Though his speech did not elicit any outright applause, there were positive acknowledgments heard as the senators talked quietly amongst themselves, with a few nodding in approval. Claudius was quietly congratulating himself. He had gone the entire time without stammering once. He addressed Marcus directly once more.
“As for what will happen to you, Marcus, you heard me tell Cassius. I will not condemn anyone for the death of Gaius Caligula. Those who murdered Caesonia and Julia have been sentenced and, therefore, the matter is now closed.”
The senators all bowed deeply as they made their exit, Marcus most of all. One man remained. Though not a senator, Claudius knew who he was, his reputation in the legions exemplary, and his service as tribune of the plebs commendable.
“Gaius Calvinus,” Claudius said, acknowledging the man. “I know that C…Cassius is a dear friend of yours, but do n…not ask me to spare his life.” The emperor silently cursed himself that his stutter had returned.
“That is not my intent, Caesar,” Calvinus replied, at last breaking his silence. “It is true, Cassius is a close friend and brother-in-arms. The battles we fought in together forged a bond between us that can never be broken, even by death. He also understands the gravity of his crimes and asked me to make a final request on his behalf. He asks that he be executed with the sword that he used to slay Caligula.”
“Granted,” Claudius nodded. When Calvinus did not make to leave he continued, “Anything else?”
“Yes, Caesar,” Calvinus replied. “For myself, I ask that I be his executioner.”
The cell was surprisingly well-lit despite the scarcity of windows and only a single door. As it sat atop the Capitoline Hill, the narrow slits high on the wall let in a surprising amount of light. The former praetorian had been returned to his cell, which would now serve as his place of execution that very afternoon. Rather than making it a public spectacle at the top of the Gemonian Stairs, the emperor had granted him a private death. Claudius wished to give him at least some dignity, despite Cassius’ terrible crimes. Cassius paced back and forth; his sentence read, he had made peace with whatever gods there may be and impatiently awaited his fate. The rattling of a key in the lock of his cell door echoed, and the metal door swung open with a loud creak. Cassius smiled sadly as Calvinus entered, carrying his scabbarded gladius clutched in his hands.
“Calvinus,” Cassius noted with surprise as his friend approached him and drew the weapon. His eyes were damp, face pale, and knuckles white as he clutched the gladius.
“The emperor agreed to allow you to die by the same blade as Caligula,” Calvinus replied. “And as your friend, I asked that I be permitted to grant you a quick passage into the next life.”
“That was very kind of both of you,” Cassius noted.
Calvinus shook his head and dropped the weapon, which clattered on the stone floor, before slumping down on a nearby bench. Cassius was kneeling and readying himself for death.
“I don’t want to do this,” Calvinus said with much despair in his voice. “When we cut our way out of Teutoburger Wald all those years ago, I never thought it would end like this. Only two others from my century survived that horrid ordeal, and it is because of you we survived. More than a hundred men owed their lives to you after that.” The memory was so long ago, that it seemed almost surreal to both men. “What happened, Cassius? Caligula, yes, but why Caesonia? And by the gods, why her daughter?”
“If you bear any love for me, old friend,” Cassius retorted impatiently, “then question me no more. Many days I think I should have died in Teutoburger Wald. Perhaps the gods would have looked upon me with favor for having fallen in battle. But no matter. Come, strike true and send me on my way. There is a coin in my pouch; place it in my mouth after I am dead, so I can pay Charon for passage across the River Styx and not be left on the shores in limbo for a hundred years.”
“Of course,” Calvinus replied, standing and picking up Cassius’ sword.
“At least you’re not some quibbling fool who doesn’t know how to handle a weapon properly,” Cassius noted. He then leaned forward and bravely stuck his neck out for Calvinus, who nodded in reply.
“Gods be with you, Cassius Chaerea.”
The emperor had ordered that those executed for Caesonia’s murder should be decapitated rather than simply have their arteries cut. Cassius kept his blade sharp, and with his eyes wet with tears, Calvinus swung the weapon down in a hard blow that severed his friend’s spinal column, killing him instantly. It only took one subsequent slash to sever his head completely from his body. Calvinus dropped the gladius next to Cassius’ thrashing body. He then found his friend’s coin pouch and retrieved the single gold aureus. It bore the image of Augustus, and Calvinus wondered if Cassius had carried it with him since Teutoburger Wald. He took Cassius’ head and laid it on his chest, placed the coin in his mouth before leaving. He quickly left the cell, battling against his despair as guards entered the room to retrieve the corpse for disposal. Thus did the life of Cassius Chaerea, one time hero of the Roman Empire, end in contradiction of the slaying of a tyrant, tarnished by the murder of innocents.
Chapter IV: Vow of Honor
Ostia, Italia
April, 41 A.D.
***
Artorius returned to Ostia following the arrest of Cassius Chaerea. He had only been called to remain in Rome in case the city police, known as the vigiles, proved unable to maintain order and he would have to call in his own men. It had proven unnecessary, and with the senate quickly, though in some cases reluctantly, confirming Claudius as the new Emperor of the Roman Empire, order was quickly restored. The execution of Cassius Chaerea and the praetorians who had also murdered Caesonia and her daughter quickly quelled any public outcry for justice. Thankfully, the people also had a genuine affection for Claudius; a man who many felt had been neglected and never given his due by the rest of the imperial family throughout his long life.
Within his first three months in power, Claudius made good on his promise to work in cooperation with the senate, among which he still had a number of longtime friends. By necessity, he paid a bounty to the members of the Praetorian Guard, as well as an equal sum to every soldier within the legions. A substantial portion of this had come from his personal funds. Though some viewed it as the emperor attempting to buy the loyalty of the army, it was an understandable donative that ensured the legions would, in the very least, give ‘the brother of Germanicus’, as he was sometimes known, the respect his position warranted.
“As long as nothing untoward happens to him, I think Rome is at last in good hands,” Cursor noted as he and Artorius rode their horses along the road that split off from the Via Apia and led towards the docks in Ostia. The plebian tribune was taking a much-deserved holiday though, of all places, he chose the Isle of Capri, where the Emperor Tiberius had lived in self-imposed seclusion for years. His wife, Adela, was already there, awaiting his arrival.
“For me, it matters little who is emperor anymore,” Artorius noted. “I have my little assignment here that they created for me, where there is little to no actual work to do. To be honest, my greatest enemy is boredom.”
“Not quite the life of the legions,” Cursor observed.
“It’s no life, really,” Artorius grumbled. “Though I am but a commander of vigiles, I technically still hold a billet of centurion primus ordo. This means that since I have never been officially discharged from the legions, I cannot submit my petition to be elevated into the equites. And unless I’m an equite, I can never run for any sort of public office.”