very same day as one of my proteges, Marcus Verus. Since the boys are exactly the same age – almost to the minute – I propose that we introduce your Lucius to young Verissimus-”
“Verissimus, Caesar?”
“I call Verus that sometimes. He so loves Truth that I can’t resist punning on his name. Well, if Lucius and Verus are compatible, the two can be educated together.”
Marcus looked at Lucius, who seemed a bit overwhelmed at this idea. “I fear my son might be at a disadvantage, Caesar. I’ve tried to provide good tutors for him, but his education thus far could hardly have rivalled that of your protege.”
Hadrian smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting Lucius to provide competition in the fields of scholarship. Verus has a prodigious intellect; sometimes the breadth of his knowledge surprises even me. But Verus also loves every kind of sport. He could use a companion his own age for boxing, wrestling, ball games, riding, hunting, and so forth. What do you say?”
It occurred to Marcus that his son might be more than a match for young Verus in any sort of athletic competition; Lucius was uncommonly big and strong for his age. Marcus looked to Apollodora, whose eyes were wide with excitement. Despite her bitterness against the emperor, she could see what a tremendous opportunity was being offered to their son. At the age of eleven, Lucius Pinarius would be admitted into the innermost circle of the imperial court.
Lucius was too young to wear a toga, but he did own a very finely made tunic that Marcus deemed suitable for his meeting with Verus. Apollodora fretted that the boy’s recent spurts of growth had rendered the long sleeves a bit too short, but Marcus told her not to worry. “They’re not as fussy about such things at the House of the People as you might think,” he said.
“The House of the People?” Apollodora laughed. “No one but you calls it that anymore, husband.”
“No?”
“I’m pretty sure all that pandering to the common folk ended when Plotina died.”
“I stand corrected. Well, then, Lucius, are you ready for our visit to the House of Hadrian?”
A courtier met them at the entrance to the imperial palace at the appointed hour and escorted them to a lush garden with splashing fountains. It was here, for the time being, that the statue of Antinous had been installed. On a stone bench beside the statue sat Hadrian with the boy Marcus Verus, who was his distant cousin and a great- great-grand-nephew of Trajan. The curly-headed Verus had a prominent nose and a small mouth. He had been brought up in the most rarefied atmosphere imaginable, surrounded by philosophers and scholars of great renown, and he carried himself with a composure beyond his years.
Hadrian introduced Verus to Marcus and his son. When Lucius expressed his honour at such a meeting, as his father had coached him to do, Verus shook his head. “The honour is mine, to meet a fellow my own age whose grandfather was a friend of the great Apollonius of Tyana.” He turned to Marcus. “Did your father have many tales to tell about Apollonius?”
“As a matter fact, no day passed without his recitation of a story about Apollonius. My father called him Teacher, and was greatly devoted to him, in life and in death.”
Verus looked genuinely excited. “You must share those stories with me! They should be written down.”
“Alas, my hand was meant for a chisel, not a stylus,” said Marcus.
“But you must dictate those stories to a slave. The people who actually knew Apollonius are almost all dead now-”
“Adorable, isn’t he?” said Hadrian, who reached out to muss the boy’s hair. Verus responded with a very boyish roll of his eyes. “I’m thinking someone should sculpt him at this age. Perhaps you could find time to do it, Marcus, though I hate to interrupt your work on the next statue of Antinous.”
“It would be my pleasure, Caesar.” Marcus looked at the boy and envisioned at once the expression he would try to capture in stone – a mixture of innocence and wisdom, sophistication and guilelessness.
“I understand that your father was also a close friend of the late
…” The boy hesitated and looked to Hadrian for guidance.
“Verissimus realizes that you cannot yet have heard the news, which arrived just this morning by imperial courier,” said Hadrian. “Epictetus is dead.”
Marcus drew a breath and lowered his eyes. “Truly, he was the very last of my father’s circle.”
Verus took Marcus’s hand. “Perhaps we can find comfort in the words of Epictetus himself: ‘We are disturbed not by events, but by the views which we take of them.’ Is that not true, even of the death of loved ones?”
Marcus smiled ruefully. “I’m not the philosopher my father was. I’m not even sure what those words mean.”
“If you are pained by an occurrence outside yourself, it is not that occurrence which disturbs you, but your own judgement about it. And it is in your power to wipe out that judgement now.” Verus spoke with extraordinary conviction for one so young.
“Well spoken, Verissimus!” said Hadrian. He turned to Marcus. “The genealogists tell me the boy is descended from wise King Numa, and I think they must be right.”
Marcus nodded. How was his awkward, taciturn son ever to keep up with the likes of young Verus?
“I propose that these two boys should spend some time with me at Tibur,” said Hadrian. “What would you say to a bit of riding and hunting, Lucius?”
“Apollonius of Tyana was opposed to the killing of animals,” said Lucius gravely.
Hadrian laughed. “Excellent! You and Verissimus have a ready-made subject for debate: can a lover of philosophy also enjoy the hunt? You shall come, too, Pygmalion. I’ve selected a site for the tomb of Antinous, and there are a number of other sites I want to show you – for the baths, the library, the great pool…”
“It will be an honour, Caesar.” Marcus raised his eyes to the statue of Antinous, the god who had brought him so much good fortune.
AD 136
On the sixth day before the Nones of Maius, Marcus Pinarius and his son, Lucius, stood among the crowd of courtiers who filled the porticoes surrounding the ancient Auguratorium on the Palatine Hill. Before the altar, the emperor himself performed the augury to mark the passage to manhood of Marcus Verus, who stood in the middle of the gravel-strewn courtyard, wearing his first toga.
At fifteen, however mature his intellect, Verus still had no beard, and his delicate features were closer to those of a boy than a man. Hadrian’s beard and hair had more grey than ever, and his face had an unhealthy pallor; it seemed to Marcus that the emperor looked considerably older than sixty. It was rumoured that Hadrian was suffering a serious illness. He had begun construction on his own mausoleum.
Marcus was involved in the building of the new mausoleum. “All the other imperial tombs are already full,” Hadrian had told him, “and I have no intention of spending eternity crammed next to Trajan inside the Column.” The structure was to be a vast circular building not unlike the mausoleum of Augustus in design, but much larger, located on the banks of the Tiber across from the Field of Mars. It seemed to Marcus that Hadrian could not be content unless he had some vast building project under way. Now that that the Temple of Venus and Roma was at last completed, along with the Pantheon with its magnificent dome and the sprawling imperial villa at Tibur, what was left to build except his mausoleum?
At the dedication ceremonies for all those grand projects, Marcus had been among a select group of architects and artists who had received the emperor’s highest accolades, but those honours could not compare to the one that was to be bestowed on the Pinarii this day. No sooner had Hadrian taken the auspices for Marcus Verus, declaring them to be highly favourable, than he called out the name of Lucius Pinarius and asked him to step forward.
Lucius looked down at his father – at fifteen, he was already slightly taller than Marcus – with an expression of sudden terror. The boy’s combination of athleticism and shyness had made him an ideal companion for Verus; their differences complemented each other. But this was no time to be timid. Marcus cast a look at the boy that he hoped was at once stern and supportive, then gave him a tiny shove to start him on his way.
