‘Why, you ask, is one of the humiliores on trial? Should we not just crucify her and have done with it? Distinguished gentlemen, we can not. For she claims that her patron freed her before his death.’
Poplicola turned to face the dais. ‘Yes. She claims that she is free. She aspires to be one of the honestiores. But really, gentlemen, can you see her as a respectable citizen? Look for example at the motley crew sitting beside her on the defenders’ bench. They will give us a good indication of her moral values, for a person’s character is often defined by the company they keep. I do not know them, but my friend and colleague does. I humbly give the floor to the esteemed magistrate, Marcus Artorius Bato.’
Marcus Artorius Bato was a short man with thin hair and pale brown eyes. Flavia knew he was intelligent, brave and honourable. On more than one occasion he had helped them solve a mystery.
As Bato rose from his bench, Flavia smiled at him and gave him a little wave. But Bato did not acknowledge her greeting. Instead, he turned to address the chairman and judges.
‘Gentlemen,’ he began, ‘I do not know the defendant, Hephzibah of Jerusalem, but I know her friends and supporters. I have been invited to tell you something about them. As my esteemed colleague has just said, a person’s character is often defined by the company they keep.
‘Let us first consider the young advocate,’ said Bato, gesturing towards Flaccus. ‘At the age of twenty-five, the great Cicero considered himself barely ready to plead his first case. But I happen to know that this young man is not yet twenty. Still in his teens, esteemed gentlemen! And yet this “pretty boy Jason” plumes himself and dares to stand in this courtroom as an advocate.’
Flavia gasped and turned to Aristo. ‘How can Bato say such things? Flaccus helped him rescue the kidnapped children in Rhodes! I thought they were friends.’
Beside her, Aristo gave a little shrug. ‘It’s the way things are done. Defamation of character is one of the lawyer’s basic weapons. Think about it. If you can prove your opponent’s friends and supporters are of bad character, then you’ve gone a long way to showing that your opponent is bad, too. And that gives you a much better chance of winning your case.’
‘For example,’ continued Bato, ‘I happen to know that our handsome young orator enslaved a beautiful boy who was of free birth.’
‘But Flaccus didn’t know Zetes was freeborn!’ protested Flavia over the scandalised buzz of the delighted crowd. ‘And he set him free the moment he found out.’
‘They always twist the truth,’ whispered Aristo. ‘It’s part of their modus operandi.’
‘I wonder,’ said Bato, ‘if the distinguished-looking old man sitting beside Valerius Flaccus is not perhaps our Emperor’s long-lost elder brother, stolen by pirates in infancy.’
Lynceus looked startled, then pleased. The crowd laughed and applauded this witticism.
‘That was not only amusing, but clever,’ grinned Aristo. ‘He’s getting the crowd on his side, serving a tasty appetiser of gossip and humour.’
But Aristo’s smile froze as Bato turned to him.
‘Aristo son of Diogenes,’ said Bato, ‘is the curly-haired youth in the red cloak and ahem . . . rather short tunic.’ He glanced at the judges: ‘I won’t even mention the fact that Hephzibah the Jewess seems to count some very good-looking young men among her friends.’ Bato gestured towards Aristo. ‘This handsome youth is a Greek, judges and gentlemen, a Corinthian. And we all know what is said about men from Corinth. I’m sure that young man has been up the Acrocorinth once or twice.’ Bato raised his eyebrows knowingly at the judges, and smiled as he got another laugh from the crowd.
Flavia glanced at Aristo.
‘All part of the procedure,’ said Aristo. He still wore his stiff smile. ‘I’m not taking it personally.’
Bato adopted a serious expression. ‘But visits to the girls of Venus are trivial in comparison with what happened in May, only six months ago. I understand from my informants that young Aristo there was implicated in a brutal stabbing!’
Flavia gasped and looked at Aristo. He was no longer smiling and she saw a muscle in his jaw clench and unclench.
‘Is this the kind of person the defendant counts among her friends?’ said Bato, shaking his head sadly. ‘And what of the woman sitting next to our defendant? Susannah bat Jonah. Bat Jonah? Not a very Roman-sounding name, is it? Although recently reunited with her husband, Susannah bat Jonah does not behave like a proper Roman matron. And yet this should not surprise us, for like the defendant herself, this woman is a Jewess, and until recently a slave. You may well recognise her, esteemed gentlemen of the jury, for she is often to be seen about town, barely veiled, without even a shopping basket or bath-set to give her wanderings some pretence. Where does Susannah bat Jonah go, and with whom? Perhaps it is best that we do not delve into such things.’
