Hadrian designed his villa in the image of a Greek pleasure garden. Pools, baths, grottos, fountains and sculptures were replicas from Athens. Even the mosaic beneath his feet depicting a group of doves around a bowl was a copy of the Greek artist Sosus of Pergamon.

Antinous should have felt out of place here but every corner of the Emperor's villa beckoned him and told him he was home.

The imperial escort guided Antinous to the banquet hall by torchlight. Fire was reflected in the mirrored surface of the waters. They passed one structure that was a theatre and another that appeared to be a residence, all made with the most expensive travertine, brick and tufa. There were thirty structures in all and one field with neither plant nor building, a black hole through which the wind howled like a jackal.

"What will become of this empty field?"

The escort frowned. He did not like Antinous' questions. Others must have been so dazzled with what was there that they failed to notice what was not.

"Hadrian is designing a temple."

"For which god?"

"He has not yet decided."

They marched through the field to the banquet hall. The fountain was choked with lily pads and the pillared archway entwined in trumpet vine. Sounds of laughter and song guided their path. Though the lamplight was low inside the hall, Antinous could make out enormous tapestries on the wall of mischievous Gods at play. They were so lifelike he felt he could step into the images, dance with the Nine Muses and braid a nymph's hair.

Tables and divans were swimming in silk. Goblets were solid gold and overflowed with the most expensive vintages from Hispanica. Guests were already on their sixth or seventh courses of exotic fare like artichoke, eel and oysters. He searched for Hadrian but all he could see were flowers. The arrangements were everywhere. Hyacinths and hydrangeas bloomed on every tabletop, ivy ensnared the chairs, honeysuckle spiralled around the colonnades and there was a bed of petals on the ground that rose to their ankles. Even guests were adorned with flowers as though the arrangements were eating them alive.

The escort placed a laurel wreath dotted with violets on his head. "One might think it took a hundred slaves to do all this but it is the work of one man. The Emperor's beloved arranges each and every flower himself."

He spotted Commodus standing by the head table with a wreath of anemones in his light hair, his toga sliding off one shoulder to reveal his pale flesh and a nipple pink as a rosebud. His voice was high and soared above the crowd like the tune of a flute. There was a leash around his wrist and Antinous remembered that he liked to keep exotic animals. He thought he spotted a tiger by his feet but upon closer inspection he realized it was a naked man painted orange with black stripes.

A courtesan, arms chiming with bangles, leaned over to explain: "His pet tiger died on the ship from Smyrna. He's made his slave walk around on all fours until he receives a new one from the Emperor."

The decadence, Antinous thought with horror. He'd never seen anything like it.

There at the center of the table sat Hadrian, immovable as stone, in a purple toga with a laurel wreath made of gold on his head. He was older than Antinous remembered, beard now flecked with silver, his dark brow heavy with wisdom.

There was an empty seat to his right and Antinous wondered whom it belonged to. He took his place next to the friendly courtesan when the imperial escort grabbed his arm.

"No, not here. There." He pointed to the seat beside Hadrian.

"I—I can't—" But before he could protest further he was lifted up on the shoulders of two slaves and carried to the Emperor. The guests cheered and threw rose petals.

The first time they spoke, he did not know that Hadrian was Emperor. They were in a field, alone. Now they were in the heart of the Empire with all eyes upon them. Antinous did not know what to say or how to behave. He dropped to one knee and kissed his signet ring.

"Sacratissime Imperator." Most sacred Emperor.

He was too shy to look up but felt Hadrian's hand beneath his chin.

"My little warrior." The Emperor's blue eyes crinkled with fondness like they did in Claudiopolis. "I've waited so long for you." He wasn't referring to his travels. There were a million words unspoken between them as though the Fates had divined their union before Antinous was even born.

He turned to his servants. "Bring him every dish and anything he wishes."

Antinous sat in the large chair to the Emperor's right. Ambitious generals, nobles and courtesans watched him. This was the most coveted seat in the banquet hall and it was bestowed upon him, a mere child. His feet didn't even reach the ground.

"What do you wish for, young master?" The servant bowed.

"Sweet meat, please."

He gathered this was not the correct response because Commodus cocked his head, lip curled. "How funny, that's what Festus eats." He threw a piece of meat at his slave who caught it between his teeth. The boy was too exhausted by his master's antics to be humiliated by them. "I'm eating hummingbirds' hearts. They eat them in Anatolia and maintain extraordinarily slim figures."

Antinous popped his head over Hadrian's shoulder. "How awful for them. I stay slim no matter what I eat."

