Conspirata (27 page)

We left the forum, and ahead of us were the myriad lights of the Palatine, tracing the shape of the hill - the yellow flickering  of the torches and braziers on the terraces, the dim pinpricks of the candles and lamps in the windows amid the trees. Suddenly Cicero halted. 'Isn't that our house?' he asked, pointing to a long cluster of lights. I followed his outstretched arm and replied that I thought it was. 'But that's very odd,' he said. 'Most of the rooms seem to be lit. It looks as though Terentia is home

We set off quickly up the hill. 'If Terentia has left the ceremony early said Cicero breathlessly over his shoulder, 'it won't be of her own volition. Something must have happened He almost ran along the street towards the house and hammered on the door. Inside, we found Terentia standing in the atrium surrounded by a cluster of maids and womenfolk, who seemed to twitter and scatter like birds at Cicero's approach. Once again she was wearing a cloak fastened tightly at the throat to conceal her sacred robes. 'Terentia?' he demanded, advancing towards her. 'What's wrong? Are you all right?'

'I am well enough,' she replied, her voice cold and trembling with rage. 'It is Rome that is sick!'

That so much harm could flow from so farcical an episode will doubtless strike future generations as absurd. In truth, it seemed absurd at the time: fits of public morality generally do. But human life is bizarre and unpredictable. Some joker cracks an egg, and from it hatches tragedy.

The basic facts were simple. Terentia recounted them to Cicero that night, and the story was never seriously challenged. She had arrived at Caesar's residence to be greeted by Pompeia's maid, Abra - a girl of notoriously easy virtue, as befitted the character of her mistress, and of her master too, for that matter, although he of course was not on the premises at the time. Abra showed

Terentia into the main part of the house, where Pompeia, the hostess for the evening, and the Vestal Virgins were already waiting, along with Caesar's mother, Aurelia. Within the hour, most of the senior wives of Rome were congregated in this spot and the ritual began. What exactly they were doing, Terentia would not say, only that most of the house was in darkness when suddenly they were interrupted by screams. They ran to discover the source and immediately came across one of Aurelia's freed-women having a fit of hysterics. Between sobs she cried out that there was an intruder in the house. She had approached what she thought was a female musician, only to discover that the girl was actually a man in disguise! It was at this point that Terentia realised that Pompeia had disappeared.

Aurelia at once took charge of the situation and ordered that all the holy things be covered and that the doors be locked and watched. Then she and some of the braver females, including Terentia, began a thorough search of the huge house. In due course, in Pompeia's bedroom, they found a veiled figure dressed in women's clothes, clutching a lyre and trying to hide behind a curtain. They chased him down the stairs and into the dining room, where he fell over a couch and his veil was snatched away. Nearly everyone recognised him. He had shaved off his small beard and had put on rouge, black eye make-up and lipstick, but that was hardly
sufficient
to disguise the well-known pretty-boy features of Publius Clodius Pulcher - 'Your friend Clodius,' as Terentia bitterly described him to Cicero.

Clodius, who was plainly drunk, realising he was discovered, then jumped on to the dining table, pulled up his gown, exposing himself to all the assembled company, including the Vestal Virgins, and finally, while his audience was shrieking and swooning, ran out of the room and managed to escape from    the house via a kitchen window. Only now did Pompeia appear, with Abra, whereupon Aurelia accused her daughter-in-law and her maid of collusion in this sacrilege. Both denied it tearfully, but the senior Vestal Virgin announced that their protests did not matter: a desecration had occurred, the sacred rites would have to be abandoned, and the devotees must all disperse to their homes at once.

Such was Terentia's story, and Cicero listened to it with a mixture of incredulity, disgust and painfully suppressed amusement. Obviously he would have to take a stern moral line in public and in front of Terentia -
it
was
shocking, he agreed with her absolutely - but secretly he also thought it one of the funniest things he had ever heard. In particular, the image of Clodius waving his private parts in the horrified faces of Rome's stuffiest matrons made him laugh until his eyes watered. But that was for the seclusion of his library. As far as the politics were concerned, he thought Clodius had finally shown himself to be an irredeemable idiot - 'he's thirty, in the name of heaven, not thirteen' - and that his career as a magistrate was finished before it had even started. He also suspected, gleefully, that Caesar might be in trouble as well: the scandal had happened in his house, it had involved his wife; it would not look good.

This was the spirit in which Cicero went down to the senate the following morning, one year to the day after the debate on the fate of the conspirators. Many of the senior members had heard from their wives what had happened, and as they stood around in the senaculum waiting for the auspices to be taken, there was only one topic of discussion, or at least there was by the time Cicero had finished his rounds. The Father of the Nation moved solemnly from group to group, wearing an expression of piety and grave seriousness, his arms folded inside his toga,
shaking his head and reluctantly spreading the news of the outrage to those who had not already heard it. 'Oh look
he would say in conclusion, with a glance across the senaculum, 'there's poor Caesar now - this must be a terrible embarrassment for him

And Caesar did indeed look grey and grim, the young chief priest, standing alone on that bleak day in December, at the absolute nadir of his fortunes. His praetorship, now drawing to its close, had not been a success: at one point he was actually suspended, and had been lucky not to be hauled into court along with Catilina's other supporters. He was anxiously waiting to hear which province he would be allotted: it would need to be lucrative, as he was greatly in debt to the moneylenders. And now this ludicrous affair involving Clodius and Pompeia threatened to turn him into a figure of ridicule. It was almost possible to feel sorry for him as he watched, with hawkish eyes, Cicero going around the senaculum, relaying the gossip. Rome's cuckolder-in-chief: a cuckold! A lesser man would have stayed away from the senate for the day, but that was never Caesar's style. When the auspices had been read, he walked into the chamber and sat on the praetors' bench, two places along from Quintus, while Cicero went over to join the other ex-consuls on the opposite side of the aisle.

