He poured himself a straight cup of the Falernian. When had Cicero begun to drink like other men? "Don't think I can't do it," he went on. "Wait until you hear the speech. It's my masterpiece, Gordianus. Am I boasting, Tiro, or am I simply telling the truth?"
Tiro smiled. "It's a very fine speech."
"I have never written a finer one! And my powers of delivery have never been greater. I shall seize the jurors from the first words, I shall clutch them to me like a lover until I have nothing more to say, and after I'm done I'll defy any man to take a stand against Milo."
Wine and curiosity had cooled my anger. I decided to listen for a while, bide my time and hear him out. It was the last time I would ever do so. Once I'd said what I'd come to say, there would never again be words between us of any sort. "How will you do it, Cicero? How will you seduce the jurors?"
"Well, I can't go through the whole speech for you right now; there isn't time." He smiled crookedly. "Besides, you might yet be a spy for the enemy, Gordianus. Have you come to ferret out my puns and double meanings before they're ready? I won't have my metaphors and historical allusions anticipated and headed off by the prosecutors! But I'll give you a general outline. Perhaps it will give you some ideas of how you might help me."
"Help you?"
"Perhaps there's a weak point in the prosecution that I've missed, something you know of that I don't; some point they intend to emphasize that I haven't foreseen. You've probably been privy to information which even my spies have missed. All that lolling about in Clodia's litter, making camp with Antony-you're a valuable man to know, Gordianus! I've always said so. And I've never turned my back on you, no matter how wrongheaded you've been from time to time. I can't tell you how glad I was when the doorkeeper came to say that you were here. I can think of no one I had rather see on this night. Gordianus the Finder, always full of surprises. 'He shall help me add the final crowning touches to my masterpiece' — I said those very words, did I not, Tiro?"
"You did indeed." Tiro looked very weary. With his delicate constitution, he should have been in bed, I thought. Or did he blink and lower his eyes to avoid looking at me? Had Tiro been part of the plot against me? The idea sickened me, but Tiro's loyalty to Cicero had always eclipsed everything else in his life.
"The main thrust of my argument," Cicero went on, full of excitement, "will be that it was Clodius who planned an ambush on Milo, and that Milo had no choice but to defend himself. It was justifiable homicide!"
"And what about the facts, Cicero?" I said..
"Oh, I shall remind the jury of certain facts — such as the fact that Clodius had a long history of criminal behaviour against the gods and the state. And the fact that even as he was setting out on the Appian Way, he had legislation in the works to reorganize the voting system so as to give himself and his rabble of freedmen even greater power. And I certainly shall not let anyone forget the fact that Clodius was one of the most lecherous and debauched men ever to plague this city."
"But Clodius did not ambush Milo. Must I say it more slowly? Clodius… did not… ambush Milo."
Cicero paused. "This matter of an ambush, who plotted against whom, who was lying in wait — it's all academic in a way, don't you see? Consider it a literary device. My young friend Marcus Brutus says that I should argue from the assumption that Milo assassinated Clodius intentionally, knowingly and with foresight, and declare that the homicide was justifiable on the grounds that Milo acted to save the state from a dangerous man. Well, Brutus might get away with that argument, but not me. It would only remind the listeners of my own handling of Catilina and his supporters. Milo must not suffer for the controversies of my own consulship. So that line of defence is closed to us. On the other hand, I might argue that neither Milo nor his men were ultimately responsible for Clodius's death, at least not technically. That may well be the case, as I'm sure you discovered for yourself in your investigations — "
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't be coy with me, Gordianus. It's much too late for that. However, to argue for Milo's outright innocence, I would have to introduce some rather arcane reasoning, and besides, that approach would fail to make any thematic sense; it would neglect the most persuasive argument of all, that Clodius was an immediate danger to Milo and a perennial danger to the state. No, I shall use the argument of an ambush-"
"Cicero, there was no ambush, by either side."
"Yes, but how do you know that, Gordianus?"
"Because I went there. I saw the place. I spoke to the witnesses."
