Blood in the Forum

by Vincent B Davis II

  Nasica didn’t test his luck by pushing past me, but he stepped aside so that he could force his cousin to meet his eyes.

  “We have to kill him, Aemilianus! We have to kill him now before it’s too late. Buy off his cook to poison him, or bribe a slave to smother him in his sleep.”

  “Get out! None of you are welcome here now. Leave my home!” Scipio roared clutching his fists. I was thankful that I had the sword instead of he.

  “Are you with me, Aemilianus? He was brother to you once. I need to know that you are with me. We have to kill him.”

  “Out!”

  Octavius and Laelius both hesitated for a moment, both bewildered and terrified by the outburst of their leader. But eventually they turned and hurried for the door.

  Nasica refused to budge.

  “I need to know that you are with me, Aemilianus. Tell me that you know he has to die. And tell me now. Say that you’ll support me in this.”

  Aemilianus’ fists clinched until the knuckles were white, and he brought one trembling to his lips.

  “I said out!”

  “All you need to say is that you are with me, Aemilianus. Say you want him dead and I’ll take care of the rest. Say it. Tell me. Say it now!”

  “Get out, cousin, I beg you!”

  “Say it, Aemilianus. Or were you with the tribune all along?”

  Before I could consider the implications or consequences, I brandished my sword and pointed it at Nasica. The tip of it gleamed in the candle light of Aemilianus’ masks, not but a few inches from Nasica’s chest.

  Nasica was flabbergasted. “You cannot lay a hand on the high priest!”

  “I would never lay a finger on the high priest,” I said, walked closer to him and forcing him to step backwards towards the exit. “But my sword here, see, she doesn’t have the same scruples. She’s killed better men then you, and she’s thirsty from seeing so much action without drawing blood.” I felt my teeth gritting and a snarl develop across my face.

  I continued to back him further away from Aemilianus, and closer to the door.

  “Cousin, call off this mad dog before I have him put down!” Nasica shouted, but the tone of his voice had changed drastically. He did his best to appear as haughty as he was accustomed to being, but I could see his thin lips trembling with fear.

  Aemilianus said nothing. I could feel his eyes on us, but I took his silence for compliance. So I pushed the tip of my sword further still, until it hovered an inch from the high priest’s sternum.

  I hadn’t realized until then that I had wanted to kill him since the very beginning. Perhaps it was misplaced anger. Maybe I wanted to point my sword at Tiberius instead. But it was Nasica here now. And if he made one false move, I would have damned my soul to eternal punishment and cast my political career into oblivion. I would have killed him. Without pause.

  “My general says you need to leave. And leave you shall. I won’t hurt you, high priest, but my sword is loyal to Scipio Aemilianus.”

  He finally accepted that Aemilianus wasn’t going to intervene.

  “I’m going to have you crucified for this, boy.” He straightened his shoulders and tried his best to appear noble. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t prevent the quiver of his voice.

  “No you aren’t. The moment you say a word about this… to your wife, to your mistress, to your priests… I will hear of it,” I fully extended my arm, forcing him to jump back, “and if I do hear of it, I will tell the whole world that you plan to have a tribune of the Roman Republic assassinated in the most cowardly and despicable manner.”

  Nasica locked eyes with Aemilianus and nodded to the masks on his wall.

  “If you ever want to find your face up there with our ancestors, you need to act. These were men of force and probity… they would be disappointed.” To my chagrin, Aemilianus said nothing in return, still knelt silently with water dripping from his chin.

  Finally, to my relief, Nasica turned and took long strides to the door. He paused before he exited, however, and lifted his left arm to me with both his little and forefinger extended.

  “I curse you, in the name of all the gods, I curse you. To a life of misery and suffering. Even when you believe you have reached the pinnacle of your pathetic life, you will be cast down, spat out by the gods. You will taste bitterness and despair; you will drink your own tears. And you will die alone. No progeny will bear your name.”

