Formerly, O judges, I had determined to conduct this cause in a different manner, thinking
 that our adversaries would deny that their household was implicated in such a violent and
 atrocious murder. Accordingly, I came with a mind free from care and anxiety, because I was
 aware that I could easily prove that by witnesses. But now, when it has been confessed, not
 only by that most honourable man, Lucius Quinctius, 
 but when Publius Fabius himself has not hesitated to admit the facts which are the
 subject of this trial, I come forward to plead this cause in quite a different manner from
 that in which I was originally prepared to argue it. For then my anxiety was to be able
 to prove what I asserted had been done. Now all my speech is to be directed to this point, to
 prevent our adversaries from being in a better position, merely because they have admitted
 what they could not possibly deny though they greatly wished to do so.

Therefore, as matters stood at first your decision was more difficult, but my
 defence was easy. For I originally rested my whole case on the evidence; 
 now I rest it on the confession of my adversary; and to oppose his audacity in acts of
 violence, his impudence in a court of justice, may fairly be considered as the task of your
 power, not of my abilities.— For what is easier than to decide on the case of
 a man who confesses the fact? But it is difficult for me to speak with sufficient force of
 that which cannot be by language made out worse than it is in reality, and cannot be made more
 plain by my speech than it is by the confession of the parties actually concerned.

As, therefore, on account of the reasons which I have stated, my system of defence must be
 changed, I must also forget for a little time, in the case of Publius Fabius, that lenity of mine
 which I practiced at the previous trial, when I restrained myself from using any arguments
 which might have the appearance of attacking him, so much that I seemed to be defending his
 reputation with no less care than the cause of Marcus Tullius. Now, since Quinctius has
 thought it not foreign to the subject to introduce so many statements, false for the most part
 and most wickedly invented, concerning the life and habits and character of Marcus Tullius,
 Fabius must pardon me for many reasons, if I do not now appear to spare his character so much,
 or to show the same regard for it now as I did previously.

At the former trial I kept all my stings sheathed; but
 since, in that same previous trial, he thought it a part of his duty to show no
 forbearance whatever to his adversary, how ought I to act, I, a Tullius for another Tullius, a
 man kindred to me in disposition not less than in name? And it seems to me, O judges, that I
 have more need to feel anxious as to whether my conduct will be approved in having said
 nothing against him before, than blamed for the reply I now make to him.

But I both did at that time what I ought to have done, and I shall do now
 what I am forced to do. For when it was a dispute about money matters, because we said that
 Marcus Tullius had sustained damage, it appeared foreign to my character to say anything of
 the reputation of Quintus Fabius; not because the case did not open the door to such
 statements. What is my conduct then? Although the cause does require it, still, unless when he
 absolutely compels me against my will, I am not inclined to condescend to speak ill of him.
 Now that I am speaking under compulsion, if I say anything strong, still I will do even that
 with decency and moderation, and only in such a way that, as he could not consider me hostile
 to him at the former trial, so he may now know that I am a faithful and trustworthy friend to
 Marcus Tullius.

One thing, O Lucius Quinctius, I should wish to obtain from you, which, although I desire
 because it is useful for me, still I request of you because it is reasonable and
 just,—that you would regulate the time that you take to yourself for speaking, so as
 to leave the judges some time for coming to a decision. For the time before, there was no end
 to your speech in his defence; night alone set bounds to your oration. Now, if you please, do
 not do the same; this I beg of you. Nor do I beg it on this account, because I think it
 desirable for me that you should pass over some topics, or that you should fail to state them
 with sufficient elegance, and at sufficient length; but because I do think it enough for you
 to state each fact only once. And if you do that, I have no fear that the whole day will be
 taken up in talking.

The subject of this trial which comes before you, O judges, is, What is the pecuniary amount
 of the damage inflicted on Marcus Tullius by the malice of the household of Quintus Fabius, by
 men armed and banded together in a violent manner. Those damages we have taxed; the valuation
 is yours; the decision given is that the amends shall be fourfold.

