“He will,” Macro said.
Tiberius grinned. “But if I give him all these accolades, and he accepts them?” he wondered, “Can he call me insane? We are both Consuls this year. I will tell him we have resigned, for he will receive part of my powers the following day and a Consul cannot have such powers. He will give up the consulship gladly. Yes. He shall wait until the next day to receive the powers that he would otherwise have to take by force, perhaps. That night, we make our cases to the Senators. I shall pay all his officers to stand down…but he controls the coin.” He crashed to his seat.
“I have a large amount of coin,” I told him. “It is yours.”
He blinked. “You…”
“He does not lie,” Antonia said.
He shook his head and wiped sweat. “Fine. You have coin. You will use it for us. Thank you! We shall pay them all then…”
“He has the coin,” Antonia said as he yet again stopped to wonder.
He nodded. “One after another. A huge sum. And then we shall simply order his execution. Right there. On the spot. Without giving him a word. It has to be fast.”
He looked at me.
I nodded.
“When he is gone?” he said with relish. “Macro. Gaius. You, Antonia, the Augusta after my mother died. We shall work together.”
“I decline the honor,” she whispered, “But I will help you govern your grandsons, and heirs. You do not seem well.”
“Wine, and debauchery,” he cackled, “and insanity. One day, I shall share the root of it.”
He looked at me, and then away.
There was one more secret, and that was the root of all of this, everything I had suffered since the day Vago the Vangione had killed my family, and my father came home to betray everyone.
He waved his hand. “Leave guards. Leave by ship. I shall give you all the necessary orders. Go now.”
CHAPTER 19
The senate was, that October, meeting in the old Senate building. They had often met in the Temples in Palatine, especially the ones favored by Octavianus, and it had also suited Sejanus well. Now the Consul with Tiberius that year, he was leading the Senate meeting in much more modest settings.
There was the middle seat, the Princeps’s seat, and it was not filled.
Since Tiberius was consul prior as well, the chair to its right was empty. Sejanus, the consul posterior, was presiding over the meeting from his chair.
There was a limit to the number of the Senators. It was six hundred.
In Curia Julia, there was no room for that many.
In truth, the few hundred most active ones would decide on most matters. And apparently, Sejanus now had the needed numbers to make his move. Or so he thought.
That fateful day he was briefly confused.
There were some fifty men in the senate.
Half were gone.
It had been over a hundred of them, who had been reading the letters from Tiberius the day before. There, the confused senators had taken turns to read various letters Tiberius had sent them. Some had spoken of a happy Tiberius, of a Tiberius who was incredibly pleased with Sejanus. Some others had been mildly negative, judgmental, somewhat unhinged.
And then, the final one, the most surprising of all letter had been opened.
I had watched the Consul Sejanus, who suddenly was no consul at all.
Tiberius’s letter to the vile Longinus, husband of Julia Drusilla, had been read.
The man’s voice had been thin and loud, the sort of voice that echoed far, with no emotion at all. “The great Tiberius, the absent Princeps of the Republic, greets the Senate!”
“He has greeted us often enough today!” had yelled a Senator, one of Sejanus’s men, Lepidus. “The Consul will want a word too.”
The laughter had gone on for a while, and had echoed in the great, many times destroyed house. Sejanus had been walking back and forth, in his snow-white toga. He had been grinning from ear to ear and had shaken his head. “Go on, good man!”
The good man would be in for a surprise soon enough.
Sejanus would butcher them all, Longinus included.
“The Princeps,” Longinus called out, “is resigning you both from the consulship. He will instead give you the tribunician power, tomorrow in this hall!”
Sejanus, who had plotted for a coup, suddenly felt like a child. He had been thoroughly elated.
The tribunician power.
A remarkably close step up to the highest power. Tribunician power for life. To enjoy power like Julius Caesar, and Augustus, and Tiberius had? To be able to veto laws, to gather people and senate at will, to speak first in the Senate, and to oversee laws were just? It was a power beguiling to him, and it would make him powerful across Roman dominion.
