The noise grew deafening.
The chants rose higher—more feverish.
A wave of adoration swept over the city.
Tiberius drank it in.
His smile widened.
Arms still raised in stately acknowledgement.
Feet planted firm on his golden chariot.
His back, straight as a rod.
'Ah! What a beautiful day it is!'
He inhaled deeply, savoring the sweetness of spring in the air.
"Vivas Imperator!"
His face hurt from smiling too much.
"Di immortales!"
'More!'
Even his horses seemed to understand that they had to slow down.
"Io Imperator!"
The children laughed louder.
'Yes, shout it louder! Let the whole world resound my name!'
Tiberius lifted his arms even higher, feeding the crowd's frenzy.
Then—
"Ave, Germanicus!"
"Euge, Germanicus!"
Tiberius froze.
"Ave Imperator! Vivas, Germanicus!"
His joy faltered.
Heat crawled up his neck.
His once-effortless smile began to stiffen.
'What…?'
"Imperator! Vivas, Germanicus!"
The words struck him like a whip.
More voices joined in.
More shouting.
More Germanicus.
"Ave Germanicus!"
They cried.
"Io Imperator Germanicus!"
His horse stopped.
'Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?'
The blood drained from his face.
His raised hands curled into fists.
"Tch," he bristled.
His face darkened.
His pride—his carefully built pedestal of self-importance—came crashing to the ground.
It shattered into tiny pieces.
Into dust.
And Germanicus?
He glanced at his adoptive nephew, riding his black horse with disinterest.
'That idiot just rode on… completely oblivious to the love being showered upon him.'
That made it worse.
'He doesn't even realize…'
Tiberius' jaw tightened.
His teeth clenched so hard they nearly cracked.
His heart pounded—not with pride, but with pure rage.
"Vae!" he muttered under his breath.
Then, without another word, he spurred his golden chariot forward—leaving behind his carefully planned procession.
His pride was bruised.
Severely.
It was beyond repair—like dust in the wind—past saving.
NEIGH—SNORT SNORT
TROT TROT TROT
Germanicus, startled by the Emperor's sudden departure, instinctively reined in his horse.
For a brief moment, he watched Tiberius disappear ahead—ignorant of his uncle's darkening mood.
Then, with a slight nudge, he urged his horse forward, also breaking formation.
The praetorian guards did the same, following closely behind.
CLACK CLACK CLACK
As he passed, a group of Roman plebeians—dressed in their cleanest garb—waved olive branches and hastily woven laurel wreaths in celebration.
Amidst the sea of faces, a young boy caught his eye.
Germanicus slowed down.
Perched on his father's shoulders, the child wore a sky-blue tunica, his small hands outstretched—clutching a crude wreath.
Germanicus' grip on the reins tightened.
'He looks like Caligulchen…'
The boy's blond hair, though matted with sweat, and the eyes—not quite as blue—still, it wasn't his son… but it was close enough to stir something deep inside him.
The child held out his wreath with unwavering determination, his tiny arms trembling from the effort.
A soft smile crossed Germanicus' face.
Again.
The crowd erupted once more.
Germanicus leaned forward, reached out, and took the gift.
Then he gracefully waved it up in the air while riding his horse—like a victor accepting his prize.
The cheers grew wilder.
Ear-splitting.
More and more people—young and old—pressed forward, offering olive branches and wreaths, each desperate for a moment of recognition from him.
But Germanicus was no longer paying attention.
His mind had already drifted—
To Caligula.
His son.
His flesh and blood.
He had sent his son ahead to Agrippina with his most trusted aide—
Yet he couldn't shake the nagging worry clawing at his chest.
Regret filled him again.
'I thought I was doing the right thing, just as my father did with me… but was I?'
A sight no innocent child should see.
Blood.
The dead.
The horror.
The aftermath of war—stripped of its glory.
He had believed it was his duty—a father's duty—to teach Caligula the ways of military life.
To prepare him.
To make him strong.
To help him understand the weight of responsibility.
The legacy of their name.
The honor and sacrifice of war.
A very grave mistake.
And he had paid for that mistake.
No… it was his son who paid.
How could a father be any more wrong?
'Would he ever be the same?'
A fresh weight settled on his shoulders.
His duty as a general—his duty to Rome—had always been clear.
But as a father?
He had failed.
Miserably at that.
Now, his bright, laughing boy was pale and silent.
Germanicus' knuckles turned white as he gripped the reins and the dry wreath tighter—crumpling it.
'What have I done?'
The thought cut deep, leaving behind an ache no triumph—no victory, no glory—could mend.
'I…'
His thoughts trailed off as he distractedly looked at the now crushed wreath.
Then he sighed.
A decision quietly formed.
'I might have to retire early…'
He sighed again, his gaze drifting back to where the procession should have carried the carts of the fallen.
But they weren't here.
They had already been sent ahead—to Esquiline Hill.
Where the dead would be laid to rest.
A bitter smile touched his lips.
'The price of war.'
It wasn't just land and glory they had claimed—
Lives.
So many lives.
'Revenge, was it?'
They had retrieved what they could, refusing to let their fallen comrades rot in a foreign land.
These men had families.
