EROMENOS: a novel of Antinous and Hadrian

by McDonald, Melanie

She laughed then, and went gliding off to visit with a different guest.

  Another evening, during a banquet that stretched on for hours, she flitted to my cushion, studied my face for a moment, and said, “It seems you’ve already made quite an impression on our emperor, my dear.”

  While I fumbled for a reply, she said, “That’s wonderful. Of course, Hadrian isn’t one to be captured by a pretty face alone. He’s a man whose mind must be captivated as well.

  “I hear you’re a bright lad, not just a handsome one. So apply yourself, Antinous, to Latin as well as protocol, and get past this annoying bashfulness of yours. Don’t be ashamed of your background—to a jaded palate, simple fare can be refreshing.

  “Yes,” she said, touching just the fingertips of her right hand to my chin and turning my face this way and that, “I do believe you have real potential.”

  “Potential for what, please?”

  “Why, what else?” she said, and gave me a teasing smile. “To become the new favorite, of course. But believe me, with all the choices available, that’s no easy task. Take care, Antinous, and study. That’s all I’ll say for now.”

  She slipped away then, bracelets twinkling, on the hunt for someone else to beguile.

  Later, I mulled her words, wondering if they were true. It was understood in court who the emperor’s current favorite was then—Lucius Commodus, the young patrician of the court, several years older than I, of whom Hadrian seemed quite fond.

  Commodus never spoke to me, as if I were the servant of someone he didn’t know. I understood why Amyrra thought he might be put aside soon. Handsome, cultured, rich, and charming though he was, he could no longer be called a boy. Commodus was soon taking on the white toga of manhood, and so now must officially be considered a Roman citizen, a man—and thus, too old to continue to be the emperor’s consort, his eromenos, beloved youth.

  WHAT A HAPPY hound I was in those green and gold days, content to bask beneath the emperor’s gaze, loll at his feet and watch him in silence. Looking back, I can see how such adoration, innocent though it was, might well seduce its object with as much efficacy as the oft-honed skills of a jade.

  I listened, fascinated, whenever Hadrian spoke of battles he had fought in and sights he had encountered. I was enchanted by his evocation of the lands of snow, of barbarians whose skill with horses surpassed any Roman’s, as if a new race of centaurs had emerged upon the earth. He described the symbols adorning their crude battle equipment, spirals turning and returning, representing an idea of infinity.

  He told of how one Celtic chieftain, a woman, captured in battle while fighting alongside the men of her tribe (for the barbarians hold that women rule with as much wisdom as men), waited for the moment when her hands were released from the manacles, seized a dagger from the belt of one of the soldiers guarding her, and plunged it into her own chest. Though a woman, she held death preferable to the dishonor awaiting her in Rome.

  In those days I clung to his every pronouncement as if he were Socrates and I Plato, gathering jewels of wisdom to hand on to some Aristotle of the future. In my youthful arrogance, I believed that because Hadrian revered Greek culture, he thought that I, being Greek, was superior to my fellows. Only much later did it occur to me that he, being emperor, bestowed superiority upon me because he fancied my being Greek.

  Then one night, as Korias and I stood stacking empty wine jugs in a corner after a banquet for the kitchen workers to retrieve later, one of the guards sought me out.

  “The emperor wishes to see you,” he said.

  I returned to the banquet room, where Hadrian still sat at his table. He smiled and waved me closer. I knelt beside the couch where he reclined with his trusted prefect, Marcius Turbo. When he leaned over to speak to me, I caught the scent of the oil he wore in his hair, a citrus fragrance.

  “I remember telling you, Antinous, about a hunting lodge I have near the Arcadian woods. The stable master assures me that you can ride, and the hunt master says you can aim a deadly spear. You also seem to enjoy the company of horses and hounds. So you will attend me as groom on our next boar hunt, about a month from now.”

  I felt myself blush with excitement, and knew the red must be blooming in both cheeks. (Feelings have always betrayed me in blood this way.)

  “I’m honored, sir,” I said. He smiled again, enjoying my pleasure and confusion.