  With that, he hurried through the door.

  I did not turn to Scipio and he didn’t ask me any questions. I sheathed my gladius and hurried to my quarters, where I would lie awake all night, thinking about the high priest’s curse.

  In the morning, I continued to lie in bed for some time. Even after the sun began to pour in under the door to my room, I desired some modicum of rest. I had a long day of travel ahead, after all.

  For I had made up my mind. I was going to leave. Rome was no place for me, after all. Perhaps I was accustomed to the simple life of being a debauched farmer’s son. Perhaps I wasn’t intelligent or discerning enough for politics. Even then, after Tiberius had used our friendly dinner to announce that he would continue his reign over Rome, I did not hate the man. I was hurt, certainly. But that didn’t mean I disapproved of his politics. And if he could actually shorten the term of military service for my brothers, I hoped he would win.

  But I had done enough to harm my general. Not only had I divulged information which aided his political opponent, I had threatened his cousin at sword point within the walls of his very home. Depending how one looks at it, I had even implicated him in a conspiracy to murder the pontifex maximus of Rome.

  There was no going back. I couldn’t continue to dine with Scipio and his associates and listen to them ramble on about the mos maiorum and the republic and Tiberius’ power. I couldn’t sit with him in silence on the rooftops, or share stories about our time in Spain together.

  When at last I resigned to the fact that Somnus the god of sleep wouldn’t be visiting me that morning, I rolled out of bed and gathered what little belonged to me.

  I exited my room to find Scipio’s domus functioning as it always was. The clients were waiting outside the front door, and Scipio’s doorman was escorting each one by one to see their patron. It was as if the man hadn’t been splashing around in a pool of water the night before or he hadn’t witnessed a farm-hand threaten the life of his cousin.

  I made my way into his tablinum where Scipio was seeing each of his clients, seated behind a large desk in a backless chair. I kept my eyes low, ashamed, for I had attended each of Scipio’s morning levies since I had begun to stay in his home, occasionally taking notes, other times standing as a living statue of Scipio’s love for the veterans.

  Even while my gaze was cast at the mosaic on the floor, I could feel the general’s eyes on me.

  “I will have the matter looked into immediately, Flavius. If you’ll excuse me,” Scipio gestured for the door.

  “Yes, pater… it’s just that these thieves have been taking my cattle. Cattle that are earmarked with my brand. It’s destroying my way of life and—”

  “I said I would have the matter looked into, Flavius. And I will.” Scipio’s slave began to escort his client to the door. “Cleon, give the good farmer Flavius 50 denarii. And tell my next client to wait until I am finished speaking with Marius,” Scipio addressed his slave.

  I took that as my sign to look up and meet the gaze of my general.

  “You’re leaving then?” Scipio asked. He must have noticed the traveling attire.

  “I think it would be best, sir. I’m not cut out for this life, it seems.”

  “Well that’s a shame.” He exhaled, looked down, and shuck his head. “I think last night showed that you have the ingredients to be a wonderful politician… the kind Rome needs.”

  I looked up, bristling from the compliment but unaware how I had earned it.

  “Your cousin will seek revenge. And I’d rather not start my career by spre
ading gossip about the high priest.”

  “He won’t do a thing.” Scipio shuck his head and waved a hand derisively. “He wouldn’t want the republic to know how easily he was backed down. Or, more importantly, that a man can raise a sword against the high priest and not be struck down by the gods.”

  “Cursed by a high priest. That really is something. Not many men my age can say they’ve ever accomplished something like that.” We both laughed. But then silence followed. “I should be going then,” I said. And this time I did not phrase it as a question. Each time I had mentioned leaving, Scipio was able to talk me out of it in the past. This time was different. There was no going back, for obvious reasons.

  “You’re leaving then?”

  “I think it’s best that I do.”

  “Well, that’s such a shame. Especially considering what I was able to do for you this morning.”

  I was almost finished rehearsing the final goodbyes in my mind when he said this. But that forced me to pause.