Flavia glanced at Jonathan. His face was very pale, and grew paler when Bato continued: ‘Her son is the boy sitting on the bench behind her. Rumour has it that he started last winter’s fire in Rome – a fire which killed twenty thousand people.’ Here an audible gasp ran round the basilica, and then an angry rumble. The crowd was no longer cheerful.
Bato gestured towards Lupus. ‘The boy sitting next to him might also appear familiar to some of you. Until recently, he was Ostia’s resident beggar-boy and thief. He is mute, judges and gentlemen. Not because of any defect in nature, but because his tongue was cut out. I do not have to remind you that blasphemy is usually the cause of such an injury.’
‘But not in Lupus’s case,’ muttered Flavia angrily. ‘I can’t believe he’s saying such things. It’s not fair!’
‘I also know for a fact,’ said Bato, ‘that the boy who calls himself Lupus tried to hire an assassin last year. That little wolf was willing to pay to have a man killed.’
‘Shame! Shame!’ cried the crowd.
‘As for the dark-skinned girl in yellow, she was a slave until the night before last, when she was hastily manumitted so that she would not have to give evidence in this trial.’
‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ gasped Flavia. ‘He must be the one who told them about Nubia! How could he?’
‘And last but not least,’ said Marcus Artorius Bato, ‘what about the young woman in the grey tunic and blue palla? What shall I say of Flavia Gemina?’
Flavia felt her cheeks grow hot and her hands grow cold as Bato pronounced her name. ‘Flavia Gemina,’ said Bato, ‘is the daughter of Marcus Flavius Geminus. A girl of equestrian class and marriageable age, she runs around Ostia unsupervised and unchaperoned, claiming to solve mysteries!’
‘I am not of marriageable age!’ protested Flavia, and would have stood and cried, ‘You traitor!’ at the top of her lungs, if not for Aristo’s restraining hand on her arm.
‘She pushes her rather large nose into places it really should not be,’ continued Bato, ‘and I would hate to say how much of your taxes she wastes when she calls upon magistrates like myself for assistance.’
Flavia felt her face grow hot with humiliation and rage, so she covered it with her cold fingers.
‘There you have it,’ she heard Bato say to the judges. ‘If the moral character of a person can be defined by their friends, then Hephzibah the Jewess is a murderer, a woman of loose morals, an arsonist, a blasphemer, a slave and a meddlesome busybody. Do I need to say any more, judges and gentlemen? I think not!’
*
Bato resumed his seat, looking pleased with himself as he graciously accepted the compliments of those on the benches behind him.
Once again Lucius Cartilius Poplicola took the floor.
‘Esteemed Chairman and Judges,’ he said, ‘my learned colleague has told you about the friends and associates of Hephzibah bat David. Now let me tell you about the defendant herself. First her pedigree, such as it is. She is a slave, to be sure, but not just any slave. No. As I said before, she is a Jew. A race of atheists, for they believe in none of our gods. Rebellious, too. Some would say the mo
st rebellious race we Romans have ever conquered. Those of you who lost brothers, fathers and uncles in the rebellion not so many years ago will know the truth of this.’
A wave of applause rippled over the basilica and men cried out: ‘Hear, hear!’
‘One of the worst of those rebels was a Jew called Eleazar. A Zealot. An assassin. A sicarius. A man who vowed to stop at nothing to destroy the “Roman oppressor”.’ Poplicola turned and pointed at Hephzibah. ‘It may interest you to know that this woman is his granddaughter!’
The crowd gasped and there were angry shouts from both men and women.
Aristo glanced around. ‘I doubt,’ he said drily, ‘whether any of these people have heard of Eleazar before this morning.’
‘Eleazar,’ continued Poplicola in his ringing nasal voice, ‘swore to stop at nothing until he had killed every Roman he could. And he made his relatives swear this, too! Rebellion is in this girl’s blood, gentlemen. I will say it again: rebellion. And a murderous hatred of Romans. And yet we bring such enemies into our midst. We let them prepare our food, dress us, bathe us, look after our sons and daughters!’ Here he brought his hands up to his chest. ‘We gather them like vipers to our very bosoms!’
