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A nervous cough alerted Octavius to the presence of another man. Concluding his sentence, he placed his writing to one side and looked instead to the entrance to the room, a warm smile making its way onto his face as he recognised the young man standing awkwardly within the halo of light spilling in from the outer chamber. Although younger than he, the intruder could easily have been taken for his senior, his broad build adding the years in a way that Octavius’ own small frame never would. The face too appeared older than the reality, the strong nose almost seeming to weaken beneath the normally unwavering gaze of dark brown eyes.
Now, however, the eyes refused to meet those of Octavius, a fact that perplexed him, twisting his smile into the beginnings of a worried frown. He had known Agrippa for nigh on three years now, and never had he seemed so removed within Octavius’ presence. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice rough with sudden concerns. “Do you have news of my uncle?”
Agrippa’s posture seemed to benefit little from the interrogation, although something in his face hardened a little. “He is your mother’s uncle, not your own,” he corrected, his own tone more that of the aspiring soldier than of a close friend. “And no, I bear no news from abroad.”
Relieved, Octavius allowed himself to relax a little, although still feeling quite unbalanced by Agrippa’s peculiar behaviour. “What, then?” he prompted. “Or do you come merely to distract me from my studies?”
“I’ve heard things.”
Agrippa said the words as though they were an explanation in their own right. Perhaps they might have been, if Octavius had heard the same things of which his friend was speaking. As it was, however, he was no more enlightened than before.
“What things?” Rising, Octavius gestured for Agrippa to take the seat beside him.
Agrippa hesitated for a moment before doing so, twisting uncomfortably in the new position while his friend sank gracefully back into his own seat. “Things about Caesar.”
Octavius frowned, teeth grazing lightly over his lower lip in a still unconquered habit of childhood. “So it is bad news after all.” He nodded stoically. “You’re right to tell me. Is he injured? Unwell?”
“As I said, I’ve no news of how he fares.”
Octavius worked to suppress a sigh of exasperation. Agrippa was obviously in one of his more obstinate moods. “What then?” He smiled teasingly at his friend, gazing across at him from beneath slightly lowered lids, a trick that often worked with the other young men he associated with and always worked with the matrons who stared openly at him whenever he went to the local temples. “Must you taunt me with this knowledge of yours?”
Agrippa turned away, but not before Octavius had seen a tight frown take hold of his features. “It’s not so much knowledge as… gossip,” the younger man muttered haltingly.
“Gossip?” Octavius let his own smile broaden into a delighted grin. “About my uncle? This should be amusing. What are his troops saying now? That he is to be king?” His laugh was easy, if not heartfelt. “Antonius has been placing ideas into their minds again, no doubt.”
“It is not just the troops this time,” Agrippa corrected him. “And it isn’t kingship they speak of.”
With Agrippa’s gaze turned away from him, most of Octavius’ tricks for gaining information were rendered useless. He could feel the beginnings of a headache nagging at his temples and took a moment to wonder whether it might be the sign of an oncoming illness before deciding that it was merely his friend’s stubbornness that irked him in such a fashion. “You’re being deliberately obtuse today, Agrippa,” he remarked peevishly, any vestige of his former smile slipping sullenly from his face.
There was a short silence before Agrippa replied. When he spoke, his words were soft and almost calming. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be.” A pause. “I find it hard to talk about this.”
“Am I really that awe inspiring?” Octavius smirked a little at the thought before rising from his seat and moving around to stand in front of that of his friend. Dropping to his knees, he leant forward so that his elbows rested lightly on Agrippa’s thighs, his fingers intertwining to form a cushion for his chin. “Perhaps I should be first citizen of Rome, not my uncle.”
This new position meant that Agrippa was forced to turn his gaze back to Octavius. His unruly dark curls, worn longer than the current fashion, fell down into his eyes as he bent his head to regard his friend. “What are you doing?” he asked, a tone of bemusement entering his voice.”
“Interrogating you.” Octavius smiled. “How am I doing?”
Inelegantly, Agrippa reached out to run a rough hand over Octavius’ own blonde waves before jerking it away again as though thinking better of the action. “Too well,” he replied shortly. “I often think that you’re far too good at such things.”
Octavius frowned at the suggestion beneath the words. “What else should I learn to excel at?” he demanded. “Not everyone can be the most promising soldier in Rome.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Agrippa sighed, his eyes unreadable. “But it’s no wonder that people are talking.”
“Let them talk!” Octavius chin sunk deeper into his hands, his eyes darkening. “You’ve not yet told me what they’re saying, so it can’t be of much consequence. Surely if it were something of importance my own closest friend would hasten to inform me…”
The new tactic prompted a response, if not the one Octavius had been aiming for. “I’m your closest friend?” If Octavius had not been too annoyed to look, he guessed that Agrippa’s expression would be one of surprise. “What about Maecenas?”
