The entire court and its audience were stunned by Laelia’s performance. Manilius sat there with his mouth open for uncounted moments before regaining his senses. He looked wide-eyed at Laelia and nodded his approval. “The court accepts your case. But we must wait for a statement from the defendant before making a ruling. The court will issue an order for Quintus Scaevola’s appearance in three weeks. You, Laelia Sapiens, will also be required to be here.”
Laelia acknowledged the judge’s decision and strode from the court, parasol held high, followed by the eyes of nearly everyone present. It was a huge, though only partial, victory. She stopped by my litter on her way out of the forum. She slipped into the curtained chamber and lay beside me. When the curtain fell closed behind her, she beamed with pride.
“Congratulations, Laelia, you put on quite a show.”
Laelia pulled her tunic up and showed me the bruise on her leg. She wet her handkerchief and wiped part of it away.
“You painted that on yourself? And the other one too?”
“It was either that or slam myself with a board.”
“Quintus never hit you?”
“Not in the last two weeks, but I had to show the jury something.”
“And your statement that you couldn’t conceive?”
She grinned. “It could be true.”
“But what if Quintus comes to the court? He’ll simply deny it all, and by then your bruises will have washed away.”
“Not if I know him. When I tell him he’s been called to the court, he’s sure to hit me. I’ll have a new bruise and a story he can’t deny.”
She leaned over and kissed me, then slipped out of the litter. “Thank you for coming. Only you of all the audience today have any idea what I’m trying to achieve.”
CHAPTER 86
Gaius arrived at my home unannounced two days after Laelia’s appearance in court. He stormed into the house when Nadia opened the door and immediately asked to see me. Nadia found me in the peristyle and wheeled me into the atrium where Gaius was waiting. He dismissed Nadia, as though she were his slave, and rolled me into the library to talk to “in private.”
Gaius, who was always so kind to me, stalked back and forth in the library before finally turning on me angrily. “I’ve heard some disturbing things about you, Sempronia. I’m hoping they’re not true, but I’m not sure how you can convince me otherwise.”
“What are you saying, Gaius? What things?”
“It’s that woman I met here in your library, Mucius Scaevola’s daughter-in-law.”
“Laelia. Yes, what about her? She still comes here to use the library.”
“And climb in bed with you?”
I was dumbstruck.
“So it’s true. Is that why she wants to file for a divorce?”
“Who have you been talking to?”
“Your housemaid told Philocrates that she found you in bed with the woman—both in a state of undress.”
“It happened. Yes. But it’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?”
Gaius had never attacked me like this before. I struggled for composure. “I did have a short relationship with the woman. I confess to being lonely, and on a few occasions she held me in bed and comforted me. Yes, that happened. And the last time—Nadia found us at an inopportune moment. But it’s something that has passed.”
Gaius glared at me. “How can you do this kind of thing when I’m actively engaged as a tribune? Every little scandal gets magnified. Your reputation becomes mine.”
He crossed the room twice then faced me again. “I have done some checking. The woman has a reputation for promiscuousness with men and women. I saw how she was dressed that day and how she looked at me. What are you doing with her? Do you want to become like her?”
“No, Gaius, please. I understand that distractions can interfere with your work, but what I did is in the past. I was responding to needs that I had at the time. And yes, now, I do regret it, but not because it was wrong, but because Laelia is—is difficult.”
“Difficult?” He shook his head. “Immoral is the word I would use. And she plans to divorce her husband. What does that mean? Does this woman think she’s a man?”
“It’s about equality, Gaius. A man can divorce a woman, but not the reverse. Much as you have made a stand against the authority of the Senate, she intends to make a stand against the institution of manus.”
“By engaging with other women?”
“Some marriages are bad, Gaius. Women can be trapped in a life where their husbands beat them or regularly denigrate them—treating them as little more than slaves. A woman deserves more than that or at least a way to escape from it.”
For all Gaius’ upbringing and his real respect for the intelligence of women, he did not understand. “Escape? As though the marriage bond is a prison?”
“Yes,” I said, gaining my own sense of indignation. “I experienced it in my marriage. Aemilianus belittled me for my ankle and my—my infertility. Life with him was like living in a prison.”
His face was more incomprehension. “Did Aemilianus beat you?”
“He didn’t beat me, but he struck me several times and was rough and always verbally abusive.”
Gaius shook his head and turned away from me as though it were all beneath him—in the same way Aemilianus had done—further infuriating me. He took a step toward the doorway.
“It was so bad I killed him,” I said to his back.
He spun around. “What?”
“There’s a story that might upend your political career!”
He came up close to me and spoke in a low voice. “You killed Aemilianus.”
“I poisoned him. He deserved it.”
Now it was Gaius who was stunned.
“I had to, Gaius. He treated me like dirt. He would throw me on the atrium floor and—and force himself on me like I was plunder. And if that’s not enough, he constantly criticized Tiberius’ work. Little comments. Everyday venom. Drip, drip, drip. In my mind he was as guilty as anyone in the Senate for what happened. I heard his good friend Laelius recommend that a statue of Publius Nasica be built—and Aemilianus didn’t even wince. And what was your experience with the man? He all but shackled your land commission! He had become a monster.”
