I slipped him a note I had prepared, covering where we found Olympia, Calpurnia's long a.s.sociation with her, the excuses for consultation, and the jewellery issue. He read it while he was speaking.

I settled down to enjoy the scene. Honorius was now blackening the character of our accused and her a.s.sociates. For a young man of apparent refinement, he was laying it on thick: The Accusation against Calpurnia Cara: Honorius on the Accused I shall not, in default of evidence, try to woo your votes by denouncing the accused with endless stories of an unsavoury life - The court revived. We all recognised the signal. His denial promised sensationally grubby details. That's the joy of rhetoric: Honorius had reached the juicy bits.

Marponius leaned forward. He sounded kindly, but Honorius was a target. 'Young man, if you are intending to regale us with scandals, may I suggest you keep it short? Some of us are elderly and our bladders cannot take too much excitement.' The old-timers in the jury ranks fluttered nervously. The rest laughed as if Marponius was a great wit.

Honorius stumbled, though he should not have been surprised. Things had gone our way for far too long. The judge was ready to cause trouble.

Gentlemen, the accused lived her married life in apparent propriety - 'Elucidate, please!' Marponius must be in a tetchy mood. This unnecessary interruption was to make Honorius look amateur. It also made Marponius look foolish, but juries are used to that from judges.

We might expect a matron of Calpurnia's status to affiliate herself with temples. Honouring the G.o.ds would be a duty. If she had money she might even endow altars or sanctuaries. One of her own daughters is just such a benefactor to the G.o.ds and the community in Laurentum; she is so admired that a statue in her honour has been erected there by the townspeople.

'Is the daughter on trial here?'

'No, your honour.'

'Respectable woman, wife of a senator - what are you doing dragging her into this? Strike out the daughter!'

I guessed Marponius had eaten his lunch too fast. Now the glutton had indigestion. He had probably been to Xero's pie shop, his special haunt when he wanted to look like a man of the people (and to overhear, incognito, the public's views on how he ran his case). Petronius had long threatened to put something in Xero's rabbit pie and eliminate Marponius. He reckoned Xero would like the publicity.

Calpurnia Cara's spiritual expression took a different course. For decades she consulted a notorious pract.i.tioner of magic, one Olympia. This sorceress lives outside the city boundary, where she is able to run an unlicensed establishment and escape the notice of the vigiles. According to her, our supposedly happy matron has been troubled in her soul for many years. She has looked to magic for solace, as women in torment sometimes do, and yet-either because she felt constrained by her position or because her difficulties were simply too terrible to share - she has never revealed what troubled her. With no mother or mother-in-law, no sisters or close friends to advise her better, she has struggled to find a confidante, clearly unable to share her thoughts with the man who had married her and unable to bear the lone burden. By the time she had daughters who could have consoled her, the pattern was set. Her jewellery had long been sold - we are informed that it was not to pay the sorceress, but how can we believe that?

'Are you calling the sorceress?' Marponius had aroused himself from a doze.

'I shall do so, sir.'

'That's the end of the accused then!' The judge subsided.

Paccius, smooth as ever, shook his head at this antic.i.p.ation. Silius pursed his lips. Honorius contented himself with a polite smile.

I mimed at Petronius my opinion that Marponius had finished off the rabbit pie with a large jug of Falernian. Petro mimed back that it was a jug and a half.

Is it hard to imagine that a woman of this type - the respected wife of a senator, a mother of three children, seemingly a matron all Rome should admire, and yet internally racked by unhappiness - might one day resort to extreme measures?

Calpurnia herself tells us she and her husband regularly quarrelled - quarrelled so badly they would resort to a grove at the furthermost end of their garden, lest household members overhear their furious arguments. When we consider the events that clouded the end of their marriage, it is all too easy to imagine how Calpurnia's life was blighted throughout the whole course of her ill-fated union. We are not here to try her husband, Rubirius Metellus; I remind you that that has been done in the Senate. The verdict was harsh. It truly reflected the man. Everyone says that Metellus had an unforgiving character. He took delight in the discomfiture of others. That he was morally corrupt is established beyond doubt: he sold contracts and accepted favours, using his son's high position. He corrupted contractors; he abused everybody's trust; he relegated his own son to the role of a cheating cipher; it is estimated he made thousands of sesterces - none of which has ever been recovered for the Senate and People of Rome.

