(no subject)
Afterward, as they lie sprawled on the bed together, Antony cleans himself off while Curio calls for a slave to bring more wine. The wine is brought, Curio takes the first sip, and then he passes the cup to Antony.
It seems they share almost everything, these days.
"Look at you," purrs Curio, in that voice of his--the most finely-tuned weapon Antony has ever encountered-- "all grown-up and brooding. You're going to give yourself wrinkles if you're not careful. And then where will you be? Worry just enough to give yourself a few grey hairs, but not too many. You'll look distinguished; it'll do wonders for your career."
Antony takes another sip of wine. He hasn't got a career, and they both know it.
"What is it, then?" Curio asks, taking the cup back from him and settling in with his head on Antony's chest. "What could possibly be bothering you so? What could spoil a night like this?"
"My wife is unhappy," says Antony with a faint shrug.
"And?" Curio looks sideways up at him.
"And she's unhappy. That's all there is." He reaches for the cup, but Curio moves it away, taking another drink himself.
"Her happiness is not your concern," Curio says after a moment. "Can you really be responsible for the happiness of anyone else? Can anyone? Worry about your own; let her find hers."
"I'm the reason she's unhappy. She wants me to be home more often, wants us to spend more time together." He manages to take hold of the cup, this time.
"She wants to make a woman of you," says Curio, contempt creeping into his voice, "or a slave. And I know you, Antony; you are neither. You are a bright flame--should you burn yourself out uselessly on the hearth, or should you light up the city? In my mind, there is no question at all."
"It's not like that," says Antony, and drains the cup. "She loves me, and she's been very good to me. She's a good wife. It wouldn't be so bad to--"
"Those are her words, not yours," interrupts Curio. "She wants you to think like that. If you start thinking that way, she's got you under her control. That's what she really wants, you know--same with your mother. They want to control you, and don't care if you're happy. That's how women are."
"You've never had a wife," Antony points out.
"No--that's how I can tell you this. I've never been... bewitched, the way you have. I see it from the outside, and I can tell you, your Fadia wants you for her own selfish purposes. I've got years more experience with women than you do; I know these things. They're like children. You've got to say no, and you've got to mean it. You can't let them have their way."
...it makes sense, in a way. But then, everything Curio says makes sense at the time.
"Antony," Curio says, taking the empty cup from him and handing it off to his slave, "have I ever led you astray? Have I ever lied to you? Other people want to control you, but I've got your interests, your happiness, at heart. I'd never hurt you like they do, but you've got to trust me."
Antony remembers the first time he had gone to Curio's bed. Curio had plied him with wine and flattery, called him his 'young Dionysus,' and offered him enough money to pay off a large percentage of his debts. He had been sixteen at the time, and one night with a wealthy enough man could make a serious dent in what he owed his creditors; but those days are long gone now, and Curio doesn't give him money anymore. He pays for the wine and women while Antony gambles and somehow, neither of them ever seems to win. But Curio is far better than Antony at making more money--he can charm anyone into anything--so his debts are not quite so extravagant.
"I trust you," Antony says.
"Good boy," says Curio, and kisses him. His stubble is rough against Antony's cheek, and he tastes of wine. "Get dressed. We are going to Pavo's for a bit of entertainment tonight."
"Pavo's?" he asks, stiffening. "I can't go there. I still owe him money. A great deal of money."
"You owe everyone money, Antony," Curio says with a dismissive chuckle, sitting up. "If you never went anywhere for fear of running into someone you owe money to, you'd never leave your house. And even then, you'd probably have to stay in your room, and have a slave slip your meals in under the door. We're going."
"He'll kill me for sure. He threatened me, last time I saw him, said if he saw me again and I didn't have the money with me he'd cut my balls off and feed them to my wife. I had to borrow money from my father-in-law, and even then--"
"Why would you do a thing like that?" he asks sharply, the music gone from his voice. "Fadius bought you once for his daughter, and now he has bought you for himself. That's what they want, to own you--to have power over you, a proper Roman citizen from a good family, to make up for their having been slaves. And you've let them. I expected better of you."
"You were out of town--what else could I have done? I needed the money, and it seemed to me he'd be the least likely to demand repayment in blood. There was no other choice."
"There's always a choice, Antony. You've just been too afraid to take it."
Antony remembers the first time he had seen Curio speak, defending some wife-killer at a public trial. He had held the crowd in his hand--they strained to catch each word when he lowered his voice, and trembled when he raised it. In that moment, Antony had wanted nothing more than to be Curio, but lacking any skill at oratory, he settled for basking in the light of him. He had taken up gambling in earnest solely for the chance to get close to him; and now that he is, he cannot imagine being anywhere else.
"Will you live in fear?" Curio continues, voice barely more than a whisper. "Will you let Pavo and all of them--your mother, your wife, your father-in-law--will you let them tell you how to live? Or will you be the man I know you are?"
"What will you have me do?" Antony whispers, though he suspects he already knows.
"We will go to Pavo's tonight," Curio says with a smile. "You will stay close to me. He won't touch you if you're with me. We will drink, we will enjoy ourselves. And at the end of the evening, after most of the others have gone home, well... it will be self-defense. I will be your witness, if need be, if you are caught. But you won't be caught. And then both our debts will be erased, no?"
"I suppose," says Antony after a moment, quietly, unconvinced but not wanting to seem afraid. He has killed before, accidentally, in fights that got out of hand; but he has never deliberately set out to kill, and it's a line he hadn't expected to cross, not this soon.
"My young Hercules," says Curio, purring again, "my young lion of a man. So bold, so strong--look at you. Unstoppable, when you put your mind to something."
He waves the slave over to bring yet more wine, and shifts position to pin Antony to the bed. "You need a bit more courage in you before we go, my pet," he murmurs in Antony's ear, "but I doubt he'll mind if we are delayed."