Conspirata (40 page)

I'm not so sure. Cato was the loudest in his clamour for action against Catilina's gang. And the people respect him almost as much as they love Caesar.'

A floorboard creaked and Celer put a warning finger to his lips. He called out, 'Who's there?' The door opened. It was Clodia. I wondered how long she had been listening and how much she might have heard. The same thought had obviously occurred to Celer. 'What are you doing?' he demanded.

'I heard voices. I was on my way out.'

'Out?' he said suspiciously. At this time? What are you going out for?'

'Why do you think? To see my brother the plebeian. To celebrate!'

Celer cursed and grabbed the wine jug and hurled it at her.

But she had already gone and it smashed harmlessly against the wall. I held my breath to see if she would respond, but then I heard the front door open and close.

'How soon can you get the others together?' asked Celer. 'Tomorrow?'

'Better make it the day after replied Cicero, who was plainly still marvelling at this exchange, 'otherwise it will seem as if there's some emergency, and Caesar may get wind of it. Let us meet at my house, at close of public business, the day after tomorrow.'

The following morning Cicero wrote out the invitations himself and had me go around the city delivering them in person into the hands of the recipients. All four were mightily intrigued, especially because by then everyone had heard of Clodius's transfer to the plebs. Lucullus actually said to me, with one of his bleak, supercilious smiles, 'What is it your master wishes to plot with me? A murder?' But each agreed to come - even Cato, who was not normally very sociable - for they were all alarmed by what was happening. Vatinius's bill proposing that Caesar be given two provinces and an army for five years had just been posted in the forum. The patricians were enraged, the populists jubilant, the mood in the city was stormy. Hortensius took me aside and told me that if I wanted to know how bad things were becoming, I should go and look at the tomb of the Sergii, which stands at the crossroads just outside the Capena Gate. This was where the head of Catilina had been interred. I went and found it piled high with fresh flowers.

I decided not to tell Cicero about these floral tributes: he was tense enough as it was. On the day of the meeting he shut

himself away in his library and did not emerge until the appointed In un .ipproached. Then he bathed, dressed in clean clothes, and I ussed about the arrangement of the chairs in the tablinum. 'The truth is, 1 am too much of a lawyer for this kind of thing,' he Confided to me. I murmured my assent, but actually I don't lliuik. it was the legality that was troubling him - it was his si|ucamishness again.

Cato was the first to arrive, in his usual malodorous rig of unwashed toga and bare feet. His nose twitched with distaste at the luxury of the house, but he readily consented to take some wine, for he was a heavy drinker: it was his only vice. Hortensius came next, full of sympathy for Cicero's deepening worries about (aodius; he assumed that this was what the meeting had been called to discuss. Lucullus and Isauricus, the two old generals, arrived together. 'This is quite a conspiracy,' said Isauricus, glancing at the others. 'Is anyone else coming?'

'Metellus Celer,' replied Cicero.

'Good,' said Isauricus. 'I approve of him. I reckon he's our best hope in the times to come. At least the fellow knows how to fight.'

The five sat in a circle. I was the only other person in the room. I went around with a jug of wine, and then retreated to the corner. Cicero had ordered me not to take notes but to try to remember as much as I could and write it up afterwards. I had attended so many meetings with these men over the years that no one any longer even noticed me.

'May we know what this is about?' asked Cato.

'I think we can guess,' said Lucullus.

Cicero said, 'I suggest we wait until Celer arrives. He is the one with most to contribute.'

The group sat in silence, until at last Cicero could stand it no longer and told me to go next door and find out why Celer was delayed.

I do not pretend to possess powers of divination, but even as I approached Celer's house I sensed that something was wrong. The exterior was too quiet; there was none of the normal coming and going. Inside there was that awful hush that always accompanies catastrophe. Celer's steward, whom I knew tolerably well, met me with tears in his eyes and told me that his master had been seized by terrible pains the previous day, and that although the doctors were unable to agree what was wrong with him, they concurred that it could well be fatal. I felt sick myself at the news and begged him to go to Celer and ask if he had any message for Cicero, who was waiting at home to see him. The steward went away and came back with a single word, which apparently was all that Celer had been able to gasp: 'Come!'

