The Storm Before the Storm: The Beginning of the End of the Roman Republic

by Mike Duncan

NO PERIOD IN history has been more thoroughly studied than the fall of the Roman Republic. The names Caesar, Pompey, Cicero, Octavian, Mark Antony, and Cleopatra are among the most well known names not just in Roman history, but in human history. Each year we are treated to a new book, movie, or TV show depicting the lives of this vaunted last generation of the Roman Republic. There are good reasons for their continued predominance: it is a period alive with fascinating personalities and earth-shattering events. It is especially riveting for those of us in the modern world who, suspecting the fragility of our own republican institutions, look to the rise of the Caesars as a cautionary tale. Ben Franklin’s famous remark that the Constitutional Convention had produced “a Republic… if you can keep it” rings all these generations later as a warning bell.

Surprisingly, there has been much less written about how the Roman Republic came to the brink of disaster in the first place—a question that is perhaps more relevant today than ever. A raging fire naturally commands attention, but to prevent future fires, one must ask how the fire started. No revolution springs out of thin air, and the political system Julius Caesar destroyed through sheer force of ambition certainly wasn’t healthy to begin with. Much of the fuel that ignited in the 40s and 30s BC had been poured a century earlier. The critical generation that preceded that of Caesar, Cicero, and Antony—that of the revolutionary Gracchi brothers, the stubbornly ambitious Marius, and the infamously brash Sulla—is neglected. We have long been denied a story that is as equally thrilling, chaotic, frightening, hilarious, and riveting as that of the final generation of the Republic.

The final victory over Carthage in the Punic Wars led to rising economic inequality, dislocation of traditional ways of life, increasing political polarization, the breakdown of unspoken rules of political conduct, the privatization of the military, rampant corruption, endemic social and ethnic prejudice, battles over access to citizenship and voting rights, ongoing military quagmires, the introduction of violence as a political tool, and a set of elites so obsessed with their own privileges that they refused to reform the system in time to save it.

Who is there so feeble-minded or idle that he would not wish to know how and with what constitution almost all the inhabited world was conquered and fell under the single dominion of Rome within fifty-three years? POLYBIUS1

PROCONSUL PUBLIUS SCIPIO AEMILIANUS STOOD BEFORE the walls of Carthage watching the city burn. After a long, bloody siege, the Romans had breached the walls and pierced the heart of their greatest enemy. The Carthaginians had put up a fight, forcing the Romans to conquer the city street by street, but at the end of a week’s fighting the Romans prevailed. After systematically looting the city, Aemilianus ordered Carthage destroyed and its remaining inhabitants either sold into slavery or resettled further inland—far away from their lucrative harbor on the coast of North Africa. Long one of the great cities of the Mediterranean, Carthage was no more.2

Meanwhile, seven hundred miles to the east, consul Lucius Mummius stood before the walls of the Greek city of Corinth. For fifty years, Rome had attempted to control Greek political life without ruling Greece directly. But persistent unrest, disorder, and rebellion had forced the Romans to intervene repeatedly. Finally, in 146 BC, the Senate dispatched Mummius to end these rebellions once and for all. When he breached the walls of Corinth he made an example of the rebellious city. As with Carthage, the legions stripped the city of its wealth, tore down buildings, and sold its inhabitants into slavery.3

By simultaneously destroying Carthage and Corinth in 146, the Roman Republic took a final decisive step toward its imperial destiny. No longer one power among many, Rome now asserted itself as the power in the Mediterranean world. But as Rome’s imperial power reached maturity, the Republic itself started to rot from within. The ...

The new Roman Republic was not a freewheeling democracy. Families that could trace their lineage back to the original senators appointed by Romulus were known as the patricians and by both custom and law these families monopolized all political and religious offices. Anyone outside this small aristocratic clique was called plebeian. All plebeians—whether poor farmer, prosperous merchant, or rich landowner—were shut out of power. It did not take long for the plebs to agitate for equal rights. As the historian Appian says: “The plebeians and Senate of Rome were often at strife with each other concerning the enactment of laws, the cancelling of debts, the division of lands, or the election of magistrates.” The running battle between patrician and pleb became known as the Conflict of the Orders.8

