Chapter 6: Drusus Caesar
Years ago, before the long voyage to the East—before Germanicus led his family to Antioch on the Orontes, the jewel city of Provincia Syria—
Drusus Caesar, the general's second son, was only a boy.
He could still remember those days with perfect clarity—along with the feelings.
The shock.
The dismay.
The disbelief.
It burned into him and hardened, a permanent seal on his heart.
That was the moment when his world began to tilt off its axis.
The hour was late.
Their domus lay in silence.
Marble gleamed faintly under the torchlight.
The frescoes and mosaics were humble—colorful yet unadorned.
Hardly the dwelling one would expect of a celebrated general.
The only true boast of grandeur was the circle of sculpted marble statues that ringed the fountain at the heart of the atrium—the central hall of the domus, from which all the cubiculi stemmed.
Open-roofed, its view stretched toward the tablinum, which in turn opened into the peristyle garden beyond.
Drusus had snuck out of his cubiculum, too restless to sleep.
His mother had forbidden them from attending his father's triumphal procession that morning—a behest he still couldn't fathom.
'It's for my father's honor!'
The memory still made him scowl.
He had heard Germanicus come home earlier—the first time in so many years—but the nanny had forced him to stay put, tantrum and all.
But now, he could bear it no longer.
He wanted to see his father so badly—to bask in the presence of his hero, the man who was his greatest pride.
'I should have been there too.'
He envied his friends who came to watch.
'It's gotten so late… that useless nanny,' he gritted his teeth as he moved slowly, careful not to make any noise.
He leaned on his crutches to walk, his right arm strapped in a makeshift sling.
If not for the nanny, the false weight of it almost amused him—
'Well, almost.'
He rolled his eyes then grimaced at the (supposed) pain that shot through his body, but he carried on, quietly making his way toward his parents' cubiculum.
Then came an uncontrollable shudder.
He froze, snapped his head around.
'Too quiet.'
A soft splash of water from the fountain broke the silence, making him jump.
"Where are the lowlife slaves when you need them," he muttered, clicking his tongue.
Then his gaze locked onto something.
In the weak orange flicker of the torches and the bright full moon, the statues stretched long, unsettling black dancing figures across the wall.
He never let them out of his sight.
In the shifting light, the shadows…
'They were moving.'
He gripped his crutches tighter.
'Twisting.'
Goosebumps crawled over his pale skin.
'Like ghosts in the dark.'
He gulped and tore his gaze away.
"Come on, Drusus," he whispered to himself.
"You're not a coward."
He steeled himself and pushed forward, forgetting the pain—forgetting even to pretend.
By the time he reached his parents' door, his breathing was erratic.
"Hmph."
He steadied himself, dragged a long breath, and raised his uninjured hand to knock—then stilled at the sound of his father's voice behind the door.
"I have served Rome faithfully," Germanicus' voice was steady, yet weary.
Drusus heard the soft shuffle of footsteps, pacing back and forth.
"I have fought her battles, led her legions. Now that this is all over, I wish to step away—a quiet life, a farm perhaps…?" his father paused.
"... far away from the politics of Rome…"
'What?'
Drusus held his breath.
'What does it mean?'
His heart sank.
A rustling of sheets followed, and then—
"Will you come with me, Agrippina? Away from all of this?"
Germanicus' voice was full of wistfulness.
"With the children?"
He sounded like he was begging.
'Away? … farm? … with us?'
Drusus stiffened.
'No!'
He pieced together what his father meant.
'No… no… This is not happening!'
He wanted to protest, cry out—his light blue eyes widening in shock and disbelief.
'Retiring?'
He knew his father well.
A man of his word.
Once a decision was made… there was no turning back.
'Moving away from Rome?'
From Palatine Hill?
From everything Drusus had ever known?
'What about me? My opinion? My friends here? My life?'
His hand clenched into a fist at the betrayal.
'Why?'
Why would his father even consider such a thing?
Rome was where he belonged!
Rome was where THEY belonged!
His friends, his life—it was all here!
And most importantly…
'Rome is where my future lies!'
He believed it with all his heart as the truth—his truth.
How could his father even imagine abandoning it?
Drusus couldn't.
'Can't.'
He gnawed his lips.
'How could you, father?'
Drusus stepped back carefully, forgetting why he had come at all.
The weight of his father's words pressed heavily on his chest.
He started hyperventilating.
'Can't… can't breathe…'
He wanted to retreat to his cubiculum and pretend he had never heard it.
Maybe if he forced himself to sleep, by morning, it would all vanish!
Fade like a nonsense dream!
'This… is a nightmare!'
He tried to convince himself.
"A nightmare…" he muttered.
A brief moment passed, his mind lost in wild scenarios.
Then—a strong feeling of indignation.
It bubbled inside him, and he knew—it would not let him rest at ease tonight.
"Curses…"
He blamed the nanny in his head.
If only she hadn't stopped him from welcoming Germanicus—
'Then father wouldn't be speaking of such ridiculous things!'
He started to plot ways to torture his nanny tomorrow.
'This isn't real!' he continued to deny to himself.
Then he stilled—hearing his mother and father speaking in soft voices.
But he couldn't understand them anymore.
He was mad.
Really mad.
'I need answers,' he decided after a while.
Drusus needed someone to tell him this was absurd.
That it would never happen.
His mind raced.
He turned his back, gripping his crutches in one hand—as if all of his injury were nothing but a lie.
'Nobody's here to see me fake it.'
He had one destination in mind.
The only person that could give him the truth.
**
INDEX:
Orontes—river in Roman Syria, also a god of ancient Phoenicia
Provincia Syria—this is how Romans called Roman Syria back then, under their dominion
Germanicus' Roman domus layout (author's imagination):
(INSIDE)
atrium—central hall/courtyard (sometimes there were fountains with statues, sometimes just fountains)
tablinum—master's study room or office, a reception area where they entertain important guests
peristyle—roofless courtyard surrounded by columns, the garden courtyard beyond the tablinum
cubiculi—rooms (in my novel, cubiculi are flexible, depends on the how Romans used it, cubiculi could be bedroom or kitchen or bathroom if they were wealthy enough—bathrooms are a luxury)
triclinium—dining room (they don't use wooden chair, they use triclinia or couches, perfect for family bonding)
(OUTSIDE)
hortus—garden