Текст книги "Empire"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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Текущая страница: 40 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

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?”

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

“I want you to design this new statue, Apollodorus. The style should match that of 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 amphitheatre, 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 Amphitheatre?”

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 honour, 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 skywards, 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 favour 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 fuelled 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.

AD 121

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 Amphitheatre 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 Amphitheatre 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 colourful 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.

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 vapours. 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 favour 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 blonde 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 honoured 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 humour, 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 grey-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 centre of the city – which means it is at the centre of the empire, and thus at the centre of the world. I ask you, can a centre have a front and a back? No. From the centre of something, one faces outwards, 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 Amphitheatre 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 Amphitheatre?”

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 amphitheatre 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 amphitheatre 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 centre 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.

Despite the warmth that radiated from the heated floors and walls, it seemed to Marcus that the room was suddenly chilly. Hadrian’s face was as red as if he had just stepped from the hottest pool in the building. Apollodorus seemed oblivious of the scene he had just caused. He gestured to one of the slaves and asked for more wine.