Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  “Tiberius, why so solemn?” Appius asked.

  “Yes, young tribune, what brings this ill humor upon you?” joined in Crassus.

  “The money,” he answered. “We need a king’s fortune.”

  Appius smiled, “Yes, and then some,” which caused Crassus to laugh again.

  “How can you be so insouciant?” Tiberius said crossly. “Our work has barely begun and soon we’ll be out of funds and out of time,” he trailed off.

  “Now, now, young star, don’t burn too bright,” said Appius, “Apollo will be jealous. It’s true, the coffers are baring their bottom planks. But” he continued, closing his eyes while nodding his head, “there might be something to be done yet.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Crassus chimed in.

  “Just give us a little time to see to it,” Appius said smoothly, patting Tiberius on his shoulder. “Who knows what might come about?”

  “That’s right,” said Crassus, “who knows? I know that I’m getting hungry. Shall we find a morsel to hold us until dinner, Appius?”

  “Excellent thought, Crassus! I smelled wonderful things in the market below. Let’s explore.”

  The two eminent senators lifted themselves up to head out the door when Polydius returned. “My apologies, masters, the taverna had no potable water, I had to go to the fountain. I’m so sorry, it’s not very cold, either.”

  “No matter, Polydius,” Appius said, taking hold of the jug in the tall, old man’s arms, “wet is wet.” He took a long swig, and handed the jug to Crassus, who did the same.

  “Let us go, most admired Roman citizen,”

  “Lead the way, honorable sir!” said Crassus, passing the jug back to Polydius.

  The two men disappeared out the door, down the stairs while the Stoics looked at Tiberius in bewilderment. Tiberius dropped his shoulders, “Send in our next clients.”

  The three men took up their posts and ushered in the waiting plebeians while Tiberius sat back in his chair, still brooding over the precarious situation facing them.

  On his way home at the end of the day, Tiberius fretted about the commission’s lack of funds, and he also worried about the short time they had left to keep momentum going. They had been so successful so far, he thought, if they only could continue on, the people would embrace land reform to the extent that the Senate could do nothing about it. The Lex Sempronia Agraria would become part of the Mos Maiorum itself; the gods willing, in time the balance of power in Rome would be restored. Yet, he only had four short months before the year was up, including his term as tribune. By then, he hoped to nominate his successor, even Gaius, to ensure that the commission endured. Gaius could nominate a worthy successor in turn, and his protégé could present another, maybe even his older brother again, Tiberius thought, for a second term. In this way, the commission could win its decade of time and become an institution in Rome. It was possible, he thought, if Gaius came home soon enough to run. But the money, he thought, they would need it to campaign, and enormous more amounts to keep the commission moving land. Where would they find the money?

  The thought plagued him right up to his home and into the vestibulum. His head down in thought, he almost didn’t recognize the fluid tones of the woman’s voice that greeted him.

  “Tiberius.”

  He looked up to see a vision of his mother as a young matron, her eyes the same emerald green, her hair black and shiny as a raven’s wing.

  “Sempronia,” he said. He stepped forward to hug her. “Where have you been, my sweet sister?”

  Laughing, she hugged him back while saying, “At the villa, with the children.”

  He pulled back. “How are they—did you bring them?”

  Smiling warmly, she nodded, “I did, they’re in the peristylum playing with your own wild barbarians!”

  He huffed a laugh, “They are wild, a threat to the entire city.”

  She laughed with him, turning to put her arm through his to guide him to the front door.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” he said, “why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”

  “I sent Claudia word,” she said, and as an afterthought, “and Mother. But I wanted to surprise you!”

  “Well, you did, just about to death.”

  “Oh, don’t be so theatrical,” she said as they moved into the atrium.

  “Sister, we hardly see you at all anymore, not even for the highest holidays. You must fear the wrath of the gods.”

  She frowned, “We observe them at the villa.”

  “Of course,” Tiberius said, “and your new-found freedom has nothing to do with your husband being on campaign.”

