Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  “Considering the fact that the good work he is doing remains unfinished, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus wishes to serve again as a tribune of the people. Toward this end, he has announced his candidacy; the bulletins are being posted throughout the city and its suburbs at this time.”

  The packed members of the Senate stared at him in silence. A stray thought occurred to Appius; they gazed at him the same way that he must have been looking at Tiberius when his son-in-law had told him. “To this end,” he continued, “Tribune Gracchus petitions you for this opportunity, and looks forward to your blessing.”

  He could see that no one heard the last part. The Senate erupted in a chorus of violent outcries, ear-piercing howls as though the dogs of Hades had been let loose in the chamber. The thunderous clamor eliminated any possibility of any senator being heard or understood. Piso, the presiding consul, hammered his wooden baton upon the floor as hard as he could with little effect. He pounded it again and again, finally rising to his feet as the uproar continued. He struck the top of his chair repeatedly while motioning to his lictors. Holding their fasces chest high, they formed a line on either side of the consular seats, and the noise finally subsided.

  Piso turned his attention to Appius, still standing in place. “This has been done, Senator Claudius? Tiberius Gracchus has posted his name in candidacy for the Tribunate again?”

  “Yes, Consul, he has. In fact, I imagine the announcements are up by now. I believe notices have been couriered to Romans outside of the city as well.”

  “This is criminal!” broke in Rufus, “an outrageous violation of Roman tradition and law!”

  The chaotic din began again, until Piso shouted, “Quiet! Remain silent or I will have the lictors escort those interrupting these proceedings to the door.”

  The outburst dwindled, though grumbling and a few sporadic catcalls spurred more dark looks from Piso.

  “You understand that this is highly irregular, Senator?” Piso asked.

  “Irregular, unusual, yes,” said Appius calmly, “but not without precedent. Why, Tiberius’s own brother-in-law Scipio Aemilianus was elected consul at the tender age of thirty-five just a decade ago.”

  “An exception was made then, Senator Claudius,” Piso said, “so that Rome could avail itself of his extraordinary military leadership in the war against Carthage.”

  “My son-in-law Tiberius performs an equally vital role in restoring land to our wrongfully disenfranchised veterans. Without his efforts, these men could never again serve in Rome’s legions for lack of owning land. As a member of the agrarian commission, I can tell you that this program is of critical importance to the wellbeing of the Republic. Yet, land reform is in its infancy and might perish if not properly nourished. It requires the steady hand of its patriarch to ensure that Rome remains robust. As the architect of the lex agraria, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus has proven himself to be an exceptional man worthy, in this instance, of exception.”

  “Here, here,” “Well spoken,” and other shouts of approval came from Crassus and the other Populares sitting around Appius, soon drowned out by the scathing objections of the Optimates and many other senators. Piso opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden rise of Nasica halted him.

  “Honorable Consul,” Nasica said, “May I speak?”

  Piso signaled his assent. Nasica stood tall and imposing, his frame bonier if possible, his eyes now darker than his dark hair, now showing strands of grey.

  “Gracchus’s actions are illegal,” Nasica said, standing tall, “and more egregious, they are sacrilegious. I say this with the knowledge and authority vested within me as Rome’s Pontifex Maximus. Elected officials serve one term in Rome according to our most important and sacred tradition, the Mos Maiorum. The reason for this holy, absolute dictum is to prevent ambitious men from becoming demagogues by vying for successive terms. We adopted this hallowed tradition after finally casting off the oppressive yoke of tyrant kings. We swore never to bend to a king again in whatever guise he might assume. Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus possesses the unbridled ambition that Rome disdains. His past actions have proven his intent. It is common knowledge that while in Numantia, he consorted with the enemy for personal gain.”

  The Populares began to shout out indignantly until Piso rapped his baton.

