Blood in the Forum

by Vincent B Davis II

  And behind me, the masses were growing even larger. It appeared all of Rome had come out, despite the frost, to hear whether the famous tribune would be denied his request of another election.

  They were silent enough that even those farthest away were able to hear the booming voice of the consul as he began.

  “Conscript Fathers, I will begin without hesitation. You all know why we are here. All other discussions will be tabled until a time when the future of our Republic isn’t at stake,” Consul Mucius Scaevola said, his voice teeming on rage. Everyone seemed to forget that Scaevola was one of the Claudians who was so recently numbered amongst the tribune’s most vehement supporters. “And the fact that this tribune, has the insolence to show his face within this august body even as he spits on everything we represent, should show you what kind of man we’re dealing with!”

  The senators stomped their feet in agreement, and the people outside moaned and shook their heads.

  Tiberius’ eyes followed the consul’s gesticulation with intense curiosity, and nothing more.

  “I move that Tiberius Gracchus be banned from running for reelection, on the grounds that tribunes have never be allowed to run for two years in a row. But I’m certain, as always, that our young revolutionary will have an answer for breaking the law under the guise of benevolence.”

  He pointed at Tiberius, challenging him to stand and defend himself. But Tiberius didn’t take the bait.

  “And unless our seniors would like to speak against him, I give the floor to this rebel to speak for himself.”

  No one stood, not even Nasica. I believe everyone was anxious to hear what the tribune would say next.

  Tiberius, at length, stood to his feet, having waited a respectful amount of time to ensure his betters did not wish to speak before him.

  He stood still, his head high, his judging eyes scanning around the room at the faces of those who had betrayed him and those who had detested him from the beginning.

  “What’s he saying?” some whispered.

  “He’s not saying anything,” others answered them correctly.

  He waited until all was silent, from the balcony of the senate house to the farthest man in the gathering. The tension was as thick as the wool cloak wrapped over my shoulders.

  “Conscript Fathers, I have come here today not as a challenge to any of you, but to show you that I am ever a member of this august body. Even when I have circumvented the traditional means of political procedure, I did that out of respect for this body, and ultimately out of love for Rome.” This sent all of the senators to their feet, pointing at Tiberius with the left hands and each shouting over the other. Again, he waited for total silence. “I simply have the foresight that many of you are unwilling to accept.” The roars began again, even louder this time.

  “Who do you think you are?” Nasica screamed over the tumult. Tiberius turned to where the high priest stood in the stands, and smiled.

  “I was under the impression that I had the floor, pontifex maximus.” The nobles reclaimed their seats, and the revolutionary continued. “You say it is illegal for me to run for tribune again. It seems it is only necessary for a man to follow the laws when it serves your interests, noblemen. For was it not our great hero, Scipio Aemilianus, who ran two consecutive consulships?” he asked. None stood to their feet this time. “And at the time it was said this this break with traditional procedure was necessary for the welfare of the state. And here again, I say my reelection is necessary for the good of the Roman people.” The jeering began again, but this time Tiberius spoke over them, and his words were still heard. “Because the people are not crying out for fair elections! They cry out for land! They cry out for jobs, shortened service, and clean water! They cry out for a man who will serve their interests! And who will deny the cry of the people?”

  Before I could tell what was happening, armed men pushed by on either side of me. I thought for a moment they were storming the senate house. I grabbed the hilt of my sword, but didn’t brandish it when I saw that they all stopped at the precipice of the rope partition, their hands clutched tightly around the exposed clubs and daggers at their hips. I thought about stabbing one of them in the back, but I would have been swallowed up before I draw my sword. I was outnumbered by a dozen or more.

  They stood in waiting. And the moment the senators cut their gaze to the men at the door, they fell silent.

  “I ask again, who will deny the people?” Tiberius’ voice was barely above a whisper now, but each man heard it. “Then the matter is settled. I will stand for tribune tomorrow. And the cry of the people will be heard, one way or the other.” With that, Tiberius adjusted his toga and stepped out into the cold.

  Immediately the armed men at the rope partition retreated into the crowds and disappeared. Tiberius waited outside the door as the senators piled out, standing by pleasantly as if he were strolling in the forum. He waited for anyone willing to stop by and shake his hand, but no one came. And I don’t think he ever believed they would. I’m not sure if anyone else could see, but I could see several men of his regime standing behind him with eyes on the tribune, ready to pounce if any of the nobles tried something foolish.

  Scipio exited along with many of the other senators, none of whom were talking.

  “Let’s go home,” he said, his voice low and his face downcast, as he approached. He wouldn’t be standing by to banter with the other nobles today. He was all out of things to say.

  “Brother,” Tiberius approach behind him. To my surprise, Scipio didn’t seem shocked to find him there. “Are you not going to congratulate me?”

  “I am so sorry, Tiberius.” Scipio looked down and shook his head. I believe his eyes shimmered with tears, but perhaps it was just the cold. “I have failed you. I was supposed to raise you to be a great man, the man who might take my place in the senate house one day. But I have failed you.”

  Tiberius placed a hand on Scipio’s shoulder, and his henchmen stepped a bit closer.

