by R G Berube
My dark thoughts were like the Python. They attracted fear and filled me dread of the unknown. How much longer could I share his love and life? How longer would my beauty keep his eyes from others? How many more years would I enjoy the benevolence of the gods? Often, a darkness would overtake me and I could not shake it. At first Hadrian implored me to think of other things to occupy my mind with distractions. But time showed him that these moods were a part of my nature. Only patience could over-ride the gloom. Would Apollo send light into my soul?
"There is little that I can hide from you," I said. "You have seen my moods. They are sparked by uncertainty."
"Of what?" Hadrian looked at me curiously.
"Of what we are to each other. For your welfare. I have seen the effects of the illness which you try so hard to hide. I love you and have concern! I also fear for myself, and it is not easy for me to admit it. What will be the price extracted from me for the gifts I have received through you?"
"Do you perceive me as a nemesis?"
I had not planned to disclose my strange contacts with the soothsayers, but I felt compelled to speak of them at last.
"I know not what to believe! I have been approached by some who claim to have seen something in me that speaks of calamity. My relationship with you has been noted. Our purpose together, frightens me."
His countenance filled me with apprehension. There was hurt in his eyes.
"Do you fear me, Antinoos?"
"Not you! I know you love me. I have seen it in a thousand ways. You have more power than any other mortal, yet there are things even you cannot control. The gods have purpose and what it is, I know not. I want to know! Words spoken to me by my grandfather, long ago, move me to question my path upon this earth. He said I had a destined meeting with the stars. He would not explain more, and I think, could not. It is a theme that reoccurs. I must know it!"
Hadrian rose and I followed. We left his quarters and walked along the gardens that ran behind the palace complex and followed a path that led past several fountains and a pond. In this remote place we sat. The sound of running water and a slight breeze brought about by the setting sun, cooled the place and I found it comfortable. There, beneath the emerging stars, we sat in silence.
"You'll be pleased to know..," he began after some moments, expressing a lighthearted tone, "...that Lucius Commodus has chosen not to accompany us to Greece, but will follow later. For those months, we will spend them alone together."
He was correct in his assumption. Commodus, in spite of our apparent truce, was still a disturbance to me. I suspected his relationship with the Emperor and could not find it in my heart to allow it with without concern. The times they spent together, I felt as an intrusion on our own. Therefore I looked forward to Greece, when we would share the place he loved most.
Commodus had little good to say about the race of Greeks, and even less about the city of Athens. He felt the Greeks had lost what little glory they had once possessed. The Romans, he said, had taken Hellenistic traditions in the arts and civic affairs and added more than they had taken. Roman literature of Catulus, Virgil, Horace, and Ovid had no need to take second place to Aristophanes, Euripides, Aeschylus, or Thucydides. Commodus left no opportunity untouched to put forth his views, whenever Hadrian praised his Greeks! Hearing that Lucius Commodus would remain in Rome for at least several months pleased me greatly, and this pleasure was obvious.
"You have your own duty and position by my side, Antinoos. Do not fear him. He is more your ally and friend than you suppose! Lucius has his eyes on greater things than re-establishing a relationship which is, at best, ill conceived. He takes nothing from you!"
"But he speaks ill of me. I know it!"
After the words had left my lips I heard the childish tone in the complaint. I was embarrassed by it. Hadrian withheld scolding me for my pettiness; a reaction which I could not have resisted, had I been in his place. I pressed the conversation to another subject.
"I wish to see Delphi."
"It shall be done. And you shall see much more. The Eleusian Mysteries will do much in reducing your apprehension of the unknown. You will learn that there is little to fear when what lies ahead is revealed.
"Athens awaits you like a mother awaits her son. I have friends there, and you will meet many who have very different ideas from those with which you have come to feel discomfort. Herodus Atticus, a great man of that city, has a young lad called Polydeukes. I think you will enjoy each other. The boy is unattractive and sometimes his sullen mood has made me wonder what Atticus finds interesting in him, but he does have a charm and intelligence. You will be well accepted."
I knew that much awaited me, and was eager to embark on the adventure. Seeing the new temple that Hadrian had commissioned to be completed; taking part in the hunts in the surrounding countryside of Attica; walking along the very paths strolled by Socrates; having the chance to be part of the planning of a new library that would rival Alexandria's; all this helped overcome the feeling of apprehension and foreboding constantly on the fringe of my awareness. Still, one thought persisted and nothing I could do could relieve me of the worry it generated.
"Do you feel well?"
Hadrian's face suddenly shadowed. He looked as though I held the answer to the question.
"I have pains," he said. This admittance was a hard one to make. "It seems my power and control of the Empire is more than the one I have over my own body. My physicians order rest and strange potions, but I will have none of it! There is too much to do. I do not have the luxury of being able to lay about. These pains seek to make me a slave, and I will not relent to them."
It was the first time he had spoken openly of his ills. I had seen the results of those attacks and knew he suffered them more than was known by his physicians.
"What is this illness," I asked, feeling he had come to identify it as something specific. "Tell me truthfully, Hadrian. How serious do you perceive it?"
