Текст книги "Roma.The novel of ancient Rome"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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“‘For your friend Menenia, I also have good news: Her son Lucius fought bravely in the battle, killed many of the enemy, and sustained no injuries.”

“Thank the gods!” cried Menenia. She reached for Blossius’s hand, but he was distracted by the letter. He peered at it intently, reading ahead. His face was grim.

“Go on, Blossius,” said Cornelia. “What else does Tiberius write?”

“Only…a bit of description…of the battle itself. Nothing of a personal nature.”

“Very well. Let’s hear it.”

“I’m not sure I should read this aloud, in front of the boy. Or in front of you, for that matter. I suppose it’s a mark of Tiberius’s deep respect for you, that he should write to his mother as candidly as he might have written to his late father…”

“What were you just saying, Blossius, about the worthiness of women?”

“It’s not a question of merit, but of…delicacy.”

“Nonsense, Blossius. If you won’t read it aloud, I will.” Cornelia put aside the mural crown, rose to her feet, and took the tablet from him.

“‘As for Carthage,’” she read, “‘the ghost of Cato may finally rest: The city, which was as old as Roma, is now utterly destroyed. The harbor is demolished, the houses burned, the altars for human sacrifice reduced to rubble. The gardens have been uprooted. The grand mosaics of the public squares have been flooded with pools of blood.

“‘The men were slaughtered, as long as we had strength to slaughter them; the few who survive will become slaves. So far as I know, every woman was raped, regardless of her age or status. Many were killed, though they screamed for mercy; such was the frenzy for destruction that overtook the victors. The women and men who survived will be separated by sex and sold in slave markets hundreds of miles apart, so that no Carthaginian male and female may ever copulate again, and thus the race will become extinct. Before they are sold, their tongues will be removed, so that their language, and even the names of their gods, will vanish from the earth.

“‘The earth itself will be made barren. Salt is being plowed into the soil surrounding the city, so that no crops can be grown for a generation. Salt was the precious substance that gave birth to Roma long ago-so Blossius taught me-so it is fitting that salt shall seal the burial of Carthage.

“‘When Alexander conquered Persia, he chose to leave the city of Babylon intact and to make its people his subjects; for his clemency, he was exalted by gods and men. We have followed an older example, that of the merciless Greeks who sacked the city of Troy and left only ruins behind. The Greek playwrights tell of many misfortunes that subsequently befell the victorious Greeks-Ajax, Ulysses, Agamemnon, and the rest. I pray the gods will favor what we have done to Carthage, and will grant a righteous destiny to the Roman people, who have done this fearful thing for the glory of Jupiter.’”

Her hands trembling, Cornelia put down the tablet.

“If only I could have been there!” said Gaius, his eyes bright with excitement. “What a glorious day it must have been! And now it shall never happen again, because Carthage is gone, and I was too young to be there, and there’ll never be another war with her. I can hardly wait for Tiberius to come home and tell me more about it.”

Menenia lowered her eyes.

“War is the way of the world, and always will be,” said Blossius quietly. “Clearly, the gods of Roma were greater than those of Carthage. For that, we must be thankful. And yet…I am fearful for Roma’s future. How astute is Tiberius, when he points to the example of the Greeks against Troy. I am reminded of the Greek hero Achilles, who was very nearly invincible; yet, when he desecrated the corpse of the Trojan Hector, the gods frowned upon his hubris and withdrew their protection, and Achilles died like any other mortal on the battlefield.

“Roma has entered a new era. With the destruction of Corinth, the Romans’ respect for Greek culture degenerated to wanton looting. With the destruction of Carthage, the Romans are without rival in the Mediterranean. But how will Roma bear the responsibilities of power and wealth unprecedented in the history of the world? We must pray that the gods will give Roma wise men to lead her into the future-and wise women to nurture those men as boys!”

Blossius, Menenia, and Cornelia each turned their eyes to young Gaius. Inspired by visions of the carnage at Carthage, he had dared to pick up the mural crown and was testing its fit on his brow again, oblivious of their scrutiny.

133 B.C.

“Tiberius is headed for trouble, Mother. Serious trouble. He has no idea of what he’s up against. I want nothing to do with it.” Lucius Pinarius, who had the auburn hair and bright green eyes typical of many Pinarii, took a bite of boiled cabbage marinated in garum. The dish, served cold, was a family favorite for a hot midsummer day.

