“What about the one who spied—Servilia?”
“Oh, very quiet, very self-contained, very obedient. But do not trust her, Quintis Poppaedius, whatever you do. Another one of the brood I dislike,” said Drusus a little sadly.
Silo gave him a keen glance out of yellowish eyes. “Are there any you do like?” he asked.
“My son, Drusus Nero. A dear little boy. Not so little these days, actually. He’s eight. Unfortunately his intelligence is not the equal of his good nature. I tried to tell my wife it was imprudent to adopt a baby, but she had her heart set on a baby, and that was that. I like Young Caepio very much too, though I cannot credit he’s Caepio’s son! He’s the image of Cato Salonianus, and very like little Cato in the nursery. Lilla is all right. So is Porcia. Though girl-children are a mystery to me, really.”
“Be of good cheer, Marcus Livius!” said Silo, smiling. “One day they all turn into men and women, and one can at least dislike them on merit then. Why don’t you take me to see them? I admit I’m curious to see the plucked vulture and the spy-girl. How chastening, that it is the imperfect one finds most interesting.”
The rest of that first day was spent in social congress, so it was the following day which saw Drusus and Silo settle to talk about the Italian situation.
“I intend to stand for election as a tribune of the plebs at the beginning of November, Quintus Poppaedius,” said Drusus.
Silo blinked, unusual for a Marsian. “After being aedile?” he asked. “You must be due for praetor.”
“I could stand for praetor now,” said Drusus calmly.
“Then why? Tribune of the plebs? Surely you can’t be thinking of trying to give Italy the citizenship!”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking of doing. I have waited patiently, Quintus Poppaedius—the gods be my witnesses, I have been patient! If the time is ever going to be right, it is now, while the lex Licinia Mucia is still fresh in all men’s minds. And name me a man in the Senate of the appropriate age who can possibly summon up the dignitas and auctoritas as a tribune of the plebs that I can? I’ve been in the Senate for ten long years, I’ve been the paterfamilias of my family for almost twenty years, my reputation is stainless, and the only tic I have ever had is full enfranchisement for the men of Italy. I’ve been plebeian aedile, and given great games. My fortune is immense, I have a crowd of clients, I am known and respected everywhere in Rome. So when I stand for the tribunate of the plebs instead of the praetorship, everyone is going to know that my reasons must be compelling ones. I was famous as an advocate, I am famous as an orator. Yet for ten years my voice has been silent in the House, I have yet to speak. In the law courts the mention of my name is enough to draw big crowds. Truly, Quintus Poppaedius, when I choose to stand for the tribunate of the plebs, everyone in Rome from highest to lowest will know my reasons must be as cogent as they are deserving.”
“It will certainly create a sensation,” said Silo, puffing out his cheeks. “But I don’t think you have a chance of succeeding. I think you’d use your time more wisely if you became praetor, and consul two years from now.”
“I cannot succeed in the consul’s chair,” said Drusus strongly. “This is the kind of legislation that must come from the Plebeian Assembly, promulgated by a tribune of the plebs. If I were to try to pass it as consul, it would be vetoed immediately. But as a tribune of the plebs myself, I can control my colleagues in ways the consul cannot. And I have authority over the consul by virtue of my veto. If necessary, I can trade this off for that. Gaius Gracchus flattered himself he used the tribunate of the plebs brilliantly. But I tell you, Quintus Poppaedius, no one will equal me! I have the age, the wisdom, the clients and the clout. I also have a program of legislation worked out that will go much further than merely the citizenship for all of Italy. I intend to reshape Rome’s public affairs.”
“May the great light-bearing Snake protect and guide you, Marcus Livius, is all I can say.”
Eyes unwavering, demeanor suggesting that he believed in himself and what he was saying implicitly, Drusus leaned forward. “Quintus Poppaedius, it is time. I cannot allow a state of war between Rome and Italy, and I suspect you and your friends are planning war. If you go to war, you will lose. And so will Rome, even though I believe she will win. Rome has never lost a war, my friend. Battles, yes. And perhaps in the early days of a war, Italy would do much better than anyone in Rome save I suspects. But Rome will win! Because Rome always wins. Yet—what a hollow victory! The economic consequences alone are appalling. You know the old adage as well as I do—never fight a war on your own home ground—let it be someone else’s property which suffers.”
