They display a Nature-given satisfaction with his lust, just as we see among all the farmyard and forest creatures around us. But does an eromenos seek and enjoy penetration by his erastes? Is this the understanding of the tradition? In truth, Father, I do not think I would enjoy such an imposition upon my body or willingly succumb to another man’s domination readily -- even so great and noble a man as Caesar! What is your advice on this issue? It is a concern for me.’
Telemachus sat impassively for some moments, his eyes resting upon his troubled son.
‘Yes, this is certainly a question for a worthy eromenos,’ he said. ‘You are correct to raise the matter, to be frank. It’s an area where polite fictions may prevail.
Yet you already know how it is natural for men to be driven by Aphrodite’s urging or her child Eros’s impulses? It is natural and proper for men to be hot blooded and lustful, especially the young. The urge to inject seed is common to all male creatures. The urge to receive seed by a male is less obvious, though it too exists among many creatures around us. We see it in the farmyard or forest more often than we recall, and there are many among us disposed by temperament to its appeal. However, for an erastes and his eromenos there is a subtle dispensation about the matter.
In the times since our forefathers it has been held how receipt of an erastes’ semen need not be bodily, Antinous, it need not penetrate the body physically. Several ancient philosophers of the Hellenes have even proposed it should be entirely spiritual, not a bodily invasion aroused in the heat of lust. But ‘spirituality’ is an ambiguous term of uncertain meaning.
For the mutual expression of Eros among the wellborn a mode of intimate friction between the thighs has been given the tacit sanction of the Greeks. It is not talked of readily. As an eromenos you need not have your body’s integrity and your personal honor compromised, if this is how you view such relations. Personal regard and intimacy can be shared without abject submission or penetration. You both retain your pride and there is no shame to either you or your relationship, meanwhile an erastes’ and an eromenos’ satisfaction can be gratified. Do you understand?’
‘I see, Father,’ Antinous said with lingering doubt. Telemachus continued.
‘In this way the elites of the Greek world have reconciled their suitor’s passion yet found ardor and solace with honor,’ the old soldier continued. ‘Think of Achilles and Patrocles, or the heroic tyrant-killers Aristogeiton and Harmodius, or King Alexander of Macedon and his Prince Hephaestion, where no shame is known, only glory. Yet it’s also true how fierce emotion too can erupt between friends under certain circumstances, with its fulfillment consummated vehemently. Eros toys with us interminably, while we mortals are only flesh and blood.’
The four men stood silently immobile lost in wonder.
‘For example I recall, Antinous, my own great friendship when two years prior to your age while serving in Dacia with an erastes companion of noble bearing and toughened military skills. His name was Hippothales of Nicaea. He shared his fighter’s spirit and his arete with me, a callow youth from the wilderness back blocks of Bithynia. We shared pains, joys, sweat, spittle, blood, and each other’s body in close encounter often. Yes, Antinous.
He died bravely at Salinae in Dacia while defending me from a fierce barbarian ambush. We each here today should be eternally thankful, thanks be to Apollo Protector. I often pray for the comfort of Hippothales’ shade and make offerings or pour libations of wine to his great honor.
Some years later when my beard had matured and my fighting skills were far better-honed, I became an erastes successively to two younger ephebes. This was prior to my marriage to your mother, Antinous. It was through a long, hard campaign fought on the plains of Pannonia.
It may come as a surprise to you to learn how Lysias’s father, our heroic Lysander of Claudiopolis, was the second of these two meirakia young men. Our mutual friendship of that time has been the source of the close bond between our two houses long after Lysander’s death at Pannonia.’
Telemachus then turned to me standing by Antinous. I was instantly alerted, even alarmed, at what might follow.
‘Your father Lysander,’ he announced to my astonishment, ‘who was my greatest friend ever and four years my junior, died in brave combat with front line Greek auxiliaries of the Legion II Adiutrix under the command of Hadrian himself. This was many years before Hadrian’s elevation to the purple after Trajan’s death.
