John Roberts - Under Vesuvius

"Come along to the baths," Hermes advised.

Intrigued, I walked along with them, my lictors clearing the way before us. The town baths were, predictably, lavish, located just off the forum. There was a small crowd gathered on its steps, surrounding three men, two of them wearing purple-bordered togas like mine. These two weren't serving magistrates that year, though. There was no mistaking who

they were. I had my lictors push through the crowd and threw my arms wide.

"Marcus Tullius!" I cried. "Quintus! Tiro!"

The oldest of them grinned. "Decius Caecilius! Praetor Metellus, I should say. Congratulations!"

It was, indeed, Marcus Tullius Cicero; his brother, Quintus; and his former slave, now freedman, Tiro.

"I thought you would never get back from Syria," I told Cicero, taking all their hands in turn. "And I never expected to see you here! I would have thought you'd be in Rome, where all the political action is going on."

"I've petitioned the Senate to celebrate a triumph, so I can't go into the City until I get permission. I'd rather spend the hot months down here than hang about outside the walls, missing everything." Cicero had been one of the first prominent Romans to build a vacation villa near Baiae. The whole district adored him as if he'd been a native, instead of from Arpinum. That was probably one reason why he loved the place. In Rome, the aristocrats never let him forget that he was a New Man from a small town, not one of their own.

I grasped Tiro's hands warmly. "Tiro, my heartiest congratulations. I hear you are a country squire now."

Quintus Cicero grinned. "He's a landowner and a gentleman now, and increasing his holdings all the time. He'll be looking down on us all soon."

Tiro smiled modestly. "I hope not. Praetor, I see that your Hermes has also donned the toga." He took Hermes' hands.

"Now that I'm free," Hermes said, "he feels entitled to work me harder."

"I understand you've had some work to occupy you here," Cicero said. "Do tell me all about it, Decius." He turned to the surrounding people. "My good friends, please give me leave. I have dealings with the praetor. We shall have a fine banquet in a few days. My brother and I will be here all summer."

Amid effusive greetings and farewells, we retired to one of the baths' small meeting rooms. These were chambers of modest size furnished with chairs and long tables, usually employed by local business associations, fraternal organizations, funeral clubs, and so forth. It had a permanent staff of slaves to serve wine and light refreshments. We arranged ourselves around the central table and accepted the proffered cups of watered wine. A slave set a tray of salted, dried, and smoked snacks on the table and withdrew discreetly. We each took a ceremonial sip and bite and got down to business.

"I hear tales of a rather bizarre murder case in your jurisdiction, Decius," Cicero began.

"It is a-strange case," I said.

"For you to admit that," Quintus Cicero said, "proclaims volumes."

"Let me enlighten you," I said. I told them of the progress of the case thus far, leaving out only my recent interview with Jocasta. I was not yet satisfied that this was not merely a tissue of lies to distract my investigation. Experienced investigators and judges that they all were, they followed my words closely and I knew that they would render no judgment that was not cogent and to the point.

"What a strange matter," Cicero said when I was finished. "The low status of the suspect of course works in his disfavor, but the great amount of wealth to be found in all directions confuses things. Quintus?"

His brother thought for a moment. "Much seems obvious and is all too obvious. The passion of young love, jealousy-these things provide sufficient motive for the act but not for the subsequent pressure brought to bear by the moneyed class of Baiae. There is something far more compelling at work in this."

"I agree," Cicero said. "Tiro?"

The freedman had his answer ready. "I think Hermes is right. The slave girl Charmian has the answer. She must have been present when the most important events of this business took place. The only difficulty is getting access to the girl. Apparently, she is willing to speak to the praetor."

"Exactly," Cicero said. "And herein lies the difficulty: How are we to compel a citizen to surrender one of his slaves and make her talk?"

This may seem strange to many who are not conversant with Roman law and practice as they were in those days. Here we were, a little group of some of Rome's more powerful men, unable to figure out how we could get a Greek priest to allow us access to one of his slaves to ask her some questions.

But one of the most important observances in Roman life was the acknowledgment of the absolute power of a citizen over his own property, and that property included his slaves. In the past, people of our class had been destroyed when their own slaves had denounced them to tyrants like Marius and Sulla. And then there had been the rebellion of Spartacus.

The result had been some draconian laws concerning the rights of citizens to control their own slaves. Even the highest magistrates had no power to compel the testimony of slaves without the cooperation of their masters. At this time, it was political death to accept slave testimony save under the most stringent conditions.

"Marcus Tullius," I said, "the boy's father, the Numidian Gaeto, is looking for an advocate. Might you be interested in taking the case?"

Quintus nudged him. "Why not? It's been a while since you've argued in court, big brother. This would be an exercise of some long-disused muscles."

But Cicero shook his head. "No, it is unthinkable. Oppressed provincials are one thing, but for Cicero to defend a slaver's son? I am sorry, Decius, but it would be unseemly. The boy may be innocent, as you believe, but I could not take a hand in this."

I was disappointed, and I could see that Quintus and Tiro felt the same. This was another example of the self-importance that Cicero suffered from in his later days. The Cicero I had known in his younger days would have taken the case on just for fun.

He correctly interpreted our expressions. "Of course, I shall be more than happy to consult with his defense attorney. I am certain that a properly eloquent defense will persuade the jury to acquit."

"Even if he's guilty," Quintus muttered.

"I'm afraid," I said, "that a jury here is likely to be heavily weighted with Greeks, and the priest has great prestige in the Greek community. Also, I think many of the local men had a more than moderate fondness for the girl."

"Nothing a rousing speech can't fix," Cicero assured me. "Any idea who this man Gaeto has hired?"

"Is old Aulus Galba still around?" Quintus asked. "He's said to have the best legal mind south of Rome."

"As I understand it," I said, "he was one of last year's duumviri, so he's probably tight with that lot. There are about ten families in these parts who take the duumvirate in rotation."

"I suppose he's out, then," said Cicero. "Well, there must be somebody suitable."

"I'm sure there must be," I told him. "So you've petitioned for a triumph?" Behind Cicero, Quintus rolled his eyes while Tiro made a careful study of his fingers, folded on the table before him. Clearly, this was another of Cicero's late-life eccentricities. He had been sent out to Syria as governor with the task of repelling a Parthian incursion. Cicero was a lawyer and pure politician, the unlikeliest soldier Rome could have sent. He detested military life as much as I did, yet here he was, trying to vie with the likes of Caesar in celebrating a triumph. This for some doubtful successes after young Cassius had already taken care of the serious fighting.

"Exactly," Cicero said with his customary certitude. "All the prerequisites have been accomplished, all the legalities observed; the Senate has no just cause to deny me a triumph."