The Hadrian Enigma - A Forbidden History

by George Gardiner

  The priest was visibly surprised.

  “Workman? What workman? We have lost no workman. We head count our confraternity at each sunset ceremony, and there is no one missing. Are you sure you speak of us, my lords, and not some other fellowship?”

  “You say you possess a single boat which cannot sail, and you have lost no workman since yesterday?” Suetonius searched.

  “That is so,” Kenamun said, evidently mystified by the queries.

  Suetonius and Clarus were similarly puzzled. Centurion Urbicus’s reports conveyed a reliable sense of authority..

  “Who has given you this information? It is mistaken,” Kenamun added.

  Suetonius moved right on.

  “Well then, instead, explain to us what you know about the Bithynian’s death or have heard as gossip?”

  “I know nothing other than what has been displayed by his corpse, which I have prepared for exhibition, as you know.”

  “So, does his corpse tell you anything we should know?”

  “I am a mortician. I have seen many corpses in my time. I notice things. But I do not necessarily understand what it is that I have observed.”

  “What have you observed in regard to Antinous?”

  “Well, for one, the youth is said to have died by drowning. His lungs had been drained clear of river water, which is to be expected of his finders. But it does not explain why his veins contained almost no blood. They too seemed similarly drained.”

  The group of four were wide eyed in interest.

  “In my view, the youth died of severe bleeding some time well before he drowned. The lad had a deep incision in his left wrist, cut in a way to promote bleeding. We packed it with wax to hide from view when his body is displayed, as you yourselves detected. Unless he slashed his own wrist while in the river, I cannot see how after being bled into unconsciousness he could find his way to the river’s banks unaided?”

  “Why couldn’t he have slashed his wrist before falling into the river?” Clarus asked. “As a suicide might.”

  “Well,” Kenamun proposed, “I am told he was left-handed. Surely such a suicide would slash his right wrist, not his left? But even so, the blood loss would have been very great.”

  “Are you aware, priest, that there have been rumors circulating that your master Pachrates is involved in a conspiracy to sacrifice the youth to the river? To impress Caesar. And if so, you too are implicated,” the Special Inspector charged threateningly.

  Kenamun now grew frightened.

  “That is not possible, sirs! Neither my master nor I would engage in such a crime. Where did you get such an idea? Such a crime would undo all the work we of the Old Religion have labored upon to establish Caesar’s confidence in us. The risk and its price would be far too high! We would not dare such a felony.”

  “This story was given to us by …,” Suetonius paused momentarily. He realized Urbicus was the source of this claim too, as the investigators glanced questioningly among themselves.

  “Besides, my lords,” Kenamun continued, “my master had already refused the youth such a project of his own making. Pachrates did so in the presence of Great Caesar.”

  “What, by Zeus, do you mean by that?!” Clarus exclaimed.

  “The Bithynian, Antinous, approached my master and myself in the presence of Caesar and others while the Household was passing through Memphis some weeks ago. The youth proposed he offer himself as a sacrifice to the river to alleviate this summer’s low flood ahead of next year’s inundation. He said he owed it to Caesar in obligation.”

  “He owed it in obligation? And so ..?” Suetonius asked.

  “He suggested the great priest Pachrates could then recall him from death, just as he had retrieved other creatures from death in his magic displays.”

  The group looked to each other knowingly. Such magic was not credible in their eyes.

  “What response did this generous offer receive?” Suetonius asked.

  “My master was amazed, of course. Alarmed even. His magic is great, but recovery from death can only be achieved on rare occasions of the stars’ configurations. Unless it’s with small animals or other vermin, that is. Antinous and Caesar had witnessed such a unique demonstration with a criminal who was beheaded.”

  The group of four silently held their own counsel.

  “Pachrates said No! to Antinous. But it was Caesar who was adamant. He refused the young man his wish outright.

  He said the boy had no obligation to pursue such a course of action, despite his noble intentions. He angrily forbade it. Very angrily. Besides, Pachrates and I impressed upon the youth how someone drowns in the Nile every day. One of these daily accidents would be a sufficient sacrificial victim to the river’s temper.”

