The Hadrian Enigma - A Forbidden History

by George Gardiner

  “Tell us, Aristobulus, what you know of Antinous and his activities,” Suetonius queried. “To begin your legal deposition, first tell us who you are, state your profession, and where you were on the night of his death? Further, what is your view of this misadventure?” Suetonius queried.

  The astrologer shuffled uncomfortably for a few moments before rising to the occasion to declaim theatrically in Greek-inflected Latin.

  “I, Special Inspector, am Aristobulus of Antioch, astrologer to Great Caesar. I am a magus, theurge, and hierophant of the ancient priestly dynasty of Emesa. The blood of Babylon flows in my veins. As an exponent of the Chaldean Oracles and a student of Marcus Manilius, I practice the sciences of the stars, mathematics, dream interpretation, occult ritual, and divination.

  My recall of the youth Antinous is his birth to have been on a late date in the coming month of November. The actual time of birth was unknown to the lad. He told me so on those occasions when he consulted with me on astrological matters, which were increasingly often in recent times.

  He told me his mother died shortly after his birth, so his precise hour of birth was uncertain to him. It seemed even the year of his birth is uncertain. He said his family’s nurse had told him he was born on the twenty-seventh day of the month of Cybele of the Bithynian calendar. This corresponds to our November. At least this would be a reasonable start to charting his destiny.

  However, Special Inspector, to cast the chart of someone so favored by Caesar’s is to calculate in proximity to Caesar’s own stars. This is forbidden and a dire offence. I did not dare calibrate a horoscope for the boy, so his recent fate was entirely beyond my predictive skill.”

  Suetonius thought to himself here was yet another of those serendipitous fortuities in the professional life of a fortune-teller, a fortuity by omission in this instance.

  “Where were you on the night of his death?”

  “As you well know, Suetonius Tranquillus, I travelled with you much of yesterday across the river at Hermopolis with our academic colleagues. I then lunched and bathed with you at the local Baths in the early afternoon,” the Antiochan explained. “It was I who informed Tribune Macedo of the security service of your whereabouts at The Street of Pleasures in the late afternoon. This was when Caesar summoned your urgent attendance.”

  “Where were you the previous evening, the night of the Favorite’s death, Aristobulus of Antioch?” the Special Inspector repeated.

  “Once again, Suetonius Tranquillus, I was with you and our Alexandrian companions at a drinking party aboard your felucca moored off Hermopolis. As you may recall, we shared considerable quantities of Chios dark sweet wine and much local beer,” the astrologer imparted.

  “What do you know about Antinous which might contribute to our understanding of the young man’s death? I am led to believe you shared his company often?”

  “Hmm, this is a difficult matter,” Aristobulus offered as he stroked his splayed beard thoughtfully. “There was much about the boy which invites consideration, I’d say.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he certainly did have odd interests for someone so young.”

  “In what way?”

  “I quite clearly recall my first impressions,” he responded. “Two years ago when the Household returned again to Athens while touring the Empire, several of us joined Caesar in taking initiation into the Mysteries at Eleusis. The Bithynian was among us. We, along with three thousand others, did so to bask in Caesar’s company at the rites.

  I accompanied Antinous with Caesar from the first day of the initiates’ procession to Eleusis. We are not allowed to tell you about the final rituals of the sixth night at the Telesterion of Eleusis. That’s a sacred secret. But I can certainly tell you about the effects the event had upon Antinous.

  Prior to the final rite the initiates drink a sacred brew, the famed potion called kykeon. I don’t know what’s in the brew, or whether it affects some people differently to others, but Antinous was deeply intoxicated by the stuff. Too deeply, I thought.

  It tasted to me merely like a bitter medicine, but it seemed to affect others differently. I even wondered if the particular draught Antinous consumed had been cunningly poisoned in some way, its effects being so profound on him. Gossip said his intimacy with Caesar had made powerful enemies at Court by his very presence, so anything is possible.”

  “What precise effect did the potion have on the lad?”

  “Well, to my eye as a magus experienced in observing all manner of oracles, mediums, and mystics at work, the boy had been thoroughly beguiled by the kykeon.

