by Cicero
[87] The fleet sailed on its journey, and on the fifth day it finally completed the short distance to Pachynum.* By this time the sailors were driven by hunger to gather the roots of wild palms*—a plant common in that area, as in most of Sicily—and the poor wretches kept themselves alive on these. But Cleomenes, who considered himself another Verres not just in extravagance and wickedness but also in power, set up a tent on the shore and spent day after day drinking, in imitation of his governor.
So with Cleomenes drunk and everyone else starving, suddenly news arrives that there are pirate ships in the harbour of Odysseae (that is the name of the place—our fleet was in the harbour at Pachynum). Now there was a land garrison there, at least on paper, and so Cleomenes counted on being able to take enough soldiers from it to make up the full complement of sailors and oarsmen. But it transpired that this grasping governor had applied the same methods to the land garrisons as he had to the fleet, for there were hardly any soldiers at all, the vast majority having been exempted.
[88] Cleomenes, who was in front in the quadrireme from Centuripae, ordered the mast of his ship to be raised, the sails spread, and the anchor cables cut, and at the same time that the signal be given to tell the others to follow.* This ship from Centuripae was in fact an astonishingly fast vessel when under sail. During Verres’ governorship, no one had had the opportunity to find out how fast each ship could go under oar—although in this quadrireme, because of Cleomenes’ rank and influence, there was less of a shortage of oarsmen and sailors than in the other ships. The fleeing quadrireme had now flown almost out of sight, while the rest of the ships were all still struggling in their original position. [89] But their crew were men of courage:* although they were few in number, and in a desperate situation, they nevertheless shouted that they preferred to fight, and were ready to yield up to the sword whatever life and strength remained in their famished bodies. In fact, if Cleomenes had not raced so far ahead, they would have had at least some hope of resisting. His ship was the only one with a deck, and it was big enough to offer protection to the other ships; in a fight with the pirates, it would have looked like a city among the pirate galleys. But helpless as they were, and abandoned by their leader, the admiral of the fleet, they had no alternative but to begin to follow in his wake.
[90] So they set off, like Cleomenes himself, in the direction of Helorus, not so much fleeing from the pirates who were about to attack them as following the man who was supposed to be commanding them. As each ship became the last in the line of flight, so it became the first to be attacked, as the pirates fell on the hindmost one in turn. Thus the first to be taken was the ship from Haluntium, commanded by a high-ranking man of that city, Phylarchus; he was later to be ransomed from the pirates at public expense by the people of Locri.* In the first hearing he told you under oath what happened and why. The second ship to be taken was the one from Apollonia; its captain Anthropinus was killed.
[91] While this was happening, Cleomenes meanwhile had already reached the coast at Helorus, and had thrown himself off the ship and onto dry land, leaving the quinquireme where it was. The captains of the other ships, finding that their admiral had gone ashore, were in no position either to offer resistance or to escape by sea; they therefore put in at Helorus and went off after Cleomenes. At this point the pirate captain, Heracleo, suddenly and unexpectedly found himself victorious—not because of any military ability of his own, but simply as a result of Verres’ avarice and wickedness. He came across the magnificent fleet of the Roman people cast up and abandoned on the shore, and gave orders to his followers to wait until it began to get dark, and then to set the ships on fire and burn them. [92] What a miserable, sickening moment for the province of Sicily!* What a catastrophic, fatal disaster for so many innocent people! What exceptional disgrace and wickedness on Verres’ part! On one and the same night the governor was burning with the flames of a scandalous passion, and the fleet of the Roman people with pirates’ fire.
At the dead of night, the dreadful news of this disaster reached Syracuse. There was a rush in the direction of the governor’s residence, to which only a short while beforehand women had escorted Verres home with music and song, after a splendid banquet. Although it was night, Cleomenes did not dare show his face in public. He shut himself away in his house; but his wife was not at home to comfort him in his misery. [93] As for our brilliant general, his domestic staff were so well drilled that, even when the situation was so serious and the news so dire, no one was admitted: no one dared to wake him if he was asleep, or interrupt him if he was awake. But once everyone else had found out what had happened, an enormous crowd gathered throughout the city. This time, it was not, as had always been the case before, a fire from a beacon on some tower or hill that gave notice of the imminent arrival of the pirates: no, it was the flames from the actual burning of the fleet that announced the catastrophe that had occurred and the danger still to come.
