‘You will do as the Emperor wishes if you want this matter to rest, Consul. If you don’t I will see to it that the Emperor understands exactly why the Guard was forced to execute Strabo and not the State.’
‘You leave us no choice then,’ Regulus said, drawing himself up. ‘The motion before the senate is: that Strabo, the eldest son of Sejanus, should share his father’s fate. Those in favour stand to the right of me, those against, to the left.’
The senators remained where they were; only Trio moved, realising that he could perhaps regain some favour with the Emperor if he joined the rest of the Senate on Regulus’ right.
‘I declare the motion carried,’ Regulus said sorrowfully.
To Vespasian’s surprise the Praetorian century cheered; the cheers rippled down its ranks and out to the rest of the cohort outside ‘
‘Summon one of the triumviri capitales,’ Regulus called over the growing tumult as the news of the Senate’s decision spread from the Praetorians to the massive crowd in the Forum.
‘I found one lurking outside,’ Macro informed him. ‘Vespasian, step forward.’
Vespasian joined Macro in front of Regulus. ‘I’m Titus Flavius Vespasianus, Consul, one of the triumviri capitales.’
‘I charge you to do the will of the Senate of Rome, triumvir,’ Regulus said formally. ‘Take this man to the Tullianum and oversee his immediate execution by strangulation and that of his father, Lucius Aelius Sejanus. The bodies are to be exposed on the Gemonium Stairs.’
Vespasian led Strabo, guarded by two Praetorians, out through the temple doors and left down the steps. The noise was deafening; the huge crowd had begun angrily tearing down the many statues of Sejanus set about the Forum and the surrounding area. Fights had broken out and blood began to flow as citizens turned on men suspected of being part of Sejanus’ large network of informers and stooges.
Magnus and his brothers shielded Vespasian from the mob as he crossed the Gemonium Stairs towards the entrance of the Tullianum, just the other side, guarded by the Vigiles.
‘Strabo! Strabo, my son,’ a woman’s voice shrieked from close by, ‘what are they doing to you?’
Vespasian turned to see a desperate-looking woman, with tears streaming down her face, holding her arms towards his prisoner in supplication.
‘Let her through,’ Vespasian ordered Magnus, realising that she must be Sejanus’ ex-wife Apicata. ‘She should be allowed a farewell,’ he added, looking sternly at the two Praetorians.
Apicata rushed up to her son and flung her arms around his neck.
‘There’s nothing that we can do, Mother,’ Strabo said, unable, owing to his manacles, to return the embrace. ‘It’s over. Father will never be Emperor and neither shall I.’
‘But why are they condemning you? You’ve done nothing,’ Apicata howled.
‘I’ve done enough, Mother, believe me. Besides, if I were in Tiberius’ position I would do the same. You have Capito and little Junilla to console you; keep them safe and get them out of Rome.’
‘We must go,’ Vespasian said, pulling Apicata’s arms away from her son.
‘Goodbye, Mother. I shall die well and with no complaint,’ Strabo said, kissing her forehead. ‘Remember me.’
‘I will, my son,’ Apicata called as Vespasian led Strabo away, ‘and I vow to tell Tiberius that, just as he took a son away from me, his son was taken from him.’
Vespasian unlocked the low door to the Tullianum and ushered Strabo in. Strabo paused. He took a last look at the clear blue sky and a last breath of fresh air and then, lowering his head, walked through the doorway. The drop in temperature was sudden and Vespasian almost shivered, as he did every time he entered the prison.
The room was low, small and windowless; in the centre of the floor was a wooden trapdoor. Three gaolers sat at a table on the far side playing dice by the light of a single oil lamp; they got up as the Praetorians closed the door behind them, leaving Magnus and his brothers outside with the Vigiles.
‘Another one for the cell, Vespasian?’ the oldest gaoler asked, grinning a toothless grin and wiping his hands on his greasy tunic. Vespasian found the evident pleasure he took in his job revolting.
‘No, Spurius,’ Vespasian replied, ‘you’ve to execute him immediately along with his father.’ Vespasian indicated to the trapdoor.
‘Sejanus’ son, eh? Well, well, a family do, that’s a novelty.’
