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?—