The Accusers

XVII

WE STARTED badly. The praetor had already dictated a proclamation naming Metellus Negrinus as a fugitive from justice. When I produced Negrinus it spoiled his day. His secretary had inscribed the proclamation nicely and hated tearing up good work.

Don't ask me which praetor it was. The usual. Anyone who wants to look up who the damned consul was four years later can work it out. I've forgotten. All I know is he was a snide bastard, working in an office where even the clerks looked as if we were some foul mess brought in on the sole of a boot. They all had better things to do than provide justice for the Metellus family.

Paccius Africanus excelled himself.

The story now was: Metellus Negrinus, first the stooge of his father, subsequently became the weak-willed tool of his mother. After the corruption trial, Metellus senior refused to do the decent and remove himself from life. Calpurnia was furious. A noble Roman matron expected her man to show self-sacrifice. To preserve the family cash from Silius (Paccius sombrely maintained), she decided to remove Metellus herself, this was with the aid of her son, who felt aggrieved that he had been omitted from his father's will. Calpurnia admitted having the idea, but Negrinus did it, with hemlock. The plan, said Paccius, was stupidly elaborate. He rightly claimed that murders dreamed up by amateurs often are. Calpurnia and her boy had confused the issue by telling Metellus senior he could take his daughter's corn cockle pills in complete safety, pretend they had worked, fake his own death, then revive and live a happy secret life. They pretended one of their slaves would actually be killed, to provide, a body they could display and cremate. Paccius named the slave who would have died: Perseus the door porter. The charge was that Metellus fell for the plan, then instead, hemlock was administered to him by Negrinus at the lunch which they later pretended was the `suicide's' formal gathering to say his farewells to his family.

`Are these people mad?' asked the praetor. He had listened in silence, as if preposterous ideas were constantly brought before him. No doubt he had learned that he could most easily end the torture by _ allowing the complainants to finish as soon as possible. In a rare flash of humour he added a heavy praetorian joke: `No more than your family or mine, no doubt!'

His clerks sniggered. We all grinned obediently. I waited for him to dismiss the accusation.

`I take it you are writing your memoirs, dear Paccius, and need a lively chapter for the next scroll?' The man was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Paccius made a modest gesture. He managed to imply that when he did write his memoirs, the praetor would receive a free copy of that startling work. There was a strong sense that the magistrate and the informer were old colleagues. They had obviously been involved in many previous cases, and perhaps dined together privately. I distrusted them. There was nothing I could do. No point worrying that they fixed verdicts. Of course they did. It would be hard to prove – and anyone of my new rank who did expose it might as well sail into exile on the next tide.

`What do you have to say for yourself?' the praetor asked Birdy. `Can you tell me all this is untrue?'

That was when Negrinus damned himself. `Not all of it,' the witless flake muttered, sounding meek.

`No point denying it, is there?' exclaimed Paccius. `You realise I have been talking to your mother!'

`Is she to be jointly charged?' the praetor interrupted.

`No, sir. Calpurnia Cara is a woman of some years, who has lost her husband recently. We believe it would be unfeeling to inflict her with a court case. In return for her complete honesty, we are waiving the right to accuse her.'

I heard myself choke with disbelief. The praetor merely shrugged, as if forgiving highborn widows who had poisoned spineless husbands was an everyday courtesy.

`Will she make a statement?'

`Yes, sir,' said Paccius. Negrinus closed his eyes in defeat. `I shall produce her written evidence that her son administered the poison to Metellus senior.'

'Negrinus will deny it,' I said.

The praetor gave me a sharp look. `Well, of course he will, Falco! Paccius intends to show that he is lying.' Paccius gracefully thanked the praetor for stating his case.

So if this came off and Negrinus was convicted, Silius Italicus would once again be able to grab compensation in the corruption case, because we were back with the angle that Metellus had not committed suicide. Any money that remained in possession of the Metellus family afterwards would be there to pay off Paccius, for his defence of Juliana and his attack on Negrinus – the remainder to be enjoyed by the heirs to the dead man's estate. I had no doubt now that Paccius was in league with Calpurnia in some way. Maybe her daughter or both daughters were involved too. My one-time joke that Paccius Africanus might be Calpurnia's lover now seemed less amusing. One thing was clear: Negrinus had been used, disowned – and now was to be unfeelingly dumped by his family.

