I imagined that living within the home of Scipio would have given me all the satisfaction I desired in the world. If anyone would have told me I would have spent that summer dining with the nobles, being included in their political strategizing, I would have told you this would have been the crowning moment of my life. But I found something to be lacking.
Perhaps I had anticipated that Scipio and I would have spent our evenings recollecting the bravest feats of our recent campaign, or fantasize about future wars where the both of us might earn further glory together. But, in fact, most of our time was spent with waiting. Waiting for what, I was unsure, but I perceived that Scipio had something in mind.
And none of this is to say that Scipio was idle. Waiting, perhaps, but not slothful. At least once a week Nasica, Laelius, and a handful of other nobles would visit for dinner, where they would discuss current events and how they might better position themselves.
Up until this point, their best idea came from Nasica, who proposed that they pass a special legislation to limit the compensation for Tiberius, Gaius, and Appius Claudius to six sestercii per day. This was an insulting low sum, of course, but that’s all it was: an insult. It didn’t change current affairs whatsoever.
But by early July, their demeanor began to change. The solemnness in their eyes had transformed into anticipation. Perhaps whatever they had been waiting for was finally at hand.
“Have you heard the people clamoring?” Nasica said, smacking his lips as he chewed on a handful of grapes. “Before long they’ll be calling for his head.”
I felt myself balking, but was careful to hide it. It had been some time since I had attended a vote or an assembly of the people, but it was difficult to contemplate the people turning on their savior.
“The people will always complain about something. They won’t soon betray him,” Laelius replied, and I found myself nodding along.
“You’re small minded, Laelius. Nothing dries quicker than tears, be they from sadness or joy. In time they’ll forget all his fine words and passionate speeches. You just don’t contain the foresight to see it. They’ll be howling for his blood within the month,” Nasica said, just playfully enough to avoid offending his friend.
“Is that what your auguries tell you?” Scipio Aemilianus said without a drop of humor in his voice. Nasica grunted and continued to gorge on his grapes. “I don’t agree that the people will turn on Tiberius as quickly as my dear cousin believes, but perhaps now is the opportunity to strike back.”
“And what do you suggest?” Marcus Octavius, the deposed tribune, asked. After a lengthy hiatus, which allowed tempers to cool, he had reappeared at Scipio’s door, more anxious than ever to see Tiberius’ shamed.
“The plebs at large likely haven’t altered their support for Tiberius one bit. But those within the city, those who attend the assemblies, are the ones who have yet to receive land. Even if Tiberius’ redistribution had taken half of the city population and given them great villas and herds of cattle, those who remained in the city would still feel slighted.”
“He didn’t promise them all land,” Laelius said cautiously.
“No, but he didn’t have to. Those peasants weren’t clamoring for other peasants to receive farms, but to receive farms of their own. They don’t care about the welfare of the state. They wouldn’t give a brass obol for the nation’s hunger as long as their own bellies are filled.
“Tiberius didn’t have to tell each man individually that they’d receive a farm, they all believed or hoped for it in their hearts. And those that Tiberius hasn’t selected in his generosity and kindness of spirit, are angry. They feel betrayed. They’re furious that the fellow they used to steal bread crumbs with now has food on the table and a shelter over his head. And they’ll blame Tiberius.” I felt a tinge of anger swelling in my belly. Was that all Tiberius’ cause was? A measure to placate the greedy? I felt a little naive and ashamed of myself as well. If only Tiberius was there to answer for himself and the people, or to give one of his rousing speeches. I was certain even then that the man’s words could sway me.
“Now you’re beginning to see.” Nasica grinned and pointed a boney finger at his cousin.
“But what do we do about it?”
“I’ll make a speech. From the rostra—”
“You’re quite brave to return there after your last showing,” Nasica interrupted and winked at Laelius. They might have been cousins and political allies, but I could see on Aemilianus’s face that Nasica’s familiarity was wearing him thin.
