Lustrum

XI

I come now to the crux of my story, that hinge around which Cicero's life, and the lives of so many of us, was to revolve for ever after – the decision about the fate of the prisoners.

Cicero left the senate with the applause, as it were, still ringing in his ears. The senators poured out after him, and he went immediately across the forum to the rostra to deliver a report to the people. Hundreds of citizens were still standing around in the chilly twilight, hoping to discover what was going on, and among them I noticed many friends and family of the accused. In particular I recognised young Mark Antony going from group to group, trying to rouse support for his stepfather, Sura.

The speech that Cicero afterwards had published was very different to the one he actually delivered – a matter I shall come to in due course. Far from singing his own praises, he gave an entirely matter-of-fact report, almost identical to the one he had just relayed to the senate. He told the crowd about the conspira tors' plot to set fire to the city and to murder the magistrates, about their desire to make a pact with the Gauls, and the ambush on the Mulvian Bridge. Then he described the opening of the letters and the reactions of the accused. The people listened in a silence that was either rapt or sullen depending on how one chose to interpret it. Only when Cicero announced that the senate had just voted a three-day national holiday to celebrate his achievement did they finally break into applause. Cicero mopped the sweat from his face and beamed and waved, but he must have known that the cheers were really for the holiday rather than for him. He finished by pointing to the large statue of Jupiter, which he had arranged to have put up quickly that morning. 'Surely the very fact that this statue was being erected when the conspirators and witnesses were taken on my orders through the forum to the Temple of Concordia is clear proof of the intervention of Jupiter, Best and Greatest? If I were to say that I foiled them entirely alone I would be taking too much credit for myself. It was Jupiter, the mighty Jupiter, who foiled them; it was Jupiter who secured the salvation of the Capitol, of these temples, of the whole city and of you all.'

The respectful applause that greeted this remark was no doubt intended for the deity rather than the speaker, but at least it meant that Cicero was able to leave the platform with a semblance of dignity. Wisely he did not linger. As soon as he came down the steps his bodyguard closed around him, and with the lictors clearing the way, we pushed and struggled across the forum in the direction of the Quirinal Hill. I mention this in order to show that the situation in Rome as night fell was very far from stable, and that Cicero was not nearly as sure of what he ought to do as he later pretended. He would have liked to have returned home and consulted Terentia, but as chance would have it, this was the one occasion in his entire life when he was not allowed to cross his own threshold: during the nocturnal rites of the Good Goddess, no member of the male sex was allowed under the same roof as the priestesses of the cult; even little Marcus had been sent away. Instead we had to climb the Via Salutaris to the house of Atticus, where it had been arranged that the consul would spend the evening.

Here it was, therefore, with armed guards ringing the house and with all manner of people – senators, knights, treasury officials, lictors, messengers – bustling in and out from the crowded atrium, that Cicero issued various orders to protect the city. He also sent a note to Terentia to inform her of what had happened. Then he retreated to the quiet of the library to try to decide what to do with the five conspirators. From the four corners of the room, freshly garlanded busts of Aristotle and Plato, Zeno and Epicurus gazed down on his deliberations, unperturbed.

'If I sanction the execution of the traitors, I shall be pursued by their supporters for the rest of my days – you saw how sullen that crowd was. On the other hand, if I let them simply go into exile, those same supporters will agitate constantly for their return; I shall never know safety, and this whole fever will quickly recur.' He gazed dejectedly at the head of Aristotle. 'The philosophy of the golden mean does not seem to fit this particular predicament.'

Exhausted, he sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward, with his hands clasped behind the back of his neck, staring at the floor. He did not lack advice. His brother Quintus urged a hard line: the conspirators were so clearly guilty, the whole of Rome – the whole world, come to that – would think him a weakling if he didn't punish them with death. This was a time of war! The gentle Atticus's view was entirely the opposite: if Cicero had stood for anything throughout his political career, it was surely the rule of law. For centuries every citizen had had the right of appeal against arbitrary sentence. What else had the Verres case been about if not this? Civis Romanus sum! As for me, I am afraid that when my turn came to speak, I advocated the coward's way out. Cicero had only another twenty-six days in office. Why not lock the prisoners away somewhere and leave it to his successors to determine their fate? Both Quintus and Atticus threw up their hands at this, but Cicero could see the merits in it, and years later he told me that actually I had been right. 'But that is with hindsight,' he said, 'which is of course the irredeemable flaw of history. If you remember the circumstances of the time, with soldiers on the streets and armed bands congregating, and with rumours that Catilina might attack the city at any moment in an attempt to free his associates – how could I have avoided taking a stand?'

The most extreme advice of all came from Catulus, who turned up late in the evening, just as Cicero was about to retire to bed, with a group of former consuls, including the two Lucullus brothers, Lepidus, Torquatus and the former governor of Nearer Gaul, C. Piso. They came to demand that Caesar be arrested.

'On what evidence?' asked Cicero, rising wearily to his feet to greet the delegation.

'Treason, of course,' replied Catulus. 'Do you have the least particle of doubt that he's had a hand in this business from the start?'

'None. But that's not the same as having evidence.'

'Then make the evidence,' said the senior Lucullus smoothly. 'All that's required is a more detailed statement from Volturcius implicating Caesar, and we shall have him at last.'

'I guarantee you a majority of the senate will vote to arrest him,' said Catulus. His companions murmured in agreement.

'And then what?'

'Execute him along with the others.'

