CHAPTER 65

Flavia’s scream brought the Greek choir back into the hallway —staring and stunned. A number of Germanic troops sprinted past them to where Flavia knelt over Caligula’s body, covered in blood. She pointed in the other direction, and they took off. Praetorian Guards were not far behind, and soon the corridors underneath the palace were crawling with troops.

Flavia made her way back to the theater, where pandemonium reigned. Caligula’s Germanic guards stood by the exits, swords drawn, forbidding anyone to leave. Flavia took a seat in the imperial box and wept aloud as she explained that Caligula had been stabbed to death. His attackers had apparently fled. Rubria knelt next to her, embraced her, and buried her head in Flavia’s lap.

Some of the senators tried to leave the theater, but the guards held their ground. The senators protested loudly, yet the guardsmen just shook their heads, tensed their muscles, and pointed the senators back to their seats.

Some senators obeyed. Others approached the imperial box.

“I just came upon him in the hallway,” Flavia explained.

“Are you sure he was dead?”

She nodded, started to say something, and broke down again.

Emotions quickly escalated. Some spectators wept openly, while others seemed pleased by the emperor’s demise. A rumor started that Caligula had not actually died and that the whole thing was nothing more than a ruse to see who would celebrate.

When three of the emperor’s closest bodyguards returned from the tunnel, things took a bloody turn. They had decapitated three senators they had discovered in the hallway, and they carried the heads of those senators into the theater. They placed the bloody heads at the front of the stage so that they stared out at the audience. The people shrank back in horror. Some of the freedmen threw themselves at the guards’ feet, pleading their own innocence.

It sickened Flavia to see how quickly the violence had escalated. Apparently the three dead senators had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Another fifty or so senators quickly huddled together near their seats as the Germanic guards surrounded them. Flavia grabbed Rubria’s hand, and the two of them walked between the senators and the bodyguards. They stood there, facing the guards, shielding the senators. Two other Vestals came over and joined them.

“Move,” one of the guards demanded.

“At the very least, these men are entitled to a fair trial,” Flavia said, standing her ground.

The commander of the guards stared at Flavia for a moment, his nostrils flared with rage. “Nobody leaves!” he barked.

I sprinted to the house of Sentius Saturninus, one of Rome’s two consuls, who would now temporarily rule until a new Caesar was selected by the Senate. I breathlessly relayed the news that Caligula was dead. I urged Sentius to convene the Senate or risk throwing all of Rome into chaos.

Sentius, a cagey old survivor, rose to his full height as if he had been expecting this all along. “Thank you for your service, Theophilus. You can rest assured that the Senate will be convened with the greatest possible haste.”

I left Sentius’s house and ran to the doma of Seneca. He was there waiting, along with Apronius.

“Caesar is dead,” I gasped, standing in front of both of them. I bent over to catch my breath.

“How did he die?” Apronius asked.

“With much less pain than he deserved,” I said.

Forty minutes after the death of Caligula, an envoy from the Senate entered the theater. His name was Arruntius Euaristus. He was dressed in black mourning attire, and he strode to the stage, taking a place behind the severed heads of the three senators. Euaristus was an auctioneer and possessed one of the most commanding voices in all of Rome.

He announced that Caligula had been murdered —stabbed to death by unknown assassins. By order of the consuls, the Senate was being convened to elect a new Princeps, and the theater was to be emptied. Mourning for the emperor was to begin immediately. The senators should report to the Capitol.

Though they didn’t look happy, the guards threw open the doors of the theater. People nearly trampled each other in their haste to leave.

Flavia left with them and quickly headed to the House of Vestal, where she tried to scrub the blood from her skin and clothes. She had done her part to free Rome from the reign of a maniacal tyrant. Now it would be up to the Senate to do theirs.

For three hours, I watched the senators debate the future of the empire. Apronius was one of the first to speak. As I knew he would, he presented a compelling case to cast off the chains of the imperial system and return to a republic. He castigated the senators for their failure to take a stand against Caligula’s abuses. He had prepared a list of insults and atrocities the Senate had suffered at the hands of Caesar, and he went through them now, one by one. “This is what happens when we give up our rights as Roman citizens and kneel to kiss the foot of a man who calls himself a god!” Apronius shouted.

I knew Apronius would be a strong voice for a return to the Republic, but I had no idea he would be this strong. His speech was interrupted by frequent applause, while opposing senators looked furious.

He was followed by Sentius Saturninus himself, the consul I had spoken to earlier, who carried forward the same theme. “The tyranny of Caesar was fostered by nothing more than our own indolence and failure to speak in opposition to his wishes. We succumbed to the seduction of peace and have learned to live like conquered prisoners. We have been afraid to die like brave men and have endured the utmost degradation.”

When he finished, half the Senate was on its feet applauding, and the other half looked like they wanted blood. A member of the opposition leaped to his feet and walked up to Sentius. He pointed to the signet ring on Sentius’s finger, holding up the consul’s hand for everyone to see.

“Do you see what this man has?” the senator asked. “A signet ring with the likeness of Caligula. He upbraids us for being sycophants of the tyrant. But how do you think he got appointed as consul?”

As the debate dragged on, a huge crowd gathered outside the Senate doors. In the Forum, speakers mounted the Rostra and fired up their portions of the crowd. The city’s police force, following strict orders from the consuls, stood guard close by. The Praetorian Guard was nowhere to be seen.

A few of the more outspoken proponents of the Republic came into the Senate chambers and asked me to take my turn outside on the Rostra. “People will listen to you,” they claimed. “This is your chance to turn the tide of history.”

At first I hesitated, wondering whether I should take such a public stand. Though the word was not yet out about my arrest, people would eventually learn that I had been charged with maiestas earlier that morning. But if the Republic was restored, that charge, like similar charges against other individuals, would be dismissed and likely considered a badge of honor. And if the Republic was not restored, the maiestas charge would be just one problem out of many. There was no middle ground.

I followed them outside, and when my turn came, I mounted the Rostra, the same spot where Mark Antony had eulogized Julius Caesar. With that famous eulogy, Mark Antony had demonized Brutus, Caesar’s killer, and the power of the emperor had been solidified. Perhaps today, that same power could be broken.