People tried to find out where the governor was; it became clear that no one had told him the news. The crowd then made a full onslaught on his residence,* shouting noisily. [94] That woke him up—and he learned the full story from Timarchides. Then the governor put on his military cloak (it was nearly dawn by this time) and came out into the open, heavy with wine, sleep, and sex. His appearance was greeted by shouting from the crowd, and its tone vividly impressed on him the similarity with the danger he had faced at Lampsacus.* But this time the danger seemed even greater, because, although he had been equally hated by both mobs, this one was exceptionally large. People started mentioning his beach parties, and his scandalous banquets. The crowd called out the names of his women, and asked him directly where he had been and what he had been doing all that time, day after day, when no one had seen him. They called for Cleomenes, the admiral he had himself appointed, to be handed over to them; and the precedent that had been set at Utica with Hadrianus* came within a hair’s breadth of also being followed at Syracuse, so as to result in the setting up of two tombs for two wicked governors in two provinces. But then the crowd reflected on the situation they were in, on the state of emergency, and on the high standing and good reputation they shared—since the Roman citizens of Syracuse are considered to be a credit not only to Sicily, but to Rome as well. [95] As Verres stood there stupefied and half-awake, they urged each other to action, took up arms, and occupied the whole forum and the Island, which comprises a large part of the city.
The pirates waited for just that night at Helorus and then, leaving our ships still smouldering, set off for Syracuse. I suppose they had often heard that there was no sight more lovely than the walls and harbour of Syracuse and decided that, if they did not go and see it during Verres’ governorship, they would never see it at all. [96] They arrived first at the governor’s summer quarters, at the very point on the coast where Verres, during those summer days, had pitched his tents and sited his camp of luxury. They found the place deserted. Realizing that the governor must have moved his camp to a different position, they immediately began, without any anxiety at all, to sail into the harbour itself. When I say the harbour, gentlemen (I must explain this carefully for the benefit of those who do not know the place), I mean that the pirates actually entered into the city, and into its very centre. The city, you see, is not bounded by its harbour, but the harbour is itself surrounded by and enclosed within the city. The sea, that is, does not lap against the outer side of the walls; rather, the harbour waters themselves flow into the heart of the city.
[97] Here it was that, while you were governor, the pirate Heracleo sailed around in his four little galleys, just as he pleased. Immortal gods! At a time when the empire of the Roman people was officially represented at Syracuse, a pirate galley has actually penetrated all the way to the forum of Syracuse and to every quay in the city. The proud fleets of Carthage, at the height of her naval power, never succeeded in approaching so near, despite repeated attempts in numerous wars; nor did the glorious navy of the Roman people, undefeated unti
l you became governor, ever manage to penetrate the city, throughout a great many Punic and Sicilian wars.* The topography of the place is such that the Syracusans saw the enemy armed and victorious on their city walls, in their city, and in their forum before they saw a single enemy ship in the harbour.* [98] Here it was that, while you were governor, the pirates’ small boats sailed to and fro where the Athenian fleet of 300 ships* once, by their strength and numbers, succeeded in forcing an entry—the only fleet in history ever to do so; and in that same harbour it was defeated and destroyed by the natural character of the land and the harbour. Here it was that the power of that great city was first shattered and brought low: in this harbour the nobility, empire, and glory of Athens are considered to have been wrecked. So did a pirate penetrate to a point in the city where he did not merely have the city on one side, but actually had a considerable part of it behind him? Indeed, he sailed past the whole of the Island. This is a city in its own right, and with its own walls, and a place where our ancestors, as I have already said, would not allow any Syracusan to live, because they understood that anyone who held that part of the city would also have control of the harbour.
