Tiberius (38 page)

The sun climbed to its zenith. The air shimmered. It was the last heat of the year. I plucked a rose and pricked my finger on its thorn. Sigmund stretched out beside me in the shade of the pine trees. He lay on his back, looking up at the latticed sky. Then he closed his eyes and slept. Others of our party slept too. Gaius wandered off towards a shepherd's cottage. A dog barked in the distance, and a cock crew.

It would be over now, one way or another. My heart raced. I pressed my fingers against each other, taking a fierce satisfaction from the skeletal sensation.

To a man the senators, the majority of whom owed him favours and had fawned on his greatness, deserted my falling and former friend. They shrank back from him as if they saw in his disgrace the reflection of their own ignominy. But even so Memmius did not dare put my abrupt denunciation to the vote. Then Memmius called on Sejanus to stand. He did not move. The Senate sat in silent terror. The call was repeated. Sejanus remained motionless. At the third demand he stumbled to his feet to find Laco, the captain of the night-watch, ready at his side. Only when Laco placed a restraining arm on him did abuse break out. Then, the spell broken, the senators burst into a babble of accusation and insult.

I like to think he did not understand fully what was happening, that his comprehension was numbed by shock.

He was hustled out, down the ilex-fringed Clivus Palatinus, along the Sacred Way, with the mob apprised, as mobs always quickly are of great and terrible events, jostling him, cursing his tyranny, delighting in his disgrace. Women, it was reported, spat at him, men hurled horse-dung with their abuse. In this way he was bundled into the Mamertine prison under the Capitol and thrust down that narrow twisting stair to the ancient execution chamber of Rome.

By the order of the Senate, after a vote, he was strangled at the fourth hour after noon.

But I could not know this as the sun sank and the air grew cold, and I was jolted down the hillside, with my gaze fixed on the sea and the little harbour where the fishing-smack was pulled up on the shore.

I had requested that Sejanus be arrested. The Senate, without prompting, embarked on an orgy of revenge for the indignities they had so sychophantically endured at the hand of my fallen favourite. Neither his family nor his close associates were safe. Even his children were put to death at the Senate's command. After debate it was decided that his thirteen-year-old daughter should first be raped by the public executioner because the law forbade the execution of free-born virgins and, as one senator — a descendant, you will not be surprised to hear, of that pillar of Republican virtue, Marcus Porcius Cato — argued, to transgress this law would carry with it the risk of bringing misfortune on the city. As if we were
not all steeped in misfortune!

10

O
n the day after I received news of Sejanus' death, I mounted the little hill behind my villa to the place where I had encountered the godlike boy who had promised me peace of mind in exchange for my reputation. I wished to upbraid him for cheating me, since I had sacrificed one without gaining the other. But he did not attend me on this occasion. Instead a chill wind blew from the north, and the sky turned grey as a pigeon's back.

Sejanus appeared to me in dreams, his swollen tongue protruding through black lips, and the reproach in his eyes which he could not utter. I woke weeping, and trembling. The half-sleep which was permitted me was disturbed and made miserable by dreams in which beauty was cruelly tortured and men and women shrieked accusations at me. I crouched in a corner, a blanket pulled over my head, while the tramp of angry feet sounded around me, and voices demanded a painful and ignominious death.

Sejanus' body had been exposed three days on the Gemonian Steps, open to the insults of the mob, and the same mob would have had mine exposed by his side. And there was a part of me which cried that I deserved no better fate. "To the Tiber with Tiberius!" shrieked the mob.

I wrote to the Senate:

If I know what to write to you at this time, Senators, or how to write it, or what not to write, may the gods plunge me in a worse ruin than I find overtaking me every day . . .

When they sent a mission of consolation, I refused to receive it. Worse, still worse, followed. When I was ready to say I have

known the worst, I found even this was not true. Apicata, Sejanus' discarded wife, wrote me a letter.

