Dictator

XVII

Cicero had not expected to have to address the Senate until the first day of January, when Hirtius and Pansa were due to take over as consuls. But on our return we discovered the tribunes had summoned an emergency meeting to be held in two days’ time to discuss the looming war between Antony and Decimus. Cicero decided that the sooner he made good on his promise to Octavian the better. Accordingly he went down to the Temple of Concordia early in the morning to show his intention of speaking. As usual I went with him and stood at the door to record his remarks.

Once word spread that Cicero was in his place, people began pouring into the Forum. Senators who might not otherwise have attended also decided they had better come to hear what he had to say. Within an hour the benches were packed. Among those who changed his plans was the consul-designate, Hirtius. He rose from his sickbed for the first time in weeks, and his appearance when he walked into the temple drew gasps. The plump young gourmet who had helped write Caesar’s Commentaries and who used to entertain Cicero to dinners of swan and peacock had shrivelled to barely more than a skeleton. I believe he was suffering from what Hippocrates, the father of Greek medicine, calls a carcino; he had a scar on his neck where a growth had been recently removed.

The tribune who presided over the session was Appuleius, a friend of Cicero. He began by reading out an edict issued by Decimus denying Antony permission to enter Nearer Gaul, reiterating his determination to keep the province loyal to the Senate and confirming that he had moved his forces into Mutina. That was the town where I had delivered Cicero’s letter to Caesar all those years before, and I recalled its stout walls and heavy gates: much would depend on whether it could hold out against a long siege by Antony’s superior forces. When he had finished reading, Appuleius said, ‘Within days – perhaps even already – the republic will be gripped once more by civil war. The question is: what are we to do? I call on Cicero to give us his opinion.’

Hundreds of men leaned forwards in anticipation as Cicero rose.

‘This meeting, honourable gentlemen, comes not a moment too soon in my opinion. An iniquitous war against our hearths and altars, our lives and fortunes, is no longer just being prepared but is actually being waged by a profligate and wanton man. It is no good our waiting for the first day of January before we act. Antony does not wait. He’s already attacking the eminent and remarkable Decimus. And from Nearer Gaul he threatens to descend on us in Rome. Indeed, he would have done so before now had it not been for a young man – or almost rather a boy, but one of incredible and near-godlike intelligence and courage – who raised an army and saved the state.’

He paused to allow his words to register. Senators turned to their neighbours to check they had heard correctly. The temple became a hubbub of surprise mingled with some notes of indignation and gasps of excitement. Did he just say the boy had saved the state? It was a while before Cicero could continue.

‘Yes, this is my belief, gentlemen, this is my judgement: had not a single youth stood up to that madman, this commonwealth would have utterly perished. On him today – and we are here today, free to express our views, only because of him – on him we must confer the authority to defend the republic, not as something merely undertaken by him, but as a charge entrusted to him by us.’

There were a few cries of ‘No!’ and ‘He’s bought you!’ from Antony’s supporters but these were drowned by applause from the rest of the Senate. Cicero pointed to the door. ‘Do you not see the packed Forum and how the Roman people are encouraged to hope for the recovery of their liberty? That now, after a long interval, when they see us assembled here in such numbers, they hope we have met together as free men?’

Thus opened what became known as the Third Philippic. It tuned Roman politics on its axis. It lavished praise on Octavian, or Caesar, as Cicero now called him for the first time. (‘Who is more chaste than this young man? Who more modest? What brighter example have we among youth of old-world purity?’) It pointed the way to a strategy that might yet lead to the salvation of the republic. (‘The immortal gods have given us these safeguards – for the city, Caesar; Decimus for Gaul.’) But perhaps even more important, for tired and careworn hearts, after months and years of supine acquiescence, it fired the Senate with fighting spirit.

‘Today for the first time after a long interval we set our feet in possession of liberty. It is to glory and to liberty we were born. And if the final episode in the long history of our republic has arrived, then let us at the least behave like champion gladiators: they meet death honourably; let us see to it that we too – who stand foremost of all nations on the earth – fall with dignity rather than serve with ignominy.’

