Latin, 12, Horace/Virgil
Title: patulae cecini sub tegmine fagi
Rating: 12
Summary: I can't stop playing with Romans. Horace and Virgil, attempting to catch bees and seduce slave boys.
Notes: Quintus is Quintus Horatius Flaccus (best known as Horace), Publius is Publius Vergilius Maro (best known as Virgil), and Gaius is Gaius Cilnius Maecenas (best known as Maecenas, one of Augstus' mates and patron of a bunch of poets). I can't remember where Horace's farm is, and I don't know much about Italian Geography, so just bear with me on that.



They had spent the better part of an afternoon running around like children, their tunics damp with sweat and stained with dust and grass. So far, they had not caught a single bee.

"I can't believe you told the world that this was a practical way of finding out if your bees were ill," Quintus complained. He was bent over with his hands on his knees, puffing and wheezing.

"Well, when they have got the plague, they are easier to catch," Publius retorted. Despite his consdierably lighter frame, he too was out of breath, and threw himself onto the grass like a dying spider. Quintus staggered over, and lay down beside him.

"If they are easier to catch, then we already know they have plague, so there is no need to catch them," Quintus pointed out. "Ouch."

He lifted his leg, and embedded in his pudgy calf was a bee, buzzing furiously. Publius sat up and reached for it.

"I've caught one," Quintus said unnecessarily. "If only its face wasn't buried in my leg."

"That's not the face end," Publius informed him. "It's not a fly."

Quintus frowned at the insect, which was attempting to tear itself in two.

"You mean it bites with its bottom?"

"It stings, like a scorpion. Though from personal experience, I've found they tend to leave the sting behind, which kills them." Publius had cupped his hands over the bee.

"You want to save its life? It's hurting me," Quintus whined.

"I will hurt more if it leaves its sting in you," Publius said. "We'll have to rip it out." He poked at the pudgy flesh of Quintus's leg, combing the thick hairs away from the bee and making a dimple where the bee was stuck. Carefully, easing the barbed sting through the hole it had made, he freed the bee and caught it in his cupped hands.

He held his hands up to Publius and opened them. The bee crawled harmlessly across his veined skin.

"Can you see its face?" Publius asked.

"It doesn't have one," Quintus says crossly. "It's all eyes and eyebrows, but I'll be damned if I can see a mouth on there. And don't wave it so close to mine."

Publius twisted his hand around, but the bee seemed more interested in facing Quintus.

"What am I meant to be looking for?" Quintus asked.

Publius frowned. "I'm not really sure. I suppose... this is what a healthy bee looks like. If you catch one, and it looks different, then it's not healthy."

Quintus smirked. "What a fine beekeeper you are," he teased.

Publius smiled, and gave his hand a shake. The bee flew, groggily, away.

"We should get them drunk some time," Publius said, prodding Quintus until he lay down, and resting his head on Quintus's amble belly. "They are so amusing when drunk."

"You're amusing when drunk," Quintus said, stroking Publius's thinning hair. "Let's get drunk."

"Oh, let's have a picnic," Publius said. "Like shepherds in the mountains. We can compose songs for each other."

Quintus smiled. "You never really grew out of that, did you?" he asked affectionately.

"I am hoping to grow into it," Publius retorted. "If I could have my farm back. Oh, I know I can afford my own land now," he said, waving away Quintus's remarks before they could be made, "but it's not the same. I want to go back to where I grew up. I want my bees and my herds and my herdsmen back. Just think of them all, under the control of some brutish soldier." He sighed. "I love Augustus, I do, but I don't think I can ever quite forgive him."

"I don't think I can ever quite love him, though I'm more than grateful that he forgave me," Quintus said.

"I'm grateful also," Publius said, reaching up to squeeze Quintus's soft hand. Quintus squeezed back.

The sun was setting behind the mountains, and one of Quintus's slave boys cautiously approahched them. Quintus waved him closer.

"I want wine and a rustic supper," he said. "To be served out here. Cheese, bread, that kind of thing. And bring some lamps."

Publius was watching the boy scurry away.

"You like him?" Quintus asked. "You can have him tonight, if you wish. He's very compliant."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," Publius stammered. "He- I couldn't take him away from you."

"You know you don't have to if you don't want to," Quintus told him. "I just thought you might like to have something you wanted, for once."

Publius shook his head. "I couldn't," he said softly. "You know I couldn't. Sometimes, I don't even understand how you can."

"I buy them so I can," Quintus said. "I write poetry so I can. Have you seen Septimus's daughter? Barely sixteen, and falling out of her stola. Marrying Albus, poor girl. I'll have her seduced within a month of her honeymoon."

"Augustus wouldn't approve," Publius said.

"Octavian has participated in more than his fair share of adultery, no matter what piety he spouts now," Quintus blasphemed. "And we were talking about you."

"We were talking about you," Publius corrected. "And your libido. Just because mine is not so ravenous-"

"You're a romantic," Quintus informed him. "You pine after beautiful boys, but when they're offered to you, you turn them down. What do you want from them, marriage?"

