“Not so much. I just hope that my maps can help Scipio end the war.”
“Will you come back to Rome?”
“To get my mother, yes. Will I stay? I’m not quite sure.” I wanted to tell him I would return to Syracuse. I wanted to tell him about Moira. Instead I brought up the one topic that divided us. “I would like to see Sempronia one more time. Has she been promised to anyone yet?”
Marcus looked at the ground. “I have no idea.”
A silence held between us. It was a bad way to end our conversation.
“Do me one favor when you return to Rome,” I said.
Marcus lifted his eyes to mine.
“Tell my mother that others know she’s there. Tell her to beware of the woman Paculla Annia.”
He smiled. “Timon, your mother is fine at the farm, but, yes, I will pass that name on to your mother.”
We embraced and parted. I wished he had told me that Sempronia had a husband. Then I could stop comparing her to Moira.
CHAPTER 58
Four days after Marcus’ departure, Troglius, following my advice, appeared at the gate to our camp. He was immediately arrested and put in chains. The court-martial was scheduled for three days later. It was something I needed to talk to Scipio about.
I was in headquarters the next day, working on the map much later than usual, well past sunset. Scipio had been in and out all day, and had just returned. Before I had a chance to address the topic of the trial, he approached me from the other side of the table.
“Timon, I’ve been so busy I haven’t been able to talk to you about the spyglass.” He eyed it hanging on my belt.
“Yes, sir, there’s been a lot going on.”
“I’m beginning to understand what Marcellus went through when he was so intent on defeating Hannibal. Every man with a grudge against you voices an objection. That’s all this is now. Lesser men getting in the way of greater, older in the way of younger.” He shook his head. “But the review is over. As soon as the seas are safe for travel, we’re going to Africa.” He grinned. “But that’s several months off, and I’ve finally got a free moment for a change. Let’s go outside. I want to look into the sky with your spyglass.”
We went out to the stone plinth behind the camp. The night was still and the sky clear. Stars filled the heavens. The moon, a fat crescent, lounged on its backside.
I handed the spyglass to Scipio. “Aim it anywhere you want, sir, but I suggest starting with the moon.”
Scipio lifted the spyglass to his eye and gazed upward. He twisted the tubes in and out, taking his time, clearly focusing on the detail of the lunar surface. “The clarity is utterly fantastic—breathtaking,” he said as he stared upward through the spyglass. After a moment, he lowered it from his eye. “I know nothing more astounding than this device. I simply don’t. Can you explain it to me, Timon?”
“It’s geometry, sir. A specialized part of geometry called optics. It gets complicated, but I can tell you the basic concepts whenever you like.”
“I would like that.”
I pointed to a star in the southwest. “Focus on that exceptionally bright star, sir.”
Scipio aimed the spyglass at the star.
“If you can bring it into clear enough focus, you’ll see that it’s not a star at all. It’s the planet Venus.”
Scipio had become quite adept with the spyglass and quickly focused on the planet. “By the gods,” he muttered. “The planet Venus. Why is it so bright?”
“It’s lit by the sun. Just like the moon.”
After he took a second look at Venus, I told him to aim the spyglass at the most distant stars. “Try to appreciate the depth of the heavens, sir.”
Again Scipio followed my instructions. He was not that much older than I was, seven years. His military success and his over-sized ego, however, could make those seven years seem like twenty. The spyglass tended to reverse that. He knew that my experience with Archimedes was unique, and on rare occasions, he spoke to me like a student to a teacher.
While Scipio gazed into the sky, looking in one direction and then another, I told him the man he was trying in two days was a friend of mine. “I will act as his lawyer in the court-martial.”
Scipio lowered the spyglass. “You will represent this brute, Troglius?”
“Yes, sir. He’s not particularly well-spoken and tends to silence, especially under pressure. I can’t see him defending himself. I was there at the time of the incident. I know what happened. I can clarify what he won’t be able to.”
“How do you know this man?”
“We were part of the same tent unit during my three campaigns with Marcellus. He was the best combat soldier I saw during those three years. On the battlefield, he fights like ten men.”
Scipio tilted his head. “You’re not trying to prejudice the judge are you? That could be considered improper prior to a trial.”
“I believe the facts of the case will speak for themselves, sir. I trust you in that. But as a general, I just thought you should know who was being court-martialed. You might talk to some of the other soldiers. Not all of them know him, but those who do want him fighting beside them.”
Scipio seemed to consider this, then aimed the spyglass at the sky for another look. When he lowered it, he gazed at me through the darkness. “Would you leave the spyglass in my hands for safe keeping if I promise to withhold the death penalty? Not only did the man strike an officer, Timon, but he resisted arrest. It’s what he deserves.”
This caught me off guard. I hesitated a long time before responding. “No, sir. I believe you are a fair man, and the facts are on Troglius’ side. Besides, as long as I’m your scribe, sir, you can have all the use of the spyglass you want. It just remains in my possession.”
Scipio laughed. “I admire your confidence, but would your answer change if I told you that Marius Cato has volunteered to be the army’s prosecutor?”
