There is another interesting point on which I hope Paccius will soon give us clarification: what happens now? He is a trusts expert, so he is bound to know. The problem is this: Saffia Donata has died. She died in childbirth, which for a young married woman is always a tragic possibility. A fate, you may think, that could have been foreseen as possible when Paccius wrote the will. You may indeed feel that a good trusts adviser would have mentioned it to Metellus and asked him to write in alternative provisions; however, that was not done. So now, the will of Metellus has yet to be executed. Saffia can no longer receive her money. Paccius Africanus is the appointed heir. Paccius will have the bequest, with nobody to pass it on to. This-was clearly not the intention of Rubirius Metellus when he wrote that will - under the guidance of Paccius, an inheritance expert. It seems to me, Paccius can now keep everything. I hope you will eventually explain to us, Paccius, whether I am right or wrong?
Gentlemen of the jury, I am sure you will be seeing plenty of this man, when he is given the floor to defend the accused. He was close to her husband, and he has remained indispensable to members of the family. When Rubiria Juliana, the elder daughter, was accused by Silius Italicus of killing her father, it was Paccius who defended - which I must say, he did with extraordinary skill. You may have heard that he actually persuaded the apothecary who was supposed to have supplied the poison to take one of his own pills in open court, in order to demonstrate his claim that they were harmless. I shall not be asking anyone to swallow the hemlock which we believe did finally kill Metellus. It was bought by a man called Bratta; he is an intermediary who works with Paccius. At least, that Bratta bought the poison is what I believe, on the evidence of a reliable witness who sold him the hemlock, though Bratta has suddenly disappeared from Rome, so we cannot ask him.
Let me sum up: Tomorrow my colleague Honorius will return to the details of the killing. He will talk about the poison and its terrible effects; he will discuss who suggested it to Calpurnia, and who then bought it for her to use. Poisoning her husband was her idea, she administered the fatal dose, and she covered up the murder. But we know she had consulted the family adviser, Paccius Africanus, about whether her husband ought to live or to die. Awkwardly, she was asking him, the appointed heir, to advise on whether the time had come for him to enjoy his bequest. He told her that Rubirius Metellus should die. He then supplied the man who bought the poison that she used.
When Paccius Africanus begins to defend Calpurnia Cara - which undoubtedly he will do with great skill - I hope that what I have said today will stay in your memory and help you, gentlemen, to view his fine words in their proper context.
XLIII
I WAS FEELING good. I should have known better.
There was a noisy breaking up of the court, with much chatter among the jury members. This was better than we could ever have hoped. They were not only taking an interest, they were enjoying themselves. Marponius, backside prominent, strutted off in procession; he afforded me a gracious head gesture. If I had impressed him, we were home. Forget any belief in the impartiality of juries. No judge allows wishy-washy freethinking in his court. He makes sure the benchers know exactly how to vote. What would be the point of a presiding judge, if he just read out the verdict when the voting urns were emptied and the count taken?
Marponius might be a jumped-up new man scrabbling shamelessly for recognition, but from where I stood he had one advantage. He and I were both Aventine boys. He had made his way with the encyclopaedia cribs, where mine was through a different route - but we both grew up in the shadow of the Temple of Ceres, we both played in the gutters under the Aqua Marcia, we had the same mud on our boots and we recognised one another for lowborn tykes with equal disadvantages and the same points to prove. If the senatorials tried to be too clever, Marponius would side with me. If the fancy troupe got up my nose, I might even start flattering Marponius. I was despised as a low-grade informer, but he too was despised - as a selfmade interloper.
I had gone into this with huge anxiety. Now I cheered up. By the end of that day we had made serious progress. Paccius and his client hurried off, a little too fast to impress anyone. Calpurnia looked grim. She must think her choice of defender had damned her. Silius was still standing about, but after my insinuations of collaboration, he had to distance himself from Paccius.
I Joined Honorius and Aelianus. Holding our elation in check in public, we gathered up our scrolls and styluses.
An usher approached me. 'Didius Falco? There is a man waiting to speak to you, outside the court.' I decided to take no notice. I was exhausted. But anyone who wanted me would soon see me emerge from the Basilica. For all the observers, it was important that Honorius, Aelianus and I stuck in a tight group, smiling together and looking confident. Keeping up an air of suave good cheer, we all walked briskly through the colonnades to the exterior.
