Roman blood rsr-1

by Steven Saylor

  'They will tell you that Sextus Roscius is in many ways a mystery — a solitary man, unsociable, irreligious, boorish, and curt in his few dealings with others. In the community of Ameria he is well known — or should I say notorious? — for one thing and one thing only: his lifelong feud with his father.

  'A good man does not argue with his father. A good man honours and obeys his father, not only because it is the law, but because it is the will of heaven. When a bad man ignores that mandate and openly feuds with the man who gave him life, then he steps onto a path that leads to all manner of unspeakable crime — yes, even to the crime that we have assembled here to punish.

  ‘What caused this feud between father and son? We do not really know, though the man who sits beside me at the accuser's bench, Titus Roscius Magnus, can attest to having seen many sordid examples of this feud at first hand; as can another witness I may call, after the defence has its say, the venerable Capito. Magnus and Capito are each cousins of the victim, and of that man as well. They are respected citizens of Ameria. They watched for years with dread and disgust as Sextus Roscius disobeyed his father and cursed him behind his back. They watched in dismay as the old man, to protect his own dignity, turned his back on the abomination that had sprung to manhood from his own seed.

  'Turned his back, I say. Yes, Sextus Roscius pater turned his back on Sextus Roscius filius, no doubt to his ultimate regret — for a prudent man does not turn his back on a viper, nor on a man with the soul of an assassin, even his own son, not unless he wishes to receive a knife in the back!'

  Erucius pounded his fist against the balcony of the Rostra and stared wide-eyed above the heads of the crowd, held the pose for a moment and then drew back to catch his breath. The square was strangely hushed after the thunder of his voice. He had by this point worked himself into a fine sweat He clutched at the hem of his toga and dabbed it against his streaming jowls. He raised his eyes and looked to heaven, as if seeking relief from the gruelling ordeal of seeking justice. In a plaintive voice, pitched just loud enough for all to hear, he muttered, 'Jupiter, give me strength!' I saw Cicero cross his arms and roll his eyes. Meanwhile Erucius pulled himself together, stepped forward to the Rostra with bowed head and began again.

  'That man — why bother to say his befouled name when he dares to show his face in public, where any decent man may see it and recoil in horror? — that man was not the only offspring of his father. There was a second son. His name was Gaius. How his father loved him, and why not? From all accounts he was the exemplar of what every young Roman should be: pious towards the gods, obedient to his father, aspiring to every virtue, a young man in all ways agreeable, charming, and refined. How strange that a man could have two sons so different from each other! Ah, but then the sons had different mothers. Perhaps it was not the seed that was polluted, then, but the grounds in which it was planted. Consider: two seeds from the same grape are planted in different soil. One vine grows strong and lovely, bearing sweet fruit that yields a heady wine. The other is stunted and strange from the first, gnarled and pricked with thorns; its fruit is bitter and its wine is poison. I name the first vine Gaius, and the other Sextus!'

  Erucius mopped his face, shuddered in revulsion, and went on. 'Sextus Roscius pater loved one son and not the other. Gaius he kept close to him always, proudly displaying him to the finest society, showering him in public with kindness and affection. Sextus filius, on the other hand, he kept as far from him as he could, relegating him to the family's farms in Ameria, keeping him from view as if he were a thing of shame not to be shown among decent folk. So deep did this division of affections run that Roscius pater thought long and hard about disinheriting his namesake completely and naming Gaius his sole heir, even though Gaius was the younger of his sons.

  'Unfair, you may say. It is better when a man treats all his sons with equal respect. When he goes about choosing favourites he asks for nothing but trouble in his own generation and the next. True, but in this case I think we must trust the judgment of the elder Sextus Roscius. Why did he despise his firstborn so much? I think it must be that he, better than any other man, could see what wickedness lurked in the breast of young Sextus Roscius, and he recoiled from it. Perhaps he even had a presentiment of the violence that his son might one day wreak on him, and that was why he kept him at such a distance. Alas, the precaution was not enough!

