The Venus Throw (45 page)

“Let us move on to something more specific, namely this business about gold and poison. Both of these alleged transactions revolve around the same person: supposedly, the gold was taken from Clodia and the poison was given to her. Now here at least we have some genuine accusations! All the other charges in this case amount to innuendos and insults; better suited to a shouting match than to a sober court of law. Saying that Caelius seduces other men’s wives, that he brawls and takes bribes and so on and so forth—these are slanders, not accusations, groundless slurs of the sort uttered by prosecutors who tend to let their blustering get out of control. But about these last two charges, concerning the gold and the poison, there’s something a bit more tangible. Yes, I sense that there must be something to these accusations—or rather, someone behind them, a certain individual with a very deliberate goal.

“Here’s the first story: Caelius needed gold and got it from Clodia—with no witnesses about, mind you. Proof, anyone would think, of considerable friendship between them. The second story: Caelius decided to murder Clodia, got hold of some poison, bribed collaborators, fixed a time and place to convey the poison to those who would administer it. Evidence this time of overpowering hatred!

“Judges, this entire case revolver around Clodia, a woman of high birth—and low reputation. I’m not here to rake up
scandal, and I get no enjoyment from impugning the virtue of a Roman lady. However, since the whole case against my client originates from this woman, and since it’s my duty to defend my client, I have no choice but to deal with the accusations as forthrightly as I can. Still, in talking about this woman I will strive to say no more than is absolutely necessary to refute the charges. Indeed, I feel obliged to watch what I say very carefully, since everyone knows of the unfortunate enmity that exists between myself and this woman’s husband.”

There was a burst of laughter. Cicero pretended to look confused. “Oh, did I say
husband?
I meant to say her
brother
, of course; I can’t imagine why I’ m always making that mistake.” He shrugged and smiled. “Well then, my apologies, judges, for having to drug a lady’s name into these proceedings. Really, I never imagined I should find myself in a court of law fighting with a woman—especially this woman, who is said to be the friend of every man she meets.”

He waited for the laughter to die down. The crowd had shifted and I was able to see Clodia again. Her face was stiff but even from a distance I would see the alarm in her eyes. She had begun to realize the full magnitude of the mistake she had made in taking her grievances against Caelius into a public arena.

Cicero cleared his throat. “Let me begin by asking the lady this: shall I lecture her in the stern manner of our forefathers, or in a milder, more moderate fashion? If it’s the former, then I should call on the dead to do the lecturing, one of those stern-looking, full-bearded fellows who gaze down on us from old statues. Why not one of the lady’s own ancestors? Appius Claudius the Blind would be appropriate, since he won’t have to suffer the pain of looking at her.”

There was laughter, then a murmur of anticipation as Cicero slipped into the role of the blind ancestor, narrowing his eyes, holding up his arms, removing all traces of the
comic from his voice. “Woman! What sort of legitimate interest could you possibly have in a fellow like Caelius, so much younger than yourself? How did you ever come to feel so close to him that you Tent him gold, or to feel such hatred that you came to fear poison? Have you no pride, no sense of decorum? Are you totally ignorant of your family and its achievements? Don’t you know that your father, and uncle, and grandfather, and great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather, and his father all served as consuls? Or that you yourself were the wife,
while he lived
, of Quintus Metellus Celer, a man whose virtues surpassed those of all other men? Having come from so great a household, and having married into another great house, what was your business with this youth, Marcus Caelius? Was he a cousin, an in-law, a close friend of your husband? No, none of these things. What reason did you have’ to insinuate yourself so intimately into his life, except a wanton desire to exercise your own voracious appetite for young flesh?”

Still playing blind Claudius, Cicero shook his head and went on. “1f the example set by the men of your lineage fails to shame you, then perhaps the women can do so. What of Claudia Quinta, who proved her purity when she saved the ship that brought to Rome the Great Mother, whose festival we celebrate today? Consider the renown that her virtue added to your house. Or the famous Vestal Virgin, Claudia, who shielded her father against an angry mob with her own pure body? Why do you share your brother’s vices instead of your ancestors’ virtues? We famous Claudii of old, did we refuse the peace offered by Pyrrhus and tear up his bargain, only so that you could drive your daily sexual bargains? Did we build the first aqueduct to bring water to Rome, only so that you could use it to wash yourself after your incestuous copulations? Did we build our great road, only so that you could parade up and down it in the company of other women’s husbands?”

