However, Antiochus, as if understanding her thoughts, turned away and left the room.

“Oh, how white, tender your skin is!” Demetra examined his body, bringing her face closer to him, almost too close, drawing her fingertips on his back, shoulders, chest. Marcus tickled, and he felt a slight excitement. There was no heat in the room, and the roasting pan in the corner was out and it was cool.

“Now we'll see what you have here!” Demetra said with a laugh, lowering her hand below.

And now the dream repeated itself. In front of him on her knees there was a woman, he copulates with her and he was not disgusted by the smell of this body, nor the kind of flabby, saggy skin of the prostitute. Perhaps now she would turn her head, and he would see the face of Empress Sabina. Or his mother’s. No, it shouldn't happen again! The woman turned her head, and he saw Demetra. Of course! It was Demetra, there could be no other.

He was covered with intense excitement, he convulsively jerked, beating on her body and almost lost his head, falling against her back. “Thank the gods, it's a prostitute!”—swept through his head, which was so clear, empty and lonely that it seemed as if he was hovering above the ground in the blue over the mountain ranges of the Alps or over the vast expanses of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

No, it didn't happen! No Demetra, no body, no horrible, shameful coitus. It never happened. “It's a dream,” he decided. “I swear to Venus, I am a virgin and will remain for him until the wedding! Until the gods find me a wife.”

The woman, meanwhile, was already dressed, and now she quickly and deftly helped to dress Marcus. She took his money and looked affectionately into his eyes.

“Come to me again, my boy. I'm Demetra from the fifth district of Hill Caelian. Remember that?”

Emperor Hadrian spent the whole spring and summer in the East, mostly in Athens.

Galatia and Cilicia, Egypt and Judea. He didn't like Asia very much. Screaming, self-serving, impudent peoples, people in whom it was difficult to find the inherent Hellenic susceptibility to the sublime and graceful, irritated Caesar.

Being in the Arabian sands or mountains of Cappadocia, in the sun-dried city of Alexandria, among the olive groves of Phoenicia, he often turned his gaze towards Greece, where the clouds flowing through the blue sky. There, above the top of Olympus, where the majestic gods lived, these clouds were showered with warm rain, mitigating the harshness of the celestials. There was ready to be shed and his heart, the heart of the Emperor of Rome, if he was on the ancient land of Hellas.

But circumstances prevented the reunion of Hadrian's soul with the divine and unique Greek aura. All the fault was Judea, unruly and persistent in their delusions, which from the point of view of Rome were seen as barbaric and demanding eradication.

It all started two, maybe three years ago. In his quest to impose Greek culture on the Jews, Hadrian may have gone too far. He passed a law banning castration, unwittingly affecting Jews who were no longer allowed to circumcise. Unfortunately, this was one of the most important rites of their religion.

Then he, Hadrian, decided to rename Jerusalem, the holiest city for every Jew, to Aelia Capitolina, because it seemed that its importance after the defeat of the Titus rebellion in these lands significantly decreased. The city, as it seemed to Hadrian, had already lost the original importance of the religious center of all Judea and on the Temple Mount he intended to build the sanctuary of Jupiter Capitol.

The members of Hadrian's council also did not object to such measures, neither the prefect of Rome Regin, nor the prefect of the Pretoria Turbo, nor the immediate entourage of the emperor, which included the famous lawyers Publius Celsus, Salvius Julianus, Neracius Priscus. Even his secretary, Avidius Heliodorus, a native of Syria, who was of close origin to the peoples of Asia and he found no arguments against. Maybe he lied since the Syrians have always acted as antagonists of the Jews.

Therefore, having received approval from all sides, on the wave of fame and success of his brilliant reign, Hadrian did not think about the consequences.

But how can one predict what comes to the minds of fanatics of faith? After all, the divine Titus almost sixty years ago seemed to have destroyed the sprouts of resistance forever. However, the deafly hidden and dangerous discontent lurking in the bowels of the people of Judea had to sooner or later break out, like lava from Vesuvius.

The Jews were just waiting for their messiah, predicted in the Old Testament, and such a messiah appeared. Hadrian was informed that his name was Varkoheba,43 which meant “Son of the Star,” and Varkoheba called himself the prince of Israel. However, the governor of Tineius Rufus reported that the messiah has another nickname—Ben-Koziwa, the son of lies. But there was little trust in Rufus.

Prefect of the Pretoria Turbo, to which the service of the frumentarii44 was subordinate, the collectors of human secrets, reported that the viceroy did not behave quite well, and the cup of patience of the Jews was overflowed with Rufus’ harassment of a newlywed. It was as if he had corrupted a few women.

This Rufus had yet to be dealt with.

Now, after four years of bloody war, in which the Romans lost many experienced warriors, several legions, Hadrian sat in front of the city of Betar on a white horse in armor, a purple cloak—a symbol of imperial power, fluttered behind his back. He didn't usually have a helmet, because he never covered his head, neither in winter nor in summer. He was surrounded by a small retinue.

The Augustus sun burned brightly in the sky, warming the air, gray stones, distant mountains. There was a severe heat, which happened in these places in early Augustus, and Hadrian felt her suffocating, squeezing his lungs. He was afraid that his nose would start to bleed.

Covering his eyes with his palm from the blinding light, he looked at the last stronghold of the Jewish resistance, the fortress of Betar. In front of him was an impressive sight worthy of the artist's brush; in the middle of small hills, scorched by the southern sun, gray-yellow stones, faded green trees, lay a Jewish fortress, which survived a long siege, but was eventually captured thanks to the unexpected help of the Samaritans. When the Roman legions, exhausted by the long and barren siege, were about to retreat, the Samaritans came to the rescue and helped to find out the secret passage into the fortress.

Hadrian carefully considered the high gloomy walls, partially punctured by battering rams and destroyed by powerful catapults, a long ditch stretching along them, filled with the corpses of legionnaires. They lay in the sun-shining armor, and the red cloaks covered many, as if preparing for a funeral fire. Black smoke of fires, engaged in several places, rose into the sky above the fortress.

Roman troops entered Betar only a few hours ago on the ninth day of the Ava45 on the Jewish calendar. Loud wails of murdered male-defenders were heard from the city and their bodies, similar to dead birds falling from the ruined nests, were strewn from the city. There were laments of women who were dragged by the victors. Behind the walls of the city rattled deaf blows, as if someone was banging on a huge drum.

Terrified residents appeared from the broken gates, with men, women, children, exhausted and dirty, with difficulty moving their legs. They were led by guards, separated by each cohort. Soon the Jews would be turned into slaves, into a living commodity. Rich prey!