Cornelia- the First Woman of Rome Read online

  Claudia had dressed for the occasion. Her dress was fine wool, dyed a mallard green, pinned with emerald brooches at the shoulders and belted below her breasts with a matching sash. Overtop she had draped herself in a nearly transparent palla of pale green that wafted in the air as she walked. She had painted her lips red and her face a fashionable pale white. Her hair was dyed black and assembled on top of her head in a cobra-like hood of horizontal rolls and coiled plaits. She could not have been more eager to introduce Gaius to her daughter. The two families had known each other for several generations as leading members of the popularis faction of the Senate. Gaius had seen Licinia only once before, prior to the marriage arrangement, when he was nine and she was five.

  Gaius wore a bright white wool toga over a white tunic that reached to just above his knees. A downy brown beard trimmed his jaw line and traced a light shadow above his lip. He bowed to Claudia. “Thank you for inviting me to your home,” he said stiffly.

  “Gaius, it’s such a pleasure to have you here. Licinia is in the peristyle. I’ll introduce you.”

  Gaius followed Claudia through the enormous atrium. The columns that formed the portico were five feet in diameter and three-stories high. Hand-painted flowers and vines wrapped around the columns all the way to the top. Water lilies covered half the surface of the atrium pool. Bronze figurines of satyrs and nymphs were perched on the edge, daring to jump in. Gaius spotted several orange and white carp gliding in and out beneath the lily pads. Fifty imagines, wax masks cast from the faces of one of Rome’s oldest families, decorated the atrium walls, adding to the sense of history and tradition in the huge villa.

  Gaius saw her from a distance sitting on a limestone bench in the back corner of the garden. The young woman was wearing a sleeveless white silk stola with a nearly transparent marigold yellow palla spun around her shoulders. A matching sash ran just below her breasts that were too small yet to need a breast band. A hint of her budding nipples showed beneath the fine silk. Claudia had dressed Licinia for a specific look, not too alluring, not too innocent, then sprinkled her with attar of roses.

  Licinia’s hair was auburn and pulled up on top of her head in a tight bun. The loose strands of hair that fell about her neck showed red in the sunlight. She stood as Gaius entered the peristyle with her mother, then lowered her eyes as they approached. Claudia, basking in the thrill of being the matchmaker, introduced them. “Gaius, this is my daughter, Licinia. Licinia, this is Gaius Gracchus, your future husband.”

  Blushing slightly and fighting a self-conscious smile, Licinia lifted her eyes. “I’m pleased to meet you, Gaius.” Somewhat slight of frame, Licinia was a beautiful young girl at the edge of womanhood with large, penetrating green eyes that did not miss a thing.

  Gaius appeared to have been struck by a bolt of lightning. A well-spoken youth of tremendous confidence suddenly had no idea what to say or do—except not let his mouth fall open. He managed to mutter, “The pleasure is mine, Licinia.”

  Claudia watched them like a mother hen. She and Cornelia had been planning this moment since Licinia’s seventh year. Together they would track the couple’s progress through the yearlong premarriage process.

  Licinia had been tutored in Greek tragedy, history, philosophy and astronomy just as Gaius had, even by some of the same men. Until this moment, however, Gaius had focused his last few years on military exercises and physical endurance, not history and literature, but he felt Licinia’s intelligence from her first few words. Claudia, the hovering mother, duly noted the impact her daughter had on him.

  The three of them walked through the garden. Claudia pointed out her most prized flowers while Licinia and Gaius traded darting looks and finally a few tentative smiles.

  “This is one my favorite fragrances.” When Claudia bent over to smell the calla lily, Gaius and Licinia dared to gaze into each other’s eyes for the first time. It was as much curiosity about this person they would spend the rest of their lives with as something much more visceral. They were both fascinated with each other and felt an immediate attraction.

  Claudia lifted her nose from the lily in time to catch them rapt on each other. She had always believed that the first meeting provided an important insight into a marriage. Living together was always easier if it started with some call to the physical in both partners. And that was what she saw. She congratulated herself for making such a good match.