I ran back to Cicero's house. When I went into the tablinum, naturally the senators all turned to look at me, assuming I was Celer. There were groans of impatience when I gestured to Cicero that I needed to speak with him in private.

'What are you playing at?' he whispered angrily, when I got him into the atrium. His nerves were clearly stretched to breaking point. 'Where's Celer?'

'Gravely ill,' I replied. 'Perhaps dying. He wants you to come at once.'

Poor Cicero. That must have been a blow. He seemed literally to stagger back from it. Without exchanging a word we went straight round to Celer's house, where the steward was waiting for us, and he led us towards the private apartments. I shall never forget those gloomy passageways, with their dim candles and the sickly smell of incense being burned to cover the still more

powerful odours of vomit and bodily decay. So many doctors had been called to attend upon Celer, they blocked the door to his bedchamber, talking quietly in Greek. We had to force our way inside. It was stifiingly hot, and so dark that Cicero was obliged to pick up a lamp and take it over to where the senator lay. He was naked apart from the bandages that marked where he had been bled. Dozens of leeches were attached to his arms and the insides of his legs. His mouth was black and frothy: I learned afterwards that he had been fed charcoal, as part of some crackpot cure. It had been necessary to tie him to his bed because of the force of his convulsions.

Cicero knelt beside him. 'Celer,' he said in a voice of great tenderness, 'my dear friend, who has done this to you?'

Hearing Cicero's voice, Celer turned his face to him, and tried to speak, but all that emerged was an unintelligible gurgle of black bubbles. He surrendered after that. He closed his eyes, and by all accounts he never opened them again.

Cicero lingered for a little while, and asked the doctors various questions. They disagreed about everything, in the way of medical men, but on one point they were unanimous: none had ever seen a healthy body succumb to a disease more quickly.

'A disease?' said Cicero incredulously. 'Surely he has been poisoned?'

Poisoned? The doctors recoiled at the very word. No, no -this was a ravaging sickness, a virulent distemper, the result of a snake bite: anything except poisoning, which was simply too appalling a possibility to be discussed. Besides, who would want to poison the noble Celer?

Cicero left them to it. That Celer had been murdered he never doubted, although whether Caesar had a hand in it, or Clodius, or both, he never discovered, and the truth remains a mystery to this day. There was, however, no question in his mind as to who had administered the fatal dose, for as we left that house of death we met coming in through the front door Clodia, accompanied by - of all people - young Caelius Rufus, fresh from his triumph over Hybrida. And although they both hastily assumed grave expressions, one could tell that they had been laughing a moment earlier; and although they quickly stood apart, it was clear that they were lovers.

XVIII

Celer's body was burned on a funeral pyre set up in the forum as a mark of national mourning. His face in death was tranquil, that coal-black mouth as clean and pink as a rosebud. Caesar and all the senate attended. Clodia looked beautiful in mourning and shed many a widow's tear. Afterwards his ashes were interred in the family mausoleum, and Cicero sank into a deep gloom. He sensed that any hopes of stopping Caesar had died with Celer.

Seeing her husband's depression, Terentia insisted on a change of scene. Cicero had acquired a new property out on the coast at Antrum, a day and a half's journey from Rome, and that was where the family went for the start of the spring recess. On the way we passed close to Solonium, where the Claudian family had long owned a great country estate. Behind its high ochre walls, Clodius and Clodia were said to be closeted together in a family conference with their two brothers and two sisters. 'Six of them all together,' said Cicero, as we rattled past in our carriage, 'like a litter of puppies - the litter from hell! Imagine them in there, tumbling around in bed with one another and plotting my destruction.' I did not contradict him, although it was hard to imagine those two stiff-necked older brothers, Appius and Gaius, getting up to any such mischief.

