The Collapse CLXXVII: Trial Day 1

11 October 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

This was one of the most exhausting days of my life.

Our “courtroom” was the old large storefront that we had occasionally met at, as it was the only building that could hold the crowd the came out to see the trial – I would not wager the whole population was there, but a great many of them .

Included in that crowd, walking with his head held high, was the accused – let us call him Cataline – wedged between his two guards of the time. Behind him came the woman I can only assume was his wife. And waiting for us at the entrance was the woman I had seen crying and shouting two days ago, apparently the wife of the deceased. Her name, for our purposes, will be Terentia. She stood at the front of the door, her head also held high with a picture of the deceased in her hands, surrounded by her own crowd of assumed family and friends.

This was already turning out to be exhausting beyond measure and we had not even started.

Young Xerxes had somehow cobbled together a courtroom: A table and a chair facing two tables with two chairs each. Two chairs were near the table at the front – I assume for a note taker and a witness. As I reached the front table, I realized that he had also managed to scrounge a gavel from who knows where: “Lion’s Club, Century City, 19XX” read the inscription on the band around it.

I banged it on the table. The room almost mysteriously quieted.

Cataline took his seat, an older man next to him. Terentia took her seat, a fashionable young woman (fashionable even in these times) at her side. Somewhat to my surprise, Pompeia Paulina took a seat in the note taker’s chair – Young Xerxes had not mentioned that at all. To the sides, I saw two men I recognized vaguely from McAdams, their sidearms quite visible.

“Court”, Young Xerxes boomed in a voice I had never heard him use, “is now in session. The honorable judge Seneca presiding”.

All eyes turned to me. I sighed.

This was going to be a long day.

“This court”, I started, “is obviously not the court of the justice system of the country we live – or lived – in. But is the best we have at hand given the circumstances, and to that end we will conduct in a way that if and when the decision is reviewed by an actual court, the proceedings are understandable and the greatest extent possible, just.” I looked to the left and right (Cataline to the left, Terentia to the right). “Are these your chosen advocates?”

Both Cataline and Terentia said “Yes” in voices that were overpowered for the space.

“What are the nature of the charge?” I asked.

“Murder” cried Terentia, point a thin finger with a ring hanging on it towards Cataline.

“Your plea?” I looked to the other side.

“Not guilty”. This was the older man, not Cataline.

I turned to both parties. “Given the circumstances, the likelihood of an unbiased jury seems remote. Are you both willing to abide by a judge’s decision?” Cataline’s advocate nodded firmly, Terentia’s less so.

“A two day trial” I declared, not asking. “One day for the prosecution, one day for the defense. Witnesses to be called and cross examined by either side. When witnesses are done, we close for the day."

With that, one of the bailiffs brought a Bible to the front, the first witness was called by Terentia’s advocate, and we had started.

The first witness was a neighbor who stated he had seen much of the initial incident – in short, Cataline had been about Terentia’s house apparently looking for something. He had not found it, but found Terentia’s husband instead. A verbal argument had broken out, then physical pushing. At this point the neighbor had gone inside to get his son for help; by the time he had come out both parties had departed.

What was the argument about? He could not specifically make out the conversation. Cataline had nothing in his hands that the neighbor could remember, nor had he taken anything when he was there.

During this time, Pompeia Paulina was writing away – what, I had no idea. She had never indicted stenography as a talent, but she had surprised me before.

The next witness stepped up – another witness, a character witness. No, he did not know the defendant nor had he seen him before – but surely Terentia’s husband could not have threatened to kill him. He was well known for years in this town and neighborhood as a thoughtful and generous man, a pillar of whatever remained of this small and slowly dying town. Had he seen the argument? No, no he had not. But not seeing the argument did not change the facts.

And so the day ran into the afternoon, witness after witness coming forward to extol the virtues of Terentia’s husband. No-one else upon questioning could really confess to having seen the actual event of the killing – that apparently happened in the RV park – but it was quite clear to all the witnesses that Cataline – that outsider, one of those stuck here without anything but a RV – was at best highly questionable and at worst to blame, although no-one could offer eyewitness proof.

By late afternoon we had been through a dozen witnesses, expertly lead by the Fashionable Woman – who if not a lawyer in a previous life (she claimed not to be), was far better versed in the law that anyone else in the room. Without having a solid eyewitness or motive, she had managed to set forth a tale of the salt of earth local being set upon unjustly by a man with little to lose and unknown motives. Having nor more witnesses to call, the case was rested.

I had little to say to Pompeia Paulina that night, and she kindly left me in peace. Which was appreciated, as I had nothing to say other than the hope that I had more to make a decision on that just “He was a great man done wrong”.

If this was the lot of a judge, I wondered why any stuck with the position.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca