Lindsey Davis - Falco 15 - The Accusers

by The Accusers(lit)

  `Yes - I won’t tell you anything!’ she retorted nastily.

  `Alternatively,’ I then said, `all your senatorial ladies could be made to think that you had talked to us…’ Sometimes subtlety is worth a try - and sometimes you should go straight to threats.

  Round-eyed with mock horror, Aelianus redeemed himself: `Oh but Falco, the customers would all run away.’

  `Well, you’re the bastard.’ Olympia smirked at me. `Thanks for coming clean.’

  `Yes I’m the bastard,’ I agreed. `This sensitive young lad is ten years younger and he still expects good from people.’

  `He’ll soon turn into a bastard if he works for you.’

  Aelianus had no sense of humour sometimes. He bit his lip, scowling.

  We then had a more businesslike discussion - one in which I feared we were being misled.

  According to this soothing soothsayer, Calpurnia Cara came to her for `friendship’. Horoscopes were prepared from time to time, always for Calpurnia herself The other services rendered were flattery, wise counsel, and foot massage with aromatic oils to relax the soul. (Apparently your soul is seated in your arches, so take care when buying cheap sandals.) Calpurnia, like many clients, was afflicted with bad bunions and few female friends. Well, I knew she had a limp, and was overbearing.

  I told Olympia she could have made a wonderful source for informers like us. I suggested that if she helped us, we could return the favour with information on her clients. She would not co-operate. I asked if she already had a partnership with some other informer, but she denied it. I asked if she worked for the vigiles. She scoffed. I gave up on it.

  `Straight questions then: Did Calpurnia ever ask you about poisonous drugs?’

  `Don’t expect me to comment.’

  `No, of course not. I’m talking about hemlock. That was used to kill her husband, did you know?’

  `I had no idea.’ Olympia pursed her mouth. `Calpurnia Cara was weighed down by troubles. She never told me what they were. My ladies have needs - illness, unhappiness, husbands, children… I often read Calpurnia’s future, and reassured her that everything would be resolved.’

  `By her poisoning her husband?’ Aelianus snorted.

  `By time and the Fates!’ whipped back the seer. He had stung her into reacting, however. `Hemlock, you say? Well once when she was very low a few years ago, she did ask me what produces a kindly death, and I told her what I had heard. As far as I knew, Calpurnia was asking for herself’

  `Herself.” Now I was scathing. `That sounds like some well thoughtout excuse in the poison trade. A lawyer probably devised it. A litigation-proof contract term for the death suppliers’ guild - if the woman was consulting you for solace, why should she need to do herself in?’

  `Some unhappy moments cannot be smoothed away even with essential ointments,’ mused Olympia.

  `How did Calpurnia plan to ingest her hemlock?’

  `I told her she could feed the leaves to quails, then cook the quails. That way she didn’t have to think about what she was taking.’

  `Or if she gave the quails to someone else, they didn’t have to know anything!’

  `You’re a shocker, Falco.’

  `I’m a realist.’

  I then enquired whether Calpurnia sold her jewels just before her husband died, or was it about two years back? Surprised by both timescales, Olympia admitted Calpurnia had come for weekly consultations over several decades. Calpurnia had sold off her necklaces and rings many years ago - one of the `troubles’ which had required consolation. The sale was not to pay the fortune-teller’s modest fees. Olympia did not know who received the money.

  `Maybe she gambled,’ Olympia suggested. `Many of my ladies do. It’s a bit of excitement for a lady, isn’t it?’ As I said to Aelianus afterwards, it would provide a lady’s bit of excitement if sleeping with a boxer or with their husband’s best friend in the Senate ever paled.

  I could not imagine Calpurnia Cara doing any of those things. Nor could I see her ever being so depressed that she would end her own life.

  `Calpurnia may have mistakes in her past,’ Olympia insisted. `It does not mean she is a murderer. Put me in court and I shall say so for her.’

  I did not remind her it is a tenet of Roman law that consulting a fortune-teller damns a woman automatically. Calling Olympia as a witness would guarantee jury votes for us. But as a matter of pride, I wanted to convict the accused with proper evidence.

