by Allan Massie
Augustus died in his seventy-seventh year. I had grown fonder of him in his old age, as he became aware of the depth of his failure. There were moments, I even thought, when he realised how he had corrupted Rome, breeding a generation of slaves, therefore of liars, since no slave can be trusted to tell the truth, but must always say what he believes his master wishes to hear. He fell ill when I was about to return to the army. Naturally I changed my plans and hastened back. He was still conscious and lucid. He entrusted Rome, and Livia, to my care. I knew that it was not what he would have wished to do, but I knew also that he had come to value me in his last years. In a letter he once wrote "If you were to fall ill, the news would kill your mother and me, and the whole country would be in danger." The first part of the apodosis was characteristically hyperbolic, but he knew the second part to be true, and I welcomed his recognition of my worth.
We buried his ashes in the mausoleum he had constructed for the family. I pronounced the funeral eulogy, avoiding the direct lie, not eschewing polite fictions. A couple of days later, the former praetor Numerius Atticus obligingly informed the Senate that during the cremation ceremony he had seen my stepfather's spirit soaring up to Heaven through the flames. Nobody chose to express doubt.
Augustus was declared to be a god.
What would they have said if they had known that almost his last act had been to despatch orders that his only surviving grandson Agrippa Postumus should . . . cease to survive?
Nothing, I suppose. They would not have dared.
I owed Augustus some gratitude for taking that decision on himself. Unfortunately the timing was such that the boy was not killed till a few days after his grandfather's death, and then there were naturally many ready to believe that I had ordered his execution. I would in fact have had no authority to do so.
The question of authority had to be settled immediately. Augustus claimed in his political testament, the res gestae, which I published at his request, that after the expiry of the peculiar powers granted him by the law which established the Triumvirate with Mark Antony and Manius Aemilius Lepidus, he had possessed "no more power than the others who were my colleagues in each magistracy, though I excelled all in authority".
This was disingenuous. He had ensured that a superior overriding imperium was granted to him, which, in effect, meant that his legal power was unquestioned in all affairs, even within those provinces of the empire which are nominally within the charge of the Senate. He had devised a constitution which obscured his power, but did not prevent him from exercising it wherever he chose. It was his wish that I should inherit his position.
I had no doubt of that. He had revealed it in numerous conversations in his last years. Livia was certain that was his intention. When she returned from watching over her husband's ashes, she embraced me, and said: "At last, my son, you have everything which I have striven for years to obtain for you."
"Mother," I said, "if I have anything, it is as a result of my own labours, and anyway I am not certain what I wish to have."
"What you wish . . ." she repeated my words, and shook her head. "Don't you understand, my dear, that your wishes have never entered into the matter? You have what is yours, what the gods have awarded you, what I have for forty years worked to bring about."
"We shall see."
"Oh no, you will see sense. You will see that you have no choice. Go down to the Senate by all means, and offer to restore the Republic in its old form. You won't find anyone to understand what you mean."
Gnaeus Piso gave me the same advice.
"Of course you're a Republican," he said. "So am I. Of course you detest the tyranny which has been imposed on Rome. So do I. But that's all there is to it. It's not a choice between the empire and the Republic. It's a choice between Tiberius and some other emperor. You must grab the empire by the balls, my friend, or someone else will take a tight and painful grip of yours."
I did not sleep the night before I attended the Senate. It was a calm night in September. The moon was up and the city silent. A cat brushed against my legs as I stood on the terrace of my house gazing beyond the city to the invisible sea. I bent down, picked up the cat and held it in my arms, stroking its back and listening to its contented purr. Everything Livia and Piso said was true; yet I rebelled against the despotism of fact.
I sought to be dull, yet to impress the Senate with the magnitude of empire. I read to them the account of the empire which Augustus had prepared. I deluged them with statistics concerning the number of regular and auxiliary troops serving in the armies, the strength of the navy; details concerning the provinces and dependent kingdoms; the tax receipts, both direct and indirect; the annual expenditure. It was an audit of empire, impressive and daunting in scale. The last sentence repeated the judgment at which Augustus and I myself had independently arrived following the disaster in Germany: that the empire should not be extended beyond its present frontiers.
Then I laid the document aside, and spoke as follows.
"Conscript Fathers, we are all of us heirs of the great history of Rome, children of the great Republic. My own family, as you all know, has played a major part in the development of Rome's greatness. My late father Augustus has overseen the security of the empire, and guided its destiny, for more than forty years, longer than some of you have been alive. You have known no other father of the country. He restored peace within the territories of the Republic. After the civil wars he restored the institutions of the Republic. He extended the frontiers of the empire into lands where the arms of Rome had been unknown. In the words of the poet whom he delighted to honour, he made the world cry: 'Behold them, conquerors, all clad in Roman togas.' He followed the Roman custom: to spare the subject and subdue the proud.
"But now, fellow citizens, we must ask, not only where shall we find his like but, more urgently, whether it is proper that any one man, lacking his supreme qualities, should wield the same degree of power. For my part, I think it is a task beyond any of us. It is certainly beyond me. I was honoured in his last years to be permitted to share his burdens, and, believe me, I know their weight. I know what hard, demanding, hazardous work it is to rule such an empire as Rome's.