The Basilica Julia has several steps leading down from it, steeper at one end, then petering away to cater for a rise in the Forum level nearer to the Capitol. Most of the jury members were still milling about on the long steps, where as if by chance they formed an inquisitive audience. I noticed Silius Italicus very near, looking watchful. Not far away lurked Anacrites. I could even see Helena Justina, standing down at street level; she waved to me, then I saw her falter. Her father was not there; we had agreed he would sit in the upper gallery while I spoke, then he and I would not be seen together.
By magic, as I appeared through the colonnade, everyone parted. A man I had never seen before had planted himself a few levels below, waiting for me. We had the whole Forum stretched out around us. Behind me Honorius muttered abruptly, 'Shit, Falco!' He stopped himself Aelianus breathed in sharply. Like me, he cannot have known what was happening, but we all sensed trouble.
I stepped down once, on my own.
The man who stood in my way was a stranger. Thin, tall, longfaced, drably clad, neutral in expression, he looked insignificant, yet everything about him implied that his business with me was dramatic. He had official sanction. He was sure of himself If he had pulled a knife and run at me, I would not have been surprised. But his intention was more formal. He was a messenger, and for me the message was deadly.
'Didius Falco!' Some helpful swine had told him which sweaty toga was me. 'I summon you to appear before the praetor to answer serious charges of abuse of office!'
Well that was fine. I did not hold any offices. Yes, I did.
'What charges, you upstart?'
'Impiety.'
Well, that was a word. The sightseers gasped.
'Accused by whom - of what impiety?'
'Accused by me - of neglecting your duties as Procurator of Juno's Sacred Geese.'
O Juno!
O Jupiter and Minerva too, frankly. I would need the complete Olympian triad to get me out of this.
Honorius stepped to my left side, playing the ventriloquist: 'That's Procreus. He is Silius' regular informer. We had to expect something.' It was the low, admiring murmur of a man who had worked with Silius and seen what he could do. 'The bastards!' he whispered. 'I never thought of this...'
Aelianus rather unexpectedly was on my right, gripping my elbow supportively. His solid response was a new treat. We walked down the steps, smiling.
'I am at the praetor's disposal,' I told Procreus pleasantly. I refrained from punching his crossed front teeth through the back of his thin neck. My companions were grasping my arms too hard for me to take a swing at him.
We did not stop. Honorius and Aelianus walked me to my house, propping me up like a pair of bossy caryatids. It felt as if everyone in the street stared at us. Helena Justina followed us, silent and anxious. Only when I was safely indoors did I drop the fixed smile and start swearing.
Helena was white. 'Given that you have just had a charge of impiety slapped on you, Marcus, bad language is not a smart reaction.'
'Start thinking!' Aelianus instructed me. He was flushed with excitement, trying not to get hysterical. He had been an
army tribune. They had taught him logical responses to setbacks. If regrouping in a square and doubling our guard would have helped, Aulus would have organised it. He assessed my situation perfectly: 'When exactly was the last time you straightened any feathers on those bloody geese? And, Marcus, it had better be recent - or you are finished!'
XLIV
IMPIETY? I was innocent. My views on the gods might not be flattering, but I kept those views to myself.
My post as Procurator was ludicrous, but I carried out my duties at the temple, more or less. The job showed the world that the Emperor had recognised me. And besides, it carried a salary.
No one could spot any fiddles. I was a market gardener's grandson. Country matters were in my blood. The Sacred Geese and the Augurs' Sacred Chickens were safe in my hands. If, after tending them, I carried home stolen eggs, I knew how to stuff them in my tunic invisibly.
But there was a problem. Last year, I could not deny it, there had been a long period - over six months - when I did not oversee the geese at all. I was in Britain. I was working for the Emperor. I had a genuine excuse - but one I could not use in open court. The whole point of the tasks I had carried out in Britain was that Vespasian wanted them kept secret.
I could hardly summon the Emperor to vouch for me. One alternative existed: Anacrites. If he swore I was away on imperial business, nobody would need to know why. Even the praetor would shrink from querying the Chief Spy. But if Anacrites was my only solution, I would rather be condemned.
Helena tried to calm me down. 'Procreus, and his manipulator Silius, know perfectly well you are innocent. Making the charge is a ploy. You dare not ignore an accusation of impiety, let alone in a position that was your personal gift from the Emperor.'
'Too right. Tomorrow I shall be pacing the corridors, waiting for an appointment with the praetor. Something tells me he will be in no hurry to oblige me. I know just how they will fix it. Procreus won't show; without him to state his evidence, I'll be stuck in limbo.'
'Well, Marcus, if he really never shows, there is no charge... You must convince the praetor there is no case to answer - and demand a retraction.'
