At last, preceded by lictors brandishing fasces wreathed with laurel, the triumphal chariot arrived. Trajan had been famed for making his first entrance as emperor into the city on foot; on this day his effigy rode alongside Hadrian in the chariot. The effigy was made of wax, modelled and coloured to look astonishingly lifelike. There was no need to make it larger than life, for Trajan in the flesh had towered above other men.
“Inevitably, the question arises: which of those two in the chariot is suffer?” said a voice in Marcus’s ear. He turned to see Favonius.
With the scurra was Suetonius. The director of the imperial archives raised an eyebrow. “I think our new emperor looks unusually relaxed and animated,” he quipped. “Look there, how Hadrian smiles and salutes the crowd – no, wait, I’m looking the effigy of Trajan!”
“I don’t think Hadrian likes to be stared at,” said Marcus, who had to admit that the new emperor looked distinctly uncomfortable standing next to the smiling waxen image of his predecessor.
“They say Vespasian found his triumph so tedious that he was bored to tears,” said Suetonius. “There’s a letter of his in the archives where he writes, ‘What an old fool I was to demand such a gruelling honour!’”
“Who can tell what our new emperor is thinking, with that beard concealing his face?” said Favonius. “The beard has everyone talking. Suetonius, have we ever before had an emperor with a beard?”
Suetonius considered. “One sees images of Nero wearing a partial beard, with his cheeks and chin clean-shaven. But a full beard? No. Hadrian is the first.”
“Do you suppose he wants to remind us that he fancies himself a philosopher?” said Favonius. “Or is he affecting the unkempt look of the common soldiers who never shave while on campaign, as can be seen by all those images of bearded Romans killing Dacians on the Column over there?”
“His facial hair looks impeccably groomed to me,” said Marcus. “Not every man can grow such a fine beard. I think the emperor looks quite handsome this way.” It seemed to him that Hadrian’s motivation was obvious: a beard was a way to cover the acne scars about which he was so self-conscious. As Trajan’s protege, Hadrian felt obliged to maintain the clean-shaven look favoured by countless generations of the Roman elite. But now he was emperor and would do as he pleased – even grow a beard.
“This time next year,” said Favonius, “I predict a majority of senators and practically every courtier in the House of the People will have a beard. Even the old eunuchs left over from the days of Titus will be sporting beards, if they have to paste them on!”
“Indeed, the only men without beards will be the young ones who want to attract Caesar’s attention,” said Suetonius.
The chariot drew alongside the base of the Column and came to a halt. Hadrian stepped from the car, bearing a funerary urn.
“So he’s actually going to do it!” said Favonius. “Hadrian is going to deposit the old man’s ashes in the base of his Column.”
“That’s the plan,” said Marcus, who had been responsible for preparing the small vault that would receive the urn.
“It required an act of the Senate to make such a thing legal,” noted Suetonius. “Until now, the remains of all the emperors have been interred in sarcophagi outside the old city walls. But Hadrian was determined that Trajan’s Column should also serve as Trajan’s tomb.”
Favonius gazed up at the Column. “In his final resting place, Trajan shall remain upright and erect for all time. I envy the old fellow!”
Joined by Plotina, Hadrian deposited the urn in the chamber. Then Hadrian delivered a eulogy reciting Trajan’s accomplishments, not only as a builder and a military man but as a friend of the people and the Senate of Roma. Trajan had kept his vow to kill no senators during his reign – a vow that Hadrian repeated – and one of his proudest achievements was his expansion of Nerva’s welfare system for orphans and the children of the poor, which Hadrian promised to continue.
“But of course,” said Hadrian, “on this day, we celebrate his triumphs in the field, and in particular the conquests for which the Senate saw fit to vote him the title Parthicus. We celebrate his victories over many foes, and his capture of many cities: Nisibis and Batnae, Adenystrae and Babylon, Artaxata and Edessa…”
Hadrian continued in this singsong vein. His rhetorical style was surprisingly dull. Perhaps he was tired, or nervous, for he frequently reached up to tug at his beard, and every so often Marcus heard a hint of his old Spanish accent.
Favonius sighed. “He’s merely reciting a catalog and leaving out the juicy details; that’s like serving bones with no meat! Do you know the story of Trajan’s encounter with King Abgarus of Osroene?”
Marcus shrugged. He was about to tell the scurra to hush, when Suetonius leaned in. “I’ve heard one version, but I should love to hear yours, Favonius.”
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.