Yes, Senator.'
'Can you remember the conversation?'
'I think so. Most of it.'
'Good. Write it all down as soon as we get back. I want to keep a record by me. But don't say a word to anyone - especially not in front of Postumia.'
'Do you think she'll still come to dinner?'
'Oh yes, she'll come - if only to report back to her lover. She's quite without shame. Poor Servius. He's so proud of her.'
As soon as we reached the house, Cicero went upstairs to change while I retired to my little room to write down everything I could remember. I have that roll here now as I compose my memoir: Cicero preserved it among his secret papers. Like me it has become yellowish and brittle and faded with age. But again, like me, it is still comprehensible, just about, and when I hold it up close to my eyes I hear again Caesar's rasping voice in my ear.
'You can always rely on my protection
It took me an hour or more to finish my account by which time Cicero's guests had arrived and gone in for dinner. After I had done I lay down on my narrow cot and thought of all I had witnessed. I do not mind admitting I was uneasy, for Nature had not equipped me with the nerves for public life. I would have been happy to have stayed on the family estate: my dream was always to have a small farm of my own, to which I could retire and write. I had some money saved up, and secretly I had been hoping Cicero might give me my freedom when he won the consulship. But the months had gone by and he had never mentioned it, and now I was past forty and beginning to worry that I might die in servitude. The last night of the year is often a melancholy time. Janus looks backward as well as forward, and sometimes each prospect seems equally unappealing. But that evening I felt particularly sorry for myself.
Anyway, I kept out of Cicero's way until very late, when I reasoned the meal must be close to finishing, then went to the dining room and stood beside the door where Cicero could see me. It was a small but pretty room, freshly decorated with frescoes designed to give the diners the impression that they were in Cicero's garden at Tusculum. There were nine around the table, three to a couch - the perfect number. Postumia had turned up; exactly as Cicero had predicted. She was in a loose-necked gown and looked serene, as if the embarrassment of the afternoon had never occurred. Next to her reclined her husband Servius, one of Cicero's oldest friends and the most eminent jurist in Rome: no mean achievement in that city full of lawyers. But immersing oneself in the law is a little like bathing in freezing water - bracing in moderation, shrivelling in excess - and Servius over the years had become ever more hunched and cautious, whereas Postumia remained a beauty. Still, he had a following in the senate, and his ambition - and hers - burned strong. He planned to stand for consul himself in the summer, and Cicero had promised to support him.
The only friend of Cicero's of longer standing than Servius was Atticus. He was lying beside his sister, Pomponia, who was married - unhappily, alas - to Cicero's younger brother, Quintus. Poor Quintus: he looked as if he had taken refuge from her shrewish taunts in the wine as usual. The final guest was young Marcus Caelius Rufus, who had been Cicero's pupil, and who kept up a stream of jokes and stories. As for Cicero, he reclined between Terentia and his beloved Tullia and was putting on a show of such nonchalance, laughing at Rufus's gossip, you would never have guessed he had a care. But it is one of the tricks of the successful politician, to be able to hold many things in mind at once and to switch between them as the need arises, otherwise life would be insupportable. After a while he glanced towards me and nodded. 'Friends,' he said, loudly enough to cut through the general chatter, 'it is getting late, and Tiro has come to remind me I have an inaugural address to make in the morning. Sometimes I think he should be the consul and I the secretary There was laughter, and I felt the gaze of everyone turn on me. 'Ladies,' he continued, 'if you would forgive me, I wonder if the gentlemen might join me in my study for a moment.'
He dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin and threw it on to the table, then stood and offered his hand to Terentia. She took it with a smile all the more striking because it was so rare. She was like some twiggy winter plant that had suddenly put forth a bloom, warmed by the sun of Cicero's success - so much so that she had actually set aside her lifelong parsimony and dressed herself in a manner befitting the wife of a consul and future governor of Macedonia. Her brand-new gown was sewn with pearls, and other newly purchased jewels glinted all about her: at her narrow throat and thin bosom, at her wrists and on her fingers, even woven into her short dark curls.
The guests filed out, the women turning towards the tablinum, the men moving into the study. Cicero told me to close the door. Immediately the pleasure drained from his face.
