Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  “As aedile, he exercised staggering organizational skills,” Appius went on, “that served him well in raising a legion in Italia.”

  The hours passed, the sun actually broke out in late afternoon, and Appius began to flag. He spoke in a ragged voice, now, barely able to be heard. Tiberius looked at Crassus and saw that he was squirming in his seat, ready to jump to his feet again. But then, he would become still, as if he, too, knew that they were nearing the end.

  Tiberius turned his eyes to Scaevola, who displayed the same calm demeanor as he had in the beginning of this ordeal. Scaevola would remain expressionless no matter what happened.

  Appius began to cough uncontrollably. He turned to grab a flagon of water even as Nasica stood up.

  “Consul, this has gone on long enough. Only an hour remains until sunset. Do you want us all to endure another day of this?”

  “No!” “No!” shouted members across the chamber, “No more!” “Call for a division!” “A division, for Jupiter’s sake, let’s get this over with.”

  Appius straightened, his eyes wild, “Wait, Consul, wait,” he croaked, “I have much more to say that will prove the difference!”

  Philus stared at Crassus, who gazed back sadly without moving. The Consul stood up and said, “You’ve said everything, Senator, you’ve sent enough. Your time is up. I ask for a vote by acclaim for cloture.”

  “Aye!” reverberated throughout the Senate chamber. Even the Populares appeared to be too tired to go on.

  Appius sputtered, but Nasica called out, “I move that we vote on a pronouncement of condemnation of Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus for high crimes in consorting with the Numantine enemies.”

  Little Rufus Faba almost leaped from his seat, “I second the motion.”

  “Senators, please come to the floor for the division.”

  Appius leaned hard against the front partition as the senators began descending to the chamber floor. He sat down on the floor, propped up against the wood.

  Before he made his way to the aisle, Crassus patted Tiberius on the shoulder. Scaevola was ahead of him, stepping down without looking his way. Tiberius swallowed, finding it difficult to believe that he was about to be judged for a capital offense. All of his worries and fears in the night hadn’t prepared him for this. He glanced down at Horatius and the other tribunes and realized that they already seemed resigned to a terrible punishment.

  Scaevola and Crassus made their way to Appius’s side and helped him to his feet. The three men turned to Philus for the call of the vote.

  A tumultuous outburst sounded outside of the building, sustained and growing in loudness. The noise grew as a wave approaching the Curia. Philus turned his head to the vestibulum, confounded by the racket, voices of a thousand at full capacity. All of the senators looked expectantly toward the front of the building. They heard the doors slam open, increasing the crowd noise even more. The two guards at the entrance to the chamber tightened their grips on their spears, half-whirling to face the thunderous cheers.

  Several hard men walked into the chamber, followed by Gaius, all stepping aside to make way for Scipio Africanus Aemilianus. As he walked deliberately into the chamber, the chants from outside could be heard clearly now, “Aemilianus! Aemilianus!”

  Like everyone else in the chamber, Tiberius stared at the man, not believing his eyesight. He glanced to Gaius, who flashed him a quick, wide grin before assuming a solemn bearing again. Tiberius turned his gaze back to Scipio Aemilianus, who walked to the center of the room and faced Philus. He appeared as he always did, half the age of his peers, among them Appius and Crassus, fit, clear-eyed, and ready to lead the world.

  “Consul Philus, if you please. I would like to address the senators before they render a decision of this gravity.”

  Without saying a word, Philus swept a broad welcome with his right arm. Nasica opened his mouth, but then kept quiet.

  “Senators, I understand you intend to pass judgement on Tiberius Gracchus about his actions in Numantia. The argument has been made that he aided Mancinus in making a dishonorable peace with the Numantines. For Mancinus, I cannot speak; he’s plowed his own furrow in all of this. And, peace with the Numantines is out of the question. It always has been.

  “But what of Gracchus? What has he done? Treason? Overstepped his authority?”

