by Allan Massie
These two deaths drew a line under the past.
Yet the past would not let go. Germanicus had resumed war with the Germans. I approved this for two reasons: it was necessary to strengthen the Rhine frontier, and it would be good for the lately mutinous legions to be engaged in real soldiering. Moreover, there was a case for reminding the Germans of the power of Rome, for they were still flushed by their triumph over Varus six years previously.
Germanicus therefore advanced deep into the forests and, driving the divided enemy before him, approached the Teutoberg Wood where Varus had been destroyed. They came to the defeated general's first camp, and then to a half-ruined breastwork where the remnants of the legions had fought. The day was wet and windy, as it had been then. Around them the desolate marshes mocked the ambition of mortals. Beyond a shallow ditch were whitening bones, ghastly in the failing light, which showed where Romans had fallen; there were little heaps where scattered troops had come together and made a last stand. Fragments of spears, abandoned armour, and horses' limbs lay about, and there were skulls fastened to tree-trunks by the barbarians. They even found the altars at which Roman officers had been slaughtered in a parody of religious ceremonies.
My nephew gave orders that the bones should be interred, an order which I subsequently and naturally approved. He cut the first turf himself, even though, as a member of the ancient priesthood of Augurs, he should not have handled objects belonging to the dead, as he did. Nevertheless I approved this also; it showed a proper reverence. I was less pleased to be informed by Friso that Germanicus had not only lamented the long years in which the bodies had lain unburied, but had added that the failure to make the attempt to penetrate the forests to accord them decent burial was, as he put it, "shameful". He had little idea of course of the extent of the disaster and of the difficulties I had experienced in trying to restore a modicum of stability on the Rhine frontier, or of the impossibility, in the circumstances of the time, of doing what he thought ought to have been done.
Some of those who heard his words were shocked to realise the limits of his understanding, and disapproved his implied criticism of my own conduct, which, for my part, I attributed to his youth rather than to any more sinister cause.
His ambitions were, however, worrying. He believed that it was desirable that we should bring all the Germans residing to the west of the Elbe within the empire. I could understand the attraction of the proposal, for I had felt it myself, years ago. Both Augustus and I had become convinced of its impracticality. We feared too that the conditions were such that any commander might experience the same fate as Varus, a fate which Germanicus himself only narrowly escaped the following year.
There could be no doubt about his ardour, more concerning his judgment. It seemed strange too when reports came of the prominent part his wife, my former stepdaughter Agrippina, was playing behind the scenes. She was unnaturally conspicuous.
I had asked Sejanus to make a tour of inspection of the northern frontier in order to establish the truth, or otherwise, of what was said. For security reasons, I told him to report to me in person. If there was something untoward afoot, it was better that he should not, for his own sake, commit his suspicions to writing.
Sejanus came to me straight from the road, without even pausing to bathe, and lay (as was his wont) stretched out on a couch, his thighs flecked with mud.
"They're up to something," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Wish I knew, wish I could say exactly. There's a strange mood in the army, not exactly elation, such as you might expect after victory, more as if they are nerving themselves for something big and dangerous. Of course Agrippina can't stand me, so I don't make much of her rudeness to me. She has always looked at me as if I were a bad smell. But Friso told me that, when her husband was on campaign, she acted as commander-in-chief, every order was referred to her. Your letter of congratulation was suppressed. Instead she personally thanked the men for what they had done on behalf of the Roman state and Germanicus, no mention of you. When you add to that the accounts I received of how she went round visiting the sick and wounded, how she dispensed presents of money, food and wine, and of how she took little Caligula with her everywhere, and seemed to be trying to inspire a personal loyalty among the soldiers, well... I know what conclusions I draw." "Let me hear them."
He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes, and smiled.
"I'm not sure that I dare." "What do you mean?"
"Look," he said, "I owe everything to you. I'm very conscious of that. And I know you have an affection for me, and I'm utterly loyal to you. I've got to be, apart from anything else, for I am committed to you. You understand that, don't you?"
"I look on you as a son and my dearest friend."
"That's just as well," he said, "because if I had any doubt about your feeling for me, I would be afraid to express my opinion, even though it is my duty to do so. I believe that Germanicus and Agrippina are playing the part of Caesar, and have cast you as Pompey. They think that if they can attach the legions to themselves, personally, they can defy you, and even seize the throne."
"I don't like that word," I said.
"Very well, then, power . . ."
"But why should they . . . ?"
I broke off. He smiled again.
"You don't mean that," he said. "You know better . . ." I could not meet his eye.
"I am grateful," I said. "Grateful and terrified . . ."
"I accept the gratitude. Remember this. Augustus had you adopt Germanicus as your heir, but you have your own son Drusus. Your nephew can't forget that. . ."
