Bittersweet Taste of Victory

17AD, still around May, Palatine Hill

The emperor had sent a messenger ahead to announce their arrival, ensuring that the people of Rome would be prepared for a triumphal procession.

It was the highest honor bestowed upon a victorious general.

"Io triumphe!" "Waaaaahhhh!"

The sudden outburst of the crowd startled Germanicus and his company.

Thick scent of burning incense mingled with the people's voices.

They've only just stepped inside the city.

CLACK CLACK

Petals rained from balconies.

"Io io io!" "Roma victoria!"

It was to be expected—Rome had long awaited the end of this campaign.

Though spring lingered, the air felt heavy and warm, unmoved by even the faintest breeze.

The sheer mass of people flooding the Palatine Hill made the atmosphere stifling, pressing in from all sides.

"Waaaaah!" "Vivas Roma!"

They all come to watch. Their eyes hungry for a glimpse of glory.

The scent of fresh bread, thick incense smoke, and the sweat of thousands blended into something both intoxicating and oppressive.

Yet the crowd paid no mind. They were enraptured, eyes fixed on the triumph before them.

It had been years since Rome had seen such a spectacle—grand, lavish, a true display of power.

Children laughed, running alongside the golden chariot of the emperor, their excitement unrestrained.

The golden wheels rolled forward clacking on the cobblestone road, steady and relentless, like the weight of the people's expectations pressing upon Germanicus.

He rode alongside Emperor Tiberius, the Roman legions marching in perfect formation behind them.

Their final destination is the palatium, which is located at the heart of the city.

Gleaming under the sunlight was the soldier's armatura militaris—an over all armor—a dazzling display of Rome's might.

The people of Rome lined the lively streets, dressed in their finest, their colorful attire adding vibrancy, bringing life to the city.

Cheers and chants filled the air, echoing off the towering buildings.

The sight is spectacular! Filled with anticipation and excitement as the people patiently observed their general and the Roman legion's long procession.

Yet, despite the grand display, most eyes remained fixed on Germanicus.

Unaware of the admiration he commanded, he rode on, oblivious to the many adoring gazes that followed his every move.

The golden boy's charm was undeniable—so potent that half the female population seemed to swoon as he passed.

Germanicus' piercing blue eyes left knees weak with a single glance, a silent conquest of admiration.

His slightly long brown hair, nearly blackened under the morning sun, swayed freely, unrestrained by his galea—a helmet.

Beneath the weight of his lorica hamata—an armor worn by someone higher—his battle-hardened frame was unmistakable—a body honed through years of war, built not just for battle, but for legend.

And when he smiled in the crowd while he rode on his black horse…

The responding roar of the crowd is deafening.

"Roma victoria!" "Euge!!!"

CLACK CLACK

Germinacus thought that he owed this warm welcome from the masses to his father—Nero Claudius Drusus, a renowned Roman general and statesman.

Often hailed as the 'People's Hero,' the original bearer of the honorific title 'Germanicus'.

Bestowed upon him by the Roman senate in recognition of his triumphant territory expansion campaigns in Germania.

But fate was unkind—his father had died suddenly, struck down by illness while still on campaign.

And so, his son took up the title, not just as an honor but as his very name.

Germanicus Julius Caesar.

'Father, I've brought you more glory in your name' He prayed in silence.

This was a moment of triumph, not just for him—but for his father's memory and legacy.

A small, private smile touched his lips, and the crowd roared anew.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!"

The sight of their victorious general, lost in thought yet radiant in the morning sun, only fueled their admiration.

'His legacy, I'll pass it to my sons and daughters' Germanicus vowed.

As he rode through the streets, the sound of the crowd's cheers and the pounding of the horses' hooves created a thunderous atmosphere.

"Io io io!" "Vivas imperator!"

"Vivas Roma!" "Vivas imperator!"

CLACK CLACK

The rhythmic chants of the people filled the streets, echoing against the towering buildings.