Such was the effect that when Cicero sat down a large part of the Senate immediately stood and rushed to crowd around him with their congratulations. It was clear that for the time being he had carried all before him. At Cicero’s behest a motion was proposed thanking Decimus for his defence of Nearer Gaul, praising Octavian for his ‘help, courage and judgement’, and promising him future honours as soon as the consuls-elect convened the Senate in the new year. It passed overwhelmingly. Then, most unusually, the tribunes invited Cicero rather than a serving magistrate to go out into the Forum and report to the people on what the Senate had decided.

He had told us before he went to meet Octavian that power in Rome was lying in the dust merely waiting for someone to pick it up. That was what he did that day. He climbed on to the rostra, watched by the Senate, and turned to face all those thousands of citizens. ‘Your incredible numbers, Romans,’ he bellowed at them, ‘and the size – the greatest I can ever remember – of this assembly, inspire me to defend the republic and give me the hope of re-establishing it!

‘I can tell you that Gaius Caesar, who has protected and is protecting the state and your liberty, has just been thanked by the Senate!’ A great swell of applause arose from the crowd. ‘I commend,’ shouted Cicero, struggling to make his voice heard, ‘I commend you, Romans, for greeting with the warmest applause the name of a most noble young man. Divine and immortal honours are due for his divine and immortal services!

‘You are fighting, Romans, against an enemy with whom no peace terms are possible. Antony is not just a guilty and villainous man. He is a monstrous and savage animal. The issue is not on what terms we shall live, but whether we shall live at all, or perish in torture and ignominy!

‘As for me, I shall spare no efforts on your behalf. We have today, for the first time after a long interval, with my counsel and at my instance, been fired by the hope of liberty!’

With that he took a pace backward to signal that his speech was over, the crowd roared and stamped their feet in approval, and the last and most glorious phase of Cicero’s public career began.

From my shorthand notes I made a transcript of both speeches, and once again a team of scribes worked in relays to make copies. These were variously posted up in the Forum and dispatched to Brutus, Cassius, Decimus and the other prominent men in the republican cause. Naturally they were also sent to Octavian, who read them at once and replied within a week:

From G. Caesar to his friend and mentor M. Cicero.

Greetings!

I enjoyed your latest Philippics very much. ‘Chaste … modest … purity … godlike intelligence’ – my ears are burning! Seriously, don’t lay it on too thick, mon vieux, as I can only be a disappointment! I would love one day to talk to you about the finer points of oratory – I know how much I could learn from you, on this as on other matters. And so – onwards! As soon as I hear word from you that my army has been made legal and I have the necessary authority to wage war, I shall move my legions north to attack Antony.

All men now waited anxiously for the next meeting of the Senate, due to be held on the first day of January. Cicero fretted that they were wasting precious time: ‘It is the most important rule in politics always to keep things moving.’ He went to see Hirtius and Pansa and urged them to bring the session forward; they refused, saying they did not have the legal authority. Still, he believed he had their confidence and that the three of them would present a united front. But when the new year dawned, and the sacrifices had been conducted on the Capitol in accordance with tradition, and the Senate retired to the Temple of Jupiter to debate the state of the nation, he received a nasty shock. Both Pansa, who presided and made the opening speech, and Hirtius, who spoke next, expressed the hope that, grave though the situation was, it might still be possible to find a peaceful solution with Antony. This was not at all what Cicero wanted to hear.

As the senior ex-consul, he had expected to be called next and rose accordingly. But instead Pansa ignored him in favour of his father-in-law, Quintus Calenus, an old supporter of Clodius and a crony of Antony, who had never been elected consul but had only been appointed to the office by the Dictator. He was a stocky, burly figure, built like a blacksmith, and no great speaker, but he was blunt and heard with respect.

‘This crisis,’ he said, ‘has been made out by the learned and distinguished Cicero to be a war between the republic on the one side and Mark Antony on the other. That’s not correct, gentlemen. It’s a war between three different parties: Antony, who was made governor of Nearer Gaul by a vote of this house and by the people; Decimus, who refuses to surrender his command; and a boy who has raised a private army and is out for all he can get. Of the three, I know and personally favour Antony. Perhaps as a compromise we should offer him the governorship of Further Gaul instead? But if that’s too much for the rest of you, I propose we should at the very least stay neutral.’

