“The first to scale the walls!” whispered Gaius, gazing at the crown in his mother’s hands. “The first Roman inside Carthage! Can you imagine how dangerous that must have been?”
Cornelia could well imagine, and the thought made her lightheaded. But she managed a smile and placed the crown atop Gaius’s head. It was too big for him and slipped over his eyes. Everyone laughed. Gaius angrily pushed the crown from his head. It fell to the paving stones with a clatter.
“That’s not funny, Mother! The crown wasn’t meant for me!”
“Hush, Gaius!” With a sigh, Cornelia bent down to retrieve the crown and placed it on her lap. “Let us hear the rest of your brother’s letter. Blossius, please continue.”
“‘For your friend Menenia, I also have good news: Her son Lucius fought bravely in the battle, killed many of the enemy, and sustained no injuries.”
“Thank the gods!” cried Menenia. She reached for Blossius’s hand, but he was distracted by the letter. He peered at it intently, reading ahead. His face was grim.
“Go on, Blossius,” said Cornelia. “What else does Tiberius write?”
“Only…a bit of description…of the battle itself. Nothing of a personal nature.”
“Very well. Let’s hear it.”
“I’m not sure I should read this aloud, in front of the boy. Or in front of you, for that matter. I suppose it’s a mark of Tiberius’s deep respect for you, that he should write to his mother as candidly as he might have written to his late father…”
“What were you just saying, Blossius, about the worthiness of women?”
“It’s not a question of merit, but of…delicacy.”
“Nonsense, Blossius. If you won’t read it aloud, I will.” Cornelia put aside the mural crown, rose to her feet, and took the tablet from him.
“‘As for Carthage,’” she read, “‘the ghost of Cato may finally rest: The city, which was as old as Roma, is now utterly destroyed. The harbor is demolished, the houses burned, the altars for human sacrifice reduced to rubble. The gardens have been uprooted. The grand mosaics of the public squares have been flooded with pools of blood.
“‘The men were slaughtered, as long as we had strength to slaughter them; the few who survive will become slaves. So far as I know, every woman was raped, regardless of her age or status. Many were killed, though they screamed for mercy; such was the frenzy for destruction that overtook the victors. The women and men who survived will be separated by sex and sold in slave markets hundreds of miles apart, so that no Carthaginian male and female may ever copulate again, and thus the race will become extinct. Before they are sold, their tongues will be removed, so that their language, and even the names of their gods, will vanish from the earth.
“‘The earth itself will be made barren. Salt is being plowed into the soil surrounding the city, so that no crops can be grown for a generation. Salt was the precious substance that gave birth to Roma long ago—so Blossius taught me—so it is fitting that salt shall seal the burial of Carthage.
“‘When Alexander conquered Persia, he chose to leave the city of Babylon intact and to make its people his subjects; for his clemency, he was exalted by gods and men. We have followed an older example, that of the merciless Greeks who sacked the city of Troy and left only ruins behind. The Greek playwrights tell of many misfortunes that subsequently befell the victorious Greeks—Ajax, Ulysses, Agamemnon, and the rest. I pray the gods will favor what we have done to Carthage, and will grant a righteous destiny to the Roman people, who have done this fearful thing for the glory of Jupiter.’”
Her hands trembling, Cornelia put down the tablet.
“If only I could have been there!” said Gaius, his eyes bright with excitement. “What a glorious day it must have been! And now it shall never happen again, because Carthage is gone, and I was too young to be there, and there’ll never be another war with her. I can hardly wait for Tiberius to come home and tell me more about it.”
Menenia lowered her eyes.
“War is the way of the world, and always will be,” said Blossius quietly. “Clearly, the gods of Roma were greater than those of Carthage. For that, we must be thankful. And yet…I am fearful for Roma’s future. How astute is Tiberius, when he points to the example of the Greeks against Troy. I am reminded of the Greek hero Achilles, who was very nearly invincible; yet, when he desecrated the corpse of the Trojan Hector, the gods frowned upon his hubris and withdrew their protection, and Achilles died like any other mortal on the battlefield.
