Menelaus
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Járnviðr
About Menelaus
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Charioteer
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Jack Huston
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Face Claim
Jack Huston
Recent Posts
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Menelaus had thought often of retirement, recently. The wisdom of it. The necessity of it. There were many differences between Menelaus and the emperor, but foremost in his mind today was that the old Caesar had exercised great prudence in making way for the new Caesar. When his master had asked him whether he wished to retire, Menelaus had dodged the question. Despite his advancing age, Menelaus still loved racing. He worried that he might die the way so many did, ignominiously, at the wheel of their own chariot. He no longer feared the outcome the way he had years ago, nor could he scoff with unearned confidence at the prospect, the way he might have at the start of his career.
None of these thoughts took purchase in his mind today, though. The excitement of the spectators and his opponents was infectious. Menelaus particularly eyed Azarion as they lined up at the carceres; the boy seemed uninterested in the more boorish behavior of the other charioteers. Menelaus noted that with a hint of pride- there was no reason for him to take credit for the boy's success, and he would not, if asked, but there was a kind of vicarious joy at seeing the up-and-coming star of the races using the same strategy he once had. Avoiding the distractions of other racers had earned him numerous victories. This boy would go far, Menelaus thought approvingly.
If he were to retire...well, Menelaus would need to see Azarion earn a victory today, before making any such decision. The boy did seem to have a fighting spirit, even at rest- he gave one of the Blues the finger. He just hoped that Azarion’s injuries today would be minor- and that he might make a fine showing despite any setbacks. Menelaus reminded himself that, no matter what his future plans might be, he certainly had not retired yet. He shook off thoughts of his potential successor and focused on the race. When the horn sounded out over the circus, Menelaus flattered himself that, despite his momentary distraction, he was keeping up with the hale and hearty youngsters.
@Atrice, @Chevi, @Sarah, @Sharpie
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Menelaus waited for his master's answer. Rather than offer empty platitudes, Marcus seemed to seriously consider his question. Menelaus appreciated that his master. Eventually, when Marcus did speak, he spoke of Quintus Caesar's wisdom in retiring. Menelaus nodded to show that he was listening intently. Marcus spoke of the new emperor's council, and why it gave him hope that Rome might avoid conflict and bloodshed. Menelaus had not considered the historical element- he supposed that among certain circles, there might be men comparing this rise to power with the previous one. Menelaus himself had never troubled himself with these things, until now. He wondered what this successor would be like. What was a future emperor like, before ascending to the throne? And how did his destiny shape him? Menelaus had been shaped by his own life- he supposed this Titus Augustus must be a wise ruler, having been been raised by one.
"May we all see a peaceful succession, then, and a new Caesar as wise as his father. Thank you for gracing me with your time and your wisdom."
And with that, Menelaus waited to be dismissed.
@Sharpie
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Regardless of his future (which was always up in the air, for a charioteer), Menelaus was grateful for the compliments. Marcus was kinder than most masters. He offered such honeyed words to his slaves, but unlike other masters who might do so at their whims, Marcus offered them only when they were deserved. It was not soft-heartedness, but a trust in his slaves' strength. It reliably informed him when he had performed well. Menelaus appreciated the structure that it gave to his life; that, certainly, he would regret losing. It was hard to say how he felt about the rest of it- retirement and freedom was a better outcome than death, he supposed, though part of him would always wish he had died in his prime.
"If I might ask," Menelaus began, feeling emboldened by his master inviting the question, "what do you think of recent events? The changes in politics are far too complicated for me to follow, but I prefer to be informed of larger concerns than just victory. Thus, I ask, sir, what is your opinion, that I may come to share it?"
@Sharpie
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Menelaus waited, still and silent, as his master read the scroll. He had spent so much time imagining the end of his career, dying painfully in some way or another. It was a common for charioteers to die young. Whether from injuries sustained during a race or for the hard living of being an athlete, very few lived to grow old. Menelaus was one of the oldest and most successful in Marcus' faction, though, and it seemed that he might just live to see freedom, and a life after the races. All of this, he thought while he waited with bated breath. He had voiced his own thoughts already, and Marcus would have something to say.
