Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  “Tiberius, you are picking, not eating.”

  “Yes, Mother. I’m not ferociously hungry.”

  “But you just exercised,” she pointed out.

  “True, but my appetite fails me. Too much on my mind, I suppose.”

  Claudia leaned into him, her beautiful eyes again riveting his attention with their loving concern. “Don’t worry, Tiberius. It will work out as designed.”

  “I wish I could be so sure,” he sighed.

  “Now, now,” she said, placing her hand on his forearm, “it will, and if it doesn’t this time, it only means you’ll have to stay here at home with me a little longer. Is that so terrible?” she said, smiling. But he could see the worry behind her eyes. She’d much rather he stayed at home than go to the wilds of Hispania.

  He smiled wanly, “Of course, my love. Either way is good for me.”

  “Huh!” Cornelia expelled. “Either way is not good for you; you must go to Numantia. These opportunities do not come as often as they used to, Rome has been too successful in its domination. If you don’t go now, you may never go. No, Numantia is the key to your future, not lying around this house with your wife, creating more mouths to feed. You must go to Numantia!”

  Polydius burst in, breathless from his run-walking pace to get there as soon as he could.

  Tiberius shot up from his bench. “Well, Polydius? How did it go?”

  The tall Greek bent over to grasp his knees, pulling in breath as fast as he could.

  “Get him wine, Lysis. Sit, Polydius, sit and tell us what happened.”

  Polydius gulped, and said, “You won’t believe what I have to say—an amazing, bizarre mash of events. Amazing!”

  “All right, enough theatrics; tell us what happened,” snapped Cornelia. “Is Tiberius going to Hispania, or isn’t he?”

  “No, Mother, let him tell it in his own way, from the beginning.” She glowered at him, but he held up his hand and shook his head. Sullenly, she sat back to listen.

  “Astonishing,” said Polydius. “Well, then. I made my way to the Senate building early, to get a good vantage point....”

  As the Senate members roared their approval, Polydius almost fell over the ledge of the window into the Senate chamber, so stunned was he by Appius’s nomination. Scipio! Tiberius’ despised brother-in-law, the last one he would want as his commander, and the last to have him as quaestor in Numantia. What was Appius thinking? It was unthinkable that he would betray his beloved son-in-law.

  The uproar went on, almost riotous, with some senators virtually frothing at the mouth and grinding their teeth in excitement. The tumult subsided, however, when Nasica rose to his full height. “Senators, I regret to inform you, in anticipation of the possibility of such a series of events, that the great Scipio Aemilianus has asked me, on his behalf, to humbly thank the Senate for this honor,” and he paused while Polydius cringed, “which he cannot accept.”

  The Senate’s celebration dissipated as though it swirled down a drain in the marble floor, while Polydius’ bewilderment mushroomed.

  Nasica quieted the ensuing murmurs in the building, and the shouts of “No!” and “Scipio alone!”

  “Senators, senators, Roman fathers, please stay your dissent. Scipio gratefully declines this honor due to personal promises he has made that conflict with his devotion to the Republic. He begs your forbearance, but previous service to Rome has led him to neglect domestic duties. Also, the Destroyer of Carthage firmly believes that his past glories suffice, and that subduing Numantia should be an opportunity given to one of Rome’s many other capable generals, of which our great city has a surfeit. Indeed, Scipio asks this noble body to grant him a moratorium on his service so that he may straighten out his private affairs while cheering on our other worthy sons of Rome.”

  “Now,” said Tiberius, interrupting Polydius’s account, “why do you think he did that? And why did Appius propose him in the first place?”

  “I haven’t an inkling,” said Polydius, cooled off after his dash home from the Curia Hostilia, and now looking reflective.

  “And, in the name of Jupiter, why did my father-in-law propose Scipio in the first place?”

  “Simple, Tiberius, my boy,” said Appius as he swept into the peristylum, “Nasica told me that Scipio wouldn’t go, though he wouldn’t tell me the real reason. You should have seen our glorious consul’s expression, as though he’d bitten down on a bitter herb. Dour, dour he was! And things didn’t get better for him after that when I nominated Hostilius Mancinus as the only possible replacement for Scipio. Nasica nearly spit!”

