Chapter 8: The Die Is Cast
Earlier that morning, before the funeral procession…
Piso lingered at the entrance of his dignified domus, perched high above the city.
His toga hung loose, bunched at the waist, revealing the sinewed line of his bare chest and back—marked with age and a few scars born from ambition.
Long strands of white hair flowed down his shoulders, gently stirred by dawn's cold breath.
He gazed over the city like a god, surveying his domain.
Beneath him, Rome lay rain-soaked, shrouded in darkness.
Atop Palatine Hill—ad cor Romae, caput mundi—his home stood as a testament to his influence as a general and power as governor of Syria.
'I'm at the top of the world…'
A truth he savored each night.
From the outside, his residence appeared plain and unassuming.
Bare white walls.
A wide, simple entrance.
Just like any other gens' domus.
'Maybe even more,' he thought, recalling the expensive, sturdy materials he had spent on—strong against the weather, yet noble in appearance.
'Simple but elegant.'
Inside, the story changed entirely.
Intricate, colorful frescoes adorned every wall—commissioned from well-known artists and paid for handsomely in gold.
The polished white marble floors felt smooth and cold beneath his naked feet.
'Also paid in gold.'
But now, at this moment, in the rain and in darkness, he found… little pleasure in the beauty of his riches.
Instead, his eyes rested on the view outside—
'Above it all.'
—overlooking the peasants below.
SHWAAAA
The rain continued its relentless descent, a cold, wintry curtain draping over Rome.
Yet Piso stood unmoved, indifferent to the small goosebumps rising on his skin.
Behind him, the open-roofed atrium stretched wide.
At its center, a grand fountain spilled water mingling with the rain, encircled by statues made of orichalcum.
Reddish-gold surfaces.
Reflecting the dim orange light of nearby torches.
Orichalcum.
An invaluable metal.
Rare.
Even for the wealthy.
Years of patience and massive amounts of gold were needed to procure such a treasure.
A treasure so exquisite, one might spend a lifetime chasing it—only to acquire a meager amount.
'But if they are desperate enough…'
He straightened his back with smug arrogance, puffing his chest out.
'If one had the right connections, the knowledge, and the gold, it would be a breeze.'
A privilege advantage, for those who knew how to trade.
'And I control it.'
SHWAAAA
His shadow seemed to move with the wavering lucerna in his hand—the lone source of warmth in the darkened domus.
And the only sounds were the loud and steady pattering of the downpour on the tiled roof, with the gentle 'tsss' of the flame—hissing like a snake.
It may have been an hour after dawn or more, but sleep had long since abandoned Piso.
His restless mind churned with the same questions that had haunted him for days, like the endless rain itself.
'How in Jupiter's name did Germanicus really die?'
Then bitterly, he muttered under his breath—
"I haven't done anything yet…"
His voice was barely audible above the mixing sounds of rain and flame.
TSSSS!
SHWAAAA
"I had planned to strike—hire elite assassins to kill him and his family when they traveled the seas…"
He mumbled as if he was only remarking about the weather, not some plan for murder.
"It was perfect, timed for when Tiberius summoned him back to Rome."
CRACKLE!
SHWAAAAA
In the shadowy corridors of the Roman Empire, Tiberius ruled with suspicion and paranoia.
'Forever cautious…' he clicked his tongue in disdain.
The Emperor's rheumy eyes never ceased watching for potential threats to his throne.
Piso had known the man's true nature even before he became the second Emperor—
'A man consumed by ambition and fear.'
Had Augustus not died of supposed natural illness—
'If that was even the true story behind it…'
Then perhaps the former Emperor would never have chosen Tiberius as his heir.
'And to add salt—the cursed Germanicus wasn't even in Rome when the old man took his dying breath.'
"Well… Augustus made an arrangement…" he mused aloud, pausing thoughtfully.
Silently contemplating.
"... that no matter what happened…"
His face twisted with pure contempt, as if the very thought repulsed him.
"... Rome's golden boy would be Tiberius' heir…"
Piso suddenly darted a look around, his eyes sharpening with distrust, searching for eavesdroppers.
'No one.'
He smirked.
'Of course.'
Who would dare listen in on him?
No need to dirty his hands with blood tonight.
'Oh, it was already morning,' he thought, amused with himself.
He watched the still-dim sky, the clouds—heavy with rain—remembering Tiberius' secret…
A secret known only to a chosen few.
'Those who were present when Augustus breathed his last.'
And he—Governor Piso—was counted among them.
One entrusted with the truth.
One with the privilege to freely go in and out of the Palatium.
TSSSS!
SHWAAAA
Even before he took the throne, the scheming Tiberius had already fixed his wary gaze on his charismatic adoptive nephew—Rome's infernal general.
Piso sneered.
'He feared Germanicus' increasing popularity.'
