The Eagle in the Dovecote

by Laura Dowers

  Menenius stood up. ‘I believe we should look on this gift of grain as most timely.’

  ‘How so, Menenius?’ Publius asked warily, knowing from past experience that Menenius often put forward ideas contrary to his own.

  ‘The plebs are discontented. We all know this and have been wondering how to pacify them. Their discontent is real and valid.’ This with a glare at Publius, who thrust out his bottom lip in defiance. ‘As the new laws to protect the plebs from creditors have yet to be drafted, it would help to keep them happy if we were to distribute this free grain among them.’

  ‘How much should we charge?’ Menenius’s neighbour asked.

  Menenius laughed. ‘Nothing at all. We should give it to the plebs free of charge.’

  There was a moment’s silence in the Senate house.

  ‘Are you quite serious?’ Publius sputtered.

  ‘I am,’ Menenius replied.

  ‘Give the grain to the plebs? Why should we?’

  ‘I have already said why, Publius. It will repair our relationship with them.’

  ‘Why do you talk of repairing relationships? The plebs must learn that we rule Rome, not they.’

  ‘To talk of giving it away is sheer nonsense,’ another senator said. ‘On the contrary, we should sell the grain at a high price. To do so will make the plebs entirely reliant on our good will. They will realise they have to obey the Senate or they will starve.’

  The senator’s words were roundly cheered. By the gods, Menenius thought, closing his eyes, will the patricians never learn? They act as if Tarquin still sat on his throne. Rome has changed and the Senate hasn’t changed with her. He decided to make one last effort. ‘Could we not distribute the majority of the grain to the plebs,’ he pleaded, ‘and then, because there is so much of it, sell the surplus at a low price? The Senate would still benefit and the plebs would be content.’

  There was muttering among the senators, and for a brief moment, Menenius was hopeful. But then Publius spoke and his voice was full of jaunty mockery.

  ‘Why are you so eager to please the plebs, Menenius? Is it because you have a special affinity with them?’

  Menenius bristled. The taunt was an old one but it never failed to hit a nerve. ‘There is not one patrician family in Rome that is not descended from the plebeian class, Publius, and you know it.’

  ‘But some of us are more recently elevated,’ another senator called, provoking laughter.

  A voice, loud and stern, came from the open Senate house doorway. ‘You dishonour yourself with such petty insults,’ Caius declared loudly.

  The laughing stopped abruptly.

  ‘Caius Marcius,’ Publius said, ‘it is good to see you.’

  You liar, Menenius thought, watching the bony lump in Publius’s throat bob up and down. Caius scares the life out of you.

  Caius strode into the Senate house and right up to Publius’s chair. It was a liberty, but no one seemed ready to protest. Menenius watched with almost amused interest as Caius fixed Publius with a hard stare. ‘Menenius Agrippa is one of our noblest patricians, a war hero and a beloved friend. You will make an enemy of me if you continue to defame him.’

  ‘I meant no disrespect, Caius Marcius. My apologies, Menenius Agrippa.’ Publius inclined his head towards Menenius, who, though he was tempted to prolong Publius’s discomfort, decided to accept the apology. ‘But surely, Caius Marcius, you do not think we should act to appease the plebs?’

  Menenius groaned inwardly, knowing he had lost any advantage he may have had. Caius would never agree with him about the plebs.

  ‘Indeed I do not,’ Caius said. ‘It is my opinion that the plebs should be shown their place and that the Senate gives them an ear too often. It’s a pity we are not at war. A battlefield fight is an excellent way to cull a herd.’ He laughed, enjoying his own joke, and out of fellow feeling, or just out of cowardice, Menenius didn’t know, the senators laughed with him.

  Menenius alone did not laugh. His focus was on the open Senate house door through which Caius had entered. For out there were the very plebs of which Caius spoke.

  And they had heard every word he said.

  Sicinius Vitellus watched the senators file out of the Senate house, his mind working hard. Often, did he watch the senators at work; often, did he listen to their debates; and often, did he think how greatly he would like to kill the lot of them.

