In Numina: Urban Fantasy in Ancient Rome (Stories of Togas, Daggers, and Magic Book 2)

by Assaph Mehr

  He went on to besmirch the reputation, rectitude, and temperament of all the prosecution witnesses in the nastiest and foulest of words — words which can be found in libraries but omitted here, as they will no doubt merely offend my readers. He moved on to laud and praise all the defence witnesses, each of whose blameless character meant their word — so he proclaimed — was sufficient to acquit Numicius as a model of the upright citizen.

  It took him some time to get to the main point of his argument. He had to convince the jury that — despite testimony to the contrary — Numicius was unaware and uninvolved in Ambustus’ curses and then draw the link that a conviction meant a conviction of our patron-client system, and a collapse of the established social order.

  "You are not now about to decide on the complicity of an innocent man, but on your own republic, on the constitution of your own state, on the common safety, on the hope of all good men. I will not say our piety, for that is lost, but it is our traditions, our social fabric, the very mos maiorum which hangs on a slender hope.

  "From its very inception, the founders of our res publica cherished the greatest respect for the institutions of hierarchical and ecclesiastical ordinances. Our ancestors also enacted that the nobles should act as patrons and protectors to the inferior citizens, their natural clients and dependants, in their respective districts. And, though the patron-client relations in Egretian society are based on fides, on informal trust, rather than legal obligation, they are binding nonetheless.

  "Our laws, the very ancient and sacred Twelve Tablets that form the basis of our laws, provide for the protection of the client from the misdeeds of a patron. It is clearly stated, patronus si clienti fraudem fecerit, sacer esto - ‘If a patron shall have wronged a client, he is to be accursed’. But what of the reverse? What protection is there for the just patron, doing right by his clients, when they -- in their zealotry -- harm their very protector, the man they swore to serve? Where lies the boundary of guilt, for the actions of one man taken in the name of, yet unbeknownst to, another?"

  The jury was composed, of course, entirely of the patron class in our society. Formally, it was a relationship of dependency and mutual obligation between richer and poorer citizens. The basic principle was that the client depended on his patron for protection and assistance, financial and otherwise, in return for a variety of services rendered, including votes in elections. Over the years, many words of fanciful rhetoric came from the patron class on the virtues of the relationship, while the miserable complaints from the side of the clients about the humiliations they have to go through, all for a second-rate meal, were largely ignored.

  While I felt Cicero’s speech did not directly refute any of the evidence and testimony presented, by making his closing about the relationship between patrons and clients he twisted the issue so a vote of innocence was directly in the jury’s own interests. Numicius didn’t even have to bribe them — it was their own money he was using as incentive.

  Chapter XLII

  We gathered on our side of the dais, nerves stretched thin. Ampius declared a recess for refreshments and restoration of spirits, following which the jury would cast votes. The jury dispersed to seek snacks and relief, talking among themselves about the merits of the case. Meanwhile, court slaves dragged a large wicker basket and set it on a low table in the centre of the stage. They had a pile of square wooden tokens, one side covered with wax for the jury’s ballots. Each juror would mark either an A for absolvo or C for condemno and cast his token into the basket. The votes would then be tallied by a citizen and the results announced that very day.

  Aquilius, Valerius, and Cornelia were talking in hushed voices, counting and recounting again who amongst the jury they could predict to vote one way or another. Which of the men present had a grudge against Numicius? Whose wife had been seen sporting a new black-pearl necklace, the astronomical cost of which could only be accounted for by bribery? Which senators had more clients and which needed funds the most? Which were concerned with their dignitas and public auctoritas beyond needing favours in coming elections? It was an endless discussion running in loops, keeping them busy in futile effort to predict the outcome. The defence, on its side of the stage, was similarly engaged.

