EROMENOS_a novel of Antinous and Hadrian by Melanie McDonald

Author:Melanie McDonald [McDonald, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780983155423
Publisher: Seriously Good Books
Published: 2011-03-11T00:00:00+00:00

FIRE

III. FIRE

THE OBJECT OF his affection. His beloved. Does anyone question whether the beloved loves in return? Does the beloved have any choice?

Socrates, it is said, once claimed as his gift the ability to pick out at once the lover and the beloved. When Hadrian looks upon me now, he fancies he sees the face of his beloved. He does not. Like Narcissus gazing into the pool, he sees his own youth, Publius Aelius Hadrianus, reflected. That is what he loves.

That is what he looks for now when he orders my image recreated over and over in paintings and sculpture, disguised now as Dionysos, now as Ganymede, Hermes, Pan, Adonis, paying homage to his ideal of beauty—if he were honest, he would have me made in his own image, draped in his own purple toga.

He has defined me to suit himself within the dyad of our relationship; by ascribing to me certain characteristics and virtues, he also has denied me myriad others. Just as he measures all creatures against an ideal Form, Hadrian has held me up to his ideal Form—as he no doubt also assessed Commodus and various others before me—and found a lack of perfection.

And what will become of the one who, once the first bloom is past, no longer reflects his glory? Already, the curls of boyhood are gone, my shorn hair grown back thicker and coarser, cheek and jowl pebbled with the shadow of a beard coming on. When I become a man, this face will become the tomb of youth and beauty.

Men always believe their own love to be eternal, unchanging, unending, and so men are fools. I am not fooled, but then I am not yet a man in love.

LAST YEAR FOR my eighteenth birthday, I was given a new servant, the Caledonian slave girl Calliria, to assist me as I saw fit. I also received many new garments, a white toga such as men put on, and tunics and robes in cotton, linen, and wool, some with intricate designs embroidered on their sleeves and hems, gifts from Hadrian and others at court.

Favorinus, ever the agitator, delighted in the opportunity provided by my birthday feast to pay a visit to the court in Rome. He brought me a new pair of sandals, crafted to be both elegant and sturdy. When we had a moment to talk together during the banquet, he said, “And what are your plans now?” He cocked an eyebrow at me, and popped a grape into his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

I reached over and pulled a grape from the cluster he held.

“I mean, what do you plan to do, Antinous, when the sun hides behind the clouds, when you no longer reign as favorite? I hear your inheritance vanished with the wind. Every courtesan needs a contingency plan, against the inevitable day.”

“I’m no courtesan,” I said, and knew blood flared in my cheeks already.

Favorinus patted my arm. “I don’t mean to upset you, my friend. But we are, all of us, courtesans here—though only Amyrra admits it, since her gender makes it obvious.

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