“That’s very possible, Mother. Who could have imagined such a thing?”
“Apparently my nephew,” sighed Cornelia.
“How are you, Tiberius?” I asked.
“Not good.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I’m not quite sure. Blossius and Appius should be here soon. I want to talk to them before I make any decisions.”
“What kind of support do you have from the other tribunes?”
“Not the best. I think my determination to get this done has them on edge.”
We could hear noise coming from the front of the house.
“That must be Blossius and Appius,” said Tiberius. “I’m going to take them to the library. Mother, you’re welcome to join us. As are you, Sempronia.”
We followed Tiberius to the atrium where Blossius and Appius were waiting. The five of us spent most of the afternoon in the library. There were no good ideas. Appius was as angry as anyone about what had happened, but he also knew what had gone on behind the scenes.
“The pontiff and his friends have been working on this since you first made the bill public. Apparently they targeted Octavius from the beginning. I don’t know if they bought him off or what. But evidently they’re prepared to do anything to stop you.”
“And I’m prepared to do anything to put the law in place.”
I had never seen Tiberius so worked up. I always imagined him to be one of the most even-tempered people I knew. He was much like Cornelia, reason invariably trumped passion. But he was surely struggling with that now.
“Do you remember what happened six years ago, when one of the tribunes proposed a law that would require the election of magistrates to be conducted by ballot instead of voice?” asked Cornelia. “It was something heavily opposed by the senators. They thought it would interfere with their ability to sway the vote. Much like they have with Octavius, they prompted one of the tribunes to veto the measure.”
“Yes, I remember that, Mother,” said Tiberius, “Aemilianus stepped in and convinced the tribune to drop his veto. But Octavius won’t even talk to me, and Aemilianus is in Spain. I have no idea how to make him change his mind.”
“I’m not so sure Aemilianus would be of any help, brother.”
Tiberius nodded. “He wasn’t too excited about my idea, was he?”
“The central purpose of the tribunate is to represent the view of the people,” stated Blossius, who had already filled a cup with my mother’s best wine. “Make Octavius defend his veto on those grounds. Everything that this law is trying to do is for the good of the people. Beyond that it’s good for the community and the state of Rome. Demand that he explain to the Assembly how plebeians stand to gain from his veto. Ask him to defend his position from the perspective of the common man.”
“Blossius is right,” said Appius. “Tomorrow, if he throws down his veto, put him on the spot. Ask him how his position benefits the people.”
“Or ask him if there are specific parts of the law that particularly offend him,” added Cornelia. “Ask him what changes would make the law more acceptable.”
“That’s giving in, Cornelia.” Blossius threw down what was in his cup then refilled it. “Make him defend his veto.”
“I agree with Blossius, Mother. I don’t see any room for compromise. We are in the right. His motives are transparent to everyone. He represents the optimates.”
Appius nodded. “And you would be wise to gather your clients. Bring them to the Assembly tomorrow and make their presence widely known.”
Cornelia frowned. “For what reason?”
“To let Octavius know we mean business.”
Tiberius looked at his mother, then Appius. “No, I’m against using any kind of intimidation.”
“Maybe it’s not a bad idea,” said Blossius. “For your own protection. You’ve challenged a powerful group of men.”
Cornelia stared at the floor and shook her head. Tiberius put his arm around her shoulder. “I’ll make Octavius defend his position. That should be good enough.”
CHAPTER 21
Anticipation for the second attempt to vote on land reform could not have been greater. Both the common citizen and the wealthy aristocrat were on edge wondering how Octavius would respond to the building pressure to rescind his veto. Plebeians began gathering on the top of the Capitoline Hill before dawn to assemble into their tribes. It was a typical day in late April, cool with a threat of rain. Nearly everyone wore a woolen cloak over his toga. A large contingent of landowners led by three senators, Publius Nasica, Titus Annius in his orange wig, and Quintus Pompeius, arrived at sunrise and fanned out along the Assembly perimeter to monitor the proceedings. Blossius and Diophanes watched from the right of the tribunal.
