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“Caesar, my men are looking for Varcoheba!” the viceroy, Tineius Rufus, sitting on a horse just behind the emperor, cast his voice. He was in gilded lats, which gleamed in the sun, discharged like a peacock. The conversation allowed him to move forward a little bit, so as not to force Caesar to turn around.
“I wish this robber to be punished!” Hadrian said firmly, turning his eyes to Rufus. “You've served me well, Quint! It remains for you to be commended for your devotion.”
A benevolent smile touched his lips; however, it quickly melted in the graying beard and Tineius Rufus was lost in guesses how he would be thanked by the emperor. Would he give new lands? Money? Or would he let him go next to him during a triumph in the capital??
He felt the excitement, a certain rise, because, after all, they had achieved victory in this grueling and bloody battle, in a long war. He had to retreat a lot and surrender to the Jews one fortress after another, but now in the end, Rome won! Of course, it was not a very good impression that overshadows the upcoming triumph. The Jews accused him, Tineius Rufus, in their troubles, as if he had ploughed their holy Temple Mount in Jerusalem and was going to put there a temple to Jupiter Capitol together with a huge statue of Emperor Hadrian. However, he, Tineius Rufus only followed the instructions of the princeps. Have discipline and diligence ever been blamed?
Still the Jews spoke of his voluptuousness, compared with the lascivious Assyrian Holofernes molested by the beautiful Judith. No, he, Tineius Rufus, was no more lustful than all the other men in power.
But Caesar's smile… Rufus didn't think it was kind.
Two horsemen left the gates of the ruined fortress at that time and rushed to the emperor at full speed. The commander of the legions, Julius Severus, and the legate, Titus Matenianus, who recently received triumphant clothes for the victory.
As the Governor of Rufus seemed to be ineffective in the military field, Hadrian had to bring to the war Julius Severus as the most experienced of the generals. He was summoned from Britain, and thanks to his tactics, first managed to oust the rebels from major cities, and then disperse them through the mountains and caves.
“Great Caesar, we brought the head of Varkoheba,” exclaimed Julius Severus, and raised the blood-stained bag with a theatrical gesture, in getting it from the saddle. Then he uncovered it. On the ground rolled the severed head of a black-haired bearded man, whose eyes were gouged out, his mouth tightly compressed.
Hadrian bent down in the saddle, looking at all that was left of the defeated enemy.
“So you are, prince of Israel,” he said calmly enough, as if he did not want to express much interest. On the other hand, why should he show it? Hadrian saw many defeated enemies, crucified on crosses, with severed heads, with fractured limbs, because under Emperor Trajan had to fight everywhere.
“Where is the body of the rebel himself?” someone asked behind the Princep’s back.
It was relatively not old, he was not yet thirty-five, the Senate envoy Lucius Ceionius Commodus. The Senate reported that it would not mind if Hadrian, in honor of the victory over Judea, declared his triumph and celebrated the event in Rome.
Hadrian was looking at Ceionius.
He had long known his family from Tibur, where villa Ceionius was relatively close to the residence of the princeps. He also knew Commodus's mother Plavtia, who was a hot thing. She had gone through three husbands. The first, the father of Ceionius, Hadrian knew quite well, and he respected him. Thanks to his father a few years ago, his son was given the post of pretor, a post insignificant, but responsible in terms of the beginning of his career. Then, after the death of his father, the young Lucius began to entrust more important affairs.
This had already been facilitated by Plavtia, a seductive woman who tried to charm him, Hadrian. He was then young, strong, charming, entering the court of Trajan and with his mother Ceionius they could have a love affair, all contributed to this. But the Emperor's wife Plotina already picked him as Vibia Sabina's bride, and he could not embark on the waves of love joys with the married matron. Although, evil tongues claimed that Ceionius Commodus was his son.
Hadrian looked again at the young man who, under certain circumstances, could have been his son. Curly hair, high height, amiable smile, pleasant speech of an educated man who knows Hellenic and Roman literature. Everything about him was like Hadrian. This Ceionius was also a connoisseur of cooking, it was he who invented Tetrapharmakon—a dish so loved by the emperor.
