Roma.The novel of ancient Rome - Saylor Steven - Страница 116
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“There must also be reform in the courts. Since time immemorial, senators alone have held the right to sit in judgment over the rest of the citizenry. They run the civil and the criminal courts. They even judge themselves; when a provincial governor is charged with extortion, his fellow senators determine his innocence or guilt. To the pool of three hundred senators eligible to serve as judges, I propose adding three hundred Equestrians. The court system will receive a badly needed shake-up, and perhaps we will begin to see true accountability!
“This, my friends, sums up the program that was overwhelmingly endorsed by the voters today. We shall win over the poorer citizens with the grain subsidy, state employment, and new colonies. We shall win over the wealthy Equestrians with lucrative public contracts and new judicial privileges. Pity the poor senators-they shall have nothing left but their dignity!”
The guests warmly applauded. Someone shouted, “What about land reform?”
Gaius grimaced, then forced a brittle smile. “Yes, what about land reform? Well, over the last nine years, much of the necessary redistribution of land has already been carried out. Ironic, isn’t it? My brother Tiberius saw the overwhelming need for land reform. He bravely spoke for it, pressed for it-and for doing so, he was murdered. Then his murderers realized that reform was inevitable-either that, or a revolution-and the next thing you know, the cynical vipers were paying lip-service to Tiberius’s goals, watering down his legislation and slapping their own names on it, then patting themselves on the back and congratulating one another for saving the Republic!”
Gaius’s voice had risen to a shrill pitch. A servant standing behind him raised a pipe to his lips and blew a low note. The tension in the room was replaced by laughter and scattered applause. Gaius visibly relaxed. He smiled, turned about, and put his arm around the short, balding pipe player.
“You all know Licinius; he’s one of my wife’s freedmen. Licinius helps me practice an orator’s trick my brother taught me. Whenever I start to get a little out of hand-too emotional, too heated-Licinius blows a note on his pipe, and I rein myself in. He has me well trained, don’t you think?”
Gaius gave the man a kiss on his bald pate. The guests crowed with laughter.
“Well, then, back to my speech. We come to the capstone, the most ambitious project of all: to extend full citizenship to all of Roma’s allies throughout Italy. For years, we’ve witnessed abuses by Roman magistrates against the subject people of Italy, who pay taxes and fight in the legions alongside us, but without the privileges of full citizenship. Give them that gift, and Roma will acquire a massive influx of loyal new citizens-and those new voters will remember the tribune who gained their rights for them. With such a power base, that tribune could guide Roma to her highest destiny.”
Gaius lowered his eyes. “When I was a boy, Blossius taught me about the Golden Age of Athens, and about the great leader who made that Golden Age possible, a man of extraordinary vision called Pericles. Roma, for all her achievements, has yet to enter her Golden Age. But, with this election, I pray to the gods that Roma has at last found her Pericles.”
Lucius, listening, drew a sharp breath. This was a new rhetorical flourish; Gaius had never before spoken of a Golden Age, or compared himself to Pericles. This was heady stuff. It hinted at ambitions far beyond those of Tiberius. Listening to such talk, Lucius felt a thrill of excitement, but also a tremor of apprehension. Glancing at the faces of his mother, Licinia, and Cornelia, he saw the same mixed reaction.
Gaius ended on a somber note. “Everywhere I traveled in the campaign for tribune, men asked me two questions: What persuaded you to enter the campaign? And do you not fear the same fate that befell your brother?
“To those citizens, and to you here tonight, I give this answer: It was a dream that stirred me to put aside fear and sloth, and to stop hiding from the world. In the dream, Tiberius called my name. He said to me, ‘Brother, why do you tarry? There’s no escaping destiny. One life and one death is appointed for us both-spend the one, and meet the other, and do both in the service of the people.’”
All the guests had heard this story before, during the election campaign. Still, hearing it again on this joyous occasion, they broke into rapturous applause. Many shed tears.
His victory speech concluded, Gaius walked among the guests, making a point to personally thank each one. Then he withdrew to a quiet corner with his mother, his wife, Menenia, and Lucius.
“How polished you’ve become!” said Menenia. “Do you know, I think you’re an even finer orator than your brother was. If only Blossius could hear you! It’s sweet that you honor him in your speeches.”
“But it does give me a shiver,” said Cornelia, “to hear that story about your dream of Tiberius. To speak so lightly of death…”
“It’s a great story, Mother. You saw how they loved it; I get that same reaction every time I tell it. Besides, it’s true. I really did have such a dream, and it changed my life.”
“But to prophesy your own death…”
“There’s no oracular vision involved. Of course I’ll die serving the people! Perhaps while making a speech in the Forum, perhaps while leading an army on the battlefield, perhaps while sleeping in my bed; perhaps tomorrow, or perhaps in fifty years. Like Tiberius, I’m a patriot and a politician. How else can I die, except in the service of Roma?”
“Oh, Gaius, such cynicism!” Cornelia wrinkled her nose, but she was clearly relieved by his glib answer.
Lucius, too, was secretly relieved. Perhaps Gaius’s cynicism was exactly the quality that would keep him alive.
122 B.C.
“But where is everyone?” Lucius circled the peristyle, gazing across the overgrown garden and into the various rooms surrounding it.
Gaius’s new house in the Subura was larger but not as lovely as the ancestral house of the Gracchi on the Palatine. For his second consecutive term as tribune, Gaius had deliberately chosen to move away from his mother and away from the Palatine, with its opulent residences. For his new home he had picked a rambling but ramshackle house in the downtrodden Subura district, so he could situate himself and his headquarters among the common citizens who most strongly supported him.
Lucius understood his friend’s political motivation for the move, but still he found the neighborhood depressing, with prostitutes on every corner, maimed war veterans begging in the streets, and a miasma of unpleasant odors. And why was the house so empty? Where were the state contractors and engineers, the foreign ambassadors, the magistrates, soldiers, and scholars who had typically thronged the house on the Palatine during Gaius’s first year as tribune, when his relentless legislative program and unflagging energy established him as the most powerful force in the state?
“They’ll be back,” said Gaius, emerging from behind one of the columns of the peristyle. He sounded uneasy, and tired. He had just returned from several weeks at the site of Carthage, where he had gone to lay the groundwork for a new Roman colony. A generation had passed since Tiberius won the mural crown for scaling the enemy walls; the salted fields around the razed city had become fertile again. The new Roman colony was to be called Junonia.
“How did things go…at Junonia?” Lucius asked.
“You sound a bit wary, Lucius. What have you heard?”
Lucius shrugged. “Rumors.”
“And not good ones, I’ll wager.” Gaius sighed. “I must confess, the taking of the auspices at the foundation ceremony went badly. High winds broke the standards, and blew away the sacrifices on the altars. That damned wind! The priest said he could hear Hannibal’s laughter in it.”
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