The Fall of Veii- Part 1

by Francis Mulhern

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  Manlius stood, his white tunic bleached to perfection as he smiled at the assembled men of the plebeian council. He had been careful to dress down for the meeting, avoiding anything which he thought might show signs of self-importance to the men who had been asked to attend him in his house on the Capitoline Hill. Manlius smiled his warmest smile and nodded to the men.

  “Calvus. Virginius. Cominus. Pomponius” he nodded as he welcomed each man, continuing around the table to several other prominent plebeian statesmen who all sat looking to him with measured smiles on their faces. “The candle has been lit and in the name of my ancestors I welcome you to my home” he announced, spreading his arms wide. “As you know I have asked you here to discuss the political situation” he smiled as a few of his guests smiled with him and nodded at his jest, noting that Calvus remained stoic, his bright eyes betraying no emotion.

  “The annual campaigns are harder on all of our families” he started, seeing a few nods from around the table “and I have been discussing the issue with the Consuls. It strikes me that the cost of war, the taxes and such-like” he added as Calvus frowned at him “are becoming too much of a burden on many of our families and we should discuss potential options which may be to all of our benefits” he finished, picking up a honeyed oatcake and biting into the crispy biscuit.

  “And which of the patricians do you have supporting you in your discussions?” came a reedy voice to his left as Manlius chewed the oatcake.

  “Both Consuls have asked me for an opinion and the Senate will be discussing the issue in the next meeting at the Kalends” he added with a firm nod of his head.

  “Hah. And no doubt they will be completing the sacrifices that only they can do. Or should I say that you can do?” came the reedy reply, alluding to the fact that only patricians could perform the religious ceremonies, of which there were many in Rome, that bound the state and Republic together. This was a particularly prickly subject but Manlius was prepared for it as it was a constant thorn in the way of any negotiations between the plebeians and patricians.

  “I agree with your sentiment Pomponius” he replied, lifting the dish of oatcakes and handing it across the table to one of his guests as he spoke, his voice light and friendly. “Ten years ago, which of us would have thought that we would be sitting around a table even discussing such issues” he said, the crow’s feet lines stretching at the corners of his eyes as he smiled a full smile. “But now here we are, brothers in the Republic. We have the same needs my friend, the same duty to the state and the same problems. Today is the start of the discussion to resolve the issues, not to keep bringing the old problems back. How can we step forward if we live in the past? I know the old saying ‘one master and not two’” he added “the facts are simple, we are all getting poorer as the wars drain us of our children, our brothers and our money. But today I ask you, learned men of the plebeian council, for your views on resolution. How do we move forward together? We don’t want another Secession” he said with a smile, his eyebrows raised and his hands out in front of him as a few ‘huffs’ came from the assembled men.

  Pomponius narrowed his eyes and leant his head to one side. “So, Marcus Manlius, as the appointed” he smiled as he said this “patrician to discuss with us lower orders” he glanced around the table “what we feel should be done with regard to the taxes which we all pay for our safety in Rome, where would you like to start this discussion? Shall we start with patricians clearing all debts for their clients?” he sneered at the comment as a number of voices jumped in with agreement to this statement. Above the noise he added, pointing a finger at Manlius “you said it Manlius, one master and not two. Remove the debts of the people and we will be able to pay more into the coffers of Rome, not to the bank rolls of the rich. Your kind has all the money and you pay fewer taxes, yet we pay you as well as paying with our blood.” Manlius growled inwardly as he sat erect in his chair to reply. “I know what you are going to say” sneered Pomponius before he could respond. “We patricians have the most to lose” he said, his voice sounding more nasal than before as he looked straight into the eyes of the bearded Manlius.

  “No, no” Manlius replied as Virginius laughed loudly at Pomponius’s comment. “The Consuls and Senate are looking at all options, my friends.” He looked around the table as a number of the men shook their heads, their deep-set hatred of the patrician class too far gone to see any solution. “You are the new men of Rome” he said, his voice rising as the group were already shaking their heads again. “We are all in the Republic together, the Lex Canuleia...”