  After the three of them had toured the garden, they returned to the limestone bench. This first meeting they sat three across with Licinia’s mother in the middle. A house slave came out to the peristyle with a tray containing a bowl of olives and some hardboiled quail eggs. Gaius took two olives. Claudia took an egg. Licinia declined food, but produced a pair of cubed bones from the folds of her sash. “Mother, could we play a game of dice?”

  Claudia gasped. “Of course not, Licinia. Put those away.”

  Gaius chuckled, allowing a bit of himself to show. He knew several dice games that the soldiers played in camp. “What game were you thinking of?”

  Licinia revealed an impish grin. “Three toe five.”

  “No, no,” said Claudia. She snatched the dice from her daughter’s hand. “There’ll be no dice games this afternoon. We’ll do as we planned. You’ll play the kithara for Gaius.”

  Licinia gave a glance to Gaius, then said, “Yes, Mother.” She got up to retrieve the u-shaped, five-string instrument from the atrium. When she returned, she sat on the bench and played two songs with great finesse and skill. She tended to keep her eyes on the strings, but on several occasions she looked up at Gaius and drew a smile from him. She sang during the second song, and much like her playing, her voice was pleasing and strong. Gaius applauded politely after both performances. Although music was not something he had great interest in, he enjoyed listening to Licinia play.

  When the music ended, Claudia asked Gaius what he did for pleasure.

  “Soldier,” he said. “I just came back from my first campaign. When I have free time, I practice my technique with a sword and a javelin.”

  “But that’s not really something one does for pleasure, Gaius,” said Claudia.

  “It is for me. Perfection of my skills gives me great pleasure.”

  “What do you know about your brother’s plan for land reform?” asked Licinia, looking directly at him.

  The question surprised her mother. “What do you know about that, Licinia?”

  “I know that Tiberius is a tribune, and I’ve overheard Father talking about land redistribution with his friends. It sounds exciting. Are you involved in this work, Gaius?”

  Gaius was impressed that Licinia knew about his brother. After growing up in his mother’s house, one thing he knew he wanted in a wife was intelligence. “I’ve been in Spain for eight months, so I haven’t taken part,” he said, somewhat embarrassed he did not know more than he did. “But I believe my brother is right, and what he hopes to do is for the betterment of Rome.”

  “I agree,” said Licinia. “Would you want to be a tribune like your brother?”

  Gaius tilted his head, as though he had never thought about it. “Right now, Licinia, I prefer military life to politics, and I can’t imagine that changing. I feel more comfortable with a javelin in my hand than speaking in front of a crowd.”

  “That might change, Gaius,” said Claudia, “as you grow older.”

  “I can’t say,” replied Gaius, unused to talking so much about himself.

  Claudia smiled at the young man. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to get into the ugly business of politics, but she knew the dedication his family, and hers also, had to progressive ideals. Few men in either family had not been part of the effort.

  “I almost forgot,” said Gaius. He withdrew the iron ring Cornelia had given him from the sinus of his toga, the portion of cloth that draped over his left arm. “I would like you, Licinia,” he lowered his eyes, “to be my wife.”

  “It has been fated,” she said to the man she
had only just met. She offered him her hand, and he slid the ring over her finger in a symbolic act as old as time. An awkward silence stretched out between them as Claudia watched, trying to keep her joy contained.

  Gaius broke the spell. “What do you enjoy most, Licinia?”

  Licinia smiled, adding to her radiance. “I enjoy weaving and playing the kithara,” she said. “But I like reading most of all—especially the Greek comedies.”

  “I know a few by Euripides and Aristophanes—but only because my tutors made me read them.”

  “But you liked them?”

  Gaius could not help smiling. He liked this young woman. “Yes, I remember The Clouds very well. It’s my favorite.”

  “And very funny!” exclaimed Licinia, thrilled that this handsome young man knew Aristophanes.

