Tiberius (12 page)

So Tiberius dedicated his temples, rubbed the bruises from the collapse of The Cave, organized relief measures for the victims of Fidena, and embarked for Capri. Sejanus went with him, very pleased.

XIII

The portrait of Tiberius begins to change now. The colors are darker, hot reds and smoky blacks.

Tiberius was sixty-seven years old, a Caesar with endless opportunities for wickedness. He would seize them all. Time was slipping away, and Tiberius began to grasp at strong pleasures. Happiness was gone, and Tiberius looked for new stimulation. His face was becoming the face of an old man— still healthy, still strong, but old. He lost weight. His face broke out in discolored blotches. The Romans whispered that he had fled to Capri to hide his appearance from the world. It was not that which he wished to hide.

The Emperor of Rome was now the ruler of only one island—everything else had been abandoned to Sejanus—and he began to remake that island to suit his fancy. Capri had no homes suitable for majesty. Tiberius built one—and another, and another, until he had twelve great villas circling the island. He and his court roamed from one to another. They were exquisite and lavish. A fortune went into their marble doorways, twelve feet wide. The floors were mosaic tiles; the walls were red, yellow, blue, sometimes decorated with landscapes, sometimes with architectural designs. Greek sculptors carved statues and fountains, gardens were planted with the richest shrubs and flowers. In man-made caves queer shrines and grottos held treasures of beauty. Divine fish swam in labyrinthine waterways, where priests could fortell the future from the way one fish wandered through this passage and another through that. In other grottos were some of Tiberius' lavish baths, where he liked to swim with his favorites. (The Blue Grotto tourists see now was probably one of his retreats.) Not all the buildings were for pleasure or sport; an Emperor needed halls of judgment, and an Emperor needed dungeons. But, of course, those were pleasure and sport of a kind, too.

Turning from his labors of construction, Tiberius began to
assemble a new court. His favorite Greek philosophers and astrologers were summoned to Capri and housed like princes. Sejanus' Pretorians were everywhere, watchful against assassins, ready to carry out their master's will. Senators and princelings were "invited"—"compelled" is a better word— to wait on Tiberius, ostensibly so that they might have his friendship, actually so that he could keep them under his eye.

To the ends of the Empire Tiberius' agents went, searching for entertainers to bring to Capri. There were plenty of dancers and lute-players: what Tiberius wanted now was entertainment of another sort. The performers he purchased or hired were called
"spintriae"
—sexual perverts—trained from childhood to perform every conceivable sexual act before an audience. The audience was Tiberius. His sunny villas became temples of indecency, a company of the
spintriae
in each, a fresh and always changing supply of partners for Tiberius himself. The statues the Greek sculptors created for him were indecent; his library held copies of rare manuals of sexual practice from all over the world. The very gods were subjects for obscene paintings, as though the aging Emperor at last were to say: See, this Olympus is all a filthy farce after all. He began to drink, heavily, as he had not since he was a young officer; the name "Biberius Caldius Mero," drinker of straight wine, was revived. The powerful undiluted wine dissolved inhibitions, the queer, salacious play of the
spintriae
flagged the aging flesh to new lusts. Tiberius drank, and talked of poetry with his Greeks; revelled, and chose fresh partners for his bed. He had always been dour, and now he became unpredictably cruel. Each villa had its dungeons, and Tiberius kept them filled. Even a friend might find himself jailed, facing torture. The simplest friendly gesture might bring disaster. A humble fisherman found the Emperor sunning himself on a cliff and, dazzled by majesty, anxious to make a good impression, presented Tiberius with a huge fish he had caught. But he had had the bad luck to startle Tiberius, who had the man cast to the ground and his face rubbed with the fish until it bled.

And nothing was enough! The courtesans and slaves were not enough; Tiberius wanted what he should not have, fine Roman
matrons, freeborn Roman boys. H
e wanted Mallonia, wife of a great man, and drove her to suicide with his peculiar lusts. He trained little boys to swim with him in the bath and taught them erotic arts.

And yet he was Caesar, when he spoke, the earth shook. Even Sejanus could not quite oppose his will.

Sejanus' experiment with murder had been a success. Drusus was dead. No one had suspected. Yet Tiberius, who gave in to Sejanus in everything, had proved strangely obstinate about the one thing Sejanus wanted most of all. Sejanus had killed Livia's husband in order to be free to marry her; now Tiberius refused his consent. Sejanus doubtfully accepted what he could not, for the present, change.

