CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE SENATOR

At the time his son was travelling north from Caesarea the Senator Marcus Gracchus Valerius was preparing to leave for the Villa Jovis on Capri. He did not know what lay before him, but age had tutored him to take things as they came.

The Senator’s travelling party, in keeping with the Valerian custom, was modest and included two loyal freedmen and a scribe, as well as drivers and assistants for the carts. Arria, his loving freedwoman, had remained behind to keep a watchful eye on Junia, Drusilla’s sister.

The winter weather was mild and the journey south, which included stops with friends, was pleasant. He was six days on the road, and on the seventh he made the crossing to Capri. Once at the Villa Jovis he was taken immediately to the Emperor’s private quarters, and there, facing the tall twin doors, the same doors his son had stood before, he paused, his tension mounting. What awaited him? How would Tiberius receive him? Only a Socrates could stand against such pettiness, he thought.

Suddenly the doors opened, and there was the Emperor, peering at a pile of despatches.

“Valerius!” he called in greeting, while rising to his feet with unusual briskness.

“Noble Princeps, you haven’t changed a bit since I last saw you.” The Senator, relieved at the warmth of his reception, spoke with a disarming honesty.

“The winter comes, Valerius, even if the autumn lingers!”

“But the winter snow falls gently when not disturbed by wind.”

The Emperor’s shoulders heaved with laughter in their characteristic way. “And you haven’t changed – no! – not a jot! – Come, let’s recline at the portico.”

Wine was ordered, and as the Emperor took his seat he beckoned an attendant.

“See if you can find our friend Nerva. Tell him the Senator Valerius has arrived.”

The conversation began in a general way, with the Senator thanking his Emperor for squashing the treason charge. Tiberius was dismissive.

After the wine was served the attendants retired out of earshot. The Senator waited, knowing that the Emperor would steer the conversation. They sat for some time before Tiberius spoke.

“Who is it to be, Valerius – Sejanus or the boy ‘Caligula’?”

The question came like a shock of cold water, and for a moment fear gripped at the Senator. This was dangerous ground, but there were no witnesses; the servants had retired. He spoke quietly.

“On that stage to choose is to condemn. The Princeps has a lonely task.”

“You have spoken prudently, Valerius. Each day I sacrifice to the divine Augustus, but he is slow with guidance. Is it to be the brats of Germanicus, poisoned against me by the lies and bitterness of their mother, or should it be Sejanus, with the hounds of the Praetorian at his heels?”

“Our Princeps has many years of rule before him. Why not let the gods decide your heir in their good time?” the Senator suggested, but he knew it was a weak response.

“Valerius, I’m past seventy!” Tiberius snapped. “The Senate and the people need to have all doubts about our heir removed.”

“What about your grandson Gemellus?”

“He’s a boy and he’d need a regent – guess who that would be!”

Sejanus! the Senator did not need to guess.

“Valerius, you have been party to imprudent words.” The Emperor’s hands worked nervously with his toga.

“No breath of this shall pass my lips.” Shock had made the Senator alert. Tiberius was not himself. His behaviour was most uncharacteristic.

“I’m an old man, Valerius. I’m exhausted, yet I’m forced to labour; but let me keep my senses…pray the gods may grant me that!”

Tiberius’s hands continued to twist and pull at his toga.

“Why was Drusus taken from me?” the Emperor continued bitterly. “I know he was no Scipio, and I was hard on him, but Valerius, he was my son! I could have trusted him. Now there’s no one!” He paused for a moment, his weariness obvious. “Caligula,” he added distastefully.

Tiberius was disturbed, if not unbalanced, for he had revealed his thinking in a way he never did. Valerius watched with alarm.

“What is your advice, Senator?”

Valerius swallowed.

“Do nothing, sir. Even a short passage of time can move an intractable circumstance into a position of obvious resolution.” He had said little and he knew it, but what could he say? The whole question of Tiberius’s heir was a pit of scorpions.

The Emperor sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps the time is not yet ripe.” The heaviness seemed to lift from his features and Valerius breathed deeply with relief.

