Tiberius.
Tiberius was the key. And not only would Livia have to convince him to return to Rome, to accept his fate, but we had to keep him alive. Exile or not, the man had enemies. There were people who feared him, and were horrified by his possible return. People who smelled the weakness of Tiberius in his exile, and wanted him dead, were Livia’s nightmare. The bitch had to try to figure out how to convince Tiberius she had not killed Drusus, her son and the brother Tiberius had loved. She had to work hard to make Augustus forgive Tiberius for leaving Rome so abruptly in the hour of Rome’s greatest need, and she had to make sure Tiberius would not be murdered.
And so, we sought out such conspiracies.
To keep Tiberius alive in a faraway Rhodes, where he had secluded himself at the height of his power, the man who had been destined to guard Rome while Gaius and Lucius grew, we had to creep in the shadows of Rome, removing threats.
Some have been real, others imagined. We had killed people since we returned to Rome.
It made Wandal unhappy. It made Tudrus frown. Their suffering made me miserable, apologetic, desperate. Their honor was being stretched. I watched Wandal, especially. While he was there with us, in the Forum, to remove a threat, to discover new ones, he was much deeper in his thoughts than I had ever seen him.
I couldn’t blame him. I could only be grateful.
And sorry.
And afraid, since many of us had fallen in a quest they had thrown themselves into, and I could not repay them. Instead, we remained in danger. Livia was ruthless. She could, and would ask for anything, as time passed. My mind had numbed to the horror. I simply thought of Cassia, and of my son Gervas, as did Adalwulf think about his family when we had to take a mission we knew could end badly. Wandal, Tudrus, and his brother Agetan all walked along, out of loyalty, knowing well we might fall any day. They had lives to lose, loved ones as well, as Tudrus and Euanthe were a fine couple. My only real ally was Gernot, my brother, who thrived in the underworld of Rome. Shipping, grain, and deeds best left in the dark, Gernot too was under Livia’s eye, but he no longer let anyone surprise him. What he had suffered when Livia had him taken, I had no idea. He never told me the details. He was rich enough to evade her men.
As to how many men she had? I wasn’t sure. There were three gaunt Ubii of the guard, of which at least one was always with her. Perhaps there were more.
I was startled by the Syrian, who was cursing, and clutching my hand as the murmillo sliced the air beside the throat of the thrax.
The three men were arguing.
Likely, they were late. The freedmen, formerly slaves, were in the service of Marcus Lollius, the advisor to Augustus, the rector to Gaius and Lucius, and a man who hated Tiberius. They had daily schedules to keep as they collected letters from various clients of Augustus, and took them to Marcus, who sorted them.
Unfortunately, Marcus was Livia’s worst nightmare.
Marcus had the ear of Augustus, and while Livia was Augustus’ wife, Marcus had no love for Tiberius. There was a story set in the past where the two had a nearly fatal adventure in Germania. Adalwulf was involved somehow.
Damn Tiberius. Damn him to Helheim.
I had not always loathed him. I had come to Rome to serve him in his quest to find the killer of his brother. To discover who had killed Nero Claudius Drusus, my friend, my lord, and the man I had sworn to serve, after Germania rejected me, had been our common quest. He had loved his brother well. I had served Drusus well. I had also served Tiberius faithfully, though the man called Stone-Jaws was hardly an amicable man. And yet, he had honored his brother’s promises. He had made Cassia and me Roman, and given me, and my friends service in the Corporis Custodes Germani, where we had been well-placed to find out the truth of the death of his brother. Tiberius was not like Drusus, no, and the restoration of the Republic wasn’t his goal, nor was rulership. He simply wanted to serve Augustus. He gave us everything.
Unfortunately, he had bidden me to help his mother Livia in the quest. She too, wanted to find and punish the killers and schemers. Livia wanted us to guard her Tiberius, her remaining son, and already had an idea who had been to blame for Drusus. So did Tiberius.
Julia, they both thought Julia, the daughter of Augustus, the mother to the heirs of the empire was to blame, and that Tiberius was next to die.
