'There's a tress of hair inside, pale in color, and a name is engraved on the interior, sirs,' Strabon weakly called.
'What name, scribe?'
'The engraved name is Antinous.'
Minds across the chamber raced to interpret the cryptic quatrain and the Bithynian's relationship to it. Why would Caesar's retired eromenos retain such a quaint phylactery? Who was the King? Who was the lackey? What was it all about?
One particular possibility dawned on some in the assembly, something unthinkable, something utterly inadmissible. Was Caesar some form of cinaedus, they wondered? Surely not?
It is not feasible for an admired Princeps to be a cinaedus, these would reason. Such behavior is not within an Imperator's lexicon of attributes. Great dishonor lies in that direction. Cinaedi are objects of derision for their lack of self-control. Surely Caesar is not a cinaedus?
Suetonius again recalled how so few of Hadrian's reported sexual exploits were with women. In fact, to his knowledge, not a single one he could remember. This was despite the tacit assumption an emperor has his unrestrained pick of life's more pleasurable opportunities, of any gender including the female.
Did this mean Hadrian's taste is strictly for his own gender? Fine. This has no real concern in Rome's phallocentric sexual code as long as the maturer contender is strictly the active partner in sex. They who penetrate are virs; those who are receptive are femina or pathicus. To take the passive role is a woman's, a youth's, or an adult pathic's contemptible fate. Even a fellator with males, or a male cunnilinctor with women, are equally unmanly in this code.
For a man to prefer these roles is to invoke the pathicus status. As a pathic cinaedus, he is a shame to his gender and Roman custom.
Suetonius realized the quatrain had added a new elliptical dimension to Hadrian's profile, and done so in full public display. The prospect now tenderly arose that it may have been Antinous who performed the male phallic function, unless the relationship had been a mutually carefree ride there for a ride back in which sexual favors were reciprocated?
Once again Suetonius recalled how outsiders are unlikely to fathom the inner mechanisms of other people's relationships.
But now it was time to determine precisely what fate had befallen Antinous.
'Priestess!' Suetonius demanded, 'Show us your lip paint! Open your urn before Caesar and our assembly!'
Macedo carried the terracotta pot to the priestess and pressed it into her unwilling grasp. Perenna looked around at the surrounding assembly of observers whose eyes were fixed upon her and her pot. Reluctantly, she grasped the amphora and strained at the wax-sealed stopper, her eyes gleaming in fierce resentment. The plug broke away after some effort. She held the open urn forward brazenly towards her interrogators for inspection.
Governor Titianus beside her leaned towards the mouth of the jar and peered inside. He withdrew smartly as its odor stung his nostrils.
'Blood. Rotting blood. Pints of it. Must be several days old. Goes off quickly in this climate. Smells of a battlefield or an arena's sands. Repulsive stuff!'
A mournful groan rumbled across the chamber while the priestess Perenna stood her ground in fierce feral belligerence. A defensive stoop descended upon her posture as her eyes blazed from behind their mask of ashen pallor.
'What blood, Perenna? Whose blood? The youth Antinous?' Suetonius called in an increasingly pained voice.
The priestess raised the jar high and hurled it bodily across the space towards him. The urn flicked splashes of wine-colored, viscous slush as it hurtled downwards and crashed to the flagstones at Suetonius's feet. Its terracotta shell fractured into a dozen shards as its contents splayed-out across the granite. Once again a ripely- sour stench exuded through the sanctuary.
Titianus raised a slight finger gesture to Tribune Macedo. The Praetorian commander nodded to his cohort nearby. The guards stepped forward and positioned themselves around the priestess.
'Whose blood, Perenna?' Suetonius repeated. 'Whose is it?'
The priestess struggled and hissed vehemently at all around her but spoke no words. Julianus called aloud to his lictors. One delivered some objects which had been concealed out of sight. They were a bronze basin stained with a dark-colored dry scale, and a similarly stained bronze surgeon's scalpel. He held them before him to display to all.
'These were lying behind a curtain. They look recently used. There were two more terracotta amphorae, also containing fluid,' he offered as he stared at the dark ooze spread across the flagstones.
Several in the assembly realized Antinous's very life itself lay spilled out onto the temple stones.
Thais and Lysias walked hesitantly to the pool of dark muck and lowered themselves to their knee at its edge. Thais was quietly weeping. Lysias was visibly mortified. He dipped one fingertip in the pool to examine its consistency. He fell to sobbing.
'Antinous?', he called aloud plaintively, his pain audibly startling the assembly. Hadrian raised himself from his seat, his eyes wide and fixed upon the pool of sludge across the granite.
'We have one further matter to address, Great Caesar!' Suetonius declared aloud.
'What could that possibly be, Inspector?' Hadrian replied in rasping tones redolent of abject despair.
'I wish you to ask one of your Guard for an inspection of their purse, Caesar.'
'Their purse?' Hadrian asked impatiently. 'Why so, Tranquillus? What's important about a purse?'
'I wish you to command Decurion Scorilo to open and empty the contents of his belt pouch to our view.'
'Decurion Scorilo of the Horse Guard? Must I ask one of my most senior and best officers to degrade themselves here, Inspector? Your enquiry is getting out of hand, Tranquillus!'
'I believe I must ask, my lord. It is necessary. If I am mistaken in my reasoning you can dismiss me from your service and prosecute me for the insult, Caesar.'
Hadrian faced toward Scorilo and gave the order.
The tattooed German was initially hesitant, but then unlaced the purse-pouch at his sword belt. The investigating team's hearts were in their mouths, with their eyes on the pouch. Had Suetonius erred in his gamble?
'Show us the contents, Decurion,' Hadrian instructed. Macedo moved forward to have a closer view and announce the findings.
Scorilo poured baubles from the pouch onto his large, broad, warrior's hardened palm. He silently offered the items to view. Macedo read out the list of debris.
'One gold aureus, two silver denarii, some bronze coins, two ivory dice well-worn, a bone toothpick, a small ball of black resinous substance wrapped in a leaf, and a man's jeweled ring. The ring!' he repeated excitedly. 'Quality silver; well worked; set with a deep blue lapis lazuli stone carved with the figure of the deity Abrasax, I think. It is surrounded by mystic symbols and antique inscriptions! We have seen this ring before!'
Hadrian rose bolt upright. His eyes had cleared, his stoop dispersed, and his physical energy was restored.
'Scorilo! My protector Scorilo! Where and how did you attain that jewel? How did you come by Antinous's special gift from me? You are no thief, are you? Surely not? That ring is a rare magical talisman of great value. Do you rob the dead? Account for yourself, Decurion!'
Scorilo remained firmly silent. Anna Perenna's voice began to rise to a shout from her guarded position. The priestess's cries were becoming feverish with recklessness.
'Scorilo! Brother Scorilo!' she crowed loudly. All heads turned abruptly from the decurion to Perenna and back again.
'Brother, the time for Zalmoxis has come! It is over! The oath is fulfilled! Zalmoxis will reward us for all eternity. The Iron King's loved one is sacrificed. His life blood was forfeit! We have tasted that blood. The God has absorbed his victim's arete from his gore. The gore is now putrid, it has been absorbed. It's over and done. We too can now go to the Underworld of Zalmoxis and join our ancestors at last!' The priestess was exultant.
The assembly broke into uproar.
'Will someone explain to me what is happening here!?' Hadrian bellowed over the cacophony. Geta stepped
