“You do, Tiberius, you just need to speak to them,” Gaius Gracchus spoke up, looking up at his older brother with adoration.
“General Aemilianus loves the legionaries too. And he hopes they will always be on his side,” I said. I was surprised at how forthright I was being, considering the respect I shared for the tribune, but I was cautious lest that fact be made know.
Tiberius nodded and considered my words. “Yes. He absolutely loves the men. And they love him back, as they should. I would never seek to break the bond between legionary and general. That is sacred. But my brother-in-law’s first loyalty will always be to the nobility. He believes, as did many of our forefathers, that the future of Rome belongs to the success or failure of Rome’s old families. I disagree, but I will never fault him for his conclusion.”
I considered replying, but Tiberius’ response was so respectful I couldn’t bring myself to do so.
He stood again, a man always teeming with passion, his mind producing words quicker than he could say them.
“Many of the men in my position served under the Colors as a means to an end. But I cherished my time in the legion. I remember the nights of stale bread and lukewarm wine with fondness.” He looked away and seemed to drift into his memories as the veterans continued to clamor outside. He snapped back to the present, “My mother, virtuous though she is, has always been too protective of her sons. She protected us from the consequences of our actions. Out there, under the standard, I was just a man with a sword.”
“Is that why you are at this sad pass? Because you failed to prepare for the consequences of your actions?” Rufus asked, sternly but not with any disrespect. If any man ever embodied the Stoic teaching of Zeno, it was he.
Tiberius smiled sadly and met his eyes. “No. Unfortunately, I learned to anticipate the consequences long ago.” The tribune retook his seat and sipped on his wine in silence for a moment. “But the one thing I cannot endure is to lose the respect and love of my brothers in arms. That is why you are here. You have the ear of the men, and I want to hear what it is that they desire. I want you to tell me what they want.”
“The veterans are made up of many types of men. They don’t all want the same thing,” Rufus replied.
“All men want the same thing. On Jupiter’s Stone, I believe that. They want less of what they do have and more of what they don’t. They want peace. Security. Sustenance they can rely on. A happy wife and healthy children—”
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have a difficult time passing legislation that will make wives happy or children healthy,” Rufus interrupted. For a moment I saw rage flash before Tiberius’ eyes, but it dissipated before anyone else seemed to notice.
“No. I cannot give them that. I’m not certain even the gods could. But I can give them the land they need to feed their children and earn the living required to buy their wives a seashell necklace.”
“If you’ve already figured it out, why do you need us?” Rufus asked, unaware of the discomfort he was creating.
“Gerrae, let the man speak!” Gaius Gracchus shouted.
“It’s alright, dear brother. I didn’t invite Rufus or Marius here to patronize me. I want to hear what Rome’s veterans desire.”
“They want their terms of service shortened,” I said before I could stop myself. By this time I was very much inclined to remain in silence as I had at Aemilianus’ evening gatherings. But it was clear by now that Tiberius hadn’t invited me for political intelligence, but to improve the lives of my brothers.
“Is that right?” Tiberius’ brows raised. “I knew they desired fewer campaigns, but I didn’t know that the length of the campaigns concerned them.”
“Our Numantine war veterans had been there for years. Most of them at least. It was a war without end, besieging an impenetrable city belonging to foreigners they couldn’t even pronounce the name of. It’s not like it was in the old days. That enemy wasn’t threatening Roman freedom. Their farms weren’t in danger. But they spent four years or more far away from home, away from their wives and newborns, and for what? They returned with no plunder. No glory outside of a triumph. Rome itself is no safer than it was before. It’s only her prestige that has increased, not her safety,” I blurted out quickly, before I could consider the consequences. I feared for a moment that I had said too much, and that Tiberius would sense that I had supported him all along. But instead he nodded his head and contemplated all I had said.
“And the men don’t care about Roman prestige. Why should they? The only men who benefit are the nobles who take their land and spit on them.”
Rufus added, “Marius is right. When we arrived in Spain the legions were utterly unconcerned. They were hardly soldiers by the time we arrived. The only reason they wished for the war to end was because they wished to return home. And if Scipio hadn’t arrived, they’d likely still be there.”
“Good. Thank you for sharing this.” Tiberius tapped his lip and stared at the floor in deep contemplation. Silence fell, and I realized the veterans outside the home had left. “I have four months left in office as tribune. And I vow to you, all three of you, that if it remains within my power to do so, I will pass legislation to shorten the terms of service. I’ll put a finite number on it, so that even in a war without end a man can see his children grow up. Will you speak with your compatriots and let them know this?”
Gaius nodded along without hesitation. Rufus considered it but eventually acknowledged his consent. It was a reasonable request, after all.
“I’m still loyal to Scipio Aemilianus,” I said. There wasn’t a thing Tiberius had said which I disagreed with, and his demeanor had won me more than any of the speeches I had yet witness, but I was still frightened that I might seem dishonest or Janus-faced.
Tiberius took a sip of his wine and then set the cup down. He stood and approached me, and then placed a hand on my shoulder.
