The Eagle in the Dovecote Read online

  Volumnia ran her forearm over the curling papyrus to smooth it flat and reread the words. Caius had written at last; it had been almost two months since his last letter, when he had written of his triumph at Corioli, and Volumnia had felt starved of news of him. She had even taken to visiting Menenius uninvited, just to see if he had heard from Caius, but all Menenius had heard was the official dispatches. He sympathised with Volumnia but would say that Caius was too busy killing Volsci to be able to write.

  It was true, by all the accounts that were relayed by the preach in the forum. Everywhere the Roman army went, enemies fell beneath their feet.

  Volumnia did not take as much pleasure in this as she thought she should. She was proud of Caius, of course, but she was beginning to wish him home, out of danger. There was none so brave or so skilful at war as Caius; the proof of this was in his being still alive after so many battles. The wounds he had received were merely testament to his success. That was the point. He had done more than his duty to Rome. It was time for others to do theirs.

  She wondered what was wrong with her to be thinking this way. It was so unlike her. Perhaps I’m getting old, she mused as she picked up the letter for the third time. The gods loved Caius, to be sure, but they could be fickle and decide a wound could become fatal on a whim. She didn’t think she would be able to bear that.

  Stop thinking of such things, she told herself angrily, and bent her head to the letter. Caius had written after a battle near Antium, another great victory for him and all Romans, he wrote. He and Cominius, who had fought alongside him, had surveyed the city after the battle and found a huge supply of grain. Cominius had suggested they bring it back to Rome and distribute it among the plebs but Caius had scoffed at such an idea. He reminded Volumnia of how many of the plebs had refused to fight in this last campaign, how he had had to go to war with a reduced following, and he was not going to reward those cowards with free grain. Those men who had followed him would be the only ones to benefit from the grain and the rest could stamp their feet as much as they liked, he wouldn’t turn a hair.

  Volumnia smiled. That was just like Caius, to care nothing for public opinion. So unlike all the other men she knew, men like Menenius who seemed to weigh every word before he opened his mouth. He only said what the plebs wanted to hear and Volumnia was certain they could see through the platitudes and downright lies. They must be desperate for someone to tell them the simple, direct truth. Someone like Caius.

  ‘Someone like Caius,’ she mused, putting the letter down and staring at the wall. Now, there was an idea. Hadn’t she once said to Menenius that when Caius was done with fighting he could turn politician? Why wait any longer? He had made his name as a soldier. It was time he made his name as a politician.

  21

  The crowd was cheering as Caius entered Rome. His horse wore a rich harness and saddle, and it set its hooves down proudly. Junius Brutus, standing next to his fellow tribune Sicinius Vitellus, shouted in his ear that Caius Marcius looked almost like a king.

  ‘Caius Marcius falls short,’ Sicinius shouted back to Junius. ‘Look at him, staring straight ahead, grim expression. Would a king act like that? A king would be smiling upon the people, encouraging their cheers. Marcius courts none of these fools’ good opinions.’

  ‘And yet they cheer,’ Junius said.

  ‘Of course they cheer,’ Sicinius said sourly. ‘The people enjoy a good spectacle. But they wouldn’t if they knew all.’

  ‘I don’t know all,’ Junius said irritably. ‘What are you talking about, Sicinius?’

  Sicinius pointed. ‘You see all those carts that follow Marcius? They are filled with grain, all of them. How many would you say there are? Twenty or more? Those were won in a battle in which Marcius played but one part, unlike his escapade at Corioli. And yet, none of that grain is intended for the people of Rome. All of that is either going to Marcius’s own followers or into his own grain stores. Do you think the people would cheer Marcius if they knew that?’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Sicinius tapped his nose and smiled. ‘I have my sources, my friend.’

  Junius looked around at the happy, smiling crowd. ‘It’s outrageous that Marcius should be allowed to keep possession of the grain.’

  ‘You and I think so,’ Sicinius nodded. ‘The Senate are more than happy to let him keep it.’

  ‘But the people must be told of this.’

