CHAPTER 31

IN THE TWENTIETH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF TIBERIUS JULIUS CAESAR AUGUSTUS

I returned to Rome to find a different kind of city than the one I had left behind. Not much had changed by way of architecture or economy, but there was a certain tension in the air that you could almost taste. After the fall of Sejanus, the leading senators had turned on each other with a spate of treason trials, invoking the crime of maiestas, which included any behavior offensive or hostile toward the majesty of the state or the person of the emperor.

From his remote post on Capri, Tiberius fostered a climate of distrust that led to a proliferation of these trials. They were conducted in the Senate chamber, and it was said that the commander of the Praetorian Guard, Naevius Sutorius Macro, would attend the trials and watch the faces of the senators as the evidence was presented. Even a look that seemed to suggest sympathy with those accused of maiestas could be grounds for suspicion and subsequent charges.

The trials gave rise to a new class of parasite that fed off Tiberius’s fears and the wealth of others. The maiestas laws provided that the persons who successfully prosecuted the cases would inherit the estate and political offices of the accused. Such men were called delatores, and they wormed their way into power by prosecuting others for crimes of alleged malice toward the Roman people or the emperor. All of Rome despised them, and the most hated delator of all was a man named Caepio Crispinus. As a result of several successful cases, he now served in the Senate, where he could keep a close eye on the men who would be his next victims.

I found safety in keeping a low profile. I set up a law practice and, with Seneca’s help, developed a fairly robust client base. I spent my time pleading cases in the Roman Forum at the Basilica of Julius, where seven civil courts conducted proceedings simultaneously. When the basilica opened for the day, there was such a crush of litigants and advocates you could barely move. All day long, spectators flocked from one proceeding to the next, depending on the status of the litigants and the types of issues being tried. My cases seldom attracted a crowd. I specialized in representing borrowers when their lenders exacted more than the 5 percent interest allowed or when the lenders tried to compound interest illegally.

There were two problems with my nascent practice. First, I seldom got paid. Clients who have to borrow money at usurious rates do not have the funds to pay lawyers. Instead, they tried to barter with me. As a result, I was promised more goats, pigs, and bushels of barley than I could possibly devour in the next decade.

Second, I tended to make powerless friends and powerful enemies. Alienating the Roman citizens who had the most money was not helping my long-term ambition to make a lasting impact in Rome.

That all changed on a cold February morning when Seneca summoned me to his house for the salutatio, a formal morning reception. As he had done several years earlier, Seneca’s servant called my name first, and I skipped over nearly sixty others who had come for a favor that morning. We retired into Seneca’s office, where he had a fire going in the hearth.

He poured some wine, rubbed his hands together over the fire, and filled me in on the latest gossip from the Judean front. Pilate was on his last legs. He had brutally suppressed another religious uprising, this time in Samaria, and the Samaritans had complained to Rome’s prefect in Syria.

“Pilate has been ordered back to Rome to answer the accusations of the Jews and Samaritans,” Seneca said.

The news rocked me. I had been making good progress in my quiet new endeavors in the civil courts, but this added a level of dangerous uncertainty to my future. Would Pilate return and be sanctioned for his numerous shortcomings? Would a hearing in front of the Senate reflect poorly on my own role? It seemed like every act of misconduct was now somehow turned into an affront against Tiberius Caesar. Would they do the same with Pilate? And if they did, could I possibly escape guilt by association?

“He’s lost control,” Seneca said as if the matter were not open for debate. He threw a few logs on the fire and took a seat. “A new religion is spreading like wildfire through his province. The captain of the Italian Regiment, a man who reports directly to Pilate, is now a follower of the Way. He’s been trying to convert the provincial troops.”

“Cornelius?” I asked.

“I don’t know what his name is. But it doesn’t look good for Pilate.”

I knew the man Seneca was talking about. Cornelius was a respected soldier with a lot of influence in the province.

I had been hearing some things about the spreading influence of the Jews who were committed to the teachings of the Nazarene, but I had no idea that the movement —if that’s what it was —had infected Pilate’s own troops. For some reason I felt a flicker of joy at the thought of it. The Nazarene and his followers deserved better than what happened that day before the Jewish Passover.

Seneca took a sip of wine and changed the subject. He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. He had dark and swollen pouches under his eyes. His skin sagged and already showed some age spots. He was feeling the pressure of the times.

“The people are sick of these treason trials,” Seneca said. “The Senate is like a pit of vipers, turning on each other, sentencing each other to death, stealing each other’s families and possessions.” Seneca shook his head and frowned. His jowls added ten years to his appearance. “Tiberius is seventy-five and in poor health. The tide will turn soon. The only question is whether any of us will live long enough to see it.”

He lifted the cup to his lips again. After drinking, he set it down very deliberately, as if this was one of the few enjoyments he had left in life. “The conventional wisdom is to keep a low profile and be careful what you say even to your friends,” Seneca continued. “Have you heard about Plautius?”

I nodded. “Everybody’s heard about Plautius.”

The poor man was a bizarre example of how ludicrous the maiestas laws had become. Plautius had made the mistake of carrying coins bearing the image of Tiberius into the bathroom. It turned out to be a crucial error, deemed by the courts to be an affront to the emperor. Plautius was condemned to death, though his sentence was later commuted to one of exile.

“Lucius Apronius is the latest victim,” Seneca said. “I believe he’s a friend of your father’s.”

He was indeed. Apronius had an estate outside Rome, not far from the land farmed by my family. He was known to be a kind and generous man but unyielding when it came to matters of principle.

“He’s being prosecuted by Crispinus.” Seneca spat the words out as if the very name were a curse. “For obvious reasons, Apronius is having a hard time finding a capable advocate to defend him.”

I immediately knew where this was going, and Seneca must have read the look of concern in my eyes. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said with a dry smile. “But you must trust me on this. You can spend the rest of your life representing tenants in the civil courts, or you can rise to the occasion and plead a case in the Senate. And, Theophilus, before you give me your answer, you need to understand two things.

“First, there is no doubt that Apronius is guilty as charged. He thinks Tiberius is usurping the role of the Senate, and he thinks the old man needs to step down. So nobody is asking you to win this case. But if you put up a good fight, people will notice. Senators will notice. They’ll learn what I already know —that you are one of the best advocates at your age in all of Rome.”

His flattery was taking its intended toll. I should have said no before he could draw the next breath. Instead, I asked a question. “What’s the second thing?”

“You have a chance to be on the right side of history,” Seneca said. “We have a chance.”

He hesitated for a moment, and I could tell he had been wrestling with this issue for a long time. “If I’m right, when Tiberius dies, there will be a tremendous backlash against his legacy and against delatores like Crispinus. Those who stand up now to his reign of terror will be heroes when that day comes, their names on the tip of every man’s tongue. That could be you, Theophilus. That could be me.”

“And what if you’re wrong? What if Tiberius hangs on for another five years and they come after me because I had the audacity to represent someone who criticized him?”

Seneca smiled. He lifted his cup in a toast, apparently a toast of me. “Then I’ll deny we ever had this conversation.”

When I didn’t return the smile, Seneca turned serious again. “My only request is that you meet with Lucius Apronius one time. I think you’ll find him to be an honorable man. If you can tell him no to his face in good conscience, I’ll honor that decision.”

I agreed to the meeting because Seneca was a good friend and benefactor. I also agreed because I was intrigued. My tenants were underdogs in the cases I handled. But their lives were not at risk.

I was ready for a bigger stage. Perhaps it was time to take my place in the sun.