Winged Mercury

Lysicles

Carisius was recently observed wearing wings on his sandals – prancing through the palace halls as though a living, breathing incarnation of Mercury himself. Ordinarily, you might think that such a display would be cause for some embarrassment, but the boy was (and still is) quite proud of his adornment. The reason for this is simple: those pretty little wings have come to signify a very particular status among the pages of the Palatine: any boy who wears them is known to benefit from the favour of Lucius Commodus.

How the two of them met was reported (loudly) by Carisius soon after the event occured: Carisius was serving at a banquet, as is common for those in the Department of the Kitchen. He caught the eye of sensual Commodus, and was immediately taken into the man’s bedroom. Part of that immediacy is no doubt attributed to the passion with which Commodus gusts through his days. But a much larger part of its quickness, I sincerely believe, is the result of Carisius’ inexhaustible opportunism. Normally, a page is invited to be somewhat coy; to playfully resist the advances of a suitor; to acknowledge that the favour of a paramour is offered (and, in many respects, earned) by way of a vigorous dialogue of courtship. Yet based on the Mercurial speed with which Carisius acquired his wings, I must assume that he observed none of those unwritten rules. He simply gave himself uncontested unto Commodus.

To be fair, Commodus is quite famously a lover of luxurious women – and one who delights in sharing with them from an assortment of Rome’s most labour-intensive meals. Carisius, therefore, may have correctly surmised that there would not be too many demands placed upon his flesh. Yet even still, I find it somewhat distasteful to consider the boy’s lack of decorum.

I can hear you laughing at me, Lysicles, and accusing me of holding a bitter grudge against the man who so perfunctorily dismissed me under the assumption that I was a luddite. Sensibly, you should ask me if I would not have been just as quick to do what Carisius had done. Indeed, it is a good question, well worth considering. For what aspiring page can afford to risk the unpredictable impatience of a courtier such as Commodus – the former favourite of Hadrian himself? Is it not more advisable to be for him as readily attainable as possible, especially when his attentions – known by all to be fleeting – are at the present moment so clearly focused?

Yet I must on principle believe that to make oneself so quickly and easily available to another somehow diminishes one’s own sense of personal worth, for it signals quite clearly to both the suitor and the rest of the watching world that there is (in that instant) little else worth knowing other than what is on the surface. If a boy can subsequently prove that there is more to him than merely his flesh, then he is as lucky as he is laudable. Yet far too often, I suspect, the suitor instinctively understands his too-easy target as being without much depth, and this only serves to shorten the duration of his attraction once his lust has been sated. As a result, the boy is discarded before he has had a chance to fully demonstrate his other, non-sexual talents.

Therefore, it behooves any young page to use his burgeoning intellect in the service of some modest resistance, and demonstrate by it that he is capable of being far more than a man’s mere pleasure-toy. After all, is this not the Greek way? And – what’s even more prescient – is this not Hadrian’s way?

After what Phlegon told me before he took me into the library, I have been thinking a great deal about what Hadrian’s distant attentions must mean to my future. There is no doubt that I am being watched. And by the ready admission that my choice in books is being monitored, I am also quite clearly being tested. The transmission to him of my title selections is, in a strange way, a large part of the courtship dialogue between myself and my suitor, who circles me like a silent eagle high above. In essence, I am being evaluated for my depth of character long before (and, remarkably, physically away from) the immediate experience of my body. How striking it is! For suddenly I have found myself playing some colossal game of courtship that has been elevated to the rarified heights of a philosopher king.

That Hadrian finds me attractive is not in question: what is far more perplexing is how long he intends to maintain his distance from me before summoning my flesh into his arms. Perhaps he is also testing himself? If so, I would certainly not be surprised. The very act of postponement is, in itself, a remarkably powerful statement in the context of our mutual “conversation.” I must, therefore, not only accept, but embrace it, for it is a clear demonstration of his exceptional character.

In the meantime, I have been reading. The list of titles is growing daily, although it’s growth will temporarily pause tomorrow, as Hadrian is scheduled to return. I am demonstrating to Salonius a broad and enthusiastic curiosity; he is often moving between many of the cabinets, pulling out for me an assortment of works in all manner of subjects. I believe he likes me very much, for I have very quickly demonstrated to him that I am well versed in many of the basics, and so am keen to be guided by him in what is considered to be more advanced study. Together, we have enjoyed several conversations with regard to the contents of the manuscripts. I daresay he is fast becoming a friend, although, understandably, one whose professional duties (and, perhaps, personal trepidations) command him to remain from me emotionally distant.

The way in which Salonius relates to me is beginning to occupy a greater portion of my thoughts, for it is but one particular expression of something far more general that I am slowly beginning to detect in the faces that surround me. It is as though I carry around me a peculiar kind of atmosphere that is somehow thicker than what surrounds other men. Which is to say, there is a quality of the invisible air about me that others have become cognizant of. It is not that they resist entering it – it is merely that they are aware of it. When they see me coming near, or when they approach me directly in order to enter my immediate vicinity, their aspect suddenly changes – although I am at a loss to itemize its exact manifestations. Something shifts; their manner of being becomes minutely more laborious.

If nothing else, this development reveals to me just how isolating the mantle of distinction truly is. I need only extrapolate from these accumulating experiences to imagine how heavily such a mantle must drape itself across Hadrian’s shoulders. And this imagining, in turn, leads me to understand why he reacted so positively to my callous indifference when we met upon the Caelian. He delighted not in my directness, nor my honesty, elocution, or thoughtfulness. His amazement sprang simply on account of the fact that I was so mysteriously unaware of the heavy ether that surrounded him. I spoke to him easily. I breathed without effort – as people are meant to.

I dare say it is upsetting to me to think that, just when I find myself emerging from the awkward isolation of my time at the elementary school, the distinctions being conferred on me by Hadrian are wrapping me up in a very different kind of solitude. Whereas before I was alone for being hated, suddenly I am alone for being loved – by the Emperor. Granted, he has not yet expressed his love directly, and yet I am not so foolish as to remain blind to that which the rest of the palace so clearly sees. If I consider who it is among my friends that haven’t yet detected my thickening atmosphere, I must conclude that list is quite limited: Anaxamenos, naturally, and perhaps Mordanticus – although there remain other considerations with him that I am never quite able to fully dismiss. It will be a sad day indeed if I ever detect in Anaxamenos that tiny hesitation; that involuntary signal that he has distanced me in a way I am powerless to reason with. Let us hope it never comes.

And what of you, Lysicles? Wherefore are you so distanced? Is there between us some peculiar atmosphere that is thicker than anything else in the universe? O, for the dedicated and dutiful service of that authentic god – winged Mercury – who may take this little parchment in his fingers and, within the span of a young Olympian’s freshly victorious heartbeat, drop it neatly into yours. A.