James Mace - Soldier of Rome - Heir to Rebellion

“Your Highness,” the shipmaster said, surprised as he was to see King Breogan at his dock. “What pleasure brings you here?”

“A favor to ask, old friend,” the king replied, his hand on Alaric’s shoulder.

“Ah, and who do we have here?” the shipmaster asked, appraising the lad. Alaric was well-built for his age and gave the appearance being older than he was.

“This is the son of a close friend,” Breogan explained. “He seeks passage to Rome.”

“I’m willing to work, sir,” Alaric spoke up. “I will earn my way, I promise you.” The shipmaster looked him over once more and shrugged.

“I’m sure I can find work for you as an oarsman,” he consented. “It’s hard and tedious; but it pays a fair wage. We sail tomorrow at first tide. We have a number of ports to call upon before we head to Rome, though. We have a tin delivery to make to Burdigala in Gaul, where we will pick up wine to deliver to Brigantium in Hispania. After that it’s a long ways to Ostia with a shipment of gold.”

“I promise to serve you well,” Alaric replied confidently.

The next morning as he sat working his oar he gazed out the small portside window and thought about his coming journey. Indeed there was little to do but think when an oarsman on a ship. Gaul, Hispania, possibly Corsica; all places he had never seen. From the sketching Cartimandua had shown him these lands were vast. And yet they were but a fraction of the Empire that was Rome. He knew not why he had to see the Imperial city; he felt as if there was an underlying force that was drawing him east.

The light had gone out of Tiberius’ life. His son was dead. As if the gods were mocking him, they had taken from him the last person he truly loved. First it had been his father, then his brother, after that his beloved Vipsania, and now his only son. At thirty-six years of age, Julius Caesar Drusus had been relatively young, yet he had been ill for some time, the result of too much drinking no doubt. His closest friend, Herod Agrippa, was tormented by guilt, having felt responsible for his demise. Tiberius had consoled the Jew, telling him that his son had made his own choices in life, and that he had to bear the responsibilities for them. While Herod appreciated the Emperor’s vindication, he still felt the guilt that always afflicted those who lost a friend and brother. Always would he wonder if he could have somehow saved Drusus?

“I could have done more,” Tiberius thought aloud, echoing the same feelings that struck down Herod.

“A father should never have to bury his son,” Sejanus replied. He stood off to the side, keeping a respectful distance from the Emperor. Tiberius gave him a slightly perplexed look.

“I know that you and Drusus had your differences,” he remarked. To state that Sejanus had differences with Drusus was a serious downplay of events that had transpired between the two. Indeed, Drusus had gotten physically confrontational with Sejanus on more than one occasion, prompting the Praetorians to give him the nickname of Castor , or brute . Sejanus gave a slight frown at the Emperor’s remarks.

“Yes it is true that Drusus and I never did see eye-to-eye,” he replied with his usual candor. “Be that as it may, I did not wish for his death; if for no other reason than the hurt I know it must bring you.”

“Both of you were the only men that I could completely trust,” Tiberius observed. “I needed you equally, though it was maddening to watch you fight. Now old friend, you will have to shoulder his burden as well. There is no man that can replace my son, only a close friend and confidant that I hope is up to the task of carrying on in both his own duties, as well as those left by Drusus.”

“My duty is to my Emperor,” Sejanus replied. “Know that my life and my talents are completely at your disposal.”

Livia entered the room as soon as Sejanus left. Tiberius gave a sigh and turned his back towards the balcony. Livia gave a half smirk at the gesture. She knew her son grew tired of her, and wished for her to hurry up and move on to the afterlife. There were many days when she wished she could. She felt that her continued existence so long after she should have passed on was a mocking from the gods. Be that as it may, as long as she continued to draw breath she would continue to advise her son, even as he fought with her every step of the way.

“The Senate will wish to know when you intend to appoint a new successor,” she stated as Tiberius pretended to ignore her.

“To be named a successor to the Imperial Mantle seems to be a death sentence in this family,” he remarked with a touch of sarcasm. “Drusus has barely made his final journey and already you speak of politics and intrigue.”

“I do it because unlike you I am still drawn to a sense of responsibility!” Livia snapped. “And don’t pretend like I don’t mourn for him, because I do. My heart is completely rendered; I am tired of watching my children and grandchildren perish whilst I am forced to cling to life!” She stopped in her tirade as an unexpected surge of emotion washed over her. Tiberius turned to face her.

“There is but one man whom I can turn to anymore,” he began. Livia quickly composed herself, her eyes growing dark.

“Don’t even think about it!” she exclaimed. “The Senate will never allow a man outside the nobility to stand as your successor!”

“The Senate is nothing but a mob of frightened sheep and old women,” Tiberius remarked off-hand.

“That may be, but let us not forget that they find their courage when their precious social order is threatened. Remember what they forced you to do in Gaul.” Tiberius grew angry at the underlying accusation.

“The Gauls forced my hand! They sowed the seeds of rebellion…”

“A rebellion that would never have come to pass were you not so protective of the Senators’ feelings regarding the opening of Senatorial membership to non-Latins,” Livia interrupted. “And because of that we could have lost the province! Thankfully the people remain ignorant of such information. I should also remind you that much of the Gallic nobility was wiped out by your soldiers. Countless families either lost sons or were impoverished before it was over.”

“You need not remind me of the details regarding Sacrovir’s rebellion, Mother,” Tiberius rebuked. “My men exacted justice and retribution as they saw fit.”

“Augustus would never have allowed the entire affair to happen in the first place!” Livia found she could not help but invoke the name of her son’s deified predecessor; she always comparing one to the other.

“I am not Augustus!” Tiberius was seething in rage. In a matter of minutes he had gone from mourning his son to entering into a venomous spat with his mother. “Augustus had plenty of opportunities to grant Senatorial membership to the Gallic nobility, but he rebuked them. Augustus left many things undone; things which he did not hesitate to leave for me to deal with once he was gone. Oh yes, let Tiberius play the tyrant; let Tiberius be the bad guy in order to fix his mistakes! Deified or not, Augustus was not a god while he lived. He was not infallible, nor was the woman who ruled through him!” Both mother and son took a few deep breaths as their tempers simmered. At length Livia broke the silence.

“You know the Senate will never allow you to raise Sejanus above his station,” she said in a low voice.

“The Senate will do as it is told,” Tiberius replied, his own voice calmer, though his temper still burned. Sweat was forming on his brow and his face was a dark shade of red. “For years I have tried to get the Senate to act as it is supposed to; like men born to rule this Empire. Instead they have become nothing but a shell of what they once were. They are cowards and fools, every last one of them; none of them is capable of making up their own minds without first wondering whether or not they will please me. They change like the winds, forcing me to play the autocrat, as if I ever wanted it! If they want me to be the sole ruler of Rome, then so be it!”