. . . which I could not have dared, Tiberius, to write before now. I have lived, with terrible knowledge for some years now, and it is right and proper that I share it with you. Prepare yourself there for a grief such as even you have not yet known, for what must indeed be the extremity of grief and pain. You believe that your noble son Drusus died a natural, though lamented death. It is not so. He was murdered, at the instigation of his wife Julia Livilla, by my false husband Sejanus whom that woman had bewitched. You will not wish to believe this, but why should you be spared the terrible knowledge which has been locked up in me for years . . . ? If you seek proof, question the slaves who attended him on his deathbed.

I did not wish proof. Yet I sought it. The wretches were put to the question, and confessed. When this news was brought to Julia Livilla, whom I had hitherto thought guilty of nothing worse than lust and depravity, she recognised the peril of her position, and took poison. So this woman who was the daughter of my beloved brother Drusus and of Antonia whom I had always revered, and whom I had so proudly seen married to my dear son Drusus, died in squalor and ignominy. These revelations and her suicide so distressed me that I have never since been able to bring myself to converse with Antonia.

Everything that I held good has been tarnished and made to seem filthy and disgusting.

In the city, that sink of iniquity, the senators busied themselves with accusations and revenge. I scarcely cared now what charges were brought against whom. Let them kill each other, like starving rats in a trap, I thought.

Agrippina died, raving, two years to the day after Sejanus' execution. Her son Drusus, even more demented, died, cursing me and accusing me of the most monstrous list of crimes. I commanded that the account of his last months be read to the Senate. It was reported that many wept while others shuddered with disgust. I did not care. Let them see what they had made of Rome. Let them realise to what sort of empire they had condemned me.

Two or three times I set off to visit Rome. On each occasion I was overcome by nausea and turned back. Once I found that my pet snake, a creature I had adopted on account of the revulsion which snakes generally inspire in men and women, had died and was being eaten by ants. A soothsayer helpfully interpreted this as meaning that I should beware of the mob. I answered that I needed no such warning.

Work was the only anodyne, for even the beauty of the island seemed to be a sort of mockery of my experience. I therefore spent hours poring over the accounts which the Treasury sent me, studying the reports of governors, checking the supplies for the army, considering building projects, correcting the abuses of officials. A financial crisis arose; I settled it by making interest-free loans available. I took measures to calm alarms on the eastern frontier. I worked long hours, as if everything mattered, though I no longer believed in anything that could.

Sometimes in the afternoon I catch glimpses of happiness, when I gaze over the tops of shimmering olive trees to the ocean, or when the infant child of Sigmund and Euphrosyne crawls across the terrace to tug at the hem of my toga. But, as the sun sinks, I look across the bay to the Siren rocks, and weep that I have never heard the Sirens' song, and never will.

Memories flicker like shadows cast by the flames. Maecenas telling me of how he had collaborated with time and the world in the destruction of the boy he loved . . . Agrippa throwing his head back and swearing, and then clapping his hand on my shoulder and telling me I was at least a man . . . Vipsania's cool eyes and soft voice . . . Julia stroking the long line of her thigh and calling on me to admire it . . . Augustus with his lying and cajoling tongue . . . Livia whipping me till I confessed that I was hers . . . Young Segestes and Sigmund and the promise of release . . . Sejanus, yes, even Sejanus, as he had been when he first appeared to me on Rhodes and threw his head back, exposing his smooth throat, as he laughed at difficulties and exulted in his being . . .

In the night I listen for the owl, Minerva's bird, but hear the cocks cry instead, and the dogs bark. My life has been consecrated to duty.

"Why prolong life save to prolong pleasure?" my poor father would sigh as tears trickled down his fat cheek.

Duty . . . and what is the end? Gaius will rule Rome in my place. If I cared for Rome, I would have him disposed of. But they deserve him. The other day I found him shrieking with fury at my grandson, little Tiberius Gemellus, though he is not little now, but a tall, willowy and handsome boy of fifteen.

