Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  Soon enough, everyone would rise, chores would be tasked, gods, goddesses, and ancestors would be honored, food would pass lips, children would play, parents would admonish, servants would glide silently, dogs would bark, the day would proceed. Today, he would don his white toga and appeal to the people of Rome to elect him tribune again, one more turn. If they voted yes, he would serve as well as he could for another year until Gaius or some other Popularus took over. If they voted no, he would retire from public life and sit more often in this garden. Sitting now, just before dawn, he wondered which outcome to hope for more.

  He heard stirring in the outer rooms. Philea and Hylas were up, soon to head for the kitchen. He shook his head in memory; Philea had been his wet-nurse, and now she had grown so old. Along with Polydius, he had manumitted her some years ago, since his mother never seemed that she would get around to it. But unlike the Greek mentor, Philea had no family of her own. A free woman, she served Tiberius as she always had, as if nothing had changed. His family was her family.

  He had drawn up Hylas’s manumission papers as well, shortly after he had listened to the young man’s story about how he had become a slave. The papers were tucked away in Tiberius’s office, however. Hylas was too callow to send out in the world just yet. He needed some seasoning and he needed a trade. The young Greek wasn’t cut out to be a mentor, either, though he was as good-hearted a person as could be. Finding him a good livelihood would take some thought. Perhaps Polydius could meet with Hylas to see what interested the young man.

  Tiberius rose up from the bench and stretched luxuriously in the warm, breaking sunlight. He slowly strolled around the pool absently, taking in the glorious growth and marveling at the intricate architecture of the spider webs glistening from dew in the lemon tree.

  A shining reflection in one of the beds caught his eye, something foreign to the plants, something manmade. He stepped closer and leaned down to see a round, coppery object half embedded in the soft black earth between some fern fronds. He reached down to it even as he felt a vague sense of recognition. As he touched its metallic surface, he felt knobs on one end near the edge of the soil. He pulled on a knob as he realized that it was a helmet, his helmet, given to him by Appius nearly four years ago to wear in Numantia. He gave it a firmer tug by the knobs, one of the two horns decorating the top of the helmet. Young Tiberius enjoyed wearing it to play fearsome Roman conqueror, he remembered. The boy must have left it out some time ago, Tiberius thought as he pulled it free. Look at how dull and tarnished it had become.

  Several small, black snakes slipped out of the helmet, causing Tiberius to drop it at once. He lost his balance and sat down backwards, watching the snakes quickly disappear beneath the plant leaves. Black snakes, he thought, poisonous? Images of other snakes rushed through his mind, the two that legend tells led to the death of his father, and the two that slithered on Mancinus’s ship, premonitions of his disaster in Numantia. Were these snakes ill omens of his own? Tiberius wondered. Or, had they been planted to assassinate him?

  The possibilities sent waves of alarm through him until he picked himself up and brushed off the damp dirt on the back of his tunic. The helmet had been in the ground for weeks, maybe months, a perfect nesting place for snakes. They could have been baby black snakes for all he knew, harmless. He laughed uneasily at his own edginess. The times, he thought, a sign of the times.

  Tiberius left the garden and headed for his bed chamber to wash and dress. As Philea arranged the folds of his toga candida, Claudia sat on his bed.

  “Well,” he said after Philea stepped back. “Do I look like a winning candidate?”

  He spun around as Claudia said, “I’m glad we kept the candida, though I didn’t think we’d need it so soon again.”

  Tiberius pursed his lips frowning, “Yes, well it turned out that we did. Let’s go out for the morning devotion, I’m anxious to get moving.”

  Philea left the room, but Claudia held Tiberius’s arm, “Wait.”

  She moved around in front of him and pulled him toward her. He wrapped his arms around her, saying, “Now, now.”

  She hugged him close and pulled back. “What’s that beneath your toga?”

  “What?”

  “That knobby thing on your left side. If it wasn’t in the wrong place, I would have thought I was piquing your interest.”

  “Oh,” he laughed a bit nervously, “that’s the dolo Casca gave me. It’s a sort of a club-knife sort of thing. I’ve taken it with me ever since the attack in the street that night.”

