Happy, happy those blessed by Fortune to behold the arrival of the new leader whose brow dazzles with the light of northern constellations!
When will the day come? When will the route be thronged with the lovely ladies of Roma perched in every tree and window along the Flaminian Way?
Come soon, longed-for day! Come clouds of distant dust, rising from the road to foretell the approach of Caesar!
Then shall every citizen and richly clad foreign delegate go forth to exclaim as one, with joy, “He comes!”
The others clapped politely as Martial took a bow. He returned to his couch and drank thirstily from his cup. “And now the day has come,” he said. “I wonder what sort of chariot Trajan will be riding. Some ornately gilded wonder, or something more austere and warlike, to emphasize his status as a military man? If he wants to look like a general, arriving on horseback would be best, I suppose. Or will he recline in a litter and be borne aloft by the prettiest boys he’s collected from the far corners of the empire?”
Lucius sighed. How vacuous and irritating Martial seemed to him. Lucius almost regretted inviting him, but Dio and Epictetus seemed genuinely to be enjoying the poet’s company. Perhaps a bit of wine was necessary to appreciate Martial’s wit.
“As you say, soon enough we’ll see for ourselves,” said Lucius. “But it’s too early yet. Hilarion will let us know when it’s time to go.”
“In the meantime, Lucius can tell us more about all the changes in Roma,” said Dio. “Simply to have had a sane man like Nerva in charge of the state must have seemed a miracle after the grim years of Domitian.”
“That’s true,” said Lucius. “After fourteen long years, I felt that I could breathe again.”
“Breathe all you want, if you can stand the smells of this city!” said Martial, wagging his finger. “Though I must admit, it became much easier to move about after they pulled down all those triumphal arches choking the streets, and got rid of the statues. There’s definitely more elbow room without a gilded Domitian on every corner. What happened to all those statues, anyway?”
“Nerva melted them down, to replenish the treasury and pay the Praetorians,” said Lucius.
“Speaking of statues,” said Dio, “our old friend here looks as magnificent now as the day we first saw him.” He gestured to the statue of Melancomas that dominated the garden. “Do the rest of you remember that occasion?”
“The day the ash of Pompeii fell on us?” said Epictetus. “Who could forget that?”
“It seems a lifetime ago,” said Dio. “And yet, Melancomas never ages. What a remarkable work of art. Incomparable! It was good and right that Epaphroditus left most of his estate to you, Epictetus, but I’m glad he left the Melancomas to you, Lucius. It looks splendid here in your garden.”
Lucius nodded. “I think of Epaphroditus every time I look at the statue, and I look at the statue every day.”
“A toast to Epaphroditus!” Martial lifted his cup.
“A toast!” said the others in unison. Lucius quaffed his brew of spiced water and the others drank their wine.
“I don’t know how you can stand to drink that,” said Martial. “I suppose you abstain from wine to follow the example of your old teacher?”
“I do,” said Lucius. “I strive to follow his example in all things, to the extent to which I am able.”
“Where is Apollonius these days?” said Dio.
“The last I heard, he was back in his native Tyana,” said Lucius. “But he’s always travelling. I hoped he would return to Roma to enjoy the brief reign of his friend Nerva, but he’s never come back.”
Epictetus smiled. “In Ephesus, they tell the most remarkable story about Apollonius. Have you all heard it?”
“Of course,” said Dio, and Lucius nodded, but Martial shrugged and said, “Enlighten me, Epictetus.”
The Stoic smiled, glad to have a pair of fresh ears for the tale. “On the day Domitian was assassinated by his courtiers, Apollonius happened to be in Ephesus, hundreds of miles from Roma, speaking to a huge crowd. Suddenly, in the middle of his talk, he fell silent and began to stagger and clutch the air, staring into the distance. ‘Good for you, Stephanus!’ he shouted. ‘Hurrah, Stephanus! Do it! Smite the bloodthirsty wretch! That’s it! That’s it! The deed is done! You have struck, you have wounded, you have slain the tyrant!’ There were so many witnesses, there’s no doubt whatsoever that this happened – and it occurred at the very hour that Domitian was killed. At the time, no one had any idea what Apollonius was talking about, but once the news from Roma arrived, it became clear that Apollonius had witnessed the killing as it happened. Truly, the man possesses a remarkable gift for seeing far-off events. Now, wherever he travels, he attracts more followers than ever. I can assure you that everyone in Nicopolis knows the story.”
