the Tetrarch. By Bona Dea, I didn’t realize I was staying this long; I
must be going. Longinus will be waiting for me. Herodias, surely we’ll
see one another again before either of us sails for Palestine?”
“Yes, we must. And when we do, we’ll both know more about our plans.”
Neaera entered. “Has the Tetrarch come?” Herodias asked.
“No, Mistress, it’s a soldier sent by the Prefect. He seeks the Lady
Claudia. He awaits her in the atrium.”
The soldier, one of the Praetorian Guardsmen, announced that the Prefect
Sejanus was at that moment waiting for Claudia in her own apartment at
the Imperial Palace. He added that he hoped they might start
immediately; he feared the Prefect might be getting impatient.
But when they reached her house and she entered the atrium to greet the
Prefect of the Praetorian Guard, Sejanus bowed low and smiled
reassuringly. “I come from an audience with your beloved stepfather, the
Emperor, at Capri,” he said. “He commanded me to bear to you his esteem
and fatherly love and to offer his congratulations upon the most
excellent plans he has projected—with my warm approval, let me hasten to
assure you—for your forthcoming marriage.”
“For my marriage? But, Prefect Sejanus....” Claudia paused, striving to
maintain outward composure.
“I know it comes as quite a surprise to you. But the arrangements have
been completed, and I’ve come here to tell you immediately on my return
from Capri. You and your future husband are the only ones who are being
informed now of the Emperor’s plans. But you will be married soon, even
before you and your husband leave for his tour of duty in Palestine.”
“In Palestine!”
How could the Emperor have known about Longinus and me? The Prefect? Of
course, that’s how. Sejanus knew that Longinus was with me at the
banquet Antipas gave for Herodias; he knew that Longinus was at my house
later that evening when he sent Cornelius out to fetch him, or he
learned of it when they came afterward to his palace. Old Sejanus must
not be so bad, after all. Nor is the Emperor, either. Perhaps I have
been too severe in judging them. Perhaps they both have their good
moments, their generous impulses....
“Yes, to Palestine.” The Prefect was speaking. “He has promised your
hand in marriage to a Roman army officer who, if he follows my orders
implicitly and remains completely loyal to me, may shortly be not only a
man of wealth but also a leader of influence in the affairs of the
Empire.”
Claudia was about to express her thanks to the Emperor and his most
excellent Prefect and to ask when the wedding would be held. But some
instinctive vein of caution restrained her from mentioning Longinus’
name. Now the Prefect was speaking again.
“Needless to say, I join the Emperor in praying the gods that you and
the Procurator Pontius Pilate lead long lives and find great happiness
with each other.”
“The Procurator Pontius Pilate! Then....” But again caution stopped her
just in time.
Sejanus smiled. “You are surprised, my dear Claudia? And whom did you
think the Emperor had chosen to be your husband?”
“But I ... I don’t even know this Pontius Pilate.” Claudia ignored the
Prefect’s question. “He is to be Procurator in Palestine, succeeding
Valerius Gratus?”
“Procurator of Judaea, with headquarters at Caesarea, yes.” His grin was
sardonically beguiling. “But what were you about to say?”
“I was going to observe that then I would be spending the rest of my
life away from Rome, living in a distant provincial army post,” she
lied, not too convincingly, she suspected.
But Sejanus did not pursue his questioning. “Not if the Procurator
conducts the affairs of his post in the manner that I have outlined to
him.”
“Has he been informed of the Emperor’s plans for ... for us?”
“Yes. And he is tremendously happy and excited, as what man wouldn’t be,
my dear Claudia?” His lips flattened bloodless across his teeth, and his
little eyes flamed. “Even I, with my youth long fled, envy him!”
7
Claudia, striving to be courteously casual, walked with the Prefect to
the doorway where two Praetorian Guardsmen awaited him. As they went out
she closed the pivoted double doors behind them, but after a moment she
cautiously drew one back and peered through the narrow slit.
The Prefect’s bearers and the guards who had remained outside were
standing stiffly at attention, the bearers at the sedan-chair handles;
one of the guards stepped forward quickly to open the door. Sejanus
paused an instant and spoke to the man; then he stepped into the chair
and, as the guard closed the door, pulled together the shielding
curtains. The guard raised his hand, and the bearers moved off smartly.
