by Dan Wallace
“Don’t bait me, Scaevola,” he said impatiently, “just tell me the truth of the situation.”
Scaevola shrugged, straightening up at Appius’s side as he walked into the Forum.
“Nasica is in the Hostilia Curia readying the senators to condemn Mancinus and his officers. Rufus is on the Rostrum pleased to be charged with working up the crowd against the disgraced consul.”
Appius cringed, tightening his lips over his clenched teeth. “All right. We’ll go to Rufus first.”
“Gracchus! Gracchus!”
The name came out like a screech, an angry epithet spit by the small, round-faced man turned red by his fury, brandishing his fist like a cudgel in the air. “Where is Gracchus? Why is he not in custody to pay the price for his incompetence, his greed, his treason! He not only betrayed the Republic in Hispania and gladly consorted with our mortal enemies the Numantine barbarians, he also raped and pillaged his way through all of northern Italia! While raising an undisciplined mob of brigands, a virtual horde of future slaves and condemned murderers to fill his legion, he helped himself to all of the fruits of the hard work of honest farmers, leaving them and their families to starve! But where is he, this infamous, capital criminal? Where is he? No one knows!”
Rufus stepped back from the podium for a moment, using a silk cloth to wipe the copious sweat that had formed on his brow despite the chilling breeze blowing through the Comitium. Without looking, he took a flagon of water from the slave to his left and drank long. Then, he tossed the flagon backward in the direction of the suddenly scrambling slave and stepped forward again.
When Rufus first had climbed up onto the Rostrum, a handful of men stopped to listen, merely out of curiosity. Fifteen minutes into his speech, more than a hundred had gathered around, with others following to see what was going on.
Appius and Scaevola had taken their places on the Senate building side near the back. The clouded sky muted the flashing colors of the ramming prows taken from wrecked Carthagian ships after the first Punic war. They had been mounted on the Rostrum as trophies. Now, they appeared to be the brooding visages of birds, raptors waiting to pick apart the flesh and bones of the shrouded men below.
“His commander Hostilius Mancinus awaits trial under house arrest. Many of the centurions and optios present at this horrific retreat have been disciplined most decidedly. But where is the mastermind of this unparalleled humiliation of our republic? Where is Gracchus? Hiding in some sin pit in the bowels of Rome, shaking from fear of the proper punishment for his treason? Where is Gracchus? Still in Numantia cozying up to the Hispanii scum who love traitors in their midst? Where is Gracchus? Cavorting in northern Italia with his cutthroats and slave rebels? Where is Gracchus?” he bellowed, “Where is Gracchus?”
“Bacchus’ balls,” whispered Appius, “will he not shut up? If he keeps going on, this crowd could riot. My daughter Claudia, my grandchildren, and Cornelia all could be in danger! Where in Hades is Tiberius?”
“Maybe Sempronius Gracchus has scampered to some prurient bordello,” Rufus continued, “on some Greek isle, perhaps, where he can cavort with sluts and satyrs, spending freely the funds that he was supposed to safeguard as quaestor.”
“Jupiter’s beard!” Appius muttered.
“While our soldiers wasted away from lack of food, Quaestor Gracchus had at his disposal thousands of sestercae to do with what he pleased. What did he do with that coin? Where are the ledgers he was charged with safeguarding, even with his life!
“No,” Rufus shook his head ruefully, “a coward of his kind would not present proof of his embezzlement any more than he has produced himself to answer to his capital crimes. Where is this scavenger, this carrion-eater, this ‘gracchus,’ Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus?”
Rufus raised and shook his hands at the heavens. Appius spun to Scaevola. “All right, this has gone on long enough. Scaevola, you must go up there and blunt the pig’s slurs.”
Scaevola’s mouth split into a cat grin, and Appius sighed, “I’ll pay you!”
“Ten thousand?”
“For Laverna’s sake, yes. Now, go!”
But before the famous lawyer could climb the Rostrum steps, another figure bounced up them, tall, lean, with a head of long, thick, black hair.