  “Speak with the stable master, then, and he’ll give my permission to the school master for you to miss a few days. I trust you’ll have no trouble getting caught up once we return.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “No, sir, in most subjects I’ve read a little ahead.”

  “I suspected as much,” he said. “Thank you, Antinous. That’s all for now.”

  I departed with as much grace as I could muster, once I stopped gawking at him like an addled fawn.

  “WHAT IS IT, Antinous?” Korias asked, curiosity overcoming his usual restraint. He and a few other pages lingered in the dusty road just outside the palace wall, eager to find out why I had been summoned.

  “The Emperor wants me to serve as his groom,” I said, and felt the hairs stand up along my forearms, from both the chill of the night air and the excitement of speaking those words aloud.

  “That’s quite an honor,” Korias said, looking at me as if seeing me anew. “Congratulations.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I believe the stable master told him I’d be good company for the hounds.”

  Korias and the others laughed, which reassured me. I didn’t want to sound either too arrogant or too eager in revealing this new assignment from Hadrian.

  As if he realized my awkwardness at that moment, Korias changed the subject to the evening’s musical selections. I gave him a grateful look for his tact while he criticized a lyre player for her inferior technique.

  Still, the other boys whispered and snickered, and a couple cast glances naked with envy when we made our way by torchlight back to our quarters.

  At the next banquet, serving wine alongside Korias, I felt his eyes on me while we lounged against the wall between rounds.

  “You know, Antinous,” he said, “you’ve cut quite a figure at court already—and now, with this invitation from the emperor himself, you must be careful. The knives will be bared, so to speak, in certain quarters.”

  Hearing this, I sighed and touched my old childhood amulet from my grandparents, which I still wore beneath my new linen tunic, for protection.

  “I know you’re right,” I said. “Marcus seems to hate me, and this will only add fuel to the brazier.”

  “To be honest, I was thinking more of Commodus,” said Korias. He scanned the banquet room as if to make sure no one noticed us conversing.

  “For all his charm, he’s as two-faced as Janus. Don’t be taken in. He’s long been considered the emperor’s favorite, and he won’t relish Hadrian’s attention to anyone else—especially since he took the white toga. He probably feels less sure of Hadrian now, since they can no longer sleep together. Officially, anyhow.”

  I decided to trust Korias.

  “You know Amyrra?”

  “The courtesan, yes,” he said.

  “She told me, she thinks—forgive me, this must sound so arrogant—she thinks I might become a new favorite. She’s been encouraging me, even offering little hints and suggestions here and there. I can’t help but wonder why.”

  Korias lifted one eyebrow and grinned, his white teeth flashing.

  “Oh, I can tell you why,” he said. “She’s a good one to have as an ally. Here, let’s make our rounds again, and then let me tell you a story.”

  We hurried to serve the guests, pouring out the next round of watered wine with as much haste as possible without sloshing it on anyone, then refilled the flagons of wine and water from the kitchen reserves so that we could resume our positions along the wall.

  Speaking in a low voice to avoid being overheard, Korias inclined toward me and continued.

  “When I was a first-
year myself, I heard from an older friend of mine that Amyrra hates Commodus—though of course she must tread carefully there, since he is a patrician, and a favorite of Hadrian’s besides.”

  I felt a stab of jealousy, wondering just who this older friend had been.

  “But why,” I said, forcing myself to refocus on the conversation. “How did Commodus offend her?”

  “Well, it seems,” Korias said, “that during a banquet his father sponsored, Commodus thought they needed more wine, so he asked Amyrra to send her man down to the shops for a few more flasks—quite a few more.

  “Of course, she did so at once, not wanting to offend a friend of Hadrian’s, and thinking she might even forge a helpful alliance with this favor.

  “But then, after having her put all of that wine on her own credit, Commodus never did get around to having his father reimburse her. Despite all his wealth—or maybe because of it—he has a talent for spending other people’s money.”

