by James Mace
“I don’t know about you, sir,” Gratus said quietly to Claudius, “but I think I may need to change my loincloth after that!”
As Marcus and Regulus fled from the imperial palace, they were stopped by Aulus Nautius Cursor, Tribune of the Plebs. With him was a man the two senators recognized as Titus Artorius Justus, a centurion who had led the First Italic Cohort in Judea and now served as police commissioner for the nearby port of Ostia. He had arrived to make his weekly reports to the magistracy when he and Cursor had heard rumor of the emperor’s assassination.
“Hold, senators!” the tribune said abruptly. “It appears to be chaos both within the palace and at the circus. Tell me what’s happened.”
“The emperor is slain,” Regulus said plainly.
The tribune then noted the blood on the hands of both men, as well as the splatters on their togas. He understood.
“Please know that we only slew Caligula,” Marcus added quickly. “Unfortunately, Cassius has taken things further. He’s gone mad and started killing anyone associated with the imperial family.”
“Let us pass,” Regulus urged. “We must convene the senate at once!”
“Well, fancy that,” Artorius said as they watched the two men walk quickly down the street. “They commit murder, of the emperor no less, and they fret about needing to convene the senate.”
“And neither of us made an attempt to stop them,” Cursor replied coarsely. “I doubt any of their peers will shed a tear over Caligula. However, if Cassius has lost his mind and gone on the rampage, he could tear apart the very fabric of the empire.”
“I seem to remember a crisis you went through about ten years ago, dealing with another maddened praetorian; though it pains me to make the comparison, for I’ve always held Cassius Chaerea in the highest esteem.”
“As have I,” the tribune concurred. “And it is an unfair comparison, at least when looking at their motives. Sejanus sought to usurp Tiberius for his own selfish gains. Cassius believes he is actually serving Rome by slaying the entire imperial family. Yet it will create nothing but chaos if he succeeds. The senate will squabble amongst themselves as to whether one of them should become Caesar or if they should try and restore that antiquity known as the republic.”
“None of them were even born the last time the senate ruled Rome,” Artorius added. He shook his head. “And what of the legions? With no imperial heir, who’s to say they won’t try and appoint one of their own?”
“Exactly,” Cursor emphasized. “The last thing we need is several thousand of your comrades bearing down on the city. That is, at least, where Cassius’ actions parallel those of Sejanus. In both cases they risk destabilizing the entire empire and turning our own legions on us.”
At that moment they saw Cassius and a small group of Praetorians leaving the palace. Like Marcus and Regulus, they made their way towards the senate.
“I would say one of us should try and bring him to his senses,” Artorius said, “but I think we’re far too late.”
“It is never too late,” another voice said behind them.
They turned to see a young senatorial legate named Vespasian walking towards them. “Come, let us make a stand for Rome.”
Chapter III: Savior of Rome
Temple of Jupiter
14 January, 41 A.D.
***
“Noble senators!” Cassius said, his face hard but determined as he addressed the assembly. He still wore his armor, with his helmet tucked beneath his left arm. He continued, “It was with heavy heart that I broke my oath and struck down our emperor. Know that I did this not for myself, but for Rome. Our nation was on the verge of financial collapse, while Gaius Caligula made a mockery of all our ancestors fought and died for. I tell you this; we have suffered under the rule of the Caesars long enough! I implore you, the noble fathers of Rome, to restore dignity and take your places as the rightful heads of the state. I ask that we once more become a beacon of light for the world and restore the republic!”
The praetorian’s words were met with a standing ovation from those members of the senate present. The sounds of the crowd were deafening outside, and the senators who had elected to hear his words were still making their way into the chamber. Many seats remained vacant, their occupants too terrified to come into the city. Night had come to Rome, and most had fled to their private estates, waiting to see what would happen once the chaos surrounding Gaius Caligula’s assassination died down. No one even knew if the body had been taken away, or if it still lay in a coagulated puddle of blood in the tunnel beneath the palace and Circus Maximus.