  I have witnessed enchanted sibyls inhaling the fumes of burnt leaves or grasses to achieve their insight, or ingesting sacred medicaments extracted from toads or mushrooms, or engaging in prayerful rituals to achieve a deep trance, but I sensed Antinous had been propelled into a thoroughly bewitched state of mind by the brew. I think Caesar, Lysias, and Geta too were concerned at his condition because, to me, he didn’t look too happy about his situation.”

  “How did the potion affect you?” Clarus interjected.

  “Well nothing happened to me really,” the astrologer explained, “I was slightly distracted by the draught, but not to a degree I couldn’t manage. Perhaps the boy wasn’t familiar with intoxication? Yet he is known to enjoy his wine.”

  “Isn’t the kykeon poured from a communal bowl? Doesn’t everyone receive the same potion? And wouldn’t Caesar’s Praetorians have watched what Hadrian and his companions were receiving from the priests?” Clarus explored.

  Septicius, being a former Prefect of Praetorians, intimately knew the precautions the security corps took in monitoring comestibles and drink for Hadrian.

  “Well, yes. We all took the kykeon from the communal cauldron in the individual cups provided to us. Yet only Antinous was affected in this way, no one else I observed. Perhaps the lad’s cup was contaminated with some malignancy or laced with some secret poison? That is, unless Hadrian had been the intended target and the boy had received Caesar’s mug in error?”

  “And then?” Suetonius queried further.

  “The final rites proceeded as they were supposed. I thought someone might be wise enough to whisk Antinous away for his own safety, but both Caesar and his school pal ensured the fellow was comfortable during the final hours of the overnight ritual. Actually, it was afterwards that things grew worrying,” the astrologer recalled.

  “In what way?”

  “Well, in the following days I heard how Antinous had taken to his bed. Apparently he was having visions and suffering attacks by mystical daemons, or such things. He was quite distressed for several days.”

  “You mean he’d gone mad?” Clarus stated in his usual unsubtle manner.

  “I don’t know if it was the madness of insanity or the madness of divine revelation,” the Syri offered, “but I was eventually summoned by Caesar’s physicians to offer my opinion.”

  “And, your opinion was?” Suetonius asked.

  “Well, I think the kykeon had either poisoned him or thrust him into a strange, dark place,” Aristobulus said, “I’m not sure which.”

  “But he recovered?”

  “Yes, he recovered. Yet along the way he asked his physicians and myself some very strange questions, very strange indeed.”

  “What sort of questions?”

  “Well, he revealed to us he’d travelled to the Land Of The Dead, and returned again. He asked if this was usual at the Mysteries of Demeter at Eleusis,” the astrologer said.

  The interrogating team showed distinct interest in this meandering testimony.

  “The Land of the Dead?” Suetonius reiterated.

  “Yes. And he was serious. He was convinced. He said he had taken flight ‘to the place where the sun never shines’. It is the home of the dead, he claimed. He said he glimpsed the endless oceans which surround the Underworld and the four rivers of woe. He viewed its ruler, Hades of the unspeakable name, brother of Zeus.


  He comprehended how the manner of one’s death and the proper rituals affect one’s fate in the next world, and realized the dire necessity of a coin in the mouth for Charon’s guidance, and that sort of thing. He said he saw the face of Thanatos himself, the god of death, and yet returned to the light of Life.

  I have only heard great priests and priestesses of secret cults make this claim. Even I as a magus cannot make such a claim,” the Antiochan declared with unexpected modesty.

  “Anything more?” Suetonius enquired.

  “It was enough at that time. To go to The Land of the Dead and return to life is the dominion of an Orpheus and his Eurydice, or an Odysseus, or Hercules retrieving Alcestis. It was a form of rebirth, like Demeter’s daughter Persephone from Hades’ dominion. A resurrection.”

  “A resurrection? What happened next?” the Special Inspector asked.

  “After a few days he returned to normalcy. His physicians and I advised he sacrifice to his chosen deity, pour offerings, and offer thanks for his safe return. He did so,” Aristobulus concluded, “but he was a changed fellow.”

  “Changed? How so?”

