Pompey was already addressing the clerk, his barking voice automatically achieving command as it resonated through the packed space. “So, what’s next?”
The clerk cleared his throat. “A quarrel over a dowry, consul. The plaintiff is one Drusilla, daughter of the late Drusus Florentius; the defendant is Marcus Rufio. They are recently divorced.”
“Divorce, eh? What a shame, what a shame. Marriage is what holds our society together.” Pompey shook his shaggy head disapprovingly and sorrowfully before winking at his audience. “I should know. I’ve been married three times already.”
Shouts of hilarity greeted this pronouncement and Pompey slapped his knee, looking very pleased with himself. “Well, well, let’s hear it then. Where is this warring duo and what’s their grievance?”
The clerk cleared his throat. “The husband wishes to exert the right not to return the lady’s dowry.”
Publius Dolabella rose to his feet, smoothing out the front of his robes. “Consul Pompey. I am Publius Dolabella, I believe you are acquainted with my father Publius Cornelius Dolabella and with my uncle Tiberius who served on your staff in Hispania.” He smiled complaisantly. “My friend and client Marcus Rufio wishes to ask the court’s forgiveness for taking up time in its schedule with this embarrassing domestic matter. It was not his wish but that of his former wife and I am confident that once you know her character, you will have no difficulty in dismissing her petition.” He had a confident speaking manner, Hortensia admitted grudgingly, though she found his voice too unctuous for her taste.
Pompey squinted at him.
“Tiberius’s nephew, yes I remember you. A bit green for this sort of adventure, aren’t you?”
There were a few laughs around the courtroom and Publius Dolabella had to hide his irritation. “I believe your own illustrious career has proved that youth need not prove a bar to success,” he said flatteringly.
Pompey raised an eyebrow at him. “My boy, when you’ve conquered half of Africa, and the whole of Sicily and Hispania, then you can start comparing yourself with me.”
A rousing cheer greeted his riposte and a cry of “Pompey! Pompey!” was taken up around the room. Hortensia observed Pompey closely, noting that although he and Crassus were very different men, they shared a keen interest in their own public approval ratings, their eyes and ears always swiveling to gauge the mood of their audience. Finally, Pompey silenced the crowd with a wave of his arm and addressed the discomfited Dolabella in hearty tones.
“Come then, young Dolabella, every great man must indeed make his debut sometime or other.”
Publius forced himself to adopt an apologetically amenable expression once more.
“The case is quite simple, Consul Pompey, I shall not take up the court’s time with any formal speeches. My friend Marcus Rufio’s wife is of bad character. To spare this court embarrassment, I will not list her misadventures and shall instead reduce the matter to its essentials, namely that Drusilla is an adulteress –” a few gleefully disapproving “oohs” greeted this pronouncement “– and as such, I would suggest that she has forfeited her right to have her dowry returned to her on the dissolution of this marriage.”
Pompey blew out his lips and tilted his head from side to side in appreciation of Publius’s point of view. Hortensia knew as well as everyone else in the room that no Roman court would question the word of a husband against his wife.
“A strong accusation indeed. Does the lady herself have someone to speak for her?”
The blood rushed to Hortensia’s face. It was all on her now and Caepio’s words of warning rang in her head. Publius glanced at Hortensia and, seeing her hesitate, made a smooth interjection.
“She does not appear to be in the court, consul. No doubt the gravity of her crimes finally weighed with her and she has elected not to bring further embarrassment on her head or that of her children.”
“Well, if she has nothing to say for herself then …”
“Excuse me, Consul Pompey.”
The sound of a female voice ringing out across the courtroom surprised its occupants into silence. People craned their necks to see where the voice had come from and a low hum slowly spread as Hortensia stood up and walked forwards out of the throng. She took up a position in front of the empty bench on the opposite side of the aisle to Publius Dolabella and Marcus Rufio’s camp. Her head was held high and her blue eyes were bright and determined.
