Having spent so much time with Cornelia and Claudia in the months after Tiberius’ murder, I had built up a lot of anger about what had happened. From the perspective of these many years later, I realize that Tiberius did make a serious mistake by allowing himself to be caught up in Publius Nasica’s ugly game of politics. But even with that said, Aemilianus’ steady flow of off-hand comments about Tiberius only added to my loathing of him.
One evening, when Aemilianus came home from a dinner he had attended without the embarrassing company of his crippled wife, I decided to confront him. Drinking, as Asclepius had suggested, was one way to ease the pain in my ankle, and I had two cups of mulsum while he was out.
The night was pleasant and I was lying on a couch in the atrium with my sandals off, starring up at the stars, when Aemilianus strode into the courtyard. He appeared to have had a drink or two himself.
“I’m curious,” I said. “What are they saying in the Senate? Have we entered some new age in Rome where senators can freely murder their opposition?”
We had hardly said anything to each other since his return from Spain, and I rarely asked his opinion about anything other than what he might like for the evening meal, but my sarcasm grabbed his attention. He came up close to the couch and looked down at me in his usual condescending way, deciding whether he would answer me or not. “What happened to your brother was of his own making, not Rome moving into some new era of political violence. I told him pushing land reform was a serious mistake. And it was.” He turned away and started out of the room as though the discussion were over.
“So serious that he should be beaten to death at the doors to the temple of Jupiter?” I said to his back. “Did his actions truly justify that?”
He stopped and faced me. “He sought a second tribuneship. He was out for unprecedented power. Had I been here I would have taken a club to him myself.”
“You don’t know that he sought power,” I snapped back at him. “You weren’t here. You rely too much on what your friends have told you. Have you thought to ask Publius Crassus or Appius Claudius for their opinions?”
Aemilianus came back toward me. “Those men led him into it. Would you prefer that I had coaxed him into such a foolish confrontation with the optimates? In my opinion his confidants had as much to do with his murder as any of the others.”
“And you’re satisfied with the so-called trial that took place afterward?”
“What is good for the state is all that matters,” he said, coming up close to me, displeased that I had continued to question him. “Tiberius’ actions were threatening the state. That’s all that needs to be said.”
“What of the unchecked power and excessive land holdings of the senators? Are they not also a threat to the state?”
Aemilianus slapped me across the face. “Don’t challenge my words, woman.” He glared at me as though I were a dog to be beaten.
I dared to growl back at him, “I’ll say what I like.”
He slapped me again, then spun on his heels to leave. “I’m not finished,” I said trying to stand up. My ankle gave way and I fell to the floor.
Aemilianus laughed derisively, then stood over me, watching as I rose to my hands and knees. Fearful that I could not regain my feet without embarrassing myself further, I tried to crawl over to one of the atrium columns for support. He trailed after me then took hold of the edge of my stola, making it impossible for me to go any farther. Again he laughed at me, but the laughter was without humor. He pulled my stola and tunic up over my head so that I could not see and my backside was uncovered. As I struggled to push the dress out of my face, he grabbed me by the waist, lifted his tunic, and mounted me from behind. His thrusts drove me to floor as he pounded at me until his rage was fulfilled. Then he simply stood, rearranged his tunic, and stalked away to his bedroom.
I screamed at him from the floor. “I thought you didn’t want to waste your seed on the likes of me?”
“What have I to worry?” he called back from some higher plane. “Only should we produce offspring would there be a problem—and we know that’s an impossibility with you.”
Drawn by the loud voices, Nadia came into the atrium after Aemilianus had left. She quickly came to my side and helped me back onto the couch. She was a woman who had experienced the ravages of a conquering army during Rome’s third war with Carthage. She had lost her family and at very young age her virginity. Aemilianus brought her back to Rome as a gift to me. “It’s a man’s world, my lady. You must not be disrespectful to your husband.”
I looked at her knowing it was what she had lived. “No, Nadia, the fault is his. He disrespected me.”