As all laws and all legal proceedings which seem at all harsh and severe have originated in
 the dishonesty and injustice of wicked men, so this form of procedure also has been
 established within these few years on account of the evil habits and excessive licentiousness
 of men. For when many families were said to be wandering armed about the distant fields and
 pasture lands, and to be committing murders, and as that fact appeared to concern not merely
 the estates of individuals, but the main interests of the republic, Marcus Lucullus, who often
 presided as judge with the greatest equity and wisdom, first planned this tribunal, and had
 regard to this object, that all men should so restrain their households that they should not
 only not go about armed to inflict damage on any one, but, even if they were attacked, should
 defend themselves by law, rather than by arms;

and though he
 knew that the Aquilian law about damage existed, still he thought, that, as in the time of our
 ancestors both men's estates and their desires were less, and as their families, not being
 very numerous, were restrained by fear of important consequences, it very seldom happened that
 a man would be killed, and it was thought a nefarious and unprecedented atrocity; and
 therefore, that there was at that time no need of a system of judicial procedure with
 reference to bodies of men collected in a violent manner and armed; (for he thought that if
 any one established a law or a tribunal for matters which were not usual, he seemed not so
 much to forbid them as to put people in mind of them.)

In these times, when after a long civil war our manners
 had so far degenerated that men used arms with less scruple, he thought it necessary to
 establish a system of judicial procedure, with reference to the whole of a man's household, in
 the formula, “Which was said to have been done by the household,” and to
 assign judges,

in order that the matter might be decided as speedily as possible; and to affix
 a severe punishment, in order that audacity might be repressed by fear, and to take away that
 outlet, “Damage unjustly caused.” 
					 That which in other causes ought to have weight, and which has weight by the Aquilian law,
 namely, that damage had been caused by armed slaves in a violent manner,

Men must decide themselves when they could lawfully take arms, collect a band, and put men to
 death. When an action was assigned, this alone was to be the point at issue,
 “whether it appeared that damage had been inflicted by the malice of the household,
 by men collected and armed acting in a violent manner,” and the word
 “unjustly” was not to be added; he thought that he had put an end to the
 audacity of wicked men when he had left them no hope of being able to make any defence.

Since, then, you have now heard what this judicial procedure is, and with what intention it
 was established, now listen, while I briefly explain to you the case itself, and its attendant
 circumstances.

Marcus Tullius had a farm, inherited from his father, in the territory of 
					 Thurium , O judges, which he was never sorry to have, till he
 got a neighbor who preferred extending the boundaries of his estate by arms, to defending them
 by law. For Publius Fabius lately purchased a farm of Caius Claudius, a senator,—a
 farm bordering on that of Marcus Tullius,—dear enough, for nearly half as much again
 (though in a wretched state of cultivation, and with all the buildings burnt down) as Claudius
 himself had given for it when it was in a good and highly ornamented condition, though he had
 paid an extravagant price for it.

I will add this also, which is very important to the
 matter. When the commander-in-chief died, though he wished to invest a sum of money, got I
 know not how, in a farm, he did not so invest it, but he squandered it. 
 I do not very greatly wonder that, hampered as he was by his own folly, he wished to
 extricate himself how he could. But this I cannot marvel at sufficiently, this I am indignant
 at, that he strives to remedy his own folly at the expense of his neighbours, and that
 he endeavoured to pacify his own ill-temper by the injury of Tullius.

There is in that farm a field of two hundred acres, which is called the Popilian field, O
 judges, which had always belonged to Marcus Tullius, and which even his father had possessed. That new neighbour of his, full of wicked hope, and the more confident because Marcus
 Tullius was away, began to wish for this field, as it appeared to him to lie very
 conveniently for him, and to be a convenient addition to his own farm. And at first, because
 he repented of the whole business and of his purchase, he advertised the farm for sale. But he
 had had a partner in the purchase, Cnaeus Acerronius a most excellent man. He was at
 Rome , when on a sudden messengers came to Marcus
 Tullius from his villa, to say that Publius Fabius had advertised that neighbouring farm of
 his for sale, offering a much larger quantity of land than he and Cnaeus Acerronius had
 lately purchased.

He applies to the man. He, arrogantly enough, answers just
 what he chooses. And he had not yet pointed out the boundaries. Tullius sends letters to his
 agent and to his bailiff, to go to the procurator of Caius Claudius, in order that he
 might point out the boundaries to purchasers in their presence. But he 
 refused to do this. He pointed out the boundaries to Acerronius while they
 were absent; but still he did not give them up this Popilian field. Acerronius excused himself
 from the whole business as well as he could, and as soon as he could; and he immediately revoked any agreement which he had with
 Fabius, (for he preferred losing his money to losing his character,)

and dissolved partnership with such a man, being only
 slightly scorched. Fabius in the meantime brings on the farm picked men of great courage and
 strength, and prepares arms such as were suitable and fit for each of them; so that any one
 might see that those men were equipped, not for any farming work, but for battle and murder.