  'The tale of the Roscii ends in manifold tragedy — a series of tragedies that cannot be set right, but only avenged, and only by you, esteemed Judges. First, the untimely death of Gaius Roscius. With him vanished all his father's hopes for the future. Consider is it not the greatest joy of existence to give life to a son, and to see in him an image of yourself? To rear and educate him so that you are renewed as he grows? I know, I speak as a father myself. And will it not be a blessing on departing this life to leave behind, as your successor and heir, a being sprung from yourself? To leave him not only your estate, but your accumulated wisdom, and the very flame of life passed from parent to child to pass on to his sons, so that when your mortal body fades away, you will live on in your descendents?

  'With the death of Gaius, this hope for a kind of immortality died in his father, Sextus Roscius. But he had another son still living, you may protest. True, but in that son he saw not his own reflection, true and straight as one sees it in a pool of clear water. Instead he saw an image of himself like that reflected from a crushed silver plate, distorted, twisted, and taunting. Even after the death of Gaius, Roscius pater still considered disinheriting his only surviving son. Certainly there were plenty of other, more worthy cousin candidates to be his heir within the family, not least his cousin Magnus — that same Magnus who sits beside me at the accuser's bench, who loved his cousin enough to see that his murder does not go unpunished.

  'Young Sextus Roscius fiendishly plotted the death of his father. The exact details we do not know and cannot know. Only that man could tell us, if he dares to confess. What we know are the naked facts. On a night in September, leaving the home of his patroness, the much-esteemed Caecilia Metella, Sextus Roscius pater was accosted in the vicinity of the Baths of Pallacina and stabbed to death. By Sextus Roscius filius himself? Of course not! Think back to the turmoil of last year, esteemed Judges of the court. I need not dwell on the causes, for this is not a political court, but I must remind you of the violence that surged through the streets of this city. How very easy it must have been for a schemer like young Sextus Roscius to find the cut-throats to do his dirty work. And how clever, to try to stage the execution at a time of turmoil, hoping that his father's murder would be overlooked in the midst of so much upheaval.

  Thank the gods for a man like Magnus, who keeps his eyes and ears open and is not afraid to step forward and accuse the guilty! That very night his trusted freedman, Mallius Glaucia, came to him here in Rome with news of his dear cousin's murder. Magnus immediately dispatched Glaucia to carry the news to his good cousin Capito back home in Ameria.

  'And now irony, bitter and yet strangely just, enters the tale alongside tragedy. For by a peculiar twist of fortune that man was not to inherit the fortune he had committed parricide to obtain. Now as I said before, this is not a political court, nor is this a political trial. We are not concerned here with the drastic measures forced upon the state in the recent years of upheaval and uncertainty. And so I will not try to explain the curious process by which it came about that Sextus Roscius pater, to most appearances a good man, was nevertheless found to be among those on the lists of the proscribed when certain conscientious officers of the state looked into the matter of his death. Somehow the old man had escaped with his life for months! What a fortunate man he must have been, or else how clever!

  'And yet — what irony! filius kills pater to secure his inheritance, only to discover that the inheritance has already been claimed by the state! Imagine his chagrin! His frustration and despair! The gods played an appalling joke on that man, but what man can deny either their infinite wisdom o
r their sense of humour?

  'In due course the property of the late Sextus Roscius was sold at auction. The good cousins Magnus and Capito were among the first to bid, since they were intimate with the estates and knew their value, and thus they became what they should have been all along, the heirs of the late Sextus Roscius. So it is that sometimes Fortune rewards the just and punishes the wicked.

  'And now — what of that man! Magnus and Capito suspected his guilt, indeed they were almost certain of it. But out of pity for his family they offered him shelter on their newly acquired estates. For a time there was an unsteady peace between the cousins — that is, until Sextus Roscius gave himself away. First it was discovered that he had held back various items of property that had been duly proscribed by the state — in other words, the man was no better than a common thief, stealing from the people of Rome what was duly theirs by right of law. (Ah, Judges, you yawn at an accusation of embezzlement, and rightly so — what is that, compared to his greater crime?) When Magnus and Capito demanded that he give these things up, he threatened their lives. Now, had he been sober, he probably would have held his tongue. But ever since the death of his father he had drunk excessively — as guilty men are known to do. Indeed, to all his other vices, Sextus Roscius had added drunkenness, and was hardly ever sober. He became intolerably abusive, to the point that he dared to threaten his hosts. To kill them, in fact — and in threatening their lives he' inadvertently confessed to the murder of his father.