Indeed, he spoke of the upcoming races. Menelaus would honor the emperor with his performance, and so he needed to be at his best. That was what motivated Marcus to promise him his freedom in exchange for victory. It was- tantalizing, to have his freedom be earned, not through the money he had saved, but through chariot racing itself. He would remember that moment of triumph for the rest of his days. Though Menelaus did not often dream of freedom, the idea of freedom as a rightfully-won reward was too perfect for him to resist. Yes, he would win this race and gain his freedom. He would teach the next generation of charioteers, and watch as they struggled and strove just as he and his own peers once had.
“Whether I retire will be a matter for the gods to decide, but as for freedom, and the chance to train the next generation of racers- I would be honored to accept this challenge. Thank you for your generosity.”
@Sharpie
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Menelaus followed Marcus dutifully. He had not expected the question- Marcus had never asked about the specifics on Menelaus' long-term manumission plans. It was not something that a master would normally take an interest in. He walked just behind Marcus, nearly matching his speed. He had been saving towards his manumission, of course, though not at the rate that another slave in his position might have. He scarcely imagined what life would be like after manumission. He had always known he would die because of the races, so why work against his nature? He had outlived his own expectations.
"Not enough to buy my freedom," Menelaus demurred. "I will serve as your charioteer for some years yet."
@Sharpie
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Menelaus had long worried that he would never make an impact. Slaves did not tend to affect the future. Charioteers had a unique problem, in that they lived short lives, in most cases. Menelaus had outlived many of the young men he had come up with, and he was hardly the oldest charioteer- for now. Sometimes, he dreamed of that. The oldest charioteer, dying only when none would ever dare to beat that record. Him, as a trainer? It would afford him the chance to mark the sport. Charioteers would remember his training, and it would carry them forward. He could become part of this on a level that no man before him ever had. He couldn’t keep the gratitude out of his voice, a fact which he supposed Marcus would appreciate, having made the offer at all.
“It would be a great honor to serve you in this way, sir.”
@Sharpie
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Menelaus hesitated for the barest of moments before answering. Taking an opportunity from a newcomer to the races could be selfish, if it benefitted him, but if his honest assessment was that the boy had potential but was not ready- no, it was not. The boy was ready.
“The expectations will be good for him. He will learn. Some boys would not, but if my measure of him is correct, he will not buckle under pressure. Speak with him yourself to form your own opinion, of course, but I believe you will find the same.”
While the bigae were less prestigious, they were no less stressful on a beginner charioteer- and yet, Menelaus believed that Azarion would benefit from the experience, even though it might cripple the progress of a lesser athlete.
“Let him race in the bigae, and you’ll see a man emerge with the right talents to entertain a crowd, despite his inexperience.”
@Sharpie
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“Azarion? Performing well beyond my expectations. He’s taken to it quite naturally- use him before he has a chance to weaken with age- most who burn that brightly do so quickly.”
Menelaus frowned thoughtfully. Most of the young charioteers had an attitude that concerned him, but it wasn’t his place to question these things. After all, he had most likely once been like them. He still enjoyed the thrill and the excitement. Perhaps it was normal, until they earned some wisdom.
“What are your plans for him?”
@Sharpie
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Menelaus comported himself respectfully as Marcus entered the stables. The warm openness in his bearing smoothed itself into a patient receptiveness. The question was a simple one. Menelaus only gave himself a moment to consider it. Regardless of the details, the overall answer would be the same.
“Well enough. I believe I can keep up with some of the youngsters who have joined our ranks, despite my advanced age,” Menelaus quipped. More seriously, he added, “I cannot speak much on the others’ progress, at such an early stage.” It was not that early, though, as they both knew. Training needed to proceed at a rapid clip in order for the racing team to reach peak performance on time.
@Sharpie
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With celebrations soon to commence, so too does the appetite for races increase. The charioteers, then, must prepare for battle. Each race is a battle against themselves as well as the other contestants. A chariot, loosed from one man’s control, is a weapon of instant annihilation. The sport takes a toll on their bodies. Meanwhile, the hungry watchers take in the spectacle. All of this would be enough to make any patrician balk- but Menelaus is not a patrician. He adores the attention, relishes the spectacle, and craves the toll. He plans to live a hard life, even though he dreads the end of it. Why choose caution over bravery? That would hardly be the appropriate path for a charioteer.