Spurius’ two mates sniggered.
‘Cut or twist?’ Spurius asked, examining Strabo’s neck as if he were a sacrificial ram. Strabo remained erect and dignified, disdaining to notice foul creature in front of him.
‘Twist,’ Vespasian almost shouted, fighting to keep his temper. ‘Now get on with it.’
‘That’s good, less mess to clean up afterwards, eh, lads, just a bit of shit and piss. Find a couple of twisters and I’ll get old matey-boy up.’
Spurius lifted the trapdoor and threw down a rope attached to an iron hook in the ceiling. ‘Up you come, sir,’ he called down with mock politeness.
The rope immediately went taut and an instant later Sejanus hauled himself, arm muscles bulging, out of the hole, wearing only a loincloth. Despite the straw sticking to his sweat-slicked torso and powerful thighs, he exuded an aura of dignity and power and Vespasian had to restrain himself from taking a pace back. Vengeful malice burned in the dark eyes locked on his gaoler.
‘The Emperor and the Senate have seen sense at last, you filthy maggot,’ he growled, sticking his face into Spurius’. ‘I’ll not forget your hospitality.’
‘I’m afraid not, Father,’ Strabo said.
Sejanus spun round to see his son, manacled, between the two Praetorians. For a moment his hauteur faltered as the reality of his predicament sank in; he nodded his head in comprehension, half smiling to himself. ‘Ah! I see. It’s come to that, has it?’ He looked at the Praetorians. ‘How much did Tiberius pay the Guard to betray me?’
Neither of the Guardsmen replied; they just stared straight ahead.
‘Ashamed to say, are you?’ Sejanus sneered. ‘Let me guess: twenty gold aurei per man.’
The Guards remained mute.
‘Thirty then?’
The two men started to look uncomfortable.
Sejanus’ eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Less than twenty? You cheap whores.’
‘It was ten, father,’ Strabo informed him, ‘they were boasting to me about it as they brought me to the Senate.’
‘Boasting! Boasting about ten pathetic aurei, two hundred and fifty denarii.’ Sejanus burst out laughing. ‘The Emperor bought back his Empire for less than a year’s wages per man of the Praetorian Guard. What a bargain — at that price soon everyone will be able to afford to become Emperor.’ He spat at the Guardsmen’s feet. ‘Let’s get this over with.’ He looked at Vespasian, frowned suddenly, and pointed at him. ‘I know you; you were skulking behind a pillar at the Temple of Apollo this morning. If you’re one of the triumviri capitales, what were you doing waiting outside a senatorial meeting that was expected to give me tribunicial power?’
‘I was told to,’ Vespasian said, looking Sejanus in the eye.
‘By whom? Macro?’
‘No, Antonia,’ Vespasian replied, seeing no point in concealing from Sejanus the instigator of his downfall.
Sejanus smiled grimly. ‘That bitch? It was her then, not Macro?’
Vespasian nodded, still staring Sejanus in the eye.
A deeper recognition flashed across Sejanus’ face. ‘I’ve seen you once before, haven’t I?’
‘That’s right.’
‘On Livilla’s wall five years ago; you were part of the group that freed Antonia’s secretary, weren’t you?’
‘I was.’
‘That was bravely done.’
Vespasian continued staring back at Sejanus, giving no sign of acknowledging the compliment.
Sejanus studied him in silence for a while; no one else in the room moved as they sensed the intensity of the lo
ok that passed between the two men. Vespasian squared his shoulders back and drew himself up, suddenly no longer afraid.
‘I can recognise something in you, young man,’ Sejanus said eventually, ‘something that I have in myself: an iron will. Antonia must see it too as she is still using you to do her work five years on. She normally discards people after a few months; she must think that you have potential. Antonia’s champion yesterday, Rome’s executioner today, but what tomorrow for you, I wonder? What’s your name?’
‘Titus Flavius Vespasianus.’