  Nasica continued, “As tribune, he curried the favor of his fellow plebeians by promising land handouts through his deeply flawed agrarian law. He illegally deposed an honorable tribune who vetoed this same illicit law. He illegally appropriated the Pergamum fortune to endow his own designs. All of these acts show that he wishes to have his way at any cost in total disregard of Rome’s tradition and laws. And, now he wishes to run for tribune again, the ultimate step in his plan to sap the wealth and power of the Republic’s most honorable families. Thus, he can anoint himself King of Rome!”

  Tumult burst out in the Curia again, the Populares on their feet raging against the Optimates, who stood roaring their fury in turn. Piso directed the lictors into the rows to forcibly quiet the crowd, when one voice rang out above all of the others.

  “I have proof!” cried out Nasica. His piercing declaration brought everyone’s attention to him again.

  “I have proof, if the consul will permit me,” he said in a steady voice. Appius could see sharp anticipation in his eyes, a deeply unsettling sight. He glanced at Crassus, also uneasy at what he was seeing. Piso waved his hand, and all of the senators sat again except for Nasica.

  “Senator Pompeius,” Nasica said, “if you will, please rise.”

  Pompeius stood, tall and heavy-set, clean-shaven, his hair a proud, grey mane that framed his rugged features. Wearing his ever-present scowl of superiority, he threw the edge of his toga across his shoulder in a grand gesture.

  Pompeius, Appius thought, another scoundrel. His disgusting behavior in Hispania hadn’t been enough to hide his colossal failure there. Stymied by the Numantines, instead of marching on, he signed a secret treaty with the Numantines in exchange for thirty talents of gold. The Senate rejected the treaty with prejudice, which led eventually to the last fiasco at the hands of Mancinus. Yet, somehow Pompeius had survived all indictments. Most likely, he had forged some other clandestine, illegal agreement through his willingness to do anything without conscience to tread water. Now, it seemed another example of his duplicity was in the offing.

  “Senator,” Nasica went on, “a month ago, when the emissary from Pergamum arrived in Rome to announce the disposition of his deceased king’s will, did you have occasion to see him at that time?”

  “I believe I did, Senator, at the Paulian baths.”

  “Where in the baths, Senator?”

  “In the frigidarium, though the Pergamum character wasn’t dressed to go into the pool.”

  “Oh, no? Curious. Was he alone?”

  “No, he had a strong-arm with him, quite an unsavory, swarthy sort of fellow. He rather looked like a wild boar.”

  Appius felt a sudden stab in his stomach. He sensed what was coming.

  “Anyone else, noble Pompeius?”

  “Yes. Sempronius Gracchus was in the room as well.”

  A massive intake of breath could be heard throughout the Curia, followed by murmurs reaching a noise level that caused Piso to hit the floor sharply with his baton again.

  “That is even more unusual,” Nasica went on. “I imagine this is where Tribune Gracchus struck the deal that allowed him to steal the Pergamum fortune.”

  The Populares growled again but stopped to listen to Pompeius’s reply.

  “I do not know about that, I was too far away to hear anyone speak.”

  “Of course, an honorable man such as yourself would never attempt to listen in on a private conversation. Then, what did you see, Senator Pompeius?”

  “I saw this dark peacock with greasy, black hair and an ostentatiously curled beard, wearing overtly opulent, garments. This clearly foreign fellow handed an ornate box to Gracchus.”

  “Tribune Sempro
nius, Senator.”

  Pompeius sneered, “All right. Tribune Sempronius Gracchus.”

  The Optimates laughed coarsely, cut short by Piso’s baton.

  “Could you see what was in the box?”

  “No, but it was big enough to hold a will.”

  “You lie,” Populares cried out from the benches, “Backstabbing!” “Blatant fabrication!”

  Piso called for order, and Nasica continued.

  “Did you see anything else, Senator Pompeius?”

  “I did,” Pompeius said. He faced the Populares, his face a map of scorn. “I saw that barbaric Pergamum popinjay open up another strongbox. From it, he extracted and presented to Gracchus a purple robe and a bejeweled diadem!”

  “The trappings of a king! Proof of Gracchus’s treason!” shouted Nasica, who continued mouthing inaudible invectives as a storm of sound following Pompeius’s accusation swept throughout the Curia. Appius wanted to press his hands to his head, but instead, he rose up.