Tiberius smirked, convinced that their voices were lifted in honor of him.

Unaware that the people was actually there for his nephew.

After all, it was he, the emperor, who had orchestrated this grand procession—he who had ensured this display of Rome's power.

This was his moment.

A reminder to those damn nobles and senators who dared compare his reign to Augustus.

Let them talk. Let them scheme.

'Look at me! '

Today, the people worship him.

'I'm the driving force behind the Germania campaign!'

"Vivas Roma!" "Vivas imperator!"

'Yes, that's it…'

His chest swelled, basking in their supposed adoration. A slow, superior smile stretched across his lips.

'More!'

With calculated grandeur, he raised one arm—then the other, still holding the chariot rein—acknowledging the masses in a stately, priest-like benediction.

Draped in opulent red robes, crowned in gold, Tiberius cut the figure of an emperor.

Yet beside Germanicus, the contrast was stark.

His black hair, now flecked with white, and the wrinkles framing his sharp brown eyes betrayed his age.

And though he stood tall in his ornate golden chariot, drawn by two majestic white horses, he lacked the vigor and commanding presence befitting an emperor—the raw, effortless charisma that made Germanicus so beloved, the kind that stirred hearts without effort or pretense.

A truth that he refused to acknowledge. No. Never.

The cheers grew deafening, the chants feverish, a wave of adoration rising over the city.

Tiberius drank it in, his smile widening, one arm still raised in stately acknowledgment.

He inhaled deeply, savoring the sweetness of spring in the air.

'Ah! What a beautiful day it is!'

"Vivas imperator!" "Dii immortales!"

'More!'

"Io imperator!"

'Yes, shout it louder! Let the whole world know my name!'

"Vale, Germanicus!" "Euge, Germanicus!"

Tiberius' expression froze.

"Vale, imperator! Vivas, Germanicus!"

His joy faltered. His smile, once effortless, stiffened.

'What?'

"Vale, imperator! Vivas, Germanicus!"

The words struck him like a whip.

More voices joined in. More shouts. More Germanicus.

"Vale, Germanicus!" "Io imperator!"

'Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?'

The blood drained from his face.

His hand, once raised in triumph, curled into a fist.

"Tch."

His pride—his carefully built pedestal of self-importance—was cracking.

No, shattering.

And Germanicus? He glance at his adoptive nephew's face riding his black horse.

'That idiot rode on, completely oblivious to the love being showered upon him.'

That made it worse.

'He doesn't even realize what he has…'

Tiberius' teeth clenched. His heart pounded—not with pride, but with rage.

"Vae!," he muttered under his breath.

Then, without another word, he spurred his chariot forward, leaving the procession behind.

NEIGH SNORT SNORT

TROT TROT TROT

Germanicus, startled by the emperor's sudden departure, instinctively reined in his horse.

For a brief moment, he watched Tiberius disappear ahead, oblivious to the emperor's darkening mood.

Then, with a slight nudge, he urged his horse forward, breaking the formation.

The praetorian guards followed close behind.

CLACK CLACK CLACK

As he passed, a group of Roman citizens, dressed in their finest garb, waved olive branches and laurel wreaths in celebration.

Then, amidst the sea of faces, a young boy caught his eye.

Perched on his father's shoulders, the child wore a blue tunica, his small hands outstretched, clutching a laurel wreath.

Germanicus' grip on the reins tightened.

'He looks like Caligula…'

The blond hair, though dusted with dirt. The eyes, not quite as blue.

Not his son, but close enough to stir something deep inside him.

The boy persistently held out his laurel wreath, his tiny arms trembling with effort.

A soft smile crossed Germanicus' face.

And the crowd erupted.

He reached out, taking the wreath with a graceful wave—

Cheers surged, wilder and louder.

More and more people—young and old—pressed forward, offering olive branches and wreaths, eager to have a moment of recognition from him.

