by Dan Wallace
“There. That freed it. Let’s move it and get the rest sealed up.”
For the first time since he’d begun this forsaken journey, Appius felt warmth.
“Tiberius?” he called.
The straw hat snapped up, and Tiberius stared at Appius, who saw a Greek pastoral god before him. “Tiberius, it is me, your father-in-law.”
Light seemed to spread around Tiberius’s face as he realized who was speaking to him.
“Hello, Father-in-law.”
“Tiberius, Tiberius, we’ve been worried about you!” Appius grabbed both of his shoulders and squeezed. “Your mother, Gaius, ―Claudia. Claudia tells your children a story every night about how you are bounding around the stars, having one glorious adventure after another. Soon you will come home, she says, to kiss them goodnight. Are you ready to do that, Tiberius?”
Unsettled, Tiberius shifted his body, looking as though he wished Appius hadn’t found him.
“Let’s go to my tent, Senator.”
He turned and started back toward the camp, shouting out orders as they walked. In just a few minutes they were at the gates, the guards snapping to salute. Tiberius waved distractedly at them, and they returned to their former, casual vigilance.
Down the Via Principalis, they headed for the large quarters in the center of the camp, Tiberius’s praetorium. Appius noticed the small layout within the castra, a square that could hold no more than an undermanned company. By the number of tents in the compound, he imagined that there were considerably fewer foot soldiers stationed here than the several thousand that constituted a full legion. He recalled, then, Sextus saying that the Ninth had been mustered out except for the original cohort assigned to Tiberius by Mancinus. After assembling an entire legion, embarking on a full campaign season, winning and losing battles, fighting to survive, and navigating an honorable peace, Tiberius commanded just a few hundred men.
Tiberius held open the flap to his tent, the biggest in the camp, though not very big. Appius entered and saw a campaign table and stools, some chests for clothes and documents, a simple cot in a corner, a brazier for keeping warm at night, and an armor stand opposite to the cot. Appius looked for the helmet he’d given Tiberius, wondering if it had been lost in battle. He saw it, then, on the floor of the tent at the foot of the armor stand. Its highly reflective gloss had dulled, its grandeur blunted by a massive dent that had been roughly pushed out.
“Oh, the helmet,” Tiberius said, reaching over to pick it up and prop it on the armor stand post. It immediately fell off. “It hasn’t stayed on that post since it was bashed. The balance has been upset, I think. I asked our chief immune Titius to pound out the dent, but he wasn’t able to completely restore it. Maybe he was in a hurry.”
He picked it up again. “Anyway, I can get it repaired back in Rome.”
Appius nodded.
“Have a seat, Father,” Tiberius said, gesturing to a stool, “or, shall I have an orderly bring you a real chair? Certainly,” he said, before Appius could reply, and shouted, “Drusus, a chair for Senator Claudius. Bring wine, too, and food.”
Appius already had taken a seat on one of the stools. He gazed at Tiberius, still tall and graceful, a fully mature citizen of Rome. Yet, he seemed thinner, too, somehow not as robust as the young scion on his way up the cursus honorum. Despite his display of good fellowship and cheer, Tiberius wore a weary look, his blue eyes more deeply so, pained by distant troubles.
A young orderly stepped into the tent, a curule chair held in one hand, and a jug and two cups in the other. He proceeded to place the chair near Appius while Tiberius cleared the tabletop of engineering drawings. The officer set down two cups, filled them both, and slipped a basket from the crook of his elbow to a space next to the jug. He then saluted his commander, pivoted, saluted Appius, and withdrew.
Tiberius removed two cloths from the basket to uncover bread, olive oil, and fruit. Two upright plates flanked the meal, which he put on the table along with the cloths.
“Please, Father, sit in the chair.”
Although it seemed like more trouble to get up rather than sit where he was, Appius rose and took his place in the chair. Tiberius sat down and raised his wine expectantly. Appius lifted his in turn, saying, “To the good gods above,” as he tapped Tiberius’s cup. He sipped, staring over the rim as he drank. Tiberius put his cup down and gestured to the meal.
“Please eat, you must be hungry from the trip.”
