Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  “Huh,” Appius grunted. He dropped his eyes in thought. He looked up, “What about Claudia, has she said anything?”

  “She is crushed with worry. I do not think she knows anything.”

  He shook his head, “This worries me. Now I’m wondering if Nasica, Rufus, and their band ambushed him on the way home.”

  “He was supposed to return by sea,” she said, exasperated. “Do you think they attacked him between Ostia and Rome?”

  “Ah, but he didn’t arrive by sea!” Appius said. “His legion landed in Ostia, true enough, but none of the centurions or optios said he was on any of the ships.”

  “Then, he couldn’t have been surprised by Nasica and his lot. They don’t know where he is any more than we do.”

  Appius paced, rubbing his chin in thought. “Nasica and Rufus had no reason to waylay Tiberius. They intend a much more humiliating demise for him.”

  He ruminated some more. “We don’t know where he is. There is one, however, who might know. At least, he seemed to know more about Tiberius than anyone else in Rome.”

  “You’re talking about the Eques at the Comitium. Sextus Decimus, the man who sold us Tiberius’s horse.”

  “That’s right, Sextus Decimus Paetus!” Appius almost shouted. He looked again at this amazing woman, who seemed to have more knowledge of men’s doings than any man he’d ever met, including himself.

  “I met him briefly after his father and I closed the deal, the big stallion in exchange for his son’s commission as Tiberius’s Eques. Sextus was there when Tiberius and I took possession of the horse. Apparently, the young horseman did well in Numantia, better than everyone else, at least.”

  “But no better than my son.” She almost pierced him with those sharp green eyes of hers.

  “No, of course not,” he said.

  “You should visit him, Appius, see if he knows anything of Tiberius’s whereabouts.”

  “Yes, Cornelia, I’ll go this very day.”

  He might have married Cornelia, if he hadn’t been so devoted to his wife Antistia. Of course, Cornelia was somewhat older than he, though never less than beautiful all her life. In any case, Cornelia never would have had him, and he loved Antistia.

  Sextus Decimus Paetus lived beyond the walls of Rome, slightly north of the great city on a small mountainside. His villa was not small, however, but huge and sprawling, surrounded by miles, it seemed, of orchards, vineyards, and grain fields. Further up the small mountain, Appius could see another complex, a vast covered structure made of stone commanding the left side, with pens on each long wall. A road separated the building and a series of small pastures on the right, neatly laid out in perfect rectangular patterns. He noted what he thought to be several horses grazing in the grass, though at this distance it was hard to be sure. It made sense, however, since the Decimi fortune rested upon the buying and selling of equine flesh. From there, they had expanded into salt, olive oil, wine, vinegar, dates, figs, sun-dried fish, grain, flax, linens, semiprecious stones, and of course, slaves.

  Appius was rich. He and his family never had to worry about means or even living a life of bounteous excess if that was their choice. Like most modern men of his time, he espoused the teachings of the Greek ascetics, and had sent his children to be taught by Diophanes and Polydius, just like Gracchus. Thus, he cared little for the life of Croesus, thinking of coin only as a tool to achieve what he wanted, the power in Rome to effect good. Most prominent Romans felt the same way, though their concepts of good varied greatly.

  As he and his entourage entered the gates of Sextus’s villa, however, Appius started to wonder. Two rows of marbled columns ran 200 feet down both sides of what looked more like a lake than a pond. Pedestals seemed to climb from the water bearing magnificent, perfect bronze statues―by Phidias himself? Appius halted like he’d looked Medusa directly in her eyes. The head house slave leading him to Sextus now stood waiting several feet ahead. Appius attempted to hurry and catch up, but the marvelous tile mosaics on the walls slowed him again. Among flying fish and serpents, a luscious Venus arose out of blue-green sea foam, colors so vivid they almost blinded him. Across from her stood Vulcan, smiting his mighty forge, sending hot sparks into the air, the background black except for the glowing aura around his intense, craggy face.

  In another mosaic, Diana sent an arrow toward an antlered hart amid a richly dark wood of green and gold foliage. A lean, grey dog with teeth bared at her prey crouched beside the goddess. Appius saw a score more of such mosaics hanging along the long passageway between the columns, and he imagined the opposite passageway bore similar masterpieces. A domicile for the gods themselves! he thought.

