Empire - Saylor Steven (книги без сокращений TXT) 📗
The scurra’s eyes lit up. “Well, I’m not sure where Osroene is, but it sounds terribly exotic – ”
“It was one of those little kingdoms in the ancient land of Mesopotamia,” said Suetonius. “The capital was Edessa, which is not far from the upper reaches of the Euphrates.”
“Geography was never my strong point,” admitted Favonius. “Anyway, King Abgarus was frightened to death of both the Romans and the Parthians, like a chicken caught between a fox and a wolf, and whenever one or the other tried to approach him for talks, he scuttled off in a panic. So, for the longest time, while Trajan was in the vicinity and trying to meet with him, Abgarus ignored every summons and stayed out of sight, hoping the Romans would simply go away. But when someone told him about Trajan’s love of boys, Abgarus heaved a sigh of relief – for the most beautiful boy in all the East, by general consensus, happened to be his own son, Prince Arbandes. Trajan had finally given up on meeting the king and was moving on, leaving behind one of his generals with instructions to sack Edessa, when Abgarus and his royal entourage sped after Trajan and caught up with him at the border. That night, beside the road, Abgarus put up a huge tent and threw a sumptuous banquet for Trajan – and whom did he seat on the pillow next to Caesar but young Prince Arbandes. Trajan was utterly smitten; rumour has it he wrote a coded letter to Hadrian in which he proclaimed, ‘I have met the most beautiful boy ever born!’ To cap the evening, Abgarus had his son perform some barbaric dance for Trajan’s amusement. What happened after the banquet we can only imagine, but apparently Arbandes’s dancing-boy diplomacy was effective, because Trajan spared the city of Edessa and let Abgarus keep his throne as a Roman puppet.”
Suetonius frowned. “But wasn’t that Abgarus we saw earlier in chains, trudging along with the other monarchs deposed by Trajan?”
“Ah, yes, the king’s fortunes later took a turn for the worse. After Trajan conquered Babylonia and was sailing down the Euphrates to have a look at the Persian Gulf, word arrived that a revolt had broken out in Osroene. King Abgarus blamed Parthian instigators and Jewish insurgents, but when Trajan’s general Lusius Quietus and his bareheaded Berber cavalry arrived to put down the revolt, Edessa was sacked and Abgarus was deposed. Thus we saw Abgarus paraded before us in chains today.”
“What happened to Prince Arbandes?” said Marcus.
“That’s a good question,” said Favonius. “He wasn’t among the prisoners – a pretty puppy would have stood out among those mangy old dogs! Given Trajan’s laudable practice of educating his boys after he was done with them, I’m betting Arbandes was given a tutor and sent off to some academy in Greece. Or perhaps he’ll perform his savage dance for Hadrian at tonight’s banquet!”
The scurra was being facetious. The fate of Arbandes was of no interest to him; the boy’s history merely provided material for a salacious tale. Marcus, remembering all the suffering he had seen in Dacia, felt a stirring of pity for the dancing prince who had done everything he could to save his father’s kingdom.
Hadrian had arrived at the end of the eulogy and was reciting all the late emperor’s titles, including Dacicus, conqueror of Dacia, Germanicus, conqueror of Germania, and of course Parthicus. “But of all the titles bestowed on him by the grateful people and Senate of Roma, the one of which he was most proud was the one which had never been bestowed before: Optimus, best of all emperors.”
Sensing that the speech was at an end, the crowd reacted with loud cheering. It was impossible to tell whether the cries of “Hail, Caesar!” were for Trajan or for Hadrian. It was Suetonius who stepped forward and acclaimed the new emperor by name: “Hail, Hadrian! Long may he reign!”
This cry was taken up by others. Hadrian, who looked as uncomfortable as ever receiving their accolades, but who had witnessed Suetonius’s initiative, cast a grateful nod in the archivist’s direction.
During a lull in the cheering, Favonius, who by the glint in his eye thought he had come up with something clever, stepped forward and shouted, “Hail, Hadrian! May he be luckier than Augustus! May he be better than Trajan!”
Suetonius pursed his lips at such a bold proclamation. “Luckier than the Luckiest? Better than the Best? Hear, hear!” He loudly repeated the phrase, and so did many others.
“May he be luckier than Augustus!” people shouted. “May he be better than Trajan!”
Marcus gazed at the new emperor, who appeared to be genuinely touched by the outpouring of goodwill. But even amid the jubilation, Marcus saw Hadrian touch his face. To others, the emperor might appear to be stroking his beard, as thoughtful philosophers do, but Marcus knew the man was thinking of the scars hidden beneath.
When Marcus and Apollodora arrived home that evening, Hilarion met them at the door with tears in his eyes. Marcus rushed to his father’s room.
Lucius Pinarius had grown so thin in recent months that his body seemed hardly to press on the bed at all. His arms were folded across his chest. His eyes were closed. There was a smile on his face.
“It happened while he was asleep,” said Hilarion. “I came to look in on him. I knew, the moment I stepped into the room. I held a mirror before his nostrils and saw there was no breath.”
Marcus touched the fascinum at his breast. He gazed around the room, wondering if his father’s spirit lingered or if it had already flitted off to join Apollonius and merge with the Divine Singularity. He looked at his father’s face and began to weep.
He would never hear his father’s voice again. He would never know the name of his mother.
AD 120
On a brisk autumn day, Marcus and Apollodorus found themselves engaged in one of the most challenging enterprises they had ever faced. They were moving the Colossus.
Originally, the towering statue of Nero stood in the courtyard of the Golden House. It was left in place when the courtyard was demolished by Vespasian, who remodelled the features so that the sun god Sol no longer resembled Nero. For decades the statue stood with its back to the Flavian Amphitheatre, dominating the southern end of the ancient Forum and gazing over the rooftops of temples and offices of state towards the Capitoline Hill.
Hadrian had decided to build a vast new temple on the site. To make room for it, the Colossus would have to be moved. The project was especially important to the emperor because he was designing the new temple himself. Apollodorus had not even been allowed to see the plans.
“Your task is merely to relocate the Colossus,” Hadrian told Apollodorus one sunny day as they surveyed the site. “I want the statue to be placed much closer to the amphitheatre. Here, I’ll show you the spot.”
When Apollodorus saw the location, he expressed reservations. “The area around the amphitheatre is already congested on game days. Putting the Colossus here will make the problem worse. And there’s a question of proportion: having the statue so close to the amphitheatre throws both structures out of scale. The viewer who sees them from a distance will find the contrast quite displeasing. Rather than clutter up this area – ”
“On the contrary,” Hadrian had snapped, “this open area is exactly the right spot to accommodate the statue. In fact, I see room for two such statues.”
“Two, Caesar?”
“I intend to construct a new statue as a companion to the Colossus, equally as tall.”
“But where will you put such a thing?”
“Right over there, in a spot equidistant between the amphitheatre, the Colossus of Sol, and my new Temple of Venus and Roma. I think it must be a statue of Luna, so the two statues together will pay homage to the sun and moon. Does that not please your sense of balance?”
