such a price. When a man can go to market today and buy a ripe, big-breasted beauty for one thousand sesterces, you are ready to pay a thousand times as much for a skinny German girl. Now that is something. But how could I take such a sum? What would they say? They’d say Crassus is a damned thief.”
“Stop playing with me!”
“Playing with you? My dear Gracchus, you are playing with me. I have nothing that you can buy.”
“I made a serious offer.”
“And I answer you seriously.”
“I double my price!” Gracchus growled. “Two million.”
“I never knew there was that much money in politics.”
“Two million. Take it or leave it.”
“You bore me,” Crassus said, and he walked away.
V
“Varinia, Varinia, now you must dress. Now we must dress you, Varinia, because the master comes home and you are to sit with him and dine with him. Why do you make things so hard for us, Varinia?”
“I don’t want to make things hard for you.”
“But you do. You see how hard you make things for us, Varinia. You tell us that you are a slave. You don’t want four slaves to wait on you, hand and foot. No, you are just a slave like we are. You tell us how wretched you are. You know how it is to be a slave. Or maybe when you were with Spartacus, conquering the whole world, you forgot how it was to be a slave. Then you were a queen, weren’t you, Varinia? So—”
“Don’t do that any more! Why do you do that? Have I ever set myself apart from you?”
“You don’t have to, Varinia. The master sets you apart from us. We are something to have in his bed when he is bored. One, two, three. But he loves you, Varinia. That is why you make it hard for us. We get whipped if you are not dressed just so. You don’t get whipped. We get whipped.”
“Let him whip me!”
“Let him. Just let him. We can see him whipping you.”
“All right. All right,” she told them. “Now I’m nursing the baby. Let me finish nursing the boy. Then I’ll get dressed. Any way you want me to get dressed. I won’t make it hard for you. Only let me finish nursing my baby.”
“How long?”
“He doesn’t drink long. Just look at him. He’s slowing down already. In a half hour, I’ll be ready. He’ll be asleep then. I promise you I’ll do whatever you want me to. I’ll wear whatever you want me to.”
So they left her for a while. Three of them were Spanish girls. The fourth was a Sabine woman, and it was a cancer inside of her that her mother had sold her for debt. Varinia could understand that. It was a bitter thing to be sold by your own folk, and it made you bitter. Envy, jealousy, bitterness—it festered in this house. The whole house festered.
She nursed the boy, and sang to him softly.
“Sleep, my baby, sleep beloved,
While your father in the forest,
Seeks the otter, spears the otter,
Brings the pelt, midnight softness,
Never shall the cold of winter
Touch my baby, my beloved . . .”
The sucking eased. She could feel the pressure on the nipple slacken. When he sucked strong and hard out of his hunger, a sharp current went through her whole body. And then bit by bit as his belly filled up, the sensation eased off. What a thing it was to have a baby suck!
She gave him the other breast, just in case he needed more milk, and she stroked his cheek to start the sucking reflex again. But he was finished. His eyes were closed, and he had the monumental indifference of children whose bellies are full. For a while, she cuddled him against her warm bare breast; then she put him in his crib and closed the front of her dress.
How handsome he was, she thought as she stood over him. Fat and round and strong—what a fine baby! His hair was like black silk, and his eyes were deep blue. Those eyes would turn dark later, as his father’s eyes were, but there was no telling about the hair. When this black birth-silk fell out, it might grow in with dark curls or golden and straight.
Quickly and easily he fell asleep. His world was proper and right. His world was the world of life, ruled by life’s own simple laws, undisturbed and uncomplicated. His world was the world which outlasted all others . . .
Now she left him and went to where they were waiting to dress her. Four slaves to dress her for dinner with the man who owned her. She stood obediently while they took off her clothes and sponged her naked body. It was still a very lovely body, long-legged, and lovelier for the fullness of her breasts with milk. They put a sheet around her and she lay down on a couch, so that the ornatrix might prepare her face and arms.
First a covering of fine chalk for her arms and brow, the chalk fading onto her cheeks. Then the rouge, light red on her cheeks, heavy red-brown on her lips. Then what they called the fuligo, a black carbon paste to bring out the brows.
When that was done, she sat up and allowed them to do her hair. The soft, straight blond hair was carefully built into a pile of fixed curls, held in place with pomade and little ribbons.
Then the jewels. She stood naked, without the sheet, obedient and listless, while the diadem was fixed onto her hair. Golden earrings were next, and then a gold and sapphire collar called the monile. Small matching collars were placed on her ankles and wrists, and a diamond ring was placed on the small finger of each hand. She was being dressed well and splendidly, dressed as the richest man in Rome would dress his mistress, not his slave. It was no wonder that these poor devils assigned to her wardrobe could not pity her. See how she wears the wealth of an empire just in jewels! How can one pity her?
At that time, the most precious material in Rome was not silk, but the delicate and wonderful sheer cotton, spun in India, and having a gossamer quality that no silk could equal. Now they slipped a cotton stola over her head. This was a long, simply-cut dress, which was gathered around the waist by a tied belt called a zona. The only decoration on the dress was a gold braid on the hem, and indeed it needed no decoration, its lines were so simple and so lovely. But Varinia could never be unconscious of the fact that every line of her body showed through; it was the nakedness which meant horror and degradation, and she welcomed the discharge from her breasts which wet the front and spoiled its looks.
