The Advocate

by Randy Singer

  For the next three hours, Theophilus listened wearily as Tigellinus called his witnesses. They testified exactly as Tigellinus had predicted they would. Former slaves of Christian households testified that Theophilus had counseled them to rise up against their masters. Believers who had been imprisoned with Theophilus claimed that they had heard him and Andronicus discussing the rumors the two men had started and spread—rumors against Nero for allegedly causing the fire.

  Other witnesses, men and women whom Theophilus had never seen before, claimed they had been in the room with Theophilus when he helped plan the great fire. With a touch of flair, one witness said that Theophilus planned on mounting the Rostra after the fires to give a speech against Nero and advocate a return to the Republic. “He gave the same type of speech after the assassination of Caligula,” the witness said.

  One brave man refused to indict Theophilus. The man had apparently confessed when the guards tortured him, yet when Tigellinus called him forward, he had a change of heart.

  “That man is innocent,” he said, pointing to Theophilus. “And putting me back on the rack will not make me support your lies.”

  It was the sole bright spot in three hours of testimony. The crowd grew restless, murmuring their disapproval every time Theophilus declined to cross-examine a witness. They had apparently expected a spirited defense. Instead, Theophilus stood there stoically, never asking a single question.

  Lateranus periodically looked at him, his eyes filled with curiosity. Theophilus suspected that his judge was wondering the same things Theophilus himself had wondered so many years ago about the Nazarene.

  Why don’t you defend yourself? Don’t you hear all these things being said against you?

  But Theophilus continued to bide his time.

  Finally, at the end of Tigellinus’s case, an exasperated Lateranus turned to Theophilus. “Does the defendant have any evidence?” Lateranus asked.

  “I do.”

  “You may proceed,” Lateranus said, relief evident in his voice.

  The spectators seemed to shuffle a little closer, leaning forward to hear what Theophilus had to say.

  “I am innocent,” he began. “You have the wrong man on trial today.”

  CHAPTER 97

  “There are rumors, Your Excellency, about who started the fire. Today I will say in the open what others whisper in the shadows. I will argue in court what others are silently thinking. I will ask the question on everyone’s mind.”

  Theophilus licked his lips. His mouth was dry and he felt a little unsteady. But his strength was surging, as if he were somehow drawing energy and intensity from the crowd.

  “Was the fire started by the Christians or was it ordered by Nero?”

  The blunt question caused a stir in the crowd, and Theophilus glanced over to see the face of Tigellinus darken.

  “That’s outrageous!” the prosecutor said to Lateranus. “You cannot allow the emperor’s name to be defiled in open court.”

  “And you will not tell me how to run this court,” Lateranus snapped back, lowering his chin in a look of stubborn defiance. He was one of the few praetores with enough courage to allow this type of defense to proceed. It didn’t hurt that the crowd was edging in even more, anxious to hear Theophilus argue the one question everyone cared about most.

  Tigellinus snorted but did not respond. He apparently didn’t want to anger the praetor too much and risk a not-guilty verdict.

  “A few months ago, I represented a man named Paul of Tarsus in his appeal to Caesar,” Theophilus said. He cleared his throat. “He was accused of starting this new religion you’ve heard so much about and of stirring up trouble against Rome. Tigellinus prosecuted that case and did an outstanding job even without using tortured witnesses.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Theophilus noticed Tigellinus shaking his head.

  “At Paul’s trial, the defendant testified that he had been converted to this new religion when a bright light appeared to him on the road to Damascus, striking him blind. When Paul recovered his physical sight, he was given miraculous spiritual insight. Paul testified that from that day forward he became a follower of the man named Jesus, who was crucified and rose from the dead. Paul even told Nero that one day every tongue would confess that Jesus is Lord.”

  Lateranus listened with an expression that was hard to read. Perhaps he was curious about the relevance of such testimony at this trial. Perhaps he was thinking that the disheveled advocate before him was as insane as he looked. Perhaps he was just going through the motions, determined to hear Theophilus out so he could declare him guilty.