The harshness of Cicero’s voice kept anyone from laughing.
He lowered his arms and looked straight at Clodia, who returned his stare with a look of pure malice. “I drop the role. I speak to you directly now. If you intend to go on with your testimony, then you will also have to explain how such intrigues could have come about in the first place. The prosecutors, at your behest, have dinned a list of suggestive phrases into our ears: adulterous orgies, wild beach parties, all-night revels, dancing at dawn, unending drunken debaucheries. Did you think you could accuse Caelius of debauchery without exposing your own debauchery to the scrutiny of the court? It was madness to think so. I see by your face that you would like to avoid such an unpleasant spectacle. Too late to stop it now!”

For a long moment Cicero and Clodia stared at one another in silence while the spectators looked on. Then he stepped back and softened his posture. He smiled sweetly. “But I see you don’t care for the stern-lecture approach. Well, then, forget those rustic old ancestors and their upright morals. I’ll borrow a more modern voice to try to talk some sense into you—why, I’ll pretend to be your own beloved little brother. That should be appropriate. No one is more worldly, that’s for sure. And no one has ever loved you better, ever since you were children. Does he still have those nightmares that make him wet the bed, so that he has to come sleep in yours? Pity he’s in charge of the festivities today and can’t be here beside you. But I can imagine what he might say.”

Cicero put on a simpering expression and waved his arms in a spastic manner while the crowd shrieked with laughter. “Sister, sister, what a mess you’ve gotten yourself into! What’s this craziness all about? Have you lost your mind? Yes, I know, I know, it was that boy down the street who caught your attention—tall, good-looking, pretty eyes. It set your old, tired blond racing. You wanted to see more of him—every inch of him! Getting your hands on him would be easy enough, you thought. Young men are always short of money, and you love to flaunt our inheritance.

“But sister, sister, it didn’t work out the way you wanted, did it? Some young men don’t care for the company of a grasping, older woman, no matter how much money she’s got. Well then, get over it! You’ve got your horti on the Tiber, where you go to watch the young swimmers and size them up. What’s the place for, except to provide you with a new lover every day? Why keep pestering this particular young fellow, who obviously doesn’t want you?”

Cicero dropped the simpering role of Clodius and turned his back on Clodia. He strode across the open space toward the defendant’s benches. “And now it’s your turn to receive a lecture, Marcus Caelius.” He wagged his finger. Caelius put on the face of an attentive schoolboy, all raised eyebrows and bland innocence. “I’ll need a father’s voice to deal with you, young man—but what sort of father? One of those old men with hearts of iron, who would blame you for everything and say, ‘Why on earth did you settle so close to that whore in the first place? Why didn’t you have the sense to run away the first moment you saw her?’ To such a gloomy old man Caelius might well defend himself by saying that nothing improper ever occurred, whatever gossips may say to the contrary. How can a young man in a city so full of malicious rumors possibly avoid being tarnished by loose talk? Living so close to that woman and being seen in her company, it’s no wonder people assumed the worst. Even the lady’s own brother can’t visit her without wriggling his tongue—I men, setting tongues wagging.

“Now, as regards the woman, at the moment it’s not my object to criticize her. My point is to lecture Marcus Caelitis. So for the sake of argument, let us imagine a purely hypothetical woman; any resemblance to Clodia will be purely coincidental, I assure you. Imagine a woman who shamelessly offers herself to every man she meets, who has to mark a calendar to keep her lovers straight, who opens the doors of her houses at Rome and Baiae to every sort of lecherous degenerate, who lavishes expensive gifts on her stable of
kept young studs. Imagine a wealthy, lascivious widow carrying on like a common whore, without the least regard for what anyone thinks. Now I ask you, if a young man should happen to be a bit free in his relationship with such a woman, can any man here really hold him accountable for his misconduct?