Sejanus had used a potent word to waken my fears: the name of Caesar terrifies all Romans. Caesar, the destroyer of liberty, the man who unleashed civil war on Rome. Of course Caesar was, in reality, more than that and less than that. He was perhaps an instrument of history, for, in the circumstances, there would have been civil war even without his ambition. And that ambition, one may say now, was not entirely selfish (though my mother would disagree). It is even possible to maintain that Caesar had some sort of vision of regeneration, that, in some sense, he perceived, even if only dimly, how the state had to be reformed. Nevertheless, whatever one grants him, and none denies him genius, Caesar the wolf, the destroyer, the rebel who would make himself king, is still the figure who fills one's eye.
Rome has never recovered from the catastrophe into which his ambition plunged the state. I who now, by a stroke of irony, find myself his heir, know that better than anyone. I am the most unfortunate of men: a reluctant ruler who despises those he rules. Caesar let slip the dogs of war, of civil war, the worst of wars; his murderers and his heirs fought another, a bloody and divisive series of wars. Augustus emerged sole victor, and set himself to repair the state. Sometimes he deceived himself that he had in fact done so. In his heart he knew better, as Livia knows, and as I try all too often to hide from myself. Behind the facade of Republican respectability which he erected, he established the ultimate reality: power breeding fear. And I have inherited that reality, that power and that fear. I hoped to reanimate the Republican spirit, and found it corrupted by fear.
On the surface things are different. We debate in the Senate with a degree of freedom. The law-courts operate according to ancient practice. Elections are held. Armies are banished from Italy (except for the Praetorians). Trade flourishes. Men go about their business in ease and safety. The harvests come and go, gathered and fruitful. Italy basks in sunlight. Wealth accumulates. The pleasures of art, of the theatre and of the circus are widely enjoyed. Everything has been, to use a favourite word of Augustus', consolidated.
And yet the basic question should be asked, though I dare only to put it in the silence of my own mind: why are people behaving in the way they do? Why do they do all these things, which, taken together, give the impression that we have achieved a united society, giving happy and willing support to a benevolent government? Any wise man must find the answer self-e
vident: they are driven to this simulation of content by fear. We are dominated by fear: fear of the barbarians without and within. It is fear which compels men, even of great family, to perform degrading acts of self-criticism and self-abnegation, fear which informs the insincerity of our public life. It is fear which prevents men, even senators - perhaps most of all senators - from saying what they think, even in private; they are afraid someone might inform against them.
Of course this is no ordinary fear. We are not all shaking with daily terror. On the contrary, the surface of our life is just what it seems; look at the Senate and you see rich, happy, self-confident citizens. No, we can take nothing for granted, not even love, affection, the loyalty of one's own family and friends. Rome throbs with a pervasive anxiety. There is no one who is not vulnerable.
Not even the emperor. It was fear that drove Augustus to turn so savagely on his daughter and her lovers; fear for his own creation that caused him to arrange the murder of his grandson Agrippa Postumus, so that, as a result of his prudence, I inherited a legacy of blood. And Agrippina, Sejanus assures me, holds me responsible for her brother's death, which she ascribes to my order, rather than her grandfather's.
"She is, according to Friso," Sejanus said, "forever hinting to Germanicus that you are the enemy of her branch of the family, and persuading him that he cannot trust you."
So the corrupting fear infects even what men have started to call the imperial family.
The fear is widespread. Hardly a day passes that I am not assailed by anonymous and scurrilous verses. Daily, while I resided in Rome, informers found means to approach me with evidence of seditious talk and plotting. For the most part I paid no attention. When I was told that a man had been speaking against me, I replied that the ability to think and speak as one wished was the test of a free country. What was the result of my enunciation of this impeccably Republican sentiment? According to Romanius Hispo, a man of obscure birth but some merit whom I found useful on account of the store of information he habitually collected, men saw my reply as a sign of dissimulation. I was encouraging free speech, they said, in order to be able to identify my enemies. It was a lure to encourage them to betray themselves. Such was the demoralising effect of fear. But is it any wonder, in these circumstances, if I too began to see enemies on every side?
Of course people were ready to use the treason laws for their own advantage, hoping either simply to ruin those they disliked or envied, or to profit from the rewards which the law decreed should go to informers. Some of the accusations brought were in themselves trivial. For instance, a charge was brought against one Falanius, a member of the equestrian order, of insulting the divinity of Augustus. He had, it was said, admitted among the worshippers of Augustus a certain actor in musical comedies named Cassius, who was, notoriously, also a male prostitute, and he was accused, secondly, of disposing of a statue of Augustus, when selling some garden property. At the same time a friend of his, Rubrius, was charged with blasphemy against the divinity of Augustus.
I deprecated such charges, and informed the consuls, who were considering them, that in my opinion Augustus had not been voted divine honours in order to ruin Roman citizens. I pointed out that Cassius, however deplorable his private life, was an accomplished actor, who had taken part in the games organised by my mother, the Augusta, in her late husband's honour. As for the blasphemy, I said, the gods must see to their own wrongs.
Could anyone take exception to my common sense? Of course they could. I was accused of displaying jealousy of Augustus. Tiberius would be a damned sight quicker to avenge insults to his own honour, they said.
