Following the general marched the soldiers who had fought under him. At their head, in a place of honor, was Titus’s old friend, Gnaeus Marcius, the hero of the battle of Corioli.
For years, in battle after battle, Gnaeus had been gaining a reputation as a fearless fighter, but at Corioli, where he had served as second in command to Cominius, his exploits had elevated him to a new level of glory. At a critical moment during the siege, the defenders had boldly opened the gates and sent forth their fiercest fighters. The bloodshed that followed was horrific, but one Roman never wavered as he slew enemy after enemy: Gnaeus Marcius. Driven by a force that seemed more than human, he fought his way to the open gates and ran into the city, alone. The soldiers and citizens of Corioli swarmed around him, determined to kill him, but Gnaeus could not be stopped. After surrounding himself with corpses, he seized a torch and set aflame anything that could burn. The conflagration so terrified and distracted the defenders that the gates were left unmanned. The Romans rushed into the city and a mass slaughter followed.
After the battle, Cominius praised Gnaeus’s heroism before the assembled troops. He presented him with a magnificent war-horse with trappings worthy of a general. He also promised Gnaeus as much of the silver of Corioli as he could carry and his choice of any ten captives to become his slaves. Gnaeus accepted the horse, saying it would help him to fight Roma’s enemies, and one captive, a man he recognized for having fought bravely against him, whom he then released. The other gifts he rejected, saying that he had done no more and no less than any Roman soldier should. The conquest of Corioli itself was the only reward he desired.
Gnaeus Marcius had become a hero to his fellow soldiers that day. Now, marching behind him in the triumphal procession, they began to chant, quietly at first, then louder and louder: “Coriolanus! Coriolanus! Coriolanus!”-an honorific title to hail him as the conqueror of Corioli.
Because such a title would more properly be given to a commander, Titus thought the men must be referring to Cominius. The general apparently thought the same thing, for he smiled broadly, turned around in the chariot to face his troops, and raised his scepter to them. But in the next instant, it became evident for whom the troops were crying out. A band of them broke ranks, rushed forward, and raised Gnaeus Marcius onto their shoulders. They spun him about, all the while shouting: “Coriolanus! Coriolanus! Coriolanus!”
A lesser man might have betrayed a flash of jealousy at seeing a subordinate so honored on the day of his own triumph, but Cominius was as canny a politician as he was a commander. His unwavering grin became a smile bestowed on Gnaeus Marcius. His raised scepter became a salute to the hero of Corioli. When the crowd began to take up the chant as well, Cominius seized the moment. He beckoned to the soldiers bearing Gnaeus aloft. They trotted forward, laughing like boys, and deposited their comrade onto the chariot alongside the commander.
A few in the crowd were taken aback at this breach of decorum. Below him, Titus heard Publius Pinarius let out a gasp and mutter, “By Hercules, did you ever see anything so audacious?” But a far greater number of spectators were roused to cheering and even moved to tears, especially when Cominius warmly embraced Gnaeus, then placed Gnaeus’s hand upon the scepter next to his own and raised it high.
“People of Roma, I give you Gnaeus Marcius, the hero of Corioli! All hail Coriolanus!”
“Coriolanus!” the people chanted. The name reverberated around the Forum like rolling thunder.
From the step above, Appius Claudius leaned over and spoke into Titus’s ear. “I always knew that friend of yours would make a name for himself. Today he has, and everyone in Roma is shouting it.” Claudius stood upright, cupped his hands to his mouth, and joined the others: “Coriolanus! All hail Coriolanus!”
“The temple will be dedicated very soon, then?” said Gnaeus Marcius.
Titus laughed. “Yes, very soon. It’s polite of you to inquire, Gnaeus-or should I call you Coriolanus now? But we both know you have very little interest in temples, and even less in architecture for its own sake. We see each other so seldom nowadays, it seems to me that we should speak of matters that interest us both.”
