by James Mace
“You sent for me, Caesar?” Tiberius asked, standing at attention. He had never felt comfortable in the presence of the Emperor, preferring their relationship to be confined to correspondence from the opposite end of the Empire.
“It’s a marvelous thing that something so small and frail as this will one day grow to be big and strong,” the Emperor stated, still gazing at the potted sapling he held. “It will grow slowly over the course of the ages, like our Empire. And if maintained, it will live for hundreds of years, maybe even thousands. It will watch everything, its gaze immortal in the eyes of men. It will see the passing of our Empire and what will come beyond her. Yet it will linger and flourish long after we are gone.” He smiled sadly and placed the pot down on a tray where there were several other plants he had been toying with. He then turned towards his stepson. “Sit with me,” he said, motioning towards a nearby bench.
Tiberius hesitantly took the seat, his helmet in a virtual death grip beneath his arm.
Augustus still held the same smile. “You know, Tiberius, I have been less than fair with you over the years.”
Tiberius looked away and cringed. He knew that Augustus would bring up certain topics that he wished to remain buried in the past. There was nothing for it, after all. He had paid a heavy price to be where he was, on the brink of sole ruler-ship of the known world. And yet he did not want it.
“The fairest thing would have been to leave me in retirement on the Isle of Rhodes or else on the frontiers with the army,” he replied.
Augustus nodded, though never relaxing his contented smile. He leaned forward, closing the distance between himself and Tiberius. “When one is destined for greatness, one cannot escape it. You are destined to serve in a far greater capacity than you ever imagined or even wanted. It seems like everything and everyone, including yourself, fought against your becoming my successor. I, myself, never even toyed with the idea of you succeeding me until the hour had grown late.” He sighed and shrugged, so many memories of the last forty-two years flooding back into his conscience.
Tiberius remained silent.
“I underestimated you, I really did,” Augustus continued. “I had always based my selection of a successor on emotional attachment, rather than on practicality and qualifications. Your mother kept reminding me of your true worth, but I did not listen. I think now of all those whom I groomed for this position, and how much better my efforts could have been spent had I given you your just due. My old friend, Marcus Agrippa, was my first choice, though I knew it would be unlikely for him to succeed me for any length of time. After all, I was only a few months older than him.”
Tiberius closed his eyes at the name of his former father-in-law, the father of his still beloved Vipsania. Agrippa died long ago. Tiberius, of course, was then forced into that loveless debacle of a marriage with Agrippa’s widow and Augustus’ own daughter, Julia. Tiberius found it to be rather twisted that he was to divorce his wife in order to marry her father’s widow. Augustus loved Agrippa and Agrippa’s sons, perhaps because they were his own grandchildren. When it came to Agrippa’s daughters, it seemed like his feelings ran cold. Perhaps it just wasn’t convenient, politically, at the time. Never mind that Tiberius and Vipsania had truly loved each other and were not married merely for political reasons.
“The other candidate during that time was my then son-in-law, Marcellus. Sadly, he died of a summer chill. Years later, when Agrippa died, that left me with his children, my grandsons. Oh how I looked to them to breathe life into the Empire once I had gone.”
He’s not making this any easier, Tiberius thought to himself. He noticed how Augustus never once mentioned his own daughter, and he knew better than to bring her up.
“Sadly, neither Gaius nor Lucius survived,” the Emperor was looking past Tiberius, into the remote past. It was as if he were having a conversation with himself rather than with his stepson and heir.
Tiberius noted that Augustus failed to mention his surviving grandson, Posthumous Agrippa, who had been banished following a series of indiscretions and brutish behavior.
“It was after their deaths that I turned to you, my trusted war horse. You and your brother, the gods rest him, were the ones who really kept the Empire running.” Augustus was looking at Tiberius once more, as if drawn back to the present. “I admit we have not always seen eye-to-eye, but once your mother forced me to look upon your real talents, I could ignore you no longer. It was as if the gods themselves were forcing my hand. I swear your position as my successor has been divinely chosen. You have been my champion, albeit a reluctant one. Any crisis this Empire has faced, I have sent you to meet it head on, yet I always took you for granted. And now we will set about making things ready for the next generation. There are many things you must become accustomed to if you are to succeed as Emperor. While I have no doubts as to your administrative talents, your knowledge of how the political game is played could use some work.”
“I have always left politics to the politicians,” Tiberius replied.
“Now you are a politician, or rather the supreme politician,” Augustus replied. “You’re not on the Rhine frontier anymore, Tiberius. You must learn what it is to rule Rome from Rome. As for the Empire’s safety, I have no doubts. You are the finest military commander I have ever met. Though it pains me to admit it, I even told the Senate on more than one occasion that you would have been more than a match for my uncle, the Divine Julius Caesar himself. No, I will leave this world content in the reassurance as to her safety.
“Your dealings with the Senate and the senators themselves are what concern me. Therefore, tomorrow I shall grant you joint Consulship with me, and you shall be appointed Head of the Senate. You shall be known as my peer, sharing the reins of power with me. I dare say, your mother probably told you of this already. I swear that woman knows of my intentions before I do.” Augustus laughed.