  “Enough!” he bellowed, a voice so loud that it stunned the mass of bickering senators into silence. He paused as all eyes fell upon him.

  “I’ve had enough of this calumny directed at my honorable son-in-law,” he declared, his voice full of gravity and the weight of a princeps senatus. “The slanders that Nasica and Pompeius attack him with cover old ground, old news that has been trod and put to rest long ago. I will not put up with this disgraceful display of political maneuvering any longer.”

  Appius faced Piso. “Everything that has been said today is nothing but unsubstantiated gossip, prattle by the best prattlers we have in Rome.” He twisted around, “You, Pompeius, confound us by how haplessly you skew the events that took place in the Paulian baths. Eudemus did not present a purple robe and a diamond diadem to Tiberius. He offered him a jewel-encrusted scepter and a gold crown, you old washer woman, you.”

  The Senate rumbled in surprise at the audacious statement, some of them laughing in disbelief.

  “And, how do I know this?” Appius asked. Sardonically, he answered, “Because he told me. He’s my son-in-law.” He gestured with one hand casually, “No matter, Tiberius rejected the overture immediately. He harbors no kingly ambition, he is a servant of the Republic and the people of Rome. In any case, he is a duly elected tribune of the people, sacred and inviolable in his station, which makes these despicable accusations moot. You cannot touch him without deposing him, an action that you already have asserted as illegal. He will run for the Tribunate again, and the people will decide if this, too, is a precedent that they wish to support.” Appius spread his arms, his hands open, as he said, “Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus’s fate rests in the hands of the people, Senators, not yours. I see no point in listening any longer to the contemptible slurs against the honor of my son-in-law.”

  He looked sternly at Piso, whose lips were pressed into a thin line white with anger. The consul said nothing, and Appius turned to Crassus. Crassus hesitated for an instant, at a loss, then quickly left his seat. Appius started stepping out from the row to the marble floor, Crassus behind him. The other Populares stood and followed them past the consul to the vestibulum and out the door of the Curia.

  “There’s no doubt about it, now,” said Appius, sitting in a chair near the pool in Tiberius’s peristylum. “Your only safe course of action is to win the Tribunate a second time. Nasica and his cronies have made it clear that they are out for you and never will relent. It is personal, now. They are fixated on your utter downfall.”

  Tiberius listened, though somewhat impatiently. He’d been trying all along to tell Appius and the rest that the Optimates were bent on his destruction.

  “The best chance you have is to secure your inviolability as a tribune,” Appius went on. “That might keep them at bay for a while. You must win, and in a convincing fashion.”

  “I recognize this,” said Tiberius.

  “How is Ajax’s detail going?” asked Appius.

  Tiberius winced slightly, “Not as well as with past efforts. He’s out there, beating the bushes with his men for votes, but it’s harvest time. Most of them are bringing in their crops. They’re sympathetic to our cause, but they see eating this winter as a more pressing priority.”

  “Uh,” grunted Appius, “that’s a bit disheartening.”

  “Don’t worry, Father-in-law, we’ll win. There are still more than enough votes within Rome’s walls to win the election for us, and Casca is doing his usual, excellent job of lining them up.”

  Appius peered up at the pacing Tiberius. “He has enough coin?”

  Tiberius nodded, “Oh, yes. Amazing how lenders are so free with their silver when they know that Philometer’s will is collateral.”

  “Quite so,” said Appius. “Their attitude would change quick enough if the Senate stole back the Pergamum gold.”

  “Too late for that in this election, we already have the money.”

  Appius pursed his lips in thought. “Well then,” he said, rising to his feet, “three weeks will tell the tale.”

  “Three weeks will tell the tale,” agreed Tiberius. He embraced his father-in-law, “Thank you for your help and counsel, Father.”

  “Of course, you are welcome, Tiberius, and thank you for carrying the shield and spear for us old goats and the people of Rome.” He hugged Tiberius and left the house.

