“And what about the law giving freed slaves full rights of citizenship?”
“Why not? As often as not, a slave is the bastard child of his master, the offspring of a slave girl in the household; if the master sees fit to free the bastard, then the fellow ought to become a citizen just like the rest of the man’s sons.”
“Perhaps the Decemvirs haven’t done such a bad job, after all.”
“Now, if only they would see fit to lay down their offices, call back the Senate, and let us elect new consuls!”
“And don’t forget the tribunes of the plebs, the people’s protectors!”
“The people’s bullies, you mean.”
“Please, citizens, please! Let us not be drawn into that old argument! The very purpose of the Twelve Tables is to heal the rifts within the city and allow us to move forward…”
Standing a little away from the crowd, Icilia strained to hear what the men were saying. It would not do for a young woman to stride into their midst or shout a question, yet she was desperate to know if the rumored ban on intermarriage was among the posted laws. She and Verginia had been on their way to the Temple of Fortuna to consult an auspex who would pick a new date for Verginia’s nuptials. Verginius had abruptly been called away on military duty, and the wedding would have to be postponed for at least a month. Their mothers, chattering away, had gotten a little ahead of them, and when Icilia saw the crowd and realized what they were talking about, she begged Verginia to tarry with her for a moment.
“It’s no good,” she finally muttered, shaking her head. “None of them is discussing marriage; it’s all about slavery and powers of the paterfamilias. We can go, now, Verginia. Verginia?”
She looked about. Verginia was nowhere to be seen.
The two mothers had missed them, and were heading back, looking displeased. “Icilia!” cried her mother. “You must keep up. No dawdling! We have too much to do today. Where is Verginia?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was she not with you?”
“Yes, but we stopped for just a moment. I turned away, and when I looked back—”
Icilia was interrupted by a man who came running up to them, looking alarmed.
“Aren’t you the wife of Verginius?” he said.
Verginia’s mother nodded.
“Where is your husband? He must come at once!”
“He’s not in the city.”
“Where is he?”
“Away, on military duty. What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s very strange. Your daughter, Verginia—”
“What about her?”
“Come and see!”
The man led them across the Forum, toward the building where the Decemvirs met. A small crowd had gathered in front of the building. At the center of the crowd, flanked by the lictors who customarily guarded the entrance, was Marcus Claudius. In his fist he held a rope, the end of which was tied around the neck of Verginia, who stood trembling beside him with downcast eyes and a red face.
Verginia’s mother gasped in horror. “What is the meaning of this?” she cried, pushing her way through the crowd. Men stepped back to make way for her, but when she attempted to remove the rope from her daughter’s neck, the lictors brandished their axes and cudgels.
She shrieked and started back. “Who are you? What have you done to my daughter?”
“My name is Marcus Claudius.” He looked down his nose at her. “And this female is not your child.”
“Or course she is. This is my daughter, Verginia.”
“You lie! This female was born in my household, a slave. Years ago, she disappeared, stolen in the night. Only now have I discovered that she was taken into the household of a certain Lucius Verginius. Apparently, the scoundrel has been passing her off as his daughter, and is even now conspiring to arrange a marriage for her under false pretenses.”
Verginia’s mother was stupefied. “This is madness! Of course Verginia is my daughter. I gave birth to her. This is my child! Let her go at once!”
Marcus Claudius smirked. “Stealing another man’s slave and perpetrating a fraudulent marriage are serious crimes under the new laws decreed by the Decemvirs. What do you have to say for yourself, woman?”
Verginia’s mother sputtered and began to weep. “When my husband—”
“Yes, where is the scoundrel?”
“Away from the city—”
“I see! He must have gotten wind that I had discovered his ruse, and he’s made his escape.”
“That’s ridiculous! This is absurd!” Verginia’s mother looked pleadingly at the crowd around her. Some of the men looked at her with pity, but some with scorn. Some openly leered, excited by the spectacle of a purportedly well-born girl revealed as a slave and exhibited with a rope around her neck, while the woman claiming to be her mother dashed about in a frenzy.
Icilia’s mother strode forward to try to calm her, but Icilia noticed that her manner was strained and her expression was hard to read. Had the man called Marcus Claudius sparked a doubt in her mind? He claimed that Verginius was deliberately perpetuating a fraud; if that was true, the victims of that fraud were the Icilii. What sort of man would offer a daughter in marriage, and deliver a slave instead, and a stolen slave at that?
Icilia could think of only one thing to do: find her brother. She headed home, running as fast as she could.
Marcus Claudius crossed his arms. “Clearly, wife of Verginius, since you will not confess to the theft of my slave, and instead persist in claiming that she’s your daughter, her identity will have to be determined by a court of law. The court normally in charge of handling such disputes is currently suspended; the Decemvirs handle all such cases. I believe the Decemvir in charge of this particular kind of dispute is—”
“Then call on the Decemvirs, at once!” cried Verginia’s mother. “But in the meantime, give her back to me!”
Marcus stroked his chin and pursed his lips. “I think not. If her purported father were present, I might be persuaded to give her up to him—but not to a woman, who can have no legal standing.”
“I’m her mother!”
“So you say, but where is the man to vouch for that assertion? Since Verginius is not present, I will relinquish possession of this female only to a proper authority.”
A number of men in the crowd, even those who appeared to sympathize with Verginia’s mother, nodded and grunted their approval, swayed by Marcus’s legal reasoning.
“I will give her up only to a Decemvir. Ah, look there! Here’s just the man to take responsibility. This is the Decemvir in charge of deciding such cases.”
Appius Claudius had appeared, seemingly by chance. He wore the purple toga with a gold border which the Decemvirs affected as their official dress, and was accompanied by a bodyguard of lictors. He carried himself with great dignity. His graying hair and well-trimmed beard gave him a distinguished look. With an expression of innocent curiosity, he strode through the crowd.
Verginia, who had stood motionless for a long time, paralyzed by shame, hugged herself and began to tremble violently. The girl’s mother fell at Appius Claudius’s feet. “Decemvir, help us!” she cried.
“Of course I’ll help you, good woman,” he said quietly, reaching down to touch her brow. He addressed Marcus. “Citizen, what’s happening here?” His voice was low and steady; there was the slightest quaver, almost imperceptible, to match the fire of excitement that blazed behind his eyes.