Under Vesuvius(61)
“One,” Antonia said, “to cover her ignorance. She says she’s been managing Gaeto’s affairs in his absence. If he kept the identity of his partner secret, she may not want anybody to know it, so she makes up a fake one who is safely distant. As you say, by the time she’s caught in the lie, this matter will be settled one way or the other.” She popped a honeyed cherry onto her mouth, chewed, and spat out the pit. “Two, she knows, but she and the partner have an agreement to keep the arrangement secret for the time being.”
“Why?” I asked, intrigued at this line of reasoning.
“You’ll know that when you learn the contents of the will,” she said, “but it will have to be something advantageous to both Jocasta and this partner, and it will require that Gelon be out of the way.”
“I’m beginning to be glad that we brought you along on this trip,” I said to her. She had a natural grasp of the ins and outs of devious, deceitful behavior. A typical Antonian, really. Her brother, the soon-to-be triumvir Marcus Antonius, was as close to a decent human being as that family ever produced, and even he was a criminal on a world scale.
“By the way,” Julia said, “just where is the will and why hasn’t it been read already?”
“It’s deposited in the Temple of Juno the Protector in Cumae,” Hermes reported. “That’s the local custom. It won’t be released while the dead man’s son is under arrest, but the praetor can subpoena it for the trial.”
“See that it’s done,” I said. “I want a look at it.”
“Time is pressing,” Julia said. “We have fewer than ten days before we must be in Bruttium for the scheduled assizes. When will Gelon be tried? You really can’t stall much longer.”
“The city council has already notified us,” Hermes said. “Tomorrow is the day of a local festival and all official business is forbidden. The next day is a court day, and after that you have to hold court in Stabiae, so the day after tomorrow is the only day Gelon can be tried.”
“At least the docket is otherwise clear,” I said. “We can devote the whole day to the trial. Who will prosecute on Diocles’ behalf?”
“A citizen named Vibianus,” Hermes informed us. “He studied law with Sulpicius Galba and has won a number of important cases.”
“And who will speak for Gelon?” Julia asked. “It seems that his father didn’t live long enough to engage a lawyer.”
“I may have to select one myself,” I said. “Marcus, you could use some practice before the bar. Would you like to defend Gelon?”
“Impossible!” Julia protested. “For a member of the praetor peregrinus’s own party to take part would seriously compromise the trial.”
“Why?” Circe asked. “It happens all the time in Rome. Just last year I saw a Claudius prosecute a Claudius with a third Claudius defending and a fourth sitting as praetor.”
“Rome is hopeless,” Julia said, “but we must set a better example for the municipalities and the provinces.”
“I suppose so,” I concurred. “Pity Cicero wouldn’t consider it.”
“What about his brother?” Marcus asked.
“He does what Cicero tells him to,” Hermes said. “But what about Tiro? He’s a freedman now and a full citizen, so he can plead in court, and as a freedman it would not be a disgrace for him to defend a slaver’s son. He’s been Cicero’s secretary since the beginning of his career, so he must know the law just as thoroughly. Plus, Cicero could coach him during the trial.”
“Brilliant!” I approved. “I’ll talk to Cicero this afternoon.”
I wondered why I had not thought of it already. With Cicero defending through a proxy, Gelon would have a decent chance. Just as important, the trial was sure to be entertaining. A good legal spectacle might be just what was needed to restore the district to its customary mood of slothful good humor.
THAT AFTERNOON I CALLED ON CICERO. He was socializing at the baths with a number of cronies and no few sycophants. In the Baiaean game of social one-upmanship, having the famous ex-consul among your intimates was a coup. And Cicero, for all his superiority of intellect, was not immune to such sycophancy.
The very fact that he was petitioning the Senate for a triumph was a sign of his declining powers of self-criticism. If ever Rome had produced a man of high political capacity who was utterly lacking in soldierly qualities, it was Cicero. His inflation of some trifling successes in Syria to a victory worthy of a triumph was a matter for considerable amusement in high political circles. The man who had saved the Roman situation there was young Cassius Longinus, and he had received no recognition at all.