"Besides, I would urge you to consider whether it is proper that a state like ours, which can rely on so many distinguished personages, should commit such power to one man, and concentrate the management of the empire in the hands of a single person. Would it not be better, Conscript Fathers, to share it among a number of us?"
The previous night Livia had asked me to rehearse my speech. I had declined to do so, saying that twice-cooked meat never tastes good, but I had given her the gist.
"They won't know what you mean," she said, "and they will be afraid you are trying to trick them. Besides, though you don't know it, they stand rather in awe of you. You've been away so much, you're practically a stranger in Rome, and consequently you have become an enigma. They will be seeking to uncover the secret meaning of your discourse."
"There is no secret meaning," I said, "I am giving them their chance. Over the years I have heard, or come to know of, so many mutterings, so many protests at his concentration of power, so many complaints that the path of honour and glory in which our ancestors delighted is now closed, blocked off, that I wish to give them the opportunity to explore it. That's all." "All?" she said. "They will be scared stiff."
Now, when I finished speaking, there was a prolonged silence in the Curia. It was broken only by a shifting of bodies and a few coughs. I resumed my seat, and waited. Nothing happened. When I looked at a senator, his gaze slipped away.
I sighed. Suddenly I was beset by abject appeals to take Augustus' place . . . "There was no alternative" it was cried. I rose again and, making an effort to speak courteously, and not to reveal the disgust I felt, I explained that while I did not feel myself capable of assuming the whole burden of government, I was naturally ready to take on any branch of it that they might choose to entrust to me.
C. Asinius Gal
lus then rose to speak. I knew him for an ambitious man, but an imprudent one. His father had been one of Augustus' generals, but Augustus had never entrusted an army to the son. Moreover, I had cause to dislike, as well as distrust him: he had married my dear Vipsania after our divorce, and treated her badly, partly because his taste ran to very young virgins, and he often proclaimed that the body of a mature woman disgusted him. So, when he got to his feet, I prepared for something disagreeable.
"Tell us, Caesar," he said, "which branch you desire to have handed to you."
"That is not for me to say," I replied. "Frankly, I would be happy to retire altogether from affairs of state. Yet I am ready to accept any duty which the Senate cares to impose upon me."
"That's not good enough," Gallus said, "and we all know it. For if we nominate a branch which does not please you, then we shall offend you and since you already have the power, by reason of your tribune's status, to annul any decision we take, and since you have already shown your willingness to employ the power entrusted to you by the fact that you have accepted a bodyguard of the Praetorians, none of us is likely to make the sort of specific proposal you call for. Besides, you have misunderstood the nature of my question. It was never my intention that we should parcel out functions which, frankly, are indivisible. I only put forward my question in order to make it quite clear that the state is a single organic whole which requires that it be directed by a single mind. And who, Conscript Fathers, better than Tiberius, who has won such great honours, denied the rest of us, in war, and who has done the state, and Augustus, such service in peace?"
After this speech there was a general confused babble, as one senator after another (and sometimes more than one at the same time) protested that they had no wish but to surrender the power that belonged to them into my hands. Quintus Haterius even went so far as to cry out: "How long, Caesar, will you allow the state to have no head?" — as if Augustus had been dead for years rather than a few days.
Finally, Mamercus Aemilius Scaurus, a man never without a sneer on his lips, remarked that since I had not used my tribune's power to veto the motion which suggested I should replace Augustus, he hoped that the Senate's prayers would not go unrewarded. His comment was greeted with acclamation. He smiled, pleased to be the object of general attention and to have forced me towards the unwelcome chalice. For Scaurus was one of the few senators intelligent enough to understand that I was sincere and it pleased him to destroy my hope that someone would consent to take up part of the burden, and so make it possible to attempt to restore the Republic.
I was beaten. Driven to power by a generation fit for slavery, there was bitterness in my heart as I indicated my acceptance. What was I accepting? Misery and back-breaking labour. What was I setting aside? The hope of happiness. "I shall do as you ask," 1 growled, "until I grow so old that you may be good enough to grant me a respite."
That evening I was prostrated by a migraine. I dismissed the slaves whose remedies were vain. Sejanus stroked my head with a napkin soaked in vinegar.
"You shouldn't work yourself into these states," he said. "It's because you live in a world formed by your own imagination, a world where men still seek to practise virtue. But it's not like that. In your heart you know it isn't. It's just your obstinate Claudian pride that insists that other men ought to have standards like yours. You don't understand human nature. It's made up of wolves, jackals and lambs. And the occasional lion such as you."
"What are you yourself, dear boy?"
"When I'm with you, I feel I might be a lion's cub. On my own I recognise myself as a wolf." He soaked the napkin again.
"Is that any better? In the same way you won't admit the truth about the empire, though you know in your heart of hearts what it is. It's impossible that we should be an empire beyond Italy and the Republic at home. The two forms of government don't mix, and the Republic could never administer the empire."
He wiped my brow again.
"There," he sighed, "you're committed to it. You can't escape ever. Now you must sleep. I'll put out the light."
