Roma - Saylor Steven - Страница 40
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“It’s true that our lives have taken different paths in recent years,” said Gnaeus. “But that may be about to change.”
“How so? Am I to leave the Senate, and the construction projects they’ve entrusted to me, and join you in battle? I was never very good at it. I suppose I could be your spearbearer, or hold open the gate of an enemy city while you rush inside.”
“I mean quite the opposite. I shall be invading your domain.”
“My construction projects?”
“No! I mean the Senate.”
“What are you saying?”
Gnaeus smiled. “Cominius promised me as much, yesterday, after he invited me onto his chariot. As we passed all those cheering people, he whispered in my ear, ‘See how they love you, my boy! Amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it! A man like you belongs in the Senate, where you can do even more good for Roma than you did at Corioli. I shall make a special appointment, and for that alone, men will say my year as consul was well spent.’”
“But Gnaeus, this is wonderful! Except that now I truly have no idea what I should call you. Senator? Coriolanus? Senator Gnaeus Marcius Coriolanus—that’s a mouthful!”
“Then stuff your mouth with chickpeas and millet instead,” said Gnaeus. He laughed, but a moment later Titus saw that Gnaeus’s lips were silently mouthing his impressive new title, and that it pleased him.
“How the gods must love you! You always said you’d become Roma’s greatest warrior, and so you have. Now you can become Roma’s most beloved politician. Cominius is no fool. He wouldn’t appoint you to the Senate if he didn’t see great potential in you. Appius Claudius sees it, too. Mark my words, in due course, you shall be elected consul.”
“Perhaps. In the meantime, I shall need someone to teach me the ins and outs of the Senate. You’re the man for that, Titus.”
“I hardly think so! Appius Claudius is your man. He took me under his wing when I entered the Senate. It was thanks to his influence that I was put in charge of building the Temple of Ceres. He’ll do the same for you, insofar as such a capable fellow needs to be taken under anyone’s wing.”
“Claudius is a good man to know. But nothing takes the place of a boyhood friend. When the odds are against me, it’s to you I’ll turn, Titus.” Gnaeus put his hand on Titus’s shoulder.
Titus nodded. “Coriolanus honors me.”
Gnaeus leaned back and smiled. “So—how goes the work on the Temple of Ceres?”
“A subject in which you have no interest!”
“No interest as a soldier, perhaps. But as a senator, I may have a great deal of interest in the project.”
“Then tomorrow you shall come and see for yourself. It’s a prominent location, quite spectacular—a spur of the Aventine that looms above the starting gates of the Circus Maximus. It’s in the Etruscan araeostyle, just like the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline. Not as large, but it will be quite grandly decorated. Vulca is no longer with us, alas, but we’ve employed the very best Etruscan sculptors for the terra-cotta statue of Ceres. To execute the frescoes and reliefs on the walls, we’ve brought in two Greek artists, Gorgasus and Damophilus. They’re almost done, and their work is amazing! And…” Titus realized that Gnaeus was not paying attention. He was staring into the middle distance with a distracted look.
Gnaeus noticed that Titus had stopped speaking, and flashed a wry smile. “You’re right, Titus. I care nothing about the temple’s architecture or its adornments. But I do care about the politics behind it.”
“Famine,” said Titus bluntly. “It was the famine three years ago that inspired the building of the temple. So many men were called to war that there was no one to sow the crops that year, and the fields that were sown were devastated by more warfare. Roma had insufficient stores in reserve, and people starved—the poorer people, anyway. My father also died that year—not directly from the famine, because our sort never went hungry, but from a fever; disease goes hand in hand with famine, and from a fever no man is safe. The Sibylline Books were consulted. It was decreed that a temple should be dedicated to Ceres. To prevent another famine, we would appeal to the goddess of the harvest. Sometimes the advice of the Sibylline verses actually makes sense!”
“Or was there another agenda?” said Gnaeus. His tone was suddenly grave. “Ceres is a favorite deity of the plebeians. Is it not true that the annual festival to commemorate her temple will be organized exclusively by plebeians, just as the annual festival to commemorate the Temple of Jupiter is organized by patricians?”
“Yes. Thus we’ll have a new plebeian festival to match the old patrician festival. What’s wrong with that?” asked Titus, with a sigh. He knew where Gnaeus’s argument was leading, for he had heard it before, from Appius Claudius; it was really quite amazing, how closely Gnaeus’s attitudes matched those of Titus’s father-in-law. Both men were endlessly suspicious of anything that might advance the political power of the plebeians. Claudius had maneuvered to have Titus oversee construction of the Temple of Ceres not because he approved of the project, but for reasons quite the opposite: “If it must be done, then better we put you in charge of the project, my boy, rather than some sycophant who wishes only to curry favor with the mob!”
Titus himself was largely apathetic about politics; if anything, he was sympathetic to the struggles of the plebs. His chief priorities were to determine the best design for any given project, to employ the best artists and artisans at the best prices, and to see the building progress from imagination to splendid reality.
Gnaeus shook his head. “If the plebeians continue to have their way, Titus, one morning you may wake up in a world you no longer recognize, where the lowest have usurped the highest, and the age-old prestige of a name like Potitius counts for nothing. Can you not see that the new plebeian festival indicates a dangerous shift in the balance of power? Since the birth of the republic, by this means and that, in small ways and large, the plebeian masses have ceaselessly conspired to wrest power from the patricians, always to the detriment of Roma’s security and prosperity.”
“Some would say they’ve merely been trying to wriggle out from under the patrician heel,” said Titus.
“They’ve refused to pay their debts, which is robbery! Some have refused military service, which is treason! And last year, they pulled the most outrageous stunt of all, their so-called ‘secession’ from the city. Thousands of them—men, women, and children—packed their things and left Roma altogether. They brought the city to a standstill, and refused to come back until their demands were met.”
“Were their demands unreasonable?”
“Of course they were! Appius Claudius fought like a lion to stop his fellow senators from capitulating, but they did. The plebs were granted their demands and that ended the secession. Now they’re allowed to elect their own magistrates. And what will these so-called aediles of the plebs do?”
“Their primary function is sacred—to guard the new Temple of Ceres.”
“And what will be kept in the temple? An archive of the Senate’s decrees. That was another of the plebs’ demands, that all the decrees of the Senate should be written down, so anyone who wishes may search them for discrepancies and scrutinize them for unfair treatment of the plebs.”
“Is it a bad thing, Gnaeus, that laws and proclamations should be written down? The kings ruled by spoken words. They could make promises with one breath and take them back with another. They could ruin a man’s life on a whim, then disclaim all responsibility. My grandfather, may Hercules bless him, taught me to respect the written word. That the laws should be duly and precisely recorded is not a bad thing.”
Gnaeus was unswayed. “Even worse than the aediles—much worse—are these other officers whom the plebeians can now elect, the so-called tribunes. From ancient times the people have been divided into tribes, so they call these representatives their tribunes—but I call them bullies and upstarts! Under the pretext of protecting common citizens from the alleged abuses of magistrates and senators, these tribunes of the plebs can summarily confiscate the property of anyone—anyone!—who they deem has threatened the physical well-being of a citizen. And where will the confiscated goods be deposited? In the Temple of Ceres, under guard of the aediles! And if any man should dare to threaten or in any way interfere with a tribune, that man can be exiled or even put to death!”
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