Steven Saylor - A murder on the Appian way

The Virgo Maxima told of the visit by an unknown woman offering thanks to the goddess for the death of Publius Clodius. This account so inflamed the Clodians that for a while it seemed there might be another disturbance. Pompey's soldiers eventually moved to drive off some of the more vocal agitators. Order was restored, but by this point Domitius was ready to adjourn the court for the day.

The third day of testimony began with the last of the witnesses from the vicinity of Bovillae. Senator Sextus Tedius was called. He rose from the front row of spectators and hobbled before the court, using a cane and dragging his lame left leg. I was in the second row of spectators that day and was close enough to see his daughter Tedia sitting next to the chair he had vacated, looking after him with a worried expression. Normally she would have assisted him, I thought Probably he did not care to be seen accepting a woman's help in front of the court.

Senator Tedius repeated the story he had told me: that he had left for Rome in his litter accompanied by his daughter and some slaves, that he had encountered Milo, who warned him of fictitious bandits, but had pressed on to Bovillae, where he found Clodius's abandoned body in the road, apparently dragged there by his killers, and had sent it on to Rome in his litter. It was now evident that Tedius must have arrived while Eudamus and Birria and their men were off in the woods hunting for Philemon and his companions. After dispatching Clodius to Rome, Tedius returned by foot towards Aricia, and told of seeing the prisoners being marched up the road while he rested at a spot close to the new House of the Vestals.

A man named Quintus Arrius, a colleague of Clodius, testified that he had helped to interrogate Clodius's slaves after the incident. One of them, a personal secretary, had confessed under torture that for months he had provided information on Clodius's movements to an agent of Milo's. Therefore, Arrius suggested, Milo was regularly kept apprised of Clodius's comings and goings, and could have premeditated the apparently chance encounter on the Appian Way. Cicero, during cross-examination, scoffed at this idea, pointing out that Schola had testified on the first day that Clodius left his villa suddenly, upon hearing the news of the death of Cyrus the architect; therefore, how could Milo, even with an inside source, have predicted their encounter?

Then Cicero called a witness himself: Marcus Cato, who descended from the raised benches where the potential jurors sat. Cato, perhaps the only person in the court even more staid and conservative than Domitius the judge, gave secondhand testimony to the effect that a certain Marcus Favonius had passed along a remark to him which Clodius had made exactly three days before the fatal incident.

"And what was this remark, this jewel, this bit of wisdom from the lips of Publius Clodius?" said Cicero.

Cato looked at Domitius and the panel of jurors. "Clodius told Favonius that Titus Annius Milo would be dead within three days."

There was a stir of excitement in the court. "Cato's a liar and a drunk!" someone yelled. "What's he doing sitting with the jury if he's a witness?"

Cicero spun about. "Who impugns the judgment of Pompey? It was the Great One himself who personally selected Marcus Cato to sit among the jurors, and why? Because Cato's integrity and honesty are absolutely beyond doubt. Any man who says otherwise only shows himself to be a fool."

This was true enough. Whatever one thought of his politics, Cato was not a man to lie. But the story he told was only secondhand; Clodius supposedly said something to Favonius, who said something to Cato. And Cicero, I noticed, made no refutation of the accusation that Cato was a drunkard. A lifetime of hard drinking showed in the statesman's rheumy eyes.

Whatever effect Cicero had hoped to achieve by Cato's testimony was entirely negated by what followed.

The last witnesses to be heard were Sempronia and Fulvia. Each told how Clodius's body had arrived at his house on the Palatine borne in a stranger's litter, unaccompanied by friends or any sort of explanation. They described the shocking condition of his corpse. They explained how the surviving friends and slaves who had been with him made their way back to Rome one by one, each adding another horrifying detail to the catastrophe that had occurred on the Appian Way. They spoke of Clodius's young son, Publius, who was missing and unaccounted for all that night, and of their grief and worry when they learned of the slaughter at Clodius's Alban villa. Sempronia — dour, smug Sempronia — broke down and wept, and seemed to become the image of every man's anxious, fretful grandmother. Fulvia, who began with a stiff emotionless recitation of the facts, ended with a shrieking lament that eclipsed even her agony on the night of her husband's death. She wept, pulled at her hair and tore her stola.

I heard more weeping nearby, and saw that the daughter of Sextus Tedius had covered her face with her hands. Her father stared straight ahead, apparently embarrassed by such a display.

But Tedia was not the only one who shed tears. I thought it could only be a miracle that kept the Clodians from erupting into another riot, until I looked around and saw that many of them were weeping uncontrollably.

Cicero did not dare to cross-examine the women. The court adjourned at the tenth hour.

Thus ended the third day of Milo's trial, and the last day of testimony. One hundred days had passed since the death of Publius Clodius. One more day, and the fate of Titus Annius Milo would be decided.

Late that afternoon, the tribune Plancus held a final contio on the subject of Clodius's death. He urged Clodius's followers to come out in force the next morning to hear the actual pleading of the case. The speeches for the prosecution and defence would be delivered in the open Forum, which would accommodate a great many more spectators than the courtyard of the Temple of Liberty. Those who had loved Clodius must make themselves seen and heard, said Plancus, so that the jurors could know the will of the people, and they must encircle the court completely, so that once the outcome of the trial became evident, the treacherous coward Milo would have no opportunity to slip away before the verdict was announced.

That night, over dinner, Eco and I gave Bethesda a full account of the day's events. She seemed to approve of Fulvia's performance. "A woman's grief is sometimes the only weapon she has. Think of Hecuba and the Trojan women. Fulvia has used her grief where it will have the most effect."

"I wonder why they didn't call Clodia to testify," said Diana, who had been so listless throughout the meal that I thought she wasn't listening.

"That would only have detracted from Fulvia's grief," said Eco. "And it would have distracted the jurors, reminding them of certain rumours of what went on between Clodia and her brother."

"And after what Cicero did to her the last time she appeared at a trial, I should be surprised if she ever appeared at one again," said Bethesda. "Has she attended this trial?"

"I haven't seen her," I said, and changed the subject.

Like many people in Rome that night, I imagine, I had a hard time sleeping. I tossed and turned and finally got out of bed. I went to my study and looked for something to read. I scanned the little title tags that hung from the scrolls in their pigeonholes, muttering to myself

"Now what is the play that has that famous quote, about the gods bringing about an unexpected end? Euripides, isn't it? And why is it on my mind tonight? Oh, yes, I know. Because it always reminds me of the trial of Sextus Roscius, when I first worked for Cicero; his first great triumph in the courts. And when it was all over — almost over — I remember quoting that bit of Euripides to Tiro. Tiro was so young then, only a boy! I was so young then, too…