  Appius allowed his rumbling laughter to shake all the way through him, causing his generous body to ripple like a walking lake. “Of course, with Scipio out of the running, Mancinus was recruited straightaway. It was like a dream,” he exulted. “And, you, most beloved son-in-law, are going to Numantia as his quaestor! The notices will be posted for the Comitium Centuria assembly to vote for the coming year’s offices in one week. Mancinus will be elected consul, and you will grab hold of his toga to be elected quaestor at the same time. It has been arranged!”

  The household broke into shouts and applause, and Tiberius felt his face flushing, looking at them all as they smiled and congratulated him. Gaius punched him in the arm, which hurt, and little Tiberius and Cornelia rushed to grab his legs, happily oblivious to what was being celebrated. Claudia smiled broadly, too, though he could see the apprehension in her eyes. But she tossed her head and beamed at him her happiness for him and her pride. He grinned and laughed, gripping Appius and Gaius’ hands awkwardly over his son, Tiberius, and tiny Cornelia. He swept his eyes around the applauding people in the room until his sight rested upon his mother Cornelia. She sat without even the slightest effort to disguise her disinterest. Tiberius’s smile froze, all of his pleasure washed away by the impatient expression on her face.

  “A celebration!” exclaimed Appius, “Daughter, if I may; Lysis, run to my house and tell Mistress Antistia that we dine with our son and daughter tonight. Then, go fetch Crassus, Scaevola, Blossius, and Diophanes. See if Drusus wants to come, too, though I doubt it. Philea, to the market for the best of everything! Have them send the bill to me. Falnerian wine, pigeon eggs, lake eels, a suckling pig, and whatever else you can think of. And a cake—a glorious cake!”

  Philea turned to leave, but Claudia stopped her to give more specific instructions.

  Tiberius watched as Cornelia arose and quietly headed toward her chamber.

  “I believe that should do it,” said Appius, “But while we wait, how about a libation for the gods and ourselves now?”

  “We have no Falernian, Father,” Claudia said, “just ordinary table wine.”

  “I’m sure it will be delicious!” he said. “Tiberius, if you will, we can thank the gods for our good luck.”

  Tiberius nodded, and led the way to the Lararium to pour wine onto the floor to Jupiter, Juno, Apollo, Mars, and Fortuna. All the while, he wondered what had spurred his mother to leave the fete that marked the great success that she had been urging for so very long.

  The party had become mildly riotous due to the good spirits of his friends. Others had been invited, Fannius, who had survived Carthage with him, and Marcus Octavius, his cheerful goad at the baths that morning. Even his revered mentor Diophanes came to dine, though not to drink.

  Before the night was done, Hostilius Mancinus himself made a grand entrance. Dark and tall, well over six feet, he gripped arms with Appius, who then formally presented Tiberius. Mancinus eyed him up and down, “So, you’re to be my quaestor, the gods willing, and me. Well, come to the Campus, tomorrow, and we’ll see if you’re up to it. I’m no potentate and I bear no fools on my marches, no matter who sponsors them.”

  He turned and chatted with a few of the men and women in the dining area, which ranged from the peristylum into the atrium, overflowing to the very edge of the house vestibulum. Appius lowered his head muttering, “Pay no attention to his churlishness, he�
��s merely flashing his feathers for the hens in the house. Mancinus knows your reputation and is happy to have you in his service.”

  Appius went off to catch the new general tasked with subduing the Numantine barbarians. Tiberius watched him go, then looked for Claudia, who was in a deep, animated conversation with her mother Antistia. His brother Gaius flirted with Scaevola’s daughter, who had come with her parents. All were flushed with excitement and happiness.

  So, why did he feel so uneasy in the wake of his mother’s absence? Why did that old woman roil him so? Bitterly, he drained his wine cup, set it down, and stalked toward her room.

  “Mother,” he shouted, knocking on her door, “let me in and tell me why you’re sulking like this. This was your idea in the first place, and you did get your way.”

  Cornelia opened her door. “You are drunk.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, you better stop now, you’re not very good at being drunk.”

