Political Speeches (Oxford World's Classics) (18 page)

[99] But look at how he sailed around the harbour! The pirates started waving the wild palm roots which they had discovered in our
ships, so that everyone should be aware of the wickedness of this defendant and the disaster that had befallen Sicily. Those Sicilian sailors were the sons of farmers. They were men whose fathers produced so much grain through their own hard work that they were capable of supplying the Roman people and the whole of Italy. And to think that those men, who were born on the island of Ceres
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where corn is believed to have been first discovered, should have been reduced to consuming food of a type that their ancestors, by their discovery of corn, had saved other nations from having to eat! To think that, while you were governor, Sicilian sailors lived on palm stalks, and the pirates Sicilian grain! [100] What a miserable, sickening spectacle! To think that the glory of Syracuse, the name of the Roman people, and the vast population of the city, Roman and non-Roman alike, should be held up to mockery by that pirate galley! To think that that pirate should hold a triumph over the fleet of the Roman people in the harbour at Syracuse, while the oars of the pirate ships splashed seawater into the face of this utterly useless and wicked governor!

In due course the pirates left the harbour, not because they were frightened, but because they had had enough. People then began to ask what had been the cause of this appalling disaster. Everyone said, and argued openly, that with most of the oarsmen and sailors exempted, those who were left starved to death, and the governor spending all his days with girls in a drunken stupor, it was not in the least bit surprising that such a humiliating disaster had occurred. [101] These criticisms of Verres and the low esteem in which he was held were reinforced by the reports of the captains who had been appointed to the ships by their own communities. Those captains who had escaped to Syracuse after the loss of the fleet each gave an account of how many sailors they knew had been exempted from their own particular ship. It was clear what had happened; and Verres’ criminal responsibility was proved not just by arguments but by reliable witnesses.

Verres was duly informed that in the forum and among the Roman citizen community no one had done anything all day but question the captains of the ships as to how the fleet had been lost; and that the captains had replied by explaining to one and all that the reason was the exemption of the oarsmen, the starvation of the rest, and the panic-stricken flight of Cleomenes. On learning this, Verres
began to think on these lines. As you heard him say himself during the first hearing, he had already come to the conclusion before this that he was going to be prosecuted; and he realized that if those captains were to give evidence, it would quite simply be impossible for him to answer so serious a charge.

The first plan that he devised was stupid, but it was at least merciful. [102] He summoned the captains to appear before him; they came. He reprimanded them for having spoken about him in the way that they had, and asked them to stop talking like this, and instead to say that each had had the full complement of sailors in his ship, and that no sailors had been exempted. They naturally agreed to do as he wanted. He did not delay for a moment. He immediately called his friends and asked the captains one by one how many sailors they had had; and each replied as he had been told to. Verres then had their answers written down, and sealed with his friends’ seals. Far-sighted man that he was, his intention was to make use of these supposed depositions to defend himself on the present charge, should he ever have to do so. [103] His friends must surely have laughed at the idiot and pointed out to him that these documents would do him no good, since the governor’s excessive precautions in this matter would only make him look even more guilty. He had in fact resorted to these stupid tactics many times before, ordering deletions or additions to be made in the public records of Sicilian communities, to suit his own purposes. But he now understands that all this is doing him no good, now that his guilt has been proved by reliable accounts, witnesses, and certified documents.

When he saw that the captains’ statements, his own depositions, and the other documents were not going to help him, he formed a new plan—not the plan of a wicked governor, which would have been just about bearable, but that of a brutal, crazed tyrant. He decided that if he were to weaken the force of the charge (for he did not imagine it could be eliminated entirely), then all the captains, since they were witnesses to his guilt, would have to be put to death.

