James Mace - Soldier of Rome - The Legionary

Tiberius remained silent.

“I underestimated you, I really did,” Augustus continued. “I had always based my selection of a successor on emotional attachment, rather than on practicality and qualifications. Your mother kept reminding me of your true worth, but I did not listen. I think now of all those whom I groomed for this position, and how much better my efforts could have been spent had I given you your just due. My old friend, Marcus Agrippa, was my first choice, though I knew it would be unlikely for him to succeed me for any length of time. After all, I was only a few months older than him.”

Tiberius closed his eyes at the name of his former father-in-law, the father of his still beloved Vipsania. Agrippa died long ago. Tiberius, of course, was then forced into that loveless debacle of a marriage with Agrippa’s widow and Augustus’ own daughter, Julia. Tiberius found it to be rather twisted that he was to divorce his wife in order to marry her father’s widow. Augustus loved Agrippa and Agrippa’s sons, perhaps because they were his own grandchildren. When it came to Agrippa’s daughters, it seemed like his feelings ran cold. Perhaps it just wasn’t convenient, politically, at the time. Never mind that Tiberius and Vipsania had truly loved each other and were not married merely for political reasons.

“The other candidate during that time was my then son-in-law, Marcellus. Sadly, he died of a summer chill. Years later, when Agrippa died, that left me with his children, my grandsons. Oh how I looked to them to breathe life into the Empire once I had gone.”

He’s not making this any easier, Tiberius thought to himself. He noticed how Augustus never once mentioned his own daughter, and he knew better than to bring her up.

“Sadly, neither Gaius nor Lucius survived,” the Emperor was looking past Tiberius, into the remote past. It was as if he were having a conversation with himself rather than with his stepson and heir.

Tiberius noted that Augustus failed to mention his surviving grandson, Posthumous Agrippa, who had been banished following a series of indiscretions and brutish behavior.

“It was after their deaths that I turned to you, my trusted war horse. You and your brother, the gods rest him, were the ones who really kept the Empire running.” Augustus was looking at Tiberius once more, as if drawn back to the present. “I admit we have not always seen eye-to-eye, but once your mother forced me to look upon your real talents, I could ignore you no longer. It was as if the gods themselves were forcing my hand. I swear your position as my successor has been divinely chosen. You have been my champion, albeit a reluctant one. Any crisis this Empire has faced, I have sent you to meet it head on, yet I always took you for granted. And now we will set about making things ready for the next generation. There are many things you must become accustomed to if you are to succeed as Emperor. While I have no doubts as to your administrative talents, your knowledge of how the political game is played could use some work.”

“I have always left politics to the politicians,” Tiberius replied.

“Now you are a politician, or rather the supreme politician,” Augustus replied. “You’re not on the Rhine frontier anymore, Tiberius. You must learn what it is to rule Rome from Rome. As for the Empire’s safety, I have no doubts. You are the finest military commander I have ever met. Though it pains me to admit it, I even told the Senate on more than one occasion that you would have been more than a match for my uncle, the Divine Julius Caesar himself. No, I will leave this world content in the reassurance as to her safety.

“Your dealings with the Senate and the senators themselves are what concern me. Therefore, tomorrow I shall grant you joint Consulship with me, and you shall be appointed Head of the Senate. You shall be known as my peer, sharing the reins of power with me. I dare say, your mother probably told you of this already. I swear that woman knows of my intentions before I do.” Augustus laughed.

Tiberius knew full well why it was that Livia seemed to know Augustus’ thoughts and intentions before he did. It was because many of his thoughts and intentions were of her design, craftily worded to make the Emperor actually believe he thought of them. It was her way of ruling through him. Livia was going to be terribly disappointed when her son assumed power.

Town of Ostia, Italy

January, 15 A.D.

Six years after Teutoburger Wald

The day had finally come for young Titus Artorius Justus. It was his seventeenth birthday. Six years since that god’s awful day that Artorius remembered so clearly. It was the day that changed his life forever. He had been playing in the hills outside his family’s home when the riders approached. They wore the uniforms of the legions. The sight of the riders had excited Artorius. Was it Metellus, home for a visit from Germania?

He had heard stories, terrible stories, stories that could not possibly be true. Every time someone mentioned the Rhine, the legions, or Metellus, Artorius was quickly ushered away, never privy to such conversations, yet he knew. It confused him at first. His parents, Primus and Persephone had always freely expressed their pride in their eldest son and his achievements in the army. Artorius loved reading the letters his brother had sent to him from the Rhine. They were his motivation for doing well in his studies. Metellus had promised that he would write to him, provided he studied hard and learned to read.

“Strengthen your mind, as well as your body,” Metellus told him once, “for with a strong mind and a sound body you can accomplish anything.”

They were words Artorius never forgot. He’d saved the letters his brother sent him, cherished them as one would cherish gold. Metellus never wrote or spoke to Artorius like one would to a young boy. He wrote to him in the same language and manner that he would use towards a peer or a friend, something Artorius always remembered him fondly for. Then the letters stopped coming. As much as he tried to suppress his feelings, his gut told him something bad had happened. The hushed conversations in his presence when his brother’s name was mentioned further added to his anxiety. He was not so young that he wasn’t aware of the change in his parents.

Then came the official dispatches from the Rhine. Along with news of the disaster, came lists of the survivors who had fought their way back to friendly territory. There were not many, and Metellus’ name was not among them. It was soon after this that the riders came. A personal embassy sent by the Tribune Cassius Chaerea, in recognition of the sacrifice Metellus made on the field of battle. Metellus was now officially listed as dead, and with no body to bury or burn, his burial fund was being paid to his family. Artorius remembered running down from the hill, stopping some distance away as he saw his mother collapse into his father’s arms. She made not a sound, but her body shook uncontrollably as she quietly sobbed. The two soldiers looked obviously shaken, cursing that they had to perform such a bitter task. His father’s face was as hard as stone, but even he could not control his tears. Artorius had turned and walked away.

As he walked he tried to comprehend what all of this meant. He then came to understand that his brother would not be coming home, not then, not ever. He was gone. Artorius started to run. He ran as hard as he could until he reached a small stream, branches of the trees growing along it trailing in the slow current. He sat next to the water and cried, trying in his young mind to fathom the loss. As reality sank in, he thought hard about who had caused this, who had murdered his beloved brother. He thought of the Germans, those unclean, uncivilized barbarians to the North. Those people had murdered his brother. Artorius was suddenly filled with overwhelming anger and hate. His rage was compounded by the fact that he was too young to do anything to avenge his brother. But he would not stay young forever. He swore, then and there, as soon as he was old enough, he would join the ranks, he would become a legionary, and he would avenge his brother. Camilla had tried her best to console him, but even she knew the hatred in his heart would never go away.