It was late in September that Verres had his inspiration; he then lost no time in turning fancy into fact. Both Bithynia and Thrace abounded in treasures, so why not increase his art collection at the expense of Bithynia and Thrace? Dolabella was persuaded to appoint him ambassador—at—large and issue him with letters of introduction to King Nicomedes of Bithynia and King Sadala of the Thracian Odrysiae. And off Verres set at the start of October, overland from Attaleia to the Hellespont. This route avoided Asia Province and might besides yield a little gold from temples along the way, even if no desirable art.
It was an embassage composed entirely of villains; Verres wanted no honest, upright characters along. Even the six lictors (to whom as an ambassador with propraetorian status Verres was entitled) he chose with great care, sure they would aid and abet him in all his nefarious undertakings. His chief assistant was a senior clerk on Dolabella’s staff, one Marcus Rubrius; Verres and Rubrius had already had many dealings together, including the procurement of Dolabella’s dirty smelly women. His slaves were a mixture of big fellows to heft heavy statues around and little fellows to wriggle into locked rooms, and his scribes were only there to catalogue whatever he purloined.
The journey overland was disappointing, as Pisidia and that part of Phrygia he traversed had been thoroughly looted by the generals of Mithridates nine years before. He debated swinging wider onto the Sangarius to see what he could filch at Pessinus, but in the end elected to head straight for Lampsacus on the Hellespont. Here he could commandeer one of Asia Province’s warships to act as escort, and sail along the Bithynian coast loading whatever he found and fancied onto a good stout freighter.
The Hellespont was a small slice of No Man’s Land. Technically it belonged to Asia Province, but the mountains of Mysia cut it off on the landward side, and its ties were more with Bithynia than with Pergamum. Lampsacus was the chief port on the Asian side of the narrow straits, almost opposite to Thracian Callipolis; here the various armies which crossed the Hellespont made their Asian landfall. In consequence Lampsacus was a big and busy port, though a great measure of its economic prosperity lay in the abundance and excellence of the wine produced in the Lampsacan hinterland.
Nominally under the authority of the governor of Asia Province, it had long enjoyed independence, Rome being content with a tribute. There was—as always in every prosperous settlement on every shore of the Middle Sea—a contingent of Roman merchants who lived there permanently, but the government and the major wealth of Lampsacus rested with its native Phocaean Greeks, none of whom held the Roman citizenship; they were all socii, allies.
Verres had diligently researched every likely place along his route, so when his embassage arrived in Lampsacus he was well aware of its status and the status of its leading citizens. The Roman cavalcade which rode into the port city from the hills behind it caused an immediate stir almost verging on a panic; six lictors preceded the important Roman personage, who was also accompanied by twenty servants and a troop of one hundred mounted Cilician cavalry. Yet no warning of its advent had been received, and no one knew what its purpose in Lampsacus might be.
One Ianitor was chief ethnarch that year; word that a full Roman embassage was awaiting him in the agora sent Ianitor flying there posthaste, together with some of the other city elders.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying,” said Gaius Verres, looking handsome, imperious, and not a little arrogant, “but I require fitting lodgings for myself and my people.”
It was impossible, Ianitor explained hesitantly, to find a house large enough to take everyone, but he himself would of course accommodate the ambassador, his lictors and body servants, while the rest were boarded with other households. Ianitor then introduced his fellow elders, including one Philodamus, who had been chief ethnarch of Lampsacus during Sulla’s time there.
“I hear,” said the clerk Marcus Rubrius low—voiced to Verres as they were being escorted to the mansion of Ianitor, “that the old man Philodamus has a daughter of such surpassing beauty and virtue that he keeps her shut away. Name of Stratonice.”
Verres was no Dolabella when it came to bodily appetites. As with his statues and paintings, he liked his women to be pure and perfect works of art, Galateas come to life. In consequence he tended when not in Rome to go for long periods without sexual satisfaction, since he would not content himself with inferior types of women, even famous courtesans like Praecia. As yet he was unmarried, intending when he did to own a bride of splendid lineage and peerless beauty—a modern Aurelia. This trip to the east was going to cement his fortune and make it possible to negotiate a suitable marital alliance with some proud Caecilia Metella or Claudia Pulchra. A Julia would have been the best, but all the Julias were taken.
