by James Mace
“Today I avenge my wife,” the first senator said coldly, clutching his weapon beneath the folds of his toga.
“And I, mine,” Regulus said quietly.
After being forced to divorce him in order to marry the emperor, Caligula subsequently divorced her six months later, forbidding her from sleeping with or associating with any other men.
“Today we avenge Rome,” Cassius added as soon as they passed a group of entertainers who were heading back up the passage towards the palace. Even though their mission may have been a matter of patriotism for their nation, it had also become a matter of personal survival for the men.
Caligula was emotionally unstable, prone to fits of rage where he would sometimes order the immediate execution of those who displeased him. Such actions had surpassed the bounds of legality and common decency, yet there were none in the senate or the patrician class who would dare oppose him. Indeed, two of the senators who accompanied Cassius had only been spared execution by the intervention of Caligula’s current wife, Caesonia, as well as his uncle, Claudius. Declaring himself a living deity, he demanded to be worshipped as a god. In a strange turn of events, he staged a number of legions for a supposed invasion of the isle of Britannia, only to order the soldiers to unleash their javelins into the waters and to ‘attack the sea’ in order to suppress his divine rival, Neptune. This had been fortuitous for the legions, as the emperor had neglected the very basics of logistical support needed to conduct an invasion, and had they crossed the channel they would have eventually met with disaster once their supplies ran out.
And yet, despite his erratic behavior, the squandering of most of the vast imperial treasury that his predecessor, Tiberius, had left, Caligula was loved by many of Rome’s common people. It meant little to the plebeians if their emperor cut down a few patricians or cavorted with their wives, and whatever happened with the legions on the frontier was a different world that few gave any mind to. Caligula gave them the proverbial bread and circuses, making the people forget Rome’s pending bankruptcy with a plethora of games and endless festivals, the irony being that such costly celebrations were only hastening pending demise. It was as if the annual holiday of Saturnalia had become a daily event throughout much of the year.
As Cassius and his conspirators continued down the tunnel, they saw a number of senators and other magistrates, who were gathered with the emperor. Caligula was addressing a troupe of young male dancers who were scheduled to entertain him later at the palace. Also with him was his uncle, Claudius, who quietly excused himself as the squad of praetorians and senators approached. He gave a friendly nod and smile to Cassius, who he had always viewed as a friend. He also shot knowing glances to Marcus and Regulus. Whether he knew what was about to happen, no one would ever say.
Not content with the protection offered by the praetorians, Caligula had a personal bodyguard made up of Germanic warriors who were fiercely loyal to him. This in itself could be seen as a private joke to the young emperor, given his extreme dislike of their people. He was prone to referring to things he disliked as ‘German’, as if it were a form of profanity. These particular guards wore hamata chain armor and carried oblong shields and long stabbing spears. They also rarely left Caligula’s side, yet so anxious had he been to address the group of entertainers, that he’d left them mostly behind as he’d exited the imperial box at the circus. This was fortuitous for Cassius, for the last thing he wanted was a brawl to ensue between these fearsome warriors and his outnumbered praetorians. Besides, they had further work to do once the hated tyrant was slain!
A few German guards were lingering by the large double doors at the base of the steps that went up into the arena. As inconspicuously as possible, a pair of Cassius’ guardsmen skirted past the crowd and over to the doors. Each man stood at a door, hoping he could shut it fast enough once their commander gave the signal.
“Why, Cassius, my dear little Venus!” Caligula said boisterously as the praetorian approached him. The term ‘Venus’ was one of many insults the emperor hurled at Cassius almost on a daily basis, and was in reference to a serious groin injury he’d suffered years before that sometimes caused his voice to crack. “To what do I owe this delicious pleasure? Come to see these fine young specimens perform? Well, sorry if any strike your fancy, for they are only for my amusement. Now what is it? I’m awfully busy right now!”
“The watchword, Caesar,” Cassius said, his left hand clutching the scabbard of his gladius that was strapped to his hip. His knuckles were white from his hard grip, and his blood was surging through his veins, like it had always done before battle. There was no turning back.
