Cornelia- the First Woman of Rome

by Dan Armstrong

  Regardless of her motivation, Aemilia was a fine woman. Some might argue that she was the most notable woman in Roman history to that point. I give her credit, but would argue in favor of her daughter’s superiority, in part because of the sons she raised and their impact on the course of Roman politics.

  CHAPTER 53

  A week after Cornelia returned to Misenum with Claudia and her children, I was called on to be a witness in a trial at the forum. Fortunately it had nothing to do with Aemilianus or his death.

  Appuleius Saturninus, a man associated with the populares, put forth a candidate for one of the tribune positions, a Lucius Equitius, who claimed to be the illegitimate son of my brother Tiberius. Saturninus felt that the Gracchi connection would help Equitius get elected. The censor at that time, Metellus Numidicus, intervened saying there was no evidence that Equitius was even a citizen, much less the offspring of Tiberius Gracchus.

  I knew nothing of this until Saturninus charged Metellus with dereliction of duty, claiming that he had not done enough research to prove or disprove Equitius’ identity. “The censor,” he said, “is simply acting on his hatred of me and the issues I stand for.” This led to a trial, and the day before, Metellus sent a subordinate to my house requesting that I appear as a witness to verify if Equitius was my brother’s son or not.

  One of Metellus’ slaves came to my home the next morning with a litter and four bearers. I was taken to Metellus who stood at the edge of the forum, a short distance from the Basilica Porcia where the trial would take place. Metellus, a man I had never met, described the situation in greater detail than his messenger had the day before, adding that he was certain the man was an imposter. “I have told no one, Sempronia,” he confided, “that you will be a witness. Everyone knows that your brother and mother are not in Rome. No one will expect you to be here. That you are a woman will also cause some controversy. I hope you are up to it.”

  “I am a capable speaker,” I said, though I had no public experience, “and I will do everything I can to defend my brother’s name.”

  “Perfect. Stay here with my slaves. I will motion to you when the time comes for you to testify.”

  The trial began with Saturninus making his accusation against Metellus. From where I stood, I could see the proceedings but hear little of what was said. A senator, whom I did not recognize, acted as the judge. He sat at a table with a number of documents laid out before him. A jury of fifty-one men sat to his right. Because there was quite a lot at stake in the trial, a good number of onlookers, perhaps two hundred, some senators, fanned out around the periphery of the covered court.

  I watched Saturninus bring forward a man I assumed was Lucius Equitius. The judge asked him a few questions. All I could see was that the senator seemed to be nodding and agreeing with what was said. Equitius remained before the judge while Metellus made his argument. It was not long before he turned and motioned to me.

  It was late fall and brisk. A layer of low gray clouds covered the sky. I had tried to dress as simply as possible. I wore a pale blue stola over a tunic, with a pale blue sash tied at my waist. I also had a hooded wool cape, dyed black, on my shoulders. My hair was braided and coiled on each side of my head and covered with a transparent blue palla.

  I had decided not to use my crutch and instead relied entirely on my new supportive shoe, a second made by the same cobbler. It was more like a boot than a sandal and worked better than the first, but I could only wear it for short periods of time because of its stiffness. It was already beginning to bother me when I crossed the forum into the realm of men. I forced myself not to limp or show any sign of weakness.

  Everyone turned as I approached. Muttered comments spread through the audience as I advanced to the front of the court. The judge frowned at me, then looked at Metellus. “You have a woman for a witness? I’ve never seen this before, nor am I happy to now.”

  Saturninus said something considerably more offensive under his breath. Many of the men present laughed. I remained stiff and upright, gritting my teeth to bear the pain in my ankle.

  Metellus did not back off. “This woman is Sempronia Gracchus, Tiberius’ sister. I believe she is the most qualified person in Rome to make a judgment on this man Equitius.”

  “I object,” snapped Saturninus. “The words of a woman can’t hold up in court. I demand you dismiss this witness immediately.” Several other men in the audience called out in approval.