Thus it was months since Verres had enjoyed a sexual flutter, nor had he expected to find one in Lampsacus. But Rubrius had made it his business to find out the weaknesses of Verres—aside from inanimate works of art—and had done a little whispering in any gossipy-looking ears as soon as the embassage had ridden into town. To find that Philodamus had a daughter, Stratonice, who was quite the equal of Aphrodite herself.
“Make further enquiries,” said Verres curtly, then put on his most charmingly false smile as he came to Ianitor’s door, where the chief ethnarch waited in person to welcome him.
Rubrius nodded and went off in the wake of the slave to his own quarters, less august by far; he was, after all, a very minor official with no ambassadorial status.
After dinner that afternoon Rubrius reappeared at the house of Ianitor and sought a private interview with Verres.
“Are you comfortable here?” asked Rubrius.
“More or less. Not like a Roman villa, however. A pity none of the Roman citizens in Lampsacus ranks among the richest. I hate making do with Greeks! They’re too simple for my taste. This Ianitor lives entirely on fish—didn’t even produce an egg or a bird for dinner! But the wine was superb. How have you progressed in the matter of Stratonice?”
“With great difficulty, Gaius Verres. The girl is a paragon of every virtue, it seems, but perhaps that’s because her father and brother guard her like Tigranes the women in his harem.”
“Then I’ll have to go to dinner at Philodamus’s place.”
Rubrius shook his head emphatically. “I’m afraid that won’t produce her, Gaius Verres. This town is Phocaean Greek to its core. The women of the family are not shown to guests.”
The two heads drew together, honey—gold and greying black, and the volume of the conversation dropped to whispers.
“My assistant Marcus Rubrius,” said Verres to Ianitor after Rubrius had gone, “is poorly housed. I require better quarters for him. I hear that after yourself, the next man of note is one Philodamus. Please see that Marcus Rubrius is relocated in the house of Philodamus first thing tomorrow.”
“I won’t have the worm!” snapped Philodamus to Ianitor when Ianitor told him what Verres wanted. “Who is this Marcus Rubrius? A grubby little Roman clerk! In my days I’ve housed Roman consuls and praetors—even the great Lucius Cornelius Sulla when he crossed the Hellespont that last time! In fact, I’ve never housed anyone as unimportant as Gaius Verres himself! Who is he after all, Ianitor? A mere assistant to the governor of Cilicia!”
“Please, Philodamus, please!” begged Ianitor. “For my sake! For the sake of our city! This Gaius Verres is a nasty fellow, I feel it in my bones. And he has a hundred mounted troopers with him. In all Lampsacus we couldn’t raise half that many competent professional soldiers.”
So Philodamus gave in and Rubrius transferred his lodgings. But it had been a mistake to give in, as Philodamus soon discovered. Rubrius hadn’t been inside the house for more than a few moments before he was demanding to see the famous beautiful daughter, and, denied this privilege, immediately began to poke and pry through Philodamus’s spacious dwelling in search of her. This proving fruitless, Rubrius summoned Philodamus to him in his own house as if he had been a servant.
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br /> “You’ll give a dinner for Gaius Verres this afternoon—and serve something other than course after course of fish! Fish is fine in its place, but a man can’t live on it. So I want lamb, chicken, other fowls, plenty of eggs, and the very best wine.”
Philodamus kept his temper. “But it wasn’t easy,” he said to his son, Artemidorus.
“They’re after Stratonice,” said Artemidorus, very angry.
“I think so too, but they moved so quickly in foisting this Rubrius clod on me that I had no opportunity to get her out of the house. And now I can’t. There are Romans creeping round our front door and our back door.”
Artemidorus wanted to be present at the banquet for Verres, but his father, looking at that stormy face, understood that his presence would worsen the situation; after much cajoling, the young man agreed to hie himself off and eat elsewhere. As for Stratonice, the best father and son could do was to lock her in her own room and put two strong servants inside with her.