“I am here to speak for Marcus Rufio’s wife Drusilla. My name is Hortensia and I am the daughter of Hortensius Hortalus. I have a notion you may be acquainted with my father also.”
Another stir in the crowd. Hortensius’s name was well-known to seasoned courtroom-watchers. Pompey leant forward and peered at Hortensia in some curiosity.
“Hortensius’s daughter? He has a big case of his own today, I believe. How is my old friend?”
“He is in excellent health, sir, I thank you, and I am sure he would make the same enquiry of you.”
Pompey chose not to answer this, instead tilting his head to one side and making a considered and unashamedly admiring appraisal of Hortensia.
“I must say, it has been some time since I set foot in a Roman courtroom, but I did not know that young ladies – such attractive young ladies at that – had taken to playing the role of advocate.” He winked at his supporters. “If I had, I might have asked my friends in the Senate to make me praetor rather than consul.”
Publius Dolabella, who had been whispering to his companions, now stood up. “I can assure you it is not common practice. Consul Pompey, you may not be aware of it but our legal system has been plagued recently by the displays of a small handful of women who have offended public decency by insisting on representing themselves and others in the courts. It is of course not for me to advise you but I have to ask, is it wise to allow this kind of unnatural public posturing to continue?”
Hortensia looked at him mockingly. “What’s the matter Publius? Surely you are not afraid to argue opposite a woman?”
Publius looked scornfully at her. “Not afraid, no, my dear Hortensia. Just concerned for your reputation.”
“If a woman addressing the court is so offensive to public decency, then I put it to you that it is your job to put me and my fellow offenders in our place once and for all.”
The chattering group of women who had been passing dates amongst themselves gave this an ironic cheer which was taken up by others who either thought that Hortensia did indeed need to be put in her place, or who simply relished the prospect of such unusual gladiatorial combat. Pompey’s eyes darted among the sea of faces in front of him. Then a broad grin crept across his pugnacious features.
“By Jupiter, I like this sport! Centaurs versus Amazons! What do you say? Shall we give old Hortensius’s daughter a hearing?” The crowd obediently cheered their approval. Hortensia tried hard and only just failed to avoid smirking at Publius.
“So Hortensia, daughter of Hortensius Hortalus.” Pompey waved for silence once more. “We have heard from young Publius here. The floor is now yours. What have you got to say on this lady’s behalf?”
Hortensia took a deep breath. Give them a show.
“Thank you, Consul Pompey.” The years of voice training under her father’s tutelage had given strength and clarity to the husky richness of her tone. “The truth of the matter is that my friend Drusilla does not dispute Marcus Rufio’s claim – quite the contrary. She has in fact never been a chaste woman and only a fool would think otherwise.”
There was a ripple of surprise around the room. Pompey himself looked puzzled. “So, you’re saying she is an adulteress? She admits it freely?”
“Oh yes. But I would suggest to you, consul, and to the court, that any Roman man who knowingly marries a harlot and then attempts to make a profit out of his supposed ‘discovery’ is worthy of censure not reward. He certainly cannot use her behavior as the basis for a claim of deception, as he is trying to do here.”
Pompey looked
intrigued. The crowd began debating the issue amongst themselves until they were interrupted by the sound of Pompey clapping his hands together.
“Why are we all talking about this woman and we haven’t even seen her? Where is this Drusilla? Can you produce her for us?”
“I can, Consul Pompey. I will introduce her to you and then allow you to judge her character for yourself.” Hortensia turned around and with as much sangfroid as she could muster, signaled to the back of the court where Lucrio was lurking in the shadows of the colonnade. She saw him nod to someone and a moment later, Drusilla made her entrance.