“You are wrong, Lucius Rufus Faba. Gracchus was not a traitor in Hispania. He did not betray Rome or pocket the army payroll. In fact, he saved the legions from certain destruction, 20,000 men and camp followers. Instead of slandering him, you should be demanding that he receive the Grass Crown.”
He looked familiar to Appius, but he couldn’t quite place him.
As he talked, the tall horseman closed in on Rufus, towering over him, making him to appear noticeably uncomfortable. “If you have reason or right to know the whereabouts of the quaestor’s ledgers―”
“I have every right as a dutiful senator of Rome!” Rufus said sharply.
“―I suggest you go see them for yourself. They have been deposited in the city treasury under consular supervision, as witnessed by the Vestilium Maxima.”
“Consular supervision?” Rufus quickly asked, “Who?”
Appius whispered rapidly in Scaevola’s ear, “It can’t be Lepidus Porcina, he left Rome rather than deal with the Mancinus mess. It must be one of the new men, Scipio’s man Philus, if Rufus has his way.” Then, he said “I know this fellow. But I just can’t place him.”
“Consul-elect Serranus, I believe,” said the dark, looming man, “though I’m not sure. I have met neither of the new men.”
Rufus tried to hide his sudden defensive position by puffing up his chest, “And the money?”
“Alas, the strong boxes were lost to the Numantines.”
Rufus sneered, “How do you know of all this?”
“Because I was there,” the tall man said. “I am Sextus Decimus Paetus, eques of Mancinus’s cavalry.”
Of course! thought Appius, the young equestrian who had sold him Tiberius’s horse.
“I was at the side of Tribune Sempronius Gracchus,” Sextus continued, “when he covered the flank of our army and struck a peace with the Numantines that allowed us to withdraw without harassment or further loss. In the course of negotiations, he was able to secure the army ledgers and also some incense to sacrifice to the gods for our safe passage.”
“Gracchus sued for peace? A quaestor not a tribune? By whose authority?”
“Consul Mancinus’s, who during the course of the campaign, commissioned the quaestor as tribune of the Ninth. I was there for that conversation, too, little bean.”
Muffled laughter ran through the crowd, and Appius felt himself breathing more easily.
“You should stick to slandering men in your own class, Rufus. Or, would you like to compare your military record with Gracchus’s?”
Rufus blanched, but before he could reply, the heavens opened up, scattering the crowd to find shelter under the eaves of the adjoining marketplace.
Sextus fixed Rufus with a withering stare, then trotted down the steps of the Rostrum, hopped over a side wall, and jogged away through the rain.
Appius and Scaveola hurried toward the Hostilia Curia where the Senate met to discuss the fate of the disgraced Mancinus. Scaveola took up a post near a column beneath the high porch ceiling, while Appius rushed through the open front doors. He held up abruptly in the vestibulum to shake and squeeze the moisture out of his toga. Then, as best as he could, he sauntered into the Senate chamber in stately fashion.
The tall building with its round central floor was filled with gloom despite the long, iron sconces sputtering flames and smoke above from their oil fires. Even the ever-present pigeons were not flying about to release their good-luck droppings on the senators below. Instead, they clustered together for warmth on the ledges of the high, open windows, which had been designed to let in light, but now served as apertures for the blustery wind and rain.
The senators huddled together, too, or held their togas close to their bodies wi
th crossed arms, some covering their heads with folds as though at a religious ceremony. Others slumped as far down as they could below the waist-high marble walls separating the floor from the front row of benches as if the chill was being blown inside the building. Still and all, more than half the senators were in attendance, somewhat surprising on such a cold day. Consul-elect Lucius Furius Philus presided today, so of course, standing in the middle of the black marble floor stood Scipio Nasica holding sway.
Immediately as Appius entered, Scipio Nasica turned his head around. “Well, now we can begin in earnest. Appius Claudius Pulcher has arrived to guide us with his shining light.”
The senators all laughed, and Appius smiled as well. “Alas, Scipio, I am not Diogenes. But then again, you are not an honest man.”
Once more, the men in the chamber laughed, louder, thought Appius. Even Scipio himself grinned.