But Germanicus was no longer paying attention.

His mind had drifted—

To Caligula. His son.

He had sent his son ahead to Agrippina with his trusted aide, but he couldn't shake the nagging worry that clawed at his chest.

The boy had fallen ill after witnessing something gruesome.

'I should have never taken him to Vetera.'

The realization clawed at Germanicus, bitter and relentless. 'I thought I was doing the right thing, just as my father did with me… but was I?'

A sight no child should have to see. He had believed it was his duty to teach Caligula the ways of military life—to prepare him, to make him strong. But he had been wrong.

'Would Caligula be all right?'

'Would he ever be the same?'

Germanicus had wanted his son to understand the weight of duty, the legacy of their name, the honor and sacrifice of war.

But instead, the boy had seen its horrors. Blood. The dead.

The aftermath of battle, stripped of its glory.

A fresh weight settled on his shoulders.

His duty as a general had always been clear. But his duty as a father?

And now, his bright, laughing boy was pale and silent.

Germanicus gripped the reins tighter.

'What have I done?'

The thought cut deep, leaving behind an ache that no triumph could mend.

'I might have to retire early…'

He sighed, his gaze drifting toward where the procession should have carried the carts of the fallen.

But they weren't here.

They had already been sent ahead—to Esquiline Hill.

Where the dead would be laid to rest.

A bitter smile touched his lips.

'The price of war.'

It was not just land and glory that they claimed—

But lives.

So many lives.

'Revenge was it?'

They had retrieved what they could, refusing to let their fallen comrades rot in a foreign land.

These men had families. Friends.

They belonged here.

He exhaled, bowing his head in silent prayer for the soldiers lost in the Weser River and in Teotoburg Forest.

CLACK CLACK

The sound of the crowd's cheers and the pounding of the horse's hooves brought Germanicus back to the present.

He also willed his horse to run faster, eager to reach the palatium to get it over with and reunite with his family.

To his wife..

TROT TROT TROT

Tiberius reached the palatium first.

He leapt down from his chariot without waiting for anyone, his steps heavy as he stormed through the marbled halls.

The sharp echo of his leather-clad feet filled the corridors, but he paid no mind to the greetings of the servants and officials. He ignored them all.

He was seething.

'I am the emperor, and they dare to ignore ME? ME?!'

It wasn't enough that he already lived in the shadow of Augustus—his predecessor's name still clung to the Senate's lips, still dictated every policy, every expectation.

"Emperor Augustus did this—"

"Emperor Augustus would have done that—"

And now?

Now there was another shadow looming over him.

Germanicus.

Tiberius ground his teeth, pacing back and forth inside the throne room.

'No… Germanicus is not ambitious enough.'

But then again…

'Maybe he just hides it well.'

He stopped.

The thought dug its claws into him, feeding the ever-growing paranoia that simmered beneath his skin.

His jealousy, his resentment—both reaching their boiling point.

He needed to act. He needed to remove Germanicus.

Only then would his name resound through Rome, through the empire, beyond its borders.

Augustus was beyond his reach, but Germanicus?

Germanicus was still alive.

And that could be changed.

"Do it," a woman's voice whispered.

"No, don't," a man refuted.

Tiberius flinched. He turned sharply, eyes scanning the chamber.

No one.

He was alone.

Yet the voices persisted.

"Shut up!" he hissed.

His breath came short. His fingers twitched.

The voices in his mind never left him—not completely.

'Kill him.'

'No.'

'Have someone else do it…'

'Like you've always done.'

Tiberius exhaled slowly. His foot, which had been tapping against the marble, stilled.

His mood lifted.

'Yes. Yes.'

He didn't have to do it himself.

His lips curled into a sneer as a memory surfaced—a certain someone from the banquet.

An issue he had put off for far too long.

'Perfect.'

Tiberius sank into his throne.

'I won't let you take what's mine, Germanicus.'