About fifteen years after the founding of the Republic, a debt crisis among the lower-class plebeians finally led to a great showdown. Incensed at arbitrary patrician abuse, the plebs refused to muster for military service when called to face a looming foreign threat. Instead the plebs withdrew en masse to a hill outside the city and swore to remain there until they were allowed to elect magistrates of their own. The Senate yielded and created the Plebeian Assembly, a popular assembly closed to patricians. This Assembly would elect tribunes who acted as guardians against patrician abuse. Any citizen could seek sanctuary with a tribune, at any time, for any reason. By sacred oath the tribunes were declared sacrosanct—within the city limits of Rome not even a consul could lay a hand on them. They became sentinels against the tyranny of the senatorial aristocracy.9

But though tension between patrician and pleb helped define the early Republic, Roman politics was not a class affair. Roman families organized themselves into complex client-patron networks that worked down from the elite patrician patrons through an array of interconnected plebeian clients. Patrons could expect political and military support from their clients, and clients could expect financial and legal assistance from their patrons. So though the conflict between patricians and plebs occa...

What truly bound all Romans together, though, were unspoken rules of social and political conduct. The Romans never had a written constitution or extensive body of written law—they needed neither. Instead the Romans surrounded themselves with unwritten rules, traditions, and mutual expectations collectively known as mos maiorum, which meant “the way of the elders.” Even as political rivals competed for wealth and power, their shared respect for the strength of ...

When the Republic began to break down in the late second century it was not the letter of Roman law that eroded, but respect for the mut...

THOUGH SOMETIMES DIVIDED internally, the Romans always fought as one when faced with a foreign threat. Romulus stamped the Romans early with a martial spirit and rarely did a year go by without some kind of conflict with a neighbor. Occasionally these seasonal skirmishes erupted into full-blown wars. Starting in 343, the Romans became locked in a long war with the Samnites, a nomadic people who populated the hills and mountains of central Italy. Waged over the next fifty years, the Samnite Wars eventually sucked the ...

But that victory only led to an even greater conflict: the Punic Wars. As Rome grew in strength during the 300s, the prosperous merchant city of Carthage had been rising in North Africa. By the time the Romans conquered Italy, the Carthaginians had pushed their way onto the island of Sicily and would soon be moving over to Spain. The two budding empires inevitably clashed, a...

Emerging from the crucible of the Punic Wars, Rome was no longer merely a regional power—it had become the dominant power in the Mediterranean. But the Senate resisted taking direct imperial control over the territories they now commanded. The final treaty with Carthage was surprisingly lenient. It stipulated a number of punitive clauses—the Carthaginians owed an annual cash indemnity and were forbidden from fielding an army or a navy—but other than that, Carthage retained its traditional domains in Africa and was free to govern itself.14

The Senate also wanted no part of ruling the Greeks and Macedonians. Having successfully kept Macedon out of the war, the Roman fleet withdrew back across the Adriatic. The plan was to leave Greece to the Greeks but, much to the Senate’s consternation, King Philip V of Macedon intentionally violated a treaty obligation and Rome was obliged to send legions east again. In 197, Philip paid for his provocative miscalculation when the legions crushed him at the decisive Battle of Cynoscephalae. Philip agreed to confine himself to Macedon and not make further trouble.

But though Greece was now at their mercy, the victorious Romans declared in 196: “The Senate of Rome and T. Quinctius, their general, having conquered King Philip and the Macedonians do now decree and ordain that these states shall be free, shall be released from the payment of tribute, and shall live under thei...

But though the Senate eschewed direct imperial rule over the “civilized” Carthaginians and Greeks, they showed little hesitation annexing “uncivilized” Spain. Attracted by lucrative silver mines, Rome kept its legions in Spain after the Punic Wars to ensure Spanish silver made its way into Roman temples. Roman conduct in Spain was riddled with double-dealing, extortion, and periodic atrocities. This led to rapid cycles of insurrection and pacification that in turn led the Senate to formally organize the Spanish coast into two permanent provin...