We had navigated a treacherous river of deceit. We had surged on the final quest to find and punish the killer. In return, we hoped to find a place for our renegade band of Marcomanni and Quadi. We wanted to finish the quest that had begun with Father’s return to our village and we served well.
Alas, the truth we found was far more dangerous than anything we had imagined. The quest to find the truth had made us filthy to our core. The quest claimed the lives of those we loved. Bohscyld, Brimwulf, Mathildis. The price had been terribly high.
And in the end, we had indeed found Julia to be guilty of a conspiracy. She and Iullus, son of infamous Mark Anthony, had conspired to kill Tiberius. And Augustus. Julia, the woman I had guarded, investigated, and who had claimed me as a friend, and a reluctant lover, like she had Father once, had been found guilty, indeed. Thanks to me she was caught, and the years of suffering in her bed, while Cassia, my wife, and Gervas were living without me, was the price I had to pay.
Julia was caught.
But not condemned.
Her secret was kept by Augustus. Nothing could threaten the plans of Augustus. Julia’s daughters would marry the high men, and her sons would inherit Augustus’s power, titles, and clients. Julia herself was no longer a part of the family, but the shame was cloaked, hidden and kept under covers.
It had left me dissatisfied. Disappointed. Confused.
And yet, while Livia had been right about Julia’s guilt in the attempted murder of Tiberius, she had not been guilty of the death of Drusus. Digging deeper to the lies, thanks to Gernot’s stubborn investigation, I had finally discovered the truth.
Livia.
I still couldn’t believe she had done it all. The queen of blood sucking spiders had destroyed her own son, the great Drusus, the son who wanted to restore the Republic. She had made sure that Drusus, her son who hoped to undo all Augustus had achieved, was killed in a war far from Rome. She desired Tiberius to step over the sons of Julia, to push past the blood of Augustus, and she had planned to kill every single man who could step up to the task of governing the land, and had first made sure Drusus would never lead armies to topple Augustus. Tiberius was all she cared about. His future was her life. She had betrayed her brave son, her old husband, and ultimately, also Tiberius.
Because Tiberius learnt of the deceit. Thanks to me, he did.
And he didn’t react well.
At the height of his power, with tribunical power freshly imposed on him, and with Augustus waiting for him to help elevate Gaius and Lucius, Tiberius had gone into self-imposed exile in Rhodes at the horror of his mother’s deeds. Upsetting Rome, Augustus, and Livia, Tiberius had gone away silently. Faced with a dilemma of having been exposed and the one boy she cared about in exile, Livia was weaving her nets furiously.
How? How would Tiberius come back, knowing the truth? What would force him?
The gladiators lunged. Both at the same time, they banged shields together, trying to stab at each other from high. Both missed and they were panting harder now, and the crowd, many of whom thought they saw a weakness in the thrax, were exchanging fresh bets.
One would die.
I should be dead.
After the terrible discovery, Livia had tried to kill me. After I found the truth, Tiberius at least had given me a chance. I had met him in Rhodes, and he had bestowed upon me the condemning scroll of Livia’s former crony, the Prefect of the Germani Guard, Kleitos, who had penned the scroll as an insurance. In it; full confession on his and Livia’s part in the schemes that got Drusus killed.
I had that scroll.
I had hidden it, or rather, given it to someone I trusted well.
It would end one day. Everything would. Livia’s promises rang in my mind.
She lied. We would die. All of us. Scroll or not.
We were her swords, the ones she feared, but used, until she could break us. And now, we were stalking men of Marcus Lollius, the fine friend of Augustus, the advisor to Gaius Caesar, the future Princeps. Lollius was also friends to Iullus Antonius, who had conspired with Julia against Tiberius. Iullus was in a house arrest, Julia’s former lover, and co-conspirator to the murder of Tiberius, and these men of Lollius had a habit of visiting Iullus for letters to Augustus. We had men watching the house of Iullus. One of us, every day, walked the streets around it. We knew these men well. These men took letters from Iullus, who was only allowed to write to Augustus. None else. Such letters were meticulously checked before being handed to the courier, but Tudrus, while watching the house one day, had noticed something else.
