Empire (83 page)

Marcus stripped and checked his clothing and shoes in the changing room. The floor, heated by piped hot water, was delightfully warm. The walls were heated as well. Carrying a drying cloth over his shoulder, he headed for the nearest hot plunge. The room was dim and steamy. Before his eyes could adjust, a familiar voice called his name. His father-in-law had arrived ahead of him.

“How is my new grandson this morning?” asked Apollodorus as Marcus stepped into the pool beside him. The water was so hot that he had to lower himself into it very gradually.

“As loud as he was yesterday,” said Marcus, smiling broadly. “The midwife says he has a very powerful set of lungs.”

“Good, good!” said Apollodorus.

“Congratulations on the birth of your son, Marcus Pinarius.”

Marcus looked around, surprised to hear the voice of the emperor, whom he had not seen amid the rising vapors. Hadrian was nearby, immersed to his chest and leaning back against the side of the pool. A handsome young slave sat cross-legged behind him, using a set of tongs to curl the emperor’s steam-dampened hair. Also in the room were a number of other retainers, whom Marcus took to be secretaries and bodyguards.

“Thank you, Caesar.”

“Please accept my congratulations as well, Marcus Pinarius,” said the man next to Hadrian, who turned out to be Suetonius, formerly of the imperial archives but now elevated to the post of private secretary to the emperor.

“Thank you, Suetonius.”

“And I congratulate you, as well.” The speaker was obscured behind a veil of mist—only a blur of frizzled red hair was visible—but Marcus recognized the voice. Thanks to his friendship with Suetonius, and his own
dogged efforts to ingratiate himself, Favonius had managed to attract the favor of the emperor. “I offer congratulations not merely on the birth of your son, but also on that splendid beard you’ve grown. Your handsome face is like a painting framed with gold.”

“Beards
are
the fashion,” said Marcus, self-consciously touching the wiry blond hair that covered his jaw; he was still not used to it. “Father-in-law, when you sent me that message this morning asking me to meet you here, you didn’t mention that Caesar would be present.”

“What difference would that have made?” said Favonius. “Would you have worn something else?” He laughed at his own joke.

“Actually, our meeting here was purely by chance,” said Hadrian. “But since Apollodorus happens to be here, and I happen to be here, I think perhaps the gods have brought us together. I take this as a sign that the time has finally arrived for me to show you something, Apollodorus.”

“Whatever Caesar has to show me, I will be honored to view,” said Apollodorus. Marcus looked at the scurra, expecting him to exploit the opportunity for a lewd comment, but Favonius held his tongue. Hadrian had a notoriously slippery sense of humor, especially when it came to himself or anything to do with his appearance. In that regard he was quite unlike Trajan, who had seemed incapable of being offended.

This was not the first time Marcus had encountered Hadrian at the baths. It was Hadrian’s practice to see and be seen at the public baths, moving among the people as if he were simply another citizen enjoying the amenities of city life. Apollodorus thought Hadrian did this to demonstrate the common touch, something that came less easily to the “Little Greek” than it had to Trajan. Behind Hadrian’s back, Favonius had once suggested to Marcus that the emperor frequented the public baths because he enjoyed looking at naked youths.

Hadrian, his forehead beaded with sweat, suggested that the party move to the cool plunge. As they all stepped from the pool and made their way to the next room, Marcus noticed that Favonius used his drying cloth to conceal as much of his plump, pink body as he could, while Hadrian remained naked and allowed the boy who had been curling his hair to carry his drying cloth. The man certainly had no need to be embarrassed about his physique. At the age of forty-five, Hadrian’s broad shoulders, burly chest, and full beard, touched here and there with silver, suggested
to Marcus the image of Jupiter as portrayed by the great sculptors of the past.

As they entered the room that had the cool plunge, Hadrian noticed a gray-bearded man leaning against the protruding corner of a wall and rubbing his back against it.

“What on earth are you doing, citizen?” said Hadrian.

The man hardly looked at him; clearly, he did not recognize the emperor. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m massaging my back against this wall. I’ve got a terrible knot in my shoulder blade that won’t go away. Old war wound. This is the only thing that seems to help.”