Gaius just stared at me.
“You know something of revenge, Gaius. Aemilianus’ constant attack on me and our family demanded it.”
Gaius shook his head, shocked by my outburst, then hushed, “Who else knows?”
“Cornelia.”
Again he was dumbfounded.
“And she didn’t condemn me.”
He had no response.
“And Polybius found out.”
“And said nothing?”
“He didn’t want Aemilianus’ legacy spoiled. He knew right away it was murder. He smelled the poison. But it was many months before he confronted me. Cornelia defended me. I think his silence was to protect Cornelia’s reputation.”
Gaius paced around room utterly confounded by my revelation.
“Please, Gaius, don’t hate me.”
He kneeled before me. “Dear sister, you are more than I imagined. I accept your revenge against Aemilianus. He had changed. He became a different man. He attacked the legacy of our brother and me. I shed no tears when I learned of his death.” Gaius put his hand on my shoulder. “You are a Gracchi, Sempronia—like all of us, with more courage than might be wise.”
“There’s more.”
He visibly wilted.
“I poisoned Aemilianus, but the dose was too small. Someone found him after the poison had weakened him—and strangled him.”
“Who was that?”
“Polybius thought it might have been you or someone else on the land commission.”
He swung his head sideways in disbelief. “But you still don’t know?”
I thought of telling him about the note, but instead said, “No.”
Even with me in the chair, Gaiu
s embraced me. “None of this can come out. None of it.”
After Gaius left the house, I called Nadia into the library. She stood before me with her head down. She clearly knew why Gaius had been there.
“A few weeks ago you saw me in bed with my friend Laelia.”
She nodded.
“Then you told Philocrates and he told my brother.”
She continued to stare at the floor.
“I can’t have that, Nadia. You are my personal attendant. You know everything about me. I can’t have an attendant who gossips about my private life. I can’t. Can you give me any reason why I should trust you?”
Nadia knew that she had made a mistake and that I might very well decide to sell her—an absolutely terrible thing for a slave of her age who lived as well as she did. She got down on her knees in front of my chair. “I’m so sorry, my lady,” she said with tears in her eyes. “It was a terrible intrusion on your privacy. It will never happen again. Please know there is no other woman I would want as my master.”
“I’m sure you mean that, Nadia, but you have hurt me. I’m just not sure I can trust you any more.” She put her head on my knees and sobbed. Then I thought of it—where I needed her loyalty most. “Did you know that Aemilianus was murdered?”
Nadia sat up on her haunches, her tears suddenly gone. I could see it in her eyes.
“Did you?” I asked again. “Polybius said you heard something that night. What was it?”
Nadia looked around uncomfortably, then took a deep breath. “I heard Aemilianus gasping for breath. It frightened me. I knew something was wrong. Everyone else was asleep. Tarus was the wrong one to wake up, so I ran to Gaius’ home to get Philocrates.”
I thought of the thread.
“We both went into the library. Aemilianus was barely alive. He sputtered out that he had been poisoned. I knew how badly he treated you. I thought it might have been you. I coaxed Philocrates to finish him off. He had no love for the man, nor did I. Philocrates strangled him for Gaius. I asked him to do it for you.”
I sat back in my chair. “Who else knows this?”
“Only Philocrates.”
“And the poisoning?”
She bowed her head. “Polybius came by during one of your trips to Misenum. He began to search the house. I knew what he was after.” She looked up at me. “I got to the poison before he did—so he couldn’t find it—and you wouldn’t use it on yourself.”
“Who put the note beneath my bed?”
“I did. Philocrates wrote it.”
“What’s the favor he wants from me?”
“It’s something we both want.”
I sat back and took a deep breath. “What is it? Gold?”
“No, of course not, my lady. We are not that sort.” She sighed heavily. “We want you to free Aesop when he reaches his seventeenth year. We weren’t going to ask until he was nearly that age.”
How could I have been so wrong? I leaned forward and took her hands. “Yes, I will free Aesop when he’s seventeen.” I drew her up to her feet as I awkwardly stood and wrapped my arms around her. “I think we have found a new level of honesty between us. I can trust you if you can trust me.”
She wept openly on my shoulder. I knew the fear I had put in her heart. I had scared her—and she had scared me.
I saw Gaius two days later. I told him about Philocrates and Nadia and the note. For a second time Gaius repeated what I already knew. This could not get out. People would say that he had instructed his slave to kill Aemilianus. All the work he planned to do in the next year was at risk.
We both met with Philocrates and Nadia. We told them if anyone should find out, it meant trouble for all of us. Philocrates would be executed for his part. Nadia would likely be sold. A solemn pact was made between the four of us to never talk about it again. Even Cornelia would be left in the dark.