They always left by the same alley toward Palatine Hill, and on that alley, the red-tunic man always picked up something.
A scroll, tossed from a balcony, Tudrus had thought.
It had happened twice, and on both times, the men had gone on to the Palatine, where they had given the scrolls to Marcus Lollius, both the ones that they were supposed to, and the ones that were picked up while the guards of Augustus couldn’t see. Iullus was sending something to someone, and using Marcus Lollius to do so. Or at least his men. We wanted the scroll he had picked up that day.
Adalwulf, his blond locks hidden under a hooded cloak leaned on me. “These damned fools are too thick to be important. I’m sure this will lead to nothing.”
“Tell that to Livia,” I snarled. “She is certain even the slaves are collecting coin to pay for someone to kill Tiberius. She is crazy.”
“I have told that to her,” he said simply. “Have you seen Flower lately?”
I shook my head. The slave who had been Cassia’s had betrayed us all, but not Livia. She had worked Livia’s evil, and lately, none had seen her. It was very likely Livia had silenced her for good.
“I have not,” I told him. “But who else serves her, eh? We are the ones who slit throats. Her Ubii only look pretty staring at her back.”
He laughed softly. “I am sure she has buried bodies with her own hands before.”
“Flower is dead,” he said.
“Yes,” I said simply, and knew what he meant to say. “We shall keep a close eye on each other. We won’t die.”
“One day, we shall.”
“Not if we have swords, and won’t let her surprise us,” I added, watching the three men moving to get a better look as the gladiators moved to our right.
Adalwulf went on. “And I also told her we must see our families.” He spat. We had discussed this.
She had refused.
I bit my lip to stop myself from raging, and managed to speak evenly. “Rancid bitch. Filth in a silk tunic. How can we know they are even alive?”
“She said,” he answered with a sneer, “that they are alive, that they are happy, like a travelling group of actors, going from one of her villas to another, visiting friends of hers, and never in one place for long.” He rubbed his hands together. He had a violent streak like I did, and had as hard of a time controlling it. “She claims our children are growing fat. I cannot tell what is true, and what is not. I remind you, Hraban, that my child has been her victim for longer than yours.”
Wulf. His son.
Years older than my Gervas.
I said nothing. He was right. His family had been under Livia’s thumb for a longer time than mine. He had betrayed us for his family, and our friends had died.
And I would have done the same.
“We have to,” I said softly, not for the first time, “find a way from this service. Tiberius will never come back. How could he? Augustus hates him, and Livia is right in thinking people are doing all they can to keep Tiberius far away. But we have to find a way to regain them.”
He shook his head, his long, blond hair swaying aggressively. “And if we regain them, we must flee through Roman lands, and find a home if we can. But perhaps we cannot.”
“Surely,” I said, an old argument, “there is a place where Rome cannot reach us.”
“There is no such place,” Adalwulf said stiffly. “East, Parthia rules. Woden knows what lies behind it. In the south, deserts, and hostile tribes. West, there is just an unconquered island. It will fall, one day. And our land?” He spat. “Germania is slowly falling to Rome. There is no place to hide in Midgard, should we be able to rescue Gisil and Cassia, Gervas and Wulf, Hraban. There is no hole in the ground, no hall in the depths of Germania that she, Germani traitors, merchants, speculatores, or Roman armies won’t find. She has the resources, the patience, and the will. I wish it were not so, but she might be right. The only way out of this is to obey her. To restore Tiberius to his glory.”
We watched as the gladiators circled each other. The three men were howling encouragements.
“She wants Tiberius to rule,” I stated. “Tiberius hates the thought. Would have refused it even without Livia being a murdering bitch who killed his brother.”
He grunted. “He has no ambition, you think?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve known him for long years, longer than you have, far longer, and I think he is a bit like a man who must be drunk to achieve greatness.”
“You suggest we get Tiberius drunk?” I asked, amused.