  “That’s your opinion of me in general.”

  “Oh, don’t pout, Tiberius, of course you possess talent and skill,” she said, turning her back as she left the door, “you’re simply too green right now.”

  Tiberius closed the door behind them and pulled up the small footstool to Cornelia, perched on the end of her bed, one knee held up with her arms wrapped around it, like a young maiden.

  “Mother,” he said earnestly, “what is wrong? Why are you not out there leading the festivities? This is your victory as much as mine and Appius’s.”

  “Appius,” she said, shaking her head. “How is this a triumph for me, too?”

  “I will be Mancinus’s quaestor on his campaign in Numantia.”

  “In whose stead is Mancinus going?”

  Tiberius paused, then said, “Scipio.”

  “And why isn’t Scipio marching to Numantia to secure all the gold and silver in Hispania?”

  “He has personal affairs to address. And, he wants to give another noble Roman the opportunity to achieve glory.”

  “Really?” she said in a singsong of mock surprise. “How magnanimous of him. A first, I believe, unless he means to give you the same kind of opportunity when he sent you first to climb Carthage’s walls.”

  She leaned back. “However, that did work out to your benefit. So, let’s not talk about it anymore. How many legions will the great Mancinus command in Numantia?”

  “The better part of four, the two stationed in Hispania Citerior and Ulterior, and the two that just returned. They’ll be remustered, bringing the total to just under 17,000 troops.”

  “Less than those commanded by Caepio and Servillianus, both of whom failed.”

  “Yes, but everyone says their failures came from poor leadership.”

  “Perhaps, Tiberius, but even poor leaders have a better chance of succeeding when they have enough legions. To win with inferior forces, you must be a genius, like your father.”

  Tiberius held back his reply. What was the use?

  “Even Hannibal succumbed to the overwhelming forces of Scipio Africanus. Your brother-in-law learned well from the example of your grandfather.”

  Seeing the morose look on her son’s face, Cornelia moved forward to grab his shoulders by both hands. “Tiberius, don’t you see? Scipio declined the generalship in Numantia because he knew that he wouldn’t have enough legions! The barbarian tribes in Hispania number in the thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands.”

  “Mother, they’re divided into hundreds of tribes. They war among themselves all the time.”

  “Tiberius, you’ve never been there. Four legions is barely enough to garrison the holdings we have now,” she said, “much more conquer the Numantines, who have proven able to stand up to superior numbers in the past.”

  “That was the Lusitanes, Mother, and they were subdued after Caepio saw to their leader Viriathus’s assassination.”

  “They remain subdued for now,” Cornelia said. “Who’s to know what they’ll do after the example of the Numantines.”

  Tiberius rose up. “Mother, what would you have me do? The first thing the Senate did was to designate the campaign force as the standing legions in Hispania. That is the army that we have at hand, and the one we will use to subjugate the Numantines.”

  “Under Mancinus,” she said. She seemed to look off into the distance, absently twirling the blood-red carnelian stones of her necklace. Said more as a spoken thought, she uttered, “It should be Scipio, but he’s no fool.” She raised her eyes back to Tiberius, “All right, then: it’s Mancinus. You will be his quaestor, Tiberius,” she said, suddenly smiling as only she could, the light of Apollo dancing around her green eyes, the heart of the earth suddenly at her feet. “The rest is simply a matter of details.”

  Caught in the spell of her sudden warmth, Tiberius smiled himself. “Come out to the celebration, Mother. It’s as much for you as any of us.”

  She shook her head, “No, Tiberius, it’s for you and your comrades. I’m just a widow in the way. You go, enjoy yourself. Be sure to tell Claudia to retire along with the other women and children. Now, go, now.”

  Still grinning, Tiberius stood and headed for the door.

  “Oh, and Tiberius,” she said. “Could you ask Appius to call on me? I want to thank him for all he’s done.”

  Tiberius pulled up, wondering what intrigue she intended to hatch with Appius now. He nodded, “Certainly, Mother.”

