“Well,” he looked around the atrium uncomfortably, “like the majority of the senators, I have a lot of property, property that I have developed over many years. Taking land away from the men who are the foundation of Rome is wrong. It’s against the good order of things. I have a lot to lose if this bill goes through.”
“Yes, I think I understand what you’re saying.”
Publius nodded. “Good. I know you’re a reasonable woman.”
“But I’m afraid I won’t be of any use to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve spoken to Tiberius at length about his proposal already. He’s thought it out very carefully and convinced me that it’s right for Rome. I even helped him write it.”
The pontiff sucked in a lot of air, stomped back and forth, then faced Cornelia. “It’s no secret that Appius Claudius and Publius Crassus are part of this. They’re using it for their own political gain. They’re not thinking of your son at all. Besides, you’re at risk to lose a lot of land yourself.”
Cornelia looked at me, then back to Publius. “But I don’t mind. I believe it’s for the betterment of all. I suggest talking to Tiberius yourself.”
Publius shook his head, clearly disturbed. “Well then, because I already know he won’t listen to me, tell him that he won’t get anywhere with it and that it will ruin his career. Tell him the majority of senators are firmly against it, and that they asked me to come here to talk to you—for his sake.”
“I believe you would make a better messenger than I, Publius.” Even though Cornelia spoke evenly and without obvious emotion, I could tell how angry she was.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Publius turned abruptly and strode out of the atrium to the front of the house. We heard the front door slam when he left.
“Are you worried, Mother? That sounded like a threat.”
Cornelia took a deep breath and let it out. “It was a threat, and I don’t like it. I will tell Tiberius he was here and the manner in which he spoke to me. Tiberius needs to be prepared for this. My nephew’s resolve will only stiffen.”
“Tiberius is a mild, thoughtful man, Mother, but he’s stubborn—more stubborn than most people know. He won’t back down from these men.”
“I know.” Cornelia stood up, more upset than she wanted to show. She walked absently across the atrium and stared down into the pool. After a long while, not a word said, I stood, and with some difficulty, even with the new sandal, crossed the room to where she stood. I put my hands on her shoulders and leaned my head next to hers. She was crying, something I had not seen her do since my father’s death.
CHAPTER 17
Being the daughter of Publius Cornelius Scipio was enough to assure Cornelia a place in Rome’s social elite. Her mother Amelia’s dedication to education and the rights of women added yet another layer to Cornelia’s almost otherworldly dignitas. But her marriage to Tiberius Gracchus was the perfect fulfillment of the evolution of her early life.
Tiberius, a plebeian with a highly successful military career, including two triumphs, was noted for his virtue and the depth of his character. When my grandfather first arranged Cornelia’s wedding to Tiberius, he made the decision on the spur of the moment without first consulting my grandmother. He entered the house that day and announced that he had contracted a husband for Cornelia, who was only six years old at the time. Aemilia, surprised, if not somewhat piqued, that Africanus would make such an important decision without her input, reacted by asking, “Why the haste? Unless your match is Tiberius Gracchus I might ask you to reconsider.” When Africanus told her that Tiberius was, in fact, the man he had chosen, she was ecstatic.
In a sense this summed up the early years of my mother’s marriage. Despite the number of children lost at birth or early in life and their thirty-year age difference, Tiberius and Cornelia were a match made by the gods. And that was how they were perceived, the ideal Roman couple. But the circumstances surrounding Tiberius’ death, eighteen years after the marriage, seemed to foreshadow the difficult times ahead for Cornelia.
Tiberius came home one afternoon to find two rat snakes, a male and a female, curled up together on one of the pillows in the couple’s bed. Roman life is deeply interwoven with religious ceremony and rituals. Hardly a thing is done without a sacrifice to the gods or a reading of the auspices. It is not extreme to say that Romans consider everything a reflection of the mood of the gods, and something as unusual as finding snakes in one’s bed could not avoid being considered an omen of some kind.
My father, who abided closely with the religious rituals, as did Cornelia, captured the snakes and put them in a sackcloth bag, but he did not dispose of them until seeking the advice of an augur. The augur told Tiberius that the snakes were a sign of mixed meaning and that he had to make a choice. He should neither let both snakes go nor kill them. Instead he must kill one and let the other go. If, however, he killed the male, his own life would be in danger, and if he killed the female, Cornelia’s life would be at risk. Tiberius loved Cornelia like life itself. He had lived sixty years; she was in the prime of life. For him, the decision was easy. Without consulting Cornelia, he killed the male and let the female go. Within the month, Tiberius became severely ill.
Only on his deathbed, in his final hours, did he tell Cornelia about the snakes. Of course, this added an extra touch of personal sadness for Cornelia, a kind of double heartbreak, knowing her husband had sacrificed himself for her well-being. After the funeral, Cornelia, though in her early thirties, pledged to never remarry and to live the rest of her life in honor of Tiberius. I would wed Aemilianus the next year, and Cornelia would concentrate on raising her two young sons, educating them with the same effort and energy with which she had educated me, focusing on Greek literature and science, while also assuring they had proper military training. Gaius and Tiberius grew into fine young men, two of Rome’s finest, her jewels as Cornelia often referred to them. And she became known as the ideal Roman mother, a matron dedicated to the memory of her husband and the welfare of her children—a dedication that would be challenged in more ways than she could have ever imagined.