All told, there were perhaps a hundred members on hand to hear Cassius’ speech. It would fall upon them what to do in light of the revelation that the Praetorian Guard, minus Cassius and his fellow conspirators, had named Caligula’s uncle, Claudius, Emperor.
The consul, Quintus Pomponius, stood and raised his hands, silencing his overly boisterous peers. His fellow consul had already declared himself for Claudius, perhaps to save himself from the wrath of the praetorians, and had refused to be present at this meeting.
“An impassioned speech, Cassius,” he said, “one worthy of a hero of Rome such as yourself. While this body cannot condone murder, we are inclined to sympathize with your motives, and should give you our thanks for ridding us of a hateful tyrant. However, before we go any further, I feel we must recognize Marcus Julius Agrippa, who has asked to speak on Claudius’ behalf.”
The man he referred to was more commonly known as Herod Agrippa, and though a foreign prince from Judea, he had been raised within the imperial household in Rome. Indeed, he dressed and conducted himself like a Roman, and was more respected by them than his own people. He was also a lifelong friend of Claudius, and as such had come to the senate to speak for him. There were others present as well; the plebian tribune, Aulus Nautius Cursor, as well as the Ostia police commissioner and former Centurion Pilus Prior, Titus Artorius Justus, though these two kept near the entrance to the temple, acting as mere observers for the moment. They had accompanied two well-respected military leaders, who also happened to be brothers. Their names were Flavius Sabinus and Flavius Vespasian. Though the legions would not learn of Caligula’s death for a number of weeks, they took it upon themselves to speak on behalf of the army, understanding the disposition of both the legionaries as well as their commanding generals.
“Senators,” Agrippa said as he strolled to the center of the chamber. “Please know that Tiberius Claudius sympathizes with you and understands why you do not wish to have another emperor on the throne. He also understands that there are those who would wish to raise troops with which to prevent his assumption of the title of Caesar. Claudius implores that no Roman blood be shed on his behalf. However, as our friends from the army, Sabinus and Vespasian will attest, you must also understand that the majority of our legions will swear fealty to the emperor, preferring the rule of one man over many. Whatever soldiers we may raise with the senate will be but an untrained mob that will be readily swept aside. I have acted as your ambassador, but now I think it is time the noble members of this house address Claudius directly and attempt to compel him to lay down the government willingly. And if he will not, then you must hear his case for maintaining the position of emperor, rather than restoring Rome to a republic.”
“We thank you for having spoken on our behalf,” Quintus replied. “I know it is a heavy burden for you, given your friendship with the…emperor. I think it also only prudent that we hear directly from those representatives who can readily speak on behalf of the legions.” He was clearly disappointed with Herod’s speech, and so he hoped that Sabinus and Vespasian would provide the reassurance the senate was looking for, in that they would not have another Caesar, but would rather hand the rule of Rome back to the senate.
“Consul,” Sabinus said, stepping forward, “members of the senate. I do not wish to convey upon you a false sense of hope in the restoration of the republic. Our friend, Agrippa, speaks t
rue in that the army as a whole is loyal to the office of the emperor. I must take this even further and implore the senate not to try and compel Claudius to step down from his position as Caesar. As the nephew of Tiberius, uncle of Caligula, and brother to the late Germanicus Caesar, he has more legitimate claim to the imperial throne than any. If he is induced into renouncing what is rightfully his, then the legions will be left to decide amongst themselves who should be Caesar. And make no mistake, the army wants a Caesar! I do not need to reiterate the calamity this will be for Rome, should we attempt to restore the republic. The legions will make war upon each other, as well as the city, vying for ultimate power, all the while leaving our frontiers unprotected.”
“You speak for the good of the people,” Quintus said, cutting Sabinus short. “But we must now hear from the people’s representatives in this matter.” He was becoming desperate at this point to find allies who would side with those in the senate wishing to restore the republic.
Surprisingly, many had already stated that they would feel safer under the rule of an emperor, rather than relying on the senate to be the sole rulers of Rome.