It was queer that Tiberius should block him in this, but Sejanus was not to be stopped by one rebuff. As the emperor could not be reasoned with, Sejanus gave up trying; he had another tactic which would work; he could make himself so clearly and uniquely the inevitable successor to Tiberius that the logic of events would force Tiberius to allow him to marry Livilla. It was not even difficult. It only meant killing off every other possible heir.

Meanwhile there was Rome to govern. Tacfarinas set Africa aflame again, and a large force had to be despatched to put him out of the way once and for all. A slave revolt began in southern Italy—begun by one of Sejanus' own Pretorians, disgracefully enough! The ex-soldier found some disgruntled war prisoners, recently enslaved. In secret he promised them freedom and glory, and also revenge on Rome; all they had to do was rise and fight. The town of Brundisium was attacked one night, and a band of armed slaves fought, freed themselves, released others, and escaped to the deep, untouched forests of Italy's heel. There were farms, whose laborers were fettered slaves, condemned criminals; the marauders struck off their irons and armed them. Other towns were infiltrated or invaded, first by stealth, then by armed bands—finally, the former slaves marched openly in great strength, entering the towns and posting placards that promised freedom and wealth. Sejanus was furious and energetic; but before he could mount an attack on the revolutionists, chance ended the threat for him. A few naval galleys put in for water and supplies; their marines were hastily drafted and caught the slaves by surprise, wiping them out.

In the Senate thanksgivings were addressed to the Emperor. But it was Sejanus who stood to receive them.

On Capri Tiberius, between bouts of pleasure, attended to what affairs of state Sejanus had left him. He was still concerned with public morality, for example. A wealthy old epicure named Gallus had the habit of giving dinners nearly as scandalous as Tiberius' own; what an Emperor might do was too rich for senatorial blood. Tiberius, called Gallus before him, tongue-whipped him, took away his senatorial standing, and prohibited any further entertainments. (Then he reconsidered. Gallus might give one more such dinner—provided he invited Tiberius.) Also there was the one major problem remaining which Sejanus could not handle for him.

The name of that problem was Livia.

Tiberius had hardly seen her in several years. Probably one of his reasons for escaping to Capri was to get away from her; she had become a nuisance, a scold; she disapproved of her son and disliked being ignored by him. Before Augustus died he had written her several notes about
Tiberius
and some of them were hardly flattering. Livia dug up the old letters now and threatened to make them public. But they already were public, or at least enough of them to occupy Roman gossips. Tiberius was seriously annoyed, and in Rome verses were recited about him and Livia in the marketplace:

You cruel monster! I'll be damned, I will, If even your own mother loves you still!

Livia was now very old, past eighty. She could not travel, but she could ask her son to come to her. He would not. She fell ill and asked again; he would not. She died. It was a release for Tiberius, but he bore a grudge. He would not attend her funeral—worse, would not give the orders for the funeral to be held. Tiberius sat obstinately silent on Capri for days while his mother's body lay in the Augustan palace until it became an offense as well as a disgrace, then grudgingly he permitted her to be buried. But he would not attend.

She was given a funeral oration by her great-grandson, Caligula. He was only a boy, but he was the only one who dared.

Caligula was the little boy whose presence had calmed the rebels in Germanicus' camp, fifteen
years before. He was still in hi
s teens. His
father was Germanicus. His moth
er was Agrippina, Julia's daughter, once Tiberius' own stepchild when he and Julia were married.

Caligula was one of those who seemed in the way of Sejanus. He was still popular with the troops, he was wellborn. He was n
ot yet a serious threat, but Sej
anus marked him for the future; now he was only a boy; some day he would be a man. His brothers, Nero and Drusus—still another Drusus!—were also in the direct line of succession. So was their uncle, Germanicus' brother Claudius.

Indeed, by any proper reckoning Claudius was very close to the throne indeed. He was a mature man, in his early thirties, whereas the others were only boys. But Claudius seemed a fool, with a great vacuous grin and an illimitable capacity for absorbing insults. It was very useful, for it kept him alive through three Emperors, when nearly every male related to him by blood was being assassinated. It saved him to a ripe old age; and it saved him from Sejanus now.