Out went Drusus’s hand across the desk top to clasp Silo around the forearm. “Let me do it my way, Quintus Poppaedius, please! The peaceful way, the logical way, the only way it can possibly work.”
There was no constraint in the nodding of Silo’s head, nor doubt in his eyes. “My dear Marcus Livius, you have my wholehearted support! Do it! The fact I don’t think it can be done is beside the point. Unless someone of your caliber tries, how can Italy ever know the exact extent of Rome’s opposition to a general enfranchisement? In hindsight, I agree with you that to tamper with the census was a stupidity. I don’t think any of us thought it would work— or could work. It was more a way of telling the Senate and People of Rome how strongly we Italians feel. Yet—it set us back. It set you back. So do it! Anything Italy can do to help you, Italy will. You have my solemn word on it.”
“I would rather have all of Italy as a client,” said Drusus ruefully, and laughed. “Once I succeed in giving every Italian the vote, if every Italian then regarded himself as my client, he would have to vote as I want him to vote. I could work my will on Rome with impunity!”
“Of course you could, Marcus Livius,” said Silo. “All of Italy would be in your clientele.”
Drusus pursed his lips, striving to overcome the jubilation leaping within him. “In theory, yes. In practice—impossible to enforce.”
“No, easy!” cried Silo quickly. “All it requires is that I and Gaius Papius Mutilus and the others who lead Italy demand an oath of every Italian man. To the effect that, should you succeed in winning general enfranchisement, he is your man through thick and thin, and to the death.”
Wondering, Drusus stared at Silo with mouth open. “An oath? But would they be prepared to swear?”
“They would, provided the oath didn’t extend to their progeny or your progeny,” said Silo steadily.
“Inclusion of progeny isn’t necessary,” said Drusus slowly. “All I need is time and massive support. After me, it will be done.” All Italy in his clientele! The dream of every Roman nobleman who ever lived, to have clients enough to populate whole armies. Did he have all of Italy in his clientele, nothing would be impossible.
“An oath will be forthcoming, Marcus Livius,” said Silo briskly. “You’re quite right to want all Italy your clients. For general enfranchisement should only be the beginning.” Silo laughed, a high, slightly ragged sound. “What a triumph! To see a man become the First Man in Rome— no, the First Man in Italy!—through the good offices of those who at the moment have no influence whatsoever in Rome’s affairs.” Silo released his forearm from Drusus’s grip gently. “Now tell me how you intend to go about it.”
But Drusus couldn’t collect his thoughts; the implications were too big, too overwhelming. All Italy in his clientele!
*
How to do it? How? Only Gaius Marius among the important men in the Senate would stand with him, and Drusus knew Marius’s support would not be enough. He needed Crassus Orator, Scaevola, Antonius Orator and Scaurus Princeps Senatus. As the tribunician elections loomed closer, Drusus came close to despair; he kept waiting for the right moment, and the right moment never seemed to come. His candidature for the tribunate of the plebs remained a secret known only to Silo and Marius, and his powerful quarry kept eluding him.
Then very early one morning at the end of
October, Drusus encountered Scaurus Princeps Senatus, Crassus Orator, Scaevola, Antonius Orator and Ahenobarbus Pontifex Max-imus clustered together by the Comitia well; that they were talking about the loss of Publius Rutilius Rufus was obvious.
“Marcus Livius, join us,” said Scaurus, opening a gap in the circle. “We were just discussing how best to go about wresting the courts off the Ordo Equester. To convict Publius Rutilius was absolutely criminal. The knights have abrogated their right to run any Roman court!”
“I agree,” said Drusus, joining them. He looked at Scaevola. “It was you they really wanted, of course, not Publius Rutilius.”
“In which case, why didn’t they go after me?” asked Scaevola, who was still very upset.
“You have too many friends, Quintus Mucius.”
