Chapter 1

‘Perhaps? Of course, I am right!’ The Senator walked to the door, closed it softly, and resumed his seat. ‘And that is not all,’ he went on. ‘Let me refresh your mind about the peculiar relations in the imperial family which explain why Gaius is a man to be watched and feared. There is old Tiberius, alternately raging and rotting in his fifty-room villa on Capri; a pathetic and disgusting figure, mooning over his necromancies and chattering to his gods—My son,’ Gallio interrupted himself, ‘there is always something fundamentally wrong with a rich man or a king who pretends to be religious. Let the poor and helpless invoke the gods. That is what the gods are for—to distract the attention of the weak from their otherwise intolerable miseries. When an emperor makes much ado about religion, he is either cracked or crooked. Tiberius is not crooked. If he is cracked, the cause is not far to seek. For a score of years he has nursed a bitter grudge against his mother for demanding that he divorce Vipsania—the only creature he ever loved—’

‘I think he is fond of Diana,’ interjected Marcellus.

‘Right! And why? He is fond of the child because she is Vipsania’s granddaughter. Let us remember that he was not a bad ruler in his earlier days. Rome had never known such prosperity; not even under Julius. As you know, when Vipsania passed out of his life, Tiberius went to pieces; lost all interest in the Empire; surrounded himself with soothsayers, mountebanks, priests, and astrologers. Presently his mind was so deranged by all this nonsense that he consented to marry Julia, whom he had despised from childhood.’ The Senator chuckled, not very pleasantly, and remarked: ‘Perhaps that was why he wished to be relieved of all his administrative duties. He found that to hate Julia as adequately as she deserved to be hated, he had to make it a full-time occupation. So—there was the vixenish Julia, together with the obnoxious offspring she had whelped before he married her. And he has not only hated Julia: he has been deathly afraid of her—and with good reason—for she has the morbid mind of an assassin—and the courage, too.’

‘Lucia says the old gentleman never touches his wine, at table, until the Empress has tasted it,’ put in Marcellus, ‘but she thought that was just a little family joke.’

‘We will not disturb your young sister with any other interpretation,’ advised the Senator, ‘but it is no joke; nor is Tiberius merely trying to be playful when he stations a dozen Numidian gladiators at the doors and windows of his bedchamber…. Now, these facts are, I suspect, never absent very long from Gaius’ mind. He knows that the Emperor is half-insane; that his mother lives precariously; and that if anything should happen to her his regency would last no longer than it takes a galley to clear for Crete with a deposed prince on board.’

‘Were that to happen,’ broke in Marcellus, ‘who would succeed Gaius?’

‘Well—’ Gallio slighted the query with a shrug. ‘It will not happen. If anyone dies, down there, it won’t be Julia. You can depend on that.’

‘But—just supposing—’ persisted Marcellus. ‘If, for any reason—accident, illness, or forthright murder—Julia should be eliminated—and Gaius, too, in consequence—do you think Tiberius might put Asinius Gallus on the throne?’

‘It is possible,’ said Gallio. ‘The Emperor might feel that he was making tardy amends to Vipsania by honoring her son. And Gallus would be no mean choice. No Roman has ever commanded more respect than Pollio, his learned sire. Gallus would have the full support of our legions—both at home and abroad. However’—he added, half to himself—’a brave soldier does not inevitably make a wise monarch. Your military commander has only a foreign foe to fight. All that he requires is tactics and bravery. An emperor is forever at war with a jealous court, an obstreperous Senate, and a swarm of avaricious landholders. What he needs is a keen scent for conspiracy, a mind crafty enough to outmaneuver treachery, a natural talent for duplicity—and the hide of an alligator.’