“Are you mad, Cursor?” Cassius said, stepping forward, his face filled with rage.
“I am sorry,” the tribune replied, “but the actions of this afternoon must be called into account. If the killing of Gaius Caligula was justified, then it must be shown to be so. Remember, whatever his follies, he was loved by many of the people, and they will call for justice. Let the case be made that his killing was not murder, but necessary for the good of Rome. And then there is the other matter; the slaying of his wife and infant daughter. For that, Cassius, there can be no justification.”
As a squad of praetorians walked into the center of the senate floor, Cassius’ head dropped, and his eyes closed shut. It was as if, in that moment, he came to realize the magnitude of his crimes. Their faces full of trepidation, they disarmed their commander of his gladius and led him away. Cursor hung his head, ashamed at having to call for the arrest of one of Rome’s most renowned heroes. He quickly left the hall, Artorius following him.
“You look unwell,” Artorius said as they stepped out into the night air.
The tribune’s face was pale, and he looked as if he might become violently ill. The crowds outside the temple had started to disperse as Cassius was led towards the prison adjacent to the nearby Temple of Concord. Cursor had some hateful memories of this place, and he wished to leave at once.
“I asked the senate to order the arrest of one of the greatest living Romans,” he replied, wiping a small handkerchief over his sweating brow, as they walked down the long flight of steps towards the forum. “Cassius Chaerea is one of the bravest soldiers who ever lived, as you well know. But his crimes this day must be held in reckoning, as much as we may hate the thought.”
“What do you think will happen to him?” Artorius asked.
“Were it only Caligula he slew, probably nothing,” Cursor stated, echoing what both men surmised. “The people may shout and make a scene for a short time while demanding justice, but that will die down soon enough. A viable court case could be made to show that Rome was, indeed, in mortal peril because of Gaius Caligula, making his violent removal justified without setting a dangerous precedent.”
“I agree, no one can fault Cassius for murdering Caligula,” Artorius concurred. “However, he went too far. I hear he not only killed the lady Caesonia, but that they bashed his daughter’s brains against the wall. Fucking barbaric…”
“Thankfully, it is not for us to decide his fate,” Cursor concluded as the two men walked along the forum where small groups of lingering onlookers remained.
Cassius declined to be tried in the courts and, instead, demanded that Claudius take personal responsibility for his fate. He was brought before the new emperor the following morning, and while his hands were bound together, he was granted his request that he be allowed to remain in his praetorian armor. Amongst those to accompany him was Gaius Calvinus, a retired centurion primus pilus and former plebian tribune who had fought beside Cassius at Teutoburger Wald and, later, during the Germanic Wars. What his purpose of being there was, no one could say for certain. He simply stood in stoic silence as they waited for deliberations to begin.
A dozen ranking members of the senate were also gathered within the audience chamber at the palace. Two of the senators that had taken part in Caligula’s assassination, Marcus and Regulus, were also present at Claudius’ insistence. They were terrified as to what would happen to them should Claudius condemn Cassius for murdering his nephew. Marcus was a personal friend of Claudius, and the two had shared many perils together during Caligula’s descent into madness towards the end of his reign. Still, the senator knew his friendship would not be enough to absolve him of murder.
Claudius himself paced slowly in front of the imperial throne, clearly vexed. He and Cassius shared a knowing glance, each understanding that the emperor’s decision was inevitable. In truth, Claudius was not legally Caesar yet, for he had not been confirmed by the senate; therefore, he declined wearing the laurel crown or imperial purple on his toga. However, those present were glad to hand him the responsibility of deciding the praetorian’s fate.
“Cassius Chaerea,” Claudius said slowly, doing his best to avoid stammering and to keep his head from twitching. “You are a champion of our people, having served Rome for many years. Your acts of valor in battle are legendary…”
“Respectfully, Caesar,” Cassius interrupted, “I would rather we not recall my entire career, but deal with the matter at hand, lest we be here all day. You know what you must do.”
“That I do,” Claudius replied with a sad nod. He walked slowly towards the praetorian, looking him in the eye. “I will not condemn you for the death of my nephew. Though he was my brother’s son, one does not have to look hard to understand that his death probably saved many lives. While murder must never be condoned, we can show clemency here, knowing that circumstances were desperate, with no other viable options available. Therefore, the charge of murder against Gaius Caligula is hereby dropped.”
There were some quiet murmurings of approval amongst the senators present. It was also clear that by dropping the charge rather than rendering a verdict of not guilty, the fear of setting a dangerous precedent had been avoided.
“However,” Claudius continued, “it was agreed amongst you all that only Caligula should die. You went beyond that. You murdered an innocent woman and her baby. What grievances had they committed against you or against Rome?”
Cassius remained silent. Nothing he could say would change the minds of Claudius or any of those present. He had committed a terrible atrocity. Even in his own mind he could no longer attempt to rationalize his terrible actions.
The emperor continued, “For years I have called you friend; your kindness to me and my family much cherished. And yet, I heard in your own words that you meant to murder me, along with my wife and daughter. Instead of cutting down one, you sought to slay the entire imperial family!”
“I’ll not deny it,” Cassius confirmed. “The republic was far greater to me than our friendship. I took a risk for her, and I lost. The republic is truly dead, and while I am now filled with remorse, I do not regret dying with it.”
“Understand, you have left me no choice,” Claudius emphasized. He turned and walked back to the imperial throne, sitting down before speaking again. “Cassius Chaerea, you are hereby condemned for the murder of Caesonia and her daughter, Julia Drusilla.”
“I don’t ask for your forgiveness, Claudius, but for your understanding,” Cassius replied as guardsmen grabbed him by each arm to take him away. He looked at each of the men, then back to the emperor one last time. “Gods go with you, Caesar. I pray that you do not have to pass too many sentences of death, lest one be passed on you. After all, is that not how we do things now?”
His words turned the emperor’s stomach, and he nodded with his head towards the door, prompting the guards to take Cassius away. Calvinus, who stayed silent throughout the entire ordeal, remained where he stood. Claudius then turned his gaze towards the assembled senators.
His old friend decided to take the initiative. “Caesar,” Marcus said, stepping forward, “what is to become of us?”
“You are a fool, Marcus, if you thought you could restore the republic,” Claudius chastised. He then addressed all the senators present, his voice stern and without trace of stammer. “I am an old republican myself, as you all well know. But we cannot undo the past. Your predecessors in the senate saw fit to hand ultimate power to Augustus nearly seventy years ago. Not one person in this room was even alive when that happened, and the few amongst your peers that were, were but mere children then, with no concept as to what the republic actually was. It is a dream long dead, where it will remain. Rest assured, senators, I will do nothing unconstitutional. I am not like my nephew who fancied himself a god. I am just a man like yourselves. I would rather you deal with me as your colleague and peer. Know that I will make no crucial decisions without first hearing your voice, as well as that of the plebian assembly. I ask that we stand together, as emperor, senate, and people of Rome.”