Brutus stepped down from the tribunal, his head held high. His gait was steady, but he leaned heavily upon the staff in his right hand. Never before had he needed a staff to help him walk; never again would he be able to walk without it.
Among those in the front of the crowd, watching the consul’s departure, were Titus Potitius and Gnaeus Marcius.
Titus, thanks to his family’s status, was used to being at the front of any assembly; on this day, he might have wished to be anywhere else. Several times, especially during the beheadings, he had grown faint and nauseated, but with his grandfather standing close by, he had not dared to look away. His friend Gnaeus, who was used to being further back in any crowd, had on this occasion pleaded with Titus to allow him a place beside him, so that he could have the best possible view of the proceedings. When Titus had grown weak, he had touched Fascinus with one hand and with the other had reached, like a child, for Gnaeus’s hand. Gnaeus, though it made him feel slightly foolish, had held his friend’s hand without protesting; he owed his place at the front of the crowd to Titus, after all.
Gnaeus was not squeamish; the sight of so much blood had not sickened him. Nor had he felt pity for the prisoners. They had taken a terrible risk, knowing the possible consequences. Had they succeeded, they would have shown no more mercy to their victims than had been shown to them.
About Brutus, Gnaeus was not sure what to think. The man had a will of iron; if any mortal was worthy to be a king, it must be Brutus, and yet the man had no interest in claiming the throne; his hatred of monarchy seemed to be entirely genuine. Brutus had invested all his hopes and dreams in the curious notion of res publica, the people’s state. Res publica had claimed his own sons, and had demanded that he carry out the punishment himself. Even a god who required such a cruel sacrifice might find himself spurned, yet Brutus still worshiped res publica!
Gnaeus had seen the birth of a new world, one in which patriots, not kings, held sway. The world had changed, but Gnaeus had not; he was still determined to be first among men, held in esteem above all others. How this might be accomplished in the new world, he did not know, but he had faith in his destiny. Time and the gods would show him the way.
504 B.C.
The arrival of Attus Clausus in Roma was an occasion of great pomp and celebration. All concerned recognized that it was a momentous event, though none could have realized just how far-reaching its effects would be.
The first five years of the new republic had been marked by many setbacks and challenges. Enemies from within had conspired to restore the king. Enemies from without had sought to conquer and subjugate the city. The citizens roiled with discontent, as power shifted from one faction to another in a relentless contest of wills.
Among the external enemies of the city were the Sabine tribes to the south and east, who had long been unified in their hostility to Roma. When one of their leaders, Attus Clausus, began to argue for peace between the Sabines and Roma, his fellow warlords turned against him and Clausus found himself in imminent danger. He made an urgent request to the Senate that he should be allowed to emigrate to Roma, along with a small army of warriors and their families. The Senate debated the issue and empowered the consuls to negotiate with Clausus. In return for a substantial contribution to the exhausted state treasury and the induction of his warriors into the Roman ranks, Clausus was welcomed to Roma. His dependents were promised land on the Anio river, and Clausus himself was enlisted among the patricians and given a seat in the Senate.
On the day of his arrival, a great crowd of well-wishers thronged the Forum and cheered him as he strolled up the Sacred Way with his family. Flower petals were strewn in their path. Horns and pipes played the festive melody of an old song about Romulus, his acquisition of the Sabine brides, and its happy result. The procession reached the Senate House. While his wife and children remained at the foot of the steps, Clausus ascended to the porch.
As usual, Titus Potitius stood near the front of the crowd, where he was able to get a good look at the famous Sabine warlord. He was impressed by the man’s distinguished bearing and his regal mane of black hair shot with silver. Titus’s grandfather stood among the magistrates and senators on the porch who welcomed Clausus and presented him with a senatorial toga. The Sabine tunic Clausus wore was a splendid green garment with sumptuous gold embroidery, but he made a show of good-naturedly raising his arms and allowing the toga to be wrapped around him and properly draped. He wore it well, and looked as if he had been born to the Roman Senate.
Speeches followed. Titus’s attention began to wander and he found himself studying the members of the Clausus family who were positioned nearby. The new senator’s wife was a striking woman, and their children were the offspring of two very good-looking parents. One of the daughters in particular caught Titus’s eye. She was a dark beauty with a long nose, sensual lips, and flashing green eyes. Titus was unable to look away. She felt his eyes upon her and returned his gaze, appraising him for a long moment before she smiled and looked away; up on the porch, her father had begun to speak. Titus’s heart was stirred as it had not been stirred since he first saw the doomed Lucretia.
Clausus spoke Latin with a charming Sabine accent. He expressed gratitude to the Senate of Roma—making no mention of the common people, Titus noticed—and he promised to continue his efforts to convince the other Sabine leaders that a peace accord should be struck with Roma. “But if they cannot be pacified in the counsel chamber, then they shall have to be crushed on the battlefield, and in that endeavor I shall do my part. The Sabine warriors I brought with me are now proud Roman warriors, just as I am now a proud Roman senator. Indeed, even as I put on this toga, I put aside my Sabine name. This morning I awoke as Attus Clausus, but as of this moment, I declare myself Appius Claudius. I think the name suits me, just as this toga suits me!” He smiled and slowly turned around to show off his new garment, eliciting applause and friendly laughter. The crowd loved him.
Titus, too, felt a surge of love, and also of hope, for now he knew what to call the object of his desire. The daughter of any man named Claudius would bear the name Claudia.
Claudia! he thought. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world, and her name is Claudia!
“According to Appius Claudius, he will leave the decision to the girl herself. What a strange character that man is!”
“Yes, grandfather,” said Titus, nodding nervously. “And?”
“And what?”
“What was her decision?”
“By Hercules, young man, I have no idea. I spent the whole visit talking to her father. I didn’t even see the girl. If she’s anything like your grandmother, she won’t make up her mind on the spot. Give her time to think it over!”
In the days following their arrival in Roma, Appius Claudius and his family had been invited to the homes of all the city’s foremost families. Among their first hosts had been the Potitii, for Titus had encouraged his grandfather to invite them to dinner as soon as possible. Titus had seized the chance to meet Claudia, and managed to speak to her privately for a few moments. She proved to be more fascinating than he could have imagined; her voice was like music, and the words she uttered took him into a realm of magic. Claudius, whom the Romans were beginning to consider a bit eccentric as they got to know him, had seen to the education of his daughters as well as his sons. Claudia could actually read and write, and when Titus mentioned his interest in architecture, she spoke of how impressed she was by the great Temple of Jupiter atop the Capitoline.