The tribune Publius Satureius was chosen by lot to preside. The necessary religious ceremonies were completed without any untoward results. Satureius stepped up to the podium and asked the herald to read the bill. The buzzing Assembly went quiet. The other nine tribunes stood in a line across the rear of the tribunal, Octavius at one end, Tiberius at the other. Octavius did not hesitate. He announced his veto before the herald had a chance to unroll the scroll.
Tiberius stalked across the platform and faced Octavius. “If you are so intent on blocking this bill, Tribune,” said Tiberius derisively, “please tell your constituency why you’re doing it. Tell them how your veto benefits them.”
Octavius said nothing.
Tiberius asked him again. “How does your veto benefit these people? Please tell them. They’re anxious to vote.”
Several of those standing up close to tribunal shouted at Octavius to answer the question. Others taunted his silence. When Tiberius posed the question a third time, Octavius answered with the same slogans the optimates had been using since the beginning. “This law will disrupt the natural order of our society. Taking land from our wealthiest citizens will weaken the Republic. These are the men that take the most responsibility for our state, leading our legions and doing the work of the Senate. Weakening them impairs their ability to govern.”
Tiberius shook his head at Octavius’ defense. “So you’re saying that these men, who already have great wealth, will be impaired by giving up land they acquired illegally?”
Octavius became incensed. “The ownership of land has always been the standard of responsibility in Roman politics. These men have dedicated their entire lives to the state, something only men of substance can do. Why should we suddenly penalize some of our oldest families for their accumulation of land, something achieved over many generations—and not illegally as you say. It was fair reward for their successful military campaigns and the glory they have won for Rome.”
Tiberius had arrived that morning containing a deep anger. He bit onto his words to keep from freeing it. “But can’t much the same be said of the ordinary citizen? Won’t that man make a better soldier if he has something at stake when he risks his life?”
This brought a great roar of approval from the Assembly. “Yes, yes,” they shouted.
Octavius tried to turn away from Tiberius. Tiberius put his hand on Octavius’ shoulder, forcing him to face the audience. “Tell the Assembly why your veto is good for them? Not why it’s good for the patricians.”
Octavius forcefully pushed Tiberius’ hand away, glared at Tiberius, then snarled at the crowd. “Why do you seek to punish the greatest men of our time by taking their land? Is it simply to give gifts to those who have not earned it? Have not led armies or sorted through piles of legislative documents for hours on end?”
The crowd responded with a shower of boos and catcalls. Tiberius looked to the heavens, then addressed the Assembly. “This is some tribune we have here.” He motioned with his open hand to Octavius. “His heart bleeds for the aristocrats even though he was elected to represent you.”
Octavius turned to leave the stage, and for a second time Tiberius stopped him with his hand. “What does this veto do for the common citizen, Octavius?
Please tell us before you run off to hide.”
Octavius snapped. He pushed Tiberius in the chest. The two men were at each other, wrestling more than throwing fists. The other tribunes rushed forward to pull them apart. Several plebeians rushed the stage as the Assembly edged into chaos.
Two previous consuls, Gaius Fulvius Flaccus and Marcus Manilius, both friends of Tiberius’ father, were there to watch. They forced their way onto the stage, and through their personal reputation and prestige, managed to quiet the crowd. Then they asked Publius Satureius to call off the meeting for the day.
Tiberius, held by two tribunes, screamed at Octavius as he hurried off the platform, where he was immediately surrounded by the clients of Publius Nasica and Titus Annius and escorted off the hill.
After the Assembly had dispersed, Fulvius stepped up close to Tiberius, furious at him for losing his composure. “Tiberius, get a hold of yourself. This is not the proper way to stop a veto.”
“Then what is?” sneered Tiberius, way out of character.
“Go to the Senate tomorrow. Make your case. Maybe it was a mistake not to do that in the first place. Ask their opinion of the bill. Argue for their support. With the backing of the Senate, these others that are blocking the bill might back off.”
