“Good.”
He said nothing for a while, and then sighed. “You have done well, and I salute you. Now, it is time to go home. I shall deal with everything from now on.” He smiled. “Augustus trusts me now. Leave guards for Gaius this evening, Hraban, and you have your men pack up everything. We have the night.”
“Yes, lord,” I answered, and turned to obey.
“Hraban?” he said.
“Lord?”
“I need war now,” he said apologetically. “Your father failed me. I shall honor my promises, but I must also have war. In order to retain my power, Augustus must have a need of me. That is the only way I can keep what remains of the family alive.” His eyes went to Wandal again, and then to me. “Augustus has not forgotten the insults of your father. I spoke with him, and he agrees I must punish Maroboodus. I hope you understand.”
“Yes, lord,” I said.
Wandal turned his head to me. “He is keeping his promises? To your father? What promises? He only promised to give Postumus to him in exchange for his aid, as Livia had reneged on her promises, eh?”
I nodded. “That’s exactly the promise he will keep.”
Wandal blinked. “He is giving Postumus to a man he goes to war with? Why?”
I leaned closer to him. “He has a strange sort of honor.”
“And if Maroboodus loses the war? What is keeping Maroboodus from letting Augustus know the whole truth of it? Especially if Postumus dies in that war?”
“Postumus won’t die,” I said, full of conviction. “Father will rebuild his power elsewhere, no doubt, should he lose. He is clever. He will not suffer a crushing defeat. The truth is, Wandal, that Postumus is a problem. Tiberius will guard Gaius and Germanicus, but Postumus is a constant risk to everyone in Rome. The scandal might destroy everything Augustus has built. Everything, and everyone, including Gaius. Who would believe Postumus is the son of Agrippa? No. He is right. Getting rid of Postumus makes things simpler, of course. Perhaps Postumus will be a cause for war, as well. Postumus deserting Rome, or being “captured”? In any case, Postumus is finally going to start his life elsewhere.”
“He is an embarrassment to Tiberius as well,” Wandal muttered.
“Yes. Julia acting like a whore with a guard? It will look bad on all involved, and Tiberius was married to her,” I said. “Best he goes, and hopefully he shall survive the war. Father will be happy with Postumus, but unhappy with the war. Poor Postumus.”
“I still don’t understand,” he said. “I don’t. It feels odd, and not logical. Will Postumus agree to this?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said tiredly. “Let them deal with these matters. Postumus faces a certain death in Rome, if his story comes out. He will go, because he must, and he will learn to be a Germani.”
He was thinking hard, frowning, and finally gave up. “We will leave before this war?”
“When Tiberius tells me I am free,” I answered. “But you may go—”
“I will stay,” he said. “I feel sorry for Cassia and Gervas, though.”
We watched how Tiberius left, and I watched him go. The Stone-Jaws he was, burdened by duty, lost love, and many disappointments and losses, yet staunchly executing his duty.
Gaius got up soon after, and Livilla stepped to him, whispering to his ear. He looked surprised, gave me a wry grin, and I bowed to him. He left with two Guards, and his wife. Later, we began to pack and move our gear. We worked late into the night, and slept on the deck of the galley.
That next morning, one of the Guards I had left with Gaius rushed to us in the harbor. They had found Livilla, weeping over Gaius, who had died on his desk.
***
I stared at his body, as he had been laid on the bed. The doctor was staring at the old, open wound in his chest, poking at it. It was raw, pale pink with a dark, bloody substance seeping from it.
“He had kept it hidden!” Livilla wept, holding herself, rocking back and forth. “He had not told me about it.” Tiberius nodded at me, and I had Wandal escort her out of the room.
I watched the scene, as men and women wept, prayed, and I cursed silently to myself.
Germanicus.
He could step up now, the bastard.
Poor Gaius had done his best, Lucius as well, but both were gone. I could hardly believe it, and the shock left me numb, utterly sad, and lost. Tiberius would guard Germanicus now, and it didn’t seem worth it. Tiberius too, was in shock. He held his face, taking ragged breaths, and men tried to console him. There were a dozen local nobles, Publius, and Roman officia in the room. A servant was washing the marble near the desk of Gaius, where blood and shit were mingled, and a cup of wine, broken, was being picked off the floor.