  He was a working man and he worked so very hard to feed his family. That was sometimes hard to do, especially when the Senate decided Rome should be at war again and conscripted him and others like him into the army. He didn’t want to always be fighting. Day to day staying alive was difficult enough and the only fight he truly wanted.

  And yet despite the duty he had shown Rome and had shown the bloody patricians all his life, they couldn’t even bring themselves to give people like him an handout of free grain, grain that could make the difference between his family having enough to eat and starving. No, they wanted to charge for it, and charge an exorbitant rate they knew the plebs couldn’t afford and which would undoubtedly put them in the hands of yet more creditors. And where were the laws Publius Servilius had promised? Why were creditors still allowed to imprison a man for non-payment of debts, to whip and flog them? They had lied to the plebs to get them to fight, and they didn’t care.

  Sicinius leant against the column as Caius and Menenius followed the last of the senators out of the Senate house. Caius Marcius was the worst of all the patricians. He loved war and no doubt urged his friends in the Senate to find enemies for him to fight. He had no love for the plebs. He had made that abundantly clear over the years, he didn’t even bother to hide it. Even now, he was passing through the forum, pushing plebs out of his way with as little regard as if they were stray dogs.

  How could Menenius Agrippa call that man friend, Sicinius wondered? It seemed to him an unlikely pairing. Of all the patricians, of all the senators, Sicinius thought Agrippa the only man to have any concern for the plebs. He had heard the gossip, of course, that Menenius was only a few generations away from being a pleb himself. To Sicinius, that was a good thing. It made Menenius Agrippa more approachable.

  ‘You’re deep in thought,’ a voice at his elbow said.

  ‘Did you hear them in there, Junius?’ Sicinius asked, still watching Caius and Menenius.

  ‘Some of it.’

  Sicinius turned to his friend. ‘And what did you think of it?’

  Junius Brutus eyed him thoughtfully. ‘That they’re bastards, every one.’

  Sicinius huffed and shook his head. ‘Is that all you can say?’ He continued before Junius could reply. ‘They are planning to hoard grain that was given as a gift to Rome and sell it to us at a high price so they can fill their own money chests and keep us where they think we belong.’

  ‘I know, I heard,’ Junius said. ‘But what can we do?’

  Sicinius considered a moment. ‘We’re not without means,’ he said, thumping the column with the side of his clenched fist. ‘There are more of us than there are of them.’

  ‘Oh, Sicinius,’ Junius began shaking his head, ‘haven’t we fought enough?’

  ‘I’m not talking about fighting, you fool. The gods know I don’t want to fight anymore, not unless I have to. I’m talking about standing up to the Senate.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By going on strike,’ Sicinius said excitedly, the idea growing within him even as he spoke. ‘We, all of us, all the plebs, lay down our tools and refuse to do any more work for the patricians and senators until they give us the laws and protection they promised us before the last war.’

  ‘We can’t do that,’ Junius said, aghast.

  ‘Why can’t we?’ Sicinius demanded. ‘What’s to stop us?’

  ‘They’ll punish us.’

  ‘How? They can’t send an army against us. We’re their army.’ He laughed. ‘It’s so simple when you think about it, Junius. Without the plebs obeying the patricians’ every word, they have no
power. They have no army, they have no one to bake their bread, slaughter their cattle, make their clothes. Rome needs us, Junius, I promise you. This will work.’

  ‘If you can get the rest of the plebs to agree,’ Junius said.

  ‘We will.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, we. I can’t do this alone, Junius. We’ve stood together on the battlefield, we’ve saved each other’s life. I’m asking you to stand by me again and save the lives of every pleb in Rome. Will you do it?’

  Junius stared into Sicinius’s eyes for a long moment. Then he took his friend’s hand and held it. ‘I’ll do it,’ he promised.

  ‘They must be stopped,’ Publius blustered, running back into the Senate house from the forum, where he had been watching the exodus of plebs from Rome. The plebs were making for the Sacred Mount, a few miles out of Rome, where a meeting was to be held to discuss how the patricians and Senate could be opposed. ‘We must stop them.’