Lysander was cruelly overcome by three Sarmatian Jazyges madmen warriors, one of who he destroyed with his pilum lance while the other two fell to my blade. But the damage was already done. Lysander was mortally wounded. He took two days to die despite my every care and precaution against corruption in his wounds.
Your father’s death, Lysias, was a calamity for me from which there has been no recovery. Ever. After all, at that time I was the noble and handsome Lysander’s erastes. I was his friend-in-arms, his weapons trainer, his advisor, his protector, and his true companion. We were a team. We covered each other’s back in battle. We fought side by side in drunken brawls. We bound each other’s scrapes and wounds. We shared food. We often slept for body warmth beneath the same blanket. We talked together of our future families at Polis and of the sons to come. Your father knew me better than I know myself, Lysias.
After that fatal battle it was I who retrieved Lysander’s body from the communal pyre for the dead to bury him with proper military honor in a field at Pannonia. It was I who dug his grave deep beyond the reach of carrion creatures, who sewed his wounds so his body was of one piece again, who licked the blood from his torn flesh to cleanse him and to absorb his arete.
It was I who anointed his well-formed shape with sweet oils, and who wrapped his nakedness in my own best cloak for burial. It was a nakedness well known to me.
It was I who placed Charon’s coin in his mouth, who poured libations to the gods over his grave’s tumulus, who burnt incense to the heavenly domains, and who screamed loud paeans of praise to his heroism while shedding bitter tears into that long, pained, rainy night on the freezing Pannonia plain.
It was I who carried back to your mother’s hearth his battered armors and weapons which still hang high on display in your family’s andron. It was I who cut the bloodied lock of hair from your father’s scalp which your mother wears to this day in a locket around her neck, and which I too retain enclosed in a niche of my sword belt. Your father, Lysias, was my greatest friend ever.
Yet regardless that it is I who privately commemorates Lysander’s death each anniversary with proper ceremony, and knows intimately of his courage and nobility of character, it is you - Lysias his son - who projects his seed forward into time. This is your responsibility as a son.’
Telemachus sunk back into his chair exhausted.
I was absolutely shaken by this speech. Not one of we four had heard this story in the past, though a moment’s deeper reflection could have realized its possibility. Telemachus resumed his address. His features now grew magisterial.
‘In a man’s world of fierce war, in hard training, in labor at the battle encampment, or on a forced march, rare human beauty shines in bold relief against a warrior’s harsh realm. There are men who will be captivated by, aroused to ardor for, actively entice, and lustfully pursue to consummation such a paragon in whatever guise it manifests. Many men will be indifferent to the gender of their enchanter.
The extraordinary bloom of youth and the urge to entwine with it bodily before it passes away into time becomes an obsession for warriors daily facing fearful danger and imminent death. A beardless ephebe crossing over the short bridge into full manhood may discover how sharing the friendship of such a man can be both gratifying as well as protective. And its pleasures may be found by surprise to be reciprocal.’
The chamber was utterly silent.
‘I think I see, Father,’ Antinous offered hesitantly, politely, if uncertainly. ‘All this was unknown to me, so I rely on your guidance.’
Telemachus brightened.
‘But enough of this inconsequentia! Basically, what transpires between honorable men in private is their own affair. We do not snoop. So let us now explore Caesar’s proposition, my son, seeing you appear to be reconciled to the role of a Friend of Caesar. I will repeat my query to you, do you accept Caesar’s proposition, yes or no?’
All eyes turned to Antinous.
‘If it is with your permission and blessing, I do Father,’ he replied with renewed confidence.
‘Then let it be recorded here before us: I provide my approval on behalf of our Household,’ Telemachus intoned. ‘I will write to Hadrian’s Proconsul immediately.’
“The hour is late, Suetonius. We need sleep to be fresh for tomorrow’s interviews. We should continue the Bithynian’s interview in the morning,” Clarus tiredly whined.
Lysias at last rose from his seat to depart.
“Am I discharged from further interview tonight?” he asked politely. Suetonius nodded.
