Cornelia- the First Woman of Rome Page 11

  “I think military duty is certainly more dangerous than politics, Claudia, but what’s going on now,” Cornelia sighed, “is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. And I agree, Tiberius is changing and I’m not sure if it’s helping his cause or not.”

  I nodded. “We’ve all seen it, Claudia. I think it was inevitable once he decided to advance on land reform. He knew, we all knew, there would be stiff resistance from certain people.”

  “Certain people,” muttered Claudia. “His own cousin is his staunchest opponent. It’s terrible.”

  Cornelia stood up and paced uneasily across the atrium. The news that Tiberius was sealing the doors to the treasury had upset her. Like Tiberius, she rarely let her emotions show but they were now, and Claudia did not miss it.

  “See, Cornelia, even you’re distressed. It’s bad, very bad. I wish Aemilianus were back. Tiberius might listen to him. I’m afraid my father is leading him on.”

  Just her saying my husband’s name made me cringe. “Aemilianus disagrees with what Tiberius is doing,” I said. “They have argued the point several times already.”

  “I still wish he were back. He provides the high ground. I’m afraid of what these other men might do.”

  Cornelia sat beside Claudia and put her arm around her. Her face was taut and pale. “Rather than worry, let’s put our faith in Tiberius.” Her face expressed the opposite. “He’s picked a difficult fight. He needs our full support. Nothing good comes easily in Roman politics.”

  CHAPTER 28

  As a tribune, Tiberius did have the power to seal the treasury doors. And that was what he did. He effectively froze government payments and withdrawals, and all but shut down the city. Tiberius’ followers, the mass of plebeians, thought it was fantastic. They loved seeing one of their own thumbing his nose at the aristocracy. But the Senate was furious and was forced to meet without its paid staff. Some of the senators who had originally supported Tiberius now backed off, causing an even wider rift between the people and the aristocracy.

  According to Cornelia, the city could get by for about a month before the lack of payments would start to impact commerce. Apparently Tiberius was well aware of that and planned to use this timeline to leverage funds for his commission. Two weeks passed with neither side giving in. At the beginning of the third week, a close friend of Tiberius’, Decius Pennus, who had fought with him in Africa and then again in Numantia, was found dead in the street.

  Rumors that he had been murdered by Tiberius’ opponents spread through the populace, but there were no marks on the body or signs of a struggle. Decius was a young man and was not ill in any way. After an unsettling day or two of accusations, the initial fear of political retribution passed. When the body was cremated, however, a dark substance seeped out of the torso extinguishing the funeral pyre. When the priests tried to relight the fire, it would not restart. One of them said he had seen this before with the corpse of a man who had been poisoned. Rumors of foul play again raced through the city and cast even greater darkness over all that was happening.

  Tiberius believed Decius had been murdered. Following the funeral, he made a public statement by walking through Rome with Claudia and his two children, all dressed in black. Claudia, who had already been concerned, was now beside herself with worry. But as a good wife, she did not ask Tiberius to change his tactics, nor did Cornelia.

  With pressure building every day to open the treasury, Blossius advised Tiberius not to walk the streets alone and to always be surrounded by ten or more of his clients. Not since Rome’s last king, Lucius Tarquinius, was physically expelled from the city, some four hundred years earlier, had politics descended into violence. The carrying of a weapon within the city limits was illegal; even soldiers returning from a campaign had to remove their gladii before entering the city. Now when Tiberius walked the streets his clients carried small clubs or daggers concealed in their togas.

  Ten days after Decius’ death, when the tensions in Rome could not get any greater, short of setting off a civil uprising, I decided to spend the night at Cornelia’s home, something I often did when Aemilianus was out of town. A loud pounding on the front door awakened the household shortly after nightfall. Because of the political atmosphere, Cornelia had taken to having her house slave Coson stay up through the night as a precaution. Coson, who had spent nearly half his forty years in the Gracchi household, went to the door. Without opening it, he commanded whoever was there to go away and to come back in the morning. No one answered, but the knocking persisted.