Appius took some bread, tore off a small piece and put it in his mouth. After chewing a few times, he stopped and swallowed, placing the remaining piece in his hand on the plate.
“Tiberius, why didn’t you come home?”
Tiberius raised back, then sighed.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Appius said, “We had no idea where you could be. The others had returned, yet you ... disappeared.”
Tiberius let go his breath again. “I’m sorry, Appius. Truly.”
“Your wife―Claudia was distraught! Oh, she hid it well, like a good Roman woman, but we could see how worried she was. And, your mother―do you know what’s been going on in Rome?”
Tiberius barely shook his head.
“It’s a wild pig hunt! The Senate is condemning the Numantia campaign as a dishonorable display of cowardice. They’re debating how to punish Mancinus and all of his tribunes. They’ve declared the peace treaty to be an act of treason! They claim that you had no right to negotiate anything, that you had no standing.”
“Mancinus appointed me tribune of the Ninth.”
“The Senate sees you as a quaestor. They don’t care about any battlefield promotion, they want retribution. They are fed up with losing in Numantia and they want to take it out on Mancinus, and you.”
“Who in the Senate is leading this charge to reprimand the veterans of Numantia?”
A sour look came over Appius’s face. “Scipio Nasica, Rufus Faba, Spurius Postumius, and the other Good Men.”
Tiberius smiled cooly and sipped his wine. He lowered his head, seeming to take his time absorbing what he had just heard. After a moment, he shifted his eyes back to Appius.
“Well. I’m sorry to hear this. I suppose I must go back to Rome, now, for honor’s sake. Perhaps I can wrangle an exile out of them.”
“My dear boy, all is not lost! We can fight them on this. You saved four legions and their auxiliaries! We can rally support and blunt this audacious attack. Oh, they think they are big men, Nasica and the Bean, all of the Optimates. But they aren’t, they are nasty, vicious little river rats who fear change because of what they own. They will back down if you stand up to them!”
Appius caught his breath and reached for his cup. Tiberius looked at him with fixed eyes, his countenance unchanged by his father-in-law’s impassioned speech.
“You burn as hot as the sun, Father.” His tone was almost a drone, belying any awe in his words. Appius hesitated, then pushed himself to ask the question.
“Tiberius,” he said, almost plaintively, “why didn’t you come home? What kept you from Claudia and your family, your mother Cornelia? We worried so much about you! Why did you stay away?”
Tiberius stiffened. He gradually relaxed, understanding that he would have to answer. He took a pull from his wine and said, “I wanted to fix this road. It’s a soldier’s duty to repair any of the Republic’s roads when they degrade. We came to it while marching past Cosa to our ships bound for Hispania. The road was a mess, a bog, much of it under water. I wanted to rebuild it then, but I didn’t have time, we were so late in leaving. I was torn, but finally decided to plank logs over it and move on. After withdrawing from Numantia and while we waited to board the ships taking us back home, I realized that I could return to Cosa and repair the road.”
Appius looked at him, trying to hide his skepticism. Who wouldn’t want to delay returning to Rome after the Numantia fiasco?
“You returned to Cosa with the cohort given to you by Mancinus,” Appius said.
Tiberiu
s shrugged, sipping some more, “Some of them and some evocati, too. Old spears who reenlisted because they had nothing left here, nothing left to lose.”
“Evocati? Roman veterans?” Appius said, mildly surprised.
Tiberius said, “That’s how I filled out the Ninth.” He leaned forward on his elbows, “You have to know, Father, what we saw was not to be believed. All along the roads across Italia and back, in Etruria and up past Cosa, everywhere. We saw Romans, men, women, and children starving, no place to go. I talked to them, asked them why they walked the roads, why weren’t they home working their land, getting ready for winter?
“They said they had no land, no homes. Their farms had been taken, either by extortion or force. Rich Romans, they said, rich. Now richer, swelling their estates to the size of seas by taking small farmers’ plots. So, they wander the roads, looking for work, handouts, miracles to stay alive. Hundreds of them, Appius, thousands, our closest allies, the few men left after filling our armies and fighting our wars, and their families, begging on the roadsides. Starving. They looked like shades rather than human beings.”