“I’ll make a speech from the rostra. And there is only one question I need to ask: how many of you have received farms? That is all I’ll have to ask.” Scipio wiped his fingers off on a towel and sat back in his seat, satisfied.
“How many of you have received farms?” Nasica repeated, his wrinkled eyelids squinting as he attempted to understand.
“That’s it. Not a man in the entire crowd will raise their hands.”
“How can you insure that?” Octavius asked.
“Boy, you really are dimwitted! If they had received farms from the commission they’d be on them, not in Rome! It doesn’t matter how many farms the newsreaders announce have been allocated by Tiberius. The plebs here weren’t among them,” Nasica said, as pleased with his answer as if he had come up with idea himself.
“That’s correct. It will light the spark of fear that Tiberius has abandoned them and forsaken their cause. I’ll add a little wood to the fire by mentioning how he is gallivanting across Italy like a king, with all authority to determine who has shelter and who does not. A simple hint that it is actually his spoiled little brother Gaius and that miserly old fool Appius Claudius who have benefited most from this reform, and they’ll turn on him. I’m sure of it.”
“How many of you have received farms?” Nasica said with a grin, quite pleased with how it sounded. “It’s brilliant. Simple, but brilliant. It takes a simple concept for the people to truly respond. Anything more complex and they’re left scratching their lice-infested heads. How long did it take you to come up with this little stratagem?”
“Weeks. Months. Too long.” Aemilianus stood and turned away from them. “We’ve grown complacent, men. We’ve become Rome’s greatest complainers but have forgotten how to control our own Republic. If Rome falls to the likes of Tiberius, it isn’t the boy’s fault, but our own.”
“It doesn’t matter who came up with the idea, or how long it took. It sounds to me like it will work. And unless the Pontifex Maximus has any objections, I think we know our path forward. We’ll begin spreading the message to our own people, and before long the message will be painted on every wall in the city,” Laelius said. Nasica grunted again.
“See that it’s done. I’ll be retiring for the night. You can see yourselves out.” Scipio drained his cup of wine and turned to leave the triclinium.
I, once again, made it through an entire evening with the nobles without so much as uttering a single word.
As the nobles began pouring out, I absented myself to my quarters. And there I sat at the foot of my bed and tested the weight of my sword.
As it turns out, Scipio was as brilliant a political strategist as he was a military strategist. His simple phrase “who here has received farms” spread like an insulae fire across Rome. By the first week of August, the phrase was indeed scribbled across the oldest temples in the forum, and indeed some even said it was painted on the rostra itself. Perhaps the people weren’t howling for Tiberius’ blood, but they were certainly howling for answers. Fortunately for the nobles, Tiberius wasn’t around to provide them.
It was dreadfully hot that summer, even for Rome. The air was heavy and thick, difficult to breathe, so Scipio and I took to the roof most evenings where it was a bit cooler than indoors. Most of the time we spent in silence. He was an odd fellow, now that I really think about it. He demanded constant companionship, but a silent one. He merely needed to know I was there. And if I’m being honest, if it wasn�
��t me there, I’m certain he would have had another protege to take my place.
It was here that a strange messenger arrived.
“Gerrae, the sun is almost setting,” Scipio said, irritated at the disturbance. “If you have a message you can leave it with my doorman.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but this message is for Gaius Marius. I was ordered to deliver it into his hands only.”
My eyes widened as Scipio and I both stood to our feet.
“Is that so?” Scipio asked with suspicion.
The only person to write me since I had been staying at Scipio’s home was my cousin, and she certainly wouldn’t have sent an envoy with a toga, or “ordered” him to deliver the letter in any particular fashion.
“Go ahead, boy.” Scipio nodded.
I reached forward and accepted the letter, but maintained eye contact with the messenger as I handed it directly to Scipio. Perhaps this was a ruse to drive a wedge between us. I couldn’t imagine who might have desired such a thing, but I wasn’t going to keep any secrets from my general, and it was important that he knew it. The messenger exhaled and lowered his eyes.