  He smiled at her as he left the room. He paused before turning back to the men carousing in the peristylum, resigned to drinking more himself and the inevitable headache to follow. Appius sat in their midst, no doubt regaling them with his own exploits as a young officer. He would not relish being interrupted, much less so for being summoned by Cornelia. He would be more miserable than me, at least, thought Tiberius, some small consolation. He laughed and headed toward his now ill-fated father-in-law.

  Chapter 4. The Campus Martius

  Chaos reigned on the campgrounds as Mancinus marshaled his troops for the march to Ostia, from where they would sail to Hispania. Officers at every level shouted orders, assembling legionaries with their arms to drill them, an endless exercise until the final order was given for departure.

  “We cannot laze around thinking of how we will crush the Numantines, Tiberius,” Mancinus said, leaning in full armor against a pole at the opening of his tent, his legs crossed, popping an occasional grape into his mouth.

  “We must act swiftly, forcefully, before they can find their own Vitharius to be their military chieftain. So, I will take the Fifth and the Eighth by sea to get this campaign off to a running start. We’ll join with the Second and the Third in Hispania Citerior and head straightaway to Ulterior to harass the filthy dog lovers. Your father-in-law says that you commanded a cohort ably at Carthage, and it is true, you won the Mural Crown. You must be brave enough, so I’ll give you another cohort to march up the Via Aurelia through Etruria, where you will raise another legion. You can train it on the way overland to join us in Numantia.”

  Tiberius gazed at him with sharp eyes, again wondering if Cornelia had cajoled Appius into bringing about this diversion, a clever stratagem to keep her son out of harm’s way until the troops she felt were needed had been raised to even the field of battle. No doubt, Appius persuaded Mancinus of other benefits he would gain in delaying the novice Gracchus by sending him off to northern Italia.

  “But I’m your quaestor, Consul,” Tiberius said evenly. “Who will maintain the lists and the payroll if I’m recruiting in Etruria?”

  Mancinus didn’t hesitate. “I’ve asked Quintus Fabius to handle them while you’re away. Before he became my first military tribune, he served as my quaestor in Greece. He’ll be able to manage the books until you arrive.”

  “That’s an unusual arrangement, Consul,” Tiberius said.

  “I know, I know, but it should work, and it gives you the opportunity to form your own legion. After your record in Africa, you should rise quickly, Gracchus. You’ve earned
the right and the opportunity.”

  Tiberius wondered about Mancinus’s magnanimity. It would be no easy task to raise a full legion on the fly, and where was he to find the funds to supplement the needs of 4,000 new legionaries? In the meantime, the rolls and the army’s treasury would be far away from him, the elected quaestor. Fabius had been Mancinus’s quaestor during the Achean War, true, and the general had grown rich when Corinth had been razed. Did the consul’s plan to harass the Numantines translate into grabbing what wealth they could before Tiberius managed to meet them in Hispania? Maybe Mancinus didn’t want the brother-in-law of his main rival Scipio Aemilianus to track him too closely on this campaign. In any case, now he had to travel north to find soldiers.

  “Once you arrive,” Mancinus went on,” we should be able to squeeze the Numantines between our five legions like a press making fine wine.”

  Mancinus demonstrated his simile by forming a fist with his hand holding the grapes, which caused purple juice to course thinly over his knuckles like so many little rivulets. He gazed at the sticky, thin streams running between his knuckles down his hand, saying, “Ye gods, what a mess!” wiping them on the leather flap of the tent.

  “Twenty thousand men,” Tiberius said. “Caepio had that many and lost.”

  “Caepio didn’t know how to gain an advantage,” Mancinus said. “It is apparent that he proved to be much better at subterfuge than military strategy, tactics. Anyway, the Numantines are not the Lusitanes.”

  Tiberius held his tongue. From what everyone had told him, including his mother, all Hispanii were difficult to pacify. His father’s success seemed to have stemmed from that understanding, in that after he had conquered them on the field, he hadn’t asked too much from them in the way of tribute or subjugation. Mostly, he had asked for and received a loose sort of fealty. But Mancinus had returned from Achaea with a solid reputation as a capable officer. Perhaps his experience there drove his actions now. In any case, Tiberius’s fortunes were now tied to the new consul, and his own interests required him to do whatever he could to ensure his success in Hispania.