The special appointment of the hero Coriolanus to the Senate was swiftly done. He was outfitted with a senatorial toga, and the day of his induction, if not as momentous as that of Appius Claudius, was nonetheless marked by all the proper ceremonies and speeches of welcome.
The fact that Gnaeus was a plebeian was not an impediment to his admission. A number of wealthy, powerful plebeians had been admitted into the ranks of the Senate. A small handful had even been elected consul, beginning with the great Brutus himself, though for any man not of patrician rank the attainment of the consulship posed a steep challenge. It was one thing to achieve nobilitas, the status of being among “the known,” which membership in the Senate conferred to a man and his descendents; it was quite another thing to attain the nobility’s highest honors. As Publius Pinarius had once remarked to Titus, approvingly, “To reach the very top in our brave new republic, it’s not enough merely to be noble; it’s necessary for that nobility to be covered with purple must like old wine, to be ancient and rusty like iron. That sort of status comes only with generations of breeding!”
If anyone might have opposed Gnaeus’s appointment to their ranks, it would have been the plebeian minority in the Senate who regularly put forth radical legislation and who knew very well where Gnaeus’s allegiances lay; but the plebs bided their time and did not speak against him. It was Gnaeus who spoke against them.
The more conservative senators had always opposed the establishment of the tribunes as protectors of the plebs. Some who had acquiesced to the necessity, in order to end the secession of the plebs, now regretted it. Yet no one, not even the reactionary Appius Claudius, dared to call publicly for the abolition of the tribunes. There was some question as to whether it would be even legal to do so; to interfere with the work of the tribunes was a crime punishable by exile or death, and could it not be argued that calling for their abolition amounted to interference with their work?
It was left to a man who knew no fear to do what Appius Claudius and his colleagues were afraid to do.
On the morning that Gnaeus was inducted into their ranks, the business of the Senate was commonplace. Funds needed to be appropriated to repair a section of the Cloaca Maxima. More funds were needed to rebuild a portion of a road south of the city rendered impassable by heavy rains. A section of the wall protecting the Aventine needed repair. There was debate as to who should receive these contracts; certain senators were notorious for getting the most lucrative contracts, and for overcharging, as well. After some acrimonious exchanges, the matter of funding was tabled and scheduled for further debate.
Titus Potitius was asked about progress on the Temple of Ceres. “I am happy to report that the work of the Greek artists Gorgasus and Damophilus is very nearly complete. Some of you have seen the results already. I believe I can say without exaggeration that our grandchildren, and their grandchildren, when they look upon this temple, will praise their ancestors for having created a gift of such exquisite beauty to the goddess. In years of bounty, we shall have a place to thank her. In lean years, we shall have a place to appeal to her favor.”
There was a murmur of approval throughout the chamber. Titus was well liked, and his competence was beyond dispute.
The attention of the Senate turned to its newest member, who had put in a request to speak. Gnaeus, who was sitting between Appius Claudius and Titus, rose to his feet and strode to the center of the chamber, so that he could move about freely and face all the senators in turn.
“My colleagues, let me tell you straight out that I am not a man of delicate words. My oratorical skills, such as they are, were not learned on the Field of Mars where the men standing for consul beg for votes. I am not accustomed to flattering anyone, least of all my inferiors. I learned to speak on the battlefield, exhorting other men to fight and to spill their blood for Roma. Today, I find myself on another battlefield, where the fate of Roma hangs in the balance. You, senators, are the warriors I must rally to take up arms and fight for Roma!
“Not long ago, when the plebs staged their so-called secession, one of your number, the distinguished Menenius Agrippa, made an impassioned speech to the people, trying to make them see reason. He told them a fable which went something like this: Long ago, the parts of the human body were not all in harmony, as they are now, but each had its own thoughts and ideas. The hard-working limbs and the vigilant eyes and ears noticed that the belly seemed to do nothing but lay idle and wait for the other parts to feed it. ‘We all work hard to satisfy the belly, but what does the belly do for us?’ they said. ‘Let us teach the belly a lesson!’ So they conspired to withhold all nourishment from it. The limbs refused to gather grain, the eyes refused to watch for game, the hands refused to take food to the mouth, the mouth refused to open. When the empty belly began to grumble—not a selfish demand, but a warning of danger!—the other parts merely laughed. How simpleminded, how spiteful were these resentful parts! Because, quite soon, the limbs began to wither, the hands began to tremble, the eyes and ears grew dull. The weakened parts fell prey to every manner of disease. Finally, they realized that the belly, too, had its essential part to play in the great scheme of things, for it was the belly that sustained the rest of the body, and without it the other parts could not continue to exist! The rebellion ceased. The natural order was restored. The body gradually returned to health, and the other parts never again conspired against the belly. When it asked to be fed, they all worked together to do so, without questioning.
“If only the fable told by Agrippa had sufficed to make those malcontents see the error of their ways! A city must be ruled by the best and wisest of its men, and to those men must be given the respect and privileges they deserve. The other citizens have their purpose, but it is not to rule the city! They exist to fill the ranks of the army, to settle new colonies so as to spread the power of Roma and encircle her with obedient allies, to harvest the crops, and to build the roads. It is not the rabble’s place to rule, yet they persist in their reckless attempts to pull down their betters and take their place! They can only fail, because, like the limbs who rebelled against the belly, what they are attempting goes against the natural order of the universe, against the will of the gods.