Gaius Verres arrived with his six lictors, who were posted on duty in front of the house while a party of troopers was sent to watch the back gate. And no sooner was the Roman ambassador comfortable upon his couch than he demanded that Philodamus fetch his daughter.
“I cannot do that, Gaius Verres,” said the old man stiffly. “This is a Phocaean town, which means our womenfolk are never put in the same room as strangers.”
“I’m not asking that she eat with us, Philodamus,” said Verres patiently. “I just want to see this paragon all of your Phocaean town talks about.”
“I do not know why they should, when they have never seen her either,” Philodamus said.
“No doubt your servants gossip. Produce her, old man!”
“I cannot, Gaius Verres.”
Five other guests were present, Rubrius and four fellow clerks; no sooner had Philodamus refused to produce his child than they all shouted to see her. The more Philodamus denied them, the louder they shouted.
When the first course came in Philodamus seized the chance to leave the room, and sent one of his servants to the house where Artemidorus was eating, begging that he come home to help his father. No sooner had the servant gone than Philodamus returned to the dining room, there to continue obdurately refusing to show the Romans his daughter. Rubrius and two of his companions got up to look for the girl; Philodamus stepped across their path. A pitcher of boiling water had been set upon a brazier near the door, ready to be poured into bowls in which smaller bowls of food might be reheated after the trip from the kitchen. Rubrius grabbed the pitcher and tipped boiling water all over Philodamus’s head. While horrified servants fled precipitately, the old man’s screams mingled with the shouts and jeers of the Romans, forming up to go in search of Stratonice.
Into this melee the sounds of another intruded. Artemidorus and twenty of his friends had arrived outside his father’s door, only to find Verres’s lictors barring their entry. The prefect of the decury, one Cornelius, had all the lictor’s confidence in his own inviolability; it never occurred to him for a moment that Artemidorus and his band would resort to force to remove them from before the door. Nor perhaps would they have, had Artemidorus not heard the frightful screams of his scalded father. The Lampsacans moved in a mass. Several of the lictors sustained minor hurts, but Cornelius died of a broken neck.
The banquet participants scattered when Artemidorus and his friends ran into the dining room, clubs in their hands and murder on their faces. But Gaius Verres was no coward. Pushing them contemptuously to one side, he quit the house in company with Rubrius and his fellow clerks to find one dead lictor sprawled in the road surrounded by his five frightened colleagues. Up the street the ambassador hustled them, the body of Cornelius lolling in their midst.
By this the whole town was beginning to stir, and Ianitor himself stood at his open front door. His heart sank when he saw what the Romans carried, yet he admitted them to his house—and prudently barred the gate behind them. Artemidorus had stayed to tend to his father’s injuries, but two of his friends led the rest of the band of young men to the city square, calling on others to meet them as they marched. All the Greeks had had enough of Gaius Verres, and even a fervent speech from Publius Tettius (the town’s most prominent Roman resident) could not dissuade them from retaliation. Tettius and his houseguest Gaius Terentius Varro were swept aside, and the townspeople surged off in the direction of Ianitor’s house.
There they demanded entry. Ianitor refused, after which they battered at the gate with a makeshift ram to no effect, and decided instead to burn the place down. Kindling and logs of wood were piled against the front wall and set alight. Only the arrival of Publius Tettius, Gaius Terentius Varro and some other Roman residents of Lampsacus prevented disaster; their impassioned pleading cooled the hottest heads down sufficiently to see that immolation of a Roman ambassador would end in worse than the violation of Stratonice. So the fire (which had gained considerable hold on the front part of Ianitor’s house) was put out, and the men of Lampsacus went home.
A less arrogant man than Gaius Verres would have fled from the seething Greek city as soon as he deemed it safe to leave, but Gaius Verres had no intention of running; instead he sat down calmly and wrote to Gaius Claudius Nero, the governor of Asia Province, steeled in his resolve not to be beaten by a pair of dirty Asian Greeks.
