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.