  Aemilia was nowhere to be seen, presumably having rushed to the nearest latrines open to women at this time after Cicero’s long-winded three-hour speech. Araxus was sitting amongst the greybeards, staring vacuously at a flock of sparrows. The gossips themselves were engaged in much the same conversation as our party, analysing the speeches for rhetoric correctness, debating the weight of witnesses versus the effectiveness of their dismissal, and running a high-stake betting pool upon the outcome. They liked Aquilius’ speech — odds were even.

  The time came and Ampius had his slave bang a staff on the dais and announce loudly the resumption of proceedings. The prosecution and defence took their seats on opposite sides, and the jury shuffled to their benches. The spectators were riveted to the stage while last-minute bets were placed in hushed voices.

  “I now call upon you, conscript fathers, to cast your vote on the guilt or innocence of Gaius Numicius in the matter of interfering with another man’s rights to his property by commissioning forbidden curses within the sacred city limits and supporting illegal magia. On the matter of imprisoning a fellow citizen and causing him bodily harm, I will remind you that no formal allegations were made according to due form, and therefore they are not for your consideration. The formula chosen for this trial dictates a closed ballot. You will now be handed a wax token, upon which you shall carve your vote and cast it into the basket.”

  “Ahem!” He was interrupted by a juror.

  “What is it now, Sulpicius? You know the drill,” Ampius addressed the one who spoke.

  Sulpicius stood up. He was seated at the front row of the jury benches and by his hair he appeared to be the oldest of them. In a calm and clear voice, he said, “Surely, O Ampius, you meant to declare the voting on the guilt or innocence of Gaius Numicius and Gaius Hirtuleius Ambustus.”

  “What? Where did that come from?”

  “When we were chosen for this duty all those weeks ago, both were named as defendants.”

  “But he’s dead!”

  “Nevertheless,” Sulpicius insisted, “the jury would like to vote on both.”

  From then on, it was a foregone conclusion. Over the loud murmuring of the gathered spectators, Ampius ordered his court slaves find another wicker basket. It was put on the table next to original one. Each was marked clearly in white chalk upon black plaques hanging on it — G. Numicio for Numicius, and G. Hirt Ambusto for Ambustus.

  The jury were issued two wooden tablets each and given time to mark an A or a C on the side with wax. All spectators with monetary interest in the proceedings hastily and loudly bore down on their bookkeepers, demanding a readjustment of the stakes in the voting outcome. The bookkeepers, now the results were obvious, were doing their damnedest to forestall financial ruin.

  A lively debate ensued, resulting in a few split lips and bloodied noses. Ampius roared at the crowd demanding a respectable silence, then sent a few of his bodyguards to break apart the worst of the altercations. When a semblance of order returned, he ordered the jury to cast their ballots.

  In a single file, they walked past the table and put a tablet in each basket. The court officials then took the baskets and counted the votes. The tally was handed to Ampius on a sealed wax tablet.

  To this day I know not who came up with the idea. Was it one of the jury looking for a weasel’s way out of condemning Numicius while keeping some semblance of personal dignitas? Was it Numicius, uncertain about the results and fearing exile, paying Sulpicius to suggest it? Was it Cicero, afraid in his old age and semi-retirement to lose a trial to a young upstart and seeking a way to protect his name? In all the quiet conversations I held later, those close to the case either professed no knowledge and
no involvement in this or were too quick to take the credit for that brilliant idea. I could never find the originator of it.

  When Ampius read the tablet and announced the results there was no doubt in the mind of anyone present about the outcome. Ampius cleared his throat. “Fifty-one votes condemning Ambustus. I hereby pronounce an aquae et ignis interdiction against him. All citizens are to deny him — should he be found still alive — or his shade, since this is just about as silly as it gets — food and fire within eight hundred miles of Egretia. I doubt his lemur needs the time to put his earthly affairs in order before departing our city, so I waive the traditional triginta dies. The prosecution may seize his estate immediately without the need to wait thirty days. If his heirs object,” he added in a mutter, “it is not going to be in my court. Now for Gaius Numicius.” He made a theatrical flourish of consulting the tally again. “The votes sworn by the jury are fifteen condemno and thirty-six absolvo. I therefore hereby pronounce him absolved of all guilt and free to resume his life. Clerks, please record the verdicts and file them in the temple of Saturnus. This concludes the trial.”