‘Well, young son of the house of Flavius, I’ll give you some advice; remember it well, it’s the last that I shall ever give. I am here for one reason and one reason alone: I didn’t take power when it was within my grasp. When I was Consul I should have rebelled. The Guard were mine, the Senate, for the most part, was mine and the people would have been mine — but I hesitated. Why did I hesitate when I’d been chasing that power for so long? Why? When I’ve been trying to manoeuvre myself for years, as I’m sure that Antonia’s told you, into becoming either Tiberius’s heir or regent to his heir, by marrying Livilla and disposing of rivals until the choice left to Tiberius would have been Claudius, Tiberius Gemellus or me?’
‘What about Caligula?’
Sejanus sneered. ‘That warped little scorpion? Why do you think I persuaded Tiberius to summon him to Capreae? I judged that the mad old man would have him thrown off the cliff within a month; I was wrong, although it may still happen. But if it had, no one could’ve accused me of his death; just as no one can accuse me of any of the other potential heirs’ deaths. People may have their suspicions but there is no proof; if there were I would already be dead. I have been very careful not to be seen as the murderer of my rivals because I didn’t want to take the power; I wanted it given to me. I foolishly believed that if I seized power then someone would come and grab it from me in turn; but if it was given to me legitimately then I would be able keep it to pass on to my son.’ He looked proudly at Strabo and, placing a hand on the back of his neck, pulled his head forward and kissed him full on the mouth.
‘So what is your advice, Sejanus?’ Vespasian urged.
‘Advice? Yes,’ Sejanus said slowly, patting his son’s cheek, ‘my advice is when you come within reach of power, don’t hesitate, you must seize it immediately. No one will give it to you, so if you don’t grab it when you can then whoever does will destroy you and your family for coming so close to what they now so jealously guard.’
‘Why tell me this?’
Sejanus gave him a mirthless smile and shook his head. ‘Now put an end to it; come, Strabo, my son, we face the river together.’
‘I do so gladly in your company, Father.’
Sejanus took Strabo’s hand and they knelt on the floor; he pushed his head forward whilst his son remained upright.
‘It’s not the sword, Father.’
‘No, it’s the twister,’ Spurius said, coming forward with one of his mates. Both brandished a garrotte.
‘Lucius Aelius Sejanus and Lucius Aelius Strabo,’ Vespasian said, ‘the Senate has sentenced you both to death by strangulation; do you have anything to say?’
‘I’ve already said it,’ Sejanus said as nooses of rope were placed around his and his son’s necks.
Strabo shook his head.
‘Spurius, do your duty,’ Vespasian commanded.
The two gaolers each placed a short oaken rod into the rope nooses at the back of their victim’s necks and then twisted them around until the slack had been taken out of the ropes and they were tight, biting into their skin.
Spurius looked at his mate and nodded. Slowly and methodically they twisted the rods around, each turn tightening the garrottes. Hand in hand Sejanus and Strabo submitted to this slow death. First their eyes started to bulge and a strained gurgling sound emanated from their throats. Then their tongues protruded, waggling unnaturally far out of their drooling mouths and a pool of urine appeared about their knees. Their faces became almost purple, their heads went back with bulging eyes staring maniacally at the ceiling and lips curled up over their teeth; but they still clasped hands, their knuckles whitening. The gurgling stopped and the smell of fresh faeces filled the air. With a look of straining agony contorting their faces their hands fell away from each other, their heads lolled to one side and their bodies slumped forward, held up by the bloody garrottes now embedded in their throats. The executioners let go of the rods and the bodies fell into the pool of their own waste.
Vespasian looked down at the man who had come so close to breaking the Julio-Claudian grip on power. Their final conversation echoed around his head; why had he told him these things? How would he ever be in a position to sieze power? Then the last line from the prophecy of Amphiaraos came unbidden into his mind: ‘So to gain from the Fourth the west on the morrow.’ Was he the one who would gain? He shook his head and tore his eyes away from the man who had failed to gain the west. ‘Throw the bodies on to the stairs, Spurius,’ He turned and walked to the door.
Outside, the Vigiles, along with Magnus and his mates, were having trouble holding back the crowd from the prison door. Vespasian and the two Praetorians joined the security cordon and helped them push back the surging mob enough for Spurius and his colleagues to drag the bodies of Sejanus and Strabo unceremoniously out of the Tullianum and fling them in a contorted heap on to the Gemonium Stairs before beating a hasty retreat back into their cheerless domain.