  She frowned and looked at him darkly. “Do you think you might need it today?”

  “I don’t. They had their chance, and I am a tribune. If they were to try again, they could lose everything, including their lives. Still, if they are mad, I don’t want to be in the middle of things without having some defense for myself.”

  He could see the anger building in her features again. He held her arms and said, “Claudia, don’t fret. In the unlikely event, I intend to use it to fend off anyone wishing to do me harm long enough to scurry to a safe place.”

  Claudia pressed her lips, the lower one a buttress of discontent. “Tiberius, promise me by the gods above that you will do everything you can to stay safe.”

  “I promise by all of the gods above,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. “Now, let us go give praise to them and our ancestors.”

  The family assembled before the Lararium, all except for Cornelia. Puzzled, Tiberius glanced at Claudia, who shrugged. Philea spoke up, “Mistress Cornelia will not attend this morning. She wishes to conduct her morning devotion privately in her room.”

  Tiberius drew back slightly, and then opened the cabinet doors to reveal the venerated masks of the Sempronii ancestors. Then he opened up the smaller shrine within that sheltered the figurines of the household gods surrounding the all-powerful deities of Olympus.

  Tiberius pulled the hood of his toga over his head and conducted the service with outstretched hands. Claudia and the children each brought up petite offerings of food and incense to the small altar in front of the divinities, which Tiberius blessed and burned. Beneath his breath, he sent a special prayer to the goddess Concordia asking for her favor in granting harmony during today’s events.

  After the morning worship, Tiberius sat on a bench in the house vestibulum. Wearing a cloth around his neck to protect the white toga, he ate a light breakfast of honey cake and fruit while he awaited the members of his entourage. Before long, he heard voices outside the open front door. Hylas led the way and announced the arrival of Blossius, Diophanes, and Polydius. Tiberius felt a pang of sorrow at the absence of Sextus, which he quickly dismissed. Past the men in front of him, he could see Casca and Ajax in the narrow courtyard leading to the gates, along with several of their men.

  “Well,” Tiberius said, “are we ready?”

  Blossius answered, “As ready as we can be. The number of plebeians arriving from the countryside has been thin. As we predicted, the timing of the election has kept many in their fields bringing in their crops. But the turn-out in the city should be strong, considering your new reforms.”

  “And my father-in-law and Crassus?”

  “The Populares senators will meet in strength in the Curia to blunt any outrages by the Optimates. Once the votes have been tallied, they will join you to show their solidarity.”

  Tiberius nodded, “All right. Let us get under way.”

  Blossius held up a hand. “Be prepared for what you see outside of your domus. Many plebeians have gathered here to protect you, some throughout the night.”

  “I know,” said Tiberius, “they’ve been here since Sextus’s funeral, a virtual encampment of clients outside my door.”

  “Oh,” said Blossius. “Well, today they have summoned soothsayers from the Temple of Saturn to take the auspices.”

  “Must we? I’m anxious to go to the Forum and see this finished.”

  “Your supporters out front would feel better,” Blossiu
s said persuasively, “if they knew that the gods smiled upon you.”

  Tiberius sighed, “Very well.”

  Outside of the domus gate, a space had been cleared among the tents and lean-tos in the street for the soothsayers and their holy birds, which they carried in woven wooden cages. Again, Tiberius hooded his head with his toga and clasped his hands respectfully in front of him. The members of his party followed suit as the seers began their supplication of the gods. They raised their hands to the sky in prayer, then cast them low, releasing seeds among the street’s cobblestones. Novices quickly raised the gates of the cages and quietly attempted to shoo the birds outside.

  The soothsayers watched carefully to see how the birds would peck at the seeds, the patterns of which would tell them how the gods felt that day about the pecking order of men.

  But the birds seemed agitated and refused to leave the cages. Instead, they stirred among themselves, flapping their wings and spreading their feathers as they bumped into each other. Nervously, the head seer motioned to the neophytes, who tried tipping the birds out of the cages. Just one came out. It fluttered one wing and stepped toward the seeds, only to turn and fly quickly back into the cage.

