by Assaph Mehr
One can never be sure of these things, but it felt to me as though the house was filled with warmth and scents of cooking and a strong, motherly love permeated the spaces.
“Would you do the honours?” I indicated the salt and bread still on the table. Aemilia took a linen towel and rolled it into a cylinder, wrapped it around her forehead, and tucked the rest at the nape of her neck. The Vestal Virgins wear seven such tiers in their headdress, but it was enough to get Aemilia in the right mood. She broke off a piece of the bread, sprinkled it with salt, and chanted traditional prayers to the lares of the ancestors and place, to the gods of the pantry, and to Vesta. She placed the bread on the stones of the fireplace, pushing it close to the fire to let it singe and smoke. She couldn’t work the magia by herself, and I was certainly not good enough to pass my intent and concentration and imbue her actions with it. But she was a woman of the house, carrying out an age-old rite of home and hearth and using a fire which I had just used for power. Again, no signs were visible, but I imagined the light was brighter, yellower, warmer, the dance of dust motes in filtered beams more joyous.
“And that should be that,” I told the women. “From now on, the trial is in the hands of Aquilius and the gods.”
Chapter XXXVII
On the day of the trial, we arrived bright and early at the Forum. Because the event promised to be a worthy spectacle, a special wooden dais had been erected. Seats were provided on opposite sides for the prosecution and defence, and tiered benches built at the back for the jury. The judge would bring his own folding chair, according to his station. Rows of wooden seats surrounded the stage for the watching crowds. Interested affluent people sent their clients or other household members to reserve front row places for them. The Forum’s usual gossips were fluffing their cushions, and industrious traders were already hawking pastries and watered wine. Second only to chariot races, a trial of notorious personalities is our city’s favourite spectator sport.
I sat behind the dais, on the side of the prosecution. On corner seats near me I heard, even before I saw, Valdrius and Statilius — the two greybeards from the Forum. I hoped the running commentary and occasional outburst from them would not distract me from the proceedings.
I had the chance to observe the processions of the parties as they wended their ways to centre stage. The prosecution was led by Quintus Aquilius, his bright white toga draped immaculately. Next walked Valerius Flaccus, head held high, back straight. He wore an older toga, the purple at its hem fading. His senatorial crimson leather shoes were scuffed, and the crescent brass buckle tarnished. A picture of the suffering respectable citizen, holding to his dignitas despite the emotional and financial hardships inflicted upon him by the defendant. His wife and daughters walked deferentially one step behind, dressed similarly in older-style stolas that covered them modestly. They took their place at the spectator benches, the daughters supporting the mother, accompanied by Cornelia and Aemilia. Aquilius and Flaccus climbed the three steps to the dais and sat at the prosecution bench. Busy scribes, like a cloud of gnats, buzzed around them.
From the other side of the Forum came the defence. Marcus Tullius Cicero strode at the head. He was a man past his physical prime, but with unmatched personal dignitas and public auctoritas. A former consul — though his year had its share of scandals — and the city’s foremost legal authority. His pate was completely bald, and he had gotten heavy in his later years, but I doubted that would diminish his courtroom oratory and theatrics.
Next, ambled Numicius, wearing a moth-eaten toga to cover his girth, his hair in disarray, and sending bewildered looks all around. His wife Faucia walked demurely behind him — so much for fleeing town to escape his wrath. Her hair was covered in ash and she wailed and stumbled dramatically, only to be caught by her companions. The picture of a family distraught by the unfair and untrue allegations brought against them.
They, too, arranged themselves with the women close behind the dais — still wailing — and Cicero, Numicius, and their scribes on the bench opposite Aquilius and Valerius. Numicius gave a casual glance at the prosecution. When he noticed me behind the dais his eyes widened, then narrowed, and his face hardened. I got the impression he was not expecting to see me alive after the fire. I also got the impression his mind was racing with options to rectify that.
The jury were dressed each according to their station. All fifty-one were either senators, wearing togas with wide purple borders and buckled crimson shoes; or equestrians, dressed in white togas of the finest quality, tunics with a narrow purple stripe showing over the right shoulder, and bedecked with rings and jewellery to show their affluence. They wended over in small groups and sat on the benches assigned to them.
Last came the presiding judge. The Urban Praetor had nominated an ex-praetor, one Titus Ampius, who I knew had designs to run for the consulship. I wondered whether assigning Ampius to the trial was an act of political kindness by the Urban Praetor — Numicius would approach this case, the judge, and the jury with an open purse. The right result could net Ampius a hefty sum towards his election fund.
Since he wasn’t in office that year he was not entitled to lictors or a curule chair, but he brought enough of his retinue of scribes and aids to compensate. His slave placed a folding seat in the appropriate place on the dais — an ornate, backless affair that was a hairbreadth short of being an official imperium-holding magistrate’s chair. Ampius sat in it confidently. He kept his back straight, his left arm clasping the folds of his toga, his left leg tucked under the chair and his right leg out, in the classic pose of the upright Egretian citizen-of-rank.