Instead, Menelaus prepared for the upcoming races. He did not yet know the details, but they would certainly be expected to participate in the ongoing celebration in some fashion. For now, he had returned from the latest round of practice, and had a moment of quiet in the stables. He felt the rush of it, still, even now that he was at rest. Menelaus took a moment to breathe deeply, smiling, when he heard someone else approaching. He turned to greet the newcomer, curious to see who would be here to speak with him when there was no race in progress.
@Sharpie
Topics I Participated In
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A day at the races
Started by Marcus Eppius Parthenicus ·
July 76, the Circus Neronianus*
It was still summer in Rome, still hot, and yet with the advent of a new Caesar, there was a new air of excitement and anticipation even in the heat that pervaded Rome. It was cooler outside the boundary of the city - not a lot cooler, but enough.
Racing was something that everyone had an opinion on and interest in, no matter the season or who wore the purple. Most races took place in the Circus Maximus, that vast stretch of racetrack in whose shadow the Whites' stable lay, but there were other venues in Rome for racing to take place, and one of those was the new Circus outside the boundaries of the city, across the Tiber. It was a venue for less prestigious races, and therefore the perfect place to introduce a new charioteer to the business of actually being a charioteer.
Marcus had made sure that Azarion had had the opportunity to drive around this smaller track so that its shorter length and tight turns would be more familiar during his first race. And now the chariots were lined up at the end of the Circus; behind the carceres, the starting gate. When the signal was given, the gate would allow all the chariots to move forward at the same time, aiming them deliberately to the right-hand side of the spina that ran down the centre of the circus. Marcus would watch this first race of Azarion's future career from near the starting gate, where he could see right down the circus on both sides of the spina, although not the curve at the far end. He had Varica stationed on the spina itself to cover that - being able to hear of any occurrences there would help with the final assessment of the day. Seven laps would tell whether Marcus was right, or wrong, in his assessment of the boy.
@Chevi ( @Járnviðr and @Atrice if you want to include Menelaus and Caeso as either spectators or participants)
*Two things: the Circus Neronianus was begun by Caligula (and finished by Claudius in our own timeline, there's no need to think it couldn't have been finished by AeRo's own Claudius); I have referred to it by the name it has in our world because I don't know what it would otherwise be known as. The thread is set in the Transtiberim even though this circus is technically not in that area simply because it is on the other side of the river and only just outside Rome itself. See the map here
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Panem et aurīgae
Started by Menelaus ·
With celebrations soon to commence, so too does the appetite for races increase. The charioteers, then, must prepare for battle. Each race is a battle against themselves as well as the other contestants. A chariot, loosed from one man’s control, is a weapon of instant annihilation. The sport takes a toll on their bodies. Meanwhile, the hungry watchers take in the spectacle. All of this would be enough to make any patrician balk- but Menelaus is not a patrician. He adores the attention, relishes the spectacle, and craves the toll. He plans to live a hard life, even though he dreads the end of it. Why choose caution over bravery? That would hardly be the appropriate path for a charioteer.
Instead, Menelaus prepared for the upcoming races. He did not yet know the details, but they would certainly be expected to participate in the ongoing celebration in some fashion. For now, he had returned from the latest round of practice, and had a moment of quiet in the stables. He felt the rush of it, still, even now that he was at rest. Menelaus took a moment to breathe deeply, smiling, when he heard someone else approaching. He turned to greet the newcomer, curious to see who would be here to speak with him when there was no race in progress.
@Sharpie
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What Belongs in Stables
Started by Menelaus ·
Early March, 76AD
Returning to the stables after a grueling day often helped Menelaus return to a state of comfortable relaxation. The rush of having survived another day as a charioteer still filled him with pride. He’d proven himself, time and again, but each day he lived felt like a victory. Today, he would join a few of the other charioteers at the poppina; the older ones, who had lasted almost as long as he had. He didn’t have anything to speak with the younger ones about. It felt disorienting, talking to them and seeing their hope that would soon be dashed underfoot by hooves or wheels. He would enjoy the company of men his own age, who at least had some understanding of reality.
