“What?” screamed Publius Nasica. “If he had told you to burn down the Capitol, would you have done that too?”
“He would never have made such a request,” replied Blossius calmly.
“But what if he had?” demanded Rupilius.
“If Tiberius had commanded it, it would have been right for me to do it, but he would never have given an order that did not benefit the people.”
Blossius’ gall probably kept him from being executed. Instead he was exiled. He left for Asia within the week.
Word of the purge and the executions spread down the coast like the red tide. When the news reached us in Misenum, we were grateful for Physcon’s quick decision to get us out of Rome.
Cornelia suffered more than any of us, even more than Tiberius’ wife. Claudia grieved in the Roman fashion, expressing her pain by throwing herself on the ground and wailing. It was horrible to witness, but at least she was able to relieve her grief somewhat. Cornelia kept it all in, maintaining a great silence, like the Egyptian Sphinx, trying to serve as an example of stoicism to the rest of us. Only in the late hours of the night, when I was alone with her, did some of her anguish spill out. She blamed herself for not doing more to address the changes in Tiberius that we had all witnessed as his political career unfolded.
“Tiberius was always such a sound individual,” she said in tears. “He maintained a reasoned calm through everything he encountered. I should have recognized the danger when I saw his passion rising.”
Aemilianus was in Spain the entire time. All of us—yes even I—felt that his presence was needed to calm the political waters. Never before had I wished so deeply for him to return to Rome. But that was before we learned of Aemilianus’ response to Tiberius’ death. He received the news while outside the walls of Numantia. He quoted Homer from the Iliad, repeating the line used after Orestes had murdered Aegisthus: “And so will perish any other man whose crimes be like his.”
Although thoroughly disappointed, I was not surprised by his comment. He had been against Tiberius’ land reform from the beginning. Cornelia was furious. Her relationship with Aemilianus would never be the same.
Curiously enough, the Senate made no move to annul land reform. Publius Crassus was chosen to take Tiberius’ position on the commission, and with Gaius still in Spain, the two elder statesman, Crassus and Appius, continued with the work, verifying what many people thought—the attack on Tiberius had been a personal vendetta led by his cousin Publius Nasica, not a political reprisal.
CHAPTER 37
Aemilianus returned from Spain in the spring, four months after Tiberius’ death. The siege of Numantia had been a tremendous success, even though the Numantians chose to starve to death within their city rather than surrender to a life of slavery. Publius Scipio’s grandson, now fifty-three years of age, had gained yet another significant military victory and was praised as the most important Roman of the era. He was immediately granted a triumph and entered the city four days after his return in a gilded chariot pulled by four white horses, leading a three-mile long procession of plunder, battle trophies, and jubilant Roman soldiers.
Gaius did not take part. Instead he rode on horseback to Misenum to see Cornelia, making the trip in just three days. Physcon had returned to Egypt during the winter, and Cornelia, unable to stomach the new political atmosphere in Rome, had chosen to remain at the villa indefinitely with Claudia and her children. I was there the day Gaius arrived but was leaving for Rome the next day in a carriage Physcon had left for our use.
Gaius appeared dumbstruck when he entered the house. He had learned a great deal more about his brother’s murder since returning to Rome. “How could such a thing happen?” he muttered when he embraced Cornelia in the entry hall, prior to them both breaking into tears.
Claudia and I, standing helplessly a few feet away, added more tears to the difficult reunion. In some ways, only in Gaius’ return did the full impact of the tragedy hit our family. He was nearly twenty years old now. His beard had thickened and he looked more like his brother than when he had left. Seeing him made the stark absence of Tiberius more real, more painful, and more appalling. The four of us went out to the garden. Claudia and I sat on a bench while Cornelia recounted the whole terrible story.
When she was done, Gaius shook his head, stunned by an act no one believed could ever happen in Rome. He said very little that day, as though he were struggling to process what seemed so impossible.
The following morning, just before taking the carriage to Rome, I found Gaius in the atrium sitting at the edge of the pool, beneath a clear, azure sky. I was old enough to be his mother and had stayed up many nights with him when he was an infant. I sat down beside him hoping to somehow relieve his despair.
“What are you thinking, Gaius?”
He looked up at me, his big sister. “I want nothing to do with politics,” he said sullenly.
“No one could blame you for that.”
“War makes more sense,” he said, looking down at the surface of the water for a long time before speaking again. “What is your assessment, Sempronia? Where did Tiberius go wrong?”
Gaius, like Tiberius twelve years earlier, had grown close to my husband during their time together in the military. I wondered what Aemilianus had already said to Gaius about Tiberius’ actions. “What he hoped to do,” I said, “and what he did partly accomplish, was not wrong at all. I believe wholeheartedly that he was acting on behalf of the state’s best interests. But the pressure from his opponents was hard on him. He wasn’t fully prepared for the amount of resistance he got, particularly the anger that his land reform bill generated in specific senators.”
“Publius Nasica,” he said.
I nodded. “And others. Because of the vitriol, Tiberius did things that were out of character. The ousting of Octavius was extremely hard on him. It changed him. He became more determined, and it became difficult to tell if he were fighting for his bill or his prestige.”
