Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  The people in the Comitium laughed, and he continued, “No, I just want to see a better Rome for people like me. I’m not running for tribune to make my fortune, I’m here to make your fortunes! I want to strengthen Rome by strengthening its backbone, the common people who carry the weight of the Republic on their backs. Only someone who is like you, who thinks like you, who lives the same life can be your man in the Tribunal. That is why I am the only worthy candidate for ribune of the people, only if I am of worth to the people!”

  Marcus raised his arms to the sky, and the people listening raised their voices in approval. He waved, bowed, and left the Comitium. As he passed, Tiberius reached over and grabbed his forearm and gave it a quick squeeze. “Well, done, Tribune,” he said, and Marcus grinned as wide as his face could stretch.

  He left, and Appius said quietly, “You didn’t have to be that enthusiastic.”

  Tiberius shrugged, “It was a good speech. He’s a friend.”

  “Yes, well, now it’s your turn to give a good speech,” Appius said, “a better speech.”

  Tiberius exhaled as he stood. He pulled his toga up around his shoulder and sidled past Appius to the stairway where he made his way down to the base of the Comitium and up the stairs of the Rostrum. The crowd of men milled about, talking and exchanging jibes while hucksters threaded their way through, touting and selling their wares. The midday sun burned above, and many of them began looking for something to eat and drink. The rising noise level told Tiberius that whatever excitement and energy engendered by Marcus had dissipated quickly.

  He walked to the edge of the Rostrum and raised his arm high in the air. He waved his hand slightly, but the crowd paid no attention. After a moment, he called out to them.

  “Romans. Romans, heed my calling. Listen to me for five minutes, then go about your business.”

  “Why?” one wag shouted out, causing a few companions to laugh.

  “Because I want to work for you, I want to be your servant.”

  More laughter followed but faces started to turn to him.

  “I am Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus Minor, son of Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus Major, who was twice consul, princeps senatus, and censor to the people. He also was a plebeian. Yes, my father was a common man who did uncommon things. I am a plebeian, too, but much more common than my father. My father was a great general who vanquished the tribes of Hispania, including those in Numantia. I was not a great general; famously, I did not conquer the Numantines. It has been said that I surrendered to them.”

  Those in the crowd gave him their full attention, now, seeming to be fascinated by a candidate who hoped to win their votes by listing all of his failures.

  Tiberius closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head as he said, “I am not here to burnish my image, you will believe what you believe. I will tell you what I learned of the people along the way.

  “In my journey to Numantia, I traveled through the countryside of Rome and Italia. I was charged to raise a legion of men to join our army there. But when I entered a village, any village, or a town, I found it to be empty. There were no Romans, no Italian allies, no soldiers to be had. Instead, I found the farmers of Rome and Italia gathered on the roadways, begging for food— men, women, and children. These men and their families had been pushed off of their lands by rich men who wished to become richer. Veterans who had earned their small plots of land through their service to Rome stood starving next to their starving children. They subjugated themselves, begging for food for their families while their land was absorbed into vast plantations to be worked by slaves.”

  At this point, Tiberius’s five minutes had passed long ago, but the crowd in the Comitium stood still.

  “Veterans,” Tiberius said, “men who bore arms and exposed their lives for the safety of their country, now enjoy nothing more but the light and the air. The savage beasts in Italy have their dens, their places to sleep in safety. These Roman and Italian veterans have nothing, no houses or settlements of their own. Instead, they are forced to wander from place to place with their wives and children. I am sure that some of these displaced veterans stand before us right at this very moment.”

  A low rumbling coursed through the crowd, which pressed closer to the Rostrum.

  “Commanders in the field foolishly exhort common soldiers to fight for their ancestors, their gods, and their altars. Yet, not one of these plain legionaries could supplicate the household gods to defend their own ancestors at an altar in a home they once possessed. Oh, they fought, and they died, but for the wealth and luxury of other men. Romans are styled as masters of the world. But, in the meantime, these Roman citizens have not one foot of ground they can call their own.”