  She looked wounded, “Oh, Tiberius, don’t tease me that way. All I can do is think of the terrible things that have happened to all of the other generals who have gone to Hispania. I can’t bear to imagine what is happening there now.”

  Surprised, Tiberius replied, “Don’t worry about Publius, Sempronia. He’s won wherever he has fought.” I’ll give him that, he thought to himself. “Macedonia, Carthage, he destroyed them all.”

  “Mancinus was successful in Greece, too. Look what happened to him.”

  He pulled back, squinted at her, and pulled her into his arms. “He’ll be fine, and back soon. After all, Gaius is there, watching his back. He can’t do better than having his own brother-in-law as a bodyguard.”

  “Unless Gaius decides to kill Publius himself,” she said wryly. They both burst into laughter. “My husband can bring that out in people sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?” Tiberius said, and they laughed again.

  “No matter, the Fates must be at work, having you mention Gaius’s name. That’s why I’ve come to see you.”

  “Oh, really?” Tiberius said, somewhat wary now.

  “Yes.” She reached into a small purse tied around her waist and pulled out a slender packet. “A letter from little brother to you!” she said, handing it over.

  “Oh,” he said, breathing some relief.

  “Yes, he wrote one for everyone in the house, even the children. I’ve already given everyone else theirs. He sounds very jovial and positive about coming home soon.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yes, if it’s true.”

  “Well, didn’t Publius write to you?”

  “Of course. But he says nothing, except to mind the estate and its manager. Nothing about what he’s doing.”

  “I see, but perhaps that’s for the best.”

  “For you men, certainly!” she said in scorn.

  Just then Claudia and Cornelia came in from the peristylum trailed by a horde of children, two of Sempronia’s and four of her own. They crowded around Sempronia, pulling at her dress and telling her to come play. Claudia tried to hold them back while Cornelia pretended to scold them. But the wave was irresistible, and Sempronia was being carried away. As she was swept back into the peristylum, she cried out, “Tell me if Gaius writes about something real!”

  He laughed as he nodded. He called out to Philea to bring him some water to his office. He entered and sat down to read Gaius’s letter.

  Salve, Brother Tiberius,

  I trust all is well and the gods smile upon you. I’ve heard that they have, one victory after another over the Optimates. You have my heartiest congratulations, and, I must say, all the gloating that a man can muster. It is true, I gush about your success to my fellow officers, most of whom can barely stand me, as they generally spring from the same snotty patrician stock as Nasica and his loathsome gang. Oh, there are a few stalwart friends I can count on, solid plebeians who worked their way up like our forefathers, no more than to be expected. Scipio keeps his peace, though I imagine that he’s jealous, too, having failed with his lex agraria when Laelius the Wise, the Prudent was forced to drop it. But you didn’t fail, Tiberius, you are your father’s son! I am so proud, older brother, I cannot wait to return to join you in tweaking the noses of the Good Men many more times!

  And, the auspices look good for
my return. The war has gone well. Our brother-in-law has executed an extraordinary campaign. I say extraordinary, but in fact it is a simple plan that he has used many times before, as you know. Bring an overwhelming force to bear, cordon off the enemy, and slowly squeeze them to death. Of course, this is easy to say in theory, but how he does it is a different order of things. I recall the difficulties you had in raising a single legion to bring to Numantia, the ranks of available recruits were so thin and so unwilling. Somehow, though, Scipio has managed to scrape together ten legions and, most tellingly, 20,000 horse. The camp rumor mill has it that he brought legions from as far as Macedonia and Phoenicia to add to those he commandeered in Italia and both Hispania Citerior and Ulterior. Of course, he had his own legion all along working his estate. I’ll wager they were happy to exchange the farm yoke for the soldier’s. In any case, Scipio showed up at Numantia’s gates with an army of 40,000 legionaries and twice as many horse as their standing force.

