Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  “May the gods bless you my son,” said Appius.

  “Oh, they will,” Tiberius said, “our illustrious Pontifex Maximus Nasica will see to that, whether he likes it or not.”

  The other men laughed, and Appius said, “You may be blessed already. Casca and Ajax were very successful in drumming up the Roman citizens!”

  “That would be a blessing,” Tiberius said.

  “We’ll be watching in the seats to your left,” said Appius. He put his index up to his right eye, smiled, and turned to lead the others away. Tiberius stepped up to the top of the Rostrum and sat in one of the ten curule chairs put in place for the new tribunes. He told Hylas to sit behind him, ready to run if need be. While Tiberius sat officially, maybe even officiously, he smirked, Hylas would come and go as his eyes and ears. Saturieus sat next to him, his own slave at his heels for the same purpose.

  The two new tribunes nodded at each other without a word. Tiberius leaned out to look down the row of chairs at the others. He saw Marcus Octavius near the end. Too bad, he thought, he would have been a lot more engaging to sit by than the sourpuss next to him now. Then, again, Tiberius felt too nervous for any distractions.

  He surveyed the well of the Comitium where city workers lined up the temporary wooden stakes and rope aisles. The voters would funnel through the aisles toward the tables where their ballots awaited them. Only the plebeians voted for tribunal laws, though the seats of the Comitium were filled with patricians, senators, praetors, quaestors, and aediles who would witness the proceedings. The new consuls Scaevola and Piso sat on high opposite the tribunes on high in reserved seats near the Curia Hostilia. Gazing around, Scaevola looked down at Tiberius and his party, then shifted his sight away.

  The floor of the Comitium overflowed with people, up onto the steps of the Senate building and into the streets leading to the adjacent marketplace. Among the columns of the large, rectangular market, men were stacked up in rows, waiting for the vote to begin. Gradually, it dawned upon Tiberius that he barely felt the chill air sweeping across the Rostrum.

  Then, curia lictors entered, followed by Nasica leading a corps of priests marching in stately form to temporary altars in front of the Rostrum. Situated before them were the voting tables and the tall, woven cistas where the ballots would be cast. Nasica pulled his hood over his head, raised his hands, and prayed in turn to Jupiter, Mars, Neptune, Vulcan, and Apollo to control the elements and bring forth Fortuna to bless this sacred ritual of free Romans. Braying lambs ceased their squealing abruptly as the knives of the priests dispatched and eviscerated them. Before long, the stench of burnt flesh and guttering smoke rose above to be blown away by the bitter breeze of the day’s early hours.

  Nasica withdrew with the other priests. Tiberius watched them leave, then noticed something strange happening. Instead of preceding Nasica, his thirty lictors spread out behind the ballot tables and the cistas, where they stood at attention.

  “What does this mean?” he said. He turned to Hylas, who had the lunch and water bags slung crossway over his shoulders. “Drop all of that and run down to Ajax. Tell him to have some of his men keep an eye on the lictors behind the cistas. Then, run to Casca and have him send men to reinforce the guard at the treasury doors beneath the Temple of Saturn.” Once the law has been passed, he realized, they would need funds to put it into action. No reason to have the good senators thinking about quarantining the people’s treasury.

  A herald stood at the front of the Rostrum and announced the proposed law and the order of the vote. Roaring a deafening cheer, the men crowded together in lines separated by the ropes that would funnel them one at a time to the tables. Behind each table sat an official who checked the rolls and handed out the wooden ballots. After being marked off the rolls, a voter would pick one of two different colored ballots and deposit it into the cista for later tabulation. As those in the stands watched, the lines moved briskly to keep warm.

  Hylas returned, almost breathless and shaking. “I passed on your orders to Ajax and Casca, Master. Both of them said I should tell you that their eyes on the tables have seen countless “yes” tablets picked up and put into the cistas. Your law is passing, Master Tiberius!”

  Tiberius sat back, feeling warmer now than he had all day.

  Suddenly, Nasica’s curia lictors stepped up to the cistas. In unison, each grabbed a basket full of tablets, hoisted it up, and headed toward the nearest exit past the Rostrum.

  “Orcus curse you,” spat Tiberius, rising out of his seat to shout, “Stop them!”

