Enemies of the Empire

Chapter Nine

The warder woke me shortly before dawn, but I was not conducted before the prison governor, as he had suggested I might be. ‘That travelling magistrate has agreed to hear the case. You know, the one who’s visiting the town. I hope you’ve got proper proof of what you say. He’s a hard man, I hear, and he’ll brook no nonsense if it’s all a lie. Still, it’s meant that our governor can wash his hands of you. He isn’t even going to have you scourged — leave you to more senior men, he said. Doesn’t want any trouble, if you ask me. Now, here’s your oatcake. They’ll be coming for you soon. Anything else you want to buy before you go?’

I looked up from my meagre breakfast — certainly the most expensive oatcake I have ever eaten in my life, and not entirely fresh. ‘A bowl of water and a drying cloth.’

He looked astonished. ‘Whatever for? Not thinking of trying to drown yourself, are you?’

‘To clean myself a little. I don’t want to look too much of a disgrace.’

He seemed unable to believe his ears. ‘Where did you say you come from, citizen? They must do things very differently round there. Most prisoners here want just the opposite — beg me to send out for rags for them to wear, and dust and ashes to rub on their hair and face, so they can look properly penitent in court.’

I nodded. ‘It’s the same in Glevum too. Prisoners try to arrive before the judge looking as dishevelled and pathetic as possible. I know the idea is to whip up pity from the crowd.’ When the accused man looks properly pitiful and contrite, if the verdict goes against him there is often an outcry from the onlookers and even nowadays that can be enough to affect the sentencing — although the kind of trial where the presiding magistrate refers the verdict directly to the mob is getting very rare, except in cases where public sympathy runs deep and it might avoid a riot. ‘But it won’t work for me.’

That was the understatement of the Empire. I knew Marcus. I was a member of his official party and the more disreputable I looked, the more discredit I brought on him, and the more displeased he would inevitably be. My appearance was profoundly disrespectful as it was. Bad enough that I was only in a tunic, but my brief sojourn in the lower-dungeon mud had not improved that humble garment, despite my attempts to sponge off the worst of it. In addition, I was rain-soaked and travel-stained and I could feel a big bruise swelling up above one eye.

The warder nodded, rather doubtfully. ‘Don’t suppose there’s much point your appealing to the populace today. You won’t have many supporters here, I suppose.’

That was another understatement. Nobody in Venta cared a fig for me — quite the opposite, it seemed — and anyway Marcus would be presiding as iudicius, directly on the departed governor’s behalf. That meant that even the permanent jury had no say in anything — verdict and punishment alike were at his absolute, personal discretion. I did not want him too displeased with me.

After a little more discussion and a hefty bribe, I got my bowl of water and a drying cloth of sorts and dabbed at my face and ruined tunic where I could. Then, shortly after dawn, I was led out and taken to the forum under guard.

I was more than a little apprehensive, though. Judging by the cheering crowds along the way, my patron and his entourage had just arrived at the basilica, among all the pomp and ceremony which he so enjoyed — trumpets, heralds and a retinue of uniformed soldiers at his side, while he waved graciously to passers-by, resplendent in his laurel wreath and purple stripes. It made my dismal appearance even more acute.

I knew I was hardly looking spruce as I was brought in between two brawny-looking guards, but even so my lack of public penitential show was enough to draw hisses from the gallery, where a gaggle of young women had come to see the fun, though they hid their faces behind modest veils. That was a little bit unusual, I thought. Most of the spectators at such affairs are men.

The courtroom was bursting with other people, too. The public procession and the trumpet calls had naturally caused quite a stir in the town, and news of the trial must have travelled fast. Every inch of standing space was packed, and the adjoining area, which could be partitioned off to form another courtroom, had been left open to accommodate the crowd.

I was led — not chained, but still at sword-point — up the steps and down the courtroom to the dais. One of my guards was obliged to lead the way and force a path for us through the throng. I could hear the mocking and the whispering and I was jostled several times as I passed by. At least, I thought, because I had claimed to be a citizen, the trial was taking place indoors before a proper judge. Proceedings against non-citizens are still often conducted in the open air by lesser functionaries, to the hoots and jeers and heckling of the mob: it is a rough kind of justice and public humiliation is part of the ordeal.

There was nothing at all humble about this. I walked the whole length of the basilica. The building from outside might look relatively small, compared to the one in Glevum, but inside it was still an imposing edifice. The central nave was flanked by towering columns in the Corinthian style — doubly impressive in the narrowness of the space, which made them look much taller than they were — while the severely formal patterns on the plastered wall and the stark black and white tesselations of the floor added to the impression of humourless solemnity.

