“By thus taking the dangers, privations, and hardships upon himself, by not trusting middlemen and not paying their exorbitant fees, he is able to effect a considerable saving in each year’s outlay, savings he is able to express in lower prices for his wares. Is this dishonest? No, the dishonesty is in the envy and resentment of his rivals and these, Romans all, hope to sway the jury by attacking his Cretan origins. But I know that my fellow citizens are not persuaded by this calumnious slander.
“And as for those ‘persons in his employ,’ as he so delicately puts it, will a slave not lie for a few coins? Will a slave not sell out his master if offered the chance? Does the old saying not warn us, ‘You have as many enemies as you have slaves’? That Celsius even stoops to such a practice is proof of his villainy!”
With the last word the ball clanged into the dish and the audience applauded, jury included. He’d done extremely well. I might have been persuaded myself, had they not already tried to bribe me.
“There we have it,” I announced. “There is no solid evidence in this case, just the arguments of two business rivals. Diogenes may be guilty of counterfeiting, but to this I say, what of it? As far as I am concerned, if you can’t tell the difference between one scent and another, and you pay an exorbitant price just for its name, then you’re an idiot and deserve to be fleeced.
“As for Celsius, any Roman citizen who can’t outwit a Cretan is a poor credit to the descendants of Romulus. All in all, this whole case is an unworthy waste of time. That’s just my opinion, though. The decision rests with you worthy equites of Baiae, who, I am certain, will render judgment in the highest traditions of Roman justice. Do keep in mind that, if Diogenes has tried to bribe you with samples of his perfume, he may have used counterfeit.”
With this I sat back in my curule chair while everyone gaped, then chattered in low voices. Apparently I had satisfied nobody, and that suited me perfectly. I affected nonchalance while the local magistrates coached the jury and all the rest babbled among themselves. I wondered whether the scents I had been given were real or fake. If fake, Julia was going to be infuriated. The five thousand sesterces had been real, though. I suspected that Diogenes and Silva were wondering whether it had been well spent.
The jury retired into the basilica to debate and, no doubt, to compare bribes. I passed the time in idle conversation with the city magistrates and my own legal experts. My stomach was grumbling, but it would have created a public scandal for a praetor sitting on his curule chair to have lunch right in front of everybody. Sometimes, I think, we carry gravitas too far.
Where, I wondered, had Hermes got to? He shouldn’t have trouble finding one of the district’s most prominent, if somewhat notorious, inhabitants.
In time, the jury returned and the bailiff recited a few of the hallowed judicial formulae concerning justice and truthfulness before the gods, then the eldest juror handed him the ballot jar. The bailiff dumped the marked tesserae on his table, and he and his assistants counted them out, ballots for innocent to go in one pile, guilty in another. At the end of it, all the ballots were in a single pile.
“The jury finds unanimously for the defendant,” he announced. “Diogenes of Crete is innocent.” The audience cheered or made rude noises as their sympathies lay.
“So much for that, then,” I said. “This court is adjourned. Let’s get some lunch.”
Manius Silva came up to me, fury in his face. “The verdict was just, but it came no thanks to you, Praetor!”
“What of it? Is it my task to guarantee a favorable verdict here?”
“It is when you’ve accepted—” I gave him a stern look and he paused. The men of my party gave him stern looks. My lictors gave him stern looks, fingering the edges of their axe heads.
“You were saying, Manius Silva?” I asked.
“Nothing, Praetor. Thank you for conducting so fair a court.” He whirled and stalked off.
In truth, I was happy that Diogenes had been found innocent. I didn’t care about his business practices, and the man had been good company. As far as I was concerned, a fine judge of fighting men was far preferable to some disgruntled scent merchant.
There came a clatter of hoofs and I saw Hermes and a couple of the young bloods of my party ride into the forum. Indignant looks went their way, for mounted and wheeled traffic were forbidden during the daylight hours, but as special assistants to the praetor they had a dispensation. Hermes slid off his mount and strode to the judicial platform.
“Have you found him?” I demanded.
“I did. He’s dead, Praetor. Murdered.”