Inceptum Finis, The Beginning of the End

By Fredric Meek

The Roman army may have won the Third Punic War and given Rome control of the Mediterranean, but for Sempronius Viatores that's not enough. Making a living in post war Rome is getting more difficult. Semper, as he's known, doesn't want to be a carpenter like his short-tempered father. Semper wants to buy a farm. Land is the secret of financial security.

Semper must overcome his father's angry stubbornness, the fallout from his own infatuation with a fickle young woman, and a physical handicap that has defined his life. Politics seems to be an answer and Semper joins the ranks of the charismatic Tiberius Gracchus who raises a plebeian challenge to the power of the patricians and the Roman Senate. Tying his fate to the fortunes of Tiberius will endanger both Semper and his family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fredric Meek
• Release date: Sep 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463761694

Fredric Meek

Fredric W. Meek was born in Chicago and grew up in the western suburbs. He majored in history for his B.A. and received his J.D. from DePaul College of Law. His first novel, THE COLLEGE, published in 2013, was a story about the Vatican and a most unlikely pope. Fred's interest in the ancient world and the foundations of western civilization, led to a series of historical novels of the Roman republic: FINIS REPUBLICAE, INCEPTUM FINIS, and TRIUMPHUS PLEBIS. The common themes of all his books are family and friendship. Fred is widower and lives with Bartleby, his cat. He says, "Ginny and I raised two kids who became remarkable adults. Theresa and Emmett are my proudest achievement." A pipe smoker, much to the consternation of his cardiologist, Fred invites you to visit his website: http://www.whitefieldwriting.com, and post a comment on his blog.

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FOREWORD

Ancient history used to be a more popular subject, both academically and as literature. In my day, books and movies set in the ancient world abounded. Given the abundant documentation of the first century BCE, that time period received the most attention. The parallels of human experience across the generations was fodder for fiction.

Today, not so much. History, even in the most general sense, has lost its appeal. Our modern hubris suggests we have become too wise. The past has nothing to teach us. But Cicero had it right. Not to know what happened before you were born is to be forever a child.

This story starts one hundred years before the assassination of Julius Caesar and depicts both the major events that led to the Republic’s collapse and the lives of ordinary Romans at that time.

To help the reader keep the time line in perspective, I included the months and Roman year in each chapter heading. The Romans actually noted years by the names of the men serving as consuls during that period. I used the ALC notation, which is an acronym for A Liberta Constituta, and references from the founding of the Republic in 494 BCE (before the Common/Christian Era). I also noted the month and year BCE for each scene to save on arithmetic.

Finally, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus was a real person. As portrayed by Plutarch, one would think him a candidate for canonization. While I took literary license with some events in his life, the details of his politics are accurate. I don’t doubt that he was a good man trying to accomplish worthwhile goals, but I have to believe that he had some warts too.

TIMELINE OF ANCIENT ROME

753 BCE Founding of Rome by Romulus and Remus

509 BCE Overthrow of the Etruscan kings; establishment of the Republic

494 BCE First plebeian secession; creation of Tribune of the Plebeans

366 BCE First Plebeian Consul elected

341 BCE First Samnite War

326 BCE Second Samnite War; Rome conquers central and southern Italy

298 to 290 BCE Third Samnite War, Rome takes control of the Italian peninsula

287 BCE Second plebeian secession

280 BCE Pyrrhic War

264 to 241 BCE First Punic War between Rome and Carthage

218 to 201 BCE Second Punic War

149 to 146 BCE Iberian conquest and Third Punic War

133 BCE Tiberius Gracchus forces reforms and is murdered

121 BCE Gaius Gracchus continues reforms

112 BCE Jugurthine War in Numidia

91 to 88 BCE Social War, revolt of the Italian allies against Rome

83 to 82 BCE First Roman Civil War, Marius versus Sulla

73 to 71 BCE Spartacus slave rebellion

58 to 50 BCE Julius Caesar conquers Gaul

49 BCE Second Roman Civil War, Caesar versus Pompey

44 BCE Julius Caesar assassinated

Boldface indicates the period for INCEPTUM FINIS

In memory of

Emmett Lyle Meek

CHAPTER I

MARTIUS – MAIUS CCCLXIV ALC

(March – May, 364 A Liberta Constituta,

from the founding of the Republic, 146 BCE)

March 146 BCE

The dead boy’s face made Lucius Viatores’s heart stop. Sempronius? My son? The battle before him was forgotten as he bent to examine the corpse. Lucius’s stomach clenched. His face went slack.

