'It cannot surely be as bad as your face suggests! What in the name of heaven does it say about me?' 'It doesn't even mention you 'Then what kind of bill is it?'
'It makes it a capital offence to offer fire or water to anyone who has put Roman citizens to death without a trial
His mouth dropped open. He was always much quicker on the uptake than I. He understood the implications at once. And that is all? One line?'
'That is all I bowed my head. 'I am very sorry Cicero grabbed my arm. 'So the actual crime will be to help keep me alive? They won't even give me a trial?'
Suddenly his gaze flickered past me, over my shoulder, to the disfigured temple. I turned and saw Clodius waving at him - a slow and mocking gesture, as if he were waving goodbye to someone on a ship, leaving for a long journey. At the same time some of the tribune's henchmen started to climb down the ladders. 'I think we should get out of here I said. Cicero did not react. His mouth was working, but only a faint croak was emerging. It was as if he was being strangled. I looked back at the temple again. The men were on the ground now and moving towards us. 'Senator I said firmly, 'we really must get you out of here I gestured to his bodyguard to take his other arm, and together we propelled him out of the forum and back up the
steps towards the Palatine. The gang of ruffians pursued us, and pieces of rubble from the temple started to fly past our ears. A sharp piece of brick caught Cicero on the back of his head, and he gave a cry. The cascade of missiles did not stop until we were halfway up the hill.
When we reached the safety of the house, we found it full of his morning callers. Not knowing what had happened, they moved at once towards Cicero as they always did, with their wretched letters and their petitions and their humble beseeching faces. Cicero gazed at them, blank with shock, and bleakly told me to send them away - 'all away' - then stumbled upstairs to his bedroom.
Once the clients had been thrown out, I gave orders for the front entrance to be locked and barred, and then I prowled around the empty public rooms, wondering what I should do. I kept waiting for Cicero to come down and give me orders, but the hours passed and there was no sign of him. Eventually Terentia sought me out. She was twisting a handkerchief between her hands, winding it tightly around her bony ringless fingers. She demanded to know what was going on. I replied that I was not entirely sure.
'Don't lie to me, slave! Why is your master collapsed on his bed and refusing to move?'
I quailed before her rage. 'He has - he has - made an error I stammered.
An error? What manner of error?'
I hesitated. I did not know where to begin. There were so many errors: they stretched back like islands behind us, an archipelago of folly. Or perhaps 'errors' was the wrong word.
Perhaps it was more accurate to call them consequences: the ineluctable consequences of a deed done by a great man for honourable motives - is that not, after all, how the Greeks define tragedy?
I said, 'He has allowed his enemies to take control of the
centre of Rome
And they are doing what, exactly?'
'They are preparing legislation that will make him an outlaw 'Well then, he must pull himself together and fight them!' 'It is very dangerous for him to venture out of the house Even as I spoke, I could hear the mob in the street outside chanting, 'Death to the tyrant!' Terentia heard them too. As she listened, I could see the fear tauten her face. 'So what are we to do?'
'We could perhaps wait for nightfall and leave Rome,' I suggested. She stared at me and, frightened though she was, just for a moment I saw in her dark eyes a glint of that ancestor of hers - the one who had commanded a cohort against Hannibal. At the very least,' I went on hurriedly, 'we should restore all the precautions we took while Catilina was alive
'Send out messages to his colleagues,' she ordered. Ask Hortensius, Lucullus - any you can think - to come immediately. Fetch Atticus. Arrange everything else necessary to secure our safety And summon his doctors
I did as she ordered. The shutters were fastened. The Sextus brothers hurried over. I even summoned the guard dog, Sargon, from his retirement on a farm just outside the city. By early afternoon the house had begun to fill with friendly faces, although most arrived shaken by the experience of passing through the chanting crowd. Only the doctors refused to come: they had heard about Clodius's bill and they claimed to fear prosecution.
Atticus went up to see Cicero and came down tearful. 'He has his face turned to the wall he told me. 'He refuses to speak
'They have robbed him of his voice I replied, 'and what is Cicero without his voice?'
A meeting was convened in the library to discuss what could he done: Terentia, Atticus, Hortensius, Lucullus, Cato. I forget who else was present. I sat there silent, stunned, in the room in which I ha
d spent so many hours with Cicero. I listened to the others and wondered how they could hold a conversation about his future without his presence. It was as if he was already dead. The whole animating spark of that household
- the wit, the quick intelligence, the guiding ambition - seemed to have fled out of the door, as it does when someone passes from the earth. Terentia had the coolest head present. 'Is there any chance that this law won't pass?' she asked Hortensius at one point.
