Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  “Where else?” replied Appius.

  The posting of the edict and the will created an immediate sensation. Plebeians ran through the streets celebrating the riches that soon would be theirs. The horsemen grouped in the marketplace, debating how this might affect their enterprises and commerce in general. The patricians split upon faction lines. The Populares publicly declared their support of the general distribution of this windfall, though, in private, apprehension and disquiet presided in light of the current disorder in the streets. The Optimates suffered no such ambivalence; all of them exploded in fury.

  “I tell you, they almost rioted in the Curia,” Appius said, wiping his brow from the evening heat. They all sat in Tiberius’s peristylum. Crassus, Blossius, and Diophanes encircled the pool on benches, while Cornelia listened farther off, sitting in a chair next to the wall with Polydius standing nearby. Claudia swept back and forth into the garden to be sure that Philea and Hylas had kept the luminaries’ water cups and plates full.

  “It was Piso’s turn to take the chair that day, but when he heard the relentless cries of outrage from the Optimates, he sent for Scaveola at once.”

  “My poor brother Publius walked into a thunderstorm,” said Crassus.

  “It was all he could do to call for order―he finally had his lectors brandish their fasces to bring some quiet to the room,” Appius went on.

  “Even so, no one could complete a sentence without one outburst or another,” Crassus added.

  “Exactly. We might as well have been standing in the middle of the Circus during a chariot race!” Appius took a long pull from his cup. “You can imagine how Rufus bellowed, though Scaveola managed to tamp down the madness to a certain extent.”

  “What about Nasica?” Tiberius asked. “What did he have to say?”

  “Believe it or not, he was brief,” replied Crassus.

  “He made a short statement,” Appius said, “saying that this attempt to pirate Philometer’s fortune without Senate counsel constitutes an unforgiveable violation of the ancient traditions of Rome, the Mos Maiorum. As the Pontifex Maximus, he pronounced the authors of this capital crime to be sacrilegious and its perpetrators condemned in the eyes of the gods and of all men. That’s all that he said.”

  “That’s quite enough,” said Cornelia, and all heads turned to her. “He is serving notice. If this must be done, you need to prepare to withstand the full weight that the Optimates and most of the other patricians will bring to bear.”

  “By your account, Father-in-law, it sounds as though we have been condemned by Nasica just for proposing the referendum,” Tiberius said. “If so, we might as well proceed with the vote. The people still outnumber the patricians.” The men in the room all nodded their heads in agreement. “In any case,” he continued, shrugging his shoulders as he looked in the direction of his mother, “we need the money.”

  Standing atop the Rostrum with the other tribunes, Tiberius wondered if the wasting heat and humidity this early in the day signified the displeasure of Jupiter and the other gods at this gambit. The irony of being an avowed advocate of ascetic ideals who now angled to appropriate vast wealth from the East hadn’t escaped him, or many others, he thought wryly. However, the riches of Pergamum would be used for the common good, not to line his purse.

  To ensure the gods’ blessings, he had preempted the usual sacrificial rites by engaging Saturn’s priests. They at least would be neutral in their reading of the auspices, if not openly sympathetic to the Populares cause. The great Pontifex Maximus Nasica could suck the marrow out of this cold chicken bone along with the others. He would not be allowed to impede the people’s vote on some trumped-up religious grounds.

  The priests at their altars next to the Curia Hostilia raised their hands in praise of Saturn, Jupiter, and the other gods, and consigned the disemboweled fowls to the sacred fires. Before long, white, guttering smoke arose from the flames, blessing the proceedings as expected.

  Tiberius pivoted to the front of the Rostrum where thousands upon thousands of plebeians immediately raised their hands and voices in a resounding roar for the first tribune of the people. He smiled and signaled to the electoral officers to commence the vote. As he did so, he saw Sextus astride a horse just outside the far-left entrance to the Comitium. When the tall rider saw the movement of the first tribes, he dismounted and walked his horse behind the curved seats to a fountain in front of the Senate building. A corps of other equestrians trailed him, perhaps a half a century or so, all walking their horses in a line to the fountain. If anyone wished to enter the Comitium, they would have to circumvent the men and their horses, which meant making their way to the far entrances near the marketplace. There, Ajax leaned against the wall along with several other hefty men. Tiberius glanced to the other entrances and saw a contingent of veterans milling around—Casca’s men. There should be no trouble this time, he thought.