  Tiberius paused and scanned the packed center of the Comitium’s well. He raised his arm again and waved his hand as he continued, “If you cannot own your own land, why should you fight for the wealth of those who use their power to take yours?”

  The massed men at the foot of the Rostrum listened without moving. “Fortuna has blessed me with a good family, a good life, and my father and mother taught me to serve Rome. And I have tried to do so, both in the city and in her legions. I did serve Rome in war, though not as successfully as my father. But I am not vying to be consul, I hope to be tribune of the people to serve the people.

  “To serve the people; to do so means to stop them from being torn from their families and land to fight wars for other men. To do so means to ensure that they have land when they return from serving Rome, as is their right. To do so means to ensure that they keep the land that they earned. If I am elected tribune by you good men, this is what I promise to do.”

  Tiberius smiled, waving his hand in the air as he retreated from the Rostrum.

  Appius tried to get hold of his thoughts as he said, “He’s not dynamic, and plainly not bombastic. But he’s earnest. Somehow that seems to come through to the crowd.”

  Cornelia sat sewing while she waited for him to finish. Her practiced fingers moved fast back and forth, in and out, despite the delicacy of the priceless silk in her hands.

  “I think he did all right, I would say. They didn’t cheer him along, but they seemed to listen. No heckling, no catcalls, nothing of the sort.”

  “I’m sure Casca and Ajax saw to that.”

  Appius waved her off with his hands, “No, no, there were far too many for that. I tell you, it was exceedingly bizarre, quite out of the ordinary.”

  “I see,” she said, her eyes on the seam she was sewing.

  “What’s that you’re doing?” asked Appius.

  “A summer robe for little Cornelia Sempronia.”

  “From silk? Quite a present for a five-year-old. She’ll ruin it in no time.”

  Cornelia tossed her head slightly, “I lost most of my children almost overnight. I can spoil my grandchildren if I like.”

  “You didn’t lose all of your children―Sempronia and Gaius, for example. You certainly didn’t spoil them.”

  “Raising them presented other responsibilities. Grandchildren are different.” She sewed another immaculate stitch. “So, how do you think Tiberius will do come the election?

  Appius rubbed his hand over his head, his mouth open, gritting his teeth. “I think he’ll do well. Perhaps seventh or eighth.”

  “Or ninth or tenth?” she said sharply.

  Appius hurried to say, “Maybe better. He’s well liked, he’s just not demonstrative.”

  “Yes,” said Cornelia, gazing up. After a moment, she said, “We can’t count on his likeability, especially with the Optimates pushing Postumius and anyone else, for that matter. We need to make sure, Appius. Allocate more money to Casca; tell him to search far and wide for more votes. Have Ajax scour the countryside for farmers, tell them they vote for Tiberius or risk losing their lands. That should get them going. Arrange for carts to bring them into Rome. Make sure there’s enough of everything to do this, Appius.”

  “It might not be necessary. Tiberius is making goo
d headway on his own.”

  Cornelia shook her head vigorously, “I’m not taking that chance. Unbend your efforts, Appius, Tiberius must win.”

  At the end of the year, when the ballots had been cast and counted, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus came in first, Marcus Octavius second, followed by eight other men, none of them Spurius Postumius.

  Chapter 28. Tribune of the People

  Claudia reached over Tiberius’s shoulder for a cup of water on the small table next to the bed. She sipped some, and carefully put it back, making sure that none of it dripped on him. The campaign, the election, and the celebration had taken a lot out of him, she thought. Though, he still looked beautiful to her, a craggy sort of black-haired Adonis, if that was possible. Despite his efforts, his tireless toil in the face of adversity and scorn, she knew of his true reluctance, his deep-seated desire to stay at home with his children, his brother and mother, and his wife. But Tiberius would do his duty, she sighed, Gracchi to the last. Her worry started with wondering when the last would be.

