Masters of Rome Boxset: First Man in Rome, the Grass Crown, Fortune's Favourites, Caesar's Women, Caesar

by Colleen McCullough

  Please, Caesar, try to find the time to journey to the east again! I would so much like you to meet Nysa, and I miss you dreadfully.

  3

  It was last year’s tribune of the plebs, Marcus Lollius Palicanus, whom the delegates from all the cities of Sicily except Syracuse and Messana approached to prosecute Gaius Verres. But Palicanus referred them to Pompey, and Pompey in turn referred them to Marcus Tullius Cicero as the ideal man for that particular job.

  Verres had gone to Sicily as its governor after his urban praetorship, and—mostly thanks to Spartacus—remained its governor for three years. He had only just returned to Rome when the Sicilian delegation sought out Cicero during January. Both Pompey and Palicanus were personally concerned; Palicanus had gone to the assistance of some of his clients when Verres persecuted them, and Pompey had amassed a considerable number of clients in Sicily during his occupation of it on Sulla’s behalf.

  Quaestor in Lilybaeum under Sextus Peducaeus the year before Verres arrived to govern Sicily in Peducaeus’s place, Cicero had developed an enormous fondness for Sicily too. Not to mention having amassed a nice little retinue of clients. Yet when the Sicilians came to see him, he backed away.

  “I never prosecute,” he explained. “I defend.”

  “But Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus recommended you! He said you were the only man who could win. Please, we beg of you, break your rule and prosecute Gaius Verres! If we do not win, Sicily could well rise up against Rome.”

  “Raped the place, did he?” asked Cicero clinically.

  “Yes, he raped it. But having raped it, Marcus Tullius, he then dismembered it. We have nothing left! All our works of art are gone from every temple, paintings and statues both, and any valuables in the hands of private owners—what can we say about a man who actually had the temerity to enslave a free woman famous for her tapestry work and make her run a factory for his profit? He stole the moneys the Treasury of Rome gave him to purchase grain, then commandeered the grain from the growers without paying for it! He has stolen farms, estates, even inheritances. The list is endless!”

  This catalogue of perfidies startled Cicero greatly, but still he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I do not prosecute.”

  The spokesman drew a breath. “Then we will go home,” he said. “We had thought that a man so knowledgeable about Sicily’s history that he went to great trouble to rediscover the whereabouts of the tomb of Archimedes would see our plight, and help. But you have lost your affection for Sicily, and clearly you do not value Gnaeus Pompeius as he values you.”

  To be reminded of Pompey and of a famous coup—he had indeed rediscovered the lost tomb of Archimedes outside the city of Syracuse—was too much. Prosecution in Cicero’s opinion was a waste of his talents, for the (highly illegal) fees were always far less than the inducements offered by some sweating ex-governor or publicanus in danger of losing everything. Nor (such was the mentality of men) was it popular to prosecute! The prosecuting advocate was always seen as a nasty piece of work determined to make a ruin out of some hapless individual’s life, whereas the defending advocate who got the hapless individual off was a popular hero. It made not the slightest difference that most of these hapless individuals were cunning, avaricious and guilty to the extreme; any threat to a man’s right to conduct his life as he saw fit was bound to be considered an infringement of his personal entitlements.

  Cicero sighed. “Very well, very well, I will take the case!” he said. “But you must remember that the defending attorneys speak after the prosecuting team, so that the jury has clean forgotten every word the prosecution said by the time it is given the directive to find a verdict. You must also remember that Gaius Verres is very highly connected. His wife is a Caecilia Metella, the man who should have been consul this year is his brother-in-law, he has another brother-in-law who is the present governor of Sicily—you’ll get no help from that quarter, and nor will I!—and every other Caecilius Metellus will be on his side. If I prosecute, then Quintus Hortensius will defend, and other advocates almost as famous will join him as his juniors. I said I will take the case. That does not mean I think I can win.”

  The delegation had hardly left his house before Cicero was regretting his decision; who needed to offend every Caecilius Metellus in Rome when his chances of becoming consul rested on the slender base of personal ability in the law courts? He was as much a New Man as his detested fellow man from Arpinum, Gaius Marius, but he didn’t have a soldiering bone in his body and a New Man’s progress was harder if he could not earn fame on the battlefield.