CHAPTER 18
During the three weeks that Tiberius was promulgating his land reform bill, Gaius learned that he was returning to Spain at the end of March. He was eager to go. His devotion to his military career, however, had been given a good shaking when he met the young woman who would be his wife. Knowing he could be gone as long as a year, he arranged a second visit to see Licinia before leaving. This was a big change, and everyone was pleased, no one more than Cornelia, who had needed to prod him to visit Licinia the first time.
As far as I knew, Gaius’ experience with women up to this point had been entirely innocent. I could only guess what he might have seen or done during his first year in the military, but I knew how he had been raised. He grew up among a group of families where all the women were educated and progressive. Neither Gaius nor Tiberius quite fit the role of a traditional Roman male. The physical side of their life and their military training had been rigorous. Cornelia had insisted on that. They were full-chested, physical specimens and extremely handsome—if you accept a sister’s opinion. But they were also of elevated sensitivity and capable of respect for and courtesy to women. Truly a rarity among Roman men.
Licinia certainly felt this when she first met Gaius, and she was as thrilled as he was when they had some time together one afternoon, three days prior to Gaius’ return to Spain. They sat out in the garden, all the plants bright green and sprouting anew. The slaves did their work in and around the house. Licinia’s mother passed through the peristyle a few times, but the couple was given a modicum of privacy and an opportunity to be alone. It was all part of the introduction process.
Gaius was quite different than his brother. He was generally quiet but capable of passionate outbursts. He sat down next to Licinia on the garden bench and got immediately to the point of his visit. “We are to be married in a year’s ti
me,” he said very businesslike.
Licinia bowed her head to hide how thrilled she was to see Gaius.
“I will be in Spain much of that time and wanted to see you once more before I left,” he hesitated, lowered his eyes, then looked up at her again, “because I truly enjoyed meeting you the first time.”
Licinia contained her smile. She was five years younger than Gaius in age but quite possibly his equal in maturity. “I believe we have been fortunate in this arrangement.”
“I was hoping that was how you felt.”
“It certainly makes things a bit easier.” Licinia now bestowed her best smile on him.
With no premeditation, Gaius reached down and put his hand on hers. She looked directly at him and grasped his hand. It passed between them with no words that at some time in the future they would share an even greater intimacy.
Licinia then asked the question she had been thinking about ever since her mother informed her that Gaius was coming to visit. “What is your role in the army?”
“I’m an equestrian in the cavalry. I had very little combat duty last year, but I expect that to increase in this second campaign.”
“Is it dangerous?”
Gaius understood what was behind her question. “All campaigns are dangerous. The travel is difficult. The life is hard. But it’s something I enjoy. Can you possibly see that I might?” Now it was his turn to offer Licinia his best smile.
Nor did she miss it. She squeezed his hand and looked down at her lap. “I will worry about you.” She looked up at him. “After such a grand match, it seems impossible that you won’t come back.” She compressed her lips to contain her emotion.
“I hope that’s true. The campaign will be difficult, and I will be in harm’s way. I expect that a significant number of the men who march out of Rome with me won’t come back.” He was serious and grim.
“Are you more at risk on a horse than a soldier on foot?”
“We’re told to think only of duty and dedication to the state. It makes it easier.”
“But are you at more risk?”
“Only if my skills are not the best.” He looked off momentarily. “The foot soldier, especially those in the front line, the hastati, face the highest likelihood of being killed. But fate chooses her victims without prejudice. I’m as likely to be pierced by an arrow as taken by fever.”
Licinia’s eyes were welling up, and she lowered her head so Gaius could not see. He squeezed her hand to get her to look at him. “Soldiers are taught not to think about it, and you shouldn’t either. Death is invariably an unannounced visitor. Even here in Rome you might fall victim to an illness or the bite of a spider, while I might survive all summer in a valley filled with the dead and wounded.”
Licinia embraced Gaius, pressing her face against his shoulder to hide her tears.
“Come now, future wife.” He let his head lay against hers, close to her ear. “As you said,” he whispered, “we are too well-fated to have any but the best outcomes.”
Licinia released him to sit back and look into his face, then smiled. “Yes, that’s right.” She touched him on the cheek with her finger. “Next time we share time on this bench that will be a kiss.”
CHAPTER 19
One month after Tiberius introduced his bill to the public, the tribunate called for a meeting of the People’s Assembly to vote on land reform. Shortly before dawn, the day of the Assembly, large clusters of plebeians began the trek to the top the Capitoline Hill where the voting would take place. Tiberius, a man who rarely showed his emotions, could not have been more excited. The bill marked the beginning of his political career, and it was something he believed in deeply. He felt he was doing Rome an important service, and as he climbed the Capitoline Hill that day, he felt exhilarated and filled with pride. He had done the footwork and made the effort to reach as many people as he could. He knew what his constituents thought about the bill and had little doubt it would pass. Then the real work of putting the law into action would begin.