[104] But one thought ran through his mind. ‘What should I do about Cleomenes? Can I punish those I ordered to do as they were commanded, and yet let off the man I put in command and authority over them? Can I punish those who simply followed Cleomenes, and yet pardon Cleomenes who ordered them to escape with him and follow him? Can I show severity to those whose ships were not just
undermanned but without decks, and yet be lenient towards the one man who had a ship with decks and a less depleted crew? Cleomenes will have to die with them!’ But what about loyalty, what about the vows of friendship, what about the handshakes and embraces, what about their comradeship in the service of love, on that delightful beach? It would be unthinkable not to spare Cleomenes!

[105] So he sent for him and told him that he had decided to punish all the captains; and that this was absolutely necessary to protect him from prosecution. ‘I am going to spare you alone. I would rather take the blame myself for what has happened and be criticized for inconsistency than either show cruelty towards you or leave alive and intact so many very damaging witnesses.’ Cleomenes thanked him, expressed his approval of the plan, and said that it had to be so. He added, however, that there was one point that had escaped his notice: he could not get away with punishing the captain from Centuripae, Phalacrus, because he had been in the Centuripan quadrireme with him. So what was Verres to do? Could he allow a highly respectable young man from so distinguished a city to survive and give evidence against him? ‘For the time being, yes,’ replied Cleomenes, ‘since there is no alternative. But later on we will find some means of getting him out of our way.’

[106] Once all this had been settled and agreed, the defendant suddenly strode out of the governor’s residence, inflamed with wickedness, rage, and cruelty. He entered the forum, and ordered the captains to be summoned. They feared nothing, and suspected nothing, and so came running at once. He then ordered the poor, innocent men to be cast into chains. They appealed to the governor and asked him why he was doing this to them. He replied that it was because they had betrayed the fleet to the pirates. This provoked an outcry. People were astonished that Verres could be so hypocritical and reckless as to blame others for the disaster which had been entirely the result of his own avarice, and to accuse others of betrayal when it was he himself who was believed to be in league with the pirates. And all this, they observed, was taking place a full two weeks after the fleet had been lost.

[107] People, meanwhile, were asking where Cleomenes was. It was not that anyone thought that he, for all his faults, should be punished for what had gone wrong, for what could he have done? I cannot accuse anyone falsely—so I say again, what on earth could
Cleomenes have done, when his ships, owing to Verres’ greed, were empty? But then suddenly they noticed him sitting next to the governor and whispering familiarly into his ear, just as normal. And it struck every one of them that it was utterly disgraceful that highly respectable men, specially chosen by their own cities, should have been shackled and chained, whereas Cleomenes, because he had been the governor’s partner in his disgraceful crimes, should now be his closest friend and confidant.

[108] Verres did at least hold a trial for the men, selecting as prosecutor a certain Naevius Turpio, a man who had been convicted of assault during the governorship of Gaius Sacerdos.
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He was a man well placed to carry out Verres’ criminal intentions, having been employed by him as his agent and go-between in the collection of tithes, in capital trials, and in every kind of false accusation.

The parents and relatives of the poor young men travelled to Syracuse, stunned by the sudden news of the disaster which they were facing. They saw their sons in chains, bearing on their necks and shoulders the price they were paying for Verres’ cupidity. They came to court, spoke up for them, shouted in their defence, and appealed to your sense of fairness—something which did not exist and never had. One of the fathers was Dexo of Tyndaris, a highly respectable gentleman, and a man whose hospitality you had enjoyed. You had stayed in his house and addressed him as your host. When you saw this venerable man prostrate with grief, were his tears, his age, and the claims and entitlements of hospitality not enough to pull you back from crime to at least some sense of human decency? [109] But why do I mention the claims of hospitality in connection with this bestial monster? Sthenius of Thermae
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was another of his hosts, and Verres, taking advantage of his position as his guest, emptied his house and stripped it bare, had him prosecuted in his absence, and condemned him to death without a defence. So shall we now appeal to such a man on the basis of the claims and duties of hospitality? And are we dealing with a cruel man or with a monstrous, savage beast? The tears of a father over the danger faced by his innocent son had no effect on you. Although you had a father of your own back in Rome, and had your own son with you in Sicily, did the presence of your son not make you think of how much parents love their children, and did your father’s absence not remind you of the affection that fathers feel? [110] Dexo’s son Aristeus, your host,
was in chains. Why was that? ‘He had betrayed the fleet.’ For what reward? ‘All right then, he was a deserter.’ But was Cleomenes not a deserter? ‘But Aristeus had shown himself a coward.’ On the contrary, you had previously decorated him for bravery. ‘But he exempted the sailors under his command.’ No, in every case it was you who took bribes for the exemptions.

