Cornelia- the First Woman of Rome

by Dan Armstrong

  It was common practice for craftsmen to come to upper-class homes to provide their services. “Yes, of course, madam. What exactly are you looking for?”

  I did not want to display my ankle in public, even within the litter. “Come to my house this afternoon, and we can talk about it. I want something very unique, and I don’t expect it to be cheap.”

  That was all it took. Sutorius arrived at the house later that day with a satchel containing his tools and some pieces of leather. I wanted absolute privacy so I took him into the library and told Nadia that I did not want to be disturbed. I sat down in one of the chairs, lifted the edge of my tunic, and removed my sandal so he could see my foot.

  Sutorius winced. “You’re looking for something that can make the ankle stable. Is that right?”

  “Yes, exactly. Something that can give me enough support to walk without a limp or a cane. It can be as tight as necessary and style is unimportant. It just has to work.”

  He lifted my ankle and placed it gently on his knee. His hands were small and square with large knuckles and thick hair on the backs of his fingers. He turned my ankle slowly to get an idea what kind of flexibility it had and what kind of pain I was in. He looked up at me with eyes of age. “How long has your foot been like this?”

  I did not want to reveal that I had been born with it. “In the last year or two it has begun to ache and twist. I turned it several times this past year making it worse.”

  The man nodded. “I’m thinking of a sandal that straps around your ankle well up the calf. I have done something like this before, but it’s very individual.”

  “Of course. Try whatever you think will work, and if it doesn’t, we can try something else.”

  “That might be what happens, but I’m sure I can help you.”

  Sutorius made some measurements, then cut a sole for the sandal and matched it to my foot.

  “I have what I need to proceed,” he said. “I will be back in two days with something to try on. You may pay me then. Three sesterces.”

  “If it works, I will pay you twice that. Thank you for coming.”

  I called for Nadia to take the man to the door. For the first time in many months I felt like I had an answer to what had become the focus my life—walking without a limp.

  CHAPTER 12

  The election of magistrates for the next year took place over several days in December. The first day the Century Assembly, made up entirely of soldiers and arranged by their social order, met at Mars Field to vote for the consuls and the other high-ranking military officers. Aemilianus, one of the sitting consuls, presided. Calpurnius Piso Frugi and Publius Mucius Scaevola, the brother of Gaius’ future father-in-law, were chosen as co-consuls. All those associated with Tiberius’ plans for land reform felt Scaevola’s consulship boded well for the bill should Tiberius be elected to the tribunate.

  The People’s Assembly met the following morning atop the Capitoline Hill in the field in front of the temple of Jupiter. The Assembly contained in excess of thirty thousand plebeians, divided into thirty-five tribes, which were not equal in their numbers but voted as equal units. The tribes had gathered separately during the previous week and decided who their selections for each office would be. When a tribe was called on to vote, one of the tribe’s elders would submit its ballot. In the case of the tribunes, which was the first matter of business, each tribe nominated ten men. The ten men on the most ballots would be the tribunes.

  The tribes drew lots for the order of voting. Because of the factor of chance involved, the choosing of lots is believed to be a way for the gods to offer direction. Being first was a great honor, and after the ten men listed on that first ballot were announced to the Assembly, the nominees were given a chance to speak. Although the tribes had already made their decisions, changes were often made based on what these nominees had to say.

  One of the current tribunes, Marcus Claudius, the same man who had given the terrella to Aemilianus, presided over the election from an elevated stage or tribunal. After the required religious sacrifices and ceremonies, a flamen was summoned to the tribunal with a ceramic water pitcher and a ceramic bowl. The pitcher was filled with water and contained thirty-five wooden lots—each inscribed with the name of one of the tribes. Marcus Claudius took the pitcher from the flamen and steadied himself to pour the water into the bowl, held outstretched in both hands by the flamen. When the tribune tipped the pitcher, the lot belonging to the Suburana tribe was the first to slosh into the bowl. The Suburana tribe, one of the four urban tribes, and one of the largest in membership, was given the honor of submitting the first nominees. An older man with white hair and a beard came forward with the Suburana ballot. Marcus Claudius read it aloud. Tiberius was the fourth name on the list. The ten nominees then addressed the Assembly in the order they were listed on the ballot.

  Tiberius spoke after the third nominee. “Something is gravely amiss with the state of our nation,” he announced with clear and resonant conviction. “The stability and security of Rome is dependent on our men in uniform, the men who can use a gladius and help defend the state. But right now too many of our citizens of military age have no land and according to law cannot serve in the army. They are left behind, often in the streets of Rome, poor and destitute, their families on the edge of starvation. This must change.

  “I have spent the winter touring Italy to evaluate the situation. What I saw confirmed that our land is in the hands of too few, leaving many citizens without and Rome with a shrinking source of legionnaires.”

  Tiberius remained calm and mostly still as he spoke. He made few gestures and did no striding from one side of the platform to the other, as was common among Roman orators. Instead he kept his eyes on his audience and used his deliberate, even delivery to ease his ideas into the audience.

