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He drowned, but was resurrected as the Egyptian god Osiris. And so, in the same Egypt, and then in Greece, there were cults of Antinous; he became a deity, perishing and reborn.

Meanwhile, Sabina started talking about Marcus's coming to grow up.

He should get the toga of the young man, because he was already fourteen years old. This was an important step in Marcus's public position. The toga symbolized not only the transition from one state to another—from boy to man—but also a sharp turn in the material situation. Marcus became an heir, could get and use property as an adult. Of course, Sabina said, Marcus would have to make an exception, because such a toga young men usually put on at the age of sixteen. But little Marcus had also become a priest-Salii at seven, and he was generally very developed.

The Empress cheered up, laughing loudly, looking at the corner in which Marcus was sitting at the table. Such mood swings, from sullen gloom to hysteria, and from her unrestrained to fun, became quite frequent for her. Domitia, as she could adjust to her Augustus friend, smiled too, though Sabina's hints were not always clear.

What was she talking about? The fact that Marcus received the priestly rank undeservedly or about something else? Maybe she expected from the family of Annius not just gratitude, hot expressions of gratitude, but veneration of her as a patron saint, almost a goddess.

“We, my dear Domitia, will look after his bride,” Sabine continued, having fun. “Certainly, from a good family, I have one in mind.”

“And who?” Domitia Lucilla asked with inner anxiety.

“You need to be related to the Ceionius. They have a daughter, Fabia, a little younger than Marcus. The family is famous, from the old Etruscan nobility. From it came a few consuls and legats, by the way, they are very favored by the emperor.”

“Why to the Ceionius?”

Sabine's cheerful face instantly became sullen.

“I suspect that he had a connection with one of the women of the house of the Ceionius. Oh, gods, that's disgusting, disgusting! They have the eldest son of Lucius Ceionius Commodus, he was appointed a pretor, and now is in one of our armies on the Rhine. Now, I've been told its supposedly Hadrian's son. What dirt!”

“I heard too,” Domitia confessed, “but I can't believe it, dear Sabina. It's a rumor. The emperor has many detractors, ready to spread gossip on any occasion.”

“You're too lenient toward him, sweetheart!” Sabine gushed. “So, about Fabia. We will strengthen the alliance between your two families, unite the wealth, which will be good support for Marcus in the future. I'll tell you a secret, I have great views of your boy—he'll make a great ruler of Rome. I have to think about strengthening the dynasty all the time, if others don't think about it at all.”

She hinted at Hadrian with a scornful, barely noticeable grimace on her face, then continued. “Since we have no children, the emperor will have to adopt someone who is close enough to our family, as was the case with Trajan and Hadrian himself.”

The Domitia flinched face. Although in her heart she cherished hopes that her son would take a worthy position in society, corresponding to the rank and merits of the Annius family, but the emperor? Oh, Jupiter! That's something she had never considered. Sabina, pleased with the effect, added.

“I, and this is another of the secrets, spied the horoscope compiled by Adrian on Marcus. The stars agree that he will become the ruler of Rome. Maybe not tomorrow or a year, but it will happen. You know how Hadrian believes horoscopes…”

“The whole of Rome has heard about it.”

“I'm sure he's already chosen Marcus. All that's left is to find him a wife.”

“But he is still so young, he does not know life…” muttered Domitia, whose mother's heart did not want to let go of her son too soon.

“Stop, Domitia! We've all been through this. What time did you get married?”

“At sixteen.”

“And I was fifteen. You know that marriages are not made out of love, but out of expediency. We all sacrifice ourselves to marriage, but then…”

Sabina led her eyes in the direction of the slaves and made a sign with her hand. They stopped waving, slowly moved to the far edge of the huge hall. Sabina and her friend got off the bed.

“Marcus,” Sabine said to the boy, “we go to the thermae. Don't you want to come with us? It's so hot today!”

Marcus broke away from reading, hesitantly looking at his mother. She made a permitting gesture with her hand, and they all went to the entrance to the imperial baths. In a large room lined with black-and-white floor slabs, columns of Corinthian pink marble towered around the perimeter, and in the niches the sculptures of Venus and Cupid, who took frivolous poses, took refuge. In the center was a pool in which the blue water splashed.

“Hadrian banned the joint washing of women and men,” Sabine remarked, smiling playfully. “But we're all here. Aren’t we?”

She threw off the tunic, exposing the taut, slender body of the nulliparous woman and began to slowly descend the steps into the water. She felt Marcus studying her, and therefore she was in no hurry. Domitia also followed her example, however, not too much embarrassed—they used to bathe with their son at home.

“Come on, Marcus. Come join us!” Sabina called, turning to him in the water so that he could see her all, from the breasts to the tips of feet. “Don't stand like a statue!”

Marcus undressed and, turning to give clothes to the slave, noticed two African slaves standing nearby. Those with their hands folded on their stomachs, looked indifferently in front of them, like two living idols motionlessly frozen on the order of the lady.

The villa of his parents, where Marcus lived, was located on Caelius near Regin's house. It was one of the seven hills of the city, which had long been favored by the Roman nobility. The area became fashionable among patricians because of the picturesque and sparsely populated area. There was no crowding nor the crowds of the big city, here they did not hear the noise and cries of the crowd, nor the disgusting smells of Roman streets.