“Oh, he’s fun too. But his poetry’s awful and he always insists on reciting it to me.” Octavius quickly changed his tone as he remembered what he was trying to achieve. “But I guess I was wrong. If you were a friend, you’d tell me what people are saying about my uncle.”
Raising his gaze, Octavius looked steadily up into Agrippa’s eyes, wondering how it was that their brown was so much darker than that of his own. Something in his expression seemed to unsettle the other youth, and he moved uncomfortably beneath the weight of Octavius’ arms before finally breaking the eye contact and refocussing on a point somewhere above Octavius’ head.
“It’s not only Caesar,” Agrippa muttered quietly, one hand twisting within the folds of his toga in an unusual gesture of nervousness. “They speak about you also. About you and he…” A pause. “About your relationship.”
Octavius smirked. “Oh yes?”
His tone seemed to disturb Agrippa further, pulling his gaze back to Octavius and twisting his features into an agitated frown. “They say you act as his catamite,” he finished bluntly, eyes watching Octavius for his response.
“Do they?” Octavius regarded his friend unblinkingly. “And what do you say?”
Agrippa remained silent for a moment before replying. “I try not to mistake gossip for the truth.”
His attempt to avoid the question did not fool Octavius. “Are you afraid to answer for fear of offending me?” he prompted, pouting a little for effect. “I thought I could always count on your honesty.”
“You can,” Agrippa replied awkwardly. “But on this occasion, I remain…” His voice trailed off as he looked intently into Octavius’ eyes. “…Undecided.”
“I suppose now I’m required to berate you for your slander,” Octavius mused, lifting his chin from his hands so that he could wave the right in a languid gesture of disinterest. “That would be the correct thing to do if I were interested in protecting my reputation.”
Nodding, Agrippa directed his gaze back towards the wall behind his friend. “It would be-…”
Octavius cut him off, touching gentle fingers to Agrippa’s mouth in a wordless plea for silence. “I have never cared much for an unblemished reputation.” He smiled teasingly. “And besides, it’s not slander if you speak the truth.”
It took a moment for Agrippa to comprehend the full meaning of Octavius’ words. His eyes flickered wide with the understanding, but he did not look back to his friend.
“Am I so disgusting to you that you cannot look me in the eye?” Octavius asked petulantly, jerking the hand away from Agrippa’s face, feeling almost as though he had been scolded. “If my touch offends you, I shan’t force it upon you.”
Greatly angered – and a little hurt, although he would not admit it – Octavius moved swiftly to his feet, glaring down at Agrippa for a moment before turning and stalking into a corner, where he busied himself with the intense inspection of a leather breastplate.
There was a long pause before Agrippa managed a reply, his voice soft and somehow a little muffled by the new distance between them. “You neither disgust nor offend me,” he said calmly. “But I won’t pretend to understand, because I don’t.”
“What is there to understand?” Octavius muttered, his anger still tense within him.
“You let him do that to you?” Agrippa’s voice betrayed his uneasiness with the subject.
“Why not? I enjoy it.” Octavius glared at the breastplate, choosing the most shocking response he could think of.
“Don’t tell too many people that,” Agrippa warned quietly, “or you will ruin your reputation.”
“Hypocrites,” Octavius spat. “Antonius is quick to forget his boyhood husband, while the Senators hide slave boys beneath their seats.”
“Powerful hypocrites,” Agrippa corrected, before falling silent for a while. “Why him?” he asked finally.
“My great uncle-…” Octavius flashed a quick glance at Agrippa as if to emphasise the preferred phrase. “…is also a powerful man. We enjoy each other’s company.”
“What has he promised you? Money? Property?” A pause. “The gossip suggests that you seek adoption…”
Despite himself, a smile tweaked at the corners of Octavius’ lips. “Adoption? As much as I favour the idea of being heir to Rome, there has been no such talk. I’m sorry, Agrippa. I’m afraid I have no ulterior motive to confess to you.”
The sound of movement reached Octavius’ ears from behind as Agrippa stood. “Do you love him?”
This time, Octavius was powerless to stop a short laugh from escaping his lips. “Only as I would any distant relative. Do you really see me as the adoring type?”
“I would rather not make such a judgement.” More movement, and now Octavius could sense that Agrippa stood close behind him. “But I can’t see you doing such things without at least some small attachment.”
“You think too highly of me.” Turning, Octavius regarded his friend with a challenging look. “I assure you that vice is my only goal.”
Agrippa returned his gaze, speaking evenly. “If you seek to shock me, I’m afraid you’ve failed.”