  Tearing for his own life, and because it was his duty, Magnus decided to bring charges against that man. Meanwhile Roscius slipped out of his grip and escaped to Rome, back to the very scene of his crime; but the eye of the law watches even the heart of Rome, and in a city of a million souls he could not hide himself

  'Sextus Roscius was located. Normally, even when accused of the most heinous crime, a Roman citizen is given the opportunity to renounce his citizenship and escape into exile rather than face trial, if that is his choice. But so severe was the crime committed by that man that he was placed under armed guard to await his trial and punishment. And why? Because the crime he has committed goes far beyond the mere offence of one mortal against the person of another. It is a blow against the very foundations of this republic and the principles that have made it great It is an assault on the primacy of fatherhood. It is an insult to the very gods, and to Jupiter above all, father ofthe gods.

  'No, the state cannot take even the slightest risk that such an odious criminal might escape, nor, esteemed Judges, can you take the risk of letting him go unpunished. For if you do, consider the divine punishments that are sure to be visited upon this city in retribution for its failure to wipe out such an abomination. Think of those cities whose streets have run with blood or whose people have withered from starvation and thirst when they foolishly sheltered an impious man from the gods. You cannot allow that to happen to Rome.'

  Erucius paused to mop his brow. Everyone in the square was watching him with an almost dreamlike concentration. Cicero and his fellow advocates were no longer rolling their eyes and mocking Erucius behind their sleeves; they looked rather worried. Sextus Roscius had turned to stone.

  Erucius resumed. 'I have spoken of the insult rendered to divine Jupiter by that man and his unspeakably vile crime. It is an insult as well, if I might digress only a little, to the Father of our restored Republic!' Here Erucius made quite a show of spreading his arms wide as if in supplication to the equestrian statue of Sulla, which seemed, from the angle at which I sat, to be granting him a condescending smile. 'I need not even speak his name, for his eye is on us all at this very moment. Yes, his watchful eye is on everything we do in this place, in our dutiful roles as citizens, judges, advocates, and accusers. Lucius Cornelius Sulla, Ever Fortunate, restored the courts, Sulla reignited the fire of justice in Rome after so many years of darkness; it is up to us to see that villains such as that man are withered to ashes by its flame. Or else I promise you, esteemed Judges, that retribution will fall on all our heads from above, like hail descending from an angry black sky.'

  Erucius struck a pose and held it for a long moment. His ringer pointed to heaven. His brows were drawn together, and he glowered like a bull at the gathered judges. He had spoken of Jupiter's retribution, but what we all had heard was that Sulla himself would be angered at a verdict of not guilty. The threat could not have been more explicit,

  Erucius gathered the folds of his toga, threw back his chin, and turned his back. As he descended the Rostra, there were no cheers or applause from the crowd, only a chilling silence.

  He had proved nothing. In place of evidence he had offered innuendo. He had appealed not to justice, but to fear. His speech was a dreadful patchwork of outright lies and self-righteous bullying. And yet, what man who heard him from the Rostra that morning could doubt that Gaius Erucius had won his case?

  31

  Cicero rose and walked resolutely to the Rostra, his toga billowing about his knees. I glanced at Tiro, who was gnawing on one of his thumbnails, and at Rufus, who sat with his hands folded in his lap and a barely suppressed smile of adoration on his face.

  Cicero stepped forward to the podium, cleared his throat and coughed. A wave of scepticism ran through the crowd. No one had heard him orate before; a botched opening was a bad sign. At the accuser's bench Gaius Erucius made a great show of smacking his lips and staring up at the sky.