  ‘They shall be told of it, never fear,’ Sicinius said determinedly. ‘You and I shall make sure of it.’

  ‘You will engender a great deal of ill feeling if you go ahead with this idea of yours,’ Menenius said, refusing the plate of plums that Virgilia was trying to distract him with.

  Menenius knew why Virgilia wanted him to desist. He understood why. Caius had just come home and she didn’t want there to be any quarrels or disagreements. She wanted a happy home for her husband. He wasn’t surprised by Virgilia’s desire but he was surprised when he realised Volumnia seemed to want it too.

  He had noticed a change in Volumnia over the last year. She seemed to crave company where before she had been content to be mostly alone. She called round at his domus uninvited where before she would always send her slave to ask if it would be convenient to do so. Menenius didn’t mind the change but it worried him a little. He was sure Caius was at the root of it.

  ‘It’s not an idea, Menenius,’ Caius said. ‘I have ordered it.’

  ‘None of the grain is to go to the plebs? Why not, Caius, when you have no need of it all?’

  ‘I’ve explained why,’ Caius said testily. ‘The plebs did not answer my call for their strong arms. Why should I answer their call for full stomachs?’

  Menenius shook his head. ‘Your mother will tell you why.’

  Caius looked expectantly at Volumnia. ‘What does he mean, Mother?’

  Volumnia put down her cup and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been talking with Menenius about you taking up a political role in Rome, Caius. I think it is time you put your sword away.’

  ‘I do what?’ Caius cried.

  Volumnia held up her hands. ‘Hear me, my boy, please. You have done enough for Rome on the battlefield. You have been remarkably successful, Caius. There is nothing greater for you to achieve as a soldier. But you could do more, much more, if you became a politician.’

  Caius shook his head. ‘I cannot believe you are saying this, Mother. After everything you have told me, taught me, from my earliest days. Be a soldier. That is what you have drummed into me.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she said helplessly.

  ‘I think your mother is right,’ Virgilia said. All three looked at her in surprise at her interjection. She swallowed, determined to explain her thinking. ‘Your son hardly knows you, Caius. I hardly see you. And I am scared there will come a day when you will not return home from war.’

  ‘Oh, for Jove’s sake,’ Caius said, turning his head away. ‘Would you have me play the woman and spin wool all day?’

  ‘Do not be foolish, Caius,’ Volumnia said sharply. ‘That is not what Virgilia is saying at all. I shall be blunt. You are growing older. You will be growing slower in your reflexes. You know yourself you have received more wounds in this last year than in the previous ten. There will come a day when you will not be able to fight like a god. You have already met an enemy you cannot beat.’

  ‘Have not yet beaten,’ Caius corrected through gritted teeth. ‘One man, Mother. I have beaten a thousand others.’

  ‘I will not risk you again,’ Volumnia suddenly screeched, unable to control herself any longer. She covered her mouth as if in shame of her outburst.

  Menenius reached out his arm and touched her hand. ‘Caius,’ he said quietly, ‘you see how your mother worries about you. It is not kind on your part to put her through such torment again if it can be avoided. Now, your mother has suggested another path you might take. Will you at least consider it?’

  ‘To be a politician?’ Caius raised a sceptical e
yebrow at Menenius.

  Menenius inclined his head. ‘I must admit, it is not a career I think you are eminently suited for, but you can learn.’

  ‘You will help him, won’t you, Menenius?’ Volumnia said eagerly, clutching his hand to her breast. ‘When the time comes?’

  He felt her warmth and something of his old passion stirred. ‘I will,’ he promised.

  ‘There, Caius, you see?’ Volumnia smiled uncertainly at her son. ‘Say you will try, for my sake.’

  Caius looked from his mother to his wife and back to his mother, his expression sulky. ‘I will try. But if I cannot get on with it, I will be a soldier, Mother. You cannot deny me.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Volumnia said happily. ‘But you will succeed, Caius. I know you will.’

