Antinous caught his breath and stood straight to his full height, which was already almost level to Caesar’s, to look the emperor directly in the eye. The emperor waited patiently for a response with the barest hint of a smile. Antinous’s cheeks flushed.
‘My Lord Caesar, sir,” he began in a formal tone with a salutary dip of his head, “May I speak?’ The emperor nodded. Antinous responded.
‘Hermolaus, son of Sopolis, committed far worse than steal a hunter’s kill. He was involved, if I recall correctly, in the tragedy of a plot against Alexander the Great, and many of the pages paid dearly for it. Justly so, we in Asia believe, such was the degree of the treason. The Roman historian Curtius Rufus of the days of Caesar Nero records the tale at length.’
He paused to measure his effect in case he was stepping beyond the boundaries of protocol. But it seemed he wasn’t.
‘We Hellenes read the story of Alexander with pride because he is one of us, though we read the Curtius text in Latin with its parallel Greek translation for our schooling. But we also read King Ptolemy’s version of these tales of Alexander in their archaic Attic Greek, along with the historian Aristobulus and the other romance tales of Alexander,’ Antinous offered with scholarly seriousness. He had regained his tongue.
Hadrian was taken aback by this schoolroom history lesson. So too were Arrian, Julianus, Geta, and the others, who raised approving eyebrows. Even the two Praetorian Guardsmen seemed impressed behind their professionally sullen demeanor. The emperor nodded agreement but then, after another conspiratorial glance to Arrian, his countenance became stern. He posed a further question.
‘Tell me, Antinous of Claudiopolis, what else do you know of Alexander? Who was Alexander’s most important comrade? Name some of his Companions.’
The question seemed to both Antinous and I to be a further simple schoolboy’s test.
‘His strategic comrades, my Lord, were great heroes,’ Antinous proposed. ‘Lysias, my friend here, and I would probably name from among his Companions his general Cleitus as his worthiest comrade. He saved Alexander’s life at the Battle of Issus and always spoke the truth, despite the king’s eventual drunken murder of him.’
I was hugely flattered to be included by Antinous in this erudite summary. Yet Antinous continued.
‘But for me, of course, it was his Commander of the Companions and fellow prince, Hephaestion, who was most important. Their great friendship sings across the ages and enters our hearts even today, my Lord.’
Antinous is a fond admirer of the Greek heroic classics. Unlike Alexander he doesn’t keep a copy of The Iliad under his pillow, but he has several precious scrolls of such books in his personal chest.
Hadrian and Arrian shared a further meeting of eyes. It contained a coded message beyond our understanding. Hadrian then changed the subject.
‘Where did you two lads learn to cleave to mountain ponies with such mastery? You must teach us your skills,’ he stated with perhaps excessive flattery. ‘It was a sight to behold. Your mounts are unique creatures and deserve their own reward. Tonight you and your friends here can serve us your hunt victim grilled on a spit to celebrate your victory. My household will provide the entertainments, and we will dedicate the spoils to the Goddess Artemis herself.’
‘But my Lord, if I may speak,’ Antinous interjected. He had recovered his civil tongue at last, but spoke out of turn without permission. ‘It was not I but you who brought down the beast. I was merely your attendant-at-arms, your page. The actual kill was certainly yours.’
Antinous had retrieved sufficient of his senses to offer this polite diplomacy. I guess Hadrian and Arrian noticed it was expressed without any of the cloying deference of a courtier, which was probably a novelty for them.
‘That’s very modest of you, lad,’ Hadrian offered, ‘I praise your tact. But in truth I merely fulfilled its destiny, a destiny resolved by your good scouting, chase, and strike. You deserve your award for your skill and courage. Tonight we will assign you its ears and snout as tokens of your victory. Be proud of your feat, my boy. Each of us here are proud on your behalf, and we rejoice in the day’s adventure with you.
Antinous blushed deeply again. I think I blushed too.
Hadrian then turned to Arrian, Julianus, Geta, the Praetorians, and the others who had assembled. He regaled us with a message we grew to appreciate later.