  “Imagine my surprise when Nero released Paul,” Theophilus continued. “Even though it seemed like an incredible gift to my client at the time, I was troubled by the outcome. Nero said that Paul was guilty but nevertheless wanted to show Paul grace. Yet I could tell that the emperor was seething at this new philosophy spreading throughout his city.”

  “That’s outrageous!” Tigellinus roared. “How can this man speak for the emperor?”

  Lateranus frowned. “The defendant is entitled to make his arguments. I will be the judge of whether they are persuasive.”

  The dismissive tone of the praetor’s comments signaled to Theophilus that he was facing an uphill climb. Lateranus would allow Theophilus to make his case, but persuading him would be a different matter.

  “Paul’s release was not the last time Caesar surprised me,” Theophilus continued, undaunted. “Months later, as he was preparing to leave for Alexandria, Caesar was himself struck blind in the temple of Vesta. Like Paul, Caesar had his own spiritual revelation. The people of Rome needed the gift of his presence so that they might be ‘cheered in their misfortunes by the sight of the emperor.’

  “Perhaps this was a genuine spiritual experience that just happened to mimic the story of the apostle Paul. Or perhaps our emperor was already setting the stage for an event that he would instigate to make his reign complete. A great fire that would destroy Rome so he could rebuild it in his own image . . . and a group of people he could blame for the fire—people who claimed that a greater ruler than Nero had already walked the face of the earth.”

  Those accusations brought some shouts from the crowd and another strong protest from Tigellinus. It took Lateranus a few minutes to calm things down.

  “It may be that the defendant is mad,” Lateranus said gruffly, once order had been restored. “But even madmen are entitled to state their defense. You may continue, Theophilus, but I hope you have more evidence than these empty accusations I have heard so far.”

  It was, Theophilus knew, the best he could hope for. He might never persuade Lateranus, but the public would be the ultimate judge of whether Nero or the Christians were to blame.

  “A few weeks passed, and then the same emperor who issued a decree proclaiming that we needed his virtuous presence in Rome departed for the nearby city of Antium. All of Rome witnessed his spectacular departure. Who could count the number of aristocrats, freedmen, secretaries, servants, barbers, cooks, waiters, and wine tasters? Who could forget the hordes of harpists, flautists, cymbal players, citharedes, trumpeters, dancing girls, actors, and groomers? The procession lasted for hours.”

  Theophilus looked around at the crowd. “How many of you were witnesses to the fact that Nero was leaving—far enough away that he couldn’t be accused of starting the fires but close enough to ride swiftly to the rescue?”

  Theophilus stopped for a breath and to regain his strength. He could tell by the faces that he was gaining sympathizers. He was articulating what many Romans had been thinking all along.

  “Is it a coincidence that the fire started on July 19, the exact anniversary of the fiery destruction of Rome by the Gauls more than four hundred years ago? Is it a coincidence that the destruction would give Nero a chance to rebuild the city just as it was rebuilt once before, but this time in his own image, with his own great palace dominating three hundred acres of land that formerly hosted war
ehouses and apartment buildings?”

  In his excitement, Theophilus had raised his scratchy voice and motioned with his manacled wrists. It dawned on him that he was beginning to resemble a student of the Asiatic school of rhetoric, which he so deplored. He took a deep breath and lowered his tone.

  The crowd was hushed, anxious to hear every word.

  “On the night of the fire, there were numerous reports of men running around the city, preventing other citizens from putting out the blaze. They said they were operating on orders. And what was our great emperor doing on the night the fire started?”

  Theophilus paused because everybody already knew the answer. “He was displaying his gift of music to the inhabitants of Antium. What a giver of gifts this emperor is! He gave Paul the gift of freedom. He gave Rome the gift of watching his beautiful entourage head to Antium. He gave the people of Antium the gift of watching him play the lyre.