  “The Lex Canuleia” shouted Cominus, his red cheeks pitted with thin veins “was a waste of good effort on the part of the plebeians. How many marriages have been sanctified? How many?” he called as he waved his hands theatrically around at the men sat shaking their heads. “You, Marcus Manlius, know nothing of the issue of which you speak. How can you? You are a patrician, you have the ‘birthright’” he spat these last words as he stared with anger at Manlius, his bravado starting to disappear under the barrage of the plebeian council. “Shall we talk legality, Manlius?” he added, his voice disappearing under a cacophony of calls from the men, who were quickly starting to become the rabble that Manlius saw out on the streets of Rome every day. Only Calvus remained calm as he sat quietly to the right of Pomponius and smiled a confident smile.

  “Legally,” continued Cominus, repeating himself as he asked the men to quieten and let him speak. “Legally the men around this table have one voice. But that one voice is nothing compared to a patrician’s voice. How can we affect the laws of Rome and agree changes to tax as you request when we have no voice? Tell me that Manlius before I give you the benefit of my years and the fortune that my gods bring to me from my hard work.” He had risen from his chair as he spoke, but now sat down, his eyes boring into Manlius, who sat impassively though his heart was beating like a drum in his chest.

  Manlius lifted his hand, hoping it would be a placating gesture, as he took a breath and looked each man in the eye waiting for the mood to calm a little before he spoke. “My good friends” he said, seeing several men shake their heads and look away from him as he said the words. “We, the people of the Republic must find a way to work together, to do Rome’s bidding and to be one people. I agree with everything you have said” he gestured “and we, yes we, must do something about it. But we can only do this together” he looked directly at Calvus as he spoke. “What say you Publius Licinius Calvus Esquilinus?” he asked, giving the man his full name as a mark of respect as much as a way of giving himself a few moments to collect his thoughts.

  Calvus nodded at the respect shown to him and looked slowly around the table at the plebeians he had known since boyhood. Amongst them were men he had fought with against the Volsci, indeed he had seen many of their brothers killed in action. The meeting had started badly, as such meetings always did, the gulf between the patricians and plebeians was as wide as it had ever been despite the secessions and numerous vetos made by the plebeian tribunes. Calvus took a moment to compose his thoughts before speaking.

  “Legally” he started with a smile to Cominus “the twelve tables have given a measure of” he searched for the word “constitution to what we all agree as our abiding principles for our home.” He glanced at Manlius with almost a sense of pity as he continued. “But they are nothing more than a way of keeping order. The issue is, of course” at this he looked directly at Manlius “the Consuls have the direct power over the law and can decide in whichever way they agree what is best for the Republic. But as we know each Consul must be a patrician, and there lies our issue, Marcus Manlius” he smiled.

  Silence descended on the room as each face looked expectantly at Manlius before Calvus continued.

  “Rome is our home Marcus Manlius, as it is yours. To us and the other people of Rome it is imperative to be one nation under one law. But we cannot be that without the voice of the peopl
e being heard. How can it be?” Murmurs of agreement came from the assembled group of men. “The city has over two hundred thousand people crammed within its walls and more arrive every day as our armies win victory after victory. But Manlius” he looked to Cominus who was frowning as he spoke “release the debts of the people who have done well in this great city, free the land rights so that plebeians can buy good land and settle. But most of all, tell your Senate of patricians that they must give the people the power to make decisions, not just to be puppets that are asked their views and then ignored.”

  His last words brought a series of calls from around the table as the men agreed with Calvus’s statement.

