The Feast of Cetus

by Anika Jensen

The moon has chased the brilliant sun from the sky, her blanket of stars in tow and now covers the city in an ink as black as earth though this grand municipium, try as it might, cannot not be mistaken for being at rest. Romulus and Remus must quake in indignance to look down from their resting couches in lofty Olympus at the drunks and misfits disgracing their fair city, visages sopping with spirits till keeping balance was the utmost of tasks, their cries the howling of savage dogs climbing over each other in the night air.

With narrowed gaze through a high stone window of the villa, I sought to scan the alleys below to determine if the esteemed personage of my Roman husband was among the yipping curs. I had warned him to abide by the virtues of the gods and to not take pleasure in the sin of lust and greed that accompanied those southern alcoves across the city, but this evening my efforts had been in vain. His humour was of a species that thrived when fed with praise and currying, a task to which I had always been ill-equipped as my tongue was sharp as a salted barnacle shell, and ill-adapted to the gluttony of honeyed words he craved.

Cetus was my given name, and well it suited me, for I was adept at being patient, and although sharp of tongue, my slim, curved aspects were well known to please the eye of many a roman man, and through much coin, my now-husband Cassius had bought my hand from a lower-class arrangement. My only insist was the accompaniment of my faithful dog, a life companion who obeyed my every command swiftly and silently, affection always reflected in the pools of his eyes. Damio I had named him as a child as its meaning lay in to tame and subdue, as indeed that is what he accomplished to any who wished me harm, although I only called him thus when Cassius was not aware, as it sent him into a rage to imagine I addressed a lowly dog by the same means I did him. For indeed I was his plaything, his exotic pet to flout in front of other pompous fiends, just barely above the level of whore, but in that distinction I sought from the first to retain my dignity.

The day now past had been stretched long and expectant, full of a shifting sensation of something crawling just below the skin, that made one certain some portentous event was soon to befall great Rome. A foul-tempered Cassius did not seem to share this feeling however, and after a sullen prandium taken in the middle of a blazing afternoon sun, we had set off to attend the cavea to witness an exotic event as part of the daily programme, performed by Orientales from eastern Sinae. The Seres that hailed from that land were not often to be seen in the vastness of the Roman Empire and the show was a rare one-time occurrence, a manifestation of budding relations between the two nations, and nothing was given away about the performance except that it depicted a sort of ancient tale of the supernatural event that surrounded a solar eclipse.

It was no surprise then that the cavea’s seating from the lofty Summa down to the Media and Ima were swarming with masses of eager citizens. As Cassius led the way down to the Ima benches he strutted a massive bulk, slathered in his favourite shade of yellow silk, and watching him prance reminded me of how hungry I was. Then from below an acquaintance of Cassius hailed us, gesturing to the vacancies nearest him. We wove down through ever-growing levels of heat towards him - by name he was Aranea, gossiped to be the most well-informed man in Rome and a delicious mystery.

Simple in appearance and not given to extravagant dress, despite a rich supply of coin, his grey-eyed countenance always lit up at our meetings, and drifted often over the shoulder of Cassius to catch my hazel eye, sliding then down my long brown tresses. Glad for this rare admiration, I usually did nothing to turn his daring but harmless gazes. Dense Cassius was, as ever, oblivious and in approaching he performed his habitual switch of temper from sullen to jovial. The grey gaze appeared as we sat and made ready for the show, and he sent extra slaves over to shade my sun, though I paid it no mind. Then, the show commenced, and Cassius and Aranea both disappeared from the parchment of my thoughts. How magnificent, how marvellous it was! Cassius snorted his disdain, taking obvious offence at the dexterity of the Seres that flipped and flew, barely seeming to touch the earth as they wove, spun and paraded colours as bright as all earthly delights across the arena’s old grey sand.

And now a Celestial Dragon, with flaming colours of opal, ruby, and diamond drifting off its immense many-legged body, entered and soared in great hypnotic circles around the sandy ring to the beating of drums and bells. Around and around, its movements were soon mirrored by that of a powerful sun, brilliant as gold and flickering in the heavy sunlight, and ever more sharp did the Dragon’s movements become as the dance grew quick, and it sought to claim the bright prize. Now the playfulness had gone, and hungry eyes were always trained on the great sun, faster and faster the dance became, and suddenly in a moment of fatigue, the sun slowed just as there was an explosion of speed from the Dragon, and a thundering roar burst forth from a great horn hidden in the Dragon’s belly as it lunged and engulfed the shimmering orb in its jaws.

Cries went up from many of the audience, but no sooner than the Dragon had lunged did many other Seres rush from the sides to surround the demon in a ring. A great clamour arose clanging and banging from the many pots and pans clasped in their hands, and the Dragon twisted ‘round in fright, the great sun still clamped in its gullet but the sweet prize of its labours now forgotten. The dreadful din grew louder, shattering the eardrums and splitting the mind as the Dragon roared and boomed in terror, at last spitting out the sun in a haste to escape, and slithering off through the sand.

