“And farming is hard labor. You believe those reprobate layabouts will truly wake up at dawn and till the earth for their sustenance when they’ve become so used to receiving handouts?”
Tiberius turned, his eyes ablaze, as rapturous as if he had just discovered the cure for leprosy.
“We should debate it!”
“Come again?” Scipio’s eyes narrowed.
“We should debate, from the rostra. We will state our cases before the people.” Tiberius spoke with renewed fire.
“I’m a senator, not a demagogue.”
“Come now! The people love me for standing up for the rights, but you are the true people’s champion. The conqueror of Numantia and Carthage? Surely they will listen to you if no one else.”
“The people don’t know what’s best for them.”
“But they would surely listen to their hero, Scipio Aemilianus. I am simply an instrument of the people. If you can sway them, I will repeal my legislation. I am a tribune, and exist only to do their will.”
Scipio’s eyes lit up as well. If he could defeat Tiberius in a debate, and stop this whole issue before it began, he would be a new kind of savior of Rome. Perhaps that would finally put him on equal footing with his noble ancestor Maluganensis. He would be a hero to the people and the aristocracy.
“When?”
“Tomorrow, certainly. The vote is in three days. If I’ll be forced to repeal it, I’ll need to do it soon.” Even as they spoke, forgetting again that I was present, I believed Tiberius was walking Scipio into a trap. But the scent of glory had shrouded his judgement.
“We will debate then.” Scipio said reluctantly, but perhaps part of his reticence was for show. Each man appeared to think he was getting the better of the other.
“Well, if that’s the case, we better get to bed. No one enjoys nursing a hangover while giving a speech.”
Tiberius and Scipio reluctantly shook hands. Scipio and I exited into the cool night air.
“Sometimes,” he said as he stirred his slaves to their feet and climbed into his litter, “the lion must swipe at his cubs to teach them a lesson. It’s never pleasant, but it’s necessary. That’s what is going to happen tomorrow,” he said, fixing his eyes forward.
Things were different then. Now it seems like every other day is a holiday or a festival of some sort, and there is always some ambitious young Aedile who spends lavishly on entertainment in hopes that the masses will favor him for the consulship when his time comes. It wasn’t so then.
And because Rome lacked constant entertainment and gratification, the citizenry flocked to debates like the one between Scipio and Tiberius. They watched, rapturous, as if they were two champions dueling it out in the arena, in reverential silence, as if they were priests reporting the auspices.
Scipio insisted I stay in his home after the dinner party. Therefore, I was there while he and his clients prepared to march to the forum together. It only made sense that I should follow him and his attendants to the heart of Rome to see my general in a different kind of arena.
The entire republic was controlled from the forum, and it was easy to tell. A provincial like me was constantly stunned by the heights of those buildings. How did the builders do it? How did the stone reach such heights without being lifted by the arm of a god?
Scipio must have noticed my awe.
“It’s marvelous isn’t it? It’s easy to forget, when we’re out on campaign for so long.”
“The stone is so white… white as snow. I’ll never understand how they cut it.” I analyzed a column as we passed it by.
“It likely took 3,000 slaves to hack that one bit of stone there. Nothing we have has come easily. You know the forum was a swamp once? A fetid marshland swarming with mosquitos and snakes. It was impossible to build here. A single building would have sunk into the mud beneath.”
“I had no idea,” I said. Looking around at the stone roads and the high arches, marble statues of Mars, every contour of his face screaming with life, it was hard to imagine.
“But we Romans have always been an industrious people. We drained the swamps, and funneled the water to the Tiber. We turned these hills into the center of Gaia’s earth. And some of the world’s finest men have walked these streets before us. And now…” he shook his head and analyzed the crowds waiting for him, “we are left with these.”
The debate was to be held from the rostra, a platform cut from the finest stone, facing out across a vast courtyard wide and long enough to host the majority of Rome’s most inquisitive citizens. The most distinguishing element, however, was the presence of a dozen or so ship beaks nailed to the front of it. The chipped, welted wood stood in stark constant to the white stone, and served as a reminder that even our political discourse exists only because of Rome’s past military exploits.
Scipio started up the stairs at the back of the rostra before turning back to us. “I doubt any of these plebs would be brave enough to storm the rostra, but do your best to deter them if any do try.”
With that, he turned back up the steps and continued to the platform, joining his brother-in-law Tiberius. As far as I knew, he had prepared nothing in advance, but he seemed confident enough. The weight of his name and the authority of his cause would surely be able to win over even the most loyal of Tiberius’ followers. That being said, there was a look in his eye as he reached the height of the platform. Something like an animal when it senses a predator. Or a trap.
“I shall let our illustrious hero begin,” Tiberius said, directly to Scipio, but loud enough for most to hear.
Scipio took a few steps to the center of the stage and straightened his back. He clasped the folds of his toga in his left hand, and raised his right arm.
“Citizens of Rome,” Scipio began, his voice deep and rough, recalling to mind the orders he once gave on the battlefield. “If I had not been detained in Spain, I would have never allowed things to get this far,” he said. He paused and allowed the silence to settle for a moment, conveying the seriousness of the situation.
