The Hadrian Enigma - A Forbidden History

by George Gardiner

  Yet only the boar knew the next instant’s hurtling direction, racing this way and then that, sensing the full danger of the situation and the grim intent of its pursuers.

  Hadrian followed close behind, crashing through the scrub on his Nisaean. The eighteen year-olds arced in close proximity. Arrian was followed by Julianus and then Geta the Dacian. Two Praetorians cantered unevenly behind with two dark Scythian archers in close formation. The Praetorians were sullen bodyguards who protected the emperor’s person, while the archers were insurance against an unexpected danger.

  The wily beast had been bolting hell-bent towards a landfall up ahead camouflaged behind a tangle of surrounding scrub. Antinous raced and scrapped and darted after it, keeping one eye on the grotesque bulk of the creature while marshalling all his reflexive senses into his javelin arm’s nerves to respond with precision. With extra dart-javelins in the quiver strapped to his pony’s neck if the initial cast failed to bring down the creature, his first attack would nevertheless need to be decisive.

  However, in the speed of the hunt Antinous had not noticed the low cave entrance looming ahead, a refuge the pig may have calculated into its rapidly declining options.

  I kept my eyes on Antinous as well as the emperor close behind as my own pony Blaze stumbled through the undergrowth somewhat less felicitously than my friend’s. I remained a distance behind by necessity of my mount’s less focused skill. I was close enough to the emperor to perceive the manner in which Hadrian cast his eye strategically over the victim’s narrowing chances.

  I perceived the emperor’s elegant signal with his left arm to his thudding followers to arc around for a better encirclement of the beast. As his golden Nisaean bounded through the undergrowth with meticulous footwork and a fiery zest typical of the quality breeds, I detected Hadrian smiling to himself at the audacity of the young man racing ahead of him.

  Antinous ignored Caesar’s droit de seigneur of first chance at the kill. Antinous’s daring was accompanied by the audacity to lurch into the hunt with heroic, if reckless, even ill-considered, abandon.

  I had always appreciated this ‘strike first’ quality in Antinous. I found it to be a challenging facet of his character and one which gained him many victors’ points on the palaestra’s wrestling sands. But a sense of diplomacy and the unspoken protocol of the occasion restrained my urges --- not that Blaze gave me much opportunity for anything better. I remember asking myself, was I simply less feisty than my young friend? Antinous becomes fiercely tenacious under pressure.

  From the short distance behind Tiny, I could see how Hadrian was closely observing Antinous’s every action. My blond friend’s excited tensions of musculature in neck, arms, shoulders, and thighs displayed their much-exercised tone as his entire physique poured forward from his saddle towards the urgent resolution of the hunt.

  I discerned how Hadrian eyed the flecked fair hair streaming from beneath the rusty helmet, the occasional splash of sweat spraying behind, and the straining arm balancing the raised javelin for a powerful discharge.

  As a friend who had known Antinous since earliest childhood I could appreciate the flowing line of his distended neck and its delineated nape of strands of coiled blond locks. His upper-body triangle of broad shoulders encased in an heirloom cuirass tapering to a slender waist projected those sinuous contours which only an agile young man’s slender hips, lean thighs, and tight butt proclaim to the world. These were coupled with a roseate flush of excitement on high cheekbones as he focused on the issue at hand.

  I readily recalled observing these engaging qualities in Antinous many times during the hurly-burly of wrestling bouts or sprint races at the palaestra, where men practice naked and women are not permitted. I was certainly not the only member of the gymnasium crowd, old or young, to appreciate my friend’s rapidly developing features. In those days I overheard many flattering tributes among the shared whispers of spectators whose eyes lingered on my friend’s natural symmetries.

  In the past year Antinous’s athleticism and condition had bloomed in a sharply defined way which, even though I was almost a year older, matched or exceeded my own shape.

  All the young men’s anatomies were rapidly achieving the cut delineation of those sinuous Olympic champions’ statues which studded the gymnasium at Polis, and which were our icons of manly attributes. Such bodily powers announce a youth’s real entry into the company of adults and the true beginning of life. Yet I already suspected Antinous would peak even further into a striking handsomeness, perhaps even a vigorous manly beauty, as athletic people often do.

