We argued much in those days, often coming to blows; being older and larger, I would always give him a severe beating – for which I was usually punished – and this drove him further away from me and closer to Germanicus, whom he considered to be more of a brother than me, his blood.
With no one with whom to share memories of a lost childhood I felt more and more isolated and my bitterness burnt away inside me. This manifested itself in bouts of extreme violence and I became feared on the wrestling sand; my temper would flare if I began to lose, and my respect for the rules and etiquette of the sport would evaporate in an instant and I would have to be hauled off my bloodied opponent by the wrestling-master and given a thrashing.
After one such incident a youth, about my age, pushed through the crowd jeering at me as I received some harsh strokes of the rod.
‘Leave him!’ he ordered my flagellator. ‘I’ll give him a lesson in Roman behaviour on the sand.’
The wrestling-master let me go; I stood up and looked at my challenger. He seemed familiar but I could not place him; I certainly had not seen him training on the Campus Martius before – but then I was only allowed down every so often, so it was quite possible that our paths had never crossed. He was not strongly built for a youth of fourteen or so and slightly shorter than me. Large blue eyes, a full-lipped mouth and light brown hair, he looked more like a pleasure-boy, the sort that I had seen roaming some of the less-salubrious streets of Rome that I would occasionally explore when I managed to slip the attentions of my chaperone.
He stepped forward onto the sand, rolling his shoulders and fixing me with a determined glare. He was, like me, naked. Sand from a previous bout stuck in patches on his oiled skin and there was bruising up his arms and on his chest as if he had been recently bested.
I strode forward, the welts of my beating smarted but I did not let that show; I looked at him with the confidence of someone who makes judgements based solely upon what the eye can see. ‘I look forward to my lesson with relish.’
‘That’s good because I can assure you that you won’t look back on it with the same feeling.’
‘I’m sure I’ll savour it more.’
‘Arrogant barbarians need to be put in their place.’ He crouched facing me and I copied his stance, circling around him, changing direction, as he slapped my shoulders and upper arms trying to get a firm grip on oiled skin.
I responded in kind and also slammed my forearms left and right, blocking his attempts to grapple me. Moving my feet with irregular steps was a trick that I had learnt; it made it harder for your opponent to predict the direction of your next move, yet it did not seem to confuse this youth at all. Round we went, left then right, slapping at each other with open palms, landing stinging blows that could not quite be converted into a firm hold. A smack around the side of my head made my ears ring and earned my opponent a cheer from the growing crowd. I forced my right arm up, crunching his away before he could convert the blow into a grip around the back of my neck, then countered with a feint to my left and followed with a sharp move forward with my right foot in an attempt to hook around the back of his knee. He read it easily and, as my leg flashed forward, he jumped back and reached down with his left hand, grabbing my calf; he jerked it up as his right hand went for my foot, twisting it towards him with a sudden, brutal motion that forced my body to roll with it rather than have the tendons in my ankle stretched beyond endurance. In an instant I spun in the air as he tightened his hold on my foot; as I rolled over he powered forward, forcing my leg to bend so that my heel almost rammed into my buttock, sending me crashing down, face first, in an explosion of sand accompanied by the jeers and laughter of the spectators. Rough grit scraped the skin from my chin, the tip of my nose and forehead and clung to my watering eyes. I rolled onto my back, blinking incessantly, my vision blurred with sand, and I felt my temper rise as my humiliation grew.
I rubbed my eyes clear and could see the youth standing over me, sneering and beckoning me to stand up; the crowd clapped their hands in slow time and my temper broke.
Pushing back with my hands, I propelled my aching body forward and leapt at him with a high-pitched cry of rage and, with no thought for the rules, went at him with my fists clenched. I felt my knuckles crunch into his chin and then crack onto the side of his head. He made no reply but just stood, leering at me. I lashed out with a flurry of wild punches, roaring incoherently, and then something happened that changed my outlook on life for ever: with lightning-swift motion, the youth caught both my fists in the palms of his hands, clamping them firm and then slowly forcing them down.