You may enquire, is it any wonder that with a wife who was discontented and who regularly quarrelled with him, Rubirius Metellus found it hard to resist a sweeter presence, in his cheerful and good-natured young daughter-in-law? I shall answer with another question: is it any wonder that Calpurnia herself could never bear to speak to anyone of her husband's predilection - and still denies it? Is it any wonder if, with her spirit twisting and turning with rage against him, Calpurnia Cara felt this grim adultery was the final indignity?

Let me now tell you about Saffia Donata. She was young, pretty, full of life and smitten with a love for good things. She had once been married to the best friend of Calpurnia's son; she had a child by her first husband. When that marriage ended, somebody suggested that she be joined to Metellus Negrinus. Negrinus was a young man of promise, embarking on the cursus honorum; he was soon to become an aedile. Well, that shows the kind of man he was, because he won the votes of the Senate then to award him that position of honour. It means that now as an ex-aedile he should be qualified to serve in this very court, on a jury with you. But that will never happen. His reputation has been destroyed by the actions of his father. However, at that time, he was blameless. He is by nature a quiet man, almost diffident, a man who may not have seemed very interesting to an experienced, worldly wife. He married Saffia simply because he knew her and was not shy of her. His mother approved because Saffia had shown herself to be fertile. His father's views are not known to us, but we may raise our eyebrows over the welcome he offered.

So let us think now of what must have happened in that household, as Metellus senior fretted against his own unhappy wife and Metellus junior, who became a father himself, worked long hours in the service of the state. Saffia Donata was her father-in-law's pet. So dearly did he regard her, that he made a will which disinherited his wife and son by name, leaving them the most meagre acknowledgements. He could not legally bequeath his estate directly to Saffia, but he made an arrangement to do it through somebody else - an arrangement which you may find significant. More of that in a moment.

Saffia and Metellus clearly had an unhealthily close relationship. If evidence is needed, we may look to his will. No father openly makes the distinction Metellus has done unless he has completely abandoned his sense of propriety. He does not care if the shocked world sees his shameless feelings for the woman whom he makes the recipient of his generosity. He does not care how much he hurts members of his legitimate family. Whatever went on with Saffia before he died, it is certain that both Calpurnia and her son were aware of it. What monumental verbal storms must have taken place at the end of the garden then! Imagine the accusations that flew. In whose bed did the incestuous a.s.signations take place? Were they confined to secret occasions when the wronged wife and son were away from the house? Was the disgusting betrayal more daring than that? Did Metellus actually court discovery by his wife and son? Did he flaunt his behaviour viciously and salaciously in front of their household slaves?

Negrinus ignored it all, for the sake of his children. He still remains silent. He will not protest. His dignity is astonishing. His mother's reaction was all too different. Calpurnia took her own action.

Her torment is easy to understand. She had lost everything. Her household was once so wealthy that informers did not scruple to cite her family as having an 'extravagant lifestyle'- though her son says nothing so reprehensible and un-Roman really happened. But it is certain they had a good life, such as those who serve the state expect. They kept a handsome, n.o.ble home, to which guests and clients could be invited, a home which reflected the status of Rubirius Metellus and his son. Today, Calpurnia sees herself stripped of every natural convenience; rooms in her house are already standing empty while her possessions and slaves are due to be handed over to a fortune-hunter. Over the years, everything she came to expect from life as a woman in a family of distinction was slowly taken from her - the worst blow being that her only son was tainted with corruption, his promising career halted for ever when his father was accused and convicted. If it is a mother's duty to bring up her children well, if we praise those n.o.ble women who do so with intelligence, wisdom and the best moral example, then the disgrace inflicted on young Metellus Negrinus must also blacken the name of his mother. So one more horror fell upon her. One last hope of a good reputation had been inexorably withdrawn. She tried desperately to convince her husband to commit judicial suicide and save the dregs of the family honour; he refused her.

That is the kind of man Metellus was. I am sorry to say it. But we have to understand. That was the man who had destroyed this woman's serenity and happiness for over thirty years.

At such a moment, to whom should she turn for guidance? My colleague Didius Falco will be the next speaker. He will explain how Calpurnia Cara allied herself in her trouble to the worst possible adviser.

Marponius shot me a filthy look. He had remembered we had a history.

'We are enjoying this too much, Falco! Better take a break and calm down.'

Our case had reached a climax. There was a buzz in court.

Sightseers had crowded in to watch; even the lags who played draughts all day outside on the Basilica steps had abandoned their games.

Someone else was looking good and getting the attention in his court. So naturally Marponius stopped proceedings and adjourned overnight.

XLII.

