When the waters of his body started to overflow, drown and suffocate him, Hadrian retired reluctantly and secluded himself in Baiae. The empire was secure on all frontiers; Egyptian bread and foreign gladiators in abundance in Rome, senators pacified and locked in a respectful silence.
He released his physicians in disgust, muttering angrily: "Thy art is devoid of knowledge..." He studied it himself and knew it too well.
He also knew who poisoned him: the old Hebrew with empty sunny eyes, whom he rewarded so generously. His unusual exotic fruits were too sweet and too delicious and caused an insatiable deep thirst which could never be quenched. So they could repeat for centuries: "May his bones rot!"
He tried to kill himself three times and each time his vigilant servants wrestled the knife out of his hands. Servianus' prayer thus turned into a curse and a prophesy: "Wish your own death but do not get it!"
His memories became his lonely walking paths, his thoughts - his only delight and entertainment. He contemplated the nature of gods and men and the fate of The Empire.
A bust of Hadrian, National Archaeological Museum of Athens.
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