“Please remember, my lady, you are only a wife.” Her reply did not match what I saw in her eyes. “Your respect is measured by your husband’s.”
CHAPTER 41
The upcoming wedding was a saving grace. It was no secret that Gaius and Licinia had taken to each other and were as excited about the marriage as the parents. The enthusiasm around the festivities, the preparation and the planning, served to push the darkness surrounding Tiberius’ death further into the past. Cornelia showed her strongest side. Claudia had a harder time. Her grief for Tiberius would prove slow to heal. I did my best to help her work through it.
The night before the wedding Licinia sacrificed the toys of her childhood to the lares. This marked the first step of freeing a woman from her father and her family. The wedding began the next day at Publius Crassus’ home when Gaius arrived with the rest of our family. We were escorted to the peristyle where the ceremony would take place. Aemilianus and I, Appius, Claudia and her children, Cornelia, Publius Crassus and his wife Claudia, and just a few others, including Polybius and the satirist Lucilius, were there. The attendance would have been somewhat larger if not for Tiberius’ death. Publius Nasica and Mucius Scaevola, both relatives, were not invited.
Claudia, Tiberius’ widow, as a once married matron, was given the honor of administering the wedding. Licinia wore a plain white dress with a sash below her breasts, saffron slippers, and a transparent flame-colored veil over her face and head. Her hair was separated into six braids that were wound up to form a cone-shaped bun at the back of her head, held in place by a wreath made of marjoram and aromatic herbs. Gaius wore a plain, white linen tunic.
The ceremony began with Licinia and Gaius sacrificing a calf to Juno, Queen of the Gods. They both sprinkled a handful of wheat on the ground for the chickens. The birds ate with vigor—having not been fed in two days—promising a good marriage. Claudia then took Gaius’ left hand and placed it in Licinia’s right. Claudia lifted Licinia’s veil. The couple exchanged a whispered vow, which I was not able to hear, then kissed. With the ceremony completed, the wedding papers were signed, officially making Licinia Gaius’ property. As defined by the institution of manus, which was part of all upper-class marriages, he now had the same authority over her that her father once had.
A huge feast followed. The main course was the calf that had been sacrificed. Several amphorae of wine were drained. I had more than one cup. The mood was celebratory. Cornelia seemed to transcend her dread of Rome for the day and spoke cheerfully with everyone, even Aemilianus. There was no talk of Tiberius or land reform or anything to do with politics.
Following the meal, Gaius returned to Cornelia’s house, now his home, to wait for his bride. Shortly after he left, Claudia escorted Licinia, followed by a procession of all the guests, to the newlyweds’ home. Claudia’s children, six-year-old Tiberius and three-year-old Sempronia, led the joyous group that sang nuptial songs and told ribald jokes as they walked. Little Tiberius carried a torch lit from the hearth in Licinia’s parent’s home. His sister carried a pitcher of water.
When the wedding entourage reached Gaius’ house, the threshold was smeared with lard and covered with strands of wool. Licinia approached the door and called into the house. “Where are you, Gaius?”
As was the custom, he responded by asking her name.
> “Shall I be Gaia?” she answered.
Gaius came to the door and carried her over the threshold. Claudia followed them into the house and escorted them to their bedroom, which had been decorated with hundreds of flowers. Little Tiberius came in with Cornelia to light the hearth with his torch, while Claudia made a sacrifice to the goddess Hymen and helped Gaius untie the sash around Licinia’s waist. At that point Claudia left the bedroom, and along with Cornelia and Tiberius, returned to the bride’s home with all the other guests.
Finally alone, the couple consummated the marriage with hopes of conceiving their first child. The next day a second feast was held at the couple’s new home. In many ways, it seemed the horrible spell cast eighteen months earlier had finally been broken. It was time to move on.
