Then it was Vibianus's turn to do the same. He used stock phrases but with excellent composition and timing, and with a great deal of spirit. In spite of myself, I almost enjoyed the performance. When the lawyers retired, I rose to address the jury.
"Citizens," I said, "I now invoke my authority to give special instruction to the jury. This is not commonly done, but I feel that this is a very special case, one in which there is a great deal of ambiguity and in which too much guilt is being loaded upon the head of a single unfortunate man, Gelon son of Gaeto.
"To begin with, he is accused of a murder in what is actually a chain of related murders. The slaying of Gorgo was only the first. No sooner was the son in custody than the father was murdered. Gaeto could not have committed that crime. Next came the death of Charmian, the only possible witness of her mistress's murder. Gaeto could not have killed her. Quadrilla, wife of the duumvir Silva was murdered as well. Her connection to the other killings is unknown, but she was murdered in the very same, highly unusual fashion as Gaeto. Gelon could not have killed her.
"I almost hesitate to bring up the bandit attack, since, as the learned, distinguished, and eloquent Vibianus has pointed out the ambiguities of that incident. I can testify, however, that one of the bandits was mounted on the same horse ridden by the murderer of Gorgo and the slayer of Gaeto." I gazed around and saw Julia wince. She didn't think much of this argument. Well, you use what you have.
"The horse was a Roman-shod mare, such as Numidians never ride. This steed was a part of the bandit's hire!" The crowd muttered, impressed. They lacked skepticism. Not so the jury, who looked skeptical beyond measure.
"There is a final piece of evidence I believe should be made public before the jury retires to its deliberations." I gestured to Hermes and he took the scroll from inside his tunic and handed it to me. I held it high.
"This is the will of Gaeto of Numidia. It was deposited for safekeeping in the Temple of Juno the Protector at Cumae, after the custom of this district. I subpoenaed it for this trial and did not see it until it was delivered by messenger this morning. As all can see, the seal is unbroken." I passed it to the little group of local magistrates and they examined the seal. Quite carefully, in fact. They were not unfamiliar with documents that had been tampered with. At last they passed it back, affirming that the seal was authentic and intact.
"I will now have the document read. I feel certain that it contains evidence that bears on this case." It certainly couldn't make things much worse, I thought. I passed it to Marcus and he broke the seal and unrolled the scroll with the verve of a man about to read news of a victory to the Senate. He scanned the contents briefly.
"This is written in Greek," he said.
"You can read Greek," I told him, "and most people here understand Greek. For the benefit of those who don't, I will provide a translation into Latin. Begin."
And so, pausing every few lines for me to translate, Marcus read the will.
"'I am Gaeto,'" it began, " a native of Numidia, of the line of Juba, a prince of the Tarraelian Berbers.'" There followed a number of oaths to Gods Greek, Roman, Numidian, and, I believe, Carthaginian. There attested that he was sound of mind and body and not under the baleful influence of witchcraft, curse, or divine displeasure.
The actual will began with the manumission of certain faithful slaves of long service. In Roman wills these testamentary manumissions are usually at the end, but perhaps things are done differently in Numidia. Then he got to the meat of the matter.
"To my beloved son, Gelon, I bequeath all my lands, estates, tribal titles, and hereditary clientships and loyalties in the land of Numidia, and commend to him the care of his mother and all my concubines."' The crowd seemed to find this last clause a rare jest.
"'To my second wife, Jocasta,'" he went on, "'I bequeath my lands, houses, properties, and business interests in Italy.'" This was a cause for some astonishment. Under Roman law widows and daughters can of course inherit property, but one does not expect such a thing of a barbarian, certainly not one with a surviving son. Gelon looked astounded, jocasta was quite impassive. Well, I thought, the boy hadn't wanted to trade slaves in Italy, and now it looked like he would get his wish. He'd probably expected to be able to sell up, though.