‘There’s fine talent here among these Greeklings in Bithynia, I see. We must inspect their credentials more closely. If this province is to have a new generation of trained statesmen and administrators, or military officers and governors, we must seek out those worthy of the honor with diligence. Perhaps tonight we will test their quality?’
The assembled hunters slapped their swords against their breastplates in noisy accord while we youngsters looked around to each other with swelling pride.
I noticed Arrian smiling calmly to himself in a manner which suggested he was very pleased indeed with the day’s work.”
Lysias ceased his recollection and reached for his goblet to sip some wine. He looked reflectively to the floor tiles and shuffled his feet. He had disappeared into a private reverie.
CHAPTER 9
“So, did something unusual happen at the celebration feast?” Suetonius asked.
“Yes, there were intimations of what was to follow,” Lysias responded.
“Then tell us about it. But remember, time is passing.”
“We six meirakia guys with our attendants were freshly spruced and dressed in our finest attire,” Lysias began. “Our status as the guests of honor heartened us sufficiently to cope with so intimidating a social event. After all, it was an Imperial Symposium.
Were we expected to engage in learned displays of rhetoric or philosophical debate? Would it be an ordeal in classical education or a test of scholarly knowledge? Or would it be a wild drunken revel matching our own young men’s monthly gatherings in our respective communities?
The hunt victim had been skinned, gutted, cleansed of vermin, dowsed in olive oil and garam sauce, scattered with herbs, plugged with garlic, and slung straddled on a roasting spit above hot coals to be rotated in splashes of basting juices and wine.
When we had assembled at our dining couches, each with an attendant in tow, a horn sounded a fanfare. The barbarian Geta led a column of men from within the marquee into a handsomely gardened dining arena. Hadrian was last in the procession, taking his place at his central couch and adjusting his garments to recline as a signal to everyone to relax. He was again attired in a simple Greek tunic and mantle.
Incense fumes drifted languidly across the dining arc of a dozen or so couches as Arrian saluted Caesar in the crisp manner befitting a senior commander. He had been delegated by Caesar, the host, to be the Leader of the Symposium.
He stepped forward to the centre of the amphitheatre’s podium. He took his position as two young girl flautists and a tambourine-thumping boy intoned the opening chords of the symposium’s formal prologue. The chords silenced the enthralled assembly of courtiers, we ephebes, the various attendants, and officers of the Guard.
‘Hail Caesar! And welcome honorable guests,’ Arrian declaimed. ‘In this year of the one hundred and fifty-sixth anniversary of the victory at Actium by Caesar Augustus against the enemies of Rome, we salute you.
On behalf of the People and Senate of Rome we celebrate that victory tonight. We regale among us the descendents of our Greek allies of Mantinea now resident at Bithynia who fought at Actium with Augustus in that triumph. In remembrance of Augustus’s victory over his enemies by his appeal to Apollo as his special god, we offer praise too to Apollo Paean for that decisive conquest.’
It was now Caesar’s cue to participate. Hadrian strode briskly from his couch to the sacrificial altar to one side of the podium. A priest of Apollo in ceremonial garb topped with a fresh laurel-leaf diadem raised a platter piled with the primary organs of the boar killed earlier in the day. As Hadrian intoned the offering in a declamator
y style the priest tossed handfuls of laurel, the special favorite of Apollo, and pieces of the flesh into the altar’s flames. The mixed smokes rose up to please the god in the heavens.
The melding odors of musky incense, burning laurel, and roasting flesh drifted across the garden arena in a mouth-watering haze. Servants delivered a basket piled high with laurel wreaths interlaced with sprays of wild grasses to adorn each celebrant, accompanied by garlands of blossoms to drape around the shoulders.
Hadrian’s clear voice silenced the assembly. He intoned the awarding prayer.
‘Blessed siblings, Apollo and Artemis, Our golden Lord of Healing and the Lady of the Hunt, receive these spoils of a choice young boar which Antinous of Claudiopolis killed in your honor. Hail to the victor, Antinous! --- And now bring out the food and wine!’
