A Forbidden History.The Hadrian enigma

by George Gardiner

  'What events will your household pay prizes to?' I asked Antinous as I tore the roasted chick in two to offer his portion. The campfire flames danced before our eyes. Night had swiftly fallen, so deep swigs from a shared wineskin washed the fowl flesh down. The sweet dark wine was our respective vineyards' own drop. It helped warm our insides now our dried loincloths and tunics warmed our exteriors.

  'Will you offer money or food when Caesar is here? And what will you compete in yourself, Ant? Foot races, of course.'

  I was envious of my friend's sprinting skills, especially in full-dress heavy hoplite armor. He had far greater stamina than I. But my body-weight was useful in wrestling matches, even when age-matched.

  'Father says he'll fund major prizes as usual, and I'll enter the wrestling bouts in our age group even though I'm not fully in condition," Antinous offered with a knowing grin. "With luck, you and I will draw lots to wrestle again, eh, Lys? It's my turn to take you down this time. Those recently-bearded ones at the palaestra who watch us both so closely must be missing their regular dose of naked flesh to letch over. You and I haven't grappled nude in front of them since the meet at Heraclea in July, so they'll be hot for it I guess? But I'm already training for the javelin cast and sprint races too, so you should enter the wrestle challenge at least.'

  We both devoured our roasted flesh noisily as we talked. Then Antinous became thoughtful for a few moments.

  'I've a very good chance in the sprint-in-armor in my age group, and I'm a possible for the pentathlon. You can't win everything, you know Lys, but I'll sure give it a try. This isn't the Olympics or the Pythians where hard cash goes to a winner. These are show matches for Caesar! Greek arete is on show!'

  As meirakia young men, Antinous and I were mature enough to train with the heavier, more dangerous weapons of the palaestra. We were senior cadets in the Polis Militia and no longer fell under the guardianship of our family's paidagogoi, the chaperone slave who keeps older, hassling-with-intent men at a proper distance from us.

  Antinous's family line proudly derived of Hellene origin from Mantinea in Arcadia at the Peloponnese, and provided warriors as auxiliaries to Rome's legions in combat at Dacia, Pannonia, Parthia, and Armenia. I'm told Antinous was a late pregnancy to his mother, who died in childbirth. Perhaps he was a 'happy accident', considering ten years separated him from his first-born brother. It was said his father had North Land maternal blood, so both his sons and an intermediate daughter possess hints of the fair hair, blue-gray doe eyes, and clear complexion of the Rus tribes of the Far Frozen Quarter. It's an appealing look.

  His father Telemachus was still living then, but was infirm due to old war wounds. Antinous's married Elder Brother managed their estates, plantations, and timber businesses. They traded in hardwood timbers harvested from the Pontine Mountains for the ship-building workshops at Nicomedia and across the Aegean Sea, often in partnership with Lord Arrian to share costs and risks.

  I am the son of Lysander of Claudiopolis, born at my father's town-house at Nicomedia, capital of Bithynia-Pontus I had already turned eighteen in March that year, so I was already a meirakion. My clan too was of Greek warrior origin from the city of Mantinea at Arcadia. They migrated to Bithynia many generations ago. My father was of the land-owning nobility of Bithynia who fought with the Greek cavalry auxiliaries of the Legions under Trajan. He was wounded and died of his injuries after battle against the barbarians at Pannonia a month before my birth. My family under my Elder Brother's inheritance as paterfamilias possesses estates dealing in grain, sheep, horses, leather, and timber.

  Antinous and I are related by clan as officiates of the cult of Apollo, Healer of Heaven. This gives us wide contacts in the province. We had shared tutors together as children; played and sported together with other children of our caste; and spent our palaestra years in countless wrestling bouts, archery matches, swordplay, athletics, and other competitive games. Above all, we enjoyed each other's company. But the time was approaching for us to complete our education in Athens, far from home across the Aegean Seas.

  'Do you still think about Athens, Ant?' I asked as he stoked the fire and added extra brushwood to keep the heat going. 'Are we going to do it?'