But a low forehead, a cheerful emptiness in the eyes and primitive reasoning. No, this Ceionius Commodus was superficial, did not have the depth of reason and the breadth of views inherent in him, Hadrian.
“Yes, where is his body, Severus?” the emperor supported Lucius Ceionius. “Of course, there is enough head, but still, I would like to look at it completely.”
“Great Caesar, we found a body in one of the caves, not far from here. The rebel tried to hide with his companions, but he was discovered by us. Some of them we killed, the rest captured. They say that among the prisoners was a Jewish interpreter of the laws of Judaism, a priest. His name is Akiva. Spies say that he is one of the instigators of the uprising against Rome.”
“Akiva?” Hadrian asked.
“Yes,” the legate Matenianus confirmed. “The spies told us that this Akiva had been proclaimed the messiah king of Varkoheba. He also set out on the road in Judea and preached enmity to Rome, called for rebellion, collected money.”
“The Jews in this war have given us fierce resistance,” Hadrian said wistfully. “Even the divine Titus did not have to face such a pervasive and desperate struggle. Samaria, Galilee, Golan and Ashkelon. Only in Caesarea was the fire of rebellion weak. They say it's thanks to the Christians whom Varkoheba forced to give up his faith and join the rebels. What happened, what happened to these people?”
“I've already reported to the princeps that fanatics like Akiva contributed to the war,” intervened in the conversation of governor Rufus. He was hot, his face glistened with sweat. “Religion is what motivated the Jews to revolt.”
Hadrian this time looked distasteful of his governor and turned to the commander Severus.
“Apparently, the Jews felt insignificant punishment to which they were subjected to the divine Titus and the price must now be much greater. As Virgil wrote, ‘You can't get used to wars like this!’[46 - Virgil, The Aeneid, book 6, Publishing House of Fiction, Moscow, 1971, p.240] Jews must be scattered around the world, and then their harmful religion will disappear.”
“The laws of Rome,” thought Hadrian, “were wiser than the Jews, and our legions were stronger than their detachments. And in general, the people of Rome could become greater and mightier, because he learned from others. We absorbed the culture of Greece and Egypt, joined their gods and were protected in all designs and deeds. Zeus and Hera, Jupiter and Juno, Cybele and Myrtle. What can compare to their power? What can a Jewish god? After all, he is alone, just like Christians. And that's because they're weak.”
“Where's the cave? I want to see a defeated enemy,” Hadrian said, and then he touched the horse.
“Caesar, there are still enemies roaming. Our legionnaires didn't catch everyone. It's not safe!” the Severus retorted.
“Nothing,” Hadrian looked back at the retinue, “I'm accompanied by experienced warriors. Here, for example, is our Rufus. He's brave enough to hit the pathetic Jews if they get caught on the road. Isn't that true, governor?”
“Of course, emperor!” Tineius Rufus, who did not expect Hadrian to address him, mingled.
“If you show your back to the Jews for three years, then it is necessary once to see the enemy face,” Hadrian added, his eyes flashing. “Especially after the defeat of the enemy, when nothing is in danger. Don't you think, dear Quintus?”
“I…” the governor began, but the exasperated emperor did not listen to him, he went forward and next to him attached legates Severus with Matenianus to show the way.
“I think you've fallen out of favor, Tineius,” remarked the passing Ceionius Commodus, who did not like the governor for his arrogance.
Once in Rome, the arrogant Rufus, who was transported in palanquin through the narrow streets of the city, ordered the slaves—high and strong Cappadocian, that they did not give way to anyone. And when they came to meet the stretcher with Commodus, they rudely pushed his slaves aside. Ceionius noticed how the curtain on the palanquin moved, the cold, arrogant face of the Syrian governor looked out from behind it.
Now this face was different; Rufus lost his self-confidence and turned into a pathetic subject from whom everyone turned their backs.
