CHAPTER 66

“There will be a time for us to mourn Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus,” I said. “But that time is not now!”

I looked out at the thousands of people standing before me, at the magnificent temples of Rome, at the police lining the porticoes in the Forum proper.

“There will be a time when we recall fondly his early reign, the days when he disavowed the treason trials and walked among us as a fellow Roman citizen. The days when he treated everyone with decency and respect. But now is not the time for reminiscing.”

My voice carried, and I didn’t feel the least bit nervous. I had been preparing for this moment my entire life. My voice was strong, my gaze steady, my chin high.

“Today is a day for action. Today we must choose. On the one hand, freedom. A nation of laws. A nation where every man, whether born a freedman’s son or a slave or a Roman equestrian, may ascend to the highest heights and achieve the greatest triumphs. If we follow this road, we choose the glory of Rome. The courage of a Roman legionnaire, the authority of a Roman magistrate, the ingenuity of a Roman architect.

“Rome civilized the entire world not because we had superior weapons but because we had a superior will. We are Romans. We bowed to no one. That is one road that lies before us —to recapture that glory.

“The other road is the road of the imperial system. We stumble over each other to kiss the feet of another man. We allow that man to mock our institutions by threatening to appoint his horse to the second-highest position in the land. We stand idly by as this man reaches out, takes the hands of our wives, and whisks them away to his chambers while we watch in shame. Saying nothing. Doing nothing. This is the road of the empire. One man becomes a god, and everyone else becomes his slave!”

A few people broke into applause while others hissed or shouted in protest. I knew I was now on dangerous ground, condemning the legacy of Caesar even before his body was cold.

“What is the cost of a Roman soul? Is it the price of free bread and entertainment at the Circus Maximus? Is that how much we charge to be debased like animals?

“Or does a Roman soul have infinite worth? Is the soul upright, good, and worthy? Should every citizen have a chance to rise to heaven from the very slums? This is what it means to be a republic. This is what it means to recapture the glory of Rome.”

I paused, searching for a way to end.

“The founders of Rome gave birth to the greatest Republic in human history. It’s time for a second birth; it’s our turn to write a new chapter in Roman history —a chapter of dignity and opportunity and freedom.”

People clapped; a few even cheered. But it wasn’t the raucous reaction I had wanted —a crowd mobilized for action.

I walked down the steps of the Rostra disappointed in my own performance. My friends told me that my words were eloquent and moving, yet I knew I had not captured the imagination of the crowd. Perhaps they had been slaves to the emperor for so long that they no longer had a spark of freedom that could be ignited.

Augustus Caesar and his successors had cleverly wooed them, turning defiant citizens into submissive slaves, all in exchange for Roman peace, beautiful roads, free food, and entertainment.

For some strange reason, I thought of my conversation with Nicodemus. He had spoken of new beginnings, a second birth. Perhaps it only happened in Judea. Perhaps in Rome, where cynicism prevailed, the death of a republic could never be reversed.

It was two hours later when Herod Agrippa mounted the Rostra and quieted the crowd. He was a well-known friend of Caligula’s and had been appointed tetrarch over Galilee and Perea. He had come to Rome to celebrate with Caligula in the last few days before the emperor moved to Alexandria.

He was a tall and distinguished man, fifty or so but with a face that looked ten years younger. He had a long, pointed nose and a protruding forehead and always wore a small laurel wreath half-hidden by his curly black hair. He also had that intangible presence that let everyone know he was a man in charge.

“A few hours ago, one of Rome’s top advocates said that this was not a day to mourn Caligula. But I hope you will excuse those of us who loved the emperor if we cannot keep our eyes as dry as this day apparently requires.”

Agrippa looked at me as if I had the power to give him permission to mourn. I stared back, unblinking.

“I also hope our friend Theophilus will forgive us if we shed a tear for the emperor’s wife and baby daughter.”

My breath caught in my throat at this mention of the emperor’s family. Had they died as well? Chaerea was supposed to have arrested them.

An audible gasp went up from the crowd as they heard the news.

“Chaerea and Sabinus, the cowardly traitors who stabbed Caesar in the back, barged into Caesonia’s room and told her to make her peace with the gods,” Agrippa continued. “Caesonia faced the sword courageously and made only one request. She begged them to spare her two-year-old daughter, Drusilla.”