Poor Livilla had brought him his last wine, and a meal of olives and bread, and he had died suddenly, in her arms.
“It is nobody’s fault,” Tiberius said, his voice breaking. “Except mine. I should have had him checked. I should have made sure. I will take the responsibility.”
That afternoon, we sailed home with the body of Gaius.
Wandal too, was crushed, and silent, staring at his hands, horrified at the failure of his oath. The ships were silent, and I knew it wouldn’t last. In each harbor we would stop at, the officia would send emissaries and weeping women to show the sorrow of entire nations for the loss of the great man.
No weeping women would bring him back.
I missed him.
On the ships, I met men that should have been dead. Armin and Flavus were there. We had not seen them when we had brought our gear to the galleys, for apparently Tiberius had wanted to keep us separated. The death brought Armin out of the other galley, though. He climbed onto our ship.
His eyes rested on the corpse of dead Gaius, then on my face, judging, gauging.
“So, I see you failed,” he told me, hand on his sword’s hilt. “My Gaius is dead. As I predicted.”
I nodded, and felt the tears in my eyes. “Not on my watch. We saved his life many times. I guarded him, but—”
His eyes went to the wound that could be seen on the boy’s chest. “You bastard. You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t sleep with him, Armin,” I hissed. “Nor did I bathe him. You are making mockery of his death, so be silent.”
He sneered at me, and even Flavus looked at me, like I was an unsavory piece of gristle.
“I hear Sejanus conspired to kill him as well?” he said, his eyes hot coals of anger. “You didn’t slay Adalwulf after all.”
“No. He survived,” I said, “and serves Tiberius now. I am not, contrary to what you believe, a murderer. I saved Gaius from Livia, contained Adalwulf, and freed him and myself. My family is safe now. We all serve … to protect what remains. To make sure Tiberius can keep us all safe from those who hate—”
“Not a murderer? Oh, aye, your family is safe. But not Gaius.”
He took a step back, and released his hand from the sword’s hilt. Our silence was uncomfortable. Tiberius had told me in Samos that both brothers were held by local pirates, but I had half hoped for Armin to drown. He was implacable, dangerous, and a problem; and apparently, he too served Tiberius now.
I spoke. “I see that you survived Flavus. And the sea.”
He gave Rochus a long look, and shrugged. “We were found by locals. Pirates, more than fishermen. It took Tiberius a long time to buy our freedom, and plenty of coin.” He shook his head, and watched the sea, clearly loathing it. “We floated for a day, holding on to an oar. The currents swept us along before they found us and locked us up. I know why you did it, Hraban. And why Flavus tried to do it. It is simple, and a matter of necessity. I understand why you took the opportunity, or perhaps even created it. I was going to kill you. I was going to kill you for Gaius, for Lollius, and for what was promised me. Too long, have I been away from home.” He waved towards Tiberius, who was walking the pier. “I understand now, that you only tried to be rid of Livia, and to guard the family, tired of the many crimes she forc
ed on you, and for the fear for your family. Your family, Hraban, is ever your bane. He showed me the scrolls you carried. I understand a great deal now. Not all of it, but plenty to alleviate my anger for you. And I trust him. He is offering me a position. He explained much of your plan, and I see the merits of it. I believe he is a fine man, if dour to the bone. Alas, that Gaius died the day he took Gaius under his wing. Alas!” He stepped closer to me, and I half pulled Nightbright. “He is going to go to war, and you will also work with him, for the time being. We must try to manage it, for both our sakes.”
“I am happy to hear you understand my choices a bit better,” I told him. “Perhaps we can …”
“Only if I must,” he interrupted me. “I understand, but I cannot forget. Soon, one day soon, I shall go home, with Roman spears supporting me, Hraban, and then, I shall not want to see you again, for you are a deceitful, foul thing that cannot be trusted.”
“But I,” I said, “am no different than you.”
“No, we are different,” he said evenly. “I seek to elevate nations; you seek to elevate yourself.”