  Of course he knew why he had accepted; that absurd loyalty he felt he owed to Pompey. The years might be many and the legal accolades multiple, but how could he ever forget the careless kindness of a seventeen-year-old cadet toward the cadet his father despised? As long as he lived Cicero would be grateful to Pompey for helping him through that ghastly, miserable military experience in the ranks of Pompey Strabo’s cadets; for shielding him from Pompey Strabo’s indifferent cruelties and terrifying rages. No other hand had been raised to assist him, yet young Pompey, the general’s son, had raised his hand. He had been warm that winter thanks to Pompey, he had been given clerical duties thanks to Pompey, he had never needed to lift a sword in battle thanks to Pompey. And he could never, never forget it.

  So off to the Carinae he betook himself to see Pompey.

  “I just wanted to tell you,” he said in a voice of doom, “that I have decided to prosecute Gaius Verres.”

  “Oh, splendid!” said Pompey heartily. “A lot of Verres’s victims are—or sometimes were—my clients. You can win, I know you can. And name your favors.”

  “I need no favors from you, Magnus, and you can never be in any doubt that it is I who owe you.”

  Pompey looked startled. “You do? On what account?”

  “You made my year with your father’s army bearable.”

  “Oh, that!” Laughing, Pompey shook Cicero by the arm. “I hardly think that’s worth a lifetime’s gratitude.”

  “To me it is,” said Cicero, tears in his eyes. “We shared a lot during the Italian War.”

  Perhaps Pompey was remembering less palatable things they had shared, like the search for his father’s naked and insulted body, for he shook his head as if to banish the Italian War from his mind, and gave Cicero a beaker of excellent wine. “Well, my friend, you just let me know what I can do to assist you now.”

  “I will,” said Cicero gratefully.

  “All those Little Goat men of the Caecilii Metelli will be against this prosecution, of course,” said Pompey thoughtfully. “So will Catulus, Hortensius, others.”

  “And you’ve just mentioned the main reason why I have to get this case heard early enough in the year. I daren’t run the risk of having the case bound over until next year—Little Goat and Hortensius will be consuls then, everyone seems to be saying.”

  “A pity in a way,” said Pompey. “Next year there may well be knight juries again, and that would go against Verres.”

  “Not if the consuls rig the court behind the scenes, Magnus. Besides, there’s no guarantee our praetor Lucius Cotta will find in favor of knight juries. I was talking to him the other day—he thinks his enquiries into the composition of court juries are going to take months—and he’s not convinced knight juries will be any better than senatorial ones. Knights can’t be prosecuted for taking bribes.”

  “We can change the law,” said Pompey, who, having no respect for the law, thought that whenever it became inconvenient it should be changed—to suit himself, naturally.

  “That could prove difficult.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “Because,” said Cicero patiently, “to change that law would mean enacting another law in one of the two tribal Assemblies—both dominated by knights.”

  “They’ve indemnified Crassus and me against our action last year,” said Pompey, unable to distinguish the difference between one law and another.

  “That
is because you’ve been very nice to them, Magnus. And they want you to go on being very nice to them. A law making them culpable for accepting bribes is quite a separate pot of stew.”

  “Oh, well, perhaps as you say Lucius Cotta won’t find in favor of knight juries. It was just a thought.”

  Cicero rose to go. “Thank you again, Magnus.”

  “Keep me informed.”

  *

  One month later Cicero notified the urban praetor, Lucius Cotta, that he would be prosecuting Gaius Verres in the Extortion Court on behalf of the cities of Sicily, and that he would be asking for the sum of forty-two and a half million sesterces—one thousand seven hundred talents—in damages, as well as for the restoration of all works of art and valuables stolen from Sicily’s temples and citizens.

  Though he had come back from Sicily swaggering, confident that his position as the brother-in-law of Metellus Little Goat would be adequate protection against possible prosecution, when Gaius Verres heard that Cicero—Cicero, who never prosecuted!—had lodged an intention to prosecute, he panicked. Word was sent immediately to his brother-in-law Lucius Metellus the governor of Sicily to bury any evidence Verres himself might have overlooked in his rush to remove his plunder from the island. Significantly, neither Syracuse nor Messana had joined with the other cities to press charges; that was due to the fact that Syracuse and Messana had aided and abetted Verres, and shared in the proceeds of his nefarious activities. But how fortunate that the new governor was his wife’s middle brother!