An angry rumble rose up from among the spectators like thunder, then died away.
‘Hephzibah the Jewess, granddaughter of Eleazar the Zealot and native of that rebellious city Jerusalem, sits before you today, accused of triple homicide. Do you know what all three of her victims had in common? One a rich recluse, one an honoured magistrate, one a hard-working merchant? Can you guess?’ Poplicola paused for a moment, his left hand holding his toga, his right slightly upraised with palm open to the sky in the gesture of query. ‘All three of her victims took part in the siege of Jerusalem. Each had a part in destroying her city and now they are all dead!’
As the crowd roared, Flavia gasped. She felt a strange sinking in her stomach, and for the first time she wondered if they had all made a terrible mistake: could Poplicola be right? Was Hephzibah a murderess?
Now Poplicola began to call witnesses. He called freedmen and tradesmen and even a decurion. All swore that they had heard Hephzibah vowing revenge against the men who had destroyed her city.
On the bench before them Hephzibah kept shaking her covered head, and once she turned her grave profile to Flaccus and Flavia heard her say, ‘I have never seen any of these people before in my life.’
‘What’s happening, Aristo?’ asked Flavia.
‘I suspect those people have been bribed to testify against her,’ he said grimly.
‘Even the decurion?’
Aristo nodded. ‘They must have paid an enormous bribe for his testimony.’
‘But that’s not fair!’
‘They’ve probably paid people in the crowd, too,’ he said.
‘To do what?’
‘To applaud and protest at the appropriate moments.’
‘Can they do that?’
‘They can.’
‘Finally, gentlemen,’ said Poplicola, as the decurion resumed his place on the prosecutors’ bench, ‘I would like to conclude my argument with a tale of bravery and cowardice. Even rebellious vipers can sometimes see the error of their ways. Let me tell you what happened at a place called Masada, a stronghold in the Judaean desert. Many of you will remember the terrible incident, for it happened only seven years ago. After the destruction of Jerusalem a thousand Jewish rebels fled to that desert fortress. For three years they hid, defiant and rebellious. But the power of Rome is invincible.’ Here he struck his thigh with his right fist.
‘After much hardship and great loss of men, our forces constructed a ramp and breached the walls. At this point the Jews did something which our great philosopher Seneca would have commended. They chose their own method of dying. They committed suicide. Yes, they decided to suffer death rather than face captivity and slavery. Even little children bravely exposed their throats to the knife, as a lamb to the priest. Nearly one thousand brave Jews, gentlemen. All died at Masada. All except seven. Seven cowards who hid like animals, afraid to meet death bravely.’ Poplicola turned to look at Hephzibah.
‘And that creature, that Jewess, was one of them!’
An angry rumble washed over the basilica.
But another sound cut through it, a cry like that from a wounded animal. It rose in volume, echoing in the vast space of the basilica and causing pigeons in the gallery to take flight.
The sound made all the little hairs on Flavia’s arms rise up and at first she did not know where it was coming from.
Then as Hephzibah rose from her bench and tore off her palla, Flavia realised its source.
Hephzibah had fallen to her knees on the cold marble floor. As Flavia watched in horror, she ripped the neck of her dark stola and tore off her hairnet. Then she began tugging at her hair and scratching her cheeks. Hephzibah lifted her tearstreaked face and howled again. The crowds were utterly silent now, amazed and moved by the girl’s expression of pure grief and pain. Many recognised the sound of a child who has lost a parent or a mother whose only baby has died.
Flavia felt tears sting her eyes and her throat was suddenly tight.
Presently Hephzibah’s unearthly keening became a harsh guttural language. She was repeating a phrase. It sounded like ‘Eye-kach yash-va-badad ha-eer, raba-tee am high-ta.’ She was crying it over and over, and sobbing as if her heart would break.
Flavia saw Poplicola’s startled face and realised he had not been expecting this. Abruptly, he came to his senses and angrily shook the folds of his toga. Perhaps this gesture was a secret prompt, for now hecklers were shouting again and crying out against the atheist Jewess.