MARPONIUS MAY have broken the mood but the disruption had advantages. This way, I could at least write my speech in advance. I would not bring a written version to court - that would be seen as an insult by the judge and jury - but I had acquired preparation time.

Anacrites strolled up. 'Tomorrow should be lively. You're risking it, Falco!'

'Come and watch.' I forced a grin. 'You might learn something.' My eyes must have narrowed. 'So - what's your interest?'

Anacrites glanced over his shoulder. He adopted a genial manner and lowered his voice. 'Watching brief on the corruption file.'

'That's a wrap-up. The perpetrator's dead, for one thing.'

Honorius was pretending to roll scrolls neatly, but I could see him listening. Aelia.n.u.s sat quiet, openly observing us.

Anacrites continued to pretend he and I were old Palace colleagues sharing confidential back-corridor news. 'The file may be in the dead stacks - but it stays sensitive. The old man has a reputation for placing rapacious officials in key positions, so they can squeeze the job for all it's worth.'

I knew that. 'Vespasian and his famous fiscal sponges! Soaking up loot for the Treasury. How is this relevant to my case?'

Anacrites shrugged. 'There are rumours - quite unfounded, says the Palace - that if an official then gets tried for extortion, Vespasian is even happier. If the official is found guilty, the state wins a large slice of the compensation.'

I sucked my teeth, as if shocked. 'Dreadful! But come off it; you're forcing the issue. Rubirius Metellus was not the official. Negrinus was never charged so he can't be called an imperial "sponge". Silius Italicus would like you to think him public-spirited in charging the father, but he acted out of self-interest. If the Treasury obtained any benefit, it was an unsought bonus for them. I'd say the Emperor is about the only party who can be absolved from having a prejudicial interest.'

'Just seeing which way the wind blows,' murmured Anacrites. 'Was it your idea?'

'Your friend t.i.tus Caesar.'

t.i.tus Caesar was no friend of mine, but Anacrites never ceased to be jealous that I might possess some influence he himself lacked.

We were interrupted by Paccius Africa.n.u.s. 'I look forward to my grilling,' smiled my prospective victim, but there was threat in his tone. I was meant to be unnerved.

As Paccius left, Anacrites made sure he shook his head ominously. Even Aelia.n.u.s, standing silent beside me, gripped his fists in annoyance. Honorius, who had dumped this situation on me without warning, pretended not to notice any of it.

I had been a prosecutor on other occasions; the process held no fears. What I had never done was to attack a man of such high rank as Paccius Africa.n.u.s. If I accused him of conspiracy with Calpurnia, it would blacken his reputation - and he was far too powerful to accept that. Everyone in court today - including both Paccius and Silius - knew tomorrow would bring trouble to somebody. Most thought Paccius would try something devious. So whatever happened could only harm me.

By the time we had gathered our doc.u.ments and made our way outside, Helena was waiting for me at the top of the steps. She was talking to her father. He was still togate, though endearingly rumpled; his sprouting hair stood even more on end than usual, as if he had been running his hands through it obsessively. Both of them had heard my coming speech announced; both looked apprehensive as I left the Basilica.

I wanted to go straight home to prepare. Instead, Camillus Verus gathered me up. 'I'm taking this fellow to the gym,' he said nonchalantly to Helena.

'Oh, Father. Not "going to the gym"? That's what Marcus says when he's off womanising and gambling.' Helena looked surprised by her father. So was I.

He winked at her, playfully. 'Drinking bout. Don't tell your mother.'

'Hmm. A hangover won't help when he's in court tomorrow.'

'It's a ploy,' breezed Decimus. 'It tells the opposition you are so confident you can go out to a party when you ought to be at home studying your notes.'

'I never heard that Demosthenes went on the wine when he had a big speech coming up...' Helena capitulated. 'Look after him.'

'Of course. But Marcus may be late home.' Now I was worried.

Helena justina raised her eyebrows even higher. They were heavy, like her father's. 'I'll tell myself he is safely talking to you.'

'I shall be talking,' her father declared. 'Marcus will be taking notes.'

His tone had changed. I had seen him serious before, though never quite so straight-faced. In fact I could not remember us ever going to the gym like this together; normally we met by chance. We saw each other in domestic contexts, but otherwise were not socially close. He was a senator and I was an informer. Nothing ever changed that.

