by Dan Wallace
Once in his room, Tiberius softly closed the door. Before he fell into bed, he found his chamber pot and urinated. Then, he threw up, several times. Finally, he dropped into bed, eventually falling into a deep sleep.
In the morning, he awoke to find Claudia next to him, naked beneath the covers. Her belly was enormous, it wouldn’t be long before their fifth child would come into the world, praise the goddess Lucina.
“You’re awake at last,” she said, her head in her hand propped on one elbow. “It’s about time, everyone ate breakfast hours ago. Dear Mother Cornelia had to lead the Lares service.”
Tiberius grabbed both sides of his head. “My skull hurts.”
“I don’t wonder. Father said you all partook of quite a celebration yesterday after the referendum passed. I’m surprised your head isn’t bursting forth a little Minerva.”
“Don’t blaspheme so. I’m no god, certainly not Jupiter.”
“No, more like Bacchus. But you’re right, you couldn’t be a god. Bacchus would have made it to breakfast.”
“Why are you berating me so? I’m a crippled creature here. Please allow me to lick my wounds.”
“Your wounds—even the so-called thieves who tried to kill you last night couldn’t wound you, or so you say.”
Uh-oh, he thought, the crux of the matter.
“Casca saved me. And Hylas.”
“He did indeed, though Hylas told us that your survival was a miracle of the gods.”
“The gods again,” he said.
“Yes, he said that the situation was hopeless when you told him to run, twelve against five. He was very much surprised to see you alive when he and Ajax arrived.”
“Yes, well, perhaps the gods did smile upon us, it was that kind of day. Did I tell you that we celebrated at Fortuna’s Inn?”
She sat up; her breasts were enormous pendulums resting on her distended stomach, like a fertility goddess incarnate.
“Tiberius, you almost died! We would have lost you forever!”
“It wasn’t like that. They were an inept gang of thieves, no more. They thought they’d seen a drunk and his companions, easy prey. Casca and his fellow veterans made short work of them.”
“Two of Casca’s men were killed. Those men who attacked you, Tiberius, they were not just ruffians, they were assassins. I know it, Father knows it, everyone knows it. The Optimates tried to murder you, Husband. Don’t you understand?”
He sat up and took her hands. “I am safe, now, Claudia, and wiser for it. Casca and Ajax will take further measures to protect me. When the people learn that a tribune of the people was attacked, an unthinkable transgression, they will be outraged. Even if they were assassins who attacked me, a preposterous notion, mind you, the Optimates would never chance it again. As tribune, I am inviolable, Claudia, remember that.”
“Yes,” she said, “but how long will that last? Your term ends in a matter of months. How safe will you be then?”
He reached over and hugged her close to him. “Don’t worry, love of my life. I won’t allow anything to happen to me or our family. Gaius will assume my post when he returns from Numantia. By then, the lex agraria will be established and the Optimates will have no option but to accept it. The balance of power and righteousness in Rome will be restored, and you and I will retire to our farm to raise our children and truffles.”
He kissed her on the cheek. She seemed to relax some in his arms, though he knew that she wasn’t fully convinced.
“Now,” he said, “why do you honor me by presenting yourself in my bed like Venus emerging from the waves?”
“Hah,” she said, “more like Salacia carrying Triton these days. I’ve come to have you mount me while you can since your future is in doubt.”
He drew back in utter shock. “What?” he said. What had become of his demure little wife and mother of his children? Then again, he thought, when was she ever demure in bed? He said sharply, “My future is assured.” Then, he stammered, “Anyway, aren’t you past the time when you can do this? Wouldn’t it be uncomfortable?”
“From the front,” she said, raising herself up and turning onto all fours, “but not like this.”
The lioness, he thought, like prostitutes. Yet, she looked at him out of innocent, calf-like eyes. “Are you sure?” he said.
She nodded up and down, so he girded himself, and did as she asked.