“I demand that you proceed forthwith to Lampsacus and try the two socii Philodamus and Artemidorus for the murder of a Roman ambassador’s chief lictor,” he said.
But swift though the letter’s journey to Pergamum was, it was still slower than the detailed report Publius Tettius and Gaius Terentius Varro had jointly provided to the governor.
“I will certainly not come to Lampsacus,” said Claudius Nero’s reply to Verres. “I have heard the real story from my own senior legate, Gaius Terentius Varro, who considerably outranks you. A pity perhaps that you weren’t burned to death. You are like your name, Verres—a pig.”
The rage in which Verres wrote his next missive added venom and power to his pen; this one was to Dolabella in Tarsus and it reached Tarsus in a scant seven days, couriered by a petrified trooper who was so afraid of what Verres might do to him if he tarried that he was fully prepared to do murder in order to obtain a fresh horse every few hours.
“Go to Pergamum at once, and at a run,” Verres instructed his superior without formal salute or evidence of respect. “Fetch Claudius Nero to Lampsacus without a moment’s delay to try and execute the socii who murdered my chief lictor. If you don’t, I will have words to say in Rome about certain debaucheries and drugs. I mean it, Dolabella. And you may tell Claudius Nero that if he does not come to Lampsacus and convict these Greek fellatores, I will accuse him of sordid practices as well. And I’ll make the charges stick, Dolabella. Don’t think I won’t. If I die for it, I’ll make the charges stick.”
*
When word of the events in Lampsacus reached the court of King Nicomedes, matters had arrived at an impasse; Gaius Verres was still living in the house of Ianitor and moving freely about the city, Ianitor had been ordered to notify the Lampsacan elders that Verres would remain right where he was, and everyone knew Claudius Nero was coming from Pergamum to try the father and son.
“I wish there was something I could do,” said the worried King to Caesar.
“Lampsacus falls within Asia Province, not Bithynia,” said Caesar. “Anything you did do would have to be in diplomatic guise, and I’m not convinced it would help those two unfortunate socii.”
“Gaius Verres is an absolute wolfshead, Caesar. Earlier in the year he robbed sanctuaries of their treasures all over Asia Province, then went on to steal the Harper of Aspendus and the golden skin of Artemis at Perge.”
“How to endear Rome to her provinces,” said Caesar, lifting his lip contemptuously.
“Nothing is safe from the man—including, it seems, virtuous daughters of important Greek socii.”
“What is Verres doing in Lampsacus, anyway?”
Nicomedes shivered. “Coming to see me, Caesar! He carries letters of introduction to me and to King Sadala in Thrace—his governor, Dolabella, has endowed him with ambassadorial status. I imagine his true purpose is to steal our statues and paintings.”
“He won’t dare while I’m here, Nicomedes,” soothed Caesar.
The old king’s face lit up. “That is what I was going to say. Would you go to Lampsacus as my ambassador so that Gaius Claudius Nero understands Bithynia is watching carefully? I daren’t go myself—it might be seen as an armed threat, even if I went without a military escort. My troops are much closer to Lampsacus than are the troops of Asia Province.”
Caesar saw the difficulties this would mean for him before Nicomedes had finished speaking. If he went to Lampsacus to observe events on official behalf of the King of Bithynia, the whole of Rome would assume he was indeed on intimate terms with Nicomedes. Only how could he avoid going? It was, on the surface, a very reasonable request.
“I mustn’t appear to be acting for you, King,” he said seriously. “The fate of the two socii is firmly in the hands of the governor of Asia Province, who would not appreciate the presence of a twenty-year-old Roman privatus claiming to be the representative of the King of Bithynia.”
“But I need to know what happens in Lampsacus from someone detached enough not to exaggerate and Roman enough not to side with the Greeks automatically!” Nicomedes protested.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go. I will go. But as a Roman privatus pure and simple—a fellow who chanced to be in the vicinity and whose curiosity got the better of him. That way the hand of Bithynia will not be seen at all, yet I’ll be able to provide you with a full report when I return. Then if you feel it necessary, you can lodge a formal complaint with the Senate in Rome, and I will testify.”
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