Julius looked again at the draped shields that Alexandria had completed, and noticed that many of the crowd craned their necks for a glimpse of them as well, pointing and talking amongst themselves. Only Alexandria, Tabbic, and himself knew what was under the thick folds of cloth, and Julius felt a touch of excitement at the response they would get when he unveiled them at last.
Behind him, his three jurists shuffled through their papers and notes one more time, their heads bowed in low mutters. Hiring Quintus Scaevola to help him prepare the case had cost him two talents of gold, but there were few men in Rome with a better command of the twin laws of custom and the Twelve Tables. It had taken such a vast fee just to tempt him out of retirement, but despite his arthritic stiffness, the brain behind the heavy-lidded eyes had turned out to be as sharp as Julius had been told. Julius watched Quintus as he scribbled a footnote to the papers for the trial and caught his eye as he looked upward in thought.
“Nervous?” Quintus asked, waving the sheaf at the court and the shadowed crowds beyond.
“A little,” Julius admitted. “There is a great deal at stake.”
“Remember the point of value. You always leave that one out.”
“I remember, Quintus. We've been over it enough times,” Julius replied. He had grown to like the elderly jurist, although the man seemed to live only for the law and cared nothing for the other concerns of the city. As a joke in their first week of preparation, Julius had asked him what he would do if he found one of his sons setting fire to a house in the city. After a great deal of silent thought, Quintus had said that he would not be able to take the case as the law forbade calling himself as a witness.
Quintus pressed the notes into Julius's hands, his expression stern. “Do not be afraid to consult, remember. They will try to make you speak without thought. If you feel the arguments are slipping from you, turn away and I will advise as best I can. Do you remember the passage from the Twelve Tables?”
Julius raised his eyes in exasperation. “The one we all memorized as children? Yes, I know it.”
Quintus sniffed at the sarcasm. “Perhaps you should recite it again to be sure,” he said, unmoved.
Julius opened his mouth to reply, but a light cheer from the crowd interrupted him.
“It's the magistrates… and the praetor. Only an hour late, Master Scaevola,” one of the younger jurists hissed to Quintus. Julius looked to follow their gaze and saw the group come out of the Senate building, where they had been preparing.
The crowd fell silent in anticipation as the group of four men walked slowly with their guards into the court area. Julius scrutinized them carefully. The praetor was unknown to him, a short red-faced man with a bald crown. He walked with his head bowed as if in prayer, taking his seat on the raised platform that had been assembled for the trial. Julius watched as the praetor nodded to the centurion of the guards and signaled for the magistrates to take their seats next to him.
These men were familiar enough and Julius breathed a silent sigh of relief as he saw none of them were faces he recognized from the factions in the Senate. His worst fear was that they would be Cato's creatures, but he brightened as one of them smiled at him. The people's tribune took his place last as the most senior of the magistrates. The crowd let out a ragged cheer for their representative, and the man smiled back at them, raising his hand briefly in acknowledgment. His name was Servius Pella, which was just about all Julius could call to mind about him. His hair was white and cropped close to an angular skull with deep-set eyes that seemed black in the dim light of the torches. Fleetingly, Julius wished he had taken the time to meet the man at one of the Senate meetings, but shoved the thought aside. It was pointless to worry about the magistrates, he knew. If he could deal with the posturing of Antonidus's advocate Rufius, he had a strong enough case. If he was humiliated, he would lose not only the house that had belonged to Marius, but also a great deal of his status in the Senate and the city itself. He could not regret the risks he had taken in forcing the trial. Marius would have expected no less.
Julius glanced over to where Cato sat and found the heavy gaze fastened on him with interest. Bibilus was there at his side, as always, and Catalus. Julius saw that Suetonius was sitting with his father, with the same supercilious smile on each face. Their expressions would have marked them as kin even if he hadn't known it already.
Julius looked away rather than show his anger after the revelations from Cornelia. Cato's supporters would learn to fear in time, as he removed the pillars of their influence, one by one.
Quintus patted Julius's shoulder and sat down with the other jurists. The crowd shuffled and whispered as they sensed the trial was about to start. Julius glanced again at the shields, checking that the drapes hadn't slipped to reveal even a part of them.
The praetor stood slowly, his hands smoothing the folds of his toga. With a motion, he ordered the torches snuffed and everyone present waited as each light was covered, leaving the gray dawn to light the forum.
“This august court is convened on the ninety-fourth day of the consular year. Let the records be marked. I charge all present in the sight of the gods that they shall speak only truth here, under penalty of banishment. If any man declares falsehood in this court, he will be denied fire, salt, and water and sent far from this city, never to return, in accordance with the edicts.”
The praetor paused, turning to catch the eye of first Antonidus, then Julius. Both men dipped their heads to show understanding, and he continued, his voice a sharp ring across the silent rows.
“In this case of rei vindicatio, who is the plaintiff?”
Antonidus stepped forward onto the floor of the court. “I am, sir. General Antonidus Severus Sertorius. I claim wrongful possession of my property.”
“And who will speak on your behalf?”
“Rufius Sulpicius is my advocate,” Antonidus replied. His words created a buzz of excitement in the crowd, causing the praetor to look sternly at them.
“Step forward the defendant,” he said loudly.
Julius stepped off the platform that held the shields, and faced Antonidus across the floor.
“I am Gaius Julius Caesar, the defendant before this court. I claim possession of the property. I speak for myself.”
“Have you brought a part of it for the symbol?”
“I have, your honor,” Julius replied. He turned to the row of draped cloths and deftly twitched one away, revealing the first bronze shield to the court. A gasp went up from the crowd and a pleased whispering commenced.
The shield was all Julius had hoped. Alexandria had given everything to its creation, fully aware that in front of the court and Senate, she could make her name in a single day.
The shield was ringed in bronze beading, but all eyes were fixed on the face and shoulders of the main figure of Marius, a life-size relief that glared out at those assembled. The whispering went on and on and then a cheer started in the crowd as they tried to show their approval for the dead general.
Antonidus spoke in fierce conversation with his advocate, and the man cleared his throat for the attention of the magistrates. The noise from the crowd was too much for the praetor, and he sent a flat hand signal to the centurion of the court guards. As one, the soldiers crashed the butts of their staffs into the paving and the crowd settled, wary of attack. Rufius stood forward, a bony vulture of a man dressed in a dark robe. He pointed with a sneer at the shield.
“Honorable Praetor. My client insists that this… item was not part of the house in dispute. It cannot qualify as the symbol unless it was part of the property.”