Under Polybius’s tutelage Aemilianus embraced a new Greco-Roman spirit that was sweeping the age. The flood of educated Greek slaves into Italy led an entire generation of young nobles to become fully steeped in Greek literature, philosophy, and art. Some more conservative Romans railed against the importation of Greek ideas and believed they eroded the austere virtues of the early Romans. But while young leaders like Aemilianus reveled in Greek culture, they never questioned Rome’s right to rule the world. And despite conservative moral agonizing, there was nothing soft about Scipio Aemilianus, who believed that obedience was taught with a whip hand. He would be in a prime position to be that whip hand when those who chafed under Roman rule began to rise up and the Senate decided to finally teach the Mediterranean obedience.21

Polybius argued that beyond their obvious military prowess, the Romans lived under a political constitution that had achieved the perfect balance between the three classical forms of government: monarchy—rule by the one; aristocracy—rule by the few; and democracy—rule by the many.22 According to Aristotelian political theory, each form of government had its merits but inevitably devolved into its most oppressive incarnation until it was overthrown. Thus a monarchy would become a tyranny, only to be overthrown by an enlightened aristocracy, which slid to repressive oligarchy until popular democracy overwhelmed the oligarchs, opening the door for anarchy, and so back to the stabilizing hand of monarchy again. Polybius believed the Romans had beaten this cycle and could thus keep growing when other cities collapsed under the shifting sands of their own inadequate political systems.23

The monarchical element of the Roman constitution was the executive consuls. Thanks to the Roman aversion to kings, the Republic did not have a single executive and instead elected a pair of consuls who would share supreme military, political, and religious authority. To limit the risk of a tyrannical power grab, each executive partner had the ability to veto the decisions of his colleague. But even more importantly, the term of office was just a single year. At the end of their year in office, the consuls would return to the ranks of the citizen body and a new pair of leaders would replace them.24

The practical Romans, however, did create an emergency office called the Dictatorship. In times of crisis, the consuls could pass power to a single man who would hold absolute power in order to deliver Rome from danger. And this did not just mean foreign threats: the first dictator was appointed due to plebeian unrest in Rome rather than threat from a hostile neighbor. But, critically, the Dictatorship expired after six months. As the Romans held an implacable hatred of kings, the Senate authorized any citizen, at any time, ...

The aristocratic element was, of course, the Senate. Originally one hundred old men organized by Romulus to act as a council of state, the Senate numbered about three hundred old men in Polybius’s age. Drawing its members from the richest and most powerful families in Rome, the Senate had evolved into the central political institution of the Republic. With the Senate composed of former magistrates, it served as the principal advise...

Finally, the democratic element was found in the Assemblies, which were open to all Roman citizens. By the time of Polybius there were three principal Assemblies: the Centuriate Assembly, which elected senior magistrates; the Tribal Assembly, which elected junior magistrates, passed laws, and rendered legal judgment; and the Plebeian Assembly, which had many of the same powers as the Tribal Assembly but which elected the tribunes and were open only to men of plebeian birth. The democratic element of the Roman constitution is often underrated, but the Assemblies were incredibly powerful. Only an Assembly could enact a law or pass capital sentence on a citizen. And while a citizen could always appeal a verdict to the Assemblies, there was no appeal from the As...

Polybius was a gifted theorist, by the time he was writing his history in the mid-100s the balance he admired had already been disrupted. The Senate had emerged from the Punic Wars stronger than it had been since the First Secession of the Plebs in the 400s. During the Punic Wars the annual changeover of senior military commanders became a hindrance to war planning and the Senate collectively began to take the lead in developing and executing policy. The senators also became adept at ensuring subservient clients were elected tribunes. By the end of the Punic Wars the consuls, the tribunes, and Assemblies no longer acted as a check on the Senate, but as an extension of it. Even as Polybius wrote his paean to Roman constitutional balance, the senatorial aristocracy was sliding into repressive oligarchy.28

just as war in Greece was brewing a pretender to the Macedonian throne launched a campaign to restore the Kingdom of Macedon. When word of this latest threat from Macedon reached Rome, the Senate dispatched the praetor Quintus Caecilius Metellus, who made quick work of the Macedonian army—forever earning Metellus the cognomen “Macedonicus.” After this latest Macedonian uprising Rome decided they had had enough of Macedonian uprisings. Instead of returning sovereignty to the native inhabitants, the Senate annexed the whole region and created a new province of the Roman Republic called Macedonia.40

When word came back of Corinth’s destruction, the Senate dispatched a commission to Greece to settle affairs in the east for all time. After fifty years of trying to maintain the pretense of Greek liberty, the Romans finally gave up. Greece was merged with Macedon into the single Roman province of Macedonia. Greek liberty was dead. The Romans now ruled.42

