Steven Saylor: Empire

Marcus Acilius was only a few years older than his sister and had the same golden hair and bright blue eyes. “But it’s been five years since the disaster that took place in the Teutoberg Forest,” he was saying, “and still nothing has been done to settle the score with the Germanic tribes. They’re laughing at us. It’s a scandal!”

“So, the rain has driven you inside.” Lucius’s father looked up at the couple and smiled warmly at Acilia. He wanted the marriage to take place as badly as Lucius did. “Marcus and I have been talking about the situation in the north.” He turned his attention back to Acilia’s brother.

“You’re a young man, Marcus. Five years seems to you a very long time. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s no more than the blink of an eye. This city was not built in a day, nor was the empire conquered in a lifetime. To be sure, for a long time, Roma seemed unstoppable. Ever outwards our legions pushed the limits of the empire, and all obstacles fell before us. To the north, my father’s great-uncle Julius Caesar conquered Gaul and set the stage for our cousin Augustus to push beyond the Rhine and conquer the Germans. The wild tribes were pacified. Their leaders were won over with the privileges of Roman citizenship. Cities were built, temples were dedicated to the gods, taxes were collected, and Germania became a province like any other.

“And then came Arminius, or Hermann as the Germans call him, a German who was trained to fight by Romans, who was given all the benefits of Roman hospitality, and who repaid us by the most despicable treachery. On the pretext of stamping out a small uprising, he lured three Roman legions into the Teutoberg Forest – then staged an ambush. Not a single Roman escaped. Arminius’s men weren’t satisfied with simple slaughter. They desecrated the corpses, chopping them into pieces, hanging their limbs from trees and mounting their heads on stakes. A thoroughly disgusting business, to be sure – but not the end of Roma’s interests in Germania. The massacre in the Teutoberg Forest took place because of the ambitions of one man, Arminius, who wants to turn the province we have built into his personal kingdom. The man is nothing more than a thief. I hear he dares to call himself ‘Augustus of the North,’ if you can believe such effrontery!

“But never fear, young Marcus. Our efforts so far to punish Arminius and bring the situation under control have been thwarted, but not for much longer. As a senator I can assure you that the emperor’s attention to this matter is unwavering. Not a day passes that he does not take some action to correct it. And what Augustus sets out to do, Augustus does.”

“But the emperor is seventy-five years old,” said Marcus.

“True, but there are younger, more vigorous members of his family with military expertise. His stepson Tiberius is a very fit commander; it was Tiberius’s late brother, Drusus Germanicus, who conquered the province in the first place. And there’s Germanicus’s son, who’s eager to earn the name his father handed down to him by his own victories. Never fear, Marcus. It will take time and effort and no small amount of bloodshed, but the province of Germania will be pacified. Ah, but listen to me, rambling on about warfare and politics in the presence of one with such tender sensibilities.” He smiled again at Acilia.

“Is it true, about the Germans cutting off the soldiers’ heads and putting them on stakes?” she whispered, looking pale.

“You’ve upset her, father,” said Lucius, taking advantage of Acilia’s distress to put his arm around her. Her brother did not object.

“No more talk of such unpleasant subjects, then,” said the elder Pinarius.

“No more talk at all, if you’re to be on time for the ceremony,” said Lucius’s mother, entering the room. “The rain has let up. The two of you must be off, and quickly. But you needn’t leave yet, Acilia. I have some spinning to do; nothing is more relaxing than spinning wool. You can help me, if you’d like, and we can have a nice visit.” Camilla accompanied Lucius and his father to the vestibule. “Don’t be nervous, son. I know you’ll perform splendidly. Or is it the presence of Acilia that makes you tremble?” She laughed. “Now off with you!”

“You don’t think I laid it on too thickly, do you,” said Lucius’s father, “reminding young Marcus about our kinship to both the Divine Julius and the emperor?”

They had descended the slope of the Aventine and were walking through the crowded riverfront district, heading for the Stairs of Cacus, which would take them up to the summit of the Palatine.

“I think the Acilii are quite aware of our family connections,” said Lucius ruefully. “But I’m not sure that it helps to keep bringing it up. For all that my grandfather was an heir of the Divine Julius, and we’re cousins of the great Augustus, what do we have to show for it?”

His father sighed. “What, indeed? Except for the fact that we’re still alive.”

“What do you mean by that?”

They began to ascend the Stairs of Cacus. As recently as the days of Julius Caesar it had been nothing more than a steep, winding footpath, as it had been since the time of Romulus. Augustus had made it into a stone stairway decorated with flowers and terraces. Lucius’s father looked ahead of them and behind, checking that no one was close enough to overhear.

“Have you never noticed, son, how many members of the emperor’s family have been sent into exile, and how those dearest to him have a way of dying?”

Lucius frowned. “I know he banished his daughter Julia.”

“Her morals disappointed him.”

“And his grandson Agrippa.”

“Who was also deemed insufficiently upright.”

“And I know that his other grandsons, Lucius and Gaius, the ones he intended to make his heirs, both suffered untimely deaths.”

“So they did. Being too close to the emperor is not necessary beneficial, either to one’s happiness or to one’s health.”

“Are you saying -”

“I am saying that the emperor is like a flame. Those around him are like men eager to warm themselves. But no one envies the man who draws so close that he sets himself afire.”

Lucius shook his head. “Might things have gone differently, if my grandfather had received more favour from the gods?”

The elder Pinarius sighed. “Like his cousin Augustus, your grandfather was named in the will of Julius Caesar – but little good it did him, since he chose to side with Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra in the civil war. After those two lost everything at the battle of Actium, your grandfather saw sense and went over to Augustus, who graciously forgave him – and forever afterwards showed him not one iota of generosity. Perhaps the victor thought it was enough to spare his errant cousin’s life and allow him to keep what remained of his fortune, most of which your grandfather eventually lost anyway, despite all his business concerns in Egypt. Since then, your cousin Augustus has mostly ignored us. We are tolerated but granted little in the way of either favour or disfavour – which is not necessarily a bad thing. Oh yes, to have his favour could be grand. But to suffer his disfavour… or the disfavour of those who scheme and plot around him… can be fatal.”

“You say he grants us few favours, yet he put me in the lists to become an augur.”

“That he did. And you have no idea how many favours I had to call in to make that happen. Be grateful for this opportunity, my son.”

“I am, father,” said Lucius, humbly and sincerely.

At the top of the Stairs of Cacus they were afforded a view of the river; even on an overcast, blustery day, the wharves were bustling and the choppy water was crowded with ships. Above the river loomed the Capitoline Hill with its white temples glistening after the recent shower. A solitary sunbeam broke though the ragged clouds overhead and shone brightly on the gilded statue of Hercules.