LJ Idol Exhibit A - Week Two - Black Sheep
“And do not return until you have proven yourself WORTHY!” Eumachia’s father slammed the door in poor Antigonus’ face. Again. One might suppose that time would numb the bitter pain of rejection, but each time it stung anew, like a lash from the lorarius’ whip back in his fighting days.
Yes, Antigonus had been a gladiator. Of legendary fighting prowess, if some of the graffiti around Pompeii was to be believed. As a retiarus, he had appeared in the ampitheatre with his trident, dagger, and net, not the most traditional weapons one would expect from a gladiator. To his credit, he had wielded them with a feline grace that could only be matched by the exotic beasts that were frequently included for an extra bit of spectacle. He could whirl his net about with unmatchable panache, and his dagger could hit any secutor from halfway across the arena. Some aficionados of performance combat fighting argued that the retiarii were the most effeminate and therefore least badass of the gladiators. However, this made no difference to the women who would ogle their glistening bodies as though they were demi-gods. Oh, what a tragic waste to see such beautiful specimens of men risk their lives on the regular for a few coins and a bit of fame! They were the bright flames of the empire that could be extinguished upon the sands at a moment’s notice. Gladiators were the penniless rock stars of the ancient world, basically.
Antigonus had been among those gladiators illustrious and talented enough to earn sufficient coinage to buy his freedom. Unfortunately, the social stigma associated with being a gladiator would follow him for the rest of his days. It made no difference that before his village had been ransacked by a legion of Romans he had been a perfectly honest farmer, even if he was a little thick. Once he had been shipped off to the Pompeian arena, any hope he had of leading an honourable life had been stolen from him.
This was Antigonus’ wretched dilemma. The local ladies, who fawned over his hulking form and chiseled physique, treated him like a celebrity and yet he could not form an honest life for himself with the woman of his dreams. Where was the justice! Hadn’t he proven his worth with every thrust of his trident? Every brandish of his net? He stalked away from Eumachia’s house, hands balled into fists at his side. This served to accentuate the sinews lining his brawny shoulders, earning him a few wistful sighs from the female passers-by. It was time to consult his personal version of the Sibylline Oracles: Homer.
When Antigonus was a boy, his philhellene of a father introduced him to the great bard, and he had learned to read for the sole purpose of unlocking the secrets tucked away inside the pages of the Iliadand the Odyssey. He took a particular shine to the latter, as he was awestruck by the cunning and bravery of Odysseus. Now, having a parent who encouraged his zealous lust for heroic tales as well as a lack of other literary (or historical) influences created a problematic combination. It led Antigonus to an extremely literal interpretation of the epics, and he grew up believing that Homer was historical fact. As far as he was concerned, everything that happened in the Odyssey had happened in the bygone glory days of bronze-clad warriors, and Odysseus was as real as Antigonus himself.
Upon returning to his modest home on the outskirts of the city, Antigonus perused the pages of the Odyssey for inspiration. During his reading, his eyes glazed over repeatedly as he imagined his life with Eumachia. She was the perfect woman; nubile, with rich dark hair and child-bearing hips. Her skin was the creamiest alabaster from her life behind closed doors. She would be a devoted, dutiful wife. What more could a man ask for? Oh, if only he could consult with the great Odysseus himself on how to solve this conundrum. He had all of the intelligence that Antigonus lacked…but wait! His train of thought had led him to an astonishing conclusion. He could consult with the great Odysseus on how to solve his love woes! If he remembered correctly, Odysseus poured libations and sacrificed a sheep to attract the souls of the dead in the Underworld and communicate with them. There was no reason to suggest that Antigonus could not imitate the ceremony to reach Odysseus in the Underworld. It was a failsafe plan! He made a mental inventory of the supplies he would need to perform the ritual, and strode out the door full of newfound purpose. “I need to see a man about a sheep,” he muttered to himself, grinning.
As he approached the shepherd, Hermeros, Antigonus bellowed loudly, “I must have your mightiest and largest black sheep!” He made a sweeping gesture to the herd. “Don’t bother with anything smaller than the largest and mightiest,” he added for emphasis. He needed answers if he was ever going to win the hand of his beloved, and he was not about to botch this.