CHAPTER 87
Gaius never brought up Laelia again. Instead of hating me, he had gained respect for me. Cornelia’s arrival in Rome one week later, however, complicated things. Gaius did his best to ease the tensions. He stopped by once a week to brief both Cornelia and me on what he was doing. Licinia had accepted her fate and sunk into a defensive shell. Cornelia went the other way. She loved Gaius more than life itself. We all did. But Cornelia, in a stiff and sometimes unpleasant way, criticized and chided Gaius on every issue she did not agree with. He listened. Sometimes he made changes or adjustments in the language of a bill. Sometimes he did not. When I was alone with her, she wore me out venting her frustration. In the end, though, all of us soldiered on as Gaius continued on his visionary path of reform.
When Gaius was elected to a second tribuneship, backed by a following that contained both the plebeian and equestrian classes, he had become without question the most powerful man in Rome. The Senate was little more than an advisory committee to which he would air his proposals before taking them to the People’s Assembly. He began the term with what he hoped would be a noncontroversial proposal to create three new Roman colonies—one in Capua, one outside Tarentum called Neptonia, and one on the Bruttian coast named Scylacium. It was land reform, but without the confiscation of property. For a modest rental fee, three thousand landless Roman citizens would be given the opportunity to restart their lives in a location with clear potential for growth—prime farmland in the case of Capua and excellent harbors in the cases of Neptonia and Scylacium.
During the three-week period of public discussion, Livius Drusus made an alternative proposal calling for twelve colonies of three thousand colonist each, with no rental fee. This was essentially a much bigger and better deal than what Gaius had proposed. Drusus’ bill came with the open support of the Senate; Gaius’ did not. The People’s Assembly chose Drusus’ twelve colonies over Gaius’ three.
This was the Senate’s latest strategy to diminish Gaius’ influence. For every proposal that Gaius brought to the People’s Assembly, their man Drusus would make an even more generous offer. And in each case, Drusus’ bill came with the Senate’s blessing. If it were not such an ugly and disingenuous political strategy, one might have laughed at the extremes the Senate was going to undercut Gaius. Unfortunately it was succeeding. Gaius was in a position similar to what Tiberius had faced. He was part of a tribunate that had been compromised. Drusus was playing the part of Octavius but with a bigger box of political tools.
Gaius countered by having a fellow tribune, Gnaeus Rubrius, propose a colony, to be called Junonia, in the location once occupied by the city of Carthage. Each colonist would get a two hundred-iugerum plot of Africa’s rich farmland with no rental fee. And with Rubrius’ name on the bill, it passed. This was what Gaius was up against—a complete attack on his name that had little to do with the bills he offered.
One aspect of Drusus’ work that added to his popularity was that he never put himself in a position to administer his own bills or profit from them. His laws were for the people, not any advantage he might gain. Tiberius had put himself, his father-in-law, and his brother on the land reform commission, and Gaius had contracted and supervised the work crews that built the roads and granaries his bills put into law. Both brothers had been knee deep in everything they did. Though neither Gaius nor Tiberius sought personal gain from their projects, their altruism was not as obvious as Drusus’ complete separation from his proposals. Despite Gaius’ tremendous popularity, Drusus’ actions began to steadily erode his influence.
Gaius’ most ambitious project for his second tribuneship was to create a path to Roman citizenship for everyone in Italy. In many ways, this proposal was the reason he had risked seeking a second term. Shortly after Rubrius’ colony in Africa was accepted, Gaius rolled out his bill. It would give all Latins who lived south of the Po River full Roman citizenship. Latins already had some limited voting privileges, but this would include full voting rights and all the legal protections a Roman citizen enjoyed. The bill would also give suffrage to all Italians south of the Po River, as a first step toward
full citizenship. Roman citizenship was highly valued and gave one the right to a fair trial in any Roman province, and a certain level of dignitas in any part of the Mediterranean world. Both the Italians and the Latins were excited about the bill, but Roman citizens had already rejected a similar bill two years earlier. And with Drusus on the tribunate, passing this one would be considerably more difficult.
Many of the bills Gaius had passed in his first term included obvious benefits to the common man—a reduced price of wheat, checks and balances on the magistrates, and less required military duty. But universal citizenship was not so clearly advantageous to the plebeian, and in the eyes of the senatorial class, it was a calculated move by Gaius to increase his voting constituency.
“Let all these Latins in,” declared Fannius, once Gaius’ political partner, but now an outspoken adversary, “and real Romans will find that they are crowded out at the games and gladiatorial exhibitions. Why would any citizen possibly want to expand the privileges of a Roman to the rest of Italy? It will only result in less for us!”
Two days after Gaius read his proposal to the Senate, Drusus countered with a bill that made it a crime for a Roman officer to scourge an allied levy. It was a political smoke screen meant as a distraction. While the allies were of course thrilled by Drusus’ proposal, it was a nonsensical bill from the perspective of the Senate. How could a Roman officer possibly maintain the regimen of an allied company without strict and decisive corporal discipline? But the Senate did not care. They feared Gaius’ leadership skills and were intent on showing him up through any means possible.
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