  The visit was tightly managed by Claudia and mostly superficial. When Gaius got up to leave he was both elated and confused. Licinia was pretty and smart and had a sense of humor. He felt very lucky to have been so fortunately paired. But he knew nothing about courtship, and this woman seemed very clever. He had no idea what to do next, but he agreed to come back before he left again for Spain. The wedding was set for the following spring. They would meet several more times before then.

  Philocrates watched Gaius closely as he came out of the villa. As soon as their eyes met, Gaius burst into a big grin.

  “That bad?” said the slave, at ease enough with his master to tease him.

  Gaius contained his grin, then blushed and smiled in spite of himself. “Yes, absolutely awful,” he said with clear sarcasm.

  “You’re pleased.”

  Gaius nodded, unable to hide his joy. When he entered his home, he was whistling one of the songs Licinia had played on her kithara. Cornelia heard him come in.

  “Gaius,” she called out from the atrium. “I didn’t know you could whistle.”

  Gaius suddenly stopped whistling. “I didn’t even know I was.”

  Cornelia nodded to herself. “What did you think of Licinia?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Gaius mumbled.

  Cornelia came up to him and gave him a brief embrace. “You didn’t like her?”

  He stared at the floor. “She was a nice girl, I guess.”

  “Do you look forward to seeing her again?”

  Gaius glanced up at his mother. “Yes, I think so.” Then he hurried off to the back of the house to polish his armor.

  CHAPTER 15

  The shoemaker returned to my house during the same week that Gaius met Licinia. He had made a sandal with six long leather straps that crisscrossed around my ankle and halfway up my calf. It worked well, but had to be cinched very tightly and would take some getting used to. I decided to test it by walking to Cornelia’s house. The sun was out and the day was warm enough to need only a wool mantle over my stola. Tarus accompanied me and waited outside when I went in.

  Cornelia noticed the change right away. “Sempronia, you don’t seem to be limping,” she said as we walked through the house to the garden. “Is your ankle feeling better?”

  I smiled, pleased by the success of my short hike to her home. “I followed Asclepius’ advice and had a special sandal made. Take a look.”

  I sat on a bench in the peristyle and lifted the hem of my stola and the tunic beneath. It may have worked, but even after the brief walk, the pressure of the straps was obvious.

  “It looks painful,” said Cornelia, reaching down to touch the straps that spiraled up my leg.

  “Oh, it’s not so bad,” I lied, dropping my stola to cover it. “I prefer the tightness to the embarrassment of a limp.”

  Cornelia’s look was a sad one. “Well, I’m not so sure. You might try wearing a sock with it.” She bent over and kissed me on the forehead.

  I remained seated as Cornelia moved through her rose bushes looking for ripe hips. Coson, Cornelia’s lead male slave and a sturdy Macedonian, came out to the peristyle.

  “An ornate carriage has pulled up in front of the house, my lady. I believe it’s the King of Egypt. Fidelia’s at the door with him now.”

  Cornelia straightened up. It had been six months since Physcon’s last unannounced visit. She looked at me and shook her head. “Tell Fidelia to bring the pharaoh back to the garden.”

  We heard the slap of his sandals on the tiles as he strode through the atrium. He entered the peristyle huffing and puffing from the short walk, looking like a blousy purple tent in his long silk robe. He had shaved his head and let his beard grow. It was dyed black, manicured and curled. He smiled immediately upon seeing Cornelia. I doubt he even saw me sitting off to the edge of the garden. Cornelia greeted him as though she were expecting him.

  Physcon took her hand. “Cornelia, fortune has it that I’m in Rome again, perhaps all month. There’s just time enough for me to show you something I’ve bought for you.”

  “My friendship is free, Physcon, but my hand cannot be bought.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Cornelia.” He grinned. “That doesn’t mean I can’t give you a gift.”

  Cornelia shook her head at her friend, then smiled. “Yes, and it would be impolite of me not to accept one.”

  “My carriage is out front. I must take you to it.” At this point, he saw me and tilted his head in recognition.