  He pointed at the fleeing lictors, and the crowd began to rumble. The lictors tried to run faster, causing a few of them to trip and fall, spraying a river of wooden ballots in front of them. The shouts of outrage grew louder as Tiberius watched men running along the sides of the roped-off aisles after the panicked lictors. They caught up with them easily, and while two men held a lictor, others picked up the cistas and carried them back. Ajax’s men had been alert and ready. The men in the voting lines and the rest of the crowd clapped and shouted their approval.

  “Why did you stop them, Gracchus?” A voice on the Rostrum to his right called out loudly so that the crowd in the Comitium quieted to hear him.

  “They are the curia lictors of our Pontifex Maximus Scipio Nasica.”

  Tiberius looked over to see Publius Satureius striking a pose as he cried out his complaint. Apparently, the amount that Crassus had promised him hadn’t been enough.

  “Surely, they must be on some mission of the gods unknown to us,” Satureius went on. Tiberius cut him short, “If so, it must be the goddess Laverna, wicked and deceitful theft! Sit down, Saturieus, it’s over!”

  They both looked down into the well of the Comitium as quiet gradually returned to the floor. The lictors had been rounded up and cordoned off by a circle of Ajax’s men while others returned the cistas to their proper places. The voters had already begun to form lines again to cast their votes. A third had finished, and it should only take another half hour for enough tribes to vote to reach a majority.

  Open-mouthed, Saturieus gazed out at the vast crowd, and solemnly returned to his seat. Tiberius watched him sit down. With hands resting on his hips, he wheeled about to face the section where the consuls sat. Next to them, Nasica slouched in a curule chair, Rufus on his right, and all the others arrayed in rows behind them. Tiberius lifted one arm and waved it deliberately in the air like a signaler on a mountaintop watch tower, sure to be seen. Was that your best? he said to himself. Nasica barely lifted a hand above his armrest and weakly fluttered his fingers in acknowledgement.

  Tiberius shook his head and sat down to continue watching the vote. Hylas brought him water and the bag of provisions. He sipped quietly while nibbling on a fig that he didn’t taste. At this point in the vote, the cistas had been emptied several times for the tablets to be tallied by the election judges. Runners sprinted up and back around the entire Comitium as each tribe’s final total became known. Hylas showed little fatigue, being young and having only a dozen steps to negotiate to the top of the Rostrum. Other slaves going to the top tiers could be seen halfway up bent over to catch their breath. No matter, thought Tiberius, they could take their time now. The count in favor of his law was close to being insurmountable.

  Hylas dashed up the steps again. “The eighteenth tribe has cast their vote, the nineteenth is straight ahead!”

  Tiberius tousled his hair, “Well done, Hylas. You’ve been an excellent courier.” The young man beamed.

  Tiberius stood up and stretched. He swiveled left to see Appius, Crassus, Blossius, and others on their feet clapping their hands furiously. He smiled broadly, then turned to his right and peered up at Nasica. Nasica arose from his seat and the other Optimate senators followed suit, though the consuls remained seated. Slowly, the Pontifex Maximus made his way across the rows of chairs set up for the vote. At the end, however, he stopped and stared directly at Tiberius.

  “Roman citizens,” a voice called out n
ear to Tiberius. He glanced down to see Marcus Octavius standing at the edge of the Rostrum.

  “As tribune of the people,” Octavius shouted out to the crowd below him, “I exercise my right of intercession and veto the Lex Sempronia Agraria. This ballot is at an end.”

  Octavius yanked his toga up across his chest and left for the stairway.

  Tiberius looked out at the thousands below him, frozen by the announcement. He gazed back up at Nasica, who slowly lowered his chin in a nod, then disappeared behind the seats with the others.

  Chapter 29. Intercessio

  “Marcus Octavius? Jupiter, who could have imagined this?” Appius nearly cried out his frustration, “I thought he was your friend!”

  “He is,” Tiberius replied, sitting quietly.

  “Then, why did he do this to you? Why?”

  Tiberius pressed his lips together and said, “I don’t know, Father, I haven’t talked to him, yet.”

  Walking back and forth in front of Tiberius with his head down, almost pouting, Appius stopped after hearing the answer and stared sternly. Tiberius remained still, almost relaxed.

