EROMENOS: a novel of Antinous and Hadrian (16 page)

Sad news had come from my uncle in Bithynia, by way of the court in Athens, of my grandmother’s death. No personal message accompanied the announcement and formal condolences. I knew there would be no more welcome in the house which now belonged to him, after the way he had been humiliated in public by Hadrian’s cold reception.

Hadrian, now mindful of his appearance as pharaoh, avoided returning downriver toward Alexandria with the Nile in Akhet, the flood season. The Egyptians believe that to travel on the rising Nile of the flood insults the gods, low though the water remains during this second year of drought. Pharaoh Alexander, in defiance of this sacred edict, once sailed downriver at full flood. Soon afterward, devastated by the loss of his companion Hephaestion, he must have wondered whether the gods of this strange land had indeed punished him for his trespass against the mother river that undulates through this desert country like a green umbilical cord and tethers her people along banks swathed in fecundity.

In the midst of all the pomp and banqueting and official visits undertaken to inspect various sights, Hadrian grew distracted both by his duties and by more agitations fomented by the local Jewish faction over the temple dispute back in Jerusalem. This made my own preoccupation with dishonor after the hunt, and the dilemma of what must be done, easier to conceal from him.

At one point, after fruitless negotiations with an elder from the local synagogue, Hadrian fainted in his quarters, a sign of fatigue or worse. Only a servant and I saw this, and he swore us to secrecy, declining to tell even his physician about the incident.

The next evening, we were taken by boat to visit a magician at Canopus. Once ashore, we were conducted to a dank little grotto of a shop which seemed older than the pyramids themselves and stank of unsavory things. A mummified crocodile’s head leered through the gloom as we crossed the threshold into the sorcerer’s lair.

There he cast predictions for Hadrian, employing his attendant witch to demonstrate a spell he claimed can attract someone in one hour, send dreams, cause illness in two hours, even destroy a man in seven hours—a spell which he also copied out and sold to Hadrian, who paid him double for it.

The spell calls for a mouse deified in spring water, along with two moon beetles deified in river water. These are to be pounded on a mortar together with a river crab, the fat of a virgin, dappled goat, dung of a dog-faced baboon, two ibis eggs, two drams of storax, two drams of myrrh, two drams of crocus, four drams of Italian galingale, four drams of frankincense, and an onion. This mixture is to be kept in a lead box and used whenever a spell to beseech the goddess is performed, by sprinkling it over a charcoal fire on a rooftop at moonrise. (One must wear a papyrus roll with a protective charm while making the sacrifice as well, according to the sorcerer, lest the goddess make the seeker airborne and then hurl him to the ground.)

Then certain incantations must be spoken over the sacrifice, which vary depending upon one’s intentions. For example:

“I offer you this spice, O child of Zeus,

Dart-shooter, Artemis, Persephone,

Shooter of deer, night-shining, triple-sounding,

Triple-voiced, triple-headed Selene,

Triple-pointed, triple-faced, triple-necked,

And goddess of the triple ways, who hold

Untiring flaming fire in triple baskets,

And you who oft frequent the triple way

And rule the triple decades with three forms

And flames and dogs. From toneless throats you send

A dread, sharp cry when you, O goddess, have

Raised up an awful sound with triple mouths.

Hearing your cry, all worldly things are shaken:

The nether gates and Lethe’s holy water

And primal Chaos and the shining chasm

Of Tartaros. At it every immortal

And every mortal man, the starry mountains,

Valleys and every tree and roaring rivers,

And even the restless sea, the lonely echo,

And daemons through the world, shudder at you,

O blessed one, when they hear your dread voice.

Come here to me, goddess of night, beast-slayer,

Come and be at my love spell of attraction

Quiet and fruitful, and having your meal

Amid the graves. And heed my prayers, Selene,

Who suffer much, who rise and set at night,

O triple-headed, triple-named Mene

Marzoune, fearful, gracious-minded, and

Persuasion. Come to me, horned-face, light-bringer,

Bull-shaped, horse-faced goddess, who howl doglike;

Come here, she-wolf, and come here now, Mistress

Of night and chthonic realms, holy, black-clad,

‘Round whom the star-traversing nature of

The world revolves whenever you wax too great.

