Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  When they arrived at Cosa, Gracchus cut loose the surviving old vets and their sons. Casca figured that he and the remains of the Ninth’s original cohort would be mustered next. That would be the last he saw of Gracchus. But the tribune surprised him by settling the old mules in a camp near Cosa to rebuild a road. When Senator Claudius appeared, Casca again thought that Gracchus was gone for good.

  Instead, Gracchus ordered Casca to finish the road, march the cohort back to Rome, then report to him at his home in Rome. Then, Casca began to think that the Fates had intertwined their threads forever.

  By the time Casca arrived in Rome, the big story was racing back and forth through town: The Senate was trying Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus for making peace with the barbarians of Numantia, clearly a treasonable offense.

  Casca presented himself to Gracchus that night. Standing in the vestibulum doorway, as big as he was, he felt small. The Greek who greeted him brought him into the main hall and asked him to wait while he fetched his master. Gracchus swept into the hall grinning broadly. He grabbed Casca by his upper left arm while he clasped his right hand.

  “Centurion Primus Casca Naso—Lucius—welcome to our home.”

  Weirdly, at that moment Casca recognized, somewhat ironically, that he would die for this man.

  Gracchus brought him into the main room and introduced him to his stunning wife Claudia. Holding a beautiful child in her arms, she mentioned how much they had heard about the feats of the centurion primus in Hispania. Senator Claudius hailed him warmly as well, and two other little children ran over to look up at him in awe. Then, Gracchus introduced him to his mother, Cornelia Scipio Sempronia. Even Casca understood the power in this tiny woman, a woman universally known as the most august in all of Rome.

  She bowed her head slightly when introduced and said, “I understand that you were brave in Numantia. My son tells me that none of them would have survived without you anchoring the legion. Salve, Centurion Casca.”

  Casca bent at the waist and kissed her hand and everyone laughed and applauded.

  Gracchus moved to him, “Come, Lucius, I have a small matter to take care of.”

  He ushered the centurion into the peristylum and sat him down on a long couch, one that could be used to recline on and read, or just rest while listening to the small birds in the fig trees. To Casca’s surprise, Gracchus sat on the wall of the pond opposite him, their knees almost touching. He leaned over with his hands together and said, “I am so happy to see you, Lucius. You were the pillar of the Ninth, you know? Everything my mother said about you is true. We wouldn’t have survived without you leading us or covering our backs. You and your brother legionaries were the ones who saw us through this mess.”

  “You made the deal with the Numantines,” Casca said. “You persuaded them to let us leave without punishment.”

  Gracchus shook his head. “They made the peace because we had them in a vice. If they ignored us, we would attack their flanks. If they tried to take our position, old Pyrrhus had a lesson for them.” He sat up straight. “Do you know what I learned while in the Numantine stronghold? They only had 8,000, maybe 10,000 total in their army. Not 50,000, 10,000! If we’d known that, we could have won.”

  Casca said, “Not with Mancinus in command.”

  Gracchus pulled in a little, “Yes, well, we won’t know, I suppose.” He looked down at his sandals, now quiet. Casca said, “I heard about your troubles with the Senate.”

  “Oh, yes. Politics.”

  “They are out of their minds. We could have been massacred. It’s that little pig-faced Rufus, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, he’s involved. Still, he is a senator. Senator pig face. Fits with his bean-shaped body,” he said offhandedly.

  They both laughed, then lapsed again into silence. Tiberius seemed distracted until he briskly shook his head. “No matter, Lucius, I wanted to thank you personally for your service, and also for safeguarding the return of the men to Rome. And, I wanted to find out your plans for the future. Do you have anything in mind? More soldiering? Successfully, this time, of course.”

  Casca laughed and said, “No, I’m done with that now. Getting grey, you know?”

  “I’d say I look older right now. In any case, I wanted to give you something in appreciation of what you’ve done for the Ninth.”

  “I can’t take anything from you, sir.”

  “It’s not from me,” said Tiberius, “it’s from our illustrious Senator Rufus.”