“And Publius Rutilius not enough. That is a disgrace. I tell you, we cannot afford to lose Publius Rutilius! He was his own man, always, and that is rare,” said Scaurus angrily.
“I do not think,” said Drusus, speaking very carefully, “that we will ever succeed in wresting the courts completely away from the knights. If the law of Caepio the Consul didn’t stay on the tablets—and it didn’t—then I don’t see how any other law returning the courts to the Senate can. The Ordo Equester is used to running the courts, it’s had them now for over thirty years. The knights like the power it gives them over the Senate. Not only that, the knights feel inviolate. The law of Gaius Gracchus does not specifically say that a knight-staffed jury is culpable in the matter of taking bribes. The knights insist that the lex Sempronia says they cannot be prosecuted for taking bribes when serving as jurors.”
Crassus Orator was staring at Drusus in alarm. “Marcus Livius, you are by far the best man of praetorian age!” he exclaimed. “If you say such things, what chance does the Senate have?”
“I didn’t say the Senate should abandon hope, Lucius Licinius,” said Drusus. “I just said that the knights would refuse to let the courts go. However, what if we maneuver them into a situation in which they have no choice but to share the courts with the Senate? The plutocrats do not run Rome yet, and they’re well aware of it. So why not put in the thin end of the wedge? Why not have someone propose a new law to regulate the major courts, incorporating a half-and-half membership between Senate and Ordo Equester?”
Scaevola drew in a breath. “The thin end of the wedge! It would be very difficult for the knights to find convincing reasons to decline—to them, it would seem like a senatorial olive branch. What could be fairer than half-and-half? The Senate cannot possibly be accused of trying to wrest control of the courts away from the Ordo Equester, can it?”
“Ha, ha!” said Crassus Orator, grinning. “Within the Senate the ranks are closed, Quintus Mucius. But, as all we senators know, there are always a few knights on any jury with ambitions to dwell within the Curia Hostilia. If the jury is entirely knight, they don’t matter. But if the jury is only fifty percent knight, they can sway the balance. Very clever, Marcus Livius!”
“We can plead,” said Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus, “that we senators possess such valuable legal expertise that the courts will be the richer for our presence. And that, after all, we did have exclusive control of the courts for nearly four hundred years! In our modern times, we can say, such exclusivity cannot be allowed to happen. But nor, we can argue, ought the Senate be excluded.” For Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus, this was a reasonable argument; he had mellowed somewhat since his experiences as a judge in Alba Fucentia during the days of the lex Licinia Mucia, though Crassus Orator did bring out the worst in him. Yet here they stood together, united in respect of class and its privileges.
“Good thinking,” said Antonius Orator, beaming.
“I agree,” said Scaurus. He turned to face Drusus fully. “Do you intend to do this as a praetor, Marcus Livius? Or do you intend that someone else should do it?”
“I shall do it myself, Princeps Senatus, but not as a praetor,” said Drusus. “I intend to run for the tribunate of the plebs.”
Everyone gasped, and the circle swung to focus on Drusus.
“At your age?” asked Scaurus.
“My age is a distinct advantage,” said Drusus calmly. “Though old enough to be praetor, I seek the tribunate of the plebs. No one can accuse me of youth, inexperience, hotheadedness, a desire to woo the crowds, or any of the usual reasons a man might want the tribunate of the plebs.”
“Then, why do you want to be a tribune of the plebs?” asked Crassus Orator shrewdly.
“I have some laws to promulgate,” said Drusus, still seeming calm and composed.
“You can promulgate laws as a praetor,” said Scaurus.
“Yes, but not with the ease and acceptance a tribune of the plebs possesses. Over the course of the Republic, the passage of laws has become the province of the tribune of the plebs. And the Plebeian Assembly likes its role as lawmaker. Why disturb the status quo, Princeps Senatus?” asked Drusus.
“You have other laws in mind,” said Scaevola softly.
“I do indeed, Quintus Mucius.”
“Give us an idea of what you propose to legislate.”
“I want to double the size of the Senate,” said Drusus.
Another collective gasp; this one accompanied by a collective tensing of bodies.