We had not far to go. We both frequented premises at the back of the Temple of Castor. I had introduced him, for not even a senator could gain membership of this gymnasium without a recommendation. It was run by my trainer, Glaucus, on the lines of a club. Clubs were illegal, lest persons of inflammatory politics congregate in them to plot against the government. I like to avoid that sort of trouble. But a private gym such as Glaucus set up was seen as acceptably sociable. Exercise is healthy. Dumbbell clowns who can't even spell 'republic' swing their arms about and heave heavy weights on to their mighty, hairy chests - don't they?

Glaucus admitted a certain quiet cla.s.s. Some, like me, had professional reasons for wanting to train. Others just preferred the refinement of a place where rowdy or cra.s.s social monsters were barred. There were no loud voices, no roistering inebriates - and no oily b.a.s.t.a.r.ds looking out for pretty boys either. There was little room for spear-throwing, but wrestling and swordplay were available. For a steep fee, Glaucus would give you a lesson that was almost as uncomfortable as being ridden down by murderous tribesmen galloping on wild horses - or you could relax in a small courtyard and read poetry. There was even a library, though n.o.body much used it. You could find a delightful young lady to trim your fingernails, or buy an excellent pastry adorned with toasted pistachio nuts. Perhaps the manicurist offered extra services, but if so, she didn't push it; I always settled for a nutty slice instead, believe me. I doubt if the senator even had that; his wife was making him watch his weight.

We bathed. Decimus usually had a slave to sc.r.a.pe him down, and today so did I. I stood lost in thought, while the boy expertly plied the strigil. Afterwards, Decimus swam in the tiny pool. I never did, though I carried out a few exercises, continuing after my companion hauled himself from the freezing water and huddled in a robe while he chatted to Glaucus.

'Your name is on a lot of lips,' said Glaucus, when I joined them. He disapproved. So did I. Fame may be attractive to many, but in my trade it is an enc.u.mbrance. Informers should keep anonymous.

'People will soon forget.'

'Depends what kind of fool you make of yourself, Falco.' My trainer never reckoned to keep his clients with flattery.

'Oh I'll be the usual fool,' I admitted.

He laughed harshly. 'That's all right then!'

The senator had finished drying off and pulling on tunics. At sixty plus, he kept himself well layered up in winter. He hauled me to the library; now I knew what it was there for: plotting. Glaucus had arranged to have a brazier sent in. Snacks and wine followed.

'Should I fetch my note-tablet?' I wondered.

'Better not.' The mood was now distinctly sombre. It had nothing to do with winter's early darkness closing in. 'Marcus, you'll prefer not to write down what I tell you.'

I settled on a reading couch. 'And what,' I asked, still slightly askance, 'will that be, Decimus?'

'All I know,' replied Helena's father quietly, 'about the past careers of Silius Italicus and Paccius Africa.n.u.s.'

My jaw dropped. 'You can give me some dirt?'

'Remind you, maybe. It came up in the Senate.'

'I confess I don't recall either of them featuring.'

'Well, I was there. So that helped it stick. It was in the early sessions, when Vespasian first became Emperor.' Decimus paused slightly. 'Had things worked out differently, I might have hoped to benefit from the accession. So I was a regular in the Curia - and it was riveting.' We both looked pensive. Camillus Verus had been destroyed politically, around that time, through the actions of a relative. He lost out on what could have become a big career; five years later, the taint still badly damaged him and his sons.

He rallied and continued: 'Young Domitian was still presiding in his father's name; this was before he went too far and had his wings clipped.' Vespasian and his elder son t.i.tus preferred not to dwell on the early career of Domitian. In fairness, the Emperor's younger son was only twenty at the time, representing his father five years before he would normally have been an acceptable face in the Senate. 'This is dangerous material. I cannot advise you how to handle it, but Marcus, I'll do my best to give you all the history.'

I was impressed by the fact that Camillus had brought me here, rather than contaminate either of our homes with what he had to say. He was a man of curious refinement.

As I said, the library was rarely used. Tonight I thought that was just as well. It would not do for others to know we had held this conversation.

We spoke for a long time, until I was well rehea.r.s.ed.

Afterwards, I returned home silently, my head thronging with ideas. Helena accepted my stillness. Maybe her father had hinted at how he intended to brief me.

None of what he told me was a secret. Six years ago I had despised the Senate and jeered at its day-to-day proceedings. Maybe I read about the relevant debates in the Daily Gazette columns, but it had little impact at the time. We were awash with news then. Vespasian's accession had come at the end of a long period of lurid events. Evaluating every one was impossible. Our main concern had been that the civil wars and city famine should end, along with street fighting, fires, destruction and uncertainty.