"I want something... classical," Publius said. "Something Greek."

Quintus laughed, and Publius joined him. Quintus's slave boy, Loquax, returned, bearing their picnic. The two men disentangled themsleves, and allowed Loquax to spread the blanket he had brought. Reclining on it in the fading light, food spread between them, Quintus smiled at the world and fed Publius an olive.

"Loquax," he said, eyes on his friend. "Are you not warm?"

"I am, master," Loquax said, knowing the script well. "Might I have permission to remove my tunic?"

Publius blushed, and Quintus grinned. "I think, yes, I can grant that permission."

Loquax was Carthagian by ancestry, darkly tanned and lean, with thick black hair. He had the physique of a statue, and a cock like Priapus.

"I... I have learnt something, that might entertain you," Loquax informed his master.

Quintus raised an eyebrow. "I am intrigued," he said. "Are you not intrigued, friend Publius?"

"Gnn," said Publius. There was something so immensely satisfying in reducing a man of such elegant words to none at all, thought Quintus, and he fed the unresisting Publius another olive. He waved at Loquax to perform his trick.

Expecting a song, a poem, or maybe a monologue, Quintus was rather surprised when Loquax leant over so far backwards his hands touched the grass. With a gentle kick, his feet were above his head. He tumbled and cartwheeled across the gentle slope of the hill, until he overestimated himself and fell in a crumpled heap not far from the poets. Publius sat up to stare at him in concern. The young man unfolded himself, and looked to his master for approval.

Publius clapped enthusiastically. "When and where did you learn that?" he asked. "Surely you've not been keeping such talents from me?"

Loquax shook his head, smiling. "When you held that dinner for Gaius Cilnius Maecenas, and you had those acrobats to entertain you, I saw how much you admired their talents. I had one of them show me few tricks, that I might entertain you myself."

"Magnificent boy!" Quintus crowed. "Beautiful boy. Oh, you deserve some great reward for this."

"I would give him this denarius," Publius said, holdin up a silver coin, "if he had anywhere to keep it." Quintus turned to look at him, and saw that he was blushing at his own joke, but smiling too. Quintus laughed loudly.

"I can't work out where you've been keeping it," he said. Publius blushed some more, and winked at him, which made Quintus curl in on himself with laughter.

While Quintus recovered, Publius made awkward conversation with Loquax.

"You are not as I imagined you," Loquax was saying, a little boldly, in Quintus's opinion. "You are as tall as Aeneus!"

"I don't recall writing Aeneus as particularly tall," Publius said faintly.

"We have been reading the Aeneid. I am so honoured to meet you," Loquax went on, "and to serve you. With my master's permission, I will serve you like I was your own. I will do anything you desire."

Quintus wondered whether this was his fault; whether something in his own adoration of his friend had rubbed off on his slave. Loquax sounded half in love with Publius. Still, it would do Publius some good, to know he was admired like this.

"You have more than my permission," Quintus told his slave. "But right now, I would like you to fetch us some more wine."

Loquax scurried off.

"I apologise for him," Quintus said. "I indulge him too often, and now he is too forthright."

"He reads?" Publius asked. "Or you read to him?"

"Oh, he reads. It's one of the reasons I bought him. He writes too; my current scribe is getting a little old, and I needed someone to fill his place on days when he is ill, or when the light is too dim."

"You wanted something nice to look at while you compose," Publius observed. "I can't blame you."

"He meant it, about anything you desire," Quintus said. "He would be thrilled if you took him to bed."

"I would feel so old and ugly, next to him," Publius said. "My delicate poet's ego could not bear it."

"Well, mine can," Quintus said. "This fat old bastard has no problem sodomising beautiful young boys."

Publius laughed, and leant over to kiss Quintus on the lips. "You really think he would be keen with me?" he asked.

"I think I am a bad influence on him," Quintus said. "He even cites you as his favourite poet, over myself! He has learnt Dido's speech by heart. And attempts to use to Georgics to instruct my estate manager."

"That is what they are for," Publius said.

"Publius, my darling man, the Georgics are as good for management as I am for war. We spent the day catching bees. This is not how farms are run."

"No, I suppose not," Pubius sighed. "It's how I remember them being run, though. I suppose my father's estate manager did the actual work, out of my sight."

"As it should be," Quintus said.

"Yes, as it should be."

They toasted each other with the last of the wine, and waited for Loquax to return with more.

"I was wondering," Publius began hesitantly, as the sleek dark figure appeared in the distance. "I was wondering, if you were planning to take Loquax to bed yourself, tonight."

"If you are sure you do not want him," Quintus said.

"I would like you to," Publius told him. "And I wondered... I wondered if I might watch."

Quintus beamed at him. "Of course, my dear fellow, of course!" He took Publius's face in both hands and kissed him thoroughly. "There will be space for you to join in, of course," he told him.

Publius smiled. "I will consider it," he promised.