  She gazed around his room at the beautiful rustic murals on the maroon walls. Diana chased a stag through a wood full of white birches from the north. On another wall, Salacia blew sea foam at the little fishes jumping out of the waves. And, opposite the bed, she marveled at the exquisite rendering of a window frame. Within it, a distant aureole of Apollo sped his steeds and sun chariot across the brightening, brilliant sky, forever towards Oceanus. Only a real window could cast a more beautiful scene, she thought, even if overlooking just the grimy walls of Rome.

  Tiberius stirred, turning halfway over to face her. Reaching out, he pulled her down next to him and wrapped her with crossed arms.

  “I have a headache,” he said.

  “You were drunk,” she said.

  “Was I? Or am I?”

  “Only you can tell.”

  He pulled back, gazing at her, face to face. “Are you mad at me?”

  She turned her head toward the ceiling. “Not mad. Just sore.”

  “Of me?”

  “No. Physically sore. You celebrated heartily last night.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Liber be cursed, I don’t feel very hearty this morning. Is it morning?”

  He asked, holding his head in both hands, barely seeing her with one eye through his split fingers.

  “It is morning, mid-morning.”

  He groaned. “I can’t get up.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  She patted him on the shoulder as she rose from the bed. “Sleep. I’ll take care of the morning risers.”

  He rolled over as she quietly left the room.

  Claudia entered her own bedchamber where Philea had left a crock full of water, a rough bramble brush, and some soap. Claudia dropped her night shift on the floor and began to wash herself, first with the soap and water, then scrubbing hard with the brush branch. As she rubbed, she noted how she had changed during the past few years. After bearing four children, she had more curves to show now. Any more children and she would fill out those curves.

  Yes, she sighed to herself, no longer the wisp of a girl that Tiberius had married. Oh, he pretended not to notice, and his appetite for her seemed to bolster the fiction. But her own reality belied his delusion. He loved her, that’s all. Sometimes, though, she wondered if he didn’t deserve more, a goddess like Venus or Proserpina. But he didn’t deserve to die at the hands of jealous gods, Mars or Diana, he never would deserve to die.

  She sighed, pulled on her robe and left the room. Crossing the atrium, she paused in front of Cornelia’s door, then knocked.

  “Enter,” the deep alto of her mother-in-law beckoned. Claudia pushed the door open and swept into the room. Cornelia looked up at her from her chair, sewing again.

  “Salve, Mother, how did you sleep?”

  “Nice to see you up at this early hour, girl,” Cornelia said wryly. “And, the master of the house?”

  Claudia shook her head, “Quite dead to the world. He celebrated last night, you know.”

  Cornelia said, “Men. Only men do this, very few women. Except for those women who drink,” she said, pondering the thought. “They drink too much, but seem to enjoy life more, too.”

  Claudia took a seat across from Cornelia as she said, “Well, they are not matrons of Rome. Nor is our triumphant tribune ready to represent the people of the Republic on this day. Appius is coming? They’re supposed to meet with the Senate leaders, no?”

  Cornelia pursed her lips as if a sour taste had settled on her tongue. “Appius is a man, too. I’ll wager a horse against an ass he’s feeling the same way as Tiberius.”

  Claudia nodded her head. “So, no great meeting today with the Good Men of Rome.” Cornelia didn’t reply, turning her eyes back to her needlework. Claudia sighed, “I suppose one day won’t make a difference. Sooner or later, they will meet, and strut, and threaten, then connive until one lot or the other believes they have the ultimate upper hand.”

  “That is the gist of it,” said Cornelia, her eyes still on her sewing.

  “It could be dangerous,” Claudia said. “Sometimes, they go too far.”

  Cornelia glanced up. “They’re most passionate desire is to go too far. Depend on it.” She returned to her handiwork.

  Claudia fidgeted in her chair, crossing her legs, then re-crossing them. She ran her fingers through her hair, then rubbed her shoulders. Cornelia continued to sew patiently, oblivious to her daughter-in-law’s restlessness.

  At length, Claudia sat still. “Do you ever worry,” she said, “that something might happen to Tiberius?” Cornelia stopped and looked up.

  “Do you?” Claudia went on. “Look what happened to Mancinus, stripped naked and sent to Numantia in chains.”