Over all of this went a large, pale yellow silk shawl; Varinia wore it like a cloak. She covered the dress with it. Each time she appeared for dinner, Crassus said,
“My dear, my dear, why should you hide your beautiful body that way? Let your supparum fall free. The dress underneath cost ten thousand sesterces. At least I should have the pleasure of looking at it if no other does.” He said it again tonight as she entered the dining room, and again tonight she obediently allowed the shawl to fall open.
“You puzzle me,” said Crassus. “You puzzle me a good deal, Varinia. I think I told you once that I had the pleasure—or displeasure—of having to spend an evening in my camp in Cisalpine Gaul with that monstrous lanista, Batiatus. He described you to me. He described you as a wildcat. A very vivid description of a woman who couldn’t be tamed. But I see no sign of that. You are unusually obedient and compliant.”
“Yes.”
“I wonder what has made the difference in you. You don’t care to tell me, I suppose.”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell you.”
“I think you do know, but let it pass. You look lovely tonight. Well-groomed, well-dressed—Varinia, how long does this go on? I’ve been very decent to you, haven’t I? Grief is grief, but contrast this with the salt mines. I could take your child away and sell him for the three hundred sesterces he would bring on the market, and then send you off to the mines. Would you like that?”
“I wouldn’t like it.”
“I hate to talk this way,” Crassus said.
“It’s all right. You can talk any way you please. You own me.”
“I don’t want to own you, Varinia. As a matter of fact, you own me just as completely. I want to have you the way a man has a woman.”
“I couldn’t stop you—any more than any other slave in the house could stop you.”
“What a thing to say!”
“Why is it such an awful thing to say? Doesn’t anyone in Rome talk about such things?”
“I don’t want to rape you, Varinia. I don’t want to have you the way I have a slave. Yes—I’ve had the slaves here. I don’t know how many women I’ve slept with. Women and men too. I don’t want any secrets from you. I want you to know me as I am. Because if you love me, I’ll be something else. Something new and fine. My God, do you know that they call me the richest man in the world? Maybe I’m not, but with you, we could rule the world.”
“I don’t want to rule the world,” Varinia said, her voice level, toneless, a dead voice, as it always was when she spoke to him.
“Don’t you believe I would be any different if you loved me?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care.”
“But you would care if it came to that baby of yours? Why can’t you take a wet nurse? Sitting there with milk running from your breasts—”
“Why do you always threaten me with the baby? The baby belongs to you and I belong to you. Do you think that by threatening to kill my baby you make me love you?”
“I didn’t threaten to kill your baby.”
“You—”
“I’m sorry, Varinia. We always talk ourselves into this same circle. Please eat. I do what I can do. I serve you a meal like this. Don’t tell me that you don’t care. One could buy a villa for the price of this dinner. At least, eat it. Nibble at it. Look—let me tell you something amusing that happened today. At least, you may find it amusing. And eat a little.”
“I eat as much as I need to eat,” said Varinia.
A slave entered and set down a duck on a silver platter. Another slave carved it. Crassus had a circular table—they had just come into fashion—with a continuous couch circling two thirds of it. The diners ate with their feet drawn up, pillowed on a pile of silk cushions.
“This duck, for instance. It’s smoked, stuffed with truffles, and cooked with tart brandied peaches.”
“It’s very good,” Varinia said.
“Yes—I was telling you before of an amusing thing that happened today. At the baths, Gracchus came in. He hates me so virulently that he can no longer hide it. Curiously enough, I don’t hate him. I forgot—you don’t know him. He’s a senator and a great political power in Rome—or was. His power is very shaky today. He’s one of the new crew who pulled themselves out of the gutter and made a fortune out of graft and block votes. A fat pig of a man. No pride—no body; that’s usually the case. And no sensitivity either, so he will sit on his throne until it washes out from under him. Well, I could see immediately that he wanted something from me. He made a great display of parading his fat carcass back and forth in the tepidarium with me. And then finally, he came out with it. He wants to buy you. Offered quite a price too, and then, when I brushed him off, he doubled his price. Very determined. I insulted him, but nothing got under his skin.”
“Why didn’t you sell me?” Varinia asked.
“To him? My dear, you should see him once, walking around in his flesh. Or wouldn’t that matter to you?”
“It wouldn’t matter,” Varinia said.
Crassus pushed his dish away and stared at her. He drained his glass of wine, poured another, and then in a sudden fury, hurled the glass across the room. He spoke now with considered control.
“Why do you hate me so?”
“Should I love you, Crassus?”
“Yes. Because I’ve given you more than you ever had out of Spartacus.”
“You haven’t,” she said.
“Why? Why not? What was he? Was he a god?”
“He wasn’t a god,” Varinia said. “He was a simple man. He was a plain man. He was a slave. Don’t you know what that means? You’ve lived your life among slaves.”
“And if I took you out to the country and gave you to a plough-hand somewhere, could you live with him and love him?”