Blossius helped himself to a bit of the cabbage as well, though it tended to give him indigestion. Though all Cornelia’s children were now grown, Blossius still resided at her house, but he spent much of his time here at house of Menenia, which was only a few steps away on the Palatine. It was unthinkable that Menenia and Blossius-a Roman patrician and a philosopher from Cumae-should ever marry, but their relationship had stood the test of time. The widow and the Stoic were growing gray together.

Menenia ate none of the cabbage. She had no appetite during hot weather; it was her lament that during the entire month of Sextilis she could eat nothing at all. A slave behind her wafted a peacock fan to stir the languid air of the garden.

“Tiberius Gracchus has always been your friend, Lucius,” she said. “You should be happy for him. You might have looked upon his election to the tribunate as an opportunity for yourself. Instead, over the last year, you’ve deliberately avoided him. What about this legislation he managed to enact, setting up a commission to redistribute farmland? You could have served on that commission-”

“If I wanted to end my career before it’s begun! The whole thing will end in disaster.”

“Not necessarily,” said Blossius. “To be sure, Tiberius is taking a great gamble. Frankly, his boldness astonishes me, though it shouldn’t; he’s the descendant of his grandfather, after all, and the son of his mother.”

“And the pupil of Blossius!” snapped Lucius. “You Stoics are always claiming that the best form of government is not a republic but a just king. You’ve put all sorts of dangerous ideas in Tiberius’s head.”

Blossius held his temper, but the cabbage began to rumble in his belly. “Tiberius is a visionary. If my teachings have inspired him, I take pride in that accomplishment.”

“But will you suffer the consequences along with him, when the whole enterprise collapses?”

“Tiberius is the most beloved man in Roma,” said Blossius.

“He’s also the most hated man in Roma,” countered Lucius.

“Lucius! Blossius! Stop bickering! The day is too hot for it.” Menenia sighed. “Now, I want each of you to explain to me once again, from your own point of view, exactly what Tiberius Gracchus is attempting to do, and why it holds the promise of such great success-or failure.”

Blossius raised an eyebrow. “You feign ignorance, my dear, in an effort to make us defend our positions with logic rather than emotion. You could summarize the situation as well as either of us.”

Menenia laughed. “If it will keep the two of you quiet, I shall! Back in the days when our ancestors were conquering Italy, piece by piece, Roma acquired vast parcels of public land. Later on, even more land was seized from the Italian cities that went over to Hannibal. Public policy has been to disburse this land to Roman citizens and to allied Italians as a reward for military service: Small farms keep the economy stable, and they supply more soldiers, since landowners are obliged to serve in the military. To keep the holdings small and to make disbursements fair, there have always been limits on how much land any single man can own.

“But, as the Etruscan proverb goes, money changes everything. In my lifetime, staggering amounts of gold and silver have poured into Roma from conquered cities and provinces, and as a result a very small group of citizens have become very, very rich. Some of those men have found ways to circumvent the legal limits, and have bought up vast tracts of public land, along with slaves to work their enormous holdings. As a consequence, free men all over Italy have been forced off the land and into the cities, where they struggle to survive, avoid raising families, and have no obligation to serve in the army. The situation benefits no one except a small number of enormously rich landholders. The poor masses of Italy are dispossessed of their land, and the available manpower for the Roman legions grows thin. Something must be done to take back the illegally acquired lands of the big owners and to redistribute that land to the people.” Menenia looked pleased with herself. “There. Have I explained the general situation to the satisfaction of you both?”

“I couldn’t have done it better myself,” said Blossius, “though I might add that the ramifications of this situation go far beyond mere land management. There’s the current war in Spain-a gratuitous, drawn-out, disastrous affair-which has been repeatedly bungled by the ruling clique in the Senate. That’s led to massive dissatisfaction in the ranks and the imposition of harsh and humiliating discipline. I’m thinking of the instance when deserters from the Spanish campaign were rounded up, beaten, and sold into slavery.”