  I was sitting close by Antinous to maintain body warmth in the increasing chill of night. We shared warming squirts from the carved-bone nozzle of one of the two leather wine bladders our ponies had carried around their necks into the Pontine ranges.

  'Father says he's willing to cough up the costs for finishing my education, so I guess it's going to be alright,' Antinous offered while staring distractedly into the flames. 'He says we should think about making the journey early after winter in the new year. Perhaps in March at the beginning of the sailing season, he says. He's willing to pay for a whole year's stay at Athens, including schooling and gymnasium fees.'

  'My Elder Brother says if I accompany a cargo of timber to Piraeus near Athens, the family can justify the expenses for the remainder of the year. Isn't that exciting?' I enthused.

  'Father has already made enquiries through Arrian with letters to a former cavalry companion at Athens named Herodes,' Antinous continued as we intently studied the inner patterns of the flickering flames before us. 'Herodes is Bithynia's proxenos at Athens as well as being Prefect of the Free Ports of the East, Father says.

  The man has a son of the same name, Herodes, who's been contracted to seek living quarters, servants, horses, and all that on our behalf. He's also applied for entry to the School of Secundus at Athens to complete our education. Secundus is a highly-regarded teacher of rhetoric and philosophy. His school is Stoic, but of the older moderate Stoics not one of those new puritans who suppress emotions. Father says these new Stoics are extremists who rail against all pleasures, even sex itself unless it's strictly done for baby making. They demand restraint to the point of abstinence.

  Neither Father nor my tutors accept the new puritans. We'd all have to become celibate or, alternatively, we'd end up with too many mouths to feed. Then we'd have to dispose of all the unwanted ones. No one agrees with killing babies. But celibacy isn't the answer, at least not for hot bloods like us. So it's all happening, Lys.'

  After a few more wine-sack passes, we had mellowed to a mood for approaching sleep. While the two mountain ponies lightly grazed nearby with an occasional snort and snuffle, we two crawled together under our shared horse backcloths. We stayed close by the fire to keep warm. With my tongue now loosened by wine, I had a provocative question to ask my friend.

  'Tell me, Ant, is it true that the ephebe captain of the town militia, Phaenius, the guy who won the pentathlon at Nicomedia two years ago, has propositioned you to be his eromenos?'

  I immediately clammed shut when I realized I'd asked more than I was entitled to ask. Antinous was ominously silent for a few moments.

  'How did you find out?' he eventually asked.

  'It was all the talk of the palaestra a week ago.'

  'The truth is, Lys, I didn't know anything about it at the time. But the guy is obviously a blabber-mouth. He asked Father for the permission rather than ask me. I knew he had his eye upon me around the palaestra yard and in the baths over the past year, but the old gymnasiarch kept moving him on. I didn't take him seriously. I bet he had his eye on the other unattached guys too, probably including you, Lys.

  It seems every older boy who sports chin fuzz wants to get into your groin these days? That's unless they already have a companion of their own to fuck around with.

  But Phaenius formally asked Father for me to be his eromenos, Father told me later. It's very flattering but it's a damn stupid thing to ask. Father would always have asked me first. So instead Father said 'No, go ask Antinous.'

  My friend with the disheveled blond hair and wine dribbling down his chin remained thoughtful for a few moments before continuing.

  'I guess he sensed he had no chance with me. Yet I suppose he's a good catch for somebody, yes, Lys? He's a top athlete and militia man, he's good wi
th weapons, he's from a wealthy family, and has good contacts with Romans. His physique has its admirers too, he's very trim.

  But he's also up himself. He thinks he's really special. Besides, Lys, he's not my type, if I have a type, that is? I told Father I was still very unsure about the eromenos/erastes thing anyway. He understands. I don't think I want someone I don't respect trying to mount me, Lys. I'm not that desperate.'

  After a moment I took my opportunity at last. 'So, what is your type then, Ant?'

  I think my query was somewhat transparent to Antinous. He sensed how perhaps I secretly aspired to be his erastes myself. Antinous considered his reply carefully amid the mellow haze of the wine. We both knew each other so well, and shared so many values and experiences, that the idea of being confirmed as a 'couple' until our maturity as bearded ephebes wasn't necessarily an outlandish one.