'Execute the head of the state religion on a trumped-up charge? There'll be a civil war!'

Lucullus said, 'There's likely to be a civil war one day anyway, thanks to Caesar, but if you act now, you can prevent it. Remember your authority. You've just been granted a thanksgiving. Your prestige in the senate has never been higher.'

'I was not granted a thanksgiving in order to go round like a tyrant butchering my opponents!'

'No, you were granted it,' retorted Catulus, 'because I proposed it.'

'And you are so blinded with hatred for Caesar because he robbed you of the pontificate that you can no longer see straight!' I had never heard Cicero speak in such a way to one of the old patricians, and Catulus's whole body seemed to give a jerk, as if he had stepped on something sharp. 'Now listen to me,' the consul continued, pointing his finger. 'Listen to me, all of you. I have Caesar precisely where I want him. I have that Leviathan by the tail at last. If he lets his prisoner escape tonight, I agree – we can arrest him, because he will have given us proof of his guilt. But for that very reason he won't let him escape. He'll obey the will of the senate for a change. And I mean to make sure it's a habit he gets used to.'

'Until he does the same thing again,' said Piso, who had only recently survived an attempt by Caesar to have him exiled for corruption.

'Then we'll just have to outwit him again,' said Cicero. 'And again. And again. And we'll have to go on doing it for as long as is necessary. But I believe I have his measure now, and my handling of this crisis over the past year has shown that my judgement about such matters is not usually wrong.'

His visitors lapsed into silence. He was the man of the hour. His prestige was at its zenith. For once nobody felt able to contradict him, not even Lucullus. Eventually Piso said, 'And the conspirators?'

'That is for the senate to decide, not me.'

'They will look to you for a lead.'

'Then they will look in vain. Dear gods, have I not done enough?' Cicero shouted suddenly. 'I have exposed the conspiracy. I have stopped Catilina from becoming consul. I have driven him from Rome. I have foiled an attempt to burn down half the city and massacre us in our homes. I have delivered the traitors into custody. Am I now supposed to shoulder all the opprobrium for killing them as well? It's time you gentlemen started playing your part.'

'What is it you want us to do?' asked Torquatus.

'Stand up in the senate tomorrow and say what you want done with the conspirators. Show a lead to the rest of them. Don't expect me to carry the whole burden any longer. I'll call you one by one. State your view – death it must be, I suppose: I can't see any way out of it – but state it loud and clear, so that at least when I go before the people I can say I am the instrument of the senate and not a dictator.'

'You can rely on us for that,' said Catulus, glancing around at the others. They all nodded in agreement. 'But you're wrong about Caesar. We'll never get a better chance than this to stop him. Think on it overnight, I urge you.'

After they had gone, certain grim contingencies needed to be faced. If the senate voted for the death penalty, when would the condemned men be killed, and how, and where, and by whom? There was no precedent for such an action. When was easy enough: immediately judgement was passed, to forestall a rescue. And by whom was also obvious: the public executioner would do the dispatching, to establish that they were common criminals. Where and how were harder. They could scarcely be flung from the Tarpeian Rock – that would invite a riot. Cicero consulted the head of his official bodyguard, the proximate lictor, who told him that the best place – because the most easy to protect – would be the execution chamber beneath the Carcer, which was conveniently next door to the Temple of Concordia. The space was too cramped and the light too poor for decapitation, he announced, so by a process of elimination it was settled that the conspirators would have to be strangled. The lictor went off to make sure that the carnifex and his assistants would be standing by.

I could tell Cicero was upset by this conversation. He refused to eat, saying he had no appetite. He did consent to drink a little of Atticus's wine, from one of his exquisite Neapolitan glass beakers, but unfortunately his hand was shaking so much he dropped it, shattering the glass on the mosaic floor. After that had been cleared up Cicero decided he needed some fresh air. Atticus called for a slave to unlock the doors, and we stepped out from the library on to the narrow terrace. Down in the valley, the effect of the curfew was to make Rome seem as dark and fathomless as a lake. Only the Temple of Luna, lit up by torches on the slopes of the Palatine, was distinctly visible. It seemed to hover, suspended in the night, like some white-hulled vessel descended from the stars to inspect us. We leaned against the balustrade and vainly contemplated what we could not see.

Cicero sighed and said, more to himself than to any of us, 'I wonder what men will make of us a thousand years from now. Perhaps Caesar is right – this whole republic needs to be pulled down and built again. I tell you, I have grown to dislike these patricians as much as I dislike the mob – and they haven't the excuse of poverty or ignorance.' And then again, a few moments later: 'We have so much – our arts and learning, laws, treasure, slaves, the beauty of Italy, dominion over the entire earth – and yet why is it that some ineradicable impulse of the human mind always impels us to foul our own nest?' I surreptitiously made a note of both remarks.

That night I slept very badly, in a cubicle adjoining Cicero's room. The tramp of the sentries' boots as they patrolled the garden and their whispered voices intermingled with my dreams. Seeing Lucullus had stirred a remembrance of Agathe, and I had a nightmare in which I asked him about her and he told me he had no idea whom I meant but that all his slaves in Misenum were dead. When I woke exhausted to the grey dawn, I had a heavy feeling of dread, as if a rock had been laid on my chest. I looked into Cicero's room, but his bed was empty. I found him sitting motionless in the library, with the shutters closed and only a small lamp beside him. He asked if it was dawn yet. He wanted to go home to speak with Terentia.

