Your father's death, Lysias, was a calamity for me from which there has been no recovery. Ever. After all, at that time I was the noble and handsome Lysander's erastes. I was his friend-in-arms, his weapons trainer, his advisor, his protector, and his true companion. We were a team. We covered each other's back in battle. We fought side by side in drunken brawls. We bound each other's scrapes and wounds. We shared food. We often slept for body warmth beneath the same blanket. We talked together of our future families at Polis and of the sons to come. Your father knew me better than I know myself, Lysias.
After that fatal battle it was I who retrieved Lysander's body from the communal pyre for the dead to bury him with proper military honor in a field at Pannonia. It was I who dug his grave deep beyond the reach of carrion creatures, who sewed his wounds so his body was of one piece again, who licked the blood from his torn flesh to cleanse him and to absorb his arete.
It was I who anointed his well-formed shape with sweet oils, and who wrapped his nakedness in my own best cloak for burial. It was a nakedness well known to me.
It was I who placed Charon's coin in his mouth, who poured libations to the gods over his grave's tumulus, who burnt incense to the heavenly domains, and who screamed loud paeans of praise to his heroism while shedding bitter tears into that long, pained, rainy night on the freezing Pannonia plain.
It was I who carried back to your mother's hearth his battered armors and weapons which still hang high on display in your family's andron. It was I who cut the bloodied lock of hair from your father's scalp which your mother wears to this day in a locket around her neck, and which I too retain enclosed in a niche of my sword belt. Your father, Lysias, was my greatest friend ever.
Yet regardless that it is I who privately commemorates Lysander's death each anniversary with proper ceremony, and knows intimately of his courage and nobility of character, it is you — Lysias his son — who projects his seed forward into time. This is your responsibility as a son.'
Telemachus sunk back into his chair exhausted.
I was absolutely shaken by this speech. Not one of we four had heard this story in the past, though a moment's deeper reflection could have realized its possibility. Telemachus resumed his address. His features now grew magisterial.
'In a man's world of fierce war, in hard training, in labor at the battle encampment, or on a forced march, rare human beauty shines in bold relief against a warrior's harsh realm. There are men who will be captivated by, aroused to ardor for, actively entice, and lustfully pursue to consummation such a paragon in whatever guise it manifests. Many men will be indifferent to the gender of their enchanter.
The extraordinary bloom of youth and the urge to entwine with it bodily before it passes away into time becomes an obsession for warriors daily facing fearful danger and imminent death. A beardless ephebe crossing over the short bridge into full manhood may discover how sharing the friendship of such a man can be both gratifying as well as protective. And its pleasures may be found by surprise to be reciprocal.'
The chamber was utterly silent.
'I think I see, Father,' Antinous offered hesitantly, politely, if uncertainly. 'All this was unknown to me, so I rely on your guidance.'
Telemachus brightened.
'But enough of this inconsequentia! Basically, what transpires between honorable men in private is their own affair. We do not snoop. So let us now explore Caesar's proposition, my son, seeing you appear to be reconciled to the role of a Friend of Caesar. I will repeat my query to you, do you accept Caesar's proposition, yes or no?'
All eyes turned to Antinous.
'If it is with your permission and blessing, I do Father,' he replied with renewed confidence.
'Then let it be recorded here before us: I provide my approval on behalf of our Household,' Telemachus intoned. 'I will write to Hadrian's Proconsul immediately.'
"The hour is late, Suetonius. We need sleep to be fresh for tomorrow's interviews. We should continue the Bithynian's interview in the morning," Clarus tiredly whined.
Lysias at last rose from his seat to depart.
"Am I discharged from further interview tonight?" he asked politely. Suetonius nodded.
"Yet we require you to attend us again just after sunrise. Do we send for you with lictors and the Guard, or will you arrive of your own volition?" Clarus asked sternly.
"On my honor, I will be prompt in attendance without escort," he confirmed. Lysias departed.
Clarus was about to dismiss Strabon and his assistant until the morning but Secretary Vestinus interrupted.
"Something of interest has come up," he announced quietly. "Caesar has released the body of the dead Bithynian into the hands of the Egyptian priests," he announced. "They have taken the cadaver to a special pavilion by the riverside. I am told they are preparing to perform their arts upon the corpse to defeat decay. It occurred to me you might wish to inspect the youth and his condition before they damage his tissues?"
The group looked to each other with immediate interest.
"Certainly. Lead on!" Suetonius called. "Sleep will wait!"
CHAPTER 13
Secretary Vestinus led the four through the camp's labyrinth of tented corridors and lanes. From behind felt walls cheery gales of laughter and muffled conversations echoed, while the rhythms of drummers or the heavy sighs of lovemaking were emitted elsewhere. Suetonius's early-to-bed generation had forgotten how younger folk engage in pleasurable activity late into the night.
They arrived at a pavilion erected in the Egyptian style close by the Nile's shore. Suetonius, Clarus, Vestinus, Surisca, and Strabon noted how it was signposted with a blue-painted Egyptian cartouche inscribed with the Eye of Horus symbol. A large-bodied, armed Nubian guard plus an imperial Horse Guard of German stock maintained watch by the pavilion's entrance. Both obstructed their approach with their weapons.
"We demand entrance in the name of Caesar!" Vestinus proclaimed.
The guards deferred to Vestinus. The Nubian disappeared into the pavilion to seek permission for their entrance. He reappeared accompanied by the priest who had been in the company of Pachrates earlier at Hadrian's reception chamber.
On sighting the four men and a woman he genuflected deeply before them in a spectacularly deferential manner, accompanied by a tinkling of bracelets, necklets, earrings, and golden chains as he bowed.
"My lords," the priest uttered in broken, accented Greek, "I am at your service."
"Egyptian, you have the cadaver of the dead youth Antinous within?" Clarus declared bluntly. "We are here to inspect the body."
Despite his priestly eyes drifting over the scarlet stripes of the togas of the two senior men with a visible calculation of their status, the Egyptian waffled his response.
"I am at your humble service, my lords, but I am presently engaged in the holy process of preparing the body of the deceased for rites of death on behalf of Great Caesar," he pleaded. "The preparation is underway, and is most displeasing to view, my lords."
"Displeasing?" Clarus asked in a stentorian tone. "We are familiar with the realities of death, Egyptian!"
Clarus was uttering a truism if ever Suetonius had heard one.
"Give us entrance immediately!"
"I bow deep in humility, great lord, before your noble stations, but do you possess the written authority of Pachrates, the high priest of Amun? I am only under the instruction of my master, Priest Pachrates," he said somewhat riskily, "and may not take orders from others. This pavilion is consecrated to the god Amun for the purpose of our rites. Only celebrants of the god are permitted entry into this sacred space, my lords. Otherwise Amun will be offended and bad omens could be invoked. "