Read Online EROMENOS: a novel of Antinous and Hadrian by Melanie McDonald - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Melanie McDonald
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that bore it, having undergone all manner of treatment meant to cure it, nonetheless remained impregnated with a stench of carrion—a fine metaphor for love, I now see.
After our return to Rome, at the banquet to welcome Hadrian back to court, Amyrra came up and kissed me on the cheek and said, “I knew it. You’ve become lovers. I can tell—Hadrian looks giddy and moon-fed.”
Her pleasure found an echo, somewhat less smug, on certain faces around us during the meal. Others there seemed either oblivious or else displeased by Hadrian’s signaling of a new relationship with me. Commodus behaved with indifference toward me and even toward Hadrian that evening, behavior intended to cut as much as possible without showing contempt to the emperor.
I began to accompany Hadrian at all times as the acknowledged new favorite, trotting at his side like a dog or a wife—just like the one who would be chosen and fobbed onto me someday at the appropriate moment; that time when the clouds obscure the sun, as the saying goes; when I, like Commodus, grow too old to remain the beloved.
I wanted to give Hadrian a gift in return after all his displays of affection, but nothing seemed appropriate. At last I decided to give him a set of cloths like my own, which I always found useful. At the market, I found a soft Egyptian cotton, pure white. When the seamstress stitched them up for me, I asked her also to embroider his signet in one corner of each with gold thread. I found the effect charming, and when I presented the set to Hadrian, he seemed pleased.
Yet for several weeks, well after our return to the city, nightmares disrupted my sleep, Cyclops, giants, various monsters always pursuing me until I woke.
In the mornings, I rose with the dawn in order to slip from his bedchamber before his barber and other attendants arrived, and made my way back to my own quarters while the aromas from bakery ovens filled the streets and birds rose like prayers from nests beneath the eaves of apartment buildings. This remained my routine until the next trip into the country with Hadrian. When we returned to Rome afterward, I was presented with my own bedchamber adjacent to his, and found all my belongings from school already in residence there.
Back in my classes again, it pleased me, vain little peacock, to note how several of the other boys, including Marcus, had taken to carrying small hand cloths, in imitation of Hadrian, and of me. Korias had chosen a subtle grey, while Marcus favored scarlet. Even at court, some men began to carry them after Hadrian made a point of flourishing one during a banquet. That acknowledgement delighted me. He didn’t intend to start a fashion—yet one began.
Commodus did not take up the trend. Instead, he played a trick on me, toward the end of one night’s banquet, to show just where I, a wine bearer, stood with him. He called my name in a soft voice and held out a linen dinner napkin, emblazoned with the imperial crest, folded like a sack around some hidden contents. As I took it, he gave me a dazzling smile and walked out of the banquet room.
The napkin was full of bones, remnants of the quail he had eaten at supper. I was glad he didn’t bother to stop and watch me open his nasty surprise. In his absence, he could not see me blush with anger; nor could I speak words in haste that I might regret later. Instead, I chose to ignore this insult, just as he always ignored me. Whenever I saw him afterward, I made sure to behave with neither more nor less courtesy than before.
About this time, Hadrian began to present me with frequent tokens of affection—books, incense, a silver mirror—which, I believe, were meant to signify a certain ascendance of my position at court. His enjoyment of my companionship seemed genuine. He appreciated my habit of maintaining silence in his presence, which allowed him to think, or work, or rest as he chose.
Sometimes when we sat alone together, he recited poems he had composed,
After our return to Rome, at the banquet to welcome Hadrian back to court, Amyrra came up and kissed me on the cheek and said, “I knew it. You’ve become lovers. I can tell—Hadrian looks giddy and moon-fed.”
Her pleasure found an echo, somewhat less smug, on certain faces around us during the meal. Others there seemed either oblivious or else displeased by Hadrian’s signaling of a new relationship with me. Commodus behaved with indifference toward me and even toward Hadrian that evening, behavior intended to cut as much as possible without showing contempt to the emperor.
I began to accompany Hadrian at all times as the acknowledged new favorite, trotting at his side like a dog or a wife—just like the one who would be chosen and fobbed onto me someday at the appropriate moment; that time when the clouds obscure the sun, as the saying goes; when I, like Commodus, grow too old to remain the beloved.
I wanted to give Hadrian a gift in return after all his displays of affection, but nothing seemed appropriate. At last I decided to give him a set of cloths like my own, which I always found useful. At the market, I found a soft Egyptian cotton, pure white. When the seamstress stitched them up for me, I asked her also to embroider his signet in one corner of each with gold thread. I found the effect charming, and when I presented the set to Hadrian, he seemed pleased.
Yet for several weeks, well after our return to the city, nightmares disrupted my sleep, Cyclops, giants, various monsters always pursuing me until I woke.
In the mornings, I rose with the dawn in order to slip from his bedchamber before his barber and other attendants arrived, and made my way back to my own quarters while the aromas from bakery ovens filled the streets and birds rose like prayers from nests beneath the eaves of apartment buildings. This remained my routine until the next trip into the country with Hadrian. When we returned to Rome afterward, I was presented with my own bedchamber adjacent to his, and found all my belongings from school already in residence there.
Back in my classes again, it pleased me, vain little peacock, to note how several of the other boys, including Marcus, had taken to carrying small hand cloths, in imitation of Hadrian, and of me. Korias had chosen a subtle grey, while Marcus favored scarlet. Even at court, some men began to carry them after Hadrian made a point of flourishing one during a banquet. That acknowledgement delighted me. He didn’t intend to start a fashion—yet one began.
Commodus did not take up the trend. Instead, he played a trick on me, toward the end of one night’s banquet, to show just where I, a wine bearer, stood with him. He called my name in a soft voice and held out a linen dinner napkin, emblazoned with the imperial crest, folded like a sack around some hidden contents. As I took it, he gave me a dazzling smile and walked out of the banquet room.
The napkin was full of bones, remnants of the quail he had eaten at supper. I was glad he didn’t bother to stop and watch me open his nasty surprise. In his absence, he could not see me blush with anger; nor could I speak words in haste that I might regret later. Instead, I chose to ignore this insult, just as he always ignored me. Whenever I saw him afterward, I made sure to behave with neither more nor less courtesy than before.
About this time, Hadrian began to present me with frequent tokens of affection—books, incense, a silver mirror—which, I believe, were meant to signify a certain ascendance of my position at court. His enjoyment of my companionship seemed genuine. He appreciated my habit of maintaining silence in his presence, which allowed him to think, or work, or rest as he chose.
Sometimes when we sat alone together, he recited poems he had composed,
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