'"My beloved second wife,"' the document continued, "'has been my helpmate in all my business dealings, for which my son shows no aptitude nor desire. She is Greek, and a life in Numidia would be a cruel imposition. I assure her comfort and position thus.'"
Now here was a puzzle. A man does not often justify himself in his will. There is no need, unless he wants to cut out some obnoxious heir and wishes to append an insulting comment to make it worse.
Marcus read off a few final oaths, then displayed the seal of Gaeto to all and sundry. Then he handed it to me. Crowd, lawyers, and jury all looked at me, mystified. Finally, Vibianus spoke.
"Honored Praetor, does this odd document in your opinion supply some new and conclusive sort of evidence?"
"I feel that it does," I said, frustrated.
"Will you impart it to us?" he asked so impassively that you could hear the sneer. When I did not answer he said, "Is there any reason to delay further the deliberations of the jury?"
"There is none," I said.
The jury retired within the basilica while I sat and brooded over the will. Surely, I felt, the answer was here. It was my last hope. I began to wonder why I even bothered. What was a slaver's son to me? And what true reason had I for believing him innocent other than that he made such an agreeable first impression and that I had so little liking for Diocles and the others involved in this sorry business? The red ink and Greek lettering had an odd familiarity, but I set the will down when the jury returned.
"They weren't gone long," Hermes said. "That's a bad sign." He didn't have to tell me that.
I stood. "President of the jury," I said, "how do you find?"
The man stepped forward with the traditional vase and dumped its contents on the court secretary's table. In Baiae they used a variation of the Greek ostracon. Here, instead of potsherds, they used little tile disks the size of scallop shell: white for innocent, black for guilty.
Every tile was black. "We find the defendant, Gelon of Numidia, guilty of the murder of Gorgo, daughter of Diocles, priest of the Temple of Campanian Apollo."
The boy's face drained of color, turning his usual high olive complexion a dirty yellow gray. I had ruled out crucifixion and the lions, but even a gentlemanly beheading is not an easy thing to contemplate.
I was about to pronounce that sentence, knowing that the crowd wouldn't like it and not caring, when Julia touched my arm and pointed at the will, lying at my side. She whispered: "It's the same hand that wrote those poems."
Like ice breaking up on a German river in the springtime, things began to shift and loosen in my mind. New possibilities opened up. Nothing was truly clear yet, but I knew I now had all the pieces to the puzzle. What I needed more than anything else was time and it had run out. Then I remembered the conditions I had stipulated at the outset of the trial. I squinted up at the sun. It was barely past midday.
"The jury has spoken and Roman justice will be done," I said. "I will render my judgment at sundown."
There were many exclamations of surprise. Why should I need several hours to send a guilty felon to his death?
"Why delay?" Vibianus demanded. Diocles stood beside him, his face furious.
"I said that this court must be concluded by sundown and that is when it shall end! No back talk from any of you! I now order all here to disperse to their homes and to reassemble here at sundown to hear my judgment. Sublicius Pansa, keep the forum clear and patrol the streets. Disperse any groups larger than four."
There were shouts of outrage at this abuse of authority.
"If any of you defy me," I shouted, pointing at Vesuvius smoking in the distance, "you'll wish that mountain had blown up instead!"
14
The atmosphere i
n our town house could best be described as tense. Nobody knew what was happening, nobody knew what I was up to. I posted my lictors at the street door and ushered everyone inside. Antonia and Circe chattered away, excited as always by discord. Julia was grim faced; all the men of my party except Hermes looked at me as if I had committed political suicide. That would have suited Hermes fine. He'd have been overjoyed if I had run down to the harbor, seized a ship, and turned pirate.
"There'll be big trouble over this in Rome," Marcus predicted.
"With the uproar that prevails in Rome," I said, "who is going to notice? Now be silent. I have to think some things through." I sat in the courtyard and a servant brought wine and lunch.
"I was hoping you'd thought things through already," Julia said.
"Oh, we should be able to sort things out well before sundown," I told her. I took out the will. "Now, about this document. You are sure that it's the same hand?"
