“Where is she?” Tiberius asked, his expression stony. The last thing he wanted was to have his final moments with his beloved ruined by conflict with this man.
“You giving me orders in my own house, Caesar?” Gallus asked curtly, walking over until his face was mere inches from the Emperor’s. “I may not live here, but this is still my house, and Vipsania is still my wife.”
“Why did you never grant her a divorce?” Tiberius asked, his voice calm, though his face noticeably hardened. “You never loved her. You have not lived together for years, so why did you not let her go?”
“So she could be taken back by you?” Gallus snorted. “Oh, you would have liked that, wouldn’t you, to have her once again as your own, as Empress of Rome no less? How big a fool do you take me for, Tiberius? I would be lying if I said I didn’t take distinct pleasure in watching you suffer all these years, pining after her, and yet keeping her out of your reach. I know she was the only thing saving me from your spiteful vengeance, and that is why I kept her around. If I had divorced her, what would have stopped you from destroying me and my family?”
Tiberius could not deny it. Though he had never intentionally used his power as a means of settling a personal score, he had certainly felt the temptation to do so against Gallus.
“Get out of my way,” he replied, his voice extremely calm.
Drusus took a step back, recognizing the danger Gallus was in.
The senator stood fast in defiance. “Or what? You going to have your praetorians throw me out of my own house? That would not be so clever, Caesar.” The Emperor’s eyes narrowed slightly, a smirk crossing his own face. “Oh no, I do not need them to take care of my dirty work for me.” In a flash, he grabbed Gallus by the throat and by his toga, slamming him against a pillar. Then with terrifying strength, he lifted the man off the floor. Servants looked on, horrified. They wished to protect their master, but dared not come near the Emperor. Gallus was petrified as Tiberius slowly crushed his throat. As he started to black out, he was thrown to the floor, where he lay coughing and wheezing. The praetorians looked on, amused. Both men were veterans who served under Tiberius in Pannonia and had witnessed his maddening feats of strength when in a rage.
“I am going to ask you again to leave, Senator Gallus,” Tiberius remarked, his voice still calm. “And you may want to think things through before you go running to your cuckold in the Senate. It may not reflect well upon your masculinity to have it known that an old man was able to manhandle you like a wolf would a hare.”
Gallus struggled to his feet, coughing and clutching his throat. As he started to stagger away, he fell into Drusus, who calmly guided him to the door.
“I will escort the good senator out while you have a moment to yourself,” the young man remarked over his shoulder.
Tiberius allowed himself a half smile, but was sullen once more as he remembered why he was there. Tiberius wanted to race down the corridor to her, but kept himself at a very brisk walk.
The praetorians posted themselves on either side of the door to the Green Room. Tiberius stopped and glanced at the elder of the two. The man grimaced slightly and nodded. The younger looked at the Emperor with sympathy. The men were truly devoted, and they felt their Emperor’s pain, as much as if it were one of their wives or lovers who were dying. Tiberius knew this, and he was grateful to them; nameless men in armor to most, but to the Emperor they were friends, companions from a different and happier age in his life.
As he slowly opened the door to Vipsania’s bedchamber, the sight of her broke his heart. In the soft light of a brassier, he saw his beloved-the woman who had been life itself to him. Her once slender body had been ravaged by the disease and was painfully thin and withered. Though her face had aged tremendously by sickness, it still held the elegant beauty that captivated him in his youth.
Vipsania’s eyes lit up when she saw Tiberius. “I knew you would come,” she said, smiling weakly. Her voice was raspy and feeble.
Tiberius could see that it hurt her to speak. Kneeling by her bed, he ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her on the forehead. “All I ever wanted was to take you back,” he said, his voice breaking. So much he wanted to tell her, and yet he was uncertain if he would be able to find the right words. “If ever there was a woman who should have been Empress of Rome. .” Vipsania raised a finger to his lips, quieting him.
“Do not live in regret, my love,” she replied. “It was a terrible thing they made you do, forcing you to divorce me. I never faulted you for it; I pitied you, I wept for you.” Her voice trailed off to a whisper on the last few words, so fragile.
Tiberius wanted nothing more than to lay his head on her shoulder. He wanted to hear her speak soothing words while her soft hands stoked his hair as she did when they were first married, and he was grumpy or melancholy. He quickly regained his composure.
“I never ceased loving you,” Tiberius said softly, forcing down his tears and smiling gently.
Wordlessly, she reached out and drew his head to her shoulder. Her hands stroked his hair, almost absentmindedly. For the briefest of time, they were young again, like when they were newly married. Only when he was readying to take his leave did she speak again, her voice as soft as the rustling of leaves. “Do not be so quick to follow me into the next life, Tiberius. I will wait for you.” Tiberius tenderly kissed her lips and held her close for what he knew to be the last time.
The Emperor felt completely numb as he left the house, oblivious to the presence of his guards or his son. The only thing he could comprehend were her final words to him. They echoed in his mind, like he knew they would for the rest of his days. I will wait for you.
In just over a day and a half’s march, the Roman contingent reached the base of the hills where they knew, beyond, the Turani were encamped. Thankfully, the enemy had yet to reach the open plains, where they would have a decided advantage and could easily encircle the legionary troops. As the cohort came to a halt, a man on a charger, wearing the uniform of an auxiliary cavalryman rode up. Indus, Proculus, and the other centurions rode out to meet him.
“What news?” Indus asked.
“The Turani are about a half day’s march from here,” the trooper replied. “They are encamped on high ground, though their maneuverability is severely restricted by the forests and rough terrain.”
“Aside from directly on the road, are there any practical avenues of approach?” Proculus asked.
The cavalryman shook his head. “None. The rocks and trees will break apart our formations and slow any advance to a crawl.” Proculus let out a sigh of frustration. With his forces already outnumbered, attacking an enemy entrenched on high ground would be supreme suicide. He was severely pressed for time, yet he would not do Calvinus any good if his cohort was rendered ineffective by excessive casualties.
“And with clear skies and a full moon, our chances of a surprise attack, even at night, are nonexistent,” Centurion Dominus observed.
Indus and Proculus both nodded their heads in acknowledgment.
Macro sat with his chin resting in his hand, deep in thought. At length he spoke. “Do the Turani even know we are coming?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” the trooper replied, “though they definitely know our cavalry our close by. We have not risked any kind of sortie against them because of their numbers and advantage of terrain.”
“How many do they have?” Indus asked.
“About five thousand,” was the reply. “Our defections were low, and we still have around twelve hundred men ready to fight.”
“That still leaves us in a sticky predicament, especially if they have the high ground,” Proculus remarked.
“And since time is not our ally here, we cannot afford to wait them out,” Macro added. “What about a diversionary attack, one that would draw them down from their position?”