When he sat, Cicero stood again. But again Pansa ignored him and called Lucius Piso, Caesar’s ex-father-in-law, whom Cicero had also naturally counted as an ally. Instead Piso made a long speech, the gist of it being that he had always regarded Antony as a danger to the state, and still did, but having lived through the last civil war, he had no desire to live through another and believed the Senate should make one last attempt at peace by sending a delegation to Antony to offer him terms. ‘I propose that he should submit himself to the will of the Senate and people, abandon his siege of Mutina and withdraw his army to the Italian side of the Rubicon but no closer to Rome than two hundred miles. If he does that, then even at this late stage war may be averted. But if he does not, and war does come, at least the world will have no doubt who bears the blame.’

When Piso had finished, Cicero did not even bother to stand, but sat with his chin sunk on his chest, glowering at the floor. The next speaker was his other supposed ally, P. Servilius Vatia Isauricus, who delivered himself of a great many platitudes and spoke bitterly of Antony, but even more bitterly of Octavian. He was a relative by marriage of Brutus and Cassius and raised a question that was in many minds: ‘Ever since he arrived in Italy Octavian has made the most violent speeches, swearing to avenge his so-called father by bringing his killers to justice. In so doing he threatens the safety of some of the most illustrious men in the state. Have they been consulted about the honours now being contemplated for Caesar’s adopted son? What guarantees do we have that if we proceed to make this ambitious and immature would-be warlord the “sword and shield of the Senate” – as the noble Cicero suggests – he won’t turn round and use his sword against us?’

These five speeches, coming after the ceremonial opening, took up all of the short January day, and Cicero returned home with his prepared oration undelivered. ‘Peace!’ He spat out the word. Always in the past he had been an advocate of peace; no longer. He jutted his chin in belligerence as he complained bitterly of the consuls: ‘What a pair of spineless mediocrities. All those hours I spent teaching them how to speak properly! And to what end? I would have been better employed teaching them how to think straight.’ As for Calenus, Piso and Isauricus, they were ‘addle-headed appeasers’, ‘faint hearts’, ‘political monstrosities’ – after a time I stopped making a note of his insults. He retired to his study to rewrite his speech and the next morning sallied forth for the second day of the debate like a warship in full battle array.

From the moment the session began he was on his feet, and stayed there, signalling that he expected to be called next and would not take no for an answer. Behind him his supporters chanted his name, and eventually Pansa had no option but to indicate by his gestures that Cicero had the floor.

‘Nothing, gentlemen,’ Cicero began, ‘has ever seemed longer to me in coming than the beginning of this new year and with it this meeting of the Senate. We have waited – but those who wage war against the state have not. Does Mark Antony desire peace? Then let him lay down his arms. Let him ask for peace. Let him appeal to our mercy. But to send envoys to a man on whom thirteen days ago you passed the heaviest and severest judgement is beyond a joke and is – if I must give my real opinion – madness!’

One by one, like the impact of missiles thrown by some mighty ballista, Cicero demolished the arguments of his opponents. Antony did not have any legal title to be governor of Nearer Gaul: his law was pushed through an invalid assembly in a thunderstorm. He was a forger. He was a thief. He was a traitor. To give him the province of Further Gaul would be to give him access to ‘the sinews of war: unlimited money’ – the idea was absurd. ‘And it is to this man, great heavens, that we are pleased to send envoys? He will never obey anybody’s envoys! I know the fellow’s madness and arrogance. But time meanwhile will be wasted. The preparations for war will cool – they have already been dragged out by slowness and delay. If we had acted sooner we should not now be having a war at all. Every evil is easily crushed at birth; allow it to become established and it always gathers strength.

‘So I propose, gentlemen, that we should send no envoys. I say instead that a state of emergency should be declared, that the courts should be shut, that military dress should be worn, that recruitment should be started, that exemptions from military service should be suspended throughout Rome and the whole of Italy, and that Antony be declared a public enemy …’

A spontaneous roar of applause and stamping feet drowned out the remainder of his sentence but he carried on speaking through it:

‘… if we do all that, he will feel that he has begun a war against the state. He will experience the energy and strength of a Senate with one mind. He says this is a war of parties. What parties? This war has not been stirred up by any parties but by him alone!