Tiberius knew full well why it was that Livia seemed to know Augustus’ thoughts and intentions before he did. It was because many of his thoughts and intentions were of her design, craftily worded to make the Emperor actually believe he thought of them. It was her way of ruling through him. Livia was going to be terribly disappointed when her son assumed power.
Chapter III: The Recruit
Town of Ostia, Italy
January, 15 A.D.
Six years after Teutoburger Wald
***
The day had finally come for young Titus Artorius Justus. It was his seventeenth birthday. Six years since that god’s awful day that Artorius remembered so clearly. It was the day that changed his life forever. He had been playing in the hills outside his family’s home when the riders approached. They wore the uniforms of the legions. The sight of the riders had excited Artorius. Was it Metellus, home for a visit from Germania?
He had heard stories, terrible stories, stories that could not possibly be true. Every time someone mentioned the Rhine, the legions, or Metellus, Artorius was quickly ushered away, never privy to such conversations, yet he knew. It confused him at first. His parents, Primus and Persephone had always freely expressed their pride in their eldest son and his achievements in the army. Artorius loved reading the letters his brother had sent to him from the Rhine. They were his motivation for doing well in his studies. Metellus had promised that he would write to him, provided he studied hard and learned to read.
“Strengthen your mind, as well as your body,” Metellus told him once, “for with a strong mind and a sound body you can accomplish anything.”
They were words Artorius never forgot. He’d saved the letters his brother sent him, cherished them as one would cherish gold. Metellus never wrote or spoke to Artorius like one would to a young boy. He wrote to him in the same language and manner that he would use towards a peer or a friend, something Artorius always remembered him fondly for. Then the letters stopped coming. As much as he tried to suppress his feelings, his gut told him something bad had happened. The hushed conversations in his presence when
his brother’s name was mentioned further added to his anxiety. He was not so young that he wasn’t aware of the change in his parents.
Then came the official dispatches from the Rhine. Along with news of the disaster, came lists of the survivors who had fought their way back to friendly territory. There were not many, and Metellus’ name was not among them. It was soon after this that the riders came. A personal embassy sent by the Tribune Cassius Chaerea, in recognition of the sacrifice Metellus made on the field of battle. Metellus was now officially listed as dead, and with no body to bury or burn, his burial fund was being paid to his family. Artorius remembered running down from the hill, stopping some distance away as he saw his mother collapse into his father’s arms. She made not a sound, but her body shook uncontrollably as she quietly sobbed. The two soldiers looked obviously shaken, cursing that they had to perform such a bitter task. His father’s face was as hard as stone, but even he could not control his tears. Artorius had turned and walked away.
As he walked he tried to comprehend what all of this meant. He then came to understand that his brother would not be coming home, not then, not ever. He was gone. Artorius started to run. He ran as hard as he could until he reached a small stream, branches of the trees growing along it trailing in the slow current. He sat next to the water and cried, trying in his young mind to fathom the loss. As reality sank in, he thought hard about who had caused this, who had murdered his beloved brother. He thought of the Germans, those unclean, uncivilized barbarians to the North. Those people had murdered his brother. Artorius was suddenly filled with overwhelming anger and hate. His rage was compounded by the fact that he was too young to do anything to avenge his brother. But he would not stay young forever. He swore, then and there, as soon as he was old enough, he would join the ranks, he would become a legionary, and he would avenge his brother. Camilla had tried her best to console him, but even she knew the hatred in his heart would never go away.
Persephone was still trying to recover from a summer chill when news of her son’s death came. Her condition grew worse, turning quickly to pneumonia. She refused to eat, refused to see the doctors, and slowly wasted away. As she lay dying, she clutched her husband’s hand.
“I go now to be with our son,” she whispered. These would be her last words.
Primus was ready to follow his wife and son into the afterlife. Only one thing kept him from taking that final journey. He still had another son and to abandon him was unthinkable. So Primus lived only for his son, for all else had become black and meaningless in his life.
Artorius thought back to those dark days, and it only hardened his resolve. He knew it would be difficult convincing his father to write the necessary letter of introduction that would verify his citizenship and allow him to enlist in the legions. For only Roman citizens could become legionaries. Non-citizens could still serve, but they would serve as auxiliaries, less trained, less adequately equipped, and consequently with a much higher mortality rate than their brothers in the legions. Artorius would become a legionary. He just had to face the daunting task of asking for his father’s blessing. Breaching the question was what troubled him. He would ask Juliana. She and her family had been neighbors of Primus and Persephone since Artorius could remember. She always knew how to talk to his father. Anytime he ever needed to discuss something with the elder Artorius, he always went to her first. He started to walk down the path leading to her house.
