by Dan Wallace
Buccio ignored her, focusing his attention on the mistress of the Gracchi estate while her husband was on campaign. But Cornelia spoke up.
“Philea is right. Oh, if you could find some more before we leave, I love them so much!”
“I like them, too, Mama,” said young Tiberius, nodding his head almost judicially.
“Well, then, if Buccio can find some more, you each can have them at your lunch.”
“I’ll do my best, Ma’m,” Buccio said, bowing his head.
“And throw in a pig, too,” murmured Philea. Seeing his expression of horror, she said, “Oh, not the truffle pig, farmer, some other hog. A suckling, perhaps.” She leaned into him and whispered, “It’s the least you can do, don’t you think? Oh, yes, I know your little game―and it better stay little, farmer, if you want to stay.”
Buccio didn’t reply to Philea. He turned to Claudia instead and said, “I have the nicest suckling pig for you to take back to Rome, too, as soon as you are ready to return.”
And that was the way it had been every day since their return. Cornelia did not want to do her crafts, her singing and musical lessons, or anything else. She wanted instead to snort around the home sniffing for truffles. Meanwhile, Tiberius had made a pet out of the little pig. No wonder, thought Claudia, that Mother Cornelia seldom left her room.
Polydius arrived with Gaius from the baths. Gaius rushed to Claudia and swooped her up and around in his arms.
“Post, Sister-in-Law, post! Tiberius has sent us letters!”
At first resisting his unseemly exuberant dance, Claudia froze. “Letters from Tiberius? For me?”
Polydius stepped up and bowed slightly as he held out a leather-wrapped packet. “Your letter, Mistress.”
She took it from the tall Greek and clutched it to her breast as Gaius went on. “All of us got one, Sister Claudia, even Mother. Yours appears to be the biggest. Mother’s is the smallest, of course. Open yours and read it to us, why don’t you?”
“Not today or ever! Read your own, this is my letter from my husband Tiberius Gracchus!”
“Oh,” said Gaius, mocking, “‘This is from my husband Tiberius Gracchus,’ hero of Carthage and now Numantia I suppose. Very well, I’ll read my own and you can wonder what secret things he told me that he wouldn’t tell his wife.”
Claudia paid him no mind as she told Polydius and Philea to take care of the children. She then rushed to her room and shut the door behind here, leaning against it as she held the letter close in her folded arms. She put it up against her mouth and breathed in.
She began to cry, almost uncontrollably, thinking that she could smell him, his particular scent. Maybe it was her imagination fooling her all this way from Hispania, but not her memory. She could smell Tiberius as if he were in the room, she missed him so much, she ached for him.
Sighing, she went to her bed and sat down. At least he was alive long enough to have written this letter.
Delicately, Claudia untied the leather sinew holding the packet together. She pulled out the rolled vellum, unfolded it on her lap, and read.
My beloved wife Claudia Sempronia Gracchus:
Salve from Hispania! I’m writing to you from camp near a small town called Malia which is not far from our objective Numantia. We arrived on the day that Consul Mancinus began his assault on the walls of the town, so we received a rousing welcome. The Arevaci within, a tribe allied with the Numantines, put up little resistance and the fortress fell quickly. None of my legionaries nor myself suffered any injury, since Mancinus graciously held us in reserve after our long march. We did, however, engage the enemy several times during our journey from Tarraco. These Hispanics are tricky, preferring ambush to open battle, and many times we had to fend them off while we followed the Iberus River north to the Numantian region. Our soldiers were ingenious in their defensive actions, however, and we suffered few casualties while driving the pesky Numantine horse away every time. So, all is well here.
I will say that Mancinus was very pleased to see a full legion added to his army. That brings his force up to 20,000 plus 4,000 cavalry. He has immediately reassigned all duties, responsibilities, and privileges of quaestor from Quintus Fabius back to me. I am also to remain the military tribune of the newly named Ninth Legion, which I admit, is very gratifying. The god Mars has smiled upon a Gracchi again, even the lesser one known as Tiberius Gracchus Minor.