“Truly? Cato.”
“He will be my quaestor and command the Twenty-third legion. I’ve already been told he will press for execution.” He extended the spyglass to me.
I hesitated taking it. “Maybe I should reconsider your offer?”
“No, I learned my lesson with Pleminius. I will run a fair trial. Make your case. Cato will make his.”
CHAPTER 59
A wide belt of unused space circuited the interior of the camp separating the soldiers’ tents from the palisades. This space was called the intervallum and was used to assemble the soldiers in marching formation prior to exiting the camp. The court-martial was scheduled for noon and would take place in the east intervallum.
I spoke to Moira the day before and asked her to come early. I would meet her outside the camp so I could escort her in. I told her to come without the children, if she could arrange it, so that she wouldn’t be distracted.
I visited Troglius the morning of the trial. I told him that I would ask him only one question—Why did he strike the centurion?—and that his answer should be entirely honest—The centurion insulted a woman in a manner unbecoming a Roman officer. After practicing this exchange several times, I advised him to be as brief as possible if Cato should ask him any questions. Troglius was more frightened of the trial than any punishment he might receive. At one point he asked me if he could simply plead guilty and get it over with. I told him to trust me and that it would all go well, though I was also highly anxious about representing my first client in a trial—against a man known as the best lawyer in Rome.
I was outside the camp waiting for Moira long before noon. As time passed I found myself staring down the road that led south with increasing anxiety. When the trumpets sounded, signaling the beginning of the trial, I had no choice but to go into the camp without her. I told the guards that I was expecting a young woman as one of the witnesses for the court-martial and that she was late. I asked them to please have someone escort her to the east side of the camp.
Almost all of the soldiers who weren’t on duty�
�I’m guessing about two thousand—were squeezed into the limited space, talking and laughing, eager for the spectacle to begin. The drama could not have been higher for the soldiers. Although Troglius was not well known in camp at that time, one of their own was on trial, and there was quite a bit of curiosity about what punishment he would receive. Striking an officer was a serious offense. He had also effectively deserted for nearly two months by hiding from his superiors. Most expected a death sentence, and the anticipation of an execution always drew a crowd.
I pushed my way through the intervallum to the opening in the mass of soldiers that served as our court. In the center sat Scipio’s curule chair, waiting for the consul’s arrival. Cato’s ruddy face and searing gray eyes were hard to miss. He stood to the left of the chair with the centurion who had been struck and the centurion who had been there at the time it happened. Cato watched me cross the opening and take a position on the right. I had grown a beard since he had last seen me. I couldn’t tell if he recognized me or not. I wore my red military tunic and held my wax pad at my side with some notes to myself etched in the wax.
Scipio made us wait. I kept looking around for Moira, worried she had changed her mind about coming, and hoping the guards would bring her into the camp if she hadn’t. She still hadn’t arrived when the crowd of soldiers parted and Scipio strode into the opening. He would be the judge and jury for the trial. He acknowledged the presence of Cato and myself, then sat down.
Our augur Dilius Strabo appeared with his cage of chickens. He sprinkled feed into the cage and the birds ate heartily, signaling that the gods had given their approval to proceed. Strabo then sacrificed a goat to Justitia, the Goddess of Justice. After opening the goat and inspecting the entrails, he announced that she had given her blessings.
Scipio called for the defendant. Two guards led Troglius through the soldiers into the opening. He was wearing his red tunic with iron shackles on his feet and hands. Troglius gave me a darting glance as he walked by me. I was so nervous I had to force a smile.
Scipio motioned for Cato and me to come forward. “Discipline among the soldiers is one of the military’s greatest strengths and greatest concerns. I take this incident very seriously.” Scipio looked at Cato. “The prosecution will state its case first. Then the defense will respond.” His eyes met mine. “The prosecution will then call forward its witnesses for questioning, then the defense will have the same opportunity. Don’t waste my time with long speeches. Make your point and move on.”
I stood off to the right beside Troglius and his two guards. Cato strode to the center of the court. He paced back and forth twice before delivering his opening. Despite Scipio’s request for brevity, Cato went on and on about the meaning and tradition of discipline in the Roman army before getting to the specifics.
“This case is an easy one,” he said, scanning the soldiers crowded all around. Although a young man, only four years my senior, his reputation as a lawyer extended well beyond Rome, and most of the soldiers knew who he was. “A legionnaire,” Cato continued, “the man in chains before us, struck an officer at the market in the Tyche district of Syracuse.” He motioned to the centurion who Troglius had hit. “Another officer witnessed the incident. There is nothing to prove or disprove. The accused soldier all but admitted his guilt by running from the scene of the crime and staying in hiding for nearly eight weeks before turning himself in. Army regulations could not be more clear. The man has both struck an officer and deserted his duties. A bastinado is called for and that is how I will argue.”
A bastinado was equivalent to the death sentence. The guilty soldier was forced to run through a gauntlet made up of the men in his own cohort, meaning two lines of two hundred and fifty soldiers. The soldier would be beaten as he tried to reach the end of the two lines. It was rare for a soldier to make it the entire way, and if he did, he likely died within the next day or two from the beating.
