Empire (82 page)

“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 amphitheater, 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?”

Apollodorus frowned. “In a religious sense, perhaps. But aesthetically—”

“I want you to design this new statue, Apollodorus. The style should match that of the Sol, of course, but I’ll be interested to see what innovations you come up with. I realize that such a project is as much an engineering challenge as an artistic one. We mustn’t have the goddess losing an arm or tumbling into rubble when there’s an earthquake, as happened to the Colossus of Rhodes. The statue Nero built has stood the test of time, so as you move it, I suggest you take the opportunity to study the way it was cast and assembled, and learn whatever secrets you can about its construction.”

The prospect of such a commission—the creation of a statue equal in size to the Colossus—silenced all Apollodorus’s objections. Until that point, he had considered his work on Trajan’s Column the crowning achievement of his career, but the Luna Colossus would eclipse all his other accomplishments. This was Apollodorus’s opportunity to create a work of art that would endure for eternity.

In the meantime, the challenge was to move the Colossus of Sol.

The distance to be traversed was not great, only a few hundred feet, and the ground was flat and paved the entire way. The area had been cleared of spectators. First, the Colossus was hoisted by three cranes, just high enough for a conveyance on rollers to be placed underneath. The upright statue was gently lowered onto the conveyance. The ropes were left attached and were pulled taut by teams of men on all sides, to keep the statue steady as it was moved.

A team of twenty-four elephants was harnessed to the conveyance. At Apollodorus’s signal, the elephant trainer drove the team forward. The rollers creaked under the strain. The taut ropes sang as if plucked. The elephants brandished their tusks and trumpeted.

Marcus watched the procedure with a tremor of anxiety. The near-disaster that had occurred when the statue of Trajan was set atop his Column was still vivid in his memory. This project was, if anything, even more ambitious, and the possibility of disaster, given the proximity of the amphitheater, was even greater. Despite careful planning and scrupulous attention
to detail, unknown factors were in play, chief among them the uneven distribution of weight within the Colossus and the volatile temperament of elephants.

“
Merely
to relocate the Colossus!” said a voice behind him. It was Apollodorus, who stood with his arms crossed, gazing up intently at the statue as it lumbered forward.

“What’s that?” said Marcus.

“The emperor’s instructions to me: ‘your task is
merely
to relocate the Colossus.’ Ha! Compared to this, designing a new temple would be child’s play. He’s probably up there right now, sketching gourds to plop down on top of his temple.”

Marcus glanced at the Palatine Hill. On a balcony high up in the House of the People, Hadrian and some of his courtiers stood watching their progress.

“I overheard a joke told by one of the workmen today,” said Apollodorus, never taking his eyes off the statue.

“How did it go?” said Marcus.

“The fellow said, ‘What will they call it if the Colossus goes tumbling into the Flavian Amphitheater?”

Marcus shuddered at the thought. “What will they call it?”

“Nero’s revenge!”

Marcus gave a dry laugh. He nervously fingered the fascinum and whispered a prayer—not to the ancient god the talisman represented, but to the radiant youth who had first appeared to him on the night of the dinner party in his honor, and since then had frequently visited him in dreams. Always the youth brought Marcus a sense of well-being and tranquility, yet never did he reveal his name. He only said what he always said: “Do not fear. I will save you.”

The Colossus moved forward steadily. Marcus tried to imagine the astounding sight presented to Hadrian and to everyone else watching from a distance, to whom it must appear that a giant was striding slowly through the city. At last the statue reached the spot from which it was to be hoisted into its new location. Again it was lifted skyward, and then slowly, carefully, with utmost precision it was lowered onto its new base.

A cheer went up from the workers. The operation had been carried out without a hitch. Marcus sighed with relief. He turned to his father-in-law,
who was grinning blithely, as if there had never been any possibility of error.

“No revenge for Nero today!’ said Marcus.

Later that night, Marcus and his father-in-law, with Apollodora, quietly celebrated the day’s good fortune with a dinner at Marcus’s house. It was still a bit difficult for Marcus to think of the house as his, rather than as the house of his father. Marcus had been the sole heir to his father’s estate and was one of the few Pinarii left in Roma. The ancient patrician family had dwindled to a handful of scattered cousins, a fact that lent a special urgency to Marcus’s desire for a son to carry his name.

Apollodorus seemed to read his thoughts. “Any news from the two of you?” he said, looking at Marcus and then at his daughter.

Apollodora averted her eyes and blushed as she always did when questioned on the matter.

Apollodorus shrugged. “The world needs fresh blood as the older generation passes away. Do you know who just died? Your father’s old friend Dio of Prusa.”

“When did you hear this?” said Marcus.

“Earlier today, after we moved the Colossus. Suetonius happened to pass by and he gave me the news.”

“Truly, that does mark the passing of a generation,” said Marcus quietly. His father and almost all his father’s closest friends were gone. Even Hilarion was gone. He had died of a sudden illness the preceding winter, surviving his old master by little more than a year.

“One generation passes and another takes its place,” said Apollodorus. “It’s a new age, with Hadrian at the helm. All sorts of changes are afoot. Imagine an emperor who fancies himself an architect!” He shook his head and emptied his wine cup.

“To be sure, there are those who speak ill of the emperor,” said Marcus.

“Who? Only a handful of malcontents,” said Apollodorus. Since Hadrian had instructed him to proceed with preliminary sketches of the Luna Colossus, Apollodorus would not hear a word against him.

“I’m thinking of the senators who were put to death at the outset of his
reign, in contravention of his vow,” said Marcus. Among the alleged conspirators had been Lusius Quietus, the despoiler of Edessa. “Perhaps they were indeed plotting to kill the emperor and deserved their sentences, but still—”

“The emperor never broke his vow,” said Apollodorus, “at least, not technically. What he actually said was that he would punish no senators without the express consent of the Senate, and in fact a majority of the Senate voted in favor of the executions.”

