The Eagle in the Dovecote Page 24

  ‘What does it say?’ Volumnia asked.

  Caius snorted and threw it across to Menenius, who read it quickly.

  Menenius forced a smile. ‘Just a formality, I expect. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘What? What is it?’ Volumnia said impatiently.

  ‘The Senate orders me to present myself tomorrow morning to answer the tribunes’ charges,’ Caius said through gritted teeth.

  ‘How is this possible, Menenius?’ Volumnia demanded. ‘You said the Senate would not act against Caius.’

  ‘They have only told him to answer the charges,’ Menenius said, in truth a little shaken by the summons. ‘A sop to the people, nothing more.’

  ‘You should have stayed in the Senate and spoken up for Caius.’

  ‘Yes, I should,’ he acknowledged stiffly. ‘Yet another mistake I’ve made.’

  ‘What are the charges?’ Virgilia asked.

  ‘That I have spoken unjustly against the people,’ Caius said contemptuously.

  ‘But you’ve merely expressed an opinion, surely?’

  ‘Quite right, Virgilia,’ Volumnia said decisively. ‘They cannot act against you for expressing an opinion. Can they, Menenius?’

  Menenius scratched his head. ‘They might, if by doing so, Caius encourages discontent in the people. The Senate are very wary of upsetting the plebs.’

  ‘The cowards!’ Volumnia spat.

  ‘The Senate have every right to be cautious, Volumnia,’ Menenius said. ‘The mob roused can be a fearsome thing.’

  ‘Not so fearsome as my boy,’ Volumnia declared proudly. ‘Really, Rome these days. We never had this kind of thing when Tarquin was king.’

  ‘Would you have Rome ruled by a king again?’

  ‘Indeed, I would,’ Volumnia eyed him fiercely, ‘and I know who I would have king too.’ She looked at Caius meaningfully. Caius smiled and took hold of her hand.

  ‘Volumnia, please,’ Menenius pleaded, ‘no more talk of kings. You will forget yourself and say it in the street one day, and then there will be trouble indeed.’

  ‘I’d say it to the tribunes’ very faces if they had the courage to stand before me.’

  ‘And you, Caius?’ Menenius raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Will you accept the Senate’s summons and face your accusers tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll face them, Menenius,’ Caius nodded, his eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll face them and then I’ll run them through with my sword.’

  Menenius jumped to his feet. ‘You will not, Caius, not unless you are intent on destroying your family.’

  ‘How would that destroy us?’ Volumnia demanded. ‘It would put an end to all this nonsense. I say Caius should kill those cursed tribunes and rid Rome of their pernicious influence.’

  ‘If Caius were to do so, Volumnia, I do not doubt the Senate would be compelled to punish him, and in the harshest possible way. He would be executed,’ he said as Volumnia continued to look at him with defiance. ‘And perhaps you, too, Volumnia, perhaps Virgilia, perhaps Little Caius.’ He turned to Caius. ‘Would you condemn them all?’

  ‘No one will touch my family,’ Caius said menacingly.

  Menenius sighed. ‘Then answer the charges the tribunes will bring against you calmly. No violence, no roughness. State your opinion and stand by it, if you must, but do not threaten.’

  Caius looked at Virgilia and Volumnia, who both stared at him, waiting for his response. ‘I will answer the charges,’ he said.

  Caius was more upset than he could say. The shame of being called to account for his words had wounded him deeply and he had had to work hard to hide it from his family and Menenius. He knew he would be the centre of attention in the forum; no doubt all of Rome would turn out to see the tribunes try to bring him down. What a grand spectacle for them all!

  Volumnia had insisted he wear his finest toga to the Senate house, saying he would show them what a true Roman looked like. He had allowed Virgilia to help him with the toga in the privacy of their cubiculum, then had emerged to be examined by Volumnia and Menenius, who had arrived early and intended to accompany him. They had looked him up and down and agreed he looked well.

