Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  “Well done, Tribune,” said the surgeon. “That ought to heal nicely.” He proceeded to bind it in a soft bandage, asking if it was too tight, instructing Tiberius to return the next day to ensure that infection hadn’t set in.

  Tiberius looked at Fannius, who pulled lightly at the bandage wrapped around his chest and shoulders like a linen lorica.

  “How do you feel?” Tiberius asked him.

  “Lucky,” replied Fannius. “Fortuna kissed us upon the lips today, Tiberius.”

  Tiberius nodded, but said, “A kiss not so loving for many legionaries,” he said, “or for Carthage.”

  Fannius’s shoulders slumped. “I know we are new to war, but I didn’t think we would see what we saw today.”

  What they had seen had been repeated endlessly throughout the rest of the day deep into the night. As they followed behind the troops stalking from street to street, house to house, without even the most impoverished dwelling being overlooked, Tiberius gradually realized that the rape and massacre he witnessed was precise, engineered. Scipio had transformed the exultant, furious pillage of his conquering legionaries into a killing maneuver meant to expunge the entire population of Carthage.

  What was left of the population, anyway, thought Tiberius. During the death march, the shock of battle faded from him. He now saw the lethal enemy whom he had fought as the few remaining residents of the other great city in the world. They were ambling sacks of bones painted in tones of mottled flesh and skin. He noted bodies filling the streets before the killer legionaries had gotten to them, dead from disease and hunger. Of course, in the tradition of his grandfather, Scipio first starved Carthage for the better part of a year before committing his troops to the assault. Tiberius could see how he and Fannius had been able to keep the Carthaginian soldiers at bay on the walls, and why they had been so easily tossed from the parapet. Though they’d still fought as valiantly as they could to defend their families and their homes, the Carthaginians in their horribly emaciated state were no match even for two green tribunes. Just as Scipio had planned, thought Tiberius.

  After being relieved near midnight, Tiberius and Fannius staggered back to their tent to await a call from Scipio’s own surgeon to check their wounds. Fannius wandered off to find wine, but Tiberius fell across his bedding face down to avoid the pain from his wounded back.

  Scipio entered the tent alone and pulled up a stool to sit at Tiberius’s side. “How goes your healing?” he said with a wry smile.

  “I’ll live,” Tiberius said, “no thanks to you.”

  Scipio laughed, “Now, why would you say that, dear brother-in-law? Why tempt the gods?”

  “That mole was a rat trap, running all of us right down a funnel into a Carthaginian grindstone. It’s a miracle of the gods that any of us made it to the walls in one piece, never mind surviving the assault itself.”

  “Yes, it was a tall task,” Scipio said, his expression momentarily reflective. “But you are tall, Tiberius, and someone had to distract them into centering their forces at the wrong place.”

  “Distract them?” Tiberius asked, stunned. “We were a distraction? But the order of the day was for a general attack.”

  “The order,” said Scipio, carefully, “was amended.”

  “We were never expected to succeed,” Tiberius moaned. His face became a mosaic of anguish. “You did want me to die out there. Do you really hate us so much, Sempronia and me?”

  Scipio straightened up; then relaxed again. “Don’t be foolish, Tiberius. Who else should I have sent in your place? You’re a Gracchi, your father’s namesake, and son of Cornelia. You’re here to win glory, aren’t you, to burnish the family reputation, just like every other scion of a noble Roman house? Yes, you could have died, but you didn’t. You lived and you won the Mural Crown the only way you could, by being sent first, the chance that greatness demands. So, don’t whine to me about your life or my wife. You got what you wanted.”

  He rose to leave, but paused to say, “The attack from the levees was the most difficult of the engagement and you executed it successfully, surprisingly so. You’ve earned honor today, brother-in-law, which qualifies you for prospects. Even I admit to that and will act accordingly. May the gods go with you,” he said, as he turned and left the tent.