“That’s a familiar seal,” Scipio said, sliding his thumb under it. He analyzed me with curiosity. “You have no idea what this is?”
“Not at all, general. Nor do I know who that seal belongs to.” I felt my heart beat quicken as if I were on trial.
Scipio ripped open the seal and unfolded the scroll.
He had only been reading for a moment when he let his head back and bellowed with laughter.
“It seems my brother by law would like you to attend a dinner at his house this evening.”
“What? Let me see that.” I took the letter from Scipio as he continued to laugh and pored over the contents. In a few short sentences and elegant penmanship, I had indeed been invited to the Gracchi home. Tiberius’ name was signed at the bottom. “I… I…” I looked to Scipio hoping to find the means to explain myself.
“It’s alright, lad. I know you’ve done nothing to betray me.”
“The tribune simply wishes to talk,” the envoy said, clearly irritated that the contents of the scroll had been shared with Scipio.
“Silence. We’re talking,” Scipio pointed a finger at the man’s chest. “So the bastard must be back in Rome.”
“The tribune is indeed back in Rome. He arrived early this morning.”
“We must have really frightened him then.” Scipio grinned.
“Tell your master I decline his offer.” I turned again to the envoy.
“Decline? You will certainly go!” Scipio said, his smile evaporating.
“Go, sir?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“He probably wants me to spy on you… learn your next move.”
“No doubt he does. But you wouldn’t do that. You are loyal aren’t you?” Scipio asked.
“Of course, general.”
“You wouldn’t tell him anything then, would you?”
“No…” I thought about it for a moment. “But he’s smarter than me.”
“He’s not clever enough to break a good man’s constitution. He’s better at pandering to toothless plebs. And it was such a courteous offer, after all, how could you refuse? He, no doubt, wants to learn my intentions, but perhaps you can discover his in the process.”
“I’d rather you not come if you plan on spying on the tribune,” the envoy spoke up, clearly exasperated and fearing the repercussions.
“And what are you going to do about it, boy?” Scipio towered over the envoy like he was a misbehaving soldier in formation. The envoy said nothing.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go,” I said. There was a part of me that was intrigued, but it was hard to feel that due to the fear that I had somehow been duplicitous. Perhaps my private approval of Tiberius’ speeches hadn’t been so secret after all. Regardless, I had felt like a no-named entity for some time. Scipio did his best to mention me occasionally in the dinner parties with the nobles, but the majority of the time I remained a silent bystander. Now I was receiving a personal invitation to the infamous tribune’s home.
“Of course I want you to go. Change into one of my whitest togas and be on your way. I’m quite interested in hearing what he has to say.”
The envoy offered to see me to Tiberius’ home, but I declined. I preferred to travel alone and collect my thoughts. As I’m sure you know by our time in Gaul, my sense of direction is impeccable, and I had already memorized the way to the Gracchan domus from our one dinner visit there.
When I arrived, none other than Cornelia greeted me at the door.
“You must be Gaius Marius. It is a pleasure.” She held out her hand for me to kiss, which I hurried to do. I was far more nervous talking to Cornelia then I was to speak with Tiberius. Something about noble ladies, I suppose. Now that I think of it, there was something about her that reminds me of my wife Julia. Perhaps it was how elegant, and effortless, her every movement was. “Please, come in.” She led the way into the atrium, passing by those ancestral masks on the wall.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, realizing it was the first thing I had been able to utter.
“Tell my son-in-law that his speech was wonderful. Very well done. I doubt there are any other senators in Rome who would have been capable of turning the people against my son.” I couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not, but I couldn’t detect any duplicity in her voice.
“I hope it hasn’t caused you much trouble, ma’am,” I replied, brushing my hand over my hair to ensure it was presentable.
“Not at all. We’ve had to have a few of our slaves wash the graffiti off our walls a time or two, but that’s politics. The people will remember Tiberius’ promise, and they will see the marvelous work he has done, in time.”