“They talk of it in Prusa, as well,” said Dio. “Apollonius’s fame has spread all over the empire, thanks to that incident. Do you suppose the tale is true, Lucius?”
“I think it must be,” said Lucius, with a wry smile. He remembered the coded letter he had written to the Teacher ten days before the assassination, thinking it would be his last, in which he told Apollonius not only the day foretold for the death of Domitian but the hour, and the name of the man who would kill him. It amused him to think that at the very moment he was grappling with Catullus on the balcony, and Stephanus was stabbing Domitian, Apollonius was hundreds of miles away in Ephesus, shouting encouragement.
Hilarion appeared. The time had come for them to head down to the Forum.
Lucius could not recall ever having seen a more jubilant crowd in the Forum. The new emperor’s anticipated arrival had been the talk of Roma for months. People were giddy with excitement, and everyone in the city seemed to be present, even old people who usually avoided such crowds and children held high on their elders’ shoulders. The roofs of the buildings sagged under the weight of spectators. At temples and altars, people formed long queues to pray for the well-being of the new emperor, and the air was thick with incense. The atmosphere was not of religious awe, as attended certain festivals, or of the patriotic fervour displayed during triumphal processions, or of the frenzied bloodlust evoked by shows in the amphitheatre. The feeling was lighter, yet equally intense. The atmosphere was one of joy, of release – of hope, thought Lucius, finally putting his finger on it.
As it turned out, Martial was mistaken on all counts about Trajan’s mode of transportation. The new emperor did not arrive in a chariot, or on horseback, or in a litter. Trajan entered the city on foot, and he wore not a general’s regalia, as Domitian had done on public occasions, but a toga.
The sight of the new emperor simply walking into the city, like any common citizen, evoked spontaneous cheers and applause. Even on foot, Trajan was easy to spot at a distance because of his height. Walking alongside him was his wife, Plotina, who graciously smiled and waved to the crowd. In their forties, the imperial couple were both quite plain, but physically robust. Their relaxed manner seemed completely unpretentious.
Walking a little behind them was Trajan’s cousin and ward, Hadrian, who was in his early twenties and also of Spanish birth. Like Trajan, Hadrian was tall and powerfully built. He was handsomer than Trajan, but his clean- shaven cheeks were covered with acne scars. Faced with the cheering crowd, he comported himself much more stiffly than the genial Trajan. The cousins were said to be very close; it was young Hadrian, serving under Trajan on the German frontier, who had delivered to him the news of his acclamation as emperor.
In the heart of the Forum, the entire membership of the Senate gathered in groups to greet the new emperor, beginning with the foremost magistrates and senior members. Lucius and his friends happened to be standing in the crowd nearby. As Trajan began to approach the receiving line, Hadrian, looking in the direction of Lucius and his party, whispered in Trajan’s ear. The emperor nodded, turned, and walked directly to them.
Trajan raised his hand in greeting. “Dio of Prusa! Epictetus of Nicopolis! Have you come to welcome this humble citizen to Roma?” His accent was decidedly provincial.
Lucius was startled by Trajan’s approach. He was even more surprised by the casual ease with which his philosopher friends responded.
“Caesar has come home, and his people rejoice,” said Epictetus.
“The House of the People has been empty too long,” said Dio. “Caesar and his wife will fill it with light and happiness.”
Trajan laughed. Seen close at hand, he was even larger than Lucius had thought. His face was homely but pleasant, dominated by a long nose and topped by a thick mop of greying hair.
