"We too should be thinking about sleep," Clarus muttered at last. "We must prepare ourselves for the morrow's interviews. Then we should continue our interrogation of Lysias, followed by a select list of others. More than half a day of Hadrian's two-day allowance will have passed by dawn."
Secretary Vestinus had quietly rejoined the group during Lysias's testimony.
Suetonius looked around at his companions. They were visibly tired already, except perhaps the lovely Surisca seated silently behind him. She seemed as bright-eyed as ever, probably due to her youth and because her professional duties would normally run late into night.
The Praetorian officer Quintus Urbicus remained standing at attention while his two junior officers stood at ease by one of the chamber entrances.
Vestinus spoke. He was long experienced in working late into the night on his master's bidding.
"I have cleared four chambers in apartments immediately beyond these offices to accommodate your staff, Clarus," he stated in proper protocol to the most senior of the investigation.
"They're not especially glamorous due to being workrooms or storerooms until only hours ago, but I've had folding beds delivered to each chamber along with some basic furniture. I suggest Suetonius shares the largest with you, Clarus, as sleeping quarters, with the remaining team scattered among the other three.
The four chambers open onto a communal space which you may wish to utilize as an interview room, or whatever. It's not grandiose, but it's convenient."
"You are most kind, Julius Vestinus," Suetonius soothed as smoothly as he could, "but I might prefer to share one of the bedchambers with my personal assistant, Surisca of Antioch. I don't mind which room, Julius, any will do. Perhaps Senator Clarus will take the larger chamber for himself?"
He made a point of deferring to his honored patron while at the same time putting his tag on Surisca for the duration. He deceived no one.
"Whatever, whatever, Special Inspector," Vestinus muttered with a raised eyebrow. Clarus politely confirmed the arrangement with a tired nod.
"All I need is sleep," he announced wearily. "It's been a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer. We should consider, Suetonius, the list to be interviewed and what chores to pursue in the interim."
Suetonius turned to the Praetorian, Urbicus.
"You heard from the two fishermen earlier how they saw a vessel sailing the Nile at first light. They said it was neither a local vessel nor river folk they recognized. I require, Praetorian, that you return to the fishermen at tomorrow's first light to take them on a search of the moorings at Besa to locate this mysterious vessel. They will recognize it, I'm sure. I want to know whose boat it was and who were its sailors so early at dawn on the day of the lad's death? However, Praetorian, neither the owner of the craft nor its sailors are to know of our enquiry; it is to remain secret at this time. I want this information within three hours of dawn."
Urbicus nodded, saluted briskly, and was preparing to depart with his two officers. Suetonius guessed they would probably take a nap before their dawn duties, but he could see Urbicus was intent on prosecuting his search promptly.
Surisca raised a finger to politely interject.
"Master," she whispered deferentially, "may I speak?"
The assembled group was startled by her lapse of protocol, but Suetonius found himself nodding approval to her under Clarus's glare.
"Forgive my presumption, master, but do you have a description of the boat or its boatmen? Did the fishermen describe the craft?" she asked softly.
Suetonius confirmed her voice had a much deeper, more somber tone than the flighty girlish trills displayed at The House of the Blue Lotuses. The transformation had definite appeal.
Surisca continued.
"If it is not a vessel known to fishermen at Besa and Hermopolis, it could be one known to those of us elsewhere on the Nile. I have travelled widely on the river, and most of the worthier craft possess owner's markings for easy identification. Disputes over theft and ownership are commonplace."
Unprompted, Strabon immediately began rummaging through the large basket whose folded waxpad notebooks were secured in its bowl. He pulled one from the pile, opened its covers, and scanned his notation scratches.
"The fisherman Ani said -- 'it was a strong timber vessel, well made and costly,' Strabon read aloud, '-- perhaps it was a boat sailed by priests from upstream for The Isia, or a boat belonging to Pharaoh's.. that is,.. Caesar's people. It was painted the color of the sky and possessed the Eye Of Horus upon its prow."
"Painted the color of the sky and possessing the Eye Of Horus…," Surisca repeated. "If I'm not mistaken this describes a craft belonging to the priests of Amun at Memphis. I have performed at Memphis on many occasions and sailed the river nearby often. The priests of the Old Religion, who are thought very wealthy, have been my clients. They pay well, but are not gracious in their behavior. Amun has temples on both banks of the Nile at Memphis and elsewhere, so the priests do much sailing to communicate between their properties.
