At the end of the year 18, then, the conflict between Germanicus, invested by a decree of the Senate with the general governorship of the East and supported by a numerous party of Tiberius’s opponents, and Piso, who, as charged by Tiberius with the governorship of Syria, the most important province in the East, represented in the East the will of the Emperor, had become so acute and violent as to upset in a most dangerous manner the whole Eastern policy of Rome. The conflict became still more grave in the following year. At the beginning of the year 19, Germanicus, who was an enlightened young man, and therefore desirous of travelling and seeing the famous spots, the monuments, and the customs of various nations, made with Agrippina an extensive trip through Egypt, impelled by curiosity to visit that ancient and celebrated country, which even then exercised so mysterious a fascination on the minds of the peoples of the West.
While he was on his way to see the Pyramids, however, was interrogating the mysterious smile of the Sphinx, and was cleaving the sacred stream of the Nile, Piso profited by his absence to avenge himself for the checkmate which he had suffered the year before on Vonones’s account. Either on his own initiative, or, it may be, because he had meanwhile received instructions from Tiberius, Piso abolished or modified many of the dispositions which Germanicus, by virtue of his extraordinary powers, had made for Syria, the year before. Imagine the fury of Germanicus, of Agrippina, and of his friends and flatterers, on his return! Was this then all the deference Piso paid to the decrees of the Senate and of the authority conferred by them on Germanicus? Did Piso think himself lord of the East, because he was the friend and representative of Tiberius? On Germanicus’s return there were some violent altercations between him and Piso. This time, Germanicus, impelled by passion, by the incitements of his flatterers, and also by the fear of losing all authority in the eyes of the province if he should yield once more, plucked up courage to resort to extreme measures. In the exercise of his extraordinary powers, he ordered Piso to give up the governorship of the province which Tiberius had entrusted to him. This step, in view of the fact that Piso was the representative of Tiberius, was a bold one, but it was quite a legal one. In disobeying it, Piso was obliged to assume an attitude of open defiance of the laws. Since Germanicus had dared to make use of this power, and on this occasion showed that he meant business and was determined to carry the matter through, it was Piso’s duty to give way and obey, subject to the right of protest to Tiberius and of obtaining from him just compensation for the affront he had received.
Piso resigned his office and left the province; and travelled at an easy rate in short stages towards Italy. When he arrived at Seleucia, he was overtaken by the news that Germanicus was seriously ill at Antioch. He halted, waiting for new and more authentic news; which arrived in a few days, and announced to him the young man’s death. What was his illness? We do not know. Untimely deaths were frequent in the family of Augustus. It seemed as if many of the younger members had not the strength to stand the life of drudgery and fatigue to which he compelled them, by way of preparation for the government of the Empire. However that may be, Piso no sooner knew that Germanicus was dead than he returned to Syria with the object of re-occupying the province. How great, however, was his surprise to learn that it had been decided amongst the friends of Germanicus, after the latter’s death, to entrust the command of the legions and the government of the province to one of themselves, Gnæus Senzius!
This nomination of Senzius was illegal—there can be no doubt about that. With the death of Germanicus, the extraordinary power by which he had momentarily removed Piso from the province, himself assuming its government, came to an end; therefore the province and the command of the armed forces re-devolved on Piso. The friends of Germanicus had no right or power to nominate a substitute for him. But for what reason had they arrived at so grave a decision? Germanicus was surrounded in the East by many friends, many admirers, and many flatterers, who had placed their hopes in him, as the future emperor. His death was, therefore, a disaster for the ambitions and aspirations of many. On the other hand, it had been sudden, unforeseen, and mysterious; a fact which, in times when the causes and symptoms of illness were much less easily recognised than they are at present, readily lent itself to the engendering of suspicions, especially the suspicion of poisoning, then so common and so easy. Before the corpse of Germanicus had been burnt, Agrippina and all the entourage of the dead man’s intimates were persuaded, and were stating openly, that Germanicus had been poisoned,—and poisoned by Piso in revenge. Hence arose the necessity of their preventing Piso, even at the cost of a breach of the laws, from re-occupying his province, in which they wished to be left supreme, so as to be able to collect the proofs of the crime of which Germanicus was the reported victim. For instance, they imprisoned an old woman called Martina, who was said to be an intimate friend of Plancina, a witch by profession. Her they accused of having supplied the poison, and of having sent it to Rome.
When Piso first heard of the accusation, he did not take it very seriously, and tried to force a re-entry into the province from which his adversaries were illegally excluding him. Perhaps he hoped that when he, the legitimate pro-consul, presented himself, the oppositions, which the others pretended to be ready to make, would fade away. In this he was disappointed. Gnæus Senzius resisted, a few insignificant skirmishes took place, and a civil war on a small scale was about to begin. The prospect, however, frightened both sides, and, not wishing that so small a matter of principle should result in a real civil war, both parties—Piso, Senzius, and the friends of Germanicus—agreed to go in a body to Rome and to submit the question to the Emperor. And so they did.