"Ah, you went, you saw, you spoke — but the jurors will have done none of these things. It is up to me to shape their perceptions."
"But the jurors have already heard the witnesses."
"Yes, and that's unfortunate. These innovations of Pompey! The traditional sequence is for the advocates to make their arguments first, and shape the juror's opinions before they ever hear a witness. But never mind. Do you think the jurors will still be thinking about that whore of a priestess and her pathetic brother, or that incredibly common woman from the inn, after they've heard me plead Milo's case for three hours? I think not." He saw the look of consternation on my face and smiled. "You fail to understand, I see. You doubt that any speech could be so persuasive. But believe me, this is my best speech, by far the finest piece of oratory I've ever devised. You can't imagine the labour that's gone into it."
"The guile, you mean."
"Gordianus!" He shook his head,not in disgust — he was too ebullient for that-but in dismay. "Very well, then, guile. Composition, craft, guile, call it what you will! Where did you ever come by this naive, overweening reverence for the absolute and utter truth? This peculiar obsession — where has it ever got you? If simple truth alone could send armies into battle and sway jurors, if men could be made to respond as they should by telling them the truth, do you think I would use any other tool? It would all be so easy, then. But truth is not enough; often it's the very worst thing for a man with a cause! And so we have oratory. The beauty, the power of words! Thank the gods for the gift of oratory, and thank the gods for men who are clever enough, and wise enough, to bend the truth a bit every once in a while in order to keep the state free and in one piece. The important thing about tomorrow's hearing is not to determine who did what to whom on the Appian Way. The important thing, the absolutely vital thing, is that at the end of the day, Milo must go free. If the truth hinders that objective, then it must be dispensed with. It serves no purpose. Can't you see that, Gordianus? It's such an elementary matter."
I had heard enough. "And my captivity? Was that an elementary matter?"
Cicero's face went blank. "What do you mean?"
"While I was trapped in that stinking pit, someone wrote an anonymous note to my wife, telling her not to worry. I found another bit of writing — an old, old inscription in a scroll — that matched the handwriting of that note exactly. You wrote the note, Cicero. Do you deny it?"
He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. He glanced at Tiro, who watched him expectantly with furrowed brows. "I wrote the note to your wife, yes."
"What was your part? Did you know from the beginning? Did you plan the attack on me?"
He made a face, like a man who must step into something soft and smelly. "When we learned that you had set out for Bovillae, Milo became convinced that you had become a danger to him. It was all he talked about for days. Who knew what you would find out? For whom were you really working? I tried to dissuade him, but Milo is a stubborn man. He became determined to remove you — "
"To kill me, you mean?"
"To prevent you from returning to Rome. Yes, his first intention was to have you killed. I forbade it. Do you hear me, Gordianus? I forbade him to kill you and your son. I reminded him of the men he was keeping locked up at his villa in Lanuvium, the witnesses his men had captured on the Appian Way. If he could hold those men prisoner, then why not you and your son? I insisted that you be spared, do you understand?
Milo compromised, and agreed merely to detain you, and only until the crisis was over. Then you and Eco would be released unharmed."
"The men who escaped from Lanuvium said that Milo had made up his mind to kill them."
"That was only a rumour. Even if it was true, it had nothing to do with you. I had Milo's word that you would come to no harm."
"Milo's word!"
"Did you come to harm? Were you badly treated? There, you see! He kept his word to me. Even so, I felt deeply concerned for your family, knowing how dear you are to them, how much they would miss you and worry about you. I was not so hard and cold that I could ignore that. So I wrote that note to your wife, to allay her fears. I wrote it with my own hand, and had it delivered by an illiterate slave. I should have known you would find me out in the end, Gordianus. Nothing escapes you! But it was the right thing to do. I can't regret having done it, even now."
He stood erect with his chin up, like an officer whose honour had been impugned over an act of bravery. I gaped at him. "You're actually proud of yourself, aren't you? Proud because you browbeat Milo into kidnapping me instead of murdering me — "
"I saved your life, Gordianus!"
"And proud of yourself for writing two lines to my wife instead of setting me free."