“So, what mayhem are you proposing now, Nasica? A grain tax on plebeians? Or, would it be salt?”
“No common subjects today, Pulcher. Today we discuss how best to deal with the Numantia debacle and the perpetrators of the same.”
“I see. And, if I might be so bold, whom do you count among the so-called perpetrators, oh so noble Nasica?”
“Why Gaius Hostilius Mancinus, of course,” the tall, sinewy senator said, “Quintus Fabius, postumously, of course, the Tribunes Horatius, Secundus, Nicomedes, Cadmus, and,” Nasica smiled his skull smile, “to our regret, your kinsman the Quaestor Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus.”
“I see,” Appius said calmly, fighting to maintain his composure. “Your list of culprits is long, Nasica, creative, and extreme.”
“All those complicit in the greatest defeat in Rome’s history, yes, all responsible must answer to the people of Rome. Indeed, extreme measures are warranted.”
Appius made his way past the benches where the senators sat, out onto the floor. “Extreme enough to desecrate the memory of a fallen warrior in the service of Rome?”
A collective gasp echoed throughout the airy hall, followed by a murmur of voices barely whispering the surprise and speculation in every corner. Everyone knew that Gracchus was missing―was Claudius Pulcher privy to new information? Was his son-in-law dead? What did he know? How did he know what every Roman wanted to know?
Nasica drew himself up straight to his full, imposing height. “Many a good Roman has fallen to the barbaric swords of Numantia, Claudius Pulcher. It is in their memory that we have assembled this inquest.”
“But you besmirch one who died a hero, Nasica, absent to defend himself from these scurrilous charges.”
Nasica paused solemnly. At length, he said, “You speak of your son-in-law Gracchus?”
Appius held close to his answer, dragging out the drama of the moment while as one the members of the Senate leaned forward in anticipation.
“Why, of course not! I have no idea where Tiberius is, I speak of Tribune Quintus Fabius, of course, slain while leading a cavalry charge against the Numantine army. How can you prosecute this noble Roman hero, who because he made the ultimate sacrifice, is unable to defend himself?”
Voices groaned from the benches, senators waved their hands in disgust, and shouts carried above the milling men, “Tricks as usual, Pulcher!” “A skunk never changes its stripes!” “Neither does a tiger!” shouted one of Appius’s supporters. “Rat-trapped, Nasica,” laughed Crassus, wealthy beyond measure and beholden to no one.
Nasica drew back his head, and said, “Fabius died bravely but foolishly. This does not acquit him of his crimes, plundering the army’s war chest and abetting Mancinus in his cowardice.”
“If Fabius Quintus plundered the payroll, that relieves Tiberius Gracchus of any guilt, no? And, how did Fabius abet Mancinus when he was already dead? By summoning evil spirits from Hades?”
“You are impertinent and sacrilegious, Pulcher. It is common knowledge that Mancinus and Quintus pilfered coin and tribute on a regular basis, wealth that rightly belonged to Rome. And, who was in charge of the army script when it disappeared? Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, that’s who. If you know where he is, Pulcher, you could be charged as an accomplice.”
“To what? Saving 20,000 Roman legionaries from massacre?”
“Hah!” Nasica sneered. “As if you could save anything. Review your own hapless performance as praetor at Salassi.”
Appius reddened, and out of gritted teeth, snapped, “At least I won in the end, Nasica, a far cry from your ignominious role in the destruction of our legions by the Pannonians. Interesting that the same Hostilius Mancinus whom you are bent upon punishing can brag of a better record in Macedonia than yours.”
Nasica’s face filled with dark blood. Appius believed the Pontifex Maximus and former consul would have killed him right there, on the spot, on the Senate floor, if he’d had a sword. As it was, Appius wasn’t sure that Nasica wouldn’t just launch himself and use his bare hands.
“But I digress,” Appius said before Nasica could move. “The question is whether or not we can condemn a Roman officer in absentia, as Scipio Nasica hopes to indict Fabius Quintus, a noble, fallen warrior who cannot defend his own honor. He would do the same to one who proved his courage as a tyro at Carthage, first over the wall, winner of the Mural Crown, a man worthy of the Grass Crown for saving four legions from certain destruction, legions that live to fight for Rome another day.”