‘And now I come to Gaius Caesar, upon whom my friend Isauricus heaped such scorn and suspicion. Yet if he had not lived, who of us could have been alive now? What god presented to the Roman people this heaven-sent boy? By his protection the tyranny of Antony was thwarted. Let us therefore give Caesar the necessary command, without which no military affairs can be administered, no army held together, no war waged. Let him be pro-praetor with the maximum power of a regular appointment.

‘On him our hope of liberty rests. I know this young man. Nothing is dearer to him than the republic, nothing more important than your authority, nothing more desirable than the opinion of good men, nothing sweeter than genuine glory. I shall even venture to give you my word, gentlemen – to you and to the Roman people: I promise, I undertake, I solemnly pledge that Gaius Caesar will always be such a citizen as he is today, the citizen that we all most earnestly wish and pray that he should be.’

That speech, and in particular that guarantee, changed everything. I believe it can truly be asserted – and it is a rare boast for any oration – that if Cicero had not delivered his Fifth Philippic, then history would have been different, for opinion in the Senate was almost evenly divided, and until he spoke, the debate was running Antony’s way. Now his words stemmed the tide and the votes started to flow back in favour of war. Indeed, Cicero might have won on every point if a tribune named Salvius had not interposed his veto, prolonging the debate into a fourth day, and giving Antony’s wife Fulvia the chance to appear at the door of the temple to plead for moderation. She was accompanied by her infant son – the one who had been sent up to the Capitol as a hostage – and by Antony’s elderly mother, Julia, who was a cousin of Julius Caesar and greatly admired for her noble bearing. They were all dressed in black and made a most affecting spectacle, three generations walking down the aisle of the Senate with their hands clasped in supplication. Every senator was aware that if Antony was to be named a public enemy, all his property would be seized and they would be thrown out on to the streets.

‘Spare us this humiliation,’ cried out Fulvia, ‘we beseech you!’

The vote to declare Antony an enemy of the state was duly lost, while the motion to send a delegation of envoys to make him a final peace offer was carried. The rest, however, was all for Cicero: Octavian’s army was recognised as legitimate and incorporated with Decimus’s under the standard of the Senate; Octavian was made a senator, despite his youth, and also awarded a pro-praetorship with power of imperium; as a nod to the future, the age requirement for the consulship was lowered by ten years (although it would still be another thirteen before Octavian was eligible to stand); the loyalty of Plancus and Lepidus was bought, the one being confirmed as consul for the following year, the other being honoured by a gilded equestrian statue on the rostra; and the raising of new armies and the imposition of a state of military preparedness in Rome and all across Italy was ordered to begin immediately.

Once again the tribunes asked Cicero, rather than the consuls, to convey the Senate’s decisions to the thousands gathered in the Forum. When he told them that peace envoys were to be sent to Antony, a collective groan went up. Cicero made a soothing gesture with his hands. ‘I gather, Romans, that this course is also repudiated by you, as it was by me, and with good reason. But I urge you to be patient. What I did earlier in the Senate I will do before you now. I predict that Mark Antony will ignore the envoys, devastate the land, besiege Mutina and raise more troops. And I am not afraid that when he hears what I have said, he will change his plans and obey the Senate in order to refute me: he is too far gone for that. We shall lose some precious time, but never fear: we shall have victory in the end. Other nations can endure slavery, but the most prized possession of the Roman people is liberty.’

The peace delegation left the next day from the Forum. Cicero went with an ill grace to see them off. The chosen envoys were three ex-consuls: Lucius Piso, who had come up with the idea in the first place and so could hardly refuse to take part; Marcus Philippus, Octavian’s stepfather, whose participation Cicero called ‘disgusting and scandalous’; and Cicero’s old friend Servius Sulpicius, who was in such poor health that Cicero begged him to reconsider: ‘It’s two hundred and fifty miles in midwinter, through snow and wolves and bandits, and with only the amenities of an army camp at the end of it. For pity’s sake, my dear Servius, use your illness as an excuse and let them find someone else.’