No, of course not. Semper is in Rome. The army won’t have him, his leg and all. Relief flooded his body, filling the terrible emptiness. Still he stared at the young soldier’s face, so much like Semper’s. The boy was someone’s son. Some father would be bereft. But not me. Unless this is an omen of sorts. Is my family safe in Rome?

Lucius did not have time to explore those new fears. The praefectus fabrum, the chief engineer of the army, cracked him on the back of his helmet. Lucius’s nostrils flared and he pressed his lips tight as he exploded from his crouch. He quelled his quick temper as he saw the face of the officer.

What’s the matter with you, Viatores? Have you never seen a dead soldier before? Get back to work!

The praefectus stormed off. Lucius gathered his wits. The stench and roar of battle rose. Behind him, the city of Carthage was laid waste. Before him, four siege towers, each fifty feet high, pressed against the wall of the city's citadel. He was out of range of the arrows fired by the Carthaginian archers within the citadel.

The rubble of leveled buildings lay all about. Small fires smoldered. Blood slicked the paving. Bodies, mostly inhabitants of the city, were scattered in the debris. A few corpses, like the one that had grabbed Lucius’s attention, were Roman soldiers.

As a senior carpenter, Lucius had supervised the construction of two of the four siege towers. Lucius’s towers were nearly filled with soldiers climbing the ladders within the structure. Scales of thin iron plate and untanned hides covered the planks of the tower on three sides, preventing attempts by the defenders to set the towers on fire. The final assault was beginning.

Viatores, shouted the praefectus. Get over here. He beckoned urgently. Look, that tower is leaning, he said, gesturing wildly at one of the other two towers. It's going to collapse! Men who had started up the tower were now fleeing from it.

A glance showed Lucius what the problem was. The main timbers of the tower were not fastened tightly. He could hear the wood creaking in protest as members were strained. The whole structure was racking.

Get me some men, Lucullus! There are some long beams just behind those buildings, he said, pointing. Haul them over here and we’ll shore up the side of the tower. We’ll need cover from the walls.

As Lucullus sent soldiers to recover the beams, Lucius used his gladius, his short sword, to hew smaller posts into stakes. Then, under the cover of raised scuti, the curved shields of the legionaries, the men dragged the beams to the side of the leaning tower.

Lucius directed the setting of the beams at different angles, one end notched into the tower, the other away from the base. To keep the grounded ends from sliding, he drove his stakes into the soil between the paving stones. A tall, strong man, Lucius swung the sledge with authority, prompting one soldier to observe, All we need are some sparks and fire and we’d have Vulcan at his forge.

A stone, dropped from above, grazed Lucius’s shoulder. He didn’t notice. More rocks fell. The soldiers raised the shields higher, and the workers hunkered beneath them. When the rain of stones stopped, they resumed their labor until the next fusillade. In short order, they finished and retreated.

Well done, Viatores, said the praefectus.

Who built this tower? asked Lucius, nodding toward the structure.

Quintus Muscas, I think. He’s a shitty carpenter, but he’s got connections, friends with some senator. Foisted on me by the higher-ups.

* * *

Three days later, a bright sun in a clear spring sky shown down on the systematic destruction of the city of Carthage. Lucius watched from some distance on the plain just west of the city. The last part of the citadel wall toppled and fell, still in one piece. A billow of dust obscured the final plunge of the parapet. Two heartbeats later he heard the hollow crash of stone on stone. Smoke rose from fires in the rubble of the city, then fled south, as if appalled by the carnage.

Lucius was packing his tools and considered the nearby soldiers hard at the task they had been assigned.

It seems a foolish thing to do, he said to the centurion. I mean, it’s a waste of good salt.

It’s symbolic, said the centurion. If we sow the field with salt, nothing will grow here again. Not for a long time.

It seems stupid to me, said Lucius.

You question Scipio’s judgment? asked the centurion. His voice held menace.