The cave where Hadrian entered, accompanied by legats, retinue, and guards was remarkably quiet. Screams and scolding, the wails of the vanquished, black smoke in the sky and the smell of burning, all of it remained there, behind the walls. Here it was cool, the damp walls were unevenly illuminated by burning torches, but it was light enough to cover the whole cave.
The Emperor noticed several corpses of Jews lying on the side. In the far half-dark corner, apart from all, lay another body. He came closer. A retinue crowded behind; in a small space under the low arches was heard the noisy breathing of people.
On the stones lay a decapitated man in a dirty, blood-stained tunic. He was of short stature, raised fabric exposed short hairy legs with bare feet. There were no shoes on the former prince of Israel. Perhaps, the thieves have already visited and brought out everything that has turned under his arm.
“This is Varkoheba, great Caesar,” said Julius Severus, his voice sounding blankly under the arches of the cave.
The wind blew from behind, shadows swirling from the flame of torches.
“Who goes there?” Hadrian asked, but there was no answer.
Pushing the crowd, a tall centurion from the Fifth Macedonian Legion stepped forward. He led behind him a frail, ragged old man with gray side curls (https://translate.academic.ru/side%20curls/ru/en/) and a disheveled beard. His hands were tied with a leather belt, which usually belted the tunic.
“Caesar, I have ordered to bring Akiva, a priest of the Jews. We've already talked about it,” Matenianus explained.
“Oh, yes, this rebel!”
The Emperor looked curiously at the face of a man exhausted by the long siege stained with mud and soot, and stingingly asked:
“What old man, your god, your Yahweh, has not helped you?”
But Akiva did not answer, he looked down under his feet, and his lips moved as if uttering the words of prayer. Or maybe he prayed to his god, whose name Jews could not say out loud. But Hadrian could speak because he was not a Jew.
Having lost interest in Akiva, Hadrian returned to the murdered Varkoheba. Looking closely, he saw something unusual on the rebel's body, where the neck was supposed to be, something was moving, it seemed that the dead man's shoulders were rising, as if the leader of the rebels had not yet died, and just put his head to the body as it comes to life. For a moment, Hadrian was terrified.
“Fire here!” he shouted.
The legionnaire ran up with a torch, and now everyone saw that the shoulders of Varkoheba were enveloped by a large viper, as light yellow, in dark spots, as the surrounding walls and stones under their feet.
“Look!” Severus exclaimed. “He is the messenger of their god. The Jewish god himself killed him, punishing him for deceit and treachery.”
The old man muttered something barely audible.
“What are you saying?” Hadrian turned to him and said, “Translate someone.”
One of the Syrians who guarding the emperor reported, “He says that God did not kill Varcoheba, he came for his soul, as a righteous man's soul, to place it in the treasury of the throne of glory.”
Hadrian frowned.
“Does God want to take this man’s soul to heaven? Then chop off the head of this snake! Rufus,” he found with his eyes among the retinue the figure of the viceroy, “Rufus, come here! You trust the great honor of defeating the messenger of the Jewish god.”
Before Rufus immediately parted, and he had to come forward. Near Varcoheba’s body, the governor stopped, hesitantly drew a sword from its scabbard, and began fussily poking at the head of the viper. The snake hissed menacingly, sliding from the body of the murdered, but the governor still could not get into her small flat head with a forked tongue. It seemed that horror shackled him, it was one thing to anger your gods, whom you can cajole by making a rich sacrifice to them, and another thing was a stranger, an unknown god. He, Tineius Rufus, did not know what sacrifices this Yahweh received. And would he accept from him?
“How long are you going to practice, Quintus? We're tired,” sneered Hadrian, who was amused by the squirming figure of the viceroy standing on half-bent legs.
The old man again muttered something in a stubborn, loud voice, and without waiting for the emperor's question, the Syrian translated it.
“He says that God will punish the one who will kill this snake.”
The remark of the recalcitrant rebel angered Hadrian, and he, a mighty, like the majestic monumental sculpture of Trajan, standing on the Forum, hung over the puny old man.
“I alone can punish here and no one else! Remember!”
In the cave there was silence, which was broken only by Rufus's grunt. Ceionius Commodus, who had been on the sidelines all this time, decided to intervene.