Claudia saw, however, that the bodyguard did not march off with the
Prefect’s procession; instead, he peered about furtively, cast a hurried
glance toward her doorway, and then merged into the traffic pushing
along the narrow, cobbled way. Momentarily she lost him but in the next
instant discovered him idling in front of a shop diagonally across from
her entrance. But not for long did he study the wares of the merchant;
she saw that he had faced about and was staring intently at her own
doorway.
“I thought so,” she observed to Tullia, who had retreated into the
shadowed narrow corridor as Sejanus was leaving. “The Prefect left one
of his bodyguards to watch the house. He either wishes to know where
I’ll be going or who will be coming here, perhaps both. I don’t know
what he is scheming, Tullia”—the maid had come forward and secured the
doors—“but whatever it is, I don’t like it. Longinus may endanger
himself by coming. We must warn him. But how, Tullia? He is likely to be
arriving any moment; he must have been delayed at Castra Praetoria, or
he would have been here already.”
Quickly she told the maid the startling news the Prefect had brought.
“Anyone who leaves this house through these doors, Mistress, then is
sure to be followed. But I could go out through the servant’s entrance
on some contrived mission and perhaps be able to warn him.”
“Good, Tullia. You can be taking something to Senator Piso’s house and
carry a message to Longinus. Talk with him if he is there and tell him
what has happened, but say that I’ll arrange to meet him later, perhaps
at the house of Herodias.”
“Or maybe, Mistress, at the shop of Stephanos.”
“Yes. Maybe the goldsmith’s would be better. But if the Prefect’s men
should follow and ask you questions, Tullia, what will you say?”
“I could be bearing a small gift to Philo, Senator Piso’s old Greek
slave who tutored his children. He’s quite ill and....”
“Wonderful! Tullia, you are indeed my treasure. Take the old man a jar
of that honey from Samos; he would like that. And some wheat cakes and a
bottle of the Falernian.” She was silent a moment, thoughtful. “By the
Bountiful Mother! Tullia, I’ll help you get away by leading that soldier
myself on a false chase. Fetch me my cloak and scarf. I’ll pretend to be
disguising myself in order to slip away. Then he’ll follow me. Now find
the things to take to old Philo, and get yourself ready. And do hurry.”
In a few minutes Tullia returned with the cloak and scarf. “The basket
of food is ready,” she said. She helped her mistress put on the cloak
and tie the scarf so that much of her face was concealed. “Leave the
door ajar as I go out,” Claudia instructed her, “and when you see the
soldier following me, close the door and slip away yourself through the
servants’ entrance. And return the same way, as quickly as you can.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And, Tullia, say to Longinus that I instructed you to tell him that
what has happened changes nothing, that as far as I am concerned
everything is just as it was with him and me. But say as little as you
can to anyone else, Tullia, and nothing concerning the Prefect’s visit.”
Claudia walked to the entrance doors and turned to face her maid again.
“You go out and look around furtively as though you were seeing that the
way was clear for me. That will likely warn the guardsman that something
is afoot, that we suspect someone may be watching the house. Then I’ll
go out, and because I will not have my bearers summoned, he’ll surmise
that I am trying to leave unnoticed.”
Then she puckered her rouged lips into a thoughtful bud. “But why is old
Sejanus having us watched? Did he think that I would slip out to tell
Longinus? Does he want me to tell the centurion and perhaps deliberately
prejudice him against Pilate?” She shook her head slowly. “But how can
he know about Longinus and me?”
“Perhaps, Mistress, he only suspects,” Tullia answered. “It may be that
he is trying to find out just what your relationship is.”
“Maybe so. But little he’ll discover now, by the gods!” She opened the
door and peered out. “Now.”
Tullia slipped through the doorway, looked up and down the narrow
street, then stepped back into the atrium.
“Now I’ll go,” Claudia said. “Be careful, Tullia. And do guard your
tongue.” Outside she readjusted her scarf and pulled her cloak more
closely about her. Then she stepped into the cobble-stoned way and
walked rapidly along it.
Tullia, peeping through the slit in the doorway, saw the Prefect’s man
emerge from the shadows of a shop entrance and move off quickly to
follow her. When the two had disappeared around the turn, Tullia closed
the doors and hurriedly recrossed the atrium. A moment later she slipped
out through the servants’ entrance. A freshly starched napkin covered
the food in the basket she carried.