Is the consul above being questioned? responded Viatores.

The centurion stared at the carpenter, his eyes narrowed. I may have to report your insubordination, soldier.

Lucius knew he should back down, but his temper got the better of him. Do what you have to, Centurion. But I am still a Roman citizen and I’ll speak my mind. He squared off, shoulders back, a hammer clenched in his right hand.

The centurion cocked the arm holding his baton just as Formus approached. Hold, there, Centurion! No one strikes my men but me.

Relaxing only slightly, the centurion said, He’s insubordinate, Praefectus. He needs to be taught a lesson. The man glared at Lucius, who returned his stare.

Then I’ll do the teaching. He thwacked Lucius with an open hand and added, Hold your temper, Viatores.

A line of approaching troops guarding the ragged, famished, emaciated survivors of the siege clattered noisily nearby, distracting them. Women and children shuffled along, heads down, shoulders slumped. They hobbled along the road to the port to take ship for Rome and the slave market.

Cato got his wish, said Lucius, now cooled, Carthage is destroyed.

Indeed, said the praefectus. He gestured at the disassembled siege tower and asked, Are you done?

Just about. I still have to pack the smaller parts. What do you want me to do with the timbers?

Burn them.

They’re still good for building something, Lucullus.

Doesn’t matter. Scipio wants it all burned. Nothing is to be left that can be used to rebuild the city. Nothing.

Seems a waste, said Lucius. Good solid beams and posts. Still usable somewhere.

* * *

Lucius hung his head and rubbed his forearms. He was standing on the prow of the trireme in conversation with Publius Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus, the commander of the Roman army that had just reduced Carthage to ruins. Lucius had no place in such heady company. Moreover, Scipio was speaking to him casually, as if they were friends. That should have put him at ease, but the effect was to the contrary. His solace was the heavy purse of coins the general had just given him, a reward for service. His presence on the commander’s ship was also a recognition of his achievements.

I know, carpenter, that you are anxious to return to Rome and your family. I share that feeling.

Yes, General. I worry about them. Lucius rocked back and forth on his feet. The deck was unsteady, but his unease was the real cause. The bright sunlight dancing on the waves made him squint.

I am sure that you do. But, Scipio’s brow wrinkled, I have another job for you. The praefectus says you are his best man. He wants you to go with him to Brundisium and work on the wharfs. You look surprised. Did he not tell you about this?

No, General. He just told me to come on deck and see you. I thought I might be in trouble of some sort.

Scipio laughed and slapped Lucius on the back. You will transfer to his ship when we reach Ostia and leave immediately. I am afraid you will not see your family for another month or so.

Lucius tried to hide his disappointment. There was no way he could refuse. Scipio must have read him though. The general said, I can see you miss them. Tell Formus I said to send them a message and give you a report of how they are faring.

Thank you, General. You’re very kind. Thank you.

Just then, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, Scipio’s brother-in-law, approached with long strides and a gleeful smile, shouting, Hail, Scipio Africanus.

Scipio scowled. That agnomen has not been conferred on me, Tiberius. Do not be presumptuous.

Tiberius was not in the least daunted by the general. He nodded at Lucius and then ignored him. I am certain that the senate will give you that honor, Brother. You deserve it. Have you hear2d anything from mother?

Lucius excused himself and started aft. He heard Scipio say, Yes. News of your escapades have reached her. She is furious with both of us.

He was first over the wall during the initial assault on the city. I’ll bet his mother is furious. Lucius could not help but think of his son, also Sempronius, who, in fact, was named in honor of Tiberius’s father. I’d be furious too, if Semper did anything like that. He had no use for reckless courage.

Lucius found a place on the stern of the trireme, out of the way of the tillers and the sailors who manned them. The purse from the general felt heavy. With difficulty, he resisted the temptation to examine the contents. It would be crass to count the bonus so quickly. Besides, he had just spent several moments in conversation with one of the most famous of all Romans. Scipio was a Cornelius, a descendant of one of the founding families of Rome, a real patrician, and Lucius thought him an excellent example of his class.

Not wanting to go below yet, he stood by the rail and watched the sea slide away beneath him, the evenly spaced patches of churned water passing rhythmically. The sun was warm and the breeze from the north was soothing.

