“No! No! Liar! Liar!” shouted Gallus’s supporters.
“Am I?” Sabinus questioned. “Gallus would have directly benefitted from his death. He would have become city prefect. He never forgave the emperor for not appointing him that position, one of great responsibility. Not only is the city prefect responsible for public safety, but controls the prices of all goods and commodities coming into Rome. Gallus would have extracted personal payments on all goods coming in under the threat of revoking business licenses and state monopolies of those merchants who refused to comply. Is that what you want? Then he would have subjected them to the abuse of the City Guard and attacks by criminal elements in his pay.”
Sabinus paced back and forth along the marble floor for the length of about thirty heartbeats. He halted, faced Gallus, and back to the senators. They waited for him to speak.
“Again, personal greed, not patriotism, was the motive for his treachery,” he said. “Therefore, I say to you noble fathers, there can only be one verdict—guilty, and to you, great Caesar,” Sabinus bowed slightly to Claudius, “only one sentence that you can pronounce—death! We are a government and a people whose heritage is based on traditions and the law. Without our great legacy, which calls for respect of the gods, our families, leaders, and the law, Rome cannot exist and would not have endured for these many generations. Therefore, I call upon you great fathers to reflect carefully upon the words I have spoken, and search your souls before making your decisions.”
Sabinus dropped into his chair apparently exhausted and stared at the tiled floor.
In unison, the Senate stood and applauded and cheered Sabinus. “Bravo! Bravo! Euge!—well done! Sophos!—wisely said!”
Claudius shakily arose and joined the clapping, slobbering as he did. Even those known to favor Gallus politely applauded.
The trial was not over, yet.
Chapter 34
There was a brief recess for lunch as the sixth hour, noon, had arrived. No one left the hall, as each official brought his own meal prepared by slave attendants.
Although still overcast and cold, the snow flurries had stopped. Many well-wishers congratulated Sabinus. Vitellius gestured with a flabby hand. “My friend, you must rewrite your speech for posterity. All the famous orators have done as much. After all, Cicero rewrote his famous Murder Trials, adding what he wished he had said, and the better rumors attributed to him.”
Sabinus shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t care if my words survive. What I said stands on its own merit. If not, so be it.”
“Don’t be so modest, Sabinus. Really, it was wonderful, but any speech can be improved,” the fat senator insisted.
Sabinus smiled. “I appreciate the thought, my friend, but it will have to suffice. I know I am a windbag, and my enemies will be sure that aspect of my personality is duly recorded.”
I smirked. Sabinus was as honest as one could be and still survive the Imperial court.
*
Now was the defense’s turn to rebut the accusations brought by Sabinus. Gallus’s advocate, the bloated Gaius Ulpius, stood to defend the accused. He was about to speak when the glowering, scarlet-faced Gallus smashed his fist on the marble table and immediately stood. His wife, a white-haired woman cried, “No don’t . . .”
An irate Ulpius turned to Gallus. “What are you doing? Don’t be a fool. You are playing into his hands.”
“No, Ulpius,” Gallus snarled. “The indignations that man has heaped upon me are more than I can bear. I won’t tolerate it any longer.”
Ulpius tugged at Gallus’s shoulder sleeve. “Don’t you see? That is what he wants. Now if you allow me to do my job, defending you, acquittal will be ours.”
Gallus yanked away from Ulpius, who gave up in disgust.
Sabinus looked his way, eyebrows arched, and back toward the magistrates.
The old senator stood. After the usual bowing, Gallus addressed the Senate. “The charges of which I have been maliciously accused are based on forgeries planted in the tomb of my forefathers—an abominable sacrilege. Trumped up confessions of fellow patricians and colleagues.” His eyes narrowing into crooked slits as he glanced in the direction of Sabinus.
“I have served Rome long and faithfully, both in the Senate and the army. As a young officer I served General Tiberius, who later became emperor, on the German expedition to punish the renegade Arminius. This was after he had ambushed and destroyed the three legions of Verus in the Tutaborg Forest. Is that not loyal service to Rome?”