  ***

  The crowds dissolved into groups, talking excitedly, chasing down bets with suddenly absent bookkeepers. This turned out to be the best show in town, a trial the likes of which no courtroom pundit could remember. Exiling a dead man’s shade was certainly an interesting precedent. I was willing to stake that in the days to come a lot more people would recall having been there than actually were present.

  Numicius and Cicero were celebrating their victory. Technically, Numicius had sold out his client to save his own skin. I hoped his other clients would take notice and think about it when considering their own funerals. Yet, I doubted they would. Memories are short and the men who swore their allegiance to him were motivated more by money and other immediate earthly benefits. A dead man’s opinion mattered little.

  Our party was slowly getting over the shock of the results. Everyone was talking at once, unable to contain themselves. Aquilius was both impressed and outraged at this precedent and Valerius was working himself up to declare a moral victory. Cornelia was busy chatting to anyone who would listen, how she would chase down every woman in town till she found out whose husband came up with the scheme.

  Valdrius detached himself from the other gossips and walked over. He clapped Aquilius on the shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged, young man. You did brilliantly well, going up against Cicero. It’s been years since anyone came close to threatening his courtroom supremacy like that. The results are obvious to all who watched.”

  “Quite right, quite right. I see a bright future for you,” said Statilius, who followed his inseparable companion. This encouragement from the Forum gossips was enough to push both Aquilius and Valerius into the moral-victory high-ground they desired.

  “At least my good name is restored,” said Valerius. “Spread the word, my good men, that I am a decent landlord in need of decent tenants. I shall now take the opportunity to renovate those insulae and make them a dwelling fitting the best of our citizens.”

  I tuned him out when Araxus walked up to me. He leaned close — too close — and whispered, “The gladiatrix should not fight the dwarf. It’s just not right. He only has one arm!”

  “Sure, friend, whatever you say,” was all I could think to respond, perplexed as much by his enigmatic left eye as by his words.

  “Ah, you’ll forget it by the time it matters,” he shook his head sadly. His eyes flashed, changing colours, even the black one washing out into a dark green. He smiled brightly and said, “Anyway, jolly good show today. Your testimony was brilliant. Top-notch oratory. I’m glad those tutors your dear departed father paid for left their mark. It was you who forced the defence into this chicanery, this weaselling out of an honest vote.”

  “Thank you kindly,” I replied.

  “No matter. Your star will continue to rise. You’ll become a much sought-after witness, I predict. Just remember your old friends when you need some help. I shan’t let you down, ever again.”

  That memory was a bit too much for me to bear right then and I dismissed him and walked away.

  As though on cue, I bumped into a smiling Aemilia. “It’s a shame my uncle won’t receive sufficient compensation, but he won’t feel it long. He’s got enough money and properties. He’s already planning how to maximise usage of his now-empty insulae. We all know it was your work, both in investigating and in testifying, that gave him this fighting chance.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “I would like to think the research you made me do helped you,” she said. “That it wasn’t just some task you set for me, to keep me out of your hair.”

  “Have you not been listening to my testimony?” I asked with a smile. “Did you not recognise that the references I used came from you? I could not give attribution to a woman uneducated in the magia, of course, but you should know where I got them from and how essential they were.”

  She blushed and smiled warmly. “We make a good team, don’t we? I could keep doing such research for you, help you in your cases. No criminal — whether earthly or from the next world — could withstand us.”

  The afternoon sun cast golden specks in her eyes and brushed her dark auburn hair with fiery highlights. The attraction was strong — too strong — and I was about to reach out for her, kiss her sweet lips, when Cornelia broke the spell.

  “Come, my dear, we should be heading home. Felix, will you be joining us?”