  The judge seemed to consider the objection, then shook his head. “The woman is a family member. If anyone would know, she would. I’d like to hear what she has to say.”

  Metellus, an older, heavyset man, turned to me. “You’ve had a look at this man, Sempronia. Could this man be your nephew?”

  Grim, angry men surrounded me. I was out of place and frightened. I gathered myself and tried to imagine that I was Tiberius speaking at the forum. “My brother did not live loosely. As everyone knows he was a man of honor and pride. He had no illegitimate children and this man is an imposter.”

  Saturninus came up close to me, playing to the crowd. “How could a sister know what her brother did when she was not around? Didn’t Tiberius serve twelve campaigns in the military? What soldier comes back from a conquest without a taste of the spoils?” Several voices in the audience expressed the clear sense of this statement. “No matter what Tiberius’ life was like here in Rome, a man is a man when at war, and it serves no strike against his honor.” A chorus of that’s right and how could it be otherwise? sounded from the onlookers.

  One man shouted, “Kiss your nephew for us! That will prove his blood.”

  I stared the man down. “You may kiss him if you like, sir, but he is no kin of mine. Look at his short forehead and the closeness of his eyes. If my family is known for anything, it’s a countenance expressing intelligence.”

  A few men laughed at my critique of Equitius, but kiss your nephew was repeated by many others. The judge called for quiet. “Does the witness have anything else to say?”

  “Yes. I’d like to know how old this man is. Shouldn’t he be at least twenty-five to run for the tribunate?”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” said the judge. “How old are you, Equitius? Tell the court.”

  “Twenty-five. Just this year.”

  “If this man is twenty-five, my brother, who would be thirty-five were he alive, would have been ten years old at the time of this imposter’s birth. I lived with Tiberius when he was ten. I was his older sister. He bathed in my presence as a child. I can attest that he had not achieved the hair of a man at age ten nor did he show the slightest interest in women.”

  As soon as I said what should have been so obvious, the entire crowd groaned. My argument was more than sound. Saturninus took a deep breath and looked at Equitius, a look that exposed how foolish he felt. Metellus hid his grin. The judge stood. “I dismiss the charge against Metellus Numidicus. This man is not the offspring of Tiberius Gracchus. He is not a citizen, and he cannot run for the position of tribune.”

  After Saturninus and Equitius and their friends slumped away in a group, the judge addressed me. “Thank you, Sempronia. I should have known the granddaughter of Africanus would make a just witness. My apologies for the comments of the others.”

  I thanked the judge for his kind words, then confessed to Metellus that my ankle was bothering me. He was more than happy to help me back to the litter, repeating his thanks over and over again. “How odd no one had the forethought to find out your brother’s exact age. You made a difficult case easy.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Polybius was at my house when I returned from the forum. He was pacing in the atrium waiting for me. He had caught me at a bad time. The trial had angered me, but also emboldened me. And my ankle was screaming with pain. Polybius immediately saw how badly I was limping, and though an old man, an old man in good health, he came to the door to help me before Nadia had the chance. He assisted me into the atrium and onto a bench, then sat beside me.

&
nbsp; I asked Nadia to bring me a bucket of warm water.

  “You don’t look well, Sempronia.” He said it with genuine feeling.

  “It’s this ankle, Polybius. I just can’t be on it for long periods of time.”

  He nodded, fully understanding. “I’ve been here a while. I spoke with the slaves. I’m still trying to put together what happened that night Aemilianus was murdered.”

  “Were the slaves of any help?”

  “Not really. It was difficult to ask the questions without giving away my purpose. Both Veda and Tarus were asleep and heard nothing. Nadia said she heard what she assumed was Aemilianus moving around in the house after dark, but nothing more. If someone else was here, no one saw them. And yet, there were marks on Aemilianus’ neck. He was definitely strangled.” He looked directly at me. “And he was poisoned.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “I could smell the hemlock on his breath and in his cup. I went out into the city looking for it, but had no luck. It’s my only lead. Have you any idea where someone might get hemlock?”

