The story of the crimes of Oppianicus, of which only a small part has been given, having been finished, Cicero related the true circumstances of his death.  After his banishment he had wandered about for a while shunned by all his acquaintances.  Then he had taken up his quarters in a farmhouse in the Falernian country.  From these he was driven away by a quarrel with the farmer, and removed to a small lodging which he had hired outside the walls of Rome.  Not long afterwards he fell from his horse, and received a severe injury in his side.  His health was already weak, fever came on, he was carried into the city and died after a few days’ illness.

Besides the charge of poisoning Oppianicus there were others that had to be briefly dealt with.  One only of these needs to be mentioned.  Cluentius, it was said, had put poison into a cup of honey wine, with the intention of giving it to the younger Oppianicus.  The occasion, it was allowed, was the young man’s wedding-breakfast, to which, as was the custom at Larinum, a large company had been invited.  The prosecutor affirmed that one of the bridegroom’s friends had intercepted the cup on its way, drunk off its contents, and instantly expired.  The answer to this was complete.  The young man had not instantly expired.  On the contrary, he had died after an illness of several days, and this illness had had a different cause.  He was already out of health when he came to the breakfast, and he had made himself worse by eating and drinking too freely, “as,” says the orator, “young men will do.”  He then called a witness to whom no one could object, the father of the deceased.  “The least suspicion of the guilt of Cluentius would have brought him as a witness against him.  Instead of doing this he gives him his support.  Read,” said Cicero to the clerk, “read his evidence.  And you, sir,” turning to the father, “stand up a while, if you please, and submit to the pain of hearing what I am obliged to relate.  I will say no more about the case.  Your conduct has been admirable; you would not allow your own sorrow to involve an innocent man in the deplorable calamity of a false accusation.”

Then came the story of the cruel and shameful plot which the mother had contrived against her son.  Nothing would content this wicked woman but that she must herself journey to Rome to give all the help that she could to the prosecution.  “And what a journey this was!” cried Cicero.  “I live near some of the towns near which she passed, and I have heard from many witnesses what happened.  Vast crowds came to see her.  Men, ay, and women too, groaned aloud as she passed by.  Groaned at what?  Why, that from the distant town of Larinum, from the very shore of the Upper Sea, a woman was coming with a great retinue and heavy money-bags, coming with the single object of bringing about the ruin of a son who was being tried for his life.  In all those crowds there was not a man who did not think that every spot on which she set her foot needed