Imperium

“Senators,” boomed Hortensius, “we have sat through this long enough! This is surely one of the most flagrant pieces of opportunism ever seen in this noble House! A vague motion is placed before us, which now turns out to relate to one man only. No notice is given to us about what is to be discussed. We have no means of verifying whether what we are hearing is true. Gaius Verres, a senior member of this Order, is being defamed with no opportunity to defend himself. I move that this sitting be suspended immediately!”

Hortensius sat to a patter of applause from the aristocrats. Cicero stood. His face was perfectly straight.

“The senator seems not to have read the motion,” he said in mock puzzlement. “Where is there any mention here of Gaius Verres? Gentlemen, I am not asking this House to vote on Gaius Verres. It would not be fair to judge Gaius Verres in his absence. Gaius Verres is not here to defend himself. And now that we have established that principle, will Hortensius please extend it to my client, and agree that he should not be tried in his absence either? Or is there to be one law for the aristocrats and another for the rest of us?”

That raised the temperature well enough and set the pedarii around Cicero and the crowd at the door roaring with delight. I felt someone pushing roughly behind me, and Marcus Metellus shouldered his way back into the chamber and walked quickly up the aisle toward Hortensius. Cicero watched his progress, at first with an expression of puzzlement, and then with one of realization. He quickly held up his hand for silence. “Very well. Since Hortensius objects to the vagueness of the original motion, let us reframe it so that there can be no doubt. I propose an amendment: That whereas Sthenius has been prosecuted in his absence, it is agreed that no trial of him in his absence shall take place, and that if any such trial has already taken place, it shall be invalid . And I say: let us vote on it now, and in the highest traditions of the Roman Senate, let us save an i

To mingled cheers and catcalls, Cicero sat and Gellius rose. “The motion has been put,” declared the consul. “Does any other member wish to speak?”

Hortensius, the Metellus brothers, and a few others of their party, such as Scribonius Curio, Sergius Catilina, and Aemilius Alba, were in a huddle around the front bench, and it briefly seemed that the House would move straight to a division, which would have suited Cicero perfectly. But when the aristocrats finally settled back in their places, the bony figure of Catulus was revealed to be still on his feet. “I believe I shall speak,” he said. “Yes, I believe I shall have something to say.” Catulus was as hard and heartless as flint-the great-great-great-great-great-grandson (I believe that is the correct number of “greats”) of that Catulus who had triumphed over Hamilcar in the First Punic War-and a full two centuries of history were distilled into his vinegary old voice. “I shall speak,” he repeated, “and what I shall say first is that that young man”-pointing at Cicero -“knows nothing whatsoever about ‘the highest traditions of the Roman Senate,’ for if he did he would realize that no senator ever attacks another, except to his face. It shows a lack of breeding. I look at him there, all clever and eager in his place, and do you know what I think, gentlemen? I think of the wisdom of the old saying: ‘An ounce of heredity is worth a pound of merit!’”

Now it was the aristocrats who were rocking with laughter. Catilina, of whom I shall have much more to say later, pointed at Cicero, and then drew his finger across his throat. Cicero flushed pink but kept his self-control. He even managed a thin smile. Catulus turned with delight to the benches behind him and I caught a glimpse of his gri

Cicero caught my eye. He mouthed something, glanced up at the windows, then gestured with his head toward the door. I understood at once what he meant, and as I pushed my way back through the spectators and into the Forum I realized that Marcus Metellus must have been dispatched on exactly the same errand. In those days, when timekeeping was cruder than it is now, the last hour of the day’s business was deemed to begin when the sun dropped west of the Maenian Column. I guessed that must be about to happen and, sure enough, the clerk responsible for making the observation was already on his way to tell the consul. It was against the law for the Senate to sit after sunset. Clearly, Hortensius and his friends were pla

Cicero was instantly on his feet, wanting to make a point of order, but Gellius would not take it, and the floor was still with Catulus. On and on Catulus went, giving an interminable history of provincial government, virtually from the time since the she-wolf suckled Romulus. (Catulus’s father, also a consul, had famously died by shutting himself up in a sealed room, kindling a charcoal fire, and suffocating himself with the fumes: Cicero used to say he must have done it to avoid listening to another speech by his son.) When he did eventually reach some sort of conclusion, he promptly yielded the floor to Quintus Metellus. Again Cicero rose, but again he was defeated by the seniority rule. Metellus had praetorian rank and unless he chose to give way, which naturally he did not, Cicero had no right of speech. For a time, Cicero stood his ground against a swelling roar of protest, but the men on either side of him-one of whom was Servius, his lawyer friend, who had his interests at heart, and could see he was in danger of making a fool of himself-pulled at his toga and finally he surrendered and sat down.

