The Oath Keeper

by Alaric Longward

Caligula watched the man shuffling past. “Did you know, I caught him fondling one of my slaves. And he had the nerve to divorce Urgunilla, what, eight years ago? Yes? For adultery! Imagine. Now his new wife, she at least has given him a son, but do keep an eye on the women serving in the castra. His fingers have a life of their own.” He lifted an eyebrow. “The son. What do you know of him?”

  He was worried for these new heirs as well.

  I cleared my throat. “No, he is not married, Gaius. Claudius divorced her too. The boy’s with Antonia. She tells us the boy is nothing like the father.”

  Caligula looked astonished and then smiled. “Well. We will keep an eye out. To make sure, you know, that the bad seed never again plagues Rome after Tiberius dies. We will keep an eye out.”

  “An eye out,” I agreed.

  He clapped his hand on my shoulder, wiping droplets of piss on my armor, and I felt like he was marking me as his. He looked crestfallen all of a sudden. “We should marry him again. Perhaps to an ass?”

  I smiled dutifully as he laughed.

  “I shall go and fuck the log again,” he said, shivering. “I’ll imagine it is a pretty log, and I can manage, perhaps. Next year, hopefully, she has a son for me, and I can forget this terrible insult. And next year, if things are going better, we can get somewhere with Tiberius, no? Let the patience too, rest at some point. And do not worry. Thusnelda is fine, and the boy too.”

  I stared at him.

  “Tiberius,” he said. “Mentioned you wanted to know about them. Told me all about the two, he did. I know where they are. You feel guilty for something related to her, and Tiberius, he was cackling as he told me you would never see them. But I shall fix that once I sit on his seat.”

  Thusnelda was dead.

  But did he truly know?

  He was enjoying a game, hoping to keep me happy, and I let him. “Thank you.”

  He smiled. “Goodbye, sweet Raven, and goodbye, fireman!” he said to Macro. “Come, my lady, we shall go and have some fun!” he called out to his centurion, who turned and walked away.

  I watched Claudius waiting at the bottom of the stairs. I walked to him, hesitated, looked at his crippled foot, and then nodded at the side. “Here. You’ll get an office here. We’ll empty it.”

  He smiled thankfully, swallowing, and I felt a stab of pity. “Thank you. So nice to work with you again.”

  “Thank me not,” I said. “It is needless. I did not ask for it. You should thank Gaius.”

  “Perhaps you are…are…right,” he said, forcing the words out. “What would you…me do?”

  “You will get to go over,” I said, suddenly aware I might escape the duties of listening to the foul liar witnesses and concentrate on more delicate matters, “all that people want to tell us. They will speak of Sejanus and of treason still, and though his name is dead, his crimes still live on. You choose what to believe in, and then you have the scribes—”

  “I can write,” he told me. “They might have…forgotten to train me, like they did…others. But I learnt.”

  “It is beneath you,” I said.

  “Writing never is beneath a man,” he said softly and went to stand in the small room, currently a warehouse. “I can draft them myself. Anything...to stay away…”

  “Good,” I said. “You don’t even have to be naked.”

  His eye twitched at my attempt at humor, and I had to wonder what exactly were Gaius’ parties like. I pushed him to stand near the table. “Yours. You get to meet a lot of people. A lot of them. Hundreds. You choose what to do.” I leaned down over him. “But perhaps it is better, that you believe a lot of them. All the bad seeds must be plucked, but sometimes, the good ones die just in case, too.”

  He smiled and nodded many times. “I understand. Tiberius and Gaius both know you do an excellent job. Much like Sejanus.”

  “Nothing like him.”

  He bowed his head, and sat down, breathing deep, happy.

  Agamemnon came to me and nodded upstairs. He was still with me, and Julia lived in hiding. They would be until Tiberius was dead. Macro was hovering nearby.

  I had to go and decide on some poor bastards’s life.

  “You will have power of life or death on your hands,” I said. “Prepare the lists, and I shall take them to the Senate. If I am happy, then you get to do more.”

  “I get to do this, and even it makes me…happy,” he said softly, and bowed. “Thank you.”