  Virgilia came out of the cubiculum crying, declaring through her tears that she was sure Caius would be attacked by the mob and begging him to stay at home. Volumnia had snapped at her and told her to stop making such a terrible noise, that of course Caius would go. She was not going to give the tribunes the opportunity to call her son a coward. It was decided that Virgilia would stay in the domus. Volumnia was adamant she would go with Caius, despite Menenius’s entreaties.

  No one appeared to be waiting outside the domus to abuse them as they emerged and Volumnia slipped her arm through Caius’s. She held on to him tightly. Was she frightened? he wondered, glancing down at her. There was a strain upon her face he had never seen before and he realised she was very worried. The realisation both pained and angered him.

  They walked in silence, having nothing to say that would make any of them feel better. The sound of a multitude grew louder as they approached the forum and Caius felt his heart beat faster. He told himself not to be absurd. He had fought entire armies and won; a garrulous mob need hold no fear for him. The mob was his enemy, he told himself, and would be treated the same as any of his enemies: no mercy given or asked for.

  Faces turned towards him as they entered the forum. He met none of their eyes. As he moved forward, he felt Volumnia hang back a little, and he clamped her hand to his side. It unsettled him, this fear of his mother’s. Had she been threatened by some of these plebs? Had these creatures dared to hurt her?

  The crowd parted before them. Caius almost wished they wouldn’t. It would have pleased him greatly to have a reason to push and hit them out of his way. To think that he had to answer to these plebs! It was outrageous. These filthy creatures were like ants crawling over his skin. Well, as soon as he got the chance, he would stamp on their anthill and kill them all.

  They reached the steps of the Senate house and Caius looked up at the platform. The entire Senate house were there waiting for him. Caius released Volumnia, who gave him a defiant smile which didn’t reach her eyes, and he ascended the steps. At the far end of the platform he saw Cominius and gave him a nod of acknowledgement. On the other side stood the tribunes. Sicinius had the most infuriatingly smug expression upon his face and Caius glared at him with contempt.

  Sicinius wasted no time. He stepped forward and addressed the crowd to state the charges Caius had come to answer. Caius Marcius, he said, had spoken against the people in the Senate house, claiming they should have no representation in Rome, contrary to Roman law. Caius Marcius had deliberately and maliciously retained the grain won at Antium, saving it for himself and his followers and thereby denying the people their right to the grain as legitimate spoils of war. By these acts, and others too numerous to name, Sicinius said, Caius Marcius had tried to provoke a civil war in Rome, in which he would emerge as victor thanks to his prowess and the soldiers he commanded, and so had proved himself to be an enemy of the people. When he finished speaking, the crowd cheered loudly.

  Sicinius turned to Caius. ‘How do you plead?’

  Caius glanced down at his mother. Menenius had left her at the front of the crowd to take his place with the other senators. Volumnia looked small and vulnerable among the people, and the sight of her, along with Sicinius’s accusations, made Caius;s blood boil.

  ‘I see now I have made a mistake,’ he said with deceptive calm. ‘I have done you the honour of coming here to answer these charges when you deserve no such consideration.’ He looked up and met Sicinius’s eye. ‘I will answer none of these charges, nor will I stand here and make excuses to peasants.’

  ‘If you will not answer the charges,’ Sicinius said archly, ‘then you will be found guilty by default.’

  Caius snorted, a sign of his contempt for the tribune, and turned his back on Sicinius.

  ‘Punishment!’ Sicinius screeched, enraged by the insult.
‘Caius Marcius must be punished.’

  The crowd cheered again.

  ‘Death!’ Sicinius declared. ‘He must be thrown from the Tarpeian rock.’

  There was no cheering, but there was a scream, loud and close, and Caius looked down into the crowd. A few feet away from Volumnia was Virgilia in great distress. She had come after all. Curse her, Caius thought, looking for his mother. Volumnia was staring up at him, her eyes wide, her mouth open. She hadn’t seemed to notice Virgilia or her scream at all. ‘Mother,’ he called and gestured towards Virgilia.

  Volumnia came out of her trance and blinked at Virgilia, who was waving her arms, trying to fend off the people trying to calm her down. She pushed through the crowd and slapped Virgilia about the face. The assault worked. Virgilia froze and stared at her mother-in-law, tears tumbling down her red cheeks. Then she bolted up the steps and hurled herself at Caius. Unprepared, he stumbled backwards, his arms instinctively curving around her waist.