[99] But look at how he sailed around the harbour! The pirates started waving the wild palm roots which they had discovered in our ships, so that everyone should be aware of the wickedness of this defendant and the disaster that had befallen Sicily. Those Sicilian sailors were the sons of farmers. They were men whose fathers produced so much grain through their own hard work that they were capable of supplying the Roman people and the whole of Italy. And to think that those men, who were born on the island of Ceres* where corn is believed to have been first discovered, should have been reduced to consuming food of a type that their ancestors, by their discovery of corn, had saved other nations from having to eat! To think that, while you were governor, Sicilian sailors lived on palm stalks, and the pirates Sicilian grain! [100] What a miserable, sickening spectacle! To think that the glory of Syracuse, the name of the Roman people, and the vast population of the city, Roman and non-Roman alike, should be held up to mockery by that pirate galley! To think that that pirate should hold a triumph over the fleet of the Roman people in the harbour at Syracuse, while the oars of the pirate ships splashed seawater into the face of this utterly useless and wicked governor!
In due course the pirates left the harbour, not because they were frightened, but because they had had enough. People then began to ask what had been the cause of this appalling disaster. Everyone said, and argued openly, that with most of the oarsmen and sailors exempted, those who were left starved to death, and the governor spending all his days with girls in a drunken stupor, it was not in the least bit surprising that such a humiliating disaster had occurred. [101] These criticisms of Verres and the low esteem in which he was held were reinforced by the reports of the captains who had been appointed to the ships by their own communities. Those captains who had escaped to Syracuse after the loss of the fleet each gave an account of how many sailors they knew had been exempted from their own particular ship. It was clear what had happened; and Verres’ criminal responsibility was proved not just by arguments but by reliable witnesses.
Verres was duly informed that in the forum and among the Roman citizen community no one had done anything all day but question the captains of the ships as to how the fleet had been lost; and that the captains had replied by explaining to one and all that the reason was the exemption of the oarsmen, the starvation of the rest, and the panic-stricken flight of Cleomenes. On learning this, Verres began to think on these lines. As you heard him say himself during the first hearing, he had already come to the conclusion before this that he was going to be prosecuted; and he realized that if those captains were to give evidence, it would quite simply be impossible for him to answer so serious a charge.
The first plan that he devised was stupid, but it was at least merciful. [102] He summoned the captains to appear before him; they came. He reprimanded them for having spoken about him in the way that they had, and asked them to stop talking like this, and instead to say that each had had the full complement of sailors in his ship, and that no sailors had been exempted. They naturally agreed to do as he wanted. He did not delay for a moment. He immediately called his friends and asked the captains one by one how many sailors they had had; and each replied as he had been told to. Verres then had their answers written down, and sealed with his friends’ seals. Far-sighted man that he was, his intention was to make use of these supposed depositions to defend himself on the present charge, should he ever have to do so. [103] His friends must surely have laughed at the idiot and pointed out to him that these documents would do him no good, since the governor’s excessive precautions in this matter would only make him look even more guilty. He had in fact resorted to these stupid tactics many times before, ordering deletions or additions to be made in the public records of Sicilian communities, to suit his own purposes. But he now understands that all this is doing him no good, now that his guilt has been proved by reliable accounts, witnesses, and certified documents.
When he saw that the captains’ statements, his own depositions, and the other documents were not going to help him, he formed a new plan—not the plan of a wicked governor, which would have been just about bearable, but that of a brutal, crazed tyrant. He decided that if he were to weaken the force of the charge (for he did not imagine it could be eliminated entirely), then all the captains, since they were witnesses to his guilt, would have to be put to death.
[104] But one thought ran through his mind. ‘What should I do about Cleomenes? Can I punish those I ordered to do as they were commanded, and yet let off the man I put in command and authority over them? Can I punish those who simply followed Cleomenes, and yet pardon Cleomenes who ordered them to escape with him and follow him? Can I show severity to those whose ships were not just undermanned but without decks, and yet be lenient towards the one man who had a ship with decks and a less depleted crew? Cleomenes will have to die with them!’ But what about loyalty, what about the vows of friendship, what about the handshakes and embraces, what about their comradeship in the service of love, on that delightful beach? It would be unthinkable not to spare Cleomenes!
