Surisca stood regally at the doorway to the rooms. She wore her bearing with unexpected dignity. She glanced around at the elegant luxury of this itinerant, fabric-built metropolis. Her eyes settled upon Suetonius across the chamber and, on recognizing him from only that very afternoon, smiled in a sweetly shy way that one wouldn’t usually expect of an entertainer. Perhaps she had no idea who her purchaser had been, and was relieved to see a familiar face.
She was taller than Suetonius remembered and wasn’t painted with her bordello colors. Her hair was held high by a Syriac headband and combs, but still folding down her back. She wore simple vestments more suited to the Forum than her whore-house duties, and with her ample bosom taped fulsomely in the Syrian way she looked more her real age of the high teens.
Her earlier skimpy costume, face paints, and tart’s frivolous manner had added five years to her appearance at Hermopolis. Without the professional decors she presented a wholesomely healthy look, Suetonius mused. She was both more natural and more appealing to him at the same time. He spied Clarus, Vestinus, and Urbicus giving her a good looking over, and could sense their unspoken approval, perhaps even envy.
“Surisca, my dear!,” he called as warmly as possible in Greek amid this nest of Latins, sounding as though the two had known each other for decades. “Welcome to the Imperial Household!”
He tried to offer reassurance in these unfamiliar surroundings. She would have no idea of what was expected of her in this all-male environment of people far above her class. Perhaps she thought she was going to have to perform sexually for a whole gang of Roman party-goers, or worse?
“I said this afternoon I would be seeing you soon, but I had no idea it would this soon. Please come and be seated among us. Are you thirsty or hungry? Would you enjoy some refreshments?”
Surisca entered the chamber hesitantly and accepted the invitation to take a seat.
For a sex worker to be seated among her class superiors and receive their hospitality was a marvel in itself. This was indeed an unexpected turn of events for a woman of her trade. She lifted back her demure headscarf and dropped it to her shoulders to reveal the full sheen of her auburn locks. Such a public display of a woman’s hair before strangers was a novelty in itself.
Suetonius waved at the two service-slaves to find something to eat and drink, and they quickly disappeared into the complex. It was then that he identified a familiar waft of the faint fragrance of myrrh or frankincense oils emanating from her skin. These had impinged on his mood so effectively earlier that afternoon.
“You have been contracted, my dear, to give my companions here and myself advice on the customs of the local inhabitants and to help translate for us. We also hope you may provide some other guidance as we embark upon an urgent project on behalf of Great Caesar,” the biographer explained. “It will take several days to complete. But, as my personal assistant, you will endeavor to stay close to me throughout. You will sleep in my bedroom for the period too, if you understand my meaning?”
Instead of expressing surprise, Surisca visibly relaxed. The final notion and Suetonius’s politeness had reassured her how she hadn’t been hired to be available to all-comers without limit, as can occur at men’s drinking parties. Yet Suetonius wasn’t deceiving anyone, either.
The staff arrived with dried fruits, cheese, nuts, and bean-mash pastes with fried bread to dip. Honey pastries and crushed almond halva followed. They were laid on a low table for self-service as required. The wine from Vestinus’s larder was now a simple local Fayum wine of drinkable quality.
Surisca rose and delicately helped herself to the foods. She was hungry, though the professional entertainer in her saw her select tidbits and morsels arranged on a platter accompanied by a knife, which she brought to Suetonius. She then poured the Fayum in a 50/50 watered mix into cups for each of them.
Suetonius thought silently to himself, oh yes, my impulsive demand is going to work quite well. The others probably wondered why they hadn’t thought of it themselves.
They each knew it was unusual for a woman to be in the company of strangers unaccompanied by a protector, husband, brother, or eldest son. Women of the elites across the East, and very often at Rome too, are secluded within the home and only appear in public in the company of male guardians.
Yet considering Surisca’s trade including being a foreign non-citizen, this fact did not apply in this circumstance. Due to the Special Inspector’s interest, perhaps she automatically assumed a role as an ‘honorary male’ for the immediate duration.