‘You forget I was at Pompey’s side at Pharsalus. I stood and watched the slaughter of the best men in the state. My last service to the republic will be to try to stop that happening again.’

‘Your instincts are as noble as ever, but your hold on reality is poor. Antony will laugh in your face. All that your suffering will accomplish is to help prolong the war.’

Servius looked at him sadly. ‘What happened to my old friend who hated soldiering and loved his books? I rather miss him. I certainly preferred him to this rabble-rouser who stirs up the crowd for blood.’

With that he climbed stiffly into his litter and was borne away with the others to begin the long journey.

Preparations for war now slowed to a half-hearted pace, as Cicero had warned they would, while Romans awaited the outcome of the peace mission. Although levies took place across Italy to recruit four new legions, there was no great sense of urgency now that the immediate threat seemed to have been lifted. In the meantime, the only legions the Senate could draw on were the two encamped near Rome that had declared for Octavian – the Martian and the Fourth – and after receiving permission from Octavian, these agreed to march north to relieve Decimus under the command of one of the consuls. Lots for the office had to be drawn in accordance with the law, and by a cruel jest of the gods it went to the sick man, Hirtius. Watching this ghostly figure in his red cloak painfully ascend the steps of the Capitol, perform the traditional sacrifice of a white bull to Jupiter and then ride off to war filled Cicero with foreboding.

It was to be almost a month before the city’s herald announced that the returning peace envoys were approaching the city. Pansa summoned the Senate to hear their report that same day. Only two of them came into the temple – Piso and Philippus. Piso stood and in a grave voice announced that the gallant Servius had no sooner reached Antony’s headquarters than he had died of exhaustion. Because of the distance involved, and the slowness of winter travel, it had been necessary to cremate him on the spot rather than bring the body home.

‘I have to tell you, gentlemen, that we found that Antony has surrounded Mutina with a very powerful system of siege works, and throughout our time in his camp he continued to pound the town with missiles. He refused to allow us safe passage through his lines to talk to Decimus. As to the terms you had empowered us to offer him, he rejected them in favour of terms of his own.’ Piso produced a letter and began to read. ‘He will give up his claim to the governorship of Nearer Gaul but only if he is compensated by the award instead of Further Gaul for five years together with the command of Decimus’s army, raising his total strength to six legions. He demands that all the decrees he has issued in Caesar’s name should be declared legal; that there should be no further investigation into the disappearance of the state’s treasury from the Temple of Ops; that his followers should be given an amnesty; and finally that his soldiers should be paid what they are owed and also awarded land.’

Piso rolled up the document and tucked it into his sleeve. ‘We have done our best, gentlemen. I am disappointed, I will not hide it. I fear this house must recognise that a state of war exists between the republic and Mark Antony.’

Cicero got to his feet, but yet again Pansa called his father-in-law, Calenus, to speak first. He said: ‘I deplore the use of the word “war”. On the contrary, I believe we have here, gentlemen, the basis for an honourable peace. It was my suggestion, first made in this Senate, that Antony should be offered Further Gaul, and I am glad that he has accepted it. Our main points are all met. Decimus remains as governor. The people of Mutina are spared any further misery. Roman does not take up arms against Roman. I can see by the way he shakes his head that Cicero does not like what I am saying. He is an angry man. But more than that, I venture to say that he is an angry old man. Let me remind him that it will not be men of our age who die in this new war. It will be his son, and my son, and yours, gentlemen – and yours, and yours, and yours. I say let us have a truce with Antony and reconcile our differences peacefully as our gallant colleagues Piso, Philippus and the lamented Servius have shown us how to do.’

Calenus’s speech was warmly received. It was clear that Antony still had his supporters in the Senate, including his legate, the diminutive Cotyla, or ‘Half-Pint’, whom he had sent south to report on the mood in Rome. As Pansa called speaker after speaker – including Antony’s uncle, Lucius Caesar, who said he felt duty-bound to defend his nephew – Cotyla ostentatiously made notes of their remarks, presumably so that he could report them back to his master. It had an oddly unnerving effect, and at the end of the day, a majority of the house, including Pansa, voted to remove the word ‘war’ from the motion and declare instead that the country was in a state of ‘tumult’.