Unfortunately, a few heckles began, followed by many more. Most were boos and hisses, others shouted “allow?”, “he wouldn’t allow!”, or “he thinks himself a king”! So perhaps saying they remained in “reverential silence” was an exaggeration, but at least they didn’t heckle the speakers while they spoke. Few of our citizens show that kind of decency today.
Tiberius remained unaffected, watching his brother-in-law with curiosity and respect.
“I wouldn’t have allowed it because I would have spoken reason to you sooner. I would not remain with many of my colleagues on the benches of the Senate house, complaining about how this man,” and here he pointed to his Tiberius, “is breaking all the rules. No, I would be here, speaking to you about the foolishness of his measures. I have always been honest with you, citizens, and I have always been faithful.”
A handful of claps and cheers rose up, including myself and the rest of Scipio’s retinue, but it failed to catch on and silence soon followed.
“Foolish. That’s what I’d call it. I will not make insinuations about this man’s intentions… although I do call into question his methods. I am sure, citizens, that he truly believes in the righteousness of his cause. But he has not considered the implications.”
“The nobles! The rich!” the crowds shouted.
Scipio shook his head.
“No, those standing opposed against these measures are not only the wealthy who lead this Republic, those you so detest, but those who have sense enough to realize the ramifications. Who will take away land from the man whose family has tilled that earth since we defeated Hannibal? Their ancestors were awarded this land for their bravery in battle, mind you! Who will take away their land?”
The crowds had little response.
“Their ancestors were brave, not the men themselves!” One voice rose above the rest, but even the mob seemed to groan at this.
“It is sacred tradition to pass down land to one�
��s sons. Why else would a man strive for greatness in this life if it all evaporates with his life?”
Even some of the men who had been jeering at Scipio lifted a gentle applause.
I tapped my foot and bit my nail. I hoped he had the words not only to sway the crowd, but myself as well.
“But even this fact is not what concerns me most. How many of you are farmers?” he asked. A few men raised their arms or grunted. “Show yourselves.” A few more joined in. “Farming is hard work. A skill that must be taught from youth, and refined by year after year of sweat and strenuous labor. Who will teach those placed on the state land how to farm it? Who will educate them on how to rear an adequate harvest? Him?” He now pointed at Tiberius once again. “The man has never lifted a plow in his life. And even if he had, he does not possess enough time in his life to teach each man, even if he spent every breath until his last, attempting to do so.”
As I said, there weren’t many farmers in the crowd, but he had appealed to the ego of the farmers present, and it wasn’t a bad thing to have some in the crowd who agreed with what he said. And all the farmers nodded proudly.
Scipio adjusted his posture and raise his arm to the sky once more, to assert that he was making his closing remarks. “On top of the impossible task of redistributing land that has belonged to certain families for hundreds of years, and teaching the men landowners how to farm it, we must consider how this would impact our Italian allies. Our noble friends are already clamoring, as it will be them who suffer from this the most. That land which we allowed to remain in their possession when we conquered them will be spread out amongst Roman citizens.”
Here the heckles began again, and louder now.
“Traitor!”
“Go and be with your Italians then!” some of them cried.
Scipio wasn’t perturbed. “Citizens, you know that I have been a true Roman from my first breath to my last. But these men are amongst those who purchased, with their blood, the victory over the Numantines and the Carthaginians. I would know. I was the one who led them.” The mob will always consider themselves patriots, and so were forced to clap here. “I stand for the rights of my people before all else, but we cannot go about alienating our most loyal allies. So, I move that this legislation be tabled until we have the ability to address all the issues here described… and we have a more able leader to assist in its execution.”
Scipio looked at Tiberius, attempting to see if he was cracking, but he was not. He took a step away from the center and allowed Tiberius to take his place.
Tiberius didn’t speak at first. He didn’t take the traditional stance of a Roman orator or raise his right arm. Instead he stood, nodding to himself as if in deep thought.
He remained silent until even the quietest of murmurs in the crowd ceased.
“My brother in law speaks sense. He speaks honestly. Before I begin my response, I’d like to thank him for his service to Rome, both with his sword and his voice.” He turned to Scipio and clapped, and the crowd followed his example. They cheered Scipio far more at Tiberius’ behest then they ever had at the result of his own words.
“Everything he says comes from a noble heart and a wise mind. But,” and now he turned again to the crowd and straightened his shoulders, “he has been gone so long that he doesn’t know how bad things have become. But I’ve been here. I’ve seen what Rome has become. I’ve seen my brethren dying, bleeding, starving and something must be done! There is no time for pointless words. Every moment we delay an effective response to the daily catastrophes we are faced with, the more Romans die!” The crowds roared, not only applause, but cries of anger against the injustice of their positions. “When will we be prepared to “address all the issues here described”, and when will a leader be educated enough to address them?”
“Never!”
“It’s you Tiberius!” the crowds shouted.
“We cannot wait! There is no time for delay. Rome is faced with Cerberus, a three headed beast: homelessness in this glorious city, a poisonous reliance on other nations for our grain, and not enough land owning citizens for service in the legions. With this one reform I propose, we can address every issue. We give homes to the homeless, rely on their grain rather than Sicily’s, and increase the numbers of our land owning veterans. Tell me, brothers, are the problems we are currently faced with not far greater than the issues our hero Scipio has just laid out?” Tiberius asked, and the people all roared their approval.