  “Did this persuade the lad?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He also talked of exchanging boons. This is something to do with two people exchanging their life span in some magical way. It is a Greek or Roman or Chaldean magic I do not know.”

  “Who else attended this occasion at Memphis?” Clarus asked.

  “Besides my master Pachrates, I recall Caesar and the young man, Governor Titianus, Senator Arrian, Senator Commodus, Secretary Vestinus, and their respective attendants and guards. The meeting was held to discuss the foundation of Caesar’s new city of Hadrianopolis.”

  “Who were the attendants you mention?” Suetonius probed further.

  “Why, if I recall correctly, other than slaves and servants, the Governor’s lady companion Anna Perenna, with Tribune Macedo of Caesar’s Praetorians, his Alexandrian officer Quintus Urbicus, and officers of the Horse Guard.”

  “Do you know the names of any of the Horse Guard?”

  “Only the one with the face tattoos, Decurion Scorilo. He was in charge of Caesar’s protection that day.”

  “These people were all party to this conversation?”

  “Yes, they were in the chamber at the time, they witnessed the discussion.”

  “One question, priest. Do you recall what Antinous was wearing that particular day?” the biographer asked.

  “How was he dressed? Oh, it were his usual sporty Greek attire, short Greek tunic, mantle, headband. That’s all. The Bithynian did not dress to be noticed.”

  “Anything else? Adornments, buckles, bracelets, earrings?”

  “No, he always dressed simply. He was wearing his finger ring, of course, the deep blue one with the mystic symbols. Abrasax, isn’t it? Dark lapis lazuli from Bactria. I am told it’s a special gift from Caesar found at Antioch. We of Egypt are wary of Abrasax.”

  “Why so, priest?”

  “It’s Chaldean magic. It’s very potent. It possesses mysteries we do not understand. We are fearful of it. Only great beings can harness its powers. I would not dare wear such a talisman. It’s said it destroys those who are inferior. It has a mind of its own, a cruel mind.”

  “You mentioned Anna Perenna. What do you know of this lady, priest?”

  Kenamun hesitated briefly. A cloud passed across his features.

  “Just between us, priest,” Suetonius reassured the mortician, “just between us.”

  Kenamun prevaricated, but loosened up.

  “This woman, gentlemen, is the Governor’s Favorite. We must be careful in talking of the Governor’s consort. When Caesar returns to Rome, it is Titianus who will rule here as Pharaoh. His consort will possess subtle influence. She will have great importance in our lives.”

  “Who is this woman? Where is she from? What are her merits?” the Special Inspector asked. “We have learned very little about her.”

  “Our contacts in Alexandria as well as Rome and Antioch, have tried to seek out her details. She arrived in Alexandria from Rome at the same time as the Governor about four years ago. We thought she was his wife, but she is not. She doesn’t look Roman, yet she is the representative of one of Rome’s most ancient cults. It is a tradition very popular with women among Romans and Greeks, like Isis.”

  “She doesn
’t look Roman, you say?”

  “To my eye she looks to be of a barbarian race. But that cannot be. Her cult is Roman by definition.”

  “Anything more?”

  “She is reputed to engage in arcane rituals. Some at Alexandria say she sacrifices to alien gods. There are stories, unpleasant stories.”

  Kenamun fell meaningfully silent.

  “Yes. Go on. What stories?”

  “There are whispers. At the Governor’s Rhakotis Palace children are known to disappear. Very young children. Boys only. Bones and flesh debris have been found in palace drains. Palace slaves say they have been obliged to clean rooms sprayed with gore. There are grisly tales. But perhaps these are slanders by inferiors about their Roman mistress.”

  “I see, I think. Anything else?”

  “She is reputed to possess a lively sexual appetite. She is thought to be a female cinaedus. She charms many men. She has her way with them. She is the Governor’s consort, but she has lovers elsewhere. One or two have disappeared, I’ve heard it said.”

  “What else?”

  “Anna Perenna is not her real name.”

  “What is her real name?”

  “We don’t know. When Pachrates journeyed to Rome last year he sought to find out. All he could discover was she was a chosen adoptee of her cult, no more. Perhaps they do not know her real origins themselves, the source has been lost.”