'What's all this about, brother?' asked Quintus, who was still holding his wine glass. 'You look as if you've eaten a bad oyster.'
'I hate to spoil a pleasant evening, but a problem has arisen.' Grimly Cicero produced the writ that had been served on Rabirius, then described the afternoon's delegation from the senate and his subsequent visit to Caesar. 'Read out what the rascal said, Tiro,' he ordered.
I did as he asked, and when I came to the final part - Caesar's offer of protection - all four exchanged glances.
'Well,' said Atticus, 'if you turn your back on Catulus and his friends after all the promises you made to them before the election, you may have need of his protection. They'll never forgive you
'Yet if I keep my word to them, and oppose the populists' bill, then Caesar will find Rabirius guilty, and I'll be obliged to defend him on the Field of Mars.'
'And that you simply must not do,' said Quintus. 'Caesar's quite right. Defeat is certain. At all costs, leave his defence to Hortensius.'
'But that's impossible! I can hardly stay neutral as the president of the senate while a senator is crucified. What kind of consul would that make me?'
A live one, rather than a dead one,' replied Quintus, 'because if you throw in your lot with the patricians, believe me, you'll be in real danger. Almost everyone will be against you. Even the senate won't be united - Hybrida will see to that. There are plenty on those benches just waiting for an opportunity to bring you down, Catilina first among them.'
'I've an idea,' said young Rufus. 'Why don't we smuggle Rabirius out of the city and hide him in the country somewhere till this blows over?'
'Could we?' Cicero pondered the suggestion, then shook his head. 'No. I admire your spirit, Rufus, but it wouldn't work. If we deny Caesar Rabirius, he's perfectly capable of trumping up a similar charge against Catulus or Isauricus - and can you imagine the consequences of that.
Servius meanwhile had picked up the writ and was studying it intently. His eyesight was weak and he had to hold the document so close to the candelabrum I feared it might catch fire. 'Perduellio,' he muttered. 'That's a strange coincidence. I was planning to propose in the senate this very month that the statute of perduellio be repealed. I'd even looked up all the precedents. I have them laid out on my desk at home.'
'Perhaps that's where Caesar got the idea,' said Quintus. 'Did you mention it to him?'
Servius's face was still pressed to the writ. 'Of course not. I never speak to him. The fellow's an utter scoundrel.' He glanced up to discover Cicero staring at him. 'What is it?'
I think I know how Caesar might have heard of
perduellio.'
'How?'
Cicero hesitated. 'Your wife was at Caesar's house when we arrived this afternoon.'
'Don't be absurd. Why would Postumia visit Caesar? She barely knows him. She was with her sister all day
'I saw her. So did Tiro
'Well then, maybe you did, but I'm sure there's some innocent explanation Servius pretended to carry on reading. After a while he said, in a low and resentful voice, 'I was puzzled why you'd waited till after dinner to discuss Caesar's proposal. Now I understand. You felt unable to speak openly in front of my wife, in case she ran to his bed and repeated what you said!'
It was a horribly embarrassing moment. Quintus and Atticus both stared at the floor; even Rufus held his tongue for a change.
'Servius, Servius, old friend said Cicero, taking him by the shoulders. 'You're the man in Rome I most wish to see succeed me as consul. My trust in you is absolute. Never doubt it
'But you have insulted the honour of my wife, which is also an insult to me, so how can I accept your trust?' He pushed Cicero's hands away and walked with dignity out of the room. 'Servius!' called Atticus, who could not bear any kind of unpleasantness. But the poor cuckold had already gone, and when Atticus moved to follow him, Cicero said quietly, 'Leave him, Atticus. It's his wife he needs to speak to, not us.'
There was a long silence, during which I strained my ears for the sound of raised voices in the tablinum, but the only noise was of dishes being cleared from the dining room. Eventually, Rufus gave a roar of laughter. 'So that's why Caesar is always one step ahead of his enemies! He has spies in all your beds!'
'Shut up, Rufus,' said Quintus.
