“But—what didst thou say, O honest friend?” asked Tiberius, not grasping the full meaning of Sejanus.
“At last I understand thy son’s hatred,” repeated Sejanus.
“What dost thou mean?”
“When thou hast finished, I will tell thee.”
“Let not passion warp thy true regard for my son,” said the emperor, reproachfully.
“Proceed, O noble Tiberius,” begged Sejanus.
“Agrippina and her two sons—Nero and Drusus—hate me because of the death of Germanicus and because they do not receive more power. Ah! they all hate me. I hate them. I hate the Senators with their soft words and flattering servility. I hate the city, I hate the people. Bah!”
The tone of Tiberius and the vehemence with which he ended his bitter words of hatred affected Sejanus like water on thirsty lips. Every such storm of abuse gave him a nearer approach to the quaffing of the cup of full power. In all his castle building he had never dreamed of the possibility of the emperor’s living outside of Rome.
“Thou hast true cause for hatred, O abused man,” said Sejanus.
“Ay! But I know well this game of hate. Woe to those that hate me and those that I hate! The people shall be taught that Tiberius never forgives or forgets. I will go to an island—Dost thou remember Capri, with its inaccessible cliffs? Ay, I will go there. From Capri the blows shall fall. Then can I cry with untrammelled joy, ‘I am free! I am free!’”