[105] So he sent for him and told him that he had decided to punish all the captains; and that this was absolutely necessary to protect him from prosecution. ‘I am going to spare you alone. I would rather take the blame myself for what has happened and be criticized for inconsistency than either show cruelty towards you or leave alive and intact so many very damaging witnesses.’ Cleomenes thanked him, expressed his approval of the plan, and said that it had to be so. He added, however, that there was one point that had escaped his notice: he could not get away with punishing the captain from Centuripae, Phalacrus, because he had been in the Centuripan quadrireme with him. So what was Verres to do? Could he allow a highly respectable young man from so distinguished a city to survive and give evidence against him? ‘For the time being, yes,’ replied Cleomenes, ‘since there is no alternative. But later on we will find some means of getting him out of our way.’
[106] Once all this had been settled and agreed, the defendant suddenly strode out of the governor’s residence, inflamed with wickedness, rage, and cruelty. He entered the forum, and ordered the captains to be summoned. They feared nothing, and suspected nothing, and so came running at once. He then ordered the poor, innocent men to be cast into chains. They appealed to the governor and asked him why he was doing this to them. He replied that it was because they had betrayed the fleet to the pirates. This provoked an outcry. People were astonished that Verres could be so hypocritical and reckless as to blame others for the disaster which had been entirely the result of his own avarice, and to accuse others of betrayal when it was he himself who was believed to be in league with the pirates. And all this, they observed, was taking place a full two weeks after the fleet had been lost.
[107] People, meanwhile, were asking where Cleomenes was. It was not t
hat anyone thought that he, for all his faults, should be punished for what had gone wrong, for what could he have done? I cannot accuse anyone falsely—so I say again, what on earth could Cleomenes have done, when his ships, owing to Verres’ greed, were empty? But then suddenly they noticed him sitting next to the governor and whispering familiarly into his ear, just as normal. And it struck every one of them that it was utterly disgraceful that highly respectable men, specially chosen by their own cities, should have been shackled and chained, whereas Cleomenes, because he had been the governor’s partner in his disgraceful crimes, should now be his closest friend and confidant.
[108] Verres did at least hold a trial for the men, selecting as prosecutor a certain Naevius Turpio, a man who had been convicted of assault during the governorship of Gaius Sacerdos.* He was a man well placed to carry out Verres’ criminal intentions, having been employed by him as his agent and go-between in the collection of tithes, in capital trials, and in every kind of false accusation.
The parents and relatives of the poor young men travelled to Syracuse, stunned by the sudden news of the disaster which they were facing. They saw their sons in chains, bearing on their necks and shoulders the price they were paying for Verres’ cupidity. They came to court, spoke up for them, shouted in their defence, and appealed to your sense of fairness—something which did not exist and never had. One of the fathers was Dexo of Tyndaris, a highly respectable gentleman, and a man whose hospitality you had enjoyed. You had stayed in his house and addressed him as your host. When you saw this venerable man prostrate with grief, were his tears, his age, and the claims and entitlements of hospitality not enough to pull you back from crime to at least some sense of human decency? [109] But why do I mention the claims of hospitality in connection with this bestial monster? Sthenius of Thermae* was another of his hosts, and Verres, taking advantage of his position as his guest, emptied his house and stripped it bare, had him prosecuted in his absence, and condemned him to death without a defence. So shall we now appeal to such a man on the basis of the claims and duties of hospitality? And are we dealing with a cruel man or with a monstrous, savage beast? The tears of a father over the danger faced by his innocent son had no effect on you. Although you had a father of your own back in Rome, and had your own son with you in Sicily, did the presence of your son not make you think of how much parents love their children, and did your father’s absence not remind you of the affection that fathers feel? [110] Dexo’s son Aristeus, your host, was in chains. Why was that? ‘He had betrayed the fleet.’ For what reward? ‘All right then, he was a deserter.’ But was Cleomenes not a deserter? ‘But Aristeus had shown himself a coward.’ On the contrary, you had previously decorated him for bravery. ‘But he exempted the sailors under his command.’ No, in every case it was you who took bribes for the exemptions.