“Truly, thank you, young man. We did need something to cheer us up a bit.” Nasica wiped a tear from his eye.
“A duel is something the hoi polloi can understand. It would expose Tiberius for a coward if he refused,” I responded, my eyes locked on Nasica, although I recoiled a bit, stinging with embarrassment.
“Perhaps the goat fuckers from whatever hole you came from would accept such a barbaric idea, but the Roman populace, despite all their depravation, are at least civilized,” Nasica said, as coolly as if he were speaking of the weather.
Scipio Aemilianus held his hand out to stop me before I replied.
“Gaius Marius is a guest in my home and I won’t have him slandered here. Do you understand?” Scipio’s voice contained as much conviction as it did on the battlefield.
“He’ll defend his ill born soldiers but not his wife,” Nasica whispered to Laelius, but loud enough for all to hear.
“Get out!” Scipio slammed his fist onto the desk. “Get out now. All of you!”
The remained still as statues for an extended moment, utterly shocked at the outburst. Scipio was typically a well-composed man, and his anger was quite threatening.
“It was just jesting between cousins.” Nasica shrugged.
“Out! Out! Come back to me when any of you have something more constructive than insults and incessant wailing.”
They slowly poured into the atrium and out to the exit. Nasica was the last to leave.
“You’re not a general any longer, little cousin. I’m the High Priest of Rome. And I needn’t remind you that Rome’s menace right now is your brother-in-law, and a man who’s career you helped build. You should be the one with the ideas.” Nasica spun on his heels and exited before Aemilianus replied.
The erstwhile general remained silent, breathing heavily, as he balanced himself with both hands on his desk, his chin tucked to his chest.
“I have another idea, general,”
“Oh, gods, I love it when you call me that. It’s days like these that I miss being in the field, where I’d bugger boys like Tiberius for breakfast, and where the haughtiness of men like my cousin are noticeably absent. Tell me your idea, Tribune.”
“You have many soldiers in the city, still celebrating after the triumph. Not only will they vote how you tell them, but they presumably still have their swords as well… and angry, armed men can often sway a vote in other ways.”
Scipio spun in his chair and locked eyes with me for a long time. It was a treasonous idea, I’ll admit, but he was at least considering it.
It was late March at the time, and I’ve learned since that Rome was typically already sweltering with heat and humidity by that time of year. But as we poured out of Scipio’s home just after dawn the following morning, there was a bitter nip in the air. The sun had risen but was blocked by grey, foreboding clouds. There was a silent hope that perhaps a storm would soon be upon us, and the augurs might declare the day inauspicious.
There was an idea: they could have bought the augurs for a marginal sum, and had the vote postponed a week or so, giving them enough time to formulate a defense for Octavius. But, alas, the chief augur was a Claudian, and they were still loyal to Tiberius at the time. Even if a storm appeared, there was no telling if they would postpone the vote. Ice might have rained down from the skies, or a bird flying with a snake in its talons might be spotted overtop the capital, but it was unlikely anything would be done about it.
It’s interesting how religion and politics are intermingled so.
Scipio’s retinue was larger that day than I had ever recalled. They wore cloaks, presumably for the cold, but it wasn’t difficult to spot the hilts of swords beneath them.
And the closer we came to the Field of Mars, where the vote would take place, the more and more armed men I spotted. Their hair was cut short and they stood in a way that only soldiers know how.
I grinned when I realized Scipio had taken my advice. He must have sent out envoys in the night. I was grinning, sure, but my heartbeat was speeding up by the second, as I realized what this might mean.
I was surprised to see very few of Rome’s senators and magistrates present. It was an assembly of the people, so they couldn’t bring with them their symbols of office or their lictors. They were only permitted to attend as ordinary citizens. That being said, for such a monumental occasion, I expected to see more of a presence from the nobility.
It made me think they sensed danger in the air and desired to stay as far away from it as possible, within the warmth of their domi, with their doors barred.