When we reached Antium, the weather was inclement, with squalls of rain blowing in off the sea. Cicero sat out on the terrace, regardless of the conditions, gazing over the thundering waves at the grey horizon, trying to find a way out of his predicament. Eventually, after a day or two of that, with his head much clearer, he retreated to his library. 'What are the only weapons I possess, Tiro?' he asked me, and then he answered his own question. 'These he said, gesturing to his books. 'Words. Caesar and Pompey have their soldiers, Crassus his wealth, Clodius his bullies on the street. My only legions are my words. By language f rose, and by language I shall survive

Accordingly we began work on what he called 'The Secret History of My Consulship' - the fourth and final version of his autobiography, and by far the truest, a book he intended to be the basis of his defence if he was put on trial, which has never been published, and which I have drawn on to write this memoir. In it, he set out all the facts about Caesar's relationship with Catilina; about the way in which Crassus had defended Catilina, financed him and finally betrayed him; and about how Pompey had used his lieutenants to try to prolong and worsen the crisis so that he could use it as an excuse to come home with his army. It took us two weeks to compile, and I made an extra copy as we went along. When we had finished, I wrapped each roll of the original in a linen sheet and then in oilcloth and put them in an amphora, which we sealed tight with wax. Then Cicero and I rose early one morning, while the rest of the household was asleep, and took it into the nearby woods and buried it between a hornbeam and an ash. 'If anything happens to me Cicero instructed, 'dig it up and give it to Terentia, and tell her to use it as she thinks fit

As far as he could see, he had only one real hope left of avoiding being put on trial: that Pompey's disenchantment with us would widen into an open breach. Given their characters, it was not an unreasonable expectation, and he was constantly on the lookout for any scrap of promising news. All letters from Rome were eagerly opened. All acquaintances on their way south to the Bay of Naples were closely questioned. There were bits of intelligence that seemed encouraging. As a gesture to Cicero, Pompey had asked Clodius to undertake a mission to Armenia rather than stand for tribune. Clodius had refused. Pompey had thereupon taken offence and fallen out with Clodius. Caesar had sided with Pompey. Clodius had argued with Caesar, even to the extent of threatening, when he became tribune, to rescind the triumvirate's legislation. Caesar had lost his temper with Clodius. Pompey had rebuked Caesar for landing them with this ungovernable patrician-cum-plebeian in the first place. Some even whispered that the two great men had stopped speaking. Cicero was delighted. 'Mark my words, Tiro: all regimes, however popular or powerful, pass away eventually' There were signs that this one might be collapsing already. And perhaps it would have done if Caesar had not taken a dramatic step to preserve it.

The blow fell on the first day of May. It was in the evening, after dinner, and Cicero had just nodded off on his couch, when a letter arrived from Atticus. I should explain that we were in the villa in Formiae by this time, and that Atticus had returned briefly to his house in Rome, whence he was sending Cicero more or less daily all the intelligence he could discover. Of course it was no substitute for actually seeing Atticus, but neverthless it was agreed between them that he should stay there, for he was of more service picking up gossip than counting waves on the seashore. Terentia was doing her embroidery in a corner of the room, all was peaceful, and I debated whether or not to wake Cicero. But he had already heard the noise of the messenger, and his hand rose imperiously from the couch. 'Give it me he said. I handed him the letter and went out on to the terrace. I could see a tiny light on a boat out at sea, and I was wondering what manner of fish had to be caught in darkness, or if this was the setting of traps for lobsters or whatnot - I am a terrible landlubber - when I heard a great groan from the couch behind me.

Terentia looked up in consternation. 'Whatever is it?' she asked. I went inside. Cicero had the letter crumpled on his chest. 'Pompey has married again he said in a hollow voice. 'He has married Caesar's daughter!'

