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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 facade of the upcoming reign, festive, brilliant, admirable, and Marcus would be the real ruler behind him.

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.

Marcus's great-grandfather Catilius Regin, solemn in white toga, came forward and addressed Ceionius Commodus with the traditional question, “Do you promise, Ceionius, to give Fabia to Marcus for marriage.” Marcus noticed how his mother's eyes were moistened—Domitia was standing next to her great-grandfather.

“I promise!” replied Commodus, and Marcus put on an iron ring, simple, unadorned on the girl's hand, simultaneously noticing that her palm was as cold as ice. He did not know either Fabia or her father, but the custom allowed him to wait a few years before the wedding, and therefore Marcus treated the event quite calmly. If it was Hadrian's will, that was the way it would be.

Sitting in a Great Circus near his mother, Marcus saw on a vast human sea surrounding him. The first rows were entirely white, for at the races from noble people were required to be only in toga. Today Marcus was also in white, because a year ago he had already received a toga of masculinity. Above them, on the higher tiers sat commoners in a bright and colorful outfit. This human sea was noisy, rustle, buzzing, waiting for the beginning of races, and a beautiful sunny day, which promised to be hot, was in full swing. Upstairs, on specially stretched cables, as hard-working ants crawled slaves, unwrapping fabric, which should create a shadow from the scorching rays of the celestial luminary.

In the Great Circus, where horse races were held, more than a hundred thousand spectators were placed. It was located in the valley between Aventine and Palatine, had three tiers of seats and was surrounded by a high wall. For a few dozen, if not a hundred years, the building of the Circus has changed more than once. It was rebuilt by Octavian and restored by Trajan after the fire. Emperor Claudius ordered marble laid in the horse stalls. The distance-limiting pointers, around which the charioteers made their turn in the four-horses-race, turned from stone to gold.

Horse races have long aroused the interest of the city's residents.

They saw frantically galloping horses with sweat-sloping sides, which were skillfully driven by muscular, strong men. They were captured by the accompanying passion and risk, sometimes deadly, as the charioteers often flew on turns right under the hooves of other people's horses. Finally, the strongest impression was made by the charioteers themselves, who could in certain circumstances become heroes of Rome, and they were them when they received the wreath of the winner and left the Circus at the gate, similar to the triumphal arch. All this led the audience to go wild.

Men rated the thoroughbred horses based on quickness, admired the ability of riders to deftly manage with heavy quadrigas. And women kept their eyes on the charioteers, who risked everything to become winners and earn a triumphal wreath. Their blood, their death, their victory was so exciting and exhilarating that many of the matrons and unmarried women were inclined to have an affair with these intrepid, daring people.

Cheering for the people’s favorites was easy, it was only necessary to choose one of the colors of the tunics of the rider, in which they carried on quadrigas past the stands. At first there were two colors: red and white. Then green and blue were added. Fans divided Rome into factions, forcing citizens to argue to hoarseness and often leading to clashes.

Emperors also did not shy away from horse races. They say Nero was a supporter of the Greens, and Octavian liked white.

A traditional ceremony had already taken place, which was led by the consul Ceionius. He marched in a purple toga embroidered with palm branches, above his head, a state slave carried a golden oak wreath. Around him were numerous clients and relatives, in the middle of which Marcus noticed his future wife, Fabia, and her younger brother, Lucius. They were used to such ceremonies and kept quiet and were not as frightened by large crowds of children shyly clinging to their parents. The procession was called pomp, and according to the established custom took place before each race.