'I won't get that! But you understand, my darling. I have to put this right before I can show my face in court again. We cannot have Paccius Africanus helpfully pointing out to the jury that one of Calpurnia's accusers has been denounced for offending the gods.'
Today was wasted. I had just made the best speech of my life - and instantly the professionals had wiped me off the board.
'It was a good speech,' agreed Helena approvingly. 'I was proud of you, Marcus.'
She gave me a moment to bask in her sweet praise. She held me and kissed me. I knew what she was doing, but I melted.
Then, having soothed me, Helena whipped out a calendar and a clean note tablet, so she could work out my past visits to the Temple of Juno in order to rebut Procreus' charge.
XLV
'YOU MAY not want to hear this, Falco.'
'I'm low, lad. You can't make it worse.'
Petronius Longus was one of a long stream of visitors. Most were excited relatives, thrilled that I was in real trouble, trouble their neighbours had heard about. They had been barred by Helena. Petro was allowed in, though only because he said he had something to tell me about the Metellus case. He at least was not thrilled. He thought I was an idiot. Tangling with ex-consuls headed his list of untouchable social stupidities.
'Paccius was bound to turn on you.'
'Actually, my accuser works with Silius.'
'- who works with Paccius! By the way, Falco, do you know you have people watching this place?'
He was right. I took a squint through a crack in the shutters. A couple of shady characters in bum-starver cloaks and woollen caps were lurking on the Embankment outside. It was too cold for them to be fishing in the Tiber. Incompetent burglars who were casing a house too openly? Clerks who wrote the Daily Gazette scandal page? Sidekicks of Silius, hoping to witness me march up to the Capitol and threaten the man who herded the geese? No chance. Earlier, I did consider telling the gabby gooseboy just how he had landed me in it - but I had been dissuaded by my level-headed wife.
'They are pretty obvious.'
'Want me to move them on?'
'No. Their masters will just send others.' Petronius did not ask me, what masters.
Helena came in to join us. I glanced at Petro, and we moved away from the window. Helena glanced at us suspiciously.
'Did you hear Marcus make his speech?'
Petronius sprawled on a couch, stretching his long limbs. Helena and he looked at one another, then at me, then they both beamed. 'You and your mouth!' he commented, perhaps fondly.
Helena's smile faded slightly. 'It all needed to be said, Lucius.'
'Well,' said Petro, drawling quietly, 'our boy made a big impression.
I joined him on the couch. 'You feel I should not have done it?' My best friend gazed at me. 'You broke some rules today. I worry for you.' That was unlike him.
'If he wants to move among the big bad bastards,' Helena murmured, 'I would rather see him break their rules and offend them, than become what they are.'
'Agreed. Nothing he said was safe - but nothing he said was wrong either.'
For some time then we all sat musing.
'So,' Helena asked Petro eventually, 'Lucius, what is your news that affects the court case?' As if by chance, she went and straightened a window shutter, quickly glancing out to see what we had been looking at earlier.
Petronius massaged his scalp with both hands, then squeezed his fingers along his neck wearily. He watched Helena checking up on us. She spotted the observers. She shot me a glance of annoyance, but then came back and sat with us.
'Falco, I don't know if this is good or bad, but you need to know about it.'
I nudged him. 'Cough up.'
'The lads in the Second Cohort have been following the news. It finally struck them that Metellus senior died in his house and the death may be unnatural. So somebody ought to have tortured the slaves.'
He was right: I did not know whether I was happy or not.
Whenever a free citizen - well, one of a rank the authorities admire - is murdered at home, the legal assumption is that his slaves may have done it. They are all automatically tortured, to find out. This is good in one way, because their evidence is then acceptable in court; slaves can only be court witnesses if they are speaking under torture. On the other hand, evidence extracted under torture has a large flaw: it is quite unreliable. 'So nobody thought of it originally, because Calpurnia said the death was suicide and everyone believed her?'
'Nobody ever called the vigiles in. I can get you a sight of the report,' Petro offered. Then he pulled a prim face. 'Of course, the Second are under their own pressure. I can't promise to show it to you before it reaches that bastard Paccius.'
'Well, thanks for trying.'
'What are friends for?'
I could hear small thundering feet. One of my children was heading my way. Nux was barking. Any moment now, the great orator full of lofty thoughts would have to crawl around the floor making a mess of the rag rugs.
'Have the Second actually started?' I enquired quickly.
Petro winced, as Julia burst in on us and flew at me. 'Believe so.'
The Accusers Page 29