They were dining, alone, in the garden of the house on the Palatine where Gnaeus lived with his mother and wife. The previous day, various citizens had organized private feasts to follow the triumph. The food had been so sumptuous, and Titus had eaten so much, that he had thought he would never be hungry again. Yet, a day later, his stomach was empty again and he found himself craving a simple meal. Even more, he craved the company of his old friend Gnaeus, just the two of them alone, away from the swarms of strangers and well-wishers who had surrounded Gnaeus the previous day with their incessant cries of “Hail Coriolanus!” And so, when Gnaeus invited him to a private dinner to enjoy his mother’s chickpea and millet porridge, Titus had eagerly accepted.
“It’s true that our lives have taken different paths in recent years,” said Gnaeus. “But that may be about to change.”
“How so? Am I to leave the Senate, and the construction projects they’ve entrusted to me, and join you in battle? I was never very good at it. I suppose I could be your spearbearer, or hold open the gate of an enemy city while you rush inside.”
“I mean quite the opposite. I shall be invading your domain.”
“My construction projects?”
“No! I mean the Senate.”
“What are you saying?”
Gnaeus smiled. “Cominius promised me as much, yesterday, after he invited me onto his chariot. As we passed all those cheering people, he whispered in my ear, ‘See how they love you, my boy! Amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it! A man like you belongs in the Senate, where you can do even more good for Roma than you did at Corioli. I shall make a special appointment, and for that alone, men will say my year as consul was well spent.’”
“But Gnaeus, this is wonderful! Except that now I truly have no idea what I should call you. Senator? Coriolanus? Senator Gnaeus Marcius Coriolanus-that’s a mouthful!”
“Then stuff your mouth with chickpeas and millet instead,” said Gnaeus. He laughed, but a moment later Titus saw that Gnaeus’s lips were silently mouthing his impressive new title, and that it pleased him.
“How the gods must love you! You always said you’d become Roma’s greatest warrior, and so you have. Now you can become Roma’s most beloved politician. Cominius is no fool. He wouldn’t appoint you to the Senate if he didn’t see great potential in you. Appius Claudius sees it, too. Mark my words, in due course, you shall be elected consul.”
“Perhaps. In the meantime, I shall need someone to teach me the ins and outs of the Senate. You’re the man for that, Titus.”
“I hardly think so! Appius Claudius is your man. He took me under his wing when I entered the Senate. It was thanks to his influence that I was put in charge of building the Temple of Ceres. He’ll do the same for you, insofar as such a capable fellow needs to be taken under anyone’s wing.”
“Claudius is a good man to know. But nothing takes the place of a boyhood friend. When the odds are against me, it’s to you I’ll turn, Titus.” Gnaeus put his hand on Titus’s shoulder.
Titus nodded. “Coriolanus honors me.”
Gnaeus leaned back and smiled. “So-how goes the work on the Temple of Ceres?”
“A subject in which you have no interest!”
“No interest as a soldier, perhaps. But as a senator, I may have a great deal of interest in the project.”
“Then tomorrow you shall come and see for yourself. It’s a prominent location, quite spectacular-a spur of the Aventine that looms above the starting gates of the Circus Maximus. It’s in the Etruscan araeostyle, just like the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline. Not as large, but it will be quite grandly decorated. Vulca is no longer with us, alas, but we’ve employed the very best Etruscan sculptors for the terra-cotta statue of Ceres. To execute the frescoes and reliefs on the walls, we’ve brought in two Greek artists, Gorgasus and Damophilus. They’re almost done, and their work is amazing! And…” Titus realized that Gnaeus was not paying attention. He was staring into the middle distance with a distracted look.
Gnaeus noticed that Titus had stopped speaking, and flashed a wry smile. “You’re right, Titus. I care nothing about the temple’s architecture or its adornments. But I do care about the politics behind it.”
“Famine,” said Titus bluntly. “It was the famine three years ago that inspired the building of the temple. So many men were called to war that there was no one to sow the crops that year, and the fields that were sown were devastated by more warfare. Roma had insufficient stores in reserve, and people starved-the poorer people, anyway. My father also died that year-not directly from the famine, because our sort never went hungry, but from a fever; disease goes hand in hand with famine, and from a fever no man is safe. The Sibylline Books were consulted. It was decreed that a temple should be dedicated to Ceres. To prevent another famine, we would appeal to the
