Tiberius

by Allan Massie

  The response of the three young men to the dangers into which they were thrust was significant. Drusus and Sejanus behaved with diplomatic skill, and exemplary fortitude; Germanicus like an actor. The accounts each gave reveal much of their individual characters, and hint at future difficulties I was to experience.

  Drusus wrote as follows:

  When we arrived here, Father, the situation was even worse than I had imagined. The soldiers, as I preferred always to think even of the mutineers, met us at the gate of the camp. It was shocking to see their disarray. The men were disgustingly dirty, but they were not as disorganised as they looked, for as soon as we were gathered in the camp, they picketed the gates and placed armed outposts at key points. It was almost as if we were their prisoners; certainly we were in a sense hostages. Nevertheless I mounted the rostrum and read your letter to them. This calmed them for a moment and they put forward an officer, Julius Clemens, whom you will remember as skilful in staff-work, to present their demands. Clemens, I should say, had agreed to be associated with the mutineers in order to try to act as a bridge between them and the authorities. I should say that he showed considerable courage and public spirit in undertaking this dangerous role, which he performed in a manner that won my admiration. He now presented demands concerning conditions of service - asking that this be limited to sixteen years, that pay be increased to four sesterces a day, and that they should be guaranteed freedom from recall after release. I replied that these demands did not seem altogether unreasonable, but that they were matters which would require to be referred to the emperor and Senate. I added that I would urge you, my father, and the Senate to look sympathetically on them.

  This answer appeased a great part of the crowd. Unfortunately, however, one of the ringleaders, a private named Vibulenius, realised that the mutiny in which he and his like so delighted, since it gave them a sense of power that they had never previously experienced, was in danger of withering away. So he fanned the flames.

  "Why is it," he cried, "that when it comes to decisions about our conditions of service, the emperor calls in the Senate? But when it's a matter of punishment or battles we don't hear anything about the Senate. In the old days Tiberius used to shelter behind Augustus when it came to denying us satisfaction for our grievances; now Drusus has come here to hide behind Tiberius . . ."

  Well, the meeting broke up with nothing decided, but at least without the outbreak of violence which seemed likely at one point. All the same, the situation was extremely tense. Any officer or member of the Guard whom the mutineers encountered was insulted and some were attacked. Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus, for instance, was hit on the head by a stone, and would have been lynched but for the arrival of a troop of the Guards. Still, we got to our huts and were able to take counsel.

  It was obvious to us that most of the men were reasonable, as men usually are, individually, but that they were incited to a sort of temporary madness by a subversive minority, who did not have the men's welfare at heart, but sought only to enjoy their unexpected power and licence. Someone remarked that what we had to do was to divide the sheep from the goats, as it were, or rather the sheep from the wild dogs. "Divide and rule" should be our game-plan. I therefore agreed that officers of my staff should venture into the camp, holding as many private discussions as they deemed safe, in an attempt to identify the wild dogs and to persuade the sheep that we would urge careful consideration of their grievances, always reminding them of the care you have always shown for their welfare, and pointing out also that it would be difficult to treat honourably soldiers who seemed to have abandoned the discipline and sense of duty characteristic of their calling. I may say that the courage of those officers who undertook this perilous assignment was remarkable; their skill in carrying it out wholly commendable, for during that night the good soldiers gradually disengaged themselves from those who had incited them. A sense of obedience gradually crept over the camp, like the first light of dawn. The soldiers withdrew themselves from the gates, and the eagles and standards set up at the outbreak of the mutiny were returned to their proper place.

  This was encouraging, and the next morning I called another meeting. I found the men in a new, amenable frame of mind. I spoke severely at first. Caesar, I said, had once addressed mutinous troops by the name of civilians, rather than of soldiers. The previous day I had been unable to accord them even that less dignified term. (For you know better than I how soldiers despise civilians, even as citizens, except when danger runs high, affect to despise soldiers.) Now, I said, it seemed that reason had prevailed, that the gods had withdrawn their madness from the soldiers and that they were therefore ready to resume their proper bearing. Threats and intimidation could make no impression on me or on my father or on the dignity of the Roman Senate. If, however, they were now pleading for pardon, then I would recommend mercy to you, and, as I had promised yesterday, a careful hearing of their grievances, for which I did not lack sympathy. They begged me to write to you at once. I despatched the delegation which has brought you this letter. The mutiny is over, for the moment, and we propose to arrest and isolate the ringleaders. But the men have been harshly treated in the last months. They are now cowed, but if their grievances remain unattended, they will become resentful.

  I could not have behaved better than Drusus myself, and my heart glowed with pride in my son.

  A letter from Sejanus arrived a few days later.

  You will have heard from Drusus how worthily he behaved, in a manner that showed him to be a true son of his father. The mutiny is over. My own part in its suspension was necessarily secondary, and may be judged small. I should like, however, to draw your attention to the admirable manner in which the Guards conducted themselves. I have no doubt that the example of their discipline contributed to the collapse of the mutiny.