“Great Caesar, let me fight the Jewish messenger!”
Grim, with angrily sparkling eyes, Hadrian waved his hand and Commodus, coming up to the snake, deftly cut off her head. After this scene, the emperor addressed Akiva.
“You will be executed, old man, by a terrible execution.”
“Talking to God is not afraid of cruelty,” he replied detachedly.
“Proud! You don't have to talk to the gods, you have to ask the gods and listen to what they're talking about.”
Hadrian wrapped himself in his purple cloak, as if an unbearable, deadly cold pierced his body and went to the exit from the musty cave, to the hot sun, to the fresh air, even if it was saturated with the smoke of war, to those pleasant and elegant things that were waiting for him to return to Athens.
On the way out he stopped for a moment, saying without turning around.
“Send the legions to the Dead Sea, where the last rebels remain. And from this Jew, remove the skin from the living!”
Sabina's letter
“… You did a little reckless, in my opinion, rekindled the decrepit Servianus with conversations about the heir. What's the point? We've talked about it. Your successor should be Marcus Verissimus, as you call him…
In the meantime, Servianus goes to the homes of patricians and convinces that everything was decided. He is so pleased, this old peacock, that it becomes funny in the eyes of many when he solemnly starts praising you. It is as if the times of the Republic have come to life at the same time as Cato the Elder and Scipio…
By the way, his grandson Fusсus behaves defiantly. In the Circus, on horse races, he went up to Marcus and began to laugh at him, to claim that the emperor had turned his back on him, and left his graces to others. I think you'd be more likely to know about the conversations that go on around Fusсus. He bragged about making up your horoscope and supposedly showing the date of your death. I don't remember exactly, but it's heard that the moon in Aquarius will get into the quart to Saturn, which will be devastating for you. I don't understand anything about it, but you love horoscopes, and you probably know what you're talking about. So, Fusсus says you'll live sixty-one years and ten months, and death will be in November ides.”[47 - November 13, 137]
Hadrian at first just ran through the eyes of this letter, which seemed to him a set of empty city gossip. He was never particularly impressed with Sabina's mind, considering her an ordinary woman, undistinguished, though moderately educated. Despite the story with Antinous and the almost complete break, Sabina sometimes under the mood allowed herself to share impressions about the high life of the court in his absence. Now, apparently, she had such a desire.
He reread the letter more slowly. Gradually the meaning of the last lines began to reach him, and deaf fury took hold of his heart. Servianus and Fuscus. It was he who chose them among the rest, trusted them, and the confidence of the emperor was serious, they cannot be scattered as cheap copper asses[48 - There's a copper coin in Rome.] on the morning exit to customers. Trust was a great jewel to be cherished more simply than diamonds from thieves.
Servianus and Fuscus were the last of his close relatives, no others left. But what a folly, to walk among the senators and spread about his imperial plans! What a stupid thing to do! No, they had not passed the test, and it did not matter who sent it down—gods or emperor!
In addition to the horoscope, there must be something that irrevocably convinces in the correctness of the final choice. For Hadrian, it was always a test to which he subjected his entourage, various tests, invented by himself. Some of them passed with ease, as for example, Marcus. A boy who did not see life and, seemingly, was much inferior to experienced Servianus and ambitious Fuscus. But he withstood them when he walked around Rome with the merry and embattled priests of the Salii, though he was very young, did not yield to carnal temptations when he, Hadrian, sent young slaves to him.
Of course, he still had a lot of work to do to achieve perfection like that of Hadrian himself. But he had the makings and had the main thing—effort, tact and restraint, as if Verissimus had already studied the fashionable philosophy of stoics. However, Marcus was still engaged with grammars, he did not even approach rhetoric.
Benedicta, this girl slave, confessed to Hadrian that Marcus still could not restrain himself at the very end of the love game, but it meant nothing. It was fixable. He would take him in hand and completely inseparably will him his own emotions.