His voice grew conciliatory. “Like you . . . fellow senators, I am from a very old and distinguished family that dates back nearly to the founding of Rome. My family has served Rome faithfully and loyally and has given the state many praetors and consuls.” His voice shook. “Never, I repeat . . . never . . . could I commit evil against our beloved nation, and I never shall. These charges are vicious and utterly false.” He glared at Sabinus. “The idea of betraying Rome, and may the gods forbid, assassinating the emperor is unthinkable—absurd.
“Why is Sabinus accusing me of these unthinkable acts, I ask? I will tell you why,” his voice rising. “ENVY! That is what it is. Lust for power! It is he who is determined to become city prefect, not I! Next to the emperor, he yearns to be the most powerful man in Rome. But that is not enough. No. He wants more, but he knows he will never obtain it. Why? Because he is not from a noble and distinguished patrician family like yours and mine, fellow colleagues,” he rasped. “He is the son of a publican, a tax collector.”
He spat and turned toward Sabinus with a look of contempt upon his sinister face. “His father bought his way into the Senate by extorting the poor, by bleeding hard-working farmers and prosperous merchants dry. That is how his father made his fortune. This is how his family gained access to this august body. I say it was a mistake, and you bear witness to the result—a man who condones the robbing of graves, especially in the middle of the night.
“I still can’t believe the sacrilege, yet there before our beloved emperor sits proof—the desecrated urn of my father’s faithful servant; I cannot say his name as it pains me so. He is arbitrarily accusing innocent men like our colleagues and I of the most trumped-up, despicable crimes. By putting us to death, he replaces us with his own kind, tax collectors, merchants, grave robbers, and foreigners.” He spat again. “Do you know that he would allow Gauls in the Senate and Spaniards to the Equestrian Order?”
“No! No!” shouts rang out in the hall. He failed to mention that admitting Gauls and Spaniards was Claudius’s idea.
Gallus nodded to his supporters. He then renewed his attack glaring at Crispus and I. He stabbed a finger at us and screamed. “These are the officers, Sabinus’s officers, who should be put to the rack! It was these barbaric Spaniards that broke into my family vault and planted those scurrilous documents.”
My muscles tightened and my heart seemed to run into my throat. Again, heat rushed to my face. I turned to Crispus, his mouth tightened into a pair of thin lips.
“Are these the kind of men we are to admit to the Knighthood?” Gallus continued his rant. “Foreign barbarians that have no respect for honor, or the dead?”
“No! No!” Gallus’s sympathizers shouted.
Gallus turned and pointed to Sabinus. “Yet those are the kind that he would have serve in this great house. Their presence within this sacred chamber is an affront to Rome, and a stench to my senses.”
It was all I could do to control my rising anger.
Gallus lowered his hand. “My accuser has made much of the color and purity of the white togas of the Senate. As you can plainly see, I wear a gray toga of mourning, for I can assure you that it is a sad day indeed to stand accused, falsely, by the son of a corrupt and greedy tax collector. A man who’s toga of white, bought with the blood money of honest men, defiles us all, and in truth should be colored black for the shame he brings upon this house of Rome. Black stands for the true color of his heart.”
Sabinus sat stoically k
eeping a sober face. I admired him for keeping so calm.
Gallus exhaled. “Again, I appeal to your conscience when you consider the charges against me: confessions made under duress. Forged documents. Accusations and confessions by foreign barbarians, and metics against the word of a patrician, a pure Roman—unthinkable.”
Gallus continued his diatribe for another three hours. I had learned long ago that unlike military tribunals, relevant evidence had no meaning in a civilian court, especially when dealing with a senator or other high official. One’s ancestry, status, and pocketbook was all that mattered. He flaunted all of them before the Senate.
Gallus concluded his defense in a rasping voice. “Remember, what has happened during the past few weeks can happen to you, to anyone of this venerable group. You, too, can suffer public humiliation as I have, and private ones too painful, too shameful to voice. You, too, can feel the breath of lies of such infamous charges that opening your veins seems the only way to save your precious family and all that is cherished by you.”
