The rest of the section nodded in agreement.
“You can count on us,” Decimus added.
Artorius gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded in acknowledgement. When he was at last alone, he sighed in relief. He had his men’s trust and loyalty. The first test was over.
Livia sat in the dark, resting the side of her head on her hand. A true stoic, she betrayed no public emotions when the news of Germanicus’ death broke. But alone in the dark, she allowed the tears to fall. She privately mourned the loss of her grandson. What wounded her most were the slanders that implicated her and the Emperor as accomplices to his murder. Though Livia was a hard-hearted woman, she was not so callous as to have wished for the death of her own blood. And yet, because she had not allowed herself to become a weeping, wailing spectacle in public, she was scorned and looked upon with suspicious eyes.
She was taken back to years before when Germanicus’ father, Drusus, died while on campaign in Germania. She had also been inconsolable then, yet never did she betray her emotions publicly. Tiberius had scorned her for her lack of grief. As if he knew what it was like to bury a child! At least then she had had Augustus to turn to, she thought with a sigh. Long into the nights he would hold her close as she sobbed uncontrollably, her heart torn asunder. But Augustus was gone as well, taken to the halls of the gods six years before. Livia Augusta was alone in her grief.
Her remaining son, Tiberius Caesar, Emperor of Rome, would be little to no comfort to her. She knew that he, too, mourned the loss of an able commander and loyal son. In addition to being his nephew by blood, Germanicus had been adopted by the Emperor. Many would say he had Germanicus removed to clear the way for his own son to succeed him to the imperial throne. For that had been a condition set by Augustus, that Tiberius would adopt Germanicus as his own son and give him precedence in the succession. Germanicus had been related to Augustus by blood, whereas Drusus, the younger, was not.
The notion of altering the imperial succession through murder was preposterous to Tiberius, for he was free to choose whomever he wished to follow him. With Augustus gone, the Senate dared not oppose him at anything he set his mind to. A stroke of the pen would have placed Drusus over Germanicus as heir to the Empire, and yet he left the succession intact.
Tiberius’ focus through his grief would now be on clearing of his own name, an impossible task in Livia’s mind. As much as he tried, Tiberius had none of his brother’s charm or political sense. His callous demeanor was always making him enemies. She sensed that no matter what happened, even after Piso was tried and executed, Tiberius would forever be slandered by the ignominy of Germanicus’ murder, and she with him.
Livia saw the death of Germanicus as further proof that the Julio-Claudians were a cursed family, one that the fates took distinct pleasure in tormenting. Of her sons, Drusus, though infatuated with that archaic Republic, was the one universally adored by the people; and he had died before his thirtieth birthday. Tiberius may have once been loved by the legions, but even that was questionable now. To say nothing of the spite he garnered from the Senate. Of Drusus’ sons, Germanicus had been the strong one who bore all of his father’s most desirable traits; military skill, political savvy, and a love of the plebs. He had succumbed at the young age of thirty-four. That only left Claudius, the stuttering, half-crippled imbecile who should have never seen his first birthday. Livia could never fathom how Drusus could have sired such a wretch. She blamed it on Drusus’ insistence that his wife, Antonia, accompany him on every campaign, even when pregnant. Surely the rough life had stunted the lad’s development from the womb.
Livia sighed once more. Drusus, the younger, was the only hope left for the Julio-Claudians. He was Tiberius’ only son and the only grandchild of Livia worthy of his heritage. He was also all that stood between the Emperor and his scheming Praetorian Prefect, Sejanus. As part of the prosecution against Piso, Drusus could be the key to helping Tiberius separate himself from the accused murderer of Germanicus.
Unfortunately for Tiberius, his name was too closely attached to Piso’s. It was conveniently forgotten that Piso had first been appointed by, and been a close friend of, Augustus himself. And while Piso had been a friend to Tiberius, there was no doubt as to his guilt. He had even gone so far as to try and reassert his authority as soon as Germanicus was dead, inciting a rebellion against the newly appointed legate who replaced him. Roman soldiers died as a result, and Piso would be condemned in their deaths as well. In order to save himself, Tiberius would have to allow Piso to be sacrificed. If not, the stain on his name and character would be irreparable.
The Emperor listened to the howling mob outside the palace. Two cohorts of Praetorian guards had been dispatched to secure the grounds, lest the crowd become violent. The Emperor was most disturbed by the events of late. It seemed as if the gods were mocking him, forcing him to become so stern and alienating towards his own people, not even allowing him to properly mourn the loss of his nephew and adopted son. What was worse, it was members of his family who exacerbated the situation. Germanicus’ widow, Agrippina, was especially maddening to deal with. She was the source of many of the rumors regarding his involvement in Germanicus’ murder. Tiberius scoffed at the notion. If Germanicus had been a threat, he would have crushed him years before, and without having to resort to petty murder.
Sejanus stood patiently with his hands behind his back. The Praetorian prefect was becoming more and more useful to the Emperor. It seemed like he had the solution to everything that vexed him. If only his son, Drusus, were half as helpful! Drusus was steadfast friends with Agrippina, something the Emperor had never fully come to accept.
“You’ll have to give him up,” Sejanus said coolly, referring to Piso.
Tiberius turned and faced him.
“I know. Piso has been a loyal friend for many years, both to me, as well as the Divine Augustus. What vexes me is that he has the audacity to implicate me in his scheme to overthrow Germanicus, as if I endorsed his plans of sedition and murder. I would have settled for banishing him had he not tried to save his own skin by bringing me down with him.” The Emperor’s voice drifted off and the mob outside could be heard growing louder.
“If you simply banish Piso, Agrippina and her followers will come at you, personally, in full-force. The trial will be starting soon, and there is only one real way in which it can end.”
Tiberius’ face hardened. “I have no issue with dispensing justice upon the guilty, even if they are old friends. What I will not tolerate is some spoiled bitch telling me how to run this Empire simply because she is the granddaughter of Augustus! Why could she have not been like her sister?” Tiberius was referring to his former wife, Vipsania, who he still adored, even after being divorced from her for many years. Tiberius turned back to the window. “From the sounds of the mob, you would think they already have the butcher’s hooks under his chin,” Sejanus replied, coolly. He was referring to the barbaric practice of handing the executed bodies of condemned criminals over to the mob.
In the case of those who had committed treason or other heinous crimes, the mob would drag the corpse through the streets by butcher’s meat hooks. The body would then be desecrated and thrown into the Tiber River. No burial would be allowed, and families of the condemned scarcely ever tried to retrieve the bodies, out of fear of being beaten and savaged by the mob.
Tiberius had witnessed such spectacles on more than one occasion. He grimaced at the thought of such being Piso’s pending fate. “Very well,” he said at last. “We will allow the trial to follow its course. In the end, Piso will pay the price for his crimes. And Agrippina had better tread lightly in my presence thereafter.”