Appius felt a chill rise through him. He pulled his fur cloak closer, crossing it over his breast.
“Are you cold, Father-in-law?” asked Tiberius. “It’s a bit cooler up here. Let me get the brazier going.”
Tiberius stood up and called for Drusus to light a fire. The orderly came in with wood branches, which he laid into the iron brazier. He soon had a small fire going, carefully situating it close to Appius upon Tiberius’s instructions. He bowed slightly, saluted, and left.
Tiberius sat back down. “I thought I’d seen the worst things possible when I watched Scipio execute the last of the Carthaginians―all the men and boys with more than ten years, and any women who resisted. The rest were sold. Maybe half a million perished, the surviving few sold into slavery. I tried to convince myself, ‘this is war.’ Still, I left before it was all over and done. Perhaps I was weak, but it turned my stomach.” He shook his head, “It was a trumped-up war, anyway, Cato the Elder and his never-ending magpie calls, ‘Carthage must be destroyed. We need to raise the grain levy, and Carthage must be destroyed. Pay honor to the Vestal Virgins, and Carthage must be destroyed.’ You know, the poets say that the women of Carthage cut their hair to make bow strings for their soldiers. That’s how much of a threat they were.
“But what I saw north of Rome was not war, Appius, it was the slow torture and murder of old men, women, and children. They weren’t a foreign enemy, they committed no crimes―bless the gods, they served Rome and this was their reward, to have their land taken simply out of greed, their land lost to the Optimates’s, the Good Men’s greed.”
He drank deeply from his cup. “And, so they wander, wandering until they sit down to die.” He dropped clumsily onto the bench.
Appius sipped from his own cup. “I saw them, too.”
Tiberius raised his eyes to Appius, surprised. “You saw them?”
Appius said solemnly, “On our way here. We didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, so Ajax chased them off.”
Tiberius gazed into his cup. “Of course. I’ll be chasing off the ones still here soon enough.”
Appius looked at him blankly.
“The evocati,” Tiberius said. “When we go back, I’ll have Casca march the men left from Mancinus’s cohort back to Rome to muster out. The rest will be dismissed here, so that they can make their way directly home. That is, if any of them still have a home.”
Appius nodded silently. He’d never seen Tiberius so animated before, almost passionate. They had been drinking wine, but his son-in-law’s distress at what was happening to the country plebs seemed deeply heartfelt. Of course, Tiberius, too, was a plebeian of sorts, Appius reminded himself. Still, he’d never shown this kind of fire before, this fierce conviction. It surprised Appius and caused him pause.
He looked Tiberius up and down. “You’ve been drinking a lot of wine since Numantia?”
Tiberius smirked, “This is the first time, an accommodation for you, knowing your appetites.”
Appius drew back. He paused, then said, “You’re showing me a side of you I’ve never seen before. I didn’t know it existed.”
“And what’s that?”
“Toughness,” Appius said. “Political toughness.”
Tiberius glanced at him calmly, wearing an utterly neutral expression.
“Oh, you’re stout in battle, no doubt about that. Carthage and this last action tells that truth. But I never thought you would hold up to the infighting of the political life, the slander based on broad-back lies. How would you stand up to rumors that your wife spread her legs for every wine seller that came to her door? Better yet, she rolled over for their donkeys! Would you kill the purveyor of such filth, or out-filth him in turn? Romans will do anything to discredit their enemies, and every other Roman running for office or floating a popular law is the enemy. How would you handle that, Warrior?”
“What does it matter?” Tiberius said, reaching for his cup. He took a pull, then said, “Even if I am this stunning, political phoenix risen from the ashes of my once promising career, as soon as I enter the city gates, I will be pilloried for my role in Numantia.”
Appius leaned his head to one side, “True, first we need to deal with the Numantia problem. But once that’s done, we can get you started, move you ahead.”
“Appius―Father-in-law—what makes you think I have any potential left to move ahead in Rome?”
Appius said, “You have excellent breeding, an excellent war record ―no, don’t look like that, you were courageous in Carthage, and courageous and noble in Numantia. You saved lives.”
“Even if people believe that, it’s still not enough. Rome has men with the same pedigree lining up outside the Senate.”
