by Randy Singer
We were almost done with our walk, and Seneca lowered his voice. “I would never be part of a conspiracy against the emperor; I must make that clear. Yet I do worry about how long he will survive. I have heard that he has an insatiable lust for women, especially ones who are off-limits. He is never seen in public with his wife, Caesonia, anymore. If a beautiful woman lured him into a private place, I fear that the good emperor could be too easily disposed of. And if that happened, the Senate might even rise up and restore the Republic. There is nothing like the humiliation that’s been imposed by Caligula to help senators understand the shortfalls of an imperial system.”
Seneca stopped and looked up at the expansive estate in front of us. “That would be a shame, would it not? If the emperor got lured into a private meeting with a woman like that?”
“A real shame,” I agreed.
“Then given the nature of our conversation, I don’t think we should speak again for a good while,” Seneca said. “But as your former teacher, I’ll leave you with a reminder from history. On the Ides of March when Julius Caesar was assassinated, the Liberators thought that all of Rome would join them in exultation over his death. They marched through the Forum and called out to the masses, ‘People of Rome, we are once again free!’ But they were met with silence.”
He put his arm around my shoulders, and it seemed for a moment like my old mentor was back. “You know what my point is, Theophilus?”
I waited.
“It is easier to kill a tyrant than to end a tyranny,” he said.
Despite my mentor’s dire warning, I was in too deep to turn back. Ironically, the missing piece fell into place shortly after the maiestas trial of Senator Pomponius. His accusers, including Caepio Crispinus as their advocate, had counted on the testimony of Pomponius’s alleged lover, a beautiful actress named Quintilia, as their primary source of proof. To elicit incriminating testimony, she was tortured by the Praetorian commander Cassius Chaerea so badly that her face was permanently disfigured. Still, she refused to testify against Pomponius.
When Quintilia was dragged before Caligula and accused of conspiring with Pomponius, the emperor took great pity on her appearance and released both Quintilia and Pomponius. He gave the actress a present of eight hundred thousand sestertii for her steadfastness in the face of torture. He also berated the guard Chaerea in front of the entire Senate, mocking him for his effeminate ways and his pudginess and chastising him for torturing the helpless Quintilia.
That night Flavia and I decided that we should ask the humiliated Chaerea to join our cause.
Flavia began finding ways to bend his ear. A conversation here. A sympathetic look there. A request that the two of them meet in private. It took her ten days to woo him over.
We were both nervous about bringing him in, I more than Flavia, primarily because I hadn’t had the opportunity to evaluate him face-to-face. But Flavia asked me to trust her, and besides, what choice did we really have? If we wanted to get close to Caesar, we would have to deal with one of the members of his despicable inner circle.
After Flavia brought Chaerea into the conspiracy, my job was to put Apronius, my former client, on notice. I spent three separate evenings at his countryside estate, discussing philosophy and our mutual love for the Republic. Finally, when the time was right, I hinted at what might be coming. “If anything happened to Caligula, the public mood would be ripe for restoring power to the Senate,” I suggested.
We were sipping wine, and he eyed me suspiciously.
“It would take senators with great courage and conviction to make it happen,” I continued. “The Praetorian Guard would have to be neutralized, and there could be no suspicions that the senators themselves had been part of the conspiracy to kill Caesar.”
I watched as Apronius slowly nodded his agreement. “All of what you say is true,” he said. “But I do have a question.”
“I’m listening.”
“Is Flavia involved?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then tell her I will do my part,” Apronius promised.
Two months after the funeral of Mansuetus, Caligula decided to move his palace to Alexandria. Chaerea secretly told us that the emperor was motivated in part by his increasing paranoia about possible conspiracies against him and in part by his dreams of exotic Egyptian women. He planned to leave on January 25. Just prior to his departure, he had scheduled three days of theatrical performances.
Our plan was to strike on the last day possible.
CHAPTER 63
On the morning of January 24, two Praetorian Guards showed up at my house just after dawn and put me in shackles. I was being arrested on charges of maiestas, they said, and was accused of conspiring to take the life of Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. I would be held in the palace prison along with others who had been arrested on similar charges.
The temperature was barely above freezing, so the guards allowed me to put on my cloak before we left. I hung my head as they paraded me down the streets of Rome, my face hidden by the hood of my cloak. It was early, and there were few people in the Forum.
The guards marched me to the palace and placed me in a dark cell in the catacombs. I instantly recalled my visits with Mansuetus and Flavia. This wasn’t the Tullianum—I supposed I wasn’t important enough for that—but this place was depressing enough. There were no windows here. It had the same foul odor. I shuddered in the damp darkness.
They had taken my dagger, but I had managed to keep the small vial of poison. I fingered it now and thought about the hours ahead. I said a prayer to Apollo for Flavia to be protected. I sat down, leaned against the wall, closed my eyes, and tried not to imagine what was to come.
The lavish, custom-built theater could seat nearly nine thousand patrons, another monumental waste of government funds. It was built on the Palatine Hill with several entrances from the Forum and an underground tunnel that connected it directly to Caligula’s palace.
