A summer afternoon in Augusta Trajana. It's hot and there aren't many people around; just a few can be spotted behind the columns of the stoa where they have sheltered from the scorching rays of the July sun. It is quiet even in front of the temple. Two boys, not older than sixteen, come out of the gymnasium – they have just finished their classes. They are obviously in no rush at all. They stroll idly on the stone slabs of the agora which are new, installed just a few months ago. After so many centuries Rome has left a distinct mark on the ancient city that used to be called Beroe. Many would say that nowadays Augusta Trajana surpasses even Philippopolis in its beauty. Every single Roman emperor has left a trace here: the fortress wall built by Marcus Aurelius, Caracalla's temples and augusteum, all the high-columned buildings, the thermae, the arena, fountains of all shapes and sizes.

Marcus and Lucius – for this is how the two teenagers are called, stop by a big marble fountain to drink and wash up their faces. Then, they move on to sit on the nearby bench, under the thick shade of a fig tree.

'Today's going to be boring, my friend. There's nothing to do here this month. No competitions, no theatre plays, the gladiator fights will only start in a month's time…'

'You want to go to my parents' villa? We could have a swim in the river there.'

'Nah, it's too hot. I don't feel like walking all the way there.'

Then how about the top of the wall? It's your cousin that stands guard today, isn't it?'

'It'll be hot there too.'

After a short pause Lucius continues. 'The grammarian said we won't be studying any military stuff next year either.'

'I heard him. And I had such high hopes. All this math, poets, historians, rhetors – it's not for me, man. Being a soldier, that's what I want to learn about.'

'Yeah, me too. But such are the times. It's been a while since anybody's had military education; we have only gymnastics and weight-lifting to rely on. Now the army is professional, why bother teach the likes of us to be soldiers…' The boy pauses, and he stares at the statues. 'Hang on, is this one new? Have you seen it before?'

'I can't say I have. Let's see. They must've just put it up.'

The boys get up and stroll by to the statue. They inspect the inscription under it and Lucius starts reading out loud:

'"Farewell! After a decision of the Lacedaemonians' most sacred city, confirmed with a vote by the most beloved home city, Sparta hereby honours Marcus Ulpius Genialis, a citizen of Trajana and Lacedaemon, for all his virtues and foremost for his devotion to education and rhetorics. This statue was erected under the supervision of Aurelius Pandion, son of Hermodoros."'

'Seriously, man, we live in the wrong time.' Marcus looks at his friend; there's disappointment in his voice. 'There'll be no glory for us. You see for yourself, the only ones that get statues are some smarty-pants. A teacher and a rhetor! And what has he done for Sparta to deserve a statue?! 'A citizen of Trajana and Lacedaemon.' They've even crossed out one name, writing the other on top of it. Lacedaemon is Sparta, in case you're wondering.' Without waiting for confirmation, Marcus shakes his head and concludes. 'His family must've commissioned it.'

'I haven't the slightest idea who this might be. But you're right – we're not to see any glory in these modern times. Words, books, this is all that matters now. They want us to leave the gladius behind, and wage war with words. These times are wrong indeed, if people erect statues not to true heroes but to people like this here Genialis. What a hero's that? Take the Emperor.' He points at the big, regal statue of a man on horseback dominating the square. 'Take the greatest athlete.' He turns to the nearby statue of Olympic running champion, Marcus Aurelius Fronto. 'These men are true heroes! And not that–'

'And what makes you so certain this man is not a hero, boys?'

They haven't realized somebody has approached them. They turn and check out the man. He's almost elderly, at least fifty years old. A deep scar runs across his cheek, another divides his brow; he has short cropped hair, a stout, muscular body, and a stern look. His face betrays he is a veteran legionary, most probably one of those who have received a piece of land in Augusta Trajana to spend their old age in peace as a reward for their loyal service to Rome.

'We didn't mean to be disrespectful, sir…'

'And yet your ignorance made you just that. I heard you saying you wanted to be legionaries. You crave for glory, for battles, for blood. Well, I was a legionary.' The man touches his scar. 'I've spent over a quarter of a century on the battlefields. And still, I haven't got a statue, whereas this man here, he does. And I happen to know that he is a hero times greater and more impressive than all other Trajanians, and he has made our city famous, and in Sparta at that! This man, you ignorant cubs, is in fact the most famous Trajanian the Empire will ever know.'

'How come you know so much about him?'

'A long time ago me and him, we were just like you two. Two ignorant kids who didn't know a thing but dreamed the world. Genialis' the man points at the statue, 'was my best friend. We grew up together here. I mastered the gladius and the martial arts, and he mastered words. He was an unrivalled rhetor, one that could challenge Demosthenes himself; quite young, he already bettered even the best teachers our city had to offer, and our hometown grew too small for him. After we finished school, life brought us apart - I joined the army and after some training I was commissioned to Persia, and then to Africa. Genialis became a sophist – he told me that himself years later, when I visited him in Sparta. He would roam the Empire, giving speeches, declamations, talks. The more he traveled, the more places he visited, the better he got at it. He won more battles with his words than I with my sword. With time he earned people's respect; he was famous and elders from cities all across the Empire would invite him to start a school there but he chose Lacedaemon, perhaps drawn to the city's glorious past. Soon his school became the most famed in the whole of Greece; everybody wanted their children to study with the wise Trajanian. It was a very long time ago that I visited him but I remember clearly how young and old alike revered him and looked at him respectfully, with admiration, when he spoke. And that's why I insist that this is the statue of a true hero, boys, a hero greater than the runner, and the horseman, and any soldier.' He reaches out and touches the marble base under his friend's feet. 'And it isn't his family that paid for the statue. The Spartans did, and it is a glorious honour, for exactly the same statue now adorns their agora too. And centuries from now, when there will be no memory left of me and you, the two statues of my friend, the Trajanian who turned Lacedaemonian, the great rhetor Marcus Ulpius Genialis, will still be there.'

The legionary falls silent for a while, then he looks at the embarrassed boys by his side and smiles again.

'Do you see now why this really is a hero's monument?'

Marcus and Lucius say nothing but it is clear that the old soldier's words have made them reconsider their attitude and when they look at the statue, they see it differently now.