He paused, covering his eyes for the space of ten heartbeats. “You may ask why I have not followed those innocents before me who chose death rather than risk all in trial, knowing I could bring down my great house?”
The chamber remained silent, awaiting his answer. He shuffled his sandals pacing before the defense table. “Well, I will tell you . . . it’s too simple, really, and the words seem so trite. I love my dear family more than anything and risk everything that you should know these simple words in your heart . . . I, am innocent.”
I looked in Sabinus’s direction, his face remained sober.
“Consider this when you make your decision,” Gallus continued, “and you will know the truth of my innocence. If you choose otherwise, not only will it be a disservice to Rome, but it will set a dangerous precedent that in the will have grave consequences on this great and noble body.”
Gallus glared at Sabinus as if gloating before taking his seat next to Ulpius, who nodded as if approving his defense.
The Senate stood and clapped loud and long. It was hard to tell whom they believed the most, or who had been paid off the most. Many of the same shouted their congratulations to Gallus as they had Sabinus.
Claudius raised his hand for silence, then addressed Gallus. “Senator Gallus, you have made an issue on the matter of foreigners and their admission to the Senate. We do not see its relevance to the case.”
Gallus stood, slightly bowed. “It is most relevant, Caesar. What Roman, what Italian, in his right mind, would dare to act against your eminent person? But a provincial, that is different. They are neither bound by tradition nor loyalty.”
“Have you forgotten that we were born in Gaul, in Lugdunum?”
“No, great Caesar, but that is different. You were born of Roman parents. Your father was Drusus, brother of the Emperor Tiberius, and a great hero.”
The emperor’s nose flared, his eyes growing cold. “Nonetheless, by your definition we are still alien, as we’re not born on Italian soil. Need we remind you that many provincials are loyal Roman citizens. They constitute fully one half of the army, and that doesn’t include our loyal auxiliaries. Your accusations are not substantiated by evidence. It was a loyal Roman citizen,” the emperor paused and looked in my direction, “a Spaniard, that discovered the conspiracy against our life. We are grateful to him and any others who would save our life.”
Gallus’s gray-shadowed face flushed, his jaws clenched. He glared at Claudius and blurted, “You are a stupid old idiot!”
As gasps arose from the audience, he reached for a wax writing tablet on the table, stood, and hurled it at the aging ruler, striking his left cheek. It glanced away and struck a bowl of apples on the small table next to Claudius’s chair, scattering them on the floor.
“Down with the traitor! Down with the traitor!” echoed through the chamber from friend and foe alike. The clanging of armor added to the din as sword-drawn Praetorians rushed towards Gallus. But the stunned Claudius quickly recovered his wits. “Leave him be!” he commanded. The troops halted and stepped back to their positions.
A physician who had rushed to the emperor’s side, assisted by a number of slaves and a concerned Pallas, placed a moist towel to the lacerated wound and gently attempted to wipe the oozing blood from his face. Claudius squirmed so that the doctor succeed in little more than smearing his face with blood.
Because Claudius’s health was frail at best, a doctor was never far away. The shaken ruler ordered the attendants away, growling that he was all right. Gallus had signed his own death warrant. There could be no other verdict by the Senate. I couldn’t believe anyone would have the nerve to assault the world’s most powerful ruler, in the presence of so many, and survive.
A furious Ulpius yanked Gallus to his chair by the shoulder and chastised him, the words lost in the Senate’s uproar. His wife became hysterical and attending relatives attempted to calm her. The advocate jumped to his feet and begged the mercy of the emperor, who raised his hand in silence. Ulpius attempted to minimize Gallus’s outrage by pleading his client had been under a great deal of strain and asked for his divine clemency. He explained Gallus hadn’t known what he was doing.
Gallus was about to say something further, when his corpulent lawyer loudly ordered him to shut up, spouting that he had caused enough damage without making it worse. Gallus replied that he could forget about receiving the Galatian slave boy promised as payment. Several within earshot laughed. Ulpius threw up his hands in disgust and sat. He gathered his wax tablets and pretended to study them.
