by Randy Singer
We left ten minutes later, the two of us walking side by side through the streets of Rome, past the busy shops where people conducted their daily affairs. A few recognized me and, under their breath, wished me luck. Others stared from the opposite side of the street.
I had arranged to meet Apronius at the lower end of the Forum so that we could review some last-minute details. He appeared to be in good spirits.
I introduced him to Marcus, and the three of us huddled in the cold while a few light flakes of snow started to fall. Apronius’s servants stood at a respectful distance. Some onlookers stopped and stared.
When we finished our meeting, we headed down the long plaza of the Forum toward the Senate.
As we approached, I saw a huge crowd of people braving the cold. They had apparently come to show their support for a senator who had the courage to take on Tiberius. They clapped as we drew near, and Apronius took time to stop and shake hands, greeting some of them by name, embracing others.
The plaza outside the Senate door was packed with men, women, and children, bundled up as if they intended to stay all day. These were freedmen—some who had been helped by Apronius financially, others who knew his family, still others who might have worked for the man. They were our people, and I knew that today, like every day when important Senate business was transacted, the massive chamber doors would remain open so that the citizens on the street could hear the proceedings.
Inside I might be persona non grata. But out here, I was quickly becoming a hero.
I dove into the crowd along with Apronius, shaking hands, thanking people for coming. A few held my grasp longer than necessary, garnering my full attention. “He’s a good man,” they said. “We’re counting on you.”
By the time we were ready to enter the Senate, I was glad that I had ignored Seneca’s initial advice. My remarks were not tailored merely to showcase my advocacy skills. My argument was designed to win.
As an equestrian, Marcus would have to wait outside along with the rest of the crowd. At the threshold, he gave me a parting pat on the shoulder. “The gods be with you.”
“Perhaps the people already are,” I said.
He nodded. “It’s quite a display.”
I looked past him at the faces of the crowd. Some of the countenances were dirty and sooted, sheltered by tattered hoods. Others were men and women of distinction, just like Marcus. They were all Romans, here to take a stand for justice.
“That’s the Rome I dreamed about as a boy,” I said to Marcus, nodding at the crowd. “That’s why I became an advocate.”
But Marcus was facing the opposite direction. Behind me were the scowling senators, milling around the Senate chamber, preparing to decide the fate of my client.
“And that,” Marcus said, motioning to the men who composed the Roman Senate, the most prestigious legislative body in the history of the world, “is why I became a doctor.”
CHAPTER 35
The Senate chamber was cold, magisterial, and expansive. The ceiling was nearly sixty feet high, supported by huge Corinthian pillars. The floor was composed of marble of various colors, imported from around the world, strategically placed to form crisp geometric patterns. The place was heated by subterranean fires; unseen servants fed the flames, circulating warm air through vents. Still, a chilling breeze came in through the doors that opened out to the Forum.
Opposite the doors was an elevated platform with seats for the consuls who would oversee the day’s activities. A few members of the Praetorian Guard stood in front of the platform, keeping an eye on the senators.
Nearly six hundred senators sat in elegant wooden seats with rounded backs that fanned out in a semicircle. The first few rows were reserved for the advocates, their clients, and the senior senators. On a crowded day, the youngest senators would have to stand behind the last rows of raised seats in the back. Today, not surprisingly, there was standing room only.
There was a considerable amount of open floor space between the senators and the consuls. Like a recessed stage, this was where Crispinus and I would examine witnesses and make our arguments. We could pace and gesture; we could pivot this way and that. It would make for great entertainment. Not quite the arena, but still a lively piece of drama.
A few of the senators nodded at Apronius as he and I took our seats in the front row. Then the presiding consul, a senator named Porcius Cato, called the proceedings to order.
Cato was a mountain of a man, weighing close to three hundred pounds, and his frame seemed to consist of one mound of flesh piled on another. He had an oval face, fleshy jowls, full lips, and protruding eyeballs with large, dark circles under them. It was said in Rome that it was better to be a condemned man in the arena than a slave carrying Cato’s litter.
