Imperium:

by Robert Harris

  Such was the state of affairs on the ninth day, when we brought Annius and Numitorius into court. If anything, the crowd in the forum was bigger than ever, for there were now only two days left until Pompey’s great games. Verres came late, and obviously drunk. He stumbled as he climbed the steps of the temple up to the tribunal, and Hortensius had to steady him as the crowd roared with laughter. As he passed Cicero’s place, he flashed him a shattered, red-eyed look of fear and rage – the hunted, cornered look of an animal at bay. Cicero got straight down to business and called as his first witness Annius, who described how he had been inspecting a cargo down at the harbour in Syracuse one morning, when a friend had come running to tell him that their business associate, Herennius, was in chains in the forum and pleading for his life.

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Naturally, I went at once.’

  ‘And what was the scene?’

  ‘There were perhaps a hundred people crying out that Herennius was a Roman citizen, and could not be executed without a proper trial.’

  ‘How did you all know that Herennius was a Roman? Was he not a banker from Spain?’

  ‘Many of us knew him personally. Although he had business in Spain, he had been born to a Roman family in Syracuse and had grown up in the city.’

  ‘And what was Verres’s response to your pleas?’

  ‘He ordered Herennius to be beheaded immediately.’

  There was a groan of horror around the court.

  ‘And who dealt the fatal blow?’

  ‘The public executioner, Sextius.’

  ‘And did he make a clean job of it?’

  ‘I am afraid he did not, no.’

  ‘Clearly,’ said Cicero, turning to the jury, ‘Herennius had not paid Verres and his gang of thieves a large enough bribe.’

  For most of the trial, Verres had sat slumped in his chair, but on this morning, fired by drink, he jumped up and began shouting that he had never taken any such bribe. Hortensius had to pull him down. Cicero ignored him and went on calmly questioning his witness.

  ‘This is an extraordinary situation, is it not? A hundred of you vouch for the identity of this Roman citizen, yet Verres does not even wait an hour to establish the truth of who he is. How do you account for it?’

  ‘I can account for it easily, Senator. Herennius was a passenger on a ship from Spain which was impounded with all its cargo by Verres’s agents. He was sent to the Stone Quarries, along with everyone else on board, then dragged out to be publicly executed as a pirate. What Verres did not realise was that Herennius was not from Spain at all. He was known to the Roman community in Syracuse and would be recognised. But by the time Verres discovered his mistake, Herennius could not be allowed to go free, because he knew too much about what the governor was up to.’

  ‘Forgive me, I do not understand,’ said Cicero, playing the innocent. ‘Why would Verres want to execute an innocent passenger on a cargo ship as a pirate?’

  ‘He needed to show a sufficient number of executions.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he was being paid bribes to let the real pirates go free.’

  Verres was up on his feet again shouting that it was a lie, and this time Cicero did not ignore him, but took a few paces towards him. ‘A lie, you monster? A lie? Then why in your own prison records does it state that Herennius was released? And why do they further state that the notorious pirate captain, Heracleo, was executed, when no one on the island ever saw him die? I shall tell you why – because you, the Roman governor, responsible for the safety of the seas, were all the while taking bribes from the very pirates themselves!’

  ‘Cicero, the great lawyer, who thinks himself so clever!’ said Verres bitterly, his words slurred by drink. ‘Who thinks he knows everything! Well, here is something you don’t know. I have Heracleo in my private custody, here in my house in Rome, and he can tell you all himself that it’s a lie!’

  Amazing now, to reflect that a man could blurt out something so foolish, but the facts are there – they are in the record – and amid the pandemonium in court, Cicero could be heard demanding of Glabrio that the famous pirate be fetched from Verres’s house by the lictors and placed in official custody, ‘for the public safety’. Then, while that was being done, he called as his second witness of the day Gaius Numitorius. Privately, I thought that Cicero was rushing it too much: that he could have milked the admission about Heracleo for more. But the great advocate had sensed that the moment for the kill had arrived, and for months, ever since we had first landed in Sicily, he had known exactly the blade he wished to use. Numitorius swore an oath to tell the truth and took the stand, and Cicero quickly led him through his testimony to establish the essential facts about Publius Gavius: that he was a merchant travelling on a ship from Spain; that his ship had been impounded and the passengers all taken to the Stone Quarries, from which Gavius had somehow managed to escape; that he had made his way to Messana to take a ship to the mainland, had been apprehended as he went aboard, and handed over to Verres when he visited the town. The silence of the listening multitudes was intense.