The story was still fantastic. I was still waiting for the praetor to dismiss the charge.

`So you are in agreement with some of the facts,' he asked Birdy. `Which ones?'

`We did once discuss a plan such as Paccius described.' He was out of control. He must have had an education but nobody had taught him to use logic, even when his reputation and his life were at stake. At this rate, he would truss himself up and hobble single-handed into the arena full of lions, smiling a feeble apology. `It was just after the trial verdict. My father didn't want to die, my mother was angry, she did suggest us taking matters into our own hands. I cannot deny the conversation happened; my ex-wife was there.' So that was why Saffia Donata had mentioned hemlock. `But of course we didn't do it,' Negrinus whined.

Too late. It had no force. He was damned.

`No choice is available to me, I fear.' The praetor maintained the pretence that he and Negrinus were civilised equals. He pretended that he hated to see a fellow-senator brought to this. `I have heard enough evidence to allow the case against you to proceed. Parricide is a crime we Romans hate above all others. A man of noble birth has been murdered in his own house. Shocking! I am prepared to summon the Senate to judge this.' Perhaps his voice softened. Certainly he stopped enunciating edicts temporarily: 'Metellus Negrinus, get a grip! You are in serious trouble; you need the best defender you can persuade to speak for you.' Ah, what a good sport. He wanted the trial to be fun for spectators!

At the last-minute interjection, which was caused by guilt no doubt, Negrinus shuddered. His head came up and he looked the magistrate full in the face. `What's the point, praetor? I am lost, and we all know it!' His voice became harsh. `I stand here accused of murdering my father – and my own mother condemns me. I am an embarrassment. She just wants to get rid of me. I never had a chance,' he groaned. `Never, never! Nobody will defend me. There will be no justice at this trial!'

I could see why he felt that way. Worse followed. I had assumed that in view of the reported feud between Paccius Africanus and Silius Italicus, Silius would act in Negrinus' defence. But then, Silius also wanted him convicted, in order that his father's alleged suicide would be disproved. So it turned out that Silius and Paccius for once had ganged up.

Even the praetor seemed slightly embarrassed as he explained the situation: `I have another application for charges against you. Silius Italicus has petitioned too. I have decided it is not necessary for you to be present before me a second time when he states his evidence.' After this magnanimity, he turned to Paccius. `We shall move to a pre-trial hearing in two days' time.' He looked back at Negrinus. In a routine manner, he explained: `This will be where I decide who has the greatest claim to prosecute. I shall adjudicate on who can bring which charges, and perhaps make a pronouncement on how they are to divide the compensation if you are convicted.'

Paccius looked put out. `I claim the right of first speaking at the trial!'

`Of course you do,' the praetor told him smoothly. `And so of course does Silius!' Things were no longer going in Paccius' favour – though they were still firmly going against Birdy. He had no friends. I had come with him today, but had done so only to claim a bounty for producing him.

The hearing was over. Paccius lingered for discussions with the magistrate. I won't say they were about to share a drink and a laugh at Negrinus' expense – but a stagnant odour of connivance followed us through the spotless marble-floored corridors as I propelled the accused on our gloomy way out.

`It's not over yet, man -'

`Oh yes it is.' Bare resignation filled his voice, though he was quiet in a way he had not been last night or this morning. 'Falco, this was settled for me a long, long time ago!'

He was not going to explain, I could see.

`Look, Birdy; go home -'

I stopped. He looked at me. He let out a brief hack of bitter mirth. `Oh no!'

I sighed. `No.'

Home was where somebody had almost certainly murdered his father, though as we stood on the praetor's doorstep, for the first time I did feel that it might not have been this ineffectual son who committed the crime. Home was where the mother was, who had devised that crime but who intended to condemn him for it.

I had no choice now. Negrinus had lost all hope – and he had nowhere to go. I took him back again to my house. As we walked there, a heavy feeling descended that I was being sucked into a bottomless black pool in the isolated wastes of the Pontine Marshes.

Still, that must be nothing to the mood of the man beside me.