The trial of Apronius was not the only matter on the Senate’s docket that day. First, Cato presided over an hour of tedious administrative business.
I looked around and tried to study the body language of the senators. My strategy depended on the courage of a few key members, and I zeroed in on them. Unfortunately, I saw none of the grim-faced determination I hoped to see from men who might be prepared to take a stand against the mob mentality of this place. Marcus Lepidus, for example, whispered amiably to the senator sitting next to him, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
When our time came, Cato read the charges against Apronius and called on Caepio Crispinus to make his case.
Crispinus rose and nodded at the senators. He walked to the middle of the floor and began telling the story of my client’s alleged treason. He cut quite an imposing figure, his skin smooth, his gray hair neatly styled, his toga folded just right. He spoke with the eloquence of Cicero, intertwining humor and anger and self-righteousness into a flawless fabric that cloaked my client with the garments of guilt.
Apronius had earned a reputation as one of Rome’s outstanding senators, Crispinus admitted, but his hatred for Tiberius had overwhelmed his good sense. The man now presented a grave danger to the state of Rome and to the emperor himself.
Like a trained actor, Crispinus could change his tone in a second from accusatory to sad. The friends of Apronius had become concerned, he said ruefully. Reluctantly, they had put together a plan that would ascertain their friend’s true intentions. Papius Mutilus had invited Apronius to dinner. Yes, Mutilus had spoken disparagingly about the emperor, but as every senator knew, the emperor had no stronger advocate than Mutilus. The good senator had spoken badly of Caesar only to see if Lucius Apronius would do the same.
And Apronius did just that. He claimed to Mutilus that the emperor had usurped the power of the Senate, an assertion that was patently false.
I glanced at the senators as Crispinus spoke. All of them knew my client was right about Caesar, yet ironically, the intimidation by Tiberius was so great—and his usurpation of power so complete—that the senators looked shocked that one of their colleagues would dare speak such a thing. And I wasn’t the only one watching. Naevius Sutorius Macro, the commander of the Praetorian Guard, stood just below the consuls’ dais, arms crossed, studying every senator for even the slightest indication that they might be sympathetic to our cause.
For nearly an hour, Crispinus railed against the treasonous comments of my client. When speaking with the praetor Junius Otho, Apronius had actually mocked the emperor. He had mentioned the case of Plautius, the man condemned to die for carrying coins with the image of Tiberius into a bathroom. At this, Crispinus paused, his eyes scanning the entire chamber. “And then this man,” he said, pointing at Apronius, “said that he detested the emperor so much, he would have the image of Caesar stamped on the end of his bathroom sponges.”
If the accusation weren’t so ludicrous, and if my client hadn’t admitted to saying it word for word, I would have found the whole thing humorous. But none of the senators were laughing. The words of Apronius had been repeated on the streets of Rome over and over. If the Senate left such a statement unpunished, citizens would feel
free to vilify Tiberius the same way satirists had pillaged so many of his predecessors, making a mockery of Rome’s most venerated leaders. The senators didn’t want to return to those days. Or if they did, they were smart enough not to show it.
Crispinus followed his opening argument by calling both Papius Mutilus and Junius Otho as witnesses. They both spoke in solemn tones, feigning disappointment and indignation at the things Apronius had said. Crispinus had them pile it on thick, praising Tiberius for his excellent administration of the empire and his benevolence in allowing the Senate to continue in its current role. Weren’t these very maiestas proceedings an example of Tiberius trusting the Senate to decide matters of critical importance to the future of Rome?
When it came my turn to cross-examine the illustrious senators, I asked only a few questions.
“Did you actually intend to enter into a conspiracy to overthrow the emperor?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you see Apronius take any deliberate steps to overthrow the emperor, or were these mere words?”