  “Orcus curse us, this couldn’t have gone any worse,” said Tiberius, pulling his toga down. “We go to the Forum now.”

  Wheeling forcefully away, he walked briskly down the street, well ahead of Blossius and the rest, who hurried to catch up. Halfway down the hill, Tiberius felt a sudden searing pain in his foot that caused him to stumble almost to his knees. He caught himself on the curb, his right big toe in agony. Bent over, he could see that the nail was missing, torn off by a stone sticking up in the street. Blood flowed everywhere. Polydius dropped to his knees, ripping linen from the hem of his tunic to wrap Tiberius’s toe.

  “Aah,” Tiberius spat through gritted teeth, “this hurts more than a knife in the gut.”

  Blossius and Diophanes raised him to his feet, uttering words of sympathy and comfort. A wave of pain caused Tiberius to throw his head back, so that he could see the tops of the house roofs closest to the edge of the street. The sudden motion caused two crows to caw and flap away, dislodging a clay shingle, which fell and shattered at his feet. He jumped back reflexively, triggering another surge of pain from his damaged toe.

  His mind raced. This cannot be, he thought, the goddess Discordia played with him. How could anything go more wrong? If the gods intended to abandon him, this was a day to abandon.

  Blossius saw Tiberius’s stark expression and the flickering of his eyes side to side. Quickly, he grabbed the tribune’s elbow and ushered him out of earshot of the others.

  “Tiberius, I know what you’re feeling, the signs have been bad. But they are only bad if you permit them to be so. Old women and ignorant men allow birds, stones, and twigs to rule their lives. But you are an educated man, a Sempronii, son of Gracchus Major and grandson of Scipio Africanus. You are a tribune of the people who count on you to protect them. For their sake, please, do not give up the day.”

  Tiberius stared down at Blossius and shook his arm loose. “I might have given up,” he said, “but you have shamed me, Stoic, haven’t you?”

  Blossius flinched, abashed. Tiberius said, “Don’t worry, Blossius. I know who I am. I’ll save the day no matter what bad fortune comes our way.”

  He turned and began limping down the hill.

  Appius and the other Populares took their seats in the Curia well before the vote was scheduled to take place outside in the Comitium. After much moaning about the Mos Maiorum, Crassus was with them, though, in a fit of pique he’d sat his bony ass a few seats away. No matter, he was here, thought Appius. They would need every man they could find to soldier on in the face of the Optimates’s inevitable outrage and fury. Again, both consuls would be presiding.

  As he expected, the Optimates also sat in strength despite the early hour. It surprised him, however, that neither Nasica nor Rufus Faba Bean had appeared. This worried him a bit; what mischief kept them away from the grand stage? he wondered. But everything about this scenario worried him right now, an unusual, unhappy state of being that he found extremely irritating.

  Appius didn’t have to wonder for long. Nasica entered the Senate chamber with Metellus at his side. Pompeius followed, paired with Rufus, and behind him Spurious Postumius wearing his usual superior, smirking smile. They led an impressive cadre of other prominent senators to the front row of the Optimate section. Appius leaned over to Flavius Flaccus, who sat next to him in Crassus’s usual place.

  “There they are, the best of the Good Men on parade.”

  Flaccus laughed quietly, stopping when old Cato Minor, the princeps senatus moderating for the day, stood and called for attention to the consuls. Piso Frugi arose to announce that a quorum had been attained, which caused light laughter throughout the crowded hall. He then asked the Pontifex Maximus if the proper sacrifices had been conducted. Nasica stood to shout “They have, Consul,” and immediately sat down. Piso then declared the Senate to be in session.

  Metellus bolted up, a surprise, thought Appius, who had been settling into his seat in anticipation of a long, spiteful oration by Nasica or Rufus.

  “May I have the floor, Consul Piso?”

  “By all means, Metellus Macedonicus!”