BACK IN NORTH Africa, the Romans prepared for final victory over their greatest enemy. After a year of careful preparation, Aemilianus launched the final assault on Carthage in the spring of 146. The legions breached the walls and rushed into the city, but it took a week of bitter house-to-house fighting to subdue the last Carthaginian holdouts. When the city was finally conquered, Aemilianus likely acted on the same set of instructions that had been given to Mummius. He stripped the city of its wealth, enslaved any fighters left alive, and forcibly moved the remaining inhabitants inland. He then ordered Carthage put to flame. Soon enough a senatorial commission would arrive to annex Carthaginian territory into the domains of Rome and create a new province called Africa.43 But as he stood watching Carthage burn, Scipio Aemilianus reflected on the fate of this once great power. Overcome with emotion, he cried. His friend and mentor Polybius approached and asked why Aemilianus was crying—what better outcome could any man hope for? Aemilianus replied, “A glorious moment, Polybius; but I have a dread foreboding that some day the same doom will be pronounced on my own country.” According to Roman tradition Aemilianus then quoted a line from Homer: “A day will come when sacred Troy shall perish, And Priam and his people shall be slain.” Aemilianus knew that no power endures indefinitely, that all empires must fall, and that there is nothing mortals can do about it.44

TIBERIUS SEMPRONIUS GRACCHUS WAS WATCHING AS CARthage burned. In 146 BC the teenager was on his first campaign and serving under the famous commander Scipio Aemilianus—a typical posting for the scion of an illustrious family. And the Gracchi were an illustrious family. First ennobled by Tiberius’s great-grandfather, the family had risen in stature with each generation, culminating with Tiberius’s father, whom Livy called “by far the ablest and most energetic young man of his time.” Over the course of his storied career, Gracchus the Elder served two consulships and was awarded two triumphs. Though his father died when Tiberius was just ten years old, the boy knew his father’s exploits well. He knew he had much to live up to.

Cornelia, was herself one of the most respected matrons in Roman history. She was the daughter of Scipio Africanus and wielded enormous influence inside the extended Scipione family. After her husband, Gracchus the Elder, died in 154, Cornelia elected not to remarry—even turning down a marriage proposal from the king of Egypt—and instead dedicated herself to Tiberius and her other son, Gaius. She cultivated their education and hired renowned Greek tutors to expose the boys to the most advanced theories of the age. In an apocryphal but telling story, a wealthy noblewoman once showed off a set of beautiful jewels to Cornelia, who herself pointed to Tiberius and his younger brother Gaius and said, “Those are my jewels.”3

Aemilianus was obligated to bring his teenage brother-in-law Tiberius to the siege of Carthage. In Africa, Tiberius was exposed to the basics of military life. By all accounts he performed well as a soldier, earned the respect of the men, and even won a coveted award for being the first man over an enemy wall. When Carthage fell in 146, Tiberius Gracchus was there to watch the city burn.6

After Tiberius returned from North Africa, Cornelia maneuvered him into a marriage with the daughter of Appius Claudius Pulcher. Tiberius’s new father-in-law came from one of the oldest patrician families in the Republic and had recently been named princeps senatus—a prestigious position that meant he was listed at the top of the senatorial roll and was allowed to speak first in any debate. But the marriage was not without complications: Claudius was a bitter opponent of Scipio Aemilianus, and Tiberius was now caught in the middle of their rivalry. But that said, by his early twenties Tiberius was positioned to achieve a preeminence that might even surpass his father. He was well educated, well connected, and already recognized as a man with “great force of character, eloquence, and dignity.” But unlike most Romans, Tiberius would not win fame on the battlefield fighting a foreign enemy. Instead he would win fame in the Forum combating the domestic threat of skyrocketing economic inequality.7

WITH ALL THESE social and economic problems swirling, Tiberius Gracchus was elected quaestor for 137. This was supposed to be the routine first step on his ascent up the cursus honorum, but instead it nearly ended Tiberius’s public career before that career even began. Attached to the command of consul Gaius Hostilius Mancinus, Tiberius landed in Spain in the spring of 137 to continue the war against the Numantines, a Celtiberian tribe who had managed to resist all Roman attempts at pacification. Upon arrival Tiberius found himself caught up in one of the most embarrassing defeats the legions ever suffered. The consul Mancinus was far more a scholar than a soldier and the experienced Numantine guerrillas ran circles around his clumsy maneuvers. After a series of poorly executed skirmishes, Mancinus attempted a strategic retreat under cover of darkness, but discovered as the sun rose that his army was surrounded.20 Having fallen prey to Roman treachery in the past, the Numantine leaders demanded young Tiberius Gracchus be sent forward to negotiate. While serving in Spain a generation earlier, Tiberius’s father had brokered an equitable peace treaty with the Numantines, and they remembered the name Gracchi and trusted the son to play as fair as his father. On his first campaign and with as many as thirty thousand lives on the line, Tiberius negotiated a treaty that allowed the legions safe passage out of the region in exchange for a pledge of future peace.21