  ‘Describe to the court what happened next.’

  ‘Verres convened a tribunal in the forum of Messana,’ said Numitorius, ‘and then he had Gavius dragged before him. He announced to everyone that this man was a spy, for which there was only one just penalty. Then he ordered a cross set up overlooking the straits to Regium, so that the prisoner could gaze upon Italy as he died, and had Gavius stripped naked and publicly flogged before us all. Then he was tortured with hot irons. And then he was crucified.’

  ‘Did Gavius speak at all?’

  ‘Only at the beginning, to swear that the accusation was not true. He was not a foreign spy. He was a Roman citizen, a councillor from the town of Consa, and a former soldier in the Roman cavalry, under the command of Lucius Raecius.’

  ‘What did Verres say to that.’

  ‘He said that these were lies, and commanded that the execution begin.’

  ‘Can you describe how Gavius met his dreadful death?’

  ‘He met it very bravely, Senator.’

  ‘Like a Roman?’

  ‘Like a Roman.’

  ‘Did he cry out at all?’ (I knew what Cicero was after.)

  ‘Only while he was being whipped, and he could see the irons being heated.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘Every time a blow landed, he said, “I am a Roman citizen.”’

  ‘Would you repeat what he said, more loudly please, so that all can hear.’

  ‘He said, “I am a Roman citizen.”’

  ‘So just that?’ said Cicero. ‘Let me be sure I understand you. A blow lands’ – he put his wrists together, raised them above his head and jerked forwards, as if his back had just been lashed – ‘and he says, through gritted teeth, “I am a Roman citizen.” A blow lands’ – and again he jerked forwards – ‘“I am a Roman citizen.” A blow lands. “I am a Roman citizen –” ’

  These flat words of mine cannot begin to convey the effect of Cicero’s performance upon those who saw it. The hush around the court amplified his words. It was as if all of us now were witnesses to this monstrous miscarriage of justice. Some men and women – friends of Gavius, I believe – began to scream, and there was a growing swell of outrage from the masses in the forum. Yet again, Verres shook off Hortensius’s restraining hand and stood up. ‘He was a filthy spy!’ he bellowed. ‘A spy! He only said it to delay his proper punishment!’

  ‘But he said it!’ said Cicero, triumphantly, wheeling on him, his finger jabbing in outrage. ‘You admit he said it! Out of your own mouth I accuse you – the man claimed to be a Roman citizen and you did nothing! This mention of his citizenship did not lead you to hesitate or delay, even for a little, the infliction of this cruel and disgusting death! If you, Verres, had been made a prisoner in Persia or the remotest part of India, and were being dragged off to execution, what cry would you be uttering, except that you
were a Roman citizen? What then of this man whom you were hurrying to his death? Could not that statement, that claim of citizenship, have saved him for an hour, for a day, while its truth was checked? No, it could not – not with you in the judgement seat! And yet the poorest man, of humblest birth, in whatever savage land, has always until now had the confidence to know that the cry “I am a Roman citizen” is his final defence and sanctuary. It was not Gavius, not one obscure man, whom you nailed upon that cross of agony: it was the universal principle that Romans are free men!’