In a short time they murdered two men of Quintus Catius
 Aemilianus, an honourable man, whom you all are acquainted with. They did many other things;
 they wandered about everywhere armed; they occupied all the fields and roads in an hostile
 manner, so that they seemed not obscurely but evidently to be aware of what business they were
 equipped for. In the meantime Tullius came to Thurium . Then that worthy father of a family, that noble Asiaticus, that new
 farmer and grazier, while he was walking in the farm, notices in this very Popilian field a
 moderate-sized building, and a slave of Marcus Tullius, named Philinus.

“What business have you,” says he, “in my
 field?” The slave answered modestly and sensibly, that his master was at the villa;
 that he could talk to him if he wanted anything. Fabius asks Acerronius (for he happened to be
 there at the time) to go with him to Tullius. They go. Tullius was at the villa. Fabius says
 that either he will bring an action against Tullius, or that Tullius must bring one against
 him. Tullius answers that he will bring one, and that he will exchange securities with Fabius
 at Rome . Fabius agrees to this condition. Presently
 he departs.

The next night, when it was near day-break, the slaves of Publius Fabius come armed and in
 crowds to that house which I have already mentioned, which was in the Popilian field. They
 make themselves an entrance by force. They attack the slaves of Marcus Tullius, men of great
 value, unawares, which was very easy to do; and as these were few in number and offered no
 resistance, they, being a numerous body well armed and prepared, murdered them. And they
 behaved with such rancour and cruelty that they left them all with their throats cut, lest, if
 they left any one only half dead and still breathing, they should get the less credit. And
 besides this, they demolish the house and villa.

Philinus,
 whom I have already mentioned, and who had himself escaped from the massacre severely wounded,
 immediately reports this atrocious, this infamous, this unexpected attack to Marcus Tullius.
 Tullius immediately sends round to his friends, of whom in that neighbourhood he had a
 numerous and honourable body.

The matter appears scandalous
 and infamous to them all.

Listen, I entreat you, to the evidence of honest men touching those affairs which I am
 speaking of those things which my witnesses state, our adversary confesses that they state
 truly. Those things which my witnesses do not state, because they have not seen them and do
 not know them, those things our adversary himself states. Our witnesses say that they saw the
 men lying dead; that they saw blood in many places; that they saw the building demolished.
 They say nothing further. What says Fabius? He denies none of these things. What then further
 does he add?

He says that his own household of slaves did
 it. How? By men armed, with violence. With what intention? That that might be done which was
 done. What is that? That the men of Marcus Tullius might be slain. If, then, they contrived
 all these circumstances with this intention, so that men assembled in one place, and armed
 themselves, and then marched with fixed resolution to an appointed place, chose a suitable
 time, and committed a massacre,—if they intended all this and planned it, and
 effected it,—can you separate that intention, that design, and that act from malice?

But those words “with malice” are added
 in this form of procedure with reference to the man who does the deed, not to him to whom it
 is done. And that you may understand this, O judges, attend, I beg of you, carefully. And, in
 truth, you will not doubt that this is the case.

If the trial were assigned to proceed on this ground, that the fact to be proved was,
 “That it had been done by the household,” then if any household itself had
 been unwilling to appear personally in the slaughter, and had either compelled or hired the
 assistance of other men, whether slaves or free men, all this trial, and the severe justice of
 the praetor, would be at an end. For no one can decide that, if the household were not present
 at a transaction, in that transaction the household itself committed damage with men armed, in
 a violent manner. Therefore, because that could be done, and done easily too, on that account
 it was not thought sufficient for investigation to be made as to what the household itself had
 done, but as to this point also, “What had been done by the malice of the
 household.”

For when the household itself does
 anything, men being collected together and armed, in a violent manner, and inflicts damage on
 any one, that must be done by malice. But when it forms a plan to procure such a thing to be
 done, the household itself does not do it, but it is done by its malice. And so by the
 addition of the words “by malice” the cause of both plaintiff and
 defendant is made more comprehensive. For whichever point he can prove, whether that the
 household itself did him the damage, or that it was done by the contrivance and assistance of
 that household, he must gain his cause.

You see that the praetors in these last years have interposed between me and Marcus Claudius
 with the insertion of this clause,—“From which, O Marcus Tullius, Marcus
 Claudius, or his household, or his agent, was driven by violence.” find what follows
 is according to the formula in the terms in which the praetor's interdict ran, and in which
 the securities were drawn up. If I were to defend myself before a judge in this
 way,—to confess that I had driven men out by violence— to deny that there
 was malice in it,—who would listen to me? No one, I suppose; because, if I drove out
 Marcus Claudius by violence, I drove him out by malice; for malice is a necessary ingredient
 in violence; and it is sufficient for Claudius to prove either point,—either that he
 was driven out with violence by me myself, or that I contrived a plan to have him driven out
 with violence.