“Hmm,” Caligula said in mock contemplation as he tapped his finger on his lips. “Well, since we are celebrating my divinity today, let’s say Jupiter. He’s been rather fussy ever since I taught Neptune a rather harsh lesson.”
“I have one that’s better,” Cassius said coldly. “Justice!” His weapon flashed from its scabbard as the praetorians at the end of the corridor quickly pulled shut and braced the large double doors with a loud slam. Confused talk in German could be heard on the other side, and soon there was a loud pounding on the doors that echoed throughout the corridor.
“You dare draw your weapon in the presence of your emperor and god…” Caligula’s words were cut short as Cassius plunged his gladius into his groin, eliciting a high-pitched scream of agony.
The other guardsmen, along with Regulus, Marcus, and the others, drew their weapons and swarmed the emperor as shouts of fear and shock echoed from the gathered crowd. They stabbed the emperor repeatedly, his white and purple robes ripped and splashed with bright crimson. Marcus gritted his teeth as blood spurted onto the blade of his weapon as he thrust it into Caligula’s back. Regulus slashed his weapon between the shoulder and neck, driving him to his knees.
“No!” Caligula shouted in terror and agony as large splotches of blood saturated his robes. “I’m a god, you cannot kill me!”
Blood gushed from the fearful wounds as he continued to scream in pain, the dousing of his toga coming as a stark mockery of his imploring cries of his own divinity. It was as if Cassius and his men were deliberately striking where it would be most painful, yet not immediately fatal. Finally, as Caligula started to fall onto his face, Regulus grabbed him by his blood-soaked hair and slashed his gladius across his throat. The emperor’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as dark scarlet gushed from both the wound and out of his gaping mouth. All the while, the sounds of frantic pounding on the large doors grew ever louder as the cross brace began to break.
“We need to go,” one of the praetorians said. “Those damned Germans outnumber us, and they will be in a rage when they see their beloved emperor.”
“At least this hated affair is now over,” Marcus said quietly, sweat forming on his brow.
“No,” Cassius said, shaking his head. “It is not done yet.” He spat on the emperor’s twitching corpse that lay face down in a pooling mass of blood. He turned to walk away, his eyes filled with murderous rage.
“Cassius!” the senator said, grabbing him by the shoulder of his armor. His face was filled with dread as he sensed what Cassius intended. “We agreed, only Caligula was to die.”
“Things change, Marcus,” the praetorian said coldly. “Now unhand me!”
As the men fled back up the corridor, the brace over the door behind them snapped, and swarms of Caligula’s German bodyguard rushed into the corridor. Upon seeing their emperor lying in a growing pool of blood, his body stabbed and slashed in dozens of places, they flew into a rage. Bystanders who had not fled, but instead watched the macabre execution of the emperor, suddenly became targets for the Germans’ rage. They assailed anyone in the vicinity, causing another wave of panic, as even the troupe of dancing boys were assaulted by the burly men with heavy spears.
Down the other end of the tunnel, as they reentered the imperial palace, Marcus stopped and grabbed Regulus by the shoulder of his toga. Word of the em
peror’s assassination had already started to spread, and fear gripped those within the house as Cassius and his praetorians set about their fearful task.
“By Diana, what is he doing?” Marcus asked, fearing the answer.
“I would say he’s trying to singlehandedly restore the republic,” the former consul replied quietly.
“Or settle his own petty scores,” Marcus retorted. “And what of Caesonia…and Claudius? Surely Cassius will not harm them! Caesonia is innocent of any of her husband’s crimes, and Claudius has always thought of Cassius as a friend!”
“I fear that friendship alone will not be enough to save him from Cassius’ wrath,” Regulus lamented. “As you said, we all agreed that only Caligula should die. I regret that we cannot stop Cassius, though I will have no further part in this. Come, let us leave this place.”