  I slapped his arm so hard he winced and then I left. I nodded at Macro. “Make the place an office for him. And then divert my witnesses to him.”

  “What of mine?” he despaired.

  “Find your own tool, and leave be my fool,” I laughed, and jumped up the stairs, and looking down, I saw a scribe was speaking to Claudius.

  The man was not stammering, but full of energy.

  I hesitated, and then Macro called me, and I had to go.

  Claudius would work there, for years, seemingly happy. Every day, he thanked me, and became friends with almost everyone. When he was bruised, or sad, even hardened praetorians would make sure he was well.

  The following year, Gaius’s wife, Junia Claudilla died giving birth. The boy did too.

  That was the tale.

  I knew better. I was there to cover up the marks of the rage.

  And after that, things changed rapidly.

  That same year, the year of consuls Proclus and Nigrinus, Tiberius grew ill in Misenium, on a trip to meet some lover of his.

  We heard of it on 10th of Martius.

  ***

  The news rocked Rome. It seemed to learn of the illness almost at the same time.

  Hope lit in people’s faces, just like it had when Tiberius had adopted Nero and Drusus. I could see it on them even as I walked the walls of the Castrum.

  I had been about to send him lists of treason, when the riders had come, and though it had been expected, it was still a shock.

  Macro was next to me. He was the watch commander that day in the Castra, but would ride with me to the south.

  He nodded at the people rushing in the streets of Rome. “I heard games are being prepared covertly by many a lanista, and all sorts of traders are stocking supplies. Longinus, Domitius, and Vinicius are all preparing Senate for it, and distant relatives are giving prayers to that shit, aloof, terrible man.”

  “Gaius?”

  He smiled. “Caligula has already left for Misenium. Claudius left here just now. Antonia is on the way, as is Tiberius Gemellus.”

  I nodded, and a slave brought me wine.

  I watched men preparing my horse. I looked over Rome, the city that seemed remarkably the same as I had seen it the first time, in the company of Wandal, Cassia… others.

  And yet, its heart was bleeding.

  “They will kill the boys, the young ones,” he said.

  I closed my eyes. I nodded.

  “He will burn Rome,” he said. “What we have been doing, this filth, is nothing in comparison.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “I hope for the best, Hraban,” he said. “And I hope I didn’t make a mistake helping you.”

  “You will be a governor, Macro, and there you can forget all of this,” I said.

  He smiled thinly. “I cannot forget the names we have put on the lists. Can you?” He walked away for his horse below.

  I nodded at his words, knew he was right, and lifted the wine. I watched a man ride out of the gates, his cloak flapping. He was in a hurry. He looked back, and I thought he was a servant in the Castra.

  I placed the cup on my lips and stopped.

  Inside it, floating on the wine, there was a spider. It was dead.

  I put down the wine on the wall, and looked at the cup, and felt numb coldness to the bottom of my toes.

  I was sure the wine was poisoned.

  I held my face and tried to calm myself. I was paranoid, or mad, and turning from Sejanus into Tiberius.

  And perhaps not.

  I wa
tched below, and saw a dog lying on his back in the shadows of the wall. It was Martius, it was not too hot, but warm enough, and he was panting.

  He would be thirsty.

  I want down and poured the wine on a cup next to him. Startled, he trashed his way to his feet, wagged his tail, and sniffed, suspicious. Then he licked at the wine and enjoyed most of it. It was, after all, very diluted with water.

  I watched it die, horribly.

  I got up and looked around. I turned to look at Macro.

  “Are you coming?” he called out. “What are you doing with the dog?”

  “We are going,” I said, my head full of doubts. “The dog is sick.”

  And fear. I felt fear.

  Sejanus’ words came to me.

  When in power, you need to trust someone. But the truth is, they all want you dead, even the ones you trust. And then, it is your turn to fear.

  CHAPTER 20 (16th March, A.D. 37)

  The bay opened before us that morning, and the mountain, Mons Vesuvius was draped in fog. We had reached Misenium, one of the towns that marked the northern end of the Bay of Neapolis and watched the harbor and the many other cities and towns on the coast. There was a fire in Herculaneum many miles from us.