'Damn Caesar!' cried Cicero suddenly. 'There's nothing dishonourable about ambition. I'm ambitious myself. But his lust for power is not of this world. You look into those eyes of his, and it's like staring into some dark sea at the height of a storm!' He flung himself into his chair and sat drumming his fingertips against the arms. 'I don't see what choice I have. At least if I agree to his terms I can gain myself some time. They've already been working on this damned bill of theirs for months.'
'What's so wrong with giving free farms to the poor anyway?' asked Rufus, who, like many of the young, had populist sympathies. 'You've been out on the streets. You've seen what it's like this winter. People are starving.'
'I agree,' said Cicero. 'But it's food they need, not farms. Farming demands years of skill, and back-breaking labour. I'd like to see those layabouts I met outside Caesar's house today working the fields from dawn till dusk! If we're forced to rely on them for food, we'll all be starving in a year.'
At least Caesar is concerned about them—'
'Concerned
about them? Caesar is concerned about no man except himself. Do you really think Crassus, the richest man in Rome, is concerned about the poor? They want to dole out the
public land - at no expense to themselves, by the way - to create an army of supporters so huge it will keep them in power for ever. Crassus has his eyes on Egypt. The gods alone know what Caesar wants - the entire planet, probably. Concerned! Really, Rufus, you do talk like a young fool sometimes. Have you learnt nothing since you came to Rome except how to gamble and whore?'
I do not think Cicero meant his words to sound as harsh as they did, but I could tell they struck Rufus like a slap, and when he turned away his eyes were shining with suppressed tears -and not merely of humiliation, either, but of anger, for he was no longer the charming adolescent idler Cicero had taken in as a pupil, but a young man of growing ambition: a change Cicero had failed to notice. Even though the discussion went on for a while longer, Rufus took no further part in it.
'Tiro,' said Atticus, 'you were there at Caesar's house. What do you think your master should do?'
I had been waiting for this moment, for I was invariably the last to be asked his opinion in these inner councils, and I always tried to prepare something to say. 'I think that by agreeing to Caesar's proposal, it may be possible to gain some concessions in the bill. These can then be presented to the patricians as a victory'
And then,' mused Cicero, 'if they refuse to accept them, the blame will clearly be theirs, and I shall be released from my obligation. It's not a bad idea.'
"Well said, Tiro!' declared Quintus. Always the wisest man in the room.' He yawned excessively. 'Now, come on, brother.' He reached down and pulled Cicero to his feet. 'It's getting late and you have a speech to make tomorrow. You must get some sleep.'
By the time we made our way through the house to the vestibule, the place was silent. Terentia and Tullia had retired to bed. Servius and his wife had gone home. Pomponia, who hated politics, had refused to wait for her husband and had departed with them, according to the porter. Outside, Atticus's carriage was waiting. The snow gleamed in the moonlight. From somewhere down in the city rose the familiar cry of the night-watchman, calling the midnight hour.
‘
A new year
said Quintus.
‘
And a new consul,' added Atticus. 'Well done, my dear Cicero. I am proud to be your friend
They shook his hand and slapped his back, and eventually -but only grudgingly, I could not help noticing - Rufus did the same. Their words of warm congratulation flickered briefly in the icy air and vanished. Afterwards, Cicero stood in the street, waving to their carriage until it rounded the corner. As he turned to go back indoors he stumbled slightly, and plunged his foot into the snowdrift piled against the doorstep. He pulled out his wet shoe, shook it crossly and swore, and it was on the tip of my tongue to say it was an omen; but wisely, I think, I held my peace.
I do not know how the ceremony goes these days, when even the most senior magistrates are merely errand boys, but in Cicero's time the first visitor to call upon the new consul on the day of his swearing-in was always a member of the College of Augurs. Accordingly just before dawn, Cicero stationed himself in the atrium alongside Terentia and his children to await the augur's arrival. I knew he had not slept well for I had heard him moving about upstairs, pacing up and down, which is what he always did when he was thinking. But his powers of recuperation were miraculous, and he looked fit and keen enough as he stood with his family, like an Olympian who has been training his whole life for one particular race and at last is about to run it.