“And I wouldn’t have invited you here if I believed otherwise. But I do trust that your loyalty to your brothers is higher than to any other, save the gods. If that’s the case, all I ask is that you tell them that there is a man in Rome who will do everything in his power to serve them.”
And how could I dispute that? At length I nodded my consent.
Before the stillness became uncomfortable, another guest arrived, one with a distinctive foreign element.
“Tribune Gracchus, I come with word from the King of Pergamum,” the emissary said in a noticeable eastern accent.
Tiberius seemed as shocked as we were, but his eyes glistened too.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I’d best see to this. Gaius, would you see our guests out?”
Tiberius shook my hand once more before I departed, but this time he kissed my cheek as well.
I hurried back to the Domus of Scipio Aemilianus, anxiously crafting what I would tell him when I returned. If he were still alive I’d be too ashamed to say this, but I had to lie to him. He despised Tiberius so deeply that he would have never believed that the man was just inviting me to his home to share a cup of wine and talk about how he might serve Rome’s veterans better.
Instead, I would tell him that the Tribune had attempted to sway me to his cause, and that I had resisted.
One thing was certain though, I wasn’t going to be mentioning the emissary from Pergamum. That spelled trouble and I wanted nothing to do with it.
Scipio believed and approved of the version of events that I recited for him. I was ashamed, and perhaps still am, that I was forced to lie to my mentor. But one thing I had already learned about politics was that there were narratives at play here: bad men versus good men, demagogues versus the defenders of the constitution… and it always behooves a man to play to those narratives. Only when one has achieved power can you abandon them. And then perhaps you become a narrative yourself.
A few weeks passed before any news came of that emissary from Pergamum, and I eventually believed it was unimportant. Tiberius’ father was a man of incredible influenc
e and prestige, a patron of many foreign nations before he died, although he died young. Perhaps it was a friendly gesture from a foreign king to the son of a man who had protected him.
This naive idea was proven wrong early one morning when Aemilianus and I were working in his tablinum.
Marcus Octavius burst in and said he needed to speak with Scipio, the door guard following behind him, fearful he might be punished for the intrusion. The man might have been utterly bested by Tiberius on the rostra, but he was no fool. He wouldn’t have disturbed a man like Scipio Aemilianus unless it was necessary.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Scipio asked, sensing the same thing I was.
“Dismiss your dogs,” he said gesturing to the slaves in the room, and perhaps to me. Scipio flicked his wrist and everyone departed but the three of us. I wasn’t going to leave until I was expressly told to do so. Octavius eyed me with suspicion but I didn’t budge and neither did Scipio, so he proceeded.
“The king of Pergamum has died. And he has left his kingdom to the people of Rome.”
Scipio looked at me with raised brows and nodded his head.
“Then why do you look so glum and gloomy? This is great news! That’s the easiest territory Rome has ever conquered, is it not?” the general asked.
“Sir.” Octavius kneeled and bowed his head as if he were standing before a king.
“Out with it,” Scipio said, standing to his feet.
“The emissary is staying in the home of Tiberius Gracchus.”
Nothing else needed to be said.
Aemilianus breathed heavily.
“And who exactly did his will designate as the ruler of his kingdom?” he asked, his brows furrowed and lips pursed.
“The people of Rome.”
It was several weeks before any kind of announcement was made public. As soon as word reached Aemilianus that Tiberius was taking the rostra, we hurried to the forum without waiting for any kind of cortege to form.
“The King of Pergamum, Attalus III, has left his kingdom to you, the people!” Tiberius was shouting from the rostra by the time we arrived. Scipio didn’t delay. He didn’t stop to issue instruction to myself or the other followers present.
“The hero of the people!” Tiberius shouted. And he was the first to applaud the general. I’ve always wondered if anyone would have clapped if Tiberius hadn’t done so himself. How fickle the people have always been!
I had been present to witness how they had turned on him. But the moment their hero took to the rostra, they were silenced into submission. Silent, that is, until Tiberius gave them license to do otherwise.
“Would you like to address the people?” Tiberius asked, and again I was conflicted. It did seem like he was setting a trap, but perhaps that was simply the kind of man Tiberius Gracchus was. He didn’t appear duplicitous, even when giving the floor to his enemies.
“I’ve now had a chance to study the will of the king of Pergamum. And he did not leave his kingdom to the people, but to the SPQR, the Senate and Populace of Rome!” The people gasped and looked to Tiberius for an answer. As far as I knew, Aemilianus had never gazed upon that will, even for a brief moment. But it didn’t matter. All he had to do was suggest that Tiberius was taking liberties with the law, and his enemy was under suspicion.
“Do you not see, citizens, what is happening?” Tiberius said, gesturing to his brother-in-law with a smile and a shake of the head. “This is the man who did everything within his power to turn you against me. And why? Because I did not provide farms fast enough. What deception! What trickery! This is the same man who opposed my measures in the first place! And he considers himself a member of the same faction which has made my measures a nightmare to carry out from it’s very conception!” Tiberius cried. And this time, when the people gasped it was not out of surprise, but out of anger. Anger, fury, that their famed hero had betrayed them.
