Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) (2 page)

Chapter I: Gods and Emperors

The Imperial Palace, Rome

March, 25 A.D.

***

It was a dreary day despite the bright morning sun. Then again, every day was gloomy to the Emperor Tiberius Claudius Nero Caesar. Since the death of his son, Drusus, two years before
, there had been no joy in his life. No amount of leisure, concubines, or political and military triumphs for Rome could ease the pain in his heart. His ever gloomy nature had alienated him from subjects. Indeed, many had forgotten that Tiberius had once led the legions to great victories. He had been the greatest military leader in a generation, never once suffering the ignominy of defeat. But that was so long ago. The man who had once been Rome’s greatest champion, who had succeeded the divine Augustus to the imperial throne, was now little more than a broken soul.

Tiberius
stood in the archway leading out to the second story balcony that was connected to the office where he spent most of his days. He placed a hand on the pillar and hung his head, feeling too tired to care about anything. In his other hand was a pair of medallions on silver chains. One bore the image of his deceased former wife, Vipsania; the other was of his son. He clutched both tightly, to the point where the images were embedded into his hand.

“You cannot dwell on the past forever.” The voice of his mother, the Empress Livia, cut into him like a sharp knife.

“When one has lost all which one loves, what else can he do but dwell on it?” His response sounded full of self-pity, and he loathed himself for it. Tiberius had taken pride his entire life on his physical and mental strength. It was that very strength that the divine Augustus had called upon countless times when Tiberius served him as a soldier and statesman. Now he felt enfeebled, and it sickened him.

“I always thought a boy loved his mother,” Livia replied, though her voice had noticeably softened from its usual harsh tone.

“Do not think that I don’t love you, Mother,” the Emperor replied sullenly. “It’s just different between us, that’s all. Vipsania was the only woman whom I ever loved, and she was the only person who ever truly accepted me for who I am. And Drusus…”

“Love is not something one marries for,” Livia said as she walked towards him. “Vipsania was a good woman, but aside from giving you your son, she was useless to us. I can sympathize with your loss of Drusus, though. He was my grandson, and remember that I
, too, know what it is like to bury a child.” Tiberius winced at the sudden memory. How many years had it been since his beloved brother, whom he had named his son after, had died?

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Tiberius conjectured. “Here I stand, ruler of an Empire of seventy million souls, and yet I have always failed those closest to me.
I was the elder brother and should have been able to protect Drusus. And whatever your disposition may have been towards Vipsania, she was still my wife! You know I never forgave Augustus for taking her from me. As for my son…his debaucheries and lifestyle were his undoing. Of all that I have lost in my life, he was the one I could have saved! My own son needed me, and I failed him.”

“You cannot forget the other seventy million within the Empire who still need their Emperor,” Livia chided gently. She knew Tiberius was inconsolable when it came to the loss of those close to him, regardless of whether or not he was to blame for their demise.

“I am reminded of it every day,” the Emperor acknowledged. “For eleven years now I have borne the mantle of
Caesar
.”

“And do you still love Rome, as you once did?”

“Love…and hate her,” Tiberius answered. “I won’t lie to you; there are days I wish I could wake up and find the city below vanished in an instant. Cast it all down into oblivion! But no, the city is eternal, and the Empire that she spawned will continue long after I am gone.”

“It is about when you are gone that I wish to speak with you,” Livia said, causing Tiberius to throw his hands up in the air and storm back into his office.

“Oh, Mother, not you too!” he barked. “A day never passes that I am not constantly chastised over the issue of the succession. I would just rather Rome became a republic once more after I am gone; a true republic, not the farce that we have now.” His last remark caused Livia to glare at him. Even at his age her stern gaze unnerved him.

“You don’t believe that any more than I do!” she snapped. “You may be a lot of things, but a republican is not one of them, so don’t play stupid with me! Your brother was infatuated with the Republic, but you
, I always thought were the more sensible of the two when it came to that.” Tiberius let out a resigned sigh as he sat down behind his desk.

“You know me too well, Mother,” he conceded. “Alright, so I don’t believe in the Republic. Mind you, it’s not that I don’t like the principles. It’s that the
Senate lacks the competence to rule over a whorehouse, let alone an Empire that stretches from Hispania to Arabia. There are maybe a dozen decent men amongst their ranks; a dozen out of the two hundred active members and further additional four hundred of the senatorial class!”

“Then you must decide
now
who will maintain the Empire after you have gone!”

“Why, so they can plot ag
ainst me and have me removed?” Tiberius rebuked. “The sons of Germanicus serve as my heirs. Despite the ill feelings of their mother towards me, I still see little need to view them as anything less than my adoptive grandchildren.”

“The Senate worries that your animosity towards Agrippina will undo any sense of stability with her sons succeeding to the imperial throne,” Livia added.

“The Senate will deal with my decisions like they do everything else,” Tiberius responded forcefully. “The sons of Germanicus will continue to serve as my heirs, provided their bitch of a mother keeps her place.”

It was the first time ever that Livia had invited her grandson, Claudius, to dinner. He looked
around nervously as he limped into the Empress’ private dining room within the imperial palace. Whereas his brother, Germanicus, had been a sculpture’s dream, physically gifted and unnaturally strong, Claudius had been born with a number of disabilities. It was as if the gods had shorted him because of all the gifts they had given his brother. His club foot made walking difficult, and his head twitched involuntarily. Stuttering didn’t help. While his afflictions were genuine, Livia had suspected for some time that he exaggerated them in public.

