Trickle of Time

Helena Lindau Hägg

Meridies, Midday.
Forum Romanum.
A day in an open-air court.

Close to me, a simple clerk, the magistrate’s clepsydra was placed on a two-step block of marble. A timepiece in its simplest form, it consisted of two bowls of terra-cotta, one placed above the other. From a small hole of the elevated vessel, an arc of water was allowed to spill into the bowl below. When the top bowl was empty, it signaled the end of a speaker’s round. As of this moment, the water flowed for the famous orator Avilius.

He was arguing the case of the bereft, a former soldier named Balbus, now playing farmer. His clothes were strangely expensive, and his eyes moved back and forth like restless swallows. The defendant accused of theft, a servant boy called Crispus, was bent in anguish, his dark hair hanging in sweaty ringlets. His pleader, not much older, seemed a meek man. Lazily overseeing the whole scene, was the state’s magistrate clad in a dark tunic. His eyelids were heavy from both power and wine, and the boredom that came with it.

Avilius the orator, as graceful and convincing as an old swan, let his white toga ripple as he gestured to the crowd. ”A disgrace, my people, this servant is! Taking advantage of a docile master… in fact, is he not, by extension, taking advantage of all of us? Stealing grain is like stealing taxes from the state!” The crowd booed and muttered in agreement. His gestures deliciously rehearsed, he whispered, ”Shall we allow for this selfishness to go unpunished?” A bellowing ”-NOOOOOO”, was heard in answer. With that, the tiniest droplets finalized the water’s journey from one bowl to the other.

I started to refill the vessel on top, for the defender to begin to argue. The young, meek orator held up his hand. ”I have proof of the servant’s innocence! A witness, not yet here, knows of the farmer’s true character. I ask the magistrate to give us more time!” Barely had the words left his mouth, when a small thump was heard on the ground. ”-A sign from Jupiter!” was heard from the crowd, and a dove, struck dead in midair, awaited its verdict.

This awoke the magistrate, whose eyes turned to dark cherries at the sight of the bird. Avilius and Balbus were still, aghast at how the tables had turned. ”Indeed, this is a sign of Jupiter! Stop the clepsydra!" His booming voice was unable to mask the pleasure at embodying the will of the gods.

Eager not to let his urgency go to waste, and thinking it indecent to pause for some wax, I instead pressed my left thumb onto the hole. It stopped the jet of water like a seal. If I slipped, the orator would have to continue without his witness, and the servant might die. I could feel the mounting pressure from the water working at my thumbprint, already tender.