“You’ve returned to us at last,” she said, kissing Scipio on both cheeks before embracing her daughter. I’m certain there were tapestries adorning the walls, and marble busts from Greece spread throughout the atrium, but it was nothing compared to the woman who possessed them. I could hardly look away.
And one can hardly blame me. This woman, Scipio’s mother-in-law, was the daughter of Scipio Africanus, the man who defeated Hannibal himself. She was the closest thing to a princess Rome would ever have.
She was well into her fifties at this point, but age hadn’t tarnished her beauty any more than it had tarnished her father’s legacy. Her hair was dark with hints of red, drawn up atop her head in carefully delineated locks, a tiara placed on top. Gold earrings dangled almost to her shoulders, and a long necklace set with sapphires clung to her pronounced bust. Elegant, yet tasteful.
“And this is one of my tribunes, Gaius Marius,” Scipio said, jogging me back to the present.
“It’s a pleasure, young warrior,” she extended a hand, allowing me to kiss it delicately.
“The pleasure is all mine, ma’am.” I considered saying something about how reading about her father’s exploits had fascinated me as a boy, and made me a better soldier as a man. I decided better of it though. I’m certain she was had grown bored of such flagrant flattery.
As Cornelia led us into the triclinium, I first noticed the elegance of the mosaics adorning the floors and ceilings. Each designed by the most skilled of craftsmen by the look, they were both beautiful and somber. They told of ancient glories and ancient sorrows, and for the first time I realized that the last time I set foot within a Roman home was the rundown villa of my father. My chest tightened and my heartbeat quickened as I realized I didn’t quite belong, no matter how pleasantly our host had greeted me.
I’m sure you felt something similar when you first set foot within the home of that crusty old bastard Gnaeus Caepio.
When we entered, every man and woman present stood to their feet and applauded Scipio. He smiled and waved for them to calm themselves.
There were several present whose names I do not remember, but I do recall seeing Gaius Gracchus, a young man I had grown to know a bit in Spain. In him I found a quick refuge, as I was anxious to dialogue with someone with whom I had something in common.
“Tribune Gracchus, it’s good to see you again.”
“Marius? Well, I didn’t expect to find you hear of all places.” He stood and shook my hand, clapping his other on my shoulder. I suddenly relaxed, now that I had a companion for the evening. He was a charming young lad, really. He had a mop of boyish hair, which had irritated Scipio awfully on campaign. The iris of his hazel eyes was ringed with black, his eye lashes as long and curly as a woman’s. Now that I think of it, he was a touch feminine in his way, but he never shied from a fight on the battlefield, or in the forum later on.
“Our general was kind enough to invite me,” I said, a bit more enthusiastically then I might have.
We hadn’t much in common, or much to discuss except warfare, which seemed unpleasant for a dinner party. So, our discussion quickly devolved into awkward silence.
“Ah, this is my new wife, Licinia,” he said, gesturing to a pretty young girl on the couch he had been previously reclining on.
“Greetings,” she extended a hand, but didn’t stand.
“We married while we were awaiting the triumph.”
I accepted her hand and congratulated them both, but quickly took my leave, as there was little else either Gaius or myself could think of to continue our conversation.
Cornelia showed me to the couch I would be using that evening, but before I could recline there was another standing ovation.
Entering the dining room was the notorious Tribune of the Plebs himself, Tiberius Gracchus. The guests all cheered for him as if he were the returning conqueror. I stole a glance at Scipio, who was flushing with irritation. Everyone was standing, some clapping and others cupping their hands over the mouths to shout praises. Everyone was standing, that is, except the Proconsul himself.
He was slender, even for a young man his age, but was not without muscle. His forearms were particularly broad, and I remember them as being remarkably vascular. He had swept back and boyish hair, but it was a bit shorter and more traditional than his little brother Gaius’. He was clean shaven, so close it appeared he hadn’t yet grown his first beard, and his chin was pronounced, his jawline strong. His eyes were as alert and alive as the fires of Vesta. He seemed to be chiseled from stone, prepared from the start for a statue of his own. Perhaps it was my first cup of wine already setting in, or my recent fixation with Scipio’s first ancestor, but the man appeared to be a death mask come to life.