I could find nothing else to say, but fortunately we had arrived in the triclinium, where Tiberius was sitting alone, his eyes locked on the stone bust of his grandfather Scipio Africanus.
“Your guest has arrived, my dear.”
Tiberius immediately broke his gaze and stood to his feet.
“Gaius Marius, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“I’ll let you two talk.” I kissed her hand again and she departed. My heart immediately slowed.
“I was afraid you might not accept my invitation.” Tiberius approached and extended his hand. He gripped my forearm firmly, like a man or a soldier, rather than a politician.
“To be honest, Tribune, I almost did not.”
“I understand that entirely. My brother-in-law can be a cautious man. I was afraid he would believe I was up to mischief if he heard about my invitation.”
“And are you?”
“Am I what?” he asked, gesturing for me to sit on a couch across from his own.
“Up to mischief.”
“Not at all,” he replied. He didn’t seem to be offended by the implications. “I just want to talk.”
“About Aemilianus?”
“No. About the legion.” That piqued my interest. “I hope you don’t mind, but a few other guests will be joining us shortly.”
“And who might that be?” I said with a bad taste in my mouth. I might have had conflicting opinions on Tiberius, but I had grown to despise the rabble rousing company he kept. The nobles had made sure of that.
“Greetings, brother,” Gaius Gracchus said entering the triclinium with our mutual companion Publius Rutilius Rufus.
“Just these two,” Tiberius answered me. “How are you?” He gripped their forearms the way he had mine, and kissed them on either cheek.
“Blessed and healthy.” Rufus replied, as stoic then as he is now.
“I’m glad to hear it. Please, sit,” Tiberius gestured to two other couches beside ours, but the both of them greeted me before taking their seats.
“I had no notion I’d be seeing you here,” Gaius said, a bit more cautious than his brother. He seemed as young as when I last saw him. He now wore the tribune’s crest but he
still appeared a boy playing at politician.
“I was invited.”
“It’s good to see you again, old friend.” Rufus embraced me firmly. “How is the old general? You’re said to be his favorite these days.”
“He’s blessed and healthy as well.”
“And I’m glad to hear that as well,” Tiberius said with a nod. “But I did not invite you all here to talk about Scipio. I have no ill will towards the man.” He took his seat and made eye contact with me directly. “He was my greatest friend once. When we served in Africa together, we shared a tent. Greatest friend, but also many other things. Brother, father, mentor… and I’d still welcome him in each capacity if he’d have me. But he will not.” Tiberius’ eyes revealed genuine sadness. I was inclined to trust it, but perhaps it was all for show. “That is not why I’ve invited you all here this evening, though.”
“Why have you invited us, if you don’t mind my asking?” Rufus asked, apparently no more informed than I was.
Tiberius stood to his feet and paced the way he had at our first dinner together.
“Are any of you hungry? I could have my cook prepare something.”
No one said anything.
“I didn’t think so. Soldiers are easily sated, aren’t we? And that is precisely why you are all here. I want to talk to you about our men of service. Each of you have served in Rome’s most recent war, and as I understand it, each of you has served with distinction. I’ve heard that you have the admiration and respect of the men. That is why you are here.”
Slaves appeared with empty chalices and gracefully poured each of us some of the finest Falernian grape wine.
“Do you hear that?” Tiberius asked. We all fell silent and perked up our ears, and indeed there was a slight rumble outside the home. Light banging and muffled voices. “Those are retired legionaries. Mother says they’ve been coming for the past few weeks, every few nights, to shout that I have betrayed them.” Tiberius took his seat again and lowered his head. “And that grieves me deeply. I knew when I proposed my legislation that the people who didn’t receives farms would become disappointed. I love them, but they are… shortsighted. The soldiers though, those who have sweat and bled for the Republic… I hoped to always have them on my side.”
Blood in the Forum Page 6