It opened the week before the emperor was scheduled to leave for Alexandria, and for the last two days, the festivities had been nonstop. On this, the final day of the plays, every seat was taken.
It was a command performance. When Caligula took his place in the imperial box—without his wife, Caesonia, by his side—he had insisted that Flavia sit next to him. Her hair had started to grow back, but she still used a black wig imported from the Middle East. It framed her face in ringlets. She had shaded her eyes with a bit of ash, straightened her eyelashes, and colored her lips with dark-red cinnabar. She had applied perfume generously. Rubria had told her how beautiful she looked.
Caligula opened the festivities by sacrificing a bull in honor of Augustus. When he returned to the imperial box, his hands were covered in blood. He had his slaves throw expensive sweets to the spectators while he rinsed his hands in a basin and returned to his seat beside Flavia to enjoy a glass of wine.
As Caesar drank, Flavia took stock of the security precautions. Around the perimeter of the theater were no less than a hundred of Caligula’s Germanic bodyguards. A similar number of Praetorian Guards were scattered throughout the crowd. There had been some speculation that conspirators might try to strike on the last day Caligula was in town.
“I’m told that you’ve been seen sneaking out of the House of Virgins again,” Caligula said under his breath as the crowd scrambled for the sweets. “I’m told that this time the recipient of your late-night affections is none other than Theophilus.”
“I am afraid Your Excellency has been misinformed.”
“It may interest you to know that we arrested Theophilus this morning,” Caligula continued, his voice cheery and casual. He was speaking softly enough that only Flavia could hear. “He’s being held in the palace dungeon on charges of treason. I’d like to have his case resolved before I leave.”
Flavia tried to keep her emotions in check. She cast a casual glance behind her and saw Chaerea standing in the back of the imperial box. She kept her voice low and steady a
s she responded.
“I know Theophilus well, Your Excellency. I can assure you that he would never be part of such a conspiracy. Who is it that accuses him?”
“A man I trust. A man who is willing to testify in the Senate about the details of the conspiracy. That’s all you need to know.”
The crowd had quieted again, and Caesar stood. “There will be three plays this morning,” he announced to the audience. “The final two are based on the Greek tragedy of Cinyras and Myrrha. The other, the one that will open our show today, has been written especially for this occasion.”
Caesar sat back down and said little else. His conversation with Flavia was apparently over, and she watched in horror as the first play unfolded. It was a pantomime about a band of robbers who were arrested, their leader nailed to a cross. A large amount of fake blood covered the stage.
“A pity I can’t crucify Roman citizens,” Caligula said. He tossed a few grapes into his mouth. “But I can behead them. Which is what I have in mind for Theophilus, though I’m open to negotiations.”
Flavia swallowed hard. “What types of negotiations?”
“I’ll be back in my chambers for lunch,” Caligula said. “If you were to meet me there, alone, all might be forgiven. I could give an order releasing Theophilus right after I leave for Alexandria. I’d be a safe distance away by then.”
“How do I know that this time Caesar would keep his word?”
The actors took their bows, and the audience started clapping. Caligula stood, and the audience stood with him. Reluctantly, Flavia rose to her feet as well.
“Let’s put it this way,” he said, leaning toward Flavia so he could be heard over the applause. “You have my word that he will die if you do nothing. And since you obviously care for the man or we wouldn’t be having this conversation, it would make sense for me to keep him alive as long as you play along. That way, I can invite you to my palace whenever I wish.”
“What about Caesonia?”
“She’s the mother of my child, nothing more.”
They sat down as the theater readied for the next play. Flavia’s skin crawled with contempt. She hated being this close to the man.
“Let it be done according to Caesar’s wishes,” Flavia eventually said. “Should I leave now?”
He reached over and put a hand on top of hers. She wanted to recoil but forced herself to stay calm.
“Your hands are cold, my dear,” Caligula said.
“You make me nervous.”
Caligula laughed, a disdainful chuckle that came from deep in his throat. “Maybe you should head back now,” Caligula said. “I’ll follow in a few minutes. In the meantime, it might be good for the citizens of Rome to see a Vestal give me the same kind of respect I’m afforded by Rome’s greatest senators.”
He bent over and unfastened a sandal. He held out his right foot and looked at Flavia.
The thought of it was revolting, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it, to kneel and kiss the man’s hairy foot as if he were some kind of god she needed to worship. Caligula was truly insane.
Instead, she leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “I don’t kiss the feet of Caesar,” she said. “But I’ll be waiting for you.”
He considered this for a moment and then lowered his leg. He turned and snapped his fingers, and Chaerea approached his seat.
“Flavia would like to see my chambers,” Caligula said, keeping his voice low.
Chaerea nodded, and Flavia took his arm. Together they left through the exit that led to the palace.
CHAPTER 64
I sat in the cell for what seemed like an eternity, plenty of time to consider all the options. The best case was that the plan was on track, just taking longer than expected. The worst case—Chaerea had double-crossed both of us, or perhaps the plan had otherwise been exposed and Chaerea and Flavia were now in prison too. There were a thousand other possibilities and nothing I could do about any of them.