  The gymnasiarch at Polis, the controller of discipline at the palaestra, seemed to give Antinous and I special heed in shooing away older obsequious flatterers among the gym’s bearded generations. Lewd comments and provocative whistles at the naked, smoothly hairless young men were commonplace. But flattery or not, Antinous always seemed completely unaware of this brazen prurience. Perhaps he simply ignored it.

  In those days I recalled how my early choice of boyhood pal had been a shrewd if unaware investment in a friendship which now was bearing unanticipated fruit. We had met simply because we were distantly related by clan, while our age-groups and land owning social status had us participate in the same liturgical functions each year at the sacred festivals of Apollo. Our social background, personal interests, schooling, and neighborly contact coincided. Besides, as kids we simply always had good fun together.

  But that was before the onrush of puberty. In our fourteenth year when we were endowed by our elders with the coming-of-age necklet holding a phallus talisman celebrating our attainment of virility, we realized it was none too soon as we became urgently, hotly sexual. Unprovoked erections arose spontaneously. Night emissions followed astonishingly lurid dreams.

  When racy imaginings excited us, which was often, we could ejaculate barely at a touch, like randy mastiffs spraying. Self-relief became a daily obsession, repeatedly. Our anatomies brought us pleasures we had never anticipated. We then became conscious of the intimate nature of the bonding alliances which were discreetly forming among other youths around us. Our peers were quietly pairing off one-by-one with others more senior. Persistent flattery, knowing winks, and audacious touches made their intended impact on susceptible lusts.

  On occasion I had been spied by Antinous intently watching him from a distance at weapons practice or sports training admiring his person and physique. My gaze lingered on him on the pretext of studying his strategic maneuvers. It kidded no one, especially not Antinous.

  Sometimes he and I would blush in unison when our eyes met after an intense body-contact bout which stirred surprising emotions and their unexpected bodily expression. The palaestra onlookers would grin knowingly and pass winking glances to each other.

  Our friendship now became sensitive to the other’s innermost needs, thoughts, and emotions, while at the same time being too shy to be too bold in our presumptions. But we began to tacitly understand that if either of us were obliged to form a liaison with another guy it would probably be with each other, not an older youth of higher social status or greater sports prestige. At least that’s what I hoped.

  When our pubic hair had concluded sprouting and our voices had deepened, our sex drives commandeered our lives. On occasions Antinous and I playfully teased and toyed with each other’s bodily sensuality during respites in our hunting and trapping excursions. It is a period of a young man’s life when sexual hunger and its triggers seem to be so irrepressibly insistent. We fed that hunger. But it could never be fully sated.

  We now began to understand the true nature of our Homeric heroes’ friendly liaisons which we had previously misconceived. Those warrior’s friendships were based on a spiritual rapport, yes, as the classic tales tell, but they were bodily expressed through an openly carnal one. It was what the ancient poets had praised and ancient custom had sanctioned, but we had never understood. Our companionship now assumed a new dimension of intensity.

  We
found how the simple pleasures of being in each other’s company, or sharing the other’s small victories or pains, or brushing each other’s flesh in rough-and-tumble games, or comparing the cut muscularity of height, jaw line, chest ridge, stomach grid, line of thighs or butt, now stirred a vibrant energy between us. A mutually heartfelt longing descended.

  I recall our tutors told us how other peoples than the Hellenes prohibit these sensations between men. They claim it is immoral, shameful, unmanly, and an abomination in the eyes of their gods. They base these beliefs on antique texts from foreign philosophers of the dusty East promoting strange, arcane beliefs. Their credulity makes we Greeks smile.

  Young Bithynians are taught how in ancient times the Hellenes formed whole armies of these companionable warriors. Their intimacy was considered sacred. Celebrated tales of warrior couples or armies like the Sacred Band of Thebes began to make sense to us at last. Our teachers of philosophy and rhetoric, who are scholars from across the Greek half of the Roman world, induct into their students this time-honored code.