We left soon afterwards, escorted by a new detachment of bodyguards under the command of Clodius. Ever since the crisis began, this notorious reprobate had regularly volunteered to accompany the consul, and these demonstrations of his loyalty, matched by Cicero's stout defence of Murena, had strengthened the bond between them. I guess what drew Clodius to Cicero was the opportunity to learn the art of politics from a master – he intended to stand for the senate himself the following year – while Cicero was amused by Clodius's youthful indiscretions. At any rate, much as I distrusted him, I was glad to see him on duty that morning, for I knew he would lift the consul's mood with some distracting gossip. Sure enough, he started at once.

'Have you heard that Murena's getting married again?'

'Really?' said Cicero in surprise. 'To whom?'

'Sempronia.'

'Isn't Sempronia already married?'

'She's getting divorced. Murena will be her third husband.'

'Three husbands! What a hussy.'

They walked on a little further. 'She has a fifteen-year-old daughter from her first marriage,' said Clodius thoughtfully. 'Did you know that?'

'I did not.'

'I'm considering marrying the girl. What do you think?'

'So Murena would become your stepfather-in-law?'

'That's it.'

'Not a bad idea. He can help your career a lot.'

'She's also immensely rich. She's the heiress of the Gracchi estate.'

'Then what are you waiting for?' asked Cicero, and Clodius laughed.

By the time we reached Cicero's house, the female worshippers were emerging blearily into the cold morning, led by the Vestal Virgins. A crowd of bystanders had gathered to watch them go. Some, like Caesar's wife, Pompeia, looked very unsteady, and had to be supported by their maids. Others, including Caesar's mother, Aurelia, seemed entirely unmoved by whatever it was they had experienced. She swept past Cicero, stone-faced, without a glance in his direction, which suggested to me that she knew what had happened in the senate the previous afternoon. In fact an amazing number of the women coming out of the house had some connection with Caesar. In all I counted at least three of his former mistresses – Mucia, the wife of Pompey the Great; Postumia, the wife of Servius; and Lollia, who was married to Aulus Gabinius. Clodius looked on agog at this perfumed parade. Finally, Caesar's current and greatest amour, Servilia, the wife of the consul-elect, Silanus, stepped over the doorstep and into the street. She was not especially beautiful: her face was handsome – mannish, I suppose one would call it – but full of intelligence and strength of character. And it was typical of her that she, alone of all the wives of the senior magistrates, actually stopped to ask Cicero what he thought would happen that day.

'It will be for the senate to decide,' he replied guardedly.

'And what do you think their decision will be?'

'That is up to them.'

'But you will give them a lead?'

'If I do – forgive me – I shall announce it in the senate later rather than now on the street.'

'You don't trust me?'

'I do indeed, madam. But others may somehow get to hear of our conversation.'

'I don't know what you mean by that!' Her voice sounded offended but her piercing blue eyes shone with malicious humour.

'She is by far the cleverest of his women,' observed Cicero once she had moved on, 'even shrewder than his mother, and that's saying something. He'd do well to stick with her.'

The rooms of Cicero's house were still warm from the women's presence, the air moist with the scent of perfume and incense, of sandalwood and juniper. Female slaves were sweeping the floors and clearing away leftovers; on the altar in the atrium was a pile of white ash. Clodius made no attempt to hide his curiosity. He went round picking up objects and examining them and was obviously bursting to ask all manner of questions, especially when Terentia appeared. She was still wearing the robes of the high priestess, but even these were forbidden to the eyes of men, so she concealed them beneath a cloak that she kept tightly clasped at her throat. Her face was flushed; her voice was high and strange.

'There was a sign,' she announced, 'not an hour ago, from the Good Goddess herself!' Cicero looked dubious, but she was too enraptured to notice. 'I have received a special dispensation from the Vestal Virgins to inform you of what we saw. There,' she gestured dramatically, 'on the altar, the fire had entirely burned out. The ash was quite cold. But then a great bright flame shot up. It was the most extraordinary portent anyone could ever remember.'

'And what do they think it means, this portent?' enquired Cicero, clearly interested despite himself.

'It is a sign of favour, sent directly to your home on a day of great importance, to promise you safety and glory.'

'Is it indeed?'

'Be bold,' she said, taking his hand. 'Do the brave thing. You will be honoured for ever. And no harm will come to you. That is the message from the Good Goddess.'

I have often wondered in the years since whether this affected Cicero's judgement at all. True, he had repeatedly derided auguries and omens to me as childish nonsense. But then I have found that even the greatest sceptics, in extremis, will pray to every god in the firmament if they think it might help them. Certainly I could tell that Cicero was pleased. He kissed Terentia's hand and thanked her for her piety and concern for his interests. Then he went upstairs to prepare for the senate as news of the portent was spread, on his instructions, to the crowd in the street. Clodius, meanwhile, had found a woman's shift lying beneath one of the couches, and I watched him put it to his nose and inhale deeply.

