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A Point of Law(84)



“Who is to prosecute?” I asked.

“Manilius himself,” said Creticus.

“What? A serving tribune? Is that legal?” This I had not anticipated.

“Apparently there is no law that specifically forbids such a thing,” Cato told me. “Tribunes are usually too busy for such activities, but this is Manilius’s last day in office, and the exposure will benefit his campaign for the aedileship.”

“What did you want to tell us?” Father said. “Time is short.”

So I began a precise description of my findings. Before I was halfway through, their fallen faces told me that this was not going down well. Father cut me off with a short, savage gesture.

“Cease this nonsense! A secret code? A Greek mathematician, and a woman at that? Are you mad?”

“A conspiracy among three of the most prominent men of the state?” Scipio cried, going scarlet. “One of them a sitting consul! Another almost certain to be elected consul for next year?”

“And,” Nepos said pitilessly, “yet another plot on behalf of a twelve-year-old boy? And concocted by a Julian woman?” He turned to Father. “Cut-nose, maybe we’d be best advised to get up there, declare him insane, and hustle him out of Rome as quickly as possible.”

“Nonsense,” Cato said, calmly for once. “I’ve seen him like this before. He’ll get over it. Decius, forget all this drivel, even if it’s true. You have no evidence, no witnesses. For legal purposes, none of it happened. We’ll do this the old-fashioned way, the way our ancestors did it.” This, for Cato, being the ultimate encomium for anything at all.

Pompey pushed his way through to us, the soldiers parting before him by sheer habit.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “As if that absurd demonstration yesterday wasn’t enough, now I have two packs of thugs elbowing each other in the Forum!”

“Two?” I said. Then, “Oh, I suppose Curio is here. Don’t worry about these soldiers, Proconsul. They’ll disperse as soon as the trial is over. Curio’s lot you are going to have to contend with for a while, I fear. When I have time a little later I’ll tell you all about Pisistratus.”

“Pisistratus! The tyrant of Athens? Cut-Nose, is your son completely crazy?”

“We’ve been discussing that very possibility, Proconsul, but Cato is of the opinion that it’s a passing phase. I myself am not so sure.”

Pompey shrugged. “Well, being mad never stopped anyone from being elected praetor before this. But I’ll not have a great show of force here in the Forum on the day before the election.”

“We’re Metelli,” said Creticus, “not Claudians or Antonii or any other sort of congenital criminals. We’ll do this the proper way and abide peacefully by the decision of the court.”

“See you do. I’m going to go talk with Curio now, and see if I can get him to disperse his gang. Pisistratus, indeed!” He bustled off, and I could understand his anger. For a year his proudest boast had been that he had cleared Rome of the criminal-political gangs that had plagued us for generations. Now it looked as if his good work was being undone.

The bleachers were now almost full, my jury, each man wearing the narrow purple stripe and gold ring of his equestrian status, taking his place. They were a prosperous-looking lot, wealthy and usually self-made. Such men could be counted on to dislike an aristocrat like me. On the other hand, they had little love for the Clodian rabble. We were even there.

The Tribunes of the People were seating themselves, arranging their plain togas, which lacked the purple border despite their great power. Their tunics likewise lacked the senatorial stripe, although they could attend Senate meetings and interpose their veto there. They would enter the Senate as full members in the following year.

As the tribunes sat I identified them and almost reflexively rated each according to the political obsession of the day. From the left: Caelius, pro-Caesar; Vinicius, pro-Caesar; Vibius Pansa, pro-Caesar; Cornelius, pro-Caesar; Nonius, pro-Caesar; Minucius, anti-Caesar; Didius, anti-Caesar; Antistius, anti-Caesar; Valerius, anti-Caesar and, last of all on the right end of the bench, that unknown quantity, Publius Manilius.

When all were present, Manilius stood and gestured for silence. Gradually, the babble of the multitude was stilled.

“Citizens!” he began. “I, Tribune of the People, Publius Manilius Scrofa, declare these proceedings to be open. In the contio of the Plebeian Order, this matter was deemed worthy of trial before the comitia tribute and thus we shall proceed.

“The accused”—here he gestured in my direction—“is Decius Caecilius Metellus, a senator of Rome, charged with the murder of Marcus Fulvius, citizen of Rome, formerly resident in Baiae, at the time of his death dwelling in the Temple of Tellus district. Is the defense ready to present opening arguments?”