  The tales and heroes of Homer, the erotic adventures of the gods, the poetry and plays of many classic writers, all attest to the nobility of male friendship. Notable tyrant killers, victorious commanders of armies, or victors at the Olympic or Pythian Games, litter our race memory with praises. Even recent poets of Rome and several past Caesars applaud these sentiments.

  Only dry-as-dust metaphysicians with an ageing sex drive, most of who were either obsessed puritans or proven hypocrites, challenge this dimension of life. It’s the proper and natural thing for those hearts are open to it, we in the Greek hemisphere believe. Lesser races might find other ways to regulate youth’s sexual exuberance, but for us it is an honorable observance.

  At the Imperial Hunt I could perceive how the sight of my blond pal’s outward form in full-flight pursuit of the young boar was giving Hadrian moments of reflection too.

  As I followed close behind stumbling through the undergrowth astride Blaze, I discerned how the emperor displayed his rugged working soldier’s muscular condition. His body, arms, and thighs projected the hardened tissue of a professional warrior. I, being an eighteen year-old with military aspirations, envied the emperor’s condition as an adult commander. I hoped that I too would exhibit such a fine figure at a similar time of life. Only Caesar’s occasional gray hairs and, I perceived, an occasional cough, highlighted his maturity.

  I wondered if Caesar saw in my friend’s eager chase a distant reflection of an earlier Hadrian, a carefree Hadrian, who had existed long before the obligations of being a commander of Legions or succeeding to the office of Princeps? Hadrian has long had a reputation for youthful wildness. But the immediate urgency of the chase swamped these observations.

  A crisis point had been reached. Lifting as high as Tiny’s skillful maneuvering permitted, Antinous stretched himself above his saddle between pressed knees as the horse gyrated and hoofed the earth, to steadily calculate the trajectory of a javelin cast. Every nerve-end and muscle fiber was fine-tuned for accuracy. Shouting an excited warrior’s cry, he flung the iron-tipped shaft at a point into the low brow of the cave entrance. The shrill squeals of a stuck pig followed.

  Antinous swung off his mount, swiftly drew another short lance from his quiver, and sped towards the cave as we other horsemen surged to a halt close by. The excited hunter had grabbed a second dart because the beast, full half his size and body weight though still young, thrashed in the dust with the first lance pierced deep into its throat. It sliced its breast nailing it to the cave floor. It spurted thin squirts of blood but not sufficient discharge to indicate a fatal blow.

  Antinous aimed and flung the second weapon at its writhing hulk, but the point deflected sharply off its weathered spine onto nearby rocks with a hollow clatter. Leaping forward and grasping the original pike to press down on its staff to maintain its bite on the pinioned creature, while simultaneously fumbling for his hunting knife at his belt for a more intimate kill, he found he was immediately fixed in place by the sheer writhing vigor of the beast.

  Though the animal’s tusks had been blunted as a safety precaution, its snarling fangs and fear-foamed nozzle could nevertheless do serious damage to human flesh or bone. Hadrian’s instructions to his hunt master had taken into account the inexperience of his young hunters, not wishing to distress his provincial families with a hunting accident. Yet no one had advised the boar of this precaution.

  Antinous found himself in an untenable position. If he released the hold on his spear as he drew his knife for a proper kill he risked the animal lashing out at his legs and thighs. Regardless of the greaves protecting his shins, the creature could still lacerate. While he applied his full body weight to the spear the boar was temporarily disabled. Yet as it writhed from side to side he realized the light wooden shaft of the lance was likely to splinter under its struggle.

  Instantly those arriving at the scene saw his dire bodily peril should the shaft disintegrate. Fevered blood raced through every artery, vein, and membrane. I immediately leapt from my pony, lance in hand, ready to strike at the first opportunity to subdue the creature.

  With a silken whistle, flash, followed by a solid thud, the beast dropped to earth. A gleaming short-sword blade had arced through the air with a deadly whisper to pierce directly into the boar’s skull. It impaled deep into its bony cranium above its brow.