‘What’s the point in cheating just a little bit?’ he hissed between clenched teeth, twisting my wrists outwards. ‘You either play by the rules or break them to such an extent that your opponent is completely taken unawares and everyone fears you for daring to go so far.’
The pressure mounted and I collapsed to my knees, grimacing with pain. Suddenly he released my left fist and pushed the right one out; grabbing my elbow with his free hand he crunched my arm down onto his rising knee. A white flash of pain seared through my head as I heard my forearm snap like dead wood and I must have screamed, although I have no memory of it.
‘That’s how to cheat; anything less is pitiful and demeans both you and your opponent.’
I fell to the ground, clutching my shattered limb, tears of pain streaming down my agonised face and coagulating the sand stuck to it into a sticky mud.
After a few moments writhing in agony I became aware that there was absolute silence surrounding me; I opened my eyes to see the crowd looking in open-mouthed astonishment at my vanquisher.
He stepped forward and hauled me up. ‘It’s a clean break; it’ll set well. I’ll have my father’s physician come to your house to set it.’ He put an arm around my shoulder and guided me through the crowd of spectators; they parted for us without a word. My chaperone, an elderly slave from the household, slipped my tunic over my head, collected my sandals and loincloth and then followed us back to the Palatine.
The youth dropped me at Antonia’s house with a promise that the physician would attend to me imminently.
He arrived sooner than I expected and, as he examined my broken arm, I asked him the name of the youth.
He looked at me in astonishment as if everyone should know the boy’s name. ‘He’s my master’s youngest adopted son.’
And then, of course, I knew why his face had been so familiar: I had seen him before at Drusus’ funeral; he was Lucius Julius Caesar.
Lucius called on me the next day and to my great astonishment and confusion seemed very amicably disposed towards me.
‘How does it feel?’ he asked, coming into my room unannounced.
I looked at him in surprise. ‘It throbs,’ I blurted.
‘I suppose it will for a few days.’ He sat on a stool in the corner of the room, leant back against the wall and put his feet on the low table next to my bed. For a while he surveyed me in silence.
At first I did not know what to make of it and then it started to annoy me. ‘What are you looking at?’
‘That’s a stupid question.’
I grunted, vaguely acknowledging the truth of that observation, and then held his gaze. ‘Why did you purposely break my arm and then come and see if I was all right?’
‘That’s a better one.’ He smiled, not at me but to himself.
‘Well?’
‘I suppose I was bored.’
‘Bored?’
‘Yes, bored; you know: my mind insufficiently occupied because of the repetitiveness of life.’
‘I know what bored means!’
‘Then why did you ask?’
‘I didn’t ask what it meant, I asked … I asked … well, why?’ ‘I wanted to see how you’d take it.’
‘Badly.’
‘No, remarkably well; at least I thought so. And I wanted to see whether you’d learn from it.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Oh, I’ve learnt from it a
nd it was a very painful lesson.’
‘All the best ones are.’
‘That’s not true.’
Lucius thought for a moment. ‘No, I suppose that was rubbish; I had a very enjoyable, pain-free lesson only last night.’
I managed a half-smile.
‘So?’
‘So, what?’
‘So, what did you learn?’
‘I learnt that next time I wrestle with you I’m going to wrench your balls off and then break both your arms and say that anything less is pitiful and would demean both of us.’
‘Ha!’ He clapped his hands. ‘I knew you’d understand; you’ll be perfect.’
‘Perfect for what?’
‘Perfect for me now that my brother seems to spend most of his life playing at politics. A sixteen-year-old sitting in the Senate! What bollocks.’
‘But he’s Augustus’ heir.’
‘So am I; but he’s welcome to it. I want to have some fun before I’m forced to grow up and behave like a gout-ridden ex-consul. I can’t get too friendly with the boys of my class because I’m not stupid; they’ll use that friendship for their own gain in the future or the friendship will cloud my judgement. So I have to look elsewhere for companionship.’