“It is not …”
“I won’t forget what you did to me,” he said evenly. “I shall forgive, as best I can, but I only work with you when I must. I’ll give Rome my service for some more years, and then, this wolf will go home, and make his own plans.” He went to the side of Gaius, and there he wept.
BOOK 4: THE WOLF’S WAR
“Armin, you, Varus. Those are the ingredients of a proper war. Armin is up north now. Boiling for trouble he is. A fugitive. You will go, and help him. And while doing so, you will be my eyes and ears.”
Maroboodus to Hraban
CHAPTER 24 (Rome, June 1 st, 4 A.D.)
The Mausoleum and the surrounding field of Mars were silent. Augustus stood before the great dome, and looked like a statue. The white gates on the Mausoleum, the cupola of greenery above them, and the gently swaying trees did nothing to lift the depressing gloom for those attending the somber event. Augustus had cried, so had the foul Livia, who had stared at me with silent triumph amid the tears. Her power might have been broken in many ways, but to her delight, Tiberius was now the adopted son of Augustus, as was Postumus, though Augustus still had not taken the time to meet him, likely due to rumors of the madness of man. He truly was not an option for Augustus. Not even the senators thought him as a possibility for taking over after Augustus. Even though Tiberius had been forced to adopt Germanicus in his turn, so that the blood of Augustus would still eventually rule, Livia had her precious son standing proud behind Augustus.
Germanicus lived.
Tiberius would keep him alive. Now that he could, he would. Tiberius was the great man in Rome now, to the chagrin of those who had mocked him, and those who hated him.
There were plenty.
Many of those were now whispering about Germanicus. The senators worried for the young man, but Tiberius was wise and celebrated him every chance he had. Germanicus’s road up the cursus honorum was to be accelerated, like it had been for poor Gaius and foolish Lucius, and Tiberius would make sure he would be the eventual ruler of Rome.
That shit would rule Rome.
Woden hates me, I thought.
Drusus the Younger would receive his rewards as well, but less visible ones. At least Drusus would be safe from Livia, for now.
Both boys stood side by side at the funeral, not in the first rank, but away from sight. Germanicus would cast looks at me that bordered on anger, and then shame, and he would also look at Ulrich, who stood with Wandal. The man had joined our turma, and more specifically, our group. There were few men I trusted, but the man who had saved my life and knew how to keep a secret, I did trust to a degree. Tiberius had asked me to find more men, and I had picked Ulrich, and he had spoken with the man privately. They had come to an agreement. He didn’t know much, but enough to be a reliable ally.
Postumus was not at the funeral.
He was in Rome as well, but few knew of it.
I pitied Augustus, though certainly the old bastard did not deserve pity. Manipulative, dangerous, a man who ordered nations to be put to the sword, he was not someone you should feel sorry for. Now he had broken his heart.
Augustus moved, took a step forward, and stopped.
It was clear he lacked the strength to give the order for the senators who stood on both sides of the urn filled with the ashes to carry it off. Gaius would join Lucius in the beautiful Mausoleum, where statues stared down on the living with stony eyes, but the old man couldn’t give the order. There too, in that cool darkness, were Drusus, Marcellus, and Agrippa as well. Great men all. A woman, Octavia Minor, the sister of Augustus, would keep him company with the men of their family. For a Mausoleum meant for Augustus, it was getting crowded far before his death.
Tiberius prepared to give the order. I saw him move ever so slightly, and the two senators on each side of the remains of Gaius twitched. Tiberius nodded, and the guards at the doorways saluted. The darkness beaconed for my friend, who should have lived a great deal longer, but it was not to be. I had loved him well.
Livia smiled at me, as if reading my thoughts.
Bitch.
The Germani Guards moved to flank Augustus. Wandal, Ulrich, and I didn’t stand with the Guard. The Prefect Maximus was giving us all shadowed, wondering looks, unsure what our new role was, but he would not be told. All he knew was that he needed to rebuild our turma. It had been gutted in the East, and by our departure.
We would serve in the shadows.
Just like the speculatores in any legion, we would be the eyes of Tiberius now, military intelligence officers, his personal hands, and Augustus had agreed.
We would not wear our official armor, capes, or togae.
