“Well let’s hear it,” the Emperor replied. Tiberius hoped that whatever it was that troubled his son it had nothing to do with Sejanus. He had recently severely reprimanded both men and made clear to them that he would not have his right and left hands fighting each other.
“It’s about the realignment of the Praetorians…” Drusus started to speak before Tiberius cut him off.
“By the Divine Augustus, why must you question every decision my Prefect makes?” he interrupted, a scowl creasing his hard face.
“Father, please hear me out,” Drusus persisted, raising a hand in emphasis. The Emperor made it a point of hearing his son out, no matter what the issue; for whatever lack of communication there may have been between Tiberius and the Senate, he needed to stay close to his son who would become Emperor when he was gone.
“Believe me when I say that my concerns are in no way connected to my personal antipathy towards Sejanus,” Drusus continued. “I know he stated to you that by placing the scattered cohorts into one barracks it would strengthen their numbers and resolve; and it would allow them to receive their orders simultaneously. While these points are not without merit, the end result is far different. If you have been out in the city in recent weeks you would know that the populous is terrified of the Praetorians. And did you know he hand-picked the Centurions and Tribunes himself? No other organization within the whole of the Empire, military or otherwise, is so directly controlled by one man.”
“I’ve seen the lists of Centurions and Tribunes of the Praetorians,” Tiberius remarked. “They are all good men of status and merit. Indeed his Deputy Prefect, Pontius Pilate, served under your brother, Germanicus, and came to us with the highest recommendations for his valor and conduct.”
“I do not deny that Pilate was an honorable soldier,” Drusus conceded, though in his mind he believed Pontius Pilate had become little more than a political pawn for Sejanus. “And speaking of Pilate, what is this I hear that he is being sent to the east?”
“I was not aware of this,” Tiberius replied, “though if Sejanus thinks it would be useful…” Drusus threw his hands up in the air in exacerbation before the Emperor could finish.
“Father, when will you open your eyes?” he asked. “Now he seeks to expand his influence to the legions!”
“Enough!” Tiberius barked, slamming his fist onto the table. “I will not have the man who has been my right hand for all these years talked to in such a slanderous tone; not even by my own son!” Drusus nodded quietly and backed out of the room. He knew when he had gone too far with his father; and further discussion on the issue of Sejanus would be counterproductive. He would have to find another way of dealing with the man he was convinced wished to sit where his father sat. His head hurt and he decided to head home. He hoped Livilla would be home; she always had a way of making him feel better after one of his bouts with the Emperor. She never would tell him what it was she put into his drink to make him sleep so well, but he was grateful for it.
“Legio XII, Fulminata,” Pilate read aloud. He looked up from the scroll bearing his assignment orders and looked at Sejanus, puzzled.
“It’s only a temporary assignment,” the Praetorian Prefect reassured him. “There have been some issues with the eastern legions, and I need to get a set of reliable eyes on them for a little while. Don’t worry, you will still hold the billet of Deputy Praetorian Prefect, and I don’t imagine you will be gone for much more than a year or so.”
“What do you mean ‘need a set of reliable eyes on them?’” Pilate asked, his face betraying his concern.
“Legio VI sent a certain Optio to act as a liaison for the eastern legions,” Sejanus answered. Pilate shrugged in reply.
“Yes, Justus Longinus; he’s an old friend of mine. What of it?”
Sejanus gave an audible sigh and gave Pilate a pat on the shoulder. “You have much to learn, my friend. Justus was sent to keep an eye on us, well at least me at any rate. There have been many grumblings coming from the east ever since the death of Germanicus four years ago.”
“Does the Emperor know of this?”
“Of course,” Sejanus lied. “Nothing that goes on within the Empire gets past Tiberius; I see to that personally. Right now we need a direct Imperial influence to restore some order to the eastern legions. I could go, but the Legates would see this as a personal affront to their authority. By sending my Deputy they won’t feel so threatened. It will show that we are not out to undermine their positions; however, it also lets them know that the Emperor is watching and will not tolerate any lapses in order, discipline, and loyalty.” Pilate nodded.
“Whatever I can do to serve the Emperor,” he asserted.
“Know that Tiberius will reward those who prove their loyalty,” Sejanus emphasized. It was coming together all too easy. Pilate would be his eyes and ears in the east and through him he would extend his reach to the farthest corner of the Empire. All the while Pilate would be under the assumption that he was directly serving the Emperor. Sejanus would reward him, of course; and it would be in such a way that Pilate could continue to do his bidding.
In Sejanus’ opinion he needed to keep Pontius Pilate away from Rome as much as possible. Pilate was in the unique position that he had served most of his adult career thus far with the legions, instead of doing the mandatory six months and then moving on to more politically advantageous assignments. The frontier legions had a sense of nobility, almost a naivety about them. The longer Pilate stayed in Rome, the more questions he would ask. During his time in the legions he had developed a strong sense of right and wrong that Sejanus found irritating. Still, he had found a use for Pilate’s sense of ethics, as long as he did not keep him around too long. As long as Pontius Pilate felt that he was serving the Emperor, Sejanus could manipulate him into doing just about anything.
Chapter III: Out of the Shadows
The Mauritanian coast and the city of Caesarea were in sight; however Heracles would wait until dark before disembarking. Like always, no questions were asked. From here it would be but a short journey south to Zucchabar.
The voyage had been disagreeable to Heracles. He hated the sea, though he was choice less when it came to the trip to Mauretania. The seas had been reasonably calm, and Heracles had stayed in the back of the ship, in a small cabin. A few coins to the ship’s captain and no questions were asked. Thankfully he had been able to hang his head out the stern window every the swells played havoc on his stomach. He lay down on the hammock strung across the cabin and closed his eyes. He did not recall falling asleep, but yet he was awoken by a quiet knocking at the door.
“The sun has set,” a voice said from the other side, “time for you to leave my ship.” While the captain liked Heracles’ coin, the man made him very nervous and he was glad to be rid of him.
“So it is,” Heracles replied. He secured what few belongings he had brought with him; threw the hood of his cloak over his head and quickly walked out the door almost running into the captain. A few deckhands stared in curiosity at this strange man they had brought to the coast of Africa. None could see his face, and in truth they wondered if they wanted to. Rumors had abounded that the man they had given passage to was not a man at all, but a demonic spirit. Heracles had overheard some of the talk and he had smiled inside wickedly at it.
If only they knew, he thought to himself.
Dry land had never felt so good to Heracles though he had to steady himself on against a pillar in order to regain his balance. The docks were fairly quiet, aside from the cargo being offloaded from the ship he had just disembarked. Panic gripped him when he saw a Roman warship a few docks down; dozens of legionaries disembarking. His eyes wide, he grabbed a passerby and pointed towards the Romans.