  The two brothers left in Rome, Quintus called Little Goat (who was certain to be consul next year) and the youngest of the three sons of Metellus Caprarius, Marcus, hastily conferred with Verres to see what could be done to avert the disaster of a trial, and agreed to bring Quintus Hortensius into the case. Certainly Hortensius would lead the defense if the matter came to court, but at this stage what was needed was a ploy aimed at averting a trial, especially one conducted by Cicero.

  In March, Hortensius lodged a complaint with the urban praetor; Cicero, he alleged, was not the proper man to prosecute any case against Gaius Verres. Instead of Cicero, Hortensius nominated Quintus Caecilius Niger, a relative of the Little Goats who had been Verres’s quaestor in Sicily during the middle one of his three years as governor. The only way Cicero’s fitness to prosecute could be determined was to hold a special hearing called a divinatio—guesswork (so named because the judges at this special hearing reached a conclusion without hard evidence being presented—that is, they arrived at a finding by guesswork). Each prospective prosecutor was required to tell the judges why he ought to be the chief prosecutor, and after listening to Caecilius Niger, who spoke poorly, and Cicero, the judges found in favor of Cicero and directed that the case be heard quickly.

  Verres, the two Metellus Little Goats and Hortensius had to think again.

  “You’ll be praetor next year, Marcus,” said the great advocate to the youngest brother, “so we’ll have to make sure the lots fall on you to become president of the Extortion Court. This year’s president, Glabrio, loathes Gaius Verres. And if for no other reason than that he loathes you, Verres, Glabrio won’t allow the slightest breath of scandal to touch his court—yes, what I’m saying is that if the case is heard this year and Glabrio is court president, we won’t be able to bribe the jury. And don’t forget that this year Lucius Cotta will be watching every important jury like a cat a mouse. Because this case will attract a lot of attention, I think Lucius Cotta is going to base much of his opinion about the fitness of all—senator juries on it. As for Pompeius and Crassus—they don’t love us at all!”

  “You mean,” said Gaius Verres, whose brass—colored beauty was looking a little tarnished these days, “that we have to get my case held over until next year, when Marcus will be president of the Extortion Court.”

  “Exactly,” said Hortensius. “Quintus Metellus and I will be the consuls next year—a great help! It won’t be difficult for us to rig the lots to give Marcus the Extortion Court, and it makes no difference whether next year’s juries are senatorial or equestrian—we’ll bribe!”

  “But it’s only April,” said Verres gloomily. “I don’t see how we can stall proceedings until the end of the year.”

  “Oh, we can,” said Hortensius confidently. “In these cases where evidence has to be gathered at a far distance from Rome—and up and down a country as big as Sicily!—it takes any prosecutor six to eight months to prepare his case. I know Cicero hasn’t begun because he’s still here in Rome, and hasn’t sent any agents out to Sicily yet. Naturally he’ll hope to pull in evidence and witnesses fast, and that’s where Lucius Metellus comes in—as the governor of Sicily, he will put every obstacle possible in the path of Cicero or his agents.”

  Hortensius beamed. “I predict that Cicero won’t be ready before October, if then. Of course that’s time enough for a trial. But we won’t let it be! Because we will apply to try another case in Glabrio’s court ahead of yours, Gaius Verres. The victim will have to be someone who has left a trail of hard evidence behind him that we can gather very quickly. Some poor wretch who extorted in a minor way, not an important fish like the governor of a province. We should choose the prefect of an administrative district in—say, Greece. I have a victim in mind—we will have enough evidence to satisfy the urban praetor that we have a case by the end of Quinctilis. Cicero can’t possibly be ready by then. But we will be!”

  “Which victim are you thinking of?’’ asked Metellus Little Goat, looking relieved; naturally he and his brothers had shared in Gaius Verres’s profits, but that didn’t mean he was willing to suffer a brother-in-law exiled and disgraced for extortion.