Friends.
They belonged here.
In Rome.
He exhaled, bowing his head in silent prayer for the soldiers lost at the Weser River—
And those who perished in the Teutoburg Forest.
CLACK CLACK
The sound of the crowd's cheers and the pounding of the horses' hooves grounded him.
He urged his horse forward.
Faster.
Now with a new purpose.
He was eager to reach the Palatium.
To end this.
And finally reunite with his family.
With his wife…
Now, the two aquilae he had recovered from the Teutoburg Forest seemed to burn against his side, inside his small saccus.
TROT TROT TROT
**
Tiberius reached the Palatium first.
He leapt down from his chariot without waiting for anyone—
His joints ached, protested, but his mind registered no pain.
He brushed aside the greetings of nobles and officials gathered at the steps.
His stride was heavy as he stormed through the marbled halls.
A thunderous crash echoed through the throne room as he burst through the doorway.
Several servants turned their heads—startled by the sound.
"Out. Now!"
He commanded them without looking.
They scrambled to their feet and fled.
But he paid them no mind.
He ignored everyone.
He was seething as he threw himself down onto the throne seat.
'I am the Emperor of this empire… and they dare ignore me?'
His teeth ground together.
'ME?'
It wasn't enough that he already lived in the shadow of Augustus—
His predecessor's name still clung to the lips of the Senate.
They echoed it with every policy.
Every smug expectation.
Even during idle conversation.
"Emperor Augustus did this—"
"Emperor Augustus would have done that—"
Augustus.
Augustus.
'VAE, AUGUSTUS!'
And now?
Now, another dark cloud loomed over him.
Germanicus.
Tiberius gnashed his teeth harder as he stood, unable to stay still.
He began pacing.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
'No… Germanicus isn't ambitious. He told me so—at the banquet.'
But then again…
'Maybe he just hides it well.'
He stopped.
'He lied…'
His entire body trembled.
The thought dug its claws into him, feeding the ever-growing paranoia that simmered beneath his skin.
'Liar!'
Jealousy.
Resentment.
Both had reached their boiling point.
A path of no return.
He needed to act—before it was too late.
"I need to remove Germanicus…" he whispered to himself—still unsure.
"Once he was gone…"
Only then would his name—Tiberius—ring through Rome.
Through the empire.
Beyond its borders.
Augustus was out of reach.
'I can't do anything about it now…'
But Germanicus?
"He's still… too healthy. Too alive."
A pause.
But that could be changed.
"But who would do it?"
The chances were slim.
They'd be watching him—closely.
After all, Germanicus was Rome's hero.
For now.
'Who would do it?'
He resumed pacing.
"Yes… who would do it?"
A woman's voice whispered close to his ear.
Startled, he froze.
Whipped around.
"No! Don't listen to her!"
A man refuted—sharp and firm.
Tiberius flinched.
He turned again.
His eyes scanned the chamber.
Sweat formed at his temple.
Nothing.
No one.
There was no one.
He was alone.
Yet the voices lingered.
Whispering.
Laughing.
"Send the order!"
Insistent.
"Don't do it!"
Contradicting.
"Shut up!" he hissed.
"He doesn't even try—and they still worship him."
"No!"
His breath grew ragged.
"They want him more than they ever wanted you."
"No!"
Fingers twitched.
"You needn't dirty your hands…"
The voice was coaxing now.
Sweet.
Too sweet.
"Stop it!"
His eyes darted wildly.
Still, the voices crept closer.
"Kill him…"
One urged.
"Don't kill him…"
The other resisted.
His balance wavered.
The floor seemed to tilt.
Dizzy.
"Let another carry out your will…"
The woman's voice turned sinister.
"PLEASE NO! STOP!"
Clearer than the man's.
"He overshadowed you."
He stilled.
"Kill anyone that stands in your way…. like you always have."
Breath halted.
Frozen.
"You already know who would push the dagger."
Then laughter followed.
Shrill.
Mocking.
And then—
Silence.
Gone.
Just like that.
Like a lie.
Tiberius exhaled—slow, shaking.
He sank into his throne.
Hunched forward, massaging his temples.
His foot tapped against the marble floor.
Then…
Stillness.
A shift.
His mood lifted—unnaturally calm.
As if none of it had happened.
"Yes. Yes," he murmured.
He didn't have to do it himself.
His lips twisted into a sneer—
A memory surfaced.
A certain someone from the banquet.
'He'll be more than willing…'
Then he remembered an unresolved issue in the East—
One he'd been putting off for far too long.
"Hur hur hur…"
A low, throaty laugh escaped him.
'Perfect.'
Tiberius slouched deeper into his throne.
"I won't let you sit in my seat," he promised darkly.
Fingers tapping the carefully carved armrest.
"Germanicus."
**
INDEX:
Di immortales—immortal gods
Io Imperator—hail the Emperor
Ave, Germanicus—hail Germanicus
Ave Imperator, Vivas, Germanicus—hail the Emperor, long live, Germanicus
Io Imperator Germanicus—hail Emperor Germanicus
plebeians—commoners
Esquiline HIll—one of the seven hills of Rome
saccus—a sack
Vae—damn/curse word