  `You’re too idealistic,’ Aelianus said. This was a rare, new insult for me. `You’ll never make a lawyer, Falco.’

  No; but I thought he would.

  XLI

  THE CAMILLUS litter had to be returned to the Capena Gate, but we had time to walk back to the Forum for the end of the afternoon court session.

  As we came out into the major piazza in front of the Basilica, we were hailed from the corner of the Temple of Castor by Helena Justina. She had a lunch basket; I guessed it would be empty by now. Well, in our absence it made sense for her to eat everything, to save carrying the food home. What a scandal: a senator’s daughter sitting on the Temple steps, with a large napkin spread on her lap, munching.

  `You’re becoming famous,’ she said, after I kissed her. As I greeted her affectionately, by some sleight of hand she passed me her lunch basket. `Even Anacrites has come to see how the case is going. We had a long chat before he went inside.’

  `You hate Anacrites.’

  `I won’t let him see that. He would think I was afraid.’

  `You should be,’ Aelianus warned her.

  He and I paused to sling on our togas, for once making an effort to arrange woollen pleats and to create traditional sinuses (for provincial barbarians, those are the deep folds below the left arm, where you can hide your notes or, if desperate, a dagger to stab your enemy). Helena followed us towards the Basilica.

  `Dear heart,’ I remonstrated fondly, `you have already outraged ancient patricians by picnicking in the Forum Romanorum. Do not follow up your notoriety by invading the courts. Some of those traditionalists would rather see a slave rebellion than allow women in the Basilica.’

  `I am a good wife to you, Marcus darling. A good wife is allowed to hear her husband make his speeches from a curtained niche.’

  `You are a bad wife if you give me heart failure. Who says I am speaking?’

  `Honorius,’ smiled Helena, as she skipped away to the rear of the Basilica, where steps led to the upper galleries. `He wants you to do the tricky part - laying the blame on Paccius.’

  I was stunned. Too late, I realised that Helena had left me to enter court carrying a large wicker hamper. This would not be viewed as a proper accessory for an orator.

  I solved that. I passed it swiftly to Aelianus.

  There were more spectators than previously. Too many for me.

  The scene throbbed more with tedium than tension. The first person I saw was Helena’s father, Camillus Verus, sharing a bench with Petronius. Petro noticed me and glared across the hall. My bugbear Anacrites was lounging on a seat, unpleasantly close to the defence party. Trust him.

  Anacrites gave me what passed for a friendly wave. Most people would not have noticed his presence, but to me the Chief Spy was always a magnet; I wanted to know where he was and what he was planning in that dark mind. Habitually discreet in dress, when decked out in a formal toga he blended in even more, though his slickedback, oiled black hair gave him away. I joined the prosecution group and pretended to give all my concentration to Honorius.

  I had come at the right moment. As Aelianus and I sat down behind him, Honorius moved from his oratorical introduction into the next phase of his speech. He assumed an expression of distaste for his subject matter. Here, he would set out the events in the Metellus death, making the facts look as bad as possible for Calpurnia Cara.

  Beside me, I noticed Aelianus produce a note-tablet on which he scratched regular stylus notes. A clerk was taking shorthand, but our boy wanted his own record. His system was in contras
t to Honorius who, I realised, had never paid much visible attention when our investigations were discussed in his presence, yet he was now able to remember and quote many small details from interviews. Colourful facts that I had long forgotten were reappearing just when required.

  Honorius knew his stuff. Once he stopped looking like a schoolboy, juries would take him very seriously. If he stood on a plinth so he looked taller, it would be even better.

  I slipped him a note I had prepared, covering where we found Olympia, Calpurnia’s long association with her, the excuses for consultation, and the jewellery issue. He read it while he was speaking.