When all was ready I signalled to the porter and he opened the heavy wooden door to admit the keepers of the sacred chickens, the pularii - half a dozen skinny little fellows, looking a bit like chickens themselves. Behind this escort loomed the augur, tapping the floor with his curved staff: a veritable giant in his full rig of tall conical cap and abundant purple robe. Little Marcus shrieked when he saw him coming down the passageway and hid behind Terentia's skirts. The augur that day was Quintus Caecilius Metellus Celer, and I should say something of him, for he was to be an important figure in Cicero's story. He was just back from fighting in the East - a real soldier, something of a war hero, in fact, after beating off an enemy attack on his winter quarters while greatly outnumbered. He had served under the command of Pompey the Great, who also happened to be married to his sister, which had not exactly hindered his promotion. Not that it mattered. He was a Metellus, and therefore more or less predestined to be consul himself in a couple of years; that day he was due to be sworn in as praetor. His wife was the notorious beauty Clodia, a member of the Claudian family: all in all you could not have got much better connected than Metellus Celer, who was by no means as stupid as he looked.
'Consul-Elect, good morning!' he barked, as if addressing his legionaries at reveille. 'So the great day has come at last. What will it hold, I wonder?'
'You're the augur, Celer. You tell me.'
Celer threw back his head and laughed. I found out later he had no more faith in divination than Cicero had, and was only a member of the College of Augurs out of political expediency. 'Well, I can predict one thing, and that is that there will be trouble. There was a crowd outside the Temple of Saturn when I passed just now. It looks as though Caesar and his friends may have posted their great bill overnight. What an amazing rogue he is!'
I was standing directly behind Cicero so I couldn't see his face, but I could tell by the way his shoulders stiffened that this news immediately set him on his guard.
'Right,' continued Celer, ducking to avoid a low beam, 'which way is your roof?'
Cicero ushered the augur towards the stairs, and as he passed me he whispered urgently, 'Go and find out what's going on, as quickly as you can. Take the boys. I need to know every clause.'
I beckoned to Sositheus and Laurea to join me, and led by a couple of slaves with torches we set off down the hill. It was hard to find our way in the darkness, and the ground was treacherous with snow. But as we came out into the forum I saw a few lights glinting ahead, and we headed for those. Celer was right. A bill had been nailed up in its traditional place outside the Temple of Saturn. Despite the hour and the cold, such was the public excitement a couple of dozen citizens had already gathered to read the text. It was very long, several thousand words, arranged on six large boards, and was proposed in the name of the tribune Rullus, although everyone knew that the authors were really Caesar and Crassus. I set Sositheus on the beginning part, Laurea on the end, while I took the middle.
We worked quickly, ignoring the people behind us complaining that we were blocking their view, and by the time we had it all down, the night was nearly over and the first day of the new year had arrived. Even without studying all the details I could tell it would cause Cicero great trouble. The republic's state land in Campania was to be compulsorily seized and divided into five thousand farms, which would be given away free. An elected commission of ten men would decide who got what, and would have sweeping powers to raise taxes abroad and buy and sell more land in Italy as they saw fit, without reference to the senate. The patricians would be incensed, and the timing of the promulgation - just hours before Cicero had to give his inaugural address - was obviously meant to put the maximum amount of pressure on the incoming consul.
When we got back to the house Cicero was still on the roof, seated for the first time on his ivory curule chair. It was bitterly cold up there, with snow still on the tiles and parapet. He was swaddled in a rug, almost up to his chin, and wore a curious hat made of rabbit fur, with flaps that covered his ears. Celer stood nearby with
the
pularii
clustered around him. He was sectioning the sky with his wand, wearily checking the heavens for birds and lightning. But the air was very still and clear and he was obviously having no success. The instant Cicero saw me he seized the tablets with his mittened hands and began flicking through them rapidly. The hinged wooden frames clattered over, click click click, as he absorbed each page.
'Is it the populists' bill?' asked Celer, alerted by the noise and turning round.
'It is,' replied Cicero, his eyes scanning the writing with great rapidity, 'and they could not have designed a piece of legislation more likely to tear the republic apart.'
'Will you have to respond to it in your inaugural address?' I asked.
'Of course. Why else do you think they've published it now?'
