Read Online Roman Blood by Steven Saylor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steven Saylor
Tags: Fiction, Historical, 265-30 B.C., Mystery & Detective, Marcus Tullius Rome—History Republic, ISBN 0-312-06454-3 Cicero, Roma Sub Rosa Series 01 - Roman Blood
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said, it seems obvious that you think the son is guilty."
"Nonsense! Was I that convincing? I suppose I should be pleased. I was only trying to paint the case as his accusers might describe it."
44
"You're saying that you believe this Sextus Roscius is innocent?"
" O f course! Why else should I be defending him against these outrageous charges?"
"Cicero, I know enough about advocates and orators to know that they don't necessarily have to believe in a point to argue for it. Nor do they have to believe in a man's innocence to defend him."
Tiro suddenly glowered at me across the table. " Y o u have no right,"
he said, with a desperate little break in his voice. "Marcus Tullius Cicero is a man of the highest principles, of unquestionable integrity, a man who speaks what he believes and believes every word he speaks, rare enough in Rome these days perhaps, but even s o — "
" E n o u g h ! " Cicero's voice carried tremendous force, but little anger.
He raised his hand in an orator's gesture of desist, and seemed unable to keep from smiling.
"You'll forgive young Tiro," he said, leaning toward me with an air of confidentiality. "He's a loyal servant, and for that I'm grateful. There are few enough to be found nowadays." He gazed at Tiro with a look of pure affection, open, genuine, and unabashed. Tiro suddenly found it convenient to gaze elsewhere—at the table, the tray of food, the softly billowing curtain.
"But perhaps he is sometimes too loyal. What do you think, Gordianus? What do you think, Tiro—perhaps we should pose such a propo-sition to Diodotus the next time he calls and see what the master of rhetoric can make of it. A fit subject for debate: Is it possible that a slave can be too loyal to his master? That is to say, too enthusiastic in his devotion, too ready to spring to his master's defense?"
Cicero glanced at the tray and reached for a bit of dried apple. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and studied it as if considering whether his delicate constitution could tolerate even such a tiny morsel in the full heat of the day. There was a pause and a silence, broken only by the trilling of a bird in the atrium outside. In the stillness the room around us seemed to breathe again, or rather to attempt to breathe, vainly struggling to catch a shallow breath and coming up short; the curtain billowed tentatively inward, then out, then in again, never quite enough to release a gust of air in either direction, as if the breeze were a warm and palpable thing trapped beneath its brocaded hem. Cicero frowned and replaced the morsel on the tray.
Suddenly the curtain gave an audible snap. A breath of warmth eddied 45
across the tiles and over my feet. The room had finally released its pent-up sigh.
" Y o u ask if I believe that Sextus Roscius is innocent of his father's murder." Cicero spread his fingers and pressed the tips together. " T h e answer is yes. When you meet him, you too will believe in his innocence."
It seemed at last that we might be getting down to business. I had had enough of the games passing back and forth in Cicero's study, enough of the yellow curtain and the stifling heat.
" H o w exactly did he die, the old man? Bludgeons, knives, stones? How many assailants? Were they seen? Can they be identified? Where was the son at the very moment the crime took place, and how did he learn the news? Who else had reason to kill the old man? What were the terms of his will? Who brings the charges against the son, and w h y ? " I paused, but only to take a sip of wine. " A n d tell me this—"
"Gordianus," Cicero laughed, "if I knew all this, I would hardly be needing your services, would I ? "
"But you must know a little."
" M o r e than a little, but still not enough. Very well, I can at least answer your last question. The charges have been lodged by a prosecutor named Gaius Erucius. I see you've heard of him—or has the wine turned to vinegar in your mouth?"
"I've more than heard of
"Nonsense! Was I that convincing? I suppose I should be pleased. I was only trying to paint the case as his accusers might describe it."
44
"You're saying that you believe this Sextus Roscius is innocent?"
" O f course! Why else should I be defending him against these outrageous charges?"
"Cicero, I know enough about advocates and orators to know that they don't necessarily have to believe in a point to argue for it. Nor do they have to believe in a man's innocence to defend him."
Tiro suddenly glowered at me across the table. " Y o u have no right,"
he said, with a desperate little break in his voice. "Marcus Tullius Cicero is a man of the highest principles, of unquestionable integrity, a man who speaks what he believes and believes every word he speaks, rare enough in Rome these days perhaps, but even s o — "
" E n o u g h ! " Cicero's voice carried tremendous force, but little anger.
He raised his hand in an orator's gesture of desist, and seemed unable to keep from smiling.
"You'll forgive young Tiro," he said, leaning toward me with an air of confidentiality. "He's a loyal servant, and for that I'm grateful. There are few enough to be found nowadays." He gazed at Tiro with a look of pure affection, open, genuine, and unabashed. Tiro suddenly found it convenient to gaze elsewhere—at the table, the tray of food, the softly billowing curtain.
"But perhaps he is sometimes too loyal. What do you think, Gordianus? What do you think, Tiro—perhaps we should pose such a propo-sition to Diodotus the next time he calls and see what the master of rhetoric can make of it. A fit subject for debate: Is it possible that a slave can be too loyal to his master? That is to say, too enthusiastic in his devotion, too ready to spring to his master's defense?"
Cicero glanced at the tray and reached for a bit of dried apple. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and studied it as if considering whether his delicate constitution could tolerate even such a tiny morsel in the full heat of the day. There was a pause and a silence, broken only by the trilling of a bird in the atrium outside. In the stillness the room around us seemed to breathe again, or rather to attempt to breathe, vainly struggling to catch a shallow breath and coming up short; the curtain billowed tentatively inward, then out, then in again, never quite enough to release a gust of air in either direction, as if the breeze were a warm and palpable thing trapped beneath its brocaded hem. Cicero frowned and replaced the morsel on the tray.
Suddenly the curtain gave an audible snap. A breath of warmth eddied 45
across the tiles and over my feet. The room had finally released its pent-up sigh.
" Y o u ask if I believe that Sextus Roscius is innocent of his father's murder." Cicero spread his fingers and pressed the tips together. " T h e answer is yes. When you meet him, you too will believe in his innocence."
It seemed at last that we might be getting down to business. I had had enough of the games passing back and forth in Cicero's study, enough of the yellow curtain and the stifling heat.
" H o w exactly did he die, the old man? Bludgeons, knives, stones? How many assailants? Were they seen? Can they be identified? Where was the son at the very moment the crime took place, and how did he learn the news? Who else had reason to kill the old man? What were the terms of his will? Who brings the charges against the son, and w h y ? " I paused, but only to take a sip of wine. " A n d tell me this—"
"Gordianus," Cicero laughed, "if I knew all this, I would hardly be needing your services, would I ? "
"But you must know a little."
" M o r e than a little, but still not enough. Very well, I can at least answer your last question. The charges have been lodged by a prosecutor named Gaius Erucius. I see you've heard of him—or has the wine turned to vinegar in your mouth?"
"I've more than heard of
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