  Korias gave me another little grin. He skimmed one fingertip across the wine in the mouth of the amphora beside him to fish out a couple of midges that had bumbled their way into the jar and now floated on the dark sea of wine. He shook his finger. The live one flew off. The other clung to his fingertip, drowned already, so he flicked it away with a surreptitious motion and wiped his finger against the gold hem of his tunic.

  “How unfair,” I said, “to take advantage of her that way.”

  “Yes,” Korias said, “and Amyrra has never forgotten or forgiven him for it.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “That may explain her interest in me—or rather, in the emperor’s supposed interest in me.”

  “Well, partly,” he said, “but like everyone else here in court, she has an eye for beauty.”

  The blood beat at my temples. Korias, always so proper and focused on duty, was flirting with me. I cast him a sideways glance, one like Amyrra practiced on me.

  “What a kind thing to say.”

  Now it appeared to be his turn to blush. “It’s just the truth. You’re very attractive.”

  I let myself relax and slide over toward him, feeling his shoulder and arm tense in anticipation as I moved against him.

  “You’re very attractive yourself, Korias.”

  My compliment was rewarded with an audible intake of breath on his part, a tremor that seemed to pulse between his body and mine.

  And after the banquet, by means of various dissemblings, the two of us somehow managed to find ourselves alone on a mild and moonlit night.

  Out of sight of the palace wall, we melted together into the shade of an oak, kisses interrupted by murmurs leading to more kisses. Never again could I smell the green reassurance of oak leaves without thinking of Korias and that night.

  Pressing against his body with the full length of mine, I felt our mutual excitement wrestling together and, crouching a little, shifted myself to one side in a gesture of accommodation. Grazing the warm hollow of his throat with my mouth, I let my fingers stroke along that cloaked throbbing below, so like my own, and he moaned.

  But when I reached for the hem of his tunic, anxious to grasp that lovely column hidden behind a facade of linen, hoping he would reciprocate, he groaned and stayed my hand.

  “No, Antinous,” he said, pulling away, albeit with evident reluctance, “we can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

  My own frustration grew as my excitement ebbed.

  “No,” Korias said, his voice firm. “It wouldn’t be—honorable.”

  I understood his intentions, which were noble. He believed the emperor might be interested in me; therefore he must not poach the emperor’s quarry. But I wanted that other firmness, offered and then withdrawn.

  Back in my quarters, unable to sleep, with my own hand I found myself again and again in the dark. Imagining first Korias, then Hadrian, I thought I might faint from love.

  IN THE WEEKS leading up to the boar hunt, Momius, the stable master, familiarized me with a few imperial protocols to be observed at the hunting lodge, suggesting which horses should be assigned to which riders, and which might need relieving after a day—both horses and riders. He told me to reserve Xanthus and Balius, fastest and strongest, for Hadrian and the hunt master. I was to ride an older horse, Pelas.

  One thing Momius didn’t specify was where I might be quartered on the trip. I assumed that, as a groom, I would stay in a small shelter of some sort near the dogs and horses. Upon reaching the lodge, however, I learned otherwise.

  We arrived late, having stopped for a meal along the way. Along with the other grooms I helped feed, water and brush the horses, checking their hooves for signs of cracking or other damage, and afterward fed the hounds. Then, kit in hand, I looked around in the bunk room trying to decide where I might be most comfortable for the night. I had just knelt down to take off my sandals and wash my feet when one of the others spoke.

  “Antinous, Hadrian will expect you to stay in his quarters, since you are his personal attendant.”

  He looked at me with an ambiguous expression, one I had difficulty deciphering in the twilight.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize. Thank you,” I said. “Good night, then.”

  I slipped my sandals back onto my clean feet, picked up my bundle and walked to the main lodge, and nervous excitement caused my breath and pulse to quicken as if I had run up a steep hill. Inside, I followed the house servant to Hadrian’s private quarters.

  I was ushered into his presence where he sat at a small desk with his scribe, Phlegon, beside him. At that time, I didn’t realize Phlegon was an author in his own right, undertaking to write a history of the Olympic games. Later, I heard him read from his Book of Marvels while we were at court in Athens.