At Memphis they paint their boat and mule carts, and even the gates of their compound, sky-blue to ward off evil, and are marked with the Eye Of Horus to denote their ownership. At Thebes upstream from here their possessions are white, but with the same Horus marking. I'd say the boat described here belongs to Amun's priests at Memphis."
Suetonius's mind tried to comprehend Surisca's term 'performed at Memphis' in its possibilities, but he recalled how Surisca was also a dancer and flautist so he desisted. Her profession was her own business, though clients who were not 'gracious' had a prurient interest.
"And here at Besa or Hermopolis? Where do they congregate?" the Praetorian Urbicus asked.
Suetonius let this further protocol lapse pass because it was the next logical question anyway. Urbicus's prompt initiative boded well for the investigation's time-pressured enquiry. Heads turned towards Surisca for her reply.
"Amun does not have much property at either Besa on the east bank, or Hermopolis on the western, because the Old Religion is deemed heretical and idolatrous by the devotees of the Greek cults. At Hermopolis, a town the locals call Shmun, they favor Serapis. Their fanatical followers will fight to the death between themselves. They will kill each other and eat the other's livers and hearts to argue a fine point of doctrine," Surisca said.
"They ruled this land at the time of the Old Pharaohs. They had the ancient rulers under their thumbs. Their god Amun was the major deity before the Greeks and Romans came. Their riches are still very great but carefully hidden.
When Caesar Augustus took Egypt from the last Greek ruler, Queen Cleopatra, and confiscated the best river land as his own property, Amun's wealth and influence declined, I've been told. They lost most of their best plantations, their source of wealth, but retained their temple compounds with their influence over the peasants but costly upkeep.
However since the violent expulsion of rebellious Judaeans at Alexandria in the days of the previous Caesar, Trajan -- I am told Judaeans were once a quarter of the city's population -- these priests have been buying up available property at cut-rate prices. They're hungry for political influence to re-establish their cult, so owning property is the best path to wealth and influence.
Nowadays in Besa they reside at the small, very ancient temple outside the town by the riverside. The temple lies on high ground above an inlet adjacent to where Caesar's two barques are moored. It's hard to find, it is so well hidden in the palms."
"Where did you learn all this history, woman?" Clarus enquired with astonishment.
Surisca hung her head demurely, as befits a mere woman.
"The wisest of my trade keep an eye of such matters, my lord. We must be prudent stewards of our own hard-earned wealth, and so we follow such things," Surisca replied.
Urbicus looked to the group for new instructions.
"Centurion Quintus Urbicus," Suetonius commanded, "search for such a vessel with the two fishermen. If you find the vessel, confirm the boat's owner and report on who was sailing this craft on the night or morning of Antinous's death. Report to me no later than three hours after sunrise tomorrow.
And, Praetorian, do not wear your Guard uniforms, dress in more informal clothes which will not arouse suspicion. Blend with the lower orders, Centurion."
Urbicus saluted and swept away accompanied by his two troops.
"Thank you, Surisca," Suetonius proffered as graciously as he could. "You've earned your keep already."
The courtesan smiled weakly at this unlikely prospect.
"Julius Vestinus," Suetonius called, "your staff will be in a position to make contact tonight with each of the following list of people to make them available to us at hourly intervals tomorrow for interview. They should be in the following order --
First, Lysias immediately after sunrise. Perhaps Geta the Dacian at one hour after sunrise. Senator Arrian of Bithynia at two hours after sunrise, and the slave Thais of Cyrene at three hours after sunrise, so we can get a grasp on the entire situation. Other names are likely to arise in the course of our interviews. This should give us coverage of the important people in Antinous's life, and perhaps even his death.
Julia Balbilla of the empress's household at The Dionysus moored offshore can join us at high sun, with the Master of the Hunt, Salvius Julianus, or the Egyptian miracle-worker Pachrates waiting until soon after. We will probably have others to follow, but we must move speedily."
Surisca once again raised a timorous hand. The biographer nodded.
"Did you say Pachrates the Egyptian priest, master?" she asked hesitantly.
"Yes, Surisca, I did," Suetonius said. By acknowledging her familiar name he had tacitly acknowledged she was now a person, not a functionary of no status or particular gender.
"Why, my dear? Do you know something of this priest?"
"I know things about him, master, from my trade," she replied. But then she became silent.