Unbeknownst to Marcus and Regulus, Claudius had been privy to their conversation; listening from a balcony that overlooked the entrance to the underground passage. Panic had erupted within the palace, and he now found himself gripped in fear as he searched for his wife, Messalina. The young woman had been married to Claudius by Caligula four years prior as a cruel joke, given that the then twenty-year-old was young enough to be Claudius’ daughter. Still, he was very much in love with her. She had since borne him a daughter and was now nine months pregnant with their second child.
It was the cry of another child that alerted him. The door to one of the many rooms along the upstairs corridor was flung open, and Claudius recognized Cassius Chaerea and another praetorian entering. He stumbled along and was able to watch as Cassius was approached by Caligula’s wife, Caesonia. Ten years older than the slain emperor, and more plain than pretty, she was still a kind-hearted woman who sought the best in everyone. She and Claudius had been close, and she’d even looked after his daughter on occasion.
“Oh, Cassius, thank the gods!” she said as she held her one-year old daughter up against her chest. “What has happened? Please tell me!”
“I think you know,” the praetorian said coolly, removing his helmet and drawing his gladius.
The woman closed her eyes in realization, yet she refused to show any of the terror that welled up inside her. “And what will you do?” she asked, swallowing hard.
“Free Rome from the rule of mad tyrants that fancy themselves as gods. And that can only happen when every member of the imperial family is dead. I am sorry.”
“No,” Caesonia said, shaking her head as her eyes filled with tears. “Kill me if you must, but spare the others. My daughter is barely a year old. And what of Claudius and Messalina? Venus have mercy, Cassius! Claudius is your friend!”
“And that is why his death will bring me no joy,” he replied.
Claudius’ eyes grew wide, and he slowly backed away, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. He broke into a hobbling sprint as he heard Caesonia scream. What he did not know was that her cries were not for herself, but for her daughter. Seeing her child’s bloodied remains, she then bravely offered her neck to Cassius, who slashed the artery open and shoved her roughly onto the bed, where she twitched violently as death took hold.
Claudius was now terrified for himself as well as his family. Caligula had insisted on keeping his uncle ever by his side over the past week. He did not even know where Messalina and his daughter were. He further cursed himself for being unable to protect them. He stumbled into the antechamber of the imperial throne room, shouts and terrified screams echoing along the corridors of the palace. Without any other options presenting themselves, he elected to hide behind a large curtain. Shamed, and feeling both feeble and a coward, he wept.
Chaos ensued both within and without the palace as word of the emperor’s murder spread like wildfire. What was impossible to gauge was just how many were involved in the conspiracy. While most of the senate would hail the hated Gaius Caligula’s demise, for the praetorian guard it was a different matter entirely. Only a small handful of officers had been complicit in the plot, with most of the rest remaining loyal to the office of emperor, which they were sworn to protect. That their prefect had gone rogue and violated his oath appalled them. Whatever their personal opinion of Gaius Caligula, it was not up to them to remove an emperor from power, and by doing so a dangerous precedent had now been set. Furthermore, if the imperial line was dead, the senate would have little use for them. They would either be sent to the legions or simply left unemployed.
A large number of these men, led by a centurion named Cornelius, stormed into the antechamber. With the emperor dead, Cornelius took it upon himself to try and save the remaining members of the imperial family before Cassius got to them. For the moment, he was too focused on his task at hand to lament that a man he’d looked up to his entire life had lost all control of his senses. Like many, Cornelius could not completely fault his commander for killing the emperor, yet his rampage of murder against the innocent had taken his vengeance over the cliff and into the abyss of madness.
“By Juno, what have they done?” he said as his men fanned out.
“Possibly started a civil war,” his optio, a former legionary named Gratus, grumbled. “Some may think they’ve restored the republic, yet you know as well as I that there are those amongst the senate, as well as legion commanders, who think they should be Caesar. And meanwhile, with no emperor, what’s to become of us?”
“Sir,” one of the men said, holding up a silver pitcher, “it’d be a shame to let those damned Germans or other looters get their hands on these. Mind if we help ourselves?”