That night, I could not decide what to do. I was nervous about using this hot material in open court. I talked to Helena; she encouraged me to be bold. Some members of our jury would have been present when the debates happened, after all. Dragging up old sensitivities was dangerous, however. I would be reviving a political scandal, which in a highly political city is always sinister.

I slept all night. Long training helped. I was still undecided when I left home with Helena next morning. But as soon as I walked into the Basilica, saw the long rows of the jury and felt the hall humming, I knew: this was risky - but too good to ignore.

I glanced up at the upper gallery. Peeking around the corner of a curtain, Helena Justina read my thoughts and smiled at me.

The Accusation against Calpurnia Cara: M. Didius Falco on C. Paccius Africa.n.u.s My young colleague Honorius spoke to you yesterday with great eloquence. I have been impressed by his setting-out of the issues. I congratulate him on the way he has addressed difficult material. In describing Calpurnia Cara's predicament, he has been most even-handed, while never forgetting the demands of justice for a terrible crime.

Since he has done such an excellent job so far, you may be wondering why we have decided that I should address you on the next subject. Honorius is of senatorial rank, a promising advocate, who will without question make a fine career in both the special courts and the Senate itself. Gentlemen, having made such a start, he is eager to conclude the business before you; it is indeed hard for him now to hand over to me. He has stepped back because I have particular insight into a certain type of person who may have influenced the accused.

My name is Marcus Didius Falco. I am of equestrian rank, a position for which I have to thank the personal interest of the Emperor. Some of you - and our most excellent judge, Marponius, who knows me well - will be aware that this is by no means the first time I have appeared before the murders court. I have made it a habit to identify killers and bring them to trial. I have had some success. If I were to explain myself for the benefit of those who do not know me, I would say I make it a speciality to investigate wrongs which are not suitable for the vigiles or for which the hard-pressed vigiles lack immediate resources. Sometimes I have been commissioned officially for enquiries in the community, and I may say to you that on occasions, my commissions came from the highest level. By its nature, I may not discuss that work. I mention it only so you may appreciate that people of shrewd judgement in powerful positions, the Emperor's closest advisers in fact, hold my services in some regard.

Why am I talking so much about myself? Because of this: my profession, if I may boldly call it that, is that of the informer. I hardly know how I can have named it - for informing is so often a term of abuse. If we were to go out into the Forum Romanorum now this minute, and ask pa.s.sers-by to define informers, I believe their answers would include: immoral patricians, men who are intent on rising rapidly despite lack of personal talent, men without principle, and lowborn toadies hanging around the skirts of power. They might describe vicious ambition and pitiless manoeuvring. They might suggest that informers target victims for their own benefit, under cover of serving society by cleaning it up. They would undoubtedly complain about men who leap from extreme poverty into questionable wealth, men of insignificance who acquire inexplicable prestige. They would say that informers ruthlessly attack their victims, using means that are often of doubtful legitimacy. Worst of all, remembering the excesses and abuses under emperors like Nero, a creature now 'd.a.m.ned to the memory' for his appalling crimes, people would fear that the role of informers may be still that of secret, subversive informants, whispering poison in the ear of the Emperor.

In making these statements about my own profession, I am speaking to my disadvantage, but I want to show you how fair I am. I know that these are the opinions of many, but I hope to suggest that there is another view. I put to you that ethical informers do exist. They do valuable work, their ambition is commendable, and their motives have morality and integrity. I myself have taken up causes where I knew there would be no financial reward, merely because I believed in the principles involved. Of course you are laughing - They certainly were. Mind you, they were all listening.

Well, that shows you what an open and honest man I am!

More laughter. With my thumbs tucked into my belt under my toga, I was grinning myself. Thinking about it, I removed the thumbs.

Perhaps the worst prejudice against informers is that they have, in the past, involved themselves in manipulating government. Fortunately, it is well known that our new Emperor, Flavius Vespasia.n.u.s, abhors such -behaviour. He is famous for opposing secrecy in political circles. One of the first acts of his administration - before Vespasian himself even returned to Rome from Judaea as Emperor - was to require all senators who had acted as informers under Nero to swear a solemn oath about their past actions. Without swearing the oath, such people would no longer be acceptable in public life. Honourable men would in this way exonerate themselves from the taints of the past. But any who perjured themselves would be prosecuted - as some were...

'Objection!' Paccius was on his feet. 'None of this has relevance.'

Marponius was eager to do me down - but he wanted to know what was coming. 'Falco?'