Her sons would not come to live with her until the death of their father, though they were still very young. Octavian would raise them as his own, along with his own daughter. In the years that followed, Livia would watch as her husband rose in prominence; and following the defeat and subsequent death of his rivals, Antony and Cleopatra, he became the most powerful man in Rome. He became known as Augustus, or majestic. Though he would avoid titles such as ‘king’, he was now sole ruler of what history would call the Roman Empire. Within the span of just fifteen years, Livia had gone from fugitive to Empress of Rome.
For more than forty years Livia would serve Rome beside her husband, though often out of the public eye. It was she who convinced Augustus to send Germanicus to the Rhine after the disaster in Teutoburger Wald, rather than the volatile and inexperienced Posthumous Agrippa. Livia had secretly shuddered at the thought of what further disasters would have befallen the Empire had Posthumous been left to command the eight legions charged with unleashing Roman vengeance upon the barbarians. And yet despite her lifelong service to Rome, Livia’s influence was abruptly halted upon the death of Augustus and the rise of her son, Tiberius. It was a constant source of bitter irony between the two that if not for Livia’s substantial influence over Augustus, Tiberius may never have become emperor at all. The truth was, Tiberius had never wanted the imperial mantle. One could argue that his estrangement from his mother was born out of resentment for being saddled with the burden of ultimate power.
The room was dark, with the empress dowager only allowing a small oil lamp on a nearby table. It was the end of an era as Livia’s life slowly gave way. The powerful soul that had both inspired and terrified many lay trapped in the frail and dying body of an extremely old woman. Above all else, Livia’s spirit was tired.
She fought to hang on for just a little while, for she had one last task to complete. Then she would be ready to face Charon, on the River Styx, who would take her to the afterlife. She fought for breath, her vision starting to fade slightly, as the door opened and her grandson stumbled in.
“G…grandmother,” Claudius stuttered, rushing to her side. He took her hand in his and shuddered as it was already cold. He then looked around, puzzled. “W…where is my uncle? Capri is but a couple days from here by ship. He should be here with you!”
“He will not come,” Livia reply, sadly shaking her head. “I lost my son years ago. Now that my time is nearly done, he will be glad to finally be rid of me.” A single tear ran down her cheek. Livia had been stoic most of her life, but now she was finally unashamed by the tears that came. “He loathes me now as much as he once loved me.”
“I have spoken to some of my friends in the senate,” Claudius said, reassuringly. “Caecina Severus and several others have agreed to press for your deification.”
“That’s very kind of you,” the dying empress replied. Her voice was raspy, and Claudius struggled to hear her. “It was kind, but in vain. You forget that Tiberius holds the Tribunician power of veto. Even if the senate votes unanimously in favor of my becoming a goddess, he will simply cast his veto and nullify it. I hear he plans to void my will as well. Livia Augusta will simply pass into the afterlife a mere mortal, no more worthy than a Sicilian whore.”
It broke Claudius’ heart to hear how his uncle could be so heartless towards his mother. Though Claudius’ relationship with his own mother, Antonia, had been tumultuous at best, he still loved her and would never dream of hurting her. Tiberius seemed to go out of his way to injure Livia.
“Uncle has named both Gemellus and Gaius Caligula as his joint heirs,” he replied, referring to Tiberius’ grandson and great-nephew. “I will speak with them and see if perhaps…”
“Ha!” Livia interrupted before succumbing to a brief coughing fit. “Gemellus is still but a child, and he is not even mentioned in the sibylline prophecies. Gaius Caligula? He’ll try and deify himself before he ever thinks about his great-grandmother!”
“What can I do then?” Claudius was beside himself. His grandmother wished more than anything to be with Augustus in the next life, and that could never happen as long as she was but a simple mortal. Despite his own reluctance regarding deification while he lived, soon after his passing, the senate had voted unanimously to make Augustus Caesar a god. Even Tiberius had voiced his support for the measure, yet he would never allow his mother to receive such divine honors.
“You forget the rest of the prophecy,” Livia chastised. The prophecy she spoke of was written by the divine Sibyl many years before and kept locked away by order of Augustus. Besides Livia, Claudius was now one of the very few who even knew of its existence. It foretold the rise of both Tiberius and Gaius Caligula, further elaborating that Caligula would not sit on the imperial throne for long. What had startled Augustus, causing him to lock away the book lest it cause a panic amongst certain members of the imperial house, was that after a brief reign, Caligula would be succeeded by none other than his Uncle Claudius.
“You are the last truly noble member left of the Julio-Claudians,” Livia continued. “I always thought you a fool, but I later realized it was all of us who had been fooled. Your destiny will be revealed to you when you least expect it. Don’t forget your promise!”
“N…never!” Claudius said with an involuntary twitch of his head. “I promise that Augustus himself will lead you through the gates of paradise.” Though he had no delusions of becoming emperor, he was determined that Livia Augusta be given justice in the next life.
His grandmother gave a resigned nod. Her eyes twitched and her breath became shallow and labored. “Stay with me,” she said quietly. “Stay with me until the end and place a coin in my mouth for the ferryman.” It did not take long.
Claudius, ever the sentimental, wept openly as he watched his grandmother close her eyes and slowly allow her spirit to leave her body. After her last breath gave out, he reached into his toga with a trembling hand and took out a single coin, which he placed in her mouth. He stayed by her side for some time, lamenting that Livia Augusta, Mother of the Empire, had been left utterly alone at the end.
Chapter I: Incursion on the Rhine
Fortress of the Twentieth Legion, Cologne, Germania
March, 31 A.D.
“Bastards never learn,” a legionary growled as he huddled under his cloak. Though the frost was off the ground and spring had come once again to the Rhine, the perpetual dampness made the still-present cold cling to the shivering soldiers that lay hidden behind the embankment.
“When one is without food, the risk of death by the sword is still preferable to that of starvation,” Optio Praxus reasoned as he walked behind the line of soldiers.
Spring was a time when trouble would strike the borders of the Empire. The previous fall’s lackluster harvest, combined with an unusually harsh winter had left many in want of food and other resources. It had also led to an increase in raids from across the Rhine. Though the region had been largely pacified since the campaigns of Germanicus Caesar fifteen years earlier, the deprivation of the tribal peoples just outside of the Empire had emboldened many to raid the more fertile lands west of the Rhine.
“I’ll spill their guts and then warm my hands in their blood,” the legionary said as he rubbed his hands together and breathed on them in emphasis. Praxus ignored the man and took an assessment of the farm settlement.
They were just a few miles southeast of the Roman fortress at Cologne. The complex consisted of about half a dozen dwellings with thatched roofs, a kraal for livestock, and a large silo full of grain. With but a handful of farmers residing there with their families, it was an easy target for starving bands of marauders. A few days before, an auxiliary patrol had encountered a band of raiders as they fell upon the farms. So fast and so great were their numbers that the auxiliaries were quickly overrun and forced to withdraw; leaving four dead behind. Fearing the threat of additional Roman forces in the area, the barbarians had panicked and fled.