More, therefore, is granted to Claudius when
 the interdict runs thus, “from which he was driven by violence, by my
 malice,” than if it had merely said, “whence he was driven by me by
 violence.” For, in this latter case, unless I had myself driven him out, I should
 gain my cause. In the former case, when the word “malice” is added,
 whether I had merely originated the design, or had myself driven him out, it is inevitable
 that it should be decided that he had been violently driven out by me with malice.

The case in this trial, O judges, is exactly like this, and, indeed, identical with it. For
 I ask of you, O Quinctius, if the point in question were, “What appeared to be the
 pecuniary amount of the damage done by the household of Publius Fabius, by armed men, to
 Marcus Tullius,” what would you have to say? Nothing, I suppose; for you confess
 everything, both that the household of Publius Fabius did this, and that they did it violently
 with armed men. As to the addition, “with malice,” do you think that that
 avails you, that by which all your defence is cut off and excluded?

for, if that addition had not been made, and if you had chosen to urge, in
 your defence, that your household had not done this, you would have gained your cause if you
 had been able to prove this. Now, whether you had chosen to use that defence, or this one
 which you are using, you must inevitably be convicted; unless we think that a man is brought
 before the court who has formed a plan, but that one who has actually done an action is not;
 since a design may be supposed to exist without any act being done, but an act cannot exist
 without a design. Or, because the act is such that it could not be done without a secret
 design, without the aid of the darkness of night, without violence, without injury to another,
 without arms, without murder, without wickedness, is it on that account to be decided to have
 been done without malice? Or, will you suppose that the pleading has been rendered more
 difficult for me in the very case in which the praetor intended that a scandalous plea in
 defence should be taken from him?

Here, now, they do seem
 to me to be men of very extraordinary talent, when they seize themselves on the very thing
 which was granted to me to be used against them; when they use rocks and reefs as a harbour
 and an anchorage. For they wish the word “malice” to be kept in the shade;
 by which they would be caught and detected, not only since they have done the things
 themselves which they admit having done, but even if they had done them by the agency of
 others.

I say that malice exists not in one action alone, (which would be enough for me,) nor in the
 whole case, only, (which would also be enough for me,) but separately in every single item of
 the whole business. They form a plan for coming, upon the slaves of Marcus Tullius: they do
 that with malice. They take arms: they do that with malice. They choose a time suitable for
 laying an ambush and for concealing their design: they do that with malice. They break open
 the house with violence: in the violence itself there is malice. They murder men, they
 demolish buildings: it is not possible for a man to be murdered intentionally, or for damage
 to be done to another intentionally, without malice. Therefore, if every part of the business
 is such that the malice is inherent in each separate part, will you decide that the entire
 business and the whole transaction is untainted with malice?

What will Quinctius say to this? Surely he has nothing to say, no one point, I will not say
 on which he is able to stand, but on which he even imagines that he is able. For, first of
 all, he advanced this argument, that nothing can be done by the malice of a household. By this
 topic he was tending not merely to defend Fabius, but to put an end utterly to all judicial
 proceedings of this sort. For if that is brought before the court with reference to a
 household, which a household is absolutely incapacitated from doing, there is evidently no
 trial at all; all must inevitably be acquitted for the same reason.

If this were the only case, (it would be well, indeed, if it were,) but if it
 were, the only case, still you, O judges, being such as you are, ought to be unwilling that an
 affair of the greatest importance, affecting not only the welfare of the entire republic but
 also the fortunes of individuals—that a most dignified tribunal, one established
 with the greatest deliberation, and for the weightiest reasons, should appear to be put an end
 to by you. But this is not the only thing at stake. the decision in this
 case is waited for with so much anxiety as shows that it is expected to rule not one case
 only, but all cases. 
					 
					 Shall I say that violence was done by the household of Publius Fabius? Our adversaries do
 not deny it. That damage was done to Marcus Tullius? You grant that—I have carried
 one point. That this violence was done by armed men? You do not deny that—I have
 carried a second point. You deny that it was done with malice; on this point we join issue.
 Nor, indeed, do I see any need of looking for arguments by which that
 trivial and insignificant defence of his may be refuted and done away with.