“Ay there, general, how you votin’ today?” plebs asked Aemilianus as we marched by. Others laughed.
Stealing a glance, I noticed that these men, too, were armed. Some had the broken legs of desks or benches, others with a candle holder or a dagger. The only thing more intimidating than a body of soldiers is a mass of hungry, armed men.
“General,” I said, hurrying up to Aemilianus and placing a hand on his shoulder.
He kept his gaze forward.
“I see them. How many do you count?” he whispered, appearing unperturbed.
I scanned on either side of Aemilianus’ retinue.
“Too difficult to count. They’re not uniformed. They might all be armed for all I can tell.”
“Then we’ll have to assume they are.”
What kind of conflict would we be faced with if the vote turned sour? How many bodies would litter Rome’s streets? The eternal city had never been exposed to her own blood. Romans hadn’t raised their hand against Romans within the city confines since Romulus killed his brother Remus at Rome’s founding.
Only I was close enough to notice how Scipio’s skin was twitching.
When we arrived at the Field of Mars, I spotted the accused tribune standing on a raised platform before the booths constructed for voting. Poor Octavius looked like he had seen Medusa, frozen in stone, his gaze cast out before the populace who clearly saw him as inadequate.
The mob was less talkative then it typically was. Perhaps they sensed danger too. Everyone seemed to be whispering, only to those closest to them, conspiracies being passed along in secret. Everyone was quiet, that is, except for the intimidators, who were stationed along the voting booths, just far enough away to safely get away with their behavior.
“Who are you voting for little man? The Republic doesn’t forget traitors. We kill them,” I heard some of them say as the populace lined up in their 35 tribes.
“Do we have men doing the same?” I asked Scipio.
“We do. But I see far more of Tiberius’ ilk. Don’t you?” He replied, his voice even.
“I do.”
“Well, it won’t matter. The moment I snap my fingers men will spring up all over Mar’s field,” he said, his voice quieter now. I assume he was speaking symbolically now. I hoped he hadn’t taken my advice too literally. Intimidation was one thing, butchery was another. I couldn’t believe Scipio would make such an order, but prolonged absence in warfare can create such brutality in a man. And for that reason, I had no doubt that my brothers would obey if that order was in fact given.
But then Tiberius arrived. I couldn’t see him for quite some time before the crowd of people, but it was clear he was arriving. The nervous murmur of the crowds dissolved into silence. All I heard was the marching of Tiberius’ massive retinue.
Retinue doesn’t quite describe it. A small army, more like. Tiberius walked from the center of this formation, a hand lifted in exultation to the crowds who loved him. Some of them reached out to touch him or craned their heads to see him, but it was nearly impossible. If there was an attempt on his life, the assassins would have to cut down a hundred men or more before they got to him.
The men in the front of the formation were clad in cloaks and hoods, but it was easy to see the glimmer of armor beneath them.
They maintained their ranks until the frontline of men had pushed and shoved their way directly to the platform. They parted rank
s and allowed the Tribune to exit their ranks untouched. He began to ascend the steps, but then his gaze shifted right towards us. My palms began to sweat as I felt his gaze piercing into me. I looked back and forth, trying to determine who he was looking at, and my breath quickened as he descended the steps again and approached, a few of his armored men stepping closer to us as well.
“How do you like them?” Tiberius asked his brother-in-law as he approached, to my relief.
“They look like lictors. You break so many laws it is becoming difficult to keep count.”
“I’ve broken no laws, brother,” Tiberius said with a smile, as composed and calm as a cup of water.
“Brother by law,” Scipio replied, his eye’s locked with the tribune’s. “The people love you today. But they will come to see what you truly are. In time they will see this little horde of thugs as an affront to their freedom. And when that day comes, you’ll be left alone, and helpless. And I will not be there to save you.”
“Save me? When have you ever saved me?” Tiberius asked, incredulous, his voice cracking for the first time. He stepped closer, compelling myself and Scipio’s other allies to step closer around him.
