Patriarchal Society & Abuse

The change of the Roman Empire from paganism to Christianity did not alter the patriarchal nature of society. The male head of a family, the pater familias, could do whatever he wanted to the members of his family – even murder them without serious consequences (as Emperor Constantine did to his son and wife). The emperor was the pater familias of the empire, and as such had the same relationship to his subjects, considered his family under rule. Gaius was Gaius Galen Licinius the Younger and his father was Gaius Galen Licinius the Elder (right). The Elder was a pater familias terror in his household, choosing to continue to follow older conservative ways that enshrined his power.

 

Today, many people are concerned that societies are still patriarchal, which is unfair to women and nonbinary folks like LGBTQ+. Many feel that cultures in the United States and other societies have a long way to go to shake their patriarchal basis, which goes back people like Emperor Justinian and Gaius’ rotten father. The following excerpt from Chapter 16, Dig Him Up!, shows The Elder in a patriarchal fit…

 

 

Hesiod glanced back and forth between Elder and Younger, rightfully uncomfortable between us two insane men. Elder was rubbing his throat, still glaring at me from the desk chair he retreated to, just as I had seen other men settle back after they knew they had lost their fight.

“You will no longer be at that address, I think,” said Father, not so sure of his footing now. I had to press.

 

“You are right to be afraid of me – I don’t even know what I might do at any moment. You have caused me upset,” I said. “And you are aware of how upset I can become.”

 

“My son, I am not afraid of you. I love you.” This was shocking, and Hesiod, standing a little back from Father, gave me a quick look of alarm. “Fulvia and all of us in this house have heard about your affair with the prostitute and your grand impression at Quintus Cornelius Alban’s party.”

 

“It’s Messalina. And she is a former prostitute and a fine woman.”

 

“Yes, Messalina; I have heard. Quintus has sent me a note of gratitude for the bridle you gave his young daughter.” He looked me over for a hint of softness, I thought.

“And so, are you upset that I have resurfaced among your friends and peers?” I asked.

“Yes, I am, I think. It makes me wonder, makes me hope that, that I … might have a son again.”

 

Father’s brow smoothed all the way up past his former hairline, his dark eyes softening. Hesiod was frowning beside him, his head shaking a barely perceivable no. I remained silent.

 

Father blurted a short laugh, saying, “It’s all that I have ever wanted, a son, my Gaius Galen to follow me, help me, help us build a solid life for us all, for himself,” he smiled at me, causing instant doubt.

 

“Was this before or after you threatened to expose me to the elements and death as a quiet 5 year old? Before or after you threatened your moody son with castration at 10? Before or after you threatened to kill me at age 15 – as you claimed was your right – because the Chrysanthos scare had pushed me too far in the direction you desired and into the Green streets? You’re an old Spartan pagan, not an orthodox Christian. I may have to alert your imperial clients, and that could be very bad for business.” I immediately thought that was too far, but it was done.

Hesiod tried to step in, saying, “Father and son talking, that is a comfort, a comfort to me. Why, I remember the times – ”

 

“Shut up, Hesiod,” scolded Father. He rubbed his throat purposefully. Mine felt suddenly parched; his fight was returning. “I never hurt you beyond beatings you sorely deserved. But you, Wilder, are the murderer in the room. You are the criminal, a spoiled rich boy, leading other criminals in the guise of an imitation Hun. Then you begged your father to pull you from jail, and later when your rationality returned you pleaded for his help in getting the position you now enjoy.”

 

I took this silently, nodding to its truth once, wounded by his words of shame. He sneered at my weakness.

 

“If it wasn’t for the slave I gave to protect you, you wouldn’t even be alive! Tedius keeps you functioning. His father has more reason for pride in his son than I do.” This made Hesiod shake his head in a clear warning to me. Father went on.

 

“Are you, Gaius Galen the Younger, going to do what the frog Ammianus says, allowing him to blackmail your father and order him around? Or are you going to stuff that frog’s tongue down his throat and protect the honor of your family? Which is it to be: obey me and protect the family or serve Ammianus?”

 

An extreme blush burned my face, the heat covering me in a sheet. Father was burning up as well.

 

“Is Wilder a true a warrior or just a lowly criminal?” He stood up, and I remained down.

 

“You wanted to push that rod through my throat, didn’t you? But you were too weak. Your normal character, isn’t it? I bet Tedius would have done it for you.”

 

Hesiod whispered in Father’s ear, I couldn’t tell what, but Father pushed him away and walked to the fireplace. He pulled out the rod, one end on fire, embers falling on the carpet as he walked toward me. He held it near my throat at the spot where I had pushed at his before. The heat burnt my chin and singed my whiskers. Then he swung it over my head.

 

“Here’s our murdering Hun” – the flaming rod whooshed over my head again – “without his slave to protect him, without his gang of street scum,” – whoosh, whoosh.

 

Flames excited by the swinging danced on the rod end he held in front of my face. I could only think about grabbing it but couldn’t. I was spent completely. He swung it back and forth inches from my nose.

 

“Would they follow you if they knew what you did to your son?” He touched my hair with the flame and pulled it away, the alarming odor of burning hair smothering any hint of lavender.

 

“Would they, Wilder? Remember the night?” – Whoosh – “Of course not, you were out for days rioting.”

 

“No!” I managed, and swatted at the rod, which burnt my hand. But it was still under Father’s control.

 

“No they wouldn’t follow you? Or no you don’t remember the night your son died? Answer me, BOY!” Whoosh.

 

I was up out of the chair and I screamed – a howl of torment, because I suddenly realized that Father was in the same frenzy I often felt in the giddy haze of rioting. I was horrified to see in his crazed eyes and actions that we were the same. I knocked the rod from his hand and moved toward the door to the hall.

 

“No you don’t! Come back, we can pull up his little body and you can love him like you said you did.” At the door, my hand lifting the latch …

“Yes, let’s go to the church graveyard, right away. We can dig him up, Wilder!” he taunted.

 

I flung the door open and ran, “We can dig him up!” ringing in my ears as I made it to the front entrance, sprinting away from my father, from myself, from my poor dead son. Hearing the commotion, one servant at the front door I knew from the old days saw me coming, took pity and opened the locked vestibule door for me, and I was out in the entryway courtyard area. The night guards had never seen anyone climb the gate to get out and they left me unmolested as I leapt away like a crazed animal down the middle of The Mese and into a maddened night, my mania fused with Father’s.