But perhaps more than anything, I remember that he was exceedingly fashionable, wearing the tunic loosely around the shoulders and waist, which was the style of the day. He was both modern and traditional in the same instance, a strange paradox, given the times and his reputation.
“You embarrass me,” he said to his fans, accepting a handshake or kiss from each in their turn, lingering especially in an embrace with his mother, whom he appeared to cherish. This made the gathering cheer even more.
They all gathered around him, in such a way that made Scipio’s entrance appear meager. I had heard some gossip about the radical tribune, but had kept my head buried in maps, provisioning documents, and muster calls for so long that I had hardly taken notice. Perhaps I would have inquired a touch more if I had known I would have been sharing a meal with the man so soon. But such a notion would have seemed impossible to me before the moment itself.
Tiberius nodded along as they heaped their praises upon him, but seemed distracted. Until his gaze shifted across the room, and locked with Scipio’s.
Scipio slowly stood to his feet, and the two maintained fixed eye contact as the room slowly grew quiet.
Scipio’s hand twitched. Tiberius’ jaw flexed. For a moment I thought the cup of wine in Tiberius’ hand might fall, and a fist take its place.
Just before the tension become too difficult to bear, a smile split across Tiberius’ face.
“How are you, dear brother? It’s been a long time,” Tiberius said, embracing him. Scipio, more cautiously, eventually accepted it and patted the man’s back.
“Brother by law,” Scipio said, but Tiberius pretended not to hear it.
Before long, food was brought out and partitioned around the room. Thankfully, no one inquired about my presence, and I was allowed to gorge myself in relative anonymity. The only time I was mentioned was when Scipio told of how he saw me kill an enemy king in single combat. They gasped and nodded in admiration, and I lacked the courage to tell them the man I killed wasn’t a king by any measure, and that has been the tradition ever since.
The wine flowed freely. It was a celebration by all accounts. Scipio told a few embellished tales of his time in Spain, and Gaius Gracchus doted over his new wife, feeding her figs and giggling as if no one else was present.
“When you left for Spain I had no notion you’d possibly return with more glory than you had after conquering Carthage,” Tiberius complimented Scipio.
“I would have returned with more glory if my brother by law wasn’t pandering to the peasantry at the cost of ancient tradition,” Scipio replied, calmly but not without malice.
The mood of the room shifted drastically.
“Come now, it’s only the wine talking,” Cornelia said, but Tiberius lifted his hand to placate her. Tiberius’ young wife Claudia tugged at his sleeve as if to say “leave it until tomorrow”, but he replied with a nod as if to say, “it’s okay, I’ll handle it.”
Everyone grew silent and stared at their sandals. The only person in the room who remained unaffected was the accused man himself, Tiberius.
“Dear me, I had no notion you believed such things. I had no intention of offending your aristocratic friends, brother, but I had no choice! Your friend, the good former Consul Laelius tr
ied to pass similar legislation at the start of his term, but was shut down by the Senate immediately. Then, he tucked tail and ran. I knew if I wanted to pass my bill, I had no choice but to avoid approaching the Senate,” he replied, not seeming offended in the least. Scipio sipped his wine and watched Tiberius, as if waiting for him to crack. “The measure needs to be passed, brother—”
“Brother by law,” Scipio interjected.
“The legislation needs to be passed, and unlike your friend Laelius, I won’t allow antiquated precedents or old men from good families to keep it from happening.”
Scipio’s wife Sempronia, the sister of the Gracchi brothers, rolled her eyes and took her leave. I began to presume this wasn’t the first time such discussions had taken over a family dinner. Cornelia followed after her.
Scipio said nothing, so Tiberius continued, “These political procedures I failed to observe are bloated and outdated. A man as intelligent as yourself has to realize that the rules once meant to govern a city state have no place governing a Republic.”
