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It is a pity that his voyage with Antinous on the sea of life turned out to be so short-lived and fleeting. His beloved perished in the waves of the Nile forever. After that the heart of Hadrian froze in sorrow, like a mourning statue above the marble tomb of a dear man. He ordered the memory of the young man to be honored. There were cities named in his honor, statues towering over the squares and streets of the empire. But cities and statues could not obscure the emptiness in his heart.

One such statue stood here in Tibur. Hadrian created the Temple of Antinous and put his sculpture inside. Sometimes he approached it, touching the hand made of cold stone. The inscription “Be immortal as Ra 9 ” was carved on the foundation of the monument. He would cover his eyes, silent, recalling…

But Antinous appeared after the emperor's meeting with Marcus. First, there was Marcus.

The boy was six years old when, in between his far and long journeys, Hadrian saw him. A small, thin, big eyed boy, dressed in a white tunic.

Nearby stood his mother, Domitia Lucilla—a venerable Roman matron, who lost her husband early and did not remarry. She owned a large brick factory on the outskirts of Rome. His great-grandfather, Catilius Severus Regin, a well-known senator who held an important position as prefect of Rome, was also there.

They wanted the emperor to distinguish him, because Marcus was, after all, a distant relative of Caesar through Sabine. Hadrian was then in a good mood without the whims and irritations that had become commonplace in recent times, without a shadow of melancholic sadness at the sight of someone else's youth, which seemed irretrievably lost by himself. And he didn't resist. Distinguish little Verus? Why not!

Hadrian gave him a white rider toga 10 with a narrow red stripe and a ring that the boy could not yet wear on his finger because of its large size. This did not seem surprising because there were other boys of tender age, who were already distinguished by emperors. Another mercy aroused surprise—Hadrian the next year introduced Marcus to the priestly college of the Salii, 11 these jumpers, keeping the morale in the people. There were twelve of them, and they worshipped Mars, a god who, for the Romans who were used to fighting, was not the last in the divine pantheon.

Probably, the tedious rites associated with walking the streets, dancing, shouting, the noise of the city crowd, did not fit at all for a seven-year-old boy. And yet the boy was given a great honor, about which he did not suspect and did not fully understand its meaning, but his loved ones knew and understood—venerable mother and stern great-grandfather.

Then, another close emperor, his secretary, Gaius Avidius Heliodorus, a Syrian-born man from the city of Kirra, a swarthy man with almond-shaped brown eyes, sympathetically told Hadrian how he watched a strange procession on one of the streets of the city: eleven adult men and a boy walking nearby.

“He was serious, this little Marcus,” Heliodorus said, bowing respectfully before Caesar. “He was walking with a tense frown, as he held a shield in his left hand, and in his right a little twig. Of course, the shield was smaller, not like that of grown men—it was made special—but he faithfully beat it with a wooden stick, and also sang along with all the old battle songs “Help, Lara, us!” and “Be enough, evil Mars!”

“Well, you heard them,” he added.

Tricky Heliodorus did not explain that the meaning of these songs no one remembered, and because of the outsider's eye they seemed a set of incoherent sounds. But Marcus, as the attentive secretary noted, had a good memory, and he confidently sang along with his ringing boyish voice, focused on jumping in the streets to the cheerful and loud cries of the priests.

An integral part of the ritual was the evening meal, accompanied by libations, with loud cries of diverging priests. It was said that Emperor Claudius had somehow specially dressed as a Salii to participate in such drinking in the temple of Mars on Palatine Hill.

The Salii feasted widely, on a grand scale. It used to be the case, and so it was under Marcus. The boy did not seem surprised, as if he had gotten used to the ugly antics of drunken priests from the cradle.

One of the priests, a certain Victor Galerius Fabian, fell under the table, and could hardly be hoisted into place by his fellow feasters. Hadrian knew about this case from the frumentarii 12 who reported all the incidents in the empire. He asked, smiling affectionately in a beard that had not yet grayed:

“What did you see, little Verus?”

And Marcus unsophisticated told the emperor about these feasts. Hadrian looked intently into the boy's lively eyes, which did not lie, he saw it, and he liked the honesty of little Annius. That's probably why he nicknamed him “Verissimus.” 13

However, this acquaintance with the promising little rider was interrupted for a long time—the emperor was delayed by other countries, distant cities, strangers, and new impressions.

Hadrian, of course, heard a variety of rumors, gossip from Rome, including about Marcus Verus. All the same Heliodorus told how the young Marcus, along with other priests, threw wreaths on a pillow with the image of Mars, and if the priests' wreaths fell somewhere, then Marcus definitely fell on the head of the war god.

“Perhaps our priests' hands were shaking after the wine was drunk,” the emperor observed sarcastically.

But this event once again confirmed Hadrian's conviction in the benefits of horoscopes—because the horoscope left no doubt about the purpose of Marcus, he was expected to be granted honorable and important appointments, and, of course, the highest office in Rome.

“So, the gods favor our Marcus, our Verissimus?” Hadrian asked, stroking the silky skin of the greyhound he had taken with him to hunt. They were in Greece, near Athens. From the imperial palace the rocky bare mountains could be seen, the tops of which clung to lonely clouds.

“Yes, Emperor!” Heliodorus nodded his head. “Everyone took what had happened as a sign sent by the gods.”

“Perhaps, perhaps!” Hadrian muttered thoughtfully, and then quoted with pathos, “The throne and the power over the country are set by this fortune-teller.” 14