Pansa did not call Cicero until the following morning. But once again this worked to Cicero’s advantage. Not only did he rise in an atmosphere of intense expectation; he was able to attack the arguments of the previous speakers. He started with Lucius Caesar: ‘He excuses his vote because of his family connections. He is an uncle. Fair enough. But are the rest of you uncles too?’

And once he had his audience laughing – once he had softened the ground, so to speak – he proceeded to pulverise them with a cataract of invective and derision. ‘Decimus is being attacked – there is no war. Mutina is being besieged – not even this is war. Gaul is being laid waste – what could be more peaceful? Gentlemen, this is a war such as has never been seen before! We are defending the temples of the immortal gods, our walls, our homes, and the birthrights of the Roman people, the altars, hearths and tombs of our ancestors; we are defending our laws, law courts, liberty, wives, children, fatherland. On the other side, Mark Antony fights to wreck all this and plunder the state.

‘At this point my brave and energetic friend Calenus reminds me of the advantages of peace. But I ask you, Calenus: what do you mean? Do you call slavery peace? Heavy fighting is in progress. We have sent three leading members of the Senate to intervene. These Antony has repudiated with contempt. Yet you remain his most constant defender!

‘With what dishonour did yesterday dawn upon us! “Oh, but what if he were to make a truce?” A truce? In the presence, before the very eyes of the envoys he pounded Mutina with his engines. He showed them his works and his siege train. Not for a moment, although the envoys were there, did the siege find a breathing space. Envoys to this man? Peace with this man?

‘I will say it with grief rather than with insult: we are deserted – deserted, gentlemen – by our leaders. What concessions have we not made to Cotyla, the envoy of Mark Antony? Though by rights the gates of this city should have been closed to him, yet this temple was open. He came into the Senate. He entered in his notebooks your votes and everything you said. Even those who had filled the highest offices were currying favour with him to the disgrace of their dignity. Ye immortal gods! Where is the ancient spirit of our ancestors? Let Cotyla return to his general but on condition that he never returns to Rome.’

The Senate sat stunned. They had not been shamed in such a fashion since Cato’s day. At the end, Cicero laid a fresh motion: that those fighting with Antony would be given until the Ides of March to lay down their arms; after that, any who continued in his army, or who went to join him, would be regarded as traitors. The proposal passed overwhelmingly. There was to be no truce, no peace, no deal; Cicero had his war.

A day or two after the first anniversary of Caesar’s assassination – an occasion that passed without notice apart from the laying of flowers on his tomb – Pansa followed his colleague Hirtius into battle. The consul rode off from the Field of Mars at the head of an army of four legions: almost twenty thousand men scoured from every corner of Italy. Cicero watched with the rest of the Senate as they paraded past. As a military force it was less impressive than it sounded. Most were the rawest of recruits – farmers, ostlers, bakers and laundrymen who could barely even march in time. Their real power was symbolic. The republic was in arms against the usurper Antony.

With both consuls gone, the most senior magistrate left behind in the city was the urban praetor, Marcus Cornutus – a soldier picked by Caesar for his loyalty and discretion. He now found himself required to preside over the Senate even though he had minimal experience of politics. He soon placed himself entirely in the hands of Cicero, who thus, at the age of sixty-three, became the effective ruler of Rome for the first time since his consulship twenty years before. It was to Cicero that all the imperial governors addressed their reports. It was he who decided when the Senate should meet. It was he who made the main appointments. His was the house that was packed all day with petitioners.

He sent an amused account of his redux to Octavian:

I do not think I boast when I say that nothing can happen in this city these days without my approval. Indeed it is actually better than a consulship because no one knows where my power begins or ends; therefore rather than run the risk of offending me, everyone consults me on everything. Actually it is even better, come to think of it, than a dictatorship, because nobody holds me to blame when things go wrong! It is proof that one should never mistake the baubles of office for actual power – another piece of avuncular advice for your glittering future, my boy, from your devoted old friend and mentor.