“So far, they were merely words. But he seemed ready to act if others would join him.”
As the senators testified, I noticed the crowd outside the doors pushing a little closer when I asked my questions. I sensed their disappointment that I hadn’t done more to make both Mutilus and Otho appear to be liars.
Be patient, I thought. Everything is going according to plan.
CHAPTER 36
When Apronius got his chance to testify, he rose from his seat and approached the dais looking grim and determined. The pressure of the maiestas proceedings had driven other senators to suicide. Some had been reduced to groveling and muttering abject apologies, full of tears and drama. But Apronius stood tall and raised his right hand to take the oath.
Cato swore him in, and Apronius promised, “in the name of Tiberius himself,” to tell the truth. If he testified falsely, he called a curse upon himself, including “the destruction and total extinction of my body, soul, life, children, and descendants.”
Apronius stood below the dais, and Crispinus began pacing between him and the senators, firing questions.
“Did you tell Papius Mutilus that Tiberius Caesar was not worthy of the title of Caesar?”
“Yes, I said words to that effect.”
“Did you criticize Tiberius Caesar, son of the divine Augustus, for his failure to continue the building programs of Augustus?”
Apronius didn’t blink. “Essentially, yes.”
“Do you affirm those accusations today?” Crispinus asked, his tone showing his incredulity. Crispinus undoubtedly thought my client would at least deny his prior statements. If nothing else, our strategy surprised him.
“I am affirming that I said those words to Papius Mutilus,” Apronius said calmly. “Today, I acknowledge that my words were rash and ill-advised. Tiberius Caesar is a fair and honorable principate and one who would welcome honest disagreements with his policies.”
At this, Crispinus moved toward the witness, the lines on his face turning into a harsh scowl. “Did you not claim that he had abandoned the empire? Did you not claim that the man suffered from delusions and paranoia?”
He had claimed all of that and more. While preparing for today’s trial, Apronius had been absolutely unmovable on one point—he would tell the truth, no matter the consequences. But that was easier to say when the room was not full of judgmental senators staring into your soul, wondering how anyone so measured could be so reckless in talking about the emperor.
Apronius swallowed hard.
“Your fellow senators are waiting,” Crispinus mocked. “It seems that your fabled memory has had a lapse. Did you or did you not call the divine Tiberius both delusional and paranoid?”
“I did.”
It went on this way for quite some time. Statement after statement made by my client came to light, and I had no power to stop it. Sometimes Apronius would begin to answer and Crispinus would cut him off with another question. Meanwhile, Macro surveyed the senators, occasionally glancing in my direction. The targets, I knew, were being selected for the next prosecution.
Crispinus ended his examination, as both Apronius and I knew he would, on the matter of the lavatory sponges.
“Senator Apronius, tell your fellow senators whether you claimed that you had engraved an image of Tiberius Caesar on the end of your lavatory sponge.”
For the first time, Apronius looked down, his voice a low rattle. “I should not have said that. But I did.”
“I’m sorry,” Crispinus said loudly, “but I am not sure that all the senators heard. Did you indeed say such a thing?”
“I said that I regretted saying those words. But I admitted that the words were mine.”
Crispinus shook his head in a grand show of disgust. He made a spectacle of returning to his seat while a soft murmur of feigned disbelief floated through the chamber. The senators all knew Apronius had made those statements. Why were they playing such a ridiculous game and acting so surprised?
Cato squirmed in his seat in a vain attempt to get his enormous body comfortable, then called on me. “Any questions for the witness?”
I had several but was suddenly having second thoughts about the first few I had planned. In preparing for trial, I had explained to Apronius the philosophy of Cicero: use humor to lower their guards, logic to engage their minds, and emotion to win their hearts. Thus, we had designed our first questions to elicit a chuckle and simultaneously demonstrate how ridiculous these charges were.