  Indeed, when the first tribe cast their vote, only the patricians allied with the Populares appeared in the stalls. Apparently recognizing the hopelessness of winning this vote, the Optimates chose to abstain, a sign of protest, no doubt. Even better, thought Tiberius, it will make the vote go that much faster. He waved at Appius and Crassus as they passed through the wooden stalls, beaming their pleasure at actually, physically participating in this vote. Tiberius smiled as they waved back like young schoolboys.

  The referendum passed before the noon hour. The crowd bellowed their approval in waves, refusing to allow the tribunes who had endorsed the lex to retire. Every time one would wave, the shouting would begin again and again. After an hour, the tribunes all looked at one another, wondering when it would end. Finally, a small contingent came to Tiberius and asked him to speak so as to send them away.

  Tiberius stepped forward, and the sound reverberated throughout the Comitium. He grinned, and raised an arm, trying to lower the noise. The crowd continued on, until he turned to the other tribunes and shrugged. Again, he raised and lowered his hands to quiet the crowd. They roared louder, until at last they seem to have exhausted their voices.

  Tiberius smiled broadly, and said, “Faithful Romans,” he said, “the gods have sanctified our vote today.” They yelled again, but he was able to quell it quickly this time. “Now, it is time to thank the gods and celebrate the future of Rome and her people. Thus, I ask you in the name of the tribunes that you go now to make offerings to Jupiter, Saturn, and all of the great gods and goddesses who have smiled upon us today. I commend you to make libations in their honor, and drink wine in thanks. May Fortuna be with you,” he said, waving as he retreated to the stairway. Seeing their chance, the other tribunes scurried to the stairs first, so that Tiberius stood waiting his turn. He happened to glance up at the Curia and saw a flock of pigeons flying around one of the high windows. Squinting, he wondered what had agitated them so. Suddenly, a hawk screamed out of the sun’s light to snatch one of the pigeons with its claws. It beat its wings up and away leaving a wreath of feathers from the unfortunate victim stirring in the air. The surviving pigeons cried out in fear and alarm as they flew as fast as they could back into the window of the Curia.

  Huh, he thought, a sign from the gods. This was a blessed day.

  Chapter 32. Dolo

  Tiberius found Appius and Crassus with several other senators at the foot of the stairs, along with Sextus, Blossius, Diophanes, Polydius, and Hylas. As soon as they saw him, they broke into applause. He grinned as he trotted down to the bottom to join them.

  “Outstanding, my son, I’ve never been so proud!” said Appius as he clutched Tiberius in a fierce, warm hug. Crassus shook his hand, saying “Well done, young man,” followed by all of the other senators in turn. When they all had congratulated him, everyone paused, until he said, “So, what now?”

  Everyone laughed. “Time to go home and thank the gods, as a wise young fellow advised,” said Fulvius Flaccus, not a Populares, but known to be a fair and decent senator.

  The others agreed, and waving warm
goodbyes, everyone dispersed except for Appius and Crassus. “I believe that success allows us to reverse the order of that sage’s counsel without ill effect, don’t you think?” said Appius. “We should sacrifice to the gods, but first, let us celebrate at Fortuna’s Inn!”

  “The gods will not punish us.” said Crassus. “To Fortuna’s!”

  They each took one of Tiberius’s arms and headed from the Comitium toward the marketplace trailed by the other members of their party, even Sextus and Casca.

  In no time they secured a large, round table and cups of pure Falernian wine all around, including one for Hylas, who turned red-faced with embarrassment. “Easy does it, Hylas,” said Polydius, “small, slow sips.”

  The others ignored the mentor’s advice, drinking the first cup quickly over half a dozen toasts. Tiberius tried to measure his rate, but the two senior senators did their best to undermine him. He succeeded at least in having the steward add water to the later rounds. But the raucous party raged on all afternoon into the evening.