  “No, not at all. I don’t get out that much. Today was a rarity.”

  “You were a witness at a trial?” He was well aware of the nature of the trial.

  I nodded. “I did a lot of standing around. It’s why my ankle aches so badly now.”

  “How did it go?”

  “It was belittling,” I said. “But I convinced them the man was not Tiberius’ son.”

  “Even during the pillaging of Carthage, Tiberius didn’t go after the women. It’s not who he was.” Polybius glanced round the atrium finally fixing on the stairs. “Did you come down from your bedroom the night Aemilianus was murdered?”

  “No.”

  “When did you last see him alive?”

  “The day before you found him—in the afternoon when he returned from the Senate. I went upstairs shortly afterwards. I didn’t even eat with him that night.” Now Polybius was quizzing me! I wanted to make a point. I lifted the hem of my stola and began to uncinch my boot. “I can’t go anywhere near those stairs alone.” I opened the boot and peeled back the leather to release the pressure on my ankle. I usually had Nadia help me, but by doing it myself I was able to add a touch of drama when I slipped my foot from the shoe.

  It had never looked worse. Polybius sat back at the sight of it. Nadia arrived with the bucket. I dipped my foot into the warm water and immediately felt relief. I waved Nadia from the room and tried to get comfortable on the bench.

  Polybius gave me a moment to get situated. “Sempronia, is there anyone that you suspect—even the slightest?”

  “I know my brother has been mentioned, but I’ve spoken to him. I would stake my life that it wasn’t him. I can only imagine it was an angry pleb or a few of them. You know how the populace had turned on Aemilianus. At the end he hated them as much as they hated him. If you recall, he was attacked in the street not that long before he was murdered.”

  “Yes, that was when Tarus was struck on the head.” Polybius got up and walked over to the library. He stared into the room as though thinking what might have happened that night.

  “And you’ve ruled out suicide?” I asked. “He was under a lot of pressure.”

  “It wouldn’t have been like him. And with the marks on his throat, it seems impossible. Just to make sure I took the liberty of searching the kitchen and his bedroom while you were out.”

  My heart rose into my throat. “You didn’t find anything did you? None of the slaves could have done it. I’m confident of their loyalty.”

  “I think you’re right about that. It was always my opinion that the house slaves liked Aemilianus despite his stiff manner.”

  He had evaded my question about finding anything. “So what are you thinking?”

  Polybius came back to the bench and stood beside me. “It’s confusing. I’m sure he was poisoned. And those marks on his neck were real. I’ve been wondering if the person who poisoned him didn’t give him enough, then strangled him when he was weakened. Otherwise I just don’t see how anyone could have killed him without a fight or without the aid of several other people. He was too strong. And yet from everything I’ve heard from you and the slaves, there was no commotion.” He peered down at me. “I’m thinking it was someone he knew—maybe very well.”

  “Are you still thinking Carbo or Fulvius?”

  “They had motive, but I’ve yet to find any other connection.”

  “Maybe someone came by to help him with the speech that night. And no one noticed.”

  Polybius nodded slowly. “That’s possible. But who would that be? It could only be a friend. Like me. That’s why I came by in the morning.” He stared at the stairs again. “Locating a source of hemlock is probably my best chance of finding out something more. Are you sure? You’ve no idea where I might find some?”

  Why did he ask this again? Had he found the hemlock beneath my bed? “No, it’s not something I would ever need.”

  “Who would? But a murderer.” He smiled, then touched me on the shoulder. “I should get going. I can see you want a chance to lie down.”

  “I do.” I stared down at my foot in the bucket.

  “I’ll be back. I’m sure you’re as interested in finding the killer as I am.”

  I could barely look him in the eye. I muttered, “Yes, of course.” Then glanced to the back of the house. “Nadia? Please come out here. I need your help.”

  “Another day,” he said politely and walked out of the atrium.