  “They say that once the citadel falls and the last of the Carthaginians are finished,” Fannius said when he returned, “Scipio intends to raze the entire city. He plans on being here for as long as it takes to wipe Carthage from the face of the earth. Nothing will be left of the greatest foe that Rome has ever known.”

  Tiberius rose to a sitting position, then to his feet. “It doesn’t matter to me. I’ve done what was expected here, and I’m done with it. Tomorrow, I return to Rome.”

  “But Tiberius,” Fannius, almost plaintively, “the worst is over. Don’t you want to be here for the division of the spoils?”

  Tiberius shook his head, “I’m sure that Scipio will protect my interests in exacting measure. But I’m finished with killing skeletons and the walking dead. I’m going home, home to Rome.”

  Chapter 1. 138 BCE

  Claudia slipped out from under the covers and pulled a robe at the end of the bed around her shoulders. She walked softly from her room to the door across the hall, carefully nudging it open to see if Tiberius had awakened. Even after these many years together, she still smiled a prayer to Fortuna as she did every morning, thanking the goddess for the strange and wonderful turn of the wheel that had made her his wife.

  “Antistia, I have wonderful news,” her father had said as he burst his way into their vestibulum. “I’ve just betrothed Claudia to the most outstanding young man in Rome.”

  “Oh, Appius,” her mother had cried out, “Why are you so impetuous? No young Roman is good enough for Claudia, none of them, except for just one, Tiberius Gracchus.”

  “Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus,” her father had said, nodding his head, “that is whom Claudia will wed.”

  Claudia laughed silently to herself as she recalled her mother telling her how she had run to jump into her father’s arms. As affectionate as they were toward each other, she doubted that either of them would have engaged in such a display. No, she thought, the story was just that, a story. More likely, the contract had been closely negotiated, especially with Tiberius’ mother Cornelia guiding the Gracchi interests. Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, she acclaimed, the oldest living son of his great father, who twice was elected consul, twice triumphed in Rome, and who finished up his brilliant public career as censor. Behold his eponymous son, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, winner himself of the Mural Crown at Carthage, and son of a Cornelii, one of the most celebrated families in Rome. But after all that was said, the Gracchi were plebeians with average holdings who required marriages of status and wealth. The Claudii could offer both, the trade-off being that Tiberius would marry Claudia.

  She knew that she was not beautiful. Too thin by far, too tall, and almost vulpine in her features, Claudia knew that she would be married to some noteworthy suitor, and she would bear children. She imagined loving her family, her children deeply. She would love her husband, too, as much as he would allow.

  Then, stark terror would overwhelm her, the thought that she might be barren and never have any children to love, none to love her back uncritically. If she could bear no heirs, in time even the most patient of husbands would divorce her. The thought petrified her and threw her into wild despair about being disgraced for her entire life, utterly useless to her family and Rome, and utterly alone.

  She shook her head to dismiss her past fears. She had married and had borne two children in quick succession, a boy and a girl. Heirs were assured, and she was a dutiful wife. She had achieved all she had ever asked for, never asking for more.

  Yet, Tiberius loved her.

  Her face flushed at this well-worn realization. She hardly could believe that this tall, Roman demigod of a man, in truth the most outstanding young man in Rome, could love her a
s much as he did. But he did, and he showed it in a thousand little ways, and in just as many grand gestures as he could afford. She knew that it didn’t matter that he was not the richest man in Rome, and not yet a senator. His star would rise without question, even his begrudging brother-in-law Scipio Aemilianus couldn’t deny that. What thrilled Claudia here and now was Tiberius’s unfailing devotion to her and the children. In her heart of hearts, she believed that if he could choose, he would rather stay at home with her than do what was necessary to rise in Rome’s service. But Rome must be served.

  He stirred just as she was about to close the door. He rolled over and lifted his head to gaze at her, and she bounded across the tiles to pounce on him.

  “You’re caught!” she cried.

  “Blessed be the gods, woman, you are killing me. Let me breathe!”

  “Not until you do as I say as my bought and paid for slave.”

  “Your slave.”

  “Indeed. You must obey my every whim, or it will go badly for you.”