“Roma has entered a new era. With the destruction of Corinth, the Romans’ respect for Greek culture degenerated to wanton looting. With the destruction of Carthage, the Romans are without rival in the Mediterranean. But how will Roma bear the responsibilities of power and wealth unprecedented in the history of the world? We must pray that the gods will give Roma wise men to lead her into the future—and wise women to nurture those men as boys!”
Blossius, Menenia, and Cornelia each turned their eyes to young Gaius. Inspired by visions of the carnage at Carthage, he had dared to pick up the mural crown and was testing its fit on his brow again, oblivious of their scrutiny.
133 B.C.
“Tiberius is headed for trouble, Mother. Serious trouble. He has no idea of what he’s up against. I want nothing to do with it.” Lucius Pinarius, who had the auburn hair and bright green eyes typical of many Pinarii, took a bite of boiled cabbage marinated in garum. The dish, served cold, was a family favorite for a hot midsummer day.
Blossius helped himself to a bit of the cabbage as well, though it tended to give him indigestion. Though all Cornelia’s children were now grown, Blossius still resided at her house, but he spent much of his time here at house of Menenia, which was only a few steps away on the Palatine. It was unthinkable that Menenia and Blossius—a Roman patrician and a philosopher from Cumae—should ever marry, but their relationship had stood the test of time. The widow and the Stoic were growing gray together.
Menenia ate none of the cabbage. She had no appetite during hot weather; it was her lament that during the entire month of Sextilis she could eat nothing at all. A slave behind her wafted a peacock fan to stir the languid air of the garden.
“Tiberius Gracchus has always been your friend, Lucius,” she said. “You should be happy for him. You might have looked upon his election to the tribunate as an opportunity for yourself. Instead, over the last year, you’ve deliberately avoided him. What about this legislation he managed to enact, setting up a commission to redistribute farmland? You could have served on that commission—”
“If I wanted to end my career before it’s begun! The whole thing will end in disaster.”
“Not necessarily,” said Blossius. “To be sure, Tiberius is taking a great gamble. Frankly, his boldness astonishes me, though it shouldn’t; he’s the descendant of his grandfather, after all, and the son of his mother.”
“And the pupil of Blossius!” snapped Lucius. “You Stoics are always claiming that the best form of government is not a republic but a just king. You’ve put all sorts of dangerous ideas in Tiberius’s head.”
Blossius held his temper, but the cabbage began to rumble in his belly. “Tiberius is a visionary. If my teachings have inspired him, I take pride in that accomplishment.”
“But will you suffer the consequences along with him, when the whole enterprise collapses?”
“Tiberius is the most beloved man in Roma,” said Blossius.
“He’s also the most hated man in Roma,” countered Lucius.
“Lucius! Blossius! Stop bickering! The day is too hot for it.” Menenia sighed. “Now, I want each of you to explain to me once again, from your own point of view, exactly what Tiberius Gracchus is attempting to do, and why it holds the promise of such great success—or failure.”
Blossius raised an eyebrow. “You feign ignorance, my dear, in an effort to make us defend our positions with logic rather than emotion. You could summarize the situation as well as either of us.”
Menenia laughed. “If it will keep the two of you quiet, I shall! Back in the days when our ancestors were conquering Italy, piece by piece, Roma acquired vast parcels of public land. Later on, even more land was seized from the Italian cities that went over to Hannibal. Public policy has been to disburse this land to Roman citizens and to allied Italians as a reward for military service: Small farms keep the economy stable, and they supply more soldiers, since landowners are obliged to serve in the military. To keep the holdings small and to make disbursements fair, there have always been limits on how much land any single man can own.
