by Allan Massie
"We shall see."
"Oh no, you will see sense. You will see that you have no choice. Go down to the Senate by all means, and offer to restore the Republic in its old form. You won't find anyone to understand what you mean."
Gnaeus Piso gave me the same advice.
"Of course you're a Republican," he said. "So am I. Of course you detest the tyranny which has been imposed on Rome. So do I. But that's all there is to it. It's not a choice between the empire and the Republic. It's a choice between Tiberius and some other emperor. You must grab the empire by the balls, my friend, or someone else will take a tight and painful grip of yours."
I did not sleep the night before I attended the Senate. It was a calm night in September. The moon was up and the city silent. A cat brushed against my legs as I stood on the terrace of my house gazing beyond the city to the invisible sea. I bent down, picked up the cat and held it in my arms, stroking its back and listening to its contented purr. Everything Livia and Piso said was true; yet I rebelled against the despotism of fact.
I sought to be dull, yet to impress the Senate with the magnitude of empire. I read to them the account of the empire which Augustus had prepared. I deluged them with statistics concerning the number of regular and auxiliary troops serving in the armies, the strength of the navy; details concerning the provinces and dependent kingdoms; the tax receipts, both direct and indirect; the annual expenditure. It was an audit of empire, impressive and daunting in scale. The last sentence repeated the judgment at which Augustus and I myself had independently arrived following the disaster in Germany: that the empire should not be extended beyond its present frontiers.
Then I laid the document aside, and spoke as follows.
"Conscript Fathers, we are all of us heirs of the great history of Rome, children of the great Republic. My own family, as you all know, has played a major part in the development of Rome's greatness. My late father Augustus has overseen the security of the empire, and guided its destiny, for more than forty years, longer than some of you have been alive. You have known no other father of the country. He restored peace within the territories of the Republic. After the civil wars he restored the institutions of the Republic. He extended the frontiers of the empire into lands where the arms of Rome had been unknown. In the words of the poet whom he delighted to honour, he made the world cry: 'Behold them, conquerors, all clad in Roman togas.' He followed the Roman custom: to spare the subject and subdue the proud.
"But now, fellow citizens, we must ask, not only where shall we find his like but, more urgently, whether it is proper that any one man, lacking his supreme qualities, should wield the same degree of power. For my part, I think it is a task beyond any of us. It is certainly beyond me. I was honoured in his last years to be permitted to share his burdens, and, believe me, I know their weight. I know what hard, demanding, hazardous work it is to rule such an empire as Rome's.
"Besides, I would urge you to consider whether it is proper that a state like ours, which can rely on so many distinguished personages, should commit such power to one man, and concentrate the management of the empire in the hands of a single person. Would it not be better, Conscript Fathers, to share it among a number of us?"
The previous night Livia had asked me to rehearse my speech. I had declined to do so, saying that twice-cooked meat never tastes good, but I had given her the gist.
"They won't know what you mean," she said, "and they will be afraid you are trying to trick them. Besides, though you don't know it, they stand rather in awe of you. You've been away so much, you're practically a stranger in Rome, and consequently you have become an enigma. They will be seeking to uncover the secret meaning of your discourse."
"There is no secret meaning," I said, "I am giving them their chance. Over the years I have heard, or come to know of, so many mutterings, so many protests at his concentration of power, so many complaints that the path of honour and glory in which our ancestors delighted is now closed, blocked off, that I wish to give them the opportunity to explore it. That's all." "All?" she said. "They will be scared stiff."
Now, when I finished speaking, there was a prolonged silence in the Curia. It was broken only by a shifting of bodies and a few coughs. I resumed my seat, and waited. Nothing happened. When I looked at a senator, his gaze slipped away.
I sighed. Suddenly I was beset by abject appeals to take Augustus' place… "There was no alternative" it was cried. I rose again and, making an effort to speak courteously, and not to reveal the disgust I felt, I explained that while I did not feel myself capable of assuming the whole burden of government, I was naturally ready to take on any branch of it that they might choose to entrust to me.