  Menenius returned the grateful smile she bestowed upon him with less enthusiasm. He had meant what he said; Caius was not a natural politician, indeed, far from it. This latest affair of the grain proved how little he cared for public opinion and if there was one thing a successful politician needed, it was the support of the people. He had said he would help and he would be true to his word, but he doubted it would be a task he would find easy.

  Part IV

  491 BC - 488 BC

  22

  It was to be another two years before Caius succumbed to his mother’s entreaties and finally agreed to leave off war to try his hand at politics.

  A vacancy in the consulship arose, and it was decided by Menenius and Volumnia that Caius would stand for the nomination. If Menenius were honest with himself, and with Volumnia and Caius too, he would say that, in his opinion, Caius had very little chance of winning the election for the consulship but those were words he knew they did not want to hear. He had been right about the people disliking Caius’s decision not to share the grain he had won from the Volsci. The cheering that had accompanied his entrance into Rome had soon turned into mutterings of discontent in the taverns that Caius Marcius was an enemy to the people, however many victories he won for Rome. The Comitia Centuriata might nominate Caius for the consulship because they were impressed by his martial record and his noble background, but it was the people whose votes he would have to solicit to win the election. Perhaps, Cominius had said, Caius can convince them that he has the plebs’ best interests at heart, despite all appearances, and Menenius had shaken his head and replied that Caius didn’t have a deceitful bone in his body. Cominius had nodded, saying that was an unfortunate trait for a politician.

  But despite everything, and perhaps because of Menenius’s advice and coaching, Caius won the nomination for the consulship. That obstacle overcome, now all he had to do was win the people to his cause.

  Sicinius pushed his bowl of olive oil aside. ‘This is a black day for us, Junius.’

  They had just heard the news about Caius’s nomination and neither of them found they had much of an appetite as a consequence.

  ‘It’s remarkable that the Comitia Centuriata agreed to his nomination,’ Junius said, tossing aside his small chunk of bread. ‘I never thought they would.’

  ‘They were dazzled by his reputation,’ Sicinius said, his lip curling. ‘The victor of Corioli and a dozen more conquests.’

  ‘But Caius Marcius the consul!’ Junius said doubtfully. ‘How can they think that a good idea?’

  ‘Maybe we are worrying unduly,’ Sicinius said more hopefully than he felt. ‘Just because he has been nominated doesn’t mean he will be elected. The people will not be swept away by his successes as the Comitia were.’

  ‘You say that, but you don’t believe it. The plebs are fickle. You’ve said so time and again.’

  ‘I know and they are. I hate to admit it, there is a..,’ he searched for the right word, ‘a purity about Marcius that is very attractive. He is steadfast in his endeavour to fight for Rome, unchanging in his opinions of the plebs. In that respect, you can trust him. There will be no soft words from Marcius, no false promises. If he says no to a thing, then no it will stay. He won’t say yes to win the plebs’ love and then do nothing.’

  ‘What a feeble politician he will make,’ Junius laughed hollowly.

  ‘But don’t you see? The plebs may not think of it that way. The plebs might, may the gods help us, see that kind of attitude as having integrity. A rare commodity among politicians, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

  Junius frowned and leant forward. ‘Sicinius, you don’t think Marcius has a chance of being elected, do you?’

  Sicinius sighed heavily. ‘Unfortunately, Junius, I rather think he does.’

  Caius stood in the hall, arms outstretched while Volumnia fussed around him. ‘Why must I undergo this indignity? Have I not done enough for Rome that I must walk naked before the plebs?’

  Volumnia sank to her knees and tugged at the toga to make the folds fall straight. ‘Menenius, will you tell him to behave?’

  ‘Caius, stop complaining,’ Menenius said. ‘You won the nomination from the Comitia Centuriata and now you have to win the plebs’ vote. Parading yourself before them to show your wounds is how you do this. And you will not be naked.’

  ‘I wear nothing but this ridiculous toga,’ Caius protested. ‘Not even my tunic.’

  ‘How else will the people see your wounds?’ Volumnia said despairingly as she got to her feet. Her knee bones cracked loudly. ‘And you should be proud to show them off. Shouldn’t he, Menenius?’