The three sons of Gcrmanicus were marked for elimination. Sejanus whispered in the ear of the Emperor: Their mother, Agrippina, hates you; the sons are plotting to seize your throne. Tiberius was always ready to believe that sort of story, and he watched Agrippina with a jaundiced eye. A delator named Domitius Afer brought charges against a Roman matron named Pulchra; Afer was a friend of Sejanus, Pulchra the cousin and close friend of Agrippina; the charges were adultery, sorcery, and a plot to poison Tiberius. They were trumped up, of course. Agrippina took fire and went angrily to Tiberius to complain. It did not help her cousin. Tiberius could be obstinate and was already mistrustful; the word went out that Pulchra was to be convicted, and when the trial was over Tiberius went out of his way to reward Afer for his virtue and eloquence.

Agrippina saw the handwriting on the wall. The conviction of Pulchra was a blow aimed at her. Next it would be her own life. She cast about for powerful help and, frantic, seized the one stong friend who would doom her utterly. That was Asinius Gallus—now a widower. Vipsania was dead, but Tiberius had not forgotten her; and he had not forgiven the man who married her. If Agrippina had ever had a hope of Tiberius' forgiveness, it was gone now.

Agrippina resolutely faced her destruction. Tiberius sent her a flowery invitation to dine and she came to his dinner, but sat like a rock, touching nothing. Sejanus whispered: Insults, Tiberius! She fears you will poison her! Tiberius nodded and put her to the test; he selected an apple with his own hand and urged her to eat it, and when he saw her furtively pass it to a slave he was furious. The woman presumed too much. He drew up a letter cataloguing her misdeeds and sent it to the Senate. Yet even those spineless men would not go so far as to condemn the widow of Germanicus; there was a terrible tumult in the Senate and outside it, where the commons flocked to parade with pictures of Agrippina and her sons, shouting loyalty to them. It took a second letter from Tiberius to whip the Senate into line. That was enough. Agrippina was condemned. Caligula and the other Drusus were too young to be punished, so Tiberius contented himself with ordering them to Capri, where he could watch them; but Nero, the oldest brother, was also condemned.

Soldiers were sent to arrest Nero and his mother. Nero surrendered without a fight. His mother was made of sterner stuff; she resisted; she—a Roman matron!—fought the soldiers with her bare hands; it took a struggle, in the course of which one of her eyes was put out, to subdue her. Agrippina went to Pandateria, where Julia had been exiled to die before her. The son went to another island, Pontia; then was shipped to Rome again; and there committed suicide. Another victory for Sejanus. He renewed his suit for Livilla's hand.

Tiberius stalked about his villas on Capri, a fragmented man, sometimes exhausting himself in a frenzy of lust, sometimes in cruelty, sometimes dabbling at the affairs of Empire, sometimes keeping his poets and astrologers awake all night with talk. He saw ghosts. In the middle of an execution he would break into fits of remorse. He drank, but wine no longer helped him.

Like Rhodes, Capri has steep cliffs. Tiberius always found a use for steep cliffs. He stationed a party of marines at the base of Capri's cliffs. Their duty was not to guard him. There was no threat there. But for reasons of state, for vengeance— sometimes for pure amusement—the victims of Tiberius were hurled over those cliffs, and if they chanced to survive the fall the marines were detailed to flog them to death. In Rome the anonymous versifiers sang:

He is not thirsty for neat wine.

As he was thirsty then,

But warms him up a tastier cup:

The blood of murdered men!

In his bath he had his little boys—"Tiberius' minnows," they were called. The
spintriae
performed their erode tableaux, the courtesans and the chaste matrons waited their turn for Tiberius' bed. Surely his mind was going; yet sometimes it would be crystal clear. He was at his best in conversations with his learned friends. At dinner Tiberius could still seem cool, intelligent, wise. Reclining before the marble dining table on one elbow, while dancing girls and musicians diverted the guests, Tiberius loved to talk with his Greeks of literature and science. He would debate with Thrasyllus such great questions as: Were comets real stars or mere optical illusions, caused by the rays of other stars converging at a point? He would keep his literary Greeks on their toes with the sort of questions that might have delighted a television quizmaster: "Wh
at was the name of Hecuba's moth
er?" "What name did Achilles assume when he disguised himself as a girl at the court of King Lycomedes?" He enjoyed hearing his scholars give the right answers; he enjoyed it even more when they did not. Yet even in conversa
tion with his
pedants the lightning would sometimes blaze forth. It could be provoked by anything. Zeno once commented that a certain word had a Doric sound to him; Doric was the sort of Greek spoken on the island of Rhodes, where Tiberius had spent ten long years of exile; it smelled suspiciously like a slur to Tiberius, and Zeno found himself arrested, condemned, and banished to the remote wastelands.