C. Asinius Gallus then rose to speak. I knew him for an ambitious man, but an imprudent one. His father had been one of Augustus' generals, but Augustus had never entrusted an army to the son. Moreover, I had cause to dislike, as well as distrust him: he had married my dear Vipsania after our divorce, and treated her badly, partly because his taste ran to very young virgins, and he often proclaimed that the body of a mature woman disgusted him. So, when he got to his feet, I prepared for something disagreeable.
"Tell us, Caesar," he said, "which branch you desire to have handed to you."
"That is not for me to say," I replied. "Frankly, I would be happy to retire altogether from affairs of state. Yet I am ready to accept any duty which the Senate cares to impose upon me."
"That's not good enough," Gallus said, "and we all know it. For if we nominate a branch which does not please you, then we shall offend you and since you already have the power, by reason of your tribune's status, to annul any decision we take, and since you have already shown your willingness to employ the power entrusted to you by the fact that you have accepted a bodyguard of the Praetorians, none of us is likely to make the sort of specific proposal you call for. Besides, you have misunderstood the nature of my question. It was never my intention that we should parcel out functions which, frankly, are indivisible. I only put forward my question in order to make it quite clear that the state is a single organic whole which requires that it be directed by a single mind. And who, Conscript Fathers, better than Tiberius, who has won such great honours, denied the rest of us, in war, and who has done the state, and Augustus, such service in peace?"
After this speech there was a general confused babble, as one senator after another (and sometimes more than one at the same time) protested that they had no wish but to surrender the power that belonged to them into my hands. Quintus Haterius even went so far as to cry out: "How long, Caesar, will you allow the state to have no head?" — as if Augustus had been dead for years rather than a few days.
Finally, Mamercus Aemilius Scaurus, a man never without a sneer on his lips, remarked that since I had not used my tribune's power to veto the motion which suggested I should replace Augustus, he hoped that the Senate's prayers would not go unrewarded. His comment was greeted with acclamation. He smiled, pleased to be the object of general attention and to have forced me towards the unwelcome chalice. For Scaurus was one of the few senators intelligent enough to understand that I was sincere and it pleased him to destroy my hope that someone would consent to take up part of the burden, and so make it possible to attempt to restore the Republic.
I was beaten. Driven to power by a generation fit for slavery, there was bitterness in my heart as I indicated my acceptance. What was I accepting? Misery and back-breaking labour. What was I setting aside? The hope of happiness. "I shall do as you ask," 1 growled, "until I grow so old that you may be good enough to grant me a respite."
That evening I was prostrated by a migraine. I dismissed the slaves whose remedies were vain. Sejanus stroked my head with a napkin soaked in vinegar.
"You shouldn't work yourself into these states," he said. "It's because you live in a world formed by your own imagination, a world where men still seek to practise virtue. But it's not like that. In your heart you know it isn't. It's just your obstinate Claud
ian pride that insists that other men ought to have standards like yours. You don't understand human nature. It's made up of wolves, jackals and lambs. And the occasional lion such as you."
"What are you yourself, dear boy?"
"When I'm with you, I feel I might be a lion's cub. On my own I recognise myself as a wolf." He soaked the napkin again.
"Is that any better? In the same way you won't admit the truth about the empire, though you know in your heart of hearts what it is. It's impossible that we should be an empire beyond Italy and the Republic at home. The two forms of government don't mix, and the Republic could never administer the empire."
He wiped my brow again.
"There," he sighed, "you're committed to it. You can't escape ever. Now you must sleep. I'll put out the light."
2
Sejanus comforted me as no other could. He was no longer the happy, if circumspect, boy I had first known on Rhodes, but a man in the prime of life, of matchless vigour and capacity. His judgment was admirable, his industry extraordinary. But it was his buoyancy that I valued most. I am by nature melancholic, given to brooding and depression, forever conscious of dangers and difficulties. His sanguine temperament uplifted me. I had only to see him stride towards me, that frank and confident smile on his face, his whole air one of athletic well-being, to feel the clouds lift. He had, moreover, one other great virtue: he always, it seemed to me, told me the truth. This is rare, for truth is what men like to conceal from those who exercise power.