  “Furthermore” continued Calvus as he looked at the plebeian faces, all grinning back at him as they came to silence at his words. “Now is the time to remove the law which states that Consuls and Military Tribunes must be patricians. Remove these limitations that hamper all freeborn men who have the desire to help the city to grow, and there will be greater benefits to Rome, Manlius. Take away the ideology that only those born into the older families of a Rome that has been and gone can make decisions about the here and now, change the world we live in Manlius, make this Rome the greatest City there has ever been by empowering the people who live in it to be a true Republic where each man has a voice.” He finished with a stare into the corner of the room, his theatrical style pleasing himself as a burst of rapping on the table and some small cheers came from the assembled men, Pomponius gripping his shoulder and whispering “well said, brother” into his ear.

  Manlius sat looking at the men around him. Something in his mind sparked as he listened to the words of Calvus, his heart beating fast as his thought processes caught up with the words he had heard. Somewhere deep inside himself he knew that these words were true and that Rome had outgrown the patricians, his mind worked feverishly to see how he could gain from this situation. He steeled himself as he stood and held his hand up to the guests around the table, his eyes holding a look of wonder as he spoke.

  “Publius Licinius Calvus Esquilinus” he said with a small bow of his head. “I have heard your words, spoken with a passion and love of Rome and our people. A passion I recognise and hold dear to my heart. And, men of the plebeian council, I agree with your words. Indeed I” he paused as he spoke, a tear coming to his eye. “Yes, I Marcus Manlius will take your yoke and will carry your burden to the Senate. I will champion your words Calvus, if you will let me? But” he continued, as one or two of the men sneered and shook their heads at the drama of his speech. “We gentlemen, we must develop a case which cannot be vetoed by the Senate, the very men who will oppose any eradication of their power. So, gentlemen, what do we do?” he asked.

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  Chapter 6

  The leader of the scouting party that had been ambushed a day earlier watched from the ravine as the snake of men kicked up a dust cloud in the early morning heat. He wiped his brow as he considered his next move, glancing across the hillock to his right to see the hundred Labici warriors stop and search the ground for his tracks.

  “Bastards” he thought. He had no idea if the column of men below in the valley were Roman or some other enemy, but he had to gamble, or he would definitely be caught. The Labici had tracked him for two days, killing his scouting party and nearly capturing him on two occasions. He gripped the wound on his forearm, the matted blood showed he had stopped bleeding but his fingers were still not able to grip strongly. He shook his head and clenched his teeth as he stared at the thin line of soldiers marching slowly to the north. It was now or never, he thought, as he kicked his tired horse into a trot and set off through the narrow causeway in which he was hiding, the steep drop to the road coming into view as a Labici rider called and pointed his spear at him.

  The dust got in his eyes as he edged his mount onto the steep slope, the horse snorting and stamping its front legs as it searched for good ground. Behind him he heard the slap of an arrow, the damned Labici were good, he considered momentarily before a lurch to the right forced him to grip his reins tighter, the pain shooting through his arm as he did so. He peered into the distance to see one of the scouts ahead and below had seen him and was waving to the surrounding men, most of them on horses. His tired eyes could not make out the clothes or the colours as they watered in the dusty haze, his legs urging the horse onwards as it struggled to remain upright on the steep, rock strewn ground. Another crack sounded as an arrow skidded off a boulder to his right, the spark of light from the iron tip flashing into his vision. “Come on” he growled at the horse, dragging its head to the left and pointing it down the hill. He mumbled a prayer to Fortuna, a goddess he had become close to in previous weeks as he thought about how stupid such prayers were to him only a few years ago.

  Ahead he heard a cry, the scouts were riding up the hill towards him. He glanced over his shoulder to see the Labici riders were coming to a stop, clearly not sure who the men below were. A sudden flurry of arrows thumped into the ground behind him as he made a last yell and squeezed his horse hard with his knees, its body almost jumping at his command as it staggered and trotted again.