Even though Hortensia had been involved in putting the finishing touches to Drusilla’s toilette, she still could not quite believe the transformation that she had helped effect. Gone were the demure chestnut-colored gown and modest veil, and in their place was a robe of the most alarmingly vivid shade of green, which clashed loudly with a mantle dyed bright scarlet and a gauzy veil of the same hue, all obtained from one of the seedier drapers’ stalls in the forum. White chalk make-up had turned Drusilla’s face into a powdery mask and her eyelids had been very inexpertly daubed by Hortensia with saffron yellow eye paint. Her eyelashes looked like spiders’ legs, so thickly coated as they were with sooty Egyptian kohl, and her cheeks were stained red with poppy paste. Cheap bead strings and a gold necklace of swimming dolphins linked nose to tail glittered against her breast, and as she tripped her way down the central aisle, the smell of orange perfume wafted from her decorated person. Her progress created a sensation among the audience and several members of the public gallery whistled appreciatively and shouted out suggestive comments. Rather than averting her eyes as any delicately nurtured Roman matron would, Drusilla shot coy glances at her admirers from underneath her fat eyelashes and ostentatiously rearranged her scarlet mantle.
As Drusilla drew alongside, Hortensia turned to Pompey, a small smile hovering around her lips, and the crowd shushed each other. She was already acquiring the trick of winning their attention in anticipation of what she might say.
“Consul – I ask you. In your wide experience …” She flashed him a naughty, conspiring look and jerked her head toward Drusilla. “Does this woman look chaste to you?”
A roar of laughter rang out around the courtroom, in which Pompey, having recovered from his surprise, joined in loudly, guffawing as Drusilla acknowledged the cheers of the crowd with a knowing smile. She then daringly blew a kiss to Pompey himself, which he affected to catch and slap on his round belly, much to the delight of his acolytes in the front rows. Publius Dolabella and his companions looked stunned while Marcus Rufio was gaping at his wife in horror.
“I have to say,” said Pompey, shaking his head and wiping his eyes with enjoyment. “I had no idea the law court could be such an entertaining place.”
Publius Dolabella rose quickly to his feet. “Where’s your proof?” he demanded.
Hortensia looked coolly at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your proof! This is a courtroom, my dear,” explained Publius silkily. “Didn’t you know you were required to present it with proof? You say this woman was the whore we see before us when my kinsman Marcus Rufio married her.” He gestured contemptuously toward Drusilla. “How do we know that these gaudy clothes were not acquired after their marriage? If they were, then you have no case.”
All eyes swiveled to Hortensia, who shifted her stance. She had anticipated such a line of attack but was apprehensive about deploying the weapon she had prepared to counter it.
“Because I have a witness to the contrary.”
“Oh really? And where is this witness?”
Hortensia took a deep breath and tried to sound as nonchalant as she imagined her father might have.
“See for yourself!”
Publius started and his eyes followed everyone else’s in the direction of Hortensia’s pointing finger. Rixus, who was sitting in the front row of the public gallery and had been helping himself to a plate of meatballs proffered to him by his neighbor, suddenly realized that this was his cue and hastily got to his feet, wiping the sauce from his fingers on the front of his tunic.
“And who might you be?” asked Pompey from the dais.
Rixus bowed and beamed at him. “My name is Rixus, domine.” The thick regional accent of his Punic homeland, which made him pronounce his adopted Roman name as “Rickshus” caused a few giggles in the galleries. “Sincerely an honor to meet you.”
“And how are you involved in this affair?” enquired Pompey curiously. “Are you a go-between perhaps?”
Rixus blinked and looked confused, his eyes darting toward Hortensia. “Go-between? No, no domine. I am … the gardener.”
“The gardener?” Pompey looked puzzled.
“Yes, domine, the gardener.” He leant forward and gave a wink. “I plant the seeds, you know?”
There were more stifled giggles around the gallery as people exchanged gleeful glances. Pompey glanced suspiciously at Hortensia, who preserved an innocent expression.
“I’m afraid you will have to be a little clearer than that, my friend.”
Rixus glanced once more toward Hortensia, who inclined her head very slightly.
“Of course, domine.” Rixus cleared his throat importantly. “This lady and I …” he gestured gallantly with one of his short, stubby arms toward Drusilla, “we are lovers.”