  Scipio shook his head almost pityingly. “Hardly. Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus saved 20,000 Roman soldiers and their camp followers. Two legions still serve in Hispania Citerior because of his quick action. Those two legions are why we still have any part of Hispania left to call our own. Those two legions represent the core of the army that ultimately will vanquish the Numantines for good. With your leave, I will take those two legions, and add thirteen more to them. With this force, I will mount a campaign against Numantia that will leave no doubt about who rules Hispania—Rome!”

  The building exploded with the cheers of the senators joined by sound tremors from the crowd listening through the doorway and windows. All of the men in the Curia rushed to the floor in hope of being the first to congratulate Scipio, but he raised his hand to hold them back.

  “Senators, a division has been called, one I consider a poor exercise considering the facts. Bad peace treaties have been made by Roman generals before, several in Numantia. The Sempronii Gracchi have a good record, however; Tiberius Major as a conqueror, Tiberius Minor as a savior. Let us not make a habit of punishing proven heroes. Let us praise Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus for what he has done.”

  Scipio turned around to Philus and said, “Consul, do you wish to call the division?”

  Philus glanced at Nasica and Rufus, then said, “All in favor of condemning Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, step to the right of the room.”

  Not a senator on the floor moved.

  “Those in favor of acquittal, please move to the left.”

  Moving with a flourish, Scipio deliberately stepped to the left to join Appius and Crassus. The rest of the senators almost stampeded to their side.

  “The division has been rendered. Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus is absolved of all accusations.”

  The thundering cheers started again, first with choruses of “Aemilianus,” then shifting to “Gracchus!” Tiberius felt thunderstruck himself. Appius sat down on the first seat in the row while Crassus and Scaevola came back up to pound Tiberius on his shoulders. While they sat down, beaming and laughing, Tiberius shifted his eyes to Appius.

  The exhausted man sat as though he might never rise again, wiping his forehead with a silk cloth. Gaius came up to him and bent over to kiss his cheeks. They exchanged a few words, smiling. Gaius stood up straight and leaned across the barrier to hug his big brother.

  “He sent you after Scipio.”

  Gaius pulled back and nodded his head quickly, smiling and bursting with pride.

  Tiberius hugged him, saying, “You’re a fully-grown man, Gaius.”

  Gaius said, “I know, Tiberius, I’ve been telling you that all along. Our brother-in-law has promised to take me with him to Numantia as his adjutant!”

  Gaius turned to Crassus, who reached to embrace him as well. He missed Tiberius’s face darkening.

  “We still have the matter of Mancinus’s military tribunes to deal with,” Nasica said.

  Scipio turned to him, “Oh, cousin, do we really want to try these men for losing a war? If that’s our practice, we’ll have no officers left anywhere!”

  The senators near them laughed as Nasica’s face reddened. “The day is almost done, and I must be on my way. I can trust you to marshal my command of the Numantine war through the Senate, yes?”

  Nasica lowered his head.

  “Wonderful. Then, I’m off to find an army.”

  Scipio turned with a flourish and started for the Curia vestibulum. Tiberius quickly excused himself and followed him into the long hallway.

  “Scipio.”

  Scipio pivoted and smiled. “Brother-in-law. Congratulations on your acquittal.”
>
  “You mean my escape. Gaius persuades you to save me, and you take him to Numantia.”

  Hearing Tiberius’s tone, Scipio’s became flinty in return. “You can thank Gaius,” he said, “and Sempronia.”

  “Sempronia,” Tiberius said. “You have my entire family at your beck and call. Appius sent Gaius, I’m surprised you haven’t found something for Claudia and my children to do.”

  Scipio pulled back, his brow furrowed. “You are an ungrateful dog,” he said almost humorously. “At best, they were about to ship you off to the Indus. What roles would your sweet wife and children have then, son?”

  “I’d rather be in exile than in your debt. How many times must you humiliate my sister, my mother before you’re satisfied? And, I’m not your son!”

  Tiberius moved to leave when he felt his arm pulled. He looked back to see a genuine look of anguish on Scipio.