Octavian wrote back at the end of March to report that he was doing as he had promised: his army of nearly ten thousand men was striking camp just south of Bononia, beside the Via Aemilia, and moving off to join the armies of Hirtius and Pansa in relieving the siege of Mutina:

I am placing myself under the command of the consuls. We are expecting a great battle with Antony within the next two weeks. I promise that I shall endeavour to perform as valiantly in the field as you have in the Senate. What was it that the Spartan warriors said? ‘I shall return either with my shield, or on it.’

Around this time, word began to reach Cicero of events in the east. From Brutus in Macedonia he learned that Dolabella – heading for Syria at the head of a small force – had reached as far as Smyrna on the eastern shores of the Aegean, where he had encountered the governor of Asia, Trebonius. Trebonius had treated him civilly enough and even allowed him to proceed on his way. But that night Dolabella had secretly turned back, entered the city, seized Trebonius while he was asleep, and subjected him to two days and nights of intensive torture, using whips, the rack and hot irons, to force him to disclose the whereabouts of his treasury. After that, on Dolabella’s orders, his neck was broken. His head was cut off and Dolabella’s soldiers kicked it back and forth through the streets until it was completely crushed, while his body was mutilated and placed on public display. ‘Thus dies the first of the assassins who murdered Caesar,’ Dolabella was said to have declared. ‘The first – but he will not be the last.’

Trebonius’s remains were shipped to Rome and subjected to a post-mortem examination to confirm the manner of his death before being passed to his family for cremation. His grisly fate had a salutary effect on Cicero and the other leaders of the republic. They knew now what to expect if they fell into the hands of their enemies, especially when Antony issued an open letter to the consuls pledging his loyalty to Dolabella and expressing his delight at Trebonius’s fate: That a criminal has paid the penalty is a matter for rejoicing. Cicero read the letter out loud in the Senate: it strengthened men’s determination not to compromise. Dolabella was declared a public enemy. It was a particular shock to Cicero that his former son-in-law should have exhibited such cruelty. He lamented to me afterwards: ‘To think that such a monster stayed under my roof and shared a bed with my poor dear daughter; to think that I actually liked the man … Who knows what animals lurk within the people who are close to us?’

The nervous strain under which he lived during those early days of April, while waiting for word from Mutina, was indescribable. First there would be good news. After months without contact, Cassius at last wrote to say that he was taking complete control of Syria: that all sides – Caesareans, republicans and the last remaining Pompeians – were flocking to him and that he had under his command a united army of no fewer than eleven legions. I want you to know that you and your friends at the Senate are not without powerful support, so you can defend the state in the best interests of hope and courage. Brutus also was meeting with success and had raised a further five legions, some twenty-five thousand men, in Macedonia. Young Marcus was with him, recruiting and training cavalry: Your son earns my approval by his energy, endurance, hard work and unselfish spirit, in fact by every kind of service.

But then would come more ominous dispatches. Decimus was in desperate straits after more than four months trapped in Mutina. He could only communicate with the outside world by carrier pigeon, and the few birds that got through brought news of starvation, disease and low morale. Lepidus meanwhile was moving his legions closer to the scene of the impending battle with Antony, and he urged Cicero and the Senate to consider a fresh offer of peace talks. Cicero was so incensed by this weak and arrogant man’s presumption that he dictated to me a letter that went off that same night:

Cicero to Lepidus.

I rejoice at your desire to make peace among citizens but only if you can separate that peace from slavery. Otherwise you should understand that all men of sense have taken a resolution to prefer death to servitude. You will act more wisely in my judgement if you meddle no further in this affair, which is not acceptable either to the Senate or the people, or to any honest man.

Cicero was under no illusions. The city and the Senate still harboured hundreds of Antony’s supporters. If Decimus surrendered, or if the armies of Hirtius, Pansa and Octavian were defeated, he knew he would be the first to be seized and murdered. As a safety precaution he ordered home two of the three legions stationed in Africa to defend Rome. But they would not arrive until the middle of the summer.