  “And his gifts don’t stop there. He gave Romans who became refugees the gift of staying at the Campus Martius, public property that Nero opened up to the people. Not only that, but he brought in free grain from the port of Ostia and promised to subsidize the building process for all Romans. Will his gifts never cease? How could anyone not love such a generous emperor?”

  Theophilus knew that his sarcasm was not lost on the crowd. They were engaged now, maybe even enthralled by the brazenness of someone who dared to criticize Nero so openly.

  “Yet where was this giver of gifts when Rome started burning? He was on the stage of a theater in Antium, singing about the sack of Ilium.

  “Think about it, Your Excellency. Our emperor, on the night the fire started, was intentionally singing about the destruction of another city long ago that occurred because the Trojans wheeled a large wooden horse inside their own city walls. The bowels of that horse hosted an enemy that would bring about the destruction of Troy.

  “The city was destroyed because the Trojans didn’t listen to their own prophets—men who told them to beware of Greeks, even those bearing gifts.”

  Theophilus paused, knowing he had made the accusation plain enough—Caesar was Rome’s own Trojan horse. Now he would drive the point home.

  “Perhaps Caesar is prophetic after all,” Theophilus said, his voice dripping with mockery. “What a prophetic song he chose to sing. Perhaps we should fear our own emperors just as the Trojans should have been wary of the Greeks. Perhaps we should especially fear emperors bearing gifts.”

  Theophilus glanced at the intent crowd. Some were whispering to their friends and family members. Others were nodding. Still others were riveted, hanging on every word. They had never heard it stated quite this way—the damning evidence so carefully arranged in the open for all to see.

  “And so, Your Excellency, you must choose between the witnesses, who have testified about a conspiracy of Christians who started the fire, or the evidence, which points to a more insidious cause. But so too must all of Rome choose. And I acknowledge that valid differences of opinion may honestly exist.

  “Yet I submit that there is one final question that must be asked. The answer to this question will determine which side is right.

  “And the question is this: Whose blood runs so cold that they would sacrifice innocent children? Because whoever ordered the fires had to know that the most vulnerable persons would be the ones most likely to die. As we know, thousands of infants did indeed die, sacrificed to the flames.

  “Could Nero have done such a thing? He alone knows. We can only be sure of this—that even as I speak, the children of Christians are being held captive by the emperor’s forces.

  “Did children start the fires? Did two-year-olds who are barely able to walk torch all of Rome? Have we ever as Romans punished children for the sins of their fathers? Did we hold Nero accountable for the actions of Agrippina? When Drusilla, the two-year-old daughter of Caligula, was killed by Caligula’s assassins, did not the whole city of Rome turn against those men? When did we decide that it is acceptable to kill innocent children?”

  Theophilus was winding down, his strength fading. He thought about poor, tortured Julia and her precious little ones. There were hundreds of others like them, children who at best would be orphaned and at worst would be sacrificed along with the rest of the Christians.

  “If Nero and Tigellinus are ruthless enough to condemn the children of Christians to the beasts, then who could say they weren’t ruthless enough to start the fires?”

  Tigellinus could stand it no more. “Your Excellency,” he scoffed, “we are not here to put Caesar on trial, and we are certainly not here to condemn innocent children. We are only here to pronounce the guilt or innocence of a man so desperate to save his own skin that he would accuse our beloved emperor of arson.”

  Theophilus chose not to respond. He would let his adversary have the last word. He had said everything he came to say, and his energy was spent.

  “I’ve heard enough,” Lateranus said. He glanced at both Tigillenus and Theophilus. Then he stood, ready to pronounce judgment. A cold chill went down Theophilus’s spine. It was one thing to be the advocate, quite another to be the defendant.

  “I find the defendant guilty of arson and murder,” Lateranus said abruptly. “I find his attacks on Caesar to be without basis and scurrilous.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you had been charged with treason, I would have found you guilty of that as well.”