But contentment eluded him. Another month away from home, away from the shop. Lucius was employed by Gaius Humanus, who owned a carpentry, cabinet making, and furniture business. It was not conceit that convinced him that he, Lucius, brought in most of the shop’s revenue. Humanus was neither a good businessman nor a craftsman. Lucius was certain that his absence during the eighteen months since his conscription had been bad for business.

He had had offers from other workers, men starting their own shops, but he had turned them down. Better to keep what you have than gamble. Lucius assumed those others would all be out of business now. Above all he had to protect his family. I will not have them suffer as I did.

The breeze died. The stench of the oar deck found its way topside. Slaves. Poor wretches. He remembered the line of slaves from Carthage. How many will flood the markets in Rome? He was troubled with the notion that some of them might be skilled labor like himself. Who will hire me, if he can buy a slave to do my job?

Scipio and Tiberius had come back amidships and both burst into laughter that carried to Lucius on the stern. He and the crewmen around him smiled in response, though they had no notion of the jest.

Tiberius Gracchus is only seventeen, a year younger than my Sempronius. The face of the dead soldier beneath the citadel wall surfaced in his mind’s eye. He remembered that instant of dreadful heartbreak when he had thought that he beheld his son. Another memory surfaced: Sempronius, Semper, as they called him, only nine years old then, writhing in pain and clutching his leg. Lucius had insisted he climb the ladder to secure the lintel. The boy had to learn the trade by doing, as he, Lucius, had. If I’d been more careful, he wouldn’t have broken his leg. That was partly my fault, wasn’t it? Not my fault it didn’t heal well, though. I blame the Fates for that.

There was consolation, though. Semper was not subject to conscription. He would never be obliged to demonstrate his courage on the battlefield as young Tiberius and so many others had been. Semper may be ashamed of not serving, but Lucius was grateful. He hated the war, not because of moral objection, but because it disrupted his life. It broke the thread of consistency and made life unpredictable. Lucius wanted things to be as they had always been. Semper is strong enough, though. He’ll be as good a carpenter as I am.

* * *

May 146 BCE

Sempronius Viatores trudged alongside his mother, up the slight grade on the street to the apartment. Sunrise would come any moment now. The gray light played on the paving stones of the narrow streets and filtered into the unnamed angular intersections. They were carrying the produce they had just purchased at the market, bags of emmer and barley flour with which Domitia would make a dough that could be baked into bread at the community oven.

It was an extravagance, but Domitia had also purchased cured bacon. Mother, can we afford that? Semper had asked.

We have to do something to celebrate the news. She referred to the letter they had received the previous day, a letter from Lucius informing them that he was returning to Rome.

Semper carried the heavy bags of grain on his right shoulder, over his good leg. He had no trouble keeping up with his mother’s pace, but he noticed her giving him a concerned glance. He smiled his reassurance.

I thought you would be happier at the news, Semper. You don’t seem very excited.

Oh, I am happy, mother. It will be good to have father back, though it would be nice to know exactly when to expect him.

Soon, I would think. He could come as quickly as the letter. Oh Semper, I am so glad to have him home.

I know, Mother, I know. But we have managed. I’ve taken care of you, haven’t I?

Yes, yes, you have, Sempronius. Your father will be very proud of you.

That remains to be seen, he thought. The truth was that Semper did not completely share Domitia’s joy, though he respected, and perhaps even loved, his father. Lucius could be generous and caring, but he could also be demanding and often quick to anger. Semper's experience was that Lucius praised him only lightly for his efforts, but strongly criticized his mistakes.

As he thought about it, Semper could not remember many times when his father was not angry about something. A smiling Lucius was a rare event. That had been the pattern for all of his eighteen years and he did not think his father’s absence of twenty months would change that.

They reached the apartment and Semper galloped up the stairs to the second floor. He ignored the twinge in his left hip. He left the bags on the table in the kitchen and, kissing his mother’s cheek, bade her good-bye.

Semper hiked through the streets of Rome to the Coline Gate. The sun burned off the late Maius mist and he began his two-mile march to the vineyard. The twinge returned, annoying but not really painful. Running up the stairs had been foolish, but he wanted Domitia to see that he was not impaired. He wanted her to stop coddling him and making excuses. He was a man now, a Roman citizen. He had donned his manly toga two years ago. He had cared for his family during Lucius’s tour of duty. He was worthy of respect.

