Steven Saylor - A murder on the Appian way

"But what is the play? Not The Trojan Women or Hecuba — that was Bethesda, who mentioned Hecuba at dinner tonight. No, it's from… The Bacchae!"

And there it was at my fingertips. I pulled it from the hole, found some weights and unrolled it on a table.

It was one of the oldest books I owned, but was still in good condition. The passage I was thinking of was at the very end, delivered by the chorus of frenzied Dionysian revellers:

The gods have many guises. The gods bring crises to climax while man surmises. The end anticipated has not been consummated. But god has found a way for what no man expected. So ends the play.

What no man expected…

Could Cicero pull it off? Could he deliver a speech — one of those famous, logic-twisting, doubt-defying, hilarious, wrenching speeches of his — that would actually convince the jurors to declare Milo not guilty? It seemed impossible. But so had many another case where Cicero had snatched triumph from despair. If anyone could do it…

As I was rolling up the scroll, I ripped a bit of parchment at the top. I cursed. It was such an old scroll. When and where had I got it? Ah, yes: Cicero himself had given it to me, as he had given me many books since. This had been the first. He had even inscribed it, as I recalled.

I unrolled it enough to read the message he had written across the top, in his own hand:

To Gordianus, fondly, with bright hopes for the future.

My blood froze. I had known all along, of course. Still, to see the proof before me…

I found the message that had been left for Bethesda and put it side by side with the scroll.

Do not fear for Gordianus and his son. They have not been harmed. They will be returned to you in time.

There could be no doubt. The proof was there in the peculiar shape of the letter G — indeed, in the way my name was written in each case.

I had looked at other messages from Cicero in my possession, but not one of them had been in his own hand. They had all been written by Tiro or some other secretary. But the dedication on The Bacchae was assuredly in his hand, for I had been there when he inscribed it.

Davus mumbled in his sleep when I shook him. The other bodyguards stirred in their beds. "Davus, wake up."

"What?" He blinked, then gave a start and jerked away from me as if I were a monster. "Master, please!" His voice cracked like a boy's. What in Hades was wrong with him?

"Davus, it's only me. Wake up. I need you. I'm going out."

The walk to Cicero's house had never seemed so long. My blood pounded in my ears. I didn't wake Eco to come with me, though he had as great a grievance against Cicero as I did. What I had to say to Cicero I would say by myself

Cicero's doorkeeper perused me through the peephole. A little later he opened the door for me, allowing Davus to enter and wait in the foyer. The interior of the house was ablaze with lights. No one would be abed early in Cicero's house on this night.

As I was led to the study, I heard Cicero's voice echoing down the hallway, and then Tiro, laughing out loud.

I was shown into the room. Cicero and Tiro both greeted me with a smile.

"Gordianus!" Cicero stepped forward and embraced me before I could stop him. It was a politician's embrace; he seemed to encircle me completely and yet hardly touched me anywhere. He stepped back and looked at me like a shepherd at a lost lamb. "So, at the very last moment, you've come to me. Can I dare to hope, Gordianus, that this means you've come to your senses at last?"

"Oh, yes, Cicero. I have definitely come to my senses." My mouth was suddenly so dry that I could hardly speak.

"You sound like you need something to drink." Cicero nodded to the doorkeeper, who disappeared. "I should tell you, the speech is already pretty much done. But it's not set in stone. Better late than never."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, with the way you've been running back and forth to Fulvia's house, and all that time you spent with Marc Antony on the road, you must be well up on what the prosecution has in mind for tomorrow. I can use that sort of information to make sure that all

my rebuttals are on target. The fewer surprises they're able to spring on me, the better. Oh, Gordianus, you gave me a scare this time. I thought we had lost you for good. But here you are, back where you belong!"

I looked around the room. Tiro sat amid masses of rolled and rumpled parchment. "Is Caelius here? Where's Milo?" Merely saying his name made me clench my fists. I took a deep breath.

"Caelius is home, at his father's house, probably sleeping like a baby."

"Shouldn't he be here with you, working on his speech?"

"Actually… ah, here's something to wet your throat! Tiro, would you like a cup as well?"

I thought of refusing, but I needed the drink. I raised an eyebrow as it passed my lips. It must have been the best vintage in the house. "Isn't it a bit premature to be celebrating, Cicero?"

"Ah, you appreciate the Falernian. Good. Your appearance in my house is adequate cause for celebration, Gordianus." "Where's Milo?" I said.

"Not here, as you can see. He's at home with Fausta, I imagine, dreaming sweet dreams of the consulship that will be his next year. Did you especially want to see him?"

That was a difficult question to answer. "No," I said. I wanted to keep my head, and that might not be possible in Milo's presence. I finished my cup of wine.

"Gordianus, you look a fright! We must finish our business as quickly as we can, so that you can go home and get some sleep. Now, you asked about Caelius giving a speech. Actually, only one advocate will speak for Milo tomorrow: myself"

"The rest have all run scared, then? Even Caelius?"

I had finally managed to dampen his ebullience. "That's not the case at all. This idea that his friends have all deserted Milo is a vicious rumour put about by the Clodians, the same people who keep claiming that Milo wants to assassinate Pompey and bring down the state. They hope to make me look like a fool and to intimidate everyone else into abandoning Milo. But I'll tell you, the best men in Rome are still solidly behind Milo and would gladly have appeared as character witnesses on his behalf. But Pompey's reforms eliminated character witnesses! I could have had former magistrates and consuls lined up the whole length of the Forum, reciting Milo's virtues for hours. But Pompey wants only material witnesses to speak — people like that parade of disreputable characters we've had to put up with for the last three days."

"If Milo's friends are still behind him, why are you the only one giving a speech for him?"

"Again, Pompey's reforms! The defence is allowed only three hours — three hours! — to make a case. You know how it was before; a man usually had two or three advocates all speaking for as long as they wished. I hardly need to tell you that I'm usually just beginning to warm up after three hours. The simple truth is, I didn't want to share the time with anyone else. It's even worse for the prosecution; they have only two hours. Well, let their three advocates go tripping over one another, rushing through their notes. They'll make hasty, confused speeches, and then I shall use my time to draw the jurors slowly, steadily, irresistibly into our camp."

He poured himself a straight cup of the Falernian. When had Cicero begun to drink like other men? "Don't think I can't do it," he went on. "Wait until you hear the speech. It's my masterpiece, Gordianus. Am I boasting, Tiro, or am I simply telling the truth?"

Tiro smiled. "It's a very fine speech."

"I have never written a finer one! And my powers of delivery have never been greater. I shall seize the jurors from the first words, I shall clutch them to me like a lover until I have nothing more to say, and after I'm done I'll defy any man to take a stand against Milo."