I forgot that I haven’t written to you since we set sail from Italia. I hope you didn’t worry your lovely head, the passage was remarkably peaceful. In fact, the gods of the wind and sea also seem to favor this campaign. We made up all of the time lost trying to find recruits. You recall I told you what a challenge that had been in the note I dashed off before we sailed. They are all well-trained soldiers, now, Casca saw to that, he and that valiant old primus Sacerdus Quarto. What a lucky find he was. Without question, all of the gods are smiling upon this venture. The auspices are brilliant!
What more can I tell you? I’m fit, almost fat. Lysis is thriving on camp life. He is in love with Chance. I believe I will never be able to figure out the Greeks, how they love horses. Lysis dotes on Chance and rides him at every opportunity, which is fine with me. I still prefer my own two lanky legs for getting around. Unfortunately, the troops expect to see their tribune nobly perched on a horse. So, I sit the horse and hope that the nobility will follow, though unlikely considering how I sit the horse. Let young Lysis have his fun. He’s become a solid man servant, and he’s well-liked by centurions and legionaries alike.
The weather has been surprisingly cool, most likely because we sit on a high table between distant mountain ranges. The land varies from wooded rivers separated by scrubby plains with hills and mountains jumping up in the most unlikely places. Numantia itself is a fortress town built on a small mountain next to the Douro River. Apparently, it has posed a formidable obstacle in the past, but Mancinus is confident that he can lay siege to the town and reduce the Numantines by the end of the campaign season. I was fortunate enough to have twelve experienced immunes enlist in the Ninth, so we can add their skills to the consul’s preparations. We expect to move toward Numantia in the next day or so, which means that you will receive this letter long after the engagement. Indeed, all major hostilities will be done most likely by the time you read this. Really, it shouldn’t be much of a contest, we have five legions to their 8,000 or so warriors, and they’ll be penned up in their town. It could be a very simple matter of waiting them out. Of course, that might mean that I won’t be home as soon as I’d like.
My hours are filled day and night with the duties of war, Claudia, but never do I stop thinking of being home with you and little Tiberius and Cornelia. I never stop yearning for you, your gentle sweetness. I long to hold you, to caress you. I dream of sitting with you and the children in the garden, watching Sol’s sunbeams pass over our dial. These are what I miss the most.
To keep Rome strong, war is inevitable, and I will serve her wherever she needs me and for however long. Yet, in my heart, you are Rome to me, Claudia. I serve because I love you. Whatever happens, my love for you is forever and it will last as long as Rome itself. Know that I love you, Claudia, more than the gods and Rome.
Amor,
Tiberius
Claudia clutched the vellum in her hands, crushing the edges together. Carefully, she straightened them out and flattened the letter on her lap to read again. He started so buoyantly, with such good cheer, as though this struggle in Hispania was a stroll in the country. After learning about defeat after defeat of Roman generals and armies during the past fifty years, she knew that Hispania was a dangerous, wild land full of brutal barbarians. She couldn’t recall ever before receiving such a heartfelt expression of love as in the last part of Tiberius’s letter. What would move him so if the campaign was routine?
He was protecting her from the truth. The campaign was not going as well as he would like her to believe. Why? What was happening?
Claudia folded the
letter and put it back into its leather cover. She tied it tightly with the sinew, rose, and hid it away at the bottom of her jewelry chest. Then, she left her room for the vestibulum. She walked out to the peristylum where Gaius sat across from Polydius, talking about his letter from Tiberius.
“He’s doing magnificently well!” Gaius cried happily. “He showed up with a brand-new legion trained for immediate battle!”
“Gaius,” Claudia said gently, “let me read your letter.”
Surprised, Gaius turned to his sister-in-law and said in a broad, blustery voice, “Well, I thought it was private, like yours!”
Polydius immediately arose and said with a twinkle in his eye, “If you’ll excuse me, Mistress, I’m sure I heard Philea, or someone, call my name.”