Killers and spies only needed their wits.
“How many years?” Wandal asked. “Do you have any idea how many years we must stay? And don’t tell me I can go. Just hazard a guess.”
“I do not know,” I answered. “I cannot tell you this.”
“Can you trust Tiberius?” Wandal wondered. “I am not sure—"
“Every lord needs a keeper of their secrets,” I said, and felt stupid, for of course I couldn’t trust Tiberius. Not now, not ever. There he stood, silent, patient, and less happy than he had ever been. His service was not joyous, and it would benefit Germanicus.
“Why don’t we leave?” Wandal hissed softly. “He can do without you. He has Armin, and Flavus. Eh? Adalwulf.”
“You can leave,” I said patiently. “But I will miss you.”
Ulrich snorted. “Your friend would get lost soon enough. Or robbed by Italian farmers.”
Wandal cursed and stood still, silent as the throng of senators moved to stand next to Augustus, who was staring at the urn of ashes, the priests that prayed over Gaius’s soul, and the two senators who now lifted the large bronze and golden jar.
It was a simple matter for Wandal. Leaving.
Not for me.
I heard Adalwulf’s voice, and my eyes sought him out.
Adalwulf was nearby with our old gear, speaking with a guard. He had been handed back what we had brought from Germania, and I yearned to see my old Athenian helmet. It was hidden in a sack. We’d keep our chain, greaves, and swords in the service of Tiberius, but for some reason, I wanted my old helmet back more than ever. It reminded me of old times, hard times, but perhaps also of simpler ones.
Honorable times, no matter what my father had done to my fame.
The silence was finally broken.
Paullus, the former co-consul of Gaius from two years past, Julia’s daughter’s husband, was weeping unabashedly for his friend, and gods only knew if Rome could be struck a harder blow than the death of Gaius. People watched him with shock, for Romans were meant to keep their feelings hidden, unless they were useful for political proposes, but the man wept on.
Perhaps he was making a political statement. Their children would be of the blood.
Gaius’s r
emains were carried inside, and slowly, people dispersed, as Augustus stayed on, listening to the senators whispering to him.
Tiberius, with no further words, turned and walked away.
We went with Tiberius.
We had a mission.
We would guard Postumus. Wandal, Ulrich, and I had the duty. I held a scroll from Tiberius, one that named me his man, and gave me the right to ask for aid, coin, and men, anywhere in the lands of Rome.
Armin, with Flavus, had many duties in the North for Tiberius, but the rest of us had an easy task making sure Postumus was safe. Part of the year, we would live in a small villa at the outskirts of Palatine Hill, near Circus Maximus. Another part of the year, we would live down by the sea in Ostia. Whatever Tiberius was planning to do, Postumus had to survive. More, he had to cooperate. I was to make sure he’d not entertain mad ideas to share his secret with anyone other than us. There was a heavy guard presence around the boy. Tiberius would not personally stay in Rome, as he would deal with preparing the legions for war, and make sure the borders were safe. He would travel in Germania, in Illyricum, and in Greece. He would also do so to avoid gossip. Many Romans blamed him and Livia for the suspicious deaths of the two brothers. There were wagers on the years Germanicus would survive. Gernot had told me. Pick the right year, and even month, and you might be a rich man.
Tiberius had to give Rome other things to think about.
He was well positioned to do so.
He held more power than Agrippa had ever held, almost equal to Augustus, but he was not omnipotent. Only almost.
I knew where Armin was riding with Flavus. He was riding in Illyricum, amongst the tribes of Dacia, and he would prepare for war with my father. It was ironic. Like Livia had planned, so it would come to pass. Tiberius would inherit the old glories of Drusus, the victories of the patient Saturninus, who had mostly pacified the Germani along the Rhenus River, and then he would march all over Maroboodus.
We would serve until he had a firm grip on power.
***
That evening Adalwulf and I sat in the house of Postumus. The domus was silent, and the few servants were discreet, almost mute. Wandal was standing outside with Ulrich, who had grown to like my friend. The red-headed man had an easy manner that annoyed Wandal, but they got along well when the dice were out.
The Bane of Gods: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 5) Page 31