Then something puzzling occurred. Claudius looked about as if in a daze. His bloodshot eyes seemed to have lost all signs of intelligence. He turned to the consul, Titus Statilius Taurus and inquired, “Grapes? Has anyone seen my grapes?”
The beady-eyed consul stared at him in dismay and seemed to be at a loss for words. But the quick-witted Pallas, who stood near the physician, stepped to the emperor’s side. “You ate them, Caesar, remember?”
Claudius cupped his slobbering mouth with a shaky hand. “I did?” He lowered his hand and looked down to the spilled basket of fruit and glanced about again. He turned back to Pallas. “Oh, but of course, how could I have forgotten. Nevertheless, I want my grapes. Be a good fellow and bring me more.”
“Of course, Great Caesar.” The freedman turned to the court chamberlain and snapped his fingers. The chamberlain in turn sent a slave scurrying for the grapes. All the while a low murmur pervaded the Senate.
“Now, where were we?” Claudius asked. “Oh, yes.” He slowly got to his feet. His injured head twitched, and he seemed to have difficulty bringing it under control. In a slow but steady voice, he spoke the ceremonial words of instruction to the Senate as if nothing unusual had occurred. “We do now take the opinions of the Conscript Fathers, concerning that which it befits should be done in the case of Senator Anicius Pedius Gallus, this day arraigned and tried. You have heard his accusers and his defense. I shall call the album of the Senate.”
The consul, Taurus, stood and received a list of tablets from a lictor, listing the senators in order of official rank and precedence. He turned to the emperor and under the rule of right to speak first asked if there was any he would like to say. Claudius declined.
Taurus then addressed the Senate after giving Gallus a disdainful look with his little dark eyes. In a solemn but gritty voice said, “Venerable Fathers, we hold true that Senator Anicius Pedius Gallus is a man of great patrician birth; the more the disgrace, if he has dishonored the name of Clarissimus, Most Illustrious Citizen, of the Senate. It is true that his intended victims were the emperor and men of the Senate, your brethren, and freedmen serving the noble Caesar. But the law is impartial, the Roman Empire was consecrate upon the inflexible rule of ‘piety,’ giving alike to the gods and men that which is lawfully their due. If he has plotted to take the emperor’s life, then the case is clear. The emperor can be compared to the master of a ship. Its crew is lik
e the people, and together they run the ship, which is the State. An emperor killed by the people is the same as mutineers murdering the ship’s captain. Without the guidance of either, both flounder and sink. If Gallus has planned the same for your colleagues, then does not that, like the crimes against the emperor, demand lawful vengeance at our own hands? Were not his fellow conspirators found guilty, and have they not paid the penalty?”
Silence
“Therefore,” Taurus continued, “it is my opinion that the defendant is guilty of all crimes with which he is charged. And since Titus Flavius Sabinus has plead the cause of the state with diligence and fearlessness, let him receive thanks from the Senate. This is my opinion.”
There was strong applause, but also shouts of “hangman” and “butcher” from the, until now, sedate relatives of Gallus. Their tongues seemed as loose as those already condemned.
One by one, the magistrates, ex-consuls, and praetors were summoned and in turn gave their opinions. They unanimously concurred with the consul. It was growing late and the outside gray light faded into darkness, leaving the chamber cast in a dimly smoking-lamp light and state of tension. A cry came from the assembly chambers as hundreds had yet to vote. “Divide! Divide!”
Claudius gestured to the magistrates. “Conscript Fathers, you have heard the opinions of these noble men. There are two propositions before you. Those who favor the verdict of guilty for Senator Anicius Pedius Gallus as proposed by the Consul, let them move to the right! Those who believe that he is innocent, move to the left.”
The more than six hundred rose as one solid toga. After a moment of hesitation, when many waited to see who and how many would move left or right, about thirty moved quickly to the left. This included a few Sabinus counted upon for a guilty verdict. Sabinus turned in my direction, and I saw the disappointment in his eyes. But the tide turned. First, it was a trickle and then like a flood they flocked to the right, overwhelmingly unanimous, guilty as charged.
The Broken Lance Page 29