  Mostly, we watched the hundreds of people who were travelling the coast for Misenium.

  Perhaps Tiberius had died already.

  Perhaps I was outlawed.

  I had a choice.

  I could flee.

  I could run far away and hope for the best. Or I could ride in with Macro, risk everything, and see if it had been Gaius who had had the poison placed in my cup.

  The town below was surprisingly quiet.

  There were vendors, out even that late, and many men were sitting in the forum, waiting silently.

  “There,” Macro grunted and pointed at a villa that was lit. “Will we go?” he asked, as I did not move.

  I kicked the horse.

  I watched the house on a hill and we rode that way. We took a long, winding road up, and there, amid greenery and olive oil trees, amid a garden of grapes, dark and silent, stood Claudius. He was with praetorians, who all stood up, and saluted me.

  Macro watched him and nodded inside. “Well?”

  Claudius nodded and looked at me with clear eyes. “He…still. Yes, he yet lives. Not for long.”

  His voice was empty, as if he was speaking to an empty room.

  I nodded and jumped down.

  Claudius seemed to rouse himself and smiled. “Antonia came, an hour ago. The Augusta, without the title, of course, sits in the atrium with the family. There they wait.”

  “What is it with Tiberius?” I asked.

  “He is choking on his spit, unable to swallow, and in fever,” Claudius said with a tiny shudder. “They clean him. But not quite often enough. He ordered one slave to death yesterday for taking his piss pot for cleaning. He is not…”

  I grunted and entered. I watched the people in the atrium. Clients, old ones.

  There too, many praetorians.

  I ignored them all and walked through the rooms to the gardens, and then past altars and fountains, where offerings had been placed, sometimes leaving an unpleasant crowd of flies behind.

  I went forth, and found a guarded doorway to a private study, and an elegant woman was leaving.

  It was one of Tiberius’ mistresses, and would likely keep the domus, unless…

  No, Caligula would take it all.

  I walked in, and found a surprisingly large, long room with a desk for writing, thick rugs and paintings of green fields and pastures, and fine pictures of tall mountains spread along the walls. They looked peaceful and almost alive in the light of the oil lamps.

  I saw the large bed, and there, Stone Jaws, no longer resembling stone at all, just jaws, was laying.

  His mouth was hanging open.

  With him sat a young man, Tiberius Gemellus. The ashen faced young man was being held gently by Caligula, who was listening to Tiberius speaking softly.

  Caligula saw me and smiled.

  He leaned down on Tiberius, who looked my way, and smiled as well, a harried, toothless, black maw smile of the dead. I tried not to touch my sword’s hilt, and moved there, to stand near.

  Tiberius spoke again, very softly, shivering.

  Caligula stood straight. “Macro, my lovely fool, shut the door.”

  Macro had followed me and obeyed.

  Tiberius patted Gaius’ hand weakly. “Well. It is time. Did you enjoy my play?”

  Augustus had asked that. Then he had asked for people to clap.

  Everyone knew about that. But none would play the game with him.

  None clapped. None told him they had enjoyed the play.

  Caligula simply smiled. I saw his left hand was in a fist, tight and white. The patience was nearly gone.

  “Very well,” Tiberius whispered sadly. “It was far too long a play, eh? Make sure my will is to be followed to the letter. Both you, and small Tiberius here, will share power. You will rule until he can share the burden. Down the middle, power, not Rome.”

  “Yes, great father,” said Caligula. “It shall be as you said.”

  “And pay the soldiers,” he whispered. “They will not give me any honors in Rome. They will not vote for them in the Senate. Truly, I care not. Just make sure the legions are paid the bonuses.” Gaius nodded, and Tiberius smiled with tears coming out of his eyes. “To the mausoleum with the others I shall go. There, we shall all sleep. Make sure they don’t throw me to the river.” He shuddered with fear.

  “No, great father,” said Caligula. “The Mausoleum is your home for all eternity.”

  Tiberius Gemellus was weeping.

  I closed my eyes.