“Yet we require you to attend us again just after sunrise. Do we send for you with lictors and the Guard, or will you arrive of your own volition?” Clarus asked sternly.
“On my honor, I will be prompt in attendance without escort,” he confirmed. Lysias departed.
Clarus was about to dismiss Strabon and his assistant until the morning but Secretary Vestinus interrupted.
“Something of interest has come up,” he announced quietly. “Caesar has released the body of the dead Bithynian into the hands of the Egyptian priests,” he announced. “They have taken the cadaver to a special pavilion by the riverside. I am told they are preparing to perform their arts upon the corpse to defeat decay. It occurred to me you might wish to inspect the youth and his condition before they damage his tissues?”
The group looked to each other with immediate interest.
“Certainly. Lead on!” Suetonius called. “Sleep will wait!”
CHAPTER 13
Secretary Vestinus led the four through the camp’s labyrinth of tented corridors and lanes. From behind felt walls cheery gales of laughter and muffled conversations echoed, while the rhythms of drummers or the heavy sighs of lovemaking were emitted elsewhere. Suetonius’s early-to-bed generation had forgotten how younger folk engage in pleasurable activity late into the night.
They arrived at a pavilion erected in the Egyptian style close by the Nile’s shore. Suetonius, Clarus, Vestinus, Surisca, and Strabon noted how it was signposted with a blue-painted Egyptian cartouche inscribed with the Eye of Horus symbol. A large-bodied, armed Nubian guard plus an imperial Horse Guard of German stock maintained watch by the pavilion’s entrance. Both obstructed their approach with their weapons.
“We demand entrance in the name of Caesar!” Vestinus proclaimed.
The guards deferred to Vestinus. The Nubian disappeared into the pavilion to seek permission for their entrance. He reappeared accompanied by the priest who had been in the company of Pachrates earlier at Hadrian’s reception chamber.
On sighting the four men and a woman he genuflected deeply before them in a spectacularly deferential manner, accompanied by a tinkling of bracelets, necklets, earrings, and golden chains as he bowed.
“My lords,” the priest uttered in broken, accented Greek, “I am at your service.”
“Egyptian, you have the cadaver of the dead youth Antinous within?” Clarus declared bluntly. “We are here to inspect the body.”
Despite his priestly eyes drifting over the scarlet stripes of the togas of the two senior men with a visible calculation of their status, the Egyptian waffled his response.
“I am at your humble service, my lords, but I am presently engaged in the holy process of preparing the body of the deceased for rites of death on behalf of Great Caesar,” he pleaded. “The preparation is underway, and is most displeasing to view, my lords.”
“Displeasing?” Clarus asked in a stentorian tone. “We are familiar with the realities of death, Egyptian!”
Clarus was uttering a truism if ever Suetonius had heard one.
“Give us entrance immediately!”
“I bow deep in humility, great lord, before your noble stations, but do you possess the written authority of Pachrates, the high priest of Amun? I am only under the instruction of my master, Priest Pachrates,” he said somewhat riskily, “and may not take orders from others. This pavilion is consecrated to the god Amun for the purpose of our rites. Only celebrants of the god are permitted entry into this sacred space, my lords. Otherwise Amun will be offended and bad omens could be invoked. ”
The large Nubian was toying with his hip dagger and flexing his small wicker shield in readiness for action, unsure of the nature of this confrontation and awaiting the priest’s signal for a response. He did so with some trepidation in the presence of three mature-age Romans in formal togas.
It is at times such as this that Clarus performs best, Suetonius recalled. With a sharp hiss through clenched teeth, the magistrate swept the priest and the Nubian aside with one arm and lunged through the pavilion’s flaps. The others including Surisca swiftly followed through the opening.
In the gloom of the pavilion’s interior the four could see several Egyptian workers hovering around a worktable lit by blazing torches shimmering their fumes through a vent into the night sky. The bench appeared to hold the bodily remains of the drowned youth laid out for the worker’s attentions. An intense charge of cloying incense perfumed the chamber to mask the atmosphere, but the underlying sickly-sweet odor of decay cut through the fragrance nonetheless.