Against the workings of history Cicero could deploy many weapons: logic, cunning, irony, wit, oratory, experience, his profound knowledge of law and men. But against the alchemy of two naked bodies in a bed in the darkness, and against all the complex longings and attachments and commitments such intimacy might arouse, he had nothing with which to fight. Strange as it may seem, the prospect of a marriage between the two had never occurred to him. Pompey was nearly forty-seven. Julia was fourteen. Only Caesar, raged Cicero, could have prostituted his child in a manner so cynical and repulsive and depraved. He railed against it for an hour or two - 'Imagine it: him, and her: together1.' - and then, when he had calmed down, wrote a letter of congratulations to the bride and groom. As soon as he returned to Rome, he went to see them with a gift. I carried it in for him in a sandalwood box, and after he had delivered his prepared speech about the celestial radiance of their union, I placed it in his hands.

'Now who is in charge of receiving the presents in this household?' he asked with a smile, and he took half a step towards Pompey, who naturally reached out to take it, before Cicero

abruptly turned away and gave the box to Julia with a bow. She laughed, and so after a moment or two did Pompey, although he wagged his finger at Cicero and called him a mischievous fellow. I must say that Julia had grown up to be a most charming young woman - pretty, graceful and obviously kind, and yet the peculiar thing was that one could see her father in every line of her face and gesture of her body It was as if all the gaiety had been sucked out of him and blown into her. And the other amazing thing was that she was very clearly in love with Pompey. She opened the box and took out Cicero's gift - it was an exquisite silver dish, if I remember rightly, with their entwined initials engraved upon it - and when she showed it to Pompey, she held his hand and stroked his cheek. He beamed and kissed her on her forehead. Cicero regarded the happy couple with the fixed smile of a dinner guest who has just swallowed something very unpleasant but does not want to reveal the fact to his hosts.

'You must come and see us again soon said Julia. '1 wish to know you better. My father says you are the cleverest man in Rome

'He's very gracious, but alas, I must yield that prize to him

Pompey insisted on showing Cicero to the door himself. 'Isn't she delightful?'

'Very

'I tell you frankly, Cicero, I am happier with her than with any woman I have ever known. She makes me feel quite twenty years younger. Or even thirty

At this rate you will soon be in your infancy joked Cicero. 'Congratulations again We had reached the atrium - to which, I noticed, the cloak of Alexander the Great and the pearl-encrusted head of Pompey had now been banished. And I assume relations with your new father-in-law are equally close?'

'Oh, Caesar's not such a bad fellow once you know how to handle him

'You are entirely reconciled?'

'We were never estranged.'

'And what about me?' blurted out Cicero, unable to conceal his true feelings any longer. He sounded like a discarded lover. 'What am I supposed to do about this monster Clodius you two have created to torment me?'

'My dear friend, don't worry about him for an instant! He talks a lot but it doesn't mean anything. If ever it really did come to a serious fight, he would have to step over my dead body to get at you.'

'Really?'

Absolutely.'

'Is that a firm commitment?'

Pompey looked hurt. 'Have I ever let you down?'

Soon afterwards the marriage bore its first fruit. Pompey rose in the senate and read out a motion: that in view of the grievous loss, etc., etc., of Metellus Celer, the province he had been allotted before his death - Further Gaul - should be transferred to Julius Caesar, who had already been granted Nearer Gaul by a vote of the people; that this unified command would henceforth make it easier to crush any future rebellions; and that in view of the unsettled nature of the region, Caesar should be given an additional legion, bringing the total strength at his disposal to five.

Caesar, who was in the chair, asked if there were any objections. He swivelled his head left and right a couple of times, checking if anyone wished to speak, and was just about to move

on to 'any other business' when Lucullus got to his feet. The old patrician general was nearing sixty by this time - disdainful, feline, but still magnificent in his way.

'Forgive me, Caesar,' he said, 'but will you also retain the province of Bithynia?' 'I will

'So you will now have three provinces?' 'I will

'But Bithynia is a thousand miles from Gaul!' Lucullus gave a mocking laugh and looked around the chamber for others to share his amusement. Nobody joined in.