Stewards and slaves appeared from surrounding marquees with goblets, rhytons, large mixing kraters, jugs of wine or water, platters of olives, dried fruits, nuts, figs, wild herbs, and local cheeses.
‘Antinous of Claudiopolis, hero of the hunt, as victor you are inducted to do us the honor of mixing our wine!’ Hadrian announced to everyone’s surprise, especially Ant and I.
Three senior servants approached Antinous offering separate jugs of wine and water for a ceremonial blending into a larger krater bowl. Antinous was utterly startled by this unexpected duty. No one had warned him he would be obliged to perform the ceremony.
We other boys were glad it was not us who had to perform this rite before such distinguished company. Not one of us was ready for the prospect.
The ritual is perceived to be a demanding trial of a person’s presentation skills. A command of personal composure, vocal declamation, poetic skill, and understated ritual gesture was on show. Restraint and confidence coupled with a degree of drama was the desired effect. I recalled how we had seen our elders perform the rite at public celebrations many times, but it demands nerves of iron and a steady hand coupled with a solemn sense of theater.
Antinous bravely stepped forward from his couch, adjusted his chiton nervously, and ceremoniously guided each steward with the rite’s token gestures towards a 30/70 mix of water with the wine into the krater. He then studiously spooned-in a pot of honey. He performed the ceremony with the studied intensity expected of an honored ritual.
He boldly proclaimed the traditional prayer of the poet Alkaeus in a firm voice, just as we had heard his father and our elder brothers intone at palaestra parties, family feasts, or public sacrifices.
The assembly shouted a cheery agreement to Alkaeus’s call for Dionysus’s great gift of the vine to man as the mixed jars were poured liberally around. I saw Hadrian, Arrian, Julianus, and others glanced towards each other meaningfully just as they did at the Hunt. They had approving smiles.
It dawned on us both how Antinous might be the centre of attention in more ways than he had considered, though we could not be sure what that attention might be.
Other than the strips of roasted boar flesh and the free flowing wines, the precise courses of food served that evening is a foggy memory. They were many, and included victuals we had never eaten previously.
Antinous and I cautiously ate oysters from the Sea of Marmara for the first time, plus out-of-season fruits pickled in honey syrup. We tasted tiny spiced game birds of an unknown breed but delicious to the taste, and sipped prized Falernian and Setian wines from Italy for the very first time.
A schedule of entertainments began. It was devised, we suspected, to amuse youngsters. Comic actors and mime artists imported from Byzantium performed amusingly vulgar excerpts from classic comedy with many rude fart jokes and eunuch jibes. They were received with howls of laughter.
Jugglers and acrobats from Mauritania performed ingenious human contortions, while barbaric dancers with lithe bodies from Gades in Hispania surged and whirled to wild drummers.
An Egyptian wizard in quaint priestly garb amazed us with inexplicable acts of plucking objects from thin air and then manipulating their utter disappearance in an instant.
A gravel-voiced bard striking a resonant lyre chanted well-known stanzas of The Iliad’s battle scenes telling of bone-crushing violence and the death of heroes at Troy. Our audience chanted along with him in the more familiar citations from Homer.
Lord Arrian took the podium to read aloud a short chapter from his writings of A History of Alexander. This is his own work-in-progress, we were told, a biography of the Macedonian king describing his remarkable military strategy for victory at Issus against the Persians. We, his audience, well appreciated the intricacies of the ancient hoplite phalanx with its long sarissa-pike charge which accompanied Alexander’s cavalry to victory. We applauded our national hero rousingly.
As the evening progressed and the wine warmed the blood, a silver-voiced Syrian lad whose elegant attire and fine-boned features suggested he was a member of the aristocracy not a slave or low-class entertainer, sung erotic poems by ancient Theognis of Megara. He appeared to address his songs towards the emperor.
These words shifted the mood of the occasion into a mellow place. At one point both Antinous and I wondered if there was more than laurel burning on the altar or steeped in the wine because the occasion took on a richly affective afterglow. Warm delight soothed anxious brows; we were at our ease in a place of balmy delight. It was all very agreeable.
