Read Online EROMENOS: a novel of Antinous and Hadrian by Melanie McDonald - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melanie McDonald
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he tracked down an enormous black boar and dispatched it with one thrust of his spear, driving it into the heart of the pig until he buried it up to the shaft. His mount still quivered and gasped for air after the pursuit, sides heaving in and out like bellows. Everyone kept up the shouting and rejoicing (I perhaps the loudest) while he claimed his trophy with deliberation and then pulled the hem of his hunting cloak over his head to silence us before he offered up the first meats of his quarry as a lustration for the success of the hunt.
Riding Pelas all day left my hindquarters in agony, a burning pain I took care to keep to myself. I suppose the thought never occurred to Hadrian that horseback might be a torment for me after the previous night’s activities. That evening I sat in a cool bath for as long as I dared before anyone began looking for me.
The scent of evergreens enveloping those Arcadian mornings acted as tonic for Hadrian. His brow smoothed itself, released from the usual furrows of worry, and a sweeter side began to emerge from behind his brusque manner.
Responding to the fresh air and beauty of our surroundings, my own maturing, recovered body also reacted as one might expect. I woke every morning with an erection, and to my surprise he often expected me to make use of this.
During those early bouts of lovemaking, my fear and shyness abating, I studied his naked body, which held the story of his life in its contours, ridges and protuberances. Old scars, calluses, and healed breaks at collarbone and rib bore witness to his youthful military career and hunting expeditions. An ugly gash seamed through his thigh, carved by the tusk of a boar, one of few creatures which ever managed to wound him. Tanned, muscular, his body betrayed his age only with a bit of slackening at the belly; a certain softness beneath his upper arms.
It seemed a privilege to be one of those few, besides his bath attendants, who ever saw the emperor in such a state of nature. But the first time that he, in turn, knelt before me, horror threaded the sensation—as if I were watching a noble fir bent to the ground by the passing of Dionysos, succumbing to a tumult of uncontrollable force. I closed my eyes and clenched my hands at my sides, not daring to tangle them in the hair of the emperor. Nor did I allow my hips to push forward against the source of that pleasure, though they ached to do so.
Afterward, I waited until I knew he had risen, put on his robe and turned away from me before I opened my eyes. It seemed the only way to conduct myself with the proper show of respect. He had spit my seed onto the floor. I mopped it up with one of my hand cloths.
In the mornings I prepared his simple breakfast—melons ripe and glistening, bread fresh-baked and fragrant, with such white, utter loveliness hidden within its brown crust. The pleasure of the knife, slicing, astonished me.
On one such morning, waking before my companion, I rose on one elbow and studied Hadrian’s face in repose. Asleep, he looked different, his features robbed of their normal expression. Then his eyes opened.
“Don’t,” he said.
“What?”
“Don’t look at me when I’m sleeping.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am not myself then.”
“All right,” I said, “then you must promise never to look upon me, either, when I sleep.”
He laughed and sat up on his elbow to look into my face.
“You’re wise,” he said. “Sleep is a most indifferent lover, like his brother Death, and cares not who reposes in his arms, a seducer with no regard for individuals, and no favorites.”
He took me in his own arms then, the conversation ended.
H ADRIAN SOON ACKNOWLEDGED our new intimacy in public by causing several new projects to be undertaken in Arcadia, including a new temple for Neptune, and the restoration of the tomb of Epaminondas and his companion. He also offered a she-bear skin to Eros at the spring of Narcissus. The pelt, removed from the animal
Riding Pelas all day left my hindquarters in agony, a burning pain I took care to keep to myself. I suppose the thought never occurred to Hadrian that horseback might be a torment for me after the previous night’s activities. That evening I sat in a cool bath for as long as I dared before anyone began looking for me.
The scent of evergreens enveloping those Arcadian mornings acted as tonic for Hadrian. His brow smoothed itself, released from the usual furrows of worry, and a sweeter side began to emerge from behind his brusque manner.
Responding to the fresh air and beauty of our surroundings, my own maturing, recovered body also reacted as one might expect. I woke every morning with an erection, and to my surprise he often expected me to make use of this.
During those early bouts of lovemaking, my fear and shyness abating, I studied his naked body, which held the story of his life in its contours, ridges and protuberances. Old scars, calluses, and healed breaks at collarbone and rib bore witness to his youthful military career and hunting expeditions. An ugly gash seamed through his thigh, carved by the tusk of a boar, one of few creatures which ever managed to wound him. Tanned, muscular, his body betrayed his age only with a bit of slackening at the belly; a certain softness beneath his upper arms.
It seemed a privilege to be one of those few, besides his bath attendants, who ever saw the emperor in such a state of nature. But the first time that he, in turn, knelt before me, horror threaded the sensation—as if I were watching a noble fir bent to the ground by the passing of Dionysos, succumbing to a tumult of uncontrollable force. I closed my eyes and clenched my hands at my sides, not daring to tangle them in the hair of the emperor. Nor did I allow my hips to push forward against the source of that pleasure, though they ached to do so.
Afterward, I waited until I knew he had risen, put on his robe and turned away from me before I opened my eyes. It seemed the only way to conduct myself with the proper show of respect. He had spit my seed onto the floor. I mopped it up with one of my hand cloths.
In the mornings I prepared his simple breakfast—melons ripe and glistening, bread fresh-baked and fragrant, with such white, utter loveliness hidden within its brown crust. The pleasure of the knife, slicing, astonished me.
On one such morning, waking before my companion, I rose on one elbow and studied Hadrian’s face in repose. Asleep, he looked different, his features robbed of their normal expression. Then his eyes opened.
“Don’t,” he said.
“What?”
“Don’t look at me when I’m sleeping.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am not myself then.”
“All right,” I said, “then you must promise never to look upon me, either, when I sleep.”
He laughed and sat up on his elbow to look into my face.
“You’re wise,” he said. “Sleep is a most indifferent lover, like his brother Death, and cares not who reposes in his arms, a seducer with no regard for individuals, and no favorites.”
He took me in his own arms then, the conversation ended.
H ADRIAN SOON ACKNOWLEDGED our new intimacy in public by causing several new projects to be undertaken in Arcadia, including a new temple for Neptune, and the restoration of the tomb of Epaminondas and his companion. He also offered a she-bear skin to Eros at the spring of Narcissus. The pelt, removed from the animal
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