  “Well, the experience aged him several years. It was written in his features. He was no longer simply a handsome young man in his prime, he had suddenly assumed maturity’s demeanor,” the astrologer explained.

  Phlegon’s interrupted.

  “In more ways than one, gentlemen. I saw his personality change considerably. Whatever it was he ‘saw’ or experienced under the kykeon had made a deep impression,” the Carian scarecrow said. “He saw something that disturbed him greatly. He was no longer a callow youngster given to pleasures. Despite his youthful age he had matured overnight. This was different to Initiation into the cult of Demeter at Eleusis, this was a shift of personality.”

  “How did Caesar react to his Favorite facing such a mystical experience?” the biographer asked. It was now Phlegon’s opportunity to reminiscence.

  “Great Caesar was very attentive to his Favorite’s needs. Despite his schedule of duties he led Antinous and the Companions of the Hunt on a restorative tour of historical sites across Achaea. This provided the youngster fresh air, exercise, and new stimuli to encourage healing. They travelled to places beyond Athens where erastoi and eromenoi had been highly regarded in ages past, or where the custom was still alive.

  At Thespiae, only two days journey from Athens, they commemorated the success of Caesar’s dedication to Eros of his kill of a wild bear years earlier. Hadrian had made an offering of the bear’s spoils to seek the god’s benevolence by endowing him with a worthy eromenos. He now celebrated how Antinous was that god’s gracious gesture. Such sentimentality is comforting in a ruler, don’t you think?”

  “What else?” Suetonius asked.

  “They also visited ancient Mantinea, the city state from where Antinous’s forebears had migrated to Bithynia,” Phlegon enthused. “Mantinea had been the site of great battles among the Greeks in antique times. At the final battle fought between the Thebans led by their general Epaminondas against the Spartans, Epaminondas won the battle but died soon after of his wounds.

  He was the leader of The Sacred Band of Thebes, the army of pairs of warrior-lovers renown across the Greek world. At his death at Mantinea the great commander was buried by the side of his eromenos lover, who’d also been killed in the conflict. Hadrian and Antinous honored the couple’s grave with offerings and ceremonies of great poignancy.”

  “But why do you tell us this?” Clarus interjected. “In what way do they affect the Bithynian youth’s drowning?”

  It was Aristobulus’s turn. Now he was introspective

  “Some in the Household have perceived a pattern in these events. It had not passed without note how the boy was consumed with matters of death and dying, and of issues of return from the Land of the Dead. Yes, he was young and impressionable, yet the young rarely express such morbid thoughts due to being convinced of being invulnerable,” the magus replied.

  “And there’s more,” Phlegon added. “I myself have witnessed his increasing obsessions. There is the matter at Alexandria.”

  “What is the matter at Alexandria?” Suetonius asked, becoming somewhat distracted.

  “Well, my friends, as you know, Alexandria is a hotbed of competing ethnic rivalries, obscure philosophies, new religious ideas, and mysteries galore. One can easily have one’s head turned in a place like Alexandria. The atmosphere is conducive to eccentric beliefs and avant-garde practices,” the Syri murmured, “especially if a young companion discovers his halcyon days as Caesar’s Favorite are numbered.”

  “Numbered? How so, Astrologer?” Suetonius sought.

  “Well, as we all know, a month ago the Western Favorite joined the touring retinue at Alexandria. He’d been summoned from Rome by someone, possibly Caesar himself, possibly not; who knows?

  Lucius Ceionius Commodus and several of his fashionable friends turned up by sea from Italy a week or so after Caesar had arrived at Alexandria. It instantly put Antinous on notice about the state of his relationship with Caesar.”

  “There’s still nothing to relate to a drowning, is there? Unless you’re suggesting the boy was so upset he committed suicide?” Suetonius probed.

  “No. But there’s much else. You are aware of Caesar’s cough, of course?” Aristobulus asked cautiously.

  “Careful, Astrologer,” Clarus interjected, “you enter sensitive territory.”

