Vestinus firmed up on him.
“Well, that’s for you to find out, isn’t it Tranquillus. I haven’t a clue. Try someone else.”
He had shut down. Clarus interceded.
“But you must have an opinion, Julius? You’ve been close to Caesar and the lad for several years now, you must intuit something about this unhappy event?”
Vestinus shuffled from boot to boot.
“I think things haven’t been going well for the boy, really,” he advanced distractedly. “You know, he’s not a meirakion anymore, is he? They’ve been together now for almost five years, isn’t it? He was approaching his twenty-fourth birthday, though you’d never know it to look at him. It was next month, I believe. But he’s reached the age where that relationship is no longer tenable. At least not in the way such liaisons are supposed to proceed in the Greek custom. The mentor-cum-mentored balance was rapidly becoming one of two seniors. The convention deplores that. The accusation of cinaedus was on the horizon.”
Suetonius and Clarus looked to each other at the ease of information now flowing, Falernian assisted. Vestinus continued.
“For example, if you look closely at the young man you can see he has a light down on his cheeks. Because he is so fair-haired it is barely noticeable. But it’s already a beard really, and I guess he shaves it quietly on the sly. Sometime soon, even in a blond, it will be an obvious beard, obvious to everyone.”
Vestinus paused to see what effect these observations were having.
“It’s never been discussed in my presence,” he continued, “but I’d say Hadrian believes it’s not appropriate for a Caesar to be partner to someone who has entered full manhood. Perhaps he thinks it’s not seemly? It suggests something about the nature of the relationship that breaches the code of honor. It is one thing for a mature man to be attracted to a handsome youngster, but it’s questionable for the same man to be attracted to another mature man. Especially a Caesar. Though Rome has enough such partnerships. I have spoken too much already ---.” Vestinus trailed off.
“But what are you suggesting?” Suetonius dared to continue. “Do you think Antinous committed suicide because his time as Caesar’s lover was up? But why? Being the emperor’s Favorite would be a marvelous way to enter maturity. Think of the influence and connections and wealth the lad has acquired in his years with Caesar.”
“Perhaps that’s not how Antinous saw it? I suppose the boy knew Hadrian could never adopt him as his official son, even though the relationship seemed a father-and-son sort of thing some of the time. Neither the Senate, nor the Army, nor the people, would ever accept a non-Roman candidate despite his popularity .. especially someone they believe is fundamentally Caesar’s catamite. That’s where the ‘Western Favorite’ comes in ….”
Vestinus innocently sipped his wine and picked at a fig or two after his quietly catapulted incendiary device had lobbed.
Suetonius had to quickly find a way back into his opinions.
“Catamite is a bit hard, isn’t it, Julius? Trajan had dozens of similar liaisons, and he was applauded. The relationship isn’t one of those castrated marriages of Nero’s or incestuous couplings of Caligula. It’s even been of four years duration, good grief! There’s a definite affection between them that fits the classic Greek custom, so the boy’s no cheap gigolo or harlot on-the-make. By Jupiter, they’ve been together longer than many legal marriages manage these days! Even Sabina approves of the lad. It’s the height of respectability! So what’s this about a ‘Western Favorite’?”
“I think at Rome Hadrian had been seeing a great deal of Commodus again recently before this tour. That’s Senator Lucius Ceionius Commodus, the well-known playboy aristocrat,” the secretary offered. “Surely you know of him? Some colleagues joke he’s Hadrian’s western Empire favorite, while Antinous is the eastern favorite,” the Secretary offered.
“Senator Commodus is rather profligate, sybaritic, and hopelessly spoiled, but still very good-looking. I think he brings a dash of wildness and frenzy into Caesar’s staid sense of duty. Hadrian’s relationship with Antinous is more measured, more composed, less frenetic. Yet Commodus is also five years older than Antinous, which contradicts the convention. He’s no real match in the looks department, either. Antinous is a classic who becomes more striking with each passing month. Until today, that is, I suppose. Commodus also has the bloodlines, wealth, status, and connections for political advancement, if not the necessary talent.”
“So you are suggesting Antinous might have had good reason to suicide?” Suetonius tried to clarify. Vestinus was offering far more than they had expected.