“Marcus Livius, you begin to sound like Gaius Gracchus,” said Scaevola warily.
“I can see why you might think so, Quintus Mucius. But the fact remains that I want to strengthen the influence of the Senate in our government, and I am broad-minded enough to use the ideas of Gaius Gracchus if they suit my purposes.”
“How can filling the Senate with knights suit any proponent of senatorial dominance?” asked Crassus Orator.
“That was what Gaius Gracchus proposed to do, certainly,” said Drusus. “I propose something slightly different. For one thing, I don’t see how you can argue against the fact that the Senate isn’t big enough anymore. Too few come to meetings, all too often we can’t even form a quorum. If we are to staff juries, how many of us will be forever wearied by constant impaneling? Admit it, Lucius Licinius, a good half or more senators refused jury duty in the days when we entirely staffed the courts. Whereas Gaius Gracchus wanted to fill the Senate with knights, I want to fill it with men of our own senatorial order—plus some knights to keep them happy. All of us have uncles or cousins or even younger brothers who would like to be in the Senate and have the money to qualify, but who cannot belong because the Senate is full. These men I would see admitted ahead of any knights. And what better way to have certain knights who are opposed to the Senate transformed into supporters of the Senate than to make them senators? It is the censors admit new senators, and their choices cannot be argued with.’’ He cleared his throat. “I know at the moment we have no censors, but we can elect a pair next April, or the April after.”
“I like this idea,” said Antonius Orator.
“And what other laws do you propose promulgating?” asked Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus, ignoring the reference to himself and Crassus Orator, who ought by rights still to be censors.
But now Drusus looked vague, and said only, “As yet I do not know, Gnaeus Domitius.”
The Pontifex Maximus snorted. “In my eye you don’t!”
Drusus smiled with innocent sweetness. “Well, perhaps I do, Gnaeus Domitius, but not certainly enough to want to mention them in such august company as this. Rest assured, you will be given an opportunity to have your say about them.”
“Huh,” said Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus, looking skeptical.
“What I’d like to know, Marcus Livius, is how long you’ve known you would be seeking the tribunate of the plebs?” asked Scaurus Princeps Senatus. “I wondered why, having been elected a plebeian aedile, you made no move to speak in the House. But you were saving your maiden speech for something better even then, weren’t you?”
Drusus opened his eye wide. “Marcus Aemilius, how can you say such things? As aedile, one has nothi
ng to speak about!”
“Huh,” said Scaurus, then shrugged. “You have my support, Marcus Livius. I like your style.”
“And my support,” said Crassus Orator.
Everyone else agreed to support Drusus as well.
Drusus did not announce his candidacy for the tribunate of the plebs until the morning of the elections, normally a foolhardy ploy—yet, in his case, a brilliant one. It saved his having to answer awkward questions during the pre-electoral period, and it made it look as if, having seen the quality of the tribunician candidates, he simply threw his hands in the air in exasperation, and impulsively declared his own candidacy to improve the standard. The best names the other candidates could produce were Sestius, Saufeius, and Minicius—none of them noble, let alone wonderful. Drusus announced himself only after the other twenty-two had done so.
It was a quiet election, a poor turnout of the electors. Some two thousand voters appeared, a minute percentage of those entitled to cast a ballot. As the well of the Comitia could hold twice that number comfortably, there was no need to shift the venue to a bigger location, such as the Circus Flaminius. The candidates all having declared themselves, the President of the outgoing College of the Tribunes of the Plebs began the voting procedure by calling for the electors to separate into their tribes; the consul Marcus Perperna, a plebeian, kept a stern eye on things in his role as scrutineer. As the attendance was so poor, the public slaves holding the ropes separating tribe from tribe had no need to send the more numerous tribes to rope enclosures outside the Comitia well.
As this was an election, all thirty-five tribes cast their votes simultaneously, rather than—as for the passing of a law or the verdict in a trial—casting their votes one after the other. The baskets in which the inscribed wax ballot tablets were deposited stood on a temporary platform below the well-side of the rostra; the latter remained the province of the outgoing tribunes of the plebs, the candidates, and the consul-scrutineer.
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