The turn of the tide, p.29
The Turn of the Tide, page 29
part #7 of Soldier of the Republic Series
“You are right Trebonius,” Scipio said breaking the silence. “A happy alliance between our families already exists and now the time has come for us to expand on this with a new arrangement.”
“What are you proposing?” Trebonius shot back.
“A formal alliance between the Cornelii and the Aemilii,” Scipio responded. “A mutually beneficial agreement. On the following terms. In the upcoming election on who is to be appointed to the Spanish command, the Aemilii will abstain in the vote. The Aemilii will tell all their clients and friends to abstain, and you will provide me with an interest free loan for four years.”
“An interest free loan,” one of clan heads exclaimed. “Why for four years and what do you need the money for? Nothing illegal I hope.”
“Because that is how long it is going to take me to conquer Spain,” Scipio replied coolly. “And how I use the money is my business. All I shall say is that it will be used wisely and for nothing that has not be done before.”
“You want us to abstain in the vote,” one of the other men called out. “But we have already publicly pledged our support for Nero.”
“And now you will abstain,” Scipio replied, his eyes gleaming with a sudden resolve. “Like the weather. Circumstances, they change.”
As silence settled upon the atrium, all eyes slowly turned to Trebonius who was sitting quietly and thoughtfully on his couch.
“And all this. In return for what?” Trebonius said at last gazing at Scipio.
“If, and this agreement would only be valid, if I am elected to command our army in Spain,” Scipio responded. “In return the Aemilii will receive the following.” Pausing Scipio turned to Platinus who had unrolled a parchment scroll. Clearing his throat, the lawyer began to read out loud.
“Subject to an agreement being made on acceptable terms to both parties,” Platinus called out, reading from the document. “The Aemilii will receive a tenth of the annual produce of the Baebulo silver mine. One tenth of the production of the Castulo lead mines. Two tenth of the Rio Tinto copper mines along the Baetis river. One twentieth of the Lusitanian gold fields. One twentieth of the produce of the mines near New Carthage. One thirtieth of all captured enemy loot and one fortieth of the proceeds from captured slaves.”
As silence, once more returned to the atrium, there was a sharp intake of breath from the Aemilii clan heads.
“Are you serious?” One of the men called out at last. “All these mines and riches which you mention. They are all held by Carthage. They are under their control.”
“In four-years-time they shall not be,” Scipio replied coolly. “Gentlemen, I intend to go to Spain, avenge my father and uncle and win the war. And when I have done so all these mines will come under my control. I will become one of the richest men in the Republic. And if you support me now. If you invest in my campaign now, the Aemilii will stand to benefit greatly from their prudence and foresight. So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
For a moment no one replied as the Aemilii quickly exchanged glances, looking startled but also strangely excited. As he observed them, Flavius felt a spark of hope. Scipio’s words appeared to have had an impact. Shifting his silent gaze to Trebonius, Flavius could see that the small spy master too appeared interested. They were coming round to the idea.
“So you are confident that you can succeed where your father and uncle failed,” Trebonius said at last, gazing at Scipio.
In response Scipio said nothing, simply nodding.
On his couch, Trebonius abruptly leaned back and sighed before turning to glance at his companions. Observing them, Flavius could see that the four men appeared to be in agreement.
“It’s still a risk,” Trebonius said at last. “We shall be breaking our word to Nero and you may not manage to defeat Carthage in Spain.”
“Risks must be taken, if you want to make a lot of money,” Scipio replied evenly. “As for Nero he is the wrong man for this job. I am the right candidate. It is I who should go to Spain.”
Again, Trebonius turned to silently confer with his colleagues but as he watched them Flavius felt his hopes rising. A deal appeared to be imminent. Trebonius seemed amenable.
“Fine,” Trebonius said at last in a guarded voice. “We may want to negotiate on the shares of the proceeds that the Aemilii will receive from the Spanish mines. But what about the wider implications for the relationship between our two families? There is always a social and society dimension to these alliances.”