  “I’m thinking of that Quintus Curtius who was Varro Lucullus’s legate, and was prefect of Achaea while Varro Lucullus was governor of Macedonia. If Varro Lucullus hadn’t been so busy in Thrace conquering the Bessi and taking boat rides down the Danubius all the way to the sea, he would have ensured that Curtius was prosecuted himself. But by the time he came home and found out about Curtius’s little peculations he deemed it too late and too minor to bother about, so he never instituted proceedings. But the evidence is there for the gathering, and Varro Lucullus would be delighted to help land our little fish. I’ll lodge an application with the urban praetor to have the case against Quintus Curtius heard this year in the Extortion Court,” said Hortensius.

  “Which means,” said Verres eagerly, “that Lucius Cotta will direct Glabrio to hear whichever of the two cases is ready first, and as you say, it will be Curtius. Then once you’re in court you’ll drag the proceedings out until the end of the year! Cicero and my trial will have to wait. Brilliant, Quintus Hortensius, absolutely brilliant!”

  “Yes, I think it’s pretty cunning,” said Hortensius smugly.

  “Cicero will be furious,” said Metellus Little Goat.

  “I’d adore to see that!” said Hortensius.

  But they didn’t see Cicero worked into a fury after all. The moment he heard that Hortensius had applied to try an ex-prefect of Achaea in the Extortion Court, he understood exactly what Hortensius was aiming at. Dismay smote him, followed by despair.

  His beloved cousin Lucius Cicero was visiting from Arpinum, and saw the instant that Cicero entered his study how disturbed he was. “What’s wrong?” asked Lucius Cicero.

  “Hortensius! He’s going to have another case ready to be heard in the Extortion Court before I can assemble my evidence to try Gaius Verres.” Cicero sat down, the picture of depression. “We’ll be held over until next year—and I’d be willing to bet my entire fortune that the Metelli Little Goats have already cooked it up with Hortensius to make sure Marcus Little Goat is the praetor in charge of next year’s Extortion Court.”

  “And Gaius Verres will be acquitted,” said Lucius Cicero.

  “Bound to be! Can’t not be!”

  “Then you’ll have to be ready first,” said Lucius Cicero.

  “What, before the end of Quinctilis? That’s the dat
e our friend Hortensius has asked the urban praetor to put aside. I can’t be ready by then! Sicily is huge, the present governor is Verres’s brother-in-law and will impede me wherever I go—I can’t, can’t, can’t do it, I tell you!”

  “Of course you can,” said Lucius Cicero, standing up and looking brisk. “Dear Marcus Tullius, when you sink your teeth into a case no one is smoother or better organized. You’re so orderly and logical, you have such method! And you know Sicily very well, you have friends there—including many who suffered at the hands of the frightful Gaius Verres. Yes, the governor will try to slow you down, but all those people Verres injured will be trying even harder to speed you up! It is the end of April now. Get your work in Rome finished within two market intervals. While you do that I will arrange for a ship to take us to Sicily, and to Sicily the pair of us will go by the middle of May. Come on, Marcus, you can do it!”

  “Would you really come with me, Lucius?” asked Cicero, face lightening. “You’re almost as well organized as I am, you’d be the most tremendous help to me.” His natural enthusiasm was returning; suddenly the task didn’t seem quite so formidable. “I’ll have to see my clients. I don’t have enough money to hire fast ships and gallop all over Sicily in two—wheeled gigs harnessed to racing mules.” He slapped one hand on his desk. “By Jupiter, Lucius, I’d love to do it! If only to see the look on Hortensius’s face!”

  “Then do it we will!” cried Lucius, grinning. “Fifty days from Rome to Rome, that’s all the time we’ll be able to spare. Ten days to travel, forty days to gather evidence.”

  And while Lucius Cicero went off to the Porticus Aemilia in the Port of Rome to talk to shipping agents, Cicero went round to the house on the Quirinal where his clients were staying.

  He knew the senior of them well-Hiero of Lilybaeum, who had been ethnarch of that important western Sicilian port city when Cicero had been quaestor there.

  “My cousin Lucius and I are going to have to gather all our Sicilian evidence within fifty days,” Cicero explained, “if I am to beat Hortensius’s case into court. We can do it—but only if you’re willing to bear the expense.” He flushed. “I am not a rich man, Hiero, I can’t afford speedy transport. There may be some people I have to pay for information or items I need, and there will certainly be witnesses I’ll have to bring to Rome.”