You have established every worldly thing,

For you engendered everything on earth

And from the sea and every race in turn

Of winged birds who seek their nests again.

Mother of all, who bore Love, Aphrodite,

Lamp-bearer, shining and aglow, Selene,

Star-coursing, heavenly, torch-bearer, fire-breather,

Woman four-faced, four-named, four-roads’ mistress.

Hail, goddess, and attend your epithets,

O heavenly one, harbor goddess, who roam

The mountains, are goddess of the crossroads;

O nether one, goddess of depths, eternal,

Goddess of dark, come to my sacrifices.

Fulfill for me this task, and as I pray

Give heed to me, Lady, I ask of you.”

This, to attract love. (To ask the goddess to punish a slanderer, or any other who has given offense, the incantations become much graver.)

This same sorcerer also offered to make a certain special sacrifice for the emperor’s genius. Hadrian made it clear no human sacrifice was acceptable in honoring him. Still, I absorbed every particular as the magician described the requirements for this ceremony, which seems to me in keeping with the Roman generals’ own time-honored practice of devotio suicide. It reminded me as well of the voluntary sacrifice of the Nazarene of the Christians’ sect, who was crucified, then deified, one hundred years ago. Such rites call for a subject willing to give up one life for another.

Egyptian custom calls for this particular sacrifice to be drowned in the Nile’s waters, in order to be assimilated unto Osiris, god of the dying and resurrected. The sorcerer told us the pharaoh’s genius may afterward assume the form of such a sacrifice, to appear to him and serve him in the future. The Egyptians’ official mourning festival to honor the death of Osiris having just begun, any such sacrifices now offered are considered particularly effective.

When I asked the sorcerer if any animal sacrifice might make an acceptable substitute, he allowed that the voluntary sacrifice of a pet might suffice. I then volunteered to offer up the falcon of Osroene, a gift from the mountain king to Hadrian, who later in turn gave it to me, amused by my fascination with the creature, its glowering amber eyes and downy breast. The least I could do, to offer it back to him.

Once the courier returned from fetching it, a sorceress performed the rites in preparation for the sacrifice. She removed the small leather head covering which kept the bird soothed, but by some means of enchantment soon lulled it back into sleep. The sorcerer observed that it is crucial for the victim of this rite to appear to have volunteered for the sacrifice, not to have struggled with death.

She anointed the falcon, then with one swift thrust immersed its motionless body in a vat of holy water drawn from the Nile, cradling it in her hands, tender as any mother, until the river stilled the heart and unsheathed the spirit, allowing it to fly to Osiris and become one with Hadrian’s genius.

Hadrian paid the chief sorcerer in gold, and then our party returned to the boat to be ferried back to the city.

M
ARCELLUS ONCE TOLD
me the Egyptians must deify anyone, prince or commoner, who happens to drown in the Nile, as one chosen by Osiris and Isis. They believe the taboo against suicide is lifted, too, from all of those claimed by the Great Mother. He said the local legends do not agree with Plutarch’s claim that a fish swallowed Osiris’ penis (oh innocent red fish); the Egyptians believe his phallus still resides in Memphis.

As one might expect, Marcellus also became fascinated with the embalming ritual the Egyptians practice, a desiccation procedure, and expressed a hope that he might someday be allowed to observe such a ceremony.

I meant to share with him what I saw in these various Egyptian rituals and ceremonies, and also what I learned about the cat and lion deities worshipped here, which constitute quite a pantheon among themselves: Sekhmet and Bastet, daughter and eye of Re, are givers of healing and power; Edjo and Pakhet guard entrances, south and east; Qadeshis is a goddess offering sacred and sexual ecstasy; Shu rules over air; Tefnut over moisture; Aker over earth, guarding the east and west horizons of the underworld; Mehet is responsible for the flooding of the Nile; Nefertem of the primeval lotus blossom symbolizes new life and recreation, and Bes, of course, presides over birth.