“By Hercules, man, you look like a superannuated Ganymede performing an erotic dance! Get a slave to do that for you.”

“A slave? Ha! The only slave I own is an old woman who does my cooking, and her hands are too crippled to give anyone a decent massage.”

Hadrian pursed his lips. “A war wound, you say. You’re a veteran, then?”

“I certainly am. First Legion Minerva, Dacian campaign. Got this wound fifteen years ago.”

“In the back?”

“Not because I was running! Cursed Dacians ambushed us in the woods and attacked us from the rear. I took an arrow in the back and kept fighting until the last Dacian was dead. Sometimes it feels like that arrow is still in there.” He rubbed his back furiously against the corner.

“First Legion Minerva, you say. Yet you don’t recognize your old commander?”

The man stopped his movements. He took a closer look at Hadrian. His jaw dropped. “Caesar! Is that you? I had no idea! Sure, I recognize you now. You didn’t have the beard back then.”

“Let me see your wound.”

The man turned around. There was a dark scar on the inside of one shoulder blade. Hadrian reached out and pressed his thumbs against the spot. “Here?” he said

“Oh! That’s the very spot!” The man let out a groan.

Hadrian stepped back and called to one of his secretaries. “Some of the slaves who work here at the baths must be skilled at massage. Purchase a couple for this fellow.”

The veteran turned around and gaped. “Well, I never! You are truly a
soldier’s friend, Caesar, to do such a thing for an old veteran of the Minerva. May all the gods bless you! But how am I to pay for these slaves’ upkeep? Slaves have to be fed, and I can barely afford to feed myself.”

Hadrian turned to the secretary. “Along with the slaves, give this fellow a monthly stipend for their upkeep.”

“How much, Caesar?”

“How should I know? Ask Suetonius for a figure. He knows that sort of thing.”

Hadrian walked on. The veteran gazed after him in awe. “Bless you, Caesar!” he cried.

After a brief soak in the cool plunge, Hadrian sent slaves to fetch everyone’s clothing. He put on a purple toga trimmed with gold, and those in his retinue wore togas, rather than the simple tunics that Marcus and Apollodorus found suitable for a visit to the baths. It was curious, Marcus thought, that the emperor didn’t mind being seen naked by half of Roma, but, when dressed, he wished for himself and those in his train to be seen only in formal attire.

After everyone was dressed, Hadrian led them to a suite of private rooms reserved for the emperor’s exclusive use. Marcus had seen these rooms when they were being built but had never been admitted into them since they were finished. The columns and walls were of the rarest marbles. The floors were decorated with extraordinarily detailed mosaics. The furniture was all of Greek design. The pillows and draperies were of silk. The paintings and statuary had been selected by Hadrian himself. There was no denying that the emperor had exquisite taste.

Hadrian called for delicacies and wine to be served. The conversation turned to the trip that Hadrian would soon be taking to visit the troops and talk with provincial magistrates along the Rhine and in Gaul and Britannia. Apollodorus ate little, Marcus noted, and drank his wine straight, without water. When Hadrian invited his guests to follow him into an adjoining room, Apollodorus called for a slave to refill his cup and carried it with him.

The room was dominated by a large table upon which architectural plans had been unrolled, the corners held down by marble weights in the shape of eagles’ heads. There was also an architectural model of a temple, made not of painted wood but with actual marble columns and steps, a
gilded tile roof, and bronze doors. Every aspect of the model, even to the painted friezes in the pediments and the finely carved capitals of the columns, was rendered with uncanny detail.

Hadrian stepped back and studied his guests, gratified to see the looks of astonishment on their faces. “As you will have realized, these are the plans for the Temple of Venus and Roma. The architect Decrianus made this model for me—amazing, is it not?—but the plans were entirely my own. Because progress has been so swift, and because there’s no telling how long I may be away, I’ve decided to show these plans to you at last.”

Apollodorus slowly circled the table, studying the plans and the model. He raised an eyebrow. “But where is the front of the temple, and where is the back? I think Decrianus must have misread your plans. Or perhaps Caesar can point out to me what I’m missing.”