  The boar instantly tumbled to earth with only occasional muscle spasms and twitches, the blade firmly embedded in its broad head. The throw, a field soldier’s expert knifing from a distance, resolved the dilemma of the pinioned creature as the two Scythian archers speedily positioned themselves on their steeds for similarly decisive action. The blade had shimmered into its target’s skull within spare inches of Antinous’s own limbs and flesh.

  Antinous, still excitedly grasping the lance shaft, looked back to see which of his companions had made the decisive blow.

  Hadrian grinned broadly as he dismounted from his Nisaean and casually approached. He scanned and interpreted the hunter’s adrenalin shining wildly in Antinous’s eyes. He read his tensed muscles, flaked dry mouth, and frozen hand-grip.

  Gently taking hold of the two clasped hands around the original javelin, the emperor calmly and methodically started peeling the rigid fingers away from its upright shaft.

  ‘Found yourself in trouble here, lad?’ he asked with laconic dryness. He realized Antinous was frozen to the lance in a race of excited fear and crazed victory by the hunt’s sudden conclusion. He was stricken speechless by his predicament.

  ‘You rode well, lad,’ Hadrian offered. ‘But perhaps your risk assessment skills leave something to be desired, eh?’

  While he patiently unfurled my friend’s digits one by one, the master of the civilized world smiled knowingly at those gathered around as we all realized Antinous was projecting the hump of an excited combatant’s erection from beneath his tunic’s pleats. Young men are very easily aroused, even by life’s less erotic occasions. My profusely perspiring friend slowly regained his senses and his civil tongue.

  ‘It seems so, my Lord,’ he muttered. He could feel his hands being pried loose from the pikestaff and visibly welcomed the restoration of movement flowing back into frozen extremities. The emperor’s hands had carefully plucked each frozen finger from its grip.

  Antinous’s eyes were firmly on the countenance of his rescuer, wide in apprehension. He was struck by the gentleness of the man’s firm hold and his generous intentions, while he stammered to find suitable words to respond.

  Geta the Barbarian too had noted the gesture with considerable interest. Arrian and Julianus seemed equally charmed by the situation. I was electrified.

  Then we, the gathered hunters, broke into a spontaneous applause of cheers and whistles of approval, a gesture which unlatched the tensions of the chase. Smiles flashed all round and helmets came off as the boys, men, and attendants dismounted to recover their relaxed ways.

  I clasped
Antinous around the shoulders and gave him a big hero’s hug, coupled with deep relief that the hunt’s outcome had been so propitious.

  Hadrian took Antinous’ right arm in a firm Legion greeting clasp.

  ‘Bravo Antinous, son of Telemachus of Claudiopolis. The hunt is yours! Hail to the Victor!’

  He raised his arm high, just as they had seen gladiators do in the arena at Byzantium after a win. Then he glanced knowingly at his comrades Arrian, Julianus, and Geta with a sly grin.

  ‘But tell me, young man, do you know the story of Hermolaus? Do they teach you these things in Bithynia?’ he asked loudly enough for all to hear.

  Hadrian glanced to Arrian, and both Antinous and I detected a flicker of a wink pass between them. I saw Antinous slowly beginning to blush to a deep crimson.

  I could not recall a ‘Hermolaus’ story from my studies, though the name was vaguely familiar. I wondered if I had misinterpreted Caesar’s accent of Latin-colored Greek. However Antinous seemed very aware of the name. It visibly troubled him. His eyes fell shyly to earth as the hunt support staff arrived to bind the boar for transport.

  Hadrian spoke.

  ‘As my friend Arrian can tell us, who is a very great authority on these things, Hermolaus was a page in the service of Basileus Alexandros. King Alexander of Macedon was on a boar hunt in Persia with boys from his retinue, and this one lad – Hermolaus – struck at the chased boar which Alexander himself prized to kill. Hermolaus killed it instead.’

  Caesar looked around at the group as everyone’s eyes narrowed with rising concern.

  ‘Alexander was so outraged at being denied the strike he had the boy thrashed before his fellow pages and confiscated his horse,’ he added.

  A hush settled on the group, and despite Arrian’s knowing smile everyone feared for Antinous’s comfort. Was Caesar being cruel? Was this another side to Caesar?