  “You have never failed me, Scipio Aemilianus. You have been faithful and good to me.” He seemed to have changed his tone from the last time they met, when he clamored that Scipio had betrayed him in the senate house while he was still fighting in Numantia.

  “Why did it have to be you, Tiberius? You could have risen to the pinnacle of Roman power. You could have been consul. You had the love of the people, the support of the nobles, and clients in every corner of the Republic. Why did you have to be the one to throw away your career so foolishly?”

  The two men looked at each other, both with sadness and remorse in their eyes. And I couldn’t believe what I was seeing with mine. The two spoke together as if one was stricken with a terminal illness. And perhaps that’s what they both thought about each other.

  Neither cursed or raised their voices. It was as if the die had been cast, both were resigned to fate now. And there was nothing either of them could do to go back.

  “Because I had the love of the people, the support of the nobles, and clients in every corner of the Republic. That is why it had to be me, brother. It had to be me. No one else could do what I have done. It would have been political suicide.”

  Scipio’s face twisted in agony for a moment, and I couldn’t tell if he was about to retch, or if he was about to burst into tears.

  “You have committed political suicide, Tiberius.” He shook his head sadly as he pointed back into the emptying halls of the senate house, where Tiberius had shown his most recent display of revolution.

  Tiberius smiled sadly and brushed back a boyish curl from his forehead with the back of his thumb. “I died a long time ago in Numantia, Scipio. I thought you knew that.” He leaned forward and kissed Scipio on the cheek, and squeezed his arm before turning to leave with his mob. Scipio turned and left with myself and the remainder of his clients trailing behind him.

  The two men would never speak to each other again.

  “Wake up! Wake up!”

  I was praying at the
altar to the household gods when the voice rang throughout Aemilianus’ atrium. I sprang to my feet and grabbed my sword. Just as I made it to the atrium, Scipio arrived as well, his night clothes still wrapped around his shoulders.

  The intruder continued screaming until he saw Scipio running down the stairs towards him. And from the look on his face, he had woken the wrong man.

  “No, no, it’s the Pontifex Maximus sent me, see,” the man said, still panting heavily. As soon as Scipio halted his advance, he leaned over and put his hands on his knees, chest heaving.

  “What is the meaning of this? Speak. The sun hasn’t yet risen.”

  “The whole city’s gone bloody mad. Tiberius and his supporters went to the forum this morning to pass legislation to legitimize his running for election… bastard knew we’d have him arraigned for it one day,” the courier said with a smile, revealing a few missing teeth.

  In a few hours, the vote for tribune would be under way. Tiberius must have decided to sneak one final piece of legislation into law to cap off his revolutionary first year as tribune. One could only imagine what might come in the following year if he were reelected.

  “And this has caused the city to go mad?” Scipio asked, a slight glimmer of hope in his eye. Perhaps the people had finally caught on to Tiberius’ measures and turned against him. Perhaps this would be enough for Tiberius to see reason and stop what he was doing.

  “You bet. The nobles caught wind of it, see, and they came out in droves and started pushing through the crowd. A whole uproar, bang, and everybody is fighting. There’s some dead now, to be certain.”

  “Damnit!” Scipio roared. He placed his hands on his hips, pursed his lips and began breathing as heavily as the courier. “Marius gather your things. We need to leave.”

  “I’ll rally your clients,” I said, shifting on my heels and heading back to grab my toga.

  “No. I won’t be going as a senator today.”

  The two of us sprinted down from his house on the Palatine, alone. I had my sword, and Scipio had a hooded cloak pulled low over his eyes. What madness could possess a man to run into a fray like this without more protection? I assume his best protection was anonymity though. If he wasn’t a noble, he didn’t have to fear the wrath of the people. Probably.

  An orange sun poked out behind foreboding grey clouds in the east, illuminating the layer of frost on the tops of the temples. Even before we reached the Capitoline hill, we could hear shouting. Noise travels in Rome, as I’m sure you’ll come to realize.

  And Scipio led me directly towards the chaos.

  “You’ve got your sword?” Scipio was sucking wind, but moving faster than a man his age should be able to.

  “Of course.”

  “I pray we won’t have to use it.”

  We took an alleyway behind a temple to Proserpina and circumvented some of the crowds. As we exited into the forum, we were surrounded by chaos.

  In the confusion it was too difficult to make sense of what was happening. The sickening thud of club against flesh rang out and echoed in the temples and empty workshops, followed by the screams and curses of a multitude.

  Scipio stood as frozen as the tops of the temples. He didn’t possess the means necessary to do a damn thing about the bedlam around us.

  “What do you want me to do, general?” I asked, pulling my sword from her scabbard, just enough so he could see the steel glimmering in the morning sun.

  “Nothing. Put that away.” His gaze was locked across the forum. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could now see what it was he was looking at. His brother in law stood atop the rostra shouting and gesticulating wildly.

  “He’s encouraging them to fight,” I said, stunned and hurt.

  “No. He’s calling for them to stop. We must rally the Senate.”

  “How, sir?” I asked, shaking my head as if to decline the ridiculous suggestion.