Marcus was already seated on the rostrum at the further end on a sort of judicial throne, flanked by two minor magistrates. I was brought to stand at the bottom of the steps, but for the moment he paid no attention to me at all. He was talking and laughing lightly, leaning back, as if he were enjoying the attention, as no doubt he was.

He was at his magisterial best, all purple stripes and laurel wreaths, with a heavy, jewelled torc of Celtic gold round his neck and his seal ring prominent upon his hand. I had never seen the torc before — it was not a thing he generally wore. I guessed it had been lent to him for the occasion — or given outright perhaps — by some local dignitary anxious to curry favour with His Excellence. Certainly my patron looked very well in it, and it gave him additional presence and authority.

Then a court official made a sign and Marcus clapped his hands. There was a little rustle through the crowd, and an expectant silence fell.

One of the court recorders stood up to read the charge. ‘Excellence, in the name of the Most Imperial Commodus Hercules Exsuperatorius, the Merciful, the Fortunate and the Dutiful, Emperor and God, I have the honour to inform you that the man before you stands-’

He got no further. Marcus had noticed who I was at last. He half rose from his seat and let out a startled roar. ‘You? You ridiculous old fool. What by all the immortals have you been up to now?’ His face was dangerously scarlet with anger and dismay at his own unstatesmanlike display. He sank back on his seat and turned towards the clerk. ‘What is the meaning of this farce?’

A lean hungry-looking fellow at the bar stepped forward at these words. ‘Excellence, this is no farce at all. An honest hot-soup seller was stabbed to death last night, and all his money taken. This man was on the premises, we have witnesses to that. And he was carrying a knife. The shopkeeper’s wife accuses him and brings this case to your attention, Excellence. She seeks the right of talio, or compensation from the state at least.’

Marcus looked at me with obvious contempt. ‘The keeper of a common hot-soup store, you say? Is this true, Libertus?’

If I could have dropped onto my knees and grovelled, I would have done, but I was still at sword-point and did not dare make an unexpected move. ‘Your pardon, Excellence. I was in the shop, it’s true, but I did not kill the man. He was alive when I last saw him, talking to his wife. As for the knife, it is not a weapon, it’s a dining tool. A fine one, certainly, which my patron gave to me.’ I essayed an apologetic smile.

He was not amused. ‘Silence! Confine yourself to answering the questions which I ask. If I want your comments, I will ask for them. Your full name?’ He sounded so unlike himself that I was seized with fear. I had taken for granted up till now that once before my patron I was safe, but it suddenly occurred to me that this was by no means certain after all. Marcus prided himself on fairness and impartiality. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that he would find against me, patron though he was. He had tried and executed friends before.

‘Longinius Flavius Libertus, Roman citizen, from Glevum in the east.’ I reeled off my Roman title with a tongue which almost refused to frame the words.

Marcus nodded briskly. ‘Who brings the charges, here?’

The lean-faced man stepped up again. ‘I do, Excellence. I am paid to advocate this woman’s cause. .’ He indicated Lupus’s wife, who I now saw was sitting close to him.

This was a surprise as well. Naturally, being female, and therefore a child in the eyes of the law, she could not bring the case herself, but advocates command substantial fees and I wondered how Lupus’s wife had afforded the expense, especially after the cash chest had been stolen from the shop. Normally some male relative or guardian would plead on her behalf, but perhaps — since she was a newcomer to the town — she had no other family nearby. I wondered if there had been a contribution from the Venta Christians, though the sect is not a wealthy one: most of its adherents are among the poor or the slaves, more able to pray for things than pay for things, the saying went.

Wherever the money had come from, though, it had been well spent. Advocates know all the details of the law, and this advocate was an impressive one.

Marcus acknowledged him without a smile. ‘Very well. What is he charged with and who are the witnesses?’

The lean-faced man set out the accusations one by one. He did it expertly. I had murdered Lupus and stolen the wooden cash box from the shop. Only I had any opportunity; the woman herself had seen me there within a moment of his death, and — as the guards were prepared to testify — I had been carrying a knife, in contravention of civilian law. And later I had been seen escaping from the scene with haste and secrecy. A dozen witnesses could be brought in to confirm this evidence.

‘Do you deny this?’ Marcus said to me again.

‘Only that I killed the man and took the chest. The rest of it is true.’ I could scarcely deny my hurried departure from the scene, though I longed to ask who all these witnesses might be. The streets had been quite deserted as far as I could tell, apart from the footsteps which had followed me. However, I dared say nothing I was not asked to say.

