CHAPTER 35

The Senate chamber was cold, magisterial, and expansive. The ceiling was nearly sixty feet high, supported by huge Corinthian pillars. The floor was composed of marble of various colors, imported from around the world, strategically placed to form crisp geometric patterns. The place was heated by subterranean fires; unseen servants fed the flames, circulating warm air through vents. Still, a chilling breeze came in through the doors that opened out to the Forum.

Opposite the doors was an elevated platform with seats for the consuls who would oversee the day’s activities. A few members of the Praetorian Guard stood in front of the platform, keeping an eye on the senators.

Nearly six hundred senators sat in elegant wooden seats with rounded backs that fanned out in a semicircle. The first few rows were reserved for the advocates, their clients, and the senior senators. On a crowded day, the youngest senators would have to stand behind the last rows of raised seats in the back. Today, not surprisingly, there was standing room only.

There was a considerable amount of open floor space between the senators and the consuls. Like a recessed stage, this was where Crispinus and I would examine witnesses and make our arguments. We could pace and gesture; we could pivot this way and that. It would make for great entertainment. Not quite the arena, but still a lively piece of drama.

A few of the senators nodded at Apronius as he and I took our seats in the front row. Then the presiding consul, a senator named Porcius Cato, called the proceedings to order.

Cato was a mountain of a man, weighing close to three hundred pounds, and his frame seemed to consist of one mound of flesh piled on another. He had an oval face, fleshy jowls, full lips, and protruding eyeballs with large, dark circles under them. It was said in Rome that it was better to be a condemned man in the arena than a slave carrying Cato’s litter.

The trial of Apronius was not the only matter on the Senate’s docket that day. First, Cato presided over an hour of tedious administrative business.

I looked around and tried to study the body language of the senators. My strategy depended on the courage of a few key members, and I zeroed in on them. Unfortunately, I saw none of the grim-faced determination I hoped to see from men who might be prepared to take a stand against the mob mentality of this place. Marcus Lepidus, for example, whispered amiably to the senator sitting next to him, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

When our time came, Cato read the charges against Apronius and called on Caepio Crispinus to make his case.

Crispinus rose and nodded at the senators. He walked to the middle of the floor and began telling the story of my client’s alleged treason. He cut quite an imposing figure, his skin smooth, his gray hair neatly styled, his toga folded just right. He spoke with the eloquence of Cicero, intertwining humor and anger and self-righteousness into a flawless fabric that cloaked my client with the garments of guilt.

Apronius had earned a reputation as one of Rome’s outstanding senators, Crispinus admitted, but his hatred for Tiberius had overwhelmed his good sense. The man now presented a grave danger to the state of Rome and to the emperor himself.

Like a trained actor, Crispinus could change his tone in a second from accusatory to sad. The friends of Apronius had become concerned, he said ruefully. Reluctantly, they had put together a plan that would ascertain their friend’s true intentions. Papius Mutilus had invited Apronius to dinner. Yes, Mutilus had spoken disparagingly about the emperor, but as every senator knew, the emperor had no stronger advocate than Mutilus. The good senator had spoken badly of Caesar only to see if Lucius Apronius would do the same.

And Apronius did just that. He claimed to Mutilus that the emperor had usurped the power of the Senate, an assertion that was patently false.

I glanced at the senators as Crispinus spoke. All of them knew my client was right about Caesar, yet ironically, the intimidation by Tiberius was so great —and his usurpation of power so complete —that the senators looked shocked that one of their colleagues would dare speak such a thing. And I wasn’t the only one watching. Naevius Sutorius Macro, the commander of the Praetorian Guard, stood just below the consuls’ dais, arms crossed, studying every senator for even the slightest indication that they might be sympathetic to our cause.

For nearly an hour, Crispinus railed against the treasonous comments of my client. When speaking with the praetor Junius Otho, Apronius had actually mocked the emperor. He had mentioned the case of Plautius, the man condemned to die for carrying coins with the image of Tiberius into a bathroom. At this, Crispinus paused, his eyes scanning the entire chamber. “And then this man,” he said, pointing at Apronius, “said that he detested the emperor so much, he would have the image of Caesar stamped on the end of his bathroom sponges.”

If the accusation weren’t so ludicrous, and if my client hadn’t admitted to saying it word for word, I would have found the whole thing humorous. But none of the senators were laughing. The words of Apronius had been repeated on the streets of Rome over and over. If the Senate left such a statement unpunished, citizens would feel free to vilify Tiberius the same way satirists had pillaged so many of his predecessors, making a mockery of Rome’s most venerated leaders. The senators didn’t want to return to those days. Or if they did, they were smart enough not to show it.

Crispinus followed his opening argument by calling both Papius Mutilus and Junius Otho as witnesses. They both spoke in solemn tones, feigning disappointment and indignation at the things Apronius had said. Crispinus had them pile it on thick, praising Tiberius for his excellent administration of the empire and his benevolence in allowing the Senate to continue in its current role. Weren’t these very maiestas proceedings an example of Tiberius trusting the Senate to decide matters of critical importance to the future of Rome?

When it came my turn to cross-examine the illustrious senators, I asked only a few questions.

“Did you actually intend to enter into a conspiracy to overthrow the emperor?”

“Of course not.”

“Did you see Apronius take any deliberate steps to overthrow the emperor, or were these mere words?”

“So far, they were merely words. But he seemed ready to act if others would join him.”

As the senators testified, I noticed the crowd outside the doors pushing a little closer when I asked my questions. I sensed their disappointment that I hadn’t done more to make both Mutilus and Otho appear to be liars.

Be patient, I thought. Everything is going according to plan.