  Coson went out the back of the house armed with a club and snuck up the alley to see who was there. When he reached the front of the house, he saw Physcon waiting on the street in his carriage with his full retinue of guards and slaves. One of his guards, who probably did not speak Latin, was on the doorstep, continuing to knock.

  Coson retraced his steps down the alley and entered the house through the back to inform Cornelia. Coson found her in the atrium in her robe. He told her who was at the door, and despite the disturbance and the late hour, Cornelia told him to welcome Physcon in. No one in the house was still asleep at this point. I found my robe and had worked my way down the stairs when Physcon entered. He wore a magnificent Tyrian purple cape, pulled around him like a cocoon with the hood over his head. Another man, also rather luxuriously dressed, and holding a scroll in one hand, accompanied Physcon. All was spoken in Greek.

  “I hope this is important, Physcon,” I heard Cornelia say as I approached. Her voice was thick with sleep, and her hair was undone and lay in waves over her shoulders down to the middle of her back. “It’s late, and we all know how dangerous the streets of Rome are after dark.” I have no idea how she managed to be so courteous.

  Physcon took a moment to catch his breath, then slipped the hood off his head, revealing an ornate gold crown on his shaved head. “My apologies for waking you, Cornelia.” He glanced at me as though to say the same. “I would never bother you at this hour if it weren’t important.” He turned to his companion who had the olive skin of a Persian. “I’d like to introduce you to Eudemus. He comes from Pergamum with the sad news of King Attalus’ death.”

  Cornelia tipped her head toward the man who was tall and thin with a black, pointed beard and keen black eyes. The man bowed. “It’s an honor, Cornelia. Your husband was a patron of our nation and is still remembered fondly.”

  “Thank you for saying that, sir,” she replied. “I believe he felt the same way about King Attalus. I give you and your people my deepest sympathies.”

  The man motioned with his hand and bowed again.

  Physcon got right to it. “Eudemus arrived today by ship. He knew I was in Rome and sought me out looking for a place to stay prior to going to the Senate to announce Attalus’ death and read his will.”

  Eudemus nodded and lifted the scroll in his hand.

  “Because of the late king’s acquaintance with your husband, and the recent position taken by your son, I suggested he might want to talk to Tiberius before going to the Senate. Your son lives close by, I believe. Could you send a slave to get him?”

  “Right now?” Cornelia asked in disbelief. I stood a distance off also wondering how this could involve Tiberius.

  “Yes,” said Physcon. “Attalus, like many of Rome’s client kings, has left a generous gift to the people of Rome. Perhaps this is a way to solve Tiberius’ current stalemate.”

  I am not sure if either Cornelia or I were awake enough to understand the implication of what he was offering, but something of Physcon’s urgency was compelling. Coson was standing right there. Cornelia sent him to get Tiberius, telling him to emphasize that it was important.

  After Coson left, Cornelia invited her guests to wait in the library, where Fidelia had lit a brazier and two oil lamps.

  “I’m curious, Physcon,” said Cornelia. “I can’t say I fully grasp what all of this means, but it appears you’re here to help my son. I would think his ideas run counter to yours. No one would eve
r call you a populist. Am I right?”

  The pharaoh nodded then smiled. “Regardless of my beliefs, I’m open to doing anything that will improve my standing with you.”

  This was not what Cornelia wanted to hear, but she smiled. Despite Physcon’s unwanted attention, she did like the man and would ordinarily enjoy his company except for his continuing push to marry her.

  Fidelia came into the room with a tray of cups and an amphora of watered wine. She offered the first cup to Physcon and the second to Eudemus, a seemingly reserved and quiet man, yet to say more than a few words.

  Tiberius entered the house through the back with Coson and came straight to the library. He wore a white tunic with a plain wool mantle draped over his head and shoulders. He gave an abbreviated bow to Physcon, well aware of his many offers of marriage to Cornelia, and another to the Pergamian envoy. “What is it?” he asked, already under tremendous stress and sleeping little. “The slave said something about King Attalus’ death and a will. I’m not sure how this applies to me.”