“Now, let’s talk of happier things. Your son’s a credit to you, Valerius. He’s made quite an impression. And the rescue of the girl, that was a coincidence, or was it!? I’ve heard he wants to marry her. Fanciful, but hardly practical. No doubt the rumour is untrue.”

“I’m afraid not, sir.” Felix’s message had failed to arrive in time, and the Emperor’s comments had taken the Senator by surprise. Nevertheless he faced the situation squarely, describing Cornelia’s sweet and intelligent nature, while adding that she had been a chieftain’s daughter.

“The chieftains of the north are not exactly kings,” the Emperor reacted as if he were grumbling.

“I know, sir, but I strongly hinted to my son that his only honourable course was by the special dispensation of his Emperor, and now I appeal to you. I can assure you, my noble Princeps, she would make the perfect Roman matron.” Valerius did not flinch from Tiberius’s quizzical look.

“You Valerii are incorrigible!”

The Senator was grateful for the humour that flickered on the face of the Emperor as his troubled and capricious manner was disconcerting to say the least.

The Emperor did not answer the Senator’s appeal directly. Instead, as was his habit, he talked around the subject. This was more like the old Tiberius, Valerius thought.

“Lamia is full of praise for your son,” the Emperor continued, “and seems amazed at the extent of his influence. He has apparently joined up with a Primus Pilus by the name of Tullus. A Primus Pilus or an Equestrian – Lamia was vague on the subject.”

The Senator did not suppose for a moment that Lamia had been vague. It was pure Tiberius.

“A good man, by all accounts,” he proceeded, “– has been appearing in my reports for the last three years – was the hero of a rather nasty ambush. Now, I’ve heard from another source that this same Tullus and your daughter are, shall we say, friendly. Tell me, Valerius, why does the ancient patrician house of the Valerii shun the nobility of Rome?”

Another shaft of fear struck at the Senator, but he remained outwardly calm. He had not expected a controversy concerning Drusilla, and was nonplussed, yet he was compelled to speak.

“Drusilla has mentioned this soldier in her letters. She obviously admires him. I suppose her father should have been more perceptive.”

The Senator paused to look at his Emperor, hoping for a sympathetic response, but Tiberius reacted with an air of languid indifference, as if he were enjoying the Senator’s embarrassment.

“Come, Valerius! You must answer my question. Why have the Valerii turned from the aristocracy of Rome?” The note of playful banter was obvious. For a moment Tiberius had forgotten his dynastic worries and their capricious twists.

Taking heart from the Emperor’s mood, Valerius decided to speak without apology.

“To turn from aristocracy would be to turn from excellence, the description of the Greeks for this level of society. Now, if the Valerii have turned from excellence they are foolish, but my knowledge of Cornelia and your description of Tullus do not lead me to conclude that we have transgressed the natural law. The problem lies with customary law, and the Valerii turn to their Emperor for help.”

Humour flickered at the corner of Tiberius’s mouth.

“Perfect, Valerius! Perfect!” he chuckled. “Shades of the divine Plato – I knew you would answer like that.”

Propped up with cushions, the Emperor lay back on his couch.

“You want to journey to the east, Marcus?” The subject had changed, and the Senator, amazed at his good fortune, felt as if he had survived a long and uncertain cavalry charge. He was also aware that the Emperor’s use of the praenomen was a rare compliment.

“A long journey,” Tiberius mused. “You have my permission, of course, but why not stay here and send for the rest of your baggage? After all, Capri’s well on the way to Brindisium; that is, assuming you’re going that way. I’m sure your favourite freedwoman could look after all the necessary arrangements.” Tiberius shot the Senator a knowing look. So he knows about that as well, Valerius thought with resignation.

“Your offer is very generous, sir, and I’m greatly tempted, but my library is the problem; for if I go to the east without some part of my roll collection it would be little better than exile. As you can appreciate, I would need to select the rolls I wish to take personally.”

The Emperor’s laughter exploded as if smashing through a fortress wall.