  It was the ruling Theophilus had expected, but it still felt like a hammer to the gut. Like his cellmates, Theophilus would return to the dungeon with the penalty of execution hanging over his head.

  But Lateranus was not yet done. Instead, he showed at last why Theophilus had drawn the perfect praetor for his final trial.

  “The lengths of your paranoia, Theophilus, are aptly demonstrated by your fears that our beloved emperor would somehow execute children for the crimes of their parents.” Lateranus turned from the defendant and fixed his icy stare on the prosecutor. “Tigellinus, can you assure this court that there are no plans for that? I would not want the populace to leave here believing a single word that Theophilus has said.”

  Tigellinus hesitated, and Theophilus could see that the prosecutor’s mind was spinning. He had probably already concocted the most gruesome deaths imaginable.

  But he played his part well. Tigellinus stood to his full height, the picture of indignation. “As all of Rome knows, Nero spent the days after the fire sacrificing to the gods. He has shed endless tears on behalf of the little ones consumed by the flames. Propitiation requires that the guilty parties be punished most severely. But Nero will, by his benevolent grace, spare the children. After all, grace is the emperor’s defining characteristic. And that truly is a gift, Your Excellency, for which all of Rome should rejoice.”

  CHAPTER 98

  When Theophilus returned to the dungeon, he told the others about his trial. Julia and three other women wept with joy at the knowledge that their children would be spared. Andronicus thanked God for the deliverance of the little ones. It was a rare victory in an otherwise-vile situation.

  Now, with guilty verdicts hanging over their heads, there was nothing left for the prisoners to do but wait. Conditions in the cell were intolerable. Nobody cleaned out the human waste, and the place grew putrid, the air so thick with stench that Theophilus could taste it. The guards shoveled in small amounts of food and water at unpredictable intervals, and the prisoners divided up the provisions and gave thanks.

  Theophilus clung to thin reeds of hope. Maybe Seneca would reach out to Nero and talk him out of this madness. Maybe some of Theophilus’s former clients or friends in the Senate would take action. Maybe the people of Rome wouldn’t stand for a mass execution of Christians when the evidence all pointed back to the emperor. Or maybe—and this was the hope that kept Theophilus alive—God would provide a miraculous escape. He had done it before, and he could do it again.

  The prisoners had no contact with the outside world, no way of monitoring the events that wou
ld dictate their fate. Each day Theophilus could hear less optimism in the others’ voices, less will to live, less expectation of a miracle. They tried keeping sane by remembering parts of Luke’s books or Paul’s writings. They sang hymns and songs they had sung before their arrest. Theophilus and three other prisoners whose limbs had not been dislocated came up with small and subtle exercises they could do. Those who couldn’t move enough to exercise simply tried to survive and heal.

  With no light in the cell, it became hard to distinguish day from night. The prisoners lost all track of time. A week passed. Perhaps two.

  The day came without warning. Finally, mercifully, it would all soon be over.

  The metal door of the cell was flung open, and the guards barked at the prisoners to stand up and hold out their wrists. They put shackles on the prisoners and then chained them together in a long line. Theophilus made sure Julia was between him and Urbanus so that the men could carry her.

  They were all led down some steps, through a long corridor, and out into the street. Those like Julia who had trouble walking were whipped by the guards and then carried by their fellow prisoners.

  It was late at night, and the procession moved slowly by torchlight. The guards pushed and prodded the prisoners to the other side of Rome, across the Tiber River, to the private stadium built by Caligula in the Vatican Gardens. It was not as big as the Circus Maximus, but it had been constructed in the same grand style. There was a large track for chariot races and a center obelisk that reached toward the sky. The wooden bleachers could hold nearly seventy thousand spectators.

  From the activity that was taking place when they arrived in the middle of the night, Theophilus knew preparations were under way for a day of races and games.

  The prisoners were herded into an underground crypt that already contained dozens of other Christians. The guards said they would be back for them in the morning.