Susannah was kneeling on the floor beside Hephzibah, trying to comfort her, but the girl would not be consoled.
Flaccus hurried to the podium and said something to the chairman. Flavia could not hear what he said, but she saw Gratus nod and turn to Praeco, who banged his staff.
‘ORDER,’ cried the herald, ‘ORDER! THIS COURT IS ADJOURNED UNTIL TOMORROW MORNING AT THE FOURTH HOUR, ORDER!’
Hephzibah was so distressed that they had to hire a litter to take her back to Green Fountain Street.
Susannah walked on one side, Flaccus and his slave Lynceus on the other, Flavia and her friends took up the rear.
Flavia tugged the sleeve of Jonathan’s tunic. ‘What was she saying in the basilica? Was it Hebrew?’
‘Yes. It was a verse from our ancient scriptures: How deserted lies the city, once so full of people.’
‘Jonathan,’ whispered Flavia after a short pause, ‘do you think Hephzibah might have killed those three men? As revenge for them destroying her city?’
Jonathan shrugged, his head down. She guessed he had been deeply shaken by Hephzibah’s grief, as well as the public reminder of his own guilt.
‘I’d hate it if anyone destroyed Ostia,’ said Flavia, and looked around. The sky above was a pure exultant blue, a beautiful contrast to the orange-red roof tiles and the dark green tops of her beloved umbrella pines rising up from inner gardens and beyond the city walls. Even the rude graffiti on the walls was colourful and comforting. Up ahead, Ostian women stood at the green fountain, gossiping and laughing as they washed their clothes and filled their jugs.
‘That’s strange,’ said Jonathan, suddenly lifting his head. ‘How could a freeman like Mercator have fought in the Jewish Wars? Slaves can’t fight in the army.’
‘He could have fought as an auxiliary,’ said Aristo. ‘An archer or slinger, perhaps.’
‘Unless Poplicola was lying about that, too,’ said Flavia.
‘Poor Flaccus,’ murmured Nubia. ‘He is very unhappy.’
‘Did you see his face when she was crying?’ said Jonathan.
Lupus nodded.
‘Praise Apollo he had the presence of mind to get the case adjourned until tomorrow,’ said Aristo. ‘That was the right thing for him to do.’
Flavia looked at Flaccus’s dejected back as
he walked beside the litter up ahead.
‘Poor Floppy,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Poor dear Floppy.’
They arrived home to their ecstatic dogs and to the sight of Flavia’s father removing his toga in the atrium.
‘Is the trial over?’ asked Marcus, handing his toga to Caudex.
‘Adjourned until tomorrow,’ said Aristo, ‘but it doesn’t look good.’
‘Oh, pater,’ cried Flavia, ‘it was awful! Bato the magistrate said all sorts of horrible things about us. And a nasty lawyer from the Poplicola clan almost drove Hephzibah mad with his accusations. You should have heard her wail.’
‘That’s what lawyers do,’ said Marcus. ‘It’s why I never wanted any part of it.’ He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Cheer up, my little owl! I’ve had some good news. You know I’ve just been to Cordius’s will-signing ceremony?’
Still hugging him, Flavia nodded.
‘Well, Cordius has bequeathed me and the other six a generous legacy.’
‘What other six?’ asked Nubia.
‘Why, the six other witnesses, of course.’ Marcus smiled at Nubia. ‘Every time a will is drafted or redrafted it needs to be witnessed by seven Roman citizens. This isn’t the first will I’ve witnessed, but it’s the first one I’ll benefit from.’
Flavia pulled away from her father’s arm and looked up at him with concern. ‘I hope you’re not becoming a captator, pater.’
‘What?’
‘A legacy-hunter.’
‘Oh course not,’ he laughed. ‘Cordius is my patron. I benefit from him alive, not dead.’
Nubia was touching Flavia’s arm. ‘Dead butterfly man said find other six.’
Flavia frowned at Nubia. ‘What?’
‘Your father is saying six witnesses plus him.’
Flavia looked at Nubia for another moment. Then understanding dawned in her eyes. ‘Great Juno’s peacock!’ she cried. ‘You’re right! Papillio’s last words were: Find the other six! Nubia, you’re brilliant!’
‘What?’ said Marcus. ‘What are you talking about?’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 193