by Dan Wallace
Diophanes ran up and gave Tiberius two sheaves of thick paper. He glanced at the title of one, and saw Lex Sempronia Agraria, and knew that the other called for Octavius’s removal.
“Copies have been posted throughout Rome,” Diophanes said with a solemn face. “Our scribes spent the night getting them ready.”
Tiberius nodded his thanks, and Diophanes descended to sit next to Blossius in the stands. At that moment, Marcus arrived.
“Good day, Tiberius, ready to go at it again?” Tiberius didn’t respond, his expression one of concern. “Oh, come on, it won’t be that bad. I’ll be gentle, stick an elbow in your ribs, then send you home to feast and sleep a few days before we do it all over again.”
Tiberius replied sadly, “Not today, Marcus.”
He walked to the front of the Rostrum and called to the men filling the Comitium.
“Citizens of Rome,” he said loudly, “once more we must take up a lex agraria that will restore the land and rights to our brothers who should be citizens again. We must wrest from the avaricious wealthy in our republic the holdings they have illegally wrenched from the destitute veterans of Rome’s wars.” He held up one of the rolls in his hands and said, “I present to you an even stronger Lex Sempronia Agraria that pays these wicked transgressors only what the land is worth, and not a penny more.”
The crowd growled their approval. “Also,” Tiberius continued, “their children will receive no consideration; they earned nothing, so they get nothing.”
Again, the mass of men in the sunken amphitheater shouted their support, this time even louder.
“Furthermore, any who do not comply with the tenets of this law will be prosecuted immediately, chastised, and stripped of all their land.”
The throng of men surged to the edge of the Rostrum as they howled and cheered. Octavius stepped quickly to the front and bellowed, “This Gracchus wants to reorder the world! He wants to divide and give away the wealth of the Republic! We don’t need new laws, we have good ones already in the canon! Gracchus’s ulterior motive is to provide himself and his accomplices with positions of authority that will allow them to rule Rome! They wish to be princes of Rome, if not kings!”
The cheers from the men below began to turn to catcalls. Tiberius listened carefully to their cries of derision and saw his moment. Half-facing Marcus, he said in full voice, “Tribune Ocatvius, do you intend to persist in obstructing this law so clearly favored by the people?”
“If you refer to this power-grab you hold in your hand, I do, Tribune Sempronius Gracchus,” Octavius shouted, “I will oppose it to my grave!”
Tiberius turned to the crowd and thundered, “Then, I have no choice but to introduce another bill.” He rolled up the lex agraria, tucked it under his arm, and unrolled the second sheaf of papers. “Upon a special vote by the people of Rome, a tribune may be removed from office when defying their collective will in passing any law, obstructing any….”
He read on, glancing now and then at Marcus, who at first looked stunned, then furious. When Tiberius finished, Marcus sputtered in trying to speak. Tiberius interrupted him while rolling up the stiff vellum. “Both of these bills have been posted throughout the city; the vote will take place upon the day following the Feast of Concordia.”
Tiberius then faced Octavius. “Tribune Marcus Octavius, we have come to a serious impasse in this dispute, one of such proportions that it could lead to a greater conflict, perhaps even civil war.”
A hush came over the Comitium as though the thousands assembled had simultaneously held their breath at the enormity of what Tiberius had suggested.
“As honorable men in the service of Rome,” Tiberius continued, “we cannot allow this to happen. One of us must give way according to the will of the people. Therefore, Tribune Octavius, I will defer to you to ask the people to vote upon my worthiness to continue serving them. If they declare that I am at fault, I will submit to the Lex Impediem and give up my tribunal office. Please, Octavius, for the sake of peace in Rome, summon the people to pass verdict upon my endeavors.”
Octavius stared at Tiberius, his face growing darker every passing minute. Finally, he shouted, “I will not be a party to this outrageous violation of our most cherished traditions. This is an illegal act of the highest order!”
Tiberius quickly wheeled around to the crowd and said, “Then, I have no choice. To restore harmony in Rome, I ask her people to ratify the Lex Impediem with the intention of relieving Tribune Marcus Octavius of his office and powers. The vote will be in three days, at the conclusion of the Feast of Concordia.”
