Thus ended the third day of Milo's trial, and the last day of testimony. One hundred days had passed since the death of Publius Clodius. One more day, and the fate of Titus Annius Milo would be decided.
Late that afternoon, the tribune Plancus held a final contio on the subject of Clodius's death. He urged Clodius's followers to come out in force the next morning to hear the actual pleading of the case. The speeches for the prosecution and defence would be delivered in the open Forum, which would accommodate a great many more spectators than the courtyard of the Temple of Liberty. Those who had loved Clodius must make themselves seen and heard, said Plancus, so that the jurors could know the will of the people, and they must encircle the court completely, so that once the outcome of the trial became evident, the treacherous coward Milo would have no opportunity to slip away before the verdict was announced.
That night, over dinner, Eco and I gave Bethesda a full account of the day's events. She seemed to approve of Fulvia's performance. 'A woman's grief is sometimes the only weapon she has. Think of Hecuba and the Trojan women. Fulvia has used her grief where it will have the most effect.'
'I wonder why they didn't call Clodia to testify,' said Diana, who had been so listless throughout the meal that I thought she wasn't listening.
'That would only have detracted from Fulvia's grief,' said Eco. 'And it would have distracted the jurors, reminding them of certain rumours of what went on between Clodia and her brother.'
'And after what Cicero did to her the last time she appeared at a trial, I should be surprised if she ever appeared at one again,' said Bethesda. 'Has she attended this trial?'
'I haven't seen her,' I said, and changed the subject.
Like many people in Rome that night, I imagine, I had a hard time sleeping. I tossed and turned and finally got out of bed. I went to my study and looked for something to read. I scanned the little title tags that hung from the scrolls in their pigeonholes, muttering to myself
'Now what is the play that has that famous quote, about the gods bringing about an unexpected end? Euripides, isn't it? And why is it on my mind tonight? Oh, yes, I know. Because it always reminds me of the trial of Sextus Roscius, when I first worked for Cicero; his first great triumph in the courts. And when it was all over — almost over — I remember quoting that bit of Euripides to Tiro. Tiro was so young then, only a boy! I was so young then, too…
'But what is the play? Not The Trojan Women or Hecuba — that was Bethesda, who mentioned Hecuba at dinner tonight. No, it's from… The Bacchae!'
And there it was at my fingertips. I pulled it from the hole, found some weights and unrolled it on a table.
It was one of the oldest books I owned, but was still in good condition. The passage I was thinking of was at the very end, delivered by the chorus of frenzied Dionysian revellers:
The gods have many guises. The gods bring crises to climax while man surmises. The end anticipated has not been consummated. But god has found a way for what no man expected. So ends the play.
What no man expected…
Could Cicero pull it off? Could he deliver a speech — one of those famous, logic-twisting, doubt-defying, hilarious, wrenching speeches of his — that would actually convince the jurors to declare Milo not guilty? It seemed impossible. But so had many another case where Cicero had snatched triumph from despair. If anyone could do it…
As I was rolling up the scroll, I ripped a bit of parchment at the top. I cursed. It was such an old scroll. When and where had I got it? Ah, yes: Cicero himself had given it to me, as he had given me many books since. This had been the first. He had even inscribed it, as I recalled.
I unrolled it enough to read the message he had written across the top, in his own hand:
To Gordianus, fondly, with bright hopes for the future.
My blood froze. I had known all along, of course. Still, to see the proof before me…
I found the message that had been left for Bethesda and put it side by side with the scroll.
Do not fear for Gordianus and his son. They have not been harmed. They will be returned to you in time.
There could be no doubt. The proof was there in the peculiar shape of the letter G — indeed, in the way my name was written in each case.
I had looked at other messages from Cicero in my possession, but not one of them had been in his own hand. They had all been written by Tiro or some other secretary. But the dedication on The Bacchae was assuredly in his hand, for I had been there when he inscribed it.
Davus mumbled in his sleep when I shook him. The other bodyguards stirred in their beds. 'Davus, wake up.'
'What?' He blinked, then gave a start and jerked away from me as if I were a monster. 'Master, please!' His voice cracked like a boy's. What in Hades was wrong with him?
'Davus, it's only me. Wake up. I need you. I'm going out.'
The walk to Cicero's house had never seemed so long. My blood pounded in my ears. I didn't wake Eco to come with me, though he had as great a grievance against Cicero as I did. What I had to say to Cicero I would say by myself
XXXI
Cicero's doorkeeper perused me through the peephole. A little later he opened the door for me, allowing Davus to enter and wait in the foyer. The interior of the house was ablaze with lights. No one would be abed early in Cicero's house on this night.
As I was led to the study, I heard Cicero's voice echoing down the hallway, and then Tiro, laughing out loud.
I was shown into the room. Cicero and Tiro both greeted me with a smile.
'Gordianus!' Cicero stepped forward and embraced me before I could stop him. It was a politician's embrace; he seemed to encircle me completely and yet hardly touched me anywhere. He stepped back and looked at me like a shepherd at a lost lamb. 'So, at the very last moment, you've come to me. Can I dare to hope, Gordianus, that this means you've come to your senses at last?'
'Oh, yes, Cicero. I have definitely come to my senses.' My mouth was suddenly so dry that I could hardly speak.
'You sound like you need something to drink.' Cicero nodded to the doorkeeper, who disappeared. 'I should tell you, the speech is already pretty much done. But it's not set in stone. Better late than never.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Well, with the way you've been running back and forth to Fulvia's house, and all that time you spent with Marc Antony on the road, you must be well up on what the prosecution has in mind for tomorrow. I can use that sort of information to make sure that all
my rebuttals are on target. The fewer surprises they're able to spring on me, the better. Oh, Gordianus, you gave me a scare this time. I thought we had lost you for good. But here you are, back where you belong!'
I looked around the room. Tiro sat amid masses of rolled and rumpled parchment. 'Is Caelius here? Where's Milo?' Merely saying his name made me clench my fists. I took a deep breath.
'Caelius is home, at his father's house, probably sleeping like a baby.'
'Shouldn't he be here with you, working on his speech?'
'Actually… ah, here's something to wet your throat! Tiro, would you like a cup as well?'
I thought of refusing, but I needed the drink. I raised an eyebrow as it passed my lips. It must have been the best vintage in the house. 'Isn't it a bit premature to be celebrating, Cicero?'
'Ah, you appreciate the Falernian. Good. Your appearance in my house is adequate cause for celebration, Gordianus.' 'Where's Milo?' I said.
'Not here, as you can see. He's at home with Fausta, I imagine, dreaming sweet dreams of the consulship that will be his next year. Did you especially want to see him?'
That was a difficult question to answer. 'No,' I said. I wanted to keep my head, and that might not be possible in Milo's presence. I finished my cup of wine.
