John Roberts - A Point of Law

“Naturally,” I said to him. “I have hundreds of witnesses to my activities, and they’re all on Cyprus! If I were, at great expense, to dispatch a fast cutter I could bring a few dozen here in about a month. At least I could if it were the sailing season, which it isn’t.”

“You’d better think of something,” Pompey advised, “because if your case is carried over into the next year, you can’t be elected praetor.”

He turned around, strode to the entrance, and bellowed, “This matter is to be settled tomorrow! I want you all to go about your business. There are to be no unlawful assemblies or disorderly demonstrations.”

Meekly, the whole crowd did his bidding. Pompey was acting as if he were sovereign of the City. Since the City was well-supplied with his veterans in those days, he might as well have been.

“We’ll meet at my house this evening,” Father said. “Summon our highest-ranking supporters. We have some serious planning to do.”

By the time I got home, Julia already knew most of the story. Her network of slaves, tradesmen, and the women of her social circle rivaled the espionage organization of any Eastern potentate. She met me in our atrium that afternoon with a harried expression and a formidable degree of preparation. She clapped her hands, and the household slaves bustled to do her bidding. A slave took my candidate’s toga as another toweled the chalk from my neck and arms.

“Come along,” Julia said. “We have a lot to discuss and not much time.” I followed her into the dining room where more slaves were already setting the table for us. I flopped onto a couch and somebody took my sandals.

“Eat,” Julia commanded. “You’re going to have a long night of plotting ahead of you at your father’s house.”

“You already know about that?” I reached for the wine, and she slapped my hand. I grabbed a roll instead.

“How should I not?” She mixed the wine with water. Far too much water. “They’ll want to organize a legal defense for you. Tell them they are wasting their time.”

“Why should I do that? Even perjured testimony has to be answered and countered. I don’t see how the man can hope to make his charges stick.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? He has no intention of bringing in a conviction! He just wants to keep you out of the election!”

“But why? He can’t hope to make his reputation on an abortive trial resulting in an acquittal.”

“That’s the question we have to answer.” She shoved a cup of the weak mixture into my hand. I dipped my bread into balsam-steeped oil and chewed.

“If he doesn’t benefit directly from my exclusion from office, then who does? That’s always Cicero’s question, isn’t it? ‘Who benefits?’ ”

“There is another question to ask: Are you the real target of this attack?”

“What do you mean?” I downed a couple of oysters and went after a roast chicken.

“His words, as reported to me, were that he would bring down ‘the great Caecilius Metellus.’ You are not the most distinguished of your family. He may be attacking the family through you.”

“If we were known Pompeians or Caesarians that would make sense, but we aren’t. The family supported Sulla and has gone its own way since his death.”

“There are those who may find that intolerable,” Julia said obscurely.

“How well do you know Fulvia? He’s her brother.”

“I’ve scarcely seen her these past few years, except when we both attended noblewomen’s ceremonies the Bona Dea festival and the rites of Ceres and so forth. When she was married to Clodius, she was tight with that circle, naturally. Now it looks as if she’ll marry Marcus Antonius, and Antonius has thrown in his lot with Caesar. So I can’t imagine that she’s put her brother up to this, evil bitch though she may be.”

“Do you think she’s all that bad?”

“Clodia’s a Vestal by comparison.” The notorious Clodia had retired to virtual seclusion since her brother’s death, thus robbing Rome of its favorite focus for scandal. As always, I grew uneasy when my wife mentioned Clodia. I had a checkered and somewhat unsavory past with that woman.

“Then who? The major factions should be trying to court the Metelli, not to alienate them.” I attacked an unoffending but delicious rabbit, tore off its leg and dipped it in garum .

Julia thought about it for a while, then she seemed to get off the subject. “Who do you think your family will support? They can’t stay neutral forever. Sooner or later they’ll have to declare for Caesar or Pompey.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “For one thing, a year from now, Caesar or Pompey or both could be dead. Gaul is not a healthy place, as I can attest from experience. One stray arrow, one determined assassin, an unexpected German offensive-any number of things could spell an abrupt end for Caesar. For that matter, an ague or a disgruntled officer could do it. Recall if you will that half the Senate cooperated to send him to Gaul in hopes that he’d die there.

“As for Pompey, he’s at the age when men drop dead suddenly of natural causes. He’s put on weight and doesn’t get around like he used to.”

“You aren’t answering me.” Julia was as relentless as any lawyer.

“It depends on who frightens them the most. They’ve spent decades scared of Pompey and his soldiers, and they’ve opposed him most of the time. Now they’re getting apprehensive of Caesar. He has an unprecedentedly large and happy army, and for several years he’s been virtual king of Gaul and Illyricum. When the time comes, they’ll take sides against the one who gives them the biggest scare. They’ll back the weaker man.”

“When will they decide who frightens them most?”

“It depends on how Caesar and Pompey act. They’ll try to keep things peaceful as long as they can. If Pompey keeps his veterans in the south, and if Caesar lays down his imperium when his term expires, comes back to Rome and takes his place in the Senate, then my family will try to keep the peace and stay in the good graces of both of them.”

“Do you think that will happen?”

“I think it’s unlikely. Caesar has shown his contempt for the Senate too clearly. If he tries to do what Sertorius did and set himself up as an independent king, there will be civil war and Pompey will lead the campaign against him. If Pompey takes it into his head to call up his soldiers and capture southern Italy, my family will go to Caesar and beg him to crush Pompey.”

“And if Caesar returns to Rome but doesn’t lay down his imperium? If he brings his soldiers with him and camps outside the walls of Rome?”

“Then my family will side with Pompey. They always back the weaker man, the one they think they can control. I hope it doesn’t come to any of these ends, because then it will make no difference whom we back. It will mean the end of the Republic.”

“Perhaps it’s time,” Julia said.

“Never! If there is another civil war, whoever wins, Caesar or Pompey or another man, he will make himself dictator. And unlike Sulla, this one will not retire and restore the Republic. It will be monarchy, just like in the Orient. That would be unworthy of Rome.”

“We’re getting away from the subject,” Julia said. She would never say it, but the idea of her uncle as monarch didn’t bother her a bit. “I am going to look into this man Fulvius and his past. Someone is behind him and when we know who it is, we’ll know how to fight him.”

“Much as I detest Sallustius,” I told her, “I am almost ready to take his advice and offer the bastard a bribe to back off.”

“Whoever is behind him will have thought of that,” she said. “He’s been offered something better than money.”