And so I waited. The minutes passed like hours. At first, I couldn’t shake the dark thoughts of everything that could go wrong. Yet there was also something about sitting alone in the cold darkness that strengthened my resolve. I fortified myself with vivid images I had stored in the recesses of my mind. Caligula as a teenager, spoiled and arrogant, laughing at me as I hung on the cross. Caligula as Caesar, scorning me while I made my case for Mansuetus and Flavia. A jealous Caligula presiding over the games, causing the deaths of brave men like Mansuetus. The hypocritical emperor shouting from the imperial box that he would have extended mercy to Mansuetus if only given the chance.
And the final image—the inconsolable grief of Flavia.
I convinced myself that we were doing the right thing. The emperor was a madman. Somebody had to stop him.
As the minutes marched slowly by, I replayed each of these images over and over, replacing every vestige of fear with a surge of rage and a steely resolve to exact our revenge.
Chaerea whisked Flavia through the underground tunnels of the Imperial Palace, narrow hallways with pictures of Caligula and other emperors painted on the walls. She passed a painting of the emperor giving his first speech to the Senate and thought about those heady days when it looked like a young Caligula would usher in a new golden age. It was not even four years ago.
Chaerea was already out of breath when he led her into the small alcove at the foot of the steep stone steps that led to the holding cells. He grabbed a hooded brown cloak from the corner of the alcove and tossed it to Flavia. She put it on without speaking. He handed her a dagger.
They would free Theophilus first. Then the three of them would circle back and cross paths with the emperor in the single narrow passageway that led to his chambers. Flavia knew the emperor’s chambers would be guarded by the loyal Germanic troops. The best place for an assassination would be in the passage before he got there.
As they climbed the steps, Chaerea told Flavia to take off her hood so the guards could see her face. He would explain that Caesar had told him to take Flavia back to Caesar’s chambers. The guards would have no problem believing that story. He would also explain that Caesar wanted Theophilus there as well to be threatened in front of Flavia in case she didn’t cooperate. Whether they believed it or not, the guards would obey Chaerea’s orders.
When they reached the cell, Chaerea spoke to the guards in German, and Flavia had no idea what they were saying. A couple of times the guards looked at her, but eventually they handed the keys to Chaerea, and he opened the door.
Chaerea jerked me out of the cell and pushed me down the hallway toward the stairs. He had his sword drawn, and Flavia was with him. I thanked the gods and descended the steps as quickly as I could.
At the bottom, Chaerea looked into the hallway and made sure the way was clear. He unlocked my wrist irons and handed me a brown cloak with a hood. He pulled an extra dagger from his belt and gave it to me.
“We don’t have much time,” Chaerea said. His puffy round face was red with exertion, his eyes narrow. I could see the fury in those eyes and a look that approached panic now that the moment had finally arrived. Once again, I wondered if we had chosen the right ally.
“Put your hoods up and let’s go,” Chaerea said.
We ran down one corridor and then another. Each time we made a turn, Chaerea stepped out into the new passageway and made sure nobody was coming. We moved quickly, hugging the walls. One time, a group of Praetorian Guards came from the opposite direction.
“Hold your wrists together,” Chaerea whispered. I did as I was told, and Chaerea pressed the point of his sword against my back. Flavia followed behind. The guards stopped and asked if Chaerea needed help. He told them he was fine, and they went on their way.
We arrived at the one long tunnel that led directly to Caesar’s chambers, and we waited at a corner of the passageway, where it intersected with some others. We were out of sight of anybody approaching from the theater. The minutes dragged by. There was no sign of the emperor.
“Then we kill him in the theater,” Chaerea said. “I’ll put the knife in his back myself. My men will either rally to support me or arrest me. Either way, you can be on your way to the Senate.”
The three of us decided to give it another ten minutes.
From a hallway on our left, a group of young Greek choirboys passed by, their directors trailing behind them. They must have been scheduled to perform in the theater. They were singing a melancholy tragedy as they walked, their song echoing off the walls. I recognized the song from my days at the School of Molon, and I took it as an omen. The gods were smiling on us. It was a funeral dirge for Caligula.
“He’s coming,” Chaerea said. He had peeked around the corner after the Greek choir passed. “Come on.”
We followed Chaerea down the tunnel about fifty yards behind the two dozen choirboys. I could see the heads of Caligula and two of his guardsmen on the other side of the choir. Why didn’t we wait where we were? It seemed to me like Chaerea wanted to make this as dramatic as possible. Perhaps he actually wanted witnesses so there would be no doubt about who had killed Caesar. His name would be praised or cursed, but it would be his name on the lips of every Roman.
The choir stopped and bowed before Caesar. The three of us froze when they did so, but we were far enough down the hallway that Caligula didn’t seem to notice us.
“Let me hear another song,” Caligula said.
The boys broke into an upbeat melody. They sang at the top of their lungs, and the directors joined in. It felt surreal, pressing flat against the wall, hearing this energetic musical tribute while creeping up behind the chorus and ducking into an alcove just out of Caesar’s view. Every nerve in my body was on fire. Within minutes we would make our move.