The actual will began with the manumission of certain faithful slaves of long service. In Roman wills these testamentary manumissions are usually at the end, but perhaps things are done differently in Numidia. Then he got to the meat of the matter.
“To my beloved son, Gelon, I bequeath all my lands, estates, tribal titles, and hereditary clientships and loyalties in the land of Numidia, and commend to him the care of his mother and all my concubines.”’ The crowd seemed to find this last clause a rare jest.
“‘To my second wife, Jocasta,’” he went on, ”’I bequeath my lands, houses, properties, and business interests in Italy.’” This was a cause for some astonishment. Under Roman law widows and daughters can of course inherit property, but one does not expect such a thing of a barbarian, certainly not one with a surviving son. Gelon looked astounded, jocasta was quite impassive. Well, I thought, the boy hadn’t wanted to trade slaves in Italy, and now it looked like he would get his wish. He’d probably expected to be able to sell up, though.
‘“My beloved second wife,”’ the document continued, ”’has been my helpmate in all my business dealings, for which my son shows no aptitude nor desire. She is Greek, and a life in Numidia would be a cruel imposition. I assure her comfort and position thus.’”
Now here was a puzzle. A man does not often justify himself in his will. There is no need, unless he wants to cut out some obnoxious heir and wishes to append an insulting comment to make it worse.
Marcus read off a few final oaths, then displayed the seal of Gaeto to all and sundry. Then he handed it to me. Crowd, lawyers, and jury all looked at me, mystified. Finally, Vibianus spoke.
“Honored Praetor, does this odd document in your opinion supply some new and conclusive sort of evidence?”
“I feel that it does,” I said, frustrated.
“Will you impart it to us?” he asked so impassively that you could hear the sneer. When I did not answer he said, “Is there any reason to delay further the deliberations of the jury?”
“There is none,” I said.
The jury retired within the basilica while I sat and brooded over the will. Surely, I felt, the answer was here. It was my last hope. I began to wonder why I even bothered. What was a slaver’s son to me? And what true reason had I for believing him innocent other than that he made such an agreeable first impression and that I had so little liking for Diocles and the others involved in this sorry business? The red ink and Greek lettering had an odd familiarity, but I set the will down when the jury returned.
“They weren’t gone long,” Hermes said. “That’s a bad sign.” He didn’t have to tell me that.
I stood. “President of the jury,” I said, “how do you find?”
The man stepped forward with the traditional vase and dumped its contents on the court secretary’s table. In Baiae they used a variation of the Greek ostracon. Here, instead of potsherds, they used little tile disks the size of scallop shell: white for innocent, black for guilty.
Every tile was black. “We find the defendant, Gelon of Numidia, guilty of the murder of Gorgo, daughter of Diocles, priest of the Temple of Campanian Apollo.”
The boy’s face drained of color, turning his usual high olive complexion a dirty yellow gray. I had ruled out crucifixion and the lions, but even a gentlemanly beheading is not an easy thing to contemplate.
I was about to pronounce that sentence, knowing that the crowd wouldn’t like it and not caring, when Julia touched my arm and pointed at the will, lying at my side. She whispered: “It’s the same hand that wrote those poems.”
Like ice breaking up on a German river in the springtime, things began to shift and loosen in my mind. New possibilities opened up. Nothing was truly clear yet, but I knew I now had all the pieces to the puzzle. What I needed more than anything else was time and it had run out. Then I remembered the conditions I had stipulated at the outset of the trial. I squinted up at the sun. It was barely past midday.
“The jury has spoken and Roman justice will be done,” I said. “I will render my judgment at sundown.”
There were many exclamations of surprise. Why should I need several hours to send a guilty felon to his death?
“Why delay?” Vibianus demanded. Diocles stood beside him, his face furious.
“I said that this court must be concluded by sundown and that is when it shall end! No back talk from any of you! I now order all here to disperse to their homes and to reassemble here at sundown to hear my judgment. Sublicius Pansa, keep the forum clear and patrol the streets. Disperse any groups larger than four.”