8
An unexpected assignment, fortunately, had delayed Longinus’ departure
from Castra Praetoria, and he had just reached home when Tullia arrived
at Senator Piso’s. Quickly she told him of the Prefect’s visit to her
mistress.
He listened attentively, outwardly calm but inwardly with rage mounting
as her story progressed. “Go back to your mistress, Tullia,” he said,
when she finished, “and tell her that with me, too, nothing is changed.
But warn her to make no attempt, until I tell her, to communicate with
me. The Prefect is diabolically clever; he may suspect that we will try
to thwart his plans. I don’t understand just what he’s scheming; we must
be careful. But assure her that I will find some way of getting a
message to her.”
“Centurion Longinus, if I may suggest, sir, should you send the message,
or bear it yourself, to the shop of Stephanos in the Vicus
Margaritarius....”
“I know that shop, Tullia, and the goldsmith, too.”
“Then, sir, from there I could take your message verbally to my
mistress. Stephanos is the son of my father’s brother. He can be
trusted, you may be assured, sir.”
“That’s a good arrangement, Tullia. And should your mistress wish to
send me a message, you can leave it with the goldsmith. But do warn her
to be careful. The Prefect may be setting a trap for us.”
The goldsmith Stephanos was, like his cousin Tullia, a Greek-speaking
Jew who had been reared in the Jewish colony in Rome. Although a young
man, he had already established a profitable business in the capital,
and his customers numbered many of the equestrian class, including
members of Senator Piso’s family. Consequently, Longinus, were he being
watched, could go to the goldsmith’s shop without arousing suspicion.
Longinus discovered how fortunate they had been in taking such
precautions when, a week after Tullia’s visit to him, he was again
summoned to the palace of the Prefect.
Sejanus gave little time to the formalities of greeting the Senator’s
son. “I am now prepared to hand you your orders, Centurion Longinus,” he
said. “But before I do so I must ask you if you have any reservations
whatsoever concerning this mission I propose to send you on.” The
Prefect’s cold little eyes were studying him, Longinus realized, and he
was determined that he would reveal neither fear nor surprise.
“None, sir. I’m a soldier, and I await the Prefect’s orders.”
But Sejanus was not satisfied. “When last I talked with you, you said
that you were hardly acquainted with Pontius Pilate, that you were in no
sense an intimate friend. But I ask you now, do you have any hostility
toward him?” He leaned forward, and his eyes bored into the centurion’s
bland countenance. “Has anything happened since then that would cause
you to change your feeling toward him?”
“I know nothing that he has done, sir, that would cause me to feel
hostility toward him. Has he, sir?”
The question seemed to surprise Sejanus. He leaned back against his
chair. “He has done nothing. But something has been done that may have
caused you to feel bitter toward him.” He was studying the centurion
intently. “Bitterness toward the Procurator would render you unfit for
the assignment I am proposing for you, just as close friendship for him
would do the same.” He smiled, changing his stern tone to one of
fatherly interest. “Frankly, Longinus, I had expected to find you bitter
toward Pilate, the Emperor, and me.”
“But why, sir, should _I_ be bitter?”
“I had thought that perhaps you would be jealous of him, resent his....”
“Jealous of Pilate?” Boldly Longinus ventured to interrupt. “But why,
sir?”
“Pilate is going to marry the Emperor’s stepdaughter and take her out to
Judaea when he goes there to begin his duties as Procurator. I had
thought that you yourself might be planning to marry Claudia.”
“_I_, sir?” Longinus affected sudden surprise. “May I respectfully ask
why you thought that?”
“You have been seeing her since your return from Germania. She
accompanied you to the banquet Antipas gave for his brother’s wife.”
Sejanus shrugged. “That suggested it to me.” His lips thinned into a
feline grin. “Since I made known to her the Emperor’s plans I have had
you both watched; if you have met or communicated with one another, it
has escaped my men’s sharp eyes.” His piggish eyes brightened. “I want
you to understand, Longinus, that I am not the protector of either
Claudia or Pilate. I am not the least concerned with their private lives
so long as what they do doesn’t harm me or the Empire. And let me
add”—his eyes were dancing now—“I’m not concerned with your private life
either. I am determined, however, that nothing be done to interfere with
our plans for Pilate and Claudia. But if after they are married and gone
out to Judaea, some evening in Caesarea or Jerusalem you should find
yourself in Pilate’s bed when Pilate is away, that will be no concern of
mine, nor shall I care one green fig’s worth.” Suddenly the lascivious
gleam was gone from his eyes, and his countenance was grave. He raised a
stern hand and leaned forward again. “But I’ll require of you a true and
unbiased report on Pontius Pilate, Longinus. If you think you may be
prejudiced against the man because he will have taken Claudia away from
you, then I charge you to tell me now and I shall give you some other
assignment.”