But it would not be all.
It would be followed by proconsular imperium, power over all other proconsuls, and close to being able to command any legion of Rome at will.
He had closed his eyes for the joy. Longinus had showed the scroll to all. “He wishes us to grant Sejanus further glories. Sacrifices are to be made in his name, and in that of Sejanus, and an altar to fidelity and justice will be erected in the forum. His statues shall shine with gold and red.”
“Fidelity?” had called out a Senator, not of Sejanus’ camp. “How can one show fidelity, when one has divorced and is without a woman?”
Sejanus had grinned like a skeleton, and lifted his chin high, as some twenty of the Senators laughed at him.
“Fidelity to Tiberius!” Sejanus had called out. “That is what he means. And on that note, I have news. A true Roman shows fidelity to Rome. The very heart of our future lies in its survival…I shall gladly receive these powers tomorrow to take the next steps to ensure our future.”
They had praised him for an hour.
And then they had adjourned, and Macro and I bribed men that night.
We met with many people.
A lot of coin was paid out.
And now, this morning, they were back.
Only fifty of them. Most were not of Sejanus’ camp.
Macro and I watched from the shadows, as Longinus rose in his seat, and looked up gravely, a new set of messages in his hands.
“Read, read!” Sejanus called out. “Do not let me grow older. Read!”
Longinus read. “Tiberius writes here; as you relinquished your consul’s position yesterday, as did I, and now hope to guide Rome to a golden future with new powers that stem from mine, do remember the many virtues you have blessed Rome with, when you were lesser man.”
“I will, I will,” Sejanus muttered.
Macro shook his head. “Bastard.”
Longinus read on, squinting. “In fair weather, and in storm, have you been my like-minded friend, the shoulder even a ruler of this land and all its mighty people could always easily lean on, and know one would stay upright. It has been your friendship, in times of turbulence, that has reminded me of the absolute best qualities in myself. Tirelessly have you sent me news and information, after my son died, after I came here to Capri. The island has been my haven. You have been my friend.”
Senators were murmuring with displeasure.
There were many wild tales of debauchery, sodomy, and even stories of murders that supposedly took place in his sanctuary.
Longinus smiled, and waved down the murmurs. “Calm, calm. Who here has not broken a few jars of wine, eh?”
“Or occasional skull,” said another, drawing laughter.
Longinus went on, his voice droning on. “It is indeed with immense pleasure to read your news of Rome. How well you do know it.”
Outside, there was suddenly a sound of crowds.
A tumultuous noise was rising over the hills.
The Senators watched each other, and some got to their feet.
“Calm, calm!” called Sejanus. Let it not bother you. Again, they are harping after the traitors who would bury Rome in lies. They are gone! No more Agrippina. The crowds will be gone too. It i
s time for changes. It is clear—”
“I am not done!” yelled Longinus.
There was a stunned silence, and the dozen praetorians in the room shifted nervously.
Sejanus looked at Longinus, who stood with the scroll in his hand, pointing it at him. “At least hear the last sentences, Sejanus, before we proceed to anything else. Here is the order to give you power, and here is the message I am reading. Let me finish the message before I read the order.” He waved both and slammed the former on his seat, leaving it there. “Now. He goes on.”
Sejanus nodded.
“He says,” Longinus said, “how well you know our Rome, good Sejanus. How good a friend you have been to it, and me, and my son.”
There was a momentary lull in the reading, and Sejanus was frowning.
I pulled out my sword.
Macro did too, and we moved in the shadows.
“How well,” Longinus said, “did you serve it, when you sent me accusations against twenty-three men and women who had done nothing. And how clever it was, Sejanus, to leave those corpses of these executed to rot, and then see who came to mourn them, and next day I would be signing accusations and orders for yet more executions. Rome became rich, though the Senate lost many famed men of its past.”