  I turned my gaze to the rostra again, where Tiberius stood with his armed men behind him, dozens of others attempting to clamor up to him as well. Whether they were friend or foe to the tribune, I couldn’t tell.

  “It’s ancient custom. When there is danger within the city walls, all senators are to meet at the temple of Fides. That is, if they aren’t too busy butchering their own people.” He sprinted off through the chaos, his cape flapping behind.

  Scipio and I were among the first to arrive.

  At first I stopped before the entrance, as I was used to doing.

  “Come on then. If senators are willing to butcher the people some of them are certainly willing to kill me. I need you to protect me with that sword arm, damnit.”

  Turtledoves, the symbol of Fides, were etched into every chair within the room, and a large one adorned the alter at the front. So peaceful. Such sharp contrast to the chaos outside.

  But I had little time to admire them before there were droves of senators pushing into the ancient temple. Some were in togas, others in their night clothes, others in old tunics or cloaks. Some of them, presumably the purveyors of this morning’s violence, had blacked eyes or bloody noses that dripped and stained the cloth. This wasn’t such an august looking body when it wasn’t powdered and adorned with lavender scented togas.

  And they did not come quietly. Most were screaming as loudly as they could about some injustice or another they had encountered on their way there. When the disorganized senate had arrived in enough numbers, Nasica demanded the floor. For some time, the floor wasn’t going to be any one man’s in particular, as they continued to rage and point fingers at one another for who was the cause of this.

  “He was asking for a crown! I saw him, he was asking for a crown!” One of the junior senators shouted, tapping his head as an imitation of the tribune’s actions. At the mention of crown, as with anything concerning regency, the entire senate erupted, but this time with a unified voice.

  “He was signaling to his people that he was in danger.” Scipio’s commanding voice rose above the general tumult.

  “Whose side are you on?” Some shouted.

  “His people? They’re our people!” Others joined in.

  Aemilianus stood his ground but I stepped in closer, my hand clutched on the hilt of my gladius. No one seemed to notice that I didn’t belong there. In fact they didn’t seem to notice me at all. They were prepared to rip Scipio Aemilianus to shreds if he so much as insinuated his loyalties lay with Tiberius. Hero or not. Consular or not.

  “Traitor!” Some of the senators shouted, but Nasica wailed until they gave him the floor.

  “The time has come for action. Senators of Rome, we must act! This man has now caused bloodshed in Rome, the most treacherous thing a Roman can do. He must die!” The senators erupted in applause.

  Aemilianus stood by watching, stunned and silent, at a loss for what he might say to speak sense to them. He couldn’t speak reason to his brother by law, he couldn’t now speak reason to the senate.

  “I now call upon, as pontifex maximus, the presiding Consul Mucius Scaevola, to take up arms and defend the state.” Nasica approached the Consul and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your Republic needs you.”

  The consul seemed to consider it.

  “No. I will not.”

  The senate roared their disapproval.

  “I will not be the first to shed blood in my own city!” the consul cried out.

  “They shed blood first!” The senators implored.

  “All my reports indicate that the people gathered in a lawful assembly this morning!” He attempted to shout over the tumult, but I only heard him because I was nearby.

  “Consul, he has shed blood. He has asked for a crown. Every ancient dictate that this Republic is built upon demands that he pay with his blood!” Nasica shouted, his bony fingers digging into the consul’s shoulder.

  “I will not permit any freeman be killed without a trial and a sentencing. I will not!” I thought for a moment that I would have to step in for the defense of a Roman consul at that
point, but Nasica calmed the men around him.

  “Since the consul doesn’t hold the safety of the commonwealth in higher regard than his own, I will lead you!” Nasica roared as the senate fell to silence. “I will lead you to kill the tyrant! Let every man who values liberty and will stand in defense of our laws, follow me!”

  The cry of the senators rose up and echoed throughout the halls of the Temple of Fides. The turtledoves watched silently.

  “Let’s free our country!” he cried out. And at this, chaos broke out around us. The senators rushed to smash the tables and benches stationed around us, taking up the broken limbs as clubs.

  Nasica approached his cousin. He wore a snarl across his face, one I hadn’t seen the likes of before, but I’ve seen many a times upon the face of an arrogant noble.

  “You told me once that we had grown complacent, that we had not done anything. Well now, I will do something, cousin. I will make our ancestors proud.” With that, he departed and the angry horde of senators followed after him.

  I felt the outrageous impulse to cut them all down. And I still believe if Scipio had given me so much as a nod of the head, I would have. I was the only one, after all, with a sword. Or military training for that matter.

  But Scipio said nothing.

  He only stared with wide eyes and an open mouth, completely at a loss for words. Perplexed by what the republic he had fought for, for so long, had become.

  After the senators were well on their way, he led the way towards the exit. I leaned in closer to hear his orders over the distant—but still booming—roar. But he still said nothing.

  As we exited out into the cold morning air, I watched as the senators, with Nasica at their helm, formed a wedge of sorts and pushed through the crowds of people.

  They parted around him as if he had leprosy, for as Nasica once said, no man can touch a pontifex maximus and live.