“And yet, these malcontents have already done great damage to the state, and they have done so with the craven cooperation of a majority within this very chamber! This appeasement must stop. More than that, it must be rolled back, before the damage becomes irreparable. This is not merely an internal matter, a disagreement among citizens. Never forget that Roma is surrounded by enemies, and those enemies are always watching. How gleeful they must be, to see our predicament! One by one, the best men of Roma will be pulled down by the rabble. Who then will defend the city against her foes? Just as the lesser men will destroy the greater men in Roma, so lesser cities will unite to destroy Roma herself. Your fortunes and your land will be taken from you. Your families shall be sold into slavery. Our beloved Roma shall cease to exist—and men will say that her destruction began with the creation of the tribunes of the plebs!”
There was an uproar in the chamber. Members cried out, “This issue has already been settled!” and “The plebs are not the enemy!” But others were exhilarated by Gnaeus’s words, including Appius Claudius, who sprang to his feet and shouted, “Hail Coriolanus, the man who dares to speak the truth!”
Gnaeus raised his hands. As the din subsided, one senator shouted, “What exactly do you propose, Gnaeus Marcius?”
“What do you think? I propose that the tribunes must be abolished.”
“The proposal is illegal!” shouted a senator. “Withdraw it at once!”
“I will not! I stand by my words, and I ask you, my colleagues, to stand by me. A grave mistake was made and it must be rectified, for the sake of Roma!”
If Gnaeus had hoped to put forward a formal proposal and to call for a vote, he was thwarted. All over the chamber, senators sprang to their feet and loudly demanded to be recognized. Shouting led to name-calling, and then to shoving matches. Amid the chaos, Gnaeus, who was used to the discipline of the army and its clear lines of authority, threw up his hands in disgust and strode out of the chamber.
Titus caught up with him as he descended the steps of the Senate House. “Gnaeus, where are you going?”
“Anywhere to escape that tumult. The Senate is just what I expected—all kings and no crown. How they ever accomplish anything, I can’t imagine. Would you believe it, just this morning, Cominius was telling me that I should consider a run for consul. Can you see me currying favor with that lot and the common rabble? I think not!”
“It’s usually not quite so…disorderly.” Titus laughed. “You certainly riled them up.”
“I did, didn’t I? Because they needed it!” Gnaeus’s smile abruptly faded. In the middle of the Forum, he found himself confronted by a large group of men. One of the men stepped forward.
“Are you Gnaeus Marcius, called Coriolanus?”
“You know I am. Who are you?”
“Spurius Icilius, tribune of the plebs. I’ve been informed of a threat made against myself and the well-being of all plebeians.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you not, only moments ago, make a proposal on the floor of the Senate that the tribunate of the plebs should be abolished, therefore threatening the safety and protection of all plebeians?”
“How would you know about that? Do you have spies in the Senate?”
“The eyes and the ears of the tribunes are everywhere. We are the protectors of the people.”
“You’re nothing more than hooligans.”
“Did you or did you not threaten the tribunes?”
“What I said before the Senate, I’ll say to your face: For the survival of Roma, the tribunes must be abolished!”
“Gnaeus Marcius, I place you under arrest for threatening a tribune of the plebs and for interfering with his mission. Your fate will be decided by a vote of the people’s assembly.”
“This is ridiculous!”
“You will come with me.”
“I will not! Take your hands off me!” Gnaeus repulsed the tribune so forcefully that the man stumbled and fell backward.
Some of the men with Icilius produced cudgels and brandished them. Gnaeus struck one of them squarely in the nose and sent him reeling, then adroitly ducked a cudgel swung at his head. He struck another man and knocked him down. Titus, caught up in the excitement, joined the fight just as more men with cudgels arrived.
“We must run, Titus!” shouted Gnaeus.
“Run? Surely Coriolanus never runs!” Titus ducked a cudgel.
“When he’s unarmed and outnumbered, even Coriolanus makes a strategic retreat!”
The tribune’s men blocked the way back to the Senate House. Titus and Gnaeus ran in the opposite direction, toward the Capitoline, with the tribune and his men in pursuit. The last time the two of them had ascended the hill had been on the day of the triumph, when Gnaeus had received his title by the acclamation of the people. It occurred to Titus that some of the men pursuing them had probably been among those who shouted “Coriolanus!” How they had loved Gnaeus on that day; how they hated him now! Gnaeus was right, he thought. The rabble were fickle and foolish and did not deserve to have a warrior like Coriolanus to fight their battles.
They sprinted up the winding pathway and approached the summit. “Has it occurred to you,” asked Titus, breathing hard, “that we shall have nowhere to go when we reach the top?”
“There is no strategic retreat without a strategy!” said Gnaeus. “I shall enter the Temple of Jupiter and demand asylum. If the rabble can find asylum in your Temple of Ceres, then surely Jupiter can shield a senator!”
But as they approached the temple steps, they were blocked by a group of men who had somehow circled ahead of them. There was no choice but to keep running, until they came to the Tarpeian Rock and could run no more.
The swiftest of the pursuers, almost upon them, shouted back to the others, “Can you believe it? The gods have led them straight to the place of execution!”
“Stand back!” cried the tribune Icilius. “No one will be executed today. This man is under arrest.”
But as the mob approached, there were cries of “Swift justice!” and “Push him over!” and “Kill him now!”
Titus, already light-headed from running, glanced over the precipice and staggered back. He was dizzy and his heart was pounding.