  In Bithynia same-age couples are not typical but not unknown, as long as it wasn't a cinaedus style of relationship, whatever that really means. But there would always be the problem of deciding who was mentor and who the mentored?

  This led to the sensitive issue of who imposed on who if sex was to be a facet of the relationship. And the issue of who tops and who bottoms would quickly surface for lads like us. Sex was at the very forefront of our being and existence.

  You probably appreciate, gentlemen, from your own youthful days, how Bithynians in their sexually-charged meirakion years fulfill a 'boys will be boys' role. That's despite the fine sentiments of ancient philosophers or religious crackpots. They expect their pals to do good things for each other, but with some restraint rather than abandon. I'm not too sure if much restraint is actually practiced though. Sex makes its own rules in a guy's life.

  Yet we also both also understood it is customary for the erastes to provide gifts of armor or weaponry to his eromenos, to teach advanced fighting skills in continual practice, to provide mutual public protection, and to join drinking parties to share wild times and possibly sex with other young aristocrats or enjoying the services of slaves or sex workers. Ultimately it is important the erastes introduce his eromenos to new social connections among our peers. This also provides networking opportunities for later life in the military, in trade, or in government.

  The usual reciprocal exchange for these gestures, as well as the glue to their rapport, is obviously going to be sex. After a lifetime of observing strict emotional distance from the senior males of our lives, we were at an age where closeness takes a priority in our affairs.

  'What's my type, Lys? I'm duty-bound by Father to enter a marriage contract with Deianira, a cousin on my deceased mother's side of the family, when she comes of age and her dowry matures. This is my 'type' and destiny, Lys,' Antinous affirmed. 'It is my Father's command. Yet Deianira is still a wee babe. Even menarche is five years away.'

  At Bithynia, gentlemen, we and our caste understand how the postponement of marriage with its expenses in child-rearing or providing housing is a valuable by-product of the pedagogy system. This delay helps control the birth-rate, limits family expenditures, and constrains a dividing of inheritances among land owners. This is especially necessary with such limited arable soil where continuing division may lead to uneconomic fragmentation.

  'My type?' Antinous repeated. 'I don't know if I have a type, Lys. Of all the guys at the palaestra hankering to smooth-talk me into sex, few inspire me to return the gesture let alone waggle my tail at them. In fact, except for you and our personal rat pack, I don't feel any desire to share the company, let alone the flesh, of those guys.

  I feel misused by the ones who eye us too saucily, Lys, regardless of their high status or superior fighting skills or fine physiques. So I wish they'd stop staring at me and my private parts when we're training or competing. It's very flattering, but it distracts me.'

  Through the warm fug of wine I felt obliged to reassure him.

  'They're probably just appreciating your form, Ant. You're developing very well, you know, in all things,' I heard myself offering. 'I overhear the whispers about you after wrestling bouts or watching you sprinting or casting javelin. They admire your shape plus your personal cool. Many secretly fancy you, and some not so secretly.'

  'No, Lys,' Antinous corrected me, 'they're just checking out your flesh, your privates, or your butt. They're also fantasizing whether you go-off like a broody mare on heat and scream 'have me, have me!' I've already seen lewd ditties scratched on walls in Polis about me, Lys, cruel ones, ones which insult my lineage. They were probably scrawled by the fool Phaenius after Father said 'No!'

  They're insulting limericks claiming I'm a no-good fuck who's happy to go with anyone for money, while my mother's a whore and my Father's a cinaedus reprobate.

  We both know none of that is true, Lys! I've never done it with anyone, not even you my best friend, despite our jerk-off competitions sometimes. Mother died long ago and Father is certainly no cinaedus! So I had to sneak out after dark with a brace of slaves to protect me against night goons to whitewash the graffiti away.'

  The flames in the campfire had reduced to a comforting glow. The occasional consoling snort of a pony and the distant cry of a night bird added to the wine-mellow mood of the night. The moon shone hazily behind racing autumn clouds. Honesty was now on the agenda.