'Very little he said. 'Clodius has copied Caesar's tactics to perfection, and clearly means to use the mob to control the popular assembly
'What about the senate?'
'We can adopt a resolution in his support. I'm sure we shall - I'll propose it myself - but Clodius will take no notice. Now if Pompey or Caesar were to come out against the bill, of course, that would make a difference. Caesar has an army less than a mile from the forum. Pompey's influence is immense
And if it passes said Terentia, 'where will that leave me?'
'His property will all be seized - this house, its contents, everything. If you try to assist him in any way, you'll be arrested. I fear his only chance is to leave Rome at once, as soon as he is well, and get clear of Italy before the bill becomes law
'Could he stay at my house in Epirus?' asked Atticus.
'Then you would be liable to prosecution in Rome. It will be a brave man who gives him shelter. He will have to travel anonymously, and keep moving from place to place before his identity is discovered
'So that rules out any of my houses, I'm afraid,' said Lucullus. 'The mob would love to prosecute me He rolled his eyes, like a frightened horse. He had never recovered from his humiliation in the senate.
'May I speak?' I asked. Atticus said, 'Of course, Tiro
'There is another option I glanced towards the ceiling. I was not sure whether Cicero would want me to reveal it to the others or not. 'In the summer, Caesar offered to appoint the master his legate in Gaul, which would give him immunity
Cato looked horrified. 'But that would put Cicero in his debt and make Caesar even more powerful than he is already! In the interests of the state, I very much hope Cicero would turn that down
'In the interests of friendship said Atticus, 'I hope he takes it. What do you say, Terentia?'
'My husband will decide she said simply. After the others had gone, promising to return the following day she went up to see Cicero again, then came down and called me to her. 'He is refusing to eat she said. Her eyes were watery but she jabbed her narrow chin towards me as she spoke. 'Well, he may give in to despair if he must, but I have to safeguard the interests of this family, and we do not have much time. I want you to arrange to have all the contents of the house packed up and removed. Some we can store in our old home - there is plenty of room as Quintus is away - and the rest Lucullus is willing to look after for us. This place is being watched, so it needs to be done piece by piece, to avoid arousing suspicion, the most valuable items first
And that was what we did, beginning that very evening, and continuing over the days and nights that followed. It was a relief to have something to do, while Cicero stayed in his room and refused to see anyone. We hid jewellery and coins in amphorae of wine and olive oil and carted them across the city. We concealed gold and silver dishes beneath our clothes and walked as normally as we could to the house on the Esquiline, where we divested ourselves with a clatter. Antique busts were swaddled in shawls and carried out cradled in the arms of slave girls as if they were babies. Some of the larger pieces of furniture were dismantled and wheeled away like firewood. Rugs and tapestries were wrapped in sheets and trundled off in the direction of the laundry, and then secretly diverted to their hiding place in Lucullus's mansion, which was beyond the Fontinalian Gate, just north of the city.
I took sole charge of emptying Cicero's library, filling sacks with his most private documents and carrying them myself to the cellar of our old house. On these journeys I always took care to skirt Clodius's headquarters in the Temple of Castor, where gangs of his men loitered ready to chase down Cicero if he dared to show his face. Once I stood at the back of a crowd and listened to Clodius himself denounce Cicero from the tribunes' platform. His domination of the city was absolute. Caesar was with his army on the Field of Mars, preparing to march to Gaul. Pompey had withdrawn from the city and was living in connubial bliss with Julia in his mansion in the Alban Hills. The consuls were beholden to Clodius for their provinces. Clodius had learned how to stimulate the mob as a gigolo might caress his lover. He had them chanting in ecstasy. I could not bear to watch for long.
We saved the transfer of the most valuable of Cicero's possessions until almost the very end. This was a citrus-wood table he had been given by a client, and which was said to be worth half a million sesterces. We could not dismantle it, so we decided to take it under cover of darkness to Lucullus's house, where it would easily fit in with all the other opulent furniture. We put it on the back of an ox cart, covered it in bales of straw, and set off on the journey of two miles or so. Lucullus's overseer met us at the door carrying a short whip, and told us that a slave girl would show us where to put it. It took four of us to lift that table down, and then the slave led us through the huge, echoing rooms of the house until she pointed to a spot and told us to set it there. My heart was beating fast, and not just from the weight of our burden, but because I had recognised her by then. How could I not? Most nights I had gone to sleep with her face in my mind. Of course I wanted to ask her a hundred questions, but I feared drawing attention to her in front of the overseer. We followed her back the way we had come, retracing our steps to the grand entrance hall, and I could not help noticing how underfed she seemed, the exhausted stoop of her shoulders, and the grey hairs that had appeared among the dark. She was clearly enduring a harsher existence than she had been used to in Misenum - a capricious life, the life of a slave, determined not so much by the status itself as the character of the master: Lucullus would not even have noticed she existed. The front door was open. The others passed through it. Just before I followed, I whispered, Agathe!' and she turned round wearily and peered at me in surprise that anyone knew her name, but there was no trace of recognition in those lifeless eyes.