She went to our bedroom and returned with the little scroll. We spread both of them out on a table. There was no doubt of it.
"Gelon," I said, "did you know that your father was having an affair with Gorgo?"
"Impossible!" he cried, now recovered enough to feel indignation over something besides his impending execution.
"Why impossible?" I demanded. "It wouldn't be the first time a father swept a sweetheart out from under his son, so to speak. Look at these papers. He was writing some very intense, erotic poems to the girl. She had them hidden in her handmaid's chamber."
Gelon strode to the table and stared, dumbfounded at the documents. "My father never wrote these!''
"How can you be sure?" Julia asked him.
"Because he couldn't write Greek! Or Latin, either, for that matter. He could read and write in Punic, which is a language good for keeping accounts and little else."
I looked at Julia and she looked back at me, the possibilities revolving in our heads. As so often, we were treading the same path together.
"Hermes," I said, "fetch that little dagger that killed Gaeto."
Mystified, he did my bidding, returning in moments with the minuscule weapon. I handed it to Julia. "Tell me, my dear," I said, "how would you use this to kill me?"
While the others stood or sat with mouths agape, she studied the dagger in her palm. Then she smiled. "Here is how I would do it."
That day her hair was dressed in the most demure fashion, parted in the middle, drawn back and knotted at her nape, the remainder trailing in a long tail down her back. She reached behind her neck and threaded the little dagger into her hair, trying several different ways until she was satisfied. When her hands fell away, the weapon was not visible. She turned to our rapt little audience, smiling.
"You may now assume that I am naked, about to embrace my loving husband." Even Antonia and Circe kept silent as Julia approached me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and drew my head down for a kiss. In Rome, for a wife to kiss her husband before witnesses was something of a scandal, but we were all Baiaean libertines by now. I felt her fingertips resting at the back of my skull, then I felt a tiny pricking sensation in that spot. One of our watchers-Circe, I think-gasped slightly.
"You will notice," Julia said, "that I withdrew the dagger just as our faces came together. Even with his eyes open, my unsuspecting spouse couldn't see what was going on behind me. I placed the tip of the thing between the fingers of my left hand and guided it to that very vulnerable spot where the neck joins the skull. No unerring eye was needed. I could have done the whole operation with my eyes shut. Next-"
I jerked as she smacked me very sharply on the back of the neck. Antonia and Circe jerked as well. The men were made of sterner material, but they looked a little sick, doubtless thinking of all the women with whom they had let their guards down.
"Had I not snatched the dagger away in time," Julia said, "I'd have driven it in to the hilt. No powerful arm required, either." She stepped back, pleased with her performance.
I glared at Hermes. "I blame you for putting that idea into our heads," I told him. "You were the one who first said it had to be a strong man with the eye of a swordsman." He just shrugged and rolled his eyes.
"I should have seen it sooner," Julia said. "I told you there was something odd about that writing and that verse. If it had been in Latin, I'd have noticed it sooner. Those verses were written by a woman. When I first saw them, I said they read like something out of Sappho."
"Just a minute," Antonia said with horrified delight. "Are you saying that it was Jocasta who was having an affair with that girl? Jocasta who killed her?"
"She wasn't the only one sharing a bed or a grassy hummock with poor Gorgo," I said, "but she killed her."
"No!" Gelon cried, distraught. "She could not have!"
"Just as Gorgo and your father were not the only ones enjoying the intimate delights of Jocasta's body," I said. "Hermes said that you were half asleep when he called on you that morning, and more stunned than might have been expected when you got the terrible news. Did Jocasta drug you?"
The boy sat huddled in a heap of misery, covering his face with his hands. "She-she must have! It was not something we did often, but sometimes I couldn't help myself, and she always acted as if she did it only to please me. That night, Father was away, the house was empty of all save the two of us. I thought we'd just had too much wine with dinner-"
"But you woke up in her bed with the lictors pounding on the door, eh?" I said. "Must have been a shock."