  “Wait. Wait.” he said. He breathed in, and out. “I saved you because you deserved to be saved. Those jackals in there would have done anything to make you pay. For their own failings, I guess, I don’t know. I argued what I believed. You were a hero in Hispania. If you weren’t too old, now, I’d ask you to join me in Numantia as my first military tribune.” He shrugged, “But you are too old, now. So, I asked Gaius.”

  “I’m not too old,” Tiberius said, “but I’m done with Numantia, and certainly with you.”

  Scipio sighed his exasperation. “You will never understand. I would have adopted you, just like my father had adopted me, if you had just given me any consideration at all!”

  Tiberius turned on him. “You? Adopt Tiberius Sempronious Gracchus’s oldest son? Your self-esteem knows no bounds. And, you won’t be adopting Gaius, either. Get that out of your mind.”

  Tiberius wheeled around and walked through the doors of the Curia, where he heard again the cries, “Gracchus! Gracchus! Gracchus!”

  Chapter 25. Casca 136-133 BCE

  Casca raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. More vinegar than wine, he eased it down his throat, in no hurry to quench his thirst. He’d been in the taverna all day long and had no thirst left to quench. Drinking was just drinking now.

  Four narrow windows in the front of the building allowed in the light from the hot, setting sun, piercingly bright in the dark, low-ceilinged room. The light never reached the black walls behind the grey trestle tables and benches. Patrons sat in front of their cups as nondescript lumps, moving slightly now and then, as if to prove that they were still alive.

  He sipped some more. As he drank, he used the cup to block the glare from the windows, shifting his eyes sideways to survey the room carefully. In one corner, he saw three men passed out on top of a table. Like him, they’d been here since the place opened. So, most likely they were in deep stupors, not pretending.

  Dead across from him sat a man with a woman on his lap, squirming, but in a very constrained fashion. They looked like they were screwing right here in the common room. He squinted to see beneath the table, but he couldn’t tell for sure because of the dark shadows.

  He swung his head to the right and found what he was looking for, what he had expected. Four men sat at one table, never touching the cups in front of them. They slouched talking softly to each other, sometimes looking around the room, then back at the tabletop. Casca kept his eyes on them, and sure enough, every now and then one of them would take a glance in his direction, then quickly look away. One by one, they saw him staring at them. In turn, each averted his eyes quickly. Finally, they stood up and left.

  And that was his day. Drink, watch, drink. Why not?

  The girl came up to him and asked, “More, Naso?”

  He gazed up.

  “Do you know me, or are you just sizing me up by my nose?” He laid his index finger on the wide, flat, misshapen mass occupying the middle of his face.

  She paused. “I don’t know your name. What do you think?”

  She seemed to be attractive, or at least young. Tough enough to show some iron, too, he thought, an important part of working in this kind of place.

  “Bring more,” he said.

  She nodded, but as she was turning to go, he said, “Lucius Casca.”

  She stopped. “All right,” she said, without looking back. She started for the bar again when he said, “Naso.”

  She eyed him, puzzled. “Lucius Casca Naso, Centurion Primus of the Ninth legion, retired.”

  “Oh. Lucius Casca,” she said, and before he could say yes, she finished with “Naso,” laughing. Casca made a face as he bobbed his head up and down. “And you?”

  “Helena.”

  “Of course. Helen of Troy, always starting a war.”

  She said, “Just watch me,” and left.

  His twin brother, Manius Casca, had broken his nose when they were six, fighting over the end of a stale loaf of bread. Always the stronger, although the younger, Lucius wrested the bread from his brother and began to stuff it in his mouth. It was too hard, and while he tried to crush it with his front teeth, Manius hoisted up a three-legged stool. Barely able to hold it upright, he brought it down across the bridge of Lucius’s nose, which exploded from the blow.