Of course, people were jealous and tried to turn me against him. My niece Agrippina, for instance, despised him for his comparatively humble birth, and lack of ancestors — as if Sejanus was not at least as well born as her father Marcus Agrippa. She was also forever complaining of his manners, merely because he did not practise polite insincerity. Others denounced him in anonymous letters, and Scaurus drew me aside to inform me that he "knew for a fact" that, in his youth, Sejanus had been the catamite of the debauched moneylender Marcus Gavius Apicius, and that his fortunes were founded on this liaison.
"What's more," he said, "Apicius still makes him an allowance and in return Sejanus procures young guardsmen for him. What do you think of that, Tiberius?"
"You seem to forget," I replied, "that Sejanus is married to Apicius' daughter, Apicata, and is the father of her two children. I think that contradicts your malicious assertions."
Nevertheless my denial did not entirely convince me myself, for I knew Apicius and could imagine how desirable he would have found the youthful Sejanus. Nor did I believe that, as a boy, Sejanus would have resisted the temptation of physical pleasure. The second part of the accusation seemed merely spiteful. However, I arranged that a watch be kept on Apicius' acquaintance.
Concern with such matters was abruptly thrust aside. Word came that the army in Pannonia had mutinied. This was especially painful to me, since the legions stationed there had long been under my own command. Their complaints were manifold, also long-standing, for they were experiencing one of those periodic revulsions from service which may afflict even veteran soldiers. The ringleader was a fellow called Percennius who, having worked as a professional cheerleader in the theatre before becoming a soldier (to escape the just wrath of an offended father, as discovered later), knew how to incite crowds with his insolent tongue. To their subsequent shame, many of the soldiers listened to him, indulging in the vain hope of oversetting the reality of their existence; even those who knew better were either carried away for the moment, or did not dare to argue with their intoxicated comrades. Some of the officers were beaten, others fled in panic; one, a company-commander called Lucilius, noted for his strict discipline, had his throat cut.
Mutiny is as simple as it is serious. Whatever the grievances of mutineers, however justified they may be, they cannot be appeased till order is restored. That is a fundamental condition of military life. I therefore had no hesitation in acting to restore order.
I entrusted the task to my son Drusus. He was, of course, young for the job, but 1 had every confidence in his good sense. Moreover it seemed to me that the despatch of my own son would convince the sensible element in the legions of my benevolence and confidence. I sent two battalions of the Praetorian Guard with him, strengthened beyond their normal numbers by picked drafts and with them, three troops of horse guards and four companies of my most trusted German auxiliaries. Naturally Sejanus, whom I had appointed joint commander of the Guard, with his distinguished father L. Seius Strabo, led these troops and, to enhance his authority, I made him Drusus' chief of staff.
Before they set off, I said to them: "There is nobody I trust more than you, Drusus, my only son, and you Sejanus, for whom I have the most tender fatherly feelings. You are going to the place of honour and danger. I cannot give you precise instructions. You must exercise your judgment according to the circumstances in which you find yourself. But keep two things in mind: first, many of the soldiers' grievances will be legitimate, and ought to be satisfied. Second, you cannot safely satisfy them till they have submitted to their ancient discipline, and order has been restored. Take this letter and read it to them as a preliminary. It states that the heroic soldiers of Rome, who have been my comrades in so many arduous, yet glorious campaigns, are dear to my heart, and that, as soon as I have recovered from the shock of my bereavement — I refer of course to the death of Augustus — I shall refer their grievances to the Senate. Meanwhile, you, Drusus, have the authority to grant any concessions that may be safely granted. Make the soldiers understand that the Senate is capable of generosity as well as of severity…"
I embraced them both and watched them ride off with hearts that were lighter than my own. This was natural: they were young and proceeding to the point of action; I was old and condemned to remain in Rome, unable further to influence events. The next weeks were anxious for me.