  “Thank you for coming, Tiberius.” Physcon smiled like a cat. “Eudemus,” he motioned to the envoy, “please read the king’s will. Then I think everyone will understand.”

  We all sat down as Eudemus unrolled the scroll and read the entire document. It was long and took some time, but the gist of it was clear. Attalus was leaving everything he owned to “the Roman people,” as it was worded in the will. This amounted to a huge piece of land in Asia and a tremendous amount of gold and silver. It was not uncommon for a king in a Roman province to write a will like this. It provided security against assassination from others in his court.

  After Eudemus rolled up the scroll, Tiberius looked at Physcon and nodded, then stood, holding back something close to a smirk. He paced across the room several times to gather his thoughts. Cornelia seemed to have some insight, but I had none.

  Tiberius stopped pacing, clearly elated. “Pharaoh, I believe I have misjudged you all these years. You have done me a great service. I have one request of the king’s envoy.” He turned to Eudemus. “Allow me to make the announcement. I will do it as soon as I can gather the People’s Assembly. It may take a couple of days, but if I have understood the will correctly, Attalus has bequeathed his fortune to the Roman people not the Senate.”

  Eudemus said that was his reading also. And he agreed to give Tiberius the honor of making the announcement to the Assembly.

  Tiberius’ eyes swung to Cornelia then to me. “This money can be used to fund the commission and help those who are given land to start their lives over again. Nothing could be better. Once the people give me permission to use this money for the commission I can open the treasury and the business of Rome can continue.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Three days after the envoy’s arrival, without any notice to the Senate about the will or what he intended to do, Tiberius gathered the tribunate and the People’s Assembly at Mars Field. He began the Assembly by having the herald read Attalus’ will. When the herald was done, Tiberius explained what the will meant to the assembled tribes. He had already gone through this with the other tribunes, who were both shocked and thrilled by the news. They were also somewhat uneasy about Tiberius’ plans for the endowment, but no one stepped up to argue against him, mainly because they believed he had become too popular to obstruct.

  Tiberius then had the herald read a bill he had written with Appius and Blossius the day before. It authorized the use of King Attalus’ bequest for the implementation of the land reform bill. This was all Tiberius really needed, but he took it a step further. A second part of the bill authorized the People’s Assembly to manage the huge windfall of land, something that the Senate would have ordinarily done as part of foreign policy.

  The Assembly voted unanimously to support both parts of the bill. When the voting was completed and the tribes had dispersed, Tiberius went to the Senate and told them he had removed his seal from the treasury doors. This was a welcome surprise, but when Tiberius went on to inform them of Attalus’ death and the bill that had just been passed, they were furious and shouted him down. When Tiberius stalked out of the Curia, he was immediately surrounded by his clients, now a horde of fifty men. They quickly ushered him across town to his home, where interested citizens were already lining up to talk to him.

  One of the most outspoken senators, Quintus Pompeius, took the floor after Tiberius’ departure. “Tiberius Gracchus has gone too far. He’s used one trick after another to transform the People’s Assembly into a weapon to use against the Senate. Twice now he has proposed and passed laws without conferring with us. He clearly sees no need for our advice or our opinions. The man is becoming a demagogue. I believe he’s dangerous.”

  The majority of the Senate applauded Pompeius’ angry comments. Appius and Crassus simply sat back and watched, well aware of how powerful their friend and protégé had become.

  “I live only a few houses from Tiberius, and not much farther from his mother Cornelia,” continued Pompeius. “Four nights ago, I was out late and happened to see Tiberius enter his mother’s home. I became curious when I noticed a large carriage parked in front of the house. I had my slave go around to the back of the house to look inside, and though he couldn’t hear what was said, he told me that he saw a foreigner, presumably King Attalus’ envoy, present Tiberius with a purple robe and a diadem of gold. My slave watched Tiberius try them both on. This man wants more than control of the People’s Assembly, he wants to be king.”