  During the days that followed, Tiberius divided his time between the commission’s office and campaigning. In the early morning, he would head to the office to check with the Greeks to see if they needed any special assistance from him. An hour later, Hylas would arrive, and Tiberius would change into the pure white toga that his servant brought to the office every day. Then, they would descend the stairs to join up with his entourage of supporters to walk various routes through the city.

  Tiberius’s party would stop at various neighborhood forums, where most of the people would congregate to draw water from the fountains for their meals, or to wash up. Tiberius climbed the nearest wall or steps and spoke quietly but firmly, eloquently, about the ongoing need of the lex agraria for the people. He then would turn to their new needs, limits on their military service in foreign wars and greater representation in the city’s courts. Without exception, his speeches engendered loud and enthusiastic demonstrations from all who gathered. Wherever he spoke, the people would stop what they were doing and listen raptly to Tiberius Gracchus’s promise of a better future.

  After a week of uninterrupted receptions like this, Tiberius’s confidence that he would win began to grow. At home, however, Claudia still kept her distance. Around the children, she would fill the air with light, breezy expressions of love and fun, orchestrating games, plays, and other activities. They all shared their meals together as usual. After every dinner, she would send the children to their father to say goodnight, gently goading the older Tiberius and Sempronia to follow the little ones in giving him hugs and kisses. But after they’d been put to bed, she would retire herself without a word to him, or a hug, or a kiss. In the morning, they all would assemble for their devotions to their ancestors and the Lares, after which the daylong façade of family harmony would begin again.

  Tiberius was heartbroken and forlorn. Yet, he could do nothing, because what Claudia wanted was something that he could not give her. It seemed stunning, in a way, that she defied him so. Throughout their years together, she had always supported his decisions wholeheartedly, doing whatever she could to help him succeed. This time, however, she was adamant. He couldn’t quite understand her objections, he thought he had explained his reasoning clearly. The risk of failure existed, he was challenging the Senate and elements of the Mos Maiorum. But Claudia had never been much of an adherent to the Mos Maiorum, and she had supported him in more dangerous situations in the past. By the love of Venus, she’d conceived a child with him the night before he left for Numantia and managed their interests the entire time he’d been gone. So, why this now?

  He shook his head, bewildered. His mother felt som
ewhat the same as his wife, he knew, but she hadn’t ostracized him like this. Of course, he couldn’t ask her to intercede with Claudia, she would just use it as another opportunity to tell him to change his plans. But he couldn’t. He needed to be tribune to secure his standing in advancing the lex agraria and other initiatives that would improve the lot of Rome’s people. A strong plebeian populace meant a stronger Republic. He knew this in his soul to be true, and the gods had favored him so far. He had to go on.

  He missed Claudia deeply.

  The morning sun fought a losing battle to brighten the day with the clouds above. The grey day caused Tiberius to leave home later than usual. He and Hylas trudged their way down the Palatine through the marketplace to the office at its end, Casca’s ever-present bodyguards shadowing them the entire time. In fact, the obscured sky made seeing the guardsmen almost impossible. But they were there.

  They climbed the stairs above Fortuna’s Inn, still shuttered, until they came to their office door, wide open so that lamp light splashed out, almost welcoming them after enduring the dreariness outside. Tiberius stepped in and greeted Diophanes and Polydius in turn. Hylas followed, the egg-white toga folded in half on his back so as not to drag it in the trash-strewn street. He hung it on a hook in the back room while Tiberius sat down in a chair against the wall in the front office. Blossius hadn’t come in yet, so Tiberius started to paw through a stack of documents in front of him, deeds and affidavits related to the current distribution of lands in Campania. If it rained, he thought, there would be little reason to stalk the streets for votes. A lost day of campaigning would be bad, he thought, but he really felt less than enthusiastic. Perhaps the day’s weather had dampened his spirits as well.

  If it rained, he could stay here and help, another prospect that didn’t thrill him. Maybe he felt tired, not just lazy. He sighed and picked up another paper from the pile.