The only question now was—how?

*************************

Leaving the banquet, Germanicus was finally free from the raucous laughter and the thick scent of wine that had suffocated the emperor's celebration.

He rode through the dimly lit streets, his horse's steady rhythm doing little to quiet his restless mind.

Tonight was meant to be a triumph. The highest honor a general could receive.

Yet, Germanicus felt none of it.

The campaign had not been for his own glory—it had been for Rome. For the people. For Varus.

Nothing more.

Yet his heart remained uneasy.

His thoughts drifted again to Caligula. He felt guilty.

Germanicus' grip tightened on the reins.

'I should have gone with him.' But duty had called him elsewhere.

The triumphal procession. A carefully staged display arranged by Tiberius.

'A duty I could not refuse.'

He exhaled sharply, willing the guilt away. 'He's young. He will grow out of it.'

The sight of his domus pulled him from his thoughts.

The familiar silhouette of their wide hortus—garden— came into view, the flickering torchlight illuminating the patio.

Slaves moved about, finishing their daily tasks.

He urged his horse forward, faster now than when he had chased after the emperor earlier.

As soon as he reached the front of the domus, he swung down, his movements swift, as if something unseen was chasing him.

Then he stepped through the doorway—

And his breath caught.

Agrippina stood before him, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.

The soft folds of her white stola draped around her figure, the fabric catching the golden light.

She smiled, her hazel eyes full of warmth.

Germanicus faltered, momentarily forgetting everything—his worries, the war, the dead still waiting to be buried.

"!!!!!?" Words failed him.

A slow smile spread across his lips instead, his eyes filled with longing.

Home. He was finally home.

"Welcome home," Agrippina whispered, her voice laced with quiet relief.

Germanicus closed the distance between them, sweeping her into a firm yet tender embrace.

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent—soft, floral, achingly familiar.

The tension in his shoulders eased, if only for a moment.

"My beautiful wife…" He murmured against her ear, his voice hushed and reverent.

Agrippina shivered at the warmth of his breath against her skin, her hands tightening against his tunic.

"How are the children?" He asked, though he found it increasingly difficult to focus. Her presence, her touch—it was intoxicating.

Agrippina, equally affected, hesitated before answering. "They're fine… though Drusus broke his leg. He jumped from a tree."

A small laugh escaped her, but then she sighed, her expression shifting.

"But Caligula is…" She trailed off, her worry unmistakable as she looked up at her husband.

Germanicus exhaled, cupping her face gently.

"It's alright," He reassured her, though the words felt more like a promise to himself.

He could not undo what had been done. But he could be there now. He could protect them now.

Unable to resist, he closed the space between them, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that tasted of longing, of comfort, of unspoken promises.

Agrippina melted into him, allowing the warmth of his embrace to push away the lingering unease in her chest.

When they finally parted, Germanicus rested his forehead against hers.

"Tomorrow, we'll attend the funeral," He murmured.

She nodded, understanding.

Germanicus traced his fingers gently along her cheek, grounding himself in her presence, even as his thoughts drifted to the fallen soldiers whose bodies still lay in the carts.

Agrippina studied him, sadness flickering in her gaze.

But then, a small smile played on her lips as Germanicus took her hand and led her toward their cubiculum.

A soft chuckle left her.

It seemed, at least for tonight, he was not letting her go.

*************************

INDEX:

Io triumphe - hail the triumph

Roma victoria- Rome victoriou

Euge - bravo/well done

Io io io - similar to huzzah

Vivas imperator - long life to the commander

Vivas Roma - long live Rome

Dii immortales - immortal gods

Io imperator - hail to the commander

Vale Germanicus - hail Germanicus

Euge Germanicus - bravo/well done Germanicus

Vale imperator - hail commander

Vivas Germanicus - long life to Germanicus

stola - a dress for married women

cubiculum - a room (^_^)

(we all know where this is going hehe)