  “Master,” the slave called out, and Appius moved quickly toward him.

  Again, in the main house’s peristylum, the furnishings, art, and other appointments were meticulous and fabulous. Near a bubbling fountain of a Greek youth pouring water out of a jar, Sextus lay stretched out on a couch, reading. As soon as the slave announced Appius, he stood up and reached out his hand to clasp Appius’s.

  “Greetings Consul Claudius, I am surprised to see you. Welcome.”

  “I’m long removed from the consulship, Sextus Decimus, just an ordinary senator, now. But thank you for the courtesy.”

  “Yes,” said Sextus, taller it seemed than when he spoke on the Rostrum, and even more striking with his long black hair. “Can I offer you anything? Would you like something to eat, or a drink, perhaps?”

  “Thank you, no, I’ve eaten all the way here, I’m afraid. Boring, travel is so slow, there’s really nothing else to do.” He patted his girth, “I believe that’s what has banished my lean warrior profile.”

  “Yes,” said Sextus slowly, seeming a bit puzzled and somewhat impatient.

  Appius hurried to the point, “But I don’t need to keep you with idle prattle, Sextus, we all have busy schedules. May I sit?”

  Sextus barely glanced at his slave, and another couch appeared instantly. Appius sat down as Sextus reclined back on his couch. “What can I do for you then, Senator Claudius?”

  Appius took a deep breath to begin. He was used to beguiling people from whom he wanted something, whether it was a better price on a toga, or a vote in the Senate for one of his pet projects. This Sextus threw him, though, calm all the time as if his wealth set him aside from other humans’ meager concerns, as if he were an immortal. However, he was being polite enough.

  “Sextus, you know who I am, and our families have had dealings together before. I’ve been around for a long time. I’ve tried to serve Rome well, which means I could never be coy or shy. My family name and my own actions precede me wherever I go. I am easy to find, easy to know.”

  “Of course, Senator Claudius.”

  “But not my son-in-law, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus.”

  Realization spread over Sextus’s face, and he curled his lips in what could have been perceived as a small knowing smile, almost smug. He nodded his head slightly, “Your son-in-law, of course.” He stretched on the couch, “How can I help you, Senator Claudius?”

  “I saw you in the Comitium yesterday, on the Rostrum contradicting Rufus. You did a masterful job of dismantling him and discrediting his slanderous statements, sheer obloquy on his part.”

  Sextus pursed his lips as if he’d tasted something sour. “Rufus is a baboon. I know, I saw one in Utica once, in a cage.”

  “He’s a dangerous baboon. Mancinus is not the only first man he’s brought down with his huge lies. I fear that Tiberius will be next if he isn’t here to defend himself. You saved him yesterday with your plain truths. But you’re no longer in service. Why did you defend him against Rufus?”

  Sextus sat up, “Because by attacking our tribune’s record, he attacked the reputation of the entire Ninth.”

  Appius bored into him, “And your reputation as well.”

  “The Ninth fought well in Hispania. Your son-in-law fought well.”

  “And you, too, Sextus Paetus,” Appius sa
id quietly. “We read of your courage in letters from Tiberius. All of Rome knows of your remarkable feats, your Mural Crown.”

  Sextus slumped back down on the couch, his head turned away from the older man. “No little turd like Rufus should be allowed to insult any soldiers. What war was ever he in? He’s just getting back at us for procuring goods from his estate. We should have done with him then, rather than have him nipping at everyone’s heels now.”

  Appius ignored the seditious nature of the remark and said, “Do you know where Tiberius is?”

  Sextus turned his head to look at the older man. “I do not. Tiberius discharged his legion in Tarraco except for the cohort given to him by Mancinus in Rome. The remains of the Ninth embarked from Tarraco to sail for Ostia and Rome. Tiberius marched his cohort north. I haven’t seen him since.”

  Appius fretted, “Even on foot, he and his men should have arrived in Rome by now. Or, we should have received word from him, at least.”

  Sextus shrugged, glancing away.