  “Should I be elected to the tribunate, I will propose a law that grants thirty iugera to any Roman citizen who has no property of his own. The property cannot be sold and must remain in the family, and will require a small annual fee paid to the state. Most of the land will come from the vast amount of undistributed public land that is all over the Italian peninsula, but some will come from large landowners who have surpassed the legal limit of five hundred iugera.

  “I propose this as a way to both increase the size and loyalty of our military and to provide a more stable agrarian base for the state. Ownership of land, particularly one’s own farmland, and being willing to fight for it, is at the heart of being Roman. I base my campaign on the necessity of putting land in the hands of the common man.”

  As Appius had told Tiberius, land reform, especially a platform based on a large giveaway, would be very popular. The Assembly responded enthusiastically. This was not the forum where Tiberius had spoken to several hundred people at a time—this was a gathering of tens of thousands. The emotion and energy of their response was overwhelming. Tiberius considered it assurance that what he was doing was right. And in the end, his words generated more than passion in the crowd. He was named on the ballot of every tribe and achieved what he sought—a place on the tribunate of the plebs.

  CHAPTER 13

  Tiberius invited Blossius, Diophanes, and Appius to his home the day after the election to finalize the language of his land reform bill. He had laid out the basic elements in his speech to the People’s Assembly, but the details still needed to be worked out before he took office in two months. Appius arrived with Publius Crassus, whose daughter Gaius would be formally meeting the next day.

  Cornelia had come to the house earlier that morning to help Tiberius’ wife Claudia with a piece of cloth she was weaving. When the men arrived, Claudia stayed at the loom, but Cornelia joined them in the library to take part in the discussion, which she detailed to me a week later. Blossius sat at a table with a bronze stylus and a wax pad to take notes. Cornelia took a seat at the table opposite Blossius, while the other men stood or paced around the room.

  “So far,” began Tiberius, “all that’s be
en decided is that each landless citizen will be given thirty iugera. The land can’t be sold, will have a small annual rent, and will come from either undistributed public land or from landowners who have exceeded the five hundred iugera limit. What else is needed?”

  Appius spoke up. “Our biggest concern is not making too many enemies. There will be several angry senators if this bill passes. We need to include some kind of compensation for those who lose portions of their land.”

  “We can waive the fine for having exceeded the limit,” said Tiberius.

  “A fine that hasn’t been collected in my lifetime,” said Crassus, a middle-aged, somewhat plump man, with graying hair that he combed forward to cover his well-receded hairline. “That’s not enough.”

  “There must be some form of real compensation for anyone who loses land,” replied Appius, walking from one side of the room to the other. He was five years older than Crassus, but in better shape and more stately in his presence.

  “And that should be for more than the loss of land,” added Blossius taking a sip from his cup of wine. He was the only one in the room drinking. “Some of these men have developed their land or passed parts of it on to their children.”

  “What are you thinking?” asked Tiberius. “Financial compensation? Could we simply pay them half the commercial value of the property?”

  “That would be far too costly,” said Crassus. “Maybe we allow them to protect blocks of their property, say two hundred and fifty iugera for each of their sons and the same amount to be passed on as part of one daughter’s dowry.”

  “That’s good,” said Blossius, scratching the ideas into the wax.

  “But still not enough,” said Diophanes.

  Appius stopped pacing. “They will get a title to the land that they retain so there can be no question about their ownership.”

  “We’re getting there,” said Tiberius. “What else?”

  “Who will determine which land is taken and where it goes?” asked Cornelia. “You’ll need someone to oversee the distribution of land.”

  “How about a commission made up of five men?” said Appius.

  “Make it three,” said Diophanes. “A smaller number makes agreement easier.”

  “Will the commission members be paid?” asked Crassus.

  “Yes, a small amount, but they will also need money to run the commission,” said Cornelia. “They will have to hire teams of surveyors, and those surveyors will have to travel throughout Italy. It will be a long, slow process and a lot of work.”

  “What kind of authority will the commission have?” asked Crassus. “How will they enforce their actions? I can imagine some very powerful men ignoring the decisions of the commission.”

  “Should they take input from the landowner himself before cutting up his land?” asked Blossius,

  Tiberius stood by quietly as the men talked, trying to take it all in. “A three-man commission that receives nominal pay but also a sum of money each year to do the work itself. Do we agree on that?”

  Crassus and Appius both answered. “Yes.”

  Diophanes stepped up to the table where Blossius wrote. “Would they be elected annually?”

  “No, just once, then the commission can choose its own replacements as needed,” said Appius, who seemed to have thought much of this through already. “It gives them more control.”

  “But what about enforcement?” pressed Crassus. “We have to address that somehow. Will there be a squadron of militia that oversees the division of land?”

  “That seems too heavy-handed,” said Tiberius. “I’m hoping we can convince those who lose land that it’s for the public good.”

  “That sounds like wishful thinking,” said Cornelia, ever the realist.

  “But that might be the only way it can work,” said Diophanes, pulling at his long beard, “if everyone understands that this is for the security of the state.”

  “Again too much wishful thinking,” echoed Crassus.