“I don’t know if the boy would suicide, or if some other malevolence was at play? Perhaps he simply went for a night-time swim in the river and got into trouble. It happens. The Nile is not a bath-house pool, you know. People drown in it every day. Yet there’ve been many odd things happening in recent times which make one wonder.”
Vestinus ceased suddenly. He realized he might have overstepped an imaginary line somewhere. Suetonius tried to respond as nonchalantly as possible, as though it was impromptu.
“Odd things? What sort of odd things, Julius?” he chanced.
Clarus shifted forward to hear. Vestinus mulled his words carefully.
“Well, there’s been a lot going on. There’s the competition from the Western Favorite, which I’m sure the lad found intimidating. Then there are people in his own circle who I wonder about. Lysias of Bithynia, for example, his friend of his own age. Does he have reason to be jealous of Antinous? Or that young courtesan Thais, if that’s what she is? Or the woman Julia Balbilla who travels with Sabina? Or ---?
Then there’s the business with Pachrates, the Egyptian priest we saw earlier. Both Caesar and the lad took a close interest in this charlatan and seem utterly entranced by him. All I see is a clever trickster with a bag of magical trinkets and a line in fast-talk. ‘Beware priests selling religion’, I say.
Then there’s the Nile itself. The river has had a bad season since July; it hasn’t risen to the necessary height for large harvests, so the locals are claiming it’s the emperor’s fault. Too much water or too little are equal disasters in this strange land.
Apparently emperors and pharaohs are not supposed to travel on the Nile during its flood season, it’s a bad omen. It brings bad luck. These people are very superstitious. They see omens everywhere, even more than we Romans. And then of course there’s Caesar’s cough too ---”
Vestinus fell silent abruptly. He had said too much.
“Caesar’s cough?” the biographer asked as casually as his racing mind could manage. “What about Caesar’s cough? Hadrian has long had a mild chest or throat complaint; it’s nothing important, is it?”
Vestinus measured his words carefully.
“I am unsure of that, Tranquillus; I am unsure of that indeed. Nowadays he coughs up spots of blood. We are forbidden to talk of it, but it’s true. Even his physicians are concerned. But we must not go down that path, Tranquillus, it’s forbidden. It gives ambitious discontents big ideas, ideas usually with a huge cost in human life attached.”
Much scuffling was heard down the tent corridors. Guards shouting loudly in Latin and Greek alternated by rough accents in the local Demotic dialect sounded nearby. Tribune Macedo stomped into the chamber followed by guards manhandling two peasants struggling with wooden leg shackles.
Macedo’s men pushed the two Egyptians to the floor and stood over them. The frightened peasants in their rags, reed sandals, and tattered leather jerkins, looked around the marquee at the ageing men in togas. Macedo saluted.
“The are the two peasants who found the body of Antinous this morning.”
Clarus, Vestinus, and Suetonius looked over the duo. They weren’t promising material, but at least they were unharmed.
“Does anyone here speak their language,” the Special Inspector asked. One of the attending Praetorians stepped forward and saluted.
“Centurion Quin
tus Urbicus, sir. I am based at Alexandria with Governor Flavius Titianus as an officer of his Guard. I was born at Lambaesis in Numidia and have served with Prefect Turbo in Mauretania. So I know a little of the old languages of Africa and Egypt,” he stated with military precision.
“Well, you might translate for us, if you can,” Suetonius said. “First, tell them we must have the truth from them or else all sorts of horrible things could happen to them. They’ll believe that, I’m sure!”
Praetorian Urbicus spoke in a stumbling way to the Egyptians. From watching their faces carefully reading his lips to follow his misshapen version of the local dialect, it was clear they nevertheless understood what he was saying. They blanched suitably.
Vestinus called quickly to his steward nearby. He explained.
“This man’s name is Strabon, my freedman secretary. Strabon specializes in speed dictation. He records testimony verbatim in his special code onto wax notebooks. He later transcribes these in ink onto papyrus. He’s good, and he’s fast.”
Suetonius posed his first questions as Strabon readied with his stylus and waxpad. Urbicus attempted a simple translation, shaping his words hesitantly to be reasonably faithful to his speakers.
