Unprecedented Access
Lysicles
Something extraordinary is happening in my life, and I am not sure
anymore that I can willfully maintain – as I have up to now
been doing – my emotional distance from the man called Hadrian.
Whereas before, he was but the disembodied name of a remote king
whose broad machinery had effected our childhood separation; and
then he was an inscrutable face that sought to interrogate me at
the elementary school; and then he was a real and physical being
with whom I shared an occasional and polite conversation in the
stables, he has now, quite suddenly, maneuvered himself most deliberately
into the centre of my consciousness.
This morning I awoke from my sleep to be greeted by the face of
Phlegon – the Emperor’s secretary. Many of the other
boys were already awake and watching excitedly. I sat up in bed
and excused my appearance. He laughed. “Why should you excuse
yourself to me, Antinous? ‘Tis not I who fancies it.”
I swallowed. “Get dressed,” he continued. “I shall
await for you outside.”
He departed then, leaving me in the company of the other boys,
all of whom stared in awe. Carisius looked at me without expression,
although it was clear to me that his envious heart was burning steadily
down into his stomach. I stood up and began my morning toilet, just
as Anaxamenos dashed in and embraced me hard. “Did I not tell
you?!” he demanded happily. Many of the others took that as
a permission to begin their congratulations.
But I refused to accept them. “Wait,” I announced.
The room fell silent, and waited. “Hadrian is not in Rome,”
I reasoned. “He is not upon the Palatine. He is in Tibur,
and is not due to return for another week.” Anaxamenos laughed
at that, and responded: “Do you not think, little princess,
that he can well afford to stick you in a litter and have you trotted
up to meet him?” Everyone laughed merrily at that. “Do
you not think,” he continued, “that the Emperor, who
loves to ride, can well enough conceive to place you upon a horse
and command you at a gallop to join him? Do you not think he could
for any number of official or personal reasons cut short his plans
and return to Rome in the middle of the night? Why, Antinous, are
you so obstinate in your refusal to accept the mighty truth that
you are destined to be the Emperor’s next favourite?”
There was a round of agreement then, and I was forced to accept
that Anaxamenos was very likely correct. As I hurried through my
morning ablutions, the news reached us in the dormitory that Hadrian
had not, in fact, returned to Rome. Thus I prepared myself for a
journey to Tibur. As I left the Gelotaiana, Anaxamenos kissed me
lovingly and said, “Your days as a page are numbered. And
I must wonder if that number of remaining days has reached One.”
I smiled at him, trusting in his understanding that my silence could
speak far more eloquently than words of my love for him.
With many curious eyes peeking from the windows above, I exited
the Gelotiana and greeted Phlegon. He indicated our direction, and
we began walking – directly up the hill and into the great
and cavernous halls of Augustus. Rarely had my duties taken me to
this part of the palace – the Emperor’s personal residence
while in Rome and the seat of his daily affairs. The space was vaulted
and opulent: our footsteps upon the marble echoed boldly through
it, despite the presence of several others. At last the man spoke
to me: “The Emperor has chosen to remain in Tibur for longer
than he had at first anticipated.” I nodded in understanding.
“He was very concerned that you should not find yourself with
too many idle days while you awaited for Epeius to return with him
to Rome.”
“Am I being sent to join him in Tibur?” I inquired.
Phlegon smiled at me, but shook his head. “Not yet, Antinous.”
I considered that. It suggested to me that Anaxamenos had been wrong;
that I was merely being assigned additional duties while I waited
to resume my role as Keeper of the Personal Horse. “There
is no doubt that Hadrian admires you; that he thinks on you; that
he watches your progress as a young courtier. I’m quite sure
you’ve noted it.” I nodded to him and responded simply,
“I have.”
“It is, however, unusual,” continued Phlegon, “that
he has not yet commanded you into his bed. And I must impress upon
you, my young friend, the reality – sometimes exciting and
sometimes terrifying – that this particular fact has certainly
not been overlooked by the majority of his orbiters. There are many
in the palace who are speaking your name – not from envy or
hatred, nor from admiration and love, but simply from confusion.
They are wondering two things: How is it that a boy of your beauty
– already noted by Hadrian as being beauteous – should
not so inflame his passion as to have you immediately brought to
his bedchamber? Yet they are also wondering, and arguing, and debating,
and discussing, and whispering, and posturing, and strategizing,
about a far more perplexing fact, which is this: How it is that
a boy of your freshness should be so precocious as to snare the
Emperor’s very seasoned intellect?”
He stopped then and turned to stare at me. He looked me in the
eyes. “You have bewitched him, Antinous. You have bewitched
us all. You alone – a young boy from Bithynia – have
somehow managed to claim for yourself Hadrian’s loftiest permission
to address him as the lowliest man. You have equaled him. Not by
rising up to greet him – but by grabbing his ears and pulling
his face down to become level with your own. And all of us in the
palace wish to know but one simple thing: How?”
“I do not know, Sir,” I responded. “I do not
myself understand it.” He continued gazing at me for a long
time before resuming his walk. I followed him. At last we arrived
at a large door that was guarded from without by two Praetorians.
Phlegon stopped me in front of them. “Look at him,”
he told them. They each looked down to gaze at me. “This is
he,” said Phlegon – and it occurred to me that they
had already been told I was coming. Perhaps, I reasoned, this was
comparable to how Mordanticus initiated my access into his office.
“Thank you, Sir,” said one of the guards, and the other
one nodded, repeating the words of the first. Then the one who was
near the door reached and opened it for us, and I was ushered into
a room that possessed four beautiful, marble tables, many richly
carved chairs, and an assortment of cabinets. There was a man inside
the room, and he stood up with a smile to greet me.