“But, as the Etruscan proverb goes, money changes everything. In my lifetime, staggering amounts of gold and silver have poured into Roma from conquered cities and provinces, and as a result a very small group of citizens have become very, very rich. Some of those men have found ways to circumvent the legal limits, and have bought up vast tracts of public land, along with slaves to work their enormous holdings. As a consequence, free men all over Italy have been forced off the land and into the cities, where they struggle to survive, avoid raising families, and have no obligation to serve in the army. The situation benefits no one except a small number of enormously rich landholders. The poor masses of Italy are dispossessed of their land, and the available manpower for the Roman legions grows thin. Something must be done to take back the illegally acquired lands of the big owners and to redistribute that land to the people.” Menenia looked pleased with herself. “There. Have I explained the general situation to the satisfaction of you both?”
“I couldn’t have done it better myself,” said Blossius, “though I might add that the ramifications of this situation go far beyond mere land management. There’s the current war in Spain—a gratuitous, drawn-out, disastrous affair—which has been repeatedly bungled by the ruling clique in the Senate. That’s led to massive dissatisfaction in the ranks and the imposition of harsh and humiliating discipline. I’m thinking of the instance when deserters from the Spanish campaign were rounded up, beaten, and sold into slavery.”
He looked longingly at the cabbage, but decided to forgo another bite. “The huge influx of slaves has led to its own problems, such as the massive revolt going on in Sicily right now. Slaves are threatening to take over the entire island! And this is only the latest and largest outbreak of violence by renegade slaves. Their numbers have grown to alarming proportions all over Italy, and many of them are terribly brutalized. The situation grows more dangerous every day. Farmers pushed off the land; too little respect and recompense for the common soldiery; too many miserable, desperate slaves. The citizens of Roma are demanding that something be done—and Tiberius Gracchus has declared that he is the man to do it.”
“Only twenty-nine years old, and already a tribune!” said Menenia. “Cornelia must be very proud.”
Lucius took this as a slight. A smirk spoiled his handsome features. “Having an important father-in-law helps! Appius Claudius is probably the single most powerful man in the Senate.”
“Ah, the Claudii, forever with us! And their politics seem to grow more radical with each generation,” said Blossius. “Yes, Tiberius has a powerful ally in Claudius. But the big landholders will stop at nothing to hold on to their property. We’ve seen how the game has played out so far. Tiberius put forward a proposal to redistribute land, but it takes only one of the other nine tribunes to veto such a proposal, and the landowners managed to persuade the tribune Marcus Octavius to do so.”
Lucius became increasingly agitated. “And now we come to the reason I want nothing to do with Tiberius and his politics. When Octavius issued his veto, Tiberius called for Octavius to be removed by popular vote, and forced him from office. But Octavius refused to stand down, whereupon one of Tiberius’s freedmen forcibly dragged Octavius from the speaker’s platform, and in the scuffle that followed one of Octavius’s servants was blinded. Now Tiberius’s detractors are calling him an enemy of the people for having done what even Coriolanus failed to do: He forced a tribune from office!”
“Tiberius’s action was entirely within the law—”
“Whether the expulsion of Octavius was legal or not, I don’t know. What I do know is that Tiberius resorted to violence. Yes, he finally got his way: His proposal became law. To redistribute the land, there must be a commission. And whom does Tiberius appoint to that powerful commission? Himself, his father-in-law Appius Claudius, and his younger brother Gaius, who’s barely twenty-one!”
“Tiberius needed men he could trust,” insisted Blossius.
“It stinks of nepotism,” said Lucius. “Mother, earlier you suggested that I might have secured a place on Tiberius’s commission. I assure you, no power on earth could have persuaded me to do so!
“And now we see Tiberius’s latest gambit. As you pointed out, Mother, money changes everything. King Attalus of Pergamum has died, and his will leaves the whole of his kingdom to Roma—the lands that belonged to Troy in ancient times will now belong to us. The influx of wealth will be enormous. Normally, all that gold and booty would go directly into the Senate’s coffers, but Tiberius has a different idea. He proposes that it should go directly to the people, distributed along with the land allotments so as to pay for farm equipment and start-up supplies. His enemies call it public bribery on an unprecedented scale. They accuse Tiberius of aiming to make himself king.”
“Never!” scoffed Blossius.