I carried a small box as I strode to the middle of the floor in front of Apronius. In it were his lavatory sponges. My plan was to show them to Apronius, ask if they contained any images of Caesar, and mark them as an exhibit. It would demonstrate what everyone knew—the statements by Apronius were only satire. It would also show a level of feistiness that I hoped would inspire some senators to stiffen their spines.
But I had badly miscalculated what the mood might be. There was no hint of humor in the air. Fear, yes. Disgust, perhaps. And a healthy degree of surprise that Apronius had not at least attempted to deny his statements. I was afraid that if I tried to introduce these exhibits now, it would be seen as mere mockery.
Apronius, to his credit, must have sensed the same thing. He glanced at the box and gave me a quick shake of the head.
“I have only a few questions for Senator Apronius,” I said. “My first one is this: Have you ever done anything to harm the state of Rome or the emperor? For example, have you taken any actions to conspire against the authority of Tiberius Caesar?”
“No, I have not.”
“When you said that the Roman Senate should do something about the state of affairs of Rome, were you advocating anything illegal?”
“No. I was only saying that, as senators, we should exercise the jurisdiction that is properly ours, jurisdiction given to us by the laws of Rome and affirmed by Caesar.”
“Do you regret your criticism of Tiberius?”
We had planned this question and gone over it a dozen times. That’s why it surprised me when Apronius waited so long before he answered. He was supposed to issue a full and heartfelt apology. But now that the moment had come, I wondered whether he could bring himself to do it.
“I regret the hyperbole and sarcasm with which I expressed my sentiments. But I believe I have a duty, both to the state of Rome and to Caesar himself, to express concerns about the well-being of our empire.”
His answer, though not in the script, was expressed with such conviction and certitude that it made me proud to have him as a client. Behind me, a cheer went up from the gallery outside the Senate doors. Cato frowned and turned to the guards. “Keep them quiet or I’ll order the doors closed.”
Apronius stared straight ahead, jaw firm, unflinching.
I had seen this kind of courage in the face of the Nazarene. I had seen it in the best of the gladiators. I had read about it in the annals of Roman history. But today I was witnessing somet
hing truly historic—a Roman politician unafraid to die.
“I have no further questions for the defendant,” I told Cato.
CHAPTER 37
When it came time to make our arguments, Crispinus strutted to the well of the chamber and held nothing back. He jabbed his finger at Apronius as he derided the traitor, and the spittle forming at the edge of his mouth made him resemble a rabid dog. He turned, paced, and gestured, his toga flapping this way and that. It was a classic example of the Asiatic school of rhetoric, the orators we had derogatorily called “the dancing masters” during my days at Molon. Unfortunately, it seemed to be having its intended effect.
Many of the senators, mindful of Macro’s watching eyes, made a show of registering their agreement. They murmured their approval and nodded along and occasionally even interrupted Crispinus with applause. He thrived on the feedback, his voice becoming more bombastic, his flourishes more exaggerated. I could hear the crowd outside the Senate doors growing restless, and a few shouts of disgust penetrated the chamber. Seneca’s instincts had proven right. The common citizens of Rome were fed up with the treason trials, especially when they endangered a man as reputable as Apronius.
Crispinus finished strong, claiming that Caesar’s very honor was at stake. A vote for not guilty would be a vote to open the floodgates to all sorts of vile and scandalous things that could be said against Tiberius.
“Do we not owe the emperor greater respect than that? Should we allow men to sneak around behind his back and make vile accusations against him? This is an emperor who fought in Armenia and recaptured the Roman standards from the Parthians. This is an emperor who initially refused the titles of Imperator and Augustus, a man so humble he declined to wear the civic crown and laurels. This is a man who has filled Rome’s treasury to the greatest level in her august history and has ensured that all her provinces are ruled fairly and well.
“Are we to allow traitors who skulk around in the shadows to besmirch his name? For the sake of Rome, for the sake of Caesar, for the sake of this institution, we must be willing to punish one of our own members who engages in such treasonous conduct.”
