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Alea Iacta Story Hour: A Mythic Rome Campaign (Baby Announcement: 8/17)
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<blockquote data-quote="Orichalcum" data-source="post: 1464547" data-attributes="member: 3722"><p><strong>Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chapter 4: Prosecution's Opening Statement</strong></p><p></p><p>The next morning, Metellus enters the Temple of Castor (and Pollux), one of the many small temples in the Forum which frequently do double duty as courthouses. Looking around, he recognizes the judge, G. Rutilius Creticus, a heavily perfumed young Roman nobleman a few years older than him, who used to try and steal his wax tablet back in the days of learning Vergil. He also notices a fat, sweating merchant seated on a marble bench; he apparently brought his own cushion. The two advocates stand before the judge; the prosecutor, a narrow-shouldered man with mousy brown hair, seems younger even than Metellus. Metellus vaguely recognizes the defense advocate, the famous L. Verrius Glaucus, dressed in a toga of the finest Egyptian linen, with gold buckles on his leather sandals. Glaucus is said to have lost less than five cases in his long years of lawyering. </p><p></p><p> Glancing around, Metellus notices a number of oddly dressed men and women, whom he assumes to be witnesses, some Praetorian Guards, and, most surprisingly, Mamerca Aemilia, the Emperor's sister and her son, Memmius Rufus, who are sitting composedly on a bench a few rows behind the merchant. A middle-aged man in a long Greek tunic and an elegantly trimmed long white beard sits next to Rufus and periodically whispers into his ear. Metellus goes up to approach the judge. "Ave, Rutilius!"</p><p></p><p>"Ave, Metellus Minor. Your father said you'd be coming by today. Here, let me talk to you for a minute," Rutilius says as he draws Metellus away from the lawyers, dropping his voice slightly. "Look, I've been doing this for six months already; mostly, it's more boring than a list of the Emperor's military victories. I have to be present, but why don't you concentrate on this one? You can tell me what you think I should judge at the end of the trial, and unless it seems totally unreasonable, that's what it will be. Meanwhile, I can work on writing my new poem to my girlfriend Cynthia..."</p><p></p><p>Metellus is a little non-plussed at Rutilius' dereliction of duty, but agrees, and a stool is drawn up for him next to Rutilius' curule chair of office. The two advocates bow, and Rutilius whispers, "Gnaeus Tertius Publicola, the young prosecutor, has half an hour to make his case, including all witnesses' testimonies. Then Glaucus will make his case, and we'll decide after Glaucus' closing statement."</p><p></p><p>Publicola steps forward, trying to assume the classic oratorical pose, one foot forward, toga draped just so, right hand gesturing commandingly upwards to the sky. Sadly, he hasn't quite figured out how to manage the folds of his toga properly, and it tangles his arm momentarily.</p><p></p><p> "Honored judge..s, I bring before you today a grave charge, one of conspiracy against the Empire and the Imperial family itself. As all know, soothsaying within the boundaries of Rome itself is illegal. But even beyond that, seeking and obtaining a prophecy relating to the downfall of the Empire or the Imperial family is treason, punishable by being thrown from the Tarpeian Rock. I will today prove to you how this conniving, greedy wine merchant, L. Memmius Salonianus, was a repeated prophecy-hunter, and how a few weeks ago he went to the notorious soothsayer Perthinos the Sagacious and there received a dire prophecy concerning the Empire. </p><p></p><p> Did he, like a good citizen, promptly go and report this threat to the Praetorians? No. He complained about it, and gossiped to his neighbors, spreading fear and panic through the streets. L. Memmius Salonianus is the client of the most noble Memmius Rufus, the Emperor's own nephew, but he did not tell...as far as we know, at least...his patron about this prophecy. No, for whatever crude purposes he had in mind, he concealed it from those who had the right to know, and spread the information among the naive and fearful. My first witness will be Marcia Lusitanilla, Memmius Salonianus' neighbor."</p><p></p><p>Publicola gestures forward a thin, elderly Italian woman, wearing a carefully darned mantle to stand before the judges.</p><p></p><p>"You are Marcia Lusitanilla, neighbor of Memmius Salonianus?"</p><p></p><p>"Indeed I am. I'm a Centurion's widow, you know, respectable, not like some of the people in our neighborhood. My husband died serving Rome in Britannia, in the Ninth Legion. And just because I have to sell some livestock and rent rooms to get by doesn't mean I'm a peasant, no matter what that merchant says, let me..." the elderly woman expounds volubly.</p><p></p><p>"That's fine, Domina. We are all certain that you're highly respectable. Now, what was your first contact with the defendant on this matter?"</p><p></p><p>"Well, two weeks ago, Memmius Salonianus stopped by one morning and asked me for a perfectly white young female goat, just like he does every spring."</p><p></p><p>"Every spring? Why?"</p><p></p><p>"Well, he <em>says</em> that it's for a sacrifice to Fortune to ensure a good wine harvest, but you know as well as I do that Fortuna doesn't care about the color of the goat. I think, I've always thought, that it's for fortune-telling. You know how superstitious Memmius Salonianus is."</p><p></p><p>"Why don't you tell us more about that?"</p><p></p><p>"Oh, well, he's always terrified of all sorts of bad omens, and he has more good luck tokens hanging over his door than a pawnshop. That man looks up at the sky for omens every time he steps outdoors."</p><p></p><p>"Did you ever hear from the defendant about the goat again?"</p><p></p><p>"Oh yes. Two days later, he came back, and would you believe he complained about my goat? He said it wasn't pure enough. Pure enough for what, I asked, it was certainly pure enough for any legitimate religious purpose. And if he'd made it impure I didn't want to know about it, and it certainly wasn't my fault. And we argued back and forth, and finally he admitted he had gone to consult a soothsayer, Perthinus the Sagacious, and that Perthinus had told him not only that his wine harvest was doomed, but all of Rome, and that Nero was going to return from the dead, and that everyone’s houses were going to fall down, and that we should all start praying to strange gods to save us rather than the good old trio of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva..." Marcia Lusitanilla's breath ran out at this point, somewhat thankfully for everyone else's ears.</p><p></p><p>"Had you ever heard of Perthinus the Sagacious before?"</p><p></p><p>"Of course. I never went to see him, naturally, I don't hold with that sort of thing, treason it is. But my cousin’s sister-in-law went to Perthinus for a prophecy ten years ago and was told all about the Gallic revolt which happened a few months later, and consequently made a fortune investing in Northern Italian smithies."</p><p></p><p>"So what did you do after you were told of this dread prophecy?"</p><p></p><p>"Well, it was probably just nonsense, but who knows? So I did tell the fishmonger that he might want to be careful and consider going south for the summer, and of course my nieces and nephews, and besides, it was only right that people in the neighborhood should know that Memmius Salonianus isn’t as upright an individual as everyone thinks, isn't it?"</p><p></p><p>"Thank you, Marcia Lusitanilla, no further questions."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Orichalcum, post: 1464547, member: 3722"] [b]Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chapter 4: Prosecution's Opening Statement[/b] The next morning, Metellus enters the Temple of Castor (and Pollux), one of the many small temples in the Forum which frequently do double duty as courthouses. Looking around, he recognizes the judge, G. Rutilius Creticus, a heavily perfumed young Roman nobleman a few years older than him, who used to try and steal his wax tablet back in the days of learning Vergil. He also notices a fat, sweating merchant seated on a marble bench; he apparently brought his own cushion. The two advocates stand before the judge; the prosecutor, a narrow-shouldered man with mousy brown hair, seems younger even than Metellus. Metellus vaguely recognizes the defense advocate, the famous L. Verrius Glaucus, dressed in a toga of the finest Egyptian linen, with gold buckles on his leather sandals. Glaucus is said to have lost less than five cases in his long years of lawyering. Glancing around, Metellus notices a number of oddly dressed men and women, whom he assumes to be witnesses, some Praetorian Guards, and, most surprisingly, Mamerca Aemilia, the Emperor's sister and her son, Memmius Rufus, who are sitting composedly on a bench a few rows behind the merchant. A middle-aged man in a long Greek tunic and an elegantly trimmed long white beard sits next to Rufus and periodically whispers into his ear. Metellus goes up to approach the judge. "Ave, Rutilius!" "Ave, Metellus Minor. Your father said you'd be coming by today. Here, let me talk to you for a minute," Rutilius says as he draws Metellus away from the lawyers, dropping his voice slightly. "Look, I've been doing this for six months already; mostly, it's more boring than a list of the Emperor's military victories. I have to be present, but why don't you concentrate on this one? You can tell me what you think I should judge at the end of the trial, and unless it seems totally unreasonable, that's what it will be. Meanwhile, I can work on writing my new poem to my girlfriend Cynthia..." Metellus is a little non-plussed at Rutilius' dereliction of duty, but agrees, and a stool is drawn up for him next to Rutilius' curule chair of office. The two advocates bow, and Rutilius whispers, "Gnaeus Tertius Publicola, the young prosecutor, has half an hour to make his case, including all witnesses' testimonies. Then Glaucus will make his case, and we'll decide after Glaucus' closing statement." Publicola steps forward, trying to assume the classic oratorical pose, one foot forward, toga draped just so, right hand gesturing commandingly upwards to the sky. Sadly, he hasn't quite figured out how to manage the folds of his toga properly, and it tangles his arm momentarily. "Honored judge..s, I bring before you today a grave charge, one of conspiracy against the Empire and the Imperial family itself. As all know, soothsaying within the boundaries of Rome itself is illegal. But even beyond that, seeking and obtaining a prophecy relating to the downfall of the Empire or the Imperial family is treason, punishable by being thrown from the Tarpeian Rock. I will today prove to you how this conniving, greedy wine merchant, L. Memmius Salonianus, was a repeated prophecy-hunter, and how a few weeks ago he went to the notorious soothsayer Perthinos the Sagacious and there received a dire prophecy concerning the Empire. Did he, like a good citizen, promptly go and report this threat to the Praetorians? No. He complained about it, and gossiped to his neighbors, spreading fear and panic through the streets. L. Memmius Salonianus is the client of the most noble Memmius Rufus, the Emperor's own nephew, but he did not tell...as far as we know, at least...his patron about this prophecy. No, for whatever crude purposes he had in mind, he concealed it from those who had the right to know, and spread the information among the naive and fearful. My first witness will be Marcia Lusitanilla, Memmius Salonianus' neighbor." Publicola gestures forward a thin, elderly Italian woman, wearing a carefully darned mantle to stand before the judges. "You are Marcia Lusitanilla, neighbor of Memmius Salonianus?" "Indeed I am. I'm a Centurion's widow, you know, respectable, not like some of the people in our neighborhood. My husband died serving Rome in Britannia, in the Ninth Legion. And just because I have to sell some livestock and rent rooms to get by doesn't mean I'm a peasant, no matter what that merchant says, let me..." the elderly woman expounds volubly. "That's fine, Domina. We are all certain that you're highly respectable. Now, what was your first contact with the defendant on this matter?" "Well, two weeks ago, Memmius Salonianus stopped by one morning and asked me for a perfectly white young female goat, just like he does every spring." "Every spring? Why?" "Well, he [i]says[/i] that it's for a sacrifice to Fortune to ensure a good wine harvest, but you know as well as I do that Fortuna doesn't care about the color of the goat. I think, I've always thought, that it's for fortune-telling. You know how superstitious Memmius Salonianus is." "Why don't you tell us more about that?" "Oh, well, he's always terrified of all sorts of bad omens, and he has more good luck tokens hanging over his door than a pawnshop. That man looks up at the sky for omens every time he steps outdoors." "Did you ever hear from the defendant about the goat again?" "Oh yes. Two days later, he came back, and would you believe he complained about my goat? He said it wasn't pure enough. Pure enough for what, I asked, it was certainly pure enough for any legitimate religious purpose. And if he'd made it impure I didn't want to know about it, and it certainly wasn't my fault. And we argued back and forth, and finally he admitted he had gone to consult a soothsayer, Perthinus the Sagacious, and that Perthinus had told him not only that his wine harvest was doomed, but all of Rome, and that Nero was going to return from the dead, and that everyone’s houses were going to fall down, and that we should all start praying to strange gods to save us rather than the good old trio of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva..." Marcia Lusitanilla's breath ran out at this point, somewhat thankfully for everyone else's ears. "Had you ever heard of Perthinus the Sagacious before?" "Of course. I never went to see him, naturally, I don't hold with that sort of thing, treason it is. But my cousin’s sister-in-law went to Perthinus for a prophecy ten years ago and was told all about the Gallic revolt which happened a few months later, and consequently made a fortune investing in Northern Italian smithies." "So what did you do after you were told of this dread prophecy?" "Well, it was probably just nonsense, but who knows? So I did tell the fishmonger that he might want to be careful and consider going south for the summer, and of course my nieces and nephews, and besides, it was only right that people in the neighborhood should know that Memmius Salonianus isn’t as upright an individual as everyone thinks, isn't it?" "Thank you, Marcia Lusitanilla, no further questions." [/QUOTE]
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