The Advocate

by Randy Singer

  But that night at the baths, Seneca was not encouraged. “We are not dealing with a rational man,” he said. “He will now be more determined than ever.”

  On Wednesday, two days before the trial, I was so nervous I couldn’t eat. I sat in my study for hours trying to think of a plausible defense. I went on long walks. I tried to practice my arguments, but I had a hard time focusing. I kept thinking about Caligula’s exquisite cruelty, the many creative ways he had humiliated and tortured his enemies. The day he hung me on the cross flashed before me. I had this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that if I did my job well, I would become just as much a focus of Caligula’s wrath as Mansuetus and Flavia already were.

  If it had been any other client, that fear would have paralyzed me. But this was Flavia. Thoughts for my own safety were eventually overcome by the prospect of saving her. It didn’t make sense; I hardly knew her. Yet she was all I could think about in the days leading up to the greatest challenge of my life. Raging love casts out fear, even if that love might never be reciprocated.

  My first break came as I was walking home from the baths late Wednesday night after another long meeting with Seneca. I heard the footsteps behind me turn from a walk to a run. I pivoted quickly, my paranoia triggering all kinds of thoughts.

  My pursuer was a thin young girl dressed in a long black robe. A hood shadowed most of her face.

  “May I walk with you?” she asked, her voice high and frightened.

  She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. The streets of Rome were dangerous for someone like her this late at night.

  “Do I know you?” I asked.

  She fell into stride and we both kept walking. “No. My name is Rubria. I am one of the newest Vestals.”

  I stopped in my tracks and looked at her.

  “Let’s keep walking,” she suggested. “It will look more natural.”

  I did as she said, amazed at how mature this young girl seemed, and we turned down a side street. I glanced around to see if anybody followed.

  “I need to talk to you about Flavia’s case,” Rubria said. “She did not do what they have accused her of. I am willing to testify for her.”

  In the next ten minutes, she told me her story. We walked slowly, crossing the street once at my urging to make sure the two men half a block behind us weren’t following us.

  Rubria said that she had been in attendance at the games honoring Drusilla. She had watched Mansuetus snap the neck of his opponent. She had seen the crucifixions at lunch. She had seen men—and this time, two women—torn apart by wild animals. She hated being a Vestal Virgin, she told me. And that night, like many other nights, she had slipped down the hall and crawled into bed with the woman who was like a mother to her.

  I held my breath as I waited for her to say the name. This was powerful. A young and innocent Vestal who could be our star witness.

  “Flavia helped me go to sleep,” young Rubria said. “She rubbed my back and sang a song to me and we slept together in her bed that night.”

  “All night?” I asked. “How do you know she was there all night?”

  “I sleep lightly. If she left, I would have known. She was there when I woke up in the morning.”

  I was immediately in lawyer mode. Crispinus might be able to poke a few holes in Rubria’s story, but only if he knew she was going to testify. If not, perhaps I could nail down Lucian with a precise time for when he watched Mansuetus and Flavia by the Tiber. He wouldn’t know that Rubria would be testifying in my case.

  “This next question is very important to our case,” I said. “So I want you to think about it carefully. At what precise time did you first go to Flavia’s room?”

  Rubria didn’t hesitate. It was as if she knew the question was coming. “I was with her all night. She stayed with me after dinner in my room until the end of the first watch, about the third hour of darkness, because she knew it had been a hard day for me. She kissed me on the forehead and told me to try to sleep. I was awake for another thirty minutes before I went down to her room. I spent the rest of the night there.”

  Perfect! My blood was pumping harder, and I picked up the pace. At last, something to work with. But this poor little girl had no idea what was coming. She was about to make some very powerful enemies. In my heart, I knew I should tell her that. Yet I couldn’t take the chance of running her off.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to testify about this at Flavia’s trial?”

  “Of course.”

  “Caepio Crispinus will ask you a lot of questions. He’ll try to make you look like a liar.”

  “I do not care.”

  I was proud of her. She had more courage than most of the politicians in Rome, men who were old enough to be her grandfather.

  “If Flavia were here, she would tell you how much this means to her,” I said. “You might just save her life.”

  The young Vestal did not respond for a long time. When she did, her voice was frail and barely audible.

  “I could not survive without her,” Rubria said. “Please, sir, don’t let anything happen to her.”

  CHAPTER 50

  The day before trial, I was finally allowed to see my clients. I first visited Mansuetus, who was locked away in a dungeon on the outskirts of Rome. The small, dank cell smelled of excrement.

  “Watch where you step,” Mansuetus said as the guards clanged the iron gate shut behind me. The gladiator’s wrists and ankles were shackled. The guards had used a short chain on his ankles, forcing him to walk with small steps.

  I had never been this close to the man. He was an impressive specimen. He was at least three inches taller than I, and his powerful muscles rippled. But he also looked like he was at death’s door.