  Cornelia bent over a rose bush and delved into one of the blossoms with her fingers. “Take me to it? I’m not really available to leave right now. I have things I’ve chosen to do today.”

  Physcon laughed, a laugh as big as he was. “You have time for picking bugs from those flowers but not for me. No, we’re going to Misenum. It’s a beautiful trip along the coast and the weather is gorgeous.”

  “I don’t think so. That’s five days south of here. Besides what kind of gift involves traveling to Misenum?”

  “A lovely villa on the cape overlooking the Bay of Naples.”

  Cornelia actually laughed. “Physcon, you’re overdoing it, please. It sounds wonderful. But gifts no matter how large or impressive won’t change my mind about marriage. I’m sorry.”

  “Rome is such a dirty place. The time away would do you good.”

  “That I won’t argue. But you must know that continuing to press me will not get you what you want. Come visit whenever you are in Rome. You are always welcome to join us in our circle. No more gifts though.”

  Physcon’s overwhelming good mood suddenly gave way to disappointment. He took a deep breath. “The house is yours anyway. And there will be a time when I will take you there to see it. Allow me that.”

  Cornelia sighed. “Perhaps one day. But please respect me on this.”

  Physcon bowed his head, then looked up at Cornelia. “Only a very strong woman can resist the offers of a man as wealthy as I am. Instead of making me think I’ve made a mistake, it assures me that I haven’t. There is no other woman in the world I could want as much as I want you. I’ll trouble you no longer today, but expect me back. I’m sorry to have interrupted.” Again he acknowledged me. “Good day.” He turned and left the house.

  “That was sudden, Mother. Do you think he’s angry?”

  Cornelia turned to me and shook her head, clearly unsettled by Physcon’s persistence.

  “At least he only comes to Rome a few times a year.”

  She nodded. “A villa on the Bay of Naples? Maybe I’m the fool, not him.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s a ruthless man who killed his brother and nephew and has married both of his sisters. He’s a gentleman here to you, but his life is not something you want to be a part of.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. Besides, Tiberius has just been elected to the tribunate. I’m too worried about him to go anywhere.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Tiberius made his land reform bill public two months after his election. Following the advice of Blossius and Appius, he had passed out copies of the bill in the forum instead of the traditional method of reading it to the Senate. Once this was done, Tiberius had three weeks
to promulgate the bill. Contiones, small informal gatherings, were held all over the city and the outlying region to give the voters a chance to read and discuss the bill with the current magistrates. Tiberius acted as the bill’s ambassador, attending as many contiones as he could to make sure the people understood all that he was trying to accomplish and why.

  During this three-week period Cornelia’s nephew and my cousin, Publius Nasica, came to her home. It was in the afternoon. I was there with Cornelia in the atrium when Fidelia announced that the pontiff was there to talk to Cornelia. They were not close, and Cornelia was surprised that he should be there at all.

  Fidelia brought Publius Nasica into the atrium where we sat beside a brazier stoked with chunks of oak. His toga was emblazoned with a wide purple stripe, signifying that he was also a senator. The man had known me since childhood, and of course, he knew Aemilianus, but the pontiff was associated with the other political faction, the optimates, not the populares.

  “I’m concerned about your son, Cornelia,” Publius said, deigning to glance at me. “Tiberius is taking his position as tribune a little too—seriously.”

  “How so?” asked Cornelia, though she knew very well what he meant.

  “I’m sure you’re aware of the land reform bill he’s written.”

  Cornelia nodded.

  “I think it’s a big mistake. It’s likely to cause him a lot of trouble.”

  “And why are you telling me this, Publius?”

  “Many important people in the Senate are upset. Many. He didn’t even have the courtesy of reading it to the Senate before presenting it to the public. You would save Tiberius a lot of embarrassment if you could convince him to rescind his bill.”

  “Have you talked to him about it?”

  Publius grimaced and pulled at his beard. “We exchanged a few words prior to the election. But my words mean little to him. Yours will have more influence than mine ever will.”

  “Where do you stand on the issue?”