He looked longingly at the cabbage, but decided to forgo another bite. “The huge influx of slaves has led to its own problems, such as the massive revolt going on in Sicily right now. Slaves are threatening to take over the entire island! And this is only the latest and largest outbreak of violence by renegade slaves. Their numbers have grown to alarming proportions all over Italy, and many of them are terribly brutalized. The situation grows more dangerous every day. Farmers pushed off the land; too little respect and recompense for the common soldiery; too many miserable, desperate slaves. The citizens of Roma are demanding that something be done-and Tiberius Gracchus has declared that he is the man to do it.”

“Only twenty-nine years old, and already a tribune!” said Menenia. “Cornelia must be very proud.”

Lucius took this as a slight. A smirk spoiled his handsome features. “Having an important father-in-law helps! Appius Claudius is probably the single most powerful man in the Senate.”

“Ah, the Claudii, forever with us! And their politics seem to grow more radical with each generation,” said Blossius. “Yes, Tiberius has a powerful ally in Claudius. But the big landholders will stop at nothing to hold on to their property. We’ve seen how the game has played out so far. Tiberius put forward a proposal to redistribute land, but it takes only one of the other nine tribunes to veto such a proposal, and the landowners managed to persuade the tribune Marcus Octavius to do so.”

Lucius became increasingly agitated. “And now we come to the reason I want nothing to do with Tiberius and his politics. When Octavius issued his veto, Tiberius called for Octavius to be removed by popular vote, and forced him from office. But Octavius refused to stand down, whereupon one of Tiberius’s freedmen forcibly dragged Octavius from the speaker’s platform, and in the scuffle that followed one of Octavius’s servants was blinded. Now Tiberius’s detractors are calling him an enemy of the people for having done what even Coriolanus failed to do: He forced a tribune from office!”

“Tiberius’s action was entirely within the law-”

“Whether the expulsion of Octavius was legal or not, I don’t know. What I do know is that Tiberius resorted to violence. Yes, he finally got his way: His proposal became law. To redistribute the land, there must be a commission. And whom does Tiberius appoint to that powerful commission? Himself, his father-in-law Appius Claudius, and his younger brother Gaius, who’s barely twenty-one!”

“Tiberius needed men he could trust,” insisted Blossius.

“It stinks of nepotism,” said Lucius. “Mother, earlier you suggested that I might have secured a place on Tiberius’s commission. I assure you, no power on earth could have persuaded me to do so!

“And now we see Tiberius’s latest gambit. As you pointed out, Mother, money changes everything. King Attalus of Pergamum has died, and his will leaves the whole of his kingdom to Roma-the lands that belonged to Troy in ancient times will now belong to us. The influx of wealth will be enormous. Normally, all that gold and booty would go directly into the Senate’s coffers, but Tiberius has a different idea. He proposes that it should go directly to the people, distributed along with the land allotments so as to pay for farm equipment and start-up supplies. His enemies call it public bribery on an unprecedented scale. They accuse Tiberius of aiming to make himself king.”

“Never!” scoffed Blossius.

“At the very least, Tiberius is attempting a kind of revolution from the bottom up. He challenges the supremacy of the Senate by using the office of tribune to do things no tribune has ever done before.”

“I think it’s all terribly exciting,” said Menenia. “Why are you so convinced that Tiberius will fail?”

“Because, Mother, his support grows weaker every day. The common people, whether it serves their interest or not, have bought into the argument that Tiberius impugned their sovereignty when he drove a rival tribune from office. And if he thinks he can appropriate the wealth of Pergamum for his own political purposes, circumventing the Senate, he’s truly playing with fire. DoesTiberius want to be a king, as his enemies say?” Lucius turned his gaze to Blossius. “He already holds court like one, keeping a Greek philosopher for an adviser.”

Blossius bristled. “My philosophy is Greek, but I am a native-born Italian, of noble Campanian blood. Yes, I was Tiberius’s tutor when he was a boy. If he still consults me as a man, why not?”

“Because Roman magistrates do not consult Greek philosophers about matters of statecraft-unless they wish to look like Greek tyrants. I only repeat what Tiberius’s enemies are saying. They also ask: When he arrived in Roma, to whom did the Pergamene ambassador deliver the royal testament and the diadem and purple cloak of the late King Attalus? To the Senate? No! He went straight to the house of Tiberius.”

“Not to anoint him king!” protested Blossius. “The ambassador called on Tiberius merely as a courtesy. Diplomatic ties between the Gracchi and the house of Attalus go back a generation. It was thirty years ago that Tiberius’s father headed a Roman embassy to investigate charges of sedition against the late king’s father, and cleared him of all suspicion. Ever since then, the royals of Pergamum have maintained a special relationship with the Gracchi.”