A separate table stood nearby with another body’s shape lying under a covering. It was attended by two other workers, one of whom wore Greek not Egyptian attire. As the four entered the pavilion Suetonius noted how a covering cloth was quickly flung across the figure on the second table to obscure its features.
Jars of varying sizes and instruments of a surgical nature were laid on other tables, while amphorae of fluids stood in their racks to one side. Strips of linen were piled into several baskets nearby. The group gingerly approached the worktables as the Egyptians ceased their activities and turned to confront the intruders. They had been splashing scoops of river water over the table to sluice its surface.
Antinous lay stretched atop the table, held up by wooden braces under his neck and hip.
The workers were evacuating the innards from his cadaver with surgical hooks. They drew the guts from an incision in the intestinal area and slid the slimy entrails onto a large wicker tray. The perforated wicker allowed the waters to rinse detritus away while the intestinal tissues remained behind.
Streaks of coagulated blood, mucus, and fecal matter from the innards was rinsed away but left the fleshy tissues undamaged. The five intruders immediately drew the folds of their robes to cover their faces against the odors.
“What is going on here, Egyptian, what is this process?” Clarus demanded. “It seems sacrilegious.”
“We are preparing the body of the Worthiness for public display, great lord,” the priest groveled before his betters. “It is not sacrilegious, it is performed with the prayers and rites suited to a god.
We must cleanse the inner cavities of the deceased of all putrefying organs before they pollute his Great Worthiness. The brain is especially difficult to recover without damaging his features. A body left in its natural state will emit polluting miasmas which quickly corrupt the flesh. Already a day has passed. Bloating and infestation are underway. By removing his organs into pickling jars and packing his cavity with linens drenched in cedar oil, as well as painting protective wax onto the skin, we delay corruption for a few days. But only a few days, lords, no longer. Decay is unavoidable unless we engage in proper Royal Embalming.”
Clarus spoke sharply to the priest.
“I am told, Egyptian, you possess arts which will preserve a body indefinitely, not just a few days? I have been shown such miracles at Memphis.”
“My lords, Great Caesar has demanded his compa
nion be displayed in two morning’s time. Special ceremonies are planned. Caesar requires his young friend to be ready for public showing on that occasion. Royal Embalming takes two months to achieve, not two days,” he intoned with unctuous servility but evident honesty. “He would be bathed in special salts for a full month, just to begin.”
“What do you do with his innards?” Suetonius asked. “Are these dispensed with?”
“We wash and oil them carefully, my lord, to protect them, and store them in canopic jars in protective lotions to await Holy Divination,” the priest informed us. “They are accorded great respect, my lord, as is to be expected of such a Special Worthiness as this noble youth.”
“Holy Divination?” Suetonius asked, “what is ‘holy divination’?”
“Sirs, I am instructed that the entrails of Caesar’s companion are to be prepared for divination. Their occult message is to be interpreted by the great priest Pachrates, Servant of Amun from Memphis,” he soothed in a reverential tone. “My master awaits our delivery of the necessary elements as soon as they are prepared.”
“Where are you to deliver the entrails?” Clarus demanded. “To whom and where?”
The priest looked anxiously at his workers and the Romans with their solitary female. He hesitated.
“Well?” said Clarus sharply.
“To the Temple of Amun beyond Besa on this east bank,” he murmured reluctantly.
“And to whom?” Clarus added.
“To my master, the priest of Amun, Pachrates, my lords – but in the presence of Great Caesar himself,” he stated with subtle emphasis on the emperor’s name.
“In the presence of Caesar?” Suetonius and Clarus voiced in unison. Suddenly, it occurred to each of the group they had stumbled onto a project which might have been better left unknown.
“May I proceed then with my duties, my lords?” the priest oozed with a glint of victory.
The mention of Caesar was his masterstroke, he believed. But Suetonius felt there was now much more to be known.
The Hadrian Enigma - A Forbidden History Page 19