Everyone was silent.
Many were looking down.
“Where are the Senators,” asked Sejanus nervously, “who support me?”
Longinus went back to reading. “He thanks you profusely. And he agrees, that you can marry Livilla. You are hereby betrothed.”
Sejanus closed his eyes.
If a man could be drowned by pride, relief, hope, and ambition, a shower of each after the other, I imagined he would look just like that. He swayed and lifted his hands as some ten of his staunchest supporters, men we had not approached got up and cheered and clapped.
“As for the tribunician power,” said Longinus, “I shall read the order here.” He picked up the other scroll and opened it. His eyes went over it, and he seemed to freeze in time. Only after men began clearing their throats, and outright lobbing him with small pebbles, did he seem to come back to the land of the living. He took a ragged breath and smiled like a corpse might. His eyes were full of mischievous joy. “The power is…there is a bit of a news here. It is in two parts. One part, the first part says; your betrothal is hereby dissolved.”
Everyone gasped.
Sejanus croaked. “What did you say?”
“And the second part; I, Tiberius, hereby order the death of Sejanus, and expect the Senate to confirm the order. Let the murderer of my son, Drusus the Younger, die today.”
Outside, a centurion of vigiles was shouting orders.
Hundreds of them were surrounding the place.
The centurions of the Praetorian Guard were marching to their barracks, bribed.
The senators were staring at Longinus and Sejanus, some were grinning, others were horrified, but intrigued by the great gamble, for they might be freed of Sejanus, and perhaps, if they were lucky, also alive tomorrow.
Longinus pointed a finger at Sejanus. “You shall appear at the Temple of Concordia this evening, Sejanus. You shall be guarded in the meantime, and the Praetorian Guard will obey its new commander, Naevius Macro. The man of Tiberius shall see you to the Mamertine Jail, where you will await your doom. As for your hope to be delivered from this doom? For men to come and free you?” He snapped his fingers on the scroll. “These charges have been made public. Many of the Senators you extorted will confess publicly. Your murder of the poor Agrippina, Nero, and Drusus, your murder of son of Tiberius, and all the senators you blackmailed, or who followed you out of their own accord?” He smiled, for he had been one of them. “Their tales will be wiped clean by Tiberius. There will be an amnesty from Tiberius. But not for you. And Rome? It hates you. Hear it riot. They smelled your doom long before.”
And indeed, people of Rome would riot.
They would riot for days, and the Praetorian Guard would struggle to contain the riots, and there was trouble in every corner of Italy. While Tiberius granted amnesty, many of the past crimes of his enemies became known. Many of the Senators tried to flee with their families. Some the mob killed. Others, Macro.
Some sued for mercy.
Few got it.
Before that, I would capture him. I was walking down the steps for him, that moment when he realized he was nearly alone. My sword was out, and I wore the Praetorian Centurion armor, dark, gorgeously, and lavishly decorated with two silver ravens.
That is how I would be known, in the years to come.
Raven of Rome. The ill-omened bird of the Julii.
And that is what Sejanus saw.
One of his men drew a sword. Sejanus grasped the man’s hand, shaking his head. “You,” he whispered. “This is my son. Please. He just joined me….”
It was indeed. His son. His eldest son. He was wiry, and dark, and looked like his father.
“Your sons,” I said, “may die like you do, or you let him come at me,” I said, as I walked the steps down to him. “I care not either way.”
Sejanus wept, and let go of his hand.
The man roared and charged, the sword high. He came at me as I got to the bottom, and some others began to follow him, though Sejanus was still staring at me with horror.
Arrows rained down on the praetorians from the top. A man fell, another howled, and swords clattered on the marble and the tiles. Macro’s men came down, more entered, the vigiles grinning as they bore down on the men of Sejanus.
The young man swung his blade down mightily.
I grasped his wrist in the air, and rammed my sword’s hilt up so hard, his nose and mouth were all smashed into a bloody pulp.