His dramatic pronouncement caused all the consternation Hortensia had hoped for. Marcus Rufio jumped to his feet and mouthed inarticulately. Rixus’ neighbors slapped him on the back, offering him their congratulations and more of their meatballs. Drusilla remained perfectly impassive and only by the rigidity of her jaw did she betray what it cost her to do so.
Pompey gesticulated for calm once more. “I see,” he said unsteadily. “And when did this … ah … love affair begin?”
“Oh, some years ago, domine,” said Rixus vaguely. Then, as if remembering his script and realizing he had to correct a mistaken impression, he added, “But long before she met this one, you understand.” He gestured dismissively at Marcus Rufio. “I used to garden for one of her neighbors. There was an attraction between us like a bolt from Cupid, domine.” Pleased with the reaction this produced, he warmed to his theme. “Watching me plant the ambulatio, she conceived for my person a red-hot passion. I knew I was not the only man in her life, of course, but …” he spread his palms self-deprecatingly. “I knew I give satisfaction.”
“So the affair continued throughout the marriage?” demanded Pompey, holding up a hand to silence the deeply appreciative crowd.
“Oh yes, domine.” Rixus nodded vigorously. “We could not stay apart.” He leaned forward and whispered loudly to Pompey. “She said her husband was very bad … in cubiculo, you know? In the bed.”
This time it took two of his companions to restrain Marcus Rufio. Publius cast a disbelieving look around the courtroom, sensing the febrile mood of the spectators swinging wildly away from his kinsman. He stepped forward, gripping the bar at the front of the court, and spoke in an urgent tone.
“Consul Pompey. This is an entertaining charade, I grant you. But I am absolutely convinced that you will not take seriously the word of a whore and a slave against that of a respected Roman citizen. Every feeling must be offended by it.”
Pompey looked a little disheartened. He turned to Hortensia. “Can you in truth offer any firm proof of the plaintiff’s relationship with this man?”
Hortensia hesitated, but only for a moment. She leant across and whispered to Drusilla, as though consulting with her, and then turned to Pompey once more, wearing a meek expression.
“I can, Consul Pompey. It is delicate … and like Publius here I am anxious to spare the court embarrassment. But the plaintiff has just informed me that the gentleman does have a rather distinctive … feature.”
Pompey stared hard at Hortensia. “Feature?”
“Yes. A distinguishing … blemish, shall we say, on a certain part of his anatomy.”
“Oh spare us, madam! You cannot expect this court to be so taken in. Your client and this man could quite easily have conspired over such evidence before this hearing.”
“And what outwardly respectable lady – as you claim she is – would willingly put her name to such testimony, Publius?” she shot back at him.
Pompey leant forward, staring very hard at Hortensia.
“You will have to be more precise, I think, my dear. To which part of this gentleman’s … anatomy do you refer?”
Hortensia cast her eyes down to the floor.
“I am a respectable Roman matron, sir, and I do not think my husband or my father would wish me to say such a word in public.”
“Bum. She means bum,” supplied Rixus obligingly from the gallery.
Under the howl of ecstasy greeting this pronouncement, no one noticed the tiny muffled gasp of horror that escaped Drusilla. Pompey’s jaw dropped open but he soon recovered enough to enquire of the stunned clerk whether this evidence might be verified. But Rixus, who was by now thoroughly enjoying his newfound celebrity, needed no further encouragement to capitalize on it.
“No, no, it’s true,” he called out. “I sat in a bramble once when I was doing the pruning. I can show you from here.” And lifting up his tunic, he peeled back one side of his loincloth to reveal to the court a large blood blister on the fleshy underside of his left buttock.
This time it was fully a minute before Pompey was able to make himself heard, during which time Marcus Rufio could be seen engaged in a ferocious argument with Publius Dolabella and his companions.
“Enough! Silence in the court!”
A hush eventually fell and every face in the room turned expectantly to Pompey, who mopped his brow in an attitude half of amusement, half of exhaustion.
Rivals of the Republic Page 8