  Metellus adjusted his stance, spreading his legs just so while hitching a fold of his toga up over his shoulder. “I wish,” he began, “to bring to the attention of this distinguished body an unseemly pattern of behavior unbecoming to the Roman sensibility of decorum. When my father served as censor to Rome, his devotion to safeguarding the scruples of the city met no match. His sincerity in this so impressed the people that every night when he returned home for supper, they would snuff out their lights to assure him that they refrained from indulging in feasting and drinking at unreasonable hours. Yet, in today’s world, the indigent, the scofflaws, and the reprobates clamor throughout the night, their bright torches brazenly publicizing outrageous behavior of such audacity as to offend every god and goddess in the celestial. And who do they follow and celebrate in their disgusting merriment? The arrogant tribune Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus!”

  Augh, Appius groaned to himself, it begins again.

  Casca stood high on a nearby street above the Comitium, surveying the preparations for the vote. He could see Ajax and his group on the opposite side, assembled near the Curia Hostilia to keep watch on the comings and goings of the Senate. Casca spotted his own men at various points at the bottom of the Comitium, spaced so that they could rally to any trouble that might arise. The plebs had begun to flow into the amphitheater, congregating with their respective tribes to wait their turn to cast their vote. The turnout seemed solid, he thought, though not as sizable as the first time Tiberius had run, or when he had put forth his lex agraria. That vote coupled with the deposal of Octavius seemed to have brought forth every living citizen from every province, town, and village under Roman rule. Today would produce some anxiety among the Populares, Casca imagined, but they needn’t worry. More than enough plebeians just living in Rome itself would rally to carry the day for their favorite tribune.

  He scanned the Forum and its surroundings again, and just in time saw Tiberius’s party emerging from the marketplace to his right. Casca hesitated for a moment, wishing to hold fast to his vantage point until the equestrians arrived. Sextus was dead, but his associates had assured him that they would ride in strength today. They still wholeheartedly supported Tiberius’s promise to expand the courts with judicial positions for them. They seemed to be running late, though. Casca shook his head as he started descending the stairs, sorry that Sextus wasn’t alive to see this.

  Tiberius had just reached the steps of the Rostrum when Casca met him in the Comitium.

  “Salve, Primus, how goes it?” Tiberius said warmly, grasping Casca’s forearm and hand.

  “It goes well, Tribune. The people are arriving now, in high spirits, it seems.”

  “W
onderful. Any trouble?”

  Casca shook his head, “None yet.” The tribune seemed pale, leaning to one side. “And you?” Casca said. “Did you encounter any problems?”

  Tiberius grinned, though he looked to be gritting his teeth at the same time. “I bashed one of my toes, I’m embarrassed to say. Tore the nail completely off.”

  Casca nodded. He reached over to Tiberius’s left side, patting him until he felt the haft of the dolo beneath the material. “Glad to see you have that with you.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t know what good it would do in a tight spot,” Tiberius said. “I haven’t used one in years.”

  “I saw you in Numantia,” Casca said. “You’ll know what to do.”

  Tiberius assumed an exaggerated expression of self-doubt, “Let’s hope the need doesn’t arise.” He gazed around and up at the Rostrum. “I believe it’s time for me to assume the position.”

  Casca dipped his chin, “Fortuna be with you, Tribune.”

  “And with you, Lucius,” Tiberius replied as he ascended the stairs.

  Metellus finished his windy invective at last. Appius shifted his weight in his chair, yanking his toga away from him. The cool of the early morning was giving away to heat as the day progressed. He wondered if he should answer Metellus’s blather, though it irritated him that he had to be the one. Why didn’t one of these other young blades with them stand and defend Tiberius as the champion of Rome? Or, for that matter, why didn’t Crassus speak? Couldn’t he just for once swallow his damn Mos Maiorum and speak out for the people?

  Appius sighed, and started to rise, his hand halfway up. But Nasica stood first.

  “Honorable Consuls of Rome, I can wait no longer. Outside these very doors,” he said, pointing toward them, “a great crime against the Republic could be perpetrated. In fact, perhaps the greatest crime in the history of Rome is about to take place.”

  Appius groaned out loud as he sat back down.