'They've certainly picked their moment well,' said Celer. 'A new consul. His first day in office. No military experience. No great family behind him. They're testing your mettle, Cicero.' A shout came from down in the street. I looked over the parapet. A crowd was forming to escort Cicero to his inauguration. Across the valley, the temples of the Capitol were beginning to stand out sharply against the morning sky. 'Was that lightning?' said Celer to the nearest sacred chicken-keeper. 'I hope to Jupiter it was. My balls are freezing off.'
'If you saw lightning, Augur,' replied the chicken-keeper, 'lightning there must have been.'
'Right then, lightning it was, and on the left side, too. Write it down, boy. Congratulations, Cicero - a propitious omen. We'll be on our way.' But Cicero seemed not to have heard. He was sitting motionless in his chair, staring straight ahead. Celer put his hand on his shoulder as he passed. 'My cousin Quintus Metellus sends his regards, by the way, along with a gentle reminder that he's still outside the city waiting for that triumph you promised him in return for his vote. So is Licinius Lucullus, come to that. Don't forget, they've hundreds of veterans they can call on. If this thing comes to civil war - as it well may -they're the ones who can come in and restore order.'
'Thank you, Celer. Bringing soldiers into Rome - that's certainly the way to avoid civil war.'
The remark was meant to be sarcastic, but sarcasm bounces off the Celers of this world like a child's arrow off armour. He left Cicero's roof with his self-importance quite undented. I asked Cicero if there was anything I could get him. 'Yes,' he said gloomily, 'a new speech. Leave me alone for a while I did as he asked and went downstairs, trying not to think about the task that now confronted him: speaking extempore to six hundred senators on a complicated bill he had only just seen, with the certainty that whatever he said was bound to infuriate one faction or the other. It was enough to turn my stomach liquid.
The house was filling quickly, not just with clients of Cicero's but with well-wishers walking in off the street.
Cicero had ordered that no expense be spared on his inauguration, and whenever Terentia raised her concerns about the cost, he would always answer with a smile, 'Macedonia will pay'. So everyone who turned up was presented on arrival with a gift of figs and honey.
Atticus, who was a leader of the Order of Knights, had brought a large detachment of Cicero's equestrian supporters; these, together with Cicero's closest colleagues in the senate, marshalled by Quintus, were all being given mulled wine in the tablinum. Servius was not among them. I managed to tell both Atticus and Quintus that the populists' bill had been posted, and that it was bad.
Meanwhile the hired flautists were also enjoying the household's food and drink, as were the percussionists and dancers, the agents from the precincts and the tribal headquarters, and of course the officials who came with the consulship: the scribes, summoners, copyists and criers from the treasury, along with the twelve lictors provided by the senate to ensure the consul's protection. All that was missing from the show was its leading actor, and as time went on it became harder and harder for me to explain his absence, for everyone by this time had heard of the bill and wanted to know what Cicero was planning to say about it. I could only reply that he was still taking the auspices and would be down directly. Terentia, decked out in her new jewels, hissed at me that I had better take control of the situation before the house was entirely stripped bare, and so I hit on the ruse of sending two slaves up to the roof to fetch the curule chair, with instructions to tell Cicero that the symbol of his authority was required to lead the procession - an excuse that also had the merit of being true.
This did the trick, and shortly afterwards Cicero descended -divested, I was glad to see, of his rabbit-fur hat. His appearance provoked a raucous cheer from the packed crowd, many of whom were now very merry on his mulled wine. Cicero handed me back the wax tablets on which the bill was written. 'Bring them with you,' he whispered. Then he climbed on to a chair, gave the company a cordial wave and asked all those present who were on the staff of the treasury to raise their hands. About two dozen did so; astonishing as it now seems, this was the total number of men who at that time administered the Roman empire from its centre.
'Gentlemen,' he said, resting his hand on my shoulder, 'this is Tiro, who has been my chief private secretary since before I was a senator. You are to regard an order from him as an order from me, and all business that it is to be discussed with me may also be raised with him. I prefer written to oral reports. I rise early and work late. I won't tolerate bribes, or corruption in any form, or gossip. If you make a mistake, don't be afraid to tell me, but do it quickly. Remember that, and we shall get along well enough. And now: to business!'