Even before Agrippa finished the story, I knew in my gut that Chaerea had done something unspeakable. I could already sense the crowd’s disgust at the merciless slaying of Caesonia. I braced for what was coming next.

“After killing Caesonia, Chaerea killed little Drusilla by banging her head against the palace wall. These are the great defenders of the Republic to whom Theophilus referred earlier.”

The crowd was aghast, and so was I. My greatest fears had been realized. Chaerea was a monster, created by incessant ridiculing from Caligula. Now the monster had turned and destroyed every member of Caligula’s family.

“The Praetorian Guard found Claudius secreted behind a curtain in the palace. They carried him from the Palatine Hill to their barracks, where they have crowned him as Rome’s new emperor.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! Claudius, the fifty-year-old uncle of the emperor, had only survived this long because he was widely believed to be wholly incompetent and no threat whatsoever to Caligula. He was clumsy, stuttered when he talked, and kept to himself as a reclusive scholar. Caligula had frequently made fun of him. Nobody considered Claudius to be emperor material.

“Chaerea and Sabinus have been arrested and executed,” Agrippa announced. My heart dropped. Chaerea had told us that the rest of the Praetorian Guard would back him once Caligula was dead. He had grossly miscalculated.

“Men like Theophilus can long for a republic, but we must remember that it was the divine Augustus who found Rome built of stone and left it built of marble. Our greatest years have been our years as an empire! It is therefore right and just that we should mourn those emperors who are slain before they can show the benefits of their rule. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to excuse me, I will go pay my respects to Caligula and Caesonia and poor little Drusilla.”

Agrippa walked off the Rostra, and the crowd showed its respect by watching in silence.

I knew at that moment we were defeated. The Senate held out for a few more hours, but as the prospects for restoring the Republic became dimmer, senators started fleeing the chamber for fear of reprisal.

Agrippa became the unofficial envoy between the Senate and the Praetorian Guard. By early the next morning, he had negotiated a resolution. The Senate would recognize Claudius as the new Princeps. In exchange, there would be no further prosecution of those who were alleged to have participated in the conspiracy to murder Caligula. Those awaiting trial on maiestas charges were pardoned. My own arrest, orchestrated by Chaerea as part of the assassination conspiracy, would be one of many erased from the record books.

The next day, January 26, Claudius was escorted back into the Imperial Palace by members of the Praetorian Guard. He was crowned Caesar by the commander of the guard on the balcony of the palace. He immediately announced that the state would give every Praetorian soldier fifteen thousand sestertii, more than ten times a soldier’s annual wages. The Praetorian Guard had made Claudius emperor, and now he was paying them back.

That same day, the Senate recognized Claudius as emperor and awarded him the customary rights and honors of the principate. Like his nephew before him, Claudius announced an end to the treason trials and said he would burn all criminal records associated with them. He stammered his way through his first speech, announcing his intentions to treat the Senate with great respect.

That night I lay in bed and tried to sleep for the first time in forty-eight hours. When I closed my eyes, I saw the bloodied corpse of Caligula. I felt my dagger ripping through the intestines of Lucian. I heard the words of Agrippa describing the violent death of a defenseless baby girl.

Was this what I had become? An assassin? A failed leader of a rebellion? A man who had unleashed horrible evil in the name of justice?

But what was the alternative? Somebody had to stop the madness. The speech in the Senate that day by Claudius sounded uncomfortably familiar, as if the words from Caligula’s first speech four years earlier had been bottled up and then poured out one more time. Perhaps we had just traded one tyrant for another. Time would tell.

I dozed in and out that night, haunted by the way events had unfolded, trying hard to convince myself that I had done the right thing. How could Flavia and I have known that Chaerea would rampage through the royal family like a wounded lion? Was it our fault that the Senate had once again shirked their opportunity to seize a historic moment?

Maybe the Republic was forever dead. But at least I had tried.

I thought about Flavia. I reminded myself of the senseless death of Mansuetus. Flavia and I had fulfilled our vow. We had no other choice.

I cursed the name of Caligula and finally fell asleep.