On the orders of the consul, the prisoners were not brought to the senate but were left where they had been confined overnight. Cicero said this was for reasons of security, but in my opinion it was because he could not bear to look at their faces. Once again the session was held in the Temple of Concordia, and all the leading men of the republic attended except for Crassus, who sent word that he was ill. In reality he wished to avoid casting a vote either for or against the death penalty. He may also have been fearful of assault: there were plenty among the patricians and the Order of Knights who thought he too should have been arrested. Caesar, however, turned up as cool as you please, his sharp wide shoulders pushing past the guards, ignoring their oaths and insults. He squeezed into his seat on the front bench, settled back and thrust out his legs far into the gangway. Cato's narrow skull was directly opposite him: his head was bent reading the treasury accounts as usual. It was very cold. The doors at the far end of the temple had been left wide open for the crowd of spectators, and a veritable gale was blowing down the aisle. Isauricus wore a pair of old grey mittens, there was much coughing and sneezing, and when Cicero stood to call the house to order, his breath billowed out like steam from a cooking pot.

'Gentlemen,' he declared, 'this is the most solemn assembly of our order that I can ever remember. We meet to determine what should be done with the criminals who have threatened our republic. I intend that every man here who desires to speak shall have the chance to do so. I do not mean to express a view myself-' He held up his hand to quell the objections. 'No one can say I have not played the part of leader in this matter. But henceforth I wish to be the senate's servant, and whatever you decide, you may be sure I shall put into effect. I would rule only that your decision must be reached today, before nightfall. We cannot delay. Your punishment, whatever form it takes, must be a swift one. I now call Decimus Junius Silanus to give his opinion.'

It was the privilege of the senior consul-elect always to speak first in debates, but I am sure that on that particular day it was an honour Silanus would happily have forgone. Up to now I have not had much to say about Silanus, in part because I find it hard to remember him: in an age of giants, he was a dwarf – respectable, grey, dull, prone to bouts of ill health and enervating gloom. He would never have won the prize in a thousand years but for the energy and ambition of Servilia, who was so determined that her three daughters should have a consul for a father, she made herself Caesar's mistress to further her husband's career. Glancing occasionally with nervous eyes along the front bench to the man who was cuckolding him, Silanus spoke haltingly of the competing claims of justice and mercy, of security and liberty, of his friendship with Lentulus Sura and his hatred of traitors. What was he driving at? It was impossible to tell. Finally Cicero had to ask him directly what penalty he was recommending. Silanus took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 'Death,' he said.

The senate stirred as the dreadful word was spoken. Murena was called next. I could see why Cicero had favoured him to be consul over Servius at a time of crisis. There was something solid and four-square about him as he stood with his legs apart and his pudgy hands on his hips. 'I am a soldier,' he said. 'Rome is at war. Out in the countryside women and children are being ravished, temples pillaged, crops destroyed; and now our vigilant consul has discovered that similar chaos was being plotted in the mother city. If I found men in my camp planning to set it afire and murder my officers, I would not hesitate for an instant to order their execution. The penalty for the traitors is always, must be – and can only be – death.'

Cicero worked his way along the front bench, calling one ex-consul after another. Catulus made a blood-curdling speech about the horrors of butchery and arson and also came out firmly in support of death; so did the two Lucullus brothers, Piso, Curio, Cotta, Figulus, Volcacius, Servilius, Torquatus and Lepidus; even Caesar's cousin Lucius came down reluctantly for the supreme penalty. Taken together with Silanus and Murena, that made fourteen men of consular rank all arguing for the same punishment. No voice was raised against. It was so one-sided, Cicero later told me he feared he might be accused of rigging the vote. After several hours during which nothing had been heard except demands for death, he rose and asked if there was any man who wished to propose a different sentence. All heads naturally turned to Caesar. But it was an ex-praetor, Tiberius Claudius Nero, who was the first on his feet. He had been one of Pompey's commanders in the war against the pirates, and he spoke on his chief's behalf. 'Why are we in such a hurry, gentlemen? The conspirators are safely under lock and key. I believe we should summon Pompey the Great home to deal with Catilina. Once the leader is defeated, then we can decide at our leisure what to do with his minions.'

When Nero had finished, Cicero asked, 'Does anyone else wish to speak against an immediate sentence of death?'

That was when Caesar slowly uncrossed his legs and rose to his feet. Immediately a great cacophony of shouts and jeering rang out, but Caesar had obviously anticipated this and had prepared his response. He stood with his hands behind his back, patiently waiting until the noise had died down. 'Whoever, gentlemen, is pondering a difficult question,' he said in his quietly threatening voice, 'ought to clear his mind of all hatred and anger, as well as affection and compassion. It isn't easy to discern the truth if one gives way to emotion.' He uttered the last word with such stinging contempt, it had the effect of briefly silencing his opponents. 'You may ask why I oppose the death penalty-'

'Because you're also guilty!' someone shouted.

'If I were guilty,' retorted Caesar, 'how better to hide it than to clamour for death with all the rest of you? No, I don't oppose death because these men were once my friends – in public life one must set aside such feelings. Nor do I oppose it because I regard their offences as trivial. Frankly, I think that any torture would be less than these men deserve. But people have short memories. Once criminals have been brought to justice, their guilt is soon forgotten, or becomes a matter of dispute. What's never forgotten is their punishment, especially if it's extreme. I'm sure Silanus makes his proposal with the best interests of his country at heart. Yet it strikes me – I won't say as harsh, for in dealing with such men nothing could be too harsh, but as out of keeping with the traditions of our republic.