"Tell us, my dear," Suetonius prompted, "what do you wish to say?"
It seemed Surisca had resiled abruptly from making a comment about Pachrates.
"Come on, my dear. Feel free to talk."
"I am mistaken, my lord, I confused the name with another. Please forgive me, master."
But Suetonius didn't think she was deceiving anyone in the chamber. They each realized she was hiding something of interest. Clarus interjected.
"Woman, if you have something to tell us, then tell us. Otherwise hold your tongue or do not speak," he commanded in his booming magisterial tone.
Clarus was likely to consider Surisca an uneducated foreigner of zero social status, plus a mere woman at that, who offended the proper pecking order of knowledge.
"We'll talk later," Suetonius said to Surisca with an evasive wink to ease the rebuff.
Lysias began to rise from his chair.
"Am I to be discharged, my lords, from further interview tonight?" he asked politely. Suetonius shook his head.
"No, Bithynian. We have barely begun. We must continue your interview to learn all we can about your deceased friend. Time presses upon us."
Clarus and Vestinus heaved sighs of regret. Suetonius continued.
"We have only two days to discover how and why Antinous has died. So be seated, lad. You still have not told us how Caesar came to be involved with you two fellows. We need to know. Yes, you have told us of your mutual thoughts about the erastes/eromenos custom, and of your personal friendship, but you haven't told us how you caught Caesar's eye. Explain it to us!"
Lysias drew himself back into his seat and fumbled distractedly with clothing items.
"It is an involved story, sirs. Two weeks after our hunting trek into the Pontines, Antinous and I competed in games at Polis in honor of Great Caesar's visit. We wrestled, we sprinted in armor, we cast javelin. Both Ant and I were victors in various games before Caesar's eyes.
Some days later we were summoned by Caesar's marshals to attend an Imperial Hunt being held at Councilor Arrian's estates outside Nicomedia. This was a very great honor, so we took to the opportunity with relish. I can recall that day and night well, yet we had several questions about our participation."
Lysias shifted once again into reminiscence mode and began his recollections.
"I wonder why there'll be only five or six of us?" Antinous asked me as our two ponies Tiny and Blaze ambled along a dusty road outside Nicomedia.
We were followed by our wagon stacked with provisions drawn by donkeys, and four walking servants, two spare colts in tow, plus the mule recently snared in the Pontine forests.
"Surely an Imperial Hunt would attract guys from all over the province, wouldn't it? Keen hunters would appear from everywhere," Antinous added. I too wondered about this.
"Maybe today's hunt is strictly for some special purpose? Lord Arrian said it was an occasion that should make us proud. Arrian seems to know all these things," I proposed. "Arrian and my family Elder said our palaestra wins before Caesar were the deciding factor. Caesar's assessment of the winners in their events was crucial. I beat you in the wrestle-bout as usual, Ant, and you won your javelin and armored sprint event outright, so maybe Caesar has summoned the key victors for a special celebration?"
"Yet not a single one of the other victors at the Polis games has been invited, Lys. Just we two, plus several others from across the province who didn't even compete in our games. There must be some other reason we don't yet know?"
We turned a corner of the trail where the landscape ahead opened out.
"Great Apollo, Lys! We're there! There it is!" I recall Antinous gasping.
Our party arrived at Arrian's countryside complex of stud farm, vineyards, and vegetable gardens around a palatial villa. It lies a few miles inland from the port of Nicomedia by the Sea of Marmara. The farm was the essential acreage necessary to provision Arrian's lifestyle.
But beyond the cultivated gardens and grazing paddocks lay a vast assembly of tents, pavilions, and marquees. It was the touring Imperial Household. It was the first time Ant and I had seen Caesar's famous portable palace. The massed array of tents was defended by troops bristling with armor and weapons which glistened in the morning sun. It was a spectacle of fluttering pennants, high vaulted marquees, and busy workers.
"It's Hadrian's travelling Palatine itself! Holy Zeus, Lys!" he yelped.
"I don't know what we did at the boy's games at Polis, but obviously Caesar thought we were worth seeing more of!" I found myself spluttering aloud to all.
Our party was greeted by a welcoming cohort of the Guard cavalry. We were escorted into the stockaded tent complex and ambled along its central avenue to its parade ground before a massive Imperial Marquee. It faced a long plain before the tents. This plain extended beyond the pavilions towards low hills.
