“What do you want?” he asked coldly. “Surely you did not come all the way out here to incite further discord between us.”
“I want justice, real justice. Not some pompous ceremonial garbage that will mean nothing in the end. My husband died serving you. It is only fitting that all the conspirators face the penalty for their crimes, whoever they are.” Her tone did nothing to disguise her accusation.
“And you think by badgering me, by showing yourself to be a belligerent snake, that you are helping your cause?” Tiberius whipped back, but Agrippina only hardened in her resolve.
“I know about Livia’s dealings with Plancina. I know you will be willing to sacrifice the husband to popular demand, only to allow your mother to save the wife who is the guilty bitch.”
“Germanicus’ murder is but one of the charges against Piso,” Tiberius replied. “Though I doubt very much the crime of sedition, inciting rebellion, as well as the wrongful deaths of Roman soldiers, is of any concern to you. All are being tried, and all will face justice.”
“All?” Agrippina asked with an eyebrow raised.
Tiberius leaned forward; his face to hers until his nose was only inches away. “Take caution, Agrippa’s daughter!” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Your grandfather left me to run the affairs of this Empire, not Germanicus, and certainly not you! I will take your less than cordial remarks and blame them on your grief. But do not try my patience again!” With that he turned and walked away, fighting to keep his rage under control.
Drusus took a deep breath while standing outside the door to his father’s office. It was rare for the Emperor to ask for him with such urgency, though in this circumstance he was almost certain as to why he had. Agrippina told everyone about her confrontation with Tiberius, and it did not sit well with Drusus. He did not condone all of his father’s conduct in regards to the trial, but he could not believe he had a hand in Germanicus’ death. It just did not make any sense. Germanicus had been loyal, and Tiberius viewed him as a worthy successor when he had gone. Though with his death, Drusus was now next in line for the imperial throne, it did not lesson the loss he felt at losing his adopted brother and close friend. In truth, the prospect of becoming Emperor had never really crossed Drusus’ mind. He would have gladly served Germanicus in whatever capacity he saw fit. The daunting responsibilities of what now lay before him had not yet sunk in, though he knew it would soon enough. Finally he gritted his teeth and knocked.
“Enter!” his father’s voice boomed.
Drusus opened the door and stepped inside to see the Emperor pacing back and forth, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
“You wanted to see me, Father?”
“Close the door,” Tiberius replied, his calm voice contrasting sharply with his demeanor. He then turned to face Drusus. “I need your help, Son.”
“How can I be of service?” Drusus rubbed his hands nervously behind his back. He knew that when his father spoke calmly, yet appeared disheveled, it was because he was not only deeply enraged, but frighteningly focused as well.
“Keep that bitch Agrippina on a short leash. See to it she causes us no more problems once this trial is over, and afterwards.” Tiberius was not one to mince words. He leaned on his hands standing over the table, his eyes piercing into his son.
Drusus swallowed hard as the Emperor continued.
“Her words to me today were treasonous. I let them be, seeing that this is not the time for dealing with her. However, I will not have her thinking that she has free reign to do as she pleases and talk to me like an undisciplined schoolboy.”
Drusus forced himself to stop rubbing his hands behind his back while waiting for Tiberius to finish.
“By the gods, do they honestly think I had anything to gain with Germanicus’ death? I am not even allowed to mourn my son!” There was heartbreaking despair and frustration in his voice.
Drusus knew all too well what else it was that vexed his father. He gazed over and saw a small medallion sitting on Tiberius’ desk. On it was an engraved image of Vipsania. It was old and well worn, and Drusus was saddened by the thoughts of what had happened between his parents.
“Mother was asking about you the other day,” he said at last.
Tiberius followed his son’s stare to the medallion on his desk. “She gave me that a long time ago, when you were a small boy,” he said quietly. “She still worries about you, even though it is her health that is failing. She never stopped caring about you.”
Tiberius closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He gazed out the window towards the setting sun.
“She married that bastard Gallus not long after I was forced to divorce her. He continues to use her, and their sons, to cast a perpetual shadow over me. He mocks me from his place in the Senate. Though I have the reins of ultimate power in the Empire, it is he who possesses the one thing I would have given it all up for, and he knows it. You know they haven’t lived together for years, and yet he will not grant her the freedom of a divorce. Perhaps this is because he knows I would not hesitate to take her back, back to where she belongs. If there ever was a woman who deserved to be Empress of Rome. .”
Drusus suddenly took great pity on his father. For him there was no rest, no peace; only cold duty.
There was another weighty issue that remained unspoken; the unrest in Gaul. Many Senators, particularly Gallus, were clamoring for Tiberius to lead a full-scale invasion of the province and crush any signs of rebellion in an effort to show their loyalty to Rome. Tiberius maintained if the Emperor was required to quell every bit of unrest within the Empire, then he would never be found in Rome. Gallus’ disagreements with the Emperor’s foreign policies only served to add fuel to the fire of hate between them.
“I will do what I can to help you,” Drusus said after a long silence. “I want you to know that no matter what any of my friends or acquaintances may think, I never once implicated you in Germanicus’ death. You have my loyalty, Father. You always have.”
“I don’t care what you say. That woman is an evil sorceress and Livia is doing everything to protect her!” Agrippina snapped. Her face was flushed with anger, eyes swollen with tears of frustration as she paced around the dining chamber of the house she once shared with her husband. Around the table, reclining in typical Roman fashion, were her friends and relatives, all of whom were helping her to seek justice for Germanicus.
Germanicus’ brother, Claudius, was sipping wine and snacking on dates, quietly observing everything. Conspicuous by her absence was Germanicus’ sister, Livilla. Few cared for the scheming, conniving woman, so her lack of presence was not missed. Most only tolerated her, not just because of her relationship to Germanicus, but because of her marriage to Drusus. Drusus was present, and desperately trying to calm Agrippina.
“Regardless of what we may think of that witch Plancina, we must respect whatever verdict the courts render!” he pleaded. “Nothing good can come of your continual vendetta against the Emperor!”
“The Emperor?” Agrippina seethed. “He is the man who caused Germanicus’ demise in the first place!”
“What nonsense, woman!” Antonia snapped. Germanicus’ mother had been sitting quietly, watching the spat between Agrippina and Drusus. Defaming remarks against Tiberius never sat well with her, given she was the widow of the Emperor’s brother. Tiberius had even named his son Drusus in honor of his brother and Antonia always stood by her brother-in-law.
“Your ridiculous grudge against Tiberius has blinded you!” she continued. “Germanicus was the best soldier and statesman he had. He would have to be the greatest fool to have ever lived to get rid of him! And what would Livia gain protecting the murderer of her grandson?”