  Both men greeted me, and Hadrian invited me to sit on the couch. He chatted with me in a desultory manner for several minutes while they finished some correspondence. I watched him use his signet ring to imbed his mark in the sealing wax of several scrolls, just as he once sealed his invitation to me.

  Hadrian wore a simple, expensive robe, beneath which the muscles of his chest gleamed in the lamplight whenever he turned to speak to me. I felt shy, and cannot remember now either that of which he spoke or my own responses, which were no doubt inane. I didn’t know what to do with my own hands. As soon as he finished dictating his last missive, Phlegon departed, leaving the stylus and other apparatus of his trade behind on the desk.

  Hadrian rose from his chair and came over to me—I stood again, when he did—and put his palms against both sides of my face. For a moment he stood motionless, staring into my eyes.

  “So beautiful,” he said, and my own image swam before me in his pupils, dark as night.

  His face just then amazed me. Not his gaze, not a smile or any expression crossing his features. Rather, the apparition of his face at that moment, a sun breaking from behind a pillow of cloud, radiance lighting upon him, upon us both.

  Then he did an odd thing. He placed his hands upon both of my shoulders, a mute insistence.

  I understood that I must kneel, go down on one knee before him. My head inclined in a bow, a loyal subject paying tribute to his ruler. The ancient words of Aeschylus describing the Greeks, which we had just read in school a few days earlier, hummed like bees of reproach in my ears: “They bow to no man, and are no man’s slaves.”

  When I tried to rise again, his hands resisted. His robe, unbound, fell open in front of me.

  After a moment, I realized what he wanted. I felt shame and anger, which I struggled to douse. This act I knew of, and certainly had heard about at school. I had seen the paintings at the baths. It was what one sometimes engaged in with a prostitute, or perhaps a servant or younger classmate. I was no slave, no girl, and this act I expected, anticipated, being done only to me, for me. By the Roman code, I knew, such submission was not asked of a partner, for it demeaned him.

  But perhaps he meant to follow ancient Greek custom, intended to take a youth as his lover, to train him in the duties and
responsibilities of citizenship, and then release him upon the arrival of his own manhood. Such submission to an older lover was still allowed with no dishonor until one came of age. I gave him my compliance.

  Afterward I spit him out into my hand cloth with all the discretion I could muster. It smelled just like my own. I had always thought of sex as a red fish darting, an image gleaned from some erotic Egyptian poem, no doubt. Naïve boy, I expected silver or gold splashes, somehow, but he possessed the same flesh, the same seed, as any man.

  THE NEXT MORNING, as if in a trance, I helped the hunt master and the other grooms ready the dogs and horses to ride out, and looked around at the great forest that engulfed us, dwarfing the lodge. These trees were the robust pines and firs of my childhood, not those parasols which consort with cypress all over Italy. That familiar wood, dappled with sunlight, comforted me, dazed as I was by my abrupt transition from boy to consort.

  The next night I learned what else he wanted from me. It hurt.

  Stoic, I said nothing, and did not cry out, so that Priapus, sating his lust, indulged in a private orgy to rival Messalina’s. On the hillsides of my childhood I had watched bulls and heifers, rams and ewes, randy goats going at one another, heard the older boys snicker about sheep and shepherds. But I never imagined myself as the mounted one.

  The morning sun saw my blood on the bedclothes, despite Hadrian’s lavish use of warm, scented oil. When he went outside to relieve himself, I stripped away the stained sheet, replacing it with a fresh one. If he noticed, he said nothing.

  THAT NEXT AFTERNOON, Hadrian once again proved to all his prowess when he tracked down an enormous black boar and dispatched it with one thrust of his spear, driving it into the heart of the pig until he buried it up to the shaft. His mount still quivered and gasped for air after the pursuit, sides heaving in and out like bellows. Everyone kept up the shouting and rejoicing (I perhaps the loudest) while he claimed his trophy with deliberation and then pulled the hem of his hunting cloak over his head to silence us before he offered up the first meats of his quarry as a lustration for the success of the hunt.