Blossius was now on the stage beside Tiberius. He agreed with Fulvius. “Yes, Tiberius, he’s right. There’s that slim chance the Senate will understand the value of what you’re asking for. We don’t really know where the majority stands. Surely some of the senators will come to your aid.”
Tiberius gradually calmed. He was not convinced, but he told his friends that he would take their advice.
CHAPTER 22
Tiberius lived on the Palatine Hill in Rome’s wealthiest neighborhood, but his home was not overly large or ornate. Like his father, Tiberius lived a relatively austere life, reminiscent of Roman life one hundred years earlier.
Tiberius went home after the second failed vote, utterly exasperated. Claudia met him as he came through the front door. Tiberius and his wife were well-suited. Much like her husband, Claudia embraced the simpler life. Her stola was bleached wool. She wore no face paint, and her only jewelry was a pearl pendant on a necklace of gold chain. She saw everything she needed to know in Tiberius’ face and immediately embraced him. He allowed her to hold him for only a moment, then turned away, distracted by the fact that he would have to confront the Senate the next day. He also felt bad about arguing with Octavius. The ten tribunes of the plebs were supposed to be of one mind. What had happened was like a family fighting in public
“I’m guessing you didn’t talk Octavius out of the veto,” said Claudia, following Tiberius into the house, really more concerned about his well-being than his politics. She, like the entire Gracchi family, was well-educated and capable of both speaking and writing in Greek, but she didn’t follow politics the way the rest of the family did. Her only real political interest was how it affected her husband.
Tiberius stood in the atrium and stared up at the sky for some time before responding to his wife’s question. “It went badly. Octavius imposed his veto for a second time. I’m going to the Senate tomorrow to ask for their support.” His tone exposed his skepticism. “I have no idea how that will work out. I just can’t believe this is what it’s come to—a fight within the tribunate.” He shook his head, then suddenly caught himself. He smiled at Claudia and opened his arms to her. “But I should let it rest for the evening.”
Claudia nestled into his arms and looked up at him.
He kissed her on the forehead. “Please forgive me for the mood I’m in. All of this is very difficult, but I shouldn’t let it into our home. Where are the children?”
Claudia remained in Tiberius’ arms, already well aware that his initial coldness had not been directed at her. She knew of no man as caring and thoughtful as her husband. “Tiberius is with Ada in the triclinium. Sempronia’s in bed.”
Even as simply as my brother and his wife lived, they had four slaves. Ada was an olive-skinned Iberian from the Ilergertes tribe. She had been with them since their son’s birth. Despite Tiberius’ recent concern over the number of slaves working the land, like many Romans, the couple had become accustomed to the luxury of house slaves, and thought little of it. Claudia touched her husband’s cheek. “I’ll have Tiberius brought to you when he’s finished eating.”
“I’m already done,” shouted the young boy as he dashed out of the triclinium and ran to his father. “Father, I saw two snakes today.”
Tiberius let go of Claudia to catch his five-year-old son in his arms. He swung the little man around once then placed him on a bench beside the pool so he could look him in the eyes.
“Where were they?”
“I found them together in your favorite helmet. They had laid eggs.”
“Truly?” Tiberius could not help remembering the story of our father’s death. “What did the snakes look like?”
“They were brown with cross hatching on their backs. Ada said they were rat snakes and that they caught rodents.”
He thought of the seer’s advice to his father. Let one go, kill the other. “And she let them both go?”
“Yes, even though I wanted to keep them, and then she threw out the eggs.”
Tiberius touched his son’s cheek. “They are better off free, son. And you, I believe, would be better off in bed. It’s late.”
“But I’m not tired. I don’t want to go to bed.”
Ada had followed Tiberius out of the triclinium. “I’ll take him, sir.”