“Th…th…thank you for inviting me to d…dinner, Grandmother,” Claudius struggled to say. A slave handed him an oversized chalice of wine, which he immediately drank heavily from. It was embarrassing that he was so nervous around her, but then Livia reckoned she had never been very kind to him, often berating him as a fool and an embarrassment to the family.

By the time he made his way to his couch he had already emptied the chalice and was asking for more. Livia grinned inside, for the wine she had supplied was very potent and would loosen his tongue. She needed to see if her intuition about his exaggerated afflictions was true before she let him know her intentions.

“I’m glad you made it,” Livia said after allowing for a slightly awkward silence.

“Y…y…yes,” he started to say when Livia cut him off.

“Oh stop it!” she snapped. “I know that you can speak properly, so lay off the charade already.”

“S…sorry, Grandmother. I will try to speak better.”

“I know more about you than you realize,” Livia said, leaning forward slightly. This c
aused Claudius to wince. “You didn’t think you could hide under the guise of a fool forever, did you?”

“N…no, Grandmother, I suppose not.” Claudius took another long pull of wine and tried to relax a bit. There was no point in playing the fool with Livia any longer.

“I wanted to also say that I know this is a trying time for you right now,” the Empress said, causing Claudius to lower his head and take another long drink of wine. “I, too, understand what it is like to lose a child.” Claudius’ son, also named Claudius, had been in his teens and was, in fact, betrothed to the daughter of the Praetorian Prefect, Sejanus, when he succumbed to a mysterious death by asphyxiation. Though the circumstances were suspicious, murder had been ruled out.

“H…he was a good lad,” Claudius replied quietly. The death of his son was but one of the trials he had been facing of late.

“Doubtless his marriage to Junilla would have been good for you as well,” Livia added. “Oh, don’t think I’m heartless. I just know that your son marrying the daughter of Sejanus would have placed you in a good position politically since my husband, as well as your uncle, has denied you in this regard.”

“Augustus did not care for my history of the civil wars that I wrote all those years ago,” Claudius said, leaning back on his couch and sampling some figs. “He apologized to me
for having it disposed of, although this was many years later.”

“Your timing was terrible,” Livia replied. “While Augustus always appreciated candor, it was too soon after the civil war against Antony that you wrote possibly the most critical work ever written about him. It also served as a stark reminder to him that you are Marc Antony’s grandson. He knew your popularity with the Senate, as well as the common people, and he could not allow the possibility of them becoming sentimental and longing for the Republic to return
. Most had forgotten that Antony was a traitor who had abandoned Rome in the first place.”

“I assure you, Grandmother, that my sentiments have nothing to do with my lineage,” Claudius stated.

“No, I understand you are still infatuated with that archaic system of government known as the Republic,” Livia countered. “It is all well and good. Your father was a republican at heart, as was his father. I suspect even Augustus himself longed for the days when the Senate could rule on its own. But those days are no more. Like it or not, Claudius, Rome
needs
a strong emperor. The Empire is too large for that squabbling mass of panderers and politicians to run effectively. I swear most of them cannot even agree on what to serve for lunch, let alone make important decisions affecting Syria or Hispania.”

“There are still good men in the Senate,” Claudius replied, allowing himself to get a touch defensive. “Last summer when my house burned down, it was Caecina Severus who demanded that the public pay for its rebuild.”

“I will grant you that Severus is among the good ones,” Livia conceded, “though he is a rare breed. He’s always had a soft spot for our family after he served with your brother in Germania.” Claudius smiled briefly at the mention of Germanicus.

“Severus’ ties run deep with our family,” the Empress continued. “He served with and mentored both your father and your uncle, back when they were young soldiers bloodying their swords for the first time.” Livia took a drink of her own wine as she let Claudius contemplate where she was leading this discussion. She then thought about her grandson. How old was he now; thirty-five perhaps? She realized that she had said more words to him in the previous hour than in all those years combined.
She just hoped that her present reassessment of the lad was correct.

The awkward silence drew out until the ser
vants brought their dinner.  Claudius’ eyes brightened as he saw a large platter of spiced mushrooms placed on the table.  Ignoring the bland broths and gruel his grandmother preferred, he helped himself to a huge bowl of the delectable mushrooms.

“Really
, Claudius,” Livia chastised, “must you make a swine of yourself? The way you are gobbling those mushrooms will be the death of you, I’m sure.”

“Grandmother,” he said slowly, trying not to let the wine disable his thoughts. “You did not invite me over just to discuss my republican sympathies
, or my eating preferences.” It was a bold statement, one which brought a smile to Livia’s face. She then produced a pair of scrolls, one of which she handed to her grandson.

“This is a prophecy, given to m
e by my son’s astrologer, Thrasyllus,” Livia explained. “That obnoxious rat of a man is annoyingly accurate in his predictions sometimes.”

“All this says is that a son of Germanicus will follow Tiberius to the imperial throne,” Claudius said after reading a few lines of the scroll. “There is no surprise there. After all, my nephews
, Drusus and Nero, were adopted by my uncle.”