At another time Antinous strung his trophy boar’s ears and snout into an arc across his head, wearing the animal’s remnants like a silly hat giving him the appearance of having piggy ears. He danced about on his couch in a comical fashion portraying the beast dying under Hadrian’s knife cast. This jovial routine amused everyone heartily. Antinous had been tipsy before, but perhaps never quite as tipsy as this night, I recall. At least he was a happy drunk and yet he seemed to retain his senses nevertheless..
Thaletas, a rich man’s son from Byzantium who had cavalry aspirations, found himself attracted to one of the pretty slave girl flautists. He chatted her up and had her reclining beside him on his couch feeding him wine and morsels from platters. At some point they disappeared from the party and returned after a while with Thaletas visibly disheveled but grinning from ear to ear. He had obviously enjoyed something more bodily than wine.
Another guy who was the son of an important councilor at Nicomedia had arrived with a strapping fellow a few years his senior who we all assumed was a family bodyguard. He had stood all evening behind the lad’s dining couch in a protective way, though they often shared the food and drink from a common plate. As the evening progressed the two became observably friendlier to each other. When they shifted into lying side by side on the couch and being tactile with each other it dawned on the other diners that they were in fact an item.
Whispers circulated how the older guy was of quality birth, a respected ephebe captain of the Nicomedia militia, and had been the approved erastes to his younger eromenos for the previous year.
It crossed our minds how any of the younger slaves or musicians of either gender who might appeal to us were available for similar diversions. But both Antinous and I remained discreetly aloof from any lascivious behavior to ensure we didn’t infringe an unspoken rule of manners in such august company.
Geta the Dacian joined me at one point to engage in idle talk while pouring generous dollops of Falernian into each other’s rhytons in the rowdy, boozy, drunken Greek manner. I was sober enough, however, to recognize how Geta cleverly inserted into the conversation questions exploring the details of my relationship with Antinous. He searched to discover if Antinous and I were committed as erastes and eromenos, as mentor and pupil, lover and beloved. This was despite us being of a similar age in contradiction of the usual custom.
I neglected to reveal to Geta how, as the proposed leading partner in the mentoring role by virtue of my few months extra age, I didn’t have the courage to put the proposition to Antinous. But I knew I would be devastated if Ant rejected me. If it transpired he agreed however, as I expected there wa
s a chance he might, then I wouldn’t have had the courage to approach his father for his authority too.
As the evening drew on it became apparent Caesar was calling each of the boys to his couch, one by one, for a personal chat. A secretary had delivered a small chest containing tight-rolled scrolls in ivory encasements. These were purple ribboned and bound with the small bulla seal of official documents.
Each of the six meirakia young men was summoned by Geta, and as each departed Caesar’s couch after a five-minute conversation it was evident the fellow was smiling with satisfaction at what had transpired.
‘Caesar awaits you, Lysias of Claudiopolis,’ Geta said formally to me, throwing his glance back towards the emperor’s couch. I arose and joined Caesar’s company, nodding an excited grin at Antinous as I passed by.
Hadrian was relaxed and friendly.
‘Tell me, Lysias of Claudiopolis, have you enjoyed yourself today?’ he asked while the most senior steward filled both our rhytons. ‘It’s been a most engaging occasion, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed, sir! This has been a remarkable occasion following a wonderful day’s events. I will remember it all my life.’
I was certainly not being dishonest in my claim.
‘In my travels, Lysias, I don’t meet very many young people,’ Hadrian confided. ‘I am attended by all manner of people of all ages, and even many children at the Court, and so on, but I have to make a point of going out of my way to meet those who are up-and-coming in my domains and have something fresh to offer Rome. So an occasion like this is rare for me too. I’d forgotten how lively and entertaining young people can be when they’re together as a group.’
‘I can appreciate that, sir,’ I offered as supportively as I could muster.
‘I am especially impressed with you Bithynians, Lysias. I can see how the Hellenes in Bithynia are holding closely to their traditional ways, especially among the sons of your nobility.
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