  The roar which greeted the end of Cicero’s tirade was terrifying. Rather than diminishing after a few moments, it gathered itself afresh and rose in volume and pitch, and I became aware, at the periphery of my vision, of a movement towards us. The awnings under which some of the spectators had been standing as protection against the sun began to collapse with a terrible tearing sound. A man dropped off a balcony on to the crowd beneath. There were screams. What was unmistakably a lynch mob began storming the steps to the platform. Hortensius and Verres stood up so quickly in their panic that they knocked over the bench behind them. Glabrio could be heard yelling that the court was adjourned, then he and his lictors hastened up the remaining steps towards the temple, with the accused and his eminent counsel in undignified pursuit. Some of the jury also fled into the sanctuary of the holy building (but not Catulus: I distinctly remember him standing like a sharp rock, staring unflinchingly ahead, as the current of bodies broke and swirled around him). The heavy bronze doors slammed shut. It was left to Cicero to try to restore order by climbing on to his own bench and gesturing for calm, but four or five men, rough-looking fellows, ran up and seized his legs and lifted him away. I was terrified, for both his safety and my own, but he stretched out his arms as if he was embracing the whole world. When they had settled him on their shoulders they spun him around to face the forum. The blast of applause was like the opening of a furnace door and the chant of ‘Cic-er-o! Cic-er-o! Cic-er-o!’ split the skies of Rome.

  AND THAT, AT last, was the end of Gaius Verres. We never learned exactly what went on inside the temple after Glabrio suspended the sitting, but Cicero’s belief was that Hortensius and Metellus made it clear to their client that further defence was useless. Their own dignity and authority were in tatters: they simply had to cut him adrift before any more harm was done to the reputation of the senate. It no longer mattered how lavishly he had bribed the jury – no member of it would dare to vote to acquit him after the scenes they had just witnessed. At any rate, Verres slipped out of the temple when the mob had dispersed, and fled the city at nightfall – disguised, some say, as a woman – riding full pelt for southern Gaul. His destination was the port of Massilia, where exiles could traditionally swap their hard-luck stories over grilled mullet and pretend they were on the Bay of Naples.

  All that remained to do now was to fix the level of his fine, and when Cicero returned home he convened a meeting to discuss the appropriate figure. Nobody will ever know the full value of what Verres stole during his years in Sicily – I have heard an estimate of forty million – but Lucius, as usual, was eager for the most radical course: the seizure of every asset Verres possessed. Quintus thought ten million would be about right. Cicero was curiously silent for a man who had just recorded such a stupendous victory, and sat in his study moodily toying with a metal stylus. Early in the afternoon, we received a letter from Hortensius, relaying an offer from Verres to pay one million into court as compensation. Lucius was particularly appalled – ‘an insult’, he called it – and Cicero had no hesitation in sending the messenger away with a flea in his ear. An hour later he was back, with what Hortensius called his ‘final figure’: a settlement of one and a half million. This time, Cicero dictated a longer reply:

  From: Marcus Tullius Cicero

  To: Quintus Hortensius Hortalus

  Greetings!

  In view of the ludicrously low sum your client is proposing as compensation for his unparalleled wickedness, I intend asking Glabrio to allow me to continue the prosecution tomorrow, when I shall exercise my right to address the court on this and other matters.

  ‘Let us see how much he and his aristocratic friends relish the prospect of having their noses rubbed further into their own filth,’ he exclaimed to me. I finished sealing the letter, and when I returned from giving it to the messenger, Cicero set about dictating the speech he proposed to deliver the next day – a slashing attack on the aristocrats for prostituting their great names, and the names of their ancestors, in defence of such a scoundrel as Verres. Urged on by Lucius in particular, he poured out his loathing. ‘We are aware with what jealousy, with what dislike, the merit and energy of “new men” are regarded by certain of the “nobles”; that we have only to shut our eyes for a moment to find ourselves caught in some trap; that if we leave them the smallest opening for any suspicion or charge of misconduct, we have to suffer for it at once; that we must never relax our vigilance, and never take a holiday. We have enemies – let us face them; tasks to perform – let us shoulder them; not forgetting that an open and declared enemy is less formidable than one who hides himself and says nothing!’

  ‘There go another thousand votes,’ muttered Quintus.

  The afternoon wore on in this way, without any answer from Hortensius, until, at length, not long before dusk, there was a commotion from the street, and soon afterwards Eros came running into the study with the breathless news that Pompey the Great himself was in the vestibule. This was indeed an extraordinary turn-up, but Cicero and his brother had time to do no more than blink at one another before that familiar military voice could be heard barking, ‘Where is he? Where is the greatest orator of the age?’