“Whatever the explanation, it looks suspicious.”

Blossius shook his head. “Nonsense! Tiberius’s enemies will stoop to any slander to bring him down. He stands up for the people, and the landgrabbers say he wants to be the people’s king. The voters should know better than to believe such lies.”

“We’ll see what the voters think soon enough,” said Lucius. “Tiberius is running for a second term as tribune. It’s clearly illegal for other magistrates to hold office two years in a row-”

“But not so for the tribunate,” said Blossius. “There isa precedent for a standing tribune to remain in office. If not enough new candidates stand for the ten positions in a given year-”

“Is thatwhat Tiberius is plotting? To keep his office by bribing or scaring away other candidates?”

“The others will stand down because the people will demand it.”

Lucius groaned with exasperation. “Can you not see where all of this is headed? If Tiberius is allowed to stand for tribune again by invoking some technicality, and if he wins, his enemies will only grow more determined to stop him; that means more violence. If he loses, he’ll lose the immunity of his office, and his enemies will drag him into court on some trumped-up charge and send him into exile. No matter what happens, Tiberius is in a very dangerous position.”

A long silence followed, finally broken by a sigh from Lucius. “It’s not that I disagree with Tiberius’s proposal to redistribute the land. It’s a worthy objective. It must be done, and it will be done-eventually. If only Tiberius had taken a slower, more gradual approach-”

“The greedy landholders would have opposed me just the same,” said a hoarse voice.

“Tiberius!” cried Menenia. She sprang up, embraced the newcomer and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Where did you come from?”

“From speaking in the Forum, of course. Election day is coming. I thought I might find Blossius here.” Tiberius Gracchus had grown into a strikingly handsome man; many who compared him to busts of his grandfather declared that he was even more good-looking. On this day he appeared a bit haggard; the unceasing demands of his reelection campaign were taking a toll. Despite his fatigue, he projected an aura that seemed larger than his physical presence, that indefinable allure the Greeks called kharisma. The intimate setting of Menenia’s garden seemed too small to contain him.

Blossius rose and greeted him. They exchanged a few hushed words. Then Tiberius turned to Lucius, who had remained seated and silent.

“I couldn’t help but overhear some of your comments, Lucius. I’ve grown accustomed to defending myself before my enemies. Perhaps I should spend more time explaining myself to my friends.”

Lucius stood and drew back his shoulders. “I meant no offense, Tiberius. But here in my mother’s house I make no secret of my misgivings. I spoke freely in front of Blossius.”

“And Blossius defended me, I’m sure. But even Blossius can’t speak the words that come directly from my heart, because even Blossius has not experienced what I have experienced in the last year. Menenia, might I have a little wine? My throat is dry from speaking.”

A slave brought him a cup at once. Tiberius drank thirstily, but his voice was no less hoarse than before. “Lucius, a year ago, when I began my first campaign for the tribunate, I was little different from any other man running for the office. I was looking for political advancement, hoping to make a name for myself. Yes, I believed in the speeches I was making-or should I say, the speeches Blossius wrote for me-and the need for land reform, better treatment of the soldiery, and so on. But the promotion of those goals was little more than a means to an end, a way for me to find a constituency and began my ascent in the Course of Honor.

“Then I took a trip up and down the length of Italy, to see with my own eyes the situation in the countryside. What I witnessed was appalling. The rural areas have been virtually emptied of free men and their families. It’s as if the whole peninsula was tilted by some Titan’s hand and all those people went tumbling into Roma, and here they live piled on top of another. You can hardly pass through the streets of the Subura nowadays, it’s become so crowded.

“And after the countryside was depopulated of free men, it was filled up again-with slaves. Tilling the rich farmland, toiling in the vineyards-whole armies of foreign-born slaves, working till they drop for the handful of rich men who’ve grabbed all the land. I mean that quite literally-these slaves fall where they work and die there. It’s not unusual to see a dead slave lying in a field while the others continue to work around him under the whip of a merciless foreman. Slaves have become so cheap, so expendable, they’re treated far worse than the livestock.”