As our litter passed by the van of the Seres outside the cavea, many actors were seen wiping the sweat of their labours away from beaming, sand-streaked faces. The great Dragon hung motionless from a frame nearby, great maw agape and eyes still glimmering with infused hunger. After the play had ended the usual programme resumed - gladiator fights, lion executions and the like, but then, and even now, my mind was still glued to the image of the Dragon and the sun. I commiserated with the Dragon, oh what a toil it must be to circle and dance for centuries with the very thing one must both despise and love - chained to the possibility of victory, only for it to be cruelly snatched away. Glancing at Cassius, I caught his eye, and disgust surely must have squirmed out of my expression, because and he frowned groggily through a thick old chin and rolled fat fingers uneasily. I turned away, still hungry.

After a brief repose at the villa, Cassius had departed, and now, nigh the witching hour, I stood at the high window counting the dogs and thinking vaguely of Aranea under a sullen temper at being made to wait. Slowly, a litter of swaying silks began inching its way out of the inky darkness from the bottom street, slaves sweating under the long journey they had no doubt undertaken. Rash singing came from out under the drapes, and I guessed Cassius had persuaded, yet again, several impressionable individuals back to fill their fatigued ears and eyes with his peacock’s song of impressive wealth and wife. I arrived in the vestibule in time to see Cassius emerge, panting and sloppily done-up, fumes wafting from every orifice and a pleased countenance splitting his face as if Apollo himself had hidden the sun away inside his gut. It slid aside as my formidable figure was caught sight of, however, and he waned as the moon does in front of the bulk of the earth’s heavy shadow.

“Cassius”

“Anaticula my dear…”

Caught in a sudden violence of heaving, he emptied his sins onto the polished front step of the villa, then lent to catch his breath. I scowled; he knew how I despised the nickname Anaticula, a reference to water fowl and the one insult that always broke my countenance. Sure enough a sickly smile matched the filth around his mouth as he swung his head upwards.

“Cetus my dove, what a sour face; you should be congratulating me! A fine haul I have made this evening, very fine indeed.”

And he pulled out of the night two wenches, who lit by the torchlight screamed in raucous laughter and slid to the ground, feeling their way down by his pockets. A fire exploded into my belly, a monster churning its depths at the sight of these two fillies of disgrace. I had known long of his exploits, but what a radical insult was this to present them on the very steps of this villa! Upon my honour?!

“Dismiss them.”

There was command steeling the tone of my words, command that most would not dare to thrust upon this man, least of all his wench of a wife. Ladies of the night still clinging to his person, I turned and retreated to the villa. In his right mind, I knew he would have resisted, made excuses to the honour of the women and defied my wishes, but this eve, sick as a pig, he obeyed, though I knew the morning would bring furious retribution. Damio danced to my side as I strode into the moon-lit courtyard, and I caressed the lovely ears fondly. Oh the days in which we frolicked beside the seashore, naked and free. And oh, how I was tired of this fool’s mockery of dance between myself and this self-absorbed brute. I had known a boy beside that same silvery sea, spoiled and who kicked sand over my creations screaming that his was the best. I had pointed to the sea and told him of the terrible sea monsters lurking beneath the surface, then pushed him backwards unawares into a strong current. His terrified screams still sounded in my ears, beneath those of my father as he beat sense into me afterwards.

And sense I had learned, the sense to not let them catch me. Cassius so terribly conceited and shallow was more powerful than the little boy on the beach - he knew I was tied to him in both the societal burden a woman bore and in coin, and he paraded me as his play-thing during daytime, ever whispering words of insult and malice under the breath and over the shoulder. The lesson of the ocean tides had taught me that I was not powerless despite the irons this society had latched upon my neck, and beneath pale moonlight the fiery rage flowing through my wounded pride was calmed, and slowly, persistently overtaken by the skin-crawling spiders dancing just under my pale flesh. I knew not how, but a great momentum was building in the stifling air above the great city, cumulating into something more monstrous than all the terrible marital dances of Rome, and all one needed was a drop of patience. Damio nosed into the palm of my hand and smiled in the way that hounds do.

The next day I sat in repose sipping cool juice in the shade of the villa’s orange tree, a well-predicted bruise besting my backside as a result of the morning’s sobriety.

“Shameful! No-one has stained my honour with embarrassment like you have, worthless wife! Shameless whore!”

In the six months since our marital bond began, I had born his assaults, and thus it became no great task to thicken my hide against them. The sun beat down upon my couch’s silks mercilessly, hotter even than yester-day, the pit of the cavea, and Damio lay nearby panting, a great grin splitting his handsome face. Suddenly, he sprang up alert and wide-eyed, staring to the street as a great clamour approached from outside the villa walls.