  Cicero muttered an oath beneath his breath, and went out into the tablinum, followed by Quintus, then Lucius, and finally myself, just in time to see the senior consul come striding out of the atrium. The confines of that modest house made him bulk even larger than he did normally. ‘And there he is!’ he exclaimed. ‘There is the man whom everyone comes to see!’ He made straight for Cicero, threw his powerful arms around him, and embraced him in a bear hug. From where I was standing, just behind Cicero, I could see Pompey’s crafty grey eyes taking in each of us in turn, and when he released his embarrassed host, he insisted on being introduced, even to me, so that I – a humble domestic slave from Arpinum – could now boast, at the age of thirty-four, that I had shaken hands with both the ruling consuls of Rome.

  He had left his bodyguards out in the street and had come into the house entirely alone, a significant mark of trust and favour. Cicero, whose manners as always were impeccable, ordered Eros to tell Terentia that Pompey the Great was downstairs, and I was instructed to pour some wine.

  ‘Only a little,’ said Pompey, putting his large hand over the cup. ‘We are on our way to dinner, and shall only stay a moment. But we could not pass our neighbour without calling in to pay our respects. We have been watching your progress, Cicero, over these past few days. We have been receiving reports from our friend Glabrio. Magnificent. We drink your health.’ He raised his cup, but not a drop, I noticed, touched his lips. ‘And now that this great enterprise is successfully behind you, we hope that we may see a little more of you, especially as I shall soon be merely a private citizen again.’

  Cicero gave a slight bow. ‘That would be my pleasure.’

  ‘The day after tomorrow, for example – how are you placed?’

  ‘That is the day of the opening of your games. Surely you will be occupied? Perhaps some other time …’

  ‘Nonsense. Come and watch the opening from our box. It will do you no harm to be seen in our company. Let the world observe our friendship,’ he added grandly. ‘You enjoy the games, do you not?’

  Cicero hesitated, and I could see his brain working through the consequences, of both refusal and acceptance. But really he had no choice. ‘I adore the games,’ he said. ‘I can think of nothing I would rather do.’

  ‘Excellent,’ b
eamed Pompey. At that moment Eros returned, with a message that Terentia was lying down, unwell, and sent her apologies. ‘That is a pity,’ said Pompey, looking slightly put out. ‘But let us hope there will be some future opportunity.’ He handed me his untouched wine. ‘We must be on our way. No doubt you have much to do. Incidentally,’ he said, turning on the threshold of the atrium, ‘have you settled on the level of the fine yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ replied Cicero.

  ‘What have they offered?’

  ‘One and a half million.’

  ‘Take it,’ said Pompey. ‘You have covered them in shit. No need to make them eat it, too. It would be embarrassing to me personally and injurious to the stability of the state to proceed with this case further. You understand me?’ He nodded in a friendly way and walked out. We heard the front door open and the commander of his bodyguard call his men to attention. The door closed. For a little while, nobody spoke.

  ‘What a ghastly man,’ said Cicero. ‘Bring me another drink.’ As I fetched the jug, I saw Lucius frowning.

  ‘What gives him the right to talk to you like that?’ he asked. ‘He said it was a social visit.’

  ‘A social visit! Oh, Lucius!’ Cicero laughed. ‘That was a visit from the rent collector.’

  ‘The rent collector? What rent do you owe him?’ Lucius might have been a philosopher, but he was not a complete idiot, and he realised then what had happened. ‘Oh, I understand!’ A look of disgust came across his face, and he turned away.

  ‘Spare me your superiority,’ said Cicero, catching his arm. ‘I had no choice. Marcus Metellus had just drawn the extortion court. The jury was bribed. The hearing was fixed to fail. I was this far’ – Cicero measured an inch with his thumb and forefinger – ‘from abandoning the whole prosecution. And then Terentia said to me, “Make your speech shorter,” and I realised that was the answer – to produce every document and every witness, and do it all in ten days, and shame them – that was it, Lucius: you understand me? – shame them before the whole of Rome, so they had no alternative except to find him guilty.’