Without looking at Marcus, Tiberius marched to the stairway and descended amid the rushing ocean of voices screaming, “Gracchus,” “Lex agraria,” “Lex impediem.” At the bottom of the stairs, he was joined by Blossius, Diophanes, and Casca with Ajax and their men. Appius and Crassus soon showed up, straight from the Senate. After they arrived, the entire contingent marched out of the Comitium to the Palatine toward Tiberius’s home.
“How did the Senate react?” Tiberius asked in a low voice.
“Oh, Nasica nearly burst like a bloated corpse,” Appius said, “mad as a foaming dog. There wasn’t much he could do about it, though, once he saw the enthusiasm of the people in the assembly. But you can count on every posted bill being torn down before the day is over.”
“That’s all right, we have men at the ready,” Diophanes chimed in. “They have enough to replace all of them each day for the duration of the Feast.”
Appius swung his head briskly back and forth, “That might not be enough. Casca, please make sure you have men guarding the postings up until the vote.”
Close by, Casca dipped his head and dropped back to issue orders.
“All right, then,” said Tiberius soberly, “Let us all go to our homes to feast Concordia, the Goddess of Harmony in Rome.”
They all pulled their togas around their shoulders against the chill wind whipping through the street and made their separate ways home.
Three days later, all of the Tribunes stood at the front of the Rostrum, watching the tribes lining up in the roped aisles, ready to cast their votes on the two pieces of legislation looming over the entire Forum. At the top of the Comitium, senators and their clients, unable to vote in a plebeian assembly, shouted and screamed invectives and threats at Tiberius. Their attacks were quickly drowned out by the mass of men in the Comitium eagerly waiting to vote.
Tiberius stood apart from the other tribunes, or they stood away from him. Except for Satureius and one or two others, most of them privately had implored every god they could think of to keep them well out of the fray between Gracchus and Octavius. Of course, their waffling left them square in the middle.
Marcus Octavius made his way over to Tiberius. "Hail, noble Roman,” he said wistfully. Tiberius grasped his shoulder firmly as he replied, “Noble Roman. Hail.”
Marcus cast his dark eyes up at Tiberius, who saw that they glistened with moisture. “This promises to be a spirited day,” the small man said, smiling uneasily.
“A hard day,” Tiberius said quietly, “one that could be sad for us.”
“If so, sadder for me,” Marcus said, throwing his head back with a laugh.
“Can you change your mind, Marcus?” Tiberius asked. “Will you?”
“I can,” Marcus said, his mouth set firmly, “but I won’t. Do your worst, Tribune.”
Tiberius slowly lowered his head. He took a half step and peered out at the horde of Roman plebeians in front of him, frozen in anticipation at what he would say.
“Roman people, we come to consider two bills, a lex agraria to return the Republic to the people, and a lex impediem to prevent elected officials from opposing the people’s will and thereby violate their oaths of office.”
The din sounded by the overflowing assembly caused the other tribunes to cover their ears. Only Tiberius and Marcus neglected to do so as they gazed upon the roiling crowd. Tiberius waved his arm to quiet them, which
caused the volume of the deluge to rise. He put up both of his hands outspread, lowering them up and down to stem the tide. Eventually, they quieted as they realized that he intended to say more.
Once the noise subsided, Tiberius addressed Marcus. “Tribune Marcus Octavius, I will put to you the question again. But in light of the impediem law posed to be passed and enacted, I caution you to weigh your words. Will you now still oppose the lex agraria in dispute?”
Marcus put his right hand across his breast and faced the body of people below. “Tribune Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, I opposed your first lex agraria, I oppose your new lex agraria, and I state for the gods and the people to hear that you have no right to even utter the words ‘lex impediem.’ What you propose is a clear and outrageous transgression against Rome’s Mos Maiorum, the unwritten law of tradition that has guided this city and its people since Romulus and Remus suckled at their mother wolf’s teats.”