  By the time he was gone, Nadia was there with a towel. She dried my foot then helped me climb to the second floor and get into bed. I was tempted to ask her about Polybius’ questions, but feared it would only raise suspicions about something I wanted to keep quiet just as much as Polybius did.

  After Nadia had gone downstairs, I slipped out of the bed and looked underneath to see if the hemlock were still there. It was—but had it been moved? I was not sure. Something seemed different—or was it my memory? Or my guilt? Did Polybius know? Had he been trying to get me to confess so he would not have to accuse me to my face? That was all I could figure. How many sources of hemlock existed in Rome? There had to be more than one. Many more. But if he found that same woman, she would remember the woman with the limp and a crutch. Maybe I should just confess—or take the rest of the hemlock?

  CHAPTER 55

  I expected Polybius to return any day with news that he had found the source of the poison. If he did, I would confess. I could not play this game any longer. He was too wise, too insightful. I had made mistakes and he would discover them.

  I woke up one morning before sunrise with Aemilianus sitting at the end of my bed. Somehow I did not scream. He spoke to me as Africanus had to him. “Why did you poison me?” he asked, little more than a shadow in the dimly lit room.

  I was too frightened to answer.

  He lifted this head and rubbed the side of his neck. “I know you didn’t do this.” He almost smiled.

  Fighting my fear, I asked, “Who did?”

  “Your brother.”

  “No, Aemilianus, he didn’t. I’m sure of that.”

  He grinned now in a way he never had. “He may as well have.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Follow the thread,” whispered the fading vapor.

  I lay beneath the sheets until dawn thinking about the strange visitation, then climbed out of bed and went to my jewelry box. Even in the poor light, I could see the piece of thread and took it out of the box.

  After I had dressed and worked my way down the stairs, I crossed the atrium to the sewing room. The room contained two frames for weaving and three spinning wheels. The slaves used them to make our clothing. I enjoyed spinning and weaving and often used them myself.

  A wooden box in the corner of the room contained spools of thread, big ones, little ones, all colors. I dug into the box, looking at every spool. I found a small spool with not many turns of thread around it. I took it out i
nto the sunlight and saw that it was the same as the thread I had found in the library.

  I called for Nadia and asked her if she had ever used it.

  “Yes, my lady, on the clothing for the slave’s children.”

  “Oh yes, of course.” Slaves often had children. They lived in the slaves’ quarters with their mothers, and because they became the property of the master, were generally welcomed. One of the children was Nadia’s. Seven years earlier Nadia and Philocrates had become close and had a son, Aesop. As marriage among slaves, especially of different owners, was frowned upon, their relationship did not sustain, but they did remain friends and Aesop lived with Nadia. Philocrates would visit him when Gaius came to my house.

  “I embroider with it, my lady. Would you like me to do the same for you?”

  “No, thank you. I just saw it and thought it was pretty. How long have we had it?”

  “Years. I spun it myself. Maybe I should make some more.”

  “If you like.”

  “Anything else, my lady?”

  “No, I was just curious.”

  When I returned to the atrium, I thought about it. It seemed unlikely that the thread was a clue to the murder. It could have been caught on the splinter days, weeks, or even months before Aemilianus’ death. The only thing that made me think otherwise were the words spoken by whatever it was I had seen or dreamed that morning.

  CHAPTER 56

  Two weeks passed without any word from Polybius. I got a letter from my mother. Physcon had returned. There was a civil war going on in Egypt. Over the last year he had lost control of Alexandria where his sister Cleopatra had secluded herself for safety. The stress of besieging the fabled city had worn him down. He came to Misenum seeking sanctuary. Cornelia’s letter ended with a request that I come to Misenum to help her with the Egyptian pharaoh. She would organize a circle, include him, and afterward politely send him back to Egypt. There was nothing I wanted more than to get out of Rome. After Aemilianus’ death I had a four-wheel carriage built for myself. I knew I would travel to Misenum several times a year. Why not have a nice carriage? The trip to Misenum would be its first time out of the city.