They walked to the crane and stood before the gilded bronze statue of Trajan. Apollodorus had executed the basic design, but Marcus had sculpted most of the finer details, including Trajan’s face and hands. This had meant spending long stretches of time with the emperor, who listened to reports and dictated correspondence while Marcus observed him and sculpted his likeness, first making preliminary models and then working on the full-scale statue. Marcus vividly remembered his first meeting with Trajan thirteen years ago, when his father had petitioned the emperor to recognize Marcus’s status as a freeborn citizen. Trajan had seemed larger than life to Marcus then, and he still did.
Far more accessible was the emperor’s protege, Hadrian, who had often been present when Marcus was sculpting Trajan’s likeness; perhaps Marcus found the man more approachable because he was closer to Marcus’s own age. Hadrian had distinguished himself in the Dacian wars, commanding the First Legion Minerva, but he also had an avid interest in all things artistic and had strong opinions about everything from the poetry of Pindar (“incomparably beautiful”) to Trajan’s collection of silver Dacian drinking cups (“unspeakably hideous; they should be melted down”). He was known even to dabble in architecture, though none of his fanciful drawings had ever resulted in an actual building.
Hadrian joined them as Apollodorus and Marcus were making a final inspection to see that the statue was securely fitted for lifting.
“Is the operation on schedule?” asked Hadrian.
“We’ll begin at any moment,” said Apollodorus. “Will the emperor be present?”
“He intended to be here, but affairs of state preclude his presence,” said Hadrian. He cracked a smile and lowered his voice. “Actually, I suspect he’s a bit unnerved by the whole thing. I don’t think he fancies the idea of seeing himself being hoisted a hundred feet in the air and dangling from a chain.”
“Perhaps it’s better that he’s not here,” said Apollodorus. “His presence might make the men nervous.”
Hadrian slowly circled the statue, then nodded. “What a clever idea you came up with, Marcus Pinarius, to slightly exaggerate and elongate the emperor’s features, so as to make them appear more natural when viewed by spectators on the ground. What’s the word for that?”
“It’s a trick of perspective called foreshortening,” said Marcus. “I’m grateful that you supported my idea.”
“Let’s hope it works. Caesar was certainly skeptical when he saw the result. Horrified, actually. ‘No man’s nose is that long, not even mine!’ he said. It does look a bit of a caricature when seen this close. But at a distance of a hundred feet and from a low angle, I suspect that nose will actually flatter him.”
The workmen assigned to stand atop the column and guide the placement of the statue were in place; they called and waved to Apollodorus to signal their readiness. The workmen who would operate the various hoists and pulleys of the crane were also at their stations, as were the slaves who would supply the labour to pull the ropes, turn the winches, and steady the counterweights. The statue was ready to be lifted. Apollodorus closed his eyes and muttered a prayer. Marcus touched the fascinum at his breast.
Apollodorus gave the signal for the operation to begin. With a great groaning noise, the various parts of the crane began to move. The statue cleared the ground and began to ascend.
The statue rose to half the height of the column, and then higher still, until it dangled above the column. Apollodorus peered at all the various mechanisms in play, and suddenly seemed nervous. “Marcus, run up to the top of the column,” he said. “See that everything is done correctly.”
Marcus ran to the column, stepped inside, and bounded up the steps. He was so intent on reaching the top that he forgot to count them.
The workmen atop the column stood in a circle, ready to guide the statue into the spot intended for it, the outline of which had been drawn with chalk. Each of the men wore a rope around his waist that was secured to an iron pin driven into the marble, to catch them should they fall. Marcus was not wearing a rope.
The statue seemed to float on the air nearby, twisting slightly so that the gilding reflected sparkles of sunlight. Then it began slowly to move towards them, until it appeared just above their heads. The men reached up and touched the base of the statue, which then began very slowly to descend. Their foreman shouted instructions, making sure the orientation of the statue remained true as it was lowered into place. Marcus stayed out of the way, crouching to keep his balance.
The statue was still two feet above the top of the column when Marcus heard a sharp noise. Somewhere, a chain had snapped.
He looked at the statue, which swayed a bit. He looked at the crane, which also seemed to sway very slightly. Then the crane began to tilt to one side.
“Numa’s balls!” cried the foreman. “The statue’s coming down, right now! Keep it steady!”
The workmen grabbed hold of the statue, but they were powerless to guide it any longer as it swung one way and then the other. With a tremendous cracking noise, part of the crane collapsed. As he strove to keep his balance and stay clear of the statue, Marcus saw in glimpses that a section of the crane was falling and men on the ground were scrambling to get out of the way. He experienced a moment of vertigo in which it seemed that the huge statue was stationary while everything else – earth, sky, and the column under his feet – was spinning off-kilter.
The statue bumped one of the workmen. The movement was relatively small, but the weight of the statue lent tremendous force to the slight contact. The workman went tumbling backwards, paddling his arms in the air. He stepped off the column and onto the topmost scaffold, but couldn’t regain his balance and kept staggering backwards. Marcus waited for the man’s safety rope to stop his fall, but the knot at his waist had been poorly tied. The man slipped free from the rope and went flying off the scaffold, somersaulting backwards. His scream pierced the air as he plummeted to the ground. There was a sickening sound of impact, then a moment of silence, then a tremendous crash as the broken section of the crane fell onto the Greek wing of the library.
Marcus experienced a moment of sheer panic. He imagined the statue swinging ever more wildly out of control, knocking off more and more of the workman, until it actually struck the column, dislodging the top drum, throwing the whole column out of balance and causing it to topple over.
But that was not what happened.
The statue twisted one way, then the other, then suddenly dropped and landed with a jarring thud atop the column. None of the workmen were harmed, and when they took a closer look, they were amazed to see that the statue had landed precisely within the chalk outline. Despite the broken crane, the outcome could not have been more perfect.
For Marcus, the earth and the sky gradually stopped spinning and all was still. He realized that he was clutching the fascinum with his right hand. His knuckles were bone white. As he slowly unclenched his fist, he stepped onto the scaffolding and took stock of the damage below.
The crane was ruined beyond repair. One end of the Greek wing of the library was destroyed, but that part of the building was unfinished and the repairs would be relatively minor. The body of the man who had fallen lay twisted on the paving stones below, surrounded by a pool of blood. As Marcus watched, Apollodorus and Hadrian approached the lifeless body. Apollodorus gazed down at the corpse for a moment, then up at Marcus. His face was ashen.
Marcus, too stunned to speak, extended his arm and turned his thumb upwards to signal that all was well atop the column. Apollodorus looked as if he might faint with relief.
Hadrian took a step back to avoid the spreading pool of blood, then stared up at Marcus, or rather, beyond him, at the towering statue of Trajan. “The nose!” he shouted.