The Domes of Calrathia

Chapter Thirteen: The Dialectics of Philia

The days following passed by slowly. I did not hear from Berenice again, and I wondered if I had sent her right into another of Messalina’s snares. Gereon paid several visits, but he could offer no more help in my predicament. It appeared Elagabalus had taken my advice, though I did not know when we were set to appear before the Princeps. There was nothing more that could be done, except wait. 

In my youth, I was often wracked by nervousness of uncertainty. I recall the days before my elevation to a full Astronomer of the School. I had spent many hours in the apprentice’s quarters wringing my hands and muttering to myself, beset by thoughts of failure and embarrassment. It is true we often torment ourselves more in our own minds than what the world demands of us. 

The Zenoists believe that the cure for such anxiety is to train the mind to let go of attachments. Through a placid toleration of all, good or ill, one may reach a state of tranquil inner peace. I have heard reports that the masters of this philosophy have gone so far as to joyously sing bawdy limericks even under the duress of torture. 

While I do not deny the strange thoughts of men, I believe only a few can mold themselves into this way of life. It is very unnatural to drink of both good and evil as if there were no difference between them. On the other hand, what is very natural, is to desire a good end to all things. You will scarcely find a man who walks upon the earth who does not share this hope—however warped he may be. The Hand who fashioned us made our hearts all with this expectation, and I take that as evidence, though it beggars belief, that there is somehow a good end to all things.

That is what I told himself in that cell, and later, in the haunted winds of Myz. 

“I do not understand you. Why would you go to such lengths for your own death?” Crixus asked, groaning in his shackles. “You should’ve bedded Messalina and lived comfortably.”

“And betray my oaths?” I had been pacing, but I turned and sat opposite of him. 

Crixus cracked a smile. “What good are oaths now? Can you not see the edifices you built are crumbling? What good is your word when your temples are looted and your altars abandoned? What good is it when your god has forsaken you?”

“Are you sure you are not a man of Terminus?” 

The slave burst out laughing. “Your words are harsh, but I don’t live a lie. The wilderness will overtake this city soon enough. When it does, it will be the tribesmen who survive. And the only law of my people is in the strength of your arms. Take what you want. Do what you want. Drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.” He croaked. 

“Your ways didn’t do you much good.” I said, looking over the dirty and diseased man sitting across from me. 

“Neither did yours.” Crixus winced from his wound as he straightened himself to sit more proudly. “We’re both sitting in this cell. I’m here for attempted murder. You’re here for attempted rape. The only difference between us is the road we took. So I have to ask, was it worth it? Keeping your oaths? If you are executed, can you say you lived well, never partaking in life’s pleasures?”

I wanted to comment again on his appearance, but however noble I tried to make my blue cloak, it was still a beggar’s garb. My old mantle had been stripped of me and trampled. I was clean, yes, but that would not be true for long. And what did I get for my trouble? Nothing but hatred and humiliation. 

It is a pernicious thing, how evil tricks you into desiring your own demise. And yet, here I was, possibly to meet a rapist’s end. If Crixus was convicted, his hands and feet would be nailed together as if in prayer. He would be scourged thirty times and then beheaded. If I was convicted, I would be castrated and then boiled alive. Comically, even his punishment was easier. 

“What good is it to be a good man in these times?” Crixus asked. He coughed, and I noticed he was growing weak. He was hiding it well, but I knew his wound was infected. “I ask you, why?” 

This time the question was not in a scoffing tone, but rather, as if seeking an answer. No, that wasn’t it. He wanted me to agree with him. 

My eyes were downcast. “Why? Because you would be a good man. There need not be another reason.”

I have a thought a great deal about this conversation afterwards. In that moment, my suffering overtook me, and I could give no other answer despite my education. But even now, I struggle to think of what else I should’ve said. And yet more puzzling, this meager reply seemed to strangely satisfy Crixus for a time. He was quiet for a long while, boding over his own sufferings, and I was most surprised what he spoke next. 

“I have never been a good man,” he concluded. “I have been many things. I have been a murderer. I have been what you call an adulterer, though we have a different word for that crime among my people. I have been a liar and a cheat. I have been a thief. It only crossed my mind that I should right myself when my son was born, for his sake, if not mine. That was why I was so angry with Messalina. She took away my second chance.”

Crixus rested his head against the stone cell. “And now it is too late for me.”

His words seemed to come harder down upon him harder than his death sentence. Crixus seemed a man too proud to be caught weeping, but the grief was written plainly on his face. Up until now, he had been a stranger to me, but in his suffering, I saw something very familiar. 

“You still have breath within you,” I told him, pitying the poor man. “That is enough.”

“What use is breath to an evil man? I shall go to my end one way or another, and I shall be punished with eternal fire.” His voice spoke with resignation. “I am sorry for testing you. I should not have treated the man who had shown me mercy so callously. It should be I in your place.” 

“I hold no grudge against you. You are not the first who have questioned my sense of reason.” I sighed, dismissing the thought. 

“But you should treat me with contempt.” Crixus confessed. “I was planning on taking my revenge on you as well.” 

I glanced up at that, but I was not altogether bothered by that prospect. So there had been yet another knife lurking in the dark. What was one more to add to the countless dozens already run through my chest? 

Crixus’ breathing became increasingly ragged. I could tell he was under great strain trying to keep himself composed. Just the effort of sitting upright seemed to be a struggle for him. “After I was finished with Messalina, I would’ve gone after you for humiliating me so.” 