  “They must have gotten to him,” Crassus said, “Nasica and his gang.” He was seated next to Tiberius, seeming to look inwardly as he spoke. “I wonder if they gave him more than we paid Satureius.”

  They all sat, stood, or paced in Appius’s tablinum, ornamented in lavish but somewhat dated furnishings and decor. On calmer days, the princeps senatus graciously greeted his many clients in the spacious, open office, but today, consternation reigned. After the shock of Octavius’s stunning betrayal had worn off, they all charged into action, sending a host of couriers with orders for Casca and Ajax, and urging Sextus to keep the rural voters here. Sextus agreed, though grudgingly, to allow them to camp on his estate, and persuaded his fellow equestrians to do likewise. These measures enabled them to keep their votes close at hand, but for how long? How could they deal with this infernal Octavius and his veto?

  “How long can we feed and shelter the thousands of farmers sitting around waiting to vote?” Crassus said, suddenly looking alarmed. “We’ll be bled dry!”

  “That will take some bleeding on your part, Crassus,” Appius said. “But we need to do something, and quickly.”

  Tiberius breathed in and out heavily. “I’ll go to Octavius and talk to him. Even if we can’t change his mind, maybe I can find out why he did it.”

  The others glanced at each other and nodded solemnly. Tiberius called to Hylas and told him to speed to Marcus Octavius’s house to request an audience. Hylas left, and Tiberius retired to wash his face and hands. He returned to Appius’s tablinum to sit and await Hylas’s return.

  In less than half an hour, Hylas came back. “He would be delighted to have you visit him at home, Master Tiberius,” Hylas said between breaths, “the sooner the better.”

  Tiberius stood up. “Very well, let’s go.”

  The Caelian Hill stood behind the Palatine, a long, lean spine densely packed with shops, houses, and insulas, home to a huge number of Romans and friends of Rome. Hylas led Tiberius up the steep grade quickly, so much so that Casca’s men had trouble keeping up. Usually, Tiberius took a certain kind of pleasure in leaving them behind, freedom from this new-found security. At this point, though, his mind was far from pleasure of any kind.

  They darted in and out of narrow streets, up long thoroughfares and around rickety insulas, careful to look for any flying refuse from above. Eventually, they came to a relatively open space with a row of shops on one side, pork, flour, bread, fish, and greens. Between them, they saw a barred, thick wooden door reinforced by iron strips, the entrance to a private domus situated off the street, behind the shops.

  Hylas banged his fist on the door until a slot opened at eye level. “Tribune Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus here to see Tribune Marcus Octavius.” The eyes behind the slot disappeared as it was closed. The door opened, and a single, aging house slave ushered Tiberius and Hylas inside and led them down a narrow vestibulum into a sparse atrium. Tiberius was asked to sit on a simple wooden bench while Hylas stood apart near the doorway of the vestibulum.

  Marcus Octavius hurried in from a room on the side, his arms outstretched in greeting. “Tiberius, it is an honor to welcome you to my humble domus,” he said, smiling broadly, then turning his eyes around the barely decorated room, “humble, indeed.”

  He returned to Tiberius, grasping his hands, “Nonetheless, I’m happy to meet you under any circumstances. Sit, sit with me in the peristylum. There’s a small breeze coming through, rippling the water―perhaps we’ll see a silverfish or two,” he laughed.

  Laughing himself, Tiberius followed the small, dark-haired man as he limped his way to two curule chairs angled around a very tiny pond. Tiberius sat down and watched as Marcus lowered himself gingerly into his chair, briefly expressing a fleeting pang of pain until he rested.

  “Wine? Water, then?” he asked. “How about watered wine? We’ve had a long day, I promise I won’t let you imbibe too much.”

  The old house slave brought two cups to the seated men. “Thank you, Prospero.”

  Marcus drank, and waited for Tiberius to sip. Then he said, “I guess I know why you’re here, old friend.”

  Tiberius genuinely sighed. “For the love of the gods, why did you do this, Marcus? The people want land reform, haven’t you seen the graffiti on the walls? The only ones who don’t are the Good Men, Nasica’s kind. You hate Nasica! Why did you side with that bunch? Marcus!”