“True, but you have one other thing that separates you from those climbers.”
“And, that is?”
“A cause. You have a cause, Tiberius. I just saw it this day.”
Looking bewildered, Tiberius shook his head, his hands apart.
“Why, the little farmers, Tiberius, the simple veterans thrown off their land by the greedy, rich estate owners. You can be the advocate of the wanderers, their champion.”
“Really? How so?”
Appius groped around, “By, by defending their rights.” He slapped his hands on the tabletop, rattling the metal dishes, “By proposing a comprehensive land reform law.”
Tiberius pursed his lips in a sour pout. “How could that work with all the wealth of Rome pledged against it? As I recall, it’s been tried before. Did not Gaius Laelius, Scipio Amelius’s man, fail miserably and utterly when he tried to enact a lex agraria? When he saw how unpopular it was and withdrew it, that’s when he earned his nickname Laelius the Wise, the Prudent.”
Appius shrugged, waving his wine cup in the air, “The timing wasn’t right. How many Roman veterans walked the roads then?”
"Not that many fewer than now, I imagine.”
“Yes, but the Roman people knew nothing about them, either. You will be the perfect witness to sway them with your testimony.”
“With respect, Father-in-law, this is a tragedy, not a political opportunity.”
“I understand, Tiberius, I understand exactly how you feel. I saw it, too. Others must have seen it. We can testify as well, and others will follow suit. But nothing can be done, nothing will be done without the power of Rome behind it, the political power.”
Appius arose and leaned both of his fists on the campaign table. “Tiberius, you are the most honorable man I have ever known. Deceit is an impossibility to you, that’s why I matched you with my daughter. In this case, however, you must match honor with the power of the state. If you truly wish to save these wretched creatures, you need to grasp the reins of tradition, the Mos Maiorum, and win the Roman people to your side!”
Tiberius sat silently. He pressed his lips thinly together, wrinkling his nose as if he smelled so
mething bad. At length, he sighed, “Where would we start?”
“With the Senate,” Appius went on, “right after we deal with these spurious slurs against your character. Once exonerated, you’ll become a hero to the people of Rome and we can build your campaign. To do that, we must leave for home, Tiberius, as soon as possible.”
Tiberius sighed once more. Slowly, he nodded his head.
In the morning, he reviewed with Casca the last parts necessary to complete the road. Thereafter, the camp was to be struck. Any extraneous supplies would be divided among the evocati, who would be removed from the legion’s roles on the spot. Casca then would lead the last of Mancinus’s men back to Rome, where they, too, would be dismissed. Afterward, Casca was to present himself at Tiberius’s front door.
They saluted each other in front of his command tent, and Tiberius mounted his horse. With the dented helmet ringing dully against his horse’s flank, he slowly passed by and saluted the assembled legionaries on parade, who cheered their retiring tribune. Then, he, Appius, and their entourage rode out of camp.
Chapter 22. Sea Change
Tiberius lay on the forward deck of the corbita that Appius had hired to sail from Cosa to Rome. Not quite as quick as the small fishing boats available, the craft was slightly bigger and safer, more comfortable, and faster than any other ship on the sea, merchant or military. For once, the gods of the winds favored them with a following breeze that pushed them south on calm seas. In two weeks, they would be back in Rome.
Appius whiled away the time outside the passenger quarters on the rear deck, sitting against the swan figurehead, drinking half-watered wine, and trading stories with the ship’s captain. Tiberius spent most of his time squinting with slit eyes at the autumn sun as it rode through the sky each day, east to west. The constant rhythm of the rushing water endlessly passing by the ship’s hull lulled him into a half-waking reverie. Occasionally, he watched flying fish bound above the waves in flight from some predators in the deep. A pod of dolphins slipped in next to the corbita, enjoying their large cousin surging through the waves, sluggish to them as it was. As twilight began to set in, they peeled off with bright calls to each other, ready to dine for the evening. When at nightfall Apollo turned his chariot toward the earth’s edge, Luna appeared fully radiant, illuminating everything in a marine blue light. The last time Tiberius had seen such a moon was when passing through the necropolis in Numantia.