Let's Kill Caesar

17: Where there's Wine, there's a Way

Endymion hung up and started the car. With a quick glance over his shoulder he pulled out on the road and turned down the next tight street. The car bounced with each imperfection, Endymion's head almost slamming into the roof. 

The rich sector of Rome was speedily left behind, antique structures transforming into blocky graffiti-covered apartment blocks. Homes to the freedmen, slaves released from servitude. A fundamental for many electorial candidates. These people owed the wealthy life debts, inescapable loyalties. No matter what jargon men like Clodius or even Caesar spread, these people were still servants in the scheme of things. Endymion was not so ignorant to the bitter truth of Rome's enslaved population. It was cruel, the ugly result of war; a cycle of a war-ridden world. Rome took, Romans were taken and no justice for any side was considered. For now anyway.

Endymion's cheeks pales as he drove past the unkept streets. Garbage bins were overflowing, trash leaking into tar-black gutters. The sting of stale urine snuck into the car, a mere nod to the stink outside. A few people surrounded by newspapers or bottles were strewn on the footpath, their faces gaunt with hunger. Children with skinny limbs crouched over chalk circles, hands flicking marbles across the pavers, voices sweet with young ignorance. Mothers will sallow cheeks and tired eyes herded teens with grey faces inside bullet-holed doors of a shabby flat. Fathers holding their last hope in their hands advertised their trade on damp cardboard, mouths quirked with desperation. Endymion could barely look at it, the failure. 

Despite the guilt, he couldn't help but lock the doors as he drove past the misfortunate. Too many horror stories of angry mob were in the front of his mind. Endymion couldn't help anyone if he was dead. 

Outside beady eyes settled on him, mouths twisted into vicious scowls. The worst part was that he couldn't blame them.

Endymion maintained a stubborn forward stare  until the blocks of urbanisation trickled away to flat sage and saffron grass fields. Gone was the spotty bitumen, replaced by the ancient layered roads. Much of the stone was eroded, the path littered with clumps of dry shrubs and assorted trash.

There were no bountiful fruit trees like on the Capiltoline. No, towering oaks and pine trees sprouted high, their branches kissing the bright blue sky of Uranus. Aside from the towering trees, the plain was bare. Empty. Perfect for two scheming senators. 

Endymion headed past the giant groves. For many the space was just a trickle into the greenery that lay past the urban jungle. It was a road to wilderness, peace, ground untouched by the proud peacocks of the capitol. But Endymion knew a place. 

He and Valerian had uncovered it when they were fifteen in the ripeness of early youth. The discovery was completely accidental. Back then they had been more committed to the skill of horse riding. 

Every second morning they would gallop away from the marble grip of Rome and explore. Endymion still could feel the wind kiss his face, hear Val's bright and bold cackle. 

One summer morning they had taken a few wrong turns. Being oblivious to the concept of consequence they pressed on down a winding pine-laden trail. And then they found it.

Endymion couldn't help but smile as he pulled the car over beneath a pine tree and climbed out, shoes crunching the needles scattered in the dirt. He planted his hands on his hips as he saw the crumbling temple. It was hard to believe how much the ruins had grown on his. 

Men like Cato would tease it had been 'fate' that the young friends had stumbled across the place. Men like Endymion would say the same, only it wouldn't be some joke. Rome had many temples but no one was bold enough to add Bacchus to the mix. Well not anymore. Not after all the commotion Bacchus stirred up in Greece. Even Clodius wasn't crazy enough to try it.

"Maybe I will be," Endymion breathed, hand brushing against a collapsed pillar. "Someday."

The Temple of Bacchus for now was the perfect secret. And a reason to pray more often. 

In its prime the building was made of bright limestone, walls brightly painted with red and violet grapevines. A marble rendition of the god would be erected at the centre, armed with a toga of leopard fur and goblet of wine. Maenads, the holy women of Bacchus, would dance and sing in circles that ensnared even the most resolved and stoutest of onlookers. Young men in plum silks would sway in the short grasses outside, attempting to mimic the enchantment of boisterous satyrs. Their ankles would be strung with delicate bands of sweet bells, sounding the coming of Change himself with each footfall. Endymion could see the scene vividly as he unconsciously tugged off his shoes. A deep shudder ran from his shoulders to his abdomen. He felt a pull on his waist. 

The Temple was now a shadow of its former glory. Paint had long since peeled or faded. Deep cracks formed along the slightly-leaning pillars, across the dirt-crusted stone floor. The ancient braziers were covered in green rust or curling creepers or both. Scenes of mighty Bacchus fragmented as the monumental stone they'd been carved in slowly crumbled away. As for the marble statue of the wine god, it had fallen long ago. The marble was just a pile of rock at the centre, all that remained was the youthful head. 

Endymion edged close to the marble, back resting against Bacchus's cheek. He smiled to himself. 

"If I was here when your house was intact...well I would have stayed forever."

Bacchus was avoided by the Romans for good reason. Under the name Dionysus, he'd caused havoc, pandemonium, for the Greeks at their festivals. All knew of the dangers of the god's famous Mysteries. Most of the gods were influential, but Bacchus held something more. 

Jupiter was a jacked male with a beard and huge appetite for sex. Mercury had a winged hat and sandals. Minerva was a maiden with a helmet, the gorgon shield. But Bacchus, well, no one agreed on who he was. Some described him as a wild man with a long beard, others saw a spritely youth emerging into the excitement of adulthood.

"That's why they fear you," Endymion thought out loud. "They don't want something they can't pin down. They want predictability."

He glanced at the youthful face of marble. Just one face of Bacchus. 

"They want something simple. Black and white..." Endymion chuckled softly. "You're in every colour..."