“It does not matter to me.” I told him plainly. 

“Yes, it should.” Crixus replied insistently. “I ask that you forgive me, so that I may depart from this world with one stain not upon my soul.”

He said this with an unusual urgency that drew my attention. I knew something troubling was spurring him to this behavior, but I did not know what. He had never seemed too concerned about the upcoming trial. 

“I forgive you.” I said freely. 

“Do you?” Crixus questioned me bitterly. “Would you argue for my defense? Would you plea for my mercy even after everything I’ve done? I know you have your own case to worry about, but would you spare so much as a word for me? I gave my testimony to Elagabalus, as you asked, but does that mean you’ll argue for me as passionately as you would yourself?” 

He did not say this in accusation, but rather with much despair in his voice. He watched me as I struggled to answer him. I did not want to lie and say I had much care for the man, nor did I want to exaggerate our chances, which were still vanishingly small. 

“I will do my best to see us both released.” I said. 

Crixus smiled sadly at that, as if I had confirmed his worst fear. In some sense, I had. Crixus was a smart enough man to know that anything less from me meant he was doomed. And upon further reflection, I knew I should not have been surprised at what happened next. The signs had been there for days, the slight tremble in his voice, his brooding demeanor, and his uncharacteristic apology. He had been a man struggling with a great weight, and I was too careless to notice it. 

Producing out from under his cloak, he lifted the smallest knife. He had hidden it well to secret it from the guards. “Forgive me once more for leaving you. I do not want to suffer the scourge, and I see no hope. I do wish you well in your fortunes.” He shakily raised it high. 

My eyes widened as I finally understood what he was about to do. It is a flaw of mine that I do not often take the time to understand others. But in that moment, I wished for a thousand of the unspoken conversations which might’ve been, anything I could’ve said to prevent him from taking his own life. I admittedly cared little for the man, but as I realized what he was about to do, his life became more precious to me than that of a dearest friend. He was my only companion who shared in my torments, who although understood little, knew what I was going through. Perhaps that is selfish, but it is surprisingly often from these selfish loves that spring men to great action. 

I rushed to my feet as the knife descended, and I lunged forward as I saw the blade bury itself in his chest. Crixus fell, and all I could do was catch him in my arms. His strength departed him. His hand let go of the knife, and it clattered to the floor. I hastily ripped through his clothing to find the wound and bandage the injury. But as I discovered, he had only cut the skin. 

“Seems I’m too much of a coward.” He wheezed, all pretense of his pride lost. Sweat beaded his brow. In the darkness, I had not noticed his eyes were jaundiced, and his skin breaking out in sores. He was awfully feverish. As I quickly looked over him, I realized it was a wonder that this man was not delirious. 

“You fool!” I yelled at him. “What good is killing yourself!? You say you wish to be a good man, and then you act like a craven!?” 

“I have never been anything else,” the man gasped. “I beg you. Kill me. I have nothing left to live for, and I don’t want to be tortured.”

“No! I shall not!” I shouted at him. 

He reached up and took hold of my shirt. He convulsed with tremors, but his eyes never left mine own. “Kill me! Please! Just let me die. You had my life before. I beg you take it!”

“No!” I repeated. “If it’s to keep you from killing yourself, then I shall see you released at the Court of Princeps! I will not take one step on my journey before you see freedom again! You have my word!”

Crixus was sputtering. His strength failed him. He was losing fast. “Mercy.” He begged over and over. “Mercy.”

I was afraid the infection might take him, even as the knife had failed. I ran quickly for a cup and the Benus Tincture. The substance was incredibly invaluable to me, but I found I would’ve given anything to save this man’s life. I ran back with an estimated dose, and I cradled Crixus in my arms. 

“Take this! It will heal you!”

Crixus weakly shook his head. Even in his clouded state, I saw great fear in his eyes. He remembered what I had gone through. 

“I will be by your side the entire time, but you must drink of your own volition! I cannot administer it for you!”

Among the great crimes one can commit, one of the gravest is forcing someone to unwillingly partake of the Benus Tincture. Besides the sacrilege, it simply causes too much pain. Only the willing may drink and be spared. 

“Mercy,” the man repeated. 

“What you ask for is not mercy, it is death! I offer you life! Take it! As painful as it is!”

Crixus convulsed, and he pushed the cup away. I was greatly frustrated that he did not trust me, but I suppose I had never earned it. My heart sank as I realized what I had to do, but there was no other way to save Crixus’ life. I looked over at this poor, pitiable man one more time, asking myself if this wretch truly was worth it. 

It is a very human thing to ask. Even in throes of great love, we too often perform this secret calculation. It is a very blessed man who can hold out his heart and say he will give it to another without reservation. I believed once that I held this love for my School, only to discover how little it meant at the time. It is with my greatest sorrow that I learned I am not this kind of man. 

However, I knew I would rather see Crixus live than watch him die alone. 

I grabbed the knife, and without thinking, I ran it down my arm. Crixus weakly watched in confusion and horror as blood swelled from the open cut. I drank an estimated sip from the Benus Tincture before quickly again preparing the dose for Crixus. I thrusted the cup towards him. 

“You have my forgiveness Crixus, and here is your proof! Now we shall go through this together. Make your decision fast! I do not have much time.”

Crixus hesitated, looking from me to the cup. There was still that great fear in his eyes, but with the last of his strength, he reached forward and drank of the crimson tincture. 

Link to Chapter Fourteen