“MURDERERS, TRAITORS!” Seizing hold of Damio in apprehension, I heard the echoing chorus wind its way up through the nearby streets and markets, marching up towards the senate. Cassius appeared, startled and frightened and summoned a litter - complaining not when I joined, and bellowed madly at the slaves to make for the house of Aranea. Nearly an hour passed as the litter vainly pushed its way through the growing crowd, Cassius becoming increasingly agitated at being among so many angry commoners, and for once I shared his worry, as some began to throw increasingly agitated looks towards our luxurious transport. At last we arrived and Cassius burst through the vestibule and into the sitting room, where already many other well-known Romans had gathered, and the slight figure of Aranea was surrounded by them in the sitting-room, all taking rapidly at great volume.

“Cassius! Good friend, welcome. Poor tidings do I have to greet you with on this dim day.” His smile sad, he glanced my way in passing, and his plain face was visited briefly with relief. He commanded silence, and shared then to us all that this very afternoon, our great emperor had been the victim of a vicious attack, and was now deceased. Waves roared through my head as my thoughts strove to best each other. Cassius managed barely to stumble his backside onto a couch before the room erupted in terrified voices, cold tides of shock smashing against us all. What did it mean? The emperor of Rome, dead? Murdered! Aranea’s countenance was just as grim, and he muttered woefully to the air;

“Oh all the misfortune that should befall Rome this day!”

But before the sentence was cold from his lips, a single cry arose from the mob outside, and rushing to the window, a most terrifying sight began to present itself; a colossal shadow had begun to steal across the sun’s now-dimming face. Coolness began to creep over all skins, and screams that could curdle one’s blood arose from the crowd gathered in the narrow streets. Suddenly the air seemed thick, and Cassius began to choke in panic. I stood, eyes trained on this marvel in the darkening sky. It was really happening, the Celestial Dragon had finally caught up with its elusive prey. The shadow still just a sliver across, when out of the corner of my eye, I caught Cassius fleeing from the room. I turned to Aranea, who, face drained of colour, but still calm, trained solemn grey eyes on mine. He crossed the distance in a stride and took both my hands.

“May the gods be with you.”

I nodded. The Dragon’s gums began to glow with heat, fangs slowly sliding over its fiery prize, and not knowing what phantom possessed me, I kissed him. Halfway to the vestibule, I stopped and turned back to the stunned man.

“Do you know my name?”

“Cetus.”

I waited.

“Ah, yes.” He smiled faintly. “Dragon of the sea.”

I nodded.

“Don’t worry about me.” Dashing down into a street that was a vision from the realm of Hades, I just caught sight of the litter making away through the maddening crowd, and sprinting as I once had through strong chaotic currents, I barely reached it and slung myself in beside Cassius. Suddenly the phantom current rose again in my chest and I leaned forward and shouted different directions to the bearers;

“A shortcut,” I bellowed into Cassius’ ear. Through the panicked masses we wove. Now the Dragon had a firm grip and its smouldering jaws shadowed over half of the bright face, maw shuddering with great contractions as it swallowed stronger still, earthly world growing ever darker. Soon a bend in the road came, into an alley bordering a pit filled with the hounds trained and used for arena executions. Here no people were gathered, although a clamouring racket of terror arose from the dogs who were jumping up at the sides of their enclosure, mad in their attempts to scare off the Dragon, whose mouth had closed down now, ivory teeth almost touching as only one-quarter remained.

“Stop!” I screamed, barely heard over the dog’s ferocious din. The litter fell to the ground as our slaves lost their wits and flung the poles from their shoulders, disappearing to the end of the alley. I untangled from the litter’s foul pillows and rushed to kneel at the edge of the pit; several people could be seen below that surely had fallen in earlier, now shredded to pieces by the dog’s frantic mouths, the pit ringed with bricks and large rocks commoners used to throw at them for sport. Cassius panted up behind me and grabbed a handful of hair, bellowing in my ear to get back in the litter. Quick as a snake, I stood spinning ‘round and struck his temple with a mighty stone, then gave the brute a push that took him to the lip—then over into the pit. Snarls of madness filled the air to cover his anguished screams, and mere seconds later he lay there, throat ripped out as the fine yellow silks jerked to and fro, dogs tearing at the bright cloth now dim in the foreboding light of the swallowed sun.

When finally my senses returned, I found myself still at the edge of the pit, grasping the blooded rock. I dropped it, turned slowly and made way up the alley, stopping at its mouth before the hellish swarm of people as mad as the dogs in the pit. A soft lick graced my hand and the darkened claustrophobic world made way for Damio as I turned to see him grinning beside me, eyes bright and knowing. I could not help but to grin back.

Finally, my appetite was satisfied.