She had been right, though, as had Casca. As he had said, no one believed that they had been attacked by thieves, and he had verified it that night. During the rejoicing of his safety, Tiberius saw Casca next to the door silently signaling to him. He made an excuse and went to the toilet where Casca joined him.
“Ajax just returned and told me that one of the strongmen they picked up was still alive. He talked a bit before they dumped him on the Aventine.”
Tiberius hesitated before saying, “And?”
“The men who tried to kill you were headed by an Anatolian named Polemo.”
Tiberius squinted, trying to place the name. “Polemo? Do I know him?”
“You met him once,” said Casca. “Captain of the guard at Lucius Rufus’s villa.” Tiberius stared at Casca, who nodded his head, “that’s right, Fava Bean, Nasica’s favorite little troublemaker.”
After that conversation, Tiberius knew he couldn’t rationalize anymore about robbers. Nasica and Rufus had tried to assassinate him. They had become that desperate or at least that mad for blood. He had been lucky to survive.
He shifted on his bed, crossing his legs to lean on his ankles with both hands.
Of course, having Casca and Ajax at hand added mightily to his chances for survival. This attempt might not have been the first, only the one that his defenders couldn’t keep from him. No matter how exceptional his security was under Casca’s watch, how many more attacks could he withstand? Even after snatching Pergamum’s wealth out from under their noses—he laughed again thinking about it—he also recognized ruefully that the Optimates possessed vast resources and would never give up. For as long as he continued to poke them in the eye, they would come after him. Maybe Nasica and Rufus had acted hastily, outraged that the referendum had passed, a near miss that put him on guard. But they also could bide their time. In less than a year, he would be out of office and new tribunes would preside, many without doubt owned by the Optimates. They could use their new leverage and their power in the Senate to slowly dismantle the lex agraria and its commission. They probably would figure out some trumped-up excuse to redirect Pergamum’s bequest into their coffers. That is, if they didn’t kill the golden goose, as poor Eudemus had warned. In just a few years, it could be as though nothing ever had happened to change Rome. The plebeians would be put back in their place. Time, time was on the Optimates’ side.
Tiberius clenched his jaw. He’d hoped to build the momentum of the land reform scheme to the point that the Optimates couldn’t destroy it, and he had come so close. If only Gaius could be home to run as his replacement—oh, he was young, technically too young to run, but that wasn’t a huge hurdle. Popular opinion could change that, the same way they elected Scipio consul well before he was old enough, to lead the legions in Carthage. But Scipio would now keep Gaius in Hispania until spring. To burnish his already legendary reputation even more, Tiberius thought bitterly, the great Scipio Aemilianus would impede his youngest brother-in-law’s destiny. In the process, he also would destroy the Lex Sempronia Agraria and the future of the Republic. Scipio’s political leanings remained a mystery to all, but Tiberius couldn’t help but wonder if his illustrious brother-in-law secretly conspired with the patricians, if not the Optimates themselves. In any case, Gaius would not be available to replace him. So, now what? Tiberius thought.
Claudia entered, appropriately attired as an expecting Roman matron, carrying a tray with fruit, bread, cheese, and a cup of hot, flavored water. “Do you plan on lying around all day?”
“Not if you plan on keeping your garments on.”
She frowned,
“That moment has passed. Eat, drink, get up, bathe, and get dressed. The day is half wasted, and you have work to do.”
Tiberius did as he was told. He took himself to the commission office that afternoon, and every day for weeks. He busied himself overseeing office activities, which ran smoothly through the work of Blossius, Diophanes, and Polydius. Their extreme competency relieved him again and again to mull over his next course of action.
Even though unsuccessful, the assassination attempt should have scared him away from his work. At the least, as far as the Optimates were concerned, it should have served as a lethal warning. If anything would prompt them to try again, it would be his renewed diligence on the land commission. They had expected him to run for his life.
Running would do him no good, Tiberius figured. Once he left office, Nasica and the Optimates would go after him anyway, just out of spite. It lay deep in their nature. So, he might as well fight. The decision came hard to him, since they seemed to have all of the advantages, while he had so much to lose. He thought of Claudia and his darling children, even his mother Cornelia. He could not afford to lose.