  ‘He should, but we all know Caius too well. Don’t glare at me like that, you two. Caius hates to show off, we all know it. But I’m afraid there’s no getting out of it.’

  ‘It’s so undignified. You agree, don’t you, Virgilia?’ Caius asked as she came into the atrium with Little Caius holding her hand.

  ‘I think you look very handsome,’ she said.

  Caius rolled his eyes. ‘Are you finished, Mother?’

  ‘Yes, all done.’ She looked him up and down. The toga was immaculate upon his impressive frame, the absence of his tunic showing off to startling effect all Caius’s scars.

  ‘Ready?’ Menenius asked.

  Caius nodded and headed for the door. Volumnia followed close behind.

  ‘Hold a moment.’ Menenius held out his hand to her. ‘Where do you think you are going?’

  ‘With Caius, of course,’ she said in an affronted tone.

  ‘You mean to walk with him? Forgive me, Volumnia, but it is just not acceptable. Caius cannot have a woman following him.’

  Volumnia glared at Menenius then shot a look at Caius. Menenius knew she was expecting Caius to tell him to be quiet, that of course his mother could go with him. Menenius was surprised by Caius’s response.

  ‘Menenius is right, Mother,’ Caius said. ‘You should stay here.’

  ‘But Caius—’

  ‘I must not look weak, Mother,’ Caius said fiercely.

  She opened her mouth to protest further but then seemed to think better of it. She drew herself up. ‘Very well,’ she said tight-lipped. ‘The last thing I want to do is make you look weak.’

  Satisfied, and not a little relieved. Menenius gestured Caius towards the door. As they stepped outside, he cast a look back at Volumnia. She was in shadow now and he could not see her face. He smiled apologetically at her, hoping she could see he was genuinely sorry he had had to refuse her.

  Cominius was waiting outside. He looked Caius up and down and nodded appreciatively. ‘Ready?’

  Caius nodded and the three of them began their slow walk towards the forum. As they went, the people stopped their business and stared at Caius. Some even came up close, bid him stop, and then peered at his scars. Caius endured their stares, turning his head to one side so he would not have to see their faces. Menenius could well imagine how much this parade was hurting him and felt a twinge of sympathy.

  They eventually reached the forum where a large crowd had gathered to see him. Caius walked through the people, face down, never once looking up. The crowd grew denser and Menenius found himself being elbowed and pushed away from
Caius until he couldn’t see him any longer. He cursed, knowing that he would not be able to help Caius should he need it. He hoped Caius would continue to behave and not say anything he shouldn’t. After about fifteen minutes, Menenius breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Caius making his way back towards him. He raised his eyebrows in enquiry and Caius returned the slightest of nods. It had gone well.

  Volumnia and Virgilia were waiting for him. Caius doubted they had moved from the atrium since he and Menenius had left. Both their expressions asked silently how it had gone and he had provided them with a short answer. They had had the sense not to press their enquiries and he had taken himself off to his cubiculum to change, leaving Menenius to give them a full report. Caius knew Menenius would not say that he had found it a torment, that the stinking breaths of the people had seeped into his skin, that their dirty fingers had poked and prodded at his wounds as if testing them for soundness, and it had taken all his self-control not to push them out of his way and run home to the domus. Menenius would merely say that he had won the approval of the plebs.

  Caius consoled himself with the knowledge that he would get his reward for the morning’s humiliation. A second procession to the forum was now required, but this time he would go with all his clients and friends accompanying him, a show of strength and power. Properly dressed now in his toga, Caius returned to the atrium.

  ‘Ready to go back to the forum?’ Menenius asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said with a sigh.

  ‘Ah, but this time you will return home as consul,’ Volumnia said smiling. ‘Menenius tells us the people were pleased with you, Caius.’

  ‘I hope they saw enough to satisfy them.’

  ‘They did. Menenius, didn’t they?’ Virgilia appealed.

  ‘They certainly seemed satisfied,’ Menenius nodded.