“My meaning,” Verres said through gritted teeth, “is that this woman’s testimony must surely be available for a price. It is not, after all, very likely that she will be amassing much more coin on her back!”
Cicero waited politely while Verres’s words resounded around the chamber.
“Really, Verres?” he said after a time. “For what reason is that?”
Verres swallowed nervously and turned to the magistrate with calm composure.
“Time comes that this farce must reach conclusion,” he said.
“I have interest in hearing Cicero’s closing arguments, nonetheless,” the magistrate said.
“As it pleases you,” Cicero said. “I would ask the lady Successa to remove her veil.”
“I have removed far more than that in the past,” Successa said, a smile clearly audible in her voice.
She reached up to withdraw a hook from an eye in her headdress, allowing the veil to fall away with exquisite slowness. It was the practiced tease of a woman who knew how to reveal her body-but now revealed a horror rather than a delight.
“Tell me, lady Successa,” Cicero said, “what it is you owe to Gaius Verres.”
“He promised me a stipend,” she replied. “I do not know how to-”
“Let me try to parse it for you,” Cicero suggested. “Gaius Verres, the kind-hearted governor-designate of Sicilia; Gaius Verres, the apparent long-term friend and hospes of the deceased Marcus Pelorus, is well known as an honorable man. And, following events of the night of this last
“Nothing, Cicero,” she replied.
“Nothing!” Cicero laughed. “And so it please the magistrate, ‘nothing’ is precisely what it says upon their contract. But I am lover of words and puns and poetries, and I must say that the meaning is ambiguous. It might be taken to mean that you need do ‘
“Sophistry!” Verres shouted. “You will be claiming next that black is white.”
“Gaius Verres has been most kind to me,” Successa protested. “I had no complaint against him.”
“I am sure you did not,” Cicero said. “Not until this last night past, when sicarii ambushed you in your home and sought to send you to the afterlife.”
“And I am responsible for this, too?” Verres cried raising his arms in supplication to the ceiling above and the gods beyond. “Why not lay blame at my door for earthquakes and storms?”
Cicero ignored him, and continued in his questioning.
“Lady Successa, with bonds of silence dissolved, speak of events passed on the
“Precious time wasted on worthless words,” Verres said.
“If it pleases the magistrate,” Cicero said. “The slave Medea was wild beast, in locked cell, from which she was somehow set free to bring destruction upon House Pelorus. The slave Medea, as her later actions in the arena have demonstrated with ample clarity to all, is a living weapon, capable of infecting great harm upon her victims. Whoever unleashed her on that night is as culpable in the death of Pelorus as falconer who looses bird, or hunter who frees hounds. Lady Successa, I implore you, who set Medea free that night?”
“It was Gaius Verres,” she said.
“Open eyes and see stipend’s end,” Verres spat.
“A thing never seen recieved,” she snarled at him, suddenly roused. “Nor would it buy me much in the afterlife!”
“Enough!” Helva declared, banging his hands on the arms of his chair. “Enough!”
“Magistrate, I implore you-” Verres began.
“Magistrate, I am yet unfinished-” Cicero began.
“Silence, I beg you!” Helva said. “This matter full of thorns, and attended by many deliberations, twists and turns. However, representatives for both sides have identified a means through whispered threats and honeyed promises. In the matter of Batiatus versus Verres, I find reasonable doubt in the assignation of rights familiae emptor to the aforesaid Verres. Perhaps Verres misheard his friend’s last words; perhaps he misinterpreted them.”
Batiatus made to stand in protest, but Cicero stayed his arm, a finger raised in a weak parody of the gladiator’s gesture of surrender. Batiatus saw the signal and read it for what it was-a sign that they would have to concede some ground.
“However, I can have no doubt that the intentions of the pious Verres were wholly honorable,” the magistrate continued. “In treatment of the injured lady Successa, he has displayed a noble quality in the dispensation of charity. In his attempt to do right by the freedman Timarchides, he has shown great kindness.”
Verres permitted himself a sly half-smile.
Batiatus stared at Cicero, his nostrils flared in anger.
“Do you misremember whose side you represent?” Batiatus hissed to the quaestor. “This fool has ignored every one of your words.”
“Patience, Batiatus,” Cicero whispered out of the side of his mouth.
“In the matter of the accusations leveled against him,” the magistrate stated, “I remind the plaintiff that Verres became the governor of Sicilia at midnight on the night of the event in question, and that henceforth, even if Cicero were to pursue his insinuations of wrongdoing, the person of Gaius Verres is sacrosanct, protected and above reproach.”
Verres smiled at Batiatus, the smile widening into a grin fit to contain the world.
“In the matter of the estate of the late Marcus Pelorus, I shall retire to deliberate on its best dispensation. It may take some days, considering the light of these crimes peripheral, now entered into the record.”
“If I may speed the process, magistrate?” Verres asked.
The magistrate shrugged and gestured for him to continue.
“Since my duties are not required in the role of familiae emptor, I have no matters to address in it. May I suggest that I withdraw all opposition to the suit of Batiatus, and depart as friend.”
Timarchides leapt to his feet in surprise, grabbing at Verres’s toga.
“You said that purse was mine!”
Verres held out his arms in conciliation.
“Timarchides, please!” he said. “The magistrate has spoken. We must abide by Roman law or we are no better than barbarians.”
“But-”
“What purse?” Helva asked, indicating the pile of scrolls. He held one up for them to see. “You will see from the accounts that the estate of Pelorus is already well discharged, almost into nothingness.”
XVII
“Do I dream,” Batiatus said, standing on the steps of the forum, “or did we just get bent over and fucked?”
“I have no idea of your dreams, Batiatus,” Cicero said, his eyes set ahead. The two men sighed in unison on the steps, and began to dawdle toward the street level. Varro walked behind, ever watchful.
“The magistrate made no note of our evidence,” Batiatus protested. “Rather keeping up the nonsense of the ‘last words’!”
“The magistrate showed himself to be a masterful diplomat,” Cicero replied. “Governors are not truly