CHAPTER 42
Cornelia and Claudia and her two children returned to Misenum two days after the wedding. Cornelia would continue to spend almost all of her time at the villa, only coming to Rome if necessary. She would never quite recover her faith in the process of Roman government.
To fill her time Cornelia formed a literary circle much like Aemilianus’. It began with just women. I would go to Misenum every other month to take part. When Gaius was off on military duty, I would bring Licinia with me. The first meetings were just the four women in our immediate family. But gradually word got out, and visitors from all over Italy and beyond began to join in. Polybius came on occasion, as did Lucilius and Physcon, though he used it as an excuse to see Cornelia.
The Senate’s effort to purge Roman politics of Tiberius’ influence lasted less than a year, but the populace had lost one of its strongest advocates and still carried a grudge. Publius Nasica, though occupying the revered position of pontifex maximus, became the target of abuse whenever he was in public. The situation only got worse with time. Crowds would gather outside the Curia calling for the pontiff to be tried for Tiberius’ murder. Instead of trying the man, the Senate decided to send him to Asia to act as a legate in Ephesus. He died six months later. Surprisingly, Publius Crassus, one of the few senators to remain loyal to Tiberius throughout the ordeal, was chosen to replace him as pontifex maximus.
The elections for the following year further supported this change in the political atmosphere. Crassus was elected to his first consulship at the age of forty-nine. As consul and pontifex maximus he was now one of the most powerful people in the city, rivaled only by Aemilianus, who had fallen short in his bid for a third consulship.
In the same election, Gaius Papirius Carbo, one of a handful of Tiberius’ clients who had not been eliminated in the purge, was elected to the tribunate. Carbo followed Tiberius’ lead as a tribune, pushing legislation that would build his constituency in the People’s Assembly. Early in his term, he proposed two bills, one to allow a tribune to serve consecutive terms and one to extend the use of secret ballots, which were already in use for the election of officials, to votes on legislation.
The first bill got the most attention. It was seen as a deliberate attempt to retroactively clear Tiberius of the alleged crime of seeking a second tribuneship and immediately became a topic of intense debate. The Senate came out strongly against it. The issue brought Gaius to the forum to speak for the first time. Although he had stayed out of the fray for almost eighteen months, half of that on military duty, he had used his free time to improve his oratorical skills.
Gaius had said he would not engage in politics, but after spending time in Rome listening to the discourse, he began to change. He was twenty-one, and at the urging of Tiberius’ friend Marcus Fulvius Flaccus, he spoke out in favor of Carbo’s bill, expressing for the first time in public his as yet unvented rage against his brother’s murderers.
“Why was my brother not allowed a second term?” he shouted to a large audience in the forum. “A lie was spread that he sought power, that he wanted a crown. No, that was not who my brother was. The work of a tribune, like the siege of a city, can be a task that takes more than one year. Land reform was an enormous undertaking that he was just beginning to make progress with. Another year was not a selfish request. It was dedication to duty. And yet, some people in high places had such fear of Tiberius, and his popularity, that they killed him for seeking to complete what he had begun.”
This was powerful rhetoric coming from Gaius, and the people saw a young Tiberius in him, which added force to his words and sent a quiver of anxiety through the senatorial class.
Two days before the vote, Aemilianus spoke strongly against the bill to a completely filled comitium. He was a near mythic military figure. He had celebrated two triumphs, served as consul twice, and with his huge private library and extensive friendships with international scholars was widely regarded as one of the most intelligent and highly educated men in Rome. Although a known popularis, from a family of populists, he spoke from above the political fray, or so he would have everyone believe.
“You know that I have spent my entire life, exerted my every effort, into securing the well-being of Rome. I believe that is what all citizens should strive to do. To contribute to the perfection of the state is what it means to be Roman, whether as a politician, a military officer, or a legionnaire.” Aemilianus was in his mid-fifties, strong of body and spirit. He was proud and arrogant in the way he felt a man from a noted and wealthy family should be.