And Servianus? And Fuscus? Oh Gods, how ordinary they are, as near as primitive as sharks among a pack of predatory sharks! But the rank of the great pontiff, princeps, Augustus, above all earthly, above the base passions, above the amphibian’s creatures? The Emperor was a living god who would cross into heaven with death and join the Assembly of other gods. And how could Fuscus become a god after all, after saying such words about him, Hadrian?
The Emperor felt his nose swell, held his hand over his arms above his upper lip, and saw that his fingers were painted red. Here again. All because he was worried, angry, he was bleeding again. When he subdued the rebellious Jews, shed rivers of their blood, he felt good, not a single bleed, not a single seizure. It was as if the gods, always hungry for sacrifice, needed any blood, and instead of his own, he gave them someone else's.
Now, after returning to Athens, his wife's letter was found, and everything turned out to be different. Taking a handkerchief and putting it to his nose, Hadrian lay down on the bed, threw his head.
He suddenly remembered Ceionius Commodus. Cheerful, executive, brave young man, though weak in intellect. How quickly and deftly he dealt with the snake, there, in the cave under Betar! And he was not afraid of this Jewish god with a funny name, not in the example of the former viceroy Tineius Rufus, who was shaking with fear. Among other things, Ceionius did not have such ambitions, burning the soul, as Fuscus, which was an undoubted plus. He would be quite a harmless ruler, which the Senate would undoubtedly like.
As for Marcus, Marcus Verissimus…
The emperor pondered. He would bide his time, because he had high hopes and, if the stars unfolded in the sky favorably, he would still be waiting for the purple cloak of the princeps. If not, he would become a good assistant to Ceionius Commodus, and then to his young son Lucius.
After reading the letter, Hadrian instructed the secretary Heliodorus to summon Ceionius from Rome.
“My dear Ceionius,” he said, approaching the guest, “I have decided to appoint you as consul for the following year, along with Sexton Vettulenus.”
“I am grateful, great Caesar,” said Ceionius in surprise, who did not expect Hadrian to extend his favor to him. The emperor, like every ruler, had long formed a circle of close people, favorites, who received unlimited favors. Getting into their number seemed impossible, especially for young Nobilis. It was only to wait patiently for the hour when the empire would be led by their peers and attract peers to rule the great country.
“But why do I deserve such mercy?” he asked.
“I come from the public interest and believe that you are worthy of the consular rank. You performed well in Judea. Also, the best opinion of you is prefect Regin and many senators. And this is only the first step.”
“What's the second one consul?”
“You'll know everything, Ceionius, when the time comes. But I have one condition. I want your daughter Fabia to be engaged to Marcus Verus. He has a great inheritance from Annius, from his father and great-grandfather, and it will be a good marriage. Let your two glorious families be born, so that the glory of Rome will not fade with our death. We're all mortal, aren't we?”
He looked into the cheerful, expressionless eyes of Ceionius and thought that he had made a good choice. The Commodus would be the fa?ade of the upcoming reign, festive, brilliant, admirable, and Marcus would be the real ruler behind him.
The Circus Maximus
A few months after the beginning of the consulate of Ceionius Commodus, when spring was already well, and the bright sun warmed the Italian land not yet hot, but palpable warmth, Rome, after a cold and windy winter, started living a normal life. Festivities flowed endlessly dedicated to the gods, a variety of games and festivals. Huge population of the city- nobility, freedmen, slaves, all indulged in unrestrained entertainment, which abundantly regaled eternal Rome.
At the opening of the horse racing season, Marcus and his mother, as well as their relative, Faustina Sr., invited the new consul Ceionius Commodus in May. It happened after Marcus's engagement to his daughter Fabia, and after the Latin Festival, during which Marcus was appointed prefect of the city—this post was honorable and did not give any special advantages, but it allowed Ceionius to distinguish a new relative.
The engagement itself was carried out in a solemn atmosphere, in the presence of relatives on both sides. Marcus then first saw Fabia, a small, anemic, quiet girl who didn't seem to understand what was going on. Probably, she was just torn away from the dolls, because she was a few years younger than Marcus, who in February turned fifteen.