  ‘You see what you’ve done,’ Menenius yelled at Sicinius. ‘You talk of the rights of the people but ignore the rights of all men, that of the right to trial. You condemn Marcius to death for such paltry charges and fright the women so.’

  ‘They are not paltry,’ Sicinius insisted. ‘Only a patrician would claim so. And so what if his women are frightened?’

  ‘You are too harsh,’ Menenius said.

  Caius despised the pleading tone in his voice. He pushed Virgilia away against Volumnia, who had joined them on the platform. ‘If Rome needs my death to make her feel better, then so be it,’ he called, making his voice heard throughout the forum.

  Junius grabbed Sicinius’s arm. ‘We cannot do this, we will be called butchers. Look how the people are reacting, Sicinius. They didn’t ask for Marcius’s death.’

  Sicinius looked at the crowd. He had expected support for the death sentence but it seemed as if no one wanted it for the hero of Corioli. What fools the people were! Didn’t they realise this was their chance to be rid of Marcius for good? ‘What do you suggest then?’ he muttered angrily.

  ‘Let me speak,’ Junius said, and stepped forward before Sicinius could reply. ‘Hear me, all of you, please. Sicinius Vitellus spoke too hastily. We, the tribunes, would not have Caius Marcius executed for his faults. We acknowledge that he has done much for Rome and has been favoured by the gods. We would do him and them insult if we were to execute him.’

  ‘What punishment then?’ one of the senators asked.

  Junius considered for a brief moment before replying. ‘Banishment.’

  Menenius cast a quick look at Caius, then moved to the senators who had huddled together to discuss this proposal from the tribune. Dismayed, but also relieved, he listened while the senators agreed to the banishment. It was the best he could hope for, better than death, and he did not argue. One of the senators said Menenius should make the announcement, and with great reluctance, he moved forward to stand by Junius.

  ‘Caius Marcius is hereby banished, never to return to Rome,’ he said in a voice heavy with emotion.

  ‘You banish me?’ Caius said incredulously and Menenius wished he could explain why this was for the best. ‘Oh no, oh no, you don’t banish me. I banish you. You fools, all of you. What will you do when you need a champion to defend you? Will you take up arms?’ he demanded of Sicinius. ‘Will you?’ he asked of Junius who backed away.

  ‘Go,’ Sicinius spluttered, unnerved by Caius’s anger. ‘Go now before the people come to their senses and let me do what I long to do. We would all be better off with you dead, Caius Marcius.’

  Before Caius could speak again, the senatorial guards had surrounded him and told him to move. It was happening now, he realised, taken aback. He was to be escorted to the city gates this very minute, not even allowed to return to his domus to collect some things to take with him.

  Caius decided he would not argue. He would not give the tribunes or the plebs the satisfaction of seeing that he needed anything. In the middle of the escort he walked, head erect, back straight, to the city gates, followed by Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius and Cominius.

  ‘Can we not do something, Menenius?’ Volumnia pleaded as they reached the gates and came to a stop. ‘How can they do this to my son? Why did you agree?’

  ‘To bide us time,’ Menenius explained. ‘We must let the ill feeling against Caius die down. In a few weeks I will be able to petition the Senate for Caius’s return. Banishment is better than death, Volumnia.’

  ‘I would have gone to my death gladly if I meant I never had to see Rome again,’ Caius snarled.

  ‘I would not have been glad, nor Cominius, nor any of your friends,’ Menenius chastised. ‘And think of your mother and your wife, Caius.’

  ‘You will keep them safe, Menenius,’ Caius said.

  ‘No harm will come to them,’ Menenius promised. ‘You just look after yourself. Where will you go?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Caius said. A chill came over him and he wanted to be gone before he embarrassed himself. ‘Be strong, Mother,’ he called over his shoulder.’

  He stepped through the city gates and didn’t look back.

  24

  It seemed to have been raining ever since he left Rome. He’d been in bad weather before, of course, when on campaign, but for some reason, he had never seemed to mind it much then. Now, it felt like he would never be dry or warm again.