“Ask them, Centurion --- What are your names? Where are you from? What is your trade? Who is your master?” Suetonius demanded in his best authoritative tone. The Praetorian’s translation followed the peasant’s responses closely.
“We have no master, great lords,” Urbicus interpreted. “We are free tenants of temple land. We are registered by law to our Nome at Besa. My name is Ani; his name is Hetu. We are catchers of fishes and netters of birds. We are cousins. We live with our families in a hut outside the town wall of Besa. Besa is the village near to this city of great palaces. We are worshippers of the god Asar, so we are Asar’s servants.”
Urbicus added as an aside, “The god they call Asar is the one we call Osiris, the husband of Isis.”
“Tell us how you found the body,” Suetonius asked. Urbicus translated.
“At dawn of this first day of The Festival of Isis, great lords, we went to the river’s edge to untie our fishing boats, as we do every day. It was first light, so early indeed only one other boat was on the river. We were intending to catch red-billed ibis from nests in the river wetlands, but certainly not sacred ibis which is forbidden. Red-billed ibis are good eating. Today, the first day, is the day when Asar dies. In two days time Asar will be reborn. There will be many pilgrims who mourn and praise Asar’s death over these days, so the ibis will fetch good prices for the feasting on the day of Asar’s resurrection.”
Ani paused to assess his effect on his listeners. Hetu was quaking in fear and stricken mute.
“Yet when we untied our boat we found we couldn’t release it from the bank. Something was stopping it. We looked into the water and could see a man’s hand caught in river grasses under the boat.
We thought it was a river demon beneath the boat. He was either a demon of the Underworld, or he was a drowned man. Then we could see he was actually a god. A god was caught beneath the boat. We tried to pull the god from the water, but his robes were water-logged and heavy because he was dressed in precious silver and gold and white jewels.
We knew he was a deity because he had drowned in Mother Nile on the first day of the Isia. To drown in the Nile at the Isia is to become divine. He had frightening white hair, white skin, and strange clothes. Even his face was fleshed in silver. We saw he had the special armor and sword which Pharaoh’s soldiers wield.
So we pulled him onto the bank from beneath our boat, and Hetu started calling for help. It was some time before anyone came to us, but soon many people came.
There was much shouting because everyone could see he was a god. Then Pharaoh’s soldiers came and took us away. I thought we would receive many coins for our discovery, but we have been locked-up like thieves instead. We are not thieves, great lords!”
Clarus and Suetonius exchanged glances. “Pharaoh” was obviously Caesar. They could see from their simple faces and open expressions the fishermen were probably telling the truth, at least as they saw it.
“What does he mean ‘his face was fleshed in silver’?” Suetonius asked.
Vestinus contributed a response.
“Among Antinous’s armory is a cavalry parade-mask of beaten silver. He only wears it on ceremonial occasions where formal cavalry kit is expected. He receives gifts of armors from Caesar for every occasion, but wore his ‘silver-and-whites’ with its mask only at official ceremonies as a Companion of the Hunt. But why he was wearing it last night is unknown,” the secretary explained. “It was among the items stripped from his body piled on the floor in Hadrian’s chambers.”
“How do you think this ‘god’ came to be in the river?” Suetonius asked the fishermen through the Praetorian translator. He wondered if they might possess an opinion of interest. They responded with their own questions.
“We do not know. Is he a river god? Is he a demon? Is he Asar himself dying again? Is he a gift to Mother Nile from the priests?” the trembling Hetu managed to stammer.
“What does he mean, ‘a gift to Mother Nile’?” Suetonius furthered. Hetu braved the response.
“The first day of the Isia tells us of the death of Asar. Asar went down to the Underworld, and Isis the goddess of waters and moistures prayed, and three days later Asar was reborn, brought back to life. It was a miracle! It is the promise by the gods how the sun will be reborn too after the shortening days of winter. The sun will return and the river will flood another year to bring prosperity to all. He who drowns in the Nile on the day of Asar’s death becomes Asar. He is divine. He will be reborn on the third day. It is a miracle!”
Superstition again, Suetonius thought. “And what about a gift to Mother Nile?” he repeated. Urbicus translated.