Hadrian smiled. “You see, Apollodorus, but you do not perceive. Decrianus was also taken aback when he saw what I had done, but soon enough he came to appreciate the novelty of it. Let me explain. This temple is situated at the very center of the city—which means it is at the center of the empire, and thus at the center of the world. I ask you, can a center have a front and a back? No. From the center of something, one faces outward, no matter what the direction.”

“Perhaps this should have been a round temple, then,” said Apollodorus.

Hadrian frowned. “That was my first conception, but the engineers were unable to guarantee that a dome of the span I envisioned could remain aloft. So this was my solution: a double temple, with a dividing wall running through the middle, which can be entered from either side. The side facing the Flavian Amphitheater is dedicated to Venus Felix, Bringer of Good Fortune. The side facing the ancient Forum is dedicated to Roma the Eternal.

There will be no front or back, but rather two entrances of equal importance. Within their respective shrines, the statues of Venus and of Roma will sit back-to-back, with a wall between them, one gazing east, the other gazing west. Here, I’ll show you. This is quite ingenious.”

Hadrian took hold of the gilded roof of the model, which lifted completely off, exposing the interior, which was as finely finished and detailed as the exterior, with tiny porphyry columns, marble apses, and beautifully rendered statues of the goddesses.

Apollodorus gazed at the model without speaking.

Hadrian cleared his throat. “Of course, you will have grasped the rather clever wordplay at work here. Venus represents love—amor—and ‘amor’ spelled backwards is Roma. Thus, placing the two divinities of Venus and Roma back-to-back in a single temple creates a further symmetry with the back-to-back symmetry of their names. Within Roma’s chamber there will be an altar where officials of the state will make sacrifices for the good fortune of the city. Within Venus’s sanctuary, there will be an altar where newlywed couples can make sacrifices to the goddess. I’ve designed the altars myself, of course. . . .” His voice trailed off. He was waiting for Apollodorus to say something.

At last Apollodorus waved at the model and said, “I don’t suppose the whole temple lifts up, to show what’s underneath?”

“No,” said Hadrian. “What would be the point of that?”

“To allow us to see the basement.”

“There’s a basement, but it’s of no particular interest—”

“I presume there’s also a tunnel, leading from that basement to the subterranean chambers beneath the Flavian Amphitheater?”

Hadrian shook his head. “I have no plans for such a tunnel—”

“That’s too bad. The need for one is so obvious, I should think even Decrianus would have seen it. Probably he did, but was afraid to say anything.”

“What are you talking about, Apollodorus?”

“The basement of this temple is going to be huge. That much space, in the heart of the city, shouldn’t go to waste. It would have been the ideal place to store the various mechanisms for the amphitheater when they’re not in use—the lifts and pumps and cranes and so forth. With an underground tunnel, those machines could have been moved from the basement of the temple to the amphitheater and back, out of sight. What a shame. What a wasted opportunity! If only I had been consulted—”

“Only
you
would look at a temple and see a closet!” said Hadrian. “This building isn’t about creating storage space. It’s about beauty, and worship, and—”

“Ah, yes, the temple itself.” Apollodorus sighed. “I suppose we can be thankful that the engineers couldn’t solve your dome problem, or else we’d have gotten a gigantic gourd plopped down in the very center of the
empire. Instead, we have . . . this. Well, it has a normal ceiling and a normal roof; I can approve of that. Yes, the double-temple idea is clever—rather too clever, I think. The temple as palindrome! Personally, I think there’s something unnatural about a building which has two fronts and no back—I can’t say I find it pleasing. The whole conception is flawed, from the ground up—literally. The structure should have been built on higher ground to make it stand out more conspicuously at the head the Sacred Way. If Trajan could excavate a hill to make space for his Forum, surely his successor could have built a hill on which to place his temple. That would have given you an even larger basement, and more storage space, by the way. Of course, you might yet be able to make the ceiling higher; it may not be too late to fix that problem, at least.”

“Higher ceilings?” said Hadrian. His face was ashen.

“Obviously. Any beginning student of architecture could see that these statues are too large for the interiors.”

“Too large?”

“What if the goddesses should wish to get up and leave? They’ll hit their heads on the ceiling.”

“But why would the goddesses—”

Apollodorus kept a straight face for a moment, then burst out laughing. No one joined him.