And thus, when everyone took their appropriate places with the right level of theatrics, the show began.
***
Ampius raised his right hand to hush the crowd. When things settled, he initiated the trial. At his signal, court slaves carried a flat stone in front of the dais. A lamb, bought and paid for by Aquilius, was brought at the end of a rope to the makeshift altar. Two special attendants from the Collegium Sacrorum, the popa and cultarius, proceeded with the sacrifice. The popa stunned the lamb with a hammer. He held its head up while the cultarius cut the beast’s throat with a brass knife and caught the blood in a skyphos. The cultarius raised the vessel, murmured a prayer to Iustitia and Prudentia, and spilled a libation on the ground. He cut open the belly of the lamb, poked in its entrails, and then declared that the ladies Justice and Prudence had given their blessings to the trial. Those of us with sensitivity could also feel the subtle shift in the flow of magia around the makeshift court. This ancient rite performed by priests, while perhaps not powerful enough to prevent a determined witness from lying or juror from accepting a bribe, still gave the proceedings a nudge in the right direction.
“I’ll go now, but I’ll be back,” said a voice in my left ear and made me start. I turned around to see Araxus’ grinning face. “The priests will soon burn the lamb, and it gives the magia a funny taste. I’ll swing by for your testimony later.” He got up and shuffled in the direction of the latrines. He always had the worst ways of unnerving me, but right then I had to focus my attention back on the proceedings.
Ampius cleared his throat. “This trial will be carried out according to the prescribed formula for in personam matters. We shall hear the opening speeches, both limited to one hour as measured by a water clock. Witnesses shall be presented by the prosecution, examined and cross-examined. Witnesses for the defence shall follow in a similar manner. Lastly, both parties shall deliver their closing speeches. Two hours for the prosecution and three hours for the defence, measured by a water clock as prescribed by law and custom.” He waved his hand expansively at Aquilius. “The brief given to me by the praetor urbanus indicated two defendants. I see Gaius Numicius present here, but where is Gaius Hirtuleius Ambustus?”
Aquilius stood up, fussed with his immaculately draped toga, and strode to the centre of the stage. “It will please the ju
dge and jury to know that the gods have already avenged the deplorable, delictual deeds committed by Ambustus against that virtuous fellow, Valerius Flaccus. Giving the man the fate his name prescribed, Vulcanus and Neptunus both acted in tandem, and that despicable degenerate burned down on the ship in the bay not a nundinum ago, an incident fresh in the minds of all citizens. And, although we are spared the presence of that corrupt creature, that reptilian reprobate, just like the gods chose a light-filled spectacle to bring about his death in public, so shall we bring to light the abominable atrocities perpetrated by that parasite —”
“In short,” interrupted the judge, “he died before the trial began. Clerk, please make a note of this. You,” he addressed Aquilius, “may now begin your opening speech.”
“I like his style,” said Statilius from his nearby seat.
“His oration is definitely off to a strong start,” replied Valdrius. “He might even make Cicero sweat a little.”
Back on stage, at a nod from the court clerk in charge of the water clock, Aquilius raised his right arm and began the formal oration.
I will not bore my readers with the verbatim transcript of the trial. I have already described the major gist of the prosecution’s opening, and full transcripts are available at some libraries. I understand this case became somewhat of a standard quaestio, which aspiring law students must study.
I will say Aquilius delivered his speech flawlessly. His pointed comments equating acquittal with bribery went down well with the crowd. My two favourite commentators were not shy in pointing out which of the jury shifted in their chairs uncomfortably — useful information to note and remember.
He expounded on the crimes of using nefas magia within the city limits. He made his claims that Ambustus was acting at Numicius’ behest when he put those curses in the insulae, to drive tenants away and hurt Valerius’ finances. Here are his words on the crux of the matter.
"While, I admit, a patron is not immediately guilty of the acts committed by his clients, in this case we shall show, by calling upon witnesses to testify on the ultimate culpability, and by demonstrating the obvious gain for Numicius rather than his miserable minion, that the case here is one of conspiracy.
"When a patron sends out his client to commit crimes, is he any better than a conspirator, an accomplice? By condemning the man who acts but ignoring the one who sent him, you are summoning to destruction and devastation the temples of the immortal gods, the houses of the city, the lives of all the citizens. For if we order only the one man to be put to death, the rest of the conspirators will still remain in the republic; if, as I have long been exhorting you, you order him to depart, his companions, those worthless dregs of the republic, will be remain in the city to continue wreaking havoc with their foul deeds."
Aquilius made the best use of his hour. By the time he was done, the gathered spectators were salivating at the prospect of heinous deeds exposed, of juicy, embarrassing tales of the depravity of men and affronts to the gods being brought up for their amusement.
Then came Cicero’s turn. He strode to the centre stage, wearing his toga, that large and unwieldy garment, with the ease of a man born into politics. His every movement, from the waving of arms to the twitch of his brows, was practised for maximum effect in accordance with the rules of rhetoric. The crowd needed no command to hush, waiting with bated breath for what promised to be another of his famous performances.