“By all means, Polydius.” Claudia turned to Gaius, “Beloved brother-in-law, my letter is private, as any correspondence between husband and wife would and should be. Yours, however, might be considered more general in nature and thereby also for general consumption.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Gaius huffed, making an out-sized movement shifting in his chair to avert his eyes from Claudia. She slipped up behind him and twined her fingers into the feathery curls of his hair at the nape of his neck. Gaius tensed into stillness.
“Now, Gaius, you know how terribly I miss your brother. You wouldn’t be so cruel as to deprive me of any bit of news from him. I’m starving for any little morsel!”
“Then, eat a sweet,” Gaius barked, and she pulled hard on his hair.
“Ouch!” he said, laughing as he sprinted out of the chair. But Claudia followed, not letting go. “Gaius, your letter!”
“All right, all right, you vicious sorceress. I’m amazed that my brother fell for such a siren as you. Or, maybe I shouldn’t be amazed at his enchantment. Here, here, the letter. Now, let go of my hair!”
Claudia released him unthinking as she tracked the letter tossed on the chair by Gaius. She scooped it up, smiled prettily, and said, “Thank you, Brother Gaius. You are a thoughtful young man.”
“Yes, and barely in one piece, no thanks to my harpy sister-in-law.”
“I love you, too,” she said as she paced off to Tiberius’s den to read his brother’s letter.
She sat in his favorite chair, a curved wooden peasant seat from Thebes with Persian pillows sewn to the arms and the back. A betrothal gift from her father, Claudia loved sitting in it when she missed Tiberius the most. She unfolded Gaius’s letter again to find that familiar hand. He had dated it a week later than hers, she noticed with a frown as she began to read.
Greetings Gaius,
I miss you, little brother and wish you were here. Yet, I’m glad to know that you are taking care of our family, which is more important. Our roles will flip soon enough, you forging new paths of glory for Rome and burnishing the Gracchi name while I mind hearth and home as all grey heads should do. In the meantime, I miss you, though I am well and the campaign goes well.
You will be happy to know that we successfully attacked the Arevaci in the town known as Malia. It’s a small hilltop fortress on the path to Numantia. The town is fortified by fifty-foot wooden walls with seventy-five-foot towers spaced every hundred yards or so. The scouts estimated a force of perhaps 4,000 warriors defending the town and perhaps a civilian population three times that number. Our general Consul Mancinus held a war council the day after we arrived with our new legion, now named the Ninth. His reports convinced him that Malia would fall to a direct assault―you know, siege towers and battering rams with mangonels and ballista covering the attack. The head of his immunes suggested sapping the walls as well, but Mancinus rejected this suggestion, stating that it would take too much time.
Some of the other military tribunes complained that too many men would be lost in a direct assault, soldiers that would be needed for what promised to be a much heavier undertaking, the siege of Numantia itself. Mancinus calmed them by promising to double or triple the number of rocks and other missiles fired into the town so that fewer men would be at risk while humping over open ground. He also said that fiery darts would be shot as well, but with precise calibration to inflame only those parts of the walls where our towers would not be driven. The tribunes seemed satisfied with this proposal, and the planning continued. I must admit though that the Ninth’s centurion primus Lucius Casca Naso, attending as my second, whispered in my ear that Mancinus must be on intimate terms with Vulcan if he can command fire to burn wood only in places of his choosing without spreading all over. I swear, I almost laughed out loud, except Casca’s crack made me wonder, too.
Mancinus issued his orders, and we were unhappy to learn that the Ninth would be kept in reserve since we’d just arrived from a hard march and were likely to be in an exhausted state. I objected furiously, saying that the Ninth was more than ready to fight, our legionaries hungered to fight after the shipboard tedium, then marching and training for weeks without any action or distractions. Mancinus reassured me by saying that the Arevaci were vicious, trickster warriors who almost guaranteed the need of reserves in the upcoming battle. He would call upon the Ninth, he said, no worry about that.
