Steven Saylor - A murder on the Appian way

"The men who escaped from Lanuvium said that Milo had made up his mind to kill them."

"That was only a rumour. Even if it was true, it had nothing to do with you. I had Milo's word that you would come to no harm."

"Milo's word!"

"Did you come to harm? Were you badly treated? There, you see! He kept his word to me. Even so, I felt deeply concerned for your family, knowing how dear you are to them, how much they would miss you and worry about you. I was not so hard and cold that I could ignore that. So I wrote that note to your wife, to allay her fears. I wrote it with my own hand, and had it delivered by an illiterate slave. I should have known you would find me out in the end, Gordianus. Nothing escapes you! But it was the right thing to do. I can't regret having done it, even now."

He stood erect with his chin up, like an officer whose honour had been impugned over an act of bravery. I gaped at him. "You're actually proud of yourself, aren't you? Proud because you browbeat Milo into kidnapping me instead of murdering me — "

"I saved your life, Gordianus!"

"And proud of yourself for writing two lines to my wife instead of setting me free."

He sighed at my obstinacy. "Sometimes, Gordianus, in defence of liberty, actions which might otherwise be reprehensible become not only justified but unavoidable."

I shook my head. "Tiro, did you hear that? Are you copying it down? Surely your master can use that in his speech tomorrow!"

Cicero pressed his fingertips together. "Gordianus, some day you will reflect on this episode and realize that you were called upon to make a sacrifice for the good of the state. It may have been a misjudgment on Milo's part, thinking he had to get you out of the way for a short while. You should be flattered that he thought you so dangerous! But consider the greater context. Ultimately, it is a good thing — an exceedingly good thing- that Clodius is dead, and it will be an unmitigated disaster if Milo's enemies succeed in sending him into exile."

"A disaster for Milo, you mean."

"Yes! And a disaster for me — and for anyone who cares about preserving Rome as a republic. We need men like Milo, and Cato, and yes, like myself. There are none of us to spare! You've dealt with Pompey now. You're acquainted with Caesar. Do you really wish to leave eveiything up to them? If it comes to that, if all the good men are picked off one by one and the power of the Senate dwindles to nothing, and Caesar and Pompey are the only men left standing, how long do you think their partnership will last? Can you imagine another civil war, Gordianus? You're old enough to remember Marius and Sulla. How much more terrible would it be this time, with the whole world in flames? Who will be left to pick up the pieces?"

He bowed his head, as if the hour suddenly weighed on him.

"Everything I do, everything, is to avert that course of events. Consider that, Gordianus, and then consider this little thing, this little injustice that Milo has done you, that you were detained for a few days of your life. Do you wish to be repaid somehow? Is it restitution that you want? Would that satisfy you? Or can you make the effort to see the greater picture and to arrive at some sense of proportion about your part in it? This trial is not just about Milo and Clodius. It's about the future of the Republic. If the truth must be bent, if you and your family must suffer a bit in the name of that cause, then so be it!"

He lifted his head and stared at me steadily, waiting for my reaction.

" 'The beauty, the power of words!' " I finally said, mocking him. "Curse the gods who gave us oratory! And curse the clever men like you who make a travesty of words like liberty and justice! This matter is not finished between us, Marcus Cicero. As for Milo, hopefully my grievance with him will be settled for me, when the court decides his fate tomorrow."

I turned to leave, then looked back at Tiro. He had remained silent and averted his eyes during the whole exchange. "Did you know of this?" I said.

When Tiro hesitated, Cicero answered for him. "Tiro knew nothing about the kidnapping. Milo and I never discussed it in his presence. The fact is, I didn't trust him to keep his mouth shut about it. Tiro has always had a soft spot for you, Gordianus. Even I weakened, and wrote that note to your wife. Tiro might have been even more foolish. He knew nothing."

I stared at Tiro, who still would not look me in the eye. "So you deceived Tiro as well. I can believe that. He's not the actor you are, Cicero; his surprise and relief when we met on the Flaminian Way were too genuine to be a pretence. But Tiro — Tiro, look at me! You must have suspected something. Who else but Milo had a reason to kidnap us? How could Cicero not have known?"

Tiro bit his lower hp. "The thought did occur to me. But I simply didn't ask. I suppose I didn't really want to know. There's been a great deal else on my mind…"

"Tell me just one thing, then, Tiro. Only one thing, and the absolute truth. Will you do that for me?"

Tiro looked at me rather forlornly.

"This speech for Milo — is it as good as Cicero claims it is? Or is that only his vanity speaking? Tell me what you really think."

"The truth, Gordianus?" "Nothing else."

"Cicero's speech for Milo is…" Tiro sighed. "Cicero has never written a better speech. No one has. That is my honest opinion. If anything can save Milo, this is the speech to do it. The jurors will weep. It will be Cicero's finest hour."

This was not what I wanted to hear. May the gods help us all, I thought, as I hurried from the room and left them to go about their work.

As I made my way home, some of Cicero's phrases kept ringing in my head, try as I might to shut them out. All of it had been nonsense, of course, but some had been more nonsensical than the rest. I might argue that neither Milo nor his men were ultimately responsible for Clodius's death, at least not technically. That may well be the case, as I'm sure you discovered for yourself in your investigations — However, to argue for Milo's outright innocence, I would have to introduce some rather arcane reasoning…"

What in Hades could he have meant by that? I almost wished I had kept a cooler head and asked him; there was no turning back now. He had probably meant nothing at all, I told myself but was simply spinning words, filling me with doubt, throwing dust in my eyes, just as he would try to do to the jurors in the morning.

On the fourth and final day of Milo's trial I awoke to birdsong in the garden. New flowers had bloomed overnight. Bees and butterflies were already at work, doting on the blossoms. I was tempted to forget the trial and stay home. Why not spend the day enjoying the warm sunshine of Aprilis in my garden? But the plaintive eyes of the staring, broken Minerva would not let me forget what was about to transpire in the Forum.

Davus and a fellow bodyguard had risen long before cockcrow to go down with folding chairs to save places for us. It was a good thing, for I had never seen the Forum so thronged with spectators. By order of Pompey, all taverns were closed for the day. Pompey no doubt intended to head off the threat of drunken rioters, but the radical tribunes must have been pleased for their own reasons; with the taverns closed, even their least civic-minded supporters had nowhere better to be than in the Forum attending the trial. Despite the crush, Davus had doggedly held on to our seats near the front of the crowd.

Dominating everything were Pompey's troops. Wherever there was an elevated place — temple steps or a bit of wall or ramp or pedestal — the soldiers had already occupied it the night before. A ring of troops completely encircled the Forum At the various points of entry they pulled aside perfectly peaceable citizens to search for concealed weapons. Pompey himself was said to be in his stronghold in the treasury building, from which he would not stir until a verdict was announced. I felt as if I had awakened in some other city that morning, a place ruled by a military autocrat — except that autocrats do not allow public trials. There was a sense of confusion and uncertainty in the air, almost of unreality.