“And who, by Jupiter Capitolinus, gives you the right to make such judgement!” Scipio roared. For my general and his brother-in-law, it had only been the two of them in the room for some time. Now, it was quickly coming close to that, as the rest of the guests slowly poured out. Before long, it was just the three of us.
Tiberius continued unperturbed. “This legislation needs to be passed, and it needs to happen quickly. We don’t have time for the bandying of pointless words and half measures. We need action.”
I didn’t understand what they were talking about, not in the slightest. But the conviction with which Tiberius spoke compelled me. I wanted to know more.
“Quickly? What you actually mean is that you need to have the measures passed by the end of your term as tribune?” Scipio asked, and now it was time for Tiberius to be silent. “Tell me, what makes you the man who has the right to change the very foundation Rome is built upon, to alter the sacred tradition?”
Tiberius stood and took a few long strides around the room. Scipio poured himself another cup of wine and waited for the retaliation as if the two were circling one another in a Greek wrestling match.
“I’m sure many men are capable. But few are willing. Easier to protect the status quo and benefit from it, while Rome’s citizens starve and die around us.”
“Do not insinuate that I like citizens starving. Who has done more to bring Rome vast wealth than I?” Scipio leaned forward on his couch, menace in his eyes.
“Wealth that has been hoarded by the aristocracy,” Tiberius replied without pause. Then both men fell silent, declining to follow that conversation any further, as it might have quickly resulted in violence if they had. “I might have pissed off several of the leading men in the Senate by bypassing them and putting my measures directly before the Assembly of the People, but out of the three leading families, I have the support of two. The Claudians and Scipiones both support me, unless the latter would betray me.” Scipio looked away and said nothing. I could tell he was intoxicated.
At this point, I considered standing and taking my leave. Both men had long since forgotten my presence. The only thing that kept me on my couch was the difficulty in deciding whether I would be more inconspicuous by leaving or by remaining as still as possible. That, and a keen interest in discovering what in Gaia’s name these men were talking about.
Then, to my terror, Tiberius turned to me. Why was I terrified? I was afraid something in those icy eyes might compel me to join him. I feared that hypnotic gaze might force me to utter something which would repulse my mentor.
“Let’s put it to him,” Tiberius said gesturing to me.
“Leave him out of this,” Scipio replied, looking over his shoulder and appearing to be surprised I was still there.
“Gaius Marius,” Tiberius said, remarkably remembering my name from the brief, informal introduction he had received during the meal, “Gaius Marius, what do you believe Rome’s greatest problem is?”
I looked to Scipio for permission to speak, but he didn’t meet my gaze.
“I’ve been away far too long to know,” I replied sheepishly.
“If you don’t know, I will tell you.”
“Young men and their ambition… that’s Rome’s greatest threat,” Scipio mumbled underneath his breath.
Tiberius began to pace as he spoke, “Most of our grain comes from foreigners, such as the Sicilians. This is because all of our land has been swallowed up by the aristocracy, who no longer use our fertile fields for grain, but rather for cultivating cash crops—olives for oil and grape for wine.”
“How long is this going to last?” Scipio shook his head.
“The people are going hungry because the slave uprising in Sicily has restricted the supply they can provide us with. So, it appears we will be forced into famine each time a foreign nation goes to war.” Tiberius seemed to form an idea as he spoke, and he collected empty wine cups from around the room. He set one of them on the table between us.
He continued, “And those farms which do exist no longer hire Roman free men, but rather slaves. Our recent conquests, many of which were overseen by the great general before us, have resulted in such a massive influx of slaves that their prices have bottomed out. They can be purchased cheaper than an amphora of wine, if you find a good deal. So, Rome is faced with unemployment.” He set another cup of wine beside the first. “The unemployed flock to the city, abandoning their ancestral farms, seeking to benefit from the grain dole of the city, which we’ve previously discussed are lacking because of the Sicilian war. More demand, less supply.”