The legal rationale of the Lex Agraria was simple: the five-hundred-iugera prohibition would be strictly enforced. Anyone caught occupying ager publicus over the legal limit would be forced to relinquish the excess back to the state. The excess could then be divided up into small manageable plots and redistributed to landless citizens. Since the whole point of the reform was to rebuild the class of small holders, the bill stipulated that the newly created plots could not be broken up and sold. The authors of the Lex Agraria did not want to hand a plot of land to a poor man just so he could turn around and sell it back to a rich man.25 Somewhat counterintuitively, the senators crafting this piece of radical reform legislation were not backbench agitators, but rather some of the most powerful men in Rome. The group was led by Tiberius’s father-in-law, Appius Claudius Pulcher, who was princeps senatus. Joining him were a prominent pair of brothers: the wealthy jurist and scholar Publius Licinius Crassus Mucianus and Publius Mucius Scaevola, one of the most respected legal theorists of his generation. There were other prominent senators and rising young nobles surrounding Claudius’s group of reformers; among them was Tiberius Gracchus.26

For historians, one of the most controversial aspects of the Lex Agraria is whether the authors intended only Roman citizens to qualify for allotments or whether the noncitizen Italian Allies also qualified. The Italians provided much of the manpower for the legions and Tiberius himself was personally anxious about their plight, “lamenting that a people so valiant in war, and related in blood to the Romans, were declining little by little into poverty and paucity of numbers without any hope of remedy.” But whatever the original intent, there is no evidence the Italians were ultimately included in the redistribution program. It seems an obscure point, but the fight over the Lex Agraria was an early test of Roman willingness to treat the Italians as equals. It was a test they failed.27

Historians also still argue about the motivations of the authors of the bill. Maybe they were acting on high-minded principle and simply wanted to restore the citizen-farmer and rebuild the manpower reserves of the legions. But it could also be that the law was cynically designed to add thousands of new clients to the political networks of its authors. Traditionally, the man tasked with distributing land absorbed the families that benefited onto his client rolls. And it is here that we might also detect the source of the intransigent opposition to the bill. Because what the Lex Agraria proposed to do was take all the miserable tenants attached by default to their landlords and transfer their political allegiance to the Claudian faction—an intolerable shift in the balance of senatorial power.28 A piece of legislation this controversial and far-reaching was not drafted on a whim. Claudius, Scaevola, and Mucianus would have spent years carefully picking through Roman law, laying out how the survey process would work, and who would arbitrate contested c...

Before Tiberius took office, the Claudian reformers floated the contents of the Lex Agraria to their senatorial colleagues, but met with incredulous resistance. After occupying the ager publicus for many years, these wealthy landowners had come to regard the public land as their personal property. They had invested in it, improved it, used it as collateral for loans, given it away as dowries, and bequeathed it to their heirs. The authors of the bill wrote a number of concessions to lessen opposition: offering compensation for the ager publicus seized, giving clear title to the five hundred iugera that remained, making allowances for larger families to hold more land. But even with these concessions, a large faction in the Senate planned to resist the bill no matter what. To have their land confiscated and handed over to the shiftless rabble was simply out of the question.31

With the majority of the Senate hostile, the Claudians elected to break with mos maiorum and have Tiberius present the bill directly to the Assembly without giving the Senate a chance to register their opinion. There was no law stating that a bill must be presented to the Senate before it was introduced in the Assembly—it was simply the way things had always been done. Tiberius’s provocative gambit set everyone on edge. Shortly after taking office in December 134 Tiberius appeared before the Assembly and announced his intention to pass a law redistributing ager publicus from the rich to the poor.32