  Appius and Crassus took turns telling stories of their experiences in politics and in war. The others sat raptly taking it all in. Sextus asked questions continuously, clearly the most interested of all of them in the old men’s lives. Bread, nuts, cheese, figs, and dates came at timely intervals, buoying them through the waves of wine washing over them. Eventually, the grape took its toll. First to leave were the Greeks; Blossius, Diophanes, and Polydius all bid their goodbyes and wandered out of the inn. Sextus left reluctantly, knocking into benches and tables on his way out. Hylas fell fast asleep resting his head and arms on the tabletop. Only four remained capable of carrying on, the two grand senators and Tiberius and Casca.

  Tiberius leaned over and said to Casca, “You seem to be the only one with his senses about him, Naso. When did you stop drinking the wine?”

  “Three years ago, Quaestor.”

  Tiberius sat back. He looked at the Ccenturion for a moment, then at Crassus and Appius. “Gentle men,” he said, “it is time to go home. We must fulfill the other part of our agreement. We must give thanks to the gods.”

  The senators glanced at each other, then said to Tiberius, “Indeed,” “Absolutely.”

  They put their hands gingerly on the table and stood up. Tiberius walked with them to the door, where Casca stood waiting. “I ordered two litters. Some of our men will walk with them.”

  Tiberius nodded, “Very good, Casca, thank you.” He turned back to the table where Hylas sat, rubbing his eyes. “Time to go,” murmured Tiberius.

  They left Fortuna’s Inn and headed through the marketplace toward the Palatine. The sun had set, and the marketplace stood open and vacant, with permanent shops and stalls shuttered and other temporary stands struck, their goods stored away for another day. Only a few figures lingered along the way, street girls trolling for customers, small-time cutpurses on the lookout for the inebriated, and beggars settling down for the night. Tiberius had seen this remarkable transformation of the bustling center of human activity many times before. Yet, he never failed to be amazed at the complete desolation imposed by darkness. Perhaps he felt more affected this time after such a heady day and fulsome night.

  They reached the other side of the marketplace and headed across the square toward the narrow street that led up the hill to his domus. Two men preceded them on either side of the square, coming closer together as they approached the head of the street. Tiberius took a quick look behind him and saw two other men behind them mirroring the men in front. Casca walked a step behind Tiberius and Hylas, now and then searching in front of them, behind them, and to the sides.

  They entered the narrow street that wound around the Palatine where Tiberius’s residence was situated halfway up. Tired from the long day, he inhaled deeply to start the ascent. After a few steps, he called to Hylas. “Hylas, come help me up the hill.”

  The young slave came back to Tiberius who wrapped one arm around him. “Where are you from, Hylas? I mean, where in Greece?”

  “A little village north of Chalcis,” Hylas replied, “Dirrevmata.”

  “And, how did you come to be in Rome? Was it after the Macedonian war?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “My father died of plague. My uncle took in our family, six including his sister, my mother. He tried to provide for us, but it was very hard. He and my aunt had four children of their own. He did his best, but it was impossible, especially after a terrible drought ruined his crops and caused him to lose many of his sheep. He came to me one night and explained to me that our family could not survive the winter without money to buy food. He was crying and could not tell me what he had to do. But I was the oldest, I understood. The next day, we left for Athens where he sold me into slavery. Since Greeks are very desirable as slaves in Rome, I was put on a boat the next day, and here I am.”

  Tiberius said nothing for a time as they slowly made their way up the hillside. Finally, he said, “Yours is a sad story, Hylas.”

  He felt the young Greek lift and drop his shoulders beneath his arm. “Not so sad. I felt honored to help my uncle and our family. And, I was fortunate that Mistress Claudia bought me first. But it was very hard for my uncle.” He moved his head to look at Tiberius, “I was named after him, you know. I was his favorite nephew.”

  Tiberius stared at Hylas for a second. “I can see why,” he said.

  “Attack!” They heard the cry in front, followed by the sharp ring of metal on metal. Tiberius straightened up, straining his eyes ahead. “From the rear!” came shouts behind him. He wheeled around to see Casca’s two guards fending off a half dozen figures, arms sweeping above them. Casca was nowhere in sight.