'All bad precedents have their origins in measures that at the time seem good. Twenty years ago, when Sulla ordered the execution of Brutus and other criminal adventurers, who among us did not approve his action? The men were villains and trouble-makers; it was generally agreed that they deserved to die. But those executions proved to be the first step on the path to a national calamity. Before long, anyone who coveted another man's land or villa – or in the end merely his dishes and clothes – could have him killed by denouncing him as a traitor. So those who rejoiced in the death of Brutus found themselves being hauled off to execution, and the killings didn't stop till Sulla had glutted all his followers with riches. Of course I'm not afraid that any such action will be taken by Marcus Cicero. But in a great nation like ours there are many men, with many different characters, and it may be that on some future occasion, when another consul has, like him, an armed force at his disposal, a false report will be accepted as true. If so, with this precedent set, who will there be to restrain him?'

At the mention of his own name, Cicero intervened. 'I have been listening to the remarks of the chief priest with great attention,' he said. 'Is he proposing that the prisoners simply be released to join Catilina's army?'

'By no means,' responded Caesar. 'I agree that they have forfeited the right to breathe the same air and see the same light as the rest of us. But death has been ordained by the immortal gods not as a means of punishment but as a relief from our toil and woe. If we kill them, their suffering ceases. I therefore propose a harsher fate: that the prisoners' goods shall be confiscated and that they shall be imprisoned, each in a separate town, for the remainder of their lives; against this sentence the condemned shall have no right of appeal, and any attempt by any person to make an appeal on their behalf shall be regarded as an act of treason. Life, gentlemen,' he concluded, 'will mean life.'

What an astonishing piece of effrontery this was – but also how clever and effective! Even as I wrote Caesar's motion down and handed it up to Cicero, I could hear the excited whispers running around the senate. The consul took it from me with a worried expression. He sensed his enemy had made a cunning move but was not quite sure of all its implications, or how to respond. He read Caesar's proposal aloud and asked if anyone wished to comment upon it, whereupon who should stand up but consul-elect and cuckold-in-chief Silanus.

'I have been deeply moved by the words of Caesar,' he declared, with an unctuous rubbing of his hands. 'So moved, in fact, that I shall not vote for my own proposal. Instead of death, I too believe that a more appropriate punishment would be imprisonment for life.'

That provoked a low exclamation of surprise, followed by a kind of rustling along the benches, which I recognised immediately as the wind of sensible opinion changing its direction. In a choice between death and exile, most senators favoured death. But if the choice became one between death and incarceration for life, they were able to adjust their calculation. And who could blame them? It seemed to offer the perfect solution: the conspirators would be punished horribly, but the senate would escape the odium of having blood on its hands. Cicero looked around him anxiously for supporters of the death penalty, but now speaker after speaker rose to urge the merits of perpetual imprisonment. Hortensius supported Caesar's motion; so, surprisingly, did Isauricus. Metellus Nepos declared that execution without the right of appeal would be illegal, and echoed Nero's demands for Pompey to be recalled. After this had gone on for another hour or two, with only a few voices now hankering after death, Cicero called a brief adjournment before the vote to allow some senators to go outside and relieve themselves and others to take refreshment. In the meantime, he held a quick private conclave with Quintus and me. It was already starting to get gloomy again and there was nothing we could do to alleviate it – lighting a fire or any kind of lamp within the walls of a temple was of course forbidden. Suddenly I realised there was not much time left. 'Well,' Cicero asked us softly, leaning out of his chair, 'what do you think?'

'Caesar's motion will pass,' answered Quintus in a whisper, 'no question of it. Even the patricians are weakening.'

Cicero groaned. 'So much for their promises…'

'Surely this is good for you,' I said eagerly, for I was all in favour of a compromise. 'It lets you off the hook.'

'But his proposal is a nonsense!' hissed Cicero, with an angry glance in Caesar's direction. 'No senate can pass a law that will bind its successors in perpetuity, and he well knows it. What if a magistrate lays a motion next year to say that it isn't treason to agitate for the prisoners' release after all, and it passes through a public assembly? He just wants to keep the crisis alive for his own ends.'

'Then at least it will become your successors' problem,' I answered, 'and not yours.'

'You'll look weak,' warned Quintus. 'What will history say? You'll have to speak.'

Cicero's shoulders sagged. This was precisely the predicament he had dreaded. I had never seen him in such an agony of indecision. 'You're right,' he concluded, 'although I can see no outcome from this that isn't ruinous to me.'

Accordingly, when the adjournment ended, he announced that he would give his view after all. 'I see that your faces and eyes, gentlemen, are all turned upon me, so I shall say what as consul I must say. We have before us two proposals: one of Silanus – though he will no longer vote for it – urging death for the conspirators; the other of Caesar for life imprisonment – an exemplary punishment for a heinous crime. It is, as he says, far worse than death, for Caesar removes even hope, the sole consolation of men in their misfortune. He further orders that their property be confiscated, to add poverty to their other torments. The only thing he leaves these wicked men is their life – whereas if he had taken that from them, he would in one painful act have relieved them of much mental and bodily suffering.

'Now, gentlemen, it is clear to me where my own interest lies. If you adopt the motion of Caesar, since he is a populist, I shall have less reason to fear the attacks of the people, because I shall be doing what he has proposed. Whereas if you adopt the alternative, I fear that more trouble may be brought down upon my head. But let the interests of the republic count for more than considerations of danger to myself. We must do what is right. Answer me this: if the head of a household were to find his children killed by a slave, his wife murdered and his house burned, and did not inflict the supreme penalty in return, would he be thought kindly and compassionate or the most inhuman and cruel of men not to avenge their suffering? To my mind, a man who does not soften his own grief and suffering by inflicting similar distress upon the man responsible is unfeeling and has a heart of stone. I support the proposal of Silanus.'