Hermes stared at him, aghast. "You mean you were putting it to your father's wife?" This was pretty strong stuff, even for Rome.
"Oh, don't be so hard on him," Antonia said. "It's not like she was his mother! She was just a second wife, more like a concubine. He was going to inherit the old man's concubines anyway."
"It is a terrible crime in Numidia," Gelon said. "If word of it reaches there, I can never go back!"
"Don't complain so much," Antonia advised. "The praetor has already spared you the cross and the beasts of the arena. Now it looks like you won't even be beheaded. You're ahead of the game any way you look at it."
"Spoken like a true Antonian," I said.
"But why kill Charmian?" Julia said, "And Quadrilla?"
"Charmian!" Hermes said, anxious to cover up his earlier gaffe. "It was to Jocasta's house that she fled. Jocasta was her 'protector'!"
Circe snorted. "Some protector."
"We'll find out about the rest," I said. "We know enough for now. Time to talk to the woman herself."
"I'll take the lictors and go arrest her," Hermes said.
"No," I told him. "I don't want her to have time to concoct a story. I want to go and brace her before she knows she's been exposed."
"I'm not missing this for anything," Julia said. "Praetorly dignity be damned. I'm going with you."
"Me, too!" cried Circe and Antonia in unison. I know when I am outnumbered.
In a small mob we made our way to Jocasta's town house. On the way we encountered Sublicius Pansa, patrolling the streets as I had ordered.
"Am I not supposed to disperse gatherings of more than three?" he said, grinning.
"I didn't mean me," I growled. "And I don't require an escort." I didn't want the woman to hear approaching hoofbeats.
Baiae being the small town it was, we were at her door in minutes. It was not locked, and the lictors rushed in with us close behind.
We found her seated at the rim of the pool of her impluvium, toying with a lotus flower that floated therein. She wore another of her silk gowns. This one was black, perhaps in recognition of the solemnity of the occasion. She looked up at me and saw instantly that it was all over for her. A lictor placed a hand ceremonially on her shoulder.
"Jocasta," I said, "I arrest you for the murders of Gorgo the daughter of Diocles; of your husband, Gaeto; of Charmian the slave of Gorgo; and of Quadrilla, wife of the duumvir Manius Silva." I almost added the rest of the formula, "Come with me to the praetor," but realized in time that I
was the praetor.
She sighed. "You are such a stubborn man. If you had just executed that fool"-she jabbed a finger toward Gelon-"you would have been too embarrassed to come after me, even if you figured out the truth later."
"I have a high tolerance for embarrassment," I told her. "I wouldn't have let you get away with it."
"If you say so. But you are very sensitive, for a Roman. Not many would have gone to such lengths for a slaver's son. And you are wrong about one thing. I didn't kill Charmian."
"Then how did she die?" I asked her.
"Perhaps," Julia said, "you should tell us all that happened."
Jocasta stared at her with eyes grown haggard, a face abruptly aged. "Aren't you forward for a Roman wife?"
"She isn't a Roman wife," I told her. "She's a Caesar." I found a nearby chair and sat as a praetor should when hearing a case. The rest of my party remained standing, even Julia.
"Why should I tell you anything?" Jocasta demanded. "I'm to die whatever I say."
"I'll make you the same promise I made Gelon: No cross, no beasts in the arena. A quick beheading and it's over. But only if you explain it all. I owe this to Manius Silva and to Diocles and to the shades of the dead. They can cross over the river and know peace when this matter is settled and they are avenged."
"You owe Diocles nothing!" she hissed with shocking malice.
"All right," I said. "Let's start there. What was Diocles' part in all
this?"
"He was Gaeto's partner! I lied about the man in Verona. When Gaeto first set up in Baiae he needed a citizen partner, and he needed one of impeccable lineage. Slaving can be a chancy business, you know. He might have bought kidnapped Roman citizens by mistake, and then he would have been in terrible trouble. The penalties are fearsome, as you know well. He had to have a highly placed partner to speak up for him in court."
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