And yet I must speak to the statements which Quinctius has
 made; not that they have anything to do with the matter, but that it may not be thought that
 anything has been granted by me, merely because it has been overlooked.

You say that inquiry ought to be instituted whether the men of Marcus Tullius were slain
 wrongfully or no. This is the first inquiry that I make about the matter,—whether
 that matter has come before the court or not. If it has not come, why then need we say
 anything about it, or why need they ask any questions about it? But if it has, what was your
 object in making such a long speech to the praetor, to beg him to add to the formula the word
 “wrongfully,” and because you had not succeeded, to appeal to the tribunes
 of the people, and here before the court to complain of the injustice of the praetor because
 he did not add the word “wrongfully.”

When you were requesting this of the praetor,—when you were appealing to the
 tribunes, you said that you ought to have an opportunity given to you of persuading the
 judges, if you could, that damage had not been done to Marcus Tullius wrongfully. Though,
 therefore, you wish that to be added to the formula of the trial, in order to be allowed to
 speak to that point before the judges; though it was not added, do you nevertheless speak to
 it as if you had gained the very thing which was refused to you?

But the same words which Metellus used in making his decree, the others, whom you appealed
 to, likewise used. Was not this the language of them all,—that although that which a
 household was said to have done by means of men armed and collected in a violent manner, could
 not possibly be done rightly, still they would add nothing, And they ware right, O judges. For
 if, when there is a refuge open to them, still slaves commit these wickednesses with the
 greatest audacity, and masters avow them with the greatest shamelessness, what do you think
 would be the case if the praetor were to decide that it is possible that such murders should
 be committed lawfully? Does it make any difference whether the magistrates establish a defence
 for a crime, or give people power and liberty to commit crime?

In truth, O judges, the magistrates are not influenced by the extent or the
 damage, to assign a trial in this formula. For if it were the case, the magistrates would not
 give recuperators rather than a judex, —not an action against the
 whole family, but against the one who was proceeded against by name; nor would the damages be
 estimated at fourfold, but at double; and to the word “damage” would be
 added the word “wrongfully.” Nor, indeed, does the magistrate who has
 assigned this trial depart from the provisions of the Aquilian law about other damage, in
 cases in which nothing is at issue except the damage. And to this point the praetor ought to
 turn his attention.

In this trial, you see the question is about violence; you see the question is about armed
 men; you see that the demolition of houses, the ravaging of lands, the murders of men, fire,
 plunder, and massacre are brought before the court. And do you wonder that those who assigned
 this trial thought it sufficient that it should be inquired whether these cruel, and
 scandalous, and atrocious actions had been done or not; not whether they had been done rightly
 or wrongfully? The praetors, then, have not departed from the Aquilian law which was passed
 about damage; but they appointed a very severe course of proceeding in the case of armed men
 acting with violence. Not that they thought that no inquiry was ever to be made as to the
 right or the wrong; but they did not think it fit that they who preferred to manage their
 business by arms rather than by law should argue the question of right and wrong.

Nor did they refuse to add the word “wrongfully”
 because they would not add it in other cases; but they did not think that it was possible for
 slaves to take arms and collect a band rightfully. Nor did they refuse because they thought,
 that if this addition were made, it would be possible to persuade such men as these judges
 that it had not been wrongfully done, but because they would not appear to put a shield in the
 hands of those men in a court of justice, whom they had summoned before the court for talking
 those arms which they did take.

The same prohibitory law about violence existed in the time of our ancestors which exists
 now. “From which you, or your household, or your agent have this year driven him, or
 his household, or his agent, by violence.” Then there is added, with reference to
 the man who is being proceeded against, “When he was the owner;” and this
 further addition also, “Of what he possessed, having acquired it neither by
 violence, nor secretly, nor as a present.”

The man
 who is said to have driven another away by violence has many pleas of defence allowed him,
 (and if he can prove any one of them to the satisfaction of the judge, then, even if he
 confesses that he drove him out by violence, he must gain his cause,) either that he who has
 been driven out was not the owner, or that he had got possession from him himself by violence,
 or by stealth, or as a present. Our ancestors left so many pleas of defence, by which he might
 gain his cause, even to the man who confessed himself guilty of violence.

Come, now, let us consider another prohibitory law, which has also been now established on
 account of the iniquity of the times, and the excessive licentiousness of men.

And he read me the law out of the Twelve Tables, which permits a man to kill a thief by
 night, and even by day if he defends himself with a weapon; and an ancient law out of the
 sacred laws, which allows any one to be put to death with impunity who has assaulted a tribune
 of the people. I imagine I need say no more about the laws.