  I settled down to enjoy the scene. Honorius was now blackening the character of our accused and her associates. For a young man of apparent refinement, he was laying it on thick:

  The Accusation against Calpurnia Cara: Honorius on the Accused

  I shall not, in default of evidence, try to woo your votes by denouncing the accused with endless stories of an unsavoury life -

  The court revived. We all recognised the signal. His denial promised sensationally grubby details. That’s the joy of rhetoric: Honorius had reached the juicy bits.

  Marponius leaned forward. He sounded kindly, but Honorius was a target. `Young man, if you are intending to regale us with scandals, may I suggest you keep it short? Some of us are elderly and our bladders cannot take too much excitement.’ The old-timers in the jury ranks fluttered nervously. The rest laughed as if Marponius was a great wit.

  Honorius stumbled, though he should not have been surprised. Things had gone our way for far too long. The judge was ready to cause trouble.

  Gentlemen, the accused lived her married life in apparent propriety -

  `Elucidate, please!’ Marponius must be in a tetchy mood. This unnecessary interruption was to make Honorius look amateur. It also made Marponius look foolish, but juries are used to that from judges.

  We might expect a matron of Calpurnia’s status to affiliate herself with temples. Honouring the gods would be a duty. If she had money she might even endow altars or sanctuaries. One of her own daughters is just such a benefactor to the gods and the community in Laurentum; she is so admired that a statue in her honour has been erected there by the townspeople.

  `Is the daughter on trial here?’

  `No, your honour.’

  `Respectable woman, wife of a senator - what are you doing dragging her into this? Strike out the daughter!’

  I guessed Marponius had eaten his lunch too fast. Now the glutton had indigestion. He had probably been to Xero’s pie shop, his special haunt when he wanted to look like a man of the people (and to overhear, incognito, the public’s views on how he ran his case). Petronius had long threatened to put something in Xero’s rabbit pie and eliminate Marponius. He reckoned Xero would like the publicity.

  Calpurnia Cara’s spiritual expression took a different course. For decades she consulted a notorious practitioner of magic, one Olympia. This sorceress lives outside the city boundary, where she is able to run an unlicensed establishment and escape the notice of the vigiles. According to her, our supposedly happy matron has been troubled in her soul for many years. She has looked to magic for solace, as women in torment sometimes do, and yet-either because she felt constrained by her position or because her difficulties were simply too terrible to share - she has never revealed what troubled her. With no mother or mother-in-law, no sisters or close friends to advise her better, she has struggled to find a confidante, clearly unable to share her thoughts with the man who had married her and unable to bear the lone burden. By the time she had daughters who could have consoled her, the pattern was set. Her jewellery had long been sold - we are informed that it was not to pay the sorceress, but how can we believe that?

  `Are you calling the sorceress?’ Marponius had aroused himself from a doze.

  `I shall do so, sir.’

  `That’s the end of the accused then!’ The judge subsided.

  Paccius, smooth as ever, shook his head at this anticipation. Silius pursed his lips. Honorius contented himself with a polite smile.

  I mimed at Petronius my opinion that Marponius had finished off the rabbit pie with a large jug of Falernian. Petro mimed back that it was a jug and a half.

  Is it hard to imagine that a woman of this type - the respected wife of a senator, a mother of three children, seemingly a matron all Rome should admire, and yet internally racked by unhappiness - might one day resort to extreme measures?

  Calpurnia herself tells us she and her husband regularly quarrelled - quarrelled so badly they would resort to a grove at the furthermost end of their garden, lest household members overhear their furious arguments. When we consider the events that clouded the end of their marriage, it is all too easy to imagine how Calpurnia’s life was blighted throughout the whole course of her ill-fated union. We are not here to try her husband, Rubirius Metellus; I remind you that that has been done in the Senate. The verdict was harsh. It truly reflected the man. Everyone says that Metellus had an unforgiving character. He took delight in the discomfiture of others. That he was morally corrupt is established beyond doubt: he sold contracts and accepted favours, using his son’s high position. He corrupted contractors; he abused everybody’s trust; he relegated his own son to the role of a cheating cipher; it is estimated he made thousands of sesterces - none of which has ever been recovered for the Senate and People of Rome.

