The Venus Throw rsr-4

by Steven Saylor

  "Now, as regards the woman, at the moment it's not my object to criticize her. My point is to lecture Marcus Caelius. So for the sake of argument, let us imagine a purely hypothetical woman; any resemblance to Clodia will be purely coincidental, I assure you. Imagine a woman who shamelessly offers herself to every man she meets, who has to mark a calendar to keep her lovers straight, who opens the doors of her houses at Rome and Baiae to every sort of lecherous degenerate, who lavishes expensive gifts on her stable of kept young studs. Imagine a wealthy, lascivious widow carrying on like a common whore, without the least regard for what anyone thinks. Now I ask you, if a young man should happen to be a bit free in his relationship with such a woman, can any man here really hold him accountable for his misconduct?

  "Imagine a woman so deeply sunk in depravity that she no longer bothers to seek privacy and darkness to practice her vices. Quite the opposite-she builds a stage in her garden so that she can show off her special skills before an audience lined up to enjoy them! Bear in mind, I'm speaking hypothetically, simply to make a point-don't laugh! Now with this woman, this hypothetical woman, everything about her is an invitation to sex: the way she walks, the see-through gowns she wears, the obscenely pouting way she holds her mouth, her smoldering gaze, the foul language she uses, the easy way she embraces everyone at her parties, pressing herself against them and kissing them with her open mouth. She's not simply a whore, but a particularly lewd and depraved old whore. Now, really, if a young man should find himself in the clutches of such a woman, can anyone be genuinely outraged if he should follow the course of nature? Is that young man guilty of vice-or of simply seeking relief?

  "The woman is a whore, after all-the hypothetical woman, I mean-and even the sternest moralist looks the other way when a young man goes off to relieve himself with a prostitute. That is the way of the world, and not just in our present permissive age. Even our virtuous ancestors allowed for the use of prostitutes. The practice has never been frowned upon or forbidden in any time or place that I know of.

  "Now someone will object, and say, 'Is this the sort of standard to which Cicero would hold a young man, especially a young man who was given into his charge to be educated in rhetoric? Loose morals, easy virtue, a nod and a wink?' Of course not. But judges, honestly, was there ever a man on earth so high-minded and strong-willed that he could reject all temptation and devote himself exclusively to the pursuit of virtue? A man without the least interest in leisure or lovemaking or simply having fun? Show me such a man and I will declare him super-human! Such men exist in our history books, fine moral examples from the days of Rome's rise to greatness, but you will look for them in vain in the streets of the city today. These days, even among the Greek philosophers, who once set so high a moral standard in their writings (unmatched by their actions, unfortunately), you will find little to encourage adherence to pure virtue; quite the opposite, in fact. The Epicureans tell us that a wise man does everything for pleasure. The Academics, by twisting words, claim that virtue and pleasure can be one and the same. Alas, the old-fashioned Stoics, who cling to the straight and narrow path of virtue, find themselves stranded all alone in their lecture halls.

  "Nature herself has endless tricks to lull a man's virtue to sleep while waking up his appetite for pleasure. She tempts the young down all sorts of dangerously slippery paths, but to compensate she lavishes on them great stamina and exquisite sensitivity. Show me a young man who despises the sight of beauty, who derives no pleasure from scent or touch or taste, who plugs his ears to keep out sweet music; I and a few others might argue that a youth of such purity has been blessed, but I think most of you would say he was cursed by the gods!

  "Enough, then, of absolute standards! Let youth be permitted its pleasures. Let immaturity be allowed to flirt with foolishness. If he has a strong character, a young man will not be diminished by these expe-riences but will eventually outgrow them and be ready to take his place as a man of affairs in the Forum. Who can doubt that Marcus Caelius has already done so? You've watched him match wits with me here in the Forum. You've seen how eloquently he defended himself here today. What a superb orator! Let me tell you, from my own experience, cultivating that degree of skill requires enormous dedication and discipline. Marcus Caelius has reached a stage in his career where he no longer has the time or inclination to follow frivolous pursuits.