The little boy jumped off the bench and took off at a run, but Claudia caught him and directed him to the housemaid. The boy and slave ascended to the second floor of the atrium, leaving Tiberius standing at the edge of the pool, looking into the water, clearly distracted by what lay ahead, and deeply disturbed that the argument today had nearly come to blows.
Claudia watched her husband stare at his reflection. She had never seen him so upset.
CHAPTER 23
Tiberius went to the Curia before sunrise the next morning. The entire city knew that he would be asking the Senate for an opinion on his land reform bill. The forum and the area around the comitium were already packed with anxious Roman citizens when he arrived with Blossius, Diophanes, and ten of his clients.
The sacrifice prior to convening the Senate took place at dawn. Publius Nasica read the entrails and solemnly reported no abnormalities. Once inside the Curia, which quickly filled with curious citizens, Nasica also served as the aruspex. The chickens ate with vigor, and he announced that the auspices were favorable for that day’s session of the Senate. The presiding consul, Mucius Scaevola, took his seat in one of the two ivory chairs that faced the three hundred senators seated in the amphitheater. The other consul, Calpurnius Piso, was in Sicily to put down the slave rebellion.
Tiberius and his advisors huddled to the left of the amphitheater, talking last-minute strategy, trying to make a headcount of the senators for and against the bill. On the opposite side of the room, nearly hidden in the shadows was Octavius, surrounded by his handlers’ clients.
The bill had been public for over a month now, and many of the senators had already made their positions known. The co-consuls were split on the subject. Mucius Scaevola, Publius Crassus’ brother, supported it; Calpurnius Piso did not. It was fortunate he was absent.
After the ordinary day-to-day business of the Senate was completed and the reports from the Roman provinces were given, Scaevola recognized Appius Claudius. Although everyone present was already well aware of what had happened, Appius described the events that had taken place at the People’s Assembly, then requested that Tiberius be given a chance to speak. The request was accepted and Tiberius, wearing a white toga over a tunic, made his way from the perimeter of the room to the center of the floor.
“By an oversight of mine,” he began, talking with his usual calm, “I did not bring my land reform bill to the Senate prior to asking the People’s Assemb
ly to vote on it. That was clearly a mistake on my part which I am trying to make amends for today. The tribunate has not been able to come to a consensus on the bill, and I’m hoping to get an advisory statement from the Senate so that we might move forward with the law.”
Tiberius went on to review the basic provisions of the law, fully aware that everyone in the Senate had already read the bill. When he finished, Scaevola asked for comments from the senators.
Quintus Pompeius stood up. “Even should this law be passed, I simply can’t see how the division of land could be done equitably. The land that I own goes back several generations in my family. We have developed it, built our tombs on it, and even used it as collateral on loans that are still active. Who could possibly decide which part of our land we are to keep and which part we are to lose? Inequity is certain. I consider it a bad bill.”
Titus Annius followed Pompeius. “What of compensation? All I see in this bill is that those who have exceeded land limits will not be fined and will get a deed for the land they are allowed to retain.” He lifted his arms in exasperation. “Need I remind you, Tiberius, that those land limits you allude to go back two hundred years and haven’t been enforced in a hundred? Those regulations are obsolete. Your compensation is worse than an insult. It’s a bad joke.”
“That’s not quite true, Senator,” responded Tiberius. “As recently as my father’s first consulship those regulations were seen as enforceable. It’s just that no one had the courage to do it.”
Publius Nasica was given the floor when Annius sat down. He glared at Tiberius then turned to his fellow senators. “It’s no wonder the tribunate can’t agree on this law—it’s a deliberate confiscation of wealth and undermines the efforts of the best men in the commonwealth. This bill is nothing short of treason. In my mind, there is only one possible answer to Tiberius’ request. This law should never go to vote.”
Appius stood up. “You’re exaggerating, Senator. The law is not treason. It’s for the betterment of the common man and the security of Rome. The ownership of land gives the common man a stake in the state and a reason to put his life on the line for Rome.”
Cornelia- the First Woman of Rome Page 9