  He hadn’t shaved in six days. His blond hair was long and gnarled. His eyes were bloodshot, and his skin was covered with grime, sores, and black soot. His right foot, the one that had been speared by the trident four months ago, was red and swollen, with pus seeping from the wound on top. When he spoke, his voice had the gruff sound of a man fighting off a serious illness. If we won, I knew I would have to get my friend Marcus to treat him immediately.

  “Are they feeding you?”

  He snorted. “I wouldn’t call it food. But I eat it.”

  “We need to talk about your case,” I said. I removed my wax tablets and stylus to take notes. I found a place to sit against one of the walls. I noticed a few rats on the other side of the room, and my eyes watered from the smell.

  I’m not sure what I expected heading into that dungeon, but it wasn’t this. The place was so foul it seemed to have broken even the resilient spirit of Mansuetus. There was no defiant smile in the face of death, no resolute assurance that he knew we would win the case. Even when I told him I had a witness who would testify that Flavia had never left the House of Vestal on the night in question, he hardly reacted.

  I watched him shiver, occasionally wrapping his arms across his chest in a futile effort to keep warm. His eyes blinked slowly as if it were a struggle to keep them open.

  This man was sick. It made me wonder if they were poisoning his food.

  He denied ever having sex with Flavia. As his advocate, I encouraged him to tell me the truth. I was sworn to secrecy. I just needed to know the facts so I could deal with them.

  “That is the truth,” he insisted.

  Flavia had certainly implied otherwise. I jotted a note, hoping the silence would pry loose a more forthcoming response, but it didn’t seem to affect him.

  “Have you seen Flavia?” Mansuetus asked.

  “Not yet. But I will later this afternoon.”

  He squinted—with some effort, as if trying to focus.

  “Do you have a message for her?” I asked.

  I watched him think about this for a moment. I had seen the two of them exchange looks at the games. And even now, just from watching the man’s bloodshot eyes, I could tell how desperately he wanted her to know that he loved her. Yet he had l
earned all too well that you couldn’t trust anyone.

  “Tell her that I am doing fine,” he said, measuring each word. “Tell her I hope that she’s doing well.”

  We talked for a few more minutes, and Mansuetus asked questions about the trial. Would he be shackled? Where would he be standing? Where would Caligula be? He didn’t come right out and say it, but I knew he was dreaming about getting his hands around the emperor’s spindly little neck. Even though he was sick, I knew Mansuetus could kill Caligula in a second.

  I also knew that the noble gladiator would never get that chance.

  Flavia’s first question was about Mansuetus. “Have you seen him?”

  “Yes. A few hours ago.”

  “How is he?”

  I wanted to lie and reassure Flavia. But she would see the man tomorrow, and I didn’t want her to be shocked just before the trial.

  “He appears sick. He’ll make it through the trial, but it’s been a long six days.”

  “Are they torturing him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The Tullianum, where Flavia was being held, was located on one end of the Forum, at the top of the Gemonian Stairs. Prisoners were dropped in through a hole in the ceiling, and I had been lowered the same way so that I could have this private meeting with my client.

  I only had a few seconds of light to appraise Flavia before they placed the large carved stone over the opening and the place became entombed in darkness again. Her cut hair stuck out in short, jagged strands. Her eyes were red and puffy as if she had been crying. Her face looked even more drawn than it had six days earlier. Her cheekbones were protruding, and her eye sockets were hollow. Her skin was blackened with grime, and there were welts on her collarbone and arm. It was a picture I seared into my mind in the brief moments we were given.

  After the darkness descended, she reached out and took my hand, and we both sat down on the cold stone.

  “Are you eating anything?” I asked.

  “No. I thought they might try to poison me.”

  “What are you drinking?”

  “The water. I have no choice.”

  My eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, but no light came through at all. That was the point of the place. No hope. No way out. Only complete and utter blackness while prisoners contemplated their inevitable deaths.

  And it was cold. I hadn’t needed a cloak that day, but I could have used one in this damp dungeon.

  I stood and unwrapped my toga. “You must be cold,” I said.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  I reached over and touched her shoulder. “Stand up for a minute.”

  When Flavia stood, I wrapped my toga around her. I could feel the bones of her shoulder blades, the coolness of her skin. The soldiers would laugh at me when they pulled me out in just a tunic, but it would be worth it.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

  “I know.”

  I heard a noise on the far side of the dungeon. “Rats,” she said.

  I couldn’t imagine how Flavia kept her sanity down here. We both sat back down on the wet stone.

  “At least they’re well fed,” she said. “And the fact that they’re alive means there’s not too much poison in my food.”

  When I started talking about the upcoming trial, Flavia placed a hand on my arm. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said, interrupting me. It sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t know if you would.”

  I wanted to tell her that nothing could have kept me away. I wanted to let her know the way I really felt about her. But I couldn’t. She and Mansuetus were both my clients. I owed it to both of them to keep my feelings out of it.