  As he spoke, the old Greek slave came into the room and handed the tribune a small leather bag. “The last of the legion’s coin,” said Tiberius as he passed it to Casca. “I held some back for you. It’s not much, but it should tide you over until you decide what you want to do. When you do have an idea, come see me, if I’m still around that is,” he chuckled. “Perhaps my family and I can help you.”

  When the day of the tribunes’s trial came, Casca stood close to the Senate doors early in the morning. He watched as Nasica performed the rites of sacrifice to bless the Senate’s actions that day. He saw them all filing in, close in with the other members of their factions. Tiberius finally appeared with a couple of senators whom Casca didn’t recognize. Senator Claudius walked with him, too, though. He happened to glance Casca’s way and saw him standing at the doorway. He nodded slightly and went inside.

  From what he could hear, matters seemed to be going badly. He slipped his hand into his tunic and fingered the blade of the dolo tucked away out of sight. He knew that he couldn’t take on the whole of Rome’s Senate and their guard. But he thought, in case someone inside started something. Just in case.

  Hours later, Scipio Aemilianus arrived. As he walked toward the entrance to the Curia Hostilia, he squinted at Casca as if trying to place him. Then, his eyes opened wide.

  “Centurion Lucius Casca, by the Gemini stars!” he said.

  Casca nodded and saluted, saying evenly, “Consul Scipio.”

  “One of the Casca centurions in Rome,” Scipio said, his eyes staring into Casca’s, though his thoughts seemed years away.

  “Retired, sir,” Casca said.

  “Yes,” said Scipio, “Of course. We’re all growing too old for the long campaign these days, no, Primus? But I bet it wouldn’t take much to bring you back into the field, right?” Casca didn’t reply, and Scipio said, “Well, I must go in, Casca, but keep a thought in mind about a return to service. Opportunities might come your way that could get your blood going again, not to mention filling your purse.”

  Scipio left, and in a matter of minutes, Tiberius Gracchus was acquitted of the Good Men’s charges. As soon as he heard the crowd roaring for his tribune, Casca left to find his favorite taverna on the Aventine.

  So, here he sat, two years later, still drinking bitter wine while waiting for Helena or Ariadne to show up. Neither did. Scipio had summoned him, preparing for his try at Numantia. Casca ignored the call, telling the messenger to let Scipio know that he was a full-time drunk now. He wanted no part of Hispania anymore, never mind Numantia.

  He scraped together a living by doing a little body guarding, some thieving, collecting wagers around the edges of the Circus, even fighting as a gladiator in a few funereal matches. He kept a small room on the top floor of an insula, but most of his money went to vinegar wine. Others might have thought of his life as a waste of time; he only thought of it as waiting, watching.

  The heat and the brilliant sunlight caused everyone in the wine house to lay their heads on the tabletops. Casca positioned himself so that he could fix one eye on the door while he rested.

  A shadow filled the doorway, framing a figure more wide than tall, but substantial. Whoever it was gazed around, searching. Casca slipped his hand into his tunic to grasp the haft of his dolo. The figure gathered himself, and walked straight into the room, straight at Casca, followed by four other bulky silhouettes. Casca unlimbered his dolo and held it beneath the table pointed at the men.

  “Centurion Primus Casca!”
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br />   Senator Appius Claudius Pulcher stood before Casca, his hands outstretched. Behind him stood an old vet, maybe a first spear himself at one time. Backing him up were three roughnecks, probably from the same legion as the old veteran.

  “Senator Claudius, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “Indeed! May I sit down?”

  “There’s only room for one more here.”

  “That’s all we require.” Claudius waved to the men standing behind him, who split up to take seats at tables directly behind and to each side of the one Casca occupied.

  Appius worked his way around the bench on the other side and sat like a sack of grain hitting the floor. “Ah,” he said, “it is hot out there today.”

  He pulled a silk cloth from his toga and wiped his sweating brow, which immediately blossomed forth an entirely new crop of perspiration.