“At the very least, Tiberius is attempting a kind of revolution from the bottom up. He challenges the supremacy of the Senate by using the office of tribune to do things no tribune has ever done before.”
“I think it’s all terribly exciting,” said Menenia. “Why are you so convinced that Tiberius will fail?”
“Because, Mother, his support grows weaker every day. The common people, whether it serves their interest or not, have bought into the argument that Tiberius impugned their sovereignty when he drove a rival tribune from office. And if he thinks he can appropriate the wealth of Pergamum for his own political purposes, circumventing the Senate, he’s truly playing with fire. Does Tiberius want to be a king, as his enemies say?” Lucius turned his gaze to Blossius. “He already holds court like one, keeping a Greek philosopher for an adviser.”
Blossius bristled. “My philosophy is Greek, but I am a native-born Italian, of noble Campanian blood. Yes, I was Tiberius’s tutor when he was a boy. If he still consults me as a man, why not?”
“Because Roman magistrates do not consult Greek philosophers about matters of statecraft—unless they wish to look like Greek tyrants. I only repeat what Tiberius’s enemies are saying. They also ask: When he arrived in Roma, to whom did the Pergamene ambassador deliver the royal testament and the diadem and purple cloak of the late King Attalus? To the Senate? No! He went straight to the house of Tiberius.”
“Not to anoint him king!” protested Blossius. “The ambassador called on Tiberius merely as a courtesy. Diplomatic ties between the Gracchi and the house of Attalus go back a generation. It was thirty years ago that Tiberius’s father headed a Roman embassy to investigate charges of sedition against the late king’s father, and cleared him of all suspicion. Ever since then, the royals of Pergamum have maintained a special relationship with the Gracchi.”
“Whatever the explanation, it looks suspicious.”
Blossius shook his head. “Nonsense! Tiberius’s enemies will stoop to any slander to bring him down. He stands up for the people, and the landgrabbers say he wants to be the people’s king. The voters should know better than to believe such lies.”
“We’ll see what the voters think soon enough,” said Lucius. “Tiberius is running for a second term as tribune. It’s clearly illegal for other magistrates to hold office two years in a row—”
“But not so for the tribunate,” said Blossius. “There is a precedent for a standing tribune to remain in office. If not enough new candidates stand for the ten positions in a given year—”
“Is that what Tiberius is plotti
ng? To keep his office by bribing or scaring away other candidates?”
“The others will stand down because the people will demand it.”
Lucius groaned with exasperation. “Can you not see where all of this is headed? If Tiberius is allowed to stand for tribune again by invoking some technicality, and if he wins, his enemies will only grow more determined to stop him; that means more violence. If he loses, he’ll lose the immunity of his office, and his enemies will drag him into court on some trumped-up charge and send him into exile. No matter what happens, Tiberius is in a very dangerous position.”
A long silence followed, finally broken by a sigh from Lucius. “It’s not that I disagree with Tiberius’s proposal to redistribute the land. It’s a worthy objective. It must be done, and it will be done—eventually. If only Tiberius had taken a slower, more gradual approach—”
“The greedy landholders would have opposed me just the same,” said a hoarse voice.
“Tiberius!” cried Menenia. She sprang up, embraced the newcomer and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Where did you come from?”
“From speaking in the Forum, of course. Election day is coming. I thought I might find Blossius here.” Tiberius Gracchus had grown into a strikingly handsome man; many who compared him to busts of his grandfather declared that he was even more good-looking. On this day he appeared a bit haggard; the unceasing demands of his reelection campaign were taking a toll. Despite his fatigue, he projected an aura that seemed larger than his physical presence, that indefinable allure the Greeks called kharisma. The intimate setting of Menenia’s garden seemed too small to contain him.
Blossius rose and greeted him. They exchanged a few hushed words. Then Tiberius turned to Lucius, who had remained seated and silent.
“I couldn’t help but overhear some of your comments, Lucius. I’ve grown accustomed to defending myself before my enemies. Perhaps I should spend more time explaining myself to my friends.”
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