She had barely uttered a word thus far. But when she did respond to her benefactor’s queries, the quality of her voice was a surprise. Unlike the shrill, mischievous harlot he recalled from the House of the Blue Lotuses, Suetonius realized she unexpectedly possessed a much lower vocal register which communicated an extremely level-headed quality. This raised Suetonius’s pulse another beat or two.
The earlier harlot’s voice could well have been a merchandising ploy from a sex worker’s grab-bag of seductive tools. Suetonius appreciated he was in the company of more than an expensive trollop who you wouldn’t trust with your purse.
But attention now returned to Lysias.
“Lysias, we are to question you on aspects of your relationship with the deceased, Antinous. Your personal testimony will be recorded for report to Lord Caesar,” Clarus opened the formal interviews. “Please remember we possess the authority of an inquisitional Court, so you are obliged to tell the complete truth on these matters at penalty of severe imposition.”
Macedo and Vestinus had departed the chamber and left the central team to their chores. This lightened the atmosphere no end. Clarus initiated the interview.
“You will begin with an oath of truth, then state your full name and origins, your status in relationship to the Imperial Household, and then describe under what circumstances you met and know of the deceased. On completion of these details, you will await further questions.”
Lysias had uneasily taken his seat in the centre of the chamber. He looked towards the eager faces confronting him. He began hesitantly.
“In the name of Apollo Alexikakos, son of Zeus, healer of heaven, and Apollo Kourotrophos, protector of youth; as well as Artemis, who Romans call Diana, twin sister of Apollo, protector of hunters, I swear fidelity to the truth.
As a clan servant of these deities at the cult in Bithynia, may my oath be true, and may their arrows strike me down if I speak untruth.”
Lysias began, sitting to his full height before the group while fingering the bulla locket around his neck. Suetonius assumed the bulla contained prayers or a talisman.
“I am Lysias of Bithynia, son of Lysander of Claudiopolis, born at my father’s house at Nicomedia in March of the eighth year of the rule of Caesar Trajan. I turned age twenty-four this year. I travel with Caesar’s retinue by invitation under the protection of Antinous of Bithynia, companion to Caesar. I have known Antinous since childhood.”
Lysias paused for the next question. Suetonius took the reins.
“Because Antinous cannot speak for himself, tell us what you know of the deceased’s origins too,” Suetonius asked. A dewy drop was appearing at the ephebe’s eye.
“Antinous, son of Telemachus of Claudiopolis, was born eight months after me at Mantinium, upland from Claudiopolis near the border, in the ninth year of Caesar Trajan’s rule. He too would turn twenty-four, if he was alive, next month.
Since entering the older age-class of meirakia youths five years ago, we were registered as Companions of the Hunt with the Imperial Household.”
“Tell us, Lysias, how did you two fellows come to be enrolled in Caesar’s retinue?”
“We were both appointed by Great Caesar when Antinous fell under Caesar’s eye during his tour of Bithynia,” Lysias explained. “Caesar proposed to Antinous’s father, Telemachus. He wished to fulfill the role of erastes to Antinous under the terms of the custom of the Hellenes. Both father and son acceded to the request. I
was present at this very consultation and heard it discussed between the family members. Antinous has remained Caesar’s eromenos until very recent times. At least that’s how Antinous saw it.”
“What were the circumstances in which you both fell under Caesar’s eye? How did this happen?”
“It is a lengthy story, my lords. It would take time,” Lysias offered.
“We have a little time, young man,” Suetonius reassured. “It is important to hear about the nature of your relationship with the deceased. We need to know the details so we can take a bearing on the issues involved. Everything, Lysias, everything.”
Lysias thoughtfully sipped his mug of wine and looked moodily to the floor tiles.
“I can recall the very first time we two discussed the issue of being an eromenos,” he said. “After qualifying for the meirakion age-class where we train with the heavier, more dangerous weapons of the palaestra, we must consider how to locate an experienced trainer. A trainer must teach us effective fighting skills and practice long hours with us. It’s very time consuming.