And he did, indeed, need us to press the attack. As Casca had divined, the burning bolts were not choosy in what they struck. Those that reached the Malian walls were quickly doused, while many fell short right into our troops carrying ladders and the battering ram before they had reached the town. Velites and hastati fell over themselves getting away from the burning shed and ladders, centurions flaying away with their sticks trying to stiffen them up. Rather than throw in the principes or triarii in this little dust-up, Mancinus gave us the nod, and we roared across the field and up the Malian walls. The Averaci accounted well for themselves but were no match. Our boys swept them from the parapets before you could spit.
Young Sextus Decimus won the Mural Crown, though he was wounded during the feat. He rode his horse full speed to the gates, taking arrows on his shield and into his mount’s breast. He slammed the stricken animal sideways into the wall and scrambled to stand straight up on his saddle. With the speed of Mercury, he began grabbing arrows stuck in the wall to lift himself before his mount collapsed. Sextus climbed fast, reaching higher for new holds while the arrow shafts snapped beneath his weight. He threw his shield arm over the wall, and an Arevaci warrior slashed at his shoulder. Sextus lunged and drove his sword into the Arevaci, driving him back. He then leaped up and over the parapet, wheeling, carving, and slicing until he was joined by Centurion Shafat and his men. Shafat, that wily Carthagenian, also proved his bravery with fierce fighting. I have to admit, it’s gruesome to tell, but at one point he made me laugh. With savage courage, he moved to strike a ferocious Arevaci by whipping his sword above and behind his head. Unknown to him, another Arevaci had run up to strike him from behind. But such was the force of Shafat’s backward swing that he split the rear attacker’s head and without any loss of force, struck down the huge warrior facing him. Shafat cut down two defenders with a single swing of his sword!
The rest went as you can imagine. Mancinus praised the noble Ninth in the aftermath when he crowned Sextus with his wreath. I cannot tell you how proud I was of our new legion, already showing the stuff of legend in its first engagement. Of course, many of the men are evocati, so it was their first blooding only in a technical sense. A lot of hoary heads in our ranks have seen plenty of action for Rome before. Still, they came together quickly in a new force to win a solid reputation and the respect of Mancinus’s seasoned legions.
I should tell you that Sextus’s wound was not serious, no muscle, sinew, or bone cut. The surgeon cauterized it, which caused our young eques to cry out like a throat-cut pig, don’t tell his mother or his school mates. He should be fine in no time, up and around on a new horse and with a fine scar that ought to give him plenty of chances to brag.
I know it could have been you first over that wall, Gaius, probably faster than Sextus could have imagined. And, I’m sure
you would have defeated twice as many of the Arevaci. But I also know that the cut to Sextus’s shoulder could have been to your heart. Then, what would I have done? How could I explain this to Mother that one of her last boys had died under my command? And, what if something happened to me, too? How cruel this would be to a woman who has lost nine children before, to lose her husband’s only heirs. How cruel it would be to Claudia and the rest of the family. So, I had to leave you at home, even though I know how bitter a decision it was for you. It was necessary, to protect our loved ones and the Sempronii family line. Your time will come, dear Gaius, you will outshine all of the Gracchii, certainly me, and even our godly father. The difference is that I will be the one safe at home so that our mother need not think about the possibility of suffering the loss of us both at one time. Think of this, Gaius, be patient, and be the man of the house. Soon enough you will be free to master the world!
Vale,
Tiberius
Claudia laid the letter down on Tiberius’s desk, again overcome by a wave of yearning for him. She admonished herself to stay with the task at hand. Picking up the letter again, she scanned it quickly. Again, her husband had styled the missive to his audience, a young lion anxious to hear about great military feats and individual glory. Only the first and last parts hinted at the serious nature of the campaign. Nothing pointed to any danger to Tiberius, though who knew? His description of Sextus’s and Shafat’s exploits seemed to be very detailed for him to have been at any great distance from the melee. Yet, he penned not a line about his own actions.
She shook her head in frustration. This man, she thought, was showing some of his mother’s deftness at maneuvering around the edges of matters.