We had been holding hands. He released me and rose. I followed. Walking to the side of the Palatine that faced Circus Maximus, I looked out across this low valley from which the magnificent structure of marble-faced tiers shone darkly in the moonlight. The seven giant eggs and bronze dolphins used to mark the laps-count stood like tomb-markers and the place seemed haunted. The gilded bronze posts erected at each end of the spina seemed like sentinels waiting for the invasion of the 30,000 who swarmed into the seats to witness spectacular chariot races. How boisterous they could get! How silent and death-like it was now! We sat again in a little terrace hidden from view of the guards who patrolled the palace walls behind us.
With my thigh touching his, looking down to my own hands I saw the veins below the skin and wondered at the sight. It almost seemed as though the moon's light allowed me to see what was not visible in daylight; my hands looked ancient as the translucence matched that seen in the very old.
For a moment I felt I had been accorded the vision of what those hands would look like when I reached old age, then understood deeply that it would never be. A cold finger touched my spine and the hairs on my neck stood erect with the thought that had sped through my mind. I pushed the vision away, forcing my attention back to Hadrian's words, which I had been hearing on the fringes of my consciousness.
"... an affliction shared by my father and others of the Aelii family. My own father died in his forties. There was something of a weakness of the heart that may have caused his death. I was but a child of nine when it happened. So you see Antinoos, that I have concern for the time allotted me by the gods.
"And as for the gods, there are those who think me one! The Greeks have spoken of me as such, and so too, the Egyptians. The Senate looks upon such appellations taken by mortal men as nothing more than appeasement to indulgence. They have awarded the title of godhead to past emperors and imperial personages rather than face their irascible natures. Never think for a moment that the Senate believed its pronouncements. Yet, I have little doubt the gods do seek out
men to do their bidding and to those, the gods themselves award divinity."
"Do you feel this gift, Lord?"
"I look to the signs, Antinoos. When I was Alexandria five years ago, I prayed at the tomb of the Great Alexander. He is buried in a sarcophagus of gold covered by a glass canopy once owned by Ptolemy. While kneeling beside the tomb there suddenly emerged from it, a sound that could only have been that of the voice of the sarcophagus; its gold resonating to some internal energy. The High Priest declared that in Alexander himself had signaled the presence of divinity. At that time, I took the priest's words to be little more than seduction.
"Then there was the incident I related to you of when I was a child, attacked by the lion. My mother was told that it was a sign by the gods that I had been chosen. Again at Carthage the gods fated me with the unexpected rains. Antinoos, each of my endeavors has been successful. My reign has been without war and filled with progress and good fortune. I am forced to admit that the gods look favorably upon me and admit me within their rank."
"The Greeks are favoring you with this recognition," I said. "Does the Senate resist, to counter the Hellenistic tradition?"
"The Senate resists nothing, as nothing has been proposed. Yet they will not venture on their own initiative to grant me that rank, as there is no precedent for a living Emperor, at least not from one who has not forced them to do it without the threat of loss of life and fortune. Only the dead are apotheosized."
I could see that he wished it, and that he even thought of himself as a god. For who but a god could command the difficult forces of State; direct the cooperation of a multitude of cultures and of their rulers, and orchestrate the entire machinations of an empire stretching to all points of the known world! All this without a major war or conflict as had plagued other reigns.
Hadrian had shown his power and munificence by reducing the size of the empire to manageable proportions by returning some regions which had been captured by previous rulers. This conserved expenses and promoted allegiance. His enlightened reign was not lost on the population, and only those jealous of his popularity, criticized. He had indeed become divine! The Gods had shown their acceptance of him into their fold in various ways, and none could deny his accomplishments.
I listened well to his words in the following days as we prepared to depart for Hellas. There was much to learn and as his aide, much more for me to do. I paid my respects to the Empress; said good-bye to Filiniana, and on the last day before departure, met with Gracchus. Arm in arm we walked the river bank toward Hadrian's unfinished mausoleum speaking of our good feelings for each other. How little we realize the value of friendships until they are taken, and circumstances deprive us of those who lend so much to our lives! Had I known!
Chapter Twenty Nine
Hellas, Autumn 128 AD.
The ancient port city of Corinth had gained fame as the strategic stronghold for the Peloponnese. It had once been beautiful; resplendent in its buildings, baths, temples, with a bold acropolis that rose above the town. It had been erected and dedicated to Aphrodite to house her male and female prostitutes who serviced those who came to worship the love-goddess. This special feature brought ships from all over the world, and a thriving trade in goods was intermingled with an equally thriving trade in flesh.
Because of its location on the isthmus separating the Saronic Gulf from the Gulf of Corinth, the city controlled access to the Peloponnese from the sea and mainland. This had been its might, and still was so, but it suffered from neglect.
Hadrian endowed the site with renewed vigor by financing the repair of what had been destroyed by time and war, and caused to be built several new structures. A library, hospital, and residence for homeless children had only been the beginning of what
Hadrian and his friend, Herodus Atticus, were to grant as gifts. Everywhere I looked I saw evidence of the old being replaced by the new, and in every possible place none of the old buildings had been torn down but rather, had been repaired and extended.