  “Obey you. I am your husband. Shouldn’t it be you who heeds my beck and call?”

  “Not here, not now. I am in command. Do as I say!”

  He collapsed backwards. “What would you have me do, oh cruel, brutal Mistress?”

  “Love me. Love me now.”

  “I love you always.”

  “Show me, then. Show me how you love me.”

  “Isn’t this house, this family, enough? What more can I do?”

  “Give me more!” She groped beneath the covers until she found what she was looking for. “Give me all, all over again!”

  “Claudia,” he squirmed, but she insinuated herself under the covers, then under him.

  “Come, pleasure slave, do your work.”

  “Claudia, I have a busy day. Can we wait until we have more time?”

  “No! What I have hold of says no, too. That’s two against one, hah!”

  He groaned, “If your parents ever heard the things you say now. They would disown you and prosecute me.”

  “As they should. Look what you have turned me into.”

  “I could never turn you into anything. I am powerless around you. I am your slave, the slave to your heart.”

  “Ah, poetry,” she said sprightly, but she turned her head into his shoulder to hide her blushing face.

  “No, it’s true, just the unadorned truth.”

  Tiberius worked his arms around her to hold her close. He embraced her that way, still. She hugged him back, and they lay quietly for what seemed to be a long time.

  “What must you do today?” she asked.

  “I must go to the Forum. The Senate will take up Numantia. Our dear brother-in-law Scipio will castigate the generals who failed, and push for a return in force. He’ll win. It’s the only way.”

  “And, what will you do?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to your father. He’ll want to suggest a candidate at least to share the command. I just need to know what role Father Appius has in mind for me.”

  “You’ll meet him at the baths?”

  “Your father loves the baths.”

  “All Romans love the baths, especially Roman men.”

  “The elders. Young men still train first, then bathe.”

  “So where do you fall?” she asked, digging him in the ribs.

  “Why, somewhere between. I like to go to watch the young men train, then bathe.”

  She laughed at the conceit. Tiberius trained diligently, usually with Fannius, who acclaimed his friend as no shooting star, but a man among men. Claudia knew it was true from looking at him, his lean body and long muscles. He was known to be quick and strong, but it was his intelligence, too, that separated him from the other citizen warriors. Maybe he should be leading the legions to Numantia.

  “Love me,” she said.

  “I thought we had finished that conversation.”

  “Love me now, before you must go.”

  “Claudia, don’t you want us to have more time together?”

  Staring deep into his clear blue eyes, she swayed her head back and forth, no. She reached to pull him above her.

  As she left, barely pulling her robe around her naked back, Tiberius shook his head, wondering how he could love her so. Other men might overlook her, but he had never known another woman so perfect, so beautiful. Her eyes were so deep, violet wells of unquenchable question, highlighted as if a full moon shone upon them. Her deep chestnut hair was thick on the whole, often pulled to one side in a twist, yet each strand seemed as slender as a thread of the finest Egyptian linen. And her white skin carried a darker cast beneath, almost a royal purple to go with her royal eyes. Her figure was willowy full, narrow at the waist, but curved like a young, supple olive tree. Other women were ampler and blatantly desirable, but Claudia rushed desire in him through and through. She was beautiful in a way no other woman was, or could be, because there was only one Claudia. And, she loved him.

  A knock on the door broke his reverie. “Come,” beckoned Tiberius.

  Polydius slipped into the room. “Are you ready, sir?”

  “Ready for what? To pray to the gods, to kiss my wife and children, my mother? To see to the croplands, the pastures? To meet with my clients? To cross the river.”

  Polydius smiled, a warm, winning smile that saved him grace upon many an occasion.

  “All these things are worthy of your attention, and your priorities seem to be in order, particularly leaving the last to last. However, I speak more of the quotidian, of observing the session in the Senate today, and all that therewith might occur. Pardon my prosaic inquiry in light of your poetic pondering, Master Gracchus.”