  “So, Casca, how are you? Are you well?”

  Casca moved his mouth as though tasting something he couldn’t quite identify. “I am alive, Senator, so I am well.”

  “Good, good, well stated!” Appius leaned in and said, “Making a good living, I suppose?”

  “Enough to buy wine. What more do I need?”

  “Ah, yes, you’ve definitely taken a philosophical bend, Centurion, since we last met.”

  “Blame the wine, Senator, for that and how much I talk these days.”

  “Yes, I imagine you are a man of few words on any other day. But to run into you after all these years, well, it does mark a special occasion. Girl!” he beckoned, “More wine for my friend here, and for me.”

  When she had put down the cups in front of them, Casca watched as Claudius picked his up and drained it without a thought. The old man had been a soldier, he noted.

  “So, Senator,” Casca said, “did you?”

  Appius looked at the centurion. “Did I what?”

  “Just ‘run into me.’”

  “Ah,” said Appius. He rested his weight on his arms on the table, which brought him closer to Casca. “Of course, not exactly. You are a shrewd one, you are, Centurion.”

  “It didn’t take a soothsayer to figure it out.”

  “No, of course not.” Appius drew back. “In fact, I was searching you out.”

  “To introduce me to your fellows, here?” Casca said, gesturing with his head at the four men sitting around them.

  “Oh, no, Ajax and his men are precautions only. I learned that you were down in this suburbia, clearly a lively, diverse community. However, one such as myself might look too out of place, perhaps attracting undue attention. Ajax and his men allow me to blend in.”

  “Yes, they do,” Casca said with a straight face, and Appius couldn’t help smiling. “So, what can I do for you, Senator Claudius?”

  Again, Appius drew closer to Casca across the table. “It’s not me you can do something for, Casca, it’s your old tribune Tiberius Gracchus.”

  Casca suddenly showed interest. “Go on.”

  Appius glanced to his left, then said, “After the difficulties he suffered upon his arrival back from Numantia, Tribune Gracchus determined to tend to his family and his holdings. Now that two years have passed since then, Gracchus has decided to reenter public life.”

  “How so?” asked Casca.

  “He plans to run for office.”

  “Consul? That seems a reach.”

  Appius shook his head emphatically, “No, no, that would be impossible. No, Gracchus is a man of the people. He feels that the common people of Rome have suffered losses during the past many years, losses economically, politically, and, as a result, a loss of equality. These losses are egregious and a threat to the very survival of the Republic, so Gracchus thinks. He believes that it is his duty as a Roman and a plebeian to do all he can to rectify this dangerous imbalance of power. Therefore, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus has decided to run for a position as a tribune of the people.”

  Appius watched Casca to see his reaction. The centurion sat stone-faced without speaking immediately. Then, he said, “Admirable. I suppose he plans on introducing some laws that might annoy some in the Senate?”

  Appius slowly moved his head up and down, “A significant number of senators in a certain faction definitely will find his agenda troubling.”

  Casca grunted, “Hah.” He stared at the tabletop for a time while thinking. “So, where do I come into this?”

  Appius said, “We would like you to be his agent in the Aventine and the surrounding suburbias. Find others such as yourself and begin speaking upon your old tribune’s behalf. See where the opposition might lie, and let us know. Also, form a core group of men who could be counted on to defend the tribune should an uglier side of the contest present itself. Ajax and his comrades will be your first recruits.”

  “Reporting to me?” Casca said. “Old Ajax looks too much the part of a primus himself to take my orders.”

  “Ah, thank you, brother,” interjected Ajax. “I was a prior in the Third, never a primus. I know you from Macedonia and the Ninth in Hispania. I’m happy and proud to serve as your man, Primus.”

  Casca nodded at the beaming Ajax, then turned back to Appius.

  “There will be money,” Appius volunteered.

  Casca shook his head, “I don’t need money. I’ll do it for free.”

