In the darkness moaning breaths rasp in a rhythm of agony; a few gasps in quick succession followed by suspenseful silence, then more gasps and silence. Vague shadows hover around a bed in that dark room. A muffled whisper disturb a period of the momentary stillness, "Is he dead yet? How much longer do we need to stay?" Another shadowy voice hisses, Shhhhhhhhh!" Finally the whispery gloom is broken by a desperate guttural gasp for air. A narrow strip of daylight now shines through a gap between the drawn, thick curtains, piercing the shadow and streaking across the bed in a delicate shaft that seems to bind the gasping form to the bed. Just enough light is now cast to reveal the dark shifting human shapes that crowd the room. Once, a whole empire had bowed to the wishes of that bound and helpless form; now only a roomful of impatient people hover waiting to be done with the anti-climax of the life of Emperor Hadrianus. His naked arms, once so powerful, now shriveled, lie above the covers. His left hand clutches something in a claw-like grasp; his right arm, in repetitive motion, feebly reaches to that shaft of light.