  "Now then, we have navigated our way through the rocky shoals and treacherous reefs. From here on, clear sailing! Let us get back to those two charges against Caelius. The gold: Caelius is said to have gotten it from Clodia in order to bribe the slaves of Lucius Lucceius to kill Dio. Grave charges, to be sure, asserting that a man plotted to murder a diplomatic envoy, and instigated slaves to kill their master's guest- heinous crimes!

  "But I have to wonder: would Clodia have given this gold to Caelius without asking why he wanted it? Surely not! If he told her it was to murder Dio, then she was in on the plot. Is that why you came here today, woman, to make a confession? To tell us how you raided your secret treasure chest, denuded that statue of Venus in your garden adorned with all those pretty trophies from your lovers, so that you could hand over the booty to Caelius for criminal use? Did you make Venus herself an accomplice in crime?"

  I glanced at Catullus, for it seemed to me that from the corner of my eye I had seen his lips moving, as if he was reciting Cicero's speech along with him. He noticed my scrutiny, flashed something between a smile and a wince, and turned away. I looked at Clodia and caught a glimpse of her pale, rigid face before the crowd blocked my view.

  Cicero went on. "If Caelius was as intimate with Clodia as the prosecutors maintain, then surely he shared with her the purpose to which he intended to put the gold. On the other hand, if the two of them were not on such intimate terms, then surely she never gave him the gold at all! Which is it, Clodia? Did you lend a man money to commit an unspeakable crime, making a criminal of yourself? Or is the truth that you never lent him the money at all?

  "The accusation simply will not stand up, and not just because the character of Marcus Caelius is wholly at odds with such a loathsome, skulking plot. He's too smart, for one thing. No man with any sense would entrust a crime of such magnitude to the slaves of another man! On purely practical grounds, I have to ask: how is Caelius supposed to have made contact with these slaves of Lucius Lucceius? Did he meet with them directly-very rash-or through an intermediary? May we have the name of this go-between? No, because no such person exists. I could go on and on with such questions. How many must I ask to show how totally implausible the whole charge is, and how utterly without proof?

  "To put the matter to rest, let us hear from Lucius Lucceius himself, who has provided a sworn deposition on the matter. I remind you that he was not only Dio's good friend and dutiful host, but a man who pays scrupulous attention to detail, as anyone familiar with his historical writings can attest. Surely if Lucceius had discovered that slaves belonging to him were plotting with an outsider to murder his guest, if he ever had even the least suspicion of such a thing, Lucceius would have gotten to the bottom of it. What citizen could do less, with his own honor at stake? Listen, then, to what he has to tell us."

  A clerk came forward to read the deposition. Cicero walked to the defendant's bench, where his secretary, Tiro, handed him a cup of water. I thought back to my interview with Lucceius, how adamantly he had refused to acknowledge the slightest possibility that something had been amiss in his house, how his wife had known better, how the kitchen slaves who must have known something had been sent off to the mines and would never tell anyone what they knew.

  The clerk cleared his throat, "I, Lucius Lucceius, under solemn oath, make this statement on the Kalends of Aprilis: That for a period in the month of Januarius, Dio of Alexandria, my esteemed friend, was a guest under my roof; that while he was my guest, nothing occurred to endanger his safety; that any rumors to the contrary, particularly rumors asserting a breach of loyalty among my household slaves, are completel
y scurrilous; that Dio left my house of his own choice and in good health; that I myself know nothing which might shed light on the circumstances of his death."

  Cicero stepped before the judges. "There you have it: a wild, wholly unfounded accusation that emanates from a household of wanton de-bauchery and wickedness; and a level-headed, sober response, from a household of impeccable standards. On one hand, we have the word of a foul-tempered, raving, sex-crazed woman; on the other, the sworn affidavit of one of the most respectable men in Rome. Need we hesitate about choosing whom to believe?

