The Hadrian Enigma - A Forbidden History (14 page)

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 with 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?’