Roma - Saylor Steven (книги полностью .TXT) 📗

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.”

“And…one hears that wolves ran off with the city boundary markers,” said Lucius.

“That is a downright lie, put about by my enemies!” snapped Gaius. He shut his eyes and drew a breath. “Where is Licinius with that pipe of his, to calm me? The important thing is that, despite all obstacles, Carthage is being reborn as a colony of Roma.” He smiled. “There’ll be plenty of work for you down there, Lucius, if you ever run out of road-building projects here in Italy. What have you been up to while I was away?”

Lucius considered his reply, glad for a change of subject, then laughed out loud.

“If you have something to laugh at,” said Gaius, “then, by Hercules, share it with me!”

“Very well. A few days ago, I was down in the Forum Boarium. There was a long line of men and women queued up with vouchers to purchase their share from the state grain supply. Who should I see standing patiently in the line but that old toad, Piso Frugi.”

“Piso Frugi? I don’t believe it!”

“The very senator who argued most vehemently against establishing the grain subsidy! I stood there gaping at him for a bit, then I finally asked him, ‘How dare you benefit from a law you so bitterly opposed?’”

“And what did he say?”

“The old miser blinked at me, then turned up his nose. ‘If that thief Gaius Gracchus had stolen all my shoes and divided them among the citizenry, and the only way to get back even a single shoe was to stand in line with everyone else, I’d do so, purely as a matter of principle. Instead, he pilfers the treasury to buy grain for his minions. So, yes, I’ll stand in this line, because I intend to get back whatever share I can!’”

Gaius shook his head. “Unbelievable! Have you noticed how the men who argue most loudly against public benefits always elbow their way to the front of the line when those benefits are handed out?”

“My thought exactly!”

“What else has happened in Roma while I was away?” Gaius spoke lightly, but the look in his eyes lent weight to the question. When Lucius hesitated to answer, he grunted in exasperation. “Come, Lucius, tell me the worst! It’s Livius Drusus, isn’t it? What has that vile backstabber been up to?”

The trouble with Gaius’s fellow tribune had begun before Gaius left for Africa. Gaius’s departure should have been marked by a crowning achievement: the popular assembly’s approval of a law extending citizenship to Roma’s Italian allies. But at the last moment, the tribune Livius Drusus, who had always supported Gaius’s reforms, held rallies against the legislation, appealing in the basest way to the mob’s self-interest. “Do you think it’s hard now, finding a good spot at the theater?” he asked. “Just wait until all the Italians come to town to enjoy our festivals! Do you like standing in long lines at the public feasts, or queuing for the grain subsidy? Then you’ll love it when all those Italians slip ahead of you! Would you have every one of your privileges diluted, just so Gaius Gracchus can curry favor with his new friends?” When Drusus vetoed the legislation, he did so with popular support. It was a stinging defeat for Gaius on the eve of his departure.

“Drusus hasn’t been idle in your absence,” admitted Lucius. “In fact, he’s been relentless in his efforts to undermine your support. People say he ‘out-Gracchuses Gaius Gracchus.’”

“Explain.”

“First, he proposed establishing colonies for veterans on even more generous terms than those which you proposed. Then he accused you of exploiting the poor—”

“What!”

“—because your laws charge the people rent if they wish to farm state land.”

“The rent is nominal! It was a necessary concession to gain broader support for the law.”

“Drusus proposes legislation that allows the poor to farm state land free of charge.”

“And what do the hidebound reactionaries in the Senate say to that?”

“They support Drusus at every turn. Don’t you see? Drusus is their straw man. By ‘out-Gracchusing’ you, he steals your supporters. Temporarily, your enemies are willing to legislate against their own selfish interests, to throw a few bones to the common people.”

“But once I’ve been neutralized, they’ll be free to spit in the people’s faces and proceed as before.”

“Exactly. Sadly, the common citizens seem unable to see through Drusus’s facade. They’ve been won over by his blatant pandering.”

Gaius’s shoulders sagged. He looked utterly exhausted. “In my first year as tribune, nothing could go wrong. In my second year, nothing has gone right! I can only hope that in my third year—”