“And if you continue to insult and publicly defame the Emperor, it cannot sit well with you and your children,” Drusus added. “Please, Agrippina, allow justice to prevail and let your quarrels with my father lay to rest.”
“I will rest my quarrel with Tiberius when I see the entire Piso clan burn,” Agrippina replied haughtily with an air of finality.
Drusus stood outside in the garden, head in his hands when Claudius found him. The other guests had long since gone home. Claudius put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Th…this is not an easy t-t-time for you, I kno-ow,” he stuttered.
“Between this damned trial, Agrippina’s goading, Mother’s poor health, and now word of unrest in Gaul, nothing is sitting right with either my father or myself.” He walked over to a bench by the man-made stream and stared morosely into the water.
“Yes, I was s-sorry to hear about your m-m-m-other,” Claudius offered. Being lame with a stutter, the family assumed he was dim-witted and ignored him, making it possible to overhear much that occurred within the family. He knew all too well Tiberius’ feelings for his long since divorced wife and the awkward position everything put Drusus in. “Is t-t-there nothing that can be done for her?”
“I don’t think so,” Drusus answered, shaking his head. “It’s sad. She’s not old, and she has always been strong in both mind and body. Sadly, the body seems to be failing. I know once she goes, my father will need me more than ever to get him through everything. I’m afraid I cannot be the son I should be.”
“W-w-who of us is?” Claudius asked. “All we can do is make the b-b-b-b-b-best,” he struggled pathetically with the word, “of what we ha-have. Your father will n-n-need you to be strong. You are the one hope he has left. I know it cannot be easy, being son of the Emperor. But perhaps it is time that you learned how to b-be one. Know that all of us hope to serve you well one day.”
Drusus smiled at that as he continued to gaze into the stream. It was the first time anyone had even mentioned what should have been so obvious; that with Germanicus gone, Drusus was now Tiberius’ sole heir. He didn’t relish the thought. “I had hoped to serve Germanicus well,” he said quietly. “He would have made a fine Caesar.”
“Yes,” Claudius replied, wiping his eyes. The loss of his brother was still overwhelming. Germanicus had been the world to Claudius; his affection for his brother unmatched.
As they sat quietly, contemplating everything that was happening, Herod walked out into the garden. Herod Agrippa was a close friend of both Drusus and Claudius. He was a Jew, grandson of Herod the Great, and partially named after the legendary Marcus Agrippa. He was dressed in traditional Jewish garb of robes and sandals, though his demeanor was anything but Jewish. He had been raised in Rome since he was a child and had been a favorite of the Emperor’s, at least in part, because of his lifelong friendship with Drusus.
“Not interrupting anything, am I?” he asked gently.
“No, n-not at all,” Claudius replied.
Herod sat down on the bench, placing his hand on Drusus’ shoulder. There were no words, just the gesture meant to comfort.
“My father said ‘keep that bitch Agrippina on a short leash’,” Drusus said morosely. “I swear the hatred between those two will never end. Agrippina will always blame my father for Germanicus’ demise.”
“Then you had better find yourself a good leash!” Herod clapped him on the shoulder heartily with his usual good humor.
Drusus couldn’t help smiling. This elicited a laugh from all three men.
The Jewish nobleman then took a deep breath, his expression becoming sober. “Seriously,” he continued, sobering, “this is a difficult time for us all. My contacts down on the Aventine tell me that most of the plebs will only vindicate the Emperor once Piso hangs from the butcher’s hook. As for my own people, well, most Roman Jews are more apt to demand proof of Tiberius’ involvement than even the indigenous Romans.”
“I’ve n…never understood that,” Claudius said. “The Jews are among the m-m-most fickle people in the entire Empire. And yet they have a bond with Tiberius.”
“That’s because my father has always had a soft spot for our friend Herod,” Drusus replied.
“It’s true,” Herod replied with a nod. “I’ve spent more time in Rome than in my own country. Tiberius became the father figure that I lacked. While most Judeans may view me more as a Roman than as one of their own, they know it was my influence which guided the Emperor’s policies towards them.”
“S-s-such as?” Claudius asked.
“Such as we are the only people exempt from Caesar worship. While Tiberius may have refused any such divinities for himself, he did persuade the Senate to deify Augustus. Rome respects an individual’s right to express his own religious beliefs provided he acknowledges the divinity of the Roman Pantheon, including Augustus. Strangely enough, it actually did not take much persuasion to convince Tiberius to allow Jews to abstain from such practices. Political though his intents may have been, perhaps he holds a certain amount of reverence to the one true god.”
“That’s all well and good that my father blasphemes the entire Pantheon to show respect to the god of the Jews,” Drusus replied with a scowl. “But what good will that do us now? Will your god make Agrippina see reason? Will he bring Piso to justice and grant my father peace?”
“One can only hope,” Herod replied gently.
Drusus sighed. “Agrippina has been my friend for many years. Germanicus was a brother to me, as are you both. I walk a fine line being both Agrippina’s friend, as well as loyal son to the Emperor. I hope that once justice is dispensed, Agrippina will let her hatred for Tiberius pass.”
The bathhouse was a godsend to Artorius. Though their sortie across the Rhine had been anything but a full-scale campaign, his body told him otherwise. The only time they were able to use Roman roads was when they crossed to the west side of the Rhine at the Batavian border.
“Remind me to start getting out more,” he moaned to Praxus, who was getting a massage on a nearby table while a slave worked the soreness out of Artorius’ muscles. “Going out on road marches twice a month is not cutting it.”
“I agree,” his fellow decanus replied. “I think I’ll start going out when Flaccus takes the recruits on their road marches, which should start up soon.” The cohort’s recruits had not gone across the Rhine with them, and had instead been folded into the Tenth Cohort’s group of recruits and trained with them. With the Third Cohort back, the recruits rejoined their unit.
“Yeah, I’ve got to start running them through javelin and scorpion training soon,” Artorius added. “I’ve got to start training up for the Legion Champion Tournament as well.”
Praxus laughed and shook his head at that. “As long as Vitruvius withdraws from the competition, you should not have any problems.” “I don’t know,” Artorius said. “I have not sparred in a while, and to be honest I felt a bit rusty against that jackal I killed on our little sortie.”
“Well, don’t look at me if you are looking for volunteers!” Praxus retorted. “I remember how you and Vitruvius used to pummel the crap out of each other. Okay, so he did most of the pummeling, but still…”
“And speaking of pummeling,” Artorius laughed, “what did you make of the Batavian women?”
“That warm, bitter ale did a number on me before I had a chance to find out,” Praxus replied sheepishly.
Artorius howled afresh with laughter.
“Alright fellas, one at a time, please,” Artorius stated as he set into his fighting stance.
In front of him, single-file, were the members of his section. All wore their helmets and carried a practice gladius and shield. Carbo was at the front of the line.