Tiberius shook his head. “We all know this situation exists. We all speak of ‘the land problem’ in the abstract, and worry over what might be done, and argue points of policy. But to see the reality firsthand, traveling day after day through the countryside, is a very different experience. I was shaken to the core by what I saw.

“But it was something else that truly changed me. I said the countryside is depopulated of free men, but that’s not entirely true. Here and there you come across a small farmer who’s somehow managed to hold on to his property, tilling his fields the old-fashioned way; the family members work side by side with a few slaves, and everyone pulls together. These little holdings have been surrounded by huge farms; they’re like little islands of the Roman countryside that once existed. And because those small farmers acquired their land by military service, or have sons currently enlisted in the legions, you’ll often see a prized piece of armor or a replica of a legionary standard proudly displayed at the gate. In a flash you see the connection between a thriving community of small farmers, a strong army, and a healthy, vibrant Roma.

“Passing such a small farm, up in Etruria, I saw a placard mounted on the gate. It said: ‘Tiberius Gracchus, help us keep our land.’” He smiled ruefully. “My name was misspelled, and the letters were very crudely made, but that sign sent a jolt sent through me. And that was only the first sign I saw. After that, at every surviving small holding I passed, even those far from the main roads, I saw such placards. ‘Tiberius Gracchus, restore public land to the poor.’ ‘Tiberius Gracchus, stop the spread of slaves.’ ‘Tiberius Gracchus, give us back our land and our work.’ ‘Tiberius Gracchus, help us.’ Somehow, news of my journey had spread from farm to farm, mouth to mouth. By the time I returned to Roma…”

Tiberius’s voice was choked with emotion, and had grown so hoarse that he could hardly continue to speak. Menenia brought him more wine. He drank it and continued.

“The mission I’ve undertaken is far greater than I am. Politicians come and go, with their squabbling and slanders and shameless scrambling for advancement. The destiny of Roma is what matters, and the fate of the Roman people, especially those who feed the city and fight for her, who give their sweat and blood and the offspring of their loins for the glory of Roma.”

There followed a long silence. At last Blossius stepped forward. There were tears in his eyes. “My dear boy! I boast about having been your tutor, but the student has far surpassed his teacher! Always you were clever, always you were serious and disciplined-yet I never imagined that Cornelia’s little boy would grow up to cast such a shadow over us all.”

Tiberius smiled wanly. “Blossius, I think you’re slightly missing the point. When I say that politicians come and go, while the destiny of the people endures, I mean just that. I have no illusions about my importance or about my permanence, except insofar as I may find a way to channel the power of the people for the benefit of the people, and for the greater glory of Roma.”

“Of course. Well put!” Blossius dabbed the sleeves of his tunic against his moist eyes. “But you say you came looking for me?”

“Yes. There are some purely practical matters I want to discuss. Appius Claudius thinks I should propose shortening the term of military service, ahead of the election. He also thinks we should put forward the idea of allowing nonsenators to serve as judges.”

“This requires serious discussion. Perhaps at your mother’s house?”

“Of course. Menenia and Lucius have put up with my ramblings long enough.”

“Nonsense!” said Menenia. “You’re welcome in this house at any time, Tiberius. You know I love to hear you speak! But you must do something about that hoarseness. An infusion of mint and honey in hot water can do wonders.”

“I’ll try it,” promised Tiberius. “Good day, Menenia. And good day to you, Lucius.” He smiled, but Lucius merely nodded in response. Tiberius and Blossius took their leave.

The garden suddenly seemed very quiet and still, and somehow empty. Mother and son sat apart, thinking their separate thoughts.

Tiberius’s story of the placards in the countryside, apparently so heart-felt, left Lucius unmoved. To him it seemed that Tiberius must be either a compulsive politician, unable to stop emoting and speechifying even in a friend’s garden, or else a genuine idealist, blinded by visions of grandeur and indifferent to the terrible dangers ahead of him. In either case, Tiberius’s passionate words made Lucius feel more uneasy than ever.

Menenia was thinking of her friend Cornelia, and how very differently their sons had turned out. Which was better: to have a son who blazed a trail like a comet, with all the brilliant uncertainty of celestial fire, or to have a son as stolid and predictable as a lump of earth? Menenia had to admit that she envied Cornelia, at least for now. But would she have reason to pity Cornelia in the future?