  He immediately set about entrenching the perimeter of the city, including pontoons across the northern rivers that provide the city-fortress with its water. I saw your old friend there, Titius, leading the immunes in their ingenious machinations. The Numantines might have plenty of food stuff saved to endure a long siege, but water is another matter. In time, their cisterns must have been exhausted. Toward the middle of summer, in the hottest days, they rode out several times in an attempt to break our lines. But of course, our superior numbers, especially the cavalry, repulsed them. They lost many men and horses. Those that we captured appeared to be in desperate straits, if I can be allowed the irony. They suffer from a hot, dry summer here. The prisoners looked gaunt and parched, barely walking corpses. Scipio wasted no time in executing them and mounting them on stakes in front of our fortifications. By the end of Quinctilis, dead Numantines formed an unbroken line around our entire perimeter. In a matter of days, the city surrendered.

  Scipio followed his usual practices, decimating their warriors, including the wounded, the weak, and the aged. He organized the rest into separate groups, the men on their way to the mines in Citerior, the women and children back to Rome to the slave markets. Before all of this, of course, he crucified the leaders of the Numantines, most prominently two elders named Avarus and Rhetogenes. I recall you mentioning that you knew them and thought well of them. And, thus they died, grey-haired and brave to the end. I am sorry to have to bring you this sad news. They were all brave, in fact. Even the women and children showed no signs of dejection leaving the city for the long march to the waiting ships and slavery. Though, when they walked past the two old men hanging from the crosses, they weeped.

  I’m surprised that Scipio didn’t take them back to Rome for sacrifice in his triumph—oh, yes, dear brother, there will be a triumph for Scipio yet again, it is inevitable. Aside from destroying Numantia, he has served cold notice to the surrounding tribes of what resistance to Roman might brings. Hispania is ours, Tiberius, without question. Only the final details will determine the day of full subjugation.

  In the wake of this latest victory of Scipio’s, I will be some time here while we consolidate the region. Numantia will be razed, of course, and two legions will now occupy this newest part of Rome’s territories. The legions summoned from Ulterior and Citerior will march back to their respective headquarters in a show of force. Then, the rest of us go to the sea to return home. I expect to be back in the arms of our family by March of the coming year, ready to stand beside you in defying Nasica and his pack of curs. The gods willing, we all shall be safe—Mars will guide us home, smiling. Until then, dear brother, stay strong against the Good Men’s antics. My love to Mother, Claudia, and the children. I long to embrace you all.

  With honor and love,

  Gaius

  Tiberius folded the letter and put it on his desk. He had never talked to Gaius about Avarus’s strange generosity in Numantia. No one in Rome would have understood such bizarre behavior from a conqueror, certainly not honor. The old chieftain had thrown the dice on the chances of peace. He would have been better off putting every Roman he could find to the sword. Instead, he helped save the remnants of our legions, the very same soldiers that returned to hang him from a cross next to Rhetogenes, his hard-as-flint, fellow warrior. At least the birds would pick their bones clean and fly their spirits up to their gods in the sky.

  He sipped his water and put the cup down. Gaius expected to be home at the beginning of next year, too late to run for tribune. Even if he had returned sooner, any campaign would have been daunting, given his youth and the fierce animosity of the Senate. They certainly would claim that the Gracchi aspired to dynasty. He shook his head, no, whether he was here or not, little brother Gaius wasn’t the answer. So who was?

  “Tiberius?”

  Claudia entered the office, saying, “Tiberius, Sempronia wonders where you are. She’s come all this way to see you, and you hide in your office.”

  “My deepest apologies, love of my life. I’m a lout. Tell her Gaius sends good news from Hispania. I’ll come out soon to share it with everyone.”

  Claudia leaned over and kissed him. “Love of my life,” she said as she straightened to leave. He clung to her hand until it slipped from his grasp as she left the room.

  What was to be done? he thought, again and again.