  “Hylas!” Tiberius said, spinning the young slave around. “Run! Run home and get more men! Stay low and close to the other houses. Go now!” he said, pushing him off to the side of the street. The boy crouched and ran off.

  No weapon, Tiberius thought. One of his men up front went down. The remaining guard gave ground slowly, working his way back and to the side so that his assailants couldn’t surround him. But it looked hopeless.

  Tiberius backed his way toward the wall, his eyes darting up and down the street. His men in the back seemed to be doing better, bringing down two of the enemy. But it was still four against two. Suddenly, Tiberius felt the wall at his back. He pushed around in the dark with his foot to feel for something he could use as a weapon, a piece of wood or a stone. Nothing.

  The last man in front went down, and his killers spread out, five of them, and slowly stalked Tiberius. Quickly, he pulled off his toga and spun part of it around both of his arms. A flimsy barrier, he knew, but perhaps he could ward off the blows until help came from home.

  A flashing figure bounded out of the shadows and cut two of the approaching men down, then rushed toward Tiberius. Tiberius instinctively held up his arms, and the swordsman slashed down at him. Tiberius blinked, and felt his arms fall free. He peered into the dark to see Casca in front of him.

  “Take this,” Casca snapped, “and keep your back to the wall.”

  The centurion held out a long, double-edged knife by its blade. Tiberius grabbed the haft, made of smooth wood with a knobbed end that could be used as a club.

  Casca pivoted, feinted, and swiftly gutted a third attacker. The other two paused, then fled. He quickly wheeled around to see that his men below them had dispatched two more of the assailants. The last two had turned and run.

  Tiberius glanced back and forth up and down the street, empty except for the carnage of ten bodies strewn about. His street, he thought.

  A dozen men came running from above, and Tiberius tightened his grip on the blade given to him by Casca. “They’re ours,” said the veteran.

  Hylas ran up to Tiberius, beaming with relief, and said, “Are you well, Master, are you injured?”

  “I am fine, Hylas, quite well. Thank you for bringing these good men so quickly.”

  The young man grabbed Tiberius in a fierce hug, which caused him to s
mile. “Now, now,” he said, gently disengaging himself.

  He turned to Casca and proffered the long knife by its wooden hilt.

  “Keep it,” said Casca, “and wear it from now on wherever you go.”

  Tiberius nodded vigorously. “What is it?”

  “It’s called a dolo,” said Casca, “Good for inside work. You can hide it easily beneath a toga.”

  Tiberius shook his head quickly up and down. He turned away to find Ajax standing in the middle of circle formed by the men facing outward, surrounding Tiberius, Hylas, Casca, and the two surviving guards. Tiberius stepped up to them and shook their hands, “Thank you, thank you for saving our lives.”

  He then addressed Ajax, raising his voice to say, “Have your men bring our fallen to my domus. They will be buried with high honors, and their families will be comforted and cared for.”

  Ajax snapped his head in assent. Casca said to him, “Get some of your boys to find a cart for these dead rats. Run them down to the Aventine and dump them on a trash heap. But first, cut their throats as a warning to the rest of them still skulking around.”

  On their way up the hill, Tiberius walked abreast to Casca. Just before they arrived, he leaned close to him and said, “When asked, we were attacked by a band of cutthroats after my purse.”

  Casca eyed him, and said, “If you think they’ll believe it.”

  At home, the family including Appius, who had hurried over as soon as he’d heard of the attack, greeted Tiberius as a returning hero. After Tiberius assured them that the only damage suffered by him was a bisected toga, they laughed and tried to have him sit for a meal. But he begged off, saying that all he hoped to do was go to bed.

  On his way to his bed chamber, Cornelia stopped him outside of the atrium. She held him gently by his chin and said, “You are well, son?”

  “I am, Mother, not a scratch on me. Casca made short work of those brigands,” he said.

  She stared deeply into his eyes, and said, “Brigands. Stay well, my son, and thank the gods.”