Eventually the trio arrived at a vestibule entrance bedecked in a particularly idiosyncratic way redolent of a students' quarters at a palaestra. The entrance was wittily marked with whimsical decorations of ratty, used, young men's loin-cloths tied in improbable patterns, a blazon of knitted Egyptian palm fronds supporting a mummified cat with an attached moustache, and two oversized priapic dildos of carved wood pointing to the entrance into quarters of special significance.
'We are here, I think,' Clarus offered. They gingerly entered the chambers.
'Lysias of Bithynia? Thais of Cyrene? Staff? Anyone?' Clarus called, clapping his hands for prompt slave service. There was no response.
'Anybody home?'
The two toga-garbed Romans entered the large darkened space within, followed closely by their Greek scribe.
'Yes, this is where the Bithynian was accommodated, along with his friends and household. I was here once before in the company of Caesar to inspect the young man's grazes and scratches after his brush with a wounded lion outside Alexandria.'
Lamps burned low in the night's gloom. Tired wisps of incense drifted from occasional bowls. Ripples of bell notes from a suspended wind chime tinkled lazily in the desert breeze. There was no sign of anyone, including the serving slaves of the household.
Clarus peered into each of three openings leading to further chambers. He turned and beckoned Suetonius and Strabon, pointing into one of the darkest spaces.
The two followed him into a larger space beyond a vestibule offering concealed privacy. It dawned on the three they were entering Antinous's personal sleeping quarters. They glanced to each other in wonder. They were setting foot in the intimate domain of the 'infamous catamite' himself, as puritan elders at Rome often decried.
This new chamber was the private boudoir of the tall, blond-maned, muscular figure who had graced the inner circle of Caesar Hadrian's retinue for almost five years. The presence of the Bithynian youth at the emperor's side, it had been noted, was more ubiquitous than that of the empress.
Many at Court quietly appreciated how Hadrian's impulsive and acerbic nature, his searching restlessness, or his intimidating capacity to dominate and control everything or everyone, seemed to be placated in the presence of his laid-back, easy-going paramour.
Nevertheless regardless of the Court's more spiteful wits, Antinous was not a substitute 'wife' in all things except law. This was despite the wide assumption his sexual role was likely to be a bottom by definition. A Caesar is by convention assertive. Yet even the most passive cinaedus may feign believable machismo in public.
Cinaedi behavior arouses the Roman prejudice against ambiguous sensuality, despite its widespread frequency across the Empire. Rather, Antinous was athletic, hardy, and masculine. Nevertheless there were those who crudely saw the lad as being the emperor's bugger-boy, catamite, or common toyboy. To many at Rome the relationship was founded on some very basic urges of a notorious earthiness. After all, what do they do?.
Hadrian's reputed short-term liaisons with a string of freeborn favorites, patrician's sons, and rising officers in the military had been legend. Yet these were never as legendary as the colorful exuberance of his predecessor, the much-adored Trajan.
The offence of committing stupra under the ancient law code of the Lex Scantinia can theoretically invite social censure, at least at the western end of the Empire if not in the east. But those ascetic attitudes withered generations ago. Today an irrepressible sexual playfulness prevails among the elites, much to the vexation of Rome's prim, if usually hypocritical, elders who slyly forget their own youthful indiscretions.
Suetonius's celebrated biographies of the first twelve Caesars showed how the pressing compulsions of sex consumed each one. Their appetites had been capricious without apology. They showed how sex makes fools of each of us, even lofty Imperators.
Yet today's absolute master of the civilized world restrains these impulses. The one man whose status can entice any maiden or youth, can outbid the market competition for any beauteous slave, can impose his will on any woman or man reliant on imperial patronage, or can afford to assemble a private seraglio of assorted slaves or concubines in the manner of several notables of his own Court, nevertheless limits himself to a single wife and a single young man as his consorts. Though others of his retinue ostentatiously maintain assorted slaves for their bodily entertainments, Hadrian is conspicuous in his restraint.
'Importuning a slave, freedman, or client — ,' Clarus announced, '- even if they're willing partners so as to advance their fortunes, appears to be beyond the role he perceives for himself as Rome's champion of social responsibility. He deigns it beneath an emperor, just as the philosopher Plutarch recently counseled. Plutarch sneers at those who impose upon a slave, who has no rights in the matter. Hadrian soberly presents himself to his subjects as an exponent of sexual right-mindedness rather than indulge himself without limit.'
'Yet do not forget, Clarus my friend, how Caesar may also be in love with his companion. Restraint may have other origins than public probity,' Suetonius added sagely, 'it may be sensitive to his companion's deeper needs.'
The three moved cautiously into Antinous's sleeping chamber. The tenting was open to the night sky and its blaze of stars. A solitary lamp was slowly exhausting its final drops of oil, casting long flickering shadows into the gloom. Stale incense hung in the air while another wind-chime tinkled randomly.
Filling much of the chamber was a low bed which could sleep five. It was draped in tribal Greek rugs. Crumpled cushions lay about. Empty goblets had fallen to their sides across the floor-tiles beside the bed, leaking droplets of russet stain onto the tiles.
Strabon noticed a wax-block notebook and writing stylus folded closed on a side table. He drew the other's attention to it. Clarus was nearest so he picked it up and opened its cover.
'Well, does it say anything?' Suetonius asked.
'It's in Greek. I think it's expressed in an archaic mode of Greek, not today's common Greek. It's being very historic or poetic. If I'm not wrong it translates as:
The weak pun on 'pride' might have been intentional, if artless, Suetonius thought. All three of the group grasped its basic message, though there was no way to know if it was in Antinous's own hand or another's.
'Strabon, keep this wax-pad safe and away from heat until we can identify the writer,' Suetonius instructed. The scribe wrapped the tablets in a cloth and placed it securely within his shoulder basket of tools and pads.
Clarus then turned to one of the other entrance portals. He heard a sound beyond. The others followed as he tentatively moved through another vestibule outside Antinous's bedchamber. A further smaller bedchamber extended beyond the vestibule.
They entered hesitantly. Lying close to the tented wall in the shadows lay a curled figure. It had its back to the visitors. The figure was quietly heaving, huddled against the felts.
Strabon raised the chamber's single lamp and played its light onto the bundle of fabric. The bundle realized there was company present and slowly turned towards them, wiping its eyes as it did so. Once again they had intruded into the private space of someone displaying eyes red from weeping.
It was Lysias of Bithynia, the school-chum friend of Antinous.
Lysias was already a man. At twenty-four years of age he displayed manhood's razored bristles, a sturdy athlete's body, pronounced bone structure, and bright intelligent eyes showing the benefit of well-nourished ancestors. Nevertheless, where many men his age were already senior officers in the Legions slaughtering barbarians at the frontiers or hunting down and crucifying gangs of Judaean bandits in Palaestina, here was this sturdy youth lying curled against a tent wall with his eyes red from weeping.
'Come, come, come, lad,' Suetonius called, half in rebuke, half in sympathy, 'this is no way for a man of honor to act. Lysias of Bithynia, I believe?'
They awaited a response. After a few moments the figure turned towards them, wiping his eyes as he shuffled upright. The fellow stumbled clumsily to his feet.
'Lysias, son of Lysander of Claudiopolis at Bithynia-Pontus. I travel under the patronage of Antinous, son of Telemachus of Claudiopolis, who is the special companion of Caesar Hadrian. I am a freeborn member of the landholding class of Bithynia and a captain of the Claudiopolis Militia. At your service.'
He spoke Latin with only a hint of a Greek accent, the audible outcome of a good education at both Nicomedia and at Athens.
