I soon grew tired of Capri and I missed Agrippina. I would have loved to have sent a message but that would have been dangerous, even foolish.
At the beginning of October I was still wondering how I could arrange my departure from Capri when Macro aroused me before dawn on one cold, dark morning.
‘Get dressed!’ he urged. ‘Quickly, we are for Rome!’
Two biremes stood ready in the harbour; one full of marines dressed in half-armour, a savage-looking bunch totally under Macro’s command; the second bireme contained members of Tiberius’s own personal guard. We clambered aboard and within the hour were heading for a pre-arranged spot somewhere to the south of Rome. No imperial colours were shown and Macro took advantage of the sea mist, as well as the early hour, to keep well clear of the normal shipping lanes. The pilot guided us in, and both biremes beached in a sandy cove some miles south of Ostia. We came ashore like an invasion force: scouts were sent out; fires were lit and breakfast cooked; sentries were deployed. We spent the rest of the day bringing supplies ashore whilst spies crept in from Rome. The news they brought was favourable, the Senate was to meet the following morning.
Once darkness fell Macro marched his troops along the coastline. It was still dark when we reached the Viminial Gate, where Macro displayed the imperial passes and we were allowed entry. How strange to be back in Rome! I was desperate to see Agrippina but Macro’s orders were strict: the will of the Emperor was to be carried out and I was Macro’s accomplice. The marines and bodyguard marched to the Palatine where Macro concealed them in a small park. He took off his own armour and, in the torchlight, washed and shaved and put on clothes appropriate for a visitor to the Senate. We went up the Palatine, into the exquisitely beautiful heart of Rome with its fluted columns and finely carved statues. The great temple of Apollo, built of gleaming Parian marble, its vast doors inlaid with ivory, dominated this lavish concourse. The Senate was scheduled to meet that morning.
I felt giddy, slightly nervous. It was such a bewildering contrast to the solitude of Capri with its tangled woods, sinister secrets and silent villas. Dawn broke. Macro, easily hiding his tension, sat on a marble bench at the top of the steps leading into the temple; whilst the officers of the marine guard and I stood behind him. The sky turned a blue-pink as the sun began to rise. The braying of horns and conch blasts shattered the silence as the city came to life. Senators appeared, dressed in their white togas, with scribes and house retainers behind, carrying parchment and leather bags. They all stared nervously at Macro who nodded but sat impassive.
Sejanus, of course, had heard the news of our arrival and came hurrying up with his entourage. No longer so calm and self-possessed, he looked red-eyed and wary. Macro rose to meet him, but Sejanus waited at the foot of the steps until his Praetorians deployed around him in a semi-circle: a grim threatening ring of steel. The soldiers were dressed in their red and leather kilts, greaves, boots, embossed breast-plates, and plumed helmets. Each carried an oblong shield, and all had their swords drawn.
‘Macro!’ Sejanus raised his hand in salute. ‘I heard you had come from Capri. I was growing impatient. The Emperor has sent messages?’
Macro took a scroll from beneath his toga and beamed.
‘Aelius Sejanus, Prefect of the city!’ he proclaimed. ‘I have brought fresh honours from your Emperor. You are to be given tribunician powers. The Emperor is eager you use your authority to root out sedition and treason in the city.’
Sejanus seemed to swell in relief. Macro came down the steps, and they clasped hands and embraced. Sejanus grabbed the scroll from Macro and pushed by him, smiling triumphantly at me as he swept into the temple. Macro watched him go and coolly re-took his seat. The news, of course, had soon spread through the wealthy quarters, and other senators now came hurrying up, eager to learn the news. They ignored Macro as they poured through the huge doorway. Once this was closed, a sign that the session was about to begin, Macro turned to his officers.
‘Bring the lads up!’ he ordered.
The men hurried off. I heard the blowing of whistles and then Macro’s marines, followed by the Emperor’s bodyguard, came up the steps and deployed in the great courtyard before the temple of Apollo. The Praetorian officer in charge of Sejanus’s guard became nervous. His anxiety deepened as more armed men appeared led by Laco, Prefect of the Night Watch.
‘Don’t be anxious!’ Macro called and got up.
The Praetorian Guard now broke rank, some re-sheathed their swords. Macro handed their commander a letter.
‘Fresh orders from your Emperor!’ he proclaimed. ‘You are to be praised and rewarded. Your first duty is to return to camp.’
Their commander quickly read the letter, shrugged, rolled it up and stuck it in his belt. Then, without a by your leave, he ordered his men to fall in and marched them quickly away.
Their position on the steps was now taken by Macro’s men. He plucked me by the arm.
‘Let’s join our worthy senators,’ he grinned. ‘Sejanus is about to learn his future.’
We entered the temple by a side door, and a worried-looking priest led us along the marble corridor into the huge assembly chamber. It was arranged like that of an amphitheatre with tiers of marble seats which flanked a soaring statue of Apollo the Hunter. The senior Consul, Regulus, was already on the rostrum. Sejanus was seated to his right on the lowest tier, surrounded by his coterie, smiling like a triumphant general. Mennius had already begun to read out Augustus’s letter, which was full of praise for Sejanus. Macro and I stood within the doorway, watching as the Senate sat in silence, nodding in agreement at the praise being heaped on the Emperor’s favourite. Mennius droned on, but imperceptibly both the tone and tenor of the letter had changed: now trivial complaints surfaced about Sejanus. The smile faded from the favourite’s face, as the other senators sat puzzled. A few began to withdraw from Sejanus, just a slight shift. Mennius paused and then resumed reading the letter, in which Tiberius confessed to fears about his own safety, stating that he was an old man and needed fresh troops on Capri to guard him.
Mennius thundered on, warming to his task, slowly quoting Tiberius’s words. ‘“Much as I would wish to come to Rome, I find myself unable to do so due to fears for my safety. It would be too dangerous for me to be within reach of the man who has betrayed me.”’ Mennius paused. ‘“Aelius Sejanus! I demand his arrest for high treason!”’
Chaos and consternation broke out. The doors at the back of the hall opened, and tribunes and centurions poured in. Macro laughed quietly as some of the senators scampered away like puppies. Sejanus stared in shock.
‘You have heard your Emperor’s wishes?’ Mennius called. ‘Sejanus is to be arrested!’
When a man like Sejanus falls, it is as sudden and as quick as a star dropping out of the heavens. The very people who’d applauded and greeted, fawned and flattered him when he first entered the Senate that morning, now turned on him. Blows rained down, he was kicked and shoved whilst his close adherents tried to flee. As Macro pushed his way through, I seized the opportunity to slip away.
Agrippina was in her quarters, sitting by a window and pretending to read. She greeted me as if I had only been away a few hours. By now the news of Sejanus’s downfall had spread and, from the yard below, came the sound of running feet, shouts and cries. Agrippina put down the scroll she had been reading, a copy of Horace’s Odes. She smiled and, standing on tiptoe, kissed me on the cheek. She was paler and thinner, those dark eyes more rounded.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Sejanus has fallen,’ I replied. ‘He’s been arrested. Macro, I suspect, will become Prefect of the Praetorian Guard. Tiberius has begun the attack.’