  “I should see the medicus about my leg,” I said, “and it’s time to check on affairs at home. I doubt all the bodyguards are needed now that Numicius has got what he wanted.”

  “You can keep them around for a few more days — the man is vile and vindictive. Either way, we’ll soon hold an intimate celebration for the conclusion of the case and some other exciting announcements. Please do come by.” She took Aemilia by the arm, saying, “Come now,” and guided her away.

  I felt suddenly alone, the crowds and acquaintances having drifted away. I looked across the dais and again Numicius caught my eye from the other side. He gave me the most evil of grins, and I swear I could see him mouth ‘this isn’t over between us’ before he, too, walked away.

  Chapter XLIII

  Though it was but eleven days since I — since Numicius — broke my ankle, Petreius was quite pleased with my healing. He changed the cast to tight bandages, renewed the charms he wove in them, and warned me not to get into trouble or do any strenuous activity for ten more days, after which I could take the bandages off and be fit for service.

  I assured him nothing would ever make me join the service again and thanked him profusely.

  I walked home in the gathering dusk, feeling alien in my own city. Shadows seemed ominous, hiding criminals. Sounds, whether sudden laughter or the scuffling of cats in rubbish heaps, caused me to turn sharply. I hastened my steps.

  The alley leading to my home was dark, silent. I unlatched the door and walked in quietly. No lights were lit around the entryway, though I heard muffled voices and saw a yellow glow from the direction of the kitchen. I peeked inside and saw the bodyguards, who were supposed to be at the door, all sitting at the kitchen table and stuffing their faces. Dascha was bustling about ladling porridge and bacon, encouraging them to eat. I hoped Valerius sent them together with a food budget, or by now they would have eaten all my earnings from this case.

  Dascha noticed me and said, “Ah, domine. Shall I serve you in the triclinium? I can have it ready in a moment.”

  I was yet to see anything that would faze that old crone. “No need,” I said, and shuffled onto a bench at the table. “Just get me a plate of whatever’s hot and ready.”

  The guards were tense, seeing the master of the house sit with them in the kitchen, but soon relaxed. I imagined after all this time in Dascha’s care, they would not be in a hurry to return to their old duti
es and regime. Not my slaves, not my problem. I enjoyed the unsophisticated company that night, swapping tall tales about short women, laughing at flatulence, and drinking more wine than was good for anyone.

  ***

  I don’t know why I accepted Cornelia’s invitation for the celebratory dinner. On her part, I was surprised to be invited at all. On my part, I had a good guess at the torture that would follow. And yet I found myself in her triclinium one last time. She wanted to celebrate the conclusion of the case, and like a moth to the flame, I went.

  I spent the morning getting washed, massaged, shaved, and put on a freshly laundered tunic. When I arrived, I noticed no signs of the previous dinner party. The floor mosaics, the wall dadoes and paintings, the furniture, all had been replaced, repainted, and redone in a different style.

  Cornelia was reclining at the lectus medius, the honoured middle couch. With her were Valerius Flaccus and his wife, Claudia Pulchra. On the right side were Aemilia, and a couple who were introduced as Quintus Aquilius pater, Aquilius’ father, and his mother Caecilia Metella. I found myself on the left-hand couch reclining with Aquilius and man by the name of Publius Clodius, a rather flamboyant senator, brother to Valerius’ wife. This brought up the number of guests to the traditional formal nine.

  Cornelia had taken pains to ensure it would be a celebratory feast, helping everyone erase the bittersweet taste of the trial results. She was determined to present it as a victory, both legally and morally. Together with traditional dishes for the first course — lettuce and fennel salad with walnut and anchovy dressing, green and brown olives, and quail eggs poached in broth and served with bread — Cornelia had also served a rare and expensive delicacy of oysters with cinnamon. A bit too much cinnamon, if you ask me. I prefer my oysters fresh, with just a touch of garum to enhance the natural saltiness. The wine, though, was without fault; some of the best Verguvian wine I had ever tasted.