by R G Berube
"You will be with me?"
"We will experience the Greater Mysteries together," Hadrian reassured me. "But first you must fast to achieve spiritual purification. Make no other plans but to study with the Archon's representative. We will not see each other until this part of the instruction is complete. Be attentive to your teacher and listen well to what he tells you. Give yourself over to Demeter and let her guide you, Antinoos!"
I understood his mandate and although I yearned to ask him more of what the Lesser Mysteries were to be about, I withheld my queries in respect to what he had already told me of the need to keep the experience absolutely personal.
With relief we departed for Athens within the week. I bid Herodus and Polydeukes goodbye, with mixed feelings of friendship and alienation. Atticus was to remain at his villa until the great Eleusian celebration commenced within the fortnight. As we pressed our hands in parting I looked at Hadrian and wondered how much he had been aware of what had passed at this place? For the seeds had been sown of what would begin to grow in the months to come.
I dare not reveal what occurred in the quiet of the Temple of Demeter and Kore on the banks of the Ilissos. My oath to silence is still observed. Understand that this preliminary initiation rite was to prepare for what lay ahead. Instruction and learning of certain chants was the focus, and each day specific ablutions were carefully followed so that purification would be complete. I was one of several others who had come from distant lands with the purpose of being initiated in these renowned rituals. Dispensation had been obtained to go through the Lesser Mysteries without the need to wait the usual interim of one year.
After completing the prescribed instructions, I chose to remain alone for two days, feeling the need to contemplate what I had learned. Hadrian understood my mood and suggested I walk the countryside, for much beauty could be found in the quiet hills to the south of the city. The weather held and made for good walking. With a pack of essentials on my back, I followed the road that led toward the town of Pireefs; the seaport of Athens. Along the way I could distinguish the long wall laid out in the time of Perikles. It had posed a formidable defense to attacks, and one to which the Spartans had strongly objected.
I recall those few days alone. So much of my studies of the Greeks returned to me and I was curious to see for myself the landmarks which I held dear. Try as I might, I could not find the place that would have been the house of Socrates. But my feet walked the very paths below the high city and the agora where he had once taken the youths of Athens to teach them the reverence of thought. Following the directions given me by a merchant in the forum, I came to a series of caves dug into a rock ledge below the summit of the Filopapou Hill. Little remained of the iron bars that had been placed across the entrances. Many of the smoky marks used to count the days and some of the curses of angry prisoners could still be discerned on the interior walls.
One cell stood off from the others, and this one had been kept in good condition. I read the notice erected by its entrance, and was thrilled to see that I had found the place where Socrates had spent the last days before his trial. Taking a seat nearby, I thought of Plato and of the many pupils who had come to see the old man of seventy, to give him courage. These few had stood by him when all others of the city he so honored, had turned against him and demanded his death. I felt deeply moved to be at this place. The mind that moved the man had come to mould the thoughts of men and nations! Could he have known his impact on the centuries, or did he think his existence would be forgotten, snuffed into darkness like a candle flame? I wished then that I had brought some small token offering to his memory. What men do, should not be forgotten!
Leaving the city precinct, I wandered near the sea and sat upon a hillside to let the sun warm me against the cool breeze that bent the grasses and still-blooming flowers. This place would come to be called "the beautiful vista" in times to come and the Greeks would give it the name Kallithea.
I viewed the day before me and watched as ships on the wind with billowed sails filled the landscape. Pireefs, not far from where I lay, was a harbor that was host to vessels from all points of the world. As many ships made for port as were leaving for distant lands of the East, where they would set anchor in harbors I might well see with my own eyes in months to come. I was awed by their numbers, and of the men and boys on them; each living his own life and trials, unaware that on the far shore, sitting upon a deserted hillside, an Emperor's courtesan followed with a yearning eye the start of a journey that for some, could be their last. How many women and children were doing as I, watching ships that bore husbands or sons, disappearing on the horizon, possible never to return? The beauty of the place seemed to nurture my melancholy state as each passing gull and distant wanderer each fading ship moved me to understand the significance of solitude.