“Still, the appearance—”

“Really, Pygmalion, any hard feelings that resulted from that unfortunate turn of events were more than made up for by the goodwill Caesar garnered when he lit that bonfire of promissory notes in the courtyard of Trajan’s Forum. Wholesale debt relief to those who owed money to the state—what an idea!”

“Some said the treasury would go bankrupt and the economy would come to a standstill,” noted Marcus.

“Instead, that bonfire had the opposite effect. Confidence was restored and everyone began to spend again. The new tax revenues have more than made up for the debts that were forgiven. The emperor showed his own willingness to contribute to the public coffers when he melted down the famous Shield of Minerva, that glorified silver serving dish created by Vitellius. All the subsequent emperors had been afraid to touch the thing, even Trajan—they took it seriously as a sacred offering to the goddess. But when Hadrian was reviewing the imperial holdings, he took one look at the shield, declared it inconceivable that any goddess would care to have such a hideous thing consecrated to her, and ordered the shield to be melted down. They say he was able to mint enough coinage to pay an entire legion! Oh, he’s a clever fellow, our Hadrian.”

For the rest of the evening Apollodorus continued to dominate the conversation, fulsomely praising the emperor—Marcus almost preferred the old days when his father-in-law had aimed an occasional barb at Hadrian—and then praising his own accomplishments, his enthusiasm fueled by his continuous consumption of wine. Marcus was indulgent. If any man deserved to boast a bit and drink to his heart’s content, it was Apollodorus, who had achieved something truly remarkable that day with the successful relocation of the Colossus.

At length, though Marcus and Apollodora offered him a bed for the night, Apollodorus departed for his house. He said he wanted to work on the sketches for the Luna statue in his private study. Marcus suspected he would fall into a drunken sleep before he picked up a stylus.

The house seemed very quiet after Apollodorus had left. Marcus took a stroll under starlight in the garden and paused to gaze at the statue of Melancomas. He was a lucky man to own such a thing. The emperor himself occasionally dropped by, just to sit alone in the garden and admire it. The statue almost, but not quite, captured the image of the divine being who visited Marcus in his dreams.

Occasionally Marcus considered sculpting his dream-god. So far, the demands of his work had prevented him from doing so—or so he told himself. In truth, Marcus was afraid to make the attempt, fearful that he would will fall short of capturing the perfection of the divine youth. Perhaps one day he would be ready.

Apollodora joined him in the garden. She put her hand in his. “Husband, I have something to tell you.”

He looked in her eyes and let out a gasp. “But why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I wanted you to know before anyone else, including my father. I decided to wait until he left. We’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“A child? Our child! You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He gazed at Apollodora’s face under the starlight. He hoped the child would have her lustrous black hair and dark eyes. He touched the fascinum and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving to the youth who came to him in dreams.

Marcus strolled through the ancient Forum, past the Temple of Castor and the House of the Vestals, happily whistling a marching tune he had learned in the Dacian campaigns.

It was a beautiful morning in late Aprilis, made all the more beautiful by the fact that his son had been born, healthy and whole, the preceding
day. The infant appeared to take more after his father than his mother, having golden hair and bright blue eyes that the midwife predicted would change to green over time. Marcus named the boy Lucius. His only regret was that his father had not lived to see the grandson named for him.

Life was good. Marcus was happily occupied with his work, which at the moment meant collaborating with Apollodorus on designs for the Luna statue. He had never seen Apollodorus so excited by a project. Marcus was headed for the site now, to check some measurements. As he approached the Flavian Amphitheater and saw the Colossus looming beside it, he could see the Luna statue in his mind’s eye, and the vision gave him a thrill of delight.

His route took him past the site where the Colossus had previously stood, where work was now in progress on the foundations of the Temple of Venus and Roma. What the finished temple would look like remained a secret. So far, Hadrian had insisted on overseeing all aspects of the project, excluding Apollodorus completely and forbidding the builders to show the plans to anyone not directly involved in the project. The emperor was determined to prove that he could conceive and create a masterpiece entirely on his own, with no help from anyone. Apollodorus was curious, of course, but had resisted any urge to pry into the matter; his energies were focused entirely on the Luna commission. Judging by the scale of the foundations, the temple was going to be enormous. Such a huge construction, commanding the prime location once occupied by the vestibule of the Golden House, would make the temple a landmark, whatever its appearance.

Marcus arrived at the site for the Luna statue, pulled out a ball of twine, a compass, a wax tablet, and a stylus, and took the measurements he needed. For a while he simply stood on the spot, basking in the knowledge that one day Apollodorus’s crowning achievement would rise up for all the world to wonder at, and that he would be able to show it to little Lucius and say, “I had a hand in building that.”

He walked past the Flavian Amphitheater and on to the great bath complex that had been built by Apollodorus for Trajan. Like all Trajan’s projects, the baths had been constructed on a vast scale and decorated with exquisite taste. Paintings and sculptures adorned the public areas, and the pools were surrounded by colorful mosaics. Along with the bathing facilities and the courtyards for gymnastic exercises, there were a great
many rooms where one could have one’s hair cut or one’s nails groomed, enjoy a cup of wine or a light meal, read a scroll from the library, or simply sit and talk with friends. There were also a great many dimly lit nooks and crannies where patrons could enjoy moments of intimacy, sometimes with prostitutes and sometimes with each other. Virtually every aspect of life was carried on at the baths. The scurra Favonius had once told Marcus that an ideal existence would be one in which a man was born, lived, procreated, and died at the baths, never leaving.