“After your surrender to the Numantines years ago. If it wasn’t for me—”
“If it wasn’t for you?” Tiberius shouted, the veins in his neck bulged and his eyes surged with fury. I had never seen him like that before. Without thinking, I reached for the dagger on my hip and placed a hand on its hilt. “I had brokered peace with the enemy! I saved an entire Roman army from dishonor and death! And you betrayed me! You insulted me before the senate.”
“I saved you from the senate! If it wasn’t for me, they would have sent you naked and in chains back to the enemy along with your commander Mancinus.”
“I have informants everywhere. I know it was you who led the assault on my peace treaty.” Tiberius trembled with repressed anger. I fixed my hand around the hilt, fully preparing for Tiberius to lunge for Scipio over his supporters. “And that was the day I realized I couldn’t trust my ‘brother by law’, that I can’t trust anyone. And I decided to take my own path.” Tiberius stopped and his red face cooled. He smiled then and gestured to the mob around us.
“Your own path is fraught with corruption and violence. And it will end in your death,” Scipio said, composing himself as well. Tiberius’ white teeth shone in the morning light as he laughed. Then he turned back to the steps. “These thugs have guaranteed it.”
Tiberius spun on his heels and approached Scipio even closer than before. I brandished my dagger but kept it hidden beneath the folds of my cloak. But the tribune approached so calmly, no one stopped him.
He placed a hand around Scipio’s neck and looked deep into his eyes.
“No, they have saved me from death. Scipio, when a pigeon dies on the Aventine, I hear of it. So, do not be surprised when you find that I’m informed about the presence of your soldiers here at this sacred vote. I have soldiers of my own, but they fight for a cause rather than a man. If it’s blood you want, you shall have it. But I’d encourage you to stand down.” Tiberius leaned in and kissed Scipio firmly on both cheeks, before turning and striding up the steps to the platform. He paused at the top and inhaled deeply. His composure returned like a current on the Italian shoreline.
“Let the vote begin!” He raised his arms to the air like a priest, and the people roared in response.
One by one, the tribes were called to the voting booth. The nippy air of the morning dissipated into humid heat, not the least because of the sweating bodies of all those surrounding us. It took quite some time for all 35 tribes to vote, but there was certainly no deliberation from the voters. They knew exactly who they were voting for.
“Perhaps we should leave. These men look at you like a lion does a deer,” some of Scipio’s retinue pleaded with them, gesturing to Tiberius’ horde who eyed us from nearby.
“No. If we’re to be defeated, I will look my enemy in his eye. And I will remember this moment when I stand over him, victorious.”
The urban praetor read the votes aloud, starting with the first tribe. When 17 of the 35 votes were announced, all had voted for Octavius to be removed. One more, and the vote would be complete.
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Tiberius shouted, waving his arms and approaching the praetor. The nervous magistrate looked around for some counsel, but once the mob rallied the Tribune’s cry, he nodded his consent.
Tiberius took center stage, and turned to his fellow tribune Marcus Octavius.
“It is clear how the people feel. Please, stop this madness! Relent and step down from your position as tribune of plebs.”
“No,” was all the hapless Octavius mustered.
“Take a moment and look out into this crowd,” Tiberius said, wrapping an arm around Octavius’ shoulder and pointing out to the masses before them.
“How many of the noblemen who bought you are here now? Let me tell you this, as I know these men well, the moment this vote continues and you are removed from your office, they will abandon you! You will be no more use to them. They will cast you aside as a mother does her child’s shit and piss. And you will be left all alone!”
“No,” Octavius replied again. Some of the people began to jeer at him, but Tiberius waved for them to cease.
“But the people, these people, they are loyal! If you step down and allow their bill to pass, they will welcome you with open arms as a repentant man, as a hero of their cause!” Tiberius swung an arm out towards the people, “Won’t you?”
“Yes!”
“We will!”
They shouted their reply. Tiberius waited for it to dissipate.