  “What have you done for me this morning?”

  “I was able to do something, quite incredible, for you this morning. While you were sleeping in, I was forging the path of your career.” He locked his eyes with mine.

  “I wasn’t sleeping, general. I was thinking about that curse.”

  He laughed.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He didn’t sacrifice an animal on it, did he? And he’s too miserly to purchase one at his own expense. So I trust you’ll be safe. He’s about as pious as that Spanish trollop you used to lie with, so I’m not sure the gods hear his cries any clearer than they hear the rest.”

  I smiled uncomfortably and waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

  “What did you accomplish, sir?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” He knew he had my attention and he did his best to take advantage of that. He stood, clasped his arms behind his back, and stared at the statue of his adoptive grandfather Scipio Africanus. “As of this morning, I’ve secured you a position as military tribune on the staff of my colleague Metellus. He’s taking a force to the Gymnesian Islands for conquest. And this could be the beginning of a bright future for you, young man.”

  I paused for some time, allowing the words to set in. It didn’t seem believable. I could almost feel the sword at my hip glistening at the opportunity to seek further glory.

  “You did this, sir?”

  “I did.” Scipio turned to me again and analyzed my reaction. “Marius, let me be clear with you. Let me tell you something about myself. I do not trust anyone. Not a single man in Rome holds my trust… save those who have shed blood for me. I only trust a man once I’ve seen his resolve tested. Once I’ve seen a spear at his throat. And when he is loyal then, I’ll give him all the trust I can muster in my old embittered heart. I don’t trust Laelius, Octavius, or my cousin Nasica. Why? Well… I haven’t seen them shed blood for me and stand firm. But you have.” Aemilianus touched the face of Africanus’ bust and then reclaimed his seat.

  “I don’t trust anyone, Marius. Not even my wife. And, if I’m not wrong… and I am very rarely wrong… she would gladly open up the doors to my enemies to have them slaughter me in my sleep. I have not given you free lodgings and fine foods for nearly a year because I enjoy your company, although I do. I needed a protector. And whether you know it or not, my would-be enemies fear you. No one would try to “smother me in my sleep” or “bribe my cook” when the vicious Gaius Marius is within my home.” He let his head back and bellowed with laughter. There were many facets to Scipio that I was beginning to see that I had not noticed previously.

  “I think I understand, general,” I said, with a smile and a nod of the head.

  Then he straightened up and his face became as serious as a bust of Mars.

  “And that’s why I need you to remain here. Until five days before the Ides of December, the election of the tribunes of the people. If you’ll remain here with me, I’ll ensure you have a position on the most lucrative campaign Rome has seen in a hundred years. I need you to ensure I remain safe within my own home.”

  I shook my head, disagreeing, but I didn’t know what exactly I was disagreeing with.

  “Sir, Sempronia would never—”

  “Sempronia would sooner see me eaten by wolves than have a child with me. And Tiberius’ tactics have become increasingly deceptive.”

  “Sir,” I said, instantly kneeling and lowering my head. I felt my heart thud against my chest as I prepared to say what I must. “I was the one who told Tiberius that the soldiers wished to see their length of service shorten. If I hadn’t said that he might not have had the platform to run for tribune again.”

  “Rise, Marius,” he said, irritated. “That’s nonsense. My brother by law is an intelligent man. He likely knew this already.”

  “But he seemed surprised. Stunned by that information.” I stood to my feet again, but couldn’t meet his gaze, now that he knew the truth.

  “Of course that’s the way he desired to seem. He’s a great actor, my brother by law. Better than any pantomime in the forum. But he knew this already or would have discovered it on his own. He simply wanted you to feel responsible for it so that he could drive you away from me. He wanted to drive a wedge between us. And perhaps when you left, he would have been able to send his henchmen in to kill me.”

  “General… would he really do this?” I asked, deeply hurt. Scipio looked at me with wet, sad eyes.