Another of the fathers, from a different part of Sicily, was Eubulida of Herbita, a distinguished and high-ranking man in his own town. Because he had criticized Cleomenes while defending his son, he had been left almost without a thing. What could anyone say in their defence? ‘You are not allowed to mention Cleomenes.’ But the case requires it. ‘You will die if you say his name.’ (Verres never used half measures when making threats.) But there were no oarsmen. ‘Are you accusing the governor? Break his neck.’ If it is not permitted to mention either the governor or the governor’s rival in love, when the case depends entirely on these two men, then what is one supposed to do?

[111] Heraclius of Segesta, a high-ranking man of good family in his own town, was also among the men accused. Listen, members of the jury, as your humanity demands: you will hear of great harm and injury done to our allies. Heraclius’ position was that he did not sail on that occasion because he had a serious eye infection, and had official permission to stay behind in Syracuse on sick leave. So there was no question of him betraying the fleet or running away in terror or deserting. If he had done this, he would have been punished at the point when the fleet left Syracuse. Nevertheless, he was treated exactly as if he had been caught committing a crime red-handed—even though no pretext could be found for bringing even a false charge against him.

[112] One of the captains was a man from Heraclea called Furius (yes, some of these people do have Latin names!).
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He was someone whose distinction and high rank extended beyond his home town during his lifetime, and after his death were celebrated throughout the whole of Sicily. He was so brave that he did not just freely criticize Verres (since he saw that he was going to die anyway, he reckoned that nothing he did could put him in any worse danger): no, with death coming to him whatever happened, and with his weeping mother sitting beside him in the prison day and night, he wrote down his own defence. There is no one in Sicily today who
does not have a copy of that speech, who does not read it, and who is not constantly reminded by it of your wickedness and cruelty. In it he sets down how many sailors his town assigned him, how many he exempted and for how much each, and how many he ended up with; and he gives the same information for each of the other ships as well. When he went on to recite these figures in your presence, he was beaten in the face with rods. With death imminent, he could easily endure the physical pain. But he did shout out a remark that he has also left us in the written speech, that it was a shameful crime that the kisses of an adulterous woman should have had more success in persuading you to spare Cleomenes than the tears of a mother did in persuading you to spare his own life.

[113] I notice that, as he was about to die, he also said something relating to you, gentlemen—and which, assuming that the Roman people are correct in their opinion of you, he was not wrong in declaring. What he said was that it was impossible for Verres to blot out his crimes by killing witnesses; that wise jurors would regard him, Furius, as a more impressive witness if he testified from the dead than if he were produced alive in court; and that if he were alive, he would be a witness only to Verres’ greed, but that, being dead, he can testify to his wickedness, criminality, and brutality. There are more fine words too: when your case came to trial, Verres, it would not only be crowds of witnesses that would appear in court, but the avenging spirits of the innocent and the Furies that punish crime would come up from the underworld. Also: he thought his own fate not so terrible because he had already grown used to the sight of the sharp edge of your axes, and the face and hands of Sextius your executioner, whenever Roman citizens, in the community of Roman citizens in that city, were beheaded on your orders. [114] I will not go on, gentlemen. But let me just point out that Furius made full use of the freedom which you have allowed our allies to have, while receiving the cruellest punishment that can be inflicted on the humblest slave.