“Normally I would have you flogged for making such an insolent suggestion,” the centurion stated coldly. He said no more about the matter and, with a subtle nod from Gratus, the men simply shrugged and started to grab anything of value they could readily carry back to their camp. As they did so, Gratus noticed something unusual behind one of the curtains that his men were tearing down in order to use as makeshift sacks.
“Hey, Cornelius,” he said, drawing his gladius. He quickly pulled the curtain aside, revealing the terrified Claudius, who shrank away from the heavily armed praetorian. “Well, what have we here? You think it’s one of the assassins?”
“P…please don’t hurt me!” Claudius pleaded as the optio brandished his weapon menacingly. “I j…just want to find my family and leave!”
“Hold fast!” Cornelius snapped. “He’s not a conspirator; it’s the emperor’s uncle, Claudius. He’s Germanicus Caesar’s brother. Put your weapon away, Gratus.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt him,” the optio replied, his face breaking into a broad grin. “I’m going to salute him.”
“What are you on about?” the centurion asked, puzzled.
“Think about it,” Gratus replied. “He’s the only surviving member of the Julio-Claudian line who could have a legitimate claim to the imperial throne.”
Cornelius’ eyes brightened, and Claudius’ grew wide in startled realization as to what the praetorian optio was suggesting.
“N…no!” he protested, his head twitching violently. “W…what you propose is madness! J…just let me g…go find my wife!”
“Are you insane?” Gratus retorted. “Your nephew’s German guards are on the rampage, and the conspirators are still loose. We don’t know who all of them are, and unfortunately for you, they’re mostly dressed like us.”
“If either of them finds you, you’re a dead man,” Cornelius added. He then addressed his optio. “Get him out of here, Gratus. Take some men and see to it he’s delivered safely to the Castra Praetoria. I’ll use the remainder of our force to find his family.”
“Understood,” Gratus replied. He then bowed to Claudius with his gladius extended in salute. “This way, Caesar.”
The halls of the palace were mostly deserted as the praetorians led the muddled Claudius along the corridors. Two of the men practically carried him, as his limp made their pace unnervingly slow. As they approached the main entrance, a troupe of German guards came bur
sting from one of the side passages.
“Shit,” Gratus uttered through clenched teeth.
As the Germans approached them with shields and spears ready to strike, the two squads of praetorians formed a protective wall in front of Claudius.
“Gladius…draw! Protect the emperor!”
“Halten!” the lead German said to his men, holding his spear to the side to stop their advance. He had heard Gratus’ order, and speaking passable Latin, he understood what had been said. He cocked his head to one side, giving the group of praetorians, who stood battle ready with their weapons drawn, a perplexed gaze. He then addressed Gratus in heavily accented Latin. “This…emperor?”
“That’s right,” the optio replied. He hoped to bluff his way past the Germans and avoid a bloody fight. He stepped in front of the large man, who stood at least a half-head taller than him, and met his hard stare. “This is your new emperor, now show him some respect!”
Whatever Gratus’ racial prejudices towards what he considered ‘barbarian’ peoples; this German was clearly a thinker. He, too, understood that with Caligula dead, the only way to quickly restore order and give them the best chance of bringing the assassins to justice was to install a new emperor as soon as possible. He gave the optio a nod of understanding before turning to address his men.
“Hagel den Kaiser!” he shouted, holding his spear high.
His men appeared at first baffled by this assertion from their commander, yet none of them so much as uttered a word in protest. He then turned and bowed deeply to Claudius, who was still in a state of disbelief and simply stood with his head twitching slightly.
“Call off the rest of your men,” Gratus ordered the German as the praetorians sheathed their weapons and started to lead Claudius away once more. “Let them know that Tiberius Claudius Nero Germanicus is their new emperor, and they will swear fealty to him!”
The German nodded in understanding before shouting subsequent orders to his men who formed up into two lines, weapons held in salute as Gratus and his men led Claudius between them.