  "On then to the accusation that Caelius plotted to poison Clodia. I confess, I can't make heads or tails of this story. Why should Caelius want to do such a thing? To avoid paying back the alleged loan? But did Clodia ever ask to be repaid? To keep Clodia from telling what she knew about the attempt on Dio's life? But there was no such attempt, as we have just established. Indeed, I would suggest that this nonsense about gold and a plot against Dio was fabricated precisely to provide a motive for this other fabrication, that Caelius tried to poison Clodia. One fabrication is invented to provide a motive for another fabrication! Lie builds upon lie, slander upon slander.

  "The prosecution alleges that Caelius once again attempted to commit murder by bribing someone else's slaves-this time, Clodia's slaves, to do in their mistress. And this, after having failed to pull off the same kind of plot with Lucceius's slaves! What kind of man puts his whole fate into the hands of another person's slaves, not once but twice? At least credit my client with having a brain!

  "And just what sort of slaves are we talking about? In the case of Clodia's household, this is an important point. As Caelius must have known if he ever visited her house, the relationship between Clodia and her slaves can scarcely be described as normal. In a household like that, headed by a woman who behaves like a prostitute, where abnormal lusts and unheard-of vices are practiced on a daily basis, where slaves are invited to share an inordinate amount of intimacy with their superiors- well, those slaves are slaves no longer. They share everything with their mistress, including her secrets. They become her companions in loose living. In a household like that, the people on the bottom are sometimes quite literally on top."

  I caught sight of Clodia, who seemed to physically shrink from the gales of laughter that roared through the Forum. Cicero held up his hand to quiet the crowd. "Keeping slaves in that fashion has one virtue, at least: such corrupted, pampered slaves must be almost impossible to bribe. Caelius must have known that, if he was as intimate with Clodia as we've been led to believe. Ifhe knew the situation, surely he would have known better than to try to insinuate himself between such a woman and her slaves-a tight spot for any man to wriggle into! If he didn't realize the situation, then how could he have been so intimate with the slaves that he would consider bribing them? The allegation contradicts itself.

  "Now, about the alleged poison-where it came from, how it was to be handed over, and so on. The prosecutors tell us that Caelius had it in his house. He wanted to test it, so he bought a slave for just that purpose. The poison was effective. The slave died very quickly. The poison… "

  Cicero's voice was suddenly choked by a sob. He clenched his fists and rolled his eyes upward. "Oh, immortal gods! When a mortal commits a terrible crime, why do you close your eyes to it? Why do you allow the villain to go unpunished?" He gasped and shivered, as if struggling to hold back tears. The rollicking speech came to an abrupt halt. The crowd was jolted into uneasy silence.

  Cicero stood absolutely still, like a man paralyzed by emotion and fighting to regain control: "Forgive me," he finally said, in a hoarse, trembling voice. "But the very mention of poison…

  "Let me explain myself, judges. It was the bitterest day of life, that day when I saw my friend Quintus die before my eyes. Quintus Metellus Celer, I mean, the man whose death made that woman a widow and freed her to do as she pleased. Such a fine man he was, dedicated to serving Rome and full of the strength to do it! I remember the last time I saw him here in the Forum, going about his business, in excellent health and high spirits, full of plans for the future. Two days later I was, called to his deathbed, where I found him racked with pain, barely able to breathe. His mind had begun to fail, but at the very end he became lucid again. His last thoughts were not of himself, but of Rome. He fixed his gaze on me as I wept, and in broken words he tried to warn me of the storm that hung over my head, the tempest that was brewing for the whole state. 'Cicero, Cicero, how will you hold out against them without me to hold them in check?' He wept then, not for himself, but for the future of the city he loved, and for the friends who would no longer have his protection. I often wonder how differently things might have turned out had he lived. Would his cousin Clodius have succeeded with a tenth of his mad schemes if Quintus Metellus Celer had been alive to oppose him? Would his wife Clodia have fallen into the downward spiral of disrepute that has ultimately brought us here today?

  "And now that woman has the audacity to speak of fast-acting poisons! How much does she know about the subject? Enough, apparently! If she goes ahead with her testimony, perhaps she will tell us exactly how much she knows about poison, and how she came to know it. When I think that she still lives in the house where Celer died, when I think of what she has since turned that house into, I wonder that the walls themselves had not rebelled in disgust and come toppling down around her!"