  Cicero cleared his throat and began again. His voice was unsteady and slightly hoarse. 'Judges of the court: you must be wondering why, of all the distinguished citizens and eminent orators seated about you, it is I who have risen to address you….'

  'Indeed,' Erucius muttered under his breath. There was scattered laughter from the crowd.

  Cicero pressed on. 'Certainly I cannot be compared to them in age or ability or authority. Certainly they believe, no less than I, that an unjust charge concocted by utmost villainy has been levelled at an innocent man and must be repelled. Thus they show themselves here in visible fulfilment of their duty to the truth, but they remain silent — due to the inclement conditions of the day.' Here he raised his hand as if to catch a raindrop from the clear blue sky — and at the same time seemed to be gesturing towards the equestrian statue of Sulla. Among the judges there was an uneasy shuffling of chairs. Erucius, who was inspecting his fingernails, did not see.

  Cicero cleared his throat again. His voice returned, stronger and louder than before. The quavering vanished. 'Am I so much bolder than these silent men? Or more devoted to justice? I think not. Or so very eager to hear my own voice in the Forum, and to be praised for speaking out? No, not if a better orator could earn that praise by speaking better words. What, then, has impelled me, rather than a more important man, to undertake the defence of Sextus Roscius of Ameria?

  'The reason is this: if any one of these fine orators had risen to speak in this court, and uttered words of a political nature — inevitable in a case such as this — then he would undoubtedly find people reading much more into his words than was actually there. Rumours would begin. Suspicions would be aroused. Such is the stature of these established men that nothing they say goes unremarked, and no implication in their speeches goes undebated. I, on the other hand, can say everything that demands to be said in this case, without fear of adverse attention or untoward controversy. That is because I have not yet begun a public career; no one knows me. If I should speak out of turn, if I should let slip some embarrassing indiscretion, no one will even notice, or if they do, they will pardon the lapse on the grounds of my youth and inexperience — though I use the word pardon rather loosely, since actual pardons and the free judicial inquiry they require have of late been abolished by the state.'

  There was more rustling of chairs. Erucius looked up from his nails, wrinkled his nose, and gazed into the middle distance, as if he had just discerned an alarming plume of smoke on the air.

  'So you see, I was not singled out and chosen because I was the most gifted orator.' Cicero
smiled to ask the crowd's indulgence. 'No, I was simply the person left over when all others had stepped aside. I was the man who could plead with the least danger. No one can say that I was chosen so that Sextus Roscius would have the best possible defence. I was chosen simply so that he would have any defence at all.

  'You may ask: what is this fear and terror that drives away the best of the advocates and leaves Sextus Roscius with only a rank beginner to defend his very life? To hear Erucius speak, you would never guess there was any peril at all, since he has deliberately avoided naming his true employer or mentioning that secret person's vicious motives for bringing my client to trial.

  'What person? What motives? Let me explain.

  'The estate of the late, murdered Sextus Roscius — which by any ordinary course of events should now be the property of his son and heir — embraces farms and properties exceeding six million sesterces in value. Six million sesterces! That is a considerable fortune, amassed over a long and productive lifetime. Yet this entire estate was purchased by a certain young man, presumably at public auction, for the astonishing sum of two thousand sesterces. Quite a bargain! The thrifty young buyer was Lucius Cornelius Chrysogonus — I see the very mention of his name causes a stir in this place, and why not? He is an exceptionally powerful man. The alleged seller of this property, representing the interests of the state, was the valiant and illustrious Lucius Sulla, whose name I mention with all due respect.'

  At this point a soft hissing filled the square like a rain of mist on hot stones, as men turned to one another and whispered behind their hands. Capito clutched at Glaucia's shoulder and croaked into his ear. All about me nobles in the gallery crossed their arms and exchanged grim glances. Two elderly Metelli on my right nodded knowingly to each other. Gaius Erucius, whose plump jowls had abruptly turned scarlet at the mention of Chrysogonus, gripped a young slave by the neck, spat an order at him, and sent him fleeing from the square.