“Marius doesn’t want to hear your tricks, Tiberius,” Scipio said, but his voice wavered.
Tiberius ignored him and continued, “And since only landed men can serve in the military, and that class is dwindling because the aristocracy has gobbled up all the farms like Egyptian hippos, there are fewer and fewer men available for service. This means that those who do qualify are called upon again and again to serve, so often that they cannot maintain their farms. Which causes them to default on their taxes. Which forces them to sell their ancestral lands at bottom prices to the wealthiest bidders, creating a vicious cycle.” Tiberius set another empty wine chalice beside the first two.
“To serve your country, no matter how often, is the highest honor!” Scipio said with a snarl.
“If it is such an honor, why do we not honor the men who return?” Tiberius replied.
“I think my Triumph today proves that Rome honors her veterans.”
“We honor them for a day only, with the cheers of a drunken mob and liberty to drink and make love. But do we honor them with a roof over their heads?”
Scipio laughed.
“But do we? The wild beasts that roam over Italy have their caves or a den to lurk in. But the men who fight and die for Rome… what do they have? Light and air is all that’s left to them. Homeless they drift here, to the city, to slowly die of starvation at the foot of our waning granaries.”
“You are misinformed,” Scipio said, his laughter evaporating, “to serve, you must have land. Like you previously mentioned.”
Tiberius stepped closer to his brother-in-law, smiling sadly. He placed a hand on Scipio’s arm and said, “You have been gone far too long, brother. When these men serve year after year, they return to their appropriated land to find it consumed by the growing acreages and latifundia of the rich. So they return homeless. Drifters and vagrants.” Scipio grunted, finding nothing else to say on the matter.
Tiberius stepped away from his brother-in-law and back behind his table with the carefully placed, empty cups of wine.
“So, I propose we redistribute the public land. Give the homeless farms of their own, alleviating the homelessness in the city, which would lessen the demand of an increased grain dole.” Tiberius flicked the first cup, sending to crashing into the cold mosaics beneath us. “These men would have land, so they’d be eligible to serve in the legion.
And since the body from which the military is drawn would be much larger, the individual man would be required to serve less time.” He pushed over the second cup. “These farms would rear grain, rather than olives or grapes. And since this grain would then be taxed, a portion of their grain would be added to our granaries, to feed those who don’t receive farms.” He slowly tipped over the final cup, the clatter echoing out the silent triclinium.
“You speak with fine words, Tiberius. What a display! If you’d only rally the lute players and a troupe of actors, you could put on a spectacle!”
Tiberius looked at me again, and I was afraid the look in my eyes might convey that he was swaying me. I was careful to look away. “But this proposal pisses off the rich. Why? Because it is their land which would be redistributed. Never mind the fact that the law has always stated that no man, no matter how influential or affluent, should own more than 500 iugera of public land. The law has fallen silent before the incessant wailing of the rich.”
“And have you forgotten that you are one of them?” Scipio shouted and stomped his foot.
But Tiberius’ grey eyes were still fixed on me. “I only wish to enforce an old law. But I cannot go through the traditional channels. If I brought my bill before the Senate, I’d be howled down from the lowest bench to the rafters. The Senate would block my every move, because the Senate is made up of the very people who have the most to lose. The very same men who caused this whole mess to begin with.”
I looked to Scipio. I hoped Tiberius had adequately swayed him, as he had swayed me, so that I could freely express myself. But he stood abruptly and held out a hand to silence his brother-in-law.
“And how will this measure be enacted? Who will take away the land from those whose father’s fathers tilled that earth? You? The very man who proposes the distribution? That isn’t a conflict of interests? Oh, but no. You, the great paragon of virtue, would hardly be an unfair judge.”
Tiberius crossed his arms and looked away, “It’s irrelevant how the measure is enacted or who is in charge of enforcing it. It simply needs to be done. Have I not proven that already?”
Blood in the Forum Page 2