It was on the twentieth day of April that the crisis finally broke. Early that morning, Cornutus, the urban praetor, hurried up the hill. With him was a messenger who had been dispatched by Pansa six days earlier. Cornutus’s expression was grim. ‘Tell Cicero,’ he said to the messenger, ‘what you’ve just told me.’

In a trembling voice the messenger said, ‘Vibius Pansa regrets to report a catastrophic defeat. He and his army were surprised by the forces of Mark Antony at the settlement of Forum Gallorum. The lack of experience of our men was immediately evident. The line broke and there was a general slaughter. The consul managed to escape but is himself wounded.’

Cicero’s face turned grey. ‘And Hirtius and Caesar? Any news of them?’

Cornutus said, ‘None. Pansa was on his way to their camp but was attacked before he could join them.’

Cicero groaned.

Cornutus said, ‘Should I summon a meeting of the Senate?’

‘Dear gods, no!’ To the messenger Cicero said, ‘Tell me the truth – does anyone else in Rome yet know about this?’

The messenger bowed his head. ‘I went first to the consul’s home. His father-in-law was there.’

‘Calenus!’

Cornutus said grimly, ‘He knows it all, unfortunately. He’s in the Portico of Pompey at this very moment, on the exact spot where Caesar was struck down. He’s telling anyone who’ll listen that we’re paying the price for an impious killing. He accuses you of planning to seize power as dictator. I believe he’s gathering quite a crowd.’

I said to Cicero, ‘We ought to get you out of Rome.’

Cicero shook his emphatically. ‘No, no. They’re the traitors, not I. Damn them, I’ll not run away. Find Appuleius,’ he ordered the urban praetor briskly, as if he were his head steward. ‘Tell him to call a public assembly and then to come and fetch me. I’ll speak to the people. I need to steady their nerves. They must be reminded that there’s always bad news in war. And you,’ he said to the messenger, ‘had better not breathe a word of this to another soul, do you understand, or I’ll have you put in chains.’

I never admired Cicero more than I did that day, when he stared ruin in the face. He went into his study to compose an oration, while I, from the terrace, watched the Forum begin to fill with citizens. Panic has its own pattern. I had learned to recognise it over the years. Men run from one speaker to another. Groups form and dissolve. Sometimes the public space clears entirely. It is like a cloud of dust drifting and whirling before the onset of a storm.

Appuleius came toiling up the hill as requested and I took him in to see Cicero. He reported that the current rumour going round was that Cicero was to be presented with the fasces of a dictator. It was a trick, of course – a provocation that would be the pretext for his murder. The Antonians would then ape the tactics of Brutus and Cassius and seize the Capitol and try to hold it until Antony arrived in the city to relieve them.

Cicero asked Appuleius, ‘Will you be able to guarantee my security if I come down to address the people?’

‘I can’t give an absolute guarantee, but we can try.’

‘Send as big an escort as you can. Allow me one hour to get myself ready.’

The tribune went away, and to my astonishment Cicero then announced that he would have a bath and be shaved, and change into a fresh set of clothes. ‘Make sure you write all this down,’ he said to me. ‘It will make a good end for your book.’

He went off with his body slaves, and by the time he came back an hour later, Appuleius had assembled a strong force out in the street, consisting mostly of gladiators along with his fellow tribunes and their attendants. Cicero braced his shoulders, the door was opened, and he was just about to cross the threshold when the lictors of the urban praetor came hurrying up the road, clearing a path for Cornutus. He was holding a dispatch. His face was wet with tears. Too out of breath and emotional to speak, he thrust the dispatch into Cicero’s hands.

From Hirtius to Cornutus. Before Mutina.

I send you this in haste. Thanks be to the gods, we have this day retrieved an earlier disaster and won a great victory over the enemy. What was lost at noon has been recouped at sunset. I led out twenty cohorts of the Fourth Legion to relieve Pansa and fell upon Antony’s men when they were celebrating prematurely. We have captured two eagles and sixty standards. Antony and the remnants of his army have retreated to his camp, where they are trapped. Now it is his turn to taste what it is like to be besieged. He has lost the greater part of his veteran troops; he has only cavalry. His position is hopeless. Mutina is saved. Pansa is wounded but should recover. Long live the Senate and people of Rome. Tell Cicero.