In fact I wasn't. Romanius Hispo informed me that the senator Marcus Granius Marcellus was spreading the rumour that I had dismissed the charges against Falanius merely because Cassius was my own catamite. He added that Marcellus had placed his own effigy above that of Augustus and myself and was saying that I had prepared a plan to send leading senators such as Scaurus and Gallus into exile. Though I demurred, Romanius insisted on bringing a charge of treason against Marcellus. I announced that I would hear the evidence in the Senate, and, on this occasion, vote openly and on oath, for I hoped that such a statement would check merely malicious accusations by exposing those who brought them to public obloquy. What happened? My friend Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso exposed the hypocrisy of the Senate in a couple of sentences. "Caesar," he said, "will you vote first or last? If first, I shall have your lead to follow. If last, I am afraid that I may inadvertently vote against you." I was grateful to him for his intervention; it convinced me that it was impossible that the Senate should give a fair trial to anyone accused of treason. Fear would hold them back from expressing their true opinions. In disgust, I voted that Marcellus be acquitted of treason, though, technically, he was guilty.
These were all minor worries, though symptomatic of the disease which gripped the state, when compared with the problem that Germanicus posed me. His victories in Germany secured no solid or enduring advantage, though to do him honour and enhance his reputation I was prepared to exaggerate their value, and so decreed him a triumph. I hoped also, I confess, that so public a statement of my regard might reconcile him and Agrip-pina to me, and at least dilute the suspicion with which they regarded me. Vain hope.
I had another reason however. My nephew was eager to prosecute the war further and launch another expedition — his fourth — against the Germans. There was no prospect that he would meet with substantial success. His campaigns to date had fortified me in the opinion at which Augustus and I had independently arrived: that the prudent limits of empire had been attained, and that plans for further expansion should be abandoned. Now the ardour of an impetuous youth was calling our judgment into question. It was intolerable, and could not be permitted.
Livia was for a sharp response. "He must be put in his place, compelled to understand that his position is subsidiary. How dare this callow youth set his opinion up against yours ....-.?"
She sat upright in her chair, and rapped the ferrule of her ebony cane on the floor. Her knuckles gleamed white, her head, more than ever like that of a noble bird of prey, quivered. That, and a certain tremor in her voice, betrayed her age.
"Germanicus has friends, admirers, supporters," I said. "He may also have secured the personal allegiance of his soldiers."
"That itself is treason."
"I do not say he has done so formally by extracting a personal oath. But it has amounted to that."
"Your father would never have permitted it."
Perhaps not, but Livia now lived in the imagination, where all things are possible and difficulties dissolve of their own accord, or are dispelled by an act of will. If only, I thought, I understood Germanicus as well as I understood my mother. But I had no difficulty in understanding Agrippina: she was filled with implacable hostility towards me.
I poured out honours upon the young man. I caused an arch to be dedicated beside the Temple of Saturn, in celebration of the recapture, under his leadership and my auspices, of the eagles lost with Varus. I arranged that his triumph should be celebrated the following May with unrivalled splendour. The procession included spoils, prisoners, and pictures of mountains, rivers and battles. To my displeasure, Agrippina insisted on accompanying her husband in his chariot; everyone commented on the noble sight they presented surrounded by their five children, smiling to be the centre of such adulation. In my nephew's name I distributed three hundred sesterces a head to the population, and Rome rang that evening with wine and song. I announced that to do the young man further honour, I myself would share his consulship.
Germanicus was flattered by all this attention; he revelled in his popularity. Everyone fawned upon him, and he believed they meant what they said. Some did, of course; but the generality was prompted by fear. People thought he was the coming man. They were awed by the power which they believed he could deploy.
But, though flattered, he was not diverted from his argument that the German war should be renewe
d. Agrippina urged this course, feeding his vanity. She gave dinner-parties at which she strove to seduce senators into agreement. She did not do so by the charm of her person. Her features were sharp and her voice harsh; she had none of her mother's sensual nature. She was indeed ostentatiously faithful to her husband, and cruelly critical of ladies who lapsed from monogamous chastity. The truth is, she was a prig.
I did all I could to appease the hostility of the young couple. I consulted Germanicus' mother, Antonia, with whom I had always been on good terms, a woman of exemplary sense and virtue. She confessed to me that she found her daughter-in-law "difficult".
"I know," she said, "that you have acted fairly, and indeed with great generosity towards my son. It wasn't easy for you to accept Augustus' will and favour him above your own boy, Drusus. Believe me, my dear Tiberius, I am grateful for your even-handedness in this matter, and I understand that the only dispute between the two of you is over a matter of public policy, in which it is likely that a man of your experience judges more wisely than a youth, however brilliant. I trust your love for Germanicus as I trusted your love for your brother, my dear husband Drusus."
Antonia then proposed that we should publicly display our concord by arranging a marriage between my son Drusus and her elder daughter Julia Livilla, who, as a little girl, had been betrothed to Gaius Caesar.