  Chapter 31. Philometer’s Bequest

  In the morning, he arrived at the office, which was already alive with activity. It took him by surprise, since he knew he wasn’t late. He angled his way around the men at the doorway, first in the line that, as usual, stretched out from the door, down the stairs, and around the market walkway. Diophanes and Blossius sat at their desks, briskly talking with the supplicants in front of them. As soon as Polydius saw Tiberius enter the office, he quickly closed the space between them and whispered, “Masters Claudius and Crassus are here, waiting for you in the back room.”

  Tiberius stared at Polydius, shocked and disbelieving. Appius and Crassus here this early in the morning? Why? Polydius nodded his head and gestured again to the back.

  Tiberius slowly made his way past, knocked lightly on the back-room door, and let himself in.

  Appius and Crassus sat on chairs usually stationed in the front room. As soon as they saw him, the two rose up and said heartily, “Tiberius!” “Excellent that you’re here, Tribune!” they both patted his arm and back and shook his hand. “Good man, here at last!”

  Bewildered, Tiberius said, “What sorcerer’s spell has beguiled you both to be here so early?”

  The two senators grinned at each other broadly in a naughty boy sort of way. Then, Appius spoke. “Why, we’ve come to solve all of your problems!”

  “Money problems, that is,” Crassus said.

  “Yes, of course, strictly financial,” said Appius. “Sit down, son, but first ask Polydius to stand at the door and allow no one to disturb us.”

  Looking somewhat bewildered and askance at the two antics in front of him, Tiberius went over to the doorway and asked Polydius to watch guard. He returned and sat down across from the still smiling senators.

  “All right,” he said, “tell me, what golden bounty did you stumble upon?”

  Appius and Crassus traded glances again, almost joyfully. Crassus nodded at Appius, who turned back to Tiberius and said, “Pergamum.”

  “Pergamum? You found a king’s fortune in the far reaches of Pergamum?”

  Appius and Crassus burst out laughing, “As a matter of fact, we did!” laughed Appius. Seeing Tiberius’s confusion rising, along with his ire, he continued, “Actually, the King of Pergamum himself. Past king, that is. He died, Attalus Philometer did. The poor wretch contracted some kind of grippe that took him off…”

  “Helped, perhaps, by a potion less than palliative conceivably administered to him by his less than faithful physicians,” Crassus said.

  Appius cocked his head, “Always a possibility in the eastern world. His beloved nephew Eugenes III has stood poised to ascend the throne
for three decades or more. He could have grown tired of waiting to grieve.”

  “Now, he has even more to grieve about,” Crassus said.

  “Oh, yes, he certainly does,” rejoined Appius, which caused them both to laugh again.

  “Very well, Father-in-law, but what part does this play in our turn of fortune?” Tiberius asked in a clipped tone.

  “Why, by way of Attalus III Philometer Euergetes’s will, dear Son-in-law.” Appius turned back to Crassus, “Did you know that Euergetes means ‘Loving-his-mother Benefactor?’”

  “I certainly did not,” said Crassus. “Who told you?”

  “Polydius, of course.”

  “I’m sure Eugenes wished that his uncle had been dubbed ‘Loving his nephew’ instead.”

  “I imagine so,” said Appius.

  “Honored of Rome!” Tiberius said loudly. Startled, they stared at him, which caused him to say gently, “Please.”

  “Very well,” said Appius, “we’ve kept him in the dark long enough.” He faced Tiberius full on, and said, “Attalus Philometer was not as fond of any of his relatives as one might have thought‒”

  “His nephew Eugenes at the top of the list,” Crassus said.

  “Yes,” Appius went on, “Philometer did not leave his wealth or his kingdom to his next of kin—”

  “Not Eugenes.”

  “Yes. In his wisdom and generosity, Philometer left his kingdom and his wealth … to the people of Rome!”

  Appius slapped his thigh as he joined Crassus in raucous laughter.

  Tiberius said, “I don’t understand? He left everything to the people of Rome?”

  Appius nodded his head up and down, still caught in a silent paroxysm of laughter.