  ‘And how do you propose we do that?’ Menenius asked, caught between amusement and weariness. ‘The people we would use to prevent this strike are the people doing the striking.’

  ‘But... but...’

  ‘Face facts, Publius, the plebs have got one up on us this time. A pre-emptive strike, if you will.’

  Publius’s face grew purple. He leered at Menenius. ‘Did you have anything to do with this, Menenius Agrippa? Have you been instilling this rebellious spirit in the plebs?’

  ‘How dare you!’ Menenius snarled. ‘If you’re looking to lay blame for this, you need look no further than yourself, Publius. It was your desire to levy a high price on goods that were given to Rome as a gift that have caused this. Did you think what you said would not reach the ears of the plebs?’

  ‘What is said in the Senate house is confidential—’

  ‘They were listening at the door,’ Menenius cried. ‘If you want to have secret sessions of the Senate, you must needs close the doors first, you great fool.’

  ‘I won’t be spoken to like that, Menenius,’ Publius declared, drawing himself up.

  ‘I speak as I find. And you are a great fool.’

  ‘Enough,’ another senator said, moving to stand between Publius and Menenius. ‘We are at fault,’ he stared meaningfully at Publius, ‘and we must remedy the situation. Menenius Agrippa, do you have any suggestions?’

  Me again, Menenius thought irritably. Doesn’t anyone else have a brain in this place? ‘We must talk to them,’ he cried, as if the solution were obvious. ‘We must reach some accommodation. Begin by giving them the grain gratis, as I said we should do in the first place.’

  ‘If we do that, they will be making demands all the time. Give us this, give us that, or we will walk out of Rome again,’ Publius said. ‘The Senate would have no authority whatsoever.’

  ‘We have done them wrong, Publius, and we must acknowledge that and make amends. Else Rome is doomed. Do you want that?’

  Publius fell silent, considering this dire eventuality.

  ‘Talk to them, you say,’ the other senator said musingly, one finger on his lips. He looked sideways at Menenius. ‘Who should talk to them, do you think?’

  ‘Why, Menenius should go,’ Publius said, his eyes rolling dramatically. ‘He understands the plebs so well, as he is always telling us.’

  ‘I am not always telling you,’ Menenius said through gritted teeth. Really, Publius was an infuriating little prick.

  ‘But Publius is correct,’ the other senator said eagerly. ‘You do know — that is, you do understand the plebeian mind, Menenius, better than any of us.’

  Menenius looked around at his fellow senators. They all looked back at him quite ingenuously, silently urging him to take up their cause on their behalf. He sighed loudly. ‘Very well. I shall talk to the pleb leaders and see if I cannot resolve this appalling situation you have all got us in.’

  He heard the murmuring as he left. He had annoyed the senators with that last little gibe.

  Menenius knew who the ringleaders of this remarkable event were, a Sicinius Vitellus and Junius Brutus, the latter no relation to the man who had banished Lucius Tarquin. When he realised that Publius’s words regarding the grain had been overheard by the plebs clustered around the Senate house doors, Menenius had instructed his personal slave to listen attentively to the gossip on the streets, and so had heard of this rebellion before it became a reality. He had mentally applauded the plebs for taking this stand even as he wished they had not done so.

  As he came to the bank of the River Anio where the plebs had congregated to hear Sicinius and Junius speak, Menenius could not help but be staggered by just how many of them there were. He had decided to venture alone, thinking it would be less like a senatorial deputation, but now he was wishing he had brought someone with him. He saw Sicinius’s eyes on him as he approached and readied himself.

  ‘What do you want here, Menenius Agrippa?’ Sicinius called.

  All heads turned towards him. ‘To talk,’ Menenius replied, as casually as he could. ‘Just to talk.’

  ‘To tell us what to do, more like,’ someone called.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘The Senate has sent you?’ Sicinius asked.

  ‘They have,’ Menenius nodded, deciding honesty was the best strategy. ‘They are eager to settle this matter.’

  ‘I bet they are,’ another voice called laughingly, setting off an appreciative ripple of chuckles.