Surveying the cloudless sky, Semper guessed that the day would grow hot, though the morning air was cool with a wind from the east. Now outside the walls of Rome, he returned the greetings of shopkeepers, farmers, and priests who dwelt along the highway. He had made this walk daily for some time now, and had become familiar with the stalls, temples, fields, and homes that clustered along the road.

He checked the progress of the construction of a new villa on a hillside and wondered what it must be like to have that much money. Perhaps not a patrician. Maybe a successful business man? Either way, it was an experience he was not likely to know. The seed of resentment sprouted anew in his mind. Why shouldn’t he have the opportunity to prosper?

A darker thought came to him. Did I have that chance and did I squander it? His father wanted him to learn carpentry, to follow his own footsteps in the trade. Semper had rejected that notion out of hand. His father was a craftsman and made a respectable living but, to Semper’s mind, he would never rise in class or amass significant wealth. There were too many carpenters, he thought, and too few jobs to employ them. Instead, he had sought work as a field hand. He was learning farming and winemaking. Before long he would buy his own vineyard and start his own business.

Traffic on the Via Nomentana increased as he neared the vineyard. His mood improved at the prospect of a day’s work and the pay that would come. He had it in mind to spend some of that pay on Lydia Messalina. That a woman as beautiful as Lydia could find him attractive only served to convince him that he was, indeed, a worthy citizen. Her affection confirmed that he did have a future.

He hailed his coworkers and Rufus, the owner, as he arrived. Sorry I’m a little late. Had to help mother at the market. Rufus waved an easygoing dismissal. As Semper grabbed a hoe and started work, an uninvited doubt surfaced. Why does Lydia find me attractive?

Semper squelched the doubt, replacing it with the thought that Lucius surely will be impressed when he meets her. For that reason, if no other, he looked forward to his father’s return.

CHAPTER II

MAIUS CCCLXIV ALC

May 146 BCE

Tiberius Gracchus reclined comfortably in the library of the family home on the Palantine. Slaves attended him, keeping his goblet filled and his plate of figs and pears replenished. It was midmorning. The curtains to the peristylium were open, and the spring breeze brought the scent of the gardenias in the courtyard into the room. The sound of soft splashing waters from the central fountain was peaceful. The air was a perfect temperature for quietly reading; this morning's choice was an essay by Zeno.

It occurred to Tiberius that the founder of the stoic school of philosophy would be proud of his Roman students. The practical application of his thinking had made them the masters of the world, including Zeno’s Greece. He was playing with the idea, pursuing implications for the future, when Cornelia, his mother, entered the room.

The distraction was only slightly annoying. He could recapture his thoughts later, he knew. In fact, he was not displeased to see Cornelia. Of course, she had berated him something fierce when he first returned home concerning his bravado at Carthage. He had, however, sensed that she felt a certain pride as well. Since that episode, she had been quite reasonable. She made no demands on him and even encouraged his reading and study.

Tiberius fervently hoped that his military experience marked a change in their relationship. He set aside his scroll, rose, and greeted her with a kiss on her cheek. His warm feeling toward her was short-lived, however. He read her expression and saw, once again, the cool, implacable matron of his youth.

He made an attempt, despite his misgivings. Mother, you look lovely this morning.

Cornelia allowed his embrace, but quickly disengaged. Gesturing to a slave for a chair, she told Tiberius to resume his seat. It is time for us to have a serious talk, Tiberius Sempronius.

Ah well, this is more like it. It’s just been an act with her. Whatever about, Mother?

Don’t be sarcastic, she snapped. You know quite well what I want to discuss. You have had your time to recuperate and restore yourself. You have had your celebrations with your friends. Now the time has come for you to get serious about your future.

At first, Tiberius wilted like a unwatered lily. This was old ground, so often trodden that it was packed hard. That thought stiffened him. I don’t have to put up with this. Not anymore. Why should I worry about my future? I have you to do that for me. By all the gods of Rome, Mother, I don’t want to hear this anymore.

