AD107, Dacia

You smell the column before you see it. The breeze picks up the dust from a hundred chisels and carries it on the wind that whips through the Forum.  Marble dust in concentrated clouds, acrid and suffocating. On this early autumn morning, it drifts through the air like a shifting veil; the bustling scene is rendered hazy as you approach the square.

The column stands erect from the polished paving surrounding it, its power only slightly diminished by the cage-like scaffold. A spiralling ramp and a dozen platforms support the weight of a hundred craftsmen, kneeling, stretching or seated on small stools, chiselling, blowing, and brushing at their friezes. Slaves sweep piles of marble shavings from the ramp as foremen bark instructions and slave masters stand by, flails at the ready should work flag. There is a brittle nervousness among the carvers. Today is not the same as every other morning. Today the Emperor Trajan himself is coming to inspect his legacy.