It was a desperate gamble, but all Quintus and his friends had left. He nodded to Cursor. “Tribune, what say the people?”
“Consul,” Cursor replied, stepping up next to Sabinus. “The people stand with Claudius and the legions. He holds the rightful claim to be Caesar and, in the interest of the people, I ask the senate to confirm him in this capacity and stand with him in unity.”
“Very well,” Quintus said with a nod of resignation. “As we do not have enough members present to have a quorum, this will have to wait until a delegation meets with Claudius, and we can recall all members of this body.” He made ready to dismiss the assembly, when Cursor raised his hand, interrupting him.
“Your pardon, consul,” he said. “There is one last issue to be dealt with.”
“Yes?” Quintus asked.
Cursor closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath, hating his next words. And yet, justice required it of him. “It is with extreme regret that the people must also demand the arrest of Cassius Chaerea and those responsible for the murder of Gaius Caligula and his family.”
“Are you mad, Cursor?” Cassius said, stepping forward, his face filled with rage.
“I am sorry,” the tribune replied, “but the actions of this afternoon must be called into account. If the killing of Gaius Caligula was justified, then it must be shown to be so. Remember, whatever his follies, he was loved by many of the people, and they will call for justice. Let the case be made that his killing was not murder, but necessary for the good of Rome. And then there is the other matter; the slaying of his wife and infant daughter. For that, Cassius, there can be no justification.”
As a squad of praetorians walked into the center of the senate floor, Cassius’ head dropped, and his eyes closed shut. It was as if, in that moment, he came to realize the magnitude of his crimes. Their faces full of trepidation, they disarmed their commander of his gladius and led him away. Cursor hung his head, ashamed at having to call for the arrest of one of Rome’s most renowned heroes. He quickly left the hall, Artorius following him.
“You look unwell,” Artorius said as they stepped out into the night air.
The tribune’s face was pale, and he looked as if he might become violently ill. The crowds outside the temple had started to disperse as Cassius was led towards the prison adjacent to the nearby Temple of Concord. Cursor had some hateful memories of this place, and he wished to leave at once.
“I asked the senate to order the arrest of one of the greatest living Romans,” he replied, wiping a small handkerchief over his sweating brow, as they walked down the long flight of steps towards the forum. “Cassius Chaerea is one of the bravest soldiers who ever lived, as you well know. But his crimes this day must be held in reckoning, as much as we may hate the thought.”
“What do you think will happen to him?” Artorius asked.
“Were it only Caligula he slew, probably nothing,” Cursor stated, echoing what both men surmised. “The people may shout and make a scene for a short time while demanding justice, but that will die down soon enough. A viable court case could be made to show that Rome was, indeed, in mortal peril because of Gaius Caligula, making his violent removal justified without setting a dangerous precedent.”
“I agree, no one can fault Cassius for murdering Caligula,” Artorius concurred. “However, he went too far. I hear he not only killed the lady Caesonia, but that they bashed his daughter’s brains against the wall. Fucking barbaric…”
“Thankfully, it is not for us to decide his fate,” Cursor concluded as the two men walked along the forum where small groups of lingering onlookers remained.
Cassius declined to be tried in the courts and, instead, demanded that Claudius take personal responsibility for his fate. He was brought before the new emperor the following morning, and while his hands were bound together, he was granted his request that he be allowed to remain in his praetorian armor. Amongst those to accompany him was Gaius Calvinus, a retired centurion primus pilus and former plebian tribune who had fought beside Cassius at Teutoburger Wald and, later, during the Germanic Wars. What his purpose of being there was, no one could say for certain. He simply stood in stoic silence as they waited for deliberations to begin.
A dozen ranking members of the senate were also gathered within the audience chamber at the palace. Two of the senators that had taken part in Caligula’s assassination, Marcus and Regulus, were also present at Claudius’ insistence. They were terrified as to what would happen to them should Claudius condemn Cassius for murdering his nephew. Marcus was a personal friend of Claudius, and the two had shared many perils together during Caligula’s descent into madness towards the end of his reign. Still, the senator knew his friendship would not be enough to absolve him of murder.
