“The prisoner at Capri confers new honors on his jailer, O Livilla,”
said Sejanus, with an evil smile, after he had received the letter from
Tiberius offering him the consulship. “He begins to fear me.”
“As consul, my Sejanus, there is nothing thou canst not do!” replied
Livilla.
“’Twill but serve to legalize the things that I now do covertly,” he
responded.
“Perchance, in his increasing years, Tiberius will make thee
co-emperor?” suggested Livilla.
“Long since should I have seized the throne,” said Sejanus. “I have
been too lenient towards him. But thou must marry me at once, my love.
Then usurpation will seem less harsh to the people.”
“Are the soldiers still loyal to thee?” asked Livilla.
“Ay, my love, loyalty is easily bought with gold,” he replied.
“But if thou becomest emperor, what will become of Tiberius?” she
inquired.
“On the day we wed, he dies,” contemptuously responded Sejanus.
“Then there are Agrippina and her sons Drusus and Caligula?” she added.
“They shall also die,” he said with cold-blooded indifference. “Now, my
Livilla, thou shalt become an empress! Thy little son, Tiberius, shall
be brought from Capri, and educated as the future ruler. Therefore hail
to thee, O mother of a line of emperors! Hail to thee! Our lives, my
love, must be united in matrimony. Our ambitious plans have been too
intricately interwoven for us longer to live separated.”
“Be it as thou wishest, my love,” she acquiesced, dazzled by the
promise of so much glory.
“Thy beauty, my captivating divinity, fades not with time,” he added.
“Rather does it become more radiant as the years go by. Ah, Livilla,
through the years of thy married life I have loved thee. In thy
widowhood have I loved thee less? My love is still fresh to-day.”
“I too have loved thee, Sejanus,” she murmured, as he kissed her lips.
“Ah, thou rulest my life!”
“Nay, my love, as empress thou shalt rule me. But what wouldst thou
have me do for thee?” he asked.
“There is only one request I would make; send Lygdus away,” she
answered.
“Dost thou fear him, my love?”
“Ay, his face torments me,” replied the guilty woman. “But how
progresses the search for Gyges?”
“One of my soldiers living at Casinum admired four stallions that were
being driven by a boy,” said Sejanus. “Upon inquiry, it was learned
that an obscure Greek lodging in a farm-house had trained these horses.
The boy’s name was Aldo. He worked for Gyges in the stables of the
Circus. Aldo was arrested and questioned about his master. The little
lad even suffered torture, but his lips remained sealed. A Greek
answering the description of Gyges travelled to Capri. Another went to
Tusculum. By to-morrow the charioteer will be captured.”
“Dost thou not fear him?” she asked.
“I fear no one,” he replied with a defiant air. “When we are absolute
rulers, my love, none of our enemies shall escape us. This charioteer
perchance knows nothing. He is the lover of Gannon’s sister. Ah! but
trust in me, my love. The plans of Sejanus never fail. Have I not rid
the city of our enemies? Everything I have done is for thee. What have
I not done to possess thee? What will I not do to retain thee?”
“Ah, my love, of a truth thou hast been a faithful lover. Be now a
faithful husband. My love for thee is also as strong as when I first
yielded my heart to thy power.”
“’Tis no stronger than the love I bear thee, my Livilla. But I must
return to the camp,” he suddenly added, as he kissed her lips and
withdrew from her embrace. “Farewell, sweet heart! Future joys be
thine!”
“Farewell, O my lover!” she responded, looking at him lovingly with her
dreamy eyes.
After another lingering kiss Sejanus departed. Escorted by his guards,
he proceeded towards the camp. As he passed a group of Senators, two
of them lowered their gaze. “’Tis an insult!” said Sejanus to himself,
hastening on his way. When he was in his office, he sent for Macro.
“Balbus and Statius have dared to insult me. Arrest them!” sharply
commanded Sejanus. “Surely the future consul shall brave no affronts
from such men! Perchance a new plot is forming against the emperor and
me. Be vigilant, O Macro! Let the soldiers be prepared to attack if
there be need!”
“Ay, my lord,” said Macro, turning away.
“Hold!” roughly ordered Sejanus. “Thou didst go to Tusculum two weeks
since.”
“Ay, my lord,” said Macro, watching carefully his master’s face.
“Each time thou didst return the same night. Who was the young man thou
didst meet there?” questioned Sejanus.
“’Twas a friend of Antonia,” answered Macro.
“Ay?” added Sejanus, interrogatively. “But thou didst also visit
Antonia. Thou didst send a letter for her to Capri by this same young
man whom thou didst see at Tusculum.”
“’Tis true, my lord,” said Macro, struggling to regain his composure.
“The passport for the young man was made in the name of Attius,”
continued Sejanus. “But I have already told thee that no message should
be sent to Capri except through my hands.”
“Ay, my lord; but this was but a trivial affair,” replied Macro,
relieved that Sejanus had learned nothing further. “’Twas but a favor
for Antonia.”
