proscription was over, and the list had been closed; but Roscius's name
was surreptitiously entered upon it, with the help of Sylla's favorite
freedman, Chrysogonus. The assassins obtained an acknowledgment of their
claims, and they and Chrysogonus divided the spoils. Sextus Roscius was
entirely innocent. He had taken no part in politics at all. He had left a
son who was his natural heir, and the township of Ameria sent up a
petition to Sylla remonstrating against so iniquitous a robbery. The
conspirators, finding themselves in danger of losing the reward of their
crime, shifted their ground. They denied that they had themselves killed
Sextus Roscius. They said that the son had done it, and they charged him
with parricide. Witnesses were easily provided. No influential pleader, it
was justly supposed, would venture into antagonism with Sylla's favorite
and appear for the defence. Cicero heard of the case, however, and used
the opportunity to bring himself into notice. He advocated young Roscius's
cause with skill and courage. He told the whole story in court without
disguise. He did not blame Sylla. He compared Sylla to Jupiter Optimus
Maximus, who was sovereign of the universe, and on the whole a good
sovereign, but with so much business on his hands that he had not time to
look into details. But Cicero denounced Chrysogonus as an accomplice in an
act of atrocious villainy. The court took the same view, and the rising
orator had the honor of clearing the reputation of the injured youth, and
of recovering his property for him.

Sylla showed no resentment, and probably felt none. He lived for a year
after his retirement, and died 78 B.C., being occupied at the moment in
writing his memoirs, which have been unfortunately lost. He was buried
gorgeously in the Campus Martius, among the old kings of Rome. The
aristocrats breathed freely when delivered from his overpowering presence,
and the constitution which he had set upon its feet was now to be tried.