Caesar quickly rose to intervene. 'But surely the flaw in the consul's argument is that the accused have not committed any such acts – they are being condemned for their intentions, rather than for anything they have done.'

'Exactly!' cried a voice from the other side of the chamber, and all heads turned to Cato.

If the vote had been taken at this point, I have little doubt that Caesar's proposal would have carried the day, regardless of the consul's view. The prisoners would have been packed off across Italy, to rot or be reprieved according to the caprices of politics, and Cicero's future would have worked out very differently. But just as the outcome seemed assured, there arose from the benches near the back of the temple a familiar gaunt and illkempt apparition, his hair all awry, his shoulders bare despite the cold, his sinewy arm stretched out to indicate his desire to intervene.

'Marcus Porcius Cato,' said Cicero uneasily, for one could never be sure which way Cato's rigid logic would lead him. 'You wish to speak?'

'Yes, I wish to speak,' said Cato. 'I wish to speak because someone has to remind this house of exactly what it is we're facing. The whole point, gentlemen, is precisely that we're not dealing with crimes that have been committed, but with crimes that are planned. For that very reason it will be no good trying to invoke the law afterwards – we shall all have been slaughtered!' There was a murmur of acknowledgement: he spoke the truth. I glanced up at Cicero. He was also nodding. 'Too many sitting here,' proclaimed Cato, his voice rising, 'are more concerned for their villas and their statues than they are for their country. In heaven's name, men, wake up! Wake up while there's still time, and lend a hand to defend the republic! Our liberty and lives are at stake! At such a time does anyone here dare talk to me of clemency and compassion?'

He came down the gangway barefoot and stood in the aisle, that harsh and remorseless voice grating away like a blade on a grindstone. It was as if his famous great-grandfather had just stepped out of his grave and was shaking his furious grey locks at us.

'Do not imagine, gentlemen, that it was by force of arms that our ancestors transformed a petty state into this great republic. If it were so, it would now be at the height of its glory, since we have more subjects and citizens, more arms and horses, than they ever had. No, it was something else entirely that made them great – something we entirely lack. They were hard workers at home, just rulers abroad, and to the senate they brought minds that were not racked by guilt or enslaved by passion. That is what we've lost. We pile up riches for ourselves while the state is bankrupt and we idle away our lives, so that when an assault is made upon the republic there's no one left to defend it.

'A plot has been hatched by citizens of the highest rank to set fire to their native city. Gauls, the deadliest foes of everything Roman, have been called to arms. The hostile army and its leader are ready to descend upon us. And you're still hesitating and unable to decide how to treat public enemies taken within your own walls?' He literally spat out his sarcasm, showering the senators nearest him with phlegm. 'Why then, I suggest you take pity on them – they are young men led astray by ambition. Armed though they are, let them go. But mind what you're doing with your clemency and compassion – if they draw the sword, it will be too late to do anything about it. Oh yes, you say, the situation is certainly ugly, but you're not afraid of it. Nonsense! You're quaking in your shoes! But you're so indolent and weak that you stand irresolute, each waiting for someone else to act – no doubt trusting to the gods. Well, I tell you, vows and womanish supplications won't secure divine aid. Only vigilance and action can achieve success.

'We're completely encircled. Catilina and his army are ready to grip us by the throat. Our enemies are living in the very heart of the city. That is why we must act quickly. This therefore is my proposal, Consul. Write it down well, scribe: Whereas by the criminal designs of wicked citizens the republic has been subjected to serious danger; and whereas, by testimony and confession, the accused stand convicted of planning massacre, arson and other foul atrocities against their fellow citizens: that, having admitted their criminal intention, they should be put to death as if they had been caught in the actual commission of capital offences, in accordance with ancient custom.'

For thirty years I attended debates in the senate and I witnessed many great and famous speeches. But I never saw one – not one: not even close – that rivalled in its effects that brief intervention by Cato. What is great oratory, after all, except the distillation of emotion into exact words? Cato said what a majority of men were feeling but had not the language to express, even to themselves. He admonished them, and they loved him for it. All across the temple, senators rose from their seats applauding and went to stand beside their hero to indicate that he had their support. He was no longer the eccentric on the back bench. He was the rock and bone and sinew of the old republic. Cicero looked on in astonishment. As for Caesar, he jumped up demanding the right to reply, and actually started making a speech. But everyone could see that his true intention was to talk out Cato's motion and prevent a vote, for the light was very low now and shadows were deep across the chamber. There were shouts of rage from those around Cato, and some jostling, and several of the knights who had been watching from the doorway rushed in with their swords drawn. Caesar was twisting his shoulders back and forth to throw off the hands that were trying to pull him down, and still he kept on speaking. The knights looked to Cicero for instruction. All it would have taken was a nod from him, or a raised finger, and Caesar would have been run through on the spot. And for the briefest of instants he did hesitate. But then he shook his head, Caesar was released, and in the chaos he must have rushed from the temple, for I lost sight of him after that. Cicero came down off his dais. Striding along the aisle, shouting at the senators, he and his lictors separated the combatants, pushed a few of them back into their places, and when some sort of order had been restored he returned to his chair.

'Gentlemen,' he said, his face as white as milk in the darkness, his voice very thin and strained, 'the sentiment of the house is clear. Marcus Cato's motion passes. The sentence is death.'