  Cicero bowed his head for a long moment, seemingly overcome with emotion. As for Clodia, one would never have known what a famous beauty she was, from the way she looked at that moment. The bones of her face seemed ready to break through the skin. Her eyes smoldered like coals. Her mouth was a hard, straight line showing a glint of teeth between bloodless lips.

  "Excuse me, judges," said Cicero, recovering himself. "My memories of a noble and valiant friend have greatly upset me, I fear. And some of you, too, as I can see. But let us persevere with this distasteful, petty business, and be done with it.

  "Very well: the story goes that after testing the poison on a hapless slave, Caelius handed it over to a friend of his, Publius Licinius. You see him here today, sitting proudly among Caelius's supporters, not the least bit ashamed to show his face despite the slander against him. Licinius, they say, was to give the poison to some of Clodia's slaves at the Senian baths, in a little pyxis. Ah, but the slaves had betrayed the plot to their mistress, so she sent some friends to lurk on the premises and seize Licinius in the act of handing over the poison. So goes the story, anyway.

  "I am eagerly waiting to discover the identities of the upstanding witnesses who are supposed to have seen, with their own eyes, the poison in Licinius's hands. So far, their names have not been mentioned, but they must be very reputable fellows indeed. In the first place, they are intimates of such a lady. In the second, they agreed to lurk about the baths in the middle of the day, a job suitable only to the most respectable of men."

  I felt the skin prickle on the back of my neck. Cicero was talking about me, among others. Even without hearing my name mentioned, I felt cut by his scorn, exposed and flustered. What then was Clodia feeling at this moment?

  "But don't take my word for the worthiness of these witnesses, these midday bathhouse skulkers," Cicero continued. "Their actions speak for them. We are told, 'They hid out of sight and watched everything.' I'm sure they did. That type loves to watch! 'They bolted out of hiding accidentally.' Oh dear, premature ejaculators-what a deplorable lack of manly self-control! The story goes that Licinius made his entrance and was just about to hand over the incriminating pyxis but had not quite done so, when these superb, anonymous witnesses burst forth-where-upon Licinius drew back the pyxis and took to his heels in flight!"

  Cicero shook his head and made a face of disgust. "Sometimes, no matter how badly a tale is told, a shred of truth shines through. Take this shabby little drama, for instance, authored by a lady with so many other tawdry tales to her credit. How devoid of plot, how sorely lacking for an ending! How could all these fe
llows have let Licinius slip from their grasp, when they were posted and ready, and he suspected nothing? What was the point of capturing him as he handed over the poison, anyway? Once it passed out of his hands he could claim he had never seen it before. Why not seize him the moment he entered the baths, hold him down and force a confession from him with all those bystanders for witnesses? Instead, off Licinius goes, with the lady's gang in hot pursuit, bumbling and tripping all over each other. In the end, we are left with no pyxis, no poison, not a single shred of evidence. Really, what we have here is the finale of a mime show, not a proper play but the sort of silly farce that sputters to an unsatisfying end-no climax, just a bunch of clowns bumbling off the stage.

  "If they come forward to testify, I look forward to seeing the cast of this little mime show. This trial could use some comic relief! Let's have a look at these young dandies who enjoy play-acting as warriors under their mistress's command, scouting the familiar terrain at the Senian baths, laying an ambush, crowding into a bathtub and pretending it's the Trojan Horse. I know the type: all glib and witty at dinner parties, and the more they drink the wittier they become. But idling on soft couches and chattering by lamplight is one thing; telling the truth be-neath the hot sun in a court of hard wooden benches is something else again. If they can't even find their way around the baths, how will they find the witness stand? I give these so-called witnesses fair warning: if they decide to come forward, I will turn them upside down and shake the foolishness out of them, so that we can all see what's left. I suggest they keep their mouths shut and find other ways to curry their lady's favor. Let them cling to her, do tricks and compete to grovel at her feet-but let them spare the life and career of an innocent man!