I guided Antinous and Lysias to sit or stretch on the stones at the feet of the first row near to Caesar, an agreeably casual arrangement for young men held in high regard, fronting Herodes Junior's chair. I myself stood beside Commodus behind Caesar's presidential throne within earshot of the surrounding conversations.
The Bithynians youngsters were fascinated by the sartorial finesse and skittish manner of the young senator whose opalescent skin has rarely seen direct sunlight. His choice of a formal toga at an event where more relaxed dress predominated showed a degree of hubris. Commodus's voguish persona sparkled and tinkled and effused amid the theater's noisy swarm of earthy Greeks, his glittering twitter almost overwhelming Caesar's imperial gravitas.
The patrician's sprightly manner was visible to all sixty rows. It was the flashy banter and studied fluttering of a noble Roman dandy.
Perhaps, the two wondered with alarm, these were the Court manners and public style of educated gentlemen-of-quality at Rome? Yet they noticed how despite Caesar appearing to be amused and entertained by the bright young thing's vivacity, he — our most lofty of Romans and ultimate arbiter of public taste — did not emulate the senator's display. Nevertheless Commodus made himself the sparkling center of attention.
Suddenly Antinous had a useful idea. I observed he turned to comment laconically to his friend seated beside him on the paving at the rim of the stage floor.
'Don't you feel it's very hot here, Lys?' I could hear at a distance.
'Hot?' Lysias responded quizzically. 'What do you mean? No, not especially, Ant.'
The spring sunshine of Athens was diffuse that day, but not especially intense now the rainy season had passed. Yet neither Lysias nor I sensed the sun was especially bothersome.
A ceremony of the endowment of weapons and armors to thirteen orphans was underway. The thirteen, each barely into their teen years and slight of build, displayed their upper torsos to the assembled spectators while the donations of armor were being fitted and strapped across their bird-boned frames. This display of bare skin had given Antinous food for thought.
'Yes, Lys, I think it is hot today. I need to cool down a little.'
Antinous began to untie the cloth bows at the arms, shoulders, and midriff of his tunic. The folds of the upper half of his chiton dropped away to reveal the full extent of his bare torso lying beneath the diagonal swathe of his himation mantle. Antinous's broad shoulders, cut chest line, orbed abdomen, and tanned muscles were exposed to public view. It was a conspicuously buff vision.
In a city once renown for the athleticism of its young men with its long tradition of Olympic competition, plus its naked palaestrae training methods and cult of masculinity, Antinous's nonchalant half-disrobing prompted a rustle of muttering across the assembly. A tide of whispers spread. It seemed Athenian youngsters, husbands, fathers, grandfathers, and devoted family men, as well as its more outward-going womenfolk, could still appreciate the contours of an ephebe at the peak of nature's perfection.
Lysias immediately understood Antinous's intent.
Using the pretext of the heat of the day he too took his cue to untie his tunic's upper laces. His sturdy anatomy too was now on public display.
Both lads sensed how Caesar's group spied these actions with interest, focusing especially on Antinous. Arrian observably suppressed a wry smile, while Herodes Junior found his eyes settling with enhanced interest upon Lysias.
The elder Herodes leaned to Arrian to comment quietly, while I was close enough to hear when Commodus asked something privately in Hadrian's ear. The senator's giddy manner had ceased its flightiness. Cool sobriety had taken hold.
Reclining side by side on the flagstones to indulge the exhibition of their physiques, Antinous leaned to Lysias to whisper. I can only imagine what he may have asked, but I assume it would be in the order of -
'I wonder if this is the sort of thing Lord Arrian had in mind for us at the Baths yesterday? It seems to be working, Lys.'
Both youngsters sat in casual indifference to the attention generated among those around them, while people in the rows above craned their necks for a better view.
Antinous indirectly noticed an elderly man dressed in disheveled garb amble in veering paces from a doorway at the back of the theater's stage. He teetered erratically through the lines of orphaned juniors buckling on their oversized armor and weaponry.