“I assure you, sir, that I have no hostility toward him. But I do wonder
why Claudia is being required to marry him and be virtually exiled from
Rome.”
Sejanus studied the senator’s son a long moment. “Longinus, I shall be
entirely frank with you, as I shall require you to be with me,” he
replied, lowering his voice, though there were no other ears to hear.
“The Emperor and I want Claudia exiled, though we would never employ so
harsh a word for her being sent away from Rome. Claudia’s the
granddaughter of Augustus, remember, and also—it’s generally believed,
at any rate—the granddaughter of Mark Antony and the Egyptian Cleopatra.
She’s in direct descent from strong-willed, able—and in their day
tremendously popular—forebears. Tiberius, on the other hand, is not. Nor
does he have any strong following. As you know, Longinus”—he paused, and
his small black eyes for an instant weighed the centurion’s
expression—“in everything but name, I am the Emperor.”
“Indeed, sir, but were Rome to overthrow the Emperor, the gods forbid,
would the people enthrone a woman? Surely, sir, they would never....”
“Of course not. It’s not likely, under any circumstances. But you don’t
understand, Longinus.” The Prefect’s grim countenance relaxed a bit, but
he kept his voice low as he sat back against his chair. “Claudia is no
longer married. While she was married to that fop Aemilius there was no
cause for concern. But now she’s divorced and in a position to marry
again.” He smiled, and the wanton flame lighted once more. “And
beautiful. Gods, what a figure!” He rolled his eyes. “If I were young
again, with her I could be Emperor of Rome!” He was silent a moment.
“But I am Emperor of Rome—in all but title.” Now Sejanus was suddenly
grave, and old, and the flame was only of an innate cunning. He leaned
toward the centurion. “Longinus, any man in Rome, any man, would be
happy to marry Claudia. She’s beautiful, rich, highly intelligent, and
the granddaughter of Rome’s greatest Emperor. Being that, she remains a
threat to us as long as she is in Rome. What if some strong, ambitious
general or senator, for example, should marry her and undertake to
displace Tiberius?” He sat back and gestured with outspread palms.
“Don’t you see, Centurion? And displacement of Tiberius—and me—would be
disastrous for your father, of course, and for you. You and I must work
together just as your father and I have been doing. So I shall look
forward not only to your frequent reports of a military and
administrative nature, particularly with respect to the collection of
revenue, but now that Claudia is going out there, to tidbits of
information concerning her and Pilate.” His sensual lips thinned across
his teeth. “Claudia must be kept away from Rome, Longinus, but she must
be kept happily away, too. So if you can help make her stay in Judaea
pleasant, if you can help Pilate keep her satisfied, or if you can keep
her satisfied,” he added with a leer, “you will be serving the Emperor
and me, your father, and yourself. And I don’t care _how_ you do it. Be
careful to avoid scandal, though, that might reach Rome.” He grinned
again. “I think you need have little fear of Pilate.” His lips were
twisted in an evil smile. “Now have I answered your question, Longinus?
Do I make myself entirely clear?”
“You do, sir.” Longinus’ countenance was impassive, he hoped, but his
palm itched to be doubled into a fist that would smash the leer off the
Prefect’s face.
“Then these are your orders. Three days hence the ‘Palmyra’ sails for
Palestine. Aboard will be a maniple of troops to relieve two centuries
of the Second Italian Cohort. You will command a century that will be
stationed at Caesarea under Sergius Paulus. Centurion Cornelius will
command the other. Also aboard will be Tetrarch Herod Antipas. You and
your century will go ashore at Caesarea, but Cornelius and his will
accompany Herod to Joppa. There they will land, and Cornelius will
escort the Tetrarch to Jerusalem. Ostensibly Herod will be going up to
the Temple to worship, but he will be bearing a message from me to old
Annas, the former high priest.” He paused but did not explain further.