When, however, they arrived, they found Italy and Rome in an incredible state of agitation. Germanicus was most popular, not only because he was really attractive to a great many people, but because everybody in his admiration and sympathy for him vented the discontent and repulsion which the rough character and iron policy of Tiberius inspired in one. The popular voice had gone so far as to say that Germanicus had made up his mind to restore, when he became Emperor, the republic of ancient times in every detail, and that Tiberius on this account suspected and hated him! Not only, then, was his premature death bitterly lamented by everybody; but the explanation which his friends gave of it—that Germanicus had died of poison by the contrivance of Piso—was immediately accepted as true, evident, and proved. Even at the present day, the masses are easily convinced of tales of crimes and poisonings. Imagine how it must have been in those days! And the desire for vengeance followed hard on the general feeling of grief and horror. The wish was expressed on all sides that Piso should be given an exemplary punishment; it was impossible to allow so execrable a crime to go unpunished. Would some noble friend of Germanicus, then, arise and revenge his death? At the same time, other rumours, no less fantastic, were being whispered from ear to ear. No; the trial would never take place. Piso was secretly protected by Tiberius, and Plancina by Livia. Nobody would dare attack them!
The arrival of Agrippina, who, at the end of 19 A.D., reached Brindisi with Germanicus’s ashes; the transportation of the ashes to Rome in the midst of the most moving demonstrations of grief on the part of the Italian cities; the solemn celebration of the funeral rites in Rome, made the situation still more serious. Public exasperation increased, not only against Piso, but also against Tiberius. Tiberius and Livia had not taken part in the funeral ceremonies for Germanicus at Rome; the latter because she was too old and infirm, the former because he had avoided recently as much as possible investing family ceremonies with superfluous official importance. The public, however, began to accuse these two of not being at all displeased at the death of Germanicus. Of course, that young man had always given umbrage to Tiberius. Had not the latter recalled him from Germany, so that he should not cover himself with too much glory?
It was not long before even graver charges began to be whispered about. Piso had arrived at Rome by way of the Tiber, disembarking near the Tomb of the Cæsars, the resting-place of the ashes of his victim, and with a large retinue of friends had made an ostentatious progress to his house above the Forum, where he had given a great banquet. It was clear, then, that he had no fears. He defied public opinion and the Courts. And his attitude was justified, for he had acted on the orders of Tiberius, and possessed a letter from him in which these orders were given. That letter was his shield of defence against every danger! In point of fact, public suspicion was by now being diverted from Piso against a higher target. It was being directed straight against Tiberius and Livia. And Agrippina, whom grief was robbing of the little sense which nature had given her, added fuel to the enmities and suspicions in the public and the Senate through her lamentations, her recriminations, and her accusations, which were as vehement as they were unfounded.
When at last, therefore, certain persons,—Fulcinius Trio, Vitellius, and Veranius,—incited by public opinion, by the friends of Germanicus, who cried for vengeance, and by Agrippina, who would hear of no mercy, decided to accuse Piso and Plancina of poison, as well as Piso and his son Marcius of having tried to stir up civil war, Tiberius found himself in a most grave dilemma. It seems that trials such as these, involving persons of the highest rank and acts of a political character, could not be set in motion without the approval of the Emperor, who had the additional privilege of deciding whether the case should come before the ordinary tribunal,—the jury, as in trials of Verres and Clodius,—or whether he ought to entrust it instead to the Senate. Tiberius did not believe in the imputation of poison, which was the only really grave charge brought against Piso,—the other charge, that of civil war, being more in the nature of a second string. He did not believe in the poison charge, just as no sensible and impartial man believed in it, just as Tacitus, years later, did not believe in it, even though, with his usual malice, he has done all he could to induce posterity to accept it as true. Tiberius did not believe in it, for not only was there no proof of the charge itself, but it was in itself absurd. In fact, the accusers, when forced to explain when and in what way Piso had poisoned Germanicus, had found themselves reduced to asserting that, at a banquet to which Germanicus had invited Piso, and at which Piso was seated at a considerable distance from Germanicus, Piso, at a moment when Germanicus was looking in another direction, had poured the poison into his wine, actually in the midst of his host’s numerous servants and in the presence of the guests! This story may be taken as a sample of the whole accusation. Tiberius then knew that the charge was a romance, created and magnified by the political and partisan enmities which amongst the Roman nobility were so violent, by the credulity of the public, by the unreasoning hatred the people felt towards himself and the supreme authority with which he had been invested. He would, therefore, gladly have cut the trial short at the very beginning.
Could he do so, however? This Emperor, whom so many inexperienced historians have represented as a terrible despot, was in reality possessed of much less power as head of the State than his present-day detractors suppose. He was obliged to take into account public opinion, however obtuse and mad it might be. He was vaguely suspected of having prompted Piso to poison Germanicus, or at least of having willingly shut his eyes to the crime. If he prevented the charge being brought, would not this be the strongest confirmation of this mad calumny? Would not the whole populace murmur in their anger that the unfortunate Germanicus had been robbed, first of life, and then of vengeance,—and by the man who was his adoptive father? This, in the eyes of the ancients, constituted the gravest dereliction of family obligations. The trial was a satisfaction which the public demanded; and the Emperor—that pretended despot, lord of the whole State—had not power enough to refuse it.