Continuing along the coast, I stopped whenever weariness overtook me. I found hospitality with farmers and the shepherds, all open and joyous to share bread and bed. My travel took me as far as a place where the coast angled sharply inland, forming a wonderfully secluded lagoon. I spent the remainder of the day lying naked in the surf, soaking in sun and finding that I missed Hadrian for the first time since I had begun my studies, a week before. That night, wrapped tightly in a fleece-skin, lying beneath the stars with the sound of the Aegean waters washing upon the shore some distance below, for I had moved within the protection of a cluster of small trees several meters from the water, I reclined in thought. Somewhere in the hills, the lonesome howl of a herder's bitch broke the silence as a sharp reminder of the deep-felt isolation. I longed to be taken in Hadrian's arms, and fully realized that no other place would ever give me the peace and security I sought.
I was born in Bithynia but my birth occurred at Eleusis. Fear of death is a bondage to the slavery of living. At Eleusis I came to my freedom with Hadrian at my side. Demeter touched my soul and we explored the regions which remain unknown to most men, without this gift from the gods.
In the span of centuries much has been lost of what there was to learn at this sacred sanctuary by the sea. In that time the millions who came to know the Mysteries retained the secret. Even the great chroniclers, Pausanias and Strabo, dared not write of the ritual in any but the most general terms. Let me speak, then, of what I can.
Nine days marked the duration of the Mysteries in memory of the nine days of Demeter's wandering. Athens and Eleusis prepared for the onslaught of pilgrims by increasing the number of lodgings, guides, and all manner of services that such an event required. The cities and towns were well stocked in advance with supplies. Streets and buildings were made to glisten in expectation of officials from other states and countries. To this end, more effort than usual was extended in honor of the Emperor.
With thousands in attendance along the Sacred Way, Hadrian and I awaited the arrival of the High Priest, the Hierophant, and of the supreme civil functionary, the Archon. They led the procession from Eleusis to Athens; a colorful and impressive event! Athenians scattered flower petals upon the road and a crowd of young men from Athens, dressed in white cloaks and carrying spears and shields, met the procession at Skaramanga. From there they acted as honor guard for the remainder of the journey.
Although this celebration was one of great import, the festivity of the opening day belied what lay ahead. The leading torchbearer arrived at the rocks below the Propylaea of the acropolis and the south side of the stoa of Attalus and there, raised his light to signal Demeter's arrival in the city of Athena.
Watching these proceedings from the hilltop of the Pnyx, meeting place of the Assembly of Athens, I had an excellent vantage of the Agora and the Roman market-place. Streets and hillsides were crowded with people and all jostled for a better view. The throng was a mixture of the curious, initiates, and of those whose function it was to be part of the rituals along the Sacred Way. Excitement filled the air. Anticipation moved the hearts of those who would walk to Eleusis soon, in the Great Procession; anxiety heightened by the
secrecy surrounding the proceedings.
"The Greeks take this celebration seriously, Antinoos. It has been observed in the same way for hundreds of years."
Hadrian spoke with reverence. "You give me much pleasure in your agreement to take the Mysteries with me."
"But did you think I would not?"
"Your mood, of late, has led me to wonder. I know much troubles you! You ask questions of yourself, that I too have asked. Your connection to me marks you for special consideration, I know. And would you have yourself be a shepherd like the ones you have recently seen? Only flocks of sheep to take your time, with each day passed on the same meadows and hillsides?
"The Mysteries have much to do with the answers you seek. I had faith in your inquisitive mind, but knew not whether your suspicions would let you seek the truth. I hope you will be open to receiving knowledge that may liberate these phantom-thoughts of yours.