And now I, for the first time in this affair, ask this question: —What connection
 the reading of these laws had with this trial? Had the slaves of Marcus Tullius assaulted any
 tribune of the people? I think not. Had they come by night to the house of Publius Fabius to
 steal? Not even that. Had they come by day to steal, and then had they defended themselves
 with a weapon? It cannot be affirmed. Therefore, according to those laws which you have read,
 certainly that man's household had no right to slay the slaves of Marcus Tullius.

“Oh,” says he, “I did not read it because of its bearing on
 that subject, but that you might understand this, that it did not appear to our ancestors to
 be anything so utterly intolerable for a man to be slain.” But, in the first place
 those very laws which you read, (to say nothing of other points,) prove how utterly our
 ancestors disapproved of any man being slain unless it was absolutely unavoidable. First of
 all, there is that holy law which armed men petitioned for, that unarmed men might be free
 from danger. Wherefore it was only reasonable for them to wish the person of that magistrate
 to be hedged round with the protection of the laws, by whom the laws themselves are protected.

The Twelve Tables forbid a thief— that is to say,
 a plunderer and a robber—to be slain by day, even when you catch him, a self-evident
 enemy, within your walls. “Unless he defends himself with a weapon,” says
 the law; not even if he has come with a weapon; unless he uses it, and resists; “you
 shall not kill him. If he resists, endoplorato ,” that
 is to say, raise an outcry, that people may hear you and come to your aid. What can be added
 more to this merciful view of the case, when they did not allow that it might be lawful for a
 man to defend his own life in his own house without witnesses and umpires?

Who is there who ought more to be pardoned, (since you bring me back to the Twelve Tables,)
 than a man who without being aware of it kills another? No one, I think. For this is a silent
 law of humanity, that punishment for intentions, but not for fortune, may be exacted of a man.
 Still our ancestors did not pardon even this. For there is a law in the Twelve Tables,
 “If a weapon escapes from the hand”

If any one slays a thief, he slays him wrongfully. Why? Because there is no law established
 by which he may do so. What? suppose he defended himself with a weapon? Then he did not slay
 him wrongfully. Why so? Because there is a law

Still it would have been done by violence. Still in that
 very spot which belonged to you, you not only could not lawfully slay the slaves of Marcus
 Tullius, but even if you had demolished the house without his knowledge, or by violence,
 because he had built it in your land and defended his act on the ground of its being his, it
 would be decided to have been done by violence, or secretly. Now, do you yourself decide how
 true it is, that, when your household had no power to throw down a few tiles with impunity, he
 had power to commit an extensive massacre without violating the law. If, now that that
 building has been demolished, I myself were this day to prosecute him on the ground
 “that it was done by violence, or secretly,” you must inevitably either
 make restitution according to the sentence of an arbitrator, or you must be condemned in the
 amount of your security. Now, will you be able to make it seem reasonable to such men as these
 judges, that, though you had no power of your own right to demolish the building, because it
 was, as you maintain, on your land, you had power of your own right to slay the men who were
 in that edifice?

“But my slave is not to be found, who was seen with your slaves. But my cottage
 was burnt by your slaves.” What reply am I to make to this? I have proved that it
 was false. Still I will admit it. What comes next? Does it follow from this that the household
 of Marcus Tullius ought to be murdered? Scarcely, in truth, that they ought to be flogged,
 scarcely, that they ought to be severely reprimanded. But granting that you were ever so
 severe; the matter could be tried in the usual course of law, by an everyday sort of trial.
 What was the need of violence? what was the need of armed men, of slaughter, and of bloodshed?

“But perhaps they would have proceeded to attack me.” This, in their
 desperate case, is neither a speech nor a defence, but a mere guess, a sort of divination.
 Were they coming to attack him? Whom? Fabius. With what intention? To kill him. Why? to gain
 what? how did you find it out? And that I may set forth a plain case as briefly as possible,
 is it possible to doubt, O judges, which side seems to have been the attacking
 party?—

Those who came to the house, or those who remained in the house? Those who were slain, or those, of whose number not one man was
 wounded? Those who had no imaginable reason for acting so, or those who confess that they did
 act so? But suppose I were to believe that you were afraid of being attacked, who ever laid
 down such a principle as this, or who could have this granted him without extreme danger to
 the whole body of citizens, that he might lawfully kill a man, if he only said that he was
 afraid of being hereafter killed by him? [The rest of this oration is lost.]