These ruinous wars had led to an unacceptable irony for the average Roman: “though they are styled masters of the world, they have not a single clod of earth that is their own.”35 After bringing the Assembly to tears, Tiberius requested the clerk read the bill in preparation for the vote that he would surely win. But as it turned out senatorial opponents of the Lex Agraria had themselves been busy over the past three weeks. Knowing they would lose the vote, they had recruited Marcus Octavius, one of Tiberius’s fellow tribunes, to prevent the vote from even taking place. One of the most powerful weapons a tribune wielded was the veto—which meant “I forbid.” A tribune could veto anything, at any time, for any reason, and not even another tribune could overturn it. So when the clerk rose to formally read the Lex Agraria, Marcus Octavius stepped forward and vetoed the reading of the bill. Everything stopped. The vote could not take place until the clerk read the bill, so as long as Octavius maintained his veto, the bill could not be read and the vote could not take place. With the proceedings ground to a halt, Tiberius adjourned the Assembly for the day.36

The deposition of Octavius was a decisive turning point in the battle over the Lex Agraria. Until Tiberius took this fateful step, he still enjoyed a great deal of support from his fellow tribunes and senatorial backers. But this reckless assault on a fellow tribune made Tiberius toxic to the naturally conservative elite. His father-in-law Claudius stuck with him but many others who supported the reform in theory were happy to lay the bill aside in the face of relentless opposition, let things cool off, and then try again a year or two later. But Tiberius could not afford to lose. His future career depended on passing the Lex Agraria, so he was willing to go to any lengths to push it through. And for the moment it had worked. Tiberius Gracchus won the battle. With Octavius out of the way, the Assembly overwhelmingly passed the Lex Agraria. The controversial land bill was now law.45

THE LEX AGRARIA called for a panel of three commissioners to survey the ager publicus, determine ownership, and parcel out land. To make sure the job was done properly (and to monopolize political credit for the distribution of land) Tiberius induced the Assembly to elect Tiberius himself, his father-in-law Claudius, and his twenty-one-year-old brother Gaius to serve as the first three land commissioners. So far so good. But Tiberius soon learned that passing the law and enforcing its provisions were two very different things.46 Unable to prevent the bill from becoming law, conservatives in the Senate hit back with their own bag of tricks. This opposition was now led by the pontifex maximus Publius Scipio Nasica, who hailed from a more conservative branch of the Scipione clan. Nasica personally possessed far more than five hundred iugera of ager publicus, so he engineered an insulting blow to the new land commission. It was the Senate’s responsibility to appropriate funds to pay for the men and material necessary to complete the surveying work, which required a small army of secretaries, clerks, surveyors, architects, carts, and mules. At Nasica’s urging, the Senate voted a pittance to cover merely the daily expenses of the commissioners themselves. This calculated stinginess left Tiberius the captain of a boat with no oars. It was infuriating but there was nothing he could do about it.47

Rome learned about Attalus’s death shortly after the passage of the Lex Agraria, and Tiberius was himself among the first to be told of the terms of the will. Tiberius’s father had once served on a senatorial embassy that confirmed the alliance between Rome and Pergamum—and when the envoy bearing King Attalus’s will arrived in Rome, he stayed in the Gracchi home. One step ahead of his enemies, Tiberius convened the Assembly and announced that because Attalus’s will said “Let the Roman people be heir to my estate,” that both the disposal of the royal treasury and subsequent administration of the new province would be handled by the Assembly. Then Tiberius announced that a portion of King Attalus’s royal treasury would be used to fund the work of the land commission and even provide startup capital for the new owners.50

This bold gambit sent conservatives in the Senate through the roof. By every right of custom the Senate enjoyed full discretion over both state finances and foreign policy. Polybius, a close student of the Republican constitution, said the Senate “has the control of the treasury, all revenue and expenditure being regulated by it,” and “it also occupies itself with the dispatch of all embassies sent to countries outside of Italy for the purpose… of settling differences.” The people, he said, “have nothing to do with it.” By laying claim to Pergamum, Tiberius was attempting to wrestle both away at the same time. The Senate met in a furious session to denounce Tiberius as a reckless demagogue aiming to make himself a tyrannical despot.51 Soon after, either to retain the legal immunity his office provided or to protect the integrity of the land commission (or both), Tiberius made another shocking announcement: he was going to run for reelection. No law forbade a tribune from serving consecutive terms, but the overwhelming force of mos maiorum made his bid unprecedented. To his political enemies, this was all iron-clad proof that Tiberius planned to make himself a tyrant. If he controlled the state finances, distribution of property, foreign policy, and claimed the right to permanent reelection, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus would be the king of Rome in all but name.52