"With this experience, you begin a journey that will lead you to understand that there is more to reality than what you can see with your eyes or hear with your ears. There is more than what you can touch with your hands. When in sleep, do not the actions of your dreams contain their own reality?"
This thought had often occurred to me. Were dreams simply thought uncontrolled, or were they events with purpose? Grandfather had once told me that dreams were the eyes of tomorrow. Too many unanswered questions and doubts filled my mind. Too many mysteries not understood probed my brain. Now I was being given the hope that within some cavern at Eleusis, Demeter would come into me and speak to my profoundest questions and my deepest fears.
In truth I near trembled at the thought of the coming initiation. Yet matched with this was the exquisite thrill of what was to come. Hadrian's presence and his support gave me strength.
The Eleusian Rites were officially begun on the 15th day of the month of Boedromion with the Hierophant calling the people together in the Agora, to make the official proclamation of the opening of the festivities. Everyone was invited to participate except those guilty of murder or desecration. We to be initiated were dressed in pure white chitons and were kept separate from the crowd; our heads bent to receive the divine benediction.
That night, although the town reveled with festivities and in the many inns and taverns of Athens the voices of patrons could be heard well into the outer suburbs, Hadrian chose to remain separate from the celebrants. We donned warm cloaks and followed a paved path that wound its way past the Emperor's great arch. There we stopped and stood silently. The moon was full, bathing the scaffolding and piles of stone at the construction site of the Temple of Olympian Zeus with a ghostly light. Hadrian, with his arm about my shoulder, held me to him. He did not speak. He had no need. I felt his thoughts, and knew that in his mind's eye he projected the present structure into what it would become.
""You take pride in this, " I said. "How wonderful it must be to have the power and means to be responsible for such things!" I had passed across the area where we stood to take in this distant hilltop and the magnificent temple to Athena, now silhouetted against the starry sky.
Hadrian took my hand and we began walking again.
"Some men are chosen by the gods, Antinoos. They are given the opportunity to power. And those with such opportunity who do not leave this world in better circumstances than they find it, would have been better left as spilt seed; a momentary pleasure of their fathers.
"Yes, I do take pride in all this. The Greeks have given us much and it is my charge to return some small measure. What you see around you is just the beginning. Athens will rise again!"
There was such conviction in his voice! As we continued along the road that followed the lower slopes of the acropolis and slowly climbed the hills on its western side, Hadrian spoke to me of his thoughts and plans for construction. We climbed a steep hill and followed a narrow path that traversed rock ledge, finally reaching the crest. It was the hill called Philoppapou, upon which the monument to the man of that name, stood. A deceased prince from Commagene, he had been given refuge by the Athenians after having been banished from his own country, and in return for this hospitality of the Greeks, had showered gifts upon the city.
"You have heard the works of Julia Balbilla?"
I said that I had indeed, and thought little of her archaic verse-style. The woman, a poetess, had come into vogue in Rome, and was patronized by some who entertained a taste for culture. Hadrian was humored by my response.
"Your opinion is well shared," he said. "Balbilla, as you know, has favor with the Empress. This monument is in the memory of her brother."
This surprised me. I had seen Balbilla in Rome and thought her to be a meddlesome woman of limited ability. She had approached me once with sinister warnings and vague predictions of which I could make little sense. I knew her to dabble in astrology, and knew also that she advised Sabina. Hadrian had spoken of her on two occasions and on each, had cursed her for her sharp and intrusive tongue. It was difficult to imagine the woman as a descendent of that royal Commagene lineage.
"We will have the dubious pleasure of her poetry, Antinoos, when the Empress joins me. The woman insists on being included in all of Sabina's activities and although I admire the Empress for her level mind, it befuddles me why she is taken in by this woman! But let us leave that behind for the moment."
We sat together, tightly wrapped in woolen capes, sides touching, as we held hands. It was a clear night with full moon, and the distant waters of the bay were made visible by the moon's light. Land and sea was bathed in a glow that seemed mystical. I felt a closeness and kinship with Hadrian like none I had experienced before. And this relationship, made deeply valued by the moment, was equally open to insecurity. The troublesome thoughts crept near!