He sighed at my obstinacy. "Sometimes, Gordianus, in defence of liberty, actions which might otherwise be reprehensible become not only justified but unavoidable."
I shook my head. "Tiro, did you hear that? Are you copying it down? Surely your master can use that in his speech tomorrow!"
Cicero pressed his fingertips together. "Gordianus, some day you will reflect on this episode and realize that you were called upon to make a sacrifice for the good of the state. It may have been a misjudgment on Milo's part, thinking he had to get you out of the way for a short while. You should be flattered that he thought you so dangerous! But consider the greater context. Ultimately, it is a good thing — an exceedingly good thing- that Clodius is dead, and it will be an unmitigated disaster if Milo's enemies succeed in sending him into exile."
"A disaster for Milo, you mean."
"Yes! And a disaster for me — and for anyone who cares about preserving Rome as a republic. We need men like Milo, and Cato, and yes, like myself. There are none of us to spare! You've dealt with Pompey now. You're acquainted with Caesar. Do you really wish to leave eveiything up to them? If it comes to that, if all the good men are picked off one by one and the power of the Senate dwindles to nothing, and Caesar and Pompey are the only men left standing, how long do you think their partnership will last? Can you imagine another civil war, Gordianus? You're old enough to remember Marius and Sulla. How much more terrible would it be this time, with the whole world in flames? Who will be left to pick up the pieces?"
He bowed his head, as if the hour suddenly weighed on him.
"Everything I do, everything, is to avert that course of events. Consider that, Gordianus, and then consider this little thing, this little injustice that Milo has done you, that you were detained for a few days of your life. Do you wish to be repaid somehow? Is it restitution that you want? Would that satisfy you? Or can you make the effort to see the greater picture and to arrive at some sense of proportion about your part in it? This trial is not just about Milo and Clodius. It's about the future of the Republic. If the truth must be bent, if you and your family must suffer a bit in the name of that cause, then so be it!"
He lifted his head and stared at me steadily, waiting for my reaction.
" 'The beauty, the power of words!' " I finally said, mocking him. "Curse the gods who gave us oratory! And curse the clever men like you who make a travesty of words like liberty and justice! This matter is not finished between us, Marcus Cicero. As for Milo, hopefully my grievance with him will be settled for me, when the court decides his fate tomorrow."
I turned to leave, then looked back at Tiro. He had remained silent and averted his eyes during the whole exchange. "Did you know of this?" I said.
When Tiro hesitated, Cicero answered for him. "Tiro knew nothing about the kidnapping. Milo and I never discussed it in his presence. The fact is, I didn't trust him to keep his mouth shut about it. Tiro has always had a soft spot for you, Gordianus. Even I weakened, and wrote that note to your wife. Tiro might have been even more foolish. He knew nothing."
I stared at Tiro, who still would not look me in the eye. "So you deceived Tiro as well. I can believe that. He's not the actor you are, Cicero; his surprise and relief when we met on the Flaminian Way were too genuine to be a pretence. But Tiro — Tiro, look at me! You must have suspected something. Who else but Milo had a reason to kidnap us? How could Cicero not have known?"
Tiro bit his lower hp. "The thought did occur to me. But I simply didn't ask. I suppose I didn't really want to know. There's been a great deal else on my mind…"
"Tell me just one thing, then, Tiro. Only one thing, and the absolute truth. Will you do that for me?"
Tiro looked at me rather forlornly.
"This speech for Milo — is it as good as Cicero claims it is? Or is that only his vanity speaking? Tell me what you really think."
"The truth, Gordianus?" "Nothing else."
"Cicero's speech for Milo is…" Tiro sighed. "Cicero has never written a better speech. No one has. That is my honest opinion. If anything can save Milo, this is the speech to do it. The jurors will weep. It will be Cicero's finest hour."
This was not what I wanted to hear. May the gods help us all, I thought, as I hurried from the room and left them to go about their work.