  The scout looked behind him and saw to his relief that the Labici were falling behind and coming to a stop. He sighed with such force that his grip slipped on his injured arm, sending him half over the front of the horse as it almost came to a standstill, unsure what its rider wanted. “No boy” he murmured, his grin allowing a fleck of white spit to form at the corner of his mouth, “Keep going, come on, good horse” he grinned as he looked ahead to see the red feathers of Roman cavalry dancing on the helmets of the men coming towards him, his face beaming as the first man came into view.

  The Roman cavalry surrounded the rider, taking their time to make sure that he was not an enemy. Satisfied, one of the cavalry had swapped horses with him to allow him a better ride along the steep final descent, the scout walking the tired beast as the other men headed back to the marching column. As the rescued man drank deeply from the leather pouch he had been given, he looked up at the empty hillside, the Labici had gone, but were no doubt watching the men below and sending messengers to their main force. As he looked ahead he saw three men riding forwards of the column, their bronze armour glinting through the dust. As they approached and reined in he smiled, his grin splitting his face as he saluted and stared at one of the men in front of him.

  “Marcus Furius Camillus” he said through his cracked lips “I never thought I would be so happy to see you again.”

  “Fasculus” came the surprised reply.

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  A couple of hours later Fasculus was cleaned up and sat on a rock as the column halted to take a short break from their relentless pace. The blue sky held a threat of rain as thick grey clouds were bunching on the horizon. Fasculus stretched his forearm, rubbing the thick bandage that had been wrapped tightly around it, and looked up at the sun as it blazed down on them from almost directly overhead. He shook his head and turned to his right “gods it’s hot” he said, taking a drink of water and then splashing some over his neck , attempting to cool himself down.

  “That rain will be here in an hour or so” came the reply from the man he had been introduced to earlier, Gaius Potitus. Potitus was Marcus Furius’s close friend and as such Fasculus had made an effort to get to know him, picking up bits of information about what they were doing out on the road and where they were going. He was delighted to hear that they were going to Bolae, his destination as well. After debriefing Ambustus, the leader of this group, with enough of his scouting reports to keep the man happy he had melted into the background of officers and kept his tone light, avoiding Mella and Camillus, as everyone seemed to call Marcus Furius these days, as much as he could. Mella in particular had reason to hate Fasculus and it was difficult to avoid the man’s resentful looks and spiteful remarks.

  Fasculus looked at the clouds away in front of them. “Thunderstorm?” he asked
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  Potitus stopped eating and looked at the sky, taking a moment to glance at the few fir trees that were sparsely dotted around the low hills. “There’s not much wind” he replied “so you may be right. It’d be best if we made Bolae before it hit” he commented without moving his eyes from the skyline.

  “Aye” came Fasculus’s response as he watched Marcus mount his horse and look over his shoulder at the column.

  “Mount” came the shout as a clatter of noise started, men rising from the ground and shaking the dust from their clothes, horses snorting as they were pulled from the roadside where the grass was longest. Fasculus decided that he must get closer to Marcus and once mounted he slipped forwards in the line to walk just behind him, noting that Mella watched him like a hawk. He grinned at Mella with his best ‘friendly’ face before turning away as the man spat onto the ground and stared malevolently back at him. Javenoli had suggested he shouldn’t dispose of anyone just yet, but Mella might be an exception that needed to be removed, he thought.

  “Camillus” he said, nudging his horse forwards as he spoke. “Might I ride beside you, I have some things I believe need to be said” he asked, his glance at Mella telling him that one person, at least, didn’t think there was much they could agree on.

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  The scout rocked on his mount, the red spot on his chest growing as he stared at it. His mind rushed with thoughts as he clutched at the iron tip that had appeared through his shoulder, a sudden flare of pain bursting through his body as another whack to his back announced a second arrow. He tried to turn the horse, but it screamed a nasal grunt and reared his weak hands unable to control the beast as it too took another arrow in the flank. His mind felt him fall, the pain was gone, how could that be? A darkness came to his eyes as he heard hoof beats galloping madly away from him.