The Death of Antinous || bxb ✔︎

DULCIUS EX ASPERIS

Antinous practiced the Delphic Hymns on his lyre until the feeling in his fingertips dulled and his skin callused. His voice was high and he sang sweetly:

Hark, you whose domain is deep-forested Helicon, loud-thundering Zeus' fair-armed daughters: come with songs to celebrate your brother Phoebus of the golden hair, who over the twin peaks of this mountain, Parnassus, accompanied by the far-famed Delphic maidens, comes to the streams of the flowing Castalian spring as he visits his mountain oracle.

His little song sparred with the cacophony of chants outside his window. Hail Caesar! Hail Caesar! The Emperor's ship had docked at Ostia and all of Rome was anticipating his arrival.

Leonides didn't cross the courtyard after his philosophy lesson that afternoon. He went straight to the field to join in the footraces. His friends tousled his hair and clapped him on the back. They adored him but seemed particularly affectionate on this day, none more so than Marcus who squeezed his waist tightly after they drew lots.

Marcus, with spots on his pointed chin and gangly limbs. Marcus who organized the matches because he himself was not athletic enough to win them. Marcus who appeared to have no other virtues apart from being loved by the most loved boy at school.

Normally Antinous would beg to join them, but he had other plans. After witnessing their tryst in the library, he noticed that every evening Marcus would retire to his rooms after supper to study. After nightfall, Marcus would leave his rooms and sneak into Leonides' sleeping quarters. Some nights he wouldn't emerge until dawn.

Antinous devised a plan. He would arrive at Leonides' rooms directly after supper. He would bring his lyre and play. The sound would signal to the spindly Roman that friend's affections were otherwise engaged for the night.

At dusk Leonides was already in his room with the door ajar, waiting for Marcus, just as Antinous knew he would be.

He stepped inside and locked the door behind him.

"Antinous." Leonides rose from the bed. Backlit by the candle on the desk, the panels of his white tunic appeared translucent. Antinous looked distractedly at the shape of his legs.

"You said you wanted to hear me play sometime. Perhaps now is that time."

He tensed. "There is something I should tell you."

Of course he need not say it. Antinous already knew that Marcus was his lover. Just because he was young did not mean he didn't understand the ways of the world.

He interrupted him and pointed to the gold-handled sword lying unsheathed on a cushion like a tired paramour.

"I too have a sword. I left it behind in Claudiopolis, my village." He did not mention that he had whittled it from wood.

Apart from his carefully displayed sword the room was disheveled. Scrolls lay unfurled on the desk, tunics and sandals were strewn haphazardly about the floor. There were open tinctures and spilled wax on the recessed window above his bed, not to mention a half-eaten loaf of bread, which he had stolen from the kitchens after supper. To some this may have looked unseemly, but to Antinous it was extension of Leonides' carefree nature, which he knew and loved.

Leonides sat on the edge of the bed and wrung his hands. He was anything but carefree. He looked troubled. Antinous sat beside him and rested the ivory frame of the lyre on his knee. He began to play. There was no song lovelier than a Delphic Hymn. It was sure to put the Roman at ease. And lo and behold as soon as he began to pluck the strings and the first note escaped his lips, Leonides' shoulders relaxed and he lay back on the bed.