"Formerly, O judges, I had determined to conduct this cause in a different manner, thinking that our adversaries would simply seek to implicate Numicius in such violent and atrocious acts of nefas magia. Accordingly, I came with a mind free from care and anxiety, because I was aware that I could easily disprove that by witnesses. Yet the accuser’s shameless impudence, which has much less power in the Forum and in the courts of law than audacity has in the country and in desolate places, seeks now, in this trial, to implicate all patrons in the actions of their clients.
"I have observed, O judges, that the whole speech of the accuser is divided into two parts. One of which appeared to me to rely upon, and to put its main trust in, the inveterate unpopularity of practising vile and forbidden magia within the city, touching very lightly and diffidently on the method pursued in cases of accusations of poisoning. The other, just for the sake of usage, concerning which matter this form of trial is appointed by law, yet attacking the very mos maiorum which dictates both legal procedure and the relationship of citizens and benefactors. And, therefore, I have determined to preserve the same division of the subject in my defence, speaking separately to the question of unpopularity and to that of the accusation, in order that everyone may understand that I neither wish to evade any point by being silent with respect to it, nor to make anything obscure by speaking of it."
He went on in such manner, promising witnesses to clear Numicius of any links to forbidden curses and use of magia, painting him like a pious boy wearing a pristine toga, devoid of mischief or malice. But far worse was his treatment of the second aspect, the conspiracy between patron and client. He defused this by calling on our collective ancestors, equating Aquilius’ charge to an attack on the mos maiorum, the revered ancestral way of things. Neatly and effectively, he reminded both jury and spectators our social order relies on a system of benefaction, without which our political and social structures would be thrown into chaos. Worse, he implied that a conviction would potentially hurt them all where it pained the most — in their money pouches.
Chapter XXXVIII
The first witness for the prosecution was Aburius. The only remarkable thing about him was that he managed to be even more smarmy than usual. He described the tenants leaving, his difficulties in getting new ones, and the fate of the guards he positioned within the insulae.
“Ooh, nicely done,” said Valdrius. “I could believe his hand wringing was about the poor occupants, not just about lost rents.”
“I don’t know,” said Statilius. “If you tighten that toga of his, I bet you could squeeze out an amphora of oil.”
“Granted, but did you see the tears he shed when describing his deceased gladiators?”
“Crocodile tears.”
“Still,” insisted Valdrius. “I maintain that for a man used to extracting the last sestertius out of starving families, his performance in a civilised court was quite adequate.”
“You’re fooling yourself if you think he hasn’t done this before,” retorted Statilius. “It’s part of the job of the agent, to give good performances to match the crowd.”
They hushed when Cicero took the stage.
He strode to the front and centre of the dais, faced Aburius, and took a deep breath. He held it for a long moment as if collecting his thoughts, his arm raised only slightly as if about to commence his oration with a grand movement. The watching crowd held its breath in sympathy.
He then exhaled, said simply, “No questions for this witness,” and turned away.
“Wha…? Are you sure?” asked Ampius, over the loud murmuring of jury and spectators.
“Quite. We do not deny a grave wrong had been done, that possibly even nefas magia had been practised within city limits. We only maintain the wronged party here is Numicius, a man of such rank, and authority, and virtue, and wisdom, innocent of any misdeed, carried to court merely by a vindictive political opponent. We shall show Numicius was uninvolved in the matter. It is no matter for us, or for any Egretian court, why Valerius had incurred the wrath of the gods and the ways in which they chose to show their displeasure with him.”
He sat down amongst gaping jaws and unbelieving stares. Statilius was the first to recover, with a piercing wolf-whistle. The crowd clapped and talked excitedly, so that Ampius had one of his slaves bang a staff on the dais for silence.
***
Ampius adjourned the proceedings, declaring a break until the sixth hour. Hawkers immediately moved to ply the hungry crowd with snacks,
while the queues to the public latrines stretched lazily on the stone paving of the Forum and through the shaded colonnades.
My two commentators, Valdrius and Statilius, were quick to grab lamb-stuffed lagana flat-bread from a passing vendor. Stuffing their faces with it did not slow down their commentary, only added the extra dimension of flying spittle as punctuation.
“And here I thought young Aquilius stood a chance,” said Statilius.
“If I didn’t know better,” replied Valdrius, “I’d say it sounded like Cicero had advance copies of Aquilius’ speeches.”
“He’s a political weasel. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Political weasel, but genius jurist. He doesn’t need to stoop to that.”
“Might I remind you…”
Aemilia drifted into my view, and I lost interest in their bickering. “Are you ready for your testimony this afternoon?” she asked as she sat down next to me.
“Ready and eager.”
“Should I get you something?” She caressed the cast on my leg lightly. “Let me get you a pastry and watered wine. Can’t have you collapsing from hunger or thirst. You need to be at your best for us to win this case!”
She jumped up and stalked off after a vendor. I watched her shapely behind as she walked away. When I returned my gaze to the dais, Cornelia was exchanging words with Valerius. She saw me alone and approached. Maia was cutting it thin with her divine protection.