On his couch, Scipio suddenly looked relaxed and in control.
“Our agreement will not change anything in that respect,” Scipio replied, grandly raising both his hands. “The bosses of each family will remain equal to each other. None shall be above or outrank the other. Things will remain as they are now in public as in private life.”
“Good,” Trebonius replied, looking relieved. He was about to speak again when Tertia suddenly interrupted him, her face implacable.
“That may work for the men in our families,” she exclaimed turning to Trebonius with a cold, challenging look. “But such an arrangement will not do for us women. My husband will be taking all the risks and doing all the hard work from which you all shall benefit mightily. It is only fair therefore, that I as his wife, shall be first among equals with the women of our two great families. It is I who should be announced first at any banquets, parties or feast days. It is I, who should be acknowledged as the first lady. In public life and as well as in private. It is only right that I should outrank all the other women in our families.”
As silence settled across the atrium, Flavius felt hope abruptly turn to panic. What was this? Tertia’s outburst had caught him completely by surprise.
“No,” Aemilia snapped, her furious eyes fixed on Tertia. “No Tertia. You will not be the first lady of this family. Not now. Not ever. I will never accept that. I am older than you. I was risking my life for the Republic when you were still a girl playing with your dolls in your father’s house. How dare you say that you should outrank me. How dare you take that tone with me.”
“Aemilia, dear,” Tertia retorted, looking completely unperturbed as she turned her icy cold gaze towards Aemilia. “I am surprised to see you here. What business is this of yours anyway. Lest I remind you - you made your choice and feelings known long ago. You chose to remove yourself from our families affairs. Maybe now is the time for you to shut up and crawl back to that orphanage of yours and allow your lesbian whores to entertain you.”
Looking furious, Aemilia rose to her feet, glaring at Tertia as she did.
“I still have an interest in my families well-being,” she hissed. “You and I have never got on Tertia and you have just reminded me of what a bitch you can be. But if you are permitted to call yourself the first lady of this family, then this agreement is dead and buried. I shall have no part in this arrangement. I shall never acknowledge you as first lady and if you insist then, you and I Tertia, will be at war. And I shall make your life and that of your family a living hell.”
And with that Aemilia turned and with infinite dignity strode from the room and out into the hallway.
As Flavius watched her go, he felt a rush of blood to his cheeks. How had this happened? Everything he had so carefully arranged and prepared was falling apart right in front of his eyes.
On his couch Trebonius looked shocked rather like all the men, and for a moment he struggled to formulate a reply. Then collecting himself stiffly, Trebonius rose to his feet and turned to Scipio.
“I am sorry,” Trebonius exclaimed. “But if my sister cannot agree to this then neither can I. Your proposal Scipio has merit, but I cannot accept or agree to it if Tertia insists on her position. Good day to you Sir.”
And with that Trebonius, without giving Flavius a second glance, strode out of the room hurriedly followed by his three companions.
Sitting beside Scipio on the couch, Flavius closed his eyes in disbelief, groaned and lowered his face into his hands.
Chapter Twenty-Two - Election Day
It was morning and across Rome the clear summer sky was a perfect blue. Taking his time, looking relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back, with only Scipio’s slave to accompany him, Flavius made his way down the narrow, congested and noisy street heading in the direction of the fields of Mars. Election day had finally come. Today he was going to find out if the months of hard work he had put in for his patron were going to pay off, Flavius thought. Today was the day. But around him people were going about their business as usual, as if today was just like any other and nothing extraordinary was happening. Glancing at the populace, he could see that no one was paying him any attention. The people appeared to have other more immediate and pressing concerns on their mind. The news that Capua had finally fallen and surrendered to Flaccus’s troops had sent Rome into a frenzy of rejoicing, which had lasted for several days. The mass impromptu street parties, the ecstatic reception the news had received had shown how apprehensive and nervous Rome had been about the outcome of the historic siege. But now Capua, second city of Italy, was once again in loyalist hands. Slowly but surely it appeared the tide of war was turning in Rome’s favour.