The lean-faced man had rounded on me now. ‘And look at his tunic. It has obviously been sponged. What was he cleaning off it? I say that it was blood. Blood from the wounds of the helpless victim he robbed.’ He turned to Marcus. ‘We want restitution, Excellence, and the full severity of the law.’

The mood of the spectators was getting ugly by this time, and there were cries of ‘throw him to the beasts’ — although I told myself that, since Lupus was not a citizen himself, this was not a likely punishment. More probably I would face a life exile on some barren island where I would gently starve to death, and — after a swingeing compensation paid to Lupus’s wife — my possessions would be forfeit to the state. That was the good news. The charge of carrying a knife might carry a death sentence of itself, but Marcus was fair, however furious he was, and I was confident he would not find me guilty of possessing arms on the basis of a dining knife he’d given me himself.

The advocate was quite an orator and he knew how to play on the emotions of the crowd. He made a long, impassioned speech about how, if honest tradesmen could be robbed and cruelly killed. . ‘butchered, with fountains and rivulets of blood’. . the whole authority of law was undermined. The crowd was listening to his every word. He finished by calling on Marcus to make an example of me, for the sake of Rome, and sat down to tumultuous applause.

Marcus nodded slowly. My heart sank to the pavement. He looked at me sternly. ‘Have you anything to say in your defence?’

I had, of course, though I had decided that it was not a good idea to voice my suspicions about Plautus in the open court, nor to mention how the town appeared to be parcelled up between the rival gangs. Better to sound like an ignorant stranger, if I could. That way there was at least a chance that my unseen enemies would be lulled into security, supposing that I was frightened into silence by events and would just hold my tongue and go away. Otherwise, I had very little doubt, my life would be in danger if I was released.

My only hope was to convince the court that I was alibi — elsewhere. It would not be an easy plea to prove, since there is no way of telling time in most establishments, no water clocks or anything, and — since it had already been dark — there was not even a public sundial I could appeal to. But I did have one idea.

I kept my account as simple as I could. I had come out of the thermopolium when Lupus was alive, at the moment when his wife had entered carrying a new taper to be lit. She would attest to that?

A hurried consultation with the advocate. She would.

‘When I went out into the street I thought that somebody was on my track — a thief with designs upon my purse, perhaps. I did not think of taking out my knife at first, but simply ran away and tried to hide. There are three young men in the town who could attest to this.’

‘Their names?’ Marcus was still curt and businesslike.

I gave their nicknames, which was all I knew, and an usher was sent out to summon them, while I continued with my narrative: how I had gone back to the mansio but the guard on duty would not let me in, and so I had returned to the thermopolium to seek a room. I didn’t say anything about Promptillius or the note, or about my plans to find a brothel for the night.

At this point there was an unexpected interruption, as spotty Laxus was brought into the dock. I was astounded that he had been found so quickly, but the reason was soon pretty evident. He had been crowding round the doorway of the court and boasting of having spoken to me the night before. Now I was glad of the carelessness that had evidently earned Laxus his nickname. When I mentioned him by name and called on him to testify for me he took fright and tried to make off into the town, but the bystanders had laid hands on him and handed him over to the guard.

He confessed all this in sullen tones. He was looking frightened, too, and far more anxious to justify himself than be of any assistance to my cause. I had been skulking in a doorway, claiming to be a Roman citizen, and it was not his fault if I’d accosted them. He had no part in any homicide. He and his two friends had been at the public games all night, like model citizens, and in the tavern afterwards in full sight of everyone, where they’d had a skin or two of wine. They’d simply shown me to the mansio, as I had asked them to.

They had drunk a good deal more than a skin or two, I guessed, but I did not question it. His evidence supported me, if anything. It was easy to get him to agree that I had met them not long after the ending of the games.

‘You see,’ I said, to Marcus and the court, ‘here is a witness who will swear that I was near the wine shop shortly after dark, and walked down to the mansio afterwards — there will be a guard there who can testify to that, as well. Now — follow this carefully — a home-made candle burns down in an hour or two at most. Agreed?’

There was a general murmur of assent.

‘Yet, when I got back to the thermopolium, that new taper in the shop was not even half consumed. Ask the town guardsmen who arrested me. I noticed one of them had picked it up to view the corpse. You see what that suggests? Far from having time to kill the hot-soup seller and dispose of all his gold, I must have hurried directly through the streets to meet these people when and where I did. There was no gold in my purse when they arrested me — a small sum of silver only — as this young man can also testify. He saw me take it out to pay for some honey cakes from the pastry-cook. So what became of Lupus’s treasure chest? I am a stranger to the town. Where could I hide a great big wooden box?’