As I made my way home, some of Cicero's phrases kept ringing in my head, try as I might to shut them out. All of it had been nonsense, of course, but some had been more nonsensical than the rest. I might argue that neither Milo nor his men were ultimately responsible for Clodius's death, at least not technically. That may well be the case, as I'm sure you discovered for yourself in your investigations — However, to argue for Milo's outright innocence, I would have to introduce some rather arcane reasoning…"
What in Hades could he have meant by that? I almost wished I had kept a cooler head and asked him; there was no turning back now. He had probably meant nothing at all, I told myself but was simply spinning words, filling me with doubt, throwing dust in my eyes, just as he would try to do to the jurors in the morning.
XXXII
On the fourth and final day of Milo's trial I awoke to birdsong in the garden. New flowers had bloomed overnight. Bees and butterflies were already at work, doting on the blossoms. I was tempted to forget the trial and stay home. Why not spend the day enjoying the warm sunshine of Aprilis in my garden? But the plaintive eyes of the staring, broken Minerva would not let me forget what was about to transpire in the Forum.
Davus and a fellow bodyguard had risen long before cockcrow to go down with folding chairs to save places for us. It was a good thing, for I had never seen the Forum so thronged with spectators. By order of Pompey, all taverns were closed for the day. Pompey no doubt intended to head off the threat of drunken rioters, but the radical tribunes must have been pleased for their own reasons; with the taverns closed, even their least civic-minded supporters had nowhere better to be than in the Forum attending the trial. Despite the crush, Davus had doggedly held on to our seats near the front of the crowd.
Dominating everything were Pompey's troops. Wherever there was an elevated place — temple steps or a bit of wall or ramp or pedestal — the soldiers had already occupied it the night before. A ring of troops completely encircled the Forum At the various points of entry they pulled aside perfectly peaceable citizens to search for concealed weapons. Pompey himself was said to be in his stronghold in the treasury building, from which he would not stir until a verdict was announced. I felt as if I had awakened in some other city that morning, a place ruled by a military autocrat — except that autocrats do not allow public trials. There was a sense of confusion and uncertainty in the air, almost of unreality.
And yet, every
thing proceeded smoothly. Milo and Cicero had shown up before most of the crowd, travelling in a plain, closed litter so that their arrival went unnoticed, which was no doubt as they wished it They stayed out of sight in the litter, ringed by bodyguards, until it was almost time for the trial to begin. The three prosecutors arrived on foot to a great deal of cheering, surrounded by an entourage of secretaries and bodyguards. The officials of the court brought out three large urns; these contained the wooden balls on which each potential juror had written his name. Balls were chosen by lot until eighty-one jurors had been selected, among them Marcus Cato, I noticed. After the speeches by the prosecution and the defence, each side would be allowed to remove fifteen more jurors, leaving fifty-one men to decide the verdict.
Domitius called the court to order. The prosecutors commenced with their arguments at once.
As Cicero had predicted, their three orations seemed unduly short, more like synopses than full-blown speeches. They were potent, nonetheless. In typical fashion, the prosecutors divided various aspects of the case between them, according to their skills and dispositions.
I knew little about Valerius Nepos, but I had heard that his forte was narrative, and so was not surprised that he gave the opening argument. He described the actual incident with dramatic flourish, using the full range of his ringing voice and dwelling on gruesome details to elicit groans and cries of outrage from the spectators. His final lament was so full of grief that it seemed all he could do to keep from tearing out his hair. Nepos would have made quite a performer on the stage, I thought, bringing blind Oedipus or the tormented Ajax to life.
Marc Antony, the tactician, delivered the middle speech. He made the case that Milo had deliberately plotted to murder Clodius, citing evidence that Milo had spies among Clodius's slaves and going over and over the complicated chronology of Milo's and Clodius's movements on the day of the murder. Antony was the right man for a speech that dwelled, by necessity, on such a concentration of details. A more emotional speaker like Nepos, wailing over timetables, would have risked looking absurd. A staid orator like Pompey would have put his listeners to sleep. Antony's blend of soldierly gruffness with an innate sincerity of purpose, kept the jurors' full attention.
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