Speed was now vital. The condemned men had to be moved quickly to the execution chamber before their friends and supporters realised their fate. To fetch each prisoner, Cicero placed a former consul at the head of a detachment of guards: Catulus went for Cethegus, Torquatus for Capito, Piso for Caeparius and Lepidus for Statilius. After settling the details, and requesting that the other senators remain in their places while the deed was done, he himself went off last of all to collect the most senior of the accused, Lentulus Sura.

Outside, the sun had just gone down. The forum was ominously crowded, yet the people parted at once to let us through. They reminded me of spectators at a sacrifice – solemn, respectful, filled with awe at the mysteries of life and death. We went with our escort up on to the Palatine, to the home of Spinther, who was a kinsman of Sura, and found our prisoner in the atrium playing dice with one of the men assigned to guard him. He had just made his throw: the dice clattered on to the board as we came in. He must have realised at once from Cicero's expression that it was all over for him. He glanced down to inspect his score, then looked back up at us and gave a bleak smile. 'I seem to have lost,' he said.

I cannot reproach Sura for his behaviour. His grandfather and his great-grandfather had both been consuls and they would have been proud of his conduct in this last hour at least. He handed over a purse with some money to be distributed among his guards, then walked out of the house as calmly as if he were going to take a bath. He offered only the mildest of reproaches. 'I believe you laid a trap for me,' he said.

'You trapped yourself,' replied Cicero.

Sura didn't say another word as we crossed the forum, but trod steadily with his chin thrust out. He still wore the plain tunic he had been given the previous day. Yet from their demeanours one would have guessed that the deathly pale Cicero, despite his consular purple, was the condemned man and Sura his captor. I felt the eyes of the vast crowd upon us; they were as curious and docile as sheep. At the foot of the steps leading up to the Carcer, Sura's stepson Mark Antony ran out in front of the guards, crying out to know what was happening.

'I have a short appointment,' replied Sura calmly. 'It will all be over soon. Go and comfort your mother. She will have more need of you now than I.'

Antony bellowed with grief and anger and tried to reach out to touch Sura, but he was pushed out of the way by the lictors. We passed on up the steps between the pickets of troops, ducked through a doorway that was low but very thick, almost like a tunnel, and into a windowless circular stone chamber lit by torches. The air was close, noxious with the stink of death and human waste. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I recognised Catulus, Piso, Torquatus and Lepidus, with the folds of their togas pressed to their noses, and also the short and broad figure of the state executioner, the carnifex, in his leather apron, attended by half a dozen assistants. The other prisoners were already lying on the ground with their arms tightly pinioned behind their backs. Capito, who had spent the day with Crassus, was crying softly. Statilius, who had been held at Caesar's official residence, was insensible from the effects of wine. Caeparius was lost to the world, curled up in a ball with his eyes closed. Cethegus was protesting loudly that this was illegal and demanding the right to address the senate; someone kicked him in the ribs and he went quiet. The carnifex seized Sura's arms and bound them quickly at the wrists and elbows.

'Consul,' said Sura, wincing as he was trussed, 'will you give me your word that no harm will befall my wife and family?'

'Yes, I promise you that.'

'And will you surrender our bodies to our families for burial?'

'I will.' (Afterwards Mark Antony claimed that Cicero had denied this final request: yet another of his innumerable lies.)

'This was not supposed to be my destiny. The auguries were quite clear.'

'You allowed yourself to be suborned by wicked men.'

Moments later the tying-up was finished and Sura looked around him. 'I die a Roman nobleman,' he shouted defiantly, 'and a patriot!'

That was too much even for Cicero. 'No,' he said curtly, nodding to the carnifex, 'you die a traitor.'

At those words, Sura was dragged towards the large black hole in the centre of the floor that was the only means of entrance to the execution chamber beneath us. Two powerful fellows lowered him into it, and I had a last glimpse of his handsome, baffled, stupid face in the torchlight. Then strong hands must have taken hold of him from beneath, for abruptly he disappeared. Statilius's limp form was let down immediately after Sura; then it was quickly the turn of Capito, who was shaking so much his teeth were rattling; then Caeparius, still in a swoon of terror; and finally Cethegus, who screamed and sobbed and put up such a tremendous struggle that two men had to sit on him while a third tied his wildly thrashing legs – in the end they tipped him through the hole head first and he fell with a thud. Nothing more was to be heard after that, apart from some occasional scuffling sounds; eventually those also ceased. I was told later that they were hanged in a row from hooks fixed in the ceiling. After what seemed an eternity, the carnifex called up that the job was done, and Cicero went reluctantly to the hole and peered down. A torch was flourished over the victims. The five strangled men lay in a row, gazing up at us with bulging sightless eyes. I felt no pity: I was remembering the violated body of the boy they had sacrificed to seal their pact. Cato was right, I thought: they deserved to die; and that remains my opinion to this day.