So, what were his assets? The people, he thought, and his string of successes with them. Perhaps this explained further the attempt by Nasica to cower him into hiding. The people were fickle, and would soon forget a less visible Tiberius Gracchus, especially if they were distracted by a diet of horse races in the Circus and gladiatorial matches in the arena. But if he could keep the people on his side, the Optimates would be powerless. They were the key, he thought, the plebeians, the people of Rome.
He knew now what he had to do.
“I shall run for the Tribunate again for the coming year,” Tiberius said.
Utter silence greeted his announcement, as every man arrayed around him stared with shocked eyes and slack jaws. Grouped around him in a tight semicircle in his home office, they sat still, stunned.
Appius was the first to speak, sputtering, “Impossible! You cannot run again, elected positions are for one term only.”
“It is illegal!” said Crassus with alarm, “it is in complete violation of the Mos Maiorum.”
“It is extremely dangerous at this time,” said Blossius.
Others cried out objections, and Tiberius remained silent until the outbursts had subsided. “Is there a written law against running for two terms? Many past Romans have served more than one term as consuls.”
“Not consecutively!” said Appius.
“The Mos Maiorum!” shouted Crassus.
“The Mos Maiorum changes as needed over time. There is a need, here and now. Gaius will not be back from Numantia in time to run and there is no one else to run in my place. How long do you think it will take for the Optimates to put one or more of their stooges on the Tribunate to destroy the lex agraria? They’ll elect sympathetic consuls, too, with the help of other senators afraid of losing their estates. The only way to stop them is to maintain our popularity with the people. I’ve been able to do that all along. The people will vote me in for a second term, I am convinced of that.”
Appius shook his head, “The people are fickle. A few games, some horse races, a couple of coins for their votes, they will have trouble remembering who Tiberius Gracchus is.”
“Not if we call for an election soon. I can campaign on having won them the Pergamum fortune, and offer some other promises that will appeal to them.”
“Such as?” Blossius asked.
“A moratorium on forcing them to fight stupid wars against barbarians far from home. Giving the right of appeal to plebeians in judgments by the Senate. Adding equestrians to the bench equal to the number of patricians to ensure fair verdicts. In short, to further increase the power of common Romans in our Republic.”
“And further alienate the Senate and all patricians,” Blossius interjected.
Diophanes stroked his beard nervously. “They will redouble their efforts to destroy you, Tiberius.”
Tiberius said, “They are bent upon that now, though it would be much easier for them if I am no longer tribune, no longer sacrosanct and inviolable. My only chance is to continue as tribune with the people behind me. Perhaps then, the Optimates will back off for a time. By then, Gaius can run for tribune, and the lex agraria will be entrenched.”
Again, the grim-faced men in the room grew quiet.
“It is a terribly risky plan,” Appius said in a low voice, “almost a desperate gamble. You would do better to save yourself and your family by leaving Rome for a time. We can continue the fight while you’re away, we can hold on until Gaius has his chance.”
“The Mos Maiorum,” Crassus uttered, sadly shaking his head. “You will be accused of thirsting for power, and the Senate might block the election. My brother might not be able or willing to support you on this. I am not sure that I can.”
“I understand,” Tiberius said, “but I must do this. If it is a gamble, then I will roll the dice.”
Appius sighed. “What do you need us to do?”
“Go to the Senate and tell them that I am sick and tired of fighting with them, that I’m even talking of resigning. Rather than have me lose stature, propose an early election at harvest time, a cleansing of bad blood by bringing in a new corps of tribunes.”
“Nasica and Rufus will jump at the opportunity,” Appius said, “how they will crow.”
“Just before the election, I’ll proclaim my candidacy and new platform. The people will respond, and the Senate will be hamstrung.”
“Then, you can crow,” Appius said wryly. “You better have Casca and Ajax fill in their ranks. The risk to your safety will be highest during the campaign running up to the election.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine under their watch.”