Caesar said quietly, 'We all know our geography, Lucullus, thank you. Now does anyone else wish to speak?'

But Lucullus refused to stop. And your term of office he persisted, 'will it still be for five years?'

'It will. The people have decreed it. Why? Do you wish to oppose the will of the people?'

'But this is absurd!' cried Lucullus. 'Gentlemen, we cannot allow a single individual, however able, to control twenty-two thousand men on the very borders of Italy for five years. What if he were to move against Rome?'

Cicero was one of a number of senators who shifted uncomfortably on their hard wooden bench. But not one of them -not even Cato - wanted to pick a fight on this issue, for there was not a chance of winning. Lucullus, plainly surprised by the lack of support, sat down grumpily and folded his arms.

Pompey said, 'I fear our friend Lucullus has spent too long with his fish. Things have changed in Rome of late

'Clearly muttered Lucullus, loud enough for all to hear, 'and not for the better.'

At that Caesar rose. His expression was fixed and cold: almost inhuman, like a Thracian mask. 'I think Lucius Lucullus has forgotten that he commanded more legions than I in his time, and for longer than five years, and yet still the job of defeating Mithradates had to be finished off by my gallant son-in-law The supporters of the Beast with Three Heads gave a loud roar of approval. 'I think Lucius Lucullus's period as commander-in-chief might well bear investigation, perhaps by a special court. I think Lucius Lucullus's finances would certainly bear scrutiny - the people would be interested to know where he obtained his great wealth. And I think in the meantime that Lucius Lucullus should apologise to this house for his insulting insinuation

Lucullus glanced around. No one returned his gaze. To be hauled before a special court at his age, and with so much to explain, would be unbearable. Swallowing hard, he stood. 'If my words have offended you, Caesar—' he began.

'On his knees!' bellowed Caesar.

Lucullus looked suddenly very old and baffled. 'What?' he asked.

'He should apologise on his kneesl' repeated Caesar.

I could not bear to watch, and yet at the same time it was impossible to tear one's eyes away, for the ending of a great career is an awesome thing to behold, like the felling of a mighty tree. For a moment or two longer, Lucullus remained upright. Then, very creakily with joints stiff from years of military campaigning, he got down first on one knee and then on the other, and bowed his head to Caesar, while the senate looked on in silence.

A few days later, Cicero had to dip into his purse again to buy another wedding present, this time for Caesar.

Everyone had assumed that if Caesar remarried it would be to Servilia, who had been his mistress for several years, and whose husband, the former consul, Junius Silanus, had recently died. Indeed, around this time, such a marriage was rumoured actually to have taken place, when Servilia attended a dinner wearing a pearl that she announced the consul had given her, and which was worth sixty thousand gold pieces. But no: the very next week, Caesar took as his bride the daughter of Lucius Calpurnius Piso - a long, thin, plain girl of twenty, of whom no one had ever heard. After some deliberation, Cicero decided not to send his wedding gift round to Caesar by courier, but to hand it to him personally. Again it was a dish of silver with engraved initials; again it was in a sandalwood box; and again I was charged with looking after it. I duly waited with it outside the senate until the session was over, and when Caesar and Cicero strolled out together I took it over to them.

'This is just a small gift from Terentia and me to you and Calpurnia,' said Cicero, taking it out of my hands and giving it to Caesar, 'to wish you both a long and happy marriage

'Thank you said Caesar, 'that is thoughtful of you and without looking at it he passed the box to one of his attendants. 'Perhaps he added, 'while you're in this generous mood, you could also give us your vote 'My vote?'

'Yes, my wife's father is standing for the consulship Ah said Cicero, a look of comprehension spreading across his face, 'now it all makes sense. Frankly, I had wondered why you were marrying Calpurnia

'Rather than Servilia?' Caesar smiled and shrugged. 'That's politics