The Death of Antinous || bxb ✔︎

ARS LONGA VITA BREVIS

128 AD

Antinous had too much to drink. Naked, he rolled over in bed, temples throbbing, wine dried on his lips turning them a ghastly shade of purple.

He groped the air for the velvet rope to ring for his slave. When he couldn't find it, he tied a bed sheet around his waist and wandered sleepily down to the kitchens.

He tried to piece together last night's revelries. There had been many banquets that season and they all bled into one. Was it last night that he danced with the envoy from Egypt or was that the night before? He could have sworn he got into a Tabula match with Hadrian's general, Sextus, but he might have misremembered, was it the general's courtesan?

He flung himself through the kitchen doors with a yawn, the sheet hanging loosely off his narrow hips and dipping low beneath his naval.

"Good morning!"

"It's midday," the cook tsked.

He nicked a few slices of dried apple, meant for the Emperor's afternoon guest.

The kitchen slaves eyed him, half naked and quite possibly still drunk.

"He hasn't a head for wine," the eldest scolded, but only teasingly.

He stole another slice and took a gulp of water straight from the pitcher, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

One slave hit him on the backside with a spoon, while another pinched his cheek.

Before his arrival five years earlier, the servants had no imperial family to look after at Hadrian's villa, only an aging Emperor and lovers who came and went. Antinous was the wife Sabina could not be and the child she would not have.

Hadrian rearranged his household to reflect their union. Fig trees were planted in Antinous' honour because the fruit was his favourite. When he turned fifteen, a nude sculpture was commissioned to celebrate his beauty. A gymnasium was built for him to race and wrestle with amiable guests. He had his own living quarters, his own slave, his own horse in the stables and a small carriage for short trips to the city. His allowance was beyond what he could spend and anything he did want, Hadrian had already gifted him. He experienced much happiness behind these walls but they were still walls.

The Emperor was meeting with Commodus in the peristyle. Looking upon them one would think Commodus was the Emperor. He had two slaves fanning him with ostrich feathers while Hadrian kept cool beneath the shade of a tree.

Suetonius the imperial secretary, sat beside them dabbing beads of sweat that formed on his brow with a blue handkerchief as he scribbled furiously on his parchment. How strange it must be, he thought, to be tasked with writing the story of a man's life while he is still living it.

Antinous stepped toward them, the stone path hot as coals beneath his bare feet.

They were discussing matters of state. He nestled by Hadrian whose hand found its way to his lover's neck as he spoke. No one kept secrets around Antinous because he had no interest in gossip or political intrigues. Hadrian trusted him more than even his closest advisors.

Commodus' transformation from lover to political ally had been as inevitable as a bud to a thorny rose. He had a shrewd tactical mind and was always listening and bartering secrets to advance his station. He was less trustworthy but he and Hadrian shared common enemies and his cunning served the Emperor.

Antinous stretched out in the sun untangling the sheet around his legs.

"You did not even bother to dress?" Commodus sniped. "Is that last night's wine on your lips? Hadrian, he's insolent, you must keep this one on a short leash."