  “But that’s where we have to start,” said Blossius. “It must be more than confiscation of property.”

  “Will this only apply to citizens of Rome or to everyone in Italy?” asked Diophanes. “That will make a big difference.”

  Crassus nodded in agreement. “And if so, will the commission be taking land from non-Roman landowners?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” said Tiberius. “One thing I discovered during my travels is that some of the land Rome acquired after the war with Hannibal has never been claimed and is being worked by non-Romans as though it were theirs.”

  “What about cattle and sheep limits?” asked Diophanes.

  “I say we leave that alone,” said Appius. “Limiting property size will impact the size of the livestock herds. No sense stirring up any more controversy than necessary.”

  “You sound worried about that, Appius.” Cornelia had known the man since childhood. “How much resistance are we going to get?”

  Appius looked to Crassus, who tipped his head, then back to Cornelia. “Plenty. The wealthiest men in the Senate will fight this for certain—tooth and nail. That’s why it’s so necessary to have the unified support of the people.” He looked around at everyone in the room. “We’re looking for greater balance between senatorial control and popular sovereignty.”

  “Ah, the elusive Republican ideal.” Blossius grinned sardonically and lifted his cup of wine.

  “Senatus Populusque Romanus,” stated Crassus with pride.

  After the meeting Cornelia sat down with Tiberius on a bench in the atrium. Tiberius was enthusiastic about the work and could not have been more pleased with the progress so far. “What do you think, Mother? Are we not doing something important?”

  Cornelia smiled at her eldest son. He looked a lot like his father and had long displayed the same qualities that had made the elder Tiberius Gracchus so well respected. “I think it is important. Very much so. But I’m sure you noted what Appius said. The most influential men in the Senate will fight land reform with everything they’ve got. Are you ready for that?”

  Tiberius put his hand on his mother’s. “I think I am. I mean, what can they do if I muster the votes and pass the bill?”

  Cornelia looked into her son’s hopeful eyes. “They can make up stories about things you’ve done. Try to drag you into some kind of scandal. We’ve seen that before. You’ll be asking them to let go of a portion of their wealth. Don’t underestimate what that means to a rich man—even if it’s cast as patriotic. It’s mostly a matter of having thick skin, Tiberius, not overreacting to insults, and staying focused on what you’re trying to accomplish.” She ran her hand through his hair lovingly. “I think you’re up to it.”

  “I do too, Mother. Besides our family is beyond reproach. If they attack me with lies, the strength of our family name will serve as my defense.”

  “One might think that, but remember what happened on your return from Numantia. Even saving the lives of twenty thousand legionnaires was considered scandalous. You’re young, idealistic,” she smiled with the radiance only a son or daughter can see in their mother, “and new to politics. Be prepared for more than you can imagine.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Gaius had not taken part in any of the meetings with Tiberius and his advisors. He was far more interested in his military career than land reform. He had spent the previous summer in Spain, where, much like Tiberius, he had learned the finer point of being a professional soldier under the tutelage of Aemilianus. He had been back a month when he went to meet his future wife Licinia for the first time.

  As he walked the few blocks from his mother’s home to Publius Crassus’ villa with his slave Philocrates, he was thinking about the campaign in Spain. It was not over. Aemilianus had built a wall ten feet tall and eight feet thick around the city of Numantia with the intention of starving the inhabitants into submission. Two legions remained in Spain to manage the siege; two had returned with Aemilianus. Gaius would go back in a few months with Aemilianus to
complete the operation. Gaius had loved his time in Spain. At seventeen years of age military glory was his greatest desire. Weddings and marriage were far from his thoughts. Visiting a thirteen-year-old girl seemed like a waste of time when he might be training.

  Publius Crassus’ home, like Cornelia’s, was one of the most spacious and beautiful on the Palatine Hill. Splendor that would have impressed almost any other young man had little or no effect on Gaius as he stood on the doorstep with his slave and glanced around the neighborhood before knocking on the thick plank door.

  “What do you think, Philocrates?” The two men had known each other since before they could walk. Philocrates’ father, Felix, had been Gaius’ father’s slave and had been freed upon Tiberius’ death. “Is marriage something I should be looking forward to?”

  Philocrates smiled. He was extremely loyal and when the two men were alone, Gaius treated him like a friend. When others were around, Philocrates did as all good slaves did; he became invisible. “I have never been married, master. I would guess it depends on the woman. I’ve been told that a good wife is essential to a successful career in politics.”

  “But a wife would be an inconvenience to a soldier.”

  “Not really, master. She can take care of the home when the soldier is away.”

  “I suppose so,” said Gaius, then he knocked three times firmly.

  The housemaid, an elderly, heavyset Thracian by the name of Phyllis, opened the door. The household was expecting Gaius and the woman let him right in. Philocrates stayed outside where he would wait until Gaius was ready to leave.

  Licinia’s mother, Appius Claudius’ sister, and another Claudia, came striding in from the atrium, smiling broadly and looking very excited. She considered Gaius Gracchus the best catch in Rome and had invested a lot of time making the arrangement with Cornelia.