Antinous and I talked about such things between ourselves when we journeyed on hunting expeditions. Antinous was a keen hunter. Five years ago we always shared experiences, we were inseparable friends. The eromenos issue arose during one particular hunt in the Pontine Ranges to track a herd of horses we had been told were running wild ….”
The Greek gathered his thoughts to recall the occasion. He spoke with a shimmering emotion. The group of listeners sat in quiet attention.
“It was the fall of that year. In Bithynia winter descends quickly. We and our mountain ponies were ranging the lower slopes of the Pontine Ranges. We had spent two days searching for the herd ---.”
CHAPTER 7
“Antinous braced his pony Tiny cautiously,” Lysias recollected. “He pressed his calf and thigh muscles, gripped the horse’s bony flank with both knees through the backcloth, and gently tapped its neck with the loose end of the reins. The pony moved forward slowly. Antinous then carefully lifted his hips and butt from Tiny’s spine to take a peep over the edge of the ridge ahead of him.
His eyes revealed what both of our ears had sensed. There they were, fourteen of them, all quietly grazing. The Imperial Post courier had reported accurately of the number and type of horses, though the pack had moved a mile or so since the courier’s sighting. It had taken two full days for us to find them.
Antinous beckoned back towards me following close behind. He held a finger across his lips to hush an urge to make voice, and then point-marked towards the gentle slope falling away beneath the ridge.
I approached carefully on my pony, Blaze, drawing to Antinous’s side. I looked over the ridge at the grassy slope below. We soothed Tiny’s and Blaze’s tension with calming strokes and whispers.
‘Great Zeus!’ I heard myself hiss. ‘It’s a whole herd!’
‘Fourteen of them,’ Antinous whispered. ‘Running feral. Mostly Turkomans. Small grays. The two foals and their mares look healthy still, but they haven’t faced a winter yet. They’ll be a good catch if we can corral them before the snows arrive.’
‘Where are they from? Their crests are cropped, so they’re domesticated.’
‘Their tails are docked too in the barbarian style, see,’ Antinous pointed. ‘Maybe they’ve escaped from a brigand’s hideaway, possibly after a run-in with a Militia? Or perhaps they’ve wandered off from a roaming tribe of Alans nomads and crossed the border into our territory? The Alans were too afraid to come after them or the Legions would crucify them. I can’t see any of our usual branding or ear nips, and I certainly don’t recognize the stock from trading meets, do you? So they’re not local.’
I agreed. ‘But where are we, what’s their position? We’ll have to note where we are, to come back for them. There’s too many for us to capture.’
Antinous considered the options.
‘It’ll take six riders with hounds to round them up and rope them one by one. We’re about a mile due west of the trapper’s hut in the valley under the south side of Vulcan’s Peak. The grazing is good, so they’ll move on very slowly. They can’t go higher into the range, the grazing runs out and there’s no water.
We’ll have to come back within a few days with our best riders to round them up, or they’ll melt away. The two foals and the colts would make good breeding stock. Father says we need fresh blood badly, we inter-breed too often. If the colts can be ridden they’ll give good service. The mule looks like it has farm work to spare. If not, it’s meat and leather time for them all. They’re a good find, Lys. We’re very lucky.’
We slowly backed our steeds away from the grazing herd’s sight. With our broad-brimmed sunhats strapped to our backs over woolen mantles and tunics torn short for riding, we were full of youthful health and spunk. We willingly displayed our muscled forearms, thighs, and trim torsos in our recent status as meirakia grown youths. We were proud athletes moving rapidly into full manhood. We were both very aware of our developing powers and our bodies. I especially was sensitive to these things.
Our fiercer weapons were stoked across our horse’s backcloth while quivers of arrows and carry-bags were looped around each pony’s neck within reach. Only hip daggers offered emergency defense against the possibility of a roaming bandit or an unseasonable wolf in the lower ranges of the Pontine Mountains. But we were trained to handle such risks.
Carefully drawing our ponies back, we returned to the woodland track behind us.