"Restrain yourself," I said to Gaius. "I shall be dead soon, and then you will be free to kill him. And someone else will kill you. It's the way of the world . . ."

In Rome this man charges that with treason, and so it goes on. If we had really restored the Republic, we would have lost empire, but might have . . .

A trite reflection. There is no point continuing with this account of my life, which is ending as it began, in fear, treachery, misery and contempt.

Another flask of wine. Perhaps the nightingale will sing before I retire . . . retire to rest my body, but nothing else.

I have written nothing for months, but now do so again, if only to record for posterity the reason for my last act, which posterity will see otherwise (I have no doubt) as the last judgment of my long-drawn-out drama of revenge against the family of Germanicus.

This evening Sigmund approached me. He was trembling. I asked him what was wrong and he did not hesitate.

Yesterday, my great-nephew and presumptive successor to this hell of empire, Gaius Caligula, son of the hero Germanicus, raped Euphrosyne, who is in her sixth month of pregnancy. This morning she miscarried. Sigmund fell on his knees before me, and took my hands in his, and implored revenge. I looked him in the eye. His face, which is fat now and no longer beautiful, was wet with tears and loose with grief. His voice shook as he spoke.

"Euphrosyne," he said, "shudders even at my touch. I do not know if all can ever be well again. I do not know if what is broken can be mended. I beg you, Master."

All my life I have refused that word, but when I looked at him, and knew his misery, I did not refuse it, but put my arm round him and drew him to me.

I have commanded Gaius to appear before me in the morning, and have meanwhile arranged with Macro to have guards on hand to arrest him.

Epilogue

T
his deposition is made by S
tephen, formerly known as Sigis
mond, first a free-born German prince, than a captive compelled to serve as a gladiator, who was rescued from shameful death by the Emperor Tiberius and served subsequently as his slave, freedman and friend, to Timotheus, pastor of the Christian Church at Corinth, to whom I entrust this manuscript for safe and perpetual keeping.

I do so in the knowledge that my earthly master, the Emperor Tiberius, is reviled by the followers of my heavenly master, the King of Kings, on account of the fact that Jesus Christ was crucified in Jerusalem during Tiberius' reign, with the connivance of the procurator of Judaea, Pontius Pilate. Nevertheless I take this opportunity to affirm that the emperor bore no responsibility for this crime, and was indeed wholly ignorant in his innocence. I have no memory of the death of the Saviour even being mentioned by Pontius Pilate in his reports, and, since I frequently acted as the emperor's secretary, it is likely that my memory is correct.

Moreover, I take this opportunity to lay a personal calumny which has made my life difficult even among Christians who preach the doctine of the repentance and forgiveness of sins and are comforted by such knowledge. For it is wrong to repent of sins which have not been committed as I have often been urged to do. Therefore I wish to put it on record that I was never the emperor's catamite, though he loved me, for this love was pure and paternal, and I owe much to him.

For this reason I have guarded this manuscript which is his memoirs, since his untimely death, when I confess that I stole it.

But I did so to preserve it, and for the most honourable reasons. And I entreat this same Timotheus before whom I make this deposition to guard it in like manner as I have done, for my sake and for the sake of truth, that also the reputation of my earthly master may some day be redeemed from the calumnies with which it has been assailed.

It is concerning the circumstances of his death that I wish to speak.

The conclusion of his account of his life records how I myself approached him with an accusation levelled against the future emperor, Gaius, a man notorious for the wickedness and depravity of his life.

This accusation that he had enjoyed carnal knowledge of my wife Euphrosyne in despite of her will and her efforts to prevent him was true. Tiberius believed me, and promised to take action.

Perhaps the information disturbed him, for he was as fond of Euphrosyne as he was of me and, being an old man, he fell ill. However, he soon showed signs of recovery and assured me he was determined to see justice done. That was our last conversation, and I insist that Tiberius was at that moment regaining strength.