  “Sextus, I ask you, can you remember anything of where he might be? Is it at all possible that he left Hispania safely, that we still can hold out hope of his survival?”

  Sextus frowned, “I’m sorry, Senator Claudius, I don’t think I can be of much help.”

  Appius shrank a little, his breathing a bit shallower.

  The tall young man then twisted around again. “Maybe one possibility. Up near Cosa, when we first marched for Hispania, the legion came upon a bad road. A good part of it had disappeared into a morass. Whoever built it in the first place should have been flogged and crucified. In any case, the tribune was very worried about being late to join Mancinus in Numantia, and he couldn’t spend a great deal of time properly repairing the road. So, they used logs as a temporary fix, which worked well enough. However, he vowed that after the campaign was over, he would come back this way and repair the road properly, for good.” Sextus fixed eyes on Appius’s. “That’s where he might be. The gods know Cosa isn’t much anymore, and there isn’t much around it either. It could be a good place to lick his wounds. That’s where I would look.”

  “Thank you, Sextus,” Appius said as he shot to his feet. “You may have saved Tiberius from utter catastrophe.”

  “Yes, maybe so. He was a pretty good officer, all in all.” He eased back on the couch and closed his eyes, draping his arms above his head to block out the light from the setting sun. “In any case, I’m out of war forever. Too ludicrous to have the likes of Mancinus as a commander and types like Nasica and Rufus giving him his marching orders. I’m finished with all that. I’ll stick to raising horses.”

  Appius had reached the door leading out of the peristylum when he stopped. “One last question. What became of the big horse we gave to Tiberius?”

  Sextus shook his head, “Gone. Lost.”

  Chapter 21. Remorse

  The dying fall leaves dropping from the trees whipped around the horses. The chill air driving them this far north reminded Appius every time of how he hated the cold, the winter, freezing to death even though he was still alive. Tucked in behind a group of mercenaries hired for the trip, he still felt every cutting blast of wind, every icy raindrop, the utter inadequacy of his trousers, wool socks, heavy tunic, wool shawl, and sheepskin wrap in keeping him warm. What a horrible way to celebrate the autumnal equinox, he moaned to himself over and over.

  He longed for home, for Rome, for the hot baths near the Forum. Time and again he thought of turning back. Time and again he saw Cornelia’s expression when he faced her, having returned without Tiberius. He rode on.

  He felt lonely, too. Though ten former legionaries surrounded him, they weren’t much for conversation, at least, the kind he enjoyed. Amiable as they were, discussions of where they’d gotten this or that scar entertained only for so long. He wished he had asked Scaevola or Diophanes to come with him. But they probably would have said no.

  The gloom descendant upon him wasn’t helped by what he had seen traveling up here. In the shadows of the trees lining the sloping road, he saw shadow beings huddled close in the underbrush. A stab of panic rushed through him at the thought that they could be shades from Pluto’s dark world―had they come for his spirit? Then, Ajax rushed them on his mule, waving his sword, jeering, “Get out, dung bugs, or I smash your pointy heads!”

  They scattered deeper into the underbrush. Spirits of the dead? The party rode on.

  Later in the day, the ghostly creatures appeared again at the road’s edge where the woods gave them cover for a quick retreat. Ajax moved to dig his heels in his mule’s flanks again, when Appius held him back with his hand, “Wait.”

  He looked more closely at them, and realized that apparitions they might be, but most of them were women and children. He failed to see one grown man among them, not even an old grandfather. The sight troubled him, though he wasn’t sure why. They kept riding slowly up the road.

  Some of the children crept closer to the roadside. Like cats stealing their way up onto the dinner table for scraps, he thought, darting their eyes around, skittish and ready to jump at the first sign of being shooed away. So were these tiny wastrels, their oversized eyes popping out of their heads, with skin so tightly stretched as to make their heads seem like skulls.

  Appius halted his horse. He leaned over it, his arms holding on to its neck, and gazed at the small children staring up at him. One black-haired boy nudged forward the little girl next to him. She tried to turn back, but he pushed her again, this time giving her a good shove. She stepped up to Appius, her face a mixture of terror and hope.