Appius paused, then took a step toward the middle of the floor and turned to the seated senators, his hands held out wide from his sides.
“Of course, I speak of Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus. True, he is my son-in-law, married to my beloved, only daughter Claudia. Also true, no one knows where he is. For all we know, he might be holed up somewhere between here and Numantia, recovering from wounds suffered while defending his men. Indeed, he may have succumbed to these wounds, and will never be able to ward off Nasica’s cruel attack. No one knows. But I put it to you, august members of the Senate of Rome, we must not pass judgment on men such as Fabius Quintus or Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus without ascertaining exactly what happened in Numantia and whether or not they share any responsibility for this terrible outcome.”
He waved one hand in front of him and away as he said, “Pass sentence on Hostilius Mancinus, no one can defend his colossal failure. Question the tribunes and pass sentence upon them if found wanting. But allow the memory of Fabius Quintus to rest with his bones. And defer any judgment of Tiberius Gracchus until his whereabouts have been determined. If alive, bring him to the Hostilia for a full accounting. If dead, dead let him be.”
“But how will we know?” shouted Marcus Octavius, leaping to his feet unsteadily, Tiberius’s old friend whose anguish could be heard in his words.
Appius gathered his toga around his shoulders and said, “Members of the Senate, I will find Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus myself. If he is alive, I will bring him here. If dead, I will grieve his loss and sacrifice to the gods. One way or another, you will learn his fate.”
“And, how long do you propose for this noble quest to last?” Rufus Fava said. After his disappointing experience at the Rostrum, he had returned to the Senate.
“Give me two months, “said Appius. “If I cannot locate him, the Senate can do as you see fit. Two months is all I ask. Those in agreement, please join me for the division.” He looked at Philus and said, “With your leave, Consul-elect.”
Philus, a prune of a man with a long patrician pedigree, glanced quickly at Nasica. Nasica’s expression remained a stone enigma, and Appius seized the moment by saying, “Please, Consul Philus, for the sake of Roman justice.”
Appearing extremely uncomfortable, Philus nodded slightly.
The members of the Senate left their seats and formed two groups, one standing with Appius, the other with Scipio Nasica. Rufus stood at Nasica’s elbow, while Octavius joined Appius.
Philus counted, as did several other officiating members. Finally, Philus spoke,
“Against Appius Claudius Pulcher
’s resolution, 179. For Appius Claudius Pulcher, 182.”
Just a three-man margin? Appius almost collapsed.
“The senator’s resolution has carried. From this day forward, he will be given two months to search for Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus. Within this time period, he either will bring Gracchus before the Senate, or his son-in-law will be declared dead. So be it.”
The senators all stirred, murmuring their opinions when a clap of thunder cracked overhead, causing them all to duck reflexively. The interior of the Hostilia Curia grew even darker.
“All right, senators, let’s move on,” Philus said.
Glancing only once at Appius with a countenance of utter hatred, Nasica Scipio said, “The business at hand is the disposition of Gaius Hostilius Mancinus.”
Exhausted, Appius made his way to the exit, ready to go home. As he reached the vestibulum and looked out the double doorways, he saw that the sky of Rome was black as night, the rain coming down in a waterfall. This at midday, he thought, terribly ominous.
He drew his toga over his head and started to march out into the rain toward the Palatine. Scaveola fell into step with him, ignoring the pounding rain.
“The door is still open, but barely,” Appius warned. “Unless Tiberius returns soon to defend himself, he will be exiled in absentia or declared dead.”
Cornelia sat in her usual posture, on the edge of her chair as if ready to leap up at any moment. He always wondered how she could look so relaxed yet poised to pounce at the same time. Sort of like a cat, he thought.
“He must come home. He must be found and brought home to defend himself. Where could he be?”
“You have no idea, some special place where he might like to go?” Appius asked.
“No,” Cornelia said, her voice a mixture of scorn and anxiety, “he wasn’t the kind to go daydreaming off.”