When Germanicus finally turned away from Rome and departed for Germania, Piso's resolve solidified.
'It's time to remove him.'
Because—the likelihood of Germanicus returning as a hero?
It would become Piso's greatest impediment if he wanted to claim the throne.
'He will stand in my way forever.'
It was no longer about amassing wealth and garnering influence as a governor—no—it was now about shaping the destiny of Rome, and carving his own name in the annals of history.
It was about ensuring that he—and not Germanicus—would be the one to prevail and to rise.
So, he went and allied himself with Tiberius, who at that time remained on the fence, saying useless things like—
"Germanicus is my nephew."
"He has not wronged me yet."
"We'll see when he gets back from the campaign."
It sent Piso over the edge of his seat, reeling, as all his carefully laid plans threaten to tumble down the drain.
"Wait? He wants to wait? It will all be too late then!" he wanted to shout in Tiberius' face.
His grudge only deepened, twisting in his gut like a viper.
It made him restless, like a caged beast.
He could do nothing but sharpen his claws and bide his time—like a damned ox awaiting slaughter.
But then… Tiberius finally abandoned his useless peacemaker act.
He immediately summoned Piso to the Palatium after the triumphal banquet, bestowing his blessings—awakening Piso's dormant ambition, granting him the opportunity to soar in the skies!
Together, they plotted to clip Germanicus' wings for once and for all.
TSSSSS!
SHWAAA
But in the end…
"It didn't matter now," he muttered, watching the rain slowly subside into a drizzle.
His grip tightened on his dying oil lamp—revealing its blackening wick—a fitting symbol of Germanicus' fate.
TSSSSS!
The sun had already risen, hiding behind the clouds, but its light was evident—painting life and color onto the whole city beneath him.
"Ah, Roma…"
Today, his lifelong enemy's ashes would return and be put in the Mausoleum of Augustus.
He briefly wondered if he should attend?
"Should I see him one last time?"
'To gloat?' he sneered inwardly, a sinister satisfaction creeping into his thoughts.
It had been months since he left Syria—Germanicus had still been alive and kicking then.
Piso involuntarily touched his jaw, now already healed but still aching with the memory.
He could still feel and hear Germanicus' fist connecting with it, making him grind his teeth.
CLANK CLACK CLANG!
His thoughts were disrupted by the slaves starting their early routine—the banging and the clanging of pots signaling the preparation of ientaculum.
The rain poured on, thinning then heavy, as if it didn't know whether to cease or to persist.
"As if it's trying to prevent people from attending his pompa funebris…" he mused aloud.
'See that? The gods favor me more than they ever favored you,' he smirked, addressing Germanicus in his head.
"Rain will cause delays…" he murmured.
Then his mind drifted to Agrippina.
Piso couldn't suppress the leering grin that tugged at his lips.
"Well…"
A hint of lust insidiously crept into his thoughts.
"She's free now," he wet his lips.
The new widow was still a beauty.
Alluring.
Unlike his wife, Plancina.
He frowned.
"Her face had long since disappointed me."
Remembering the time, in the midst of their passionless encounter in bed, he found he couldn't get hard, and she couldn't get wet.
"She's turned into a block of wood," he clicked his tongue in disdain.
But with Agrippina…
"Maybe this time, she won't play hard to get," he jeered.
"She's not even pure now, and she must have been hungry for that…"
Just imagining her with tears glistening in her eyes under him… saying—
"Please… no!! Don't!"
And before he knew it, an erection stirred.
"Heh," he smirked.
"Still vigorous as an ox."
His imagination ran wild, turned-on, he began to finally step inside his domus, ready to indulge his dirty desires when—
SPLASH—SPLASH—SPLASH
His neck whipped back to the door where he had been, the distinct sound of horses sprinting nearby were undeniable.
He squinted, his forehead creased.
"It's getting near."
He wasn't sure if it was merely a passerby or…
And it wasn't just one or two horses—there were many—he was certain of it.
The thunderous galloping grew unmistakably louder despite the rain, a sure sign that something urgent was unfolding.
Piso's curiosity was piqued, his arousal—long forgotten.
"It's already soft," he said, annoyance clear in his voice.
He wondered what was going on.
"It better be urgent," he gritted his teeth, returning to his previous position.
He decided to wait.
The cantering intensified.
Were they coming for him?
'Really?'
Just then, a line of black horses moving in perfect formation appeared before his eyes.
The riders were all wearing purple capes, looking like they were being chased.
"Praetorians?"
Piso's thoughts went to the Emperor.
"What now?"
He tapped his foot as he waited, and soon, a drenched Praetorian guard—the cape clinging to his armaturamilitaris—arrived at his doorsteps.
The man didn't even pause, he went directly to Piso, halting just a step away from him.
Frowning, Piso recognized him instantly.
'Sejanus.'
Tiberius' most trusted guard.
"Tch," he openly sneered.
'I don't like him.'