  Cornelia laughed, “He was lucky. The barbarians didn’t want him, either. He’s lucky they didn’t spit and roast him like one of their sheep. Though, they may have mounted him a few times. They do that with their sheep, too.”

  Claudia nodded, “The senators who sent Mancinus to Numantia, these same men, tried to convict Tiberius of treason. They hated him then, they hate him more now. Aren’t you afraid that they might try to do him harm? Do you ever fear that he might die?” Claudia’s voice trailed off into a whisper as she uttered the last few words.

  Cornelia put her sewing in her lap. “My husband died. Nine of my children died. I am accustomed to dealing with death. It is a part of life.”

  Claudia leaned closer, “That’s what I mean. You’ve lost so much in life . . . ,” she trailed off again.

  Cornelia said sharply, “He is a Roman of the consular family Sempronii, a Gracchi, and like his ancestors, he will do his duty. And, we will support him and that’s the end of it.”

  She saw Claudia’s mouth pursing into a silent pout. She also saw the worry in her daughter-in-law’s eyes. Her own softened, and she said, “Don’t fret, child, Tiberius is in a very strong position. He is the most popular tribune of the people, and your father is by his side. Scaveola is Consul, Sextus Decimus has delivered the horsemen, and Casca and Ajax protect his person. The election is won!” she said with a little bit of triumph.

  “Yes,” said Claudia, “the election is won, just e beginning.”

  Appius came early to the house the next day with Crassus and Blossius in tow for a strategy meeting with Tiberius. Crassus apologized for his brother Scaevola’s absence.

  “As the new consul-elect, he felt that he couldn’t appear to have favorites. Of course, he does,” Crassus said followed by a cackling laugh.

  Appius leaned over, “Anyone with gold.”

  Crassus huffed, “Now, that’s not fair. He needed money for the election, you know how expensive it is. It’s exorbitant! Now that it’s over, he can begin working toward his true friends’s shared goals.”

  “Getting richer,” Appius quipped, and Crassus glared. Appius laughed, then turned in front of the men grouped in the atrium.

  “All right, let us attend to business. Tiberius, we are a
t your service. How would you like us to approach this meeting?”

  Tiberius blinked, surprised that he had been deferred to by Appius and the others. They all looked at him earnestly, and he said, “All right. We know what we want. I know what I want, and we can be sure that Nasica and Rufus and the rest will oppose us in every possible way. That doesn’t matter to me, I will get what I want whether the Senate likes it or not. The people are with us, and there isn’t much they can do about that.”

  He gestured to the chairs brought in by Hylas and Philea, and the men sat down. While Tiberius spoke, Philea gave each of them a cup full of honeyed water and a bowl of figs.

  “However,” he continued, “I do not want to start a war at the outset. If we could engage them, have them meet us part of the way—.”

  “The front door would be a major concession,” Crassus said.

  “That may be true but let us put them in the position of defying the people’s will. Let’s offer them a law that even they would find difficult to oppose. We should present ourselves in all amicability, peaceful friends of Rome together.”

  Tiberius looked at each of the men in front of him one by one, and one by one, they shook their heads in assent.

  “Very well. Let us take ourselves to them now.”

  As they exited the front door of Tiberius’s house, Casca moved to his side. Others flanked them as well while Ajax stood at the front gateway near other men in the street.

  Tiberius frowned, saying, “This is a show of peace and trust?”

  “True, but really, my son,” said Appius, “how far do we really want to go with the Good Men? They are at their best when they’re treacherous.”

  Tiberius’s lips tightened as he said, “All right. But can’t they at least try to stay out of sight? Casca?”

  Casca glanced at Ajax, who shrugged. Casca said, “We will take the periphery as much as possible, sir. In tight places, though, we might have to move in.”

  Tiberius shook his head, “Understandable, but do your best, yes? Let’s not start skirmishing, our men against theirs. If there’s to be a fight, let’s allow the jackasses in charge be the first to bloody their noses. The god of war would enjoy that the most.”