Grumbling began to rise on the floor of the Comitium, causing Tiberius to snap his arm up high again. “By your own admission, Tribune Octavius, you continue to impede the clear will of the people. Therefore, I call for a vote on the Lex Impediem to determine if your obstinacy forces the people to remove you from office.”
He pivoted around as though on parade with his legion and shouted out in full voice, “Stewards, begin the voting!”
The ocean of plebeians thundered their approval and pushed their way to the roped aisles to cast their votes. While they staggered slowly through to the tables, marking their ballots and casting them into the cistas, one by one the tribunes on the Rostrum withdrew to sit in their curule chairs. Only Tiberius and Marcus stood in place at the front, as if each intended to witness the fall of every vote into the bowels of each wicker urn. Before long, they both could see that the dominant color of the ballot chips was white, white for yes.
As the march of Romans continued and, on the far side of the Comitium, the end of the line could be seen. Marcus began to shift from one foot to another. He started to rub his lips with his fingers, trying to wipe away moisture that wasn’t there as he watched the torrent of people go by him.
Tiberius could see him slowly losing his composure, he could see the slight sheen of perspiration begin to rise on his neck. How could this have happened? Tiberius wondered to himself, how could he stand here and watch this man, this good man, dissolve before him? What am I doing, he thought, what benefit could possibly come from this? There must be another way, no?
He averted his eyes from Marcus, whose agitation continued to blossom, and looked up to search out Nasica. He was there in his seat, in the midst of his regular pack of wolves, waiting for the chance to tear asunder any helpless soul, perhaps even one of their own.
Tiberius bore in on Nasica, and it startled him to see a rage in the high priest’s eyes that he had never seen before, anger that might wither the will of a god. He realized, too, that all of this fury was focused on but one person on the Rostrum, in the Comitium, in all of Rome.
An imperceptible shudder passed up Tiberius’s spine, and he shook his head briskly. Marcus had deteriorated dramatically during those few seconds. His eyes darted here and there like a wild animal caught in a snare. Tiberius reached out his hand to pat his shoulder, and the little tribune jumped and nearly lost his balance. Tiberius put his hands up to his own head and pressed, thinking this cannot go on.
The Maceia tribe had filled the voting aisles and was moving rapidly to the tables. Once they finished voting, the Papiria, the eighteenth and deciding tribe, would vote. By then, there would be no saving Marcus Octavius. Tiberius glanced at the aisles, at Appius and the rest of the Populares, who gave him guarded smiles, and up at Nasica and the rest of the livid Good Men, the Optimates. He thought for an instant, then raised his hand and shouted at the top of his voice, “Intercessio!”
Everyone paused, startled by what they heard. “Halt the proceedings!” he cried again. Everything stopped. The thousands of Romans standing on the Comitium floor and in the aisles gazed up at Tiberius, stunned into silence.
“In the name of the good and just gods, I ask you to suspend the people’s vote for the beat of a heart, one beat.”
Tiberius twisted and grabbed both of Marcus Octavius’s arms. “Marcus Octavius, most honorable of all Romans, most courageous,” Tiberius said, staring into the shocked, pain-filled eyes of Marcus, “I appeal to you to abandon this terrible course that you’ve chosen. I entreat you to renege on any vows that you may have made in haste, I promise that no ill will occur to you or your loved ones. Please, Marcus, don’t allow this to happen.”
Marcus stared into Tiberius’s eyes, his expression a mixture of hurt, fatigue, and resentment. Tiberius said, “Marcus, if you just embrace the people’s will,” and he gestured widely at the host of Romans raptly listening to him, “I swear at risk of the wrath of the gods that I will give you land and livestock from my own estate, as much as you wish. You won’t have to worry about any consequences from the lex agraria. Accept my offer, Marcus Octavius, in honor of your integrity and courage, and let us be done with this!”
Only then did Tiberius realize that tears had fallen on his own cheeks. For a fleeting instant, Marcus’s expression softened. But his features turned to stone again, and while gently removing Tiberius’s hand from his arm, he said,” Don’t be absurd, Sempronius Gracchus. I’m in no risk of breaking any law. It is you who have desecrated our most sacred principles. You will indeed suffer severely at the hands of the just gods.”