‘And a barbarian suits you just fine?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Because I’ll never play a part in your empire’s politics?’
‘Precisely.’
‘And therefore I’ll have nothing to gain from our friendship.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So you’ll feel that I’m a genuine friend and not a sycophant?’
‘True; but more to the point, my adopted father will think that and won’t object to you being my companion.’
‘Why should he care?’
‘Because, obviously, you’ll have to move into the palace; how else can we be educated together?’
‘And do I have any say in this?’
‘Of course.’
‘And what if I say no?’
‘Oh, I don’t think you’d do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’d be missing out on a lot of fun. I’m the Emperor’s adopted son; I can do almost anything I want.’
And so I moved into Augustus’ house and became the friend of the joint heir to the imperial purple.
Tiburtius rolled up the scroll.
Thumelicatz smiled, without warmth, at the Romans. ‘I find it a very pleasing irony that the person who showed my father that life must be lived to the extreme and the man who dares to go furthest will always win, was at one point destined to become your emperor.’
The younger brother waved a dismissive hand. ‘Lucius would never have become emperor; his elder brother Gaius was being groomed for that.’
‘Nevertheless, he was Augustus’ co-heir whilst he lived and had he not died two years before his brother who knows how history would have changed.’
Thusnelda pointed a finger at the Romans. ‘One thing is for sure and that’s Lucius was a great influence on my husband. He accepted no boundaries either in pleasure, violence, vengeance or daring. Erminatz told me many stories of their escapades: street fights, sexual excesses, arson, sacrilege, just about anything. Nothing was sacred, nothing was off-limits and nobody was too exalted to escape their schemes.’
‘Except for the Emperor and his wife, Livia,’ Thumelicatz interjected.
‘Yes, except those two. Lucius was very clever; in front of them he behaved impeccably, always the perfect-mannered youth of great promise. Anytime one of his exploits was brought to Augustus’ attention Lucius would always deny it with wide-eyed outrage, insisting that he couldn’t possibly have been responsible for whatever he had been accused of as he had been learning Virgil, or whatever, by heart with Erminatz; and then to prove it he would recite hundreds of lines perfectly and beautifully and Augustus would believe him. Livia, however, wouldn’t; she hated Lucius and his brother as she saw them as obstacles to her only surviving son, Tiberius, becoming emperor. At this time Tiberius had left Rome and retired to Rhodos; people said it was because he couldn’t stand the lewd behaviour of his wife, Julia, Augustus’ daughter and the mother of Lucius and Gaius. Livia knew that the removal of Julia and her sons would leave the way clear for Tiberius to return and become Augustus’ heir; so that’s what she plotted to do. Augustus would not believe anything bad about his family – which is why Lucius would always get away with his antics – but Livia gently dripped poison into his ears until eventually he had Julia exiled to a barren island and her marriage to Tiberius annulled. And once that happened the lives of the two boys were in great danger.’
Thumelicatz held the palm of one hand towards her. ‘Mother, you are leaping ahead; first we listen to the one example that Erminatz gives of his and Lucius’ behaviour and we’ll see how Lucius’ way of solving problems deeply influenced my father when he came to deciding how to defeat Varus. Aius, read on.’
CHAPTER IIII
Being Lucius’ friend could not be described as dull but what would be dull is to list all the outrages we perpetrated. I shall describe just one as it illustrates perfectly the large scale in which Lucius’ mind worked, and also it concerns someone already mentioned in my narrative.
I had been living in Augustus’ house with Lucius for almost two years and I had been thoroughly enjoying myself. Lucius left a trail of destruction wherever he went and I loved following in his wake; I felt as if I was in some way having my vengeance on the city that held me captive by helping Lucius wreak havoc on its streets and population. And, if I’m truthful, I had begun to feel at ease in my captivity in that I no longer felt held against my will; perhaps, despite myself, I was becoming Roman.