"Hold me tightly, Hadrian...," I pleaded, moving even closer to him. He said nothing and took me in his arms and pressed me against his chest. We sat in this manner until the moon had made a great arc in the sky. Below us, Athens had gone into repose and barely a hearth-fire could be seen still burning. Shutters were closed to the night air and a silence had descended upon the city so that the sound of a barking dog or some late reveler making his way home was easily carried on the wind to our hilltop perch.
I did not want to leave. I wished the moment to become arrested and all the stars to hold their pattern, never to move again. In bliss, I could not tear myself from the indulgence of it. There was much to be done on the morrow. Excitement awaited me in the days to come, but I would have gladly forfeited all of it to hold the moment for eternity. I knew it could not be so.
The morning of the 16th broke with a bright sun shining through the blinds of our bedroom window. This was the Day of Purification.
The household was already assembled and I followed the Emperor to a waiting wagon. It would take us to Phaleron, where, in the sea, we would be baptized. Several squealing young pigs were loaded in another cart. These ritual animals would be cleansed in the same waters of our baptism and there, would be sacrificed so that their blood, believed to be the purest, would cleanse and rid the initiate's soul of hatred and evil.
As our wagon passed that of the pigs', I gazed at one swine whose glare followed me for as long as I watched it before we disappeared around the bend in the road. It was as if the animal had communicated with me to express his outrage at being my cleansing-sacrifice. I felt sorry for it. When the ritual was completed I sought out the very animal, having taken note of its markings, a clipped left ear, and buried the beast myself. I made it my offering to the gods of the underworld; an appeasement to which I felt compelled.
The following day required that each participant sacrifice an official victim that had been brought from his city. This celebration was officiated by the Archon and those supervising the Mysteries.
Hadrian had provided two young lambs of exquisite quality and each was executed with great care that blood not stain the fleece, but spilled entirely into the silver bowl held close to the neck. I had not killed in this manner
before and grew faint as time approached for me to do the ritual slaughter. The lamb trembled with fear, smelling the blood of the other sacrifices nearby. Its eye looked into mine, pleading to be released.
I knew I was being observed, and with tensed hands, I did the deed. When the artery was severed the animal quivered, kicking its legs violently, then the lamb went limp. A tear escaped and fell down my cheek as I held the head and allowed the blood offering to fill the receptacle. My hands became sticky and my chiton was splattered with droplets of crimson. Except for the immediate area around the wound, the lamb had remained clean.
"I know how difficult this was for you, Antinoos." Hadrian had been performing the same ritual at a similar altar beside me. He finished the blood-letting of his sacrifice.
"It is not in your nature to inflict harm, but you must understand that the gods approve. In all living things there is a purpose. These animals have fulfilled theirs! Take heart. The death of each has been no more than a transition to another form of life. The spirit of each will live on within us. It is the very nature of what the Mysteries are all about!"
The thought that the end of one life could bring renewal to another, was sharply etched in my mind. It was a concept I had encountered in my studies of Egypt. Osiris had given up his life in the Nile so that the land would be re-born through flooding each year. The Greek god, Dionysus encompassed a similar theme. It was a belief held by many that intrigued me.
I reluctantly knelt to pray as an attendant applied fuel to the corpse, and soon the little lamb was engulfed in flames. Smoke rose from a multitude of alters and the sky became clouded. I could barely breathe as the acrid smell of hundreds of burning offerings filled my nostrils. When all had been done with proper ceremony, we joined the procession of initiates and returned to Athens. The day had begun with laughter and expectation; the crowd had been boisterous in its anticipation of the spectacle to come. The returning procession was more subdued. An air of reverence lay heavily over everyone. The mood of the opening days of the festival marked with lighthearted joviality was replaced with solemnity.