The following morning I was talking to Cicero's steward when I glimpsed Cicero cautiously coming downstairs for the first time in two weeks. I caught my breath. It was like seeing a spectre. He had dispensed with his customary toga and was wearing an old black tunic to show he was in mourning. His cheeks were gaunt, his hair straggling, his growth of white beard made him look like an old tramp. When he reached the ground floor he stopped. By this time the house had been almost entirely emptied of its contents. He squinted in bewilderment at the bare walls and floors of the atrium. He shuffled into his library. I followed him and watched from the doorway as he inspected the empty cabinets. He had been left with only a chair and a small table. Without looking round, he said in a voice all the more awful for being so quiet, 'Who has done this?'
'The mistress thought it a sensible precaution,' I replied.
'A sensible precaution?' He ran his hand over the empty wooden shelving. It was all made of rosewood, beautifully carpentered to his own design. A stab in the back, more like!' He inspected the dust on his fingertips. 'She never did care for this place.' And then, still without looking at me, he said, 'Have a carriage made ready'
'Of course.' I hesitated. 'May I know the destination, so I can tell the driver where he is to go?'
'Never mind the destination. Just get me the damned carriage I went and told the ostler to bring the carriage round to the front door, then I found Terentia and warned her that the master was planning to go out. She stared at me in alarm and hurried downstairs into the library. Most of the household had heard that Cicero had got out of bed at last, and they were standing around in the atrium, fascinated and fearful, not even pretending to work. I did not blame them: their fates, like mine, were all tied up with his. We heard the sound of raised voices, and soon afterwards Terentia ran out of the library with tears pouring down her cheeks. She said to me, 'Go with him,' and fled upstairs. Cicero emerged moments later, scowling, but at least looking much more his old self, as if having a heated argument with his wife had acted as a kind of tonic. He walked towards the front door and ordered the porter to open it. The porter looked at me, as if seeking my approval. I nodded quickly.
As usual there were demonstrators in the street, but far fewer than when the bill forbidding Cicero fire and water had first been promulgated. Most of the mob, like a cat at a mousehole, had grown weary of waiting for their victim to appear. Still, what the remainder lacked in numbers they made up for in venom, and they set up a great racket of 'Tyrant!' and 'Murderer!' and 'Death!' and as Cicero appeared they surged forwards. He stepped straight into the carriage, and I followed. A bodyguard was sitting up on the roof with the driver, and he leaned down to me to ask where we were to go. I looked at Cicero. 'To Pompey's house,' he said.
'But Pompey's not in Rome,' I protested. By this time, fists were pounding against the side of the carriage. 'Where is he, then?' At his place in the Alban Hills.'
All the better,' replied Cicero. 'He will not be expecting me.'
I shouted up to the driver that we should head for the Capena Gate, and with a crack of his whip, and a final flurry of shouts and thumps on the wooden panels, we lurched forward.
The journey must have taken us at least two hours, and in the whole of that time Cicero did not utter a word, but sat hunched in the corner of the carriage, his legs turned away from me, as if he wished to compress himself into the smallest space possible. Only when we turned off the highway on to Pompey's long gravelled drive did he uncoil his body and peer out of the window at the opulent grounds, with their topiary and statuary. 'I shall shame him into protecting me,' he said, 'and if he still refuses I shall kill myself at his feet and he will be cursed by history for his cowardice for ever. You think I don't mean it? I am perfectly serious.' He put his hand in the pocket of his tunic and showed me a small knife, its blade no wider than his hand. He grinned at me. He seemed to have gone quite mad.
We pulled up in front of the great country villa, and Pompey's household steward sprang forward to open the carriage door. Cicero had been here countless times. The slave knew him very well. But his smile of greeting shrivelled as he saw Cicero's unkempt face and black tunic, and he took a step backwards in shock. 'Do you smell that, Tiro?' asked Cicero, offering me the back of his hand. He raised it to his own nostrils and sniffed. 'That's the smell of death.' He gave an odd laugh, then climbed down from the carriage and strode towards the house, saying to the steward over his shoulder, 'Tell your master I'm here. I know where to go.'