“Do you think he overdid it?”
I shook my head sadly. “I’m not sure he could have done anything differently, Gaius. It snowballed on him. As though it were all predestined, a tragedy composed by the gods.”
“Aemilianus said he brought it down on himself.”
I took a little breath and tipped my head.
“He said Tiberius had been stung when the Senate annulled his treaty with the Numantians. His land reform bill was retribution. Could that be true?”
I stood up, my ankle cinched tightly, and paced off a few steps, then returned. “No, Aemilianus is dead wrong about that. Tiberius felt he had a genuine insight. His vision was for the betterment of the common man, not an angry reaction to a slight. The anger came later, after he waded all the way into the morass of Roman politics.”
Gaius seemed to weigh my opinion against Aemilianus’. After a moment, he reached out and took my hand. “I believe you’re right, Sempronia. That seems more like our brother. I returned to Rome thinking he had done something to be ashamed of. That it would reflect badly on my career.” He looked down at the ground. “Now it doesn’t seem that way at all.”
“Our brother was a good man, Gaius. A brother to be proud of.”
Gaius looked up at me hopefully.
I squeezed his hand. “What has happened with your wedding?”
Gaius actually smiled. I knew how he felt about Licinia. “It should have been last month. We were in Spain longer than expected. I believe it’s set for later this summer.”
“Are you excited?”
Gaius blushed. “Yes. And I haven’t even seen Licinia yet. I came here as soon as I could. I’ll leave for Rome within the week. Seeing Licinia is my highest priority.”
I tousled his hair. “I’m glad we had a chance to talk.”
“Me too.”
CHAPTER 38
Gaius remained at the villa in Misenum for a week. Unfortunately Cornelia thought of Tiberius every time she looked at her youngest son. As she would tell
me later, she knew that she had changed. Tiberius’ murder had made her cynical, and she had tried to hide that from Gaius when he first arrived. His fourth day there, in the hour before sunset, she sat down with Gaius on a bench in the garden to make what she felt was a necessary confession.
The view from the garden was directly south over the Bay of Naples. The sun sat three diameters above the horizon in the west, just low enough to cut the glare and turn the bay’s three islands, Aenaria, Procida, and Capri, into silhouettes against a sky the color of pale red wine. Mount Vesuvius, the long inactive volcano, squatted open-mouthed twenty miles off to the east like some ominous hint of the underworld’s power. The mother and son sat for a long time with nothing said, absently watching the sea’s slow moving swells roll into the bay.
Cornelia had described the events surrounding Tiberius’ death to Gaius the day he arrived, but she had not shared her grief with him. Now it was time.
“The wedding will be in two months, Gaius. Your future mother-in-law and I have carefully chosen a day that bodes well for you and Licinia. Because I’ve decided to stay here for the time being, I’m giving my house in Rome to you and your bride.”
“That’s wonderful, Mother, but you’ll be so far away.”
“Rome has changed for me, Gaius.” She looked down at her lap, then up into her son’s eyes. “It will be hard for me to go back even for those few days of the wedding festivities. You missed the initial backlash against your brother and those who supported him. All concern for civil discourse vanished. Diophanes was executed. Blossius exiled. Had you been here you might have been part of the purge as well.”
“Diophanes dead?” Gaius shook his head slowly in disbelief. “Was he given a trial?”
“Some might call what happened a trial. I don’t. I hate Rome right now. If it wouldn’t make things so difficult, I’d request to have the wedding here. But you need a house of your own and everyone who’s invited lives in Rome. It would be a great inconvenience.”
Gaius stood up and walked away, then came back. “Diophanes dead. Blossius exiled. Was Tiberius given a proper funeral?”
“His body was thrown into the Tiber.” Her anger showed in her eyes, then melted into sadness. “It was more than I could do to protest. I left Rome shortly after it happened and came here.”
Gaius stared out at the bay, still trying to sort it out in his mind.
“Be wary when you’re in Rome, Gaius. There may yet be recriminations against our family.”
“What am I to do, Mother?” He was crying. “Run away or seek revenge?”
“We all have to let it go. Stay away from politics. Enjoy your time with Licinia. In the end, reason must prevail over anger.”
Tiberius’ son came out into the garden with his sister. They were both too young to understand. Gaius watched them prance around like nothing had happened. He took a deep breath then turned to Cornelia.
She nodded. “The world has changed.”
CHAPTER 39
Gaius’ response to Tiberius’ death was not what I expected. Quite different than his brother, Gaius tended to be passionate, and when angered, outspoken and emotional. I worried that he would seek revenge, but he went the other way. He said almost nothing. Either he was hiding what was inside of him or he had turned cynical and found the whole thing too insulting to acknowledge.
Upon returning to Rome, he secluded himself in Cornelia’s home for five days then arranged a visit with Licinia. It had been a year since he had seen her. He confided to his slave as they walked the few blocks to Crassus’ home.
“I struggle to forgive Rome for killing my brother, Philocrates.”
The slave bobbed his head in understanding as they proceeded.