After this little speech, which left me blushing, the lictors were handed their new rods along with a purse of money for each man, and finally Cicero's curule chair was brought down from the roof and displayed to the crowd. It drew gasps and a round of applause all to itself, as well it might, for it was carved from Numidian ivory, and had cost over a hundred thousand sesterces ('Macedonia will pay!'). Then everyone drank more wine - even little Marcus took some from an ivory beaker - the flute-players started up, and we went out into the street to begin the long walk across the city.
It was still icy cold, but the sun was coming up, breaking over the rooftops in lines of gold, and the effect of the light on the snow was to give Rome a celestial radiance such as I had never seen before. The lictors led the parade; four of them carried aloft the curule chair on an open litter. Cicero walked beside Terentia. Tullia was behind him, accompanied by her
fiancé
, Frugi. Quintus carried Marcus on his shoulders, while on either side of the consular family marched the knights and the senators in gleaming white. The flutes piped, the drums beat, the dancers leaped.
Citizens lined the streets and hung out of their windows to watch. There was much cheering and clapping, but also - to be honest - some booing, especially in the poorer parts of Subura, as we paraded along the Argiletum towards the forum. Cicero nodded from side to side, and occasionally raised his right hand in salute, but his expression was very grave, and I knew he must be turning over in his mind what lay ahead. In the period before a big speech a part of him was always unreachable. Occasionally I saw both Atticus and Quintus try to speak to him, but he shook his head, wishing to be left alone with his thoughts.
When we reached the forum it was packed with crowds. We passed the rostra and the empty senate house and finally began our ascent of the Capitol. The smoke from the altar fires was curling above the temples. I could smell the saffron burning, and hear the lowing of the bulls awaiting sacrifice. As we neared the Arch of Scipio I looked back, and there was Rome - her hills and valleys, towers and temples, porticoes and houses all veiled white and sparkling with snow, like a bride in her gown awaiting her groom.
We entered the Area Capitolina to find the remainder of the senate waiting for us, arrayed before the Temple of Jupiter. I was ushered along with Cicero's family and the rest of the household to the wooden stand that had been erected for spectators. A trumpet blast echoed off the walls, and the senators turned as one to watch as Cicero passed through their ranks - all those crafty faces, reddened by the cold, their covetous eyes studying the consul-elect: the men who had never won the consulship and knew they never would, the men who desired it and feared they might fail, and those who had held it once and still believed it was rightly theirs. Hybrida, Cicero's fellow consul, was already in position at the foot of the temple steps. Above the scene the great bronze roof looked molten in the brilliant winter sunshine.
Without
acknowledging one another, the two consuls-elect slowly mounted to the altar, where the chief priest, Metellus Pius, lay on a litter, too sick to get to his feet. Surrounding Pius were the six Vestal Virgins and the other fourteen pontiffs of the state religion. I could clearly make out Catulus, who had rebuilt the temple on behalf of the senate, and whose name appeared above the door ('greater than Jove', some wags called him in consequence). Next to him was Isauricus. I recognised also Scipio Nasica, Pius's adopted son; Junius Silanus, who was the husband of Servilia, the cleverest woman in Rome; and finally, standing slightly apart from the rest, incongruous in his priestly garments, I spotted the thin and broad-shouldered figure of Julius Caesar, but unfortunately I was too far away to read his expression.
There was a long silence. The trumpet sounded again. A huge creamy bull with red ribbons tied to its horns was led towards the altar. Cicero pulled up the folds of his toga to shroud his head, and then in a loud voice recited from memory the state prayer. The instant he had finished, the attendant stationed behind the bull felled it with such a hammer blow that the crack echoed round the portico. The creature crashed on to its side and, as the attendants sawed open its stomach, the vision of the dead boy rose disconcertingly before my eyes. They had its entrails on the altar for inspection even before the wretched animal had died. There was a groan from the congregation, who interpreted the bull's thrashings as ill luck, but when the haruspices presented the liver to Cicero for his inspection, they declared it unusually propitious. Pius - who was quite blind in any case -nodded weakly in agreement, the innards were flung on the fire, and the ceremony was over. The trumpet wailed into the cold clear air for a final time, a gust of applause carried across the enclosed space, and Cicero was consul.