  You may enquire, is it any wonder that with a wife who was discontented and who regularly quarrelled with him, Rubirius Metellus found it hard to resist a sweeter presence, in his cheerful and good-natured young daughter-in-law? I shall answer with another question: is it any wonder that Calpurnia herself could never bear to speak to anyone of her husband’s predilection - and still denies it? Is it any wonder if, with her spirit twisting and turning with rage against him, Calpurnia Cara felt this grim adultery was the final indignity?

  Let me now tell you about Saffia Donata. She was young, pretty, full of life and smitten with a love for good things. She had once been married to the best friend of Calpurnia’s son; she had a child by her first husband. When that marriage ended, somebody suggested that she be joined to Metellus Negrinus. Negrinus was a young man of promise, embarking on the cursus honorum; he was soon to become an aedile. Well, that shows the kind of man he was, because he won the votes of the Senate then to award him that position of honour. It means that now as an ex-aedile he should be qualified to serve in this very court, on a jury with you. But that will never happen. His reputation has been destroyed by the actions of his father. However, at that time, he was blameless. He is by nature a quiet man, almost diffident, a man who may not have seemed very interesting to an experienced, worldly wife. He married Saffia simply because he knew her and was not shy of her. His mother approved because Saffia had shown herself to be fertile. His father’s views are not known to us, but we may raise our eyebrows over the welcome he offered.

  So let us think now of what must have happened in that household, as Metellus senior fretted against his own unhappy wife and Metellus junior, who became a father himself, worked long hours in the service of the state. Saffia Donata was her father-in-law’s pet. So dearly did he regard her, that he made a will which disinherited his wife and son by name, leaving them the most meagre acknowledgements. He could not legally bequeath his estate directly to Saffia, but he made an arrangement to do it through somebody else - an arrangement which you may find significant. More of that in a moment.

  Saffia and Metellus clearly had an unhealthily close relationship. If evidence is needed, we may look to his will. No father openly makes the distinction Metellus has done unless he has completely abandoned his sense of propriety. He does not care if the shocked world sees his shameless feelings for the woman whom he makes the recipient of his generosity. He does not care how much he hurts members of his legitimate family. Whatever went on with Saffia before he died, it is certain that both Calpurnia and her son were aware of it. What monumental verb
al storms must have taken place at the end of the garden then! Imagine the accusations that flew. In whose bed did the incestuous assignations take place? Were they confined to secret occasions when the wronged wife and son were away from the house? Was the disgusting betrayal more daring than that? Did Metellus actually court discovery by his wife and son? Did he flaunt his behaviour viciously and salaciously in front of their household slaves?

  Negrinus ignored it all, for the sake of his children. He still remains silent. He will not protest. His dignity is astonishing. His mother’s reaction was all too different. Calpurnia took her own action.

  Her torment is easy to understand. She had lost everything. Her household was once so wealthy that informers did not scruple to cite her family as having an ‘extravagant lifestyle’- though her son says nothing so reprehensible and un-Roman really happened. But it is certain they had a good life, such as those who serve the state expect. They kept a handsome, noble home, to which guests and clients could be invited, a home which reflected the status of Rubirius Metellus and his son. Today, Calpurnia sees herself stripped of every natural convenience; rooms in her house are already standing empty while her possessions and slaves are due to be handed over to a fortune-hunter. Over the years, everything she came to expect from life as a woman in a family of distinction was slowly taken from her - the worst blow being that her only son was tainted with corruption, his promising career halted for ever when his father was accused and convicted. If it is a mother’s duty to bring up her children well, if we praise those noble women who do so with intelligence, wisdom and the best moral example, then the disgrace inflicted on young Metellus Negrinus must also blacken the name of his mother. So one more horror fell upon her. One last hope of a good reputation had been inexorably withdrawn. She tried desperately to convince her husband to commit judicial suicide and save the dregs of the family honour; he refused her.

  That is the kind of man Metellus was. I am sorry to say it. But we have to understand. That was the man who had destroyed this woman’s serenity and happiness for over thirty years.