The Good Men picked this time to rise up together and shout, “Treason!” “Treason!” “Sacrilege!” “Treason!” At this outburst, the masses in the Comitium drowned them out with their own overwhelming curses.
Tiberius turned to the people and wearily waved them off with his hands. When relative quiet had been restored, he said in a flat voice, “Tribune Octavius persists in his objection. I withdraw my intercessio. Resume the vote on the Lex Impediem.”
As the assembly cheered, the Maceia and Papiria voted in short order. Tiberius said solemnly, “The Lex Impediem has been passed. Tribune Marcus Octavius, by the people’s will you have been removed from office.”
The massed plebeians roared their joy like stormy surf breaking over rocks. Sound on the Rostrum barely could be heard, but Octavius did his best, shouting tightly into Tiberius’s ear that he refused to acknowledge such an illegal vote and that he would not leave. Rather than try to speak, Tiberius gestured to two guards nearby, pointed at Marcus, and jerked his thumb toward the stairs. The legionaries grinned and grabbed Marcus to usher him unceremoniously down off the Rostrum.
Tiberius glanced up at the Good Men, who were filing out knowing that their voices could never make way against the volume of such numbers. Nasica and his entourage had already left.
He turned his attention back to the crowd and waved them down. When the noise subsided, he shouted out, “Marcus Octavius has been dismissed. Are there any other tribunes who wish to raise objections to the lex agraria?” He glanced behind himself at the array of tribunes in their chairs, all wearing wide-eyed expressions like deer driven toward archers. Hearing no dissent, Tiberius called out again to the Comitium.
“Then, let us vote upon the lex agraria,” he said, and the eruption reverberated throughout the Forum. The Lex Sempronia Agraria passed without incident, after which Tiberius, weary to the bones, slowly made his way home.
Chapter 30. Nine Obols
Tiberius strolled down the Palatine toward the Forum, ready for a full day’s work, flush with energy and the beauty of late summer. Birds were out searching for breakfast for their broods, cats lurked in the shadows, hoping to snare a feathery meal of their own, and street dogs lolled their tongues in anticipation of chasing the cats just for fun. Those in the marketplace setting up their stalls would break off from their work to throw a stone or stick at any animal picking or sniffing at their goods.
The early morning air felt cool on Tiberius’s face although he knew that by mi
dday it would be as hot as ever. No matter, he was in fine spirits, healthy, happy, and content with the progress that they had made in implementing the Lex Sempronia Agraria―the silent sound of the formal title always made him smile inside. The law stipulated a three-man commission to supervise and adjudicate the reapportionment of the public lands. Appius Claudius Pulcher had been appointed as had Gaius Sempronius Gracchus, who could not serve immediately, since he was away in Numantia as one of Scipio Amelianus’s military tribunes. So, Publius Crassus Dive was appointed as a temporary substitute until Gaius returned from war. Of course, Tiberius had been chosen as the third commissioner. The Populares were in charge.
Livid, the Nasica-led Senate refused to provide the commission with a budget or even a tent for the enterprise. Instead, they instituted a charge of nine obols per day from the commission for incidental expenses. Tiberius wasn’t surprised and wondered that they hadn’t passed an edict requiring another obol each from the three commissioners to pay Charon when they crossed the River Acheron into Hades. Most likely, the Senate would be happy to arrange their passage as well.
Funds were an ongoing challenge, he admitted to himself. The final law had reduced compensation to those patrician thieves for reclamation of the public land they had stolen. But the very object of the other side of the equation, the restitution of land to impoverished veterans and citizens inherently provided no revenue. Coin went out; none came in.
Monies from the plebeian treasury in the bowels of Saturn’s Temple had carried them this far, but the stream was narrowing. Plebeians commanded far less of the Republic’s wealth compared to the Senate’s patricians, especially considering the latter’s recent windfall of nine obols a day. Oh well, Tiberius thought, grinning grimly, perhaps we will have to pass a tax on the Senate to carry us.