  Covered with blood and cartilage, Lucius coughed the bread out of his mouth and shrieked in pain and fear. Manius dropped the stool and dove for the bread, never minding that it had soaked up Lucius’s blood. He popped it into his mouth, and suddenly flew across the table from the blow his mother gave him. She worked him over efficiently, quieting him with four quick punches to the head. Then, she turned on Lucius still crying at the table and hammered his head while he screamed bloodcurdling cries of pain, his mother hitting his nose again and again. She pushed him into a far corner of the hovel’s small front room and said, “Shut your face up! I’m trying to sleep here.”

  The two boys muffled their weeping until she’d lifted the ragged blanket that separated the kitchen from the sleeping space to go back to bed. Their father woke them up that night when he came through the door drunk. The boys began to cry again, and Casca Major mumbled, “What the ...? What?”

  He looked at their battered faces and stepped past them to brush the hanging blanket aside. They could hear the yelling until he came out dragging their mother by her hair.

  “What’s this?” he said, “what’s this?”

  “They woke me up,” she said, and he hit her.

  “They woke you up? You almost put them to sleep for good, you stupid donkey!”

  He hit her again and said, “Clean them up! Then, get me something to eat.”

  She grabbed Lucius and wiped his face with the hem of her dress. “Cassius, look.” She used her finger to flop Lucius’s pulpy nose back and forth, causing him to howl with each touch. “There’s no fixing this.”

  Cassius looked at his bawling son and said, “There isn’t. I guess you have your full name now, boy―Lucius Casca Naso. Stuff something into that mess, Eudocia, so he doesn’t bleed out.”

  “What about me, Pa? What’s my name?” asked Manius.

  Cassius grabbed his oldest son by his shoulders and held him back to get a good look. “You’re lumped up, boy. Amazing, your head’s twice its size!” Cassius Casca nodded, “Manius Casca Capito. Makes sense.”

  He let him go and shifted his sight to his wife. “Where’s the food?”

  “We’re out,” she said, leaning back.

  “Out? Why didn’t you go get something?”

  “No coin.”

  “I left you some. You drank it up, you sow.”

  “Well, give me some now and I’ll go get something.”

  “It’s dark outside! There’s not a shop open now in all of Patavium.”

  He shook his head, “Stupid pig sow,” and left.

  Lucius would be Naso and Manius Capito from then on.

  When they were nine, they found their mother dead. Their father was nowhere to be found, off to a war in some far reach. So, they dragged her body out of the shanty across the road to a ditch where they dum
ped it. Then, they went back inside to find something for supper.

  By this time, they had learned how to work together to steal food. One distracted, the other snatched. They also learned to fight back to back against the other, older urchins, pulling out sharp sticks when necessary, cutting and thrusting just like their father had taught them. As they grew older, the others still alive left them alone. Soon, they attracted ruffians to their side, and had the run of Patavium, stealing, selling, and squirreling away their take in separate hiding holes.

  When their father returned from a campaign, however, he always found their goods. As soon as he did, he ran out for a binge. He’d bring women home, announcing each one as their new mother. Usually, though, Mater Novo landed out in the street the next morning. One time, when they were twelve, he brought home another woman, a ratty brown-haired tramp with a foul mouth and a foul smell.

  “This is your new mother,” he said. “Give her a big kiss.”

  The boys cringed, but Cassius thrust them both at the woman, who laughed and grabbed them in her arms, rubbing them up against them her giant, wineskin breasts.

  “That’s right, Mama,” giggled Cassius, “love them up! Teach them how it’s done.”

  The two boys scrambled to escape, but the woman grabbed Lucius before he could flee while Cassius intercepted Manius.

  “Take them, Venus, to Mount Olympus. Here, take the oldest first. Naso can have the second course!”

  They disappeared behind the cover, and Lucius could hear his brother yelling and shouting until it all went quiet. After a minute’s silence, Manius bolted from behind the blanket and darted out the front doorway without stopping.

  “You’re next, my boy, soon to be a man. Now, get in there and mount that bitch,” said Cassius as he thrust Lucius through the blanket. The cackling woman gathered him up and pulled him on top of her. She stank worse than anything he’d ever smelled, and she was moist, more slippery and sticky than wet.