  The confusion when we arrived was indescribable but, for me, the most interesting moments came during that first night when we conducted an exercise in propaganda which ought to become a model for the education of officers. I must say it taught me a bit about human nature. It was interesting to see how completely morale can collapse when one sets oneself to prey on natural anxieties. The men had committed themselves to a course which at heart alarmed them. As soon as I realised this, I started putting the question: "Are you going to swear loyalty to Percennius and Vibulenius? Do you really imagine they can do anything for you? Do you suppose this ex-cheerleader and crazy private are going to replace Tiberius and Drusus as leaders and lords of the Roman world?" You could see these were questions they had been asking in their own hearts. Then I said: "You want more money? Right? Do you think these two clowns are going to be able to pay you? How can they raise money when the stores in the camp run out? And are they going to provide you with land when you retire ? I hadn't heard they had farms to give away. Where are their own estates ? Don't you see they have led you by the nose?"

  It was great fun. I assure you, Tiberius, I saw one of the poor fools touch his nose, as if feeling the ring they were leading him by.

  If Drusus has a fault it is the reflection of his noble and generous nature. That's why I insisted that the ringleaders should be dealt with in summary fashion as soon as the bulk of the men had returned to their senses, for it would only have required a fresh puff of wind to drive them mad again. He hesitated, fearing that punishment of their delinquent leaders would dismay the men. But I knew better. I knew it would please them, and at the same time frighten them. So, without telling Drusus and disturbing his conscience, I sent a contingent of guards to arrest Percennius and Vibulenius, and had them executed. Their bodies were put on show and the effect was remarkable. Some of the other chief men in the mutiny tried to run away, and were easily picked up by my guardsmen. Others were actually surrendered voluntarily by their units, who were only too anxious to disassociate themselves from these wretches.

  It is astonishing how a combination of sympathy and terror can undermine even the most formidable-seeming of movements.

>   Drusus was at first not entirely content with my decisive action, but he was pleasingly appreciative when he saw how effective it had been.

  The news from Germany is distressing. I am sure you can trust your nephew, but I receive reports which make me uncertain about some of his methods.

  I trust you are taking care of yourself. The health of Rome and the empire depends on the preservation of yours. I pray that you are not suffering from migraines, when your devoted servant is not there to ease them away.

  The news from Germany was indeed worrying. The mutiny took a different form there, for some of the men clamoured for Germanicus to lead them. If he wanted the throne, they said, then they would back him. This was more rebellion than mutiny. Germanicus was tempted. He admitted that later. A report from a young knight, Marcus Friso, whom I had attached to his staff, convinced me of this. But either his loyalty held, or he deemed the risk too great and lacked the nerve to play the part of Caesar or Sulla. At any rate, he behaved as if they had insulted him, shouting that death was better than disloyalty. Friso reported that:

  He pulled his sword from his belt and pointed it at his own throat. "You will force me to kill myself if you press these demands," he cried. Not everyone was convinced that he meant it. One private soldier named Calusidius called his bluff, for he drew his own sword and offered it to the general remarking that it was a good deal sharper. I can tell you Germanicus turned pale at the offer, and what would have happened next must be uncertain, if some of his friends hadn't managed to hurry him away. It was not an edifying scene.

  Naturally Friso's report disturbed me. I couldn't but reflect how ashamed my dear brother Drusus would have been of his son's theatrical display.

  And the next day Germanicus made another absurd speech in which he proclaimed:

  "When you pulled away the sword I was preparing to thrust into my heart" (it had actually, according to reports, been aimed at his neck, where more soldiers could see it) "your friendly care for me was unwelcome. A better, truer friend was the man who offered me his own sword, for I should then have died with my conscience free of the crimes my own soldiers have committed and are contemplating."

  Then he called on the gods, and invoked the memory of Augustus and his own father Drusus and, in Friso's words, " . . . spouted windy rhetoric about washing clean the stain of criminal disloyalty ... I tell you it again made me ashamed to listen to him . . ."

  And yet he had already by chance delivered the master stroke which brought the soldiers to their senses. Some of those who were present have told me he did it through timidity, others have praised his policy. In such matters there is seldom unanimity of opinion, for no man knows the secret impulses which determine men's actions. He himself ascribed it (naturally) in his letter to me as policy. Perhaps it was. By his account then:

  It had become apparent to me that my wife, my dear Agrippina, though she has the heart of a lioness, was not safe in the camp, and neither were my beloved children. So I determined to send them away under heavily armed escort. Agrippina was loth to go. As you know, her courage is matchless. She reminded me that she was the grand-daughter of the divine Augustus and the daughter of the great Agrippa, and would be worthy of her blood, whatever the danger. But I could not permit her to stay, in her condition (she is with child again, you will be delighted to hear) and with our youngest son, little Gaius, in attendance. So I insisted.