“The tradition of Rome has remained constant,” he continued. “Our forefathers were well aware that the greatest crime against the state was the tyranny of a demagogue, and specifically built barriers within our system of laws to contain the power of any single individual. When officials are elected to a position, it is for one year. That has been true for every public office, except that of censor, for four hundred years, with particular emphasis on the positions of tribune and consul. One might even argue that within the city limits, the tribune is more powerful than a consul; and yet now, the tribunate seeks to expand upon its powers by opening the position to consecutive terms. What would it mean if a tribune became so popular that he proceeded to three then four consecutive terms? Is that not a step in the direction we Romans fear most—a tyrant in Rome?”
Carbo stood up in the audience, and calling out Aemilianus’ name, asked him, “Are you alluding to Tiberius? Are you trying to justify the acts of his murderers?”
Aemilianus stood his ground, repeating the view he had expressed when he had first learned of Tiberius’ death. “If Gracchus had the intention of seizing the administration of the state, he was justly slain.”
In the year and a half since his death, Tiberius had become both a hero and a martyr to the plebeians. Anything said against him inspired outrage. To them, the vast majority in the audience that day, Aemilianus was suggesting that Tiberius sought a crown. In their minds this was a terrible exaggeration, if not an absolute lie. The audience became restless. Several people demanded Aemilianus rescind his words. Others called out threats against him.
This infuriated Aemilianus. A man accustomed to almost god-like worship in Rome, he glared at the unruly crowd and shouted back at them, “I have never been frightened by the clamor of an enemy in arms, nor shall I be alarmed by the cries of the stepsons of Italy.”
The stepsons allusion was a deliberate insult to the lower class. They were not from as pure a Roman bloodline as his. The statement only aroused greater protest in the crowd and a barrage of catcalls and insults. Aemilianus answered by mocking them further. “I brought many of you to Rome in chains. Now that you are freedmen, do you believe that you are truly Romans? Or only half-breeds?”
The crowd erupted with increased anger and coarser insults, accompanied by a hail of ripe fruit. A soggy plum splattered on Aemilianus’ shoulder, staining his immaculate white toga. He abruptly turned away from the rostra and stormed off across the forum, cursing to himself about ungrateful hooligans.
Aemilianus entered our house later that afternoon like a hurricane. He slammed the door and stomped through the atrium and back again. Wondering what could have h
appened, I entered the house from the peristyle. Aemilianus let go with long string of insults against both Tiberius and Gaius, calling them instigators of a revolt against Roman tradition.
I did not bother to ask him about the wet mark on his toga. I backed away from his rage and returned to the peristyle, fearful he might turn his anger on me.
CHAPTER 43
Despite the reaction to Aemilianus in the comitium, Papirius Carbo’s bill did not pass. A tribune’s term remained limited to one year. The age-old fear of a single despotic ruler, which Aemilianus had harped on so heavily, carried a close vote at the People’s Assembly. The bill for a secret ballot when voting on legislation also surprisingly failed.
Appius Claudius died in the months following the vote. He was in his midfifties and seemingly in good health when he suddenly became ill and died. This added to Claudia’s continuing grief. She was now without a husband or a father. Appius was replaced on the land reform commission by the progressive tribune Papirius Carbo, thus joining Gaius and Crassus.
Licinia gave birth to a son that spring, two weeks before Gaius left on a military campaign with his father-in-law. A renegade Syrian king by the name of Aristonicus had assembled a mercenary army that was running wild in the Roman provinces in Asia, and Crassus, as a newly elected consul, was determined to stop him.
Despite her aversion to Rome, Cornelia could not resist visiting the new mother and child. She left Claudia and her two children in Misenum and came to Rome to stay at her old home with Licinia and the baby Gaius. (All first-born males received their father’s name, and all the female children received the feminine version of the clan name, Sempronia in this case, just like Tiberius’ daughter. Yes, it can get confusing.)
Cornelia- the First Woman of Rome Page 15