  “Honorable Senator, I defer to your noble station and your wisdom, but you asked the truth of us under threat of legal imposition. Caesar’s cough is not a matter which passes by uncommented at Court,” the Syri muttered low. “There are those whose future hangs upon such a cough, not least of whom are we ourselves. It’s a matter of concern to all. If Caesar became, say, indisposed or fared even worse, then the careers and livelihoods of a large number of people will be suspended until political stability is re-established.

  But more importantly, Senator and Special Inspector, are you aware of the cough evinced by Lucius Commodus as well?”

  “Commodus too?! The successor designate?”

  “Yes, gentlemen.”

  Suetonius, Clarus, Strabon, and even Surisca were stirred at this revelation.

  “The Western Favorite, Caesar’s likely successor, also displays an infirmity which is not-to-be-discussed?” Suetonius confirmed.

  Aristobulus nodded sagely.

  “It is so. Commodus now possesses a hack which, to my ear, sounds extremely similar to the same dry rasp Hadrian was emitting some years ago. I hesitate to suggest they’re a related phenomenon,” Aristobulus proposed. “Besides, I’m convinced the Bithynian youth knows these things too; he’s closer to their source than we are, and he’s smart.”

  The chamber hung heavy with consideration.

  “Yet you have not told us how you think these things can lead to a drowning?” Suetonius reminded his company. Phlegon took up the theme.

  “On arriving at Alexandria the travelling Court was consumed by its respective obsessions. The bordellos of the Rhakotis and Canopus pleasure quarters received a huge influx of randy clients, while the various exponents of the city’s competing ideologies received invitations to dinners.

  Hadrian and Antinous were no different. Caesar’s passion for foreseeing the future and understanding Fate had him summons experts in Egyptian astrology or had him attending the Serapeum with its priestly adepts of Serapis.

  Serapis, this patron god of Alexandria, is extraordinary in that he knits the contending races and gods of Egypt together into a single veneration. Hadrian admires this cohesive facet of Serapis. Our times call for cohesion and unity yet our many diversities pull us apart. The eccentricities of religion are fatal without tolerance, so Hadrian is consumed with his search for an answer which unifies.

  Meanwhile Antinous was exploring questions of life after death. I should know, I accompanied him on his excursions into that city’s labyrinth of magicians, mystics, and won
der workers.”

  “The drowning, the drowning, Phlegon,” Suetonius reminded the flighty Asian.

  “Well, on one occasion we were visited by a man known as Marcion of Sinope in the Christian sector of the city. This Greek is a leading philosopher of one particular school of the Christian superstition,” Phlegon offered with a curl of the lip. “This superstition is everywhere these days. Many people regard it as sorcery, sinister and seditious, and deserving of being curbed. They’re magicians who pursue eternal life, people say. They worship an executed felon who resurrected from death, they claim. They drink blood at rituals. That’s sorcery plain and simple!

  But like the Judaeans, they’re a volatile lot. They argue against each other fiercely as competing sectarians often do. They have many differing sects and leaders, and don’t agree with each other.

  This fellow Marcion had assembled a group of fellow fanatics to meet with Antinous. Antinous possesses no legal power yet his closeness to Caesar exerts its own charisma. They were eager for an opportunity to display their allegiance to Rome and have Antinous make a good report to his imperial companion. Leaders of the sectarians were among the group, though I sensed that they differed vehemently on issues of their cult.

  The most vocal one, Marcion of Sinope, practices the ascetic, austere teachings of a Christian mystic named Paulus of Tarsas executed in Nero’s time. Another, Basilides, is an Egyptian Greek who’s expert in the many competing texts of the Christians. Then there was an articulate young fellow named Valentinus, also an Egyptian, who proclaims a complicated philosophy of a gnostikos mystic. His is a fantastical panorama of angelic Archons and a Creator Demiurge among levels of being in the heavens, and so on interminably.

  There are many similarities to Judaean teachings, except the Chrestus cults are open to we Romans. They don’t demand painful circumcision of the penis or quaint rules of diet and habit as the Judaeans do, but they do demand asceticism. Antinous was eager to hear their views on the afterlife, which they offer plentifully. I suspect their perspectives colored the boy’s attitude to life, and perhaps even to drowning.”