Scipio motioned to me. I took one last anxious look around for Moira, then stepped forward. “Thank you, Consul, for allowing me to represent this soldier.” I nodded to Scipio, then Cato. “I have known the accused for almost five years now and know him as one of the most capable soldiers in a Roman uniform.” Several soldiers in the crowd disputed this claim with insulting sounds. Scipio raised his hand for quiet.
“The prosecutor has mistakenly said that there is nothing in the case to prove or disprove. I disagree. I was there. I witnessed the incident. It is my intention to prove that it was the centurion whose conduct was improper, not the defendant’s. He insulted a woman in the Tyche market, then forcefully grabbed her. The defendant, whom I stood next to at the time, responded in the only way an honorable man could. He protected the woman.” Cato looked to the sky, then shook his head. “In fact, I would have done the same if the defendant’s sense of honor weren’t quicker than mine. What I will attempt to prove in this trial is that the defendant should be commended for his actions, not punished.”
Using his fist to cover his grin, Cato took my place in the center of the court.
“Does the prosecution wish to question any witnesses?” asked Scipio.
Cato asked the centurion who had seen the incident to come forward.
“Centurion, for the court, please describe what you saw at the market that day.”
“My fellow officer, the victim, and I were at the Tyche market. We stopped at a vendor’s cart to view her wares. The defendant and this scribe, I mean his lawyer”—this generated some laughter in the audience—“were also there. When the victim asked the vendor what she had for sale, the woman spit on him. The defendant followed with a punch to the victim’s jaw.”
“Then in no way,” asked Cato, “could it be called an act of self-defense? In fact, as you describe it, the defendant was not part of the original exchange at all. He wasn’t personally insulted or even touched by the centurion. All of the victim’s words and actions were directed at the vendor. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That is all,” said Cato.
Scipio looked at me. “Would the defense like to ask the witness any questions?”
“Yes, sir.” I approached the centurion standing in the center of the opening. “Sir, would you say that the vendor was an attractive woman?”
Cato quickly objected. Scipio upheld the objection, but the smile on the centurion’s face was an obvious yes to my question. I continued. “What exactly did the officer say to the vendor? Do you remember his words?”
The man looked to the victim, standing alongside Cato at the edge of the opening. “I can’t say word for word, but it was something like—What have you got for sale?”
I nodded. “What if I refresh your memory? Did he say—What else do you have for sale, sweetie?” Because of the obvious suggestion in the words, this drew a round of laughter from the soldiers.
Again Scipio raised his hand for quiet.
“Does that sound familiar to you?” I pressed.
“Yes, I think that’s right,” the man conceded.
“Though his words didn’t contain any clear vulgarity, the victim was clearly trying to proposition the young woman. Is that not correct?”
Cato again stepped forward. “He’s trying to think for the witness. I object.”
Scipio denied the objection and asked the witness to answer.
The centurion scowled. “I can’t say if that’s correct or not. Ask the man himself.”
“He’ll get his chance,” I said. “But it seems clear from the response of those observing this trial that there was something untoward in his question.”
Cato objected again. “He’s making suppositions that will influence the court.”
Scipio upheld the objection.
“One last question,” I said, then turned to the witness. “After the woman spit at the officer, did he not grab her by arm and threaten her before the defendant struck him?”
The centurion scowled at me. “She spit at him. Why wouldn’t he have threatened h
er?”
“But he also grabbed her arm. Is that correct?”
The man reluctantly nodded.
“That’s all, sir.”
Scipio turned to Cato. “Councilor, do you have any more questions for the witness?”
“No, sir.”
“Any other witnesses?”
“I would like to bring the victim to the floor,” said Cato.
The man came forward.
“Officer,” asked Cato, “is that the man who struck you?” He pointed to Troglius. As everyone turned to look at Troglius, one of the guards from the front gate pushed through the crowd. Moira followed him with Rosa and Donato holding onto her hands. Scipio glared at the guard for the interruption.
“She’s a witness, Consul,” I said quickly. “She’s the woman who was insulted.”
“He can’t say that,” screamed Cato, his red face glowing purple.
Scipio took a deep breath. “Continue with your questioning, councilor.”
Cato gave me an ugly look, then repeated his last question. The centurion verified that Troglius was the one who had struck him.
“Officer, did you do anything to this man that merited any kind of retaliation—punch or otherwise?”
“Not in the least. No.”
Cato appeared to be done, then he suddenly stopped and asked the centurion, “Is the woman who spit on you here in court?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
He pointed to Moira. Both children looked up at her.
“Did you intentionally insult her?”
The man’s brow lowered. “No. Why would I bother?”
This inspired another round of laughter from the audience. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake by having Moira there.
Scipio asked me if I wanted to question the man. When I said no, Cato asked to question the defendant.
Scipio addressed the two guards. “Bring the man forward.”
Cato stared at me then turned to Troglius. “Did you strike the centurion?”
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