James Mace - Soldier of Rome - The Legionary

“Why do you not join your companions?” Tiberius asked the young soldier.

“What right do I have to join them?” the soldier asked, his voice breaking as he looked at the ranks of the Twentieth Legion. “We failed you, sir. We failed the Emperor, we failed Rome. Worst of all, we failed each other. I’ll never forget the savage horrors we witnessed. I can still hear the screams of the tortured as they begged for death. Some had their tongues cut out. The barbarians thought that by eating the tongue of a Roman they might learn to speak Latin. Some were crucified and gutted. Others they put in wicker cages and burned alive. My friends, my brothers, and yet I was helpless to do anything for them.” He closed his eyes hard as tears streamed down his face. He was beyond being shamed by them. “I swear their ghosts haunt me. I don’t know how I can ever forget the horror… the pain… the suffering. How do I live again, sir? How do I find redemption?” He was now looking Tiberius straight in the eye.

Tiberius placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “What is your name, soldier?”

“Macro, sir. Platorius Macro. Formerly of the Nineteenth Legion, Third Cohort, First Century.”

“Platorius Macro, you can live again by doing them justice, by ensuring that your survival was not in vain. Rejoin your comrades in the ranks, and in time, I promise you will find redemption.”

Macro nodded and without another word went to rejoin the other survivors.

As he walked off, Tiberius said to himself, “And you shall have revenge.”

Germanicus would join his uncle on the Rhine two years later. After capturing and repairing the Rhine bridges, Tiberius led many sorties into the frontier. These were limited at first, as he did not have the resources available for a massed campaign. As the months went by, fresh troops, mostly recruits, started to rebuild the Army of the Rhine. Varus was publicly damned and the numbers XVII, XVIII, and XIX were never again used to number a legion. Units were transferred from all over the Empire, increasing the army’s strength to eight legions. Soon they would be ready to launch an offensive unlike anything Arminius had ever witnessed.

Late in the year 13 A.D., in the forty-second year of the reign of Augustus, Tiberius was recalled to Rome.

As his chariot approached the gates of Rome, Tiberius looked upon the Eternal City with nervousness and dread. On the frontier, he never felt more alive. That was his true calling, to be on the front lines of Rome’s battles. He knew full well why he had been recalled. The aged Emperor was nearing the last of his days. The succession and transition of power would have to come swiftly and smoothly in order to prevent chaos and unrest.

Many in the Senate pined for the days of the Republic, when they alone ruled the Roman Empire. In truth, very few could even remember what that time had actually been like. The political infighting, the corruption, and the unchecked abuses of power were conveniently forgotten. Augustus had ruled for so long that a large proportion of the masses knew of no other system of government and were very much reluctant to even think about returning to the days of the Republic, where in its death throes there had been numerous civil wars and much internal strife.

Rome expanded its borders so far as to make a true Republican system virtually ineffective. Someone had to keep the Senate and regional administrations in check, to ensure all worked together for the greater good, which now expanded far beyond the borders of Italy. From Gaul to Egypt, all known civilizations and peoples fell under the domain of the Empire. To effectively rule an Empire required an Emperor. The Emperor was dying, and his successor felt the full weight of the world coming down on his shoulders.

Tiberius stopped his chariot in front of the Imperial Palace. He knew right away where to go. Though he had been away from Rome and the Imperial estates for nearly five years, he knew the area like the back of his hand. Servants came and took the reins of the chariot from him as he ascended the steps into the palace proper. He saw his mother, Livia, pacing slowly back and forth in front of the door leading to the gardens.

“It is good you have returned,” she said without even looking his way.

“How did you know I was back in Rome?” Tiberius asked. “I’ve only just arrived.”

Livia smiled a half smile. “I have my sources. They keep me well informed.” She had a determined, yet sad air about her. Though it was plain to see her one intent was to get her son elevated to the highest position of power, the final step of that transition would be very painful for her. After all, she had been married to Augustus for more than fifty years. The man she shared the vast majority of her life with was slowly slipping away.

“So how is he?” Tiberius asked. His real concern was how long until he had to take on the task he’d been preparing for, and yet dreading, his entire life.

“He’s in the garden,” Livia replied. “He asked to see you once you returned. He spends most of his waking moments in his garden, off in his own little world. He knows his time is growing short, and so he takes the most pleasure in the simplest things in life. He’ll want you to assume the majority of power immediately. You will become Emperor in everything but name, ruling jointly with him until he breathes his last. Go to him.” She motioned with her head towards the door leading outside.

Tiberius took a deep breath and walked through the door. He was still dressed in full military garb, his helmet held under his arm.

As he walked through the gardens, he came upon the aged Emperor. Augustus was seated on the edge of a fountain, a small pot with a sapling in his hands. He had just finished planting it and was marveling over something only he could see.

“You sent for me, Caesar?” Tiberius asked, standing at attention. He had never felt comfortable in the presence of the Emperor, preferring their relationship to be confined to correspondence from the opposite end of the Empire.

“It’s a marvelous thing that something so small and frail as this will one day grow to be big and strong,” the Emperor stated, still gazing at the potted sapling he held. “It will grow slowly over the course of the ages, like our Empire. And if maintained, it will live for hundreds of years, maybe even thousands. It will watch everything, its gaze immortal in the eyes of men. It will see the passing of our Empire and what will come beyond her. Yet it will linger and flourish long after we are gone.” He smiled sadly and placed the pot down on a tray where there were several other plants he had been toying with. He then turned towards his stepson. “Sit with me,” he said, motioning towards a nearby bench.

Tiberius hesitantly took the seat, his helmet in a virtual death grip beneath his arm.

Augustus still held the same smile. “You know, Tiberius, I have been less than fair with you over the years.”

Tiberius looked away and cringed. He knew that Augustus would bring up certain topics that he wished to remain buried in the past. There was nothing for it, after all. He had paid a heavy price to be where he was, on the brink of sole ruler-ship of the known world. And yet he did not want it.

“The fairest thing would have been to leave me in retirement on the Isle of Rhodes or else on the frontiers with the army,” he replied.

Augustus nodded, though never relaxing his contented smile. He leaned forward, closing the distance between himself and Tiberius. “When one is destined for greatness, one cannot escape it. You are destined to serve in a far greater capacity than you ever imagined or even wanted. It seems like everything and everyone, including yourself, fought against your becoming my successor. I, myself, never even toyed with the idea of you succeeding me until the hour had grown late.” He sighed and shrugged, so many memories of the last forty-two years flooding back into his conscience.