The plain's rocky scrubland had been netted at the sides by attendants and slaves, with the nets extending into the far distance. It seemed the Hunt was to be held within a controlled funnel of netting, just as the huntsmen of Polis construct when trying to entrap a bear or boar to sell unhurt to dealers in animals for the arenas.
Without noticeable ceremony, Caesar Hadrian followed by Lord Arrian and other officials appeared from within the Marquee to greet our two parties. Both men were casually dressed in the long chiton tunics and loose himation swathes common to the Greek East, not the bulky Roman togas of the west of the Empire.
Hadrian seemed to be somewhat taller in this environment than he had seemed at the show-games the previous fortnight. While the youth of Polis were competing naked in the various events in their separate age and weighting grades, Antinous and I – along with all the other lads, youths, and men of the town – craned our necks to have a closer view of the Great Caesar, Hadrian, in our midst.
As you know, no women attend naked sports events, so this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the men of Polis to see their emperor at close hand. At that event Caesar's tall height and military bearing, coupled with his close-cropped beard topped by hair combed forward across his head, may have been camouflaged by his fulsome purple toga with its glittering embroideries of gilt eagles. But now, dressed in a simple Greek tunic, his tall height was evident beside the lesser stature of Arrian and other Greek notables.
To our eyes, Hadrian was lean for his age. He was in his forties somewhere, Ant and I determined, but in very good trim. His features still displayed something of the renowned good looks of his reputation as a playboy prior to becoming Princeps. His frame retained the muscle tone of the professional soldier he had been since his youth, as well as displaying several cicatrices earned at the business end of an enemy sharp. Yet his countenance had a quality whose precise years were difficult to estimate.
His attachment to his troops of the twenty-eight Legions around the Empire was said to be expressed by a lifestyle matching the austerities and hardships of a Legionnaire's training and diet. Whatever his legions could do, he could do. His daily regimen included the necessary exercises to ensure bodily condition, with marches in full pack, simple diet, and regularly assisting in digging stockade gutters or even latrine ditches. These shared disciplines endear him to the Legions. It earns their total allegiance.
Hadrian was nonchalantly chewing on a piece of fruit as we dismounted our ponies. He seemed genuinely pleased at our arrival. He and Arrian beamed at our group with broad grins whose informality jolted we youngsters while absolutely astonishing our stewards and slaves into rigidity. How are you supposed to respond when your emperor smiles at you?
"Welcome, fellow Bithynians," Arrian called to us. "You are well on time, friends."
Our entire group automatically fell to our right knees and bowed our heads. "Hail Caesar!" we proclaimed in muddy unison with a salute.
"Greetings, Antinous and Lysias of Claudiopolis," Hadrian called back. "It's a pleasure you should be with us today to enjoy our Hunt. My friend Arrian speaks well of your families and your service to the Empire. I myself commend you on your victories in the sports events of your town," he called as he took a bite from his apple. "Your accomplishments were well noted, I assure you. We hope you settle-in happily here at the quarters provided for your comfort.
Prepare yourselves too to join us at the sixth hour at the start line of the Hunt when the sun reaches full height. Our Hunt promises to be challenging, so use your most effective accessories. Ask my friend the Master of the Hunt, Tribune Julianus, for any details you need. He is your commander today. And don't forget, we will enjoy a feast and symposium at sunset to celebrate the victors of today's chase."
Caesar clapped his hands once and called loudly, "Geta!"
I saw a tall, lean, pale-skinned man of foreign extraction with a close-cut black beard and slicked long black tresses plaited in a barbarian's style step forward to respond smartly.
"Here, Caesar!"
To my eye the fellow was in his late twenties. He had faded tattoo circles across each cheek. He was dressed in an eclectic mix of short Greek tunic, barbarian leggings, Roman open-weave boots, and a looped mantle which was slung across his frame pinioned with an antique fibula. Nothing suggested he was of the slave class because of his attire's evident quality and jeweled rings of visible costliness. Nevertheless he responded to Caesar's call with the immediate response of a servant.
"Geta, direct these visitors to their stables and sleeping quarters," Hadrian commanded. "Ensure they receive every service needed for grooming, feeding, and watering their mounts. Also assign staff to provide them refreshments."
"It shall be done, Caesar," Geta replied as he waved us to follow him down a side track of the tent complex.
This was the first Antinous and I ever saw of Geta. We soon came to know him well. And it was our first impression of the emperor himself.