The Emperor chuckled.

Commodus' own serene expression remained unchanged. Antinous was not the first rival for the Emperor's affection.

The Roman court was a world of extremes. While Commodus prized grotesque thinness, most of the guests ate to the point of sickness, dashing back and forth from the latrine.

Hadrian was a man of moderation but passed no judgement on his guests.

His general, Sextus Julius Severus, approached and spoke in hushed tones. Hadrian walked around the table discreetly. In letters, Antinous had Hadrian's undivided attention. Here, the Emperor's attention was split a hundred different ways like pomegranate seeds. He seemed to be watching and listening carefully to every conversation, about matters that were no doubt much graver than Antinous' squabbles with classmates and teachers.

A page came by their table with a silver pitcher. Instead of letting him refill their cups, Commodus dismissed him with the flick of his wrist. His pale fingers curled around the pitcher's rounded handle—shaped like the neck of a swan. He poured Antinous a goblet of wine.

It was rich and coated the inside of the cup when he swirled the liquid 'round. He brought the cool gold rim to his lips and hesitated. Commodus grinned and poured the wine into his own cup. Antinous waited to watch him take the first sip.

He clapped the boy's shoulder and laughed airily. "Did you really think I'd poison the wine, poor fellow?"

He did actually but now Antinous realized how ridiculous that sounded. "Of course not."

He took a sip and then another. And another. Dionysus' earthy magic worked quickly and Antinous' slimness meant it worked quicker still. He was not near the bottom of the cup when he felt his head grow heavy and his vision blur as though there was wool behind his eyes.

Across the table, Antinous heard the general mention the rebellion in Judea. He held his breath. Leonides.

"Tensions are rising over the construction on Temple Mount."

Antinous listened closely.

Hadrian had plans to erect a city on the ruins of a Jewish temple. This city would be a gift to the Jews and dedicated to the Capitoline Triad, the Roman deities Jupiter, Juno and Minerva. The Jews considered images of Gods idolatrous but Hadrian, an aesthete who believed in the transcendent properties of art, appeared confident that they would come around when the construction of the new temple was complete.

"What about the new cult in Judea?" Hadrian asked, stroking his beard.

"What new cult?" The war-weary general's skin was lined like tanned leather. He had his hands full with one battle and was agitated by news of another.

"The cult that promises a life after death greater than this one. Like the Jews they're monotheists and live a life of asceticism, unlike the Jews—who keep foreigners out— this new group will recruit anyone into their ranks, even lepers. Last I heard their numbers had tripled."

"Who would join such a group?"

"Those who have nothing to live for and everything to die for," Hadrian said flatly. "The poor."

"Should we eliminate them now, before they grow in numbers?"

Hadrian shook his head. "You can't kill an idea, Sextus."

"What are they called? This cult?"

"They call themselves the Christians."

"Christians?" A look of vague recollection passed over his features before he said, "Never heard of them."

At the banquet hall's entrance, Antinous was stunned to see Sabina. She kissed her great aunt and greeted her husband as though he were a complete stranger, then took her place beside Plotina at the very end of the head table. Plotina scolded her niece's lack of ambition but the young wife looked at Antinous and Commodus and scoffed. "Let the old man have his boy beauties. I care not."

Hadrian's secretary, the historian Suetonius, who had accompanied the Empress to the Flavian, was in the corner of the room behind a trellis of roses staring at her intently.

It was time for music, dancing and games.

Commodus was the first to volunteer. He performed an intricate dance with scarves, something he had learned on his travels through Anatolia. He was sure-footed and graceful as a nymph, his movements quick but precise. The sheer scarves bloomed in the air as he threw them above his head and caught them with one hand behind his back. A musician beat his drum and guests clapped to the rhythm. Some found the young noble impetuous others thought him cruel but everyone could agree that he was entertaining. He swayed his hips, a flower from his wreath falling seductively over one eye. The routine ended with Commodus twirling and falling into the Emperor's lap.

The room exploded with thunderous applause. He bounded to his feet once more and took a bow.

A drunken courtier then turned to Antinous. "Let's see what the little one can do!"

Antinous did not dance and he could not perform his hymns in front of such a crowd. His voice was too soft and his playing too simple. He wasn't worldly enough. But the man was drunk and did not read his terrified expression. He goaded him.

"Dance for us, Greek youth! I'm sure you can evoke pleasures that would make even Commodus blush."

Antinous shook his head and the man grabbed him.

Hadrian rose from the table. The hall went silent. The man released Antinous at once.

The Emperor did not admonish him but spoke an old Greek proverb: "Along with Athena, move also your hand."