“I simply wish to uphold the law,” Scipio said, refusing to take the bait of his foe.
“You do? You do? Well isn’t that interesting! Because the oldest mandate in the state is that land disputes belong to the people! And yet here you stand, opposing the will of the people, attempting to leverage your well-earned glory in battle to benefit not the soldiers who served under you, but the men who have always lorded over you!”
The plebeians cried out. Aemilianus tried to respond but his words were drowned out by the mob.
“And this is the man who cried ‘who among you has received a farm’ but if it wasn’t for the nobles opposing me, I would have received, a thousand fold, the resources necessary to give each and every one of you a parcel of land and the resources to maintain it!” Tiberius cried.
I wasn’t sure if this was true. But it didn’t matter. This was Tiberius’ masterstroke. The people, who had so recently clamored for answers, would never again cry at his doorstep. If they didn’t receive farms it wasn’t because Tiberius was fooling them, it was because nobles like Scipio were blocking his endeavors.
Once again he proved to be just a bit more clever than they were.
“And let me tell you what the patricians are really waiting for!” Tiberius shouted. Scipio stepped back and allowed his enemy to continue. Perhaps he was just as curious about what the tribune might say as the rest of us were. “They want to wait out my term office. They think if they can hold off until December they can purchase enough tribunes with purses of gold coins that they’ll reclaim what you have taken from them.” It was a masterful job, to say “you” rather than “I”, but even at the time, standing at the foot of the rostra, I could find no internal arguments to disagree with him.
“But don’t let them, my people! Don’t let them! You have taken only what you deserve by birthright as Roman citizens. You have passed the measures I’ve proposed. And now that the gods have revealed a way to not only fund these measures but also give land to all our deserving veterans, how can the senate try to block them?” And now I felt guilty. I was careful not to meet Scipio’s gaze, but thankfully it was cast out into the nameless multitude. “They can only block it if they turn you against me! But you know that I have ever stood for the rights of the people, and her veterans.”
The look on Scipio’s face revealed that he understood what was happening. He had walked into a trap and he was aware of it.
“Citizens, you must desire truth rather than pandering speeches!” Scipio cried. But I only heard it because I was so close to the rostra. The majority were unlikely to hear it over the tumult.
“And now I’d like to announce the most important thing on my agenda,” Tiberius said, and his voice was easy to hear over the tumult, no matter how loud it became. “I will be running for tribune again.”
The people gasped and then fell silent.
“I have much more to do. Things I have always wanted to do, but have never been able to accomplish. Why? Because of fine noblemen like this one!” He shouted out to the crowd but pointed directly at Scipio. “The first thing I will do is shorten the term of service for all eligible legionaries.” You already know I felt a supreme guilt at this juncture. I had lied to Scipio about my meeting with the tribune, and for good reason. Had I known that he would use what I had told him to earn another tribuneship, I would have kept my mouth shut.
“And I will also use the coffers of the deceased king of Pergamum to fund the expansion of our farmland, as well as give this new land to our most deserving citizens: the veterans who have bled for our sovereignty!”
Needless to say, I never again attended a dinner at Tiberius’ home. But I was never again invited.
Scipio and I burst into his Domus, both of us in a sweat. I rushed to my room and grabbed my sword, clutching it in my arms as if it would give me strength.
“Marius!” Scipio demanded my presence so I hurried back out into the atrium, unaware that I had brought my sword with me.
He was knelt over the impluvium and splashing water over his head, breathing heavily. He looked up at my, water dripping o
ver his rapidly blinking eyes, “What has happened?” He asked. And I was not sure if the question was rhetorical.
Before I was forced to respond, a tumult sounded from the entryway and the doorman screamed.
Instinct took over and I grabbed the hilt of my sword, but of course it was Laelius and Octavius.
“What has happened?” Octavius shouted. Clearly he didn’t know either. “What are we to do now?” He cried.
“We nearly got lynched in the street trying to get here! That demagogue has the entire city on the verge of a revolt!” Laelius bellowed.
Scipio shook his head rapidly and slapped the water like a child.
“You bloody fools! If I knew how to beat the man I would have done so already!” He gritted his teeth and the veins in his neck and forehead bulged. I had never seen him so ill composed.
“We have to do something though,” Octavius said sheepishly.
Before Scipio could scream any further, the doors burst open again, and in stormed the pontifex maximus.
“Look what you have done!” Nasica roared without hesitation. “This is your fault, Aemilianus!” His toga was disheveled, and he moved quicker than I had ever seen him. His beady little eyes were squinted in fury, and he pointed those bony fingers directly at Aemilianus’ chest.
Given the crazed look in Aemilianus’ eye, I feared his patience with his cousin might finally be at in end. So before the high priest could reach my general, I stepped in his way, palm gripped on my hilt.
He looked up at me in shock and disgust, but was wise enough not to step any closer.
“Get out! Get out! All of you! You were not invited to my home, now get out!” Aemilianus roared, thrashing his arms in the water wildly.
Blood in the Forum Page 7