2
Sejanus comforted me as no other could. He was no longer the happy, if circumspect, boy I had first known on Rhodes, but a man in the prime of life, of matchless vigour and capacity. His judgment was admirable, his industry extraordinary. But it was his buoyancy that I valued most. I am by nature melancholic, given to brooding and depression, forever conscious of dangers and difficulties. His sanguine temperament uplifted me. I had only to see him stride towards me, that frank and confident smile on his face, his whole air one of athletic well-being, to feel the clouds lift. He had, moreover, one other great virtue: he always, it seemed to me, told me the truth. This is rare, for truth is what men like to conceal from those who exercise power.
Of course, people were jealous and tried to turn me against him. My niece Agrippina, for instance, despised him for his comparatively humble birth, and lack of ancestors - as if Sejanus was not at least as well born as her father Marcus Agrippa. She was also forever complaining of his manners, merely because he did not practise polite insincerity. Others denounced him in anonymous letters, and Scaurus drew me aside to inform me that he "knew for a fact" that, in his youth, Sejanus had been the catamite of the debauched moneylender Marcus Gavius Apicius, and that his fortunes were founded on this liaison.
"What's more," he said, "Apicius still makes him an allowance and in return Sejanus procures young guardsmen for him. What do you think of that, Tiberius?"
"You seem to forget," I replied, "that Sejanus is married to Apicius' daughter, Apicata, and is the father of her two children. I think that contradicts your malicious assertions."
Nevertheless my denial did not entirely convince me myself, for I knew Apicius and could imagine how desirable he would have found the youthful Sejanus. Nor did I believe that, as a boy, Sejanus would have resisted the temptation of physical pleasure. The second part of the accusation seemed merely spiteful. However, I arranged that a watch be kept on Apicius' acquaintance.
Concern with such matters was abruptly thrust aside. Word came that the army in Pannonia had mutinied. This was especially painful to me, since the legions stationed there had long been under my own command. Their complaints were manifold, also long-standing, for they were experiencing one of those periodic revulsions from service which may afflict even veteran soldiers. The ringleader was a fellow called Percennius who, having worked as a professional cheerleader in the theatre before becoming a soldier (to escape the just wrath of an offended father, as discovered later), knew how to incite crowds with his insolent tongue. To their subsequent shame, many of the soldiers listened to him, indulging in the vain hope of oversetting the reality of their existence; even those who knew better were either carried away for the moment, or did not dare to argue with their intoxicated comrades. Some of the officers were beaten, others fled in panic; one, a company-commander called Lucilius, noted for his strict discipline, had his throat cut.
Mutiny is as simple as it is serious. Whatever the grievances of mutineers, however justified they may be, they cannot be appeased till order is restored. That is a fundamental condition of military life. I therefore had no hesitation in acting to restore order.
I entrusted the task to my son Drusus. He was, of course, young for the job, but 1 had every confidence in his good sense. Moreover it seemed to me that the despatch of my own son would convince the sensible element in the legions of my benevolence and confidence. I sent two battalions of the Praetorian Guard with him, strengthened beyond their normal numbers by picked drafts and with them, three troops of horse guards and four companies of my most trusted German auxiliaries. Naturally Sejanus, whom I had appointed joint commander of the Guard, with his distinguished father L. Seius Strabo, led these troops and, to enhance his authority, I made him Drusus' chief of staff.
Before they set off, I said to them: "There is nobody I trust more than you, Drusus, my only son, and you Sejanus, for whom I have the most tender fatherly fee
lings. You are going to the place of honour and danger. I cannot give you precise instructions. You must exercise your judgment according to the circumstances in which you find yourself. But keep two things in mind: first, many of the soldiers' grievances will be legitimate, and ought to be satisfied. Second, you cannot safely satisfy them till they have submitted to their ancient discipline, and order has been restored. Take this letter and read it to them as a preliminary. It states that the heroic soldiers of Rome, who have been my comrades in so many arduous, yet glorious campaigns, are dear to my heart, and that, as soon as I have recovered from the shock of my bereavement - I refer of course to the death of Augustus - I shall refer their grievances to the Senate. Meanwhile, you, Drusus, have the authority to grant any concessions that may be safely granted. Make the soldiers understand that the Senate is capable of generosity as well as of severity . . ."
I embraced them both and watched them ride off with hearts that were lighter than my own. This was natural: they were young and proceeding to the point of action; I was old and condemned to remain in Rome, unable further to influence events. The next weeks were anxious for me.
They were made more anxious by news from the Rhine. Possibly inspired by news of the Danube mutinies, the legions there followed suit. These were the responsibility of my nephew and adopted son Germanicus. Since he was supreme commander in Gaul and on the Rhine frontier, I had no choice but to entrust the suppression of the mutinies to him, setting aside whatever doubts I might have myself as to his ability to do so. These doubts were real, for Germanicus, though a young man of great charm and enterprise, was cursed with the itch of popularity. Moreover, it was soon reported to me that certain elements among the mutineers hoped to persuade him to lead them in civil war, even though he had taken an oath of loyalty to me as Augustus' successor.