“From Jerusalem,” he went on, “Cornelius will escort Herod to Tiberias,
where the century will be stationed, with a garrison post at Capernaum
supporting it. And now, to get back to you, Longinus, I have dispatched
orders to Sergius Paulus that although you will command a century, you
must be allowed leave any time you request it to undertake special
missions. I indicated to him that these missions would be concerned
primarily with the government’s interest in the operations of your
father’s factories in Phoenicia. This work understandably could take you
to the plants in Phoenicia and also to Tiberias, Jerusalem, and other
regions in Palestine. The cohort commander must never suspect, nor
anyone else, including Claudia, remember, that you are keeping sharp
eyes and ears on Pilate and Herod Antipas. I’m sending you ahead on the
‘Palmyra,’ Longinus, so that you will be in Caesarea when Pilate and
Claudia arrive there.” He studied the centurion. “Is everything
understood, Centurion?”
“Yes, sir, I understand.” His forehead creased into small wrinkles.
“When you talked with me before, sir, you said that I would be expected
to keep watch on the activities of three persons, Pilate, Antipas,
and....”
“Claudia, of course, was the third.” He twisted his vulture-like head to
scan the large chamber, a habit developed during long years of caution.
“Watch her, too. Know what she is doing, what she is thinking even, if
you can.” He lowered his voice. “Be careful, Centurion. She’s a clever
woman, with brains worthy of old Augustus. I am not concerned, as I
said, with her morals, or Pilate’s, or yours. But be careful.” His
little eyes fired again, and a wry grin twisted his face. “Don’t let
Pilate catch you in bed with her. Such carelessness might destroy your
effectiveness.”
Sejanus stood up, a signal that his business with the centurion was
finished. Longinus arose quickly to stand at attention, concerned that
even yet he might reveal in the Prefect’s presence the revulsion
mounting within him.
“Send me reports as often and as regularly as you have valuable
information to give, Longinus. Use great care to see that your messages
are well-sealed and not likely to go astray. Watch those three. Let
nothing of significance escape your notice, and let nothing be omitted
from your reports. Keep Claudia under surveillance, but don’t get so
occupied with her that you aren’t fully alive to everything that is
happening. Watch her, regardless of what else you two may be doing!”
9
Longinus led his century from its quarters at Castra Praetoria westward
through the Viminal Gate along the way that skirted the leveled-out
northern extremity of Esqueline Hill.
At the point where this way joined Via Longa the procession entered the
cobblestoned street and moved westward and then straight southward.
Longinus glanced over his shoulder and had a glimpse, between shops that
crowded the lower level of Quirinal Hill, of his father’s great house
high on that elevation. But quickly he lost sight of it as his century
became virtually submerged in the dense traffic fighting its way slowly
along Via Longa. Fortunately, the legionaries were bearing only their
lightest armor; the heavier gear had been sent ahead and put aboard the
“Palmyra.” But even thus equipped, in the narrow, packed street, though
it was one of Rome’s important thoroughfares, they were finding it
increasingly difficult to maintain a steady march.
As the century began to pass north of the crowded Subura, that motley
district of massed tenements, shops, taverns, and brothels already being
pointed out as the birthplace more than a century ago of the great
Julius Caesar, the press of the throng so increased that the soldiers
were almost forced to fight their way forward. But progress became
easier in the area below the Forum Augustus, and as the troops were
pushing past it toward the Forum Romanum, Longinus glanced toward the
summit of Palatine Hill crowned by the sprawling great Imperial Palace;
his eyes went immediately to the northeast wing and to the window in
Claudia’s bedroom through which he had heard, one recent morning, the
rising trumpet call from the post.
Longinus had not seen the Emperor’s stepdaughter since the day the
Prefect had visited her, though they had exchanged messages left with
Stephanos the goldsmith at his shop in Vicus Margaritarius. Claudia’s
last message had assured him that she would contrive some plan for
seeing him immediately upon her arrival with Pilate at Caesarea; that
shouldn’t be too difficult. Tullia had relayed Claudia’s message to
Stephanos, and Longinus had received it verbally from the goldsmith. “We
will have the Great Sea between the Emperor and Sejanus and us,” she had
sent word to the centurion. “It will be much safer then; as for Pilate,
I am little concerned with what he thinks or does; in fact, he’ll do
nothing.”