The session had barely begun when the former praetor Cornificius, who regarded himself as a custodian of religious probity, jumped up on a point of order to demand an emergency debate on the 'shameful and immoral' events that were said to have occurred overnight at the official residence of the chief priest. Looking back, this could have been the end for Clodius right then and there. He was not yet even eligible to take his seat in the senate. But fortunately for him, the consul presiding
in December was none other than his stepfather-in-law, Murena, and whatever his private feelings on the subject, he had no intention of adding to the family's embarrassment if he could avoid it.

'This is not a matter for the senate ruled Murena. 'If anything has happened, it is the responsibility of the religious authorities to investigate

This brought Cato to his feet, his eyes ablaze with excitement at the thought of such decadence. 'Then I propose that this house asks the College of Priests to conduct an inquiry he said, 'and report back to us as soon as possible

Murena had little choice except to put the motion to the vote, and it passed without discussion. Earlier, Cicero had told me he was not going to intervene (Til let Cato and the others make hay if they want to; I'm going to keep out of it; it's more dignified'). However, when it came to the point, he could not resist the opportunity. Rising gravely to his feet, he looked directly at Caesar. As the alleged outrage occurred under the chief priest's own roof, perhaps he could save us all the trouble of waiting for the outcome of an inquiry and tell us now whether or not an offence was committed

Caesar's face was so clenched that even from my old position by the door - to which I had been obliged to return now that Cicero was no longer consul - I could see the muscle twitching in his jaw as he got up to reply. 'The rites of the Good Goddess are not a matter for the chief priest, as he is not even allowed to be present at the time they are celebrated He sat down.

Cicero put on a puzzled expression and rose again. 'But surely the chief priest's own wife was presiding over the ceremony? He must have at least some knowledge of what occurred He lapsed back into his seat.

Caesar hesitated for a fraction, then got up and said calmly, 'That woman is no longer my wife.'

An excited whisper went around the chamber. Cicero got up again. Now he sounded genuinely puzzled. 'So we may take it, therefore, that an outrage did occur.'

'Not necessarily,' replied Caesar, and once again sat down.

Cicero stood. 'But if an outrage did not occur, then why is the chief priest divorcing his wife?'

'Because the wife of the chief priest must be above suspicion.'

There was a good deal of amusement at the coolness of this reply. Cicero did not rise again, but signalled to Murena that he no longer wished to pursue the matter. Afterwards, as we were walking home, he said to me, not without a hint of admiration, 'That was the most ruthless thing I ever saw in the senate. How long would you say Caesar and Pompeia have been married?'

'It must be six or seven years.'

And yet I'm certain he only made up his mind to divorce her when I asked him that question. He realised it was the best way to get himself out of a tight corner. You have to hand it to him - most men wouldn't abandon their dog so casually.'

I thought sadly of the beautiful Pompeia and wondered if she was aware yet that her husband had just publicly ended their marriage. Knowing how swiftly Caesar liked to act, I suspected she would be out of his house by nightfall.

When we got home, Cicero went at once to his library to avoid running into Terentia, and lay down on a couch.
I need to hear some pure Greek to wash away the dirt of politics,' he said.
Sositheus, who normally read to him, was ill, so he asked if I would do the honours, and at his request I fetched a copy of Euripides from its compartment, and unrolled it beside the lamp. It was
The Suppliant Women he asked to hear, I suppose
because on that day the execution of the conspirators was uppermost in his mind, and he hoped that at least in yielding up the bodies of his enemies for an honourable burial he had played the part of Theseus. I had just got to his favourite lines -
Rashness in a leader causes failure; the sailor of a ship is calm, wise at the proper time. Yes, and forethought: this too is bravery - when a slave came in and said that Clodius was in the atrium.

Cicero swore. 'Go and tell him to get out of my house. I can't be seen to have anything more to do with him.'

This was not a job I relished, but I laid aside Euripides and went out into the atrium. I had expected to find Clodius in a state of some distress. Instead he wore a rueful smile. 'Good day, Tiro. I thought I had better come and see my teacher straight away and get my punishment over and done with.'

'I'm afraid my master is not in.'

Clodius's smile faltered a little, because of course he guessed that I was lying. 'But I have worked the whole thing up for him into the most wonderful story. He simply has to hear it. No, this is ridiculous. I won't be sent away.'

He pushed past me and walked across the wide hall and into the library. I followed, wringing my hands. But to his surprise and mine the room was empty. There was a small door in the opposite corner for the slaves to come and go, and even as we looked, it closed gently. The Euripides lay where I had left it. 'Well,' said Clodius, sounding suddenly uneasy, 'make sure you tell him I called.'

1 certainly shall,' I replied.