“Other men take dancers and concubines, but Valerius takes his library. I bend before the logic of your case.” He laughed again before leaning forward with an air of confidentiality.

“Does your son have to marry the girl?”

Again Valerius was shocked, but the conversational manner of Tiberius was disarming.

“Cornelia as his mistress is…it’s unthinkable, sir.” The Senator’s reply was heartfelt. “It would soil the honour of my son.”

The heavy figure of Tiberius seemed suddenly inert. “Yes,” he said in a drawn-out way, the sound carrying a lifetime of disappointment and regret. “Yours is a strange family, Valerius, but you’re right. Love without honour is empty.”

The words seemed incongruous on the lips of the Emperor, for they did not accord with his reputation, and certainly not with the vile rumours currently circulating in Rome.

Tiberius had disappeared within himself, it seemed, and the Senator, alert and waiting, sensed a heaviness, as if a burden of tragedy were clinging to the ponderous bulk of the Princeps.

“Your son deserves to have his plea considered,” the Emperor said eventually. “I’ll think about it – yes! I’ll think about it – a northern chieftain’s daughter.” His last words were muttered, and again he seemed to go within himself.

The Senator Valerius knew Tiberius well and he knew the signs were good, but even though he was elated he held his peace. It was not done to interrupt the thinking of an Emperor.

Tiberius had lost his capricious look, but his fingers, still active with nervous energy, twisted and pulled at the fabric of the couch; their distracting play a trap for the Senator’s attention. The burden of the Principate was taking its toll on the ageing Emperor, and little wonder, Valerius thought. It was no mean feat to have preserved and consolidated the heritage of Augustus, but there was a price to pay, for his awesome responsibilities allowed little peace of mind. Indeed, some maintained that the force of absolute power had deranged him. A premature judgement, Valerius thought, but what if the terrible pressures of his office grew unbearable. It was a frightening prospect, yet Tiberius was experienced, immensely capable, and he was a Claudian. The long tradition of his house was rooted in him.

Changing position on his couch, the Emperor looked up, his face reflecting a shift in mood.

“Marcus, your library cannot keep you from staying overnight, so we will expect you at our supper table. Nerva, if we can find him, will be joining us. We can do a little drinking, and talk of better days; the better days now past – to talk about the future would sour the wine!”

The Senator accepted graciously. He had no alternative, for only men of little sense would slight the sovereign power. Not that he anticipated the evening to be difficult, as Tiberius, he was certain, would leave the cares of state aside. Nevertheless, the Emperor was the Emperor, and in his presence it was prudent to be watchful. Valerius was also certain that the question of his son’s marriage would not be raised again during his stay at Capri. Tiberius, after due consideration, would send a letter. It was his style. All the Valerii could do was wait.

With well-practised deference one of the Emperor’s freedmen approached and spoke quietly to his master. Tiberius rose to his feet and lines of worry thickened on his forehead.

“There’s someone waiting, Senator. Gnaeus here will show you to your rooms. We’ll meet again this evening.” The Emperor’s voice had lost its relaxation and the quick capricious glint had returned to his eyes.

The audience was over, and Valerius took his leave with customary formality. Once through the twin doors, he found himself face to face with the Emperor’s next visitor, the Praetorian officer Marco, the deputy of Sejanus.

Marco was careful to acknowledge the respected Senator, and Valerius responded with civility, but he was watchful, for he found it difficult to trust any officer of the Praetorian. Too much power rested in the ranks of their exclusive cohorts. They were overpaid and greedy still, and the fear they engendered made them disdainful and arrogant. To most they were a curse, yet they were needed as a counter to the border legions – not the massed legions, an unlikely combination, as the generals were sure to disagree – but rather to deter crack cohorts being sent to coerce the Principate.

The army was at once a friend and an enemy, and the balance of power was ever a concern. Another constant concern was the large slave population. Spartacus and his rebellion were fearful Roman memories.

Rome needed protection and the price of that protection was the Praetorian Guard.