Meanwhile Sejanus ran the Empire. No one could approach Tiberius without the approval of Sejanus. No one could even come to Capri. On the Italian shore, three miles away, senators, knights, wealthy men, ambassadors, and client kings stood waiting for a word, a nod, from Sejanus. They dared not leave. Sejanus might appear at any moment. They waited there in all weathers, and their own slaves felt contempt for patricians who so demeaned themselves. But they had no choice.

Statues of Sejanus were beginning to appear at the ends of the Empire. Such statues went to Judaea, where they stirred the Jews to frenzy. "Thou shalt make no graven image," commanded the One God of the Jews, and the statues were an insult, the Roman law that they should be worshipped was a blasphemy.

Sejanus' man Pontius Pilate was procurator there.

It was a mistake for him to force the Jews to worship these images, for it brought riots and bloodshed; he sought to rectify it. That was a graver error still. It seemed to Pilate a little, politic thing to yield to the demand of the Sanhedrin for the death of one
man. It would placate the restl
ess Jews, he thought, and therefore it would be a service to Pilate's master, Sejanus. Besides—he was a wryly humerous person, this Pontius Pilate—it was a son of joke on the Jews to execute the person who claimed to be their king. So he gave the order for the Crucifixion.

It was that simple for even the second-hand power of the remote, uncaring Caesar to stretch a finger halfway around the world and snuff out a life.

There is no reason to believe that Tiberius ever heard the name of the Man who was crucified that day. But the successors of Tiberius learned it very well.

XIV

On New Year's Day, 31
a.d.,
Tiberius allowed himself to be elected again as one of the two consuls of Rome. It was his fifth term as consul. Traditions form quickly in high places, and it was already traditional for an Emperor to choose for his co-consul someone he specially wished to mark as his closest friend, perhaps even his successor.

Tiberius chose Sejanus.

It was a signal honor for Sejanus, not because it increased his power in any way—nothing could do that!—but because it was official, formal recognition of his standing. Tiber
ius went even farth
er. Sejanus had never stopped pleading for the hand of Livilla. Now Tiberius gave in. The marriage might take place.

Sejanus rode very high. His birthday was made a national day of celebration and in a thousand towns from Africa to the Rhine goats and chickens were slaughtered in his honor. Golden statues were erected to him all over the Empire. No Roman had ever had so much in honor and in power without being an Emperor—not even Agrippa, who had given Rome to Augustus. Tiberius' own fame was a shadow compared to that of Sejanus.

But the shadow had substance. Sejanus discovered that the old man yielded in one place only to throw a block in his way in another. Livilla was given to him, but suddenly the Emperor wrote a letter to the Senate discussing die likely candidates to succeed himself and, lo! Agrippina's family was back in contention. Sejanus was not mentioned at all. Tiberius gave his endorsement to young Caligula.

Sejanus felt the time had come to throw off the mask. Old Tiberius could not be trusted. Perhaps he was senile, perhaps he was suspicious, but one way or another he might take some crazy, unpredictable step that would seriously hurt Sejanus. It would be better to get him out of the way. He had nothing left to give except his life. Sejanus already had everything else. By now Sejanus had his friends everywhere, he knew whom he could count on, he knew what triggers to pull to bring the waverers to his side. He met secretly with close friends and useful allies—Aelius Gallus, and Publius Vitellius, the prefect of the imperial treasury; generals and governors; senators and quaestors. One man's price was a province in Africa, another wanted only revenge for some hurt Tiberius had done his family. Sejanus contracted to pay all prices, to reward all friends. Half a dozen were in the plot, then a score, then more. All Rome whispered and bubbled. It was fortunate for Sejanus that Tiberius revelled fretfully i
n his self-imposed exile; had h
e been in Rome he would surely have heard whispers. But on Capri his ears were stopped up. No word could reach him except by letter, and the postmen were members of Sejanus' own Pretorian Guard.

Everything went wonderfully well. The real problem was not Tiberius himself any longer. The Emperor was as good as dead; on Capri, his life was to be had for the taking, any time Sejanus raised a hand. What was necessary was to make sure of the loyalty of the legions outside Italy. It would do no good to seize the throne and claim the city of Rome if fifty thousand legionaires came marching down from Gaul, or across from Spain or Africa. Until Sejanus knew that the provincial commanders would keep their hands off he could only wait. It took time. Meanwhile, Sejanus was already like a king. When he walked into the Senate he was saluted as a god, almost. Toadies and sycophants flocked about. They didn't ask for favors, only for a word of greeting; it was enough of a victory merely to be allowed in his presence.