“It is of little importance,” said Sejanus, closely watching Gannon’s face. “Hereafter every communication carried to or from me must bear a seal. The failure to observe this rule will cost more than a dismissal. Go to thy room. Speak to no one. Wait until I send for thee.”
Gannon walked slowly from the room. A sudden impulse came over him to return and confess to Sejanus that he had read the letter; but at that moment he was prevented by the entrance of another secretary, who handed a letter to Sejanus. With a heavy heart Gannon went along the corridor outside of the office, and slowly mounted the flight of steps that led to his room. When he arrived there, he threw himself upon his couch and buried his face in his hands.
Sejanus had spoken harshly to him. “The order to go to my room was given in anger,” Gannon said to himself. He now felt sure that Livilla’s reply was more important than Sejanus had admitted. “What did he mean when he said that hereafter the failure to have letters sealed would mean more than a dismissal?” he thought. “Could he mean imprisonment, or, worse, could he mean death?” The thought of being imprisoned without being able to communicate with his parents tortured the lad’s very soul.
This was his first trouble, and in facing it he realized his own weakness. A window in his room looked out upon a large courtyard where the soldiers practised their manoeuvres. Leaving his couch, he watched them in their various formations. But the words, “Lygdus is a good man to do the deed,” were constantly recurring to his mind. “What would Sejanus do if he thought I had read Livilla’s reply?” he asked himself. “Would he see that my tongue is forever hushed?” Gannon shook with fear. He felt that he must communicate with his family, but how? He sat down and wrote a letter, but that he destroyed. “Who would carry it to them?” he asked himself. His handsome face had grown haggard with anxiety. His young heart was burdened with the consciousness of his deceit. Finally a plan for communicating with his family occurred to him, like a thought of hope to a despairing soul. Taking up a scrap of cloth, he wrote upon it in the smallest possible Greek characters the following words: “Have done wrong. Read a letter from L to S about Lygdus.” This he sewed to the under side of his tunic. Then, more contented, he threw himself upon his couch and waited to be called. He waited many hours.
Chapter II
AELIUS SEJANUS, commander of the Praetorians, was a tall and robust man, with a fine commanding head, set upon a coarse thick neck. He had a bold, hard, and evil face, which could at times appear weak, gentle, and friendly. His light-gray eyes were commanding and yet kind; his large mouth was voluptuous, yet firm. In fact, his nature was so complex and deceptive that he could instantly change from love to hate, from proud authority to fawning servility, from dignified sincerity to unctuous flattery. He was a man and yet a beast; an honest friend, a brave soldier, and a detestable villain. He was a living lie.
Years before, the Divine Augustus had been satisfied to distribute his guards among the surrounding towns of Rome; but the cowardly Tiberius had built a huge camp of bricks and marble, and in it he placed his soldiers, so that he could mobilize them more quickly in case of need. Over the soldiers he stationed his faithful minister, Sejanus, whom he trusted as he did no other man. Money had been so lavishly expended upon the building that it resembled a palace more than a guard-house. Its spacious rooms, polished-marble corridors, grand, imposing stairways, and courtyards surrounded by beautiful columns with finely wrought capitals, were elaborately adorned with carved candelabra, tables of variegated marbles, statues, and fountains. At one end of a spacious corridor stood the statue of Tiberius. At the other end, by the emperor’s order, one of Sejanus had recently been erected. A soldier, commenting upon this arrangement, said, “Sejanus watches the emperor day and night.”
Though of low origin, Sejanus had succeeded in attaching himself, some years before, to Caius Caesar, the grandson of the Divine Augustus. When Livia, the mother of Tiberius, had accomplished the death of that heir, Sejanus sold himself to the greatest epicure and spendthrift of the time, Apicius. In order that the flame of literature might not become extinct during the inglorious reign of Tiberius, Apicius composed a cook-book! His wealth was enormous; yet, fearing that he might some day die penniless, he committed suicide. With money dishonorably obtained by pandering to the low tastes of Apicius, Sejanus bought the friendship of the dissolute men who circled around Tiberius. At this time the emperor was beginning to cast his evil shadow over the city. With infernal ingenuity Sejanus so endeared himself to Tiberius that the emperor withdrew his favor from the other satellites and made Sejanus his adviser and minister.
Like a serpent, Sejanus would coil himself around his victim, and if the victim proved too strong to crush, he would use his poisoned fangs. Like a panther, he would crouch in the vilest holes; and when he saw his prey unguarded, he would steal upon it with padded feet, spring upon it, and strike it down. Like a huge tarantula, he would suck the life-blood of some wealthy man; but, less merciful than the tarantula, he allowed his victim to live on and suffer.
At present he was captain of the guards, chief officer of the most important military body in the empire. Moreover, he was the associate and particular friend of the emperor. He was yet more,—the confidant and principal adviser of the emperor. In all the emperor’s shameless pleasures, fiendish intrigues, and atrocious villanies, Sejanus was an abettor and a panderer. Step by step he had risen; and although these steps were stained with vice, robbery, and murder, he had reached the eminence of being the second man in Rome. In this rise to power Sejanus had not abandoned his old associates; but as he mounted higher, he drew them with him. Neither did he allow the halo of influence to dazzle and bewilder him. On the contrary, like the eagle, the higher he soared, the better view he took of his surroundings. He was always easy of access, and by his servility to the emperor and by his graciousness to those below him he had gathered about him a cordon of friends, so that whenever he walked through the streets he was greeted with cheers.