“Why the questions, then?”
“If you had told me, there would have been no need to ask.”
Octavius laughed again, but this time the sound was harsh, bitter. “What? And have you seeing me only as my uncle’s property? After all, this is what I excel at, remember?”
Agrippa looked a little hurt by his words. “I see you as a friend – a task which you also excel at.”
Octavius’ laughter faded, eyes darkening as his gaze flicked over the features of the other youth. “What if that friendship is merely a cover for my other abilities?” he asked quietly. “I might not be capable of such benign emotion.”
“I know you better than that.” Agrippa’s warm smile was a gentle challenge. “And I have seen Maecenas often. He is not pretty enough for your tastes, Octavius.”
Octavius never turned down challenges. “Perhaps his worth is measured in your jealousy.”
This time, Agrippa seemed prepared to join the game. “He must be a very valuable friend, then.”
A smile began to make its way back onto Octavius’ face. “When I become heir to Rome I’ll be sure to have him write an ode to my genius.”
“Surely the only genius Maecenas is interested in is his own.”
“Perhaps you’d be better suited to the task, then.”
Agrippa’s grin was easy. “I’m no poet. My rhymes would be clumsy.”
“But the sentiment would be true.” Octavius paused, dropping his gaze. “Or have I misjudged you?”
He watched Agrippa’s face carefully through lowered lashes but did not see anything there to worry him.
“You know I care for you.”
“See?” Octavius smirked. “At least one of us has knowledge of those benign emotions I was talking about.”
“You think too highly of me,” Agrippa replied, turning Octavius’ own words back against him. “How do you know I’m not here to ravish you, spurred on by idle gossip?”
“If you were, you would have kissed me by now,” Octavius teased, unable to continue the pretence of shyness when it was much more interesting to meet his friend’s eyes.
Their brown hue glinted with amusement – and, perhaps, something more – as Agrippa met the gaze unblinkingly. “I wouldn’t want to damage your uncle’s property.”
“He holds no control over me,” Octavius retorted, recognising Agrippa’s words as a joke but still feeling a little perturbed by them. “Besides, I grow tired of his constant talk of battle. I can do as I please.”
“And what is it that pleases you?”
“You do.”
Octavius took a moment to bask in the delightful combination of surprise and pleasure that shone from Agrippa’s features, the dignified mask of disinterest long faded from his countenance.
Finally Agrippa spoke, his voice quiet, words a little stilted, as though new to his lips. “What is it that Caesar does that you enjoy so much?”
“I couldn’t tell you. It’d ruin my reputation.”
“Now who’s the hypocrite?”
“You are.” Octavius reached up a hand to toy with the curls framing Agrippa’s face. “You’re desperate to kiss me, and yet you stand here teasing me instead.”
Agrippa returned the gesture, albeit much more roughly, his fingers twisting almost possessively in Octavius’ hair. “I thought you enjoyed that.”
Octavius leant in a little closer, feeling Agrippa’s breath warm against his cheek now, their eyes still locked together in the almost-forgotten battle. “I enjoy this.”
Agrippa’s lips brushed lightly against his own. “I’m glad,” he murmured. “I’d hate to think I was the only one having fun.”
Their lips met again, more solidly this time, mouths opening moist against each other. When they broke apart, Octavius found himself struggling for breath, strangely affected by the contact.
“Is that how Caesar kisses?” Agrippa demanded, breathing a little harder himself.
“Suddenly, I can’t remember.” Agrippa stared at him, as if to determine the veracity of his words, but Octavius was unmoved. “But I find your jealousy charming all the same.”
“Its charm will soon wear off.”
“So will mine.”
“Not to me. I think too highly of you, remember.”
Octavius smiled and for once there was no greater motive beyond the gesture. “We all have our vices.”
Agrippa bent to nuzzle the curve of Octavius’ neck. “When is Caesar due to return?” he asked between kisses.
“Not for months.”
“Good.” The flesh beneath his lips muffled his voice a little. “I think I’ll need that long to find out what it is you enjoy so much.” He concluded his exploration of Octavius’ neck and straightened up again in order to reclaim his mouth.
Octavius felt as though he was sinking into Agrippa’s embrace, strength seeping from his limbs with every kiss. “People will talk,” he warned weakly, pulling his friend ever closer into his arms.
Agrippa’s features stretched into a smirk that could almost have been one of Octavius’ own. “Let them,” he announced, once again borrowing Octavius’ words. “If we’re very lucky, Maecenas might write a poem about it.”
Laughing, Octavius wondered momentarily when it was that Agrippa had stolen all his tricks before ensuring his friend’s continued silence with a kiss.
6th October 2001