  “Do you think she had some influence over Antinous?” Suetonius posed.

  “Yes. Perhaps. They have been seen talking together.”

  “So, do you think you know what happened to the boy?”

  “I only know facets of his mind. The youth was set upon a mission. I overheard his urge often in Household conversations. But I do not know what the mission may have been.

  At one time he asked certain services of us, services we will not – or cannot – provide, and Caesar refused to us anyway. How these services connected to his mission is unknown to me. But, my lords and lady,” Kenamun offered thoughtfully, giving Surisca’s presence an unexpected acknowledgement, “I can recommend to you a special method of enquiry into Caesar’s companion’s fate.”

  The group of four stirred to life again. It was very late, and their attention was drooping. Kenamun continued.

  “We have residing with us here the famous Priest Si-Amun of the Temple of Zeus Ammon at Siwa Oasis. Si-Amun is this generation’s Oracle of Siwa. Si-Amun is a master medium. He has travelled the long journey from Siwa to pay his respects to Caesar and participate in Hadrian’s announcement today.”

  “Today? It’s here already?” Suetonius asked without expecting an answer.

  “A medium? An oracle? A seer?” Clarus queried.

  “Yes indeed. Si-Amun knows nothing of your companion Antinous yet I am sure his gift as an Oracle will tell you much you do not yet know.”

  “What do we do? Ask him questions? Beg his advice? What form does this Oracle take?”

  “You ask a few simple, direct questions. Si-Amun will respond in the language of the Oracle, which is the language of the Amazigh peoples of Libya. They often have blue eyes with fair hair, their origin is unknown. I will translate his words into Greek for you. His responses are for you to interpret according to your understanding. Afterwards you pay the Oracle whatever sum you feel he deserves for his insights.”

  “Let’s do it now,” Suetonius said.

  The venerable ancient had been woken from his sleep. His bleary eyes, crumpled linens, and tattered ethnic knits hung from his bony frame in untidy drapes. His shaven head had a week’s growth of blotchy grey fuzz while a straggly single lock of hair bundled to one side of his cranium tied with a ribbon signified his racial origin.

  The Amazigh priest put on his weathered headdress of ostrich feathers with curled ram’s horns at each temple, and snapped beaten metal bracelets to his arms with decorative chains hung around his neck. They were inscribed in all manner of arcane symbols.

  The priest was no youngster. In fact his age, like that of Pachrates, was indiscernible. His skin had tanned under the Siwa desert sun to a leathern dun, with deep corrugations creasing into craggy facial flesh. He had the weathered appearance of a sun-dried, dusty Siwa date of considerable age.

  He observed his late night clients with an unblinking, intense gaze.

  Both Suetonius and Clarus were immediately struck by the penetrating blue-gray of his eyes squinting from within his bronzed crevasses. The squint’s focus probed deep into their eyes. His gaze penetrated behind their corneas, behind their deeper vision, and searched into some distant part of their being hidden at their core. The gaze was disturbing.

  Kenamun spoke to the priest in an unfamiliar tongue. Surisca feigned disinterest in the dialogue as occasional familiar words and phrases stumbled through her comprehension. She listened as carefully as she could.

  Kenamun spoke in a hushed, reverential whisper. A solitary oil lamp cast flickering light across the old man’s features.

  “The Great Oracle, Si-Amun of the Ammoneion of Siwa, will prepare for his special vocation,” Kenamun announced. “Si-Amun will consume the special sacrament of his gift. It is a substance found only among the desert stones of Siwa.”

  The ancient of days produced a small receptacle filled with several unprepossessing lumps of a substance with the appearance of crumbled rock or wood ashes. He took silver tweezers and placed a few small lumps onto a metal ornamental tray. One of Kenamun’s servants held a lighted taper beneath the tray to heat its thin base.

  After some moments wisps of white fume rose from the tray. Si-Amun did precisely as Suetonius had done only two days earlier at The House of the Blue Lotuses. He fanned the fumes into his face and nostrils with both hands while muttering a low chant in his foreign tongue. Minutes of chanting in the stillness passed.