Once he had assured himself that the conspirators were dead, Cicero could not wait to get away from that 'antechamber to hell', as he afterwards called it. We squeezed back out through the narrow tunnel of a doorway and straightened into the fresh night air – only to find that a most amazing sight awaited us. In the dusk, the whole of the forum was lit by torches – a great carpet of flickering yellow light. In every direction people were standing, motionless and silent, including the whole of the senate, which had now emerged from the Temple of Concordia, just next door to the prison. Everyone was looking towards Cicero. Obviously he had to announce what had happened, although he had no idea what the reaction might be, and he also had another peculiar difficulty, which showed the unprecedented nature of what had just occurred: it was a superstition in those days that a magistrate must never utter the words 'death' or 'died' in the forum, lest he bring down a curse on the city. So Cicero thought for a moment, cleared his throat of whatever thick bile had accumulated in the Carcer, threw back his shoulders and proclaimed, very loudly, ' They have lived! '

His voice echoed off the buildings and was followed by a silence so profound that I feared the vast crowd might be hostile after all and we would be the next to be hanged. But I suppose they were just working out what he meant. A few senators started clapping. Others joined in. The clapping turned to cheers. And slowly the cheers began spreading across the vast throng. 'Hail, Cicero!' they called. 'Hail, Cicero!' 'Thank the gods for Cicero!' 'Cicero – the saviour of the republic!'

Standing only a foot away from him, I saw the tears well up into his eyes. It was as if some dam had broken in him and all the emotions that had been accumulating behind it, not only during the past few hours but throughout his consulship, were suddenly allowed to burst forth. He tried to say something but could not, which only increased the volume of applause. Finally there was nothing for it but to descend the steps, and by the time he reached the level of the forum, with the cheers of friends and opponents alike ringing in his ears, he was weeping freely. Behind us, the bodies of the prisoners were being dragged out by hooks.

The story of Cicero's last few days as consul may be swiftly told. No civilian in the history of the republic had ever been as lauded as he was at this time. After months of holding its breath, the city seemed to let out a great sigh of relief. On the night the conspirators were executed, the consul was escorted home from the forum by the whole of the senate in a great torchlit procession and was cheered every step of the way. His house was brilliantly illuminated to welcome him back; the entrance where Terentia waited for him with his children was decked with laurel; his slaves lined up to applaud him into the atrium. It was a strange homecoming. He was too exhausted to sleep, too hungry to eat, too eager to forget the horrible business of the executions to be capable of talking about anything else. I assumed he would recover his equilibrium in a day or two. Only later did I realise that something in him had changed for ever: had snapped, like an axle. The following morning, the senate bestowed upon him the title 'Father of his Country'. Caesar chose not to attend the session, but Crassus came and voted with the rest, and praised Cicero to the skies.

Not every voice was raised in acclamation. Metellus Nepos, on taking up his tribunate a few days later, continued to insist that the executions were illegal. He predicted that when Pompey returned to Italy to restore order he would deal not only with Catilina but with this petty tyrant Cicero as well. Despite his immense popularity, Cicero was sufficiently worried to go to Clodia and ask her to tell her brother-in-law privately that if he persisted in this course, Cicero would prosecute him for his own links to Catilina. Clodia's lustrous brown eyes widened with delight at this opportunity to meddle in affairs of state. But Nepos coolly ignored the warning, reasoning correctly that Cicero would never dare to move against Pompey's closest political ally. All now depended, therefore, on how swiftly Catilina could be defeated.

When the salutary news of the execution of Sura and the others reached Catilina's camp, a large number of his followers at once deserted him. (I doubt they would have done so if the senate vote had been for life imprisonment.) Realising that Rome was now secure against them, he and Manlius decided to take the rebel army north, with the intention of crossing the Alps into Further Gaul and creating a mountainous enclave in which they might hold out for years. But winter was coming, and the lower passes were blocked by Metellus Celer at the head of three legions. Meanwhile, in hard pursuit at the rebels' rear was the senate's other army, under the command of Hybrida. This was the opponent Catilina chose to turn and fight, picking his ground in a narrow plain to the east of Pisae.

Not surprisingly, suspicions arose, which persist to this day, that Catilina and his old ally Hybrida had been in secret contact all along. Cicero had foreseen this, and when it became clear that battle was to be joined, Hybrida's veteran military legate, M. Petreius, opened the sealed orders he had been given in Rome. These appointed him the operational commander and directed that Hybrida should plead illness and take no part in the fighting; if he refused, Petreius was to arrest him. When the matter was put to Hybrida, he swiftly agreed, and announced that he was suffering from gout. In this way Catilina unexpectedly found himself facing one of the most able commanders in the Roman army, who was at the head of a force much larger and better equipped than his own.

On the morning of the battle, Catilina addressed his soldiers, many of whom were armed only with pitchforks and hunting spears, in the following terms: 'Men, we fight for our country, our freedom and our life, whereas our opponents fight for a corrupt oligarchy. Their numbers may be greater but our spirit is stronger, and we will prevail. But if for any reason we do not, and Fortune turns against us, do not allow yourselves to be slaughtered like cattle, but fight like men and make sure that bloodshed and mourning are the price that the enemy will pay for victory.' The trumpets then sounded and the front lines advanced towards one another.

It was a terrible carnage and Catilina was in the thick of it all day. Not one of his lieutenants surrendered. They fought with the ferocious abandon of men with nothing to lose. Only when Petreius sent in a crack praetorian cohort did the rebel army finally collapse. Every one of Catilina's followers, including Manlius, died where he stood; afterwards their wounds were found to be entirely in the front and none in the back. At nightfall, after the battle, Catilina was discovered deep inside his opponents' lines, surrounded by the corpses of the enemies he had hacked to pieces. He was still just breathing, but died soon afterwards from terrible wounds. On Hybrida's instructions his head was sent back to Rome in a barrel of ice and presented to the senate. But Cicero, who had left the consulship a few days earlier, refused to look at it, and thus ended the conspiracy of Lucius Sergius Catilina.