  Maybe it had been foolish to leave his country farm but Caius had not been able to settle there. He had no idea of how to farm and his farm manager had resented his inept interference, so he had taken to haunting the villa. It had been dull without company and he soon began to imagine the slaves and workers were talking about him and his exile from Rome, for he knew the news had spread to the country. He had walked out one day about three weeks after his banishment and met his neighbour. The man said he thought Caius might turn up, having heard he was no longer welcome in Rome, and had proceeded to invite him to dinner. Caius knew he had been rude when he refused the invitation but he hadn’t cared. It had kept the neighbour away, at any rate and there had been no further invitations, from his neighbour or anyone else, for that matter. They had probably been told to keep away from the man Rome had banished.

  And so, he had left his country estate, eager to be free of the gossip and rumour. He had set out with little idea of where he would go. He had considered going to the Latin tribes, but they were friends to Rome and he did not not want to ally himself with any who were. The problem was that left only a very few places he could go, and in those places, he was known to be an enemy. Where did that leave? Was he destined to roam the earth forever, never finding a home? He remembered often Menenius’s assurance that his banishment would be revoked soon, but he had been weeks at the farm and heard nothing from his old friend save hopeful words and empty promises. He doubted whether Menenius was working for him at all. In his darkest moments, he believed Menenius had engineered his exile, for with Caius out of Rome, Menenius was free to court his mother. Caius had never forgotten that disgusting scene when he had walked in on Menenius kissing Volumnia, even if he had forgiven it. And so, believing himself unfriended, Caius had not written to anyone in Rome that he was leaving the farm. He was determined to be on his own.

  But the rain was wearing that determination away. Caius took refuge beneath a large tree, the rain thinned by the leaf cover, and sank to his knees. He held his hands out, palms upwards and closed his eyes.

  ‘My protector Mars, I ask for your advice. I am shunned by my fellow Romans who resent the success you have bestowed upon me. They took their revenge upon your favoured servant and shut their gates against me. Wherever I go, I am followed by rumour and suspicion. And yet, I must needs have a place to rest. Tell me where I can go where I would be welcomed as your beloved servant.’

  He kept his eyes closed and felt the droplets patter upon his cheeks. He waited. Mars would answer him; he always had in the past. Mars would know what he should do.

  The rain
stopped. The birds began to sing.

  Caius dropped his hands to the dirt and pushed himself up onto his feet. Mars had not failed him. Mars had told him where he could go. He could go to Rome’s constant enemy. He could go to the Volsci.

  Tullus drank his fourth cup of wine that evening and wondered how much longer he had to sit and listen to these interminable stories told by old men and their snobby wives.

  He really would have to stop Junia from giving these dinners. This was the sixth dinner this month he had had to endure and he was getting mightily sick of them. Always the same people, those whom Junia thought were worth cultivating, claiming that when he was too old to go to war, he would need friends such as her guests who could put him in the way of good opportunities. So, it was only for his benefit, he would say, raising a sceptical eyebrow, that she played hostess so often? She would smile, tweak his nose and say he should be grateful he had such an enterprising wife who never interfered with him. It was true, he supposed. Junia never said he couldn’t leave Antium to visit a friend miles off, never told him he must be home at a certain time or not get drunk with his friends. She was a good wife in that respect. But if he wanted to keep her as a good wife, the implication was clear, he must not object to her dinner parties. But six in one month!

  Cordius was talking to him again, of what Tullus didn’t know or care. He smiled an answer and was amused to see Cordius’s expression change from enquiry to confusion, Tullus’s smile not being the answer he had anticipated. Tullus grinned more broadly and Cordius evidently decided his question wasn’t worth pursuing, turned away. Well, that had worked, Tullus thought with pleasure. Now, I just have to do that for the rest of the evening.

  He reached for the wine jug, looking up to summon the slave to bring more, when he noticed another of his slaves, one of those gifted by the Antium people in gratitude for his efforts against the Romans, enter the room and head for him. The slave bent down to murmur in his ear.