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 assignations 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, noble 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 noble 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. Aelianus 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 Titus Caesar.'
Titus 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 Africanus. `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 Aelianus, 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.