Especially after the carefully orchestrated triumphal procession that was meant to showcase Tiberius' power instead solidify Germanicus' position—
It left Tiberius reduced to a mere wallflower, sulking in the shadow of his nephew's glory.
'A begrudging wallflower, overshadowed despite donning the purple,' he mocked with a snicker.
Tiberius saw his nephew as a rival destined to eclipse him.
'As if.'
Thinking banishment was the only way to keep Germanicus in check—like sending him on another campaign.
Out of sight, out of mind.
But there were no more bloody wars left to fight, and his nephew seemed like he was ready to flee.
To go into hiding and to wash his hands off the war, the blood, and the politics.
'What an idiot,' his lips curled in disgust.
Two men.
"One was a coward and one an insecure fool."
Neither was worthy of holding power.
Of the throne.
'Stupid, both of them.'
So instead, Tiberius ordered Germanicus to travel to the Eastern Provinces, to resolve conflicts and secure the region's loyalty to Rome after his victory in Germania years ago.
A superficial task—a lure for the ignorant general.
A trap, designed by Tiberius himself.
And Piso knew it well.
Germanicus, devoted to Rome and duty-bound, set out on the long journey with his family, unaware of the treacherous environment awaiting him.
'Yet, he stirred controversy in Egypt, opening the imperial granary and acting with reckless freedom.'
Piso sent a report to Rome almost immediately, and within two weeks, he received yet another secret missive from Tiberius—urging him to hasten Germanicus' death.
'He's getting too old.'
Piso thought with a smirk.
'Too impatient.'
"He should worry more about his growing reclusion," he muttered, amused.
'But then again, if you're shamed during your own triumphal procession… well, I suppose I can understand where he was coming from…'
"Pftt—!"
He snorted, spitting laughter through his teeth.
The secret mission was what had spurred Piso back to Rome.
SHWAAAAA
As the last remnants of twilight gave way to sunrise—the rain-soaked streets of Rome glowed like a polished stone.
TSSSS!
The soft, golden glow of the lucerna cast a warm, intimate light amid the dark interior of his domus, a foreboding gloom, creating an oasis of tranquility.
He stared at the scenery, although his mind still remained elsewhere.
Piso recalled Tiberius' first secret orders—curb Germanicus' growing influence and popularity—and to eliminate him in the sands of Syria.
"But… I won't do that… no."
'To act alone?'
"That's just asking to be the fall guy—the scapegoat."
He sneered at Tiberius' foolishness.
"Does he really think that I'm easily duped?"
Piso clicked his tongue again.
"Me?"
Disbelief in his voice.
'He thought he was so clever, using me as he pleased.'
He proudly pushed his chest forward.
"Hah!"
Piso had arrived in Rome a month earlier, right after receiving Tiberius' missive.
He planned to make a report and demand Germanicus' immediate removal in his territory.
On his way to the Palatium, Piso had received a message that Germanicus had fallen sick back in Syria.
'Perfect! Now I had more than just a reason to set the plan in motion, while he was inattentive!' he remembered thinking then.
He halted midway up the stairs, glancing back and forth between where he had come from and the entrance to the Palatium.
'What to do?'
Germanicus was seriously ill.
'They said he isn't getting any better,' he pondered.
'Doesn't that mean he's as good as dead?'
His face brightened with grim satisfaction as he imagined his rival succumbing to an unknown illness.
'An incurable disease they said?'
But there was no such thing as untreatable.
"It's not like there was any pandemic outbreak?"
Piso continued to chew over it.
Then he stilled, a realization bloomed.
'It was as if… as if he had been poisoned.'
Undetectable, maybe scentless even.
If so, then—
No amount of medicine, or prayers could save Germanicus now.
He wanted to celebrate.
'But, someone's going to find out eventually.'
And it was only a matter of time before everything got blown off the scale.
He suspected that he knew the one behind it, but…
It didn't matter who and what poisoned him now.
'Should I wait and see?'
A sinister smile played on his lips.
If Germanicus died in Syria while Piso was in Rome, he'd be here to clear his name the moment any rumors started.
It was a solid alibi.
'My name will stay clean.'
Piso felt so lucky, like he had avoided something big.
Like some conspiracy at play.
He knew very well he'd be the first suspect, what with how much he antagonized Germanicus.
If this somehow happened while he was still in Syria…
'It would be too late.'
His position was precarious—one misstep could turn him from master to scapegoat.
But Piso's confidence remained unshaken.
'I'm on my way to Rome when all of that happened, before he had fallen ill,' he thought.
"Let them spin some tales…"
He clenched his jaw.
'Let them think I did it.'
The rain continued to fall, unforgiving and cold, as if echoing the storm brewing in his mind.
'I will be ready…'
Tonight—
"No—today, the die is cast."
And Piso intended to let it all fall in his favor.
**