'So do I,' I said quietly, drawing a deep breath to begin the climb up the Palatine.
'And parry Sulla's advances all night long? For that I'd have to be an acrobat, actor, and comedian all in one.'
'Do it for Sextus Roscius and his case. Do it for Cicero.'
At the mention of Cicero his face became earnest. 'How do you mean?'
'I need access to Chrysogonus's household. I need to get inside, to see which of Sextus Roscius's slaves are still in his possession. I want to question them if I can. It would be easier if I had a friend inside his house. Do you think it's an accident that this party coincides with our need? The gods are smiling on us.' 'Fortune I hope, and not Venus.'
I laughed, even though it cost me a precious breath, and trudged up the hill.
'It's true, then?' I said, staring into Sextus Roscius's eyes and trying to make him blink before I did. 'Every word of the story Titus Megarus told me? But if that's so, why didn't you tell us in the first place?'
We were seated in the same stuffy, squalid room where we had met before. This time Caecilia Metella, having been told the tale in brief, came with us. The idea that her beloved Sextus had been proscribed as an enemy of Sulla was absurd, she said, obscene. She was eager to hear what his son had to say about it. Rufus sat close beside her, and one of her slave girls stood quietly in the corner fanning her with peacock plumes on a long handle, as if she were a Pharaoh's queen. Tiro stood at my right arm with his tablet and stylus, fidgeting.
Sextus stared back at me, unwilling to blink. The effect became as unnerving as the heat. If he was hiding something he gave no sign of it: Most men, stalling for time to think up a He or evasion, will glance away, shifting their gaze to something, anything, that doesn't stare back at them. Sextus Roscius stared me straight in the eye with no expression on his face at all, until finally I blinked. I thought he smiled then, but I may have only imagined it. I began to think he might truly be mad.
'Yes,' he finally said. 'True. Every word.'
Caecilia made a peculiar titter of distress. Rufus stroked her wrinkled hand.
'Then why didn't you tell Cicero? Did you. tell Hortensius when he was your advocate?' 'No.'
'But how can you expect these men to defend you if you won't tell them what you know?'
'I never asked either of them to take my case. She did.' He rudely pointed at Caecilia Metella.
'Are you saying you don't want an advocate?' Rufus snapped. 'What chance do you think you'd have if you stood before the Rostra alone, against a prosecutor like Gaius Erucius?'
'What chance do I have now? Even if I somehow escape them in court, they'll find me afterwards and have their way with me, just as they did with my father.'
'Not necessarily,' Rufus argued. 'Not if Cicero is able to expose the lies of Capito and Magnus in court.'
'But to do that he'll have to drag in the name of Chrysogonus, won't he? Oh, yes, there's no way to pick the fleas without wrestling the dog, and no way to do that without pulling at the master's leash. The dog may snap, and the master isn't going to like being publicly embarrassed by an upstart advocate. Even if he wins the case, your precious Master Chick-pea will only end up with his head on a stick. Don't tell me that there's an advocate in Rome who's willing to run the risk of spitting in Sulla's face. And if there is such a man, he's far too stupid to handle my case.'
Rufus and Tiro were both exasperated. How could Roscius say such a thing about Cicero, their Cicero? Roscius's fears meant nothing to them; their faith in Cicero was absolute.
But I feared that Sextus Roscius was right. The case was exactly as dangerous as he had described it. Someone had already made a threat on my life (a fact I intentionally had not mentioned under Caecilia's roof). If they had not done so to Cicero it was only because he was at that time still one step removed from the investigation, and a man with more powerful connections than my own.
Still, there was something disingenuous in Roscius's words. Yes, his case was a dangerous one and pursuing it could incur the wrath of the mighty. But what could that matter to him, if his only alternative was a hideous death? By fighting the case, by arming us with the truth that could prove his innocence and the guilt of his persecutors, he had everything to gain: his life, his sanity, perhaps even the reversal of his father's proscription and the return of his estates. Could he have sunk to such a level of hopelessness that he was paralysed? Can a man become so demoralized that he longs for defeat and death?
'Sextus Roscius,' I said, 'help me to understand. You learned of your father's death shortly after it occurred. His body was returned to Ameria and you began the funeral rites. Then soldiers came, announcing that he had been proscribed, that his death was an execution, not a murder, and that his property was forfeit to the state. You were forced from your home and stayed with friends in the village. There was an auction in Rome; Capito, or quite likely Chrysogonus, buys up the property. Did you know then who had killed your father?' 'No.'
'But you must have suspected.' 'Yes.'
'Very well. Once ensconced, Capito graciously invited you back to live on the estate, allowing your family to occupy a ramshackle house away from the villa. How did you bear this humiliation?'
'What could I do? The law is the law. Titus Megarus and the town council went off to petition Sulla himself on my behalf I could only wait.'
'But finally Capito threw you off the estate altogether. Why was that?'
'I suppose he'd finally had enough of me. Maybe he started feeling guilty.'
'But by that time you must have realized without a doubt that Capito himself was involved in your father's murder. Did you threaten him?'
He looked away. 'We never came to blows, but our arguments were fierce. I told him he was a fool to make himself so comfortable in the big house, that he'd never be allowed to keep it. He told me I was no better than a beggar, and I should kiss his foot for the charity he showed me.' He gripped the arms of his chair and his knuckles turned white. He ground his teeth in a sudden fury. 'He said I'd die before I got the land back. He said I was lucky not to be dead already. He kicked me out, at least that's what it looks like, but the truth is I was fleeing for my life. Even at Titus's house I wasn't safe; I could feel them watching the house after dark, like nighthawks biding their time. That's why I had to come to Rome. But even here I wouldn't be safe on the open streets. This room is the only place I'm safe. And they won't even leave me in peace here! I never thought it would come to this, that they'd drag me to the courts and tie me up in a sack. Can't you see, all the power is on their side? Who knows what sort of lies this Erucius will come up with? In the end it's only his word against Cicero's. Whom do you think the judges will side with if it come down to offending the dictator? There's nothing you can do!' Suddenly he was weeping.
Caecilia Metella made a face as if she had eaten something disagreeable. Without a word she rose from her chair and strode out the door, with the slave girl and her peacock fen following behind. Rufus jumped up, but I motioned for him to stay.
Roscius sat with his face in his hands. 'You are a, strange man,' I finally said. 'You are wretched, yet somehow I can't pity you. You stand close to a horrible death, in a place where most men would tell any lie to save themselves, and yet you omit telling the truth that alone could save you. Now that the truth is known you admit it and have no reason to lie, and yet… You make me doubt my own instincts, Sextus Roscius. I'm confounded, like a hound who scents a fox in a rabbit hole.'