They were made more anxious by news from the Rhine. Possibly inspired by news of the Danube mutinies, the legions there followed suit. These were the responsibility of my nephew and adopted son Germanicus. Since he was supreme commander in Gaul and on the Rhine frontier, I had no choice but to entrust the suppression of the mutinies to him, setting aside whatever doubts I might have myself as to his ability to do so. These doubts were real, for Germanicus, though a young man of great charm and enterprise, was cursed with the itch of popularity. Moreover, it was soon reported to me that certain elements among the mutineers hoped to persuade him to lead them in civil war, even though he had taken an oath of loyalty to me as Augustus' successor.
The response of the three young men to the dangers into which they were thrust was significant. Drusus and Sejanus behaved with diplomatic skill, and exemplary fortitude; Germanicus like an actor. The accounts each gave reveal much of their individual characters, and hint at future difficulties I was to experience.
Drusus wrote as follows:
When we arrived here, Father, the situation was even worse than I had imagined. The soldiers, as I preferred always to think even of the mutineers, met us at the gate of the camp. It was shocking to see their disarray. The men were disgustingly dirty, but they were not as disorganised as they looked, for as soon as we were gathered in the camp, they picketed the gates and placed armed outposts at key points. It was almost as if we were their prisoners; certainly we were in a sense hostages. Nevertheless I mounted the rostrum and read your letter to them. This calmed them for a moment and they put forward an officer, Julius Clemens, whom you will remember as skilful in staff-work, to present their demands. Clemens, I should say, had agreed to be associated with the mutineers in order to try to act as a bridge between them and the authorities. I should say that he showed considerable courage and public spirit in undertaking this dangerous role, which he performed in a manner that won my admiration. He now presented demands concerning conditions of service — asking that this be limited to sixteen years, that pay be increased to four sesterces a day, and that they should be guaranteed freedom from recall after release. I repl
ied that these demands did not seem altogether unreasonable, but that they were matters which would require to be referred to the emperor and Senate. I added that I would urge you, my father, and the Senate to look sympathetically on them.
This answer appeased a great part of the crowd. Unfortunately, however, one of the ringleaders, a private named Vibulenius, realised that the mutiny in which he and his like so delighted, since it gave them a sense of power that they had never previously experienced, was in danger of withering away. So he fanned the flames.
"Why is it," he cried, "that when it comes to decisions about our conditions of service, the emperor calls in the Senate? But when it's a matter of punishment or battles we don't hear anything about the Senate. In the old days Tiberius used to shelter behind Augustus when it came to denying us satisfaction for our grievances; now Drusus has come here to hide behind Tiberius…"
Well, the meeting broke up with nothing decided, but at least without the outbreak of violence which seemed likely at one point. All the same, the situation was extremely tense. Any officer or member of the Guard whom the mutineers encountered was insulted and some were attacked. Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus, for instance, was hit on the head by a stone, and would have been lynched but for the arrival of a troop of the Guards. Still, we got to our huts and were able to take counsel.
It was obvious to us that most of the men were reasonable, as men usually are, individually, but that they were incited to a sort of temporary madness by a subversive minority, who did not have the men's welfare at heart, but sought only to enjoy their unexpected power and licence. Someone remarked that what we had to do was to divide the sheep from the goats, as it were, or rather the sheep from the wild dogs. "Divide and rule" should be our game-plan. I therefore agreed that officers of my staff should venture into the camp, holding as many private discussions as they deemed safe, in an attempt to identify the wild dogs and to persuade the sheep that we would urge careful consideration of their grievances, always reminding them of the care you have always shown for their welfare, and pointing out also that it would be difficult to treat honourably soldiers who seemed to have abandoned the discipline and sense of duty characteristic of their calling. I may say that the courage of those officers who undertook this perilous assignment was remarkable; their skill in carrying it out wholly commendable, for during that night the good soldiers gradually disengaged themselves from those who had incited them. A sense of obedience gradually crept over the camp, like the first light of dawn. The soldiers withdrew themselves from the gates, and the eagles and standards set up at the outbreak of the mutiny were returned to their proper place.