"Your victim today, men," Tribune Salvius Julianus informed us with an injection of respect as adults, or at least mature meirakia youths, "will be a young boar."
The various groups of youths and their staff murmured appreciatively if apprehensively. Julianus was Hadrian's Master of the Hunt who was also an advisor in the Law of Rome.
"The beast was trapped two weeks ago in the scrubland of the Troas near the site of legendary Troy," the Master of the Hunt continued. "Perhaps it holds the soul of the warriors Ajax or Hector? It is a junior from a herd of adults whose feistier members were caged for shipment to the arenas at Rome where wild game is in high demand. So your target is smaller than a full size beast.
You should be told the creature has had its tusks filed to a dull edge to protect you against accident or misadventure. Caesar doesn't want to send one of you men home to your family hearths with body damage.
Being a boar, you are to prosecute the Hunt with whatever mount and weapons you see fit for the challenge," Julianus continued. "No hounds are permitted; you will be obliged to rely on your own detection and hunting skills. The victim will be loosed into a netted funnel to ensure its eventual capture. But Caesar hopes members of the Hunt will corral and destroy the creature long prior to its entrapment. It's up to you, men."
Antinous murmured quietly to me. "It's lucky, Lys, we brought our own ponies for this event, mounts who already know our weight, purchase, and signals, plus who trust us. I expected the Hunt victim to be a deer or something more elegant than a boar. Boars are eccentric targets. It'll need deft footwork and daring. This won't be easy without mastiffs, either."
I had to nod in agreement.
"If we work together as a team, Lys, as in the Pontines, maybe we'll manage it," Antinous whispered back.
Instead of the usual workaday back-cloths for bareback riding, we had brought our family's new-fangled four-horned saddles. The saddles' four corner pummels and seat are secured by a belly strap under the horse. This permits a better seat leverage than a back blanket, so a rider can more effectively brace himself to hurl a range of missiles. But only barely.
For weapons we assessed between lightweight short-javelins, throwing axes, bows-and-arrows, or even slingshot stones, none of which are to be disparaged. Both of us were well experienced in attacking with lightweight counter-weighted short-stave javelins projecting five-inch iron pierces for horseback hunting. Neither of our ponies, Blaze nor Tiny, nor we ourselves possessed the body-weight and expertly-braced riding seat necessary for wielding the long, heavy pilum spear used by cavalrymen. The pilum demands a large charger with a rider of a beefier body build than a meirakion carries.
Despite our physical strengths which, since childhood competitive wrestling, sprint racing in armor, javelin casting, stone discus tossing, and the other athletics of the palaestra had built, we still had a little distance to go before our body weight could anchor the heftier battle weapons.
Nevertheless each of we six youngsters were already eligible for entry into military life, as our own fathers had done at the same age. We knew how a commission in the military was the speediest path to public advancement if we survived battle action, scrapes and wounds, foul camp water, disease, or other military perils.
Fortunately, Antinous and I had each brought five plumb-balanced dart javelins in their riding quivers, as well as our family's antique stiff-leather hunting cuirasses, battered helmets, and chipped shin greaves to wear with our hip-length rider's tunics.
The six youngsters appeared a rag-tag mob compared to the richly outfitted officers of the Guard in their service uniforms, or the barbarian costumes in dragon-scale chain-mail of the Scythian archers whose fidgety ponies paced nervously about. We learned how Scythian archers are the precision marksmen of Rome's forces, with the most expert hired by Hadrian's Praetorian Prefect, Turbo, for the special protection of Caesar.
This was the day we first learned of the rule how an Imperial Hunt is one of the few occasions when people around Caesar are entitled to be armed. Except for his Guard, weapons are generally forbidden in Caesar's presence for security reasons.
Meanwhile Hadrian was dressed simply in hunting leathers, helmet, and side-weapons, mounted on a four-pummel saddle strapped atop a high, golden chestnut Nisaean stallion. This exotic stallion was unlike any animal we had ever previously seen. Its gilded pelt shone in the thin midday sun, and it hoofed the ground with spirited life. He was named Persepolis after his origin in the wilds of Parthia. To our eyes, Persepolis was the perfection of horse flesh.
When the sun reached mid-sky Julianus raised his whip of office to signal to his beaters to sound the display. A cornu intoned darkly, drums rattled, and without further ado a cage was flied-open ahead of us.