I hastened after him, and we went into a long salon filled with antique furniture, tapestries and carpets. Souvenirs of Pompey's many campaigns were on display in cabinets - red-glazed pottery from Spain, ebony carvings from Africa, chased silverware from the East. Cicero sat on a high-backed couch covered in ivory silk while I stood apart, near to one of the doors, which opened on to a terrace lined with busts of great men from antiquity. Beyond the terrace a gardener pushed a wheelbarrow piled with dead leaves. I could smell the fragrance of a bonfire somewhere, out of sight. It was a scene of such settled order and civilisation -such an oasis in the wilderness of all our terrors - that I have never forgotten it. Presently there was a little patter of footsteps and Pompey's wife appeared, accompanied by her maids, all of whom were older than her. She looked like a doll in her dark ringlets and simple green dress. She had a scarf round her neck. Cicero stood and kissed her hand.
'I am very sorry,' said Julia, 'but my husband has been called away.' She blushed and glanced at the door. She was obviously not accustomed to lying.
Cicero's face sagged slightly, but then he rallied. That does not matter,' he said. 'I shall wait.'
Julia looked anxiously at the door again, and I had a sudden instinct that Pompey was just beyond it, signalling to her what she should do. She said, 'I am not sure how long he is going to be.'
'I am confident he will come,' said Cicero loudly, for the benefit of any eavesdroppers. 'Pompey the Great cannot be seen to go back on his word.' He sat, and after some hesitation she did the same, folding her small white hands neatly in her lap. Eventually she said, 'Was your journey comfortable?' 'Very pleasant, thank you.'
There was another long silence. Cicero put his hand in the pocket of his tunic, where his little knife was. I could see that he was turning it round in his fingers. Julia said, 'Have you seen my father recently?' 'No. I have not been well.'
'ill? I am sorry to hear that. I have not seen him for a while lither. He will be leaving for Gaul any day. Then I really don't I now when I shall see him again. I am lucky I won't be left on my own. It was horrid when he was in Spain.'
And is married life suiting you?'
'Oh, it is wonderful!' she exclaimed, with genuine delight. 'We slay here all the time. We never go anywhere. It is a world of our own.'
'That must be pleasant. How charming that is. A carefree existence. I envy you.' There was a slight crack in Cicero's voice. He withdrew his hand from his pocket and raised it to his forehead. He looked down at the carpet. His body began to shake slightly, and I realised to my horror that he was weeping. Julia stood up quickly. It's nothing,' he said. 'Really. This damned illness . . .'
Julia hesitated, then reached over and touched his shoulder. She said softly, 'I shall tell him again that you are here.'
She left the room with her maids. After she had gone, Cicero sighed, wiped his nose on his sleeve and stared ahead. The aromatic smoke of the bonfire drifted over the terrace. Time passed. The light began to fade, and Cicero's face, emaciated by his long period of fasting, filled with shadows. Eventually I whispered in his ear that if we did not leave soon, we would never reach Rome by nightfall. He nodded, and I helped him to his feet.
As we drove away from the villa I glanced back, and to this day I am sure I saw the pale full moon of Pompey's face staring down at us from an upper window.
Once news of Pompey's betrayal became known, Cicero was seen to be finished, and I discreetly started packing in anticipation of a rapid exit from Rome. That is not to say that everyone shunned him. Hundreds donned mourning to show their solidarity, and the senate voted narrowly to dress in black to show their sympathy A great demonstration of knights from all over Italy was organised on the Capitol by Aelius Lamia, and a delegation led by Hortensius went to call on the consuls to urge them to defend Cicero. But Piso and Gabinius both refused. They knew that Clodius had it in his power to determine which, if any, province they would receive, and they were anxious to show him their support. They actually forbade the senate to put on mourning and expelled the gallant Lamia from the city on the grounds that he threatened civic peace.
