Apollodorus frowned. “In a religious sense, perhaps. But aesthetically-”

“I want you to design this new statue, Apollodorus. The style should match that of Sol, of course, but I’ll be interested to see what innovations you come up with. I realize that such a project is as much an engineering challenge as an artistic one. We mustn’t have the goddess losing an arm or tumbling into rubble when there’s an earthquake, as happened to the Colossus of Rhodes. The statue Nero built has stood the test of time, so as you move it, I suggest you take the opportunity to study the way it was cast and assembled, and learn whatever secrets you can about its construction.”

The prospect of such a commission – the creation of a statue equal in size to the Colossus – silenced all Apollodorus’s objections. Until that point, he had considered his work on Trajan’s Column the crowning achievement of his career, but the Luna Colossus would eclipse all his other accomplishments. This was Apollodorus’s opportunity to create a work of art that would endure for eternity.

In the meantime, the challenge was to move the Colossus of Sol.

The distance to be traversed was not great, only a few hundred feet, and the ground was flat and paved the entire way. The area had been cleared of spectators. First, the Colossus was hoisted by three cranes, just high enough for a conveyance on rollers to be placed underneath. The upright statue was gently lowered onto the conveyance. The ropes were left attached and were pulled taut by teams of men on all sides, to keep the statue steady as it was moved.

A team of twenty-four elephants was harnessed to the conveyance. At Apollodorus’s signal, the elephant trainer drove the team forward. The rollers creaked under the strain. The taut ropes sang as if plucked. The elephants brandished their tusks and trumpeted.

Marcus watched the procedure with a tremor of anxiety. The near-disaster that had occurred when the statue of Trajan was set atop his Column was still vivid in his memory. This project was, if anything, even more ambitious, and the possibility of disaster, given the proximity of the amphitheatre, was even greater. Despite careful planning and scrupulous attention to detail, unknown factors were in play, chief among them the uneven distribution of weight within the Colossus and the volatile temperament of elephants.

“ Merely to relocate the Colossus!” said a voice behind him. It was Apollodorus, who stood with his arms crossed, gazing up intently at the statue as it lumbered forward.

“What’s that?” said Marcus.

“The emperor’s instructions to me: ‘your task is merely to relocate the Colossus.’ Ha! Compared to this, designing a new temple would be child’s play. He’s probably up there right now, sketching gourds to plop down on top of his temple.”

Marcus glanced at the Palatine Hill. On a balcony high up in the House of the People, Hadrian and some of his courtiers stood watching their progress.

“I overheard a joke told by one of the workmen today,” said Apollodorus, never taking his eyes off the statue.

“How did it go?” said Marcus.

“The fellow said, ‘What will they call it if the Colossus goes tumbling into the Flavian Amphitheatre?”

Marcus shuddered at the thought. “What will they call it?”

“Nero’s revenge!”

Marcus gave a dry laugh. He nervously fingered the fascinum and whispered a prayer – not to the ancient god the talisman represented, but to the radiant youth who had first appeared to him on the night of the dinner party in his honour, and since then had frequently visited him in dreams. Always the youth brought Marcus a sense of well-being and tranquility, yet never did he reveal his name. He only said what he always said: “Do not fear. I will save you.”

The Colossus moved forward steadily. Marcus tried to imagine the astounding sight presented to Hadrian and to everyone else watching from a distance, to whom it must appear that a giant was striding slowly through the city. At last the statue reached the spot from which it was to be hoisted into its new location. Again it was lifted skywards, and then slowly, carefully, with utmost precision it was lowered onto its new base.

A cheer went up from the workers. The operation had been carried out without a hitch. Marcus sighed with relief. He turned to his father-in-law, who was grinning blithely, as if there had never been any possibility of error.

“No revenge for Nero today!’ said Marcus.

Later that night, Marcus and his father-in-law, with Apollodora, quietly celebrated the day’s good fortune with a dinner at Marcus’s house. It was still a bit difficult for Marcus to think of the house as his, rather than as the house of his father. Marcus had been the sole heir to his father’s estate and was one of the few Pinarii left in Roma. The ancient patrician family had dwindled to a handful of scattered cousins, a fact that lent a special urgency to Marcus’s desire for a son to carry his name.

Apollodorus seemed to read his thoughts. “Any news from the two of you?” he said, looking at Marcus and then at his daughter.

Apollodora averted her eyes and blushed as she always did when questioned on the matter.

Apollodorus shrugged. “The world needs fresh blood as the older generation passes away. Do you know who just died? Your father’s old friend Dio of Prusa.”

“When did you hear this?” said Marcus.

“Earlier today, after we moved the Colossus. Suetonius happened to pass by and he gave me the news.”

“Truly, that does mark the passing of a generation,” said Marcus quietly. His father and almost all his father’s closest friends were gone. Even Hilarion was gone. He had died of a sudden illness the preceding winter, surviving his old master by little more than a year.

“One generation passes and another takes its place,” said Apollodorus. “It’s a new age, with Hadrian at the helm. All sorts of changes are afoot. Imagine an emperor who fancies himself an architect!” He shook his head and emptied his wine cup.

“To be sure, there are those who speak ill of the emperor,” said Marcus.

“Who? Only a handful of malcontents,” said Apollodorus. Since Hadrian had instructed him to proceed with preliminary sketches of the Luna Colossus, Apollodorus would not hear a word against him.

“I’m thinking of the senators who were put to death at the outset of his reign, in contravention of his vow,” said Marcus. Among the alleged conspirators had been Lusius Quietus, the despoiler of Edessa. “Perhaps they were indeed plotting to kill the emperor and deserved their sentences, but still-”

“The emperor never broke his vow,” said Apollodorus, “at least, not technically. What he actually said was that he would punish no senators without the express consent of the Senate, and in fact a majority of the Senate voted in favour of the executions.”

“Still, the appearance-”

“Really, Pygmalion, any hard feelings that resulted from that unfortunate turn of events were more than made up for by the goodwill Caesar garnered when he lit that bonfire of promissory notes in the courtyard of Trajan’s Forum. Wholesale debt relief to those who owed money to the state – what an idea!”

“Some said the treasury would go bankrupt and the economy would come to a standstill,” noted Marcus.

“Instead, that bonfire had the opposite effect. Confidence was restored and everyone began to spend again. The new tax revenues have more than made up for the debts that were forgiven. The emperor showed his own willingness to contribute to the public coffers when he melted down the famous Shield of Minerva, that glorified silver serving dish created by Vitellius. All the subsequent emperors had been afraid to touch the thing, even Trajan – they took it seriously as a sacred offering to the goddess. But when Hadrian was reviewing the imperial holdings, he took one look at the shield, declared it inconceivable that any goddess would care to have such a hideous thing consecrated to her, and ordered the shield to be melted down. They say he was able to mint enough coinage to pay an entire legion! Oh, he’s a clever fellow, our Hadrian.”