“We are told how if the river rises too high the dikes will be destroyed. If it’s too low the peasants at the edge of the desert will starve. Then the fellahin will riot. They will have nothing to eat. So the priests will have to throw someone into the river to appease the gods to make it flow as we need. That person becomes Asar. It is a great honor,” Hetu explained with cheery enthusiasm.
“You mean you sacrifice a human to the gods?” Suetonius had to confirm. The fishermen nodded brightly. Clarus spoke at last to one side.
“You see where this might be leading, Suetonius? Antinous dies on the same day as Osiris in the annual Isis festival. He dies in a year when the Nile has not properly performed its annual inundation. It’s the second year in a row which threatens famine to many folk. Is there a connection? Don’t you think it’s a bit too convenient by half?”
“Hmm,” Suetonius murmured. He had one more question to put to the fishermen through Urbicus.
“Was there any other boat on the river so early in the day? Another fisherman perhaps? Or was it still too dark?” he asked as Clarus, Vestinus, and Macedo looked querulously at him. Urbicus again translated Ani’s reply.
“Yes, great lord. There was a stranger’s boat. It was barely at first light. We know all the fishermen and ferrymen at this place. We know their vessels and their daily habits. We all know everyone here well. Even though it was some distance away, we could see this craft was a different sort of boat to local boats, with strangers onboard.”
“Describe it. Why was it a stranger’s boat?”
Urbicus paused as he tried to translate the fisherman’s terms.
“It was a strong wooden felucca of quality, sir, well made and costly, not a boat of bundled reeds, tied leathers, or palm fronds.”
“And who would own such a boat at Besa or Hermopolis?” Suetonius asked.
“I did not know either this boat or the two boatmen,” Ani replied. “It could have been a new boat from Shmun across the river we had not seen before, but I would still know the two crew. Perhaps it was a boat sailed by priests from upstream for The Isia, or a boat belonging to Pharaoh’s people,” Ani said.
Urbicus added an aside.
“Shmun is the native name for the city of Hermopolis across the river.”
“Did the boat have any identifying features? Would you recognize it again?” the Special Inspector queried. Urbicus translated the question with careful emphasis.
“Yes. The felucca was painted the color of the sky, and was marked with the ever-watching Eye of Horus at the prow,” Ani responded. Urbicus translated hesitantly. “The sail had no insignia.”
“I see. Thank you, my good fellows,” Suetonius gestured. “I think we can let these fellows go home, but we should note how we can locate them if we need them again,” Suetonius suggested to Macedo’s dismay.
The security chief looked to Clarus and Vestinus with concern. He was not used to releasing prisoners in his grasp, especially peasants, foreigners, or slaves, without a little rough violence to pass the time of day and impress respect of their betters upon them.
“I think Suetonius is right, Tribune,” Clarus nodded, “they merely retrieved the body from the river. Release them.”
Macedo reluctantly snapped to attention as Suetonius reached for his belt-purse and found a few small coins to toss to the fishermen.
“Here’s something for your day’s labors.”
The two fishermen fell avidly upon the trove.
“Urbicus,” Suetonius asked the trooper, “what do you make of this tale?”
Looking to Macedo for permission to speak, who nodded grudgingly, Urbicus responded.
“I was one of the Praetorians who brought both the body and the two fishermen back to the camp. When we arrived at the river and saw who it was, we were amazed and alarmed. We had all come to know Antinous quite well one way or another over the past few months, and he was well liked.
We carefully drained the body of waters and removed his armors, partly to search his flesh for wounds or other indications of the cause of death. We simply could not understand what Caesar’s companion was doing in the river in full parade armor, which is far too heavy in water.
We wondered if he had tried to swim in the river in his regalia for a drunken bet or some other lark. Had he fallen overboard while he risked crossing the river at night in a reed canoe? Had he been attacked and thrown into the river by robbers? There were many unknowns. Especially, we wondered, why he was dressed in his formal uniform on a night when the entire imperial retinue was partying and no parade for Caesar was scheduled anyhow? Also, it seems noone felt compelled to report him missing.”
The Hadrian Enigma - A Forbidden History Page 7