  Si-Amun was suddenly galvanized. He sat bolt upright on his stool. He fumbled to unpin a fibula to permit a beaded veil to fall from his headdress across his face, masking his features from sight. His voice assumed an energized clarity of tone. His antique age seemed to dissolve as he fell into a thoughtful silence awaiting Kenamun’s questioning words.

  “You may begin,” the priest mortician nodded. “Ask, but be respectful.”

  Clarus was moved to ask the opening question.

  “Oracle of Siwa, who speaks to us here tonight?” he asked magisterially as Strabon’s stylus prepared to flutter over fresh wax.

  There was a lengthy pause before Si-Amun spoke. He repeatedly shook his ostrich feather headdress, which gave a rustling sound akin to a feathery systrum, while he rattled a real systrum in one hand. The voice was no longer the sharp clear vocal character of the ordinary priest, it had a rumbling depth of throatiness as though calling from the bottom of a deep well. His Amazigh words were haltingly translated by the mortician.

  “I am Amun, the hidden god. Amun is Ra. Amun is Ptah. Zeus Ammon is Amun. Jupiter is Amun. Serapis is Amun. I am Osiris who Seth destroyed but Isis restored. I am who I am.”

  Suetonius was startled by this heady declaration, yet adventurously posed the next question.

  “Great Ammon of the Oracle of Siwa please tell, why did Antinous of Bithynia die?”

  Again a long pause as the ostrich feathers shimmered, flurried, and trilled while the systrum rattled. Kenamun slowly translated the stumbled response.

  “The son of Apollo ascended to the sun. The sun burnt the youth. The wild forces of Eros overcame the civil power of Aphrodite. A hidden secret unleashed the chaos of Eros so stalking wolves could devour their prey.”

  The group looked among each other, mystified.

  “If that is ‘why’, Si-Amun, then how did Antinous die?” Suetonius asked, faintly unsettled by talk of wolves devouring their prey.

  Another long pause prevailed as feathers and systrum rustled, shimmered, and rattled.

  “The son of Apollo bled into Darkness. The stalking wolves sipped his blood.”

  “Are you saying Antinous was murd
ered, Great Oracle?”

  Again a pause of rustles and rattles.

  “The son of Apollo made an offering at the altar of his brother Asclepius. He offered his only true spoils to the altar, his life. Stalking wolves devoured the spoils with relish.”

  “Asclepius?” Clarus exclaimed. “Why Asclepius, Apollo’s son and the god of healing? Are you certain?”

  Suetonius dismissed the query; he felt he was close to some answers.

  “Who is the murderer, Great Oracle? Who killed Antinous?” Suetonius called aloud with quavering emotion. All held their breath after a long period of rustling passed and then ceased.

  “A wolf’s sword exacts its revenge. A she wolf’s delusion drinks its fill. But the path to the sacrificial altar was smoothed by a king’s secret.”

  “Wolves. She wolves. A king’s secret. Where are we in all this?” Clarus groaned plaintively.

  Si-Amun’s voice responded immediately in crisp Common Greek.

  “On a journey of justice for the king. Identify the She Wolf. Apprehend the wolves. Send them to the Underworld of the alien god.”

  “Who is their god?” Clarus asked, realizing to identify the deity might identify the malefactors.

  Si-Amun expelled a loud cry of pained anguish. His body trembled violently. His voice quavered with emotion.

  “The Baal of the East who came to the West. The Drinker of Blood. The Wolf Deity.”

  The group looked to each other, utterly perplexed.

  “How will we punish the murderer or murderers, Great Oracle of Amun?”

  Pause.

  “Fire purifies,” came the simple response. “Fire purifies!”

  “What of Antinous? Will Antinous return from Hades?” Suetonius dared to propose, atypically, illogically, unexpectedly. Is resurrection on the agenda? The pause was brief, the voice clear.

  “The son of Apollo rises with the new dawn, when the king’s heart bursts with anguish. Self-knowledge renews his soul.”

  The rustle of feathers and systrum ceased. Everyone in the chamber was silent.