“I’ve already taken care of it, Mother,” Tiberius answered curtly. “Caecina Severus should be here soon. I’m sending him to aid Germanicus.”
Livia sneered at the name. “Sending the man who bailed you and your brother out so many times? Well, at least you’ve made one sound decision.”
“I thought my brother did no wrong in your eyes,” Tiberius retorted.
“Aside from his infatuation with the archaic system known as the Republic, you mean?” Livia rose and made her way to the door.
“You know, many think, given your staunch support for this hereditary monarchy we now find ourselves in, that you did not even mourn his loss. Some think you saw him as a threat to the system.”
These words struck Livia hard, though she did her best not to show it. Tiberius knew it was not true, of course. Though publicly she had never shown any outward sign of emotion, Livia had been inconsolable when word of Drusus’ wounding and subsequent death reached her. She had lain at night in Augustus’ arms, sobbing uncontrollably. No matter what differences she may have had with her sons, Livia still felt the same devastating loss that all parents felt who had the unfortunate task of burying a child. Tiberius immediately regretted his choice of words.
“You know I never believe what is said about you,” he said.
Livia did not reply until she reached the door. She opened it to find Severus waiting just outside.
“When he was dying, Augustus called you the last hope for Rome,” she said, turning back to her son. “He may have never told you, but he always loved you, as do I.” She immediately left the room.
Tiberius lowered his head. His mother never ceased to amaze him. In fifty-five years, not once had she ever expressed any form of affection towards her eldest son. He looked up and waved Severus in.
Aulus Caecina Severus was a couple years older than the Emperor, though he hid his age remarkably well. He was a tall, handsome man, and like all traditional Romans he was clean-shaven, keeping his hair short and groomed. He wore the muscled cuirass typically worn by a legionary legate. It was old, worn, and bore marks from the blows of countless adversaries.
How does he do it? Tiberius thought to himself. He’s older than I am, has seen more campaigns, and yet he looks almost young enough to be my son.
Severus stood rigid, eyes straight ahead, and saluted Tiberius. The Emperor was a bit shocked by this, especially since he considered Severus to be a close personal friend. Out of respect he rose to his feet and returned the legate’s salute.
“You sent for me, Caesar?” Severus asked, still standing rigid.
“Oh, come off it, man,” Tiberius laughed, waving Severus to a chair. He was a bit unnerved to see that Severus remained rigid, almost standoffish. Tiberius sat down and leaned back in his chair, his fingers intertwined. “Yes, I sent for you,” he said at last. “Rome has need of your services…”
Severus breathed out hard through his nose and finally looked the Emperor in the face. “Rome has had need of my services for more than forty years,” he replied bitterly.
“And she calls on you again, one last time,” Tiberius continued, keeping his patience.
Severus shook his head and looked down. “Caesar, you know there will never be a ‘one last time.’ There will always be conflict, always a crisis. It will never end; not for you, and apparently now not for me.”
The Emperor’s face hardened at the remark.
“You’re right; it will never end for me. That is the price I pay for being where I am. It is also the price you must be willing to pay. You are a senator and magistrate of Rome. You have known this your whole life. I remember when you taught me what duty, honor, and courage meant. My reputation as a soldier stems from what you taught me. It was from you that I learned how to be a decisive strategist and still lead from the front; that my life was not worth more than the men I led. All those times I placed myself at the head of a charge, being the first to crash into masses of men and spears, were because of the utter selfless example that you set. Why the change?”
Severus looked downcast. He was feeling shamed by his conduct. “I know my duty, Caesar. It’s just that I’ve been doing this for so long. I’ve spent more years on campaign than most of the other Senatorial legates combined. My grown children scarcely know me. And yet, I admit that in battle I never felt more alive; but now I’m tired. Tell me, Tiberius, do you know of anyone else in the whole of the Empire with more actual combat experience than I?”
Tiberius shook his head. He knew there were none, not even him. “It is precisely for that reason I have recalled you,” he answered. “You mentored and served myself and my brother admirably. I freely admit that many of my early victories were won precisely because of your leadership. We now face a crisis unlike any seen by Rome for a generation. You know this. I take it that’s why you kept your armor in such good repair.” He pointed to Severus’ uniform to emphasize the point.
“I need you, Severus,” the Emperor continued. “Germanicus is a good Commander, and he will do well. However, he cannot do this alone. He has eight legions to command. The mutiny on the Rhine gutted some of these of experienced, albeit corrupt, officers. The legion I am placing you in charge of lost forty-percent of its centurions in the shake-up. The men who replaced them are, in many cases, a lot younger and less experienced than I would like to see going into this campaign. They not only need leadership, they need inspiration. I can only trust the conducting of this campaign, not to mention the eight legions involved, to my two best men.”
“What about Drusus?” Severus asked. Tiberius took a deep breath and dropped his head slightly. His son, whom he named in honor of his late brother, had been somewhat of a disappointment to him. Drusus tried hard to please his father, and Tiberius knew with the right kind of mentoring he could potentially make a fine officer. However, in many ways he still acted like a young schoolboy; his vices, namely gambling and whoring with his Judean friend Herod Agrippa, gravely affected his focus and duty performance. It simply would not do for the men to see their commander still half-drunk and reeking of prostitutes on a regular basis. Tiberius cringed at what it would take if his son were to ever have a chance of succeeding him as Emperor of Rome. Granted, Germanicus was his actual successor. However, if Tiberius had learned anything from Augustus’ mistakes, it was not to place all his hopes on one potential candidate for the Imperial Throne. He knew his son had potential, he just wasn’t ready yet.
“Drusus will come into his own some day, but not now. This is not the time for me to train him. Right now I need men who can get results on their own, without my having to personally watch over every move they make.”
Severus smiled and nodded.
“Besides,” Tiberius said with a wave, “I know you would like nothing more than to personally get your hands on the traitor Arminius.”
Severus clenched his fists at the name. Arminius had served under him as an auxiliary commander, and he regarded his treachery as a personal insult. As tired as he was, he knew in his heart nothing would please him more than having his final campaign be one of retribution, against one who had betrayed him so grievously. Such concepts gave him strength that he thought had faded a long time ago.
“Alright,” he said. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
Tiberius returned the smile and nod. He pulled out a large map of the Gallic and Germanic provinces. Strategic positions, along with the placement of all eight legions were marked. He also produced a parchment with legion names and the names of their senior officers. “Here are the units you will be working with, along with their commanding legates.”