Filling the city street with noise were the shopkeepers - standing outside their small workshops and stalls - advertising their wares and skills in loud humorous voices, while the populace hurried on past. Down a rubbish strewn alley, two dogs were scrapping over something, their whines and whelps ignored by all. While leaning against a doorway to a crumbling apartment block, an old and ugly prostitute just looked bored.
“Sir look,” Scipio’s slave suddenly called out, gesturing at the graffiti scrawled across a nearby wall.
Turning to look in the direction in which the slave was pointing, Flavius frowned as he came to a halt in the street. Among the many daubed messages on the wall, the only ones that made sense to him were the large blood red words ‘No mercy for the guilty. Capua must be destroyed.’ He had seen that slogan many times before during the last week. Always scrawled in expensive red paint. The graffiti had sprung up everywhere across the city of Rome.
“What is it? I can’t read,” Flavius said at last, as he peered at the wall, staring at the bawdily decorated writing featuring crude sexual symbols.
“They are slogans relating to the election Sir,” the slave replied. “If you like I can read them for you.”
“Yes, do so,” Flavius said.
Peering at the graffiti, the young slave paused for a moment.
“This one says “only late drinkers and risers support Scipio,” the slave exclaimed at last pointing. “This one here says Scipio is a Carthaginian, who wants to make himself King of Rome. This one claims Scipio is too young to be trusted with high command and that his candidacy is illegal. And this one says that Scipio is a Greek cocksucker.”
“Any slogans in support of Scipio?” Flavius asked, raising his eyebrows.
“I am afraid not Sir,” the slave said, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I am sorry. I should not have pointed them out.”
For a moment Flavius did not reply, as he stared at the graffiti scrawled across the wall. “No matter. Come on. Let’s go,” he said at last, resuming his walk down the street. “Words are cheap and none of them are true.”
“Are we going to win Sir?” The slave asked boldly as the two of them, headed for the city gate ahead.
“I don’t know,” Flavius replied, calmly turning his head to look around. “Nothing is certain except death. But we have a chance. A good chance of winning. Your master is the right candidate.”
As Flavius limped out of the gates and caught sight of the large level open space beyond the city walls, he came to an abrupt stop. The last time he had visited the fields of Mars had been fourteen years earlier, when he had responded to the “Tumultus Gallicus”. The Gallic emergency - when a hundred thousand Boii and Insubres tribesmen had flooded south into Roman land; intent on looting, raping, burning and killing. He had walked all the way to Rome from his home a hundred miles away, with borrowed weapons and armour for the dilectus - the process of signing up in the army to fight. That was his duty as a citizen of Rome. And as a result, he had participated in the bloody carnage of the battle of Telamon, that had broken Boii strength for at least a generation.
For a moment he did not move, as his eyes swept across the plain. Bounded to the west by the banks of the Tiber and the south by the city walls, the fields of Mars were the traditional marshaling and parade grounds for where a Roman army was raised. But today, instead of cohorts of young armed men and fresh recruits, the plain was covered with a different army - voters. And there were thousands of them already present, milling about in large groups, eating, drinking, laughing and inspecting the impromptu street market stalls, that had sprung up to cater for the multitude. All the men appeared to be waiting. Waiting for the official start of the vote. Glancing up at the position of the sun, Flavius took a deep breath. But there was still some time before the presiding magistrates would start the count.
***
“Alright,” Flavius said, carefully eyeing his team of advisers as Davido, Platinus, Laelius and Scoti stood around him in a tight semi-circle, their faces grave and tense. “Give me your final reports.”
Lost among the vast crowds that surrounded them, the five men were nearly indistinguishable from the thousands packed into the fields of Mars. Around Flavius the excited chatter, shouts and cries dominated the flood plain, while the smell of unwashed bodies was thick and unpleasant.