  ‘It will be in all our interests to do so,’ Menenius said.

  ‘We aren’t doing anything the Senate tells us to anymore,’ said a man standing a few feet away, a tanner by the look of him, his skin darkened from his trade.

  ‘Indeed? And what happens when you want something from the Senate?’ Menenius asked. ‘They won’t listen to you then, my friend.’

  ‘So what? They’re not listening now, are they?’ the man countered.

  ‘Ah, now there, my friend, you are wrong,’ Menenius said. ‘The Senate are prepared to listen to your complaints. Why else would I be here?’

  Murmurings followed this last statement and Menenius felt emboldened that he had at least got their attention. ‘Let me explain,’ he continued, his mind working quickly to determine how best to state the Senate’s position without angering the plebs further. A fable came into his mind, one he had been told long ago by his father. It would serve his purpose now. ‘There was once a time when all the parts of the body rebelled against the stomach. The other parts claimed that the stomach did nothing all day but grow fat on their hard work. It gave nothing back, they claimed, while they laboured hard to keep it full. But instead of the stomach claiming indignantly that it was not true, the stomach merely laughed at their ignorance. For, it said, didn’t the other parts understand what a vital service the stomach played in their wellbeing? The stomach digested all the fruits of their toil, it was true, but only so it could send out the benefits of that toil to all parts of the body. Without the stomach, the parts would starve, the stomach truthfully told them. So you see, fellow citizens, this is how we should see Rome. Rome is a whole body. You, the parts that feed her, the Senate the stomach that takes your noble toil and sends nourishment back to you.’

  ‘What is this nonsense?’ someone cried. ‘We are not children to be told stories.’

  Menenius raised his hands for silence. ‘It is in the Senate that all the proposals and affairs of state are studied and transformed into action, and the decisions that the senators take bring usefulness to us all. Could you do this all on your own?’

  ‘That may be true,’ Junius said reluctantly, ‘but they still don’t listen to us. They’ve made us promises time and again and then go back on them once we’ve done what they wanted us to do.’

  ‘I do not deny that you have valid grievances, but friends, this is no way to go about redressing it. We must work together, not against one another.’

  ‘What’s this now?’ Sicinius suddenly cried and pointed over Menenius’s shoulder.

 
; Menenius turned and groaned. Caius and five or six of his friends were striding towards him, all of them carrying their swords. And I had been doing so well, Menenius thought ruefully. ‘It’s nothing, Sicinius,’ Menenius assured him.

  ‘Do you mean to frighten us with Caius Marcius?’ Sicinius retorted.

  Menenius asked him to wait a moment and hurried to Caius. ‘What are you doing here?’ he hissed.

  ‘I thought you might need my help,’ Caius said, looking over the crowd grimly. ‘These mutinous dogs will fight dirty.’

  ‘I have no need of you, Caius,’ Menenius said, trying to keep his irritation in check. ‘I thank you for your concern, but really, you may take yourself and your friends off.’

  ‘Well, Menenius?’ Sicinius called, looking askance at Caius. ‘Has the Senate sent its butcher to slaughter us?’

  ‘Caius Marcius merely comes to see what he can do for us all,’ Menenius said.

  ‘What, him?’ Junius said scornfully. ‘Caius Marcius has always been an enemy to the common people. He despises us.’

  ‘And so I do,’ Caius shouted back. ‘Your problem is you don’t know when you’re well off. All this protesting and complaining. What have you to complain about? You’re fed, aren’t you?’

  ‘Only just, Caius Marcius,’ Junius spat back. ‘Only enough to keep us beggars.’

  ‘What would you have, then? A place in the Senate?’

  ‘And why not?’ Sicinius demanded, incensed by Caius’s contempt. ‘We can do no worse than those crusty old men.’

  ‘By the gods, what arrogance! To think you could make laws and pass judgement on men like me.’

  ‘What arrogance you have to think we are not worth considering,’ Sicinius countered. ‘We may not be patricians but we have power, never think we do not. We could bring you down if we all raised our arms against you.’