  “The people once loved me as they loved Romulus. I can’t set bounds on whom Tiberius can and can’t take away from me.”

  I’m certain you already know what I did. I wasn’t certain the life of a politician was the one for me, especially considering the current political climate. I knew that the returning to my family farm wasn’t an option. The legion was the only place I belonged. It was the only place my sword and I would ever feel at home.

  I would miss my daughter, to be certain. But what kind of father would she really want to have? The kind who ran away from his destiny, a grown man who continues to live under the thumb of his oppressive father? Or a conquering hero, a military tribune no less?

  So, it was here that I found myself with Aemilianus, ascending the steps of the senate house. It was six days before the Ides of December, the day before the elections, and I hoped this would be the last time I’d be required to come here for the foreseeable future.

  “Bring your sword,” Scipio had told me as his slaves wrapped his toga and shawl around him. “We might need it.”

  The situation hadn’t calmed any over the past few months. Indeed, as the autumn turned to winter, the political affairs in Rome became worse.

  Tiberius refused to leave Rome again. He told the people that if they wanted to see all of his measures be brought to fruition, they would need to reelect him. He also cited the fact that if he left the nobles would ensure he was defeated as another reason for his presence, an observation that was no doubt true.

  The number of Tiberius’ armed supporters continued to grow. By now he had amassed a small army. He spoke from the rostra about how this was necessary to ensure his safety. Some of the nobles claimed he was cracking, growing weak and paranoid, not to mention tyrannical. But he had reason to suspect that his life was in danger. Nasica wasn’t the only man to whisper his desire to have Tiberius murdered.

  People from all over Italy came and set up tents outside the tribune’s home on the Palatine to protect him. Some ignored the cold and slept under the stars, with daggers at their sides. Some said they had guard shifts scheduled for days in advance, which made me wonder if some of these supporters were once Scipio’s veterans.

  Today was the last day the nobles could mount a defense against Tiberius. If they wished to ban him from running for tribune again, they would have to do so today. The following morning would see the voting booths set out and citizens from all over Italy would gather to ensure their voice was heard. Those men who had received farms, the same ones who hadn’t been t
here to protect Tiberius when Aemilianus said “who has received farms”, were already flocking into the city as a demonstration of their support.

  And while Tiberius’ support with the people reached its ultimate height, the nobles remained fractured.

  After Tiberius announced that he would be running for reelection, all his support within the senate house vanished. The Claudians, his in-laws, turned their back on him without question. Even his father in law, who had benefited as much as any man from Tiberius’ reforms, seemed to disappear from his side at the assemblies.

  So all the nobles wished to see Tiberius defeated. But how they planned to do so was another matter. The Scipiones distrusted the Claudians because they had supported Tiberius for so long. The Fabians distrusted anyone outside their own faction. The Scipiones were torn for reasons that only I knew. Since I had marched Nasica out at sword point, Aemilianus and his cousin had barely been on speaking terms, only when necessary and to keep up political appearances.

  I stopped as always behind the partition rope outside the entry to the Temple of Concord, where the senate would be meeting that day, this time with a sword concealed beneath my heaviest wool cloak. It was quite ironic that we were meeting at the Temple of Concord that day, as the goddess of peace herself would be overseeing a debate that was anything but peaceful.

  My general Aemilianus continued on inside. When he reached the doors, he turned and looked me in the eye.

  “Don’t let anyone enter.” He was barely audible but I could read his lips. I gave him a nod as he turned and found his seat beside his cousin and Gaius Laelius.

  I saw Tiberius sitting along with the other tribunes on a bench at the foot of the stands. He neither talked to those around him nor fidgeted uncomfortably. His eyes were fixed ahead, once again, like the statues of him that would soon be destroyed.

  I tried to warm my hands as I waited. It was frightfully cold that winter, a white gloss of frost covering the colonnades of the temple. The breath of those gathered around me created such a visible steam it appeared a fire was burning.