“If only the election for tribunes wasn’t held in the middle of the summer,” complained Tiberius. “That’s precisely when my strongest supporters are away from Roma, searching for harvesting work in the countryside. Blossius, do you think you could…?”

A fold of Tiberius’s toga was refusing to hang correctly across one shoulder. Blossius straightened it. “It’s no accident that the elections take place when they do,” the philosopher observed. “The ruling families of Roma have always arranged every aspect of every election in order to give themselves the greatest advantage and the common people the least. But if the cause is just and the candidate is steadfast, the will of the people will not be thwarted.”

Cornelia stepped into the room. “Let me have a look at you, Tiberius.” Her son obligingly stood back and struck a pose, clutching the folds of his toga with one hand. “How splendid you look! Your father and grandfather would be very proud. I only wish your little brother were here to see you.” Gaius had been sent to scour the countryside for supporters and persuade them to return to Roma for the election.

Cornelia gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Come along, then. The augur has arrived. He’s waiting for us in the garden. Stop rolling your eyes, Blossius! I know what you think of religious formalities, but this ritual must be observed for the sake of tradition. Tiberius’s father and grandfather would never have appeared before the voters on an election day without consulting an augur first.”

In the garden, the augur placed a cage with three chickens on the ground. He circled the cage three times, invoking the gods and the ancestors of Tiberius Gracchus. He scattered grain on the ground, some to the right and some to the left of the cage, then opened the hatch. The auspices would be determined by observing the motion of the birds, whether they moved in a group or as individuals and in which direction; to the right indicated the favor of the gods, to the left indicated their disfavor.

But the chickens did not leave the cage. They clucked and bumped against one another, ignoring the open hatch. The augur stamped his foot. He made shooing motions. Eventually, he gripped the top of the cage and gave it a good shaking. Finally, one of the chickens emerged. The bird ignored both scatterings of grain. It lifted its left wing, then turned around and scurried back into the cage.

The augur looked acutely embarrassed. “The auspices…are inconclusive,” he said.

Cornelia frowned. “The left wing,” she whispered. She felt a premonition of dread.

“Unfortunately” said Tiberius, “the science of augury is not as exact as we might wish. A veil lies across the future. The future shall arrive anyway.”

Mother and son exchanged a long look. Cornelia could see that Tiberius was as uneasy as herself, but she said nothing.

Tiberius proceeded to the vestibule. He paused to gaze at the images of his ancestors. He touched the brow of the great Africanus, then nodded to the slave to open the door.

Outside, in the street, a throng of supporters awaited him. Many had spent the night in front of the house, taking turns sleeping and guarding the door. In the final days of the campaign, the rhetoric on both sides had grown so heated, and the street scuffles between the factions so violent, that many feared for Tiberius’s safety. There was a rumor that his enemies were conspiring to murder him before the election; his opponents claimed that Tiberius himself had started the rumor, to whip up his supporters. Whatever the truth, a great crowd awaited him in the street, and when they saw him, they erupted into cheering.

Smiling broadly, Tiberius stepped forward. He stumbled on the threshold and lost his balance. Staggering forward, he stubbed the big toe of his left foot against a paving stone with such force that he thought he heard a bone crack. At the very least, the nail of the toe had been broken. Blood seeped through the front of his shoe and darkened the leather. He felt faint and nauseated. He reached for support, found Blossius’s arm, and gripped it tightly.

“You’ve hurt yourself!” whispered Blossius.

“Did they see?” Tiberius kept his face down and spoke through clenched teeth.

Blossius scanned the cheering crowd. “No one seems to have noticed.”

“Good. Then we shall go ahead as if it never happened.”

“But can you walk?”

“If I hold fast to your arm. But first I’ll say a few words. These men have been here all night, waiting for this moment.”

Tiberius looked at the crowd and managed to smile. He raised his hands for silence.

“Loyal supporters, dear friends, fellow Romans: The long night has passed, and, whatever mischief our enemies might have been planning, we are all still alive!”

This was met with a great deal of cheering and laughter.

“You watched over me all through the night. For that, I thank you. And in return, in the second year of my tribunate, I promise to do my very best to watch over all of you-to restore to you the lands that are rightfully yours, to protect you from the greedy land-grabbers and their vicious gangs, and to make the Roma of your children a fairer, richer, better place for all hardworking citizens.