At the sight of Sejanus’ and Strabo’s lifeless bodies the citizens of Rome roared out their pleasure and rushed towards them, each eager to be the first to desecrate the corpses. The entrance to the Tullianum was left clear.
‘I think it really is time for dinner now, sir,’ Magnus suggested again.
‘I think that you may be right, Magnus,’ Vespasian replied, breaking into a run.
They made it to the relative safety of the Senate House steps and looked back into the Forum. In amongst the chaos, elements of the ever-growing crowd had now turned their attentions to the cohort of Praetorians, with Macro at their head, who were trying to make their way out of the Forum and back to their camp. Pieces of broken statues, sticks and stones and other improvised missiles were being hurled into their ranks, felling a few of their number as the crowd vented their anger on the men who had maintained Sejanus in power for so long.
At a roared order from Macro the cohort stopped and drew their swords from beneath their togas. Macro bellowed another order and they turned outwards to face the mob on both sides of them.
Then they charged.
Showing no mercy for their fellow citizens, they cut down those nearest to them and stepped over their bodies to get at those behind. The howls of hatred and abuse from the crowd swiftly became screams of terror and pain as the mob turned and fled in all directions, with the pursuing Praetorians pitilessly cutting down those not swift enough to avoid their blades.
On the steps of the Temple of Concordia those senators brave enough to emerge watched helplessly as the massacre progressed, seeping out of the Forum Romanum into the Forum Boarium and on into the surrounding streets.
Vespasian looked over to the Gemonium Stairs, now deserted apart from the two broken bodies and a woman, Apicata, tearing at her hair and rending her clothes in furious mourning.
From beyond the House of the Vestals at the far end of the Forum came a massive roar and the sound of thousands of hobnailed sandals pounding on stone tore Vespasian’s eyes away from Apicata. A quick look at the source was enough to make him turn and run.
‘Definitely time to go,’ Magnus shouted as he and his brothers pelted after Vespasian down the steps in the direction of the Quirinal Hill.
Behind them the rest of the Praetorian Guard spilled into the Forum and fanned out across the city to exact their vengeance on and reassert their authority over the citizens of Rome.
CHAPTER XXI
‘How’s the house coming along?’ Vespasian asked Sabinus as they took some
afternoon refreshment of chilled wine and honeyed cakes in Gaius’ courtyard garden.
‘We should be able to move in very soon,’ Sabinus replied. ‘The sooner the better, in fact, as Clementina is pregnant again.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you, brother. I want her to be settled as soon as possible; you know how stressed women get when they move house.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Vespasian lied.
‘I’ve been waiting for things to quieten down, though. Now that the Senate is finally meeting again today we should see a degree of law and order return.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ Vespasian replied, thinking of the violence that had recently engulfed the city.
For two days and nights Macro had allowed his men to loot and pillage Rome, before recalling them to their camp outside the city’s walls, leaving its citizens poorer and subdued but in no doubt as to who was the real power within the city.
It had taken half a dozen more days for life to get back to normal, although there had been sporadic outbursts of violence, aimed mainly at Sejanus’ supporters, whether real or imaginary. After a few more days the Senate had managed to reconvene, most of the senators having fled Rome for the safety of their country estates during the Praetorian Guard’s occupation of the city.
‘Did you get on the list of prospective quaestors for next year?’ Vespasian asked, changing the subject; he had only enquired after Sabinus’ new house out of politeness and was still in fact deeply disapproving of the way that his brother was financing it.
‘Yes, I did,’ Sabinus replied gloomily, ‘but there seems to be a candidate from every patrician family on it this time. Plebeians like us don’t stand a chance. I’ve a nasty feeling that I’m going to fail for a third time.’
They were interrupted by Gaius bursting into the garden accompanied by Aenor, who was trying to relieve him of his toga.
‘I sometimes think that my fellow senators are a bunch of brainless sheep,’ he boomed furiously. ‘Aenor, bring me a cup.’
The young German boy scurried off; Gaius plonked his ample behind down on a bench next to Sabinus and reached for a calming honeyed cake.
Rome's executioner v-2 Page 36