Meanwhile, the Senate convened for a session in the Temple of Fides, located just around the corner on the Capitoline. Rumors swirled that Tiberius had deposed all the other tribunes and was preparing to assume regal powers. The consul presiding over the Senate that morning was none other than Mucius Scaevola—one of the authors of the Lex Agraria. Nasica and the hard-liners in the Senate demanded Scaevola do something, but the consul replied that “he would resort to no violence and would put no citizen to death without a trial; if, however, the people, under persuasion or compulsion from Tiberius, should vote anything that was unlawful, he would not regard this vote as binding.”57

This was not good enough for the incensed Nasica, who rose in response and said, “Let those who would save our country follow me.” Nasica then donned the formal attire of the pontifex maximus and put himself at the head of a mob of like-minded senators and clients. Together they marched to the Temple of Jupiter. As weapons were not permitted to be carried inside the Pomerium—the sacred city limits—Nasica and his followers armed themselves mostly with table legs and other bludgeons. Though the coming attack was not premeditated, it was clear they were willing to use force to beat back the mob trying to make Tiberius Gracchus king of Rome.58 Meanwhile, up on the rostra, Tiberius was warned about the approaching mob. Tiberius’s men turned and readied for battle, but hesitated when they saw the mob included senators and was led by the pontifex maximus himself. Though the Gracchans started to give way, Nasica’s men aggressively pushed and beat the crowd anyway. Once the shoving and hitting began, Tiberius’s supporters naturally fought back, leading to a line of clashes throughout the Assembly. The casualties in the resulting mêlée were entirely one-sided—Tiberius’s people were unarmed and made easy targets for Nasica’s gang. Trapped in the confined space in front of the Temple of Jupiter, many people were trampled underfoot or fell to their deaths off the steep cliffs of the Capitoline. When the dust cleared three hundred people lay dead.59 The principal target of the attack wa...

With all the taboos of mos maiorum now breaking down left and right, “this was the beginning in Rome of civil bloodshed, and of the license of the sword.” The definitive triumph of naked force was a lesson no one could unlearn. As the ancient Greek historian Velleius Paterculus later observed: “Precedents do not stop where they begin, but, however narrow the path upon which they enter, they create for themselves a highway whereon they may wander with the utmost latitude… no one thinks a course is base for himself which has proven profitable to others.”63

THE YEAR 132 BC DAWNED WITH THE SENATE READY TO bury the revolution of Tiberius Gracchus. They created a special commission whose purpose was to punish those who had supported Tiberius’s illegal bid for monarchy. This commission would be led by the new consuls—Publius Rupilius and Publius Popilius Laenas—who were given the authority to pass capital sentences. But there were questions about the legality of this extraordinary tribunal. According to the ancient Law of the Twelve Tables, “Laws concerning capital punishment of a citizen shall not be passed… except by the Assembly.” Neither the Senate nor the consuls had the right to bring capital charges against citizens on their own authority—but here they were, doing it anyway.2

The populace was outraged at the brazen flouting of the law and their outrage grew when only lower-class plebs or resident foreigners were targeted for prosecution. The aristocratic senators who had participated in the affair—for example, the authors of the Lex Agraria—were never called to account despite their central role in the crisis. For the next few weeks the common people of Rome lived under the ominous shadow of the tribunal. Men were hauled before the consuls for the most tenuous connection to the Gracchan movement. Some were executed, many more driven into exile.3

Having defused this crisis the Senate also refused to ignite a new one. They knew there were limits to how far they could go with their repressive antics, so they did not attempt to repeal the Lex Agraria or to shut down the land commission. Either because they finally admitted the efficacy of reform or because they believed that stopping the process now would spark a riot, the Senate allowed the commission to continue its work. They assigned Mucianus—one of the senatorial authors of the Lex Agraria—to take Tiberius’s place on the commission alongside Claudius and young Gaius Gracchus. The redistribution of ager publicus continued.5

BY 129, ONLY young Gaius Gracchus remained of the original land commissioners. Tiberius had died on the Capitoline Hill and his successor Mucianus had been killed in Asia. Mucianus’s seat was filled by Marcus Fulvius Flaccus, the friend of the Gracchi who had helped drive the hated Nasica out of Rome. Now in his mid-thirties, Flaccus was gearing up for a run at the consulship when he joined the commission. Then in 129, the old princeps senatus Claudius died and his seat went to Gaius Papirius Carbo, the tribune who had introduced the secret ballot law in 131 and clashed with Aemilianus over the legacy of Tiberius’s death. Where once the Gracchan faction had been run by eminent elder statesmen, it was now in the hands of young firebrands.42