Whenever Cicero tried to venture out, he swiftly found himself surrounded by a jeering mob, and despite the protection organised by Atticus and the Sextus brothers, the experience was unpleasant and dangerous. Clodius's followers threw stones and excrement at him, forcing him to retreat indoors to shake the filth out of his hair and tunic. He sought out the consul, Piso, and eventually found him in a tavern, where he pleaded with him to intercede, to no avail. After that he stayed at home. But even here there was little respite. During the day, demonstrators would gather in the forum and chant slogans at the house, calling Cicero a murderer. Our nights were endlessly disturbed by the echo of running feet in the street, shouted insults, and the rattle of missiles on the roof. At a huge public meeting called by the tribunes outside the city, Caesar was asked his opinion of Clodius's bill. He declared that while he had opposed the execution of the conspirators, he also disapproved of retrospective legislation. It was an answer of great political dexterity: Cicero, when told of it, could only nod in rueful admiration. From that point on he knew he had no hope, and although he did not actually retire to his bed again, a great lethargy took hold of him, and often he refused to see his visitors.
There was one important exception, however. On the day before Clodius's bill was due to become law, Crassus came to call, and to my surprise Cicero agreed to receive him. I suppose he was in such a hopeless state by then, he was willing to take help from whatever quarter it was offered. The villain came in full of concerned words. Yet all the time he spoke of his shock at what had happened and of his disgust at Pompey's disloyalty, his eyes were flickering around the bare walls and checking what fixtures were left. If there is anything I can do,' he said, 'anything at all . . .'
I don't think there is much, thank you,' said Cicero, who plainly regretted ever letting his old enemy through the door. 'We both know how politics is played. Sooner or later failure comes to us all. At least,' he added, 'my
conscience is clear. Really, don't let me detain you any longer.'
'What about money? A poor substitute, I know, for the loss of all one holds dear in life, but money would be useful in exile, and I would be willing to advance you a considerable sum.'
'That is very thoughtful of you.'
I could give you, say, two million. Would that be of any help?'
'Naturally it would. But if I am in exile, what hope would I have of ever paying you back?'
Crassus looked around as if searching for a solution. 'You could give me the deeds to this house, I suppose
Cicero stared at him in disbelief. 'You want this house, for which I paid you three and a half million?'
And a great bargain it was. You can't dispute that.'
'Well then, all the more reason for me not to sell it back to you for two million.'
'I fear property is only worth what someone is willing to pay for it, and this house will be valueless the day after tomorrow
'Why do you say that?'
'Because Clodius intends to burn it down and build a shrine to the goddess Liberty and neither you nor anyone else will be able to lift a finger to stop him
Cicero paused, and then said quietly, 'Who told you that?'
'I make it my business to know these things
And why would you want to pay two million sesterces for a patch of scorched earth containing a shrine to Liberty?'
'That is the kind of risk one has to take in business
'Goodbye, Crassus
'Think it over, Cicero. Don't be a stubborn fool. It's two million or nothing
'I said goodbye, Crassus
All right, two and a half million?' Cicero did not respond. Crassus shook his head. 'That,' he said, rising to his feet, 'is exactly the sort of arrogant folly that has brought you to this pass. I shall warm my hands at your fire
On the next day, a meeting of Cicero's principal supporters was called to decide what he should do. It was to be held in the library, and I had to scour the house for chairs so that everyone should have a place to sit. I put out twenty. Atticus arrived first, then Cato, followed by Lucullus and, after a long interval, Hortensius. They all had to endure a hard passage through the mob that had occupied the neighbouring streets, especially Hortensius, who was roughed up quite badly, his face scratched, his toga splattered with shit. It was unnerving to see a man normally immaculate in his appearance so shaken and despoiled.
We waited to see if anyone else would come, but nobody did. Tullia had already left Rome with her husband for the safety of the country, after an emotional scene with Cicero, so the only member of the family present was Terentia. I took notes.
If Cicero was dismayed that the vast crowds he had once commanded had dwindled to this small band, he did not show it. 'On this bitter day,' he said, 'I wish to thank all of you who have so bravely struggled to support my cause. Adversity is a part of life - not one I necessarily recommend, you understand' - my notes record laughter - 'but still: at least it shows us men's true natures, and just as I have shown my weakness, so I have seen your strength He stopped, and cleared his throat. I thought he was going to break down again. But this time he carried on. 'So the law will take effect at midnight? There is no doubt of that, I take it?' He glanced around. All four shook their head.
'No,' said Hortensius, 'none whatever
'Then what options are open to me?'
'It seems to me you have three,' said Hortensius. 'You can ignore the law and remain in Rome, and hope your friends will continue to support you, although from tomorrow that will be even more dangerous than it is now. You can leave the city tonight, while it is still legal for people to help you, and hope to get out of Italy unmolested. Or you could go to Caesar and ask if his offer of a legateship still stands, and claim immunity
Cato said, 'He does have a fourth option, of course
'Yes?'
'He could kill himself