  Marcus dropped his eyes. “Your feet are white. You’re shivering.” He turned his head, “Prospero, bring a couple of pans of hot water.”

  He gazed back up at Tiberius. His dark, brown eyes seemed shiny, warm with affection and imploring, like those of a dog. He took a swallow of his wine, buying time. Prospero came back with the bins of water steaming from their heat.

  “Ah,” said Marcus, “there must have been some water already on the fire. Delightful!” Prospero unclasped Marcus’s sandals, and his master plunged his feet into the pan, causing some water to slop over the rim onto the floor. “Ouch! Be careful, it’s really hot.”

  Despite Tiberius’s shifting attempt to dodge the Greek slave, Prospero managed to loosen his sandals and remove them. Left without a choice, Tiberius dipped his feet into the water. After getting used to the heat, he admitted to himself that it felt good. He felt himself warming up.

  He shook his head briskly, and said, “Marcus, please answer me. I deserve an answer. Why did you betray me?”

  “Betray you,” Marcus mumbled. “Betray you, Tiberius? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think it really mattered that much to you. I thought it was merely a gesture on your part, a nod at fulfilling your campaign promises. We’d already won the election. Why alienate the Optimates? We need them to get anything meaningful done.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, and Tiberius leaned back, his eyes slits.

  “I don’t believe you, Marcus, you’re too intelligent to think that the bill wouldn’t pass.” He moved his eyes around the small, spare domus. “What did Nasica give you?”

  Marcus jiggled around in his chair. “This water is starting to turn cold.” Tiberius said nothing, and Marcus pulled his feet out of the pan in exasperation. Prospero rushed to dry his feet.

  “I know, my house is a dump. Except for old Prospero here, I’m alone and I must look desperate. And why? Because I am alone and desperate. Guess where I grew olives and grapes to support my family? Sicily, where for the past two years slaves all over the island rose up to scorch the earth while joyfully killing all the farmers and caretakers in their path. No matter that our legions finally destroyed them, I lost everything, my mortar business, all of it!

  “And why am I alone without wife and family? Because I begged my wife to allow me to divorce her so that she could remarry to provide for herself and our children. She agreed! So, I lived broke and alone, until now.” Pain crossed his face, “Until Nasica made an offer just after the el
ection. He and his cronies knew that the Lex Sempronia Agraria would pass by a landslide, so they needed another tribune to veto the bill before it became law. They were shrewd, of course, they didn’t offer me money. They wanted me to be vested in their success.” He stopped to take a long pull at his wine cup. “So,” he continued,” they gave me 5,000 iugera of land, plus livestock.”

  Tiberius interrupted, “In Campania.”

  Mucus nodded slightly. “Yes, the public land. The land taken over by the Good Men, the very land you wish returned to the people to whom it was promised by law oh so many eons ago.”

  Tiberius lifted his feet out of the pan and waited patiently while Prospero dried them. He slipped on his sandals and rose to his feet.

  “I’m happy that you see the irony in this, Marcus. I am so sorry for what has happened to you. As your friend, I wish you had come to me long ago. I would have done something to keep you and your family together, anything.”

  “I could not do that, Tiberius,” Marcus said quickly. “I liked you too much to saddle you with my foolishness.”

  Tiberius paused, and sighed. “Well. Things are as they are. We can talk more about your situation, but immediately I need you to reverse your veto. I want to bring the lex agraria back to a vote as soon as possible.”

  “I can’t do that,” Marcus said. He stood up and crossed his arms, wearing a hard, almost petulant expression of determination on his face.

  “What? Why not? You know how these fat cats have been stealing land from plain Roman citizens for centuries! Now is our chance to change all this, to strengthen the Republic by benefiting her most important asset, the common people. You should know this, Marcus, you’re a plebeian, too!”

  “Oh, yes, Tiberius, I’m a plebeian just like you, you backed by the wealth of your esteemed father and the Cornelii on your mother’s side. You’re no more common than the Good Men, you’re just not good enough. Tell me that this most charitable act of yours toward the common man is genuine. Convince me that it’s not just you wearing an actor’s mask covering an act of spite against your enemies while fattening your coffers at the same time!”