In C. Verrem

Here, while you were praetor, galleys of pirates sailed about, where previously the only fleet that had ever entered in the history of the world, was the Athenian fleet of three hundred ships, which forced its way in by its weight and its numbers; and that fleet was in that very harbour defeated and destroyed, owing to the natural character of the place and harbour. Here first was the power of that splendid city defeated, weakened, and impaired. In this harbour, shipwreck was made of the nobleness and dominion and glory of Athens. [*](See the seventh book of Thucydides.) Did a pirate penetrate to that part of the city which he could not approach without leaving a great part of the city not only on his flanks but in his rear? He passed by the whole island, which is at Syracuse a very considerable part of the city, having its own distinct name, and separate walls; in which part, as I said before, our ancestors forbade any Syracusan to dwell, because they knew that the harbour would be in the power of whatever people were occupying that district of the city.

And how did he wander through it? He threw down around him the roots of the wild palms which he had found in our ships, in order that all men might become acquainted with the dishonesty of Verres, and the disaster of Sicily. O that Sicilian soldiers, children of those cultivators of the soil whose fathers produced such crops of corn by their labour that they were able to supply the Roman people and the whole of Italy,—that they, born in the island of Ceres, where corn is said to have been first discovered, should have been driven to use such food as their ancestors, by the discovery of corn, had delivered all other nations from! While you were praetor the Sicilian soldiers were fed on the roots of wild palms, pirates on Sicilian corn.

O miserable and bitter spectacle! that the glory of the city and the name of the Roman people should be a laughingstock; that in the face of all that body of inhabitants and all that multitude of people, a pirate in a piratical galley should celebrate a triumph in the harbour of Syracuse over a fleet of the Roman people, while the oars of the pirates were actually besprinkling the eyes of that most worthless and cowardly praetor. After the pirates had left the harbour, not because of any alarm, but because they were weary of staying there, these men began to inquire the cause of so great a disaster. All began to say, and to argue openly, that it was by no means strange, that when the soldiers and the crews had been dismissed, and the rest had been destroyed by want and famine, while the praetor was spending all his time in drinking with his women, such a disgrace and calamity should have fallen upon them.

And all the reproaches which they heaped upon him, all the infamy that they attributed to him, was confirmed by the statements of those men who had been appointed by their own cities to command their ships; the rest of whom had fled to Syracuse after the loss of the fleet. Each of them stated how many men they knew had been discharged out of their respective ships. The matter was clear, and his avarice was proved not only by arguments, but also by undeniable witnesses. The man is informed that nothing is done in the forum and in the assembly all that day, except putting questions to the naval captains how the fleet was lost. That they made answer, and informed every one that it was owing to the discharge of the rowers, the want of food of the rest, the cowardice and desertion of Cleomenes. And when he heard this, he began to form this design. He had long since made up his mind that a prosecution would be instituted against him, long before this happened, as you have heard him say himself at the former pleading. He saw that if those naval captains were produced as witnesses against him, he should not be able to stand against so serious an accusation. He forms at first a plan, foolish indeed, but still merciful.

He orders Cleomenes and the naval captains to be summoned before him. They come. He accuses them of having held this language about himself; he begs them to cease from holding it; and begs every one there to say that he had had in his ship as large a crew as he ought to have had, and that none had been discharged. They promise him to do whatever he wished. He does not delay. He immediately summons his friends. He then asks of all the captains separately how many sailors each had had on board his ship. Each of them answers as he had been enjoined to. He makes an entry of their answers in his journal. He seals it up, prudent man that he is, with the seals of his friends; in order forsooth, to use this evidence against this charge, if ever it should be necessary.

I imagine that senseless man must have been laughed at by his own counselors, and warned that these documents would do him no good; that if the charge were made, there would be even more suspicion owing to these extraordinary precautions of the praetor. He had already behaved with such folly in many cases, as even publicly to order whatever he pleased to be expunged out of, or entered in the records of different cities. All which things he now finds out are of no use to him, since he is convicted by documents, and witnesses, and authorities which are all undeniable. When he sees that their confession, and all the evidence which he has manufactured, and his journals, will be of no use to him, he then adopts the design, not of a worthless praetor, (for even that might have been endured,) but an inhuman and senseless tyrant. He determines, that if he wishes to palliate that accusation, (for he did not suppose that he could get rid of it altogether,) all the naval captains, the witnesses of his wickedness, must be put to death.

The next consideration was,—“What am I to do with Cleomenes? Can I put those men to death whom I placed under his command, and spare him whom I placed in command and authority over them? Can I punish those men who followed Cleomenes, and pardon Cleomenes who bade them fly with him, and follow him? Can I be severe to those men who had vessels not only devoid of crews, but devoid of decks, and be merciful to him who was the only man who had a decked ship, and whose ship, too, was not stripped bare like those of the others?” Cleomenes must die too. What signify his promises? what do the curses that he will heap on him? what do the pledges of friendship and mutual embraces? what does that comradeship in the service, of a woman on that most luxurious sea-shore signify? It was utterly impossible that Cleomenes could be spared. He summons Cleomenes.

He tells him that he has made up his mind to execute all the naval captains; that considerations of his own personal danger required such a step. “I will spare you alone, and I will endure the blame of all that disaster myself, and all possible reproaches for my inconsistency, rather than act cruelly to you on the one hand, or, on the other hand, leave so many and such important witnesses against me in safety and in life.” Cleomenes thanks him: approves of his intention; and says that that is what must be done. But he reminds him, of what he had forgotten, that it will not he possible for him to put Phalargus the Centuripan, one of the naval captains, to death, because he had been with him himself in the Centuripan quadrireme. What, then, is he to do? Shall that man, of such a city as that, a most noble youth, be left to be a witness? At present, says Cleomenes, for it must be so; but afterwards we will take care that it shall be put out of his power to injure us.