It was forbidden to light a lamp or a brazier inside the chamber. As the gloom deepened, the cold sharpened, and the white shapes of the senators, motionless in the November dusk, became like a parliament of ghosts. After Metellus had droned on for an eternity and then sat down in favor of Hortensius-a man who could talk on anything for hours-everyone knew the debate was over, and very soon afterwards Gellius dissolved the House. He limped down the aisle, an old man in search of his di

“Do you know who that was?” asked Cicero, coming over to us. Far from being cast down, he appeared highly amused. “That was Verres’s father. He has promised to write to his son, urging him to drop the prosecution, if we agree not to bring the matter back to the Senate.”

Poor Sthenius was so relieved, I thought he might die from gratitude. He dropped to his knees and began kissing the senator’s hands. Cicero made a sour face and gently raised him to his feet. “Really, my dear Sthenius, save your thanks until I have actually achieved something. He has only promised to write, that is all. It is not a guarantee.”

Sthenius said, “But you will accept the offer?”

Cicero shrugged. “What choice do we have? Even if I retable the motion, they will only talk it out again.”

I could not resist asking why, in that case, Hortensius was bothering to offer a deal at all.

Cicero nodded slowly. “Now that is a good question.” There was a mist rising from the Tiber, and the lamps in the shops along the Argiletum shone yellow and gauzy. He sniffed the damp air. “I suppose it can only be because he is embarrassed. Which in his case, of course, takes quite a lot. Yet it seems that even he would prefer not to be associated too publicly with such a flagrant criminal as Verres. So he is trying to settle the matter quietly. I wonder how much his retainer is from Verres: it must be an enormous sum.”

“Hortensius was not the only one who came to Verres’s defense,” I reminded him.

“No.” Cicero glanced back at the Senate House, and I could see that something had just occurred to him. “They are all in it together, aren’t they? The Metellus brothers are true aristocrats-they would never lift a finger to help anyone apart from themselves, unless it was for money. As for Catulus, the man is frantic for gold. He has undertaken so much building on the Capitol over the past ten years, it is almost more of a shrine to him than it is to Jupiter. I estimate we must have been looking at half a million in bribes this afternoon, Tiro. A few Delian bronzes-however fine, Sthenius, forgive me-would not be sufficient to buy that kind of protection. What is Verres up to down there in Sicily?” He suddenly began working his signet ring over his knuckle. “Take this to the National Archive, Tiro, and show it to one of the clerks. Demand in my name to see all the official accounts submitted to the Senate by Gaius Verres.”

My face no doubt registered my dismay. “But the National Archive is run by Catulus’s people. He is sure to hear word of what you are doing.”

“That ca

“But what am I looking for?”

“Anything interesting. You will know it when you see it. Go quickly, while there is still some light.” He put his arm around the shoulders of the Sicilian. “As for you, Sthenius-you will come to di

I rather doubted that, but naturally it was not my place to say so.

THE NATIONAL ARCHIVE, which was then barely six years old, loomed over the Forum even more massively than it does today, for back then it had less competition. I climbed that great flight of steps up to the first gallery and by the time I found an attendant my heart was racing. I showed him the seal and demanded, on behalf of Senator Cicero, to see Verres’s accounts. At first he claimed never to have heard of Cicero and, besides, that the building was closing. But then I pointed in the direction of the Carcer and told him firmly that if he did not desire to spend a month in chains in the state prison for impeding official business, he had better fetch those records now. (One lesson I had learned from Cicero was how to hide my nerves.) He scowled a bit and thought about it, then told me to follow him.