Then do what I tell you and you won’t have to. Her color and her voice rose.

The slaves had drawn back toward the walls of the library. One even hid behind the large bust of Tiberius’s father and namesake. Can you not just leave it be? he pleaded. Can’t you give me some respite? He became quite earnest. I am only seventeen years old. I am not eligible for any political office. I won’t be for years.

You were an augur at age twelve, need I remind you?

He rose and paced three steps away. Facing the fountain, he said, So?

So you clearly have a destiny. You are the son of one of the greatest Romans of all time. You have a duty—to Rome and to your ancestors.

He wheeled and stared at her. She was still seated, implacable and resolute. She’s a forty-three-year-old widow. There are streaks of gray in her hair. Her beauty is gone. She bore my father twelve children and only three survived childhood. She has nothing else, does she? That must be what drives her so.

Cornelia ignored his glare. Of course you are too young to hold office. But you are not too young to be a part of the electorate. It is time to stop lounging about the house. You must attend the Senate, the meetings of the comitiae. You must show yourself as an interested and useful citizen. That lays the foundation.

Foundation for what? he asked, though he knew the answer.

For holding office, of course. Do not bandy words with me, Tiberius.

Other than to honor my father’s memory, why should I want to hold office? What possible difference would I make? The praetors and consuls are just place-keepers now. The business of the state is a matter of housekeeping. The quaestors are reduced to counting coins. It is all so dreadfully dull. I want no part of that.

She smiled as if in triumph. That is why you should attend the Senate. You are abysmally ignorant, young man. You do not see the currents in the city that will drive the Republic onto the rocks of ruin.

Oh gods, you sound like Scipio.

I hope so. Your sister’s husband is a man that knows his duty and is not afraid to face it.

You call me a coward, now? He stepped toward her, hands clasped to his breast.

She did not flinch. No, I call you foolish. Can you not see the latest cracks of conflict between the plebeians and the nobles? They reveal deeper fissures that will tear Rome apart if not managed.

Well, which is it, Mother? Are we threatened with shipwreck or earthquake? Your metaphors are tiring. He put his hands on his hips, hoping he had stung her. You apparently have not felt the mood of the city since my return. You were not with me and Polonius and Licturus in the streets when the victory was celebrated. Patricians, plebeians, equestrians, freedmen, even slaves, all joyfully together. The only cracks and fissures are in your imagination.

If he had hurt her, she gave no sign. You are more naïve than I thought, if you think a week or so of revelry is the real circumstance of Rome.

Tiberius gave up. It was pointless to argue with her. I have to use the latrina. He started to leave.

That reminds me of another matter we must discuss. You should be thinking about marriage. I hear that Appius Claudius and his family are seeking a husband for Claudia, his daughter.

Tiberius left the atrium, hands raised in exasperation. He was appalled at how his mother’s mind worked.

Domitia Viatores shook her head in despair. Semper, you didn’t clean the kitchen yet.

Sempronius was on his way out of the apartment. He paused at the doorway and twisted his torso to look back at his mother. I’ll do it as soon as I get back. I’ll only be out for an hour or so. I promise. Domitia gave him an exasperated gesture, then waved him away. She suspected that he was keeping an appointment with Lydia Marcella, who lived in another insula about two streets away. He had mentioned making a promise to her to help her with some project or another.

Nearly a month had passed since the return of Publius Scipio and the army. The fervent celebrations of the victory had wound down. Lucius was not yet home. He had sent word from Ostia, when the army arrived, that he was ordered to Brundisium, by ship, to work on the construction of a new wharf. Domitia had been terribly disappointed. Managing the household without Lucius was increasingly difficult. Her son’s distraction from his responsibilities did not make things any easier.

She understood his interest, though. By Semper’s account, and others, Domitia knew that Lydia was very pretty. She wished that Lucius were here to counsel the boy. Gossip at the market caused her to fear that Lydia was just using Semper.

Domitia returned to her housekeeping. She swept the floor and the well-worn rug in the main room of the small apartment, which was on the second floor of the four-story building. The doorway from the central hall opened onto this multipurpose space. A curtained opening to the kitchen was on the left as one entered, and through that area another curtain led to the bedroom. She would have liked to replace the carpet, but that