The temple of Jupiter, referred to as the Capitoline Triad because it contained the statues of three gods—Jupiter, Minerva, and Juno, sat on the crest of the hill, facing a large, open field. As the sun broke the horizon in the east, some thirty thousand plebs milled around in the field assembling into their tribes. A tribunal was set up in front of the temple. The tribunes would address the Assembly and supervise the process of voting from this upraised platform. The ten tribunes gathered behind the platform to draw lots to determine who would preside. Blossius and Diophanes stood off to one side of the tribunal to watch. Appius and Crassus were also there but in a less conspicuous location.
The tribune Rubrius Varro drew the proper lot. He was a little older than Tiberius and had experience as an aedile. Unusually tall for a Roman, he wore his black hair long and had a clean-shaven face. He opened the Assembly with a sacrifice to Jupiter and the reading of the entrails. He then called for the poulterer.
The poulterer came forward with a wooden cage containing three chickens. Rubrius accepted a handful of feed from the poulterer and sprinkled it into the cage. The measure of the moment was revealed by how eagerly the chickens consumed the feed. On this occasion they ate but not with great energy. Rubrius interpreted this as an acceptable response and announced that the gods conferred their blessings on the upcoming vote.
The crowd, which had been quiet during the religious ceremonies, now began to talk excitedly among themselves in anticipation of the vote. Despite his confidence that the bill would pass, Tiberius was well aware of Publius Nasica’s visit to our mother’s home and his cousin’s influence in the Senate. He anticipated difficulties down the road, but not today. The vote would be a celebration of populist ideals, another step toward bringing greater balance to the workings of the Republic. And once the bill had become law, only another vote by the Assembly could repeal it.
Before the ballots were collected the entire bill had to be read to the Assembly. A herald climbed onto the tribunal with a scroll in his hand. He stood up to the wooden podium in the center of the platform and placed the scroll in front of him, then lifted his hands for quiet. When the commotion settled down to a low buzz, he unrolled the scroll.
As the herald positioned himself to read the bill, Marcus Octavius, one of the ten tribunes standing behind the herald, stepped forward. “I am vetoing the land reform bill and forbid the herald from reading it.”
The entire Assembly was stunned. Although entirely unexpected, Octavius’ call to halt the reading was legal. Each of the ten tribunes had the power to impose a veto on any law or magisterial action. Octavius was a longtime friend of Tiberius’ and his veto came as a complete surprise to him. He quickly strode across the platform to confront his friend.
“Why are you doing this, Octavius? Have I somehow insulted you or your family? I don’t understand.”
“It’s not a good law.”
“What do you mean? This proposal is designed to increase the security of the state. What are your objections?”
When Octavius didn’t answer, Tiberius, always a calm and patient man, paced twice across the stage, clearly fighting his emotions. He approached Octavius for a second time. “Is it your own land holdings, Octavius?”
Octavius still didn’t respond.
“Is that it? You’re protecting your own interests.”
Octavius glanced to the far edge of the crowd. Several of the largest landowners, all patricians, were standing in a group to watch the proceedings. Publius Nasica’s presence could not be missed.
Tiberius understood right away. Octavius was under the sway of outside forces. He shook his head in dismay. “Octavius, forget these other men. I don’t know what influence they have over you, but if it’s your own property that you want to protect, I will reimburse you personally for whatever you might lose. This law is too important to be blocked by one man’s petty needs.”
Tiberius told the herald to go ahead and read the bill, but no sooner did the man
pronounce the first words, than Octavius placed his hand on the open scroll to stop him—again imposing his veto.
By this time the Assembly had broken order. The crowd that had been aligned in its thirty-five tribes turned into a mob. Men shouted at the herald to get on with it. Others targeted Octavius with abuse. The rest talked among themselves, trying to make sense of what was happening. They wanted to vote.
Tiberius feared for the life of his bill. He wanted a chance to talk to Octavius in private. He considered him an honorable man who would be open to reason. Tiberius spoke quickly to Rubrius Varro. Rubrius stepped up to the podium and told the increasingly rowdy Assembly that the meeting was over for the day, and that they would reconvene in two days to vote on the bill.
CHAPTER 20
Following the dismissal of the Assembly, Tiberius asked Blossius and Appius to meet him at Cornelia’s house at noon the next day. My husband Aemilianus had only recently left for Numantia, as had Gaius. I was with Cornelia in the peristyle when Tiberius arrived. He was clearly out of sorts.
Cornelia met him in the atrium. I could hear them talking. “I heard what happened, Tiberius. Have you talked to Octavius?”
“I’ve been trying to find him all morning. I finally learned that he has left the city entirely. Apparently he has no interest in conferring with me.”
They came into the peristyle. Tiberius looked at me and shook his head sadly.
“Do you think he’s been bought off?” I asked.
“That’s all I can figure. He’s also subject to property losses, but not so grand as some of the senators I saw at the Assembly. Publius Nasica was with them. He appears to be their leader. My own cousin!”
“Do you think they got to Octavius before the election and prompted him to run for the tribunate to represent their interests?”
Cornelia- the First Woman of Rome Page 8