  “Pompeius is right. He seeks a crown,” Publius Nasica shouted. “Something must be done to contain this madman.”

  Quintus Metellus, who had once supported Tiberius but was badly upset by his handling of Attalus’ will, stood up and echoed Pompeius’ words. “He’s determined to run this nation without the Senate. That’s tyranny!”

  Co-consul Mucius Scaevola, seated before the assembly of senators, stood and raised his hands. He also had been disturbed by Tiberius’ latest maneuver. Putting control of a Roman province in the hands of the People’s Assembly was a deliberate insult to the Senate and him, but he didn’t like what he was hearing. “Let’s be cautious in what we say here today, senators. I believe that Pompeius’ concerns are legitimate. Tiberius has tremendous popularity among the plebs. This is a man I have assisted, though I won’t any longer. Still I’m not convinced his goal is a crown.”

  “Then you’re a fool!” shouted Publius Nasica.

  “But what can be done?” cried out a senator in the back. “He’s a tribune. He’s untouchable.”

  Pompeius advanced to the center of the floor and scanned the amphitheater with a heavy glower. “He might be untouchable now. But he has broken the law twice—by deposing Marcus Octavius and by usurping Attalus’ will. I pledge to the gods that the moment his tribuneship ends I will indict him for these criminal acts. This man must be exiled from Rome before he brings it down around us.”

  This brought a great standing cheer from the Senate. Appius and Crassus were among the few who remained seated.

  CHAPTER 30

  Despite all the incriminations against him, Tiberius proceeded through the summer and fall with the work that he believed in so strongly. With Gaius still in Spain, this meant only Tiberius and his father-in-law, now fighting criticism himself, ran the commission. Fortunately the work allowed both men an opportunity to get away. While the Senate stewed in Rome, the two men traveled north to assess the public lands in Eturia and the Po Valley, beginning with tracts that were unclaimed to avoid direct confrontation with some of Tiberius’ most rabid detractors. By midsummer they had provided thirty-iugerum plots to nearly a thousand landless Roman citizens. The money from King Attalus was all that made it possible.

  One evening during the time when Tiberius was traveling with Appius and Aemilianus was still in Spain, I invited my sister-in-law Claudia, Publius Crassus and his wife Claudia, their daughter Licinia, and Cornelia over for dinner. My cook, an elderly and irritable Etruscan by the name of Vel
a, roasted quail on the outside hearth and served it with lentil stew and baked apples. Crassus had a cup of mulsum—wine sweetened with honey—and all of the women, except me, had posca. I had half a cup of the mulsum to help with the ache in my ankle.

  When the meal was over, we remained in the triclinium to talk. I had specifically invited Crassus hoping he could relieve my sister-in-law’s concern for her husband’s safety. Up to this point, the evening had been an exchange of pleasantries among family. I introduced the topic of politics, which everyone had been studiously avoiding.

  “With Appius and Tiberius due home soon, Crassus, I was wondering if you could give us some insight as to what they might expect from the Senate when they return.”

  My sister-in-law interrupted before Crassus had a chance to answer. “Will they really indict him once his term as tribune is completed?”

  Crassus was not as aggressive politically as Appius. He tended to work at bridging differences in the Senate, and was known more for his capacity to get things accomplished behind the scenes than the delivery of powerful speeches. If anyone held the pulse of the Senate, it was this man.

  He answered Claudia’s question before getting to mine. “Yes, I think we can count on Pompeius pushing for an indictment. He’s repeated this threat at every meeting of the Senate I’ve attended. ”

  “Could he be convicted?” continued Claudia.

  “I believe there’s a good argument supporting Tiberius’ expulsion of Octavius from the tribunate. That I’m not so worried about. And his use of King Attalus’ money to pay for the business of land reform also stands on firm enough ground. But his decision to circumvent the Senate and place the management of Attalus’ land in the hands of the People’s Assembly will be very difficult to defend. That worries me. And because of it, Sempronia,” he looked at me, “he’ll have trouble with the Senate from here on out.”