“Hereafter even trivial things pertaining to the emperor must be seen
by me,” said the minister. “What news of the Greek who left Casinum?”
“The one who went to Capua is arrested, my lord; the other, who went
to Tusculum, has now been tracked to Rome. On the morrow he will be a
prisoner,” said Macro.
“Thou art a faithful servant, O Macro. The office of prefect may soon
be thine. On the morrow I will go to the Senate House attended by a
guard. Thou shalt accompany me. Let the guards thou choosest be picked
men.”
“Ay, my lord,” said Macro, as he left the office.
The day wore on to midnight. In a gorgeously furnished apartment
Sejanus again proudly reclines. A satyr-faced lamp burns on a slender
bronze pedestal. Nymphs, fauns, and nereids in fantastic attitudes
gleam from the shadowy niches in the walls like dancing sprites. Red
and yellow oriental silks, carelessly thrown over the chairs, look in
the sallow light like tongues of flame. An odor of incense pervades
the room. Everything suggests the lower world, and seems like an
incantation to the spirits of evil.
Sejanus is happy. The castles-in-the-air which he had so laboriously
designed a year ago have now become actual realities. He looks into
the past. He sees a man who was a knight with few friends, with
few clients. That man was Sejanus. He sees a man leading soldiers,
gathering them into one building and becoming more prominent every day.
That man was Sejanus. He sees a man respected by the emperor, advanced
to almost equal honors, acclaimed by the Roman Senate and people. That
man was Sejanus. He looks into the future. He sees a man sitting on a
curule chair, receiving petitions and imperiously granting requests.
That man is Sejanus. He finally sees, ruling the world, one man who
has reached the highest possible place for mortal man. That man is the
Emperor Sejanus!
On the path of his advancement he has left the corpses of some trivial
common people, the dead bodies of the heir Drusus and the Prince Nero.
With the eye of his mind he sees along his triumphal road the faces of
Tiberius, Agrippina, Drusus, and Caligula--pale and rigid in death.
No one now stands between him and the throne. The culmination of his
triumph is reached. His foot is raised to take the final step. He takes
from a table a golden cup, and with infinite satisfaction quaffs a
toast to the genius who presides over his destiny.
The next morning, surrounded by a host of suitors and clients, he
proceeds to the Senate House. On his way he is slighted by many of
the Senators. He hears suppressed cries of “Murderer,” “Usurper.”
Noticing that among the people a decided change has taken place, the
suitors and clients, one by one, gradually excuse themselves. When
the great minister arrives at the door of the Senate House, he is
attended by only his guards and Macro. The soldiers are stationed at
the door; Macro and Sejanus enter. The Conscript Fathers, in their soft
and majestic woolen togas bordered with purple, have already entered
upon the day’s routine. They rise and bow, as Sejanus takes his seat
amongst them. Macro stations himself near the raised platform on which
the consul is seated.
Statius does not take his seat after he has greeted Sejanus. He walks
slowly to the tribunal, and petitions the consul for time to read a
communication from the emperor. Then, with careful intonation and
impressive gestures, he reads the charge of treason against Sejanus.
Overwhelmed by this stupendous charge, Sejanus interrupts the speaker.
The consul rises quickly from his curule chair and commands silence.
As Statius continues reading the letter, all the Senators near Sejanus
withdraw to the other side of the house. Left all alone, Sejanus shouts
in rage, “’Tis a forgery!”
“There is the emperor’s seal!” cries Statius, in a loud tone, pointing
to the scroll stamped with the emperor’s seal.
At this point Macro, accompanied by two soldiers, approaches Sejanus.
The face of the sub-prefect is pale and determined. Drawing his sword
and grasping the shoulder of the stupefied minister, he shouts, “I
arrest thee in the name of the emperor!”
“I demand a trial!” yells Sejanus.
“’Tis too late,” replies Macro. “Here is thy sentence of death.”
Sejanus struggles as the soldiers drag him from the Senate Chamber.
Outside, cries, groans, and curses are heaped upon him by the same
people who but yesterday hailed him with acclamations.
“’Twas Gyges whom I met at Tusculum, O Sejanus,” hisses Macro,
tauntingly, as they walked along. “’Twas Gyges who carried the evidence
of the murder of Drusus. ’Twas Gyges who brought the order for thy
death; for die thou shalt at once!” exclaims Macro to the terrified
minister, as they proceed towards the prison.
With his face livid with fear, Sejanus beseeches his soldiers for help
and pity. But their ears are deaf. He is hurried to the Mamertine
Prison near by. For a few moments only, he is left to think of his
past life; then he is strangled; and his body, still warm, is thrown
out upon the Gemmonian Steps. The suppressed hatred of the people now
breaks out in all its fury. In the mob that waits outside of the prison
are Senators and tribunes. The dead body is soon stripped of its robes,
and after being battered about the streets of the city for a day, it is
cast into the rushing muddy Tiber.