I accompanied him on a climb to the top of the acropolis early one morning to watch the sun rise. In the far distance I was able to view both bodies of water and the place where, three hundred years before, Athens had defeated the powerful naval forces of Persia. Everywhere, remnants of a grand civilization and the ruins spoke of battles and sagas learned from my teachers since boyhood. To be present in this land made me keenly aware of how Hadrian was moved by what Greece had once been, understanding his passion to restore some of that past grandeur.
We rode the seacoast by horseback, to reach Athens. This highway had been rebuilt and paved by the Emperor. It offered spectacular vistas of the Saronic Gulf. Hillsides were resplendent with olive groves and fruit trees. Shepherds tended lazy flocks, and I heard upon the wind the soulful sound of flutes. The sky was brilliant blue. Although well into the month of September, the weather was warm and I smelled the blend of sea air mixed with the dust lifted by the wind, from the sparse soil.
Catapult, no longer confined to her quarters aboard ship, was energetic and it took all my command to keep her reigned as she strained for freedom and exercise. After having gone some distance, the horses regained their strength and stride. Hadrian suggested we ride swiftly. The remaining party followed leisurely behind while we rode from one village to the next. The ever-present Praetorian Guards were never far behind and one could see that they too, enjoyed the game.
Rome reigns unsurpassed in bold spectacle. It is a city that shouts its power! Athens sits quietly nestled in a valley between the sea and surrounding hills. Like an aging queen, her years are borne gracefully as wrinkles chiseled of joy and sadness. She wears an ancient mantle of stone that still bears witness to her past glory, but unlike Rome, Athens is a muted splendor! She is kissed with the breath of the Aegean, warmed by the god, Helios, and suckled by the rivers Eridamos, Ilissos, and Kephissos. I understand Hadrian's passion.
We approached the city amid throngs of Greeks who had gathered along the road to greet the Emperor. They left no doubt of the Athenian's enthusiasm and admiration of him. From what I had learned in my studies I began to understand the extent of the Emperor's efforts to re-establish a gifted heritage in this land. Pride was returning to the Greeks. Mothers lifted their babies to be touched. Hadrian paused and held them lovingly. The sternness of his eyes and the lines of authority in his face fell away to tenderness as he held them. I saw a gentleness I had not witnessed before, and wondered how much he might have wanted children of his own?
The Imperial Party was left at the Sacred Gate. There, we were met by Herodus Atticus and the Archon of Athens, and a group of other city officials. Followed by two Praetorians, we walked the steep Sacred Way to the top of the acropolis. There, we entered the cool interior of the Temple of Athena Nike. Hadrian made an offering and prayed before the magnificent cult statue of the goddess. She rose high above the floor, covered with gold gilding and precious stones, an impressive presence that commanded notice.
I stayed by his side for some time, speaking my own thoughts of gratitude for what she had accorded him. Truly, her qualities of wisdom and protection had been abundantly bestowed upon the Emperor!
We settled comfortably in a large villa some distance from the city. This villa was provided by Herodus Atticus, the Emperor's long-time friend. Having been a guest there many times before, Hadrian looked upon the villa as a pleasant place and felt it home.
Antipas had remained in Rome and was to follow later in Sabina's retinue. I was free of structured studies and found in my liberty, an opportunity to fill all the hours of my day with roaming throughout the ancient city. Athenoseos stayed by my side, engrossed with my descriptions of the city's past. We had looked forward to making the acquaintance of Herodus Atticus' boy-lover, thinking that someone close to our age would add interest to the stay. Mindful of Hadrian's description of the boy's intelligence, I did not allow my hopes too much. Polydeukes was not in Athens, but in Marathon where Atticus had his estate.
"He seems to bring more attention to Herodus than is comfortable for him, as the boy is loud and rough. Atticus keeps him in the country!" Hadrian explained when I had asked as to his whereabouts. "We will go to Marathon soon, and you can see for yourself."
So I was peaked with curiosity about the boy and my expectations were underestimated!
We remained in Athens for five weeks. Hadrian busied himself with the supervision of construction of the beautiful temple to Olympian Zeus. His plans were extensive and it was obvious that the project was to be of monumental scale; a true glorification of all that was Greek. Hadrian meant to capture the eye and the imagination of the world. He intended to reunite Hellas with pride and a sense of purpose.
He also took great care with the library he had endowed to the Athenians, having imported copies of the many texts found at the great Library of Alexandria. The Alexandrian library had been in main, Greek. The Emperor felt that Athens should be as well equipped.
I remained at his side and made myself useful whenever the opportunity called for someone to record his thoughts or write the instructions that I later carried to his architects and chief engineer. Hadrian placed more importance in me as time passed, and I showed myself to be indispensable.
When much of the work Hadrian needed to do was done, we set off for Marathon eight leagues north of Athens. Marathon's famous plain was one I had been anxious to see. It was where, five hundred years earlier, Athenians numbering 11,000 men had defeated a Persian Amy of 20,000 soldiers against overwhelming odds. Upon victory, Miltiades had commanded the runner, Pheidippides, to race back to the city with the news of their success. Once having delivered the message to the Athenian Assembly, Pheidippides fell dead from exhaustion. Could such courage exist?