“I will go first,” Laelius said quickly. “I have personally visited every town and settlement within a days’ ride of Rome. There is some support for Scipio among the small farmers and refugees. I have lost count of how many hands I have shaken. Everything that I could do has been done. I have no regrets. We’re as ready as we are ever going to be.”
“Good,” Flavius replied. “What are your expectations?”
“Hard to say,” Laelius replied with a sigh, his expression sombre. “There is support especially from the small holders, who have sons abroad and those with kin in the northern colonies. The Scipio family are admired for having so stoutly defended the northern frontier when Hannibal first arrived in Italy. People are also aware that the fighting in Spain is preventing Carthaginian reinforcements from arriving in the north. They credit this to Scipio’s father and uncle. So that works. If they were all to show up to vote it could sway things, but I am not convinced all of them will make the journey. Asking these people to vote is asking them to go on a dangerous two-day journey, here and back. The turnout will be crucial.”
“Regards turnout,” Flavius said, turning to Platinus. “What do we expect?”
“Well have a look around you,” the old lawyer replied, gesturing with his hand. “It looks higher than I had expected. You never get more than one or two in ten citizens showing up anyway. If you were to ask me, I would say we are looking at around sixteen or seventeen thousand voters in all.”
Turning to look around at the crowds Flavius nodded in agreement. Then he turned his eye to Davido.
“All the business guilds have been approached,” Davido replied promptly. “I concentrated on those men with local influence like you suggested. It’s not all good news I am afraid. With all these elections there is always a stark divide between the patricians and the plebeians, between rich and poor, landowners and landless. Many of the guilds are clients of senators or have the senate as their primary employer, so I suspect many are going to vote for Nero. The only exception appears to be the carpenters. They were enthusiastic supporters of our man, but that is probably down to your personal intervention,” Davido added, gazing at Flavius with a hint of respect. “As you belong to their guild.”
“The good news is that the magistrates have finally dropped their legal objections against Scipio’s candidacy, like we already suspected they would after last week’s senate ruling,” Platinus said. “They have finally accepted our arguments. The magistrates say they have made an exception for Scipio, despite his youth. On family grounds they claim. So Scipio is allowed to legally stand. It has caused quite a stir among the traditionalists but it means that there should be no further complications today if Scipio wins the vote.”
“Well done Platinus,” Flavius said looking pleased.
“The magistrates have also confirmed that there will be just two candidates for the election to the Spanish command,” Platinus continued in his crisp competent manner. “It means a two-way split of the vote which is good for us. No other candidates. Just Scipio and Nero. The only thing I would say, is that this could just mean that the senate are confident that their man Nero is going to win. If they are that confident - letting Scipio stand will cost them nothing. And there is something else,” Platinus added, pausing to clear his throat. “There is a rumour going around that despite our disastrous meeting, the Aemilii are going to abstain in the vote after all. It’s just a rumour mind you.”
“I have heard the same,” Scoti interrupted. “From some of the priests. They told me that the Aemilii are going to abstain in the vote.”
“Did they say why?” Flavius said hurriedly.
“No,” Scoti said shaking his head. “But Platinus is right. We must be cautious and not treat these rumours as facts. It could be a bluff. Politics is not a science. Political candidates lie all the time when they are searching for votes. They always try to please everyone which is impossible. It is better to offer a gracious lie than an outright refusal. Isn’t that what they claim?”
“I hope you are not talking about our man,” Davido interrupted, shooting Scoti a dark displeased look.
“And what about the priests and the scientific community?” Flavius said, gazing at the astronomer. “What is the latest from your colleagues?”
“Split rigidly down scientific lines,” Scoti replied scornfully. “None of my colleagues will ever change their minds. It’s flat earth versus round earth. God fearing men versus those who do not believe in the gods. Followers of Hippocrates versus followers of Cato. Every one of my colleagues has made up their minds long ago, and there was not much I could do to change their minds. We will get the vote that we were always going to get.”