The advocate was on his feet again. ‘The fact that he hasn’t got the money now is no proof that he didn’t have it then. There is no doubt that it was taken, Excellence. I say he stole it, and he stabbed the shopkeeper.’

‘That is another thing,’ I said, turning to Laxus and looking him firmly in the eye. ‘About the charge of carrying a knife.’ The youth turned pale. He was guilty of that crime himself, and he was clearly terrified that I was going to accuse him of it now. ‘Did you see me with a knife at any time?’ I went on.

I saw him visibly relax. ‘I didn’t, citizen. I didn’t know you had one. If I had-’ He stopped, and was very anxious to be helpful, suddenly. ‘Though it would hardly be surprising if you did — there are a lot of thieves and rogues about. People have been set on in the outskirts of the town a dozen times this year. Especially travellers or anyone with Roman ties. My own uncle disappeared a moon or two ago-’

‘May it please Your Excellence,’ I interrupted him. I did not want him to raise the matter of the rival gangs and perhaps divide opinion in the court. ‘I am a stranger here, and did not know about all these unfortunate events. However, one possibility does occur to me. Perhaps the unhappy victim in this case was robbed and killed by the same band of criminals that did these other things. I thought I heard footsteps pursuing me, as I have explained. It all suggests there might have been a murderous thief about.’

There was uneasy muttering among the audience at this. One or two people began to look unsure — including one of the magistrates, I noticed.

The advocate for Lupus’s wife was on his feet again. ‘Then why has the wretch sponged his tunic, as he evidently has? Look at the dark stains and marks on it.’

The unexpected sally brought another hiss of discontent from some parts of the gallery. I thought of calling in the warder to speak in my defence — but Laxus was now firmly on my side. Before I had time to say another word, he volunteered, ‘There was no blood on his tunic when he spoke to us. I can swear to that.’

‘So, Excellence,’ I said, seeing a chance and seizing it at once, ‘if the killer was drenched with Lupus’s blood, as by the advocate’s account he must have been, then I am clearly innocent.’

There were louder rumbles now. The mood was beginning to swing in my favour, and, seeing this, the advocate began another tack. ‘There is still the question of the knife.’ He produced it with a flourish. ‘Here it is. The town guards took it from him at the scene. Carrying a weapon is a capital offence, and so is his claim to be a Roman citizen, if that is proved untrue. As I understand the matter, that is in dispute. He has brought no proof of it, of any kind.’

There was only one possible response to that. ‘As to those charges,’ I replied, ‘I call upon my patron — His Excellence himself.’

I could not have caused more of a sensation if I had conjured up Jupiter in person. All eyes turned to Marcus, and even the soldier who had been guarding me allowed his sword to drop and swivelled round to stare.

Marcus cleared his throat and raised a hand. His face was mottled scarlet and I knew that he was raging inwardly, but he simply rose to his feet and said with dignity, ‘What the man says on both these points is true. He is a citizen, and one of my clients. He is accompanying me to Isca, where — despite his present woeful lack of gravitas — he is to be an honoured guest. It is also true that I presented him with that dining knife in appreciation for a service he once rendered me.’

The advocate was obviously nonplussed by this, but he did not give up. ‘Then what was he doing at that shop last night? Not once, but twice. He does not deny that he was there. And at the crucial time. He also had a knife, whether it is a legal one or not, and it is proved that he came back to the scene.’

Marcus ran a ringed hand through his tousled curls. ‘There is no blood on that knife that I can see,’ he said. ‘You prove he had the opportunity-’

‘And the means and motive — he took the treasure chest,’ the man insisted.

He had interrupted Marcus, and that was a mistake. Marcus looked at him coldly. ‘Do not attempt to give me lessons in the law. Mere opportunity is not sufficient proof — and the man has witnesses to say he had no blood or money on him afterwards. So, I will ask the question for the third and final time — Libertus, did you kill this man and steal his goods?’

The third time of asking was required in law, and I replied as firmly as I could, ‘I did not, Excellence.’

‘Then by the power invested in me by this court, I give my verdict. He appears not to have done it.’ That was the official formula, and I found myself grinning helplessly, even before he uttered the final words. ‘I’ve half a mind to fine him for improper dress — he has failed to wear his toga in a public place, which is an affront to his status and the name of Rome — but otherwise I find no fault in him. Let the prisoner go.’

There was a little stir which the herald quelled by shouting, in a high-pitched monotone, ‘And that concludes the business of this court.’

Marcus turned and led the way majestically through the basilica, down the steps and into the official litter awaiting him outside. The other magistrates and officials trailed out after him.

I took a deep breath. I was free to go.