“Your dedication is admirable. But you stand for the wrong cause, and you know that now. Step down, Octavius, and rejoin the ranks of those who voted for you!”
“He wishes to avoid the ramifications of his actions. The moment his term of office expires, we’ll have him thrown off the Tarpeian Rock for this,” Scipio said. The general swallowed hard, nervous that the poor tribune might take Tiberius’ advice.
“No,” Octavius said, looking to his red slippers, unable to meet the gaze of the now bloodthirsty onlookers.
“Then I wash my hands of this! Let the voting continue!” Tiberius threw up his arms, revealing a bit of his anger once more.
Predictably, the next tribe’s vote was for Octavius to be removed from his office.
Scipio turned and pushed through us the moment the vote was announced. We followed closely behind him, myself especially, as I scanned the faces of those closest by us, my hand still gripping the hilt of my dagger.
“Perduellio, the most ancient form of treason. That’s what we’ll have him tried for the moment his term of office is over,” Scipio said, mostly to himself. If he was afraid of the mob around us, he did not show it, shoving through anyone who stood in his way.
Behind us, Octavius was dragged, kicking and screaming, from the platform. None of us turned around to watch. But I can still remember the sound of his wails ringing out across the Field of Mars.
Later that day, once we were far from that Field of Mars and its hordes of Tiberius loyalists, a vote took place for the Tribune to take Octavius place.
The man who took office was Tiberius’ little brother, Gaius Gracchus. Needless to say, no one else would be vetoing Tiberius’ legislation again.
2
Part II
Without another tribune to block his bill, Tiberius’ legislation became law. It was a complete and utter victory for the young tribune, but by the time the voting began, all the nobles had prepared themselves for the outcome. There were no shaking fists, curses, or angry rants from the rostra. Instead, the nobles met the unanimous vote for their enemy’s proposal with solemn faces and downcast eyes.
To crown his achievement, within the week a further measure was passed in Tiberius’ favor. A commission was assembled to oversee the land redistribution, as was customary. But who would lead it? Before Tiberius
was finished, he, his little brother Gaius, and Tiberius’ father-in-law Appius Claudius were all elected to the commission.
He quickly left the city to begin his work before the glory of his achievement was tarnished in any way.
The nobles had been beaten. And publicly they gave the appearance that they understood this, but privately (and I know because I was there) Scipio and the other nobles conspired together and encouraged one another to bide their time.
The weeks turned to months, and still I remained in Aemilianus’ domus. Several times I mentioned that I should be leaving. I mentioned receiving letters from my cousin who inquired about my delay, but each time Scipio replied the same way, “Not yet, young warrior. We still have work to do.”
In truth, my cousin only wrote to tell me how much she enjoyed little Maria. She was barren, and they had no children of their own, so having a babe warmed their hearth fire. Unfortunately for myself, it was the exact warmth that Rome now seemed to lack.
From time to time, I’d sneak off to the quarters Scipio had assigned me, and sit at the foot of my bed. I’d balance my gladius within my hands. It was the only thing that felt like home now. My brother-in-law Gratidius purchased it for me in Genoa, on our way to Spain, when I didn’t have enough money to afford a sharp one myself. I could have purchased another one, a far nicer one, now. To be certain I could find one with fewer nicks in the steel. But that sword had shed the blood of my enemy: it was the only thing on Gaia’s earth I shared that in common with.
But when I was finished testing its weight and trying to remember what it was like to stand against an enemy in glorious combat, I would place it back in its sheath, and slide the sheath under the bed. It was difficult fighting an enemy with words rather than with the sword. Especially when the enemy wasn’t a man at all, but boredom, ambiguity, and apprehension.
To my shame, I believe I began to resent Scipio Aemilianus a bit at the time. It wasn’t because of his political stringency, but because he wouldn’t let me leave. And because I couldn’t figure out why in Jupiter’s name he was keeping me there to begin with.
Blood in the Forum Page 5