“I suggest,” he said tiredly, “that he might enjoy the idea of power if he sampled such power. He would be a spiteful, sarcastic ruler, who would do good deeds, but he would also be a scourge to sycophants and clients who try to use him. He might turn out to be a tyrant, disappointed in people, and I think, I am not sure, that he might grow to love the punishments he can mete out. He claims he doesn’t wish the power. But he might learn, indeed.” He shrugged. “He just needs that one push. He misses a simple motive to accept the mantle and to work for the goal.”
“He won’t rule,” I said.
“But he could,” he answered. “And still, he must come back to Rome so he can decide what he shall become. That is the only way we can regain our loved ones. Gods know what would motivate him to return, to wish to return, even. Things are complicated in Rome.”
I smiled at the irony of it all.
Maroboodus, my father, had been lured to Livia by promises of land, and his illegitimate son Postumus, whom he had with Julia right under the nose of Agrippa. He had mocked me when I had stood over him, ready to kill him. He had told me to go to Rome, to learn of his harsh choices, and I had.
I had learnt.
Everything was complicated, indeed.
Adalwulf smiled bitterly. “You are thinking of your father?”
I nodded, for Adalwulf was perceptive, and there was no reason to hide my thoughts from him. He alone, out of all our friends, knew what was at stake.
He went on. “Livia has not kept her promises to him, but I guess his kingdom is enough to keep him happy for now. Postumus is still in Italy. She has been saying for over a decade that his madness prevents him from staying in the Palatine, but we all know it’s just a lie to keep Postumus for her later uses. Augustus doesn’t know the poor boy is that of Maroboodus, but he loves Gaius and Lucius, and never mentions their youngest brother. Livia is skillful. Your father will have to settle for gold and land. And even that land can be taken by Rome at any time.”
Indeed, rumors spoke of Father’s power growing in the lands of the Boii that he had taken after the death of Drusus. There, he controlled the Amber Road, and apparently used the riches to build a fine kingdom.
And yet, he didn’t have his prize. His son. The son he loved better than he did me, or Gernot. And indeed, his hold on the land depended on Rome. A man who killed Drusus, he was no friend of Rome.
Postumus. Son of Julia, and a product of an affair that kicked him into Livia’s schemes.
Livia had promised the boy to him for his help. Livia had no r
eason to keep her word. Maroboodus was useless to her now, and Father would dare not risk his kingdom.
Augustus didn’t care for Postumus.
He only cared for his succession. His blood was foremost on his mind. The future of the world he had built had to be secured. There were Gaius and Lucius, both handsome and young, though Lucius was reputedly an idiot, and Gaius never smiled. There were the sisters of Gaius and Lucius, whom I rarely spoke with, but they were merely tools for marriages. Germanicus, son of Drusus, was in his mind as well, though a distant third, for Antonia was his blood-relative. Antonia hid away young Claudius, and Livilla most of the time, but young Germanicus received occasional praise from Augustus. He was like a spare sword, only for emergency.
This was the family Augustus wanted to guard.
And the family Livia wanted to kill.
Of the lot, to my shame I liked Germanicus least. The son of my former, murdered lord Drusus was not much like his father. He was annoying, competitive, rarely wished to learn, and preferred to compete, even with his betters and elders. He had ready opinions, often foolish ones, but I endured Germanicus for his father. The others, I barely knew.
All had a place to fill in the plans of Augustus.
Unless I had to kill them.
For Livia, for Tiberius, I might have to try. How far would Livia go to secure the land for Tiberius, for a man who didn’t even wish power.
Far.
“What is Postumus like?” I asked, as the gladiators stumbled around each other, trying to stab from high. Their swords clanged together. The crowd cheered.
Adalwulf shrugged. “I can’t be sure. Livia claims he is mad, but I think he is only frustrated. Can’t understand why he has been treated like he has. I’ve seen him once this year, and Augustus met him in a villa on the coast once. It didn’t last longer than few moments,” Adalwulf said and shoved the Syrian away, as he stepped before us. “They say he has ten hired guards who actually guard him from escaping. As for his looks, I can see why he is out of sight. Looks like a Germani. Would fit in with any tribe, if you took away the silks and the toga.”
The Bane of Gods Page 3