The man was a shaggy-haired, wild-eyed fellow with rickety legs and bony flesh. He was loosely garbed in a drab tunic and scrappy broad-brim sunhat tied behind his neck. He was holding a raised object in one hand while waving the other in emphatic gesticulation as he muttered incoherently at his surroundings. He moved unsteadily across the stage area as though he was a comic mime performing a special dance for the ceremony. Yet Antinous hadn't noticed his participation earlier. For that matter, nor had I.
Antinous tugged at Lysias's elbow to draw attention. Amid the prevailing good cheer it hadn't occurred to anyone the fellow might be following a less cheerful agenda. That was until a small, thin object in his raised fist glinted a flash in the sunlight.
Both boys immediately realized the fellow's fist was holding an instrument which, as he drew closer to the assembled row of thrones, took the shape of a small knife protruding from a covering. The man was stumbling forward across the stage intently towards Caesar, whose attention was turned away from the approaching menace.
Instantly without a moment's hesitation the two Bithynians leapt from the stones to fling themselves at the fellow.
Lysias lunged head-first at the man's midriff in a wrestler's flying tackle which pounded the breath out of the old guy. Antinous simultaneously leaped high to snap an expertly maneuvered arm lock on his raised limb. He wrenched the upheld instrument from his grasp. All three toppled to the flagstones in a cloud of dust as several Horse Guards lurched forward with outstretched javelins and drawn swords. A loud collective cry went up across the theatre.
Antinous grappled the man's arm until his grip was released. The dismayed elder cried out and writhed about as Lysias planted one foot firmly on his squirming ribcage. Antinous lifted the offensive object to view.
The old man's hand had been grasping a small rolled parchment enclosing an antique fruit knife. The miniature dagger displayed a dulled point, blunted edges, and a rusty blade. On closer inspection the knife seemed too innocuous a weapon to be capable of any serious wound, except perhaps upon a piece of fruit. It was more likely to inflict nothing other than a nasty bruise on human flesh.
Nevertheless the spluttering fellow with the wild eyes had been fortunate that neither a Horse Guard's gladius blade had pierced his throat nor a Praetorian javelin skewer his entrails.
Hadrian, Arrian, Commodus, and myself, accompanied by officials, guards, and the Herodes Atticus pair, circled around the elder. Hadrian looked over the unkempt, writhing fellow whose tongue uttered words of rabid inconsequence while his body struggled beneath Lysias's firm boot. When Antinous displayed the sorry weapon for all to see I retrieved the small scroll from his grasp to unroll and read its contents.
'It appears to be a letter or document from long ago addressed to 'Philip, a hoplite of the Achaea Militia', and carries the name and title of an archon of this city,' I announced.
'Tell me, old man, are you the Philip of this document?' Hadrian demanded, waving the scroll at the struggling fellow.
The man was so visibly shaken he was incapable of a civil response. It dawned on the assembled group the fellow was not simply confused, he was thoroughly disoriented in the manner of a demented geriatric. His eyes displayed little comprehension of his circumstances while his features were visibly gaga. Saliva dribbled from his mouth.
The senior Herodes Atticus, Prefect of the Free Cities, took the scroll to read its contents.
'It seems, Caesar and friends, this fellow was once a soldier of this city. His face is vaguely familiar to me, so I guess he's a military pensioner on the city payroll. He wears no evident nameplate, branding, or the tattoo of a slave, so he's probably a freeborn citizen fallen on hard times.
The paper is in Greek, but appears to be of the time of Caesar Trajan or even earlier? The Archon listed is from very long ago. It commends him for his service to the state as a captain of hoplites. Perhaps he served in past wars or the city militia? Maybe he wished to make a petition to Caesar to improve his pension, or suchlike? If so, he chose the wrong time and way to do it,' Atticus explained.