Speaking of men his own age, Menelaus was surprised to see one of the charioteers standing with a woman by the stables as he arrived. She was speaking with him in a very familiar manner, which left very little room for misinterpretation; it was clear why she had come here. Menelaus snuck past them, not wanting to interrupt a spot of fun. Inside, though, he noticed something on the floor. A shawl, which could only belong to a woman- and there was only one woman whose shawl could have been left here without one of the charioteers noticing it by now. He picked it up, rushing back outside to catch the woman before she left.
“Excuse me! Excuse me, but you dropped this. None of my fellow charioteers would have worn something this fine, and it’s best if you escape with it now, before they get any ideas about how to use it.”
@Echo
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MENELAUS
30 | 09 January 54 CE| Slave | Charioteer | Bisexual | Wanted (https://www.aeternaromarpg.com/topic/6131-white-faction-membersroles/ | Jack Huston
Personality.
Spontaneous, creative, and introspective, Menelaus concerns himself with the stories people tell about each other. He loves to connect with new people and charm them. He easily moves past old hurts, and often turns bad stories into better ones in his memory. He is not very capable of feeling guilt, nor resentment. He has accepted his lot in life, and has very little interest in freedom for his own sake. He has not planned for the future; he believes he will die before he has any children, or finds a wife, and so he does not look forward. He is interested in having positive experiences and in making genuine connections, but not in speculating, predicting, or worrying. He tends towards selflessness by reflex, rather than compassion- helping others is natural when each person has their own valuable, interesting story that he is only briefly intersecting.
Menelaus works quite hard in his racing life, in the hopes of enjoying the pleasures of life when he is not racing. He is a lover of the senses: he likes taking baths, eating food, and sleeping peacefully. If there is anything Menelaus envies the patrician class for, it is that they are physically comfortable. He does not need longevity, or an easy life, but he wishes to find some sort of reward that brings him joy.
Appearance
At about six feet tall, Menelaus towers over the average person. His hair is cropped short. His muscular arms and legs advertise his profession, while his golden-brown skin advertises his Greek heritage. He sports a slight beard, fancying it another distinguishing factor of many that separates him from any other person that could be seen in the street. Although he is now renowned for his numerous victories in the races, Menelaus bears marks of past injuries, in the form of one of his fingers. It is bent oddly, from a fracture that never set properly. Most of the time, Menelaus wears the appropriate clothing for a racer of the White faction.
Family
Father: Unknown
Mother: Philis
Siblings: N/A
Spouse: N/A
Children: N/A
Extended family: Unknown
History
Born to a slave mother and a slave father, Menelaus is descended from at least two generations of Greek slaves, according to the records. The story that he always told himself was that his ancestors were captured in battle, and that in his role as a charioteer, he is making them proud. Meneleaus grew up without many other skills or education. His physical prowess (an early growth spurt, combined with a general comfort with his senses and balance) fast-tracked him to life as a charioteer. Menelaus trained hard to improve. A plodding, determined sort, he was able to turn his talents into skills. Having avoided life as an ordinary laborer or body slave, Menelaus mostly associated with fellow charioteers, and the odd fan who found the sport fascinating. Such attention was not always positive, but all of it was flattering.
By age 18, Menelaus had begun cementing his reputation- and stardom, of sorts. He rose through the ranks, impressing audiences and fellow competitors alike. He loved the attention and comfort that his new position brought to him, even if the consequences of such a taxing profession on his body were severe. Many of his friends and rivals died throughout the next ten years, as their roles as charioteers were unforgiving. He no longer likes to get attached to the others, especially the youngest. He spends most of his time cavorting with those who watch the matches and would like the notch on their bedpost that a charioteer would make. He does not expect to ever leave this life behind. While he has saved towards retirement as best as he can, even by 28, Menelaus had barely any savings.
In the past two years, Menelaus has sensed the coming end which he so keenly fears. He knows that charioteers often come to ignominious ends- crushed underfoot as their own chariots careen off without them, in more than one case. Besides that, his body is wearing down with age. Each day, he can feel time slipping by. His own tendency towards laziness and desire for a comfortable life get in the way of his desperate, last-ditch efforts to squeeze whatever he can out of his career as a racer. He uses most of his time now trying to make connections with plebians (or even patricians) who might be able to employ him if he ever buys his freedom- and drinking to distract himself from the specter of death on the horizon.
Járnviðr | EST | Discord (Járnviðr#1573)
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