Artorius was a strong youth, both in mind and body. He was of average height, but powerfully built. He had heard legends regarding the impressive strength of the Germanic warriors, and he figured he had better be of equal or greater strength. He spent hours in his self-made gym, adding size and power to his frame. His feats of strength were impressive. Equally as impressive was the strength of his intellect. One minute he would be pressing great stones over his head or wrestling with bulls, the next he would be reciting Aristotle from memory or giving a dissertation on mathematics. Such feats were quick to impress the young ladies in and around Ostia. In particular, young Camilla, whom Artorius had had a crush on since he was old enough to take an interest in the opposite sex. She had always been there for him in his darkest days, and the two became inseparable.
On mathematics, Artorius was always bested by his friend and sometimes mentor, Pontius Pilate. Pilate, a few years older than Artorius, had already gone off to join the Twentieth Legion, Valeria. A member of the patrician class, Pilate had been given an appointment as a military tribune, a rank that Artorius knew he would never see. Word also had it that his skill in mathematics and the principles of trajectory had earned him a place as the legion’s chief of artillery.
Aside from having to deal with asking for his father’s endorsement, he also had to break the news to Camilla. She and Artorius had grown very fond of each other as of late, and he knew that his leaving to go to war on the Rhine would break her heart. He gave a sad, audible sigh as he thought about that.
Artorius arrived at Juliana’s small cottage. Her husband had died of a mysterious illness that swept through the countryside, and her daughter died giving birth to her grandson around the same time as Persephone’s death. Sadly, the infant also perished. Juliana’s son-in-law thought the family to be cursed and abandoned her. She had been left alone in the world. Primus and Artorius took pity on her and strengthened their friendship with her. Though she never tried to replace Persephone, in many ways she became the mother figure that Artorius lacked.
Juliana was working outside in her small garden when Artorius showed up. She was still a very striking woman, maybe a couple years older than his father. Primus spent many days at Juliana’s, and Artorius was growing impatient with his father for not taking his relationship with her further.
She looked up from her gardening when she heard him approaching and smiled at him. “Hello, Artorius.”
“Beautiful morning,” he replied.
“Your father’s just left,” she told him.
“I know. But I did not come looking for him, at least not yet.”
“I see,” she said, still smiling. “You’ve got another dilemma that you have to discuss with your father, and you don’t know how to do it.”
He hung his head sheepishly. She set down her gardening tools and motioned towards a bench.
“Let’s not waste the day. Come sit down and let’s discuss what ails you. Wine?” she asked him.
“Yes, please,” he answered.
After serving the wine, she sat on a bench across from him, her chin on her hand, that smile never leaving her face. How had his father not fallen in love with that smile?
He took a long draught of wine before starting. “You know today is my seventeenth birthday. I am now of age and eligible to join the army. I need Father to write me a letter of introduction that I can take to the recruiting station. Without proof of citizenship, I cannot hope to join. I am not certain how to tell him of my intentions.”
“He already knows,” Juliana said, her expression unchanging.
Artorius was dumbfounded, “What do you mean he knows?”
Juliana stifled a laugh. “My dear Artorius. Do you really think you could hide such a thing from him? He is your father, after all. He’s known of your intentions for six years. He could read it in your face. He could see it in your eyes. He could see it in how you continued to study the campaigns of Scipio, Marius, and Caesar into the late hours of the night.” She was no longer smiling. “You know he came to me last night to discuss this very thing. He didn’t leave until just a little while ago.”
“I knew he didn’t come home last night,” Artorius said. “I just figured maybe you two were…” he stopped and looked away, realizing what he had almost said.
Juliana burst out laughing. “Gods have mercy! You really thought we were…”“Well, he was gone all night.” Artorius’ face was completely flushed. “I’ve wanted to tell him for years that you are the best thing to come into his life since Mother died. And that he was a fool if he di
dn’t, you know, make something more of it.”
Juliana looked at him with much affection in her eyes. “You know that I do love your father dearly. He was there when everyone else abandoned me. He gave me life.” She paused for a moment. “But I never tried to take it any further. I may have been alone, but he still had you. I could not bring myself to try and replace your mother.” She looked away.
Artorius took her hand in his. “You’ve been as much of a mother and a friend as anyone could hope for. Your love and understanding have always been without question.”
She reached up, touched the side of his face, and then kissed him on the cheek. There was a tear in her eye. She took a deep breath and wiped her tear away. “Now we need to deal with the dilemma with your father. You know that he already knows of your intentions, so just go and ask him. He’s very protective of you, Artorius, but he knows what is in your heart and that you will not be dissuaded. So just ask him.”
Artorius smiled, kissed her hand, and turned to leave. “Thank you,” he said. “You always have the simplest, and yet the best, answers.” With that he left.
Juliana smiled and turned back towards her garden. “And so, young Artorius, you begin your new life as a man.”
Artorius decided to make one final stop on his way home. He found Camilla pacing back and forth amongst the trees outside her family’s home. She was just a year younger than Artorius, and he had been infatuated with her since they were small children. Camilla was petite in stature, a good half-foot shorter than Artorius, though very athletically inclined. As the youngest of four daughters and three sons, thoughts of her potential marriage were almost an afterthought to her parents. This left the way open for her and Artorius, though he knew that if he left to join the legions, any chance of a union between them would have to be placed on hold for a very long time. Would she wait for him?
