of Claudius and its palaestra training yard. At last we younger ones at Polis have a palaestra worthy of the pain of the practice.
Arrian said Caesar has offered to do the opening ceremony while he's here, which everyone immediately accepted. It's a great honor for Father. It might even be worth the huge cost to the family.'
Despite the autumn chill, we stripped off our sweated tunics and splashed around in the bracing mountain waters of a rivulet tumbling down the slope by our bivouac site. We noisily body-washed after several days' soiling. We scrubbed all over with handfuls of wet sand and scoured each other's hard-to-reach parts for thorough cleanliness.
'Arrian is now a citizen of Rome, you know?' I continued as we splashed. 'He says they're gradually adding Greeks to the citizen roll under Hadrian's influence, but only if you earn it. Caesar is said to honor Greek life and Greek ways. Even some of his equestrian- class advisors at Rome are said to be Hellenes now. The times are changing, Ant.'
'But Romans still don't trust us, Father says privately. At war we are only allowed to fight as auxiliaries or as expendable front line fodder, while the Legions remain firmly Roman,' Antinous mused aloud as he rinsed the sands off his skin's glistening surfaces.
I have to admit how being so close to my friend in his natural state is inclined to introduce a sensual glow to my being. Like most of the guys I know, we find bodily exposure induces an unexpected surge of energy — erotic energy. It is a very pleasing sensation. In fact I sensed my private parts were displaying signs of arousal, just as they did during close body contact sports at the palaestra. More than once I have found I have developed a discernable erection while tussling at close quarters with a wrestling partner or while watching others compete. Many of the boys do. It's natural, I guess.
Antinous had long realized I was prone to being aroused when we tangled as wrestlers. This wasn't too surprising to lads at a time of life when our groins sought urgent, irrepressible, self-relief several times a day. Antinous laughed at my heightened state of enthusiasm amid the rivulet's chill that evening. He flicked water at my crotch to dampen my fun. He only ceased laughing when he realized he too was displaying similar signs.
'Local gossip says Lord Arrian might have been an intimate friend of Hadrian's long ago, even his lover perhaps, in Caesar's wilder days before becoming emperor,' I confided. 'He might even have been his eromenos at the time of the Dacian Wars. That's the rumor anyway. But that was very long ago.'
I spoke hesitantly as we toweled ourselves with our loincloths by the warming campfire. These are sensitive matters for young men to discuss between them at their time of life. By then the eagle chick had been plucked and gutted, and was roasting on struts above the campfire's flicker.
'Nowadays they remain just good friends, it's said. In private they're social equals who share similar tastes and experiences. That often happens between an eromenos and his erastes, doesn't it?' I concluded knowingly.
I had raised the issue which all youths of the Bithynian upper classes must address through their maturing years. Until our full beard is evident are we supposed to remain celibate until our wedding day, or are we to sow youthful oats? But how, where, and with who?
In lieu of the availability of girls of our own class, whose virginity is securely protected from all males until matrimony, are we to depend on the erotic services of expensive hetaerae consorts, or importune our household slaves, or common sex workers, or other women or males of available inclination? Alternatively, were we to take a more senior guy as our erastes mentor, weapons trainer, social network guide, companion, and sex partner?
'What events will your household pay prizes to?' I asked Antinous as I tore the roasted chick in two to offer his portion. The campfire flames danced before our eyes. Night had swiftly fallen, so deep swigs from a shared wineskin washed the fowl flesh down. The sweet dark wine was our respective vineyards' own drop. It helped warm our insides now our dried loincloths and tunics warmed our exteriors.
'Will you offer money or food when Caesar is here? And what will you compete in yourself, Ant? Foot races, of course.'
I was envious of my friend's sprinting skills, especially in full-dress heavy hoplite armor. He had far greater stamina than I. But my body-weight was useful in wrestling matches, even when age-matched.
'Father says he'll fund major prizes as usual, and I'll enter the wrestling bouts in our age group even though I'm not fully in condition,' Antinous offered with a knowing grin. 'With luck, you and I will draw lots to wrestle again, eh, Lys? It's my turn to take you down this time. Those recently-bearded ones at the palaestra who watch us both so closely must be missing their regular dose of naked flesh to letch over. You and I haven't grappled nude in front of them since the meet at Heraclea in July, so they'll be hot for it I guess? But I'm already training for the javelin cast and sprint races too, so you should enter the wrestle challenge at least.'
We both devoured our roasted flesh noisily as we talked. Then Antinous became thoughtful for a few moments.
'I've a very good chance in the sprint-in-armor in my age group, and I'm a possible for the pentathlon. You can't win everything, you know Lys, but I'll sure give it a try. This isn't the Olympics or the Pythians where hard cash goes to a winner. These are show matches for Caesar! Greek arete is on show!'
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.