  'I could never prostitute myself, Lys, nor could you,' Antinous declared. 'We're too choosy, and it's beneath us anyway. We both know our names would be erased from the city roll and we'd never hold our heads high among our people again. Civic Law would prohibit us from serving on the town council or ever voting in the Assembly, because we might sell our vote just as we sold our body.

  Father would then disown me utterly or have me killed outright, and I wouldn't blame him. My inheritance, for what it's worth as a second son, would be forfeit. And my betrothed bride Deianira, the baby cousin I've only met once, would have the dowry oath cancelled. It would be as death to me!'

  My friend with his fading summer tan of golden skin and his shock of blond hair protested aloud. Silence prevailed for some moments while the flames crackled and snapped.

  'Lys, tell me, is it really important to have an erastes?' Antinous muttered moodily. 'Am I missing something? Do you feel you need an erastes in your life?'

  There was another long pause. I wasn't sure of the answer, but in this brooding fireside exchange approaching sleep now hovered languorously in the air.

  'It depends on who it is, I suppose,' I replied reluctantly. 'Most of our rat-pack have already paired-off with some guy with good connections or fighting skills who has been approved by their father. Others have done so on the sly with fuck-buddies because the approval might not be forthcoming for the guy they're keen on. The rest of the lads are still playing around, showing-off their pecs and abs at the palaestra, or flirting with anyone who takes their fancy.

  But being with your own erastes has its advantages, I guess? It gives a fellow real status. At least you can walk the street hand-in-hand proudly with a true friend,' I offered chirpily. 'Not only are you viewed as the alpha males of your generation, you're quietly getting your rocks off together while everyone pretends not to notice. Girls-for-pay are no ongoing substitute, they have no conversation, they've never been taught to read or write, they know nothing of a man's world, their trade obliges them to be unfaithful, and they're probably lice-ridden or poxed to boot. Their last customer was probably your worst enemy at the palaestra, so you're probably swimming in that guy's pool. Yuck!'

  'Yet I sometimes feel a loss not having someone close, Lys,'Antinous reckoned. 'My family, our tutors, our slaves, our school chums are all good company, including you too Lys. I love you all, but being really close to someone special would be different. Even closer than we are. And it's not just about sex or status. It's about having a friend. Even something more than a friend. Someone really special. Someone who returns your concerns, who knows you well, who shares your life just as you do theirs.'

  My schoolchum trailed off though
tfully.

  'Isn't that what they say your wife will be when she eventually gets to know you, even if it takes ten years?' I suggested. 'Yet if one of us does take an erastes, Ant, surely it should be someone we feel at ease with, don't you think? Someone you can rely on. Someone who's there for you,' I concluded, inserting a barely veiled plea for my own cause. But it didn't wash with him.

  He had turned away from the fire and tucked himself beneath the mantles and horse back-cloths to lie curled for body warmth. He gave no reply as daydreams and ambitions swept both our minds. My eyelids too now drifted closed as we pressed together for warmth. The fire's glow ebbed low as the chill in the air deepened. Sleep rapidly descended.

  From here on I must speak chivalrously, gentlemen. You can make of it what you will. Yes, I am proud of my ardor, of my passion, of my intensity. I too am flesh and blood. So I will speak honestly to you.

  To achieve warmth against the mountain air I found myself pressing closer to Ant's dozing trunk. I huddled close against his warm flesh and his thick mane of honey-pale hair. My arms arced around him to bind him closer. Yes, I could sense the hard tissues beneath his tunic, feel the places where bone meets bone, where bone meets skin, and where rounded flesh melds into one's own contours. It is a pleasing, comforting sensation.

  I could study by the light of the flickering fire the shadowy outline of the nape of his neck with its graceful downward flow and blond mane. To me his shoulders' breadth, his neck muscles, and even his nape's hairline had a sculpted beauty all their own.

  I could smell the residue of olive-oil rub lingering on his skin while the hunter's sweat smarted saltily from his tunic. His body had its own fresh scents which I long ago identified and recognized for the special aroma which is him.