Studying the beliefs of these people, I recall once more those deepest cave-fears, those which haunt one forever—and here at last, find a voice from the fire to illuminate the cave, to speak out over the bones:

Be still, Antinous, and listen.

O
NE MAY THINK
one has grasped the concept of Empire. But not until we arrived in this alien land and encountered these strangers, who believe that our emperor, like their pharaohs before him, is a god incarnate, did I begin to comprehend the truth of it. The well-being of entire races, countless souls in provinces numerous as butterflies in a meadow, depends on the understanding and judicious use of power by the one man who wields it over all.

No military conqueror or expansionist, Hadrian has chosen to fortify the empire’s borders, improve relations with allied kingdoms, restore and expand public services, and commission new works of art for the cultural enhancement of the empire. It was his idea that slaves must no longer be sold as gladiators to the combat schools, since unlike freedmen they have no choice in the matter. He also means to outlaw the mutilations practiced by those who circumcise their infants, though this act is practiced as a ritual of devotion by the Jewish community, and his ban may cause further revolts.

Hadrian is a staunch proponent of the Roman Peace, and the coins of our realm are inscribed with his philosophy: Humanitas, Libertas, Felicitas.

Yet how can one who has absolute power, who has always had power, ever begin to imagine being one who has no power? I wonder.

Meanwhile, I have grown disenchanted to the point of disgust with Commodus, the heir-apparent, whose extravagance here with his entourage strikes me as obscene, seeing how these people suffer from the drought, estranged from their Nile who has withheld her brown, stinking love for two seasons now.

How can anyone look into their faces, eyes engorged with hunger and fear as they stagger through the eternal red dust alongside their camels and bony oxen, and not realize how these people are suffering. The peasants in the furrows work and starve, no better off than slaves, so that the grain harvested from this land may pour into the coffers of Rome. Meanwhile, our imperial retinue is plied with dates and pomegranates.

The Egyptians’ pyramids, monuments inscribed with the tongue of the dead, built to commemorate kings gone for ages before Rome existed, serve as a mirror and metaphor for society: Glorification of the elect few, raised to a pinnacle above and supported by a base of countless souls existing in misery.

Yet Commodus chats on, oblivious, about flower gardens, peacocks and scarabs, what subtle new colors the dye maker has promised for the fall. Just like Marcus back in Rome, he protects his complexion from the vicious sun with a flour mask, his face a cake studded with raisin eyes and nostrils and a red currant mouth.

Some wag of the court—probably Favorinus—has dubbed Commodus the Western favorite, myself the Eastern favorite, and these nicknames are now all the fashion; I fear, although we sojourn in the east, the west may triumph, ascendant. Pancrates, obsequious pander of a poet, also seized the chance to further laurel Hadrian by promising an epic in verse to commemorate this last lion hunt, equating it with Herakles’ slaying of the Nemean lion. I suppose it never occurred to either of them to wonder, or care, whether I might wish not to be memorialized as the one who could not save himself, equated with that hero’s companion, Hylas, drowned when adoring water nymphs pulled him down into a spring.

Patrician Commodus may be, but I cannot fathom how Hadrian could consider him as successor. Commodus seems not even to notice how tired and strained our emperor looks now beneath the royal headdress with its uraeus, a rearing cobra that spits at the pharaoh’s enemies. Hadrian knows these people look to him for divine assistance, yet even he cannot end the drought, or coax the Nile to flood again.

D
AYS AGO, WHEN
we were allowed upon the Nile at last, we passed upriver by Heliopolis, ruins of the city of the sun, and home of the phoenix. I hoped then that my old love for Hadrian, and his for me, might rise again from the ashes. I offered to stay in the temple of Serapis for him, a practice the Egyptians claim can send healing dreams from a god or goddess through the sleep of the intermediary. He declined, saying he preferred to keep me by his side. But I cannot stay there forever.