  “And tell Vinicius, that he should make sure my will is read, and money distributed as agreed,” he said. “Soldiers—”

  “Shall be paid,” said Caligula. “it is going to happen, as you said.”

  He looked at me. “And you, Hraban. Make sure you swear loyalty to both,” he whispered, and saw the danger in my eyes.

  I said nothing.

  He turned his head away.

  “I shall see her again,” he whispered, and went silent.

  Caligula watched him for minutes. Long minutes. He watched and wondered, and Tiberius Gemellus was crying hard now, as his grandfather had clearly died.

  Caligula finally let out a huge breath. It seemed he had been holding it for ages. He touched the jaw of Tiberius and spoke to me. “We need to speak. Later. Now, we have to start the process of making me the Princeps.” He looked at Tiberius Gemellus like a snake. “We shall share, of course.”

  I saluted him.

  He got up, and tugged at Tiberius Gemellus, and whispered. “Come, little brother. We shall have to tell everyone he is gone. Be not afraid. I shall be there until the end of your days.”

  Gemellus looked at me.

  At me.

  He could have looked at Macro, but he looked at me.

  I looked away.

  He was taken out, and Macro followed them.

  I stood there, watching Tiberius.

  I felt cold shudders down my back as Caligula left with the boy.

  Out there, moans and gasps could be heard, and men and women were speaking with muffled voices.

  I watched Tiberius, the man who had caused so much grief. “I know. What you did to your brother, and even how you forced Livia to marry Octavian. So much power you had over your sweet, damned mother.”

  His eyes slowly opened. He looked at me, feverishly. “Sejanus.”

  I nodded. “Do you regret it?”

  He laughed softly. “I just want to die in peace. I still would like that. Go away, Hraban.”

  I stepped next to him. “And I want to yank at the root, and all the way out so I may see where the disease began.”

  He shook his head.

  “Livia. I killed her.”

  His eyes grew large. “No. You?”

  “Yes, I, no
t Sejanus,” I said. “But do not worry. Sejanus was hoping to oust you, indeed. That was no lie. He was hoping to kill Drusus one day. I just beat him to that, too.” I winked down at his horrified face. “Or, Gaius did. But I gave him the idea. What do you think about that?”

  He tried to get up.

  He was panting. “My grandson…”

  I pushed him down. “You know how that will end. Then I let Caligula eat Rome. That is why I play the game. To see your filth of a nation die. You taught me to hate it all. You cannot save Rome.”

  He laughed, a wheezing, evil laughter. “Oh, Hraban. You fool. I do not want to save it. Not anymore. I know what Gaius is. Have I not had him with me for years, and I tell you, he is the lord of debauchery, not I. Let Rome burn. That is why I never slit his throat. I did not know about your games, Hraban, but I knew Gaius would one day rule. I always knew he was rabid baboon. Now? With my loved ones gone? Mother, Drusus, both my son and brother? And Vipsania?” He laughed harshly. “Let him burn the land. Let it burn. Thank you for raising him.” He laughed and shuddered in pain and began weeping. “But my little Gemellus…”

  “Why did you agree to help Drusus re-create the Republic, only to ask your mother to kill him later?” I said.

  He shuddered. “The root, eh? You wish to know why? Because I was jealous and selfish. He was not even born yet, when our father insisted he would outdo me. That is why I wanted mother to divorce him, and to marry Octavian. I had a chance to be Princeps, I thought. It was never simple.”

  I placed a hand over his chest, and he trembled with fear.

  He spoke rapidly. “We were equal in skills in war. He was loved by all. And then, that terrible day when he came to me, crying, cursing the gods for their cruelty, and insisted I help him destroy Octavian, so the curse may be lifted?”

  “Curse over him? Over Rome?”

  He nodded. “He thought it would curse him, our family, and Rome. I failed him in that oath. I gave it. But what was the terrible thing that happened to my brother? There lies the end of the root. What made him…nay. You suffer Hraban. I shall not tell you.”

  I placed my hand over his mouth and watched him die.

  When it was done, I turned to see Macro standing there, looking on.

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  I closed my eyes. “Let us hail Gaius. And let it shine like gold, the future of Rome.”