Imperium - Харрис Роберт - Страница 8

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 innocent man from the dreadful punishment of crucifixion!”

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 grinning profile, sharp and beak-nosed, like a head on a coin. He swiveled back to face the chamber. “When I first entered this House, in the consulship of Claudius Pulcher and Marcus Perperna…” His voice settled into a confident drone.

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 planning to talk out the remainder of the session, preventing Cicero ’s motion from being put to the vote. By the time I had quickly confirmed the sun’s position for myself, run back across the Forum, and wriggled my way through the crowd to the threshold of the chamber, Gellius was making the announcement: “The last hour!”

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 dinner, preceded by four lictors carrying his curule chair. Once he had passed through the doors the senators streamed out after him and Sthenius and I retreated a short distance into the Forum to wait for Cicero. Gradually the crowd around us dwindled. The Sicilian kept asking me what was happening, but I felt it wiser to say nothing, and we stood in silence. I pictured Cicero sitting alone on the back benches, waiting for the chamber to empty, so that he could leave without having to speak to anyone, for I feared he had badly lost face. But to my surprise he strolled out chatting with Hortensius and another, older senator, whom I did not recognize. They talked for a while on the steps of the Senate House, shook hands, and parted.

“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.”