  Then a miracle occurred. A miracle — I say without boasting — which I had foreseen. As soon as I had convinced my wife that she must depart, she burst out into tears of lamentation which rang through the camp, as the wails of Andromache, crouching over the murdered body of her lord, Hector, echoed over the plains of windy Troy. Why did she weep? I answered that she wept because I could no longer trust her or our son, little Gaius, born in the camp and the soldiers' darling. (They call him Caligula - little boots - you know - isn't it charming?) I could no longer trust them, I repeated, to the care and protection of Roman soldiers, but must send them forth, to our allies, the Treviri.

  This, as I had guessed it would, broke the men's hearts. "Will Caligula go?" they cried. "Can we not be trusted to care for our little darling?"

  "No," I said, "you cannot. Not while you act as ravening wolves rather than Roman soldiers." I held my ground. I did not know I had such words in me . . .

  So judgment or fortune favoured him. The men submitted. Then followed an extraordinary scene. They themselves arrested the leading rebels and punished them in their own ferocious manner. The men, with drawn swords, stood in a circle. The prisoners were paraded in turn on a platform. If the soldiers shouted guilty, their victim was thrown to them and butchered on the spot. The men revelled in the massacre; it seemed, Friso said, "... as if it purged them of their former guilt. Germanicus meanwhile did nothing. My opinion is that he judged that when the men grew ashamed of this latest manifestation of their own savagery, he would escape blame, though he benefited from it."

  There was much that was disquieting in these accounts. Germanicus had triumphed. The result was good. But the manner of its achievement did not inspire me with confidence in my nephew and, by Augustus' will, prospective heir. Certainly his histrionic behaviour contrasted unfavourably with the calm good sense and resolution displayed by Drusus and, of course, Sejanus.

  I had myself to endure much criticism for remaining in Rome while these troubles were afoot. Two half-grown boys, men muttered, could not control these mutinous soldiers. I should have gone myself to confront them with the imperial dignity. Or I should have despatched an experienced marshal. I was aware of what was said, saw no cause to answer my critics. If they could not see that I might inspire more awe at a distance, while I could also without deceit revoke any unwise concessions the young generals granted, as soon as it was safe to do so, well, I could not be blamed for my critics' lack of perception. As for the suggestion that I should have sent an experienced marshal, it wasn't for me to point out the danger of such a course. Not on your life. But I had read Roman history if my critics hadn't, and I wasn't prepared to set up a new disturber of the peace, a new Caesar or Antony, backed by an army which he had bribed to return to order by lavish promises of future rewards and favours. I had learned from Augustus to distrust generals who had contrived to extract personal oaths of loyalty, and I saw only too well the danger that such men might offer to the state. Our equilibrium was precarious. I wasn't going to disturb it by offering the opportunity for new dynasts to emerge.

  And my strategy worked. The mutinies were suppressed. The frontier was secure again. All the same, I couldn't escape the awareness that Germanicus himself, for all his protestations of loyalty, would have to be watched. There was a rashness, an intemperance about his behaviour which I could not approve.

  I remembered Sulla's prescient comment when he was persuaded to allow the young Julius Caesar to escape his proscription and so escape the fate of the other followers and connections of Gaius Marius: "In that young man there are many Mariuses . . ."

  Yes, Germanicus would have to be watched. Fortunately, I had young Friso to hand; and Sejanus in reserve.

  3

  I was in my middle fifties when the burden of empire was laid upon me. Naturally I looked for assistance; to my regret I failed to find it. Nobody who has not been responsible for the administration of such a vast and unwieldy body as the Roman Empire can imagine the demands it makes. Augustus had frequently complained of his labours; but, unlike me, he had sought his position. He was a man who would have been lost without power. I am different and not a day passed when I did not groan at my responsibilities, when I did not look back with nostalgia to the years of my retirement on Rhodes and forward with longing to the day when I could relinquish the reins and be myself again.

  The hope was vain. I knew that from the start. I had accepted a commission which I could not lay down.

  Livia did not understand my repugnance. She assailed me with suggestions and advice, warnings and encouragement. I grew to drea
d the sound of her voice, the announcement of her arrival, the summons to her house.

  I felt myself alone. A few weeks after Augustus' death, while I was still wrestling with the consequences of my inheritance, Julia died on the island of Pandateria to which her father had consigned her. We had had no communication for years; what could we have said to each other? Could I have apologised for the destruction of her life which had not been my work? Could she have brought herself to ask my forgiveness? Nevertheless 1 ordered that her ashes be brought back to her father's mausoleum. I owed her that, but I made certain that they would be consigned there secretly and without ceremony.

  Hoping to please me, the Governor of North Africa, Lucius Nonias Asprenas, arranged for the execution of Julia's lover, Sempronius Gracchus, who had spent fourteen years imprisoned on the African island of Cercina. He thought to please me by this action, but the only pleasure I derived was in the news that Gracchus had died in a manner more worthy of his ancestors than he had lived.