A squat, hairy, nimble, black ball of furious darting energy was released onto the open plain. The Hunt was on! A dozen horses and their riders of varying sizes, uniforms, and ages leapt forward as one after the beast. The wild boar, all bustle and speed, hurtled forward into the scrub without a moment's hesitation.
Despite the slight incline of the ground and the low rocky scrub, the beast slipped speedily out of sight behind rocks and foliage. The hunting pack had no idea if it was galloping non-stop towards the net funnel far away, or whether it was stalled somewhere beneath our very hooves out of sight. It was obviously canny enough to know when to move out of range, and when to stay still to hide.
Without hounds to smell it out or bark at sight, the creature was the master of the chase, denying we pursuers easy scouting.
Antinous and I, with our plucky ponies at the ready, had lurched forward first, followed by the entire Hunt with much noisy cheering, guffaws, and obscene shouts. Caesar was the third to crash forward on his golden-sheened Nisaean, but no one deferred to his status except the plait-haired barbarian with the tattooed face, Geta.
Each of the young men moved sweepingly across the course, around obstacles, into undergrowth, to seek it out. We each searched carefully for a glimpse of its hairy haunches and upright tail, speeding or stationary.
Now and then one of the boys would excitedly shout a sighting, but then decline the claim as it proved false. This ad hoc approach to tracing the beast didn't appeal to Antinous and I. It lacked method. Half an hour elapsed as the teams eased carefully through the undergrowth searching for any signs of the quarry or its recent path.
Hadrian, the boys perceived, seemed to be in no urgent hurry to prosecute the chase, but ambled watchfully close behind the lads on his Nisaean giant.
Antinous and I followed a strategy we used in our hunts outside Polis. We cross-referenced our scanning of the scrub so, as a duo, we applied a methodical stepped sweep to our search. Mind you, using mastiffs makes such hunting far easier. In lieu of dogs, signs of tracks, fresh droppings, broken scrub, hidden shadowy shapes, even smells were to be factored into the possible location or direction of the beast. This process was time consuming but offered a better chance of spotting the creature than mere guesswork. The boar wouldn't appear in our sight simply because we wished it to appear.
Now and then I would silently signal to Antinous with a gesture towards a shape lurking behind a rock, so both of us would arc cautiously towards the site. Again and again, nothing.
On one occasion Antinous quietly point-marked a puddle of still-steaming pig's piss which even Tiny and Blaze found noxious to the nostrils. Yet the boar had moved on. The direction seemed northwards, so we both guided our mounts in parallel in the same direction. Our ponies were as tense as we ourselves.
The other four lads seemed to be captivated by a separate search a hundred yards westwards, each a solitary searcher. The senior members of the hunt ambled lazily in the background, amused by our youthful intensity.
Suddenly with a rustle of foliage, a rasping grunt and cough, a fat furry bewhiskered blob snarling curled tusks leapt forward from a hidden nook and raced helter-skelter northwards. The beast grunted and rasped with each bound, bounce, or sideways dash. Tiny and Blaze lurched forward promptly at speed with a matched swing, sway, and swerve.
Antinous gripped his pony's four-horn saddle firmly with his knees by sheer force of balance. His legs, thighs, and ankles pressed close to Tiny's sides to steady his body weight to support a hold on the reins while his left hand balanced a javelin dart in readiness. Antinous was left-handed, you know. Tiny responded well to his knee pressures and hip sways as it danced through the scrub in speedy dives left then right, following the swerves of the boar with precision.
The wiry pony, all gristle and bone flecked with foamy sweat, knew the name of the game. He took it upon himself to keep close to the prey. The horse was as excited by the hunt as its rider.
Antinous's body swayed smoothly with each shift in direction in a natural flow. Every muscle-fiber danced in a finely-tuned flexed response to the situation's urgency. Yet he retained a firm balance, steady seat, and high stature in readiness for casting the dart.
His speeding reflexes had well absorbed his many years straddling ponies on the forested ranges beyond our hometown's ramparts. Boars and game were regular targets of the hunt at Polis. Hunting and trapping was the local recreation which afforded special delicacies for feast days to honor solemn Artemis of the Hunt and her brother, beautiful Apollo, Healer of Heaven.
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?
Antinous caught his breath and stood straight to his full height, which was already almost level to Caesar's, to look the emperor directly in the eye. The emperor waited patiently for a response with the barest hint of a smile. Antinous's cheeks flushed.