  “That’s twice this morning I’ve been accused of committing poetry, Polydius, though the first time was much more satisfying. And, yes, of course I know you meant the Senate session. I know I’ve been a vast disappointment to you as a student, Polydius. However, I’m not that oblivious to what presses the day. Whether I’m ready for it or not is a question I am not yet ready to answer.”

  Polydius laughed, and Tiberius said, “I need to wash quickly before beginning the day. Call for Philea, and I’ll jump to.”

  Polydius stepped forward, “If you wish to save time, I could wash you.”

  Tiberius, a tall man, looked up at the thin man towering above him. “Good Jupiter, you are a tall creature. But you will have to defer your base Greek ways, Polydius, I’m in a hurry.”

  “Master Tiberius, I have a woman who has gifted me with several children!”

  “And who knows what you do with those vulnerable little ones, especially the boys, given your perverted inclinations. Quite some gifts, indeed.”

  “Sir Tiberius! I am a judicious father. You do me harm and wound me deeply.”

  “Laugh, Polydius, you are the butt of a joke rather than the butt of one of your aberrant countrymen. Know now how it feels to be in the middle of the melee rather than on the periphery, cooking it up.”

  Philea entered the bed chamber with a wooden stool and a jug of water, a thick, linen cloth draped over one shoulder. She stepped up on the stool and poured the water over Tiberius’ head, who stood naked before her. She drenched him completely, then began wiping down, after which he threw on undergarments and a long house robe.

  “Call the children to the Lararium for worship.”

  Tiberius left the bedroom to cross the house atrium to his mother’s room. He hesitated, then scratched on the door.

  “Mother, it’s time to pray.”

  “Come.”

  He sighed and opened the door to her room. She sat on a stool, gazing at the mural on the wall, Diana running with a stag through a meadow at the edge of a forest. Cornelia wore a deep blue robe, almost black, cut to the ankle and accentuating her slight, slender form when she stood.

  “Mother, we are gathering for the morning devotion.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Let us pray on this propitious day. Then, to the baths.”

 
“Yes, mother, as is my habit daily, to train and cleanse myself.”

  “And to meet with your other mother Appius Claudius Pulcher.”

  “Mother, he is my father-in-law, and most distinguished senator.”

  “He prattles like a woman. Go to Scipio, Tiberius. He is a man among Romans.”

  “But not the only man, Mother, and not the only favorite. Too many resent him.”

  Cornelia looked up at her son for the first time, and sunk him with her unworldly beauty, her perfect skin, as cool a marble as any god’s effigy, but alive with those green gem eyes that could see through to any man’s soul, anyone’s. A strand of her hair had escaped from the side of her hood, proving she was human, spun gold though it was, flecked with platinum.

  “You speak of Sempronia.”

  “She is unhappy with Scipio.”

  “Many wives are unhappy with their husbands, Tiberius. Roman women do not marry for happiness.”

  “Were you unhappy with Father?” he asked.

  Cornelia’s eyes half closed in long held sorrow. “No, no. I was not unhappy with your father.” Then, opening them wide, she said, “No woman could be unhappy with the man he was. He was first in Rome! A true Roman, your father. There was no one like him.”

  Nor ever will be, thought Tiberius.

  She paused, then said, “Sit with me, Tiberius, just for a little while.”

  He searched around and pulled up a servant’s stool next to her chair. She took both his hands in hers. “You could be like him, Tiberius, the next great man. You could outshine all of them, even Scipio. Oh, I know that your brother-in-law is bold and sly at the same time, but perhaps too much for his own good. I know, too, that Sempronia is unhappy, and that makes you unhappy. You’re such a good brother that way. But if you take your chance, you will surpass Scipio, I am sure of it. Once you do, Sempronia can divorce him. For now, though, your future is at sea, and Scipio is a necessary stepping stone to your success.”

  Tiberius marveled silently while she talked. His father had married the right woman for his ambition, and not just because Scipio Africanus had been her father. If she had been a man, she would have outrivaled her husband for honor. As fate would have it, she had been his greatest counselor.