He had shifted the issue, it wasn’t Tiberius versus Scipio anymore. They didn’t have to stand against their hero, he was simply misinformed—away for too long.
And his next move was a well-timed one. Despite the fact the Scipio had been away with those very legionaries, it was always a positive stratagem to target old legionaries themselves. Not only would this tickle the veterans themselves, but it would sit well with the ordinary citizens themselves, all of which were self-purported patriots.
“And is it not time that our veterans be honored? Honored with land, with roofs over their heads?” I had believed previously that the crowd couldn’t get any louder, but I was here proven wrong. “But maybe our learned friend here can tell us otherwise?” Tiberius bowed and gestured to Scipio, as he had seen him shaking his head.
“No one honors the veterans more than I! I am one of them, I have perspired and bled right alongside them! But have we not just witnessed, yesterday, a glorious triumph to honor those same veterans? Rome has always, and will always, stand for her legionaries! The rose petals still rest on our very streets!” Scipio said to moderate applause.
The moment it stalled, Tiberius took his place and continued.
“But who paid for that Triumph? Was it not you?” Tiberius exclaimed, as the crowd let out a gasp, which was followed by rancorous laughter. “Everyone knows you paid for the Triumph yourself! You might honor Rome’s veterans, Scipio, but Rome’s elite have long ceased to do so! And it is time that changed!” The crowd reached the height of their ovations.
Tiberius’ eyes shone. Why else would he have allowed Scipio a chance to speak when he had the floor, unless he had anticipated this? They had the same argument the night previous, and Tiberius had kept his response for this moment. In one powerful sentence he had allowed the crowd to still adore their hero but continue to clamor for Tiberius’ measures. Such a powerful orator, I’m convinced there never was. He was always a few steps ahead.
“Rose petals will not feed their children! It will not shelter them from the cold nor heat!” Tiberius shouted over the roars. “Therefore, I propose that my measure be carried to fruition and the people, you, be allowed to vote on its legitimacy. You, Romans, can decide which issues the Republic should be forced to handle moving forward. The ones laid out by myself, or those presented by my friend and colleague Scipio Aemilianus. It is up to you!” He bowed, the rapturous applause not stunted in the least.
Both men exited the platform. Tiberius was swallowed up by his own men and their congratulations, and Scipio by his.
“Powerful words, general,” I said, along with the others in his entourage. We clapped him on the back and pandered to his ego as if he had won the debate, but he had not, and his face revealed that he knew it.
Everything Scipio said was logical. But Tiberius said what the people wanted to hear. Even I, to my shame, had felt myself agreeing with the revolutionary tribune. But of course, I never said that. I slapped Scipio’s shoulder and told him how well he had done, just as everyone else.
I wondered how many of his other followers were swayed as well, despite how fervently they supported him.
Scipio was sweating, and his hands tremored.
“Marius, I want you to accompany me to the Senate House tomorrow. And bring your sword,” he said, his breath labored. “I’ve never feared the war cry of my enemies, and I won’t now be frightened by the wails of these step-children of Italy… but it’s been a long time since I’ve truly known my brother-by-law…” Scipio looked down, and t
here was sadness in his eyes. “And I don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“Yes, general,” was my only response. But I hoped there would be no confrontation on the way to the Senate house, because I no longer knew what side of the conflict I truly stood on.
War is always simpler than politics. As I’m sure you’ll soon find out.
Scipio ensured that we were among the first to arrive at the senate house the next morning. They were meeting that day in the Temple of Castor and Pollux, and Scipio declined to convene with his senatorial allies at the nearby senaculum beforehand as was his custom. He was anxious and I could sense it. His eyes shifted all about him as we walked, as they had when we scoured the tree line for Numantia’s warriors. He rubbed his neck often, as if the muscles had tightened up into knots.
Every time we had marched or ridden into battle together, Scipio had been the same: calm, collected, and alert. Now he was different. He seemed more nervous marching to the senate house than he had into the fray of battle. What was he frightened of? It couldn’t possible be a fear of death by one of Tiberius’ loyalists in the crowd. A dagger in Rome feels no different than a dagger in Spain. What was it then? Does he fear the loss of his reputation? Disrespect to his name? Was he fearful that the nobles would lose their republic to the likes of Tiberius? Or was he simply not confident in the validity of his cause?
He tried to be courteous to those we passed along the way, but the moment they asked about his debate with Tiberius or his intentions moving forward, he stepped past them and continued on his way with only a curt nod as a response.
When we reached the stone steps of the temple, Scipio continued and I remained behind, as only members of the senatorial order were allowed to pass that sacred boundary. Others gathered behind and beside me, anxious to hear the proceedings of the day. I had never attended a meeting of the senate before, but I had to imagine there were more attending this day than was typical. There was a nervous buzz of energy surrounding the building, and it grew each time a member of the senate passed through our midst through those doors and found his seat.
Blood in the Forum Page 3