“Is this him?” asked the man. “Indeed,”
responded Phlegon, and then turned to look at me: “This is
Salonius. He is the Emperor’s personal librarian. You are
to respect and obey him without question.” I nodded gravely.
Phlegon indulged himself with a final gaze into my eyes, and then,
after a long while, he nodded once to Salonius and left. The door
closed quietly behind him.
“Antinous of Bithynia…” spoke Salonius. He left
me standing in the Centre of the room, unsure of myself or my surroundings.
He walked over to one of the cabinets and opened it. I was amazed
to see the books that revealed themselves. There were many scrolls,
as well as large piles of unbound papyrus. Salonius moved on, making
his rounds of the room, and opened the other cabinets. Within moments
I was gazing at a vast collection of books. They encircled me completely,
and I was awestruck at the realization that I stood now in the Centre
of a private room filled with much of the timeless wisdom of all
mankind.
Salonius approached me. He smiled at my amazement. “The
Emperor has commanded me to grant you a most unusual gift: the unprecedented
access to his private collection. You are welcome to spend your
leisure time here, so long as it occurs between the rising and the
setting of the sun. He has stipulated, however, that nothing is
to be removed from this room. In addition, he has requested that
I record for him and report to him of your selections, for he wishes
to be satisfied that you are making good use of his generosity of
spirit. Naturally, your duties at the stables remain of paramount
importance. I am always here to assist you should you desire something
specific, and will do my best to locate it quickly. The Emperor
sends you his regards, and hopes that you will enjoy yourself. He
looks forward to discussing with you, upon his return, your response
to the works you have read.”
And then he suggested that I spend some time becoming familiar
with the various pieces available to me, and proceeded to guide
me on a whirlwind tour of the cabinets. It was staggering! You can
be sure that the Greek philosophers were all exceedingly well represented.
There was much by way of their theatre, many hundreds of volumes
of poetry, and an abundance of treatises concerning architecture,
mathematics, and engineering. There was a vast collection of Latin
poets and playwrights, and a great many speeches made by the greatest
orators of Rome. As well, I encountered a large number of manuscripts
in languages that I could not understand. “These are mostly
gifts to the Emperor,” explained Salonius, “from foreign
lands. They are read to him in translation, and should you wish
to have them spoken for you, we shall arrange to have a translator
present.”
I was astounded. Utterly speechless and completely overwhelmed.
I asked only to sit down, that I could catch my breath and fully
comprehend what it was I had been granted. I pictured in my mind’s
eye the bearded face of Hadrian. I remembered the warmth of his
eyes, the roundness of his cheeks when he smiled at me. I felt myself
become breathless at the mere contemplation of his inconceivable
thoughtfulness, amid all that grandeur, to pause long enough to
send instructions back to Rome concerning an insignificant page
and his love of the quietest books.
I carefully placed his name upon my tongue: “Hadrian.”
My gratitude was immeasurable and immense, and I resolved that
my great benefactor would never be disappointed with this remarkable
decision to edify me to such an unreasonable extent. I would devour
his books – read everything that I possibly could –
and provide to him the pleasure of those dialogues that I knew he
so enjoyed – though still knowing little of the reasons for
his enjoyment.
“Where should you like to begin, Antinous?” Salonius
stood over me patiently. I could barely think. So I turned to him
and I said: “I leave that to you.” He smiled then, for
I believe my answer flattered him. And I thought I detected in him
a barely perceptible softening, as though he immediately decided,
by the trusting nature of my reply, that I was well worth liking.
He considered my face for a time, drinking in my features. And then
he turned and approached his cabinets. He searched for a small time,
and at last returned to me with a volume by a writer named Valerius
Catullus.
“Do
you know of him?” asked Salonius. I shook my head. “He
is less studied than Horatius, Ovidius, or Virgilius, all of whom
I must imagine you have encountered at school.” I nodded,
remembering well the hours that Maltinus and I enjoyed together
in the consumption of those three most gloried of the Latin poets.
“This one,” continued Salonius, tapping the volume before
me, “had a considerable influence upon Ovidius. And yet, he
is of a lesser stature than the others – not quite as celebrated.
That, however, is why I enjoy him so much. To read an author with
the knowledge that others do not is to allow yourself the joy of
discovering something that is, perhaps, a little more personal.
I should hope you enjoy it.” He bowed once and left me, returning
to the cabinets in order to shut them all again. Then he sat down
at a different table and fell into a manuscript, and I was alone
with my silence, my Catullus, and my struggle to emerge from the
stupor of disbelief.
But fear not, my friend! For the pages quickly embraced me, and
I was delighted by their glorious words. Alack, for how much longer
into the night could I go on writing this now, describing to you
the essence of this under-appreciated Catullus, but that the hour
is exceedingly late. You may be sure that the curiosity of the others
upon my return was considerable. I told them all of what had happened,
and there was much rejoicing at the fact that “the literate
one” was becoming quite famously so. Carisius, I could tell,
was moderately relieved at my return. Anaxamenos shrugged his shoulders
and freely admitted to having been wrong: “I am saddened to
think that it has yet to occur, yet am nonetheless happy that you
have returned to us. I was very much regretting the thought of your
absence in the stables.”
And with that I turned to this letter, and have not looked up
until just a few moments ago, when all the rest of the boys are
fast asleep. I must, therefore, to bed. I will tell you more when
I can. I dream of you often, and more while awake. A.
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