A particular favourite pastime of Lucius’ was to attend the gladiatorial games whenever they were on. He used to take a perverse pleasure in calling for the opposite decision to the crowd, so if they wanted to spare a defeated gladiator he would loudly demand his death and the other way around. Being the adoptive son of Augustus, the games’ sponsors would want to please him so they would often go against the popular wish just to ingratiate themselves with the possible future emperor. He used to enjoy seeing how far he could push the sponsor; one time he pushed so far that it caused a riot in the amphitheatre in which over a hundred people were crushed to death.
Obviously he would never indulge in this sort of behaviour if Augustus was present as he never did anything to tarnish his reputation in Augustus’ eyes; he was far too clever for that.
We were at a huge, temporary wooden arena, constructed on the Campus Martius for the plebeian games that year, and had been watching a fight between a murmillo and a Thracian. The fight had been lacklustre and the murmillo had soon tired; he seemed rather old and not destined to be long for this world. The Thracian soon overcame him and had him lying on his back with the tip of his sword to his throat whilst the crowd hissed and booed and began to chant for his death.
‘This’ll piss them off,’ Lucius said with the wicked grin that always presaged an act of calculated mischief. ‘Life! Life!’ he bellowed at the praetor who had sponsored the games and had the final word on the fate of the downed man. ‘Life! Life!’
The praetor looked around nervously, assessing the crowd’s mood as they bayed for the man’s death.
Lucius chanted against them. ‘Life! Life!’ He pounded his fist into his hand with the beat and incessantly bellowed at the praetor.
The sponsor got to his feet and held out his arm with his fist clenched. The crowd stared at him, waiting for him to stick out his thumb in mimicry of an unsheathed sword, the sign for death. He stood there, motionless, his thumb firmly clenched. The crowd began to throw things at him but he did not change the signal and Lucius carried on his chant. The summa rudis acted on the call and moved the Thracian away, allowing the murmillo to get to his feet. The crowd went wild, screaming abuse at the sponsor as the murmillo walked off the sand. Just before he got to the gate he took off his hel
met and I gasped.
‘What is it?’ Lucius asked through his laughter.
I stared at the retreating gladiator in disbelief. ‘I know him.’
‘Well, he’s a lucky man; who is he?’
I stared harder to make sure that I was not mistaken but despite his lack of beard and his hair cut short, Roman style, I knew it was him. ‘He’s my mother’s brother, Vulferam, my Cousin Aldhard’s father; we didn’t know whether he had died in our last battle with your people or had been taken prisoner.’
Lucius’ countenance became suddenly solemn. ‘Family, eh? Then it’s your duty to free him and, as your friend, it’s my duty to help you.’
‘That’s the only way in and out,’ Lucius said as we completed a circuit of the gladiatorial school to which Vulferam belonged. It was a two-storey complex outside the city walls, on the Campus Martius, on the opposite side of the Flamian Way to the mausoleum that Augustus was then in the process of building for himself and his family. ‘And although we could quite easily be allowed in there’s no way that we would be allowed to walk out with one of their possessions.’
I looked at the iron-grille gates standing firmly closed and guarded by four bulky ex-inmates of the establishment, more to prevent egress rather than ingress. ‘I still think that we should just make the lanista an offer and purchase his freedom. It would be so much simpler.’
Lucius turned to me with his brow furrowed in a pained expression. ‘Where’s the fun in simple? Simple is what you do if there’s no time for the grand gesture, the extravagant, the outrageous. We have plenty of time, Arminius; your uncle won’t fight again for at least a month or two and it won’t take that long to work out how to burn this place down.’
‘Burn it down?’
Lucius grinned. ‘Of course; what better way to get the gates open? We’ll get your uncle away in the chaos and it’ll just be assumed that he’s one of the poor unfortunates lying as a charred corpse in the ruins.’
‘Let’s hope that he’s not and that we don’t end up sharing the same fate.’
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