  Appius smiled, “That’s very generous of you, very noble, but unnecessary and not good practice. What you will be doing for the Tribune will be a full-time job, and you will need money to grease the wheels. That’s how politics work. Also, we don’t want you to have to worry about making a living while serving Gracchus. We want to employ your full attention to the tasks at hand. We prefer that you cease earning your living the way you have been during the past two years.”

  Casca grinned, “No head knocking, no slippery fingers? Where’s the fun?”

  Appius said, “Think of those who won’t like Tiberius Gracchus being in a position of authority, of being able to tell them what to do. That should be fun enough.”

  Casca laughed and said, “I can see it would be.” He paused for a moment, then said, “You have an agent in the Aventine, Senator.”

  Appius broke into a radiant smile. “Excellent, Centurion, excellent.” He reached out his hand and clasped Casca’s. “Tiberius will be happy, very happy. He thinks the world of you, you know?”

  “I think the world of him,” said Casca.

  “Well, very well, then.” Appius pulled a leather bag from his toga, shook it, jangling it a bit, and placed it on the table. “Seed money for you. There will be more as needed. Ajax will stay with you to discuss plans. He’ll come back and report to me. If you need anything, however, come to me whenever you want.”

  Appius stood up, again offering his hand, and shook Casca’s hard.

  “All right. I believe we’ve finished for today. Vale, Centurion Primus Casca.”

  “You, too, Senator. Vale.”

  Appius turned and left accompanied by the other three men. Casca turned to Ajax and said, “Have a seat, brother. Let’s set to it. More wine!” he barked as Ajax sat across from him, smiling.

  Chapter 26. Toga Candida

  A tiny frog jumped from the side of the little pond in the peristylum into the water with a dainty splash. Tiberius watched it spread and snap its hind legs as it disappeared beneath the water. He glanced around and saw another, no bigger than his thumbnail, sitting on a lily pad. Signaled by some arcane summons, it, too, arced into the air and the water. Tiberius shifted around, wondering if the house cat lurked nearby. He lifted his eyes to see if birds were flying across the opening above the atrium. They should be migrating, now that it was the middle of autumn. No, nothing. Maybe they’d already flown away.

  Or, maybe he had scared them away. The idea surprised him, he sat so quietly, completely relaxed. He had the pond built in the peristylum after his return from Cosa. It became his place of choice when he wished to be silent, to contemplate the life given to him by Fortuna and the other gods and goddesses. He relished
perching on the corner of the pond to watch the living creatures come and go in their small universe. The pond served as their entire world, the frogs, the fresh-water minnows brought here from a country brook, the silverfish gliding faster than Jupiter’s lightning from side to side, plant to plant. In the center, a magnificent cluster of reeds and water flowers intertwined like exotic dancers in a glorious, serpentine climb to the nurturing sunlight. Birds occasionally darted in from above searching for a fruit fly or some other juicy bug. The peace of it all, the beauty, made him sigh.

  Claudia knew how much he enjoyed this time. She kept the children away from him, though sometimes he asked her to let them come. They ran to him silly with pleasure at playing with their papa, doing their best to push him into the water. Little Tiberius and Cornelia Sempronia were seven and six, now, Gaius was three, and baby Appius barely kept his feet at one. He scooped up the youngest and gave them big hugs, giggles all around. Young Tiberius continued pushing, however, his head down in stubborn concentration.

  “Tiberius, stop, please. Please stop. If you push me into the water, I might squash the frogs and fish. Is that what you want?”

  The boy slowed down his assault, turning to a deliberate, steady pummeling with his fists, “Papa, play with me, play with me!” his lips shaped in a pout as if he knew already the preordained answer.

  “I’m sorry, son, not right now. Soon, I’ll have to prepare myself to leave.”

  “You’re always leaving!” whined little Tiberius.

  “That’s right, you always leave,” said his sister, who was walking laps around the pool with her finger on the top of the tiles.

  “Now, Cornelia Sempronia,” said Tiberius, who screwed up one eye and asked, “what are you doing?”