Appius said, “All right.” He glanced at Crassus, whose expression twisted as he struggled. Finally, he nodded his head.
“Very well, let us begin,” said Appius, and they all left Tiberius alone in his office.
Cornelia came in soon after without knocking. As soon as he saw her, Tiberius suspected that Appius had stopped by her room before leaving. Amazing how such a diminutive woman could seem so intimidating. Those green eyes of hers, though, burned when she was serious about something. This time, however, she seemed ready to flinch, standing before him, almost vulnerable, to Tiberius’s surprise.
“Appius told me that you wish to run for tribune again,” she said, her voice as steely as ever.
“Yes, Mother,” he said, “it is the only way.”
“It is not the only way,” she snapped, “there always are other possible courses to pursue than just one way.”
“Possible,” he said, “but improbable. The Optimates are hard after me.”
“And you think running for a second term will stop them? They will kill you, Tiberius, and leave your family ruined by grief. Worse, with your death, so too will your dream die. This is the way they are, my son, this is the way they always have been, always. Their notion of the Mos Maiorum is to keep everything as it is, with themselves rich and all powerful. They considered you one of their own until you defied them, Tiberius. You defied them and you frightened them. They will never forgive you for that whether you become tribune again or not.”
“Then, if my fate is sealed, I might as well fight them,” he said, “I will not bow to these evil men, I will restore the Republic!”
She dropped her eyes in exasperation. “All men are evil, Tiberius. Look at you, you and your hubris; ‘I will restore the Republic.’ Where is the ascetic ideal in that self-righteous rhetoric? Your phallus is as hard as theirs, Tiberius, your blood is up, you just want to beat them. You’ve done wonderful things this year, so I haven’t interfered. But you play with disaster, you are on the edge of a vortex that would please Neptune. If you allow your pride to drag you in, everything will be lost.”
She stood looking at him, her arms on her waist. He turned his head away, scowling in his seat. “You are hard to please, Mother. I thought you would be proud of
me.”
“I am proud of you, Tiberius,” she said, “and I will be proud of you in the future, if you preserve it. Please, don’t do this.”
He peered up at here and saw that vulnerable expression in her eyes again. At length, he raised one hand and allowed it to fall languidly, saying, “I cannot. This really is the only way.”
Cornelia dropped her hands to her side, and said, “Then, I will miss you, Tiberius. I love you, my son, and I wish I had never guided you down this path.”
She turned and left the room.
He sat with his chin in his hand, his arm propped on his knee. All men are evil, she’d proclaimed, except of course, his father. Still, he questioned whether or not he really was driven simply by pride, not just the good of the people. He could only hope that the answer was no.
When Claudia learned of his plans, she had nothing to do with him. The family ate together, she would carry on lively talks with the children and anyone else at the table, but not with Tiberius. He began to wonder if he really did stand alone in this.
The Senate gobbled up Appius’s suggestion, and voted for early elections almost unanimously. The dictum had been posted; in three weeks, new tribunes for the coming year would be elected. In the meantime, the general good cheer in the chamber seemed oddly out of place.
“After all,” he pointed out, “the very foundation of the Senate is held together by the mortar of acrimony. Of course, when you announce your candidacy, everything will return to normal, madness will rule. Then,” Appius said, “the hard part begins.”
Chapter 33. Change of Heart
“My son-in-law has had a change of heart,” Appius said in a most solicitous tone.
Appius had expected the Curia Hostilia to be half-full on this putridly hot day in the city, typical of late summer. Hot, humid, stinking of garbage and offal, Rome stifled all romantic notions of its grandeur at this time of year. Even the pigeons residing in the rafters apparently felt too logy to defecate on the togas of the denizens below, an omission taken as another ill omen. Thus, those who could afford to had left for their seaside retreats days or even weeks ago, to wait out the gods’s seasonal tantrums until they relented, usually on the advent of autumn. The building should have been an empty warehouse, Appius observed, yet here he was, addressing a full house. Someone had alerted the Optimates.