“I have even wondered if Rome still embodies principles for which I wish to fight.”
“Gaius, that can’t be true.”
Gaius shook his head. “You’re right. It’s treachery to even consider such a thought. But it’s the way I feel.”
“Can you go on in good faith, master?”
“I have no choice. I must. The battlefield is my only escape from the black undercurrents in Rome.”
The mood in Publius Crassus’ home was subdued. Claudia met Gaius in the entryway after the housemaid Phyllis had let him in. Although it had been several months since Tiberius’ death, Claudia knew Gaius had just spent a week with Cornelia and took great pains to be especially considerate to the young man, uncertain how he had reacted to what had happened while he was in Spain. Instead of being her gregarious matchmaker self, she led Gaius out to the garden with only a few soft words of welcome.
It was midspring and the day was quite warm. Licinia, now fourteen, sat in the shade of an apple tree, wearing a plain white, sleeveless stola, tied with an aqua sash beneath her breasts. Her head and shoulders were bare. She could not have looked lovelier. Licinia tried to read Gaius’ face as he approached. With the couple due to be married in two months, Claudia spent only a short time in their company before going off to another part of the house so they could be alone.
“Does my safe return verify the gods’ decision that we should marry?” said Gaius.
Licinia, who had tried to contain herself, stood to embrace him. “Oh yes, Gaius, it does. I know you will go off again in the years to come, but not before we’re married.”
Gaius welcomed her embrace. “Seeing you again was all I thought about while I was gone.”
Licinia kissed him on the cheek, causing Gaius to blush and lower his eyes.
“Am I being too forward?” she asked, suddenly realizing this was only the third time they had been together.
Gaius laughed. “I think you promised me that kiss. I would have been disappointed without it.”
Now Licinia blushed, then became serious and looked into his eyes. “I don’t want to bring up something untoward, but I must say what I’m feeling.” She looked down at the ground. “I am so sorry about your brother. Are you all right?”
Gaius took her hand. “Thank you for saying something. It has been difficult, but I will be fine by our wedding day. Seeing you helps.” His smile was restrained. “You must know that I have seen many dead in my short time in the army. Many friends, many good men I knew well, did not come back from Spain and never will. Tiberius’ death is different, yes, but he is also gone.” Gaius looked away. He was not as settled with the issue as his words suggested.
Licinia squeezed his hand and drew him down beside her on one of the garden benches. “Will you pursue his politics?”
Gaius faced her and sighed. “I’m part of the land commission so I must, but I won’t enter into politics on my own. I would be a marked man. Although it will mean more time away from you, I plan to make a career in the military.”
“After what happened, I must wonder which is more dangerous.”
“I would prefer an enemy’s sword to the club of a fellow Roman.”
A long silence hung between them, an understood recognition of the tragedy of Tiberius’ death. Licinia broke the spell.
“Can you tell me anything about your campaign? I know that it was highly successful.”
“It became quite brutal at the end. Aemilianus had us build a wall around Numantia. Then he diverted a nearby river to flood the area between our walls and theirs. When their envoys rejected Aemilianus’ terms of surrender, they committed themselves to starvation. In the final weeks they began to eat their dead.”
Licinia turned away. “I think you’ve told me more than I wanted to know.”
“The last day they set fire to the city to limit our plunder. It was awful, but our tactics worked. It’s what war is.”
“Maybe you should be a farmer?”
Gaius laughed, then hugged her again.
Claudia came through the garden and stopped when she saw them. “You’re not married yet, Gaius! You’ll have plenty of time for that after the wedding.”
“Mother, please, he’s just returned from the war. How else should a man greet
his future wife?”
“With an accent on the word future. Please sit a little farther apart.”
After Claudia had gone to another part of the house, Licinia took Gaius’ hand in both of hers. “Are you as excited as I am about the wedding? Please tell me you are.”
Gaius squeezed her hands. “A better question is are you as excited as I am?”
Before Licinia could answer Gaius broke into laugher and she joined in. They were both very excited to be married.
CHAPTER 40
With Cornelia in Misenum and Aemilianus back in Rome, I felt as though I had been returned to prison. Aemilianus’ success in Numantia gave him even greater prestige, which meant I only saw him in the evenings. We rarely talked, and with my ankle seemingly worse each day, I did my best to stay out of his sight. But even with his overbearing presence and his constant criticism of me, which I could bear as well as any woman, nothing galled me more than his comments about Tiberius, whose failed efforts in politics he considered, like everything it seemed, a reflection upon his honor.
All of this worked to erode anything resembling confidence in myself. I could not have said this then, but in reviewing those times to write this narrative, I can see that it was during this period that I grew increasingly bitter. The religious rituals that Aemilianus felt were so important grew meaningless to me. If Aemilianus was away, I simply skipped the day-to-day ceremonies so common in a Roman household as a deliberate insult to him. The lares, the little figurines that were moved about the house like good luck charms, remained on a shelf in the atrium like sad little dolls for a family that never materialized. The penates sat above the hearth, never getting their portion of the meal—a piece of bread or meat thrown into the fire—except when Aemilianus was there to enforce those long-held Roman traditions.
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