'My Lord Caesar, sir," he began in a formal tone with a salutary dip of his head, "May I speak?' The emperor nodded. Antinous responded.
'Hermolaus, son of Sopolis, committed far worse than steal a hunter's kill. He was involved, if I recall correctly, in the tragedy of a plot against Alexander the Great, and many of the pages paid dearly for it. Justly so, we in Asia believe, such was the degree of the treason. The Roman historian Curtius Rufus of the days of Caesar Nero records the tale at length.'
He paused to measure his effect in case he was stepping beyond the boundaries of protocol. But it seemed he wasn't.
'We Hellenes read the story of Alexander with pride because he is one of us, though we read the Curtius text in Latin with its parallel Greek translation for our schooling. But we also read King Ptolemy's version of these tales of Alexander in their archaic Attic Greek, along with the historian Aristobulus and the other romance tales of Alexander,' Antinous offered with scholarly seriousness. He had regained his tongue.
Hadrian was taken aback by this schoolroom history lesson. So too were Arrian, Julianus, Geta, and the others, who raised approving eyebrows. Even the two Praetorian Guardsmen seemed impressed behind their professionally sullen demeanor. The emperor nodded agreement but then, after another conspiratorial glance to Arrian, his countenance became stern. He posed a further question.
'Tell me, Antinous of Claudiopolis, what else do you know of Alexander? Who was Alexander's most important comrade? Name some of his Companions.'
The question seemed to both Antinous and I to be a further simple schoolboy's test.
'His strategic comrades, my Lord, were great heroes,' Antinous proposed. 'Lysias, my friend here, and I would probably name from among his Companions his general Cleitus as his worthiest comrade. He saved Alexander's life at the Battle of Issus and always spoke the truth, despite the king's eventual drunken murder of him.'
I was hugely flattered to be included by Antinous in this erudite summary. Yet Antinous continued.
'But for me, of course, it was his Commander of the Companions and fellow prince, Hephaestion, who was most important. Their great friendship sings across the ages and enters our hearts even today, my Lord.'
Antinous is a fond admirer of the Greek heroic classics. Unlike Alexander he doesn't keep a copy of The Iliad under his pillow, but he has several precious scrolls of such books in his personal chest.
Hadrian and Arrian shared a further meeting of eyes. It contained a coded message beyond our understanding. Hadrian then changed the subject.
'Where did you two lads learn to cleave to mountain ponies with such mastery? You must teach us your skills,' he stated with perhaps excessive flattery. 'It was a sight to behold. Your mounts are unique creatures and deserve their own reward. Tonight you and your friends here can serve us your hunt victim grilled on a spit to celebrate your victory. My household will provide the entertainments, and we will dedicate the spoils to the Goddess Artemis herself.'
'But my Lord, if I may speak,' Antinous interjected. He had recovered his civil tongue at last, but spoke out of turn without permission. 'It was not I but you who brought down the beast. I was merely your attendant-at-arms, your page. The actual kill was certainly yours.'
Antinous had retrieved sufficient of his senses to offer this polite diplomacy. I guess Hadrian and Arrian noticed it was expressed without any of the cloying deference of a courtier, which was probably a novelty for them.
'That's very modest of you, lad,' Hadrian offered, 'I praise your tact. But in truth I merely fulfilled its destiny, a destiny resolved by your good scouting, chase, and strike. You deserve your award for your skill and courage. Tonight we will assign you its ears and snout as tokens of your victory. Be proud of your feat, my boy. Each of us here are proud on your behalf, and we rejoice in the day's adventure with you.
Antinous blushed deeply again. I think I blushed too.
Hadrian then turned to Arrian, Julianus, Geta, the Praetorians, and the others who had assembled. He regaled us with a message we grew to appreciate later.
'There's fine talent here among these Greeklings in Bithynia, I see. We must inspect their credentials more closely. If this province is to have a new generation of trained statesmen and administrators, or military officers and governors, we must seek out those worthy of the honor with diligence. Perhaps tonight we will test their quality?'
The assembled hunters slapped their swords against their breastplates in noisy accord while we youngsters looked around to each other with swelling pride.
I noticed Arrian smiling calmly to himself in a manner which suggested he was very pleased indeed with the day's work."
Lysias ceased his recollection and reached for his goblet to sip some wine. He looked reflectively to the floor tiles and shuffled his feet. He had disappeared into a private reverie.