Claudius himself paced slowly in front of the imperial throne, clearly vexed. He and Cassius shared a knowing glance, each understanding that the emperor’s decision was inevitable. In truth, Claudius was not legally Caesar yet, for he had not been confirmed by the senate; therefore, he declined wearing the laurel crown or imperial purple on his toga. However, those present were glad to hand him the responsibility of deciding the praetorian’s fate.
“Cassius Chaerea,” Claudius said slowly, doing his best to avoid stammering and to keep his head from twitching. “You are a champion of our people, having served Rome for many years. Your acts of valor in battle are legendary…”
“Respectfully, Caesar,” Cassius interrupted, “I would rather we not recall my entire career, but deal with the matter at hand, lest we be here all day. You know what you must do.”
“That I do,” Claudius replied with a sad nod. He walked slowly towards the praetorian, looking him in the eye. “I will not condemn you for the death of my nephew. Though he was my brother’s son, one does not have to look hard to understand that his death probably saved many lives. While murder must never be condoned, we can show clemency here, knowing that circumstances were desperate, with no other viable options available. Therefore, the charge of murder against Gaius Caligula is hereby dropped.”
There were some quiet murmurings of approval amongst the senators present. It was also clear that by dropping the charge rather than rendering a verdict of not guilty, the fear of setting a dangerous precedent had been avoided.
“However,” Claudius continued, “it was agreed amongst you all that only Caligula should die. You went beyond that. You murdered an innocent woman and her baby. What grievances had they committed against you or against Rome?”
Cassius remained silent. Nothing he could say would change the minds of Claudius or any of those present. He had committed a terrible atrocity. Even in his own mind he could no longer attempt to rationalize his terrible actions.
The emperor continued, “For years I have called you friend; your kindness to me and my family much cherished. And yet, I heard in your o
wn words that you meant to murder me, along with my wife and daughter. Instead of cutting down one, you sought to slay the entire imperial family!”
“I’ll not deny it,” Cassius confirmed. “The republic was far greater to me than our friendship. I took a risk for her, and I lost. The republic is truly dead, and while I am now filled with remorse, I do not regret dying with it.”
“Understand, you have left me no choice,” Claudius emphasized. He turned and walked back to the imperial throne, sitting down before speaking again. “Cassius Chaerea, you are hereby condemned for the murder of Caesonia and her daughter, Julia Drusilla.”
“I don’t ask for your forgiveness, Claudius, but for your understanding,” Cassius replied as guardsmen grabbed him by each arm to take him away. He looked at each of the men, then back to the emperor one last time. “Gods go with you, Caesar. I pray that you do not have to pass too many sentences of death, lest one be passed on you. After all, is that not how we do things now?”
His words turned the emperor’s stomach, and he nodded with his head towards the door, prompting the guards to take Cassius away. Calvinus, who stayed silent throughout the entire ordeal, remained where he stood. Claudius then turned his gaze towards the assembled senators.
His old friend decided to take the initiative. “Caesar,” Marcus said, stepping forward, “what is to become of us?”
“You are a fool, Marcus, if you thought you could restore the republic,” Claudius chastised. He then addressed all the senators present, his voice stern and without trace of stammer. “I am an old republican myself, as you all well know. But we cannot undo the past. Your predecessors in the senate saw fit to hand ultimate power to Augustus nearly seventy years ago. Not one person in this room was even alive when that happened, and the few amongst your peers that were, were but mere children then, with no concept as to what the republic actually was. It is a dream long dead, where it will remain. Rest assured, senators, I will do nothing unconstitutional. I am not like my nephew who fancied himself a god. I am just a man like yourselves. I would rather you deal with me as your colleague and peer. Know that I will make no crucial decisions without first hearing your voice, as well as that of the plebian assembly. I ask that we stand together, as emperor, senate, and people of Rome.”