“Imagine a woman so deeply sunk in depravity that she no longer bothers to seek privacy and darkness to practice her vices. Quite the opposite—she builds a stage in her garden so that she can show off her special skills before an audience lined up to enjoy them! Bear in mind, I’ m speaking hypothetically, simply to make a point—don’t laugh! Now with this woman, this hypothetical woman, everything about her is an invitation to sex: the way she walks, the see-through gowns she wears, the obscenely pouting way she holds her mouth, her smoldering gaze, the foul language she uses, the easy way she embraces everyone at her parties, pressing herself against them and kissing them with her open mouth. She’s not simply a whore, but a particularly lewd and depraved old whore. Now, really, if a young man should find himself in the clutches of such a woman, can anyone be genuinely outraged if he should follow the course of nature? Is that young man guilty of vice—or of simply seeking relief?

“The woman is a whore, after all—the hypothetical woman, I mean—and even the sternest moralist looks the other way when a young man goes off to relieve himself with a prostitute. That is the way of the world, and not just in our present permissive age. Even our virtuous ancestors allowed for the use of prostitutes. The practice has never been frowned upon or forbidden in any time or place that I know of.

“Now someone will object, and say, ‘Is this the sort of standard to which Cicero would hold a young man, especially a young man who was given into his charge to be educated in rhetoric? Loose morals, easy virtue, a nod and a wink?’
Of course not. But judges, honestly, was there ever a man on earth so high-minded and strong-willed that he could reject all temptation and devote himself exclusively to the pursuit of virtue? A man without the least interest in leisure or lovemaking or simply having fun? Show me such a man and I will declare him superhuman! Such men exist in our history books, fine moral examples from the days of Rome’s rise to greatness, but you will look for them in vain in the streets of the city today. These days, even among the Greek philosophers, who once set so high a moral standard in their writings (unmatched by their actions, unfortunately), you will find little to encourage adherence to pure virtue; quite the opposite, in fact. The Epicureans tell us that a wise man does everything for pleasure. The Academics, by twisting words, claim that virtue and pleasure can be one and the same. Alas, the old-fashioned Stoics, who cling to the straight and narrow path of virtue, find themselves stranded all alone in their lecture halls.

“Nature herself has endless tricks to lull a man’s virtue to sleep while waking up his appetite for pleasure. She tempts the young down all sorts of dangerously slippery paths, but to compensate she lavishes on them great stamina and exquisite sensitivity. Show me a young man who despises the sight of beauty, who derives no pleasure from scent or touch or taste, who plugs his ears to keep out sweet music; I and a few others might argue that a youth of such purity has been blessed, but I think most of you would say he was cursed by the gods!

“Enough, then, of absolute standards! Let youth be permitted its pleasures. Let immaturity be allowed to flirt with foolishness. If he has a strong character, a young man will not be diminished by these experiences but will eventually outgrow them and be ready to take his place as a man of affairs in the Forum. Who can doubt that Marcus Caelius has already done so? You’ve watched him match wits with me here in the Forum. You’ve seen how eloquently he
defended himself here today. What a superb orator! Let me tell you, from my own experience, cultivating that degree of skill requires enonnous dedication and discipline. Marcus Caelius has reached a stage in his career where he no longer has the time or inclination to follow frivolous pursuits.

“Now then, we have navigated our way through the rocky shoals and treacherous reefs. From here on, clear sailing! Let us get back to those two charges against Caelius. The gold: Caelius is said to have gotten it from Clodia in order to bribe the slaves of Lucius Lucceius to kill Dio. Grave charges, to be sure, asserting that a man plotted to murder a diplomatic envoy, and instigated slaves to kill their master’s guest—heinous crimes!

“But I have to wonder: would Clodia have given this gold to Caelius without asking why he wanted it? Surely not! If he told her it was to murder Dio, then she was in on the plot. Is that why you came here today, woman, to make a confession? To tell us how you raided your secret treasure chest, denuded that statue of Venus in your garden adorned with all those pretty trophies from your lovers, so that you could hand over the booty to Caelius for criminal use? Did you make Venus herself an accomplice in crime?”