Sejanus gasped, and took a step forward.
I shook my head and slapped him back. I grasped his hair and yanked him after me, while a hundred vigiles swarmed the Curia, and more, all of whom would guard the remaining Senators.
“I was never as bad as they were, the people I killed,” he gasped.
“I know not,” I said. “But you tried to kill me, and no man or woman who has done so, may live to tell about it.”
***
That night Rome burned in many places. The Praetorians were now working for Tiberius, truly working for him under Macro, and vigiles were killing dozens of ruffians and thieves. Cassius was spared, and was happy to follow Macro, and to help.
Little by little, peace was achieved. For weeks it would still be a drunken, unrestful place.
Many people, restless for blood, waited at the bottom of the Gemonian stairs, a winding, steep way from the Capitoline Hill down to the forum.
It was the place of execution.
I watched the man, sitting inside the Mamertine Prison’s few cells. The cell was a hole in the ground, dank and miserable, and his company were the rats and fleas, and his toga was smeared with blood. Strabo, his son was there with him, unconscious, dying.
Sejanus was shivering.
He looked up at me.
“It was you,” he whispered. “All along. And I thought…you and…Gaius?”
I nodded. “We have played a dangerous, long game, Sejanus.”
He nodded, looking at his son dying. “Who got to Tiberius?”
“I did, and Antonia, and we had the tales of Pompeia Magna,” I said. “One thing is puzzling me, though.”
“I am happy to help you put your mind to rest,” he said, smiling thinly.
“You wanted me to investigate Pollio,” I said. “You thought someone tried to kill Tiberius. Did you do that? Did you have some other reason for investigating what Agrippina was doing there? Or was there truly an attempt on his life?”
He shook his head. “I know not who did that. It is a mystery. Apparently, it was none of the people we thought it might be. Or it was. We cannot be sure.”
“There was a spider in wine in the building of Pollio, remember,” I said.
“I really do not care,” he answered. “I
am happy there is one more mystery for you to think about.” He was chuckling. “Did you know, I truly was Tiberius’ confidant. And that he is truly unfit to rule.”
“I know,” I said.
He looked at me with curiosity. “The depravity is all true. He does horrifying things to women there. And to men. And to…boys. Your Gaius.”
I wondered what Gaius had suffered on his road to godhood.
He spoke on. “He went mad after Drusus’ death, but he has had his odd compulsions from the time before Rhodes, when he was still married to Julia.”
I shook my head. “I don’t really care about that.”
He squinted up at me. “Do you think Gaius is safe? Do you really?”
I cocked my head. “Yes. I am watching over him.”
“No,” he sneered. “I know that. I mean; is he safe?” He waved his hand at his son and wept. “He is dead.”
“I know,” I said. “He chose his path. He was brave.”
He steeled his jaw and looked up at me, his eyes wet. “What you want to do, Hraban, is to investigate the head of that mad, horrible creature, Gaius. Do you think he is safe? To you?” He laughed. “Beware. Beware!”
I knew he was right.
I knew Gaius.
I would kill him. But not before he destroyed what remained of the best blood of Rome.
I might die of old age before I saw it, but not likely. Gods had kept me in this play for a reason.
I got up. “I spit on you, Sejanus. I pity you not.”
“Wait,” he said and smiled up at me. “A parting gift. Livia. Tiberius once spoke to me, when he was very drunk. Told me things. I admit I asked.”
“Yes?” I asked, and afraid she might have survived this and was hiding somewhere, terrified of bread and ponds.
He spoke softly. “You think Livia was the greedy, power-hungry, terrible person who wanted her sons to shine on top of all other stars. That she married Octavian to rule.”
“Yes,” I said.
“But did you know, Hraban, that Tiberius himself, as a boy,” he said, “demanded she divorce her husband for Octavian. That it was Tiberius, when he was incredibly young, who dreamed of being the Princeps of Rome?”
The Oath Keeper Page 31
