Allan Massie: Tiberius

"Indeed," Sejanus said, with that frank and sceptical smile which he was accustomed to bring to any story of depravity, "I rather think she succeeded, and the wretched Afer believed himself the chosen of fortune. He was certainly greatly flattered by her attentions. But then he discovered that she was indulging herself with another adulterous relationship, with Caius Furnius, and this displeased him."

"Furnius?" I said. "A difficult and disagreeable fellow, yet not without ability."

"Quite."

The name alarmed me, though I chose not to let Sejanus see this. I knew Furnius for a malcontent. He was a man of considerable merit whom I had denied responsibility on account of his wayward character, ungovernable temper, and suspect associates. His grandfather had been a friend of Mark Antony: his father had had the good sense to adhere to Augustus, and had indeed held a consulship towards the end of Augustus' life. But I had been unable to honour Furnius as he would have wished. There could be no doubt that he was disaffected.

"When I learned this," Sejanus said, "I naturally took such steps as I thought necessary to investigate affairs. I placed a trusted agent in Claudia's household. His reports convinced me not only of her uncontrollable, or at least uncontrolled, immorality — her habitual adultery which exposes her to the penalties decreed by the lex papia poppaea, but of still more heinous crimes. Here, would you like to read the full reports, or shall I summarise them…?"

I shook my head. My spirit was invaded by gloom as a sea-fog creeps inland.

"Naturally," Sejanus said, "I don't rely on these reports alone. As you have often reminded me there is a danger that agents will tell you what they think you want to hear, though of course I have done everything in my power, by the example of punishments meted out to any falsifiers, to convince them that what we want is nothing but the truth. At any rate, I am certain that the wretched woman has conspired against your life, both by suborning professional poisoners and by employing sorcerers to practise their black arts to your harm. Here for example" — he delved into the sheaf of reports which lay on the table before him — "I have an affidavit from one of her freedwomen, detailing how, at the last full moon, an Egyptian sorceress — but you don't want to sicken yourself with the details, which I can tell you are so disgusting that they have cost me a night's sleep…"

"No," I said, "I don't want to know. You had better arrange for the law to take its course."

"Yes," he said, "I think I might get Afer to conduct the prosecution. He has an interest in its success."

"I am beginning to understand you Romans," Sigmund said. "When they made me into a gladiator, I thought, this is all wrong, life isn't like this. I thought that, because it was all so different from life as I knew it. But I know better now. I'm not good at expressing myself, despite your kindness in trying to teach me, but it seems to me that the arena is a sort of mirror to the life you all lead. You are the most powerful man in the world, but you can't escape the net. I haven't angered you, I hope."

"No," I said, "the truth should never make you angry. And I am pleased you are learning how things are…"

I averted my gaze from his candid eyes, and looked over the roof-tops of the turbulent city. A red kite swooped in low circles over the temples of the Capitol.

Agrippina wrote to me, protesting at the trial of her friend.

Claudia Pulchra is nothing but a pretext. I know that the accusations levelled against her are really directed at me. You sacrifice to Augustus, as the law ordains, but you persecute his descendants. It is not in mute statues that his divine spirit has lodged — I, born of his sacred blood, am its incarnation. Nothing can alter that. So I see my danger. Claudia Pulchra's only offence is that she has had the recklessness to choose the persecuted Agrippina as her friend.

Sejanus handed me back the letter.

"She really is deranged, poor woman," he said. "Who knows what she may attempt in her delirium? I'm not sure that it's safe to leave her at liberty."

The trial followed its predictable course. The case against Claudia Pulchra was unanswerable. By my request, certain articles — those concerning her conspiracy against my life — were deleted. The adultery was enough; she and her paramour were both exiled by order of the Senate.

Agrippina fell ill, or gave out that she was ill. It is possible that this trial had let her see, for a moment, the dangers of the course on which she had so thoughtlessly and maliciously embarked. I do not know; I never understood the cause of her terrible anger, or plumbed the depths of her aggrieved self-pity. She asked to see me. I attended her sick-room where she lay, her eyes swollen by weeping; she held a cold compress against her temples, and she frequently interrupted her disordered speech with bouts of sobbing. I pitied her, and remembered that she was Julia's daughter, and that, in the early years of my marriage to her mother, I had taken pleasure in her childish intensity of feeling.

"I am lonely," she sobbed. "My children, for whom I have sacrificed everything since the death of my husband, are almost grown-up. My mother was torn from me when I was little more than a child. Now you who were my stepfather persecute me. Why do you do that, Tiberius? What harm have I ever done you? You were jealous of Germanicus? Is that a reason to pursue me as you do?"

"I was never jealous of Germa nicus," I said. "He was my dear brother's son, and I admired him. Sometimes I thought him injudicious, and then I intervened, but I never accused him of anything worse than inexperience and the impetuosity of youth. Agrippina, we have — perhaps with neither of us willing it — drifted into misunderstandings and suspicions. There is no need for them. You know I detest talk of the imperial succession, since it is a matter for the Senate as to who should hold the first place in the Republic. But I know that there must be a Princeps, and that he must come from our family. Don't you realise that I see your sons, Nero and Drusus, as my immediate heirs? I am an old man, almost seventy, and few summers remain to me. Can't we set aside our animosities and be friends?"

I stretched out my hand to her, but she shrank from its touch. Nevertheless I felt that my words had moved her, and waited for a reply. She was silent a long time. Then she said:

"I am so miserable, so alone, neglected and misunderstood. And I am lonely. You cannot imagine how lonely I have been since my husband was torn from me. Not a night has passed that I have not wept to feel his place empty beside me. My youth is fleeing, and I see only a dark future. Help me, Tiberius, let me marry again. Indeed, I beg you to choose me a husband. I am still young enough. Marriage… marriage is the only respectable consolation open to me. Surely Rome contains men who would be proud to marry Germanicus' widow and become the father of his children…?"

"Don't you see," Sejanus said, "she is laying a trap for you? Her appeal to your pity is only a device. If you choose a husband acceptable to her, you immediately raise up a rival to yourself. And if your choice settles on one whom she rejects, this will be further evidence of your persecution. She will say that you are insulting the memory of Germanicus by proposing a husband unworthy of her rank and his reputation."

Sejanus knew Agrippina well, better than I. I had thought her sincere in her request. Even now, I sometimes wonder if she was in truth sincere when she asked me; it seemed that her distress was genuine. And indeed I still believe it was. Yet she was torn by conflicting desires. I was moved by her emotion, wary of her volatile passions. We understand our own natures but little, and then usually in retrospect; the s pontaneity of speech and action puzzles our understanding. It is not therefore strange that other people should be so unfathomable in their inconsistency.