There was scattered laughter at the joke, the guests' smiles fixed like beeswax.

Antinous took his cup and left the table to escape the crowd's stares and whispers.

Along the lamplit wall, he bumped into a slave.

"Orodes?"

"Antinous!"

They embraced. The Parthian slave was much changed. A life of servitude made one age ten years in a day. He was tired, his features coarsened, thin, and the wormlike scar across his cheek darkened by the sun.

"What are you doing here?"

"I am here at the invitation of the Emperor. I'm so glad to see you." A petal from his flower crown fell into the goblet as he embraced the slave again.

"It's not safe for you here."

Antinous brought the goblet to his lips and Orodes swiftly knocked it out of his hands.

"It's not poison," he said as he scrambled to pick up the cup. "Commodus drank from the same pitcher."

"No, not the wine."

The flowers.

He ripped the wreath from his head. His eyes narrowed. Upon closer inspection these were not violets but toxic Delphinium twisted to look like violets.

Antinous reached out and touched Orodes' scar. "Who did this to you? Was it Commodus?"

"You must go!" Orodes pleaded.

"Tell me and we will take our revenge together."

"Antinous—" he started, when they were interrupted.

It was the final performance of the night. The imperial escort had come to collect him. "This way," he said, giving Orodes a reprimanding glare. "The Emperor has selected an acrobat from the Orient especially for you." He was guided back to his seat.

Hadrian knew him well. The acrobat delighted Antinous. He swung the heavy sword around him, balanced it on his chin, and sliced a sheet of silk in the air. For his final trick he leaned his head back and brought the tip of the sword to his mouth. Antinous gasped. A woman screamed. Slowly, the acrobat slid the blade down his throat until only the grip rested on his lips. Impossible, Antinous thought. It must have been a trick of the eye for how could someone invite a weapon so dangerous near the most vulnerable part of his body. The acrobat pulled the sword back out, not a drop of blood on the blade.

The Emperor watched Antinous carefully from the end of the table where he was speaking with Plotina. He did not need to look upon the sword swallower. He could see the entire performance reflected in the young Greek's expression.

Commodus was spinning a violet by the stem. "You've misplaced your wreath."

"I know the flowers were poisonous."

"What's a poisoning between friends?" he laughed. "Oh, come now, I wasn't trying to kill you, only make you violently ill. I jest! I jest!" he said with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. "More wine?"

Antinous turned his gaze to the hall. Something was different. There was an empty space at the table before them where the drunken courtier once sat.

"Looks like Plinius won't be bothering you again."

"Was he asked to leave?"

"No, Hadrian had Sextus chop off his hands."

"What?"

Hadrian The Just, who freed slaves from the games at the Flavian? Hadrian who was gifting a city to the rebels in Judea? Hadrian who never admonished his guests and would not even raise his voice? This must have been another joke. At court it was hard to tell what was real and what was just an illusion.

Commodus plucked a grape from its stem. "The Emperor does not take kindly to other men touching his things."

Soon after the sword swallower took his bow, Hadrian's guests began to make their way into the night. Many were invited to stay in the villa's guesthouses. Since Antinous had made no such arrangements he searched for the imperial escort to take him back to school. He had his Latin lesson at dawn and the sun would be rising in a few short hours.

The imperial escort avoided the boy's eyes. "This way."

He did not lead him back the way they came.

They went left, past a pool, a library and a sculpture of a crouching Venus whose stone body appeared supple as cream in the torchlight, until they reached a residence with a grand four-column portico.

Inside, the place was dark and quiet. He was led up a staircase. Their footsteps echoed on the travertine steps. The escort left him at the top with no further instruction, he only gestured toward the hallway.

At the end of the hall a room glowed softly. Antinous followed the light. He entered and found a single candle flame flickering precariously on its wick. It was not bright enough to illuminate the whole room, only the desk it sat upon and the bed beside it.

"Where am I?" Antinous whispered.

Hadrian emerged from the shadows. "My bedchamber."

A/N: To be continued...

Hope you enjoyed the banquet! 🌸

The next chapter will be the opposite of this one. It will feature only Hadrian and Antinous. I won't say much about it but it will be the biggest turning point for Antinous' character thus far. 

The painting above with the flowers is a detail from The Roses of Heliogabalus. It depicts a banquet from Augustan history when a Roman emperor once buried his guests in violets and other flowers, so that some were actually smothered to death.

I thought it was fitting 😏

This is how I picture Commodus.

If you liked this chapter please give it a Vote! ⭐️