  I gave Flavia a preview of what might happen the next day. I told her I had some good news. Rubria was prepared to testify that Flavia had not left the House of Vestal on the night in question. I tried to sound upbeat. Rubria would be the unbiased witness we needed.

  Flavia didn’t respond.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “You cannot allow her to testify,” Flavia said. “I wasn’t at the House of Vestal that night. You can’t let Rubria lie under oath. If she does, she’ll die too.”

  Before I could respond, Flavia let out a shriek and grabbed my arm.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “One of the rats.”

  “Let’s stand up,” I suggested.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “You get used to them. I’d just forgotten about them for a second.”

  I stood anyway. “What do you mean you weren’t there that night?”

  She let out a deep breath. “I was with Caligula,” she said. Her voice seemed devoid of emotion. “He told me that if I spent the night with him, he would leave me and Mansuetus alone.”

  The confession staggered me. I couldn’t picture Flavia giving in to the emperor’s blackmail. “You believed him?”

  Her answer was preceded by a long pause. “I was a fool, Theophilus. But I knew how easily he could destroy us. He had already had Lucian follow us. I knew he would try us, find us guilty, and make me watch Mansuetus die. Then they would bury me alive. I guess I thought . . .” Her voice broke off.

  I sat next to her again.

  “I thought Caligula might keep his word,” she said.

  “But he didn’t?” I already knew the answer.

  “No. Once was not enough.” Her voice was stronger now, rage edging out the shame. “No matter how many times I went, it would never have been enough. I refused to go back. A few days ago, he gave me a new ultimatum. If I didn’t return to the palace within two nights, he would have me and Mansuetus charged. That’s when I called for you.”

  “So Rubria is willing to lie for you?”

  “Some of the other Vestals know that I was gone that night. Adrianna knows, and she would testify against me. You can’t let Rubria get caught up in this.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. My best defense had just been stripped away.

  “Let me testify, Theophilus. I’ll tell the entire world about my night with the emperor after the games. At least Mansuetus will go free.”

  “And Caligula will claim you’re lying. He’ll make you carry water in a sieve or some other impossible feat to prove your testimony.”

  “If I tell the truth about that one night, perhaps the gods will smile at me and the water will stay in the sieve. It has happened before, you know.”

  I didn’t believe the myth, and I was pretty sure Flavia didn’t either. But right now she needed a ray of hope, however improbable.

  “I know,” I said.

  When my time was up, Flavia tried to give my toga back. I didn’t take it. I could survive a few stares and snide comments. But I didn’t know whether she could survive another night in this cold, hard place.

  The guards removed the stone cover, and I could see Flavia’s face again. We both stood as the guards dropped down the rope.

  “I can’t promise a good outcome tomorrow,” I said. “But I can promise a good fight.”

  She stepped forward, placed her hands on my arms, and gave me a kiss on both cheeks.

  I put the rope around my waist, and the guards hauled me out of the dungeon.

  CHAPTER 51

  I was still at my desk working when the sun came up. I had spent the entire night with the oil lamps burning, scratching my argument onto papyrus and then throwing the scrolls away. As I always did when I lacked inspiration, I had turned to Cicero. I read some of his most famous speeches and arguments but came up empty. By morning, I had concluded that it was a lost cause.

  Lucian would testify that he had caught the lovers in the very act. Adrianna would testify that Flavia had been missing from the House of Vestal all night the evening of June 9. And Crispinus had probably bribed gladiators who shared barracks with Mansuetus to testify that he had been missing that night too.

  In truth, he probably had been. He was probably waiting all night by the Tiber for a woman who was in the bedchambers of the em
peror.

  I stared out the window. Flavia was prepared to die nobly, testifying that she had broken her vows with the emperor, not Mansuetus. Thinking of her willingness to sacrifice her life for another, I remembered the Nazarene. Even while being crucified, he had reached out to others.

  Which triggered another thought. The woman I met at the foot of the cross. The description of the rabbi defending the woman caught in the very act of adultery. She had no chance at acquittal, but Jesus had turned the tables. He had put her accusers on trial. He had found a way to signal that a trial would be more embarrassing for them than it was for her. They had dropped their stones and walked away.

  My mind started racing. Could the same strategy work here? Caligula wouldn’t be embarrassed by an accusation that he had slept with a Vestal Virgin. In a perverse way, he was probably proud of it. Besides, he was the judge, and he could simply reject Flavia’s testimony out of hand.

  But there was one thing he would be embarrassed about. One thing he was determined to keep hidden. Something diametrically at odds with his claim to be a god. If I threatened to air it in the most public way . . .

  I wrote quickly now, with time running short. The trial would begin at noon, and suddenly there was a lot to get done. I wouldn’t stoop down and write in the sand, but if the gods were willing, my defense would be just as effective.

  For starters, I decided to pack the judgment hall with supporters of Mansuetus. I sent a servant to his gladiator school with a letter for his lanista, imploring the man to help rally supporters for the trial. I stopped at the Basilica Julia, where the praetors were holding court. I passed the word among my lawyer friends.