‘It’s getting late,’ Antinous said. ‘Sunset is in an hour. It’s time to hunt us some hare or fowl and find a protected camp site. There was a creek back-a-bit with a clearing nearby. That’ll do for the night. We don’t want to alarm the herd with fire light, or they’ll haul off.’
‘Well, what’d you think of the news, Lys?!’ Antinous called to me as he swung off Tiny’s back.
I once again perceived how my friend made the leap off his pony’s spine with light-speed energy and grace. I could discern the animal power and tight body coordination of his rapidly evolving physicality. It was an athleticism which already drew nodding respect from our peers and elders at the palaestra. It drew similar regard from me too.
I had watched my blond-haired, pale skinned friend grow from childhood pal into a sleek, sinewy youth in the space of a few years. It was accompanied by a growth in personal confidence and a broadening of a very appealing, impertinent toothy grin. We had shared the same deity, the same clan and caste, the same tutors, the same peer group, and the same life adventures as each other since before we could even remember. Antinous was an extension of myself. I was perhaps more conscious of his body than I was of my own.
‘What news?’ I asked, pretending not to know where the conversation was heading. Antinous was buzzing with boyish enthusiasm again after the serious business of identifying the valuable cache of ownerless horseflesh open to a profitable grab. My less outgoing nature secretly admired my friend’s liveliness.
I was already tethering my pony to a tree while holding a fat range eagle chick impaled on an arrow tucked under one arm. Of hares there were none to be seen; so a new season’s eagle chick pierced at its cliff-face crag was to be the day’s fireside meal. It was a chicken large enough to feed four.
‘Lord Arrian’s trading steward has told Father how Caesar and the Imperial party will be arriving next week! At last! They’ve told the councilors at Polis to organize the celebration events, and to do it well!’
‘What sort of events, Ant?’ I responded using the abbreviated familiar name common among our generation. I raised my chiton tunic to relieve an urgently pressed bladder in a steaming stream against the tree trunk. The day’s scouting for the wild ponies had delayed a well-needed piss. But now the herd had been sighted grazing within two-day’s reach of our hometown, Claudiopolis. With their position noted, it was time to relax and enjoy our hunting trek’s return home journey.
Antinous and I regularly mounted hunts into the ranges around Clau
diopolis – “Polis” being the local nickname for our town protected on its hilltop in the secure walled Roman manner. We brought back rabbits, hares, other wild rodents, young boars, assorted fowl, river fish, any fruit or berry visibly edible, plus the occasional orphaned bear to nurture, to the fireside hearths of our family compounds.
‘You know what I mean, Lys -- a welcome celebration for the Emperor, grand speeches, the sacrifice of a steer to the Gods,’ Antinous spelled out, “with a public feast, dances for Apollo, music competitions, youth athletics at the palaestra, all that sort of thing. Everything we do well in the provinces, they say. Even freeborn girls will be allowed to attend events, with suitable guardians.’
Antinous was now also relieving himself against the tree trunk.
‘But Polis has been preparing for all that for months now,’ I reminded us. ‘We had the tour’s probable dates a year ago.’
Hadrian has been travelling with his Household for two years, so the Province Legate had sent scouts ahead to inform us long ago. The Household had departed Antioch four months earlier, all four hundred of them plus most of a Legion. We were one of the last provinces in his tour of the Empire, with only the Troas and mainland Greece to follow.
‘So who told you that?’ Antinous queried as we prepared a campfire of rocks and dry branches for the night’s warmth.
I glanced over my younger friend covered in brush dust, pine needles, and the slick of the day’s sweaty exertions. It was difficult not to notice, however, how my school chum’s slender musculature had advanced yet another step in shapely power since such issues last crossed my mind, which was often. Antinous didn’t have my beefiness, but he had a fine rangy physical line which grew more sculpted with each passing month.
‘Arrian himself told us. He stayed overnight with us at the compound a few weeks ago on his way back to Nicomedia from his border inspection,’ I confirmed.
But Antinous couldn’t let that piece of one-upmanship pass by unchallenged.
The Hadrian Enigma - A Forbidden History Page 9