  “Master, can you spare something? Some grain? Oats? Something?”

  “Why, you little witch,” Ajax yelled, “get you and your band away from here!” Pulling his sword, he maneuvered his mule between himself and Appius, who shouted, “Stop, Ajax!”

  But it was too late. Immediately after Ajax opened his mouth, the children scurried back into the woods. Appius marveled that they could move so fast, as frail as they appeared to be.

  They continued up the road, Appius pulling his cloak close again against the chill breeze, which now felt even colder as he thought of those hungry children. As they traveled, he saw their silhouettes in the woods, including a few taller ones further back in the brush. But none of them came out again. Word had raced ahead, it seemed. They apparently had encountered men with swords before, not a good thing for any poor peasant. He shivered once more, hoping that this miserable trip would soon end.

  After two days of climbing up and down hills and mountains along a seemingly endless, wooded road, they turned a bend and came upon a bustling camp of legionaries. Guards stood watchful in the towers flanking the castra gates. The doors were open, though, allowing soldiers out of armor to lead oxen pulling carts to and from the palisade. Piles of squared-off blocks filled the carts leaving the fortress, while the entering carts brought in rough-hewn stone for final cutting and fitting. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of men working, shouting back and forth to each other, some singing a cadence song.

  After seeing Appius and his party approach, one of the guards in the blockhouse over the gate turned and called down below. In short time, a centurion came out leading a small platoon of legionaries to meet the riders.

  The centurion was broad and thick, with a large, flat proboscis dominating a leather face carved into rectangular planes. As he closed on the horseman, he recognized a Roman citizen of wealth and stature, even someone familiar. He saluted across his breast, “Lucius Casca Naso, Centurion Primus, sir, at your service. How can I be of assistance?”

  “Senator Appius Claudius Pulcher, Centurion. I’m searching for my son-in-law, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, Quaestor and Tribune to Consul Hostilius Mancinus. Can you tell me what corps you serve in? Do you know of Tribune Sempronius’s whereabouts?”

  Casca seemed to straighten his back even more. “You’ve come to the right place, Senator. This is the camp of the Ninth Legion, recently returned from Hisp
ania. Tribune Sempronius is here, supervising the repair of the road just beyond the camp.” He pointed as he spoke without looking away from Appius.

  Appius relaxed, feeling like he was melting in his saddle. He grinned broadly, “Can you take me to him? At once?”

  “I would be happy to, Senator.” He called over his shoulder to another centurion to assume command, then turned back. “Please follow me.”

  Appius dismounted and led his horse by the reins as the stout centurion walked around the trench beneath the camp walls. He looked familiar, thought Appuis. But he couldn’t place him, he wasn’t sure if he’d met him in Rome or somewhere else. If he had met him, though, how could he have ever forgotten him?

  Shortly, they came to another wooded area, and the noise from the work could be heard clearly now. Appius handed the reins of his mount to one of his guards and followed Casca into the trees. Ajax walked behind him with five other guards.

  The wood opened up to a space widened where the road traversed the forested area. He immediately took in the engineering of the site. Worn and rotting logs from a past temporary fix lined the roadside. The ends of a series of new culverts drained the road, which had been created with precision: a tamped-down, level earthen bed, covered by heavy stone crushed and carefully evened off, followed by another layer of gravel and concrete. All had been capped off with meticulously measured and cut stone blocks, mortared into place with uniform care, slightly bowed from the middle out to allow for rainwater runoff.

  Appius estimated that the newly repaired section stretched for 600 to 1,000 feet, an impressive achievement after only a few month’s work. From what he could tell, a few yards remained to be capped and the job would be done.

  The toiling troops had stripped off their loricas and pulled their tunic tops down to their waists, not feeling the cool weather because of their work. Other soldiers stood guard looking away from the road site, though a surprise attack in northern Italia seemed a remote possibility. Still and all, it was classic, by-the-book military procedure. In the center of the last section under repair stood a tall figure wearing a short tunic and a farmer’s broad, straw hat. He seemed to be working a long staff down in the road trench, as if trying to worry some animal out of a trap. As they approached, Appius could hear the sound of his voice, growing.