Then his eyes trailed to the mud that followed Sejanus.
'My precious marble floor,' he almost groaned in dismay.
'The mud must not be left there to dry.'
The other guards mimicked their Praetorian Prefect, their heavy sandals also leaving muddy imprints on his white floors.
'These bloody lot!'
Piso was doubtful of what to feel, his emotions were all over the place.
He wasn't also sure what to make of Sejanus either.
But one thing was clear—
'This man is a snake.'
Coiled in the halls of power.
Observing.
Biding his time.
Like a predator.
He could sense it.
He didn't know how or why.
'He's ambitious.'
Like Piso.
Maybe those of the same feathers could recognize each other.
'But that's where the similarity ends between us.'
He openly glared at Sejanus.
'A plebeian daring to dream of power?' he scoffed inwardly, forgetting his own origins.
"Hrmp, what is it?" Piso asked, urging the man to state his business, so he could clean his floor.
He stood face-to-face with the Praetorians, puffing out his chest, asserting his position and status.
His eyes darted as he waited, counting the guards surrounding his domus.
But Sejanus just stood there, unmoving, staring directly at him, his expression as cold and unreadable like the weather.
Chills crawled over his skin, causing him to visibly flinch.
"What do you want?" he yelled, his composure gone.
Some slaves and his wife, Plancina, emerged, drawn by the commotion.
Curiosity shone in their eyes.
Finally, Sejanus spoke.
His voice was cold as ice, "Decree of the Senate concerning the Elder Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso."
Piso's eyes narrowed, his heart thundering.
'—?!'
He already knew it in his guts.
"You stand accused of conspiring in the poisoning of Nero Claudius Drusus, known to Rome as Germanicus Julius Caesar!"
The words were loud and clear, but they barely registered to Piso.
'I've been betrayed!' he involuntarily stepped back.
He wanted to refute their claims—his excuse, his carefully planned defense—it was all at the tip of his tongue, but words left him.
It all turned out to be useless.
He willed his mouth to move as they slowly loomed over him, a paralyzing panic set in.
'No!'
At last, his mouth began to move—it opened and closed—like a fish out of the water.
He gasped for air.
Then, an unnatural guttural noise tore from his throat.
"Urk—!"
The guards' faces were like stone!
Unfeeling.
Their mouths were all straight, hard lines.
"Guards!" Sejanus called them, "Seize the wicked criminal!"
'No!'
The Praetorian guards swiftly closed in.
Their eyes were laced with palpable revulsion, as if they were looking at a mere insect.
"N-no! I'm not—!"
He tried to protest, to correct them, but it fell on deaf ears.
The guards surged.
They tackled him down the floor.
'But I'm not even fleeing!'
Shackles clamped—his wrist and ankles.
CLICK CLICK
His limbs were pinned—rendering him immobile.
They easily captured him as he fought weakly for his freedom.
Piso's face contorted in a snarl, finally angered by the sheer feeling of hopelessness and injustice.
'They're treating me like an animal!'
He tried to break free once more from the cold metal, but it was all futile.
He tried to crawl using just his body.
STOMP
"Ugh—!"
Pain shot up from his back—someone stepped on him!
'I'm not a bug!' he wanted to yell.
"Do not resist, you're not going anywhere, you murderer!"
Suddenly, the pressure on his back lifted, he was hoisted up and forced to kneel on the wet, muddy floor.
A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped someone's lips.
Piso tried to whip his head back, but he was forced to look up by a hand grabbing his hair, the sharp pain in the roots of his head made him groan.
His eyes found Sejanus' cruel gaze, then the man smirked, as if he was pleased with himself.
"How does it feel?" the snake hissed in his ears.
But Piso—his mind had already fled.
Germanicus was dead.
And he was alive.
The power.
The prestige.
The future.
It was supposed to be all his for the taking.
'But why?'
He blinked, fragments of his thoughts that morning resurfacing.
'What is happening?'
His face turned ashen, his eyes finally widening in terror at the reality.
'It all happened so fast.'
His mind was reeling, spiraling, he felt nauseous.
They hauled him to his feet, the cool marble floor grounding him.
"W-why? W-what are you doing?" he stammered, his voice shaking uncontrollably.
"You are a heinous evildoer," came the reply.
"N-no! I didn't… I couldn't…" he struggled against his restraints, his voice escalating to a frantic crescendo.
"Call the Emperor!" he shouted.
"I need to speak with him!"
He was dragged away, out of his dignified domus, the rain soaking him.
'Hnng…' he shivered.
"Now!"
**
INDEX:
ad cor Romae, caput mundi—at the heart of Rome, the capital of the world
lucerna—a small oil lamp
donning the purple—as i have said before, purple was the color of the Imperial family
Iuppiter te perdat!—may Jupiter destroy you!
perdo!—go to hell!
ientaculum—breakfast/light breakfast
armatura militaris—military armor
Praetorian Prefect—commander of Praetorians