Kindred Spirits

Part Two

'So tell me about Cicero,' Rose insisted as they headed towards the main court rooms in the building. 'Why's he worth going to see?'

'Why not?' the Doctor returned. 'Self-made man, him, I'm sure you can respect that. Worked his way up the legal ladder to consulship, then the Senate – rare, in those days. About ninety-nine percent of politicians came from blue blood families, and they never let him forget it.'

'Something else that never changes.'

'Yep. Though, he was well-shot of that. The patrician class is so interbred these days I'm surprised they aren't all born with six fingers and a tail. Being ahomo novus obviously never hurt him in the long run.'

The closer he and Rose drew to the auditorium, the louder and more comprehensible the speaking became.

'... case we try today is clearly one of such atrocious nature, with so criminal a culprit, that we've come in during the holidays and public games to administer is.'

A dry voice echoed over the buzz of dozens of whispering men and women.

'A foreigner happening upon us today might be amazed, for clearly they have no appreciation of our law – our courts – our custom. But we know the importance of this case is such that all public business must be interrupted for its proceedings.'

'He doesn't sound impressed,' Rose whispered as they made their way through an archway at the back of the auditorium.

'Bit of a deadpan snarker, old Cicero,' the Doctor replied. 'Had a way with words, he did. Invented the concept of confusing your opponent so much that they stopped arguing with you.'

'So, he's, like, your hero, right?'

'Not really. Bit full of himself – wouldn't support anything that wasn't his own idea.'

The interior was a large, circular shaped space filled with rows of benches and stairs that led downward toward a cleared dais. The place was filled with men in togas and women wearing stolae – although the latter possessed the less enviable seats.

As they hadn't dressed for the time period, the Doctor indicated to Rose that they should stay at the back of the room, out of the line of sight.

'Just in case,' he defended when she shot him a wry smile.

Down in the centre, on the dais, one man stood before the assembled crowd, gesticulating artfully as he spoke. He was in his late forties or early fifties, beardless, and seemed to involve his entire body in his arguments.

'...if only you will listen and form your own opinions! You'll see that we have all been brought here simply for the insufferable desire and excessive bitterhatred of another party against my client! So it seems to me, the most fitting way to defend young Marcus Caelius is to first address the slander his accusers have used to disgrace him! All to strip and rob him of his good name...!'

And here was the crux of why he hated Rome.

It was here that the well-intentioned but ultimately corrupt profession of law had kicked off for human beings. Where justice became about how well one wielded words instead of protected the innocent.

These people, so praising of logic and rationality and rhetoric; so quick to follow protocol for the sake of appearances instead of common sense. Where every bit of personality and individuality was stamped out of a person in order to conform to the lofty values that no one even really believed in. Where philosophers and statesmen preached about the greatness and goodness of the State, while across what would one day be the empire, innocent people were being brought to heel. All because their ways were considered barbarian and the State obviously knew better.