Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

“Could he do that?”

  Crassus shrugged his shoulders, “Why not? It’s his kingdom, his gold.”

  “And Eugenes? He won’t object?”

  “He doesn’t know, yet. He’s still searching for the will, thinking it’s misplaced somewhere in Philometer’s vast palace.”

  “Huh. If Eugenes is as devious as you’ve suggested and he cannot find his uncle’s will, I don’t suppose it will take him long to issue a forgery.”

  “Oh, he’s not worried about that right now,” Crassus said, “he’s too busy celebrating his approaching coronation. His house slaves have been assuring him that it’s just a matter of time before they find the will. They have all sworn on their gods, too, who or whatever they might be, that his uncle had left him everything, such was his love.”

  “What if the will does turn up?”

  “It cannot,” said Appius, hesitating momentarily for effect, “because it is here, in Rome!”

  Tiberius blinked. “In Rome? How did it get here?”

  “It was secreted here from Pergamum by Philometer’s trusted secretary Eudemus.”

  “Oh. I see,” Tiberius mulled this news over in his mind for a time. Then, he said, “Still, Father, what does this have to do with us and the lex agraria?”

  “The will,” Appius said fervently, “leaves Philometer’s kingdom and massive fortune to the people of Rome! The people of Rome, Tiberius!”

  Crassus broke in, “Not to the city of Rome or its patricians, but the people.”

  His brow knit, Tiberius said, “But why? Why not to the city and its patrons? How can you divide a kingdom and a fortune among hundreds of thousands of people?”

  “You can if you turn it into land,” Appius said slowly, enjoying as he spoke the slow dawning taking place revealed by his son-in-law’s features, “and give the land away to the people.”

  Tiberius drew back in his seat, splaying his feet out in front of him. He found what he was hearing so hard to believe, like a carrot dangled in front of a donkey. He rubbed his hand across his mouth and said, “What about the patricians? Why didn’t they seize upon this enormous opportunity? It is so unlike Nasica and Rufus to pass on a chance to fill their purses, no matter whom was named in the bequest.”

  “They don’t know about it yet. They are as much in the dark as Eugenes,” said Appius.

  “Or Philometer himself, may the gods celebrate him on high,” murmured Crassus.

  “And, how did you find out about this?” Tiberius asked impatiently.

  “Philometer knew of the struggle here in Rome between the Populares and the Optimates. He also knew that his doting nephew had received a promise of support from the Good Men of Rome should he find himself in position to be king. So, before he died, the king picked sides. He picked our side.”

  “He was quite a tyrant, I hear, in his early days.” Crassus said. “The old boy changed later on, it seems, became quite the scholar and ascetic.”

  “Eudemus was told to bring the will to one man in Rome, one only.”

  “Who? Me?” said Tiberius. Appius shook his head, and Tiberius said, “You?” Again, Appius shook his head and said, “Crassus, it is your honor.”

  Crassus beamed and said, “Consul Mucus Scaevola! My delightful brother!”

  Tiberius’s mouth hung open while Appius continued, “Scaevola immediately squirreled Eudemus away and sent word to us. We came here directly to tell you.”

  Tiberius could barely breathe. He kept glancing up and down between the two craggy senators and his sandals. Pergamum, famous in children’s stories for its wealth! Of all the other gods and goddesses, Fortuna smiles upon us!

  “You will meet Eudemus today in the baths where he will show you the will and consign it to your wellbeing. We have magistrates lined up to inspect it and verify its authenticity, after which you can announce the news of this glorious windfall to the people!”

  Tiberius could only stare up at the two senators, stunned.

  They were to meet in the apodyterium, Tiberius trailed by Hylas carrying his bathing garments and toiletries. It was early, which usually meant that only a few men would be at the baths, this being the traditional time for women. Even so, Tiberius was surprised to find the dressing room virtually deserted when he entered. Halfway down the long hall, he noticed a large, heavily muscled man leaning against one of the clothing niches, his arms crossed over his breast. Although he wore a regular long tunic with a plain leather belt, his biceps were pinched by curling bands of bronze shaped like snakes. He sported wild, curly black hair pulled back in a ponytail, revealing gold earrings that dragged his ears down, making them look like drooping, eyeless sockets. Tiberius noted, too, the curved knife sheathed at his waist.

  Without hesitation, Tiberius walked up to him and said sternly, “Where is your master?”

  The man straightened up and said with a heavy accent, “The frigidarium.”

  Tiberius’s brows furrowed. The usual order for bathing was to head for the tepidarium to ease the body into warm waters, followed by a hot dip in the caldarium. The cold rinse in the frigidarium came last. Of course, a good bout of exercise usually preceded all of this, so it was odd that this eastern elite, accustomed to the warmth of the Aegean, would head directly to the coldest room in the baths.

  Tiberius shed his toga and handed it to Hylas. Without looking back, he said, “Wait here.” Wearing nothing but his subligaculum, he walked purposely to the far door leading into the drafty chamber.

  Inside, he saw a man wrapped in an exquisite chartreuse, silk cloak sitting on a bench near the cold pool of water. He wore an elaborate headpiece that allowed his finely pressed array of shiny black curls to flow below to his shoulders where they met his equally resplendent black whiskers, wave after wave of them spilling down to his substantial chest. Beneath his cloak could be seen a fine, beige linen shirt plaited in folds across his breast, covered by row after row of curving gold necklaces. His pants matched his cloak, also of silk, and his sandals gleamed with gold inlays.

  Tiberius noticed his long fingernails, cut and polished a dazzling red that competed with the precious gems and gold of his many rings. He held his hands folded together, his head resting on his breast in contemplation as he waited. Tucked beneath one arm was a small chest made of precious wood, also festooned with spangling jewels and gold.

  Tiberius stepped up to the man, who raised his head to reveal the deepest, darkest pools that were his eyes. Tiberius could see the pain in them, and gentleness. He said, “You are Eudemus.”

  He nodded and said, “Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus? Champion of the people of Rome.”

  Tiberius grinned, clenching his teeth. “Tribune of the people, yes.”

  Eudemus smiled slightly. “King Attalus was very impressed by you, very much so.”

  “Really?” asked Tiberius. “A king impressed by someone with completely opposite values? Someone who is seizing wealth from kings in all but name only, and giving it back to the people?”

  Eudemus seemed wounded. “You know little of the Attalids, Tribune. Yes, they were kings, but they also gave tax money back to their subjects when they saw them in need. They spent their wealth to bring art, knowledge, and beauty to their people.”

  “Even your recently departed king Attalus Philometer? I understand that he was quite the scourge of his kingdom.”

  “He was,” Eudemus said, looking thoughtful, “when he was young. He was quite awful, but then he changed. He became a benevolent leader in the end.”

  “What changed him?” asked Tiberius.

  “He learned to pray.” Seeing Tiberius’s skepticism, Eudemus said sharply, “You do not understand, you do not know. He was a great king, despite his stupid nephew Eugenes, who did everything he could to undermine him. Eugenes wanted to be king, the swine, and he couldn’t wait. He tried for thirty years to steal the throne, everything, alliances, assassination attempts, any heinous act under the stars. But Attalus thwarted him at every turn, until finally, our good king
had to face the fact that, like every man, the thread of his own life was fraying. He did the only thing he could. Rather than fade away to see from the farther world the destruction of Pergamum, he wrote his will giving his kingdom to the Roman people. Oh, not the Senate, not the Good Men, no, Attalus knew better than that. He gave it to you so that the best of Rome would save his beloved people and land from civil war. And, remember this, Tribune Sempronius Gracchus, the Attalid kings and all of Pergamum were there as allies when Rome face its worst enemy, Carthage. Rome owes a debt to Attalus and his people, don’t you forget this. This is not just a giveaway, Pergamum’s wealth is yours as a trust, a sacred responsibility. Remember this most of all.”

  Abashed, Tiberius leaned down to the bereaved man and said, “You are right, of course, Eudemus. I apologize from the bottom of my heart. As a Roman, I vow on our gods and the lives of my children that I will do my best to protect the wellbeing of the people of Pergamum. I also promise to safeguard their culture and honor their gods.”

  Eudemus drew back and eyed Tiberius as though he were crazy. “No one expects Rome to do this without consideration. You will receive a stipend of 5,000 talents annually for as long as Pergamum thrives. The first payment awaits you not far outside the city walls. You need only give me the order, and I will have it transferred to your treasury.”

  Tiberius froze as he heard Eudemus’s words. The impeccably appointed minister nodded, “That should keep your land reform program going for quite some time. Unless, of course,” he said smiling wanly, “some impatient Romans decide to take it from Pergamum all at once. You know, kill the goose―no more eggs.”

  He stood up, “But that is your challenge, I guess, and no business of mine. I can proceed assuming that you agree? Good, well, then, here is King Attalus III Philometer Euegerte’s will entrusting Pergamum into your hands as I have delineated.”

  Eudemus handed over the heavily bejeweled box. Tiberius opened it to find an exquisite parchment scroll with beautifully illuminated script on the outside. The parchment was held together by a simple, royal purple ribbon of silk and a heavy gold clasp delicately sculpted with reliefs of god-like visages.

  “That is the original, though copies have been made and tucked away in Pergamum, to be released when the people have been informed. I suggest that you do the same here in Rome. And the rest,” he said, gesturing toward the doorway. The burly guard Tiberius had first seen waiting outside crossed the chamber toward them. At first alarmed, Tiberius relaxed when he saw Casca move silently through the shadows on the other side of the room. To his left, he noticed another figure, though he couldn’t make out who it was, perhaps another guard.

  The Pergamum strongman approached them and bowed his head, waiting. Tiberius noticed that he had brought with him a large wooden chest hoisted on his shoulder. Eudemus said, “My man Apogenes.” He beckoned with his hand, and the man took a knee and brought the chest down to the sandy floor and opened it up. He lifted out a purple bundle and held it in his hands above his head. Eudemus grasped an edge of the silk wrapping and flipped it back. He then flipped back an inside flap to reveal a large, ornately decorated gold crown and a gold scepter, both bedecked with priceless gems, emeralds, rubies, diamonds, sapphires. “May I?” Eudemus said, sweeping his hand across the crown and scepter.

  “No!” Tiberius stepped back as though from a snake or a blighted man. Eudemus looked at him, puzzled. “Rome recognizes kings and kingdoms in other parts of the world,” Tiberius said, “but we freed ourselves from servitude to kings almost five centuries ago. No honorable Roman would ever think of assuming the trappings of a king of any kind. I’m sorry.”

  Eudemus stared at Tiberius again as if he were from some strange land. “You are a peculiar man, Tribune.” He shrugged, “No matter, if you wish to rule Pergamum as a tribune, so be it.”

  “I will oversee Pergamum’s liberty and safety,” Tiberius said, “along with the other tribunes duly elected as representatives by the people of Rome.”

  “Very well.” Eudemus barked to Apogenes in a guttural language completely unknown to Tiberius. “These go back into the Pergamum treasury,” Eudemus said to Tiberius as Apogenes carefully rewrapped the crown and scepter and put them back into the chest.

  “Well, then,” Eudemus said, “I suppose I have completed my king’s final task. He will look down upon us from his seat next to the gods and bless us. Goodbye, Tribune Sempronius Gracchus, and good fortune.”

  The Pergamum minister bowed deeply, touching his brow with his hand as he did so. When he straightened, Tiberius noticed his eyes glistening even more so than before. “Goodbye,” he said, bowing his head once. Eudemus snapped an order to Apogenes, who lifted the chest to his shoulder again and headed toward the door.

  “Eudemus,” Tiberius called after them. Eudemus turned around. “What will you do now?”

  Eudemus pursed his lips in thought and cocked his head to one side. “I will return home, the gods willing. There, I’m sure that Eugenes would love to roast me in the brazen bull, though I imagine he will have to settle for simple assassination.” He grinned wickedly, “Unless, of course, Apogenes kills me first and steals the crown jewels.”

  Tiberius said, “You could stay here under the protection of Rome.”

  The Pergamum high secretary shrugged, “Why? Life is an adventure, after all, part of which is death.” He smiled gently then waved to Apogenes to lead the way out of the frigidarium.

  Casca stole up next to Tiberius. Still watching the doorway, Tiberius said, “Take this box to the tribunal treasury. Make sure you have plenty of men at your side. Send for Polydius and tell him to find as many scribes as he can to make copies of the document in the box. Once that’s done, have the original hidden well away―no other tribunes must know its location.”

  Casca dipped his head in acknowledgement. “And you, Tribune? If you are ready to leave, I can assemble another escort at once.”

  Tiberius shook his head, “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m here, I might as well get some exercise and a good scraping. Just leave the other guard with me.”

  “Another guard? I was here alone,” Casca said. Tiberius turned to face him. Casca said, “I didn’t want to make them nervous.”

  “Then, who was the man I saw at the other end of the chamber?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps another bather?”

  Tiberius scowled doubtfully, “Not at this hour, unless it was a woman.”

  “I’ll search when I leave.”

  “No, don’t bother. Secure the chest.”

  Casca nodded, picked up the strongbox, and left through another door at the far end of the room. Tiberius headed toward the other doorway, walked through, and called out, “Hylas!”

  Tiberius gingerly made his way back to the commissioners’ office in the marketplace, his body tender from his shockingly short stint of exercise. Afterwards, he found himself struggling to catch his breath the entire time Hylas spent oiling and scraping him. The hot and cold dips refreshed him to some extent, but really, he realized, his public life had robbed him virtually of all conditioning and agility. The more he walked, the sorer his body felt. As he painfully worked his way up the steps to the office, he swore to sacrifice to the goddess Salus to force him to train on a daily basis. He understood better Appius and Crassus, too, in their propensity to recline in the office for a time, then take their leave to casually meander down to the baths where they would recline some more. In his current condition, Tiberius found such a guilty pleasure wistfully attractive. But he was a younger man in his prime, he reminded himself, and he had work to do.

  Tiberius sidled past the line of men on the stairs and into the office. He gave Blossius a glance, who nodded and gestured with his head to the back room. Tiberius walked back, and said before entering, “When Casca arrives, send him in to see me directly.” Blossius nodded again, and Tiberius went into the back office, closing the door behind him.

  Appius and Crassus sat in their usual chair
s, drinking lemon water and eating sweet rolls. As soon as they saw Tiberius, they leaned close to him. Appius said, “Well?”

  Tiberius nodded his head, “It is done. Casca is securing the will in the plebeian treasury now. Unless this is a very elaborate fiction engineered by the gods-know-who, we are poised to fund the lex agraria well into the foreseeable future.”

  The two elder senators clapped their hands. “Excellent, Tiberius, that is wonderful news,” exclaimed Crassus.

  “Yes, but we must move fast before the Good Men get wind of it, if that is at all possible.”

  “I agree. We must bring the news to the people before Nasica and Rufus can fabricate some sort of impediment.”

  Appius mulled it over quickly, and said, “Perhaps so. We better act now.”

  They heard a knock on the door, which then swung open as Casca walked in.

  “Salve, Centurion,” Appius said, which Crassus quickly repeated.

  “Did you secure the document?” Tiberius asked the heavy-set man, who out of habit stood at attention. “Yes, Tribune,” Casca said, “it is in the bowels of the Temple of Saturn, safeguarded by our best men.”

  “Very good, Casca. And the scribes?”

  “Polydius has them hard at work, two copies to start. As soon as they are completed, the original will be tucked well away in a place known only to me. I will share that knowledge, of course, only upon your order.”

  “Well done, Lucius Casca Naso,” Tiberius said, smiling. “I know I can always count on you.”

  He turned to the senators and said, “As soon as the copies are completed, they will be posted throughout the city, along with an edict calling for an immediate assembly. There, the people of Rome will vote on a referendum deciding the disposition of Philometer